✨

"Hybrids," Tyler snarled, his voice dropping into a guttural, animalistic register that didn't sound like your childhood friend at all.

What followed was a horrific ballet of blood and nightmares that broke your understanding of reality. You watched in absolute, paralyzed horror as one of the strange men lunged at Stefan. Instead of falling, Stefan met him with an ungodly, monstrous strength of his own. His face contorted, veins identical to the attacker's bleeding out beneath his eyes, his teeth baring into fangs as he slammed the man into a tree with enough force to splinter the massive trunk. To your left, a sickening sound of snapping bones echoed through the clearing. You spun around, your breath catching in your throat as you saw Tyler. His eyes had turned a demonic, glowing yellow, his jaw extending, sharp claws ripping through his fingertips as he tore into the throat of another attacker, blood spraying across the damp leaves.

"Y/N, don't look! Stay behind me!" Bonnie shouted, but as you stumbled backward, you saw her hands flying forward. She chanted in a fierce, ancient language, and a split second later, the third attacker dropped to his knees, screaming in agony as his ears began to bleed, the sheer force of her invisible mind crushing his skull.

Your back hit a tree, your lungs gasping for air that wouldn't come. Your mind, trained in the logical, peaceful world of art and Ivy League academia, violently rejected what your eyes were seeing. Monsters. Vampires. Werewolves. Witches. The fairy tales you had laughed at were standing in front of you, covered in blood.

The fight ended as quickly as it began, leaving the forest echoing with the heavy breathing of your friends. Stefan turned toward you, the monstrous veins fading from his face as he took a step forward, his hands raised in surrender. "Y/N... look at me. It's over. You're safe."

"Get away from me!" you shrieked, your voice cracking with a terrifying, primal fear. You scrambled away from him, your eyes darting from Stefan's blood-stained shirt to Tyler’s clawed hands, and finally to Bonnie, who was looking at you with profound guilt. "What are you? What are you?! Tyler, your face... Bonnie, what did you do to him?"

"Y/N, please, just breathe," Elena begged, stepping into your line of sight, her hands trembling as she tried to approach you. "We can explain everything, I promise. We wanted to protect you from this—"

"Don't touch me!" you screamed, tears of absolute betrayal spilling over your cheeks. You backed up until your heels hit a root, your heart hammering so violently against your ribs you thought it might burst. You looked at the people you had trusted your entire life, the people you had come back to Mystic Falls to be near, and realized you didn't know them at all. They weren't humans. They were predators. You were a lamb standing in a circle of wolves, and the terrifying realization that they had lied to you for years made your stomach violently turn. "You're monsters. All of you. Don't come near me!"

Tyler took a step back, looking utterly devastated, his hands returning to normal. "Y/N, we’re the same people we’ve always been. We’re your friends. We fought them to keep you alive."

"I don't believe you!" you cried, your voice echoing through the dark woods. You couldn't trust the eyes looking at you. You couldn't trust the voices that had comforted you. You felt entirely, horribly alone.

It took nearly an hour of agonizing, desperate pleading from Bonnie and Elena to finally break through your panic. Bonnie sat on the damp ground a few feet away from you, never crossing the boundary you had set, her voice cracking as she recounted childhood memories, weeping as she begged you to remember who she was. Elena spoke of the losses they had all suffered, her voice so heavy with human grief that it slowly began to anchor your racing mind. Looking at Bonnie’s tears and the raw, vulnerable exhaustion on Tyler’s face, a tiny fracture formed in your wall of terror. They had just slaughtered three men, yes, but they were currently standing before you like broken children, terrified of losing you.

Slowly, with your body still trembling violently and your hands balled into defensive fists, you allowed them to guide you back to the car. The drive back to Bonnie’s house was dead silent, the heavy atmosphere thick with an unspoken reckoning.

Once inside the safety of the living room, with the doors locked and the blinds drawn, they sat you down and stripped away the lies. Stefan spoke with a calm, devastating honesty, explaining the existence of vampires, the curse of the werewolves that ran in Tyler’s blood, and the ancient lineage of the Bennett witches. You sat wrapped in a tight blanket, staring at your hands, your mind numbly trying to rebuild the world you thought you knew.

"And the men who attacked us tonight?" you whispered, your voice hollow, a sudden, chilling memory of Tyler’s warning from days prior crashing back into your mind. "The ones with the fangs and the yellow eyes... what were they?"

Tyler leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his face pale under the living room lights. "They’re hybrids, Y/N. Part vampire, part werewolf. They don't have a will of their own; they answer to the man who created them."

The room went completely still, the temperature seemingly dropping as the true weight of the town's terror was finally laid at your feet.

"The family that's threatening you," you said, looking from Bonnie to Stefan, the pieces of the puzzle horrifyingly falling into place. "The ancient family. The one you wouldn't tell me about. It's him, isn't it? The person who commands those things."

"Yes," Stefan answered quietly, his eyes dark with a grim, centuries-old exhaustion. "He is the first of his kind. The Original Hybrid. He is a ruthless, ancient tyrant who treats this town like his personal playground and views our lives as entirely disposable. He’s a psychopath who has spent a thousand years breaking anyone who dares to stand in his way, and right now, he wants to destroy everything we have left."

Elena reached out, gently placing a hand over yours, her voice trembling. "That's why we never told you, Y/N. We didn't want his shadow anywhere near your life. His name carries a curse, and if he ever found out you were important to us, he would use you to break us."

You stared into the empty space of the room, your heart freezing over. You had spent the last seven years running from a heartbreak in Boston, thinking your life was complicated because of art school and an elite ex-boyfriend. Now, you were trapped in a small town held hostage by a literal god of monsters. You didn't know his name, and your friends were too terrified to speak it, but as you looked at the fear etched into the faces of the supernatural creatures sitting around you, you realized one terrifying truth: you had walked directly into the jaw of a nightmare, and there was no turning back.

_

The night air was thick and humid, carrying the heavy scent of rain that refused to status-quo drop over Mystic Falls. You adjusted the strap of your canvas tote bag, twisting the brass key into the lock of your under-construction art studio. Inside, the faint, comforting smells of fresh paint, treated wood, and sawdust still lingered in the air, a physical reminder of the peaceful life you were so desperately trying to build. You stepped off the curb, pulling a thick knit cardigan tightly around your frame as you began the quiet walk back to Bonnie’s house.

The streetlamps cast long, skeletal shadows across the empty pavement. Ever since your friends had dragged you into the woods four days ago and shattered your perception of reality with fangs, glowing yellow eyes, and blood, the dark corners of your hometown felt predatory. You kept your eyes peeled, your pulse hammering a frantic rhythm with every rustle of the autumn leaves. You didn't believe in fairy tales, but the bruises on Tyler’s face and the raw terror in Bonnie’s eyes had forced you to accept the impossible: monsters were real. And right now, a tyrannical creature they called the Original Hybrid was holding the entire town hostage. You kept your head down, praying you could just make it back to the safety of the locked guest room.

You never even heard him approach.

In a terrifying, instantaneous blur of motion, a shadow materialized directly in front of you out of thin air. Before you could draw the breath to scream, a heavy, cold hand clamped violently over your mouth, silencing you, while a forearm locked around your waist like a band of solid iron. The strength was completely inhuman. You kicked and thrashed, your fingers clawing desperately at the sleeve of your captor, tears of pure panic springing to your eyes as the stranger lifted you off your feet as if you weighed nothing at all. Within seconds, the familiar storefronts of the town square dissolved into a dizzying, sickening streak of dark trees, rushing wind, and absolute darkness.

When your feet finally slammed back onto solid ground, you were shoved roughly through a set of massive, towering double doors. You stumbled, losing your footing, and fell to your knees on a cold, highly polished marble floor. Your tote bag spilled open, charcoal pencils rattling across the stone.

"Stay there," a gruff voice commanded from above.

You looked up, gasping for air, your chest heaving. Standing over you was a man with glowing golden eyes, his teeth elongated into sharp fangs, and thick, dark veins webbing horribly beneath the skin of his eyes. A hybrid. Before you could even scramble away into a defensive corner, the creature turned with impossible speed and vanished into the deep shadows of the cavernous foyer.

You were trapped inside the grand, historic Lockwood Mansion. The vast room was deathly quiet, lit only by the amber, flickering glow of a massive, roaring fireplace that cast long, dancing shapes against the vaulted ceilings. Trembling violently, your breath rattling in your throat, you pushed yourself up from the floor, wiping the tears from your cheeks. Your eyes darted wildly toward the massive front exit, your instincts screaming at you to run.

"I must apologize for the coarse nature of your arrival, Y/N. My brother’s subordinates lack even the most basic understanding of hospitality and grace."

The voice cut through the heavy silence like a physical blade. It was smooth, measured, and carried a distinct, regal elegance that instantly froze the blood in your veins. You would recognize that precise, calm cadence anywhere.

You spun around, your breath catching completely in your throat. Stepping out from the warmth of the firelight, calmly adjusting the silver links of his watch before tucking his hands into the pockets of an immaculate, tailored charcoal suit, was a man you never expected to see again.

"Elijah?" you gasped, your voice cracking as you took a stunned, trembling step backward.

Your mind spun violently, completely short-circuiting as it tried to reconcile the impossible contrast before you. The last time you had seen this man, you were twenty-two years old, sitting in a vibrant, high-end restaurant in Boston. He was the refined, fiercely protective older brother of your boyfriend. He had held your hand, kissed your knuckles, and formally welcomed you into their family with a quiet, genuine smile.

"What... what are you doing here?" you whispered, your eyes wide with absolute confusion and mounting shock. You looked around the dark, imposing mansion, then back to his serene, unreadable face. "No... no, this makes no sense. Why are you in Mystic Falls? Elijah, please, you have to help me—one of those monsters from the woods just kidnapped me—"

"I am well aware, Y/N," Elijah interrupted softly, taking a slow, measured step forward. A look of profound, quiet sorrow crossed his handsome features as he looked down at your trembling form. He walked over to a crystal decanter resting on a side table, pouring a splash of amber liquid with agonizingly slow, precise movements. "And it pains me deeply to see you under these circumstances. You were never meant to be brought into this conflict. We took immense care to ensure your canvas remained entirely untouched by the rot and blood of our world."

A chill ran straight down your spine. You stared at him, the horrifying pieces of the puzzle beginning to float in the air, though your brain desperately fought against fitting them together. "Your brother's subordinates? Untouched by your world? Elijah, what are you talking about? My friends are being hunted by a psychopath. A ruthless, ancient hybrid. Why are you here with those things?"

"Because, love, he is simply visiting his family."

The voice echoed down from the top of the grand, sweeping staircase.

It was a rich, low, gravelly rasp, thick with a melodic British cadence that had haunted your dreams and broken your heart for the last three years.

You froze. The air left your lungs, and the universe seemed to shrink down to a pinpoint. Slowly, agonizingly, as if moving through deep water, you turned your head and lifted your gaze to the upper landing.

Stepping out from the deep, velvety shadows of the second floor was Klaus.

He was dressed in a dark, form-fitting Henley, a glass of bourbon loosely held between his fingers as he looked down into the foyer with a cold, lethal detachment. But the exact microsecond his blue-green eyes swept across the room and landed squarely on your face, the casual, terrifying aura of the tyrannical Original Hybrid completely evaporated.

The crystal glass slipped from his fingers, falling through the air and shattering violently against the marble landing below, amber liquid and shards of glass spraying across the stone. Klaus froze, his jaw tightening so hard the sharp bone structure of his face shifted. His chest heaved as a sharp, ragged breath tore from his throat. The ruthless, ancient persona he had cultivated for a thousand years to strike terror into his enemies vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a raw, breathless shock.

"Y/N?" he breathed, his voice cracking with a terrifying, profound vulnerability.

You took a violent step back, your high heels clicking sharply against the stone, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs you thought it might burst through your chest. The puzzle pieces didn't just fall into place; they crashed down like an avalanche, completely obliterating the reality you had spent three years trying to rebuild.

The hybrid eyes you had seen in the forest. The inhuman speed that had brought you here. The ancient, ruthless family holding the town hostage. The monster your friends were weeping over, the one Tyler said could hear a heartbeat from miles away.

It wasn't a corrupt billionaire. It wasn't a mafia boss.

"Klaus?" you whispered, your voice barely a thread in the vast, echoing room. You looked up at the ex-boyfriend, the man you had loved with every fiber of your being, as the horrifying truth finally took hold. "No... no. It's you. You are the monster."

In a fraction of a second—a blur of speed so impossibly fast your human eyes couldn't even register the movement—Klaus materialized at the bottom of the stairs, stopping just three feet away from you. The sheer wind of his arrival rustled your cardigan. His hands were raised in a rare, trembling gesture of total surrender, his blue eyes burning with an intense, suffocating mixture of profound longing and absolute dread.

"Elijah, what is the meaning of this?" Klaus growled, his voice vibrating with a dangerous, quiet rage as he kept his eyes locked strictly on yours, entirely dropping the monstrous mask for you. "I gave explicit orders to my pack. I told them this town was to be cleared, but she was never to be crossed. Who touched her?"

"She was walking alone near the square, brother," Elijah said quietly from the hearth, his voice heavy with centuries of weariness as he set his drink down. "They knew she was a tether to Bonnie Bennett and Tyler Lockwood. They thought they were bringing you leverage."

You stared at Klaus, the tears finally spilling hot and fast over your cheeks, blurring his golden-brown curls and the desperate expression on his face. The man standing in front of you wasn't the sweet, cultured graduate student from the Boston coffee shops who helped you mix crimson paint. He was the devil your friends had been fighting, the architect of all their suffering.

"You lied to me," you whispered, your voice thick with the agony of a three-year-old heartbreak and a brand-new, terrifying betrayal. "About everything. The art, the school... who you are. You're the one terrorizing my friends."

"Never about how I felt," Klaus said fiercely, taking a frantic, cautious step closer to you, his eyes pleading, stripped of all the ruthlessness he showed the rest of the world. "I broke your heart and walked away to keep you safe from this exact darkness, Y/N. I swore I would let you hate me forever if it kept your hands clean of this blood. I wanted to marry you, love. I wanted a life with you away from all of this. But you're back... and God help me, I don't think I have the strength to let you go a second time."

"Don't call me that!" the shout tore from your throat, raw and trembling, fracturing the heavy silence of the grand foyer. Three years of buried grief, late-night tears, and unanswered questions suddenly boiled over into pure, unadulterated fury. You took another sharp step back, your breath hitching as you glared at him through a hot blur of tears. "Don't you dare stand there and act like you care about me! You broke my heart on my birthday, Klaus. You walked away from me in Boston like I was a piece of trash, and now I find out that the man I loved—the man I shared my entire life with—is the monster holding a gun to my friends' heads?!"

"Y/N, please, just let me explain—" Klaus took a frantic step forward, his hand reaching out, his fingers twitching as if he desperately wanted to touch you but was terrified of your reaction.

"No! You don't get to explain anything!" you cried, your voice cracking as it echoed off the vaulted marble ceilings. "Bonnie and Tyler are my family. They are the only people who were there to pick up the pieces after you shattered my life into a million shards! And you're terrorizing them? You're sending creatures to hunt them down like animals in the woods? I don't care about what you wanted in Boston. I don't care about your lies. I hate you, Klaus. Do you hear me? I hate you!"

The word seemed to hit him with the force of a physical blow. The terrifying, immortal Original Hybrid visibly flinched, his jaw tightening as his blue-green eyes darkened with a profound, crushing anguish. For a fraction of a second, the god of monsters looked completely broken, stripped entirely of his armor by a single human word.

You didn't wait for him to recover. Spinning on your heel, you ignored your scattered sketches on the floor and marched fiercely toward the massive, iron-reinforced front doors. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to escape the suffocating weight of his presence, to get away from the beautiful lie you had lived. You reached out, your trembling fingers wrapping around the cold iron handle of the door, and pulled with all your might.

Before the heavy wood could even crack open an inch, a sudden, violent gust of wind swept past you.

Slam.

A heavy, completely unyielding palm came down flat against the dark oak right above your head, forcing the door shut with a deafening, echoing rattle. You gasped, spinning around in terror, only to find yourself completely trapped.

Klaus was standing flush against you, his towering frame blocking the exit entirely. His chest was heaving, his face mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. The vulnerability from a moment ago was gone, replaced by a rigid, ancient stubbornness.

"Let me go!" you demanded, your hands coming up to push fiercely against his chest. It felt like trying to move a solid mountain of stone; he didn't even budge an inch. "Get away from me, Klaus! I mean it, let me out!"

"I cannot," Klaus whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated with a terrifying mixture of raw heartbreak and absolute, unbreakable possessiveness. He didn't wrap his arms around you, but his hands remained firmly bracketed on either side of your head, pinning you to the door. His eyes searched yours, burning with a fierce, dangerous intensity. "Call me a monster, Y/N. Scream at me, curse my name, hate me with every single fiber of your soul if it eases your pain. But I spent three agonizing years watching you from the shadows, dying inside every day that I wasn't allowed to hold you. Now that you are standing in my home, I will not let you walk out that door back into a war zone."

"A war zone that you created!" you shot back, your voice trembling with a potent mix of terror and blinding rage. You pressed your palms harder against his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart that belonged to a killer. "You don't get to play the protector, Klaus. Not after what you've done. Look at yourself! You're holding me hostage in a house that isn't yours, commanding a pack of monsters, and you expect me to just stay here because you say so?"

From the fireplace across the foyer, Elijah watched the exchange in solemn silence. He didn't intervene, but his posture remained rigid, his eyes tracking his brother's erratic, dangerous emotional state. He knew better than anyone that a desperate Niklaus was a volatile one.

Klaus didn't flinch this time. Instead, he leaned down slightly, bringing his face so close to yours that you could see the flecks of gold swirling in his blue-green eyes—eyes that suddenly looked far older than any human's could ever be.

"I am keeping you here because if you walk out that door, you become a target for every enemy I have ever made," Klaus growled softly, the gravel in his voice thickening with a terrifying, ancient authority. "Your friends are playing a game they cannot win, Y/N. They are trying to kill me. And if they succeed—or if they fail—anyone associated with them will be slaughtered. I did not spend three years enduring the agonizing hell of your absence just to watch you die in the crossfire of a small-town squabble."

"So what's your plan, then?" you spat, tears of frustration slipping down your cheeks. "Are you going to keep me locked in a cage? Is this what your love looks like?"

A shadow of profound sorrow crossed Klaus’s face, his jaw clenching as he slowly lowered his hands from the door. He didn't step back, but the suffocating pressure of his posture eased just a fraction.

"I would build a fortress out of the bones of this world if it meant keeping you safe," he whispered, his tone dropping from an ancient king's decree to the raw confession of the boy you had loved in Boston. "Hate me all you want, love. But you stay here. Where I can protect you."

-to be continued

Tonight, the city was dead silent under a heavy midnight sky. The two of you had spent the entire day traversing the historical, cobblestone streets of Boston, hunting for inspiration for your massive end-of-term collaborative project. Your feet ached, your cheeks were flushed a brilliant pink from the biting wind, but your heart was entirely full.

"I think the weathered ironwork on the gates near Beacon Hill is the perfect texture for the background," you murmured, pulling the collar of your wool coat tighter around your shoulders as you walked down a quiet side street.

"An excellent choice, love," Klaus dimpled, his hand resting gently against the small of your back, his large frame shielding you from the bitter wind. "Though I still maintain that the fractured light filtering through the stained glass at Trinity Church would give your canvas the tragic depth it truly deserves."

Before you could offer a counterargument, the sky gave a low, rumbling groan. Within seconds, the heavens opened, unleashing a sudden, torrential downpour that instantly soaked through your clothes.

"Oh, great!" you gasped, laughing as you tried to shield your sketchbook beneath your damp coat.

"Come on," Klaus said, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp focus. He grabbed your hand, his grip warm, unyielding, and deceptively strong. "My private studio is just around the corner. We can take shelter there for the night."

You ran through the blinding sheets of rain, practically falling through the heavy, iron-reinforced oak door of Klaus's off-campus studio. Klaus closed the door behind you with a solid, echoing thud, shutting out the roaring storm and plunging you both into a warm, silent haven.

As you squeezed the rainwater out of your hair, you stepped forward to look around. The studio was a massive, industrial loft, entirely secluded from the rest of the building. In the far corner sat a small, minimalist kitchen with dark, polished marble countertops and a few copper kettles. Towering timber columns stretched up to a lofted, balcony-type second floor. Up there, beneath a massive, slanted ceiling made entirely of glass windows, sat a large bed, perfectly positioned to look up at the rain-streaked night sky.

But what caught your attention were the shapes occupying the main floor. Row after row of massive canvases stood on heavy iron easels, but every single one of them was draped in pristine white sheets, hiding the art beneath like a gallery of quiet ghosts.

"Here," Klaus's voice broke your trance. He had walked into the adjoining room and returned with two thick, plush white towels. He stepped close, gently draping one over your shivering shoulders and using the other to lightly dry his own golden curls. "You're freezing. I can make some tea to warm you up, if you'd like."

"Klaus," you breathed, taking the towel but keeping your eyes locked onto the draped easels. "What are these? Why are they all covered?"

Klaus didn't answer immediately. He stood entirely still, his blue-green eyes darkening with an unreadable, intense emotion as he watched the curiosity dancing across your features.

"They are... private studies," Klaus said quietly, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp. "Pieces I am not yet ready to share with the world."

"Can I see them?" you asked, taking a step closer to him, your heart beginning to hammer against your ribs. "Please? You've seen every single piece I've painted since I got to Harvard. Let me see yours."

Klaus stared at you, his gaze dragging down to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto your eyes. He didn't turn his body away from you. Instead, he simply reached his hand backward, his fingers catching the corner edge of the heavy white sheet draped over the massive canvas directly behind him, and pulled.

The sheet pooled silently onto the floor.

You stopped breathing.

It was a massive canvas, painted with a breathtaking, hyper-realistic detail that must have taken hundreds of hours of painstaking devotion. It was you. You were wearing a bright yellow sundress, the bottom of the skirt intricately embroidered with vibrant, sun-drenched sunflowers. You were sitting underneath the massive, ancient oak tree back in Virginia. The light captured the exact way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the warmth of your skin, the sheer life bleeding from the canvas.

You couldn't say a word. Your mind spun as you walked past him, your trembling fingers reaching out to the next easel. You pulled the sheet down.

Another painting of you. This one was a charcoal sketch of you reading in the Harvard library, the deep shadows catching the elegant curve of your jaw.

You moved to the next. And the next. You uncovered all ten canvases in a frantic, breathless blur. Every single one of them was you. You laughing over a cup of espresso at The Copper Kettle, you asleep against the window of the train, you standing in the autumn rain, you covered in paint smudges in the university studio.

An entire gallery dedicated entirely to you.

You stood in the dead center of the vast room, surrounded by ten different versions of your own face, completely overwhelmed. You hadn't even realized Klaus had been watching you this closely, let alone before you had ever formally met in Massachusetts. He had captured pieces of your soul you didn't even know were visible to the human eye.

Before you could turn around to face him, you felt a sudden, heavy shift in the air. A thick, intoxicating warmth blossomed behind you, and a second later, you felt his hot, slightly ragged breath brush against the sensitive skin of your neck. Klaus had stepped up right behind your back, so close his chest was brushing against your damp hair.

"Klaus..." you whispered, your voice shaking with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "How... how long have you been painting me?"

"I have lived a very long, very dark life, Y/N," Klaus murmured, his voice thick with a raw, terrifyingly honest emotion that shattered his usual composed demeanor. He didn't move away; his presence surrounded you completely like an impenetrable fortress. "I have seen the world at its absolute ugliest, and I truly believed there was nothing left in this universe that could surprise me, let alone move me. Until I saw you in that little tavern in Virginia."

He stepped half an inch closer, his hands rising to gently rest on your waist, his grip firm, warm, and intensely possessive.

"You think you came to Boston for a clean slate, love," Klaus whispered against your skin, making a violent shiver run straight down your spine. "But the truth is, I came here for you. I rewrote my entire life just to stand in the same room as you. You are the only beautiful, pure thing I have ever truly wanted to keep. I am utterly, completely in love with you, Y/N. And I will spend the rest of my existence making sure you are protected, adored, and cherished."

The raw honesty in his confession shattered the last of your defenses. You turned around in his embrace, your eyes wide and shining with unshed tears as you looked up into his handsome, desperate face. The mystery of his past, the intensity of his wealth—none of it mattered. All that mattered was the fierce, burning love radiating from his eyes.

"Klaus," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper.

You didn't wait for him to speak another word. You reached up, your hands tangling deep into his damp, golden-brown curls, and pulled his lips down to meet yours.

The kiss was explosive. It was a violent collision of months of built-up tension, a desperate, breathless unlocking of everything you had both been holding back. Klaus groaned deeply into your mouth, his hands instantly gripping your hips with a sudden, breathtaking strength, lifting you effortlessly until your feet left the hardwood floor. He pressed you back against the edge of a nearby wooden worktable, his lips tracing a burning path from your mouth, down the line of your jaw, to the column of your throat.

"You're mine, Y/N," he growled softly against your skin, a fierce, ancient promise vibrating through his chest. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," you gasped, your fingers digging tightly into the fabric of his dark sweater as a wave of pure, unadulterated desire washed over you. "Always."

Klaus didn't waste another second. He scooped you up into his arms, carrying you up the wooden stairs to the lofted balcony. He laid you gently onto the large, plush bed beneath the glass ceiling, the sound of the heavy rain drumming a frantic, wild rhythm directly above you.

As the storm raged fiercely outside, washing the city of Boston clean, Klaus loved you with a slow, agonizingly beautiful intensity. Every touch of his hands, every lingering kiss against your bare skin felt like a masterstroke of a paintbrush, marking you irrevocably as his ultimate masterpiece. In the dark of his studio, surrounded by the hidden ghosts of his devotion, you gave him your heart completely—entirely unaware that you had just bound your mortal soul to the most dangerous king the world had ever known.

Time skip- 7 years later (Mystic Falls)

The rain in Boston had been real, but the warmth of the studio was only a ghost.

You woke up with a sharp gasp, your eyelashes wet with tears that hadn't yet fallen. For a terrifying, beautiful second, you expected to feel the heavy weight of a plush blanket, to smell the rich, grounding scent of cedarwood, amber, and expensive oil paints. You expected to look up and see a ceiling made of glass, streaked with midnight rain.

Instead, you saw the pale cream drywall of Bonnie’s guest bedroom. Through the window, the oppressive, heavy humidity of a Virginia summer morning was already settling over Mystic Falls.

You were twenty-seven today. It had been seven years since you walked into The Copper Kettle and met the brilliant, dimpled British graduate student who changed your life. And it had been exactly three years since he ripped it apart.

You sat up, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes to force the memory away, but your mind was a traitor. Like clockwork, every time this date rolled around, a specific, cold sentence echoed through your head in a familiar, melodic cadence that now felt like a physical blow:

"Let’s break up, Y/N."

No explanation. No grand fight. Just those five words spoken on the night of your twenty-fourth birthday, shattering a four-year masterpiece into unfixable shards. He had walked away, leaving you heartbroken, and you had spent the last three years pouring your grief into oil canvases, eventually moving back to Mystic Falls to open your own independent art studio just to escape the memories of Massachusetts.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you forced yourself out of bed. You washed your face, brushing away the remnants of the dream until your reflection looked presentable, and opened the bedroom door.

The moment your foot hit the hardwood of the living room, a loud, chaotic chorus erupted.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

You jumped slightly, a genuine laugh startled out of you. Standing in a semi-circle in Bonnie’s small living room were your closest friends. Bonnie was at the center, holding a chocolate cake topped with glowing candles, her eyes crinkling with warmth. Tyler stood beside her, grinning widely, flanked by Elena Gilbert and the Salvatore brothers—Stefan offering a gentle, empathetic smile, while Damon leaned against the doorframe, a smirk on his face and a glass of amber liquid already in his hand.

"Make a wish, Y/N! Before Tyler tries to eat the frosting," Bonnie teased, stepping closer so the warmth of the candles brushed your face.

You looked at the flickering flames, the sting of your breakup still a dull ache in your chest. You didn't want to celebrate this day—you hadn't truly celebrated it since you turned twenty-three—but looking at the faces of the people who had protected you since childhood, you swallowed the lump in your throat. You blew out the candles.

"Thank you, guys," you smiled, leaning in to hug Bonnie tightly, then Tyler. "Seriously. You didn't have to do all this, especially with my house being a literal construction zone right now."

"Are you kidding? You're twenty-seven, and you just opened the best art studio in the county," Tyler said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. "We're celebrating. Even if we have to force you to."

"We brought premium alcohol to numb the pain of aging," Damon interjected smoothly, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Courtesy of the Salvatore cellar. Happy birthday, artist."

"Ignore him," Elena said, stepping forward to wrap her arms around you. "We're just so happy you're back in Mystic Falls, Y/N. The town missed you."

Stefan took a plate of cake from Bonnie and handed it to you with a quiet nod. "How is the studio setup coming along? I drove past the square yesterday; the storefront looks incredible."

"It's getting there," you said, taking a bite of the rich frosting. "The lighting in the main gallery room is perfect. I’m just waiting on a few shipments of canvas from Boston, and then I can officially open the doors."

"Just don't overwork yourself," Bonnie said softly, her eyes holding that deep, intuitive perception that always made you feel like she could see right through your armor. "You've been painting non-stop since you moved into the guest room."

"It's good for her," Tyler countered, helping himself to a massive slice of cake. "Distraction is good. Plus, she’s an Ivy League professional now. She’s gotta keep up appearances."

You maintained a tight, practiced smile, participating in the easy banter, but a part of you felt entirely disconnected. You loved them fiercely, but there was always an invisible wall. Tyler and Bonnie knew you had suffered a devastating breakup in Boston. You had kept that part of your life fiercely private, shielding your relationship from the small-town gossip of Virginia. They didn't know the name of the man who broke you. They just knew you went away happy and came back quiet.

And on the other side of the room, you noticed the subtle, tense glances exchanged between Stefan, Damon, and Elena. It was a look you had seen since you were a teenager—the heavy, suffocating weight of secrets. Mystic Falls always felt like it was hiding something, a dark undercurrent that everyone else was privy to except you.

"Everything alright, Stefan?" you asked curiously, tilting your head. "You look like you're anticipating a storm."

Stefan blinked, his stoic expression instantly smoothing over into a polite smile. "Just thinking about town council matters, Y/N. Nothing to worry about on your birthday."

"Yeah, don't ruin the girl's cake with local politics, brother," Damon chuckled, though his eyes remained sharp, darting toward the window.

You set your plate down, the phantom echo of Klaus’s voice whispering in the back of your mind once more. You pushed it down, determined not to let the ghost of a British stranger ruin the kindness of the friends who stood right in front of you. You smiled, reaching for your coffee, trying to believe that twenty-seven would finally be the year you learned how to forget him.

-to be continued

To keep Hope safe, everyone had been taking it in turns to stay at the safe house with her. They would do in pairs, to ensure someone was always in the house if the other needed to do something or get something, such as diapers and baby formula.

Klaus had been a little annoyed when Y/N was chosen to stay with him and Hope. But she was who Hayley trusted most and so, she was there with him.

“She’s human Elijah.” Klaus muttered, clearly frustrated as he tried to keep his voice down on the phone. “If something happens, she isn’t going to be able to protect Hope.”

Klaus was constantly belittling her, taking the knife off her when she was cutting carrots because if she dropped it, her reflexes weren’t fast enough. When she held Hope he consistently fussed about the way she was holding her. He didn’t like her to feed Hope, or get up in the night when cried.

He didn’t want her there.

Y/N had been perceived as weak by the family for the entirety of the time knowing them. She knew that in comparison she was. That she couldn’t defend herself well against vampires or wolves or witches. She probably wasn’t physically strong enough to fight off another human. And the more that Klaus scoffed and huffed at her whenever she did something, Y/N became increasingly quieter and tried to leave Hope in Klaus’s hands whilst she watched from the sides.

However, Klaus also didn’t trust Y/N to buy the right things. So he had relented and let her stay alone with Hope whilst he went to the shop. In honesty, he enjoyed being away from her and the house so had taken a seat at a cafe to ponder his thoughts.

The break he’d given himself was immediately regretted when he pulled up to the safe house. The door was kicked in, windows smashed.

He moved quickly, rushing inside and up the stairs. Klaus went straight to Hope’s room, running out quickly when she wasn’t in her crib.

“Y/N!” He yelled, focusing his hearing and flying back down the stairs. “Y/N!?”

His speed died down when he saw a man led across the dining room floor. A kitchen knife by his hand and another in his gut. Blood seeped from various points. Klaus swallowed thickly, seeing his knuckled bruised, light cuts across his arms and neck from where Y/N must’ve gotten him back. The man’s eyes stared up to the seeing.

Klaus’s gaze shifted when he heard Hope coo and the shaky sound of Y/N shushing her.

He walked slowly to the kitchen, looking around a little confused before his hearing locked onto one of the bottom cupboards. His brows furrowed and he felt his eyes sting and he knelt down and opened the door.

Y/N had her back to him, a cry leaving her when the door opened. Hope was to her chest, shielded entirely.

“It’s me, love.” He whispered, his hands gently as he helped her out of the tight space. Her body shook and he stared at her in astonishment. She was covered in wounds. Her cheek and eye already bruising whilst her arm and abdomen bled quickly.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered. “I couldn’t get to the phone.” Her lip quivered and her eyes wouldn’t meet his. She continued to hold Hope, looking at her with another cry. “I got blood on her.” She sniffed, her hand lifting to wipe the baby’s cheek but Y/N’s skin was dripping in red.

“It’s alright,” Klaus shook his head, gently taking her bloody hand in his. “You kept her safe.” He whispered, pulling her body close into his hold. She continued to tremble, and apologise under her breath.

He took Hope from her slowly, setting her down in the bouncer in the living room, just across from the dining room where the intruder still lay. Then Y/N was fed his blood, his hand stroking the back of her head soothingly whilst she held his forearm to her face.

Klaus told her not to look when they walked through the dining room, he blocked her view with his body and grabbed Hope before they all went up stairs.

“It’s alright, just have a shower and you’ll feel better.” He assured, watching her stare into the mirror in horror at the blood still covering her. Half of it hers, the other belonging to the man downstairs. “I’ll call Hayley and Elijah.” He told her but Y/N quickly protested.

“Don’t tell Hayley.” Her eyes pleaded and Klaus agreed quickly. He didn’t know why she didn’t want Hayley to know but considering she had just risked her own life and taken someone else’s to protect his daughter, he would do as she asked.

He cleaned up the mess whilst she was in the shower. He put the items he had bought away and disposed of the body and any droplets of blood that still lingered.

Elijah was called, told the truth and warned not to tell anybody else what had happened.

“Just say we need to relocate. That I suspect something, Y/N doesn’t want Hayley to know she killed someone.” He whispered, the words sounding foreign on his tongue. A few hours before he thought Y/N was defenceless and useless, now he felt indebted and perplexed.

So the others would arrive tomorrow to help move everything into a new safe house.

Klaus went to tell Y/N, knocked on her bedroom door and waited. When she didn’t answer he went inside anyway, but she was still in the bathroom. The shower still ran and the sound of the water hitting the tiles almost drowned out the sound of her crying.

Klaus stood quietly outside of the door for a moment, his eyes softening as he tapped the door with his knuckles.

“Love?” He called, his hand moving to the handle. “Come out?”

When she made no reply, he opened the door. But she screamed at him to go away. He flinched, halting the movement of the door and hesitating.

“Y/N…please come back out.” He closed his eyes, hearing her whimper and sniff. Eventually he heard her footsteps pad toward him. Klaus opened his eyes back up and looked back at her. She held the towel loose around herself, her face pink and swollen from crying. “Why don’t you get changed and we can give Hope her dinner before bed?” He suggested, his hand moving to touch but her body moved away. Klaus pulled his hand back and nodded, leaving her room quietly.

He stood patiently outside her bedroom door holding Hope. Everything was quiet as he sat opposite her, watching Y/N bottle feed Hope. For once, he made no comments.

Klaus smiled when Y/N swaddled her, laying her down in her cot and hesitantly leaving the room.

“We’ll leave tomorrow, okay?” He whispered before she slipped back into her room.

But Y/N couldn’t sleep. Every little noise made her heart race. She got up as quietly as she could, her own breathing louder than her footsteps were as she quickly went to Hope’s nursery. Her heart stopped when she wasn’t in the crib.

Klaus sat bolt upright when Y/N came crashing into his room, the door swinging open as she cried his name.

“No, no love it’s alright. She’s here-“ he pointed to the travel cot beside his bed.

“Oh” Y/N breathed, her face tinged red in embarrassment as she shifted awkwardly.

“I was worried to leave her too,” he murmured, climbing out of bed and coming over to her. He could tell she hadn’t slept at all yet. “Do you want to stay in here tonight?” Klaus offered, smiling faintly when she nodded.

He let her lay closest to Hope, he knew she was looking down at her from the edge quietly. Klaus laid beside her, listening to her breathe until he was sure she’d finally gotten to sleep.

The next morning they were woken by a loud banging. Then Hopes cries.

Y/N was terrified and Klaus had let out a surprised breath when she grabbed onto him.

“Stay here, stay with Hope.” He told her, glancing at his daughter before hurrying down the stairs.

His let out a sigh when he saw Elijah, Rebekah and Hayley on the other side of the front door. Rebekah scrunched her face up at the sight of her brother in just his briefs.

“Come in, I’ll uh get Hope.” He nodded, letting them in before locking the door behind them. Hayley’s jaw dropped when Y/N came in view, coming out of Klaus’s room.

“Who was it?” She asked, her eyes landing on Hayley. She panicked, looking at Klaus as if to ask if he had told Hayley what had happened but he shook his head.

To the others it looked completely different. Hayley groaned, thinking her best friend had also fallen victim to the Mikaelson charm and Rebekah rolled her eyes at Klaus’s inability to keep it in his pants.

Only Elijah knew what had really happened. Y/N decided it was easier to let the others think she had slept with Klaus than to admit the truth, and Klaus could tell when she hesitated to deny it.

He cleared his throat and headed back up the stairs, pulling her back into his room and ignoring the girls dramatic groans.

“I’m sorry- I should’ve said we didn’t.” Y/N apologised but Klaus didn’t care.

“I don’t mind, love.” He simply stated, cupping her face and looking at the fear and sadness that still painted her face.

How was he supposed to get angry at her after the way he’d found her yesterday?

He just didn’t have it in him to mock anything about her anymore. Even Elijah was slightly shocked when Klaus didn’t correct the way Y/N picked up Hope. Instead he sat beside her and they both cooed to Hope.

Soon they were all unboxing things in a new safe house.

But even in that house, Klaus laid awake, listening to Y/N pace her room. Eventually he would bring her to his bed, or she would knock on his door. It became natural within a couple weeks. Whether they were in New Orleans or in the safe house, his bed had become hers.

They continued to let everyone else believe they were together because Klaus and Y/N were no longer opposed to the idea.

In fact, Klaus had began fantasising.

His mind would wonder as he laid against her at night. Muse the idea of a date, think about what she’d like to do, he wondered what she would wear and if he’d get to take it off her. It were those sorts of thoughts that got him in trouble. Y/N would squirm when she felt him harden against her lower back.

The first couple times, she tried to ignore it but after a couple more weeks, she could feel her lips twitch up when she felt him. When she heard his breathing speed up just slightly.

“What are you thinking about?” She whispered and he swallowed thickly. It was late, really late. Klaus was 90% sure was asleep. Her voice startled him slightly and he felt his face warm.

“Nothing.” He replied but a groan slipped past his lips when she shuffled round to face him. Her ass no longer against his crotch. He felt her look down, at his little problem. Klaus watched her glance back to his eyes.

“Nothing?” She asked and he hummed faintly.

He could hear her moving, her hand coming up his bare chest to his neck. Klaus pressed his head down, forehead touching hers as she caressed his skin.

“Nothing.” He repeated before pressing his lips to hers. Y/N let her eyes flutter closed, the feel of him flooding her senses as he kissed her gently. In all honesty, Klaus might’ve had a few dirty thoughts about her in the past. When he found her infuriating and irritating, he wondered if he could fuck some sense into her. He’d never thought he would be so gentle with her until that day.

By the time the group reached Alexandria, there wasn't a single member who wasn't wearing clothes that one could only describe as dusty, grey, and worn.

Everyone except for you.

Even when you had arrived at the gates for the first time with Rick's group, your overly pink outfit was, albeit covered in splatters of blood and dirt, a standout feature about you. Wearing a bright pink jacket, you certainly drew some attention to yourself.

To everyone else outside of your small circle, most would assume you were trying to be the center of attention. But to Daryl, it was just your way of expressing you.

Back in Atlanta, however.

To say you annoyed him would be an understatement.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

When everything went down in Atlanta, you had found the camp just outside of the city. That's where Daryl first met you.

Fresh acrylic nails pressed to your fingernails, and a mini skirt that looked like you had just stepped out of a shopping mall; Daryl felt almost pissed off by your presence.

And boy, was he not scared to let you know.

You had been discussing old things you enjoyed with the ladies down at the quarry as you helped them wash clothes. Andrea shared what she missed, making the group laugh loudly in shock.

"I miss my makeup." You expressed with a pout. "Next time we out, I'm definitely looking for a little something to spice up my look." Sure, it wasn't a necessity, but couldn't a girl feel good about herself once in a while?

Daryl overheard your voice, and scoffed as he skinned a deer he had caught just hours before. His eyes narrowed at you slightly, almost as if he was trying to fight back his words.

It was his annoyed scoff that made you turn around to face him. "Got somethin' you wanna say?" Your southern accent was poking through your girly exterior.

"Yeah, you got all these people here starvin', and you wanna go get some damn lipstick?" He ran his knife over the deer more aggressively, his eyes not meeting yours.

"How stuck-up could you be?" He mumbled to himself. Andrea rose from her seat to defend you, but you grabbed her arm to stop her.

"It's okay, honey. He just doesn't understand." You could have hurled insults his way, but ultimately decided to leave it alone. You weren't just a pretty face like he wanted to believe, but he'd have to figure that out himself.

Daryl shot you a confused look, expecting you to make a fuss and argue with him. Hell, he would've liked to see you spouting off in what would sound like a valley-girl accent. But instead you were…sweet.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

It wasn't until you had arrived at Hershel's farm with the group that he truly understood your value in the group. Up until then, he found himself wondering how you had lasted this long, given your seemingly incessant need to be high maintenance.

You were helping everyone around the farm. And eventually, Rick sent you and Daryl to go after Sophia together. His grumbles let you know that you weren't exactly desired on this hunt. You brought your own weapon, a glittery pink knife, and one of the guns you borrowed from Dale.

He looked at your knife as you pulled it out of your belt. "Seriously?" He scoffed at you incredulously.

"Don't knock it! It does the job." You smile at him and press on, straightening the bow you had in your hair.

He let you take the lead, watching as you stumbled through the woods. His focus was completely on you, and how you were so goddamn strange.

His eyes traveled along your frame, examining the way you pushed your hair out of your face like you cared about what it looked like.

That's why when you paused to listen for something, he just found it ridiculous.

"Gotta keep movin'. Christ-" Daryl wasn't able to finish his sentence before you grabbed his jacket and pulled him backwards.

A group of walkers was passing by, near inches from both of you. He'd been so lost in you that he didn't even hear them.

Without words, you kicked one of the walkers to the ground and stabbed it in the head. Moving to your feet quickly, you shoved another one into a tree before stabbing it. In the end, you killed about four walkers with ease.

"M'not just a pair of heels." You smirked at him and walked on.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Just as he had warmed up to the idea of you, all of you. You had approached him with a question.

"Can I go on a run with ya'?" You spent about 20 minutes working up the courage to ask him. With everything going on, you were sure he would say no. "Since you're going out anyway, thought I could join ya'." Somehow, the grump had a way of making you laugh by his sheer obliviousness.

"Why? What do ya' need?" He was lying in his tent, his arms folded above his head. Your presence began to be a normal occurrence. Most of time, he didn't mind it.

"Just need to get some lady things. Wanted to see what they have while we're out. Hope it's not a big deal." You ignored the cramps that were driving you absolutely crazy. Part of you was hoping that you could find some kind of period product while on the road, but now you were desperate.

Daryl, however, had a completely different idea of what 'lady things' were. He sat up and moved out of his tent without saying a word.

"Daryl, I'll go with you. I just wanted to see if we could find anything-"

"What, you think I'm gonna risk my life for some damn nail polish or something?" He exploded at you, making you furrow your brows.

"That's not what I-"

"Not what you meant, huh? You really are somethin'. None of this bullshit matters when you've got walkers coming right at you!" He was pacing now, pointing at your clothing as he spoke. You bit back your words, taking his insults in stride. That seemingly pissed him off more.

"Want me to grab ya' some perfume, yeah you'll smell damn good. Good enough to get bit, right? Let's go find out." He went to grab your hand to lead you towards his bike.

"Daryl, stop!" You yanked your arm away from him, your shouting alerting other camp members.

"I'm on my period. Need some tampons." You mumbled. It was clear how he felt now. The silence blared in your ears, your eyes not meeting his.

Daryl froze, guilt sinking into his stomach. Fuck, he wanted to drown himself in the creek right now.

"I would never ask you to risk yourself for me. That's how little you think of me?" Your heartbeat was pounding with adrenaline, and hurt.

"Stop thinking that you know anything about me. You don't know shit." Your words were laced with venom, an anger that he hadn't ever seen. Even when he had laughed at you in Atlanta.

"I'll go myself. Make life easier for ya'." You strode away from him, tears brimming in your eyes, betraying your attempt to look tough in front of him.

Daryl chased after you. "Wait-" He panted. "I'll take ya'."

Placing a hand on your hip, you looked at him with skepticism. Daryl took your pause as permission to continue. "M'sorry. Been judgin' you too hard." He sighed and ran his hands down his face.

"Thought you were stuck up. You're not. You're a good person." His apology was broken up between pauses while he thought of meaninful things to say. Because an "I'm sorry" would not suffice.

Not after all he'd said about you. All the trouble he'd put you through.

You finally turned around to face him, your arms still crossed. "Fine. But because you were mean, I get first dibs if we find any candy." Daryl took in a deep inhale of relief.

He knew he was still in the doghouse, but seeing your usual bubbly self start to blossom again made him feel warm inside. He had no idea why seeing your smile made him feel that way, but he pushed it down for now.

That feeling of confusion continued far beyond Georgia.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Now the group was living in Alexandria, a slice of domesticity that seemed strange given the situation outside the walls. Daryl had time to observe you, to talk to you in ways that weren't purely for survival.

And the two of you became friends.

Although you still got on his last nerve sometimes.

Daryl sat on his porch, cleaning off walker blood from his crossbow after a successful run. He heard a clack of heels coming toward him and he audibly sighed. "What'cha want now?" He asked, a tiny smile creeping its way onto his face.

"Don't act like you don't like our talks, Dixon!" You made your way up to his porch, sporting jewelry that made clinking sounds when you walked. "Wanted to ask you somethin' anyway." You plopped down onto the floor of his porch.

"Hm?" He grunted, swiping some sweat that had accumulated due to the summer heat. He found himself staring, noticing how put-together you were. Of course, there was no way to be clean out there, exposed. But in here, you looked like you stepped out of a damn magazine.

Your hair looked perfect, you had found some makeup, and you were wearing heels. It made him chuckle, thinking about how different you were.

Different in a good way.

"Can we go on a run together? We haven't been out just the two of us in so long!" Your hopes were as high as your heels, your lips jutting out in a pout that Daryl rolled his eyes at.

"Jus' got back from one with Rick. Tired." He grumbled, lighting a cigarette. You scoffed and jumped to your feet, approaching him with narrowed eyes.

"Please, you're not tired, it was a quick run like right down the street. Besides, could probably find more of these-" You snatched the cigarette from his hand and put it up to your own lips, taking a short puff before handing it back to him.

Daryl felt his face flush at your actions, looking down at the lipstick marks that were wrapped around his cigarette. Between the pouting and your boldness, Daryl wasn't sure how he could say no.

"What do ya' need out there?" He asked, considering it. If it was something stupid like shoes or dresses, he'd probably complain the whole way home.

"Well, guess I shouldn't say 'lady things' because you'll go crazy right?" You toss him a quick smirk. Daryl cringed at himself, remembering when he shouted at you for needing period products on the farm.

"You drive me crazy all the time." He stood up, ignoring your look of offense.

"C'monnn, there's a little boutique like 2 miles from here!" You followed him because of course you did.

Daryl approached his motorcycle, turning to face you with crossed arms, his grumpiness showing. "Yer gonna get me killed over a boutique?" You let out a giggle at his dramatic conclusion.

A giggle that made his stomach twist, for some reason he couldn't place.

"Not killed! Maybe a scratch or two." You winked at him. "Oh! Can I ride in the front this time?" Pushing past him, you hopped onto the bike before him.

Daryl shook his head. "Yeah, and crash my bike? Nah." He let out a quiet laugh. "Just give me one second to talk to Carol really quick."

You nodded and rested your head on the handles of his bike, playing with your jewelry absentmindedly.

Once you were out of his line of sight, he walked a little faster to Carol's place.

Carol was in her apartment, baking something that Daryl wouldn't try if it was the last thing to eat on Earth. He knocked and took it upon himself to walk inside once she had opened the door.

"No time for askin' if you can come in, huh?" She laughed at his frantic bodily language. "What'cha need?"

"Yer' a woman." He started, fumbling with his crossbow nervously. Carol just chuckled.

"I am. Why?" She narrowed her eyes at him. Daryl swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"Ya' know what women like. Right?" He couldn't even look Carol in the eye, the scenario was too awkward, too vulnerable.

"Daryl, will you just tell me why you're here?" Carol already had an idea of where this was going, she just wanted to hear him say it.

Unfortunately, Daryl was as stubborn as a mule, and he shut up promptly.

"This is about the girl." She smirked at him, leaning against a wall smugly.

"Ain't about nobody." Daryl shrugged, avoiding her gaze. He thought a gift, maybe some kind of gesture would help him catch your attention.

Well, romantic attention. Not the way you were hanging around him being all friendly.

"Fine. If we're talkin' about a random girl. Women like perfume, some nice jewelry maybe. Could even get her a dress if you know her size." Carol snickered at the way Daryl was so obviously mentally noting her words.

"I mean, if you're really serious about this random girl, you could go ring shopping-"

"Shut up." Daryl shoved her lightly. Carol knew exactly who he was talking about. The girl laid up on his bike staring up into the cloud right now.

"Look at you, such a loverboy." Was all Carol could say before Daryl scoffed at her and walked out.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

At the boutique, you were shopping as if the world was completely normal, picking items off of the rack and holding them up to yourself to see if they would fit. "What do you think, Daryl?" You turned around to see him fumbling with perfume bottles.

He jerked his hand away and met your eyes before looking at what you were holding up. "S'good." Was all he could say.

"You're such a man." You scoff and put the item back. "Don't think I could pull that off anyway." It was a pink sundress, one that had beautiful color streaks and butterflies on it.

As you walked away, Daryl approached it and stuffed it into his bag behind your back. He thought that you could absolutely pull it off. Hell, you could probably wear anything and look like an angel.

"Need any perfume?" He asked you, grateful that you were oblivious to his questioning.

"Eh, unless they have some kind of vanilla scent, I think I'll pass." Your response made Daryl look at the bottles closely, reading the labels. He settled on one that he thought you would like.

Vanilla Honey

Daryl stuffed that one into his bag as well before leaving the perfume aisle.

He snatched a few pieces of jewelry as well to be on the safe side before he left with you.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

A few weeks had passed since that visit to the boutique, and Daryl still hadn't given you those gifts.

Not because he didn't want to. But he was just so concerned.

What if you didn't like any of it? What if he was just reading your attention wrong, and you only saw him as a friend?

Daryl hadn't seen you all day, which begun to worry him. You were usually bounding over to him with that wide, gorgeous smile that made him feel like he was the only man in the world.

He realized he missed that. Maybe it was time to show you how he felt?

Daryl was in desperate need of advice, so he went to Carol again.

"Daryl, you haven't given her those gifts yet? Seriously?" Carol put her hands on her hips in a disappointed move. "What did you get anyway? I wanna see."

He emptied his bag and out came the dress all balled up and wrinkled, the perfume he got you, and the jewelry all tangled up from being shoved into the bag. Carol rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed.

"You're such a man." Carol sighed and unfolded the dress, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. "It's beautiful though, how did you know she'd like it?"

Daryl bit back a smile just thinking about it. "Always wearin' pretty stuff like that." He helped Carol untangle the jewelry. He got a beautiful necklace with a blue jewel hanging at the base, and a bracelet to match.

"Not exactly her color, but I think she'll like it." Carol teased him.

"Her color? I ain't told you her name yet." Daryl furrowed his brow. Carol snickered and gave him a look.

"Daryl. You're gifting this mystery girl a pink dress and jewelry. I don't know of any other girl in Alexandria who wears things like this." Carol spoke in between laughter.

"And perfume." Daryl interrupted her.

"What?" She smiled.

"Got her perfume too. Smelled like her." Daryl held it up to show Carol.

Carol broke out in loud laughter at that, doubling over to hold her stomach.

"Smells like her?" She smirked.

"What? She wears perfume all the damn time." He held his arms up in confusion.

"Do you even hear yourself? You've got her a dress, jewelry, and perfume. You remember things about her, remember the way she smells." She was desperately trying to lead him to the conclusion.

"You think she won't like them?" Daryl glanced down at the gifts. Maybe it was too much?

Carol snickered. "You're adorable when you're in love, Dixon." His face blushed a bright red shade.

So that's what it was. That feeling.

"To answer your question, she'd like anything you get her. She follows your grumpy ass around like a lost puppy. She feels the same way. Trust me." Carol saw the way you would hang on his words, how your eyes would rake over him in public like you couldn't wait to get him alone.

That was all Daryl needed before he took off back to his place. His heartbeat was pounding, filling his ears with loud thumps as he approached his porch.

Only to find you there, legs and arms crossed as you sat on his chair. "Where have you been? Been waitin' here to see what you wanted to do today." You pouted at him, adjusting the glittery pink knife in your belt.

You still had it, after all these years. It made him smile whenever he caught a glimpse of it.

"Was lookin' for you all morning, should'a been out here earlier." He cringed inwardly at how desperate his words sounded.

"Damn, can't a girl sleep in? Bed felt too comfy and warm to leave." You snuggled into the chair as if it were your bed.

Daryl pulled up a chair next to you. "I gotcha somethin'. From that boutique we went to." He spoke quietly, his nerves getting the best of him as usual.

"Really? Show me show me!" You were beyond excited, because this was not usual behavior from the grumpy man he had come to be through the years.

He pulled out the gifts and laid them in your lap. Your eyes immediately fell to the dress, expression softening into a happy smile.

"Daryl, is this the dress I showed you at the boutique? I thought I told you it wouldn't look good on me!" You held it up again, the beauty of it now hitting you.

Maybe it's because he picked it out for you.

"Ya' look good in everything." He shrugged. Your face flushed a little bit at his words, suddenly feeling a little shy.

"Thank you." You picked up the jewelry next, examining the color and design. "This is so beautiful, you have good taste!" And finally, you squealed when you looked closer at the perfume bottle.

"Daryl, you're a goddamn genius. This is the perfume I use, how did you know?" Your eyes were wide and bright now, completely surprised by his pick.

Daryl was just as surprised as you. "I didn't. Ya' said you like vanilla." He probably should have ran with it, should have said he knew exactly what you used.

But part of him felt like he had to be honest with you. Like you deserved it.

"Daryl, this is the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me. Like ever, I never knew you were so attentive." Your face was bright red at this point, and that he was most likely seeing it too.

Of course he was attentive. You consumed his every waking thought.

"I'm gonna go try it on." You walked into Daryl's apartment like you owned the place, to change in his bathroom. Daryl waited on the porch for you, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.

When you came back out with the dress on, he damn near had a heart attack. The dress complimented you, as if it was accentuating what was already there. It made you glow.

"What do you think now that it's on?" You struck a pose, your hands on you hips dramatically. Daryl barely had the words, his eyes looking up at you like you hung the moon.

"Beautiful." He managed to get the word out, much to his relief. You were practically bouncing up and down with joy.

"Thank you so much for everything. I loved it so much, everything looks so pretty!" You raced over to him, your thoughts swirling.

And you pulled him into a soft kiss.

Daryl froze in his spot. You were kissing him.

Him. Your entire opposite.

When you felt him go still, you pulled away. "Shit, I'm sorr-" You didn't have time to finish your sentence before he pulled you back into the kiss.

Now he had adjusted and come to the realization that this was real.

He wouldn't let you go this time. "Don't be sorry." He mumbled against your lips, kissing you with his hand cupping your cheek gently.

Daryl deepend the kiss, his hands moving to your waist to hold onto you. His large hands were keeping you pressed against him as if you would vanish if he let go.

After a few minutes of making out with him, Daryl broke away for some air. You snickered at him and bit your lip. "Does this make me your girlfriend?" You looked hopeful, excited for the possibility of finally being his.

Rick was walking by during this, and he noticed the situation right away. You were seated in his lap, freshly separated from a makeout session. Daryl hadn't even noticed the man walk up.

"Waited long enough." He called out to you.

Then Rick saw it. The lipstick stains all over Daryl's lips and stubble. Rick laughed aloud.

"Daryl, you got a little something here." He gestured to his mouth, snickering to himself.

Daryl quickly moved to wipe away the stains, much to your dismay. "Hey! I worked hard on those." You pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving more stains there.

Rick left the two of you alone, going off to tell everyone else.

"He's gonna tell the whole town, you know that right?" Daryl asks you.

"Let him. He's right. It's been a long time comin'." You smiled.

By nightfall, you still haven't found it in you to sleep a wink— the worries you have in your mind throughout the day got replaced with the happy memories you had with your little sisters gradually. 

The memories haunt you every time you close your eyes. 

When you first tried to sleep when Maggie left for her run to town with Glenn, Yaica’s distorted face came to mind and she was moaning, growling, snapping her jaw in your way, and she was reaching out to grab you. You were so scared and worried about your own safety that you ended up digging your knife into her skull. 

You told yourself a hundred times that you will protect them with all your might if they were in this world, too, but deep down, you knew that you wouldn't be able to. Walkers lurk in unexpected places. 

One wrong move would make you lose them. And unfortunately, as if Yaica wasn't enough, Yasmin visited your dream next. 

The little girl had her back turned on you when you drifted off to dreamland, her straight black hair a tangled mess so you had this strong urge to card your fingers through them to untangle them, but the moment you got close enough to touch her, she turned around and lunged. 

Just like with Yaica, your blade sunk down in her skull before she could take a bite out of your arm. You woke up panting and shaking. 

Your dreams.. They were so detailed. 

Since then, you refused to go back to sleep and kept pacing around the house to keep your mind off things— to make you not think of anything else, but your current predicament.

Right now, you're sitting beside Rick in Carl's room. 

When he spotted you walking around the living room, hands tucked under your armpits, eyebrows furrowed with an obvious distraught and distant look in your eyes.. He called for you and asked you to sit with him. 

You did, but not because you wanted to, but because you didn't want to be left alone with your thoughts any longer. 

The two of you sat side by side, knees almost touching, his arm that was resting on the armrest felt too close for comfort, but you didn't move away. His presence grounded you in this reality, and in a way, you're using him as a distraction to not let your head be filled with the memories you have of your family. 

“Hey, Dad, (last name).” 

Both you and Rick snapped back into focus when you heard Carl's voice, making Rick shift in his seat and lean forward. 

“Hey.” Rick croaked out, staring solemnly at his son. 

Carl returned the stare, but his eyes were sparkling with a little hope— a little gratitude, if you will, and all you could do is bring your legs up to your chest and watch the two of them have a stare down. 

It was Rick who broke it though. 

He cleared his throat and he leaned closer to his son's bed, his hand resting on the mattress. “Carl, I told you something earlier today about Sophia..”

The guilt on his voice is clear and you were thankful that Carl had this look of understanding on his face when he decided to cut his father off. 

“I know.” Carl mumbled, eyes flickering to Rick's face. “Mom told me.” 

Silence filled the room. You could see Rick fighting back a relieved smile from crawling into his lips, but he failed anyway, letting a small smile creep into his face as he shook his head. 

“Here I was getting ready to confess.” Rick huffed in annoyance, but there was no real bite behind the words. “I didn't mean to lie. I just didn't want to worry you. It's.. It's a stupid excuse, but it's all I got.”

“It's okay.” Carl assured him, staring sadly at his father. “But.. Do you think we'll find her?”

“I know we will.” Rick affirmed softly, nodding his head, but he paused after, lowering his gaze to the floor. “Well, I don't.. Know, but I truly believe it.” 

Silence filled the space again, the two of them letting the meaning behind those words settle over them. 

“You look tired.” The little boy mumbled, causing the sheriff to let out a breathy snort and let a small smile return to his face. “Both of you look tired.”

You were quite surprised that Carl included you. You did your best to stay quiet so you wouldn't disturbed their father-son bonding time, but it was kind of clear to you that the two of them are still aware of your presence. You are sitting, curled in a ball, beside Rick after all. You are still a distraction either way. 

“I remember I have something to do.” You uttered, unable to stop yourself from escaping their scrutinizing gaze before standing up from your seat and walking around the bed. 

You cast a glance at Carl's way to look at him one more time, only to catch him following you with his gaze. You flashed him a small smile before you could process what you were doing, making him blink and return it tenfold, his lips pulled taut with a small grin. You froze. You immediately realized what you have done. 

You smiled. You flashed Carl a smile. This is dangerous. You weren’t supposed to do that. Smiling means that you’re growing fond of someone. Smiling means that you’re starting to care. You can’t have that. Not under your watch. 

Shaking off the shock from your system, you cleared your throat and wiped the smile off. 

“I'm glad that you're awake, buddy.” You told him, nodding your head once before exiting the room to give them the privacy they deserve. 

From here on out, Rick won't be a sheriff anymore. 

You're sure as fuck that Rick will hand his cowboy hat to his son and take off the sheriff uniform, then he will removed his sheriff uniform from his bag, from his pile of clothing in their tent. You know that he's planning to leave it all behind, but even so, you can't stop your hand from tightening around the sheriff jacket tied around your waist.  

You refuse to let go of the jacket— not now, not ever. It has been a part of you since the beginning. It went through thick and thin with you. You'll be damned if you're going to let it go just because he decided that being a sheriff isn't good for his people anymore. 

He will have to wrestle it out of you if he truly wants it off and honestly, you can put up one hell of a fight.  

Huffing and stomping, you walked towards the front door. However, you paused in your tracks when you spotted Beth walking down the stairs, carrying a tent in her arms. She looked up from the floor and her face brightened up a little when she noticed you. 

“There you are.” The teenager breathed out, her hands pushing the tent into your arms very gently. “Maggie told me to give you this.” 

“A tent?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah.” Beth affirmed, nodding her head as she stared at you. “You can set it up somewhere outside. Your pillow and cot will be delivered to you by Jimmy. He's currently looking for a pillowcase.” 

You looked down to the tent in your arms before looking back up again. You don't know why the Greene sisters are being this thoughtful towards you, but you couldn't stop yourself from feeling grateful. A part of you hoped that they're doing this out of goodwill because they wanted to befriend you, but a part of you already knows that they're just doing this because you're part of Rick's group. 

Still, you forced a smile on your face. 

“Thanks.” You hummed, hugging the tent tightly into your chest. “I truly appreciate the help.” 

“Do you need help setting it up?” Beth asked weakly, blinking down into the pale contour on your face, the worry that webbed into her mind yesterday creeping back in now that she took a proper look at your face.  

“Nah.” You disagreed and shut her offer down almost immediately. “I'll manage. Thanks.” 

“But—” Beth wanted to protest, to be stubborn and offer help but she stopped instantly when you pushed the screen door open and walked out, not bothering to look back and continue your way down across the field. 

You could see the group’s tent in the distance, right under the shades of the trees, so you quickly maneuvered away from that direction. You can’t camp with them if you want to keep them at arm’s length. You have to get away and set your camp somewhere else, just like what Daryl did in the show. 

“Where are ya off to?” Came a gruff voice from behind you when you turned in your heels to get away from everyone. 

You froze in your tracks and your grip on the tent tightened. 

You fought so hard to not pay attention to the archer's words and just walked past him to go to the other side of the farm— away from Rick's group, away from the barn, away from the pond, away from Daryl's tent, because if you're going to slip away in the near future, you have to be discreet and avoid rousing the suspicion of others. 

How are you going to do that? Well, of course, by keeping their noses out of your business. 

“Ya runnin’ off again?” Daryl hissed, grabbing your arm and tugging you back. “After ya almost got yerself killed, ya plannin’ to run off now?” 

The sudden change in your balance causes you to stagger back, your visions swimming for a moment because of the force of his pull, making you let go of the tent and drop it on the grass. Daryl quickly caught you before you could fall and he was grumbling curses under his breath. 

“Can't even get ‘em feet planted on the ground.” He scoffed, bending down to quickly pick up the tent. “C’mon, don't got all night to set this up.” 

“I don't need your help.” You grunted out, pulling your arm off from his grip and stepping away from him. “Stop putting your nose into my business. I can handle myself just fine. If you want to help around here, then just focus on searching for Sophia.” 

You know damn well that Daryl did most of the search for the little girl, but you couldn't stop yourself, the words just spilled out of your mouth. 

“You don't got all night? Yeah, right! Focus on other people's shits if you don't have all night!” You shot back, hand already reaching out to snatch the tent out of his grasp, but he was quick to pull it away from your reach, his lips pulled into a sneer. 

“What got ya all pissy?” Daryl growled, eyeing you up and down. “Ya hungry or somethin'?”

“Just get off my back, Dixon.” You huffed, turning in your heels to walk away from him, not wanting to deal with his ass any longer. 

You decided right then and there that if he doesn't want to give the tent back, then he can have it— and if he wanted to, he might as well shove that up his ass since he seemed particularly taken with that damn tent. 

“Real stubborn.” Daryl grunted, curling his fingers and clutching a fistful of your shirt.  

“What the fuck—” You gasped out in shock, your feet scrambling to find their footing when you got pulled back by the collar of your sleeveless shirt, the tugging coming hard from Daryl's grip as he forced you to move back to where the tents are laid out. 

“Let go of me!” You whispered-yell, trying hard to get out of his tight grip and doing your best to not wake others. 

“Just go sleep, woman.” He murmured with a quiet huff, shoving you inside of his tent and throwing you a blanket that you don't know where it came from. “Can't have another person to look for when we already got our hands full of ‘em search for the lil’ girl.” 

“I don't need to be looked after.” You hissed, but you moved to bury yourself in Daryl's cot and laid out the blanket on top of you. “Just go to hell, Dixon.” 

“Am already there.” He snorted, shooting you a glance before he turned away to start on your tent. 

You watched him disappear from sight, and from the looks of it, he was planning to set up the tent behind where his tent is. You could only sigh, feeling the regret and shame crawling into your veins for acting like a bitch towards someone who is concerned about your well-being. 

You're going to separate yourself from them, sure, but it's no excuse to be an asshole towards him. 

I'll just apologize tomorrow. You grumbled in your mind as you laid on his cot, your eyelids fluttering shut when the exhaustion finally caught up to you. 

You don't know why, but somehow, you feel a whole lot safer now. 

It's quite funny for him to see that you're kicking and yelling at him to let you go, but the moment he throws a blanket your way, you become a little docile, with teeth still bared out at him and cursing him to go to hell. 

He hadn't seen you since morning, and that left him all pissed off at everybody and everything, but the moment he saw you stomping your way out of the house with a tent clutched tightly in your hands, he took the chance to piss you off more because you pissed him off. 

He was slightly annoyed at himself for not finding a single clue about the little girl's whereabouts— just a vague sign that someone small was living in a house not far from the farm, so angering you helps him blow off some steam. 

It's weird, he knows, but it's the only emotion he could rile out of you at the moment. 

With a huff and puff, the redneck started putting up your tent a couple of feet away from his tent. Its flaps are black, and it looked big enough to house yourself and another person, with a couple of bags here and there tossed on the corner. 

When he was done with your tent, Jimmy and Beth came rushing out of the farmhouse with a pillow and a cot.

“Here.” The teenager boy breathed out, panting. 

He held out the cot and the pillow towards Daryl, his eyes glancing at the tent that Daryl had just finished putting up, he sputtered words out, nervous under the intimidating gaze of the redneck, “It's for.. For the woman who donated blood to the little boy—”

“(Last name).” Beth corrected her boyfriend, making her boyfriend clear his throat and nod his head, “Her name is (Last name), Jimmy.” 

“It's for (last name).” Jimmy said, lips pursing. 

Daryl shot them a look before he snatched the cot and pillow from the boy's arms. Beth and Jimmy quickly run away, their breaths ragged as they went as fast as they could to get away from the group’s little campsite. 

Beth couldn't help, but wonder.. Who knew that someone like you would hang out with a man like Daryl? 

“We're going to help Maggie and others with the funeral.” Glenn informed you, making you blink and look away from the ceiling. 

“Huh?” You mumbled and turned to him, eyebrows furrowing. “Oh, for Otis? Okay, be careful.” 

Glenn stared at you for a while, his breathing heavy. He doesn't know what's wrong with you, doesn't know if something has happened to you, doesn't know if you have a lot on your mind. Honestly, he doesn't know shit about you. 

All he knows is that you've been extra closed off than you were compared when all of you are still back at the Quarry. 

You have been acting strange since CDC, since Daryl had you sitting with him on his truck, since you keep disappearing on them, but reappearing on crucial times. He doesn't know if something happened between the two of you, but it's not like the archer would do anything to you, right? 

You did assure him that Daryl wouldn't hurt you. 

He doesn't want to assume— of course not, but with the way you're acting right now, he has a hunch that you're shutting people off harder. He’s not the brightest bulb in the shed, but he could tell that much. 

Even though you were always keeping an eye on the kids, even though you the first one to run after Sophia when she was chased by those walkers, even though you were the last one to come back when Sophia went missing, even though you were the first one to run towards the church when the bells first rung, even though you donated blood to Carl and is still doing it.. It still felt like you had those impenetrable walls around you. 

A part of him knows that Daryl is slowly coming around, but you? You're colder than Antarctica.You show that you care, but at the same time, you always pull away every chance you get. Glenn and T-Dog tried to understand your reasons, tried to scope out if you have any ill intention, tried to see if you're worth keeping in the group even though they have no rights to do so, and soon, they found themselves getting pulled by your presence alone. 

You're quiet, reserved, and always keep things to yourself. You refuse to speak up unless you were asked. You refuse to back down and would take Rick's side no matter how messy things get. 

It's confusing. 

Are you part of the group, because you like all of them? Or are you part of the group, because it's beneficial for you— 

“If you're not going to help them like you said, then I will.” You grumbled under your breath and stood up, feeling slightly annoyed to see Glenn just standing by the doorway of the living room and simply staring at you. 

Glenn snapped out of his thoughts, his face paling a little when he realized that he had stared at you longer than he intended. 

“No!” He exclaimed and rushed to stop you, hands holding your arm and pushing you back down into the couch. “Just sit down and rest, okay? Me and T-Dog got it. You don't have to move.” 

You let out a grunt, eyes flickering up to look at him. “You sure? I got enough rest already and T-Dog is injured, I can help—”

“Don't bother.”

You stopped yourself from finishing your sentence when you heard Rick's voice cut through the air, his footsteps echoing slightly in the room as he made his way to your and Gelnn’s spots. 

“Go, Glenn.” Rick ordered, making the asian man nod his head and rush out. 

You watched Glenn walk out of the house, jogging his way towards the shade of the trees up front. You wanted to help, to make yourself useful, to offer service towards the man who didn't deserve to die, but you knew that Rick wouldn't let you. 

“I heard from Hershel that you gave more blood than I did.” Rick started, walking in front of you to block your sight of the door. “Thank you. If it weren't for you, he wouldn't have pulled through.” 

“Don't sweat it.” You muttered, tearing your gaze away and focusing on the floor instead. 

“No, (last name).” The cop insisted and got down on your eye level, kneeling on his right knee, his arm resting on his knee as he looked at you. “You've done more than enough, more than I did, and I'll be forever grateful for that.” 

“Mmn.” You grunted, keeping your eyes down on the floor. 

The cop stared at you for a moment before he got off his knee and sighed. He knew that you've been extra silent for the past few days. He could tell, and he knew that others could tell, too. Unfortunately, no one knows why— that much is obvious. 

He could see you interacting more with Glenn and T-Dog though, but based on what he had heard earlier, he figured that Glenn doesn't know what's wrong also. 

“Alright.” Rick sighed, raising a hand to massage his jaw. “I'll go check on Carl.” 

“Mhmm.” You hummed, still not looking at him.

Rick cast one last glance at your hunch figure, then he made his way through the living room to get to Carl's temporary room. 

This is for the best. You thought, eyebrows furrowing.

It's decided. You will separate yourself from the group after the farm burns into ashes— by then, Shane is dead and no one will be able to threaten him. They will be able to get through winter, because they have Rick, Maggie, Daryl, T-Dog, and Glenn protecting them. 

If you were to continue sticking with them, you'll just be another mouth to feed. They’ll have to worry about another person. They already have Hershel, Beth, Lori, and Carl to worry about, so if you tagged along with them, you’ll be just a burden. It’s not like you’re saying the four latter are a burden, but you will be. 

You don’t want to be a burden to the group. 

After an hour of just rotting on the couch, the door swung open and those who had prepared the funeral walked in. Maggie made a beeline towards you, making you blink at her in confusion. 

“Did you have a good night's rest?” Maggie asked, taking a seat on the vacant spot beside you. 

You responded with a nod of your head. 

“That's a relief..” The woman mumbled, her eyes trailing down onto the floor. “Thank you.. About.. You know, last night. You were tired, but you still listened.” 

“Mhmm.”  

“I wasn't expecting you and Glenn to do that, because of.. You know, but.. The two of you made it feel better.” Maggie added quietly, forcing her eyes up to take a glance at your face. “You're a good person. A really good person.” 

Her words touched a sensible part of you, even though you weren't supposed to. You didn't mean to eavesdrop on their conversation last night, either, but after Maggie found out from Shane that Otis had sacrificed himself for the boy— which is a load of bullshit, by the way, Maggie stormed off. 

You got worried. You knew Glenn would be there for her, but you eavesdropped anyway and got caught. Instead of getting mad and sending you away, both Glenn and Maggie made you stay. Maggie started babbling and crying about her step mother, step brother, and her neighbors. 

She talked about the good times they had before everything went to shit, before walkers roamed the surface, before the new world hit the fan. You could only listen to her, unable to say or do anything. Apparently, that was enough to make her feel better.  

You're a good person, she says, but you don't feel the same. 

You're not a good person— you're far from it. A good person wouldn't utter lies after lies, wouldn't pretend that they're someone who can do good, wouldn't pretend that they matter when they actually don't. You're not a good person, and hearing Maggie say it makes your heart ache. 

You're a good person. 

Yaica used to say the same thing, her voice always smooth and soft, while comforting you whenever you're having self deprecating thoughts. 

Thinking back to those days, you couldn't help, but think of the other three people you love. 

Wanna go out and walk? Yasmin would ask you out of nowhere, without context or anything— not waiting for your response either, but you knew deep down that she was able to tell that something is up when you go quiet instead of bantering with her like usual. 

Do you want me to make your favorite drink? Lawrence would ask, but whenever he did, he would have it ready and just have to give it to you. 

You wanna play or you wanna watch something? Camille often asks when she could sense that something is wrong, because unlike the previous three, she's not that fan of moving too much and would rather stay in one place. 

The four of them have their own ways of showing they care and you love them for it. You know that if shits start to go down, they will always have your back like how you have Rick's back. Their loyalty is something that you will never trade for anything in the world, but the universe has a funny way of tearing loyal people apart. 

You buried your face in your hands, and Maggie knew that you're not in the right state of mind to actually continue a conversation. With a single pat on your shoulder, Maggie quietly excused herself and walked out of the house. 

You let yourself drown in your own thoughts, the memories of your little sisters and younger cousins flashing right before your eyes like a goddamn movie. You remembered vividly how fun it was for all of you to rewatch the show— to get annoyed at Shane and Andrea together, to cuss Merle out and other stupid characters, to cheer and gush over your favorite characters.. You remembered the moments clearly, and maybe that's why you can't feel yourself accepting this is your reality now. 

After who knows how long, Maggie and the others finally walked back inside the house. 

As usual, for the past couple of days, Glenn and T-Dog plopped themselves down on either side of you on the couch, their shoulders tense and their gazes glued on the doorway that leads to where Carl is currently confined. 

While staring at the empty doorway, particular sounds came from the front of the house. 

The sound of the RV, the truck, and Daryl's motorcycle reached your ears, catching everyone else's attention and making them stand up from their own respective places. 

“I'll get them.” T-Dog stated and stood up, walking across the room to get Rick and Lori. 

“I’ll see what I can do to help.” Glenn mumbled, pushing himself off the couch as well and strode through the room to get to the front door, not even bothering to wait for your response. He didn’t even shoot you a look and just left you alone. 

Whatever.. It's okay, it's their moment to shine. You told yourself before sinking back into the couch. 

You don't know why Glenn brushing you off like that hurt you, but you convinced yourself that it's for the best, that keeping them at arm's length is better than hurting yourself later when you have to go. Still though, it stung the hell out of you. 

Sighing quietly to yourself, you pushed yourself off the couch and decided to just take a look at Carol. Though you already know that she has Daryl, it wouldn't hurt to check on the grieving mother. So, following behind Patricia and Jimmy as they exited the house, you walked through the door with a slight stagger. 

“Hunting accident.” Rick informed everyone present, the relief in his voice evident. “That's all. Just a stupid accident.”

You leaned against the railing of the porch and watched as they looked at Rick with different expressions— some were relieved, some were neutral, and some looked like they had been blessed by the Messiah. Seeing that all of them have their own opinion about Carl's situation, you pivoted in your heels to go back inside. 

“Rick, what happened to (last name)?” 

Of course, the sweetest woman of the group had to notice you, which made the other people turn their attention to you, causing you to stiffen. 

“She.. She did a few blood transfusions.” The sheriff answered, his voice trailing off as if he was looking for the right words. “Pretty sure that Hershel drew more blood from her than mine. Thanks to her also, Carl became stable.” 

“She gave me blood, too.” T-Dog spoke up, making them look at him.

Great. Now they'll think I did something good. You grumbled in your mind, swinging the door open and walking back inside. 

Everyone watched as you stormed off— well, tried to storm off, but storming off is far from what you did, because you were staggering in your feet and were extremely pale in comparison to Rick. 

“What's her problem?” Daryl scoffed. 

“She probably went back in to check on Carl.” Rick stated, placing both of his hands on his hips while keeping his gaze trained on the closed screen door, eyebrows furrowed in worry. 

“She was the one who helped Carl when he got shot while I was in shock after all.” 

Both you and Rick walked out of the house, with him holding you upside against him because you had just finished giving Carl your blood. 

You feel light headed and nauseous, but you knew it had to be done. 

“Carefully.” Rick grunted out, before bringing you over to the porch’s railing and had you lean your weight against it, with his hand staying on your upper back just in case, “Stay seated here. Don't want you running off somewhere, too.” 

“It's not like I can walk on my own right now.” You grumbled, leaning your head into the pillar beside you. “I feel like shit. It's not a feeling you want to feel when looking for someone.” 

“Fair point.” Rick chuckled dryly, placing his free hand on his hip as he looked out into the distance. 

The air between you two grew silent, unspoken words lingering and hanging above your heads like a guillotine, but neither of you wanted to speak, so you let the silence hang comfortably. 

Not a minute after the two of you walked out of the house, the front door creaked open. 

Rick looked over, eyebrows furrowed, before looking away to admire the entirety of Hershel's farm. “This place is beautiful.”  

“Been in my family 160 years.” Hershel huffed out, proud. 

“I can't believe how serene it is.” Rick commented, turning to look at the doctor again. “How untouched. You're lucky.” 

“We.. We weren't completely unscathed.” Hershel grumbled, keeping his eyes on the field in front of his house, a look of sadness crossing his gaze, “We lost friends, neighbors. The epidemic took my wife, my stepson.” 

“I’m sorry.” The cop said, lowering his gaze. 

“My daughters were spared.” Hershel added, casting a brief glance towards Rick. “I'm grateful to God for that. These people here, all we have left of each other. Just hoping we can ride it out in peace ‘till there's a cure.”

“Cure.” You echoed, voice low and quiet, as you snorted. 

“What's so funny, girl?” The old man asked, his gaze flickering towards the back of your head. 

There's no cure, Hershel. Everyone is infected. You thought, leaning all of your weight against the pillar beside you and ignoring him, just letting yourself become invisible as much as you could before Lori arrives. 

It's her job to soothe Rick's pain, not yours. When you offered comfort towards the crying cop, Hershel mistook you as his wife. It made you uncomfortable— super uncomfortable. Rick is a married man and Lori is still alive. Being mistaken as someone's wife when that someone is married to a living person makes you feel sick to your stomach. 

You have to set a clear boundary. You let out a sigh, and Rick took that as a cue to tell Hershel what happened back at the CDC. 

“We were at the CDC.” The former sheriff started, his eyes looking out in the field once more. “It's gone now. Exploded. There is no cure.” 

But of course, the old man is stubborn. 

“I don't believe it.” Hershel chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “When AIDS came along, everyone panicked. One boy in town came down with it and some parents pulled their children from school, so they didn't have to sit in the same room.”

“This is a whole other thing, doc.” You grumbled, making both men look at you. 

“That's what we always say..” Hershel rebutted to your words, causing you to let out a deep breath and shake your head in disappointment. “This one's different.”  

“Well, this one is.” Rick insisted. 

“Mankind has been fighting plagues from the start.” Hershel huffed, the stubbornness in his voice loud and clear. “We get our behinds kicked for a while, then we bounce back. It's nature correcting herself, restoring some balance.” 

“I wish I could believe that.” The cop sighed, looking away from Hershel to glance at the field. 

You could see Maggie and Lori from your spot, so you're sure that Rick and Hershel could see them, too. The sheriff deputy didn't waste any time to let go of your back and walked around the doctor to get down the porch steps, meeting his wife halfway. 

“That's his wife.” You muttered, causing Herself to look at you. “They've been married since before shit hit the fan.” 

Rick and Lori rushed inside the house, not bothering to give the doctor a look. Hershel didn't stop them, just letting them run towards their unconscious little boy. He knows he’s in no place to comment about your relationship with anyone. You’re a stranger. 

“Huh.” The veterinarian mumbled, tearing his gaze away from the screen door. “I'm sorry for assuming.” 

“No need.” You huffed, weakly waving him off with your left hand, “I suggest walking inside to check up on them. Rick looks like he will collapse any moment now, you know?” 

“You look as bad as him.” Maggie commented, her gaze flickering towards you. 

“Touche.” You chuckled, but the sound was forced. 

The father and daughter could tell that it was a forced one, but they decided to not just comment on it. Maggie sent her father a nod before walking away with the horse she used to pick up Lori from the group. 

“Come on.” Hershel spoke up and walked over to the door. “The little boy needs more blood.” 

“Can't Rick do it for now?” 

“Rick first, then you.” Hershel explained, opening the screen door and waiting for you. “We can't take too much blood from him and risk him collapsing. There's two of you, so we'll make do with you, too.” 

You pursed your lips and didn't move for a second. You wanted to see if Herself is testing you,or kidding you. When you were watching the show, Rick did just fine donating blood to his son— albeit he looked like a ghost after every transfusion, but he still managed to do it just fine. 

So, what's the difference now? 

“(Last name).” Hershel called you once more, his tone sounding a little firm. “Come on.” 

“Alright.” You grumbled, swinging your legs and planting your feet down onto the porch. “I was hoping that I'll get to let my heart pump more blood for me before it's my turn to give blood, but I guess not.” 

Hershel didn't say anything to that and let you walk inside the house first. He made sure to see you walk inside the room where Carl was before he followed behind you. He walked inside the room, his eyes landing on his stethoscope and the blood pressure monitor on the bedside table. 

You walked over to the vacant seat and settled yourself over it, your hand quickly finding purchase on your head. 

Half an hour passed and Rick was done donating his blood to his son. Patricia walked over to the chair Rick was sitting on and pulled the needle out before turning to Carl to pull out the needle from his arm. 

Rick stood up, legs wobbling. 

“Slow, slow, slow.” Lori mumbled, holding out a hand to assist her husband back to his seat. “How many transfusions?” 

“Two.” Rick answered, breathing ragged. “Only two.” 

Lori paused for a second, then shook her head. “He wanted to do the same for you when you were in the hospital. I had to talk him out of it.” 

You and Rick snorted at that, making Lori look at you.  

“If you knew how much Carl was devastated when he couldn't do a transfusion for both you and his dad, you would have a hard time making him stop crying, too.” Lori huffed, the tone of her voice light-hearted, but you could tell that she was telling the truth. 

You forced a smile on your face and nodded. Honestly, you can't remember much about what happened, about what happened to you for you to be shot, and how bad the wound was for you to be sent to the hospital. 

When you woke up, you didn't feel any pain in your body. You haven't checked properly— especially back at the CDC, but you know for sure that you weren't shot. If you were, you would have been as disoriented as Rick when he first came around, but you weren't. You were far from disoriented. 

Rick and the others who knew you told you that you're a computer genius, but what really is your work? 

You could hunt, you could handle a knife just fine, you could throw the said knife with lethal precision, you could see trails only a seasoned hunter could see, you could differentiate a trail from a human to an animal, and you could climb trees as if you were a monkey. 

An office lady who's a computer genius couldn't have known how to do those things, right? 

What was the (Full name) of this world doing? What was she doing before she settled in Rick's town? What was her goal approaching the main cast of the show? 

You have so many unanswered questions, but all that is left is a deafening silence. You still have a few fragments in your mind, but the memories left on your brain aren't enough to actually give you the full backstory of the body you're inhabiting. You could only trust the snippets Rick, Lori, and Carl are telling you, but you don't know how many more of those snippets will come up in the near future. 

Silently, you watched as the married couple walked out of the room, leaving you, Patricia, and Hershel. 

You stood up from your chair and walked over to where Rick was previously sitting, then you dropped your whole weight into it, making the chair creak unceremoniously. Patrica didn't seem to mind at all, because she merely grabbed your arm and looked at your skin to see where she could stab the needle. 

“Have you and Rick known each other for a long time?” Hershel asked, just in time for Patricia to push the needle into your skin. 

You flinched and let out a groan, but you didn't pull away. 

“Yeah, it seems so.. What about it?” You answered, your eyes squeezing shut as you bear with the stinging sensation of the needle left behind. 

“Seems so?” The doctor prodded, pulling the stethoscope away from his ears. 

“Can't remember much.” You grumbled, slowly cracking your eyes open when you felt Patricia pat your shoulder. “They said I was shot, but I really can't remember much. I just woke up in the hospital with Rick. That's it.” 

“You were shot, but you can't remember?” Hershel repeated, turning his head to look at you. “Do you have any medical history that you remember about?” 

You answered his question with a shake of your head. 

You don't even know why you're entertaining the old man's inquiries. You haven't talked this much since you and Rick's group left the Quarry, but with Hershel, he made it feel like everything will be okay— that it's okay to let your guard down and be honest.

It's a weird feeling. It's the same feeling you get whenever you go to visit your grandfather and uncle.  

Your grandfather.. He was a stoic, overzealous, pious man, but he's fair, he's just, and he's not always regarding every single thing in life from the Bible. He loves his family, and he's always there whenever his grandchildren need a helping hand about something. He's a man of a few words, but those few words always leave an impact on who it was directed at. 

Your grandfather and Hershel, they're somehow the same. Stoic, but kind. Diplomatic, but would keep a job done. 

Maybe that's why you feel safe and relaxed around Hershel. He looked kind of similar to your grandfather in a way— with his white hair and beard and all that shit.  

You looked over to Hershel, finding him already staring at you, patiently waiting for your answer. 

You huffed and shook your head, eyebrows furrowing. “Told you, didn't I? I can't remember much. I couldn't even remember why I was shot, or why I was in the hospital in the first place.” 

“Perhaps you hit your head?” Hershel suggested, standing up from his seat. “Maybe you got shot and hit your head in the process. It's not uncommon to happen, but that could also be the case.” 

“That's one hell of a hit then.” You muttered, shifting in your chair. 

After your shared kiss, a silence fell between you and Daryl. Not an unpleasant one, just a moment of awe and shock at what had just occurred.

Daryl had meant to cook you a simple meal, and yet it ended in a mess of orange powder and his lips on yours.

Daryl had been the first to break the comfortable silence. “Been waitin’ to do that for a while now.” He smiled at you, his hand drifting down to your waist to keep you close.

This finally felt right. A man who held you without force.

Without pain.

“Me too.” You swiped off the powder from his chest, your touch making Daryl flush bright red. 

“Can’t wait to do it again.” Daryl grinned.

“Oh yeah? Anything else you feel like doing?” You offered him a wink. Daryl’s face went bright red at your comment and he gave you a nervous laugh. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. Because, fuck did he think of you during those late nights sitting on the porch with a cigarette, shifting in his seat after mental images of you in those tight jeans you always wear.

But he was concerned for you. Spencer had such an effect on you, and Daryl would hate to force you into anything just because of his feelings.

“Wouldn’t you like ta’ know.” He patted your hip gently and moved away.

“I would actually-” You started to speak, but then Daryl cut you off by putting a finger up to his lips to signal you to stay silent.

The gates were opening. The shuttering sounds of metal reminded you that your time is up.

Spencer was back. But, so was Rick.

And Daryl had an idea. First, however, he had to make sure you were okay. 

“Hey, s’gonna be alright. I’ll be with ya’ the whole time.” Daryl eyed your anxious movement, how your eyes fluttered towards the door like you wanted to go to him. “Just tell me what ya’ wanna do.” 

“Wanna show him m’not scared anymore.” You grabbed one of the pistols Daryl had lying around, just in case things got violent. 

“Ya’ think he’ll try somethin’?” Daryl furrowed his brow, wondering if he should let you go if Spencer tried to fight.

“Nah, never in front of everyone. Just in case he pulls anything.” You holstered his gun and opened the blinds slightly to get a good look at what was going on outside.

Daryl felt a pang of electricity run through him at the sight of you grabbing his gun, handling it, using it. He felt like a teenager in love.

You headed towards the door, and Daryl stopped you with a hand in front of the door. You felt the briefest amount of joy at his actions. It wasn’t a harsh grab to the wrist or a yank of your arm.

It was gentle.

“I got an idea. Can I tell Rick about what’s been goin’ on? Promise to tell him only what’s important. Maybe we could get this asshole arrested.” Daryl asked your permission to tell Rick, because it was ultimately your choice of whether this news came out or not.

“Yes, you can tell him. But are you sure you can handle him? He’s not exactly going to be cooperative.” Spencer was fucking massive, definitely holding a few inches difference from Daryl and Rick.

“Hell yeah.” Daryl scoffed as if it were a stupid question.

You both took a pause and exited Daryl’s apartment, taking off to the gate where Spencer, Rick, and Abraham had just arrived.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed as he caught a glimpse of Spencer talking to Abraham about where to put the supplies they had acquired. 

Spencer felt a pair of eyes on him, leading him to turn around to glance in your direction. The sight of your cast made him drop what he was doing.

Because he gave you instructions. To stay.

And yet here you are, a cast on your arm and wearing a tank top to show the whole community your bruising.

While Spencer stayed frozen as he looked you over, suddenly aware of the number of people who were observing your new injury with suspicion. Daryl snaked his way to Rick, his fists balled up so tightly he thought he’d break his fingers. Spencer was right there.

Except this was your fight, your chance to finally stand up to him. And he owed you that.

“Rick, we needa’ talk.” Daryl waved him over, glancing at Spencer as he slowly approached you. “See that cast? See the bruises?” Daryl didn’t have to say much; Rick made the connection within seconds. 

“Daryl, you gotta be sure. If we accuse him without knowin’ for sure-”

“Found her with a broken arm 2 days ago. He pushed her into a wall, her words.” Daryl wasn’t even looking at Rick, his eyes glued to the man approaching you.

“And I didn’t even realize. Want me to cuff him? We got that cell down there that we could put him in.” Daryl enjoyed the fact that sometimes his mind worked in tandem with Rick’s.

“Ya’ damn right I do. Let’em talk first.” Daryl approached you, finding a spot right next to you, much to Spencer’s dismay.

“Thought I told you to stay home, honey. You need to rest.” Spencer used a soft voice, approaching you with open arms.

You just laughed, watching as his sad smile fell. “Honey? You have no right to call me that anymore.”

Spencer’s eye twitched as he fought to regain his composure. “I’m sorry I left, I promised you that I’d bring you somethin’ back.” He offered you a ring. “A real one, one that you deserve.”

So, instead of giving in to the hope that he might change, you walked up to him. “You can shove your ring where the sun don’t shine!” You snatched the ring from him and chucked it across the road.

You took a breath in what seemed like forever, a weight lifting off your shoulders. Guess the wedding’s off. You thought.

Spencer glanced at his surroundings, eyes falling on people with shocked looks on their faces. Particularly, his eyes fluttered to Carol, who was hiding her own smirk.

That was it.

“You think you can talk to me this way in front of everyone? Why don’t we go back to my place to talk this out?” Spencer held his hands up in a way that spoke, ‘I’m innocent’.

“Why? So you can break my other arm? No, I want you right here.” You pointed to the current cast you had on your left arm.

Spencer growled at your sassy response. “Goddamn it, can you just fucking listen to me?” Spencer began to approach you, fiery anger reflecting in his eyes.

“Take one more damn step.” Daryl aimed his crossbow at Spencer, causing him to back up a few steps.

“Fuck. It’s Daryl, isn’t it? He got into your fucking head. Lied to you.” Spencer’s words hit you hard. Maybe because it was partly true, Daryl was a big reason why you decided to do this. 

But it was your choice.

“No. Daryl let me make my decision. You wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

“You fucking bitch-” Spencer pulled something out of his belt. Nobody saw what it was, but Daryl didn’t hesitate to charge at him, punching his arm to get him to drop it.

It was at this moment that Rick decided to run up behind Spencer with the cuffs. The metallic clatter on the pavement told everyone that it was a knife. 

Daryl shoved Spencer’s arms backward to allow Rick to cuff him. Spencer fought back, attempting to yank his arms away and snake out of their grasp.

But it was useless; the two men had overpowered him with ease. “Ya’ got him?” Daryl glanced at the direction of the jail cell. Rick nodded. “I’ll have Abraham help me out. You go to her.”

Daryl didn’t need to be told twice. He practically ran over to you, standing in front of you to shield you from Spencer being taken away.

“Deep breaths. I’m here.” Daryl took your shaking hands in his, watching you carefully. Your whole body felt like it was on fire.

Spencer was actually going to attack you in front of everyone.

Your whole body shook in response to the utter adrenaline of the entire ordeal. It was finally over. He was gone.

Daryl watched as your legs began to tremor, and he understood the impending fall if he didn’t interfere now. “Can I carry you?” He was leaning forward to meet your eyes, trying desperately to ensure that you understood how safe you were with him.

“Yes, don’t think I can stand much longer.” Daryl scooped you up without a second thought, his shoulder muscles flexing against your skin as he held you close to his chest.

The couch felt like a saving grace as Daryl set you down. Daryl kneeled in front of you, looking up at you to meet your eyes. “You did so good.” He praised you, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off your forehead. 

“Made that motherfucker pay.” Your words slurred as exhaustion hit you suddenly.

Daryl smiled at you and pushed your hair out of your face so you could breathe and collect yourself. “Was badass.” 

The couch dipped when he sat next to you. “Ya’ need anything else?” Daryl wanted to hold you so much in this moment, but that was up to what you were comfortable with.

“No, you’ve already done so much for me over these past few days.” A twinge of guilt hit you. 

“You deserve it,” Daryl spoke softly, but it was enough to confirm how you felt about him. You moved closer to him, pressing your head against him.

Daryl gently lifted his arm to wrap it around you, the silence between you speaking a thousand words. Leaning into his chest, you breathed in his addictive scent. You felt yourself unravel instantly, and your fear and anxiety about what came next melted away.

“You didn’t have to do that, y’know?” You spoke absentmindedly, not giving Daryl the full context of your thought.

“Do what?” He glanced down at you. Nervously, he ran through everything he did today in case you were mad at him. He’d want to make it right.

But it was the opposite. “Charging Spencer like that. He could have killed you…” You would never forgive yourself if Daryl had died because he was doing what you were too scared to do for months.

“He could’a killed you too. Would rather it be me.” He shrugged, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“I was just so scared, Daryl. He wasn’t even hiding his actions anymore.” You felt tears well in your eyes as you stared off into the distance.

Daryl noticed you phasing in and out of focus, giving you time to overthink. He decided to take a risk.

His hands found your waist, gently moving you to sit in his lap. Not with anything else in mind but comforting you. “I know. But you’re here with me, you’re safe here.” He held you close to him, hoping this proximity and touch were enough to bring you back from your thoughts.

Silence settled into the room as Daryl felt your body relax on top of him, the tension beginning to leave you within minutes of sitting in his grasp.

You finally felt yourself come back from the fear, the worry. And instead, you became hyperaware of what was happening right now.

Daryl’s hands on your thighs. 

This felt new, a different feeling that made you feel safe and wanted for the first time in months. It felt like you could trust him, and that he wouldn’t abandon you, wouldn’t force you.

Daryl felt this too, a gentle pulse of desire that had only grown in the time you’d been calming down. 

You met his gaze and paused to dwell on that feeling, and there was something unspoken. A sense of safety that brought in only one thought: release.

You shuddered as a lustful wave washed over you with sudden onset. You glanced down at his hand.

“This okay?” Daryl checked in with you, unsure of whether you were ready for anything. You gave him a nod.

“Need words.” He pressed his forehead to yours.

“Please, Daryl.” You needed a release. A way to get this adrenaline out and make you forget about everything.

The sound of his name on your lips made him weak. “Wanna make ya’ feel good. Wanna help you relax.” He moved closer to you, pressing his lips onto yours in a soft way, as if you were about to shatter in his hands.

“Fuck, please-” You pulled away from the kiss to whimper a response, rolling your hips against his obvious growing bulge. 

Daryl grunted softly in response, his lips moving to your neck to place gentle, loving kisses down your heated skin. 

Heat fluttered through your body when Daryl lifted you off his waist and laid you down onto the couch. He placed his large hands on your knees, slowly bringing them apart.

To have you, underneath him, looking up at him like he was worthy. The feeling was heavenly.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” He paused, his face right above yours, ready to stop or continue after hearing you.

“Daryl, just keep going, please.” Shit, there was his name again. He strangled his groan by placing some more sweet kisses along your jawline, his hands hesitantly landing on your waist.

You were special to him; he was just so nervous to accidentally push you too far or do something that you didn’t like.

“Need your hands on me.” You whined pitifully, your fingers moving to run through his hair. That was all the permission that Daryl needed to move. His hands wandered up your shirt, yanking it up to touch your breasts. 

Waves of pleasure rushed through you as you tugged at Daryl’s hair, earning a groan from him. Those sounds made your core heat up in arousal. Daryl was being so vocal.

Daryl grabbed the bottom hem of your shirt and gently pulled it over your head, his eyes immediately falling to your bra, which was ill-fitted given the situation the world was in. You didn’t exactly have time to go bra shopping.

But Daryl didn’t notice, his hands inched behind you to unclasp your bra and bring it away from your skin with a long-winded kiss to your neck.

His breath hitched quietly upon seeing your bare chest. It was almost too much for him.

He pushed on, his lips moving down your body, stopping at where your shorts met your waist. 

You felt his eyes glancing up at yours through his long brown hair as he fumbled with the button and zipper. 

As your shorts were pulled off your legs, Daryl’s lips never left you, placing sloppy kisses over your hips and thighs. The sight of him so attentive made you moan as you helped him pull the shorts off.

Sitting up, your hands fell to his belt, fingers splayed across the belt buckle. Daryl grabbed your hands in his. “Jus’ wanna make you feel good.” Daryl gently pressed his hand onto your shoulder and eased you back down. 

“But Daryl…” Your eyes fell onto the hard on that pressed against his black jeans. Judging by the imprint in his pants, he looked fucking massive.

“I’ll handle it later, you need takin’ care of,” Daryl mumbled against your skin, his hands roaming your body, moving down to play with the hem of your panties.

You hummed a quiet moan and gave him a nod. It felt a little strange not to have to do anything in return, but when he was being so gentle, so sweet.

Your mind went blank.

Daryl gripped your panties and began to pull them down. “You still okay with this?” 

Daryl knew you were vulnerable, and he wanted nothing more than to taste you, to make you release the months' worth of tension and bullshit that you had endured.

“Yes, fuck just touch me-” Your own voice surprised you, the whiny tone expressing how desperate you were.

It was your whines that made Daryl shudder as he pulled your last garment off, his lips hurriedly making their way to your inner thighs. 

Fuck, you were just the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d dreamed of this for months in his own jealous rage. Fucked his own fist to the thought of you, groaning your name into a pillow as if you’d hear him from next door.

You swallowed a moan, your hips bucking into him with sheer anticipation. Daryl wasn’t meaning to tease you, but the way his stubble dragged across your sensitive thighs, mere inches away from your pussy.

It was agonizing.

You were about to cry out another plea, begging for his touch in any capacity, but the words died on your tongue when he finally gave you what you needed.

Daryl licked one long strip up your core, his nose pressed against you. He took you in as if you were his last moment on Earth. His tongue flattened to shamelessly lap at your pussy. 

Within seconds, your hands flew to his hair, yanking gently as he continued. Your moans got louder, mixed with breathless whimpers as Daryl took his time sucking on your clit.

Your legs trembled next to his head, threatening to close up as your hips bucked desperately into his face. God, he was messy, his beard soaked in your wetness as he ate you out hungrily. “Gotta open those legs f’me, girl,” He mumbled in a low voice, his heated breath hitting your core and making a shiver run through you.

And you really tried to keep them open, but fuck, when he was flicking his tongue over your clit, with his rough fingers teasing your entrance. It was nearly impossible. “Can’t-fuck” you sucked in a sharp breath and threw your head back, a loud whine coaxed from your mouth.

Daryl wrapped his arms around your hips, lifting them to bring them towards his face, the new angle allowing him to get deeper into where you need him the most.

His tongue slipped inside your pussy, his hands pressed firmly into your hips to keep you there.

You could hardly focus on a single thought; your broken sobs matched your desperate, arched back as you begged for more.

More what? You had no idea. His fingers replaced his tongue this time, pressing his middle finger into your core. “Could do this all damn day, makin’ those pretty sounds f’me.” He let out his own sounds this time, deriving pleasure from seeing you squirm and try to escape the immense pleasure he was giving you.

“Daryl, please, I’m so close-” Your pussy clenched around his finger. Daryl felt a tiny bit of pride at how easily you fell apart for him, but he kept going anyway. 

Daryl thrusted his finger into you, his tongue teasing your clit and sucking on it, smirking at the moans he pulled out of you.

“Give it to me, that’s it.” He looked up at you from his position, and you looked so fucked out, so messy and flushed for him. All for him.

Your hips bucked relentlessly, locked in by his arms around them as you practically rode his face, a familiar warm feeling in your core starting to turn into a dull need.

And then you let go with a loud cry of his name and a mix of curses. “Fuck oh my god-” Your whole body shook as your orgasm ran through you, the feeling electrifying.

Daryl took what you gave him like a starved man, his tongue circling your clit, humming as you rode out your orgasm. Your hands were firmly gripping his hair now, yanking harshly to hold onto anything that would help you ride through the waves of pleasure swimming through you. Daryl moaned softly into your cunt as you yanked his hair, making your hips jolt in shock and arousal.

Daryl dragged out your orgasm as long as you would let him, lost in the taste of you, the gorgeous sound you made, the way you roughly rode his face as if you couldn’t get enough.

He could have came right there.

Sensitive pleasure made you hiss, the sound earning you one last kiss to your cunt as Daryl pulled away.

God, the way he looked after eating you out. Beard absolutely soaked, his eyes clouded with lust and adoration, and precum creating a wet spot in his jeans.

Daryl moved up your body to place a sweet kiss onto your forehead, smirking at your still-trembling frame. He sat on his heels and brought his fingers up to his mouth, savoring your taste as he stared into your eyes. Your head flew back at the pure, dirty actions of the man in front of you.

After letting out a quiet laugh at your reaction, he grabbed a damp towel and wiped off the mess he had made between your thighs. “Feelin’ better?” Daryl could hardly think straight, his hard-on pressed against his jeans so tight he thought they would bust open.

“How long have you been holding back that talent? Could’a used that the past few weeks.” You grabbed your underwear that Daryl had tossed away to get to taste you.

“Could’a just asked.” Daryl knelt beside you, pressing stray kisses along your forehead and neck.

“You’re sure you don’t want my help with this?” You licked your lips as you ran a hand over his crotch. Daryl’s hips bucked against your hand instinctively. His face flushed a brighter red than yours when he went down on you.

“Nah, tonight was about you.” He moved your hands away, pressing a soft kiss on them.

Over many weeks, you progressively felt stronger, more adapted to life outside of worrying about what Spencer might do next. As you healed physically and emotionally, you began to feel more comfortable with the people in Alexandria.

But especially Daryl

After that night where he ate you out like a man starved, your mind felt clouded and hazy anytime he was near you. Every time his hand brushed against your body, a shudder ran through you.

You felt like a lovesick teenager, the way your body reacted to his moves. And the worst part was,

He didn’t even know.

The more he put his hands on you, the more desperate you became for his attention. And he had no idea the effect he had on you. 

“Denise treat ya’ good?” Daryl was sitting on the porch when you got back from visiting Denise to get your cast off. 

“Yeah! Feels like I got a new arm or something.” You paused, an idea popping into your head to get under his skin. “What’cha doin’ today?” While asking the question, you plopped down into his lap, where he sat on his chair.

Daryl nearly choked, his hands flying to your waist to stabilize you. “I-uh” He stuttered, “On watch tonight. Got the whole day off.” He swallowed hard when you adjusted your position in his lap to look at him.

“Daryl, can you please teach me how to use your crossbow? It looks so fucking cool, and you have the whole day off.” You had been begging him for a week now to teach you how to use his crossbow.

Rick was walking by, going to his position on watch, when he saw you and Daryl. “Hey, Y/n. How ya’ feeling?” Rick met Daryl’s eyes, a smirk on his face at the situation he had just interrupted.

“Much better, thank you again for your help.” You missed the way Daryl stared daggers into Rick.

“You look comfortable, Daryl.” Rick had a wicked grin, his hands resting on his belt. Daryl pulled you closer instinctively, your ass now firmly pressed against him.

“Shut up, ain’t you got somewhere to be?” Daryl ignored Rick’s laugh as he walked to take his position on watch.

Daryl inhaled a deep breath, the scent of cigarettes and your scent filling his senses. “Let’s uh-Let’s go practice.” His strong arms lifted you off his lap, to your surprise.

You were practically skipping inside to go grab his bow. Not because you were excited for this lesson, but because you had a plan.

A plan to make him break out of his soft, caring shell.

Daryl could hardly contain himself. You are sitting on his lap, your perfect ass lined up with his clothed cock. He could have bent you over right there.

Shaking the feeling of arousal rising in his body, he lit another cigarette to distract him a bit. God, this training session was going to be hell. Daryl knew that once you knew how to get to him, you wouldn’t stop.

With that information, he set his goal. Keep composure.

You walked out to the backyard of Daryl’s apartment, where he had a couple of makeshift dummies set up when he wanted to practice. “This a good spot?” You held the heavy crossbow in your hands, analyzing the many parts.

“Yeah.” He grumbled, approaching you slowly, keeping his distance as if you were dangerous.

Eagerly, you held the bow up to aim at the dummy. Daryl chuckled at your actions, moving closer to you. “Hold up, ya’ gotta pull it back first.” He stood behind you.

Got him.

“Help me?” You asked, keeping a firm grip on the crossbow to get him right where you wanted him. “S’kinda hard to pull it.” 

Daryl grumbled something along the lines of “Seriously?” and stood directly behind you, your back against his chest. The heat radiating from him sent your head reeling.

Placing his rough hands over yours, positioning them where they needed to be, he showed you how to cock the weapon.

“You cock the bow, then you aim.” Daryl rolled his eyes when you snickered like a schoolgirl at his words.

“Can ya’ hush? I’m trying to teach you.” Daryl was as focused as he could be, considering how fucking close you were to him. If you were gonna keep teasing him like this, he wasn’t sure he’d last the day without folding under the pressure.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, sir.” You glanced back enough to see Daryl’s bright red face, letting you know that you were succeeding in breaking him.

Daryl grumbled a response and held up the bow, hands still placed over yours. “Look at where the target’ll be. Specially’ if it’s movin’.” Daryl tried explaining how a moving target is a bit harder because you’d have to reload quickly if you miss.

But you hadn’t heard a bit of it. Your breath quivered as Daryl talked in your ear, giving you those instructions, his front pressed right up against you.

“Got it?” Daryl didn’t even have time to react before you aimed at the dummy and let the arrow fly. 

Missing it completely.

“Were ya’ even listening?” Daryl jogged to retrieve the arrow, handing it to you. “Need help reloading it?” He stepped behind you again, partially in a self-serving manner.

Because damn did it feel good having you pressed against him, right where he needed you.

“Nah, think I’ve got it this time.” You slowly pulled back the string to load the arrow, pushing your ass into his crotch, feigning a struggle. Daryl groaned lowly, his hands finding your hips to hold you in place.

“What are you playin’ at, girl?” He whispered into your ear before pulling away from you. “Try again.” He sounded more stern this time, more serious. Glancing back at the archer, you glanced down at his jeans and immediately noticed his hard-on that he was sporting.

When your eyes found his again, you couldn’t stop the smirk that grew on your face. “You sure you wanna finish the training? Looks like you’re a little distracted.”

Daryl’s face flushed with your words, but particularly your gaze. How could he teach you if you were looking at him like you’d jump his bones this very second?

“Psh, you’re the one distracted. Let me show you-” He really was trying his hardest to teach you, to win this fight of self-control. Daryl took the crossbow from you, demonstrating how to aim at a target. 

Opening his mouth to speak, his words were cut off with an unexpected groan as you ran a hand over his boner. “You’ve got great form, y’know.”

Fuck this was impossible.

Daryl dropped the bow, forgetting the stupid training.

He yanked you close to him, pressing you against his hips. His mouth found yours, kissing you with more passion than you think you’d ever seen from him.

Hungrily, his hands roamed over your curves, grabbing wherever he could. Your mouth moved with him, taking in his scent and the way his tongue moved with yours. “Mmph- ya’ wanna take this inside?” You asked him, a smile coming to your face when he began kissing your neck as soon as you pulled away.

Daryl didn’t even say anything; he tapped your hip and lifted you with ease, adrenaline pumping through his veins and making his boner impossibly harder in this position with your legs wrapped around him.

Heading inside, you gasped as Daryl pressed you against the wall, his large arms still holding onto your legs tightly. His lips were on your neck, pressing searing kisses into your skin that made you moan in response. You grabbed his face gently, pulling him up to look at you.

“Wanna fuck you this time, need you…” You were blunt, straight to the point, eyes staring at him hungrily.

If you couldn’t have him tonight, you thought about shooting somebody with that damn crossbow.

“Fuck, can’t say those things, sugar.” He rasped. His knees nearly buckled at your words, dick throbbing unbearably in his pants. His head was spinning with lust, his heart racing.

Hands finding your ass, he held you up as he moved you to the couch. Your skin felt like it was on fire, desperate for his touch, for anything he’d give you.

“Why, ya’ gonna lose it before we even start?” You couldn’t help it; the man was so ridiculously easy to tease. His face flushed again as he rushed to keep it hidden in your neck, placing kisses and biting at your skin gently.

Daryl grunted against your skin, pressing his erection into you, hips connecting with yours shamelessly. “Nah, s’gonna be you-” His hand cupped your cunt through your jeans, making a light whimper come from your mouth with no hesitation. 

“Fuck, Daryl,” You body jolted at his touch as his hands wandered over you, pressing into your hips like you’d disappear if he wasn’t paying attention. 

“Matter fact, let’s get these off.” Daryl’s hands hurriedly unbuttoned your jeans, not bothering to unzip them before yanking them off. The desperate action made you smirk up at him.

“Careful, you’re gonna ruin the last good pair of jeans I have-” You whined, heat rising to your cheeks at his roughness.

“Gonna ruin you if you ain’t careful with that mouth.” Daryl pressed kisses to your abdomen, humming as he ran a finger over the wet spot on your panties. “Haven’t even started yet, got you this riled up?” 

“Shut up.” You did him a favor by taking off your shirt and unclasping your bra, hearing his breath hitch at the sight of your near-naked body below him.

“Feels kinda unfair right now, take somethin’ off.” You laughed when he grumbled a ‘fine’ and begrudgingly tore his face away from kissing your inner thighs. 

Daryl slipped off his vest and unbuttoned his shirt, watching you eye him like you couldn’t wait any longer. And for the first time in a while, you were silent, breathing shaky inhales of air as your eyes traveled to Daryl’s broad shoulders and downward to the muscular arms that were holding you so tightly earlier. And then they traveled lower,

To the small happy trail that poked up above the hem of his black jeans. Daryl offered you a smug smirk when he noticed you staring. “Doin’ an awful lot of starin’.”

Shock ran through him when you placed your hand on his belt and pulled him back into you, and he caught himself, placing his hands on either side of your head. 

Message received

Daryl pressed soft kisses along your shoulder, kisses that turned into gentle nips and bites, leaving marks along your skin. You hissed at the feeling, your hands roaming his back, nails lightly dragging along his skin, earning a low groan from him.

Daryl left a mixture of sweet kisses and bites along your body as he moved from your shoulder all the way down to your stomach. He pulled your panties down to your knees, licking his lips in anticipation as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

You helped him pull them off all the way. Daryl didn’t miss a beat, his tongue immediately lapped at the wetness that he had earned by being so attentive.

Felt like a damn prize.

Your body jerked yet again, his mouth coaxing a loud moan out of you with how fast his mouth moved to suck onto your clit like he knew exactly how to make you cum.

Daryl had tried his best to memorize this moment. You were writhing as he ate you out mercilessly, your eyes squeezed shut. He hummed into your core; the taste of you was fucking hypnotizing. He’d do this every damn day if he could.

“Fuck how are you so good at that-” Your back arched as Daryl pressed a finger into your entrance, tongue still licking your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Daryl glanced up at you, a smile on his face as his tongue flicked around your clit. The sight was absolute sin. His beard was soaked, his hair spread messily across his face as he shamelessly pulled loud moans and breathless whimpers from your lips.

Daryl used his other hand to caress your smooth skin, giving your breast a light squeeze as his finger fucked you slowly. Daryl watched your reaction when he curled his finger as he fucked you with it.

“Oh my god-” You cried out, your chest rising and falling heavily as your moans fell out of you with little resistance. He was making you feel so fucking good, suppressing anything felt like a crime.

He added another finger this time, fucking you faster, his eyes staring holes into you as he watched your reaction. His hand moved away from you, instead pressing against his erection as he tried to calm down the raging boner that was begging for you.

“Oh f-” The words fell short as you trembled underneath him, your head falling back as your hips bucked into his mouth. You held onto his hair as you felt your orgasm coming on quickly while his two fingers stretched out your cunt.

“Can feel you squeezin’. Give it to me, sugar, that’s it.” Daryl’s tongue flicked over your clit, moaning against your pussy with the pleasure he was deriving from your sweetness and sounds.

“God, don’t stop please- so close.” Your brain could barely form words; the ones that did come out were mumbled and mixed with lewd whines as he curled his fingers. His motions urged you to let go, your body shaking with pleasure.

“Ain’t gonna. I gotcha.” He kept the pace, thoroughly enjoying the pleasure he was giving you. “Wanna see you fall apart on my face, sugar.” His words were the last thing you heard before your orgasm hit you, your vision darkening as your whole body tensed in immense pleasure.

Daryl rode out your orgasm, moans sending vibrations through you as you screamed his name. When your vision finally cleared, and the waves of pleasure finally washed over you, Daryl moved to sit up. “So beautiful every damn time.” 

You let out a breathless laugh. “Where’d you learn to do that? You’re so good with your mouth.” You spoke, half-shocked at the man in front of you.

That earned you a shrug. “Dunno, s’my talent I guess.” Daryl tried to hide his smug smile as he leaned in to press a kiss on your lips. 

“Smug asshole.” You ruffled his hair, your body jolting ever so slightly when his jeans ran against your heat. “Fuck, Daryl. You’re so hard.” You bit your lip at the thought of him being so turned on, driven crazy by you.

“Let me take care of you.” Your hands reached for his belt, and this time…

He let you.

“I-uh might not be able to last.” He cleared his throat, a low whine interrupting as you licked a line up his clothed dick. “Been teasing me this whole time.” The way you fucking looked at him made his cock twitch and drove his head in circles. 

“I know, baby. We’ll do it your way.” It felt good to finally be able to give Daryl something in return. After everything he’d done for you, there was something that Daryl wanted from you.

And you weren’t gonna let him down.

You moved off the couch and got on your knees. At that same time, Daryl slipped out of his jeans and boxers, revealing how well-endowed he was. Now it was your turn to lick your lips as Daryl stood in front of you, now fully on display for your taking.

It was not Daryl’s first blowjob, or his first time going down on a girl. But it felt different when it was you looking up at him with those eyes that he trusted and cared about. It felt like every moment was a first time, a new experience where he got to explore what made you gasp, what made your body shake in pleasure.

Daryl gave you a nod to keep going, and you took his shaft into your hand, hiding your smile at the soft gasp that left his mouth. Meanwhile, he could hardly breathe. He’d imagined you here, jerking him off and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

This was so much better.

You spit into your hand and gave Daryl’s dick a few pumps, watching his stomach tighten at your actions. Never having to look up, you knew he was watching you like a hawk. Before he could say anything, you opened your mouth for him to see and placed his tip onto your tongue, glancing up at Daryl through your eyelashes.

The scene was damn near pornographic. Daryl’s hand came down to hold the side of your face. “How’d I get so lucky?” He managed to rasp out, a soft whine escaping his tough resolve.

A giggle rushed through you as you finally took him into your mouth, your lips wet with saliva and salty precum that spilled from his needy tip. 

Eyes rolled back, Daryl kept a gentle hand placed on the side of your face. He stayed away from pulling your hair, a mutual understanding based on late-night conversations about boundaries after the night he ate you out.

Daryl grunted as you swirled your tongue around his length, humming to send vibrations down his cock. “So pretty like this-” Daryl couldn’t help the high-pitched whine when your hand jerked off the base of his cock as you sucked on his tip and ran your tongue over his slit.

His sounds only motivated you further, hollow cheeks taking him further down your throat. Eyes flickering up to him in a teasing manner, you moaned on his dick to coax more sounds out of the man. His hips bucked into your mouth, followed by a stuttered “sorry” mixed with an array of groans.

Your hands found themselves stroking his thighs, yet another action that made Daryl almost lose it.

Daryl’s head fell back, mumbling curse words as a familiar heat started to grow. Your hands jerked him faster as you swallowed around his length. His eyes shot open.

“Wait-need you-” He tapped your cheek to let you know he needed to pause. A wave of insecurity washed over you.

“Are you okay? Did I do too much?” You stood up quickly to assess what was going on.

Daryl took long inhales to calm his breathing. He was so goddamn close, but he didn’t want to cum now. Not when he really wanted to be inside you, watching you take him inch by inch.

“Nah, jus’ wanna be inside you, can’t wait any longer.” Daryl pressed a long kiss to your forehead. “Felt like heaven, sugar. Almost made me come right then and there.” He comforted you, his hands traveling down to your hips.

“Good, for a second there I thought you hated it.” You breathed out a sigh, your arms wrapping around his neck. The two of you swayed gently, as if you were dancing in a crowded room. But, it was just him.

“You serious? The neighbors probably heard me.” He huffs, an embarrassed blush crossing his cheeks. Daryl thought about Spencer for a flash of a second, whether he was back in his apartment or still in that cell.

Either way, he wished Spencer could hear it. Hear the way Daryl claimed you and made you feel real pleasure again. He wished Spencer could have seen how eager you were to go down on him.

How he wished to make him pay.

But that was for another day. 

“Sweetheart?” Daryl cleared his throat, his cock throbbing as his eyes wandered over your body needily. You were caught up in the softness of the moment, the way he held you like he’d never let you go. Daryl loved seeing you so smitten, but god he needed to fuck you.

Absent-mindedly, you looked up at him. “Yes-oh!” You were quickly placed back into reality. “Almost forgot you were so desperate to fuck me.” You smirked up at him.

“I’ll show you who's desperate.” He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he placed you on the kitchen table. You hissed at the feeling.

“That’s so cold, what the hell, Daryl?!” You whined, pressing yourself against him. The table was freezing.

“Then we’ll just have to warm it up, next time I’ll pick a better place.” He smirked at your reaction, his hands lifting your hips to meet the edge of the table. 

“Next time?” You paused, suddenly forgetting about the temperature of the stupid table. 

Daryl scoffed at you, “Ya’ thought this’ll be a one-time thing? I don’t do that, sugar.” Your heart soared at his words, and you yanked him into a passionate kiss, your lips brushing against his as you pulled away.

“Ya’ want that?” Daryl had a feeling that you felt the same, but he had to ask. You nodded quickly.

“Are you kidding? Of course! You’d better eat me out every day, though, Dixon.” The thought of being with you every day, waking up in the morning with you by his side. He’d have no issue spending hours each day between your legs. 

It made him feel warm.

“Promise.” He kissed your neck, earning a soft moan from you. His touch brought you back to the current position you were in. “Fuck, you’re amazing.” He fawned over you, his rough hands spreading your legs wide so that he could fit in between them. 

The sound of his shaky breathing told you what you needed to know. He was nervous.

You ran a hand through his hair as Daryl kissed your breasts. He was stalling.

“Just fuck me already, Dixon!” You could hardly take the heat anymore, your cunt throbbing with anticipation. You could only imagine the pent-up lust flowing through Daryl’s body.

Daryl wasted no time in lining himself up with your pussy, ragged breaths filling your ears as he glanced down at where he was starting to push into you.

You hissed softly as he inserted himself into you, inch by inch. Daryl was trying his absolute best to keep control of his orgasm and keep it at bay. He pressed his forehead against yours, low whimpers filling the otherwise empty room as he watched your cunt take him as far as you could.

Squeezing around him, you adjusted to his length, shuddering at his touch and the ample size of him as he finally was all the way in your warmth. 

Daryl had a tight grip on your waist, unmoving from the moment he pressed all the way into you. It was all just too much.

The way your perfect cunt squeezed around him as you adjusted to him. The smell of your perfume fills his senses. The small whimpers and moans you were making as he tried not to move.

“Gotta move, sugar. Can’t-” He let out a depraved moan when you wrapped your legs around his hips, pushing him impossibly further. “Fuck woman, you’re gonna kill me.” Your laughter at his words made his dick throb.

Daryl moved in slow thrusts, agonizingly slow movements that had you whining and writhing underneath him. You could tell he was holding back, and that made it all the more arousing when you moved your hips to match his speed.

Your gasps filled the space between your faces, eyes scanning his face as he closed his eyes tightly to focus on giving you everything. Daryl let out a shaky whine at your actions, his hands quickly moving to your hips to feel their movements.

Muscles tightening, Daryl looked like a fucking dream. He sped up his thrusts, pounding into you harder. The table scraped against the floor, the sound quickly losing the battle against your loud moans. 

“Oh god- fuck!” You cried out, hips moving in tandem with his, shamelessly chasing your orgasm.

Daryl felt the low pulse of his orgasm forming, and he growled against your skin. His hips began to stutter as he lost focus on keeping pace.

“Fuck, not gonna last much longer.” He mumbled, picking up speed as he began to lift your hips off the table to get a better angle. 

That new angle was heaven. “Don’t stop, right there, baby!” You screamed, your body trembling as he pounded into you desperately. His muscular arms held you up to him as he fucked you with no abandon. It was rushed, mindless lust. But fuck did it feel amazing.

“Ya’ gonna cum, sugar? Gonna soak the table? Wanna hear you.” He mumbled into your ear, the sound mixed with broken groans. His face was buried in your neck as he fucked you roughly. He was so drunk on you, his inhibitions leaving him with every thrust he pounded into you.

“Wanna hear you say my name, let that motherfucker know who’s treatin’ you like you deserve.” Daryl wasn’t in control of the words that left his mouth, whines accompanying his tone. “Bet he couldn’t fuck you like this.” He moved a hand under your back to push you against him, your fucked-out body shaking in pleasure, loud moans erupting without hesitation.

“Go on, pretty girl, say my fuckin’ name.” He could tell you were close by the way your cunt fluttered around his cock, and how your moans got higher and higher with each slap of your skin together.

With his words, you fell apart immediately. Your orgasm had your eyes rolling back in immense, white-hot pleasure. Daryl wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering and struggling to keep the pace as he let go.

You cried out his name along with several curse words, whimpering at the feeling of Daryl spilling his own release inside of you, ceasing his thrusts to slowly push in and out of you as his orgasm rushed through him. 

And for that moment, while you rode out your orgasms together, there was absolutely nothing on either of your minds. 

Not the apocalypse, not Spencer

Just this moment. This pleasure.

When you both finally came back to reality from a mind-blowing orgasm, Daryl pulled out slowly. Both of you hissed at the sensitivity. Daryl went to grab a towel. “Stay here, gonna clean you up.” 

Daryl could hardly believe what had just happened. He brushed his hair out of his face and pulled his boxers up onto his hips before moving back to wipe you off with a damp towel. “You did so good. So damn beautiful.” He pressed soft kisses onto your shoulder.

You traced the muscles of his back as he cleaned you up. “That was probably the best sex I’ve ever had. Been a while, y’know?”

Daryl smiled at you, a boy-ish, fucked-out smile that made your heart leap out of your chest in adoration. “Hell, s’been years for me. Guess you could tell.” He lifted you off the table and back onto the couch, knowing your legs were probably jelly by now.

“Doesn’t matter now. I’m staying.” You wrapped your arms around him so he couldn’t pull away from you.

Then, a realization popped into your head that made you whine. “You’re on watch duty tonight. You’re gonna leave me all alone tonight?” You rested a hand on his thigh, making him jolt. 

Damn, he was in for a wild night.

“I’ll ask Rick to take my shift.” Daryl knew Rick wasn’t a pushover when it came to watch shifts, but he was hoping luck was on his side.

“Alright, but don’t be too long.” You watched Daryl quickly throw some clothes on, rushing to get out the door before his shift started. You smacked his ass as he walked by, earning a teasing glare from Daryl.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that later, don’t ya’ worry.” With that, he walked out to grab Rick.

Daryl approached Rick as he was walking away from the watch tower. “Hey, brother, got a small favor.” Rick smiled knowingly at Daryl, throwing him off a bit.

“Your window was open.” Rick snickered, making Daryl stop in his tracks.

“What?” Daryl cleared his throat. 

“Look, we’re all happy for you, man. But next time ya’ might wanna close your window so we don’t hear it.” Rick laughed at Daryl’s bright red face. 

“And let me guess, you want me to take your shift?” Rick crossed his arm, raising an eyebrow at Daryl.

“S’just for tonight,” Daryl mumbled. Rick saw the desperation in Daryl’s expression, and it made him crack up.

“Go, enjoy your second round,” Rick smirked when Daryl flipped him off.

“Shut up.” 

With that, Daryl took off towards your shared apartment.

Taglist:

@brideofvecna

@thelady-of-dragonfire

@chuuyas-world

@magz3strikes

@coal-bee

@calicoevey

You were about to close for the day, it was around 3 p.m., your last customer already gone, when the screams started outside. Sharp, panicked shouts echoing down the street, followed by gunshots. Thinking there was an active shooter, you locked yourself in the bathroom. The lights went out. The screams faded, one by one, until there was only silence.

When you finally stepped out, your shop window was smeared with blood. Outside, figures moved, people-looking figures, or something that had once been people. Dead eyes, dragging feet. You hid again, trembling.

Hours passed. Maybe days, maybe weeks, you weren’t sure, you were in a trance. Then a group of survivors stumbled into the shop, thinking it empty. They found you dehydrated, starving, and far too scared to speak at first. They gave you water, food, their names: Tyreese, Sasha, Ben, Allen, Donna and something you hadn’t felt in a long time: safety.

You left with them, escaping the ruined town and disappearing into the forest. Eventually, you came across a prison, its fences still standing. Inside was another group, wary but alive. And just like that, you found yourself part of something larger, a new community. 

Almost everyone in the group was kind to you, except for two. They seemed to be the leaders: Rick and Daryl. Both were distant, barely speaking to you. They watched you from a quiet, guarded place, unsure if you could be trusted yet. They looked like men who had experienced betrayal before, who had learned not to let new people in so easily. You didn’t take it personally. They had every right to keep their distance in a world like this.

Little by little, though, Rick and Daryl grew more accustomed to having your group around. They put you all to work, which you didn’t mind. After being alone and locked up in your shop, you wanted to be useful, to give something back to the people who had given you safety and hope. They found out you could sew, so they put you in charge of making new bedsheets and patching up torn clothes. Doing it all by hand, without a machine, wasn’t easy, but it kept you busy, and that was enough.

Daryl started coming by a few times a day to check on you, asking if you needed anything. You never really did, but it was nice being cared for.

After a while, you and Daryl were spending time together beyond his check-ins. You sat with him at the lookout post, walked across the prison yard, stayed up late smoking and staring at the night sky. He was easy to be around. At first he mostly listened while you talked, and it felt good being someone who could give him a break from all his responsibilities. You told him about the shop, your grandmother, the gossip of your old customers, wondering what had happened to them.

“I love hearing stories about your grandma,” he said once. “She seemed like a lovely person.”

“She was. She would’ve loved you, and also had a crush on you,” you giggled. “She always checked out her customers’ husbands.”

He liked that. He liked spending time with you more than he’d admit.

Two months passed, and you and Daryl were together constantly. You considered him your best friend, though both of you felt something deeper growing in your chests, something that wasn’t friendship.

Then a new group arrived at the prison: Josh, Ellie, Mark, and Johanna. Josh was Mark and Johanna’s eldest son, with Ellie being his younger sister. Exhausted from three weeks on the road, they begged Rick to let them stay. After some thought, he agreed.

Josh soon learned that you were the seamstress, and he started asking you to repair his clothes. Then his mother’s. Then his father’s. He always stood a little too close, talking a little too much. You found yourself chatting with him. He was a few years younger than you, funny, always ready with a joke.

Of course Daryl noticed. It was impossible not to. This new guy, who had only been here for a week, was already trying to get into your pants. It wasn’t surprising. You were gorgeous, kind and caring. Anyone would fall for you.

He had.

And he hated that Josh was bold enough to show it.

Daryl started visiting your workshop less and less, always mumbling excuses about helping Rick with something or going on a run with Glenn. But of course you noticed. You noticed every small change, the way he avoided you whenever you were near Josh, the way he walked past your workstation without a word or even a glance. It hurt. It stung deep.

Everyone else noticed too. Daryl had become snappy with anyone who talked to him.

“Hey, Dar, can you help me with something in the yard?” Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged. “Ain’t got nothin’ better to do, apparently.” His eyes flicked toward Josh and then away, jaw clenched.

Day after day, Josh became more and more touchy with you. You didn’t feel comfortable at all. You tried to tell him, but he never listened, just laughed, brushing off your discomfort like it was nothing.

And one day, Daryl had enough.

Josh leaned over you while you were working, placing both hands on the table behind you, trapping you between him and the wood.

“Mm, Josh, can you please step back a little? I’ve got a needle in my hand, I don’t want to poke you with it,” you said. You tried to keep your voice calm, but being caged in like that made you uneasy. But he didn’t move. He only leaned closer.

“Hey. Didn’t you hear her? Back up.” The voice behind him was low, dangerous. Daryl.

Josh snorted. “And what? What’re you or she gonna do if I don’t?”

That was it. Daryl snapped. He grabbed Josh by the collar and threw him to the ground with one brutal motion.

“You’ll find out what I’ll do to protect her,” Daryl growled, pinning him down.

Josh laughed weakly, blood on his teeth. “Ha… that your bitch? She’s not that fun, is she?”

Daryl punched him square in the face, the crack of Josh’s nose echoing through the room.

“Daryl! Stop it, please!” you cried. You pulled Daryl back with all your strength and dragged him out of the room. You led him to your cell, shutting the door behind you.

“What happened to you out there?” you whispered, taking his hands. His knuckles were torn and bleeding. “Sit down. I’ll disinfect them.”

Daryl didn’t sit. He looked at you, eyes burning with something raw. 

“Don’t you see it?” he said. “He can’t treat you right. What do you even see in a guy like him? He’ll never treat you like I do, like I want to. I know I ain’t the most… expressive person, but I want you. I want you to be mine, and I swear I’ll treat you with respect. With care. I couldn’t stand him not listening to you. I just…” His voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw Daryl’s eyes water.

“Baby…” you murmured, cupping his face gently. “I don’t even have words. I do like you. I have feelings for you too. I just thought maybe he could be my friend… I didn’t know you felt this way.” You brushed a tear from his cheek and leaned in, kissing him softly. “I want you, Daryl. You treat me better than anyone ever has.” 

Kiss him slowly, your fingers slide through his gorgeous long hair. His strong hands settle on your lower back, pulling you closer. When you finally break the kiss, you look up at him, breathe unsteady.

“Daryl… I like you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t notice it before. But now I want to be with you. Would you… would you be my boyfriend, please?” you ask, looking straight into his eyes.

“‘Course I would, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I promise you I’ll always protect you. No matter what happens.” He kisses you again, soft, certain, full of promise.

After the incident, Rick made it clear that Josh was not allowed anywhere near you. And if he tried, he would be thrown out, by Daryl himself.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

“He's alive?” Otis asked as he walked inside the house, his breath ragged and loud. “He's still alive?” 

Rick hasn't let go of you. He has his arms tightly around you as he rocked the two of you back and forth. You don't know what to feel at the moment, just numb and hollow, but you didn't let go of the guy. 

When Otis walked inside the house, with Shane trailing behind him, Rick pulled away and turned to Shane. 

You looked at them. You watched as Rick wiped his sweat from his forehead, only to stain his skin with Carl's blood. You felt your shoulders sag at the sight, and before you knew it, you were already moving towards the couch. 

You could hear Rick crying again and Shane rushed to comfort his best friend. 

*Okay. I'll take it from you. Where.. Where is he?” Shane mumbled, keeping his voice low and slow, as he reached for the rag that he used to wipe the blood off from Rick's face. “Where is he? Is he okay?” 

You could hear the two of them talking, then the shuffling of feet reached your ears. 

You turned your head to look at them and saw them walking over to the room where Hershel told Rick to lay Carl. You immediately stalk towards them, your hands wiping the blood off on your pants subconsciously— like they have a mind of their own. 

“You know his blood type?” The doctor asked as soon as you walked through the door. 

“A positive.” Rick answered, shaking. “Same as mine.” 

“That's fortunate.” Hershel commented solemnly, looking back over his shoulder to glance at Rick. “Don't wander far. I'm gonna need you.” 

Then, he turned to Otis. “What happened?” 

Otis stammered, his finger pointing nothing in the air as he relived what happened back here, trying his best to say what went down. “I.. I was tracking a buck. Bullet went through it. Went clean through..”

Hershel nodded, looking back down to the wound he's pressing down on. “The deer slowed the bullet down, which certainly saved his life, but it did not go through clean. It broke down to pieces, Otis. If I can get the bullet fragments out.. And I'm counting six, it might take a while.” 

While Hershel was talking, Otis slowly made his way over to Patricia, his legs wobbling from what happened. 

You watched as everyone did their roles, each one of them having a spot inside the room. You knew that this was just a show back then, but now that you're here— standing, breathing, watching as everything follows through the plot.. You couldn't stop yourself from feeling bitter. 

“My wife doesn't know.” Rick spoke up, his eyebrows furrowing as his eyes became glossed with tears once more. “My wife doesn't know.” 

You turned away from them, your feet carrying you over to the living room. You plop yourself into the single couch and lean forward, your hands raising to carve your bloodstained fingers through your hair and massaging the spot where you can feel a headache is coming. 

You messed up again. You knew what was going to happen, but you still couldn't stop it. 

You placed your elbows in your knees and buried your face in your hands, not caring if it smelled metallic. Your breathing comes out in short, shaky bursts as you try not to think and blame yourself for what's happening. You could still vividly remember how Carl fell down, his blood pouring out of the bullet wound like waterworks. 

Tap, tap, tap. 

You could hear footsteps coming from Hershel's room, and you didn't have to look up to see who it was. 

Rick and Shane dropped themselves into the couch next to yours, both of them silent for a moment, before Rick spoke up, his voice trembling with regret. 

“Why'd I let him come with us?” He asked, not asking anyone in particular. “I should have sent him with Lori.” 

Grieving people often blame themselves for something they don't have control over. You know this, but hearing it from Rick's mouth— his self deprecating comments.. It left you feeling bad. Just like Rick, you could have told Carl to stay with Lori and convinced the woman that this was a bad idea, but no, you chose to follow through the plot. 

It's a little ironic that you're feeling the same as Rick, as if you were the child's parent. 

Thankfully, Shane knocked him off his horse. 

“You know, you start that, you'll never get that monkey off your back.” The cop stated, spitting nothing, but facts. 

“Li.. Little girl goes missing, you look for her.” Rick mumbled, his voice cracking and ignoring Shane's words, “Simple. You said call it, head back. I was stubborn. And now, Carl got shot because I wouldn't cut bait. It should be me in there.” 

The last statement made Shane chuckle. “You've been there, partner. Right? And you pulled through, so will he.” 

It was silent for a moment, Rick letting what Shane said sink into his brain, but regret is a funny thing. It won't just go away when you know that the reason why it happened in the first place was because someone was stubborn with their decisions. 

Rick is blaming himself hard, because he was stubborn, and you can understand that. 

“Is that why I got out of that hospital— is that why me and (last name) got out of that hospital?” Rick asked, unable to keep a lid on his emotions anymore. “Found my family for it to just end here like this? Is this some kind of sick joke?”

You pulled your hands down, but kept it on your lower face, just enough to look at Rick. 

Why must he bring you up in this conversation? This isn't about him and you. It's about him, his wife, and his freshly shot son— with you being brought up isn't fair. You never wanted for it to end like this. You never wanted to be included with what's happening. 

You stood up, catching Rick's and Shane's attention. You turned in your heels to walk towards the front door, but Maggie rushed out of the room and caused you to halt in your tracks. 

“Rick!” She called for the sheriff, making you pivot on your foot and walk inside Carl's room instead. 

Maggie made space so you can get inside and you sent her a thankful glance for that. The moment you walked inside, your eyes landed on the little boy who was crying in pain, your heart clenching at the sight. 

“He needs blood!” 

You turned to Patricia, holding out your arm as you tried your best to ignore Carl's agonizing cry. 

“I'm a u-universal donor.” You stuttered out, hand shaking as you offered your arm towards the older woman. “I can help and give him blood, too. Get some from Rick, then get some from me—” 

Carl screamed and you couldn't get yourself to continue talking. 

“Stop! You're killing him!” Rick yelled, lunging forward to get close to Hershel, unable to bear to hear his son's cries, but Patricia had a tight grip on his arm. 

“Do you want him to live or not?!” You hissed, stepping in front of him to block his view of Hershel and Carl, pushing him away softly from the doctor, “If you want him to live, then let Hershel do his job! You screaming here isn't helping anyone!” 

“He needs blood!” Patrica repeated, urgency dripping from her voice. 

“Do it now, Rick!” You screamed, forcing him to face Patricia so she can stab the needle through his skin to get the blood she needs to make Carl stay afloat. 

The room grew quiet, because Carl passed out, but Hershel was quick to assure everyone. 

“He just passed out. Anyway, one down..” The doctor stated bluntly, lifting his shrapnel to look at the broken piece of the bullet, then slowly placed it on the metal basin by the bed. “.. Five to go.” 

You let out a sigh at that, but jumped when Patricia patted you in the arm. 

“I’ll get you strapped up.” The woman said, nodding her head to the chair beside where Rick was already sitting down. “Take a seat, okay? Hold on. Let me fetch the needle for you.” 

You nodded and wordlessly settled yourself beside Rick. 

The sheriff stared on the floor for a second, silence stretching between you two, before he turned his head slightly to look at you. 

“You.. You don't have to do this.” Rick muttered, his face pale. “I know you don't like needles.” 

Your eyebrows shot up. You haven't told anyone that you don't like needles. How did he know? Is the (full name) in this world afraid of needles, too? Did she tell Rick about her fear? Pursing your lips, you decided to shake it off and focus on the task at hand. 

“Doesn't matter.” You grunted, holding your arm out when you spotted Patricia walking over to you with the said needle in her hands. “Just need to get this over with. We need Carl to be stable before anything else.” 

You quickly shut your eyes and braced yourself. You don't like the stinging sensation of the needle, nor the sight of it, but you know you have to do this. If you can't change the plot, then you will settle on trying to help fix the damage. 

After taking Rick's blood, you were the next one to settle beside Carl. Patricia had you by the edge of the bed because you're smaller than Rick, so the length of your arm isn't enough to keep you in place. 

“Lori needs to be here.” Rick mumbled, looking at his unconscious son. “She doesn't even know what's going on. I got.. I've to go find her. Bring her back.” 

“You can't do that.” Hershel said, shaking his head. 

“She's his mother.” Rick shot back, flickering his gaze to the old man. “She needs to know what happened. Her son is lying here shot—” 

“And he's going to need more blood.” Hershel interjected, his voice firm and leaving no room for rebuttal. “Both of you can't go no more than 50 feet from this bed. They need to be near just in case the boy wakes up and needs more blood.” 

Your vision swam as your blood flowed from the needle wound in your arm to the blood tank on the floor. You haven't donated much blood before, so this was still a new sensation to you. You wouldn't change your mind and back out though. Carl needs blood, so you'll give him as much blood as you can. 

You watched as Rick and Shane exited the room, closing the door behind them. 

“You're not Rick's wife?” Hershel asked the moment the door closed, making you turn your head to look at him. “You two seem awfully close for you to not be his wife.” 

“I'm his friend.” You answered, thumb pressing on your temple as you leaned forward. “Don't need to be anybody's wife to comfort someone, or anyone. All I have to do is be there for them when they need someone to lean on, make sure they get their shit together.” 

“I could tell.” Hershel mumbled, placing his stethoscope down on the bedside table. “With how you yelled at Rick earlier, I just knew that he's not the only one you're keeping an eye on.” 

“Of course not.” You huffed, a breathy snort escaping your lips. “We got a group up on the highway. Everybody's gotta keep an eye on everybody.” 

Hershel and Patricia slowly shared a look, but both didn't say a word. 

“Got no time to be dilly dallying here.” You uttered, throwing your head back to the backrest of the couch as you let your frustration boil over. “We lost a little girl back there.. We needed to look for her, and we were, then your man shot the boy. I want to look for her still, but how can I do that when Carl's right here, in need of blood?” 

You scoffed, your arm flexing as you closed your hand into a fist. “If I could, I'll split my body into two just so I can look for Sophia right now. I feel like shit for sitting here while she's out there, all alone, with no one by her side to shush her and comfort her.” 

You let out a dry chuckle, heart squeezing painfully. “It fucking sucks that I had to witness everything like how it was on the show. I tried to change it, you know? Tried to chase her down, to get them biters away, but this world is a bitch.” 

You're babbling. You know that it's not good. You're revealing information that should be kept inside you no matter what. You knew deep down that you shouldn't, but to hell with it all. 

You have been keeping things to yourself since you first woke up in that hospital. You have been keeping thoughts to yourself, and not speaking up when it's not necessary to avoid changing the things you know. You have bottled up so many things that it's starting to be difficult to keep things nice and easy for you. 

“I need to slip away from the group at some point.” You mumbled, eyes blinking drowsily as you stared at the ceiling. “But it's hard..” 

Previous chapter, next chapter.

Not that he’d admit that.

God, no.

“You wanna skin that thing or glare at it till it dies twice?” Carol asked dryly.

Daryl looked up from the squirrel carcass in his hands with visible annoyance.

“It already dead.”

Carol stared at him.

“That wasn’t the point.”

He grunted.

Which, in Daryl Language, translated roughly to: I heard you but refuse to emotionally engage with this conversation.

Carol sighed heavily and returned to hanging laundry.

Across camp, Rick was attempting to fix one of the fences while Carl wisely avoided speaking to Daryl entirely.

Even Glenn being gone wasn’t enough to explain this level of moodiness.

Everybody knew what the real issue was.

You.

Or rather, the lack of you.

Because Daryl had become visibly twitchier with every passing day you stayed gone.

He barely slept.

Kept volunteering for perimeter watch.

Hovered near the gates constantly.

And every single time somebody approached from the tree line, his head snapped up so fast it was almost painful to watch.

Then he’d realize it wasn’t you.

And somehow get even grumpier afterward.

It would’ve been sad if it wasn’t so annoying.

“You know,” Carol called casually, “she’s probably fine.”

Daryl immediately scowled.

“Didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“You’ve checked the road twelve times today.”

“Was nearby.”

“You walked a mile outside the fences.”

“Needed tracks checked.”

“Mhm.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes suspiciously before muttering something deeply impolite under his breath.

Carol smiled to herself.

Because the thing about Daryl loving you was that everybody else noticed long before he did.

Even now, months into your relationship, Daryl still acted vaguely startled every time someone referred to you as his girlfriend.

Like he couldn’t quite believe someone as good as you chose him on purpose.

So instead of talking about missing you like a normal person, he became progressively more feral every hour you were gone.

Case in point:

Poor Eugene accidentally asked where the rope was earlier.

Daryl stared at him for five full seconds before replying:

“Why the hell would I know?”

Then stormed off carrying the rope.

By day three, even Rick was getting tired.

Not emotionally.

Physically.

Because Daryl had nearly tackled him that morning over a routine supply discussion.

“She said three days,” Rick reminded him patiently.

“Been three days.”

“It’s barely noon.”

Daryl crossed his arms.

Rick looked exhausted already.

“She’s with Glenn and Maggie. They can handle themselves.”

“Ain’t sayin’ they can’t.”

“But?”

Daryl’s jaw tightened.

“But nothin’.”

Rick stared at him knowingly.

Daryl looked away immediately.

There was a long silence before Rick finally sighed.

“You know you can just say you miss her.”

Daryl looked personally offended.

“Don’t start.”

“You’ve been glaring at trees for seventy-two hours.”

“Trees got problems.”

Rick actually laughed.

That only irritated Daryl further.

“You smilin’ for?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

Rick shook his head, still grinning faintly. “You’ve got it bad.”

Daryl muttered another curse and stalked away before the conversation could continue.

But later, while cleaning his crossbow alone, the words kept replaying in his head.

You miss her.

Simple.

True.

Horribly annoying.

Because yeah.

He missed you.

Missed your voice around camp.

Missed your hands touching his shoulders absentmindedly while passing by.

Missed sleeping with your legs tangled together.

Missed the way you laughed at him when he got grumpy.

Missed your warmth.

Christ.

No wonder he was miserable.

The truck rolled through the gates just before sunset.

And suddenly the entire damn camp relaxed.

Not because of supplies.

Not because Glenn and Sasha returned safely.

Because Daryl stopped acting like somebody kicked him in the ribs.

You barely got both feet on the ground before Carol hugged Maggie tightly.

Rick moved toward Glenn asking about the run.

And then Carol appeared in front of you looking deeply relieved.

“Oh thank God,” she said immediately.

You blinked. “Uh… hi?”

“Please tell me you’re staying awhile.”

“…I live here?”

Carol grabbed your shoulders dramatically. “He’s been awful.”

Your brows furrowed. “Who?”

Every single person nearby looked toward Daryl simultaneously.

Daryl, currently hauling supplies from the truck, froze mid-step.

“…Traitors,” he muttered.

Carl looked delighted.

“SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW,” Carl shouted.

You blinked again, confused.

Then Daryl finally looked at you properly for the first time since you arrived.

And every thought vanished from your head immediately.

God.

You forgot sometimes how openly he looked at you after time apart.

Like relief physically softened him.

Like his whole body loosened just seeing you standing there alive.

He dropped the supply bag immediately.

Didn’t even pretend otherwise.

Then crossed the yard toward you with long purposeful strides.

You smiled instinctively.

Daryl reached you and stopped close enough you could feel warmth radiating from him.

For one second he just stared.

Checking.

Eyes scanning your face, arms, posture.

Making sure you were really okay.

You touched his wrist gently. “Hey.”

His hand came up immediately, fingers curling around your hip like reflex.

“You alright?”

You smiled softly. “I’m okay.”

“You hurt?”

“No.”

“You eat enough?”

“Yes, dad.”

Daryl grunted.

But his thumb rubbed absent circles against your side now that he had hold of you again.

Around you, the camp exchanged deeply entertained looks.

“You know,” Carl called helpfully, “he almost bit Eugene yesterday.”

“I did not.”

“You growled at him.”

“He was bein’ stupid.”

“You threw a wrench at a fence because it squeaked wrong,” Carol added.

Daryl looked horrified by this betrayal.

“You too?”

“You were impossible,” Carol informed him.

Rick folded his arms. “He checked the road every hour.”

“I was patrollin’.”

“You stood on the same hill staring into the woods.”

Daryl looked at you like this was somehow your fault now.

You were trying very hard not to laugh.

Mostly because he looked genuinely embarrassed.

A faint flush crept across his cheeks beneath the dirt.

“You missed me that much?” you asked softly.

Daryl scoffed immediately.

But his hand tightened on your hip.

“…Maybe.”

The camp went silent.

Because Daryl admitting feelings voluntarily was approximately as rare as indoor plumbing these days.

His eyes widened slightly like he realized what he said too late.

Then he doubled down immediately.

“Y’were gone too long.”

Your chest melted.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you murmured.

Daryl’s ears turned violently red.

“Don’t.”

“You were sulking?”

“Wasn’t sulkin’.”

“You emotionally terrorized the camp because you missed me?”

“Shut up.”

You laughed softly and stepped closer until your arms wrapped around his waist.

Instantly, automatically, Daryl folded around you.

One hand sliding protectively to the back of your neck while the other locked around your waist.

The relief in his body was impossible to miss now that you were touching him.

Like he’d been holding tension in his spine for days and only just let it go.

You felt his face briefly press into your hair.

Tiny movement.

Almost subconscious.

But intimate enough your heart squeezed painfully.

Behind you, Glenn muttered, “Oh my God, he’s domesticated.”

Daryl flipped him off immediately without letting go of you.

Which only made everybody laugh harder.

You leaned back enough to look up at him.

“Missed you too.”

Something soft cracked open in his expression.

Gone instantly was the embarrassment.

Gone was the irritation.

Now he just looked tired and relieved and hopelessly in love with you in that quiet Daryl Dixon way.

He brushed his thumb lightly beneath your jaw before muttering, “Don’t like when yer gone.”

The honesty in his voice stole your breath.

Because Daryl didn’t say things unless he meant them completely.

You smiled gently. “I’m back now.”

His eyes searched yours for another second before he nodded once.

Then, quieter:

“Yeah.”

Now, you could understand it a little bit better. The sun was beating down on the RV, heat making it almost unbearable to stay out in the open. Luckily, it would get colder soon.

It wasn’t too bad sitting here in company. From what you could gather, Dale had an amazing taste in books. Came with 65 years of reading, probably. He seemed happy that you could match his impressive literary knowledge, allowing for a nice talk.

It really wasn’t so bad up here if you had company.

It made you think about what it would be like to keep watch with Daryl.

The redneck had occupied your thoughts for a while. Since his dedication in the hunt for Sophia, to be exact. He was incredible at tracking, and still, it didn’t amount to the end everyone had wished for Carol.

Of course, Carol was devastated. Pretty much everyone was. The search had been a reason to keep going, even though deep down, it was clear to you all that you had been chasing a shadow. Now that it was over, morale was at an all time low. Some doubted Rick’s leading abilities, and tension arose within the group.

It made sense that everone was affected. However, no one seemed to see the effect that this failure had on Daryl. Either that, or they simply didn’t want to. He made it easy for them to ignore him, avoiding the group in general. Kept himself holed up in his one man tent further away from the rest of the group. And that after he took a bullet, too.

You’d think he’d admit his vulnerability and accept help, but since the second he was allowed to get up after the wound was tended too, he hadn’t been back. Andrea had come to apologize, Lori had brought him food, even Carol had come by, but none of them had managed to get more than a few words out of the man.

While you understood that he was frustrated and angry at himself, you were determined to coax him out of his hardened shell.

How? Well, you had a reason now.

That was at least what you told yourself as you made your way to his tent.

Your dedication diminished with every step you took. Standing directly in front of it, you weren’t even sure if you should go inside anymore. Maybe you were overstepping. Maybe he would throw you out and feel even worse after you had talked to him.

About to turn around and forget about the whole thing, you flinched when you heard rustling inside of the tent and finally, its zipper being pulled down.

You were met with the sight of Daryl, resting on his cot inside the tent. He lowered his arm and raised a brow, seemingly surprised at the sight of you.

“What d’ya want? I can hear ya shufflin’ 'round, y’know. Didn’t shoot me, ain’t got nothin’ ta apologize for.”

You straightened, looking a little sheepish as you shook your head.

“I know. Look, I was gonna leave, but— I thought you could use a distraction. Must be boring being stuck here all day.”

He hummed. “S’pose.”

That wasn’t a direct rejection, so you pulled yourself together and kneeled down at the tent’s entrance. Threw him an experimental smile, not hesistant, but not confident either.

“Right. That’s why I wanted to give you this. There isn’t exactly much else to do in here.”

You held out your hand, offering him the book.

He eyed it, then glanced up at you. Seemed wary, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of the gesture. “A book?”

You nodded. “What, never seen one before?”

It was supposed to sound light-hearted, ease the tension between the two of you, but with your intimidated, wavering voice, it probably did a poor job. You cringed internally, cursing yourself for even trying to start a conversation with him. He probably felt bothered by you, peace disturbed and wished you would just leave already so he could—

Oh. Your thoughts went quiet when he reached out and took it, sitting up a little straighter on his dirty blanket. The surpressed wince didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you were about to ask him if he was okay, but he was faster.

“That Dale’s?”

A meek nod. “Yeah.” Unsure of what to add to this, you stayed quiet, eyes flickering up to his face.

Daryl huffed, flipping through the pages. Then looked at you. You were ready to be told off for intruding at last, but it was his turn to surprise you.

“What, no pictures?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d thought you had made out the hint of a smirk around his lips, but it was gone too quickly for you to be sure.

Your face fell, caught off guard. “You— you can’t read?” Shock must have been written all over your face judging by the roll of his eyes.

“Nah”, he scoffed, “I can read alrigh', girl. Just ain’t a fan.” He scratched his neck, eyes falling down to the book in his hands.

A faint blush spread on your cheeks. Of course he could, what were you thinking. This didn’t have to be so awkward but of course you’d go and call him an analphabet, for god’s sake…

You cleared your throat, “Oh. Sorry. I mean, I have only read half of it so far, but Glenn said it wasn’t half bad. Maybe better than being all alone with your thoughts? I’ll take it back to Dale, if you want to, I mean—"

He shook his head, interrupting your nervous babbling.

“Don’t gotta take it back”, he huffed. Curt and to the point, as always. His rough voice didn’t fail to make you feel a little silly, intimidated by the one man that had protected you for months now. And the others, of course. Not you especially.

“Sure. Okay, I’ll leave you to it.” Embarrassed, you began getting up when his head snapped up, following your movement.

Daryl frowned, brows pulled together tightly. “Wha', ya ain’t gonna read it to me?” He seemed a little offended if anything, making you stop in your tracks and falter.

“Huh? You want me to stay?” Now it was your turn to be confused. However, he ended that by patting down a spot in the tent next to him.

A shrug, “Ya said ya were only halfway through. Course I ain’t gonna take it from ya now. Ya could be dead tomorrow, fer all I know. Might as well finish that damn story.” His voice didn’t leave much space for discussion.

You were strangely touched. He payed attention to every word you were saying, apparently. Not only did he refrain from throwing you out, he wanted you further inside the tent.

Your braced yourself, smiling at him. “Oh, uh, sure. I’ll read to you.”

As you crawled inside the tent, he reached for the zipper to close the opening. You made yourself as comfortable as was possible in the small room, leaving space between you and him. Didn’t want to overstay your welcome or make him feel uncomfortable. After all, it was rare for Daryl to allow others near him at all, always the closed off hunter. Actually, you hadn't heard him talk this much in weeks.

You counted yourself lucky. Must have caught him at a good time, then.

“Okay, I’ll start with chapter one.”

“Nah, just go on from where ya left off.”

“Are you sure? You won’t understand the story if—"

“Don’t care.”

“Well, if you insist.”

And so you began reading, stealing the occasional glance at him, spread out on his blanket, arms under his head. He was staring at the tents ceiling, blue eyes trained on the worn fabric. His focus however was on you and you only. He listened to your gentle voice, losing himelf solely in the sound instead of the story. Fuck, he could care less for the story.

No, he only cared about the way the words formed in your throat, flowing out of your lips. The soft breathing, how it hitched when you reached an exciting passage. The small noise of frustration when you stumbled over a sentence and had to begin anew…

If only you knew how much he liked your presence.

Honestly, if someone had asked him anything about the content of the novel by the point you said goodnight and left his tent to return to yours, he would have been at a loss. Didn’t remember a thing about the characters, but all about the way you had invented distinctly unique voices for each of them.

That book may have not been the best, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t grateful for every single chapter.

You sat down on the church stairs, waiting for Carol to finish saying her prayers. 

You kept your eyes locked onto Shane and Andrea as they marched across the cemetery, obviously arguing about Shane leaving the group the first chance he gets. 

You didn't hear the argument between Shane and Lori earlier. It was the argument that let Andrea know that something was going on between Shane and his best friend's wife. You didn't hear them, but you didn't have to. You already know. 

You brought a hand up to your face and sighed heavily, your shoulders tense and feet burning from running a little too much today, and to be honest, you don't really care. You cared more about the fact that you're feeling like shit about Sophia being missing when you already know what's going to happen. 

You pressed both of your palms onto your face, massaging your temples in hopes of pushing those unwanted thoughts away. 

“Can you stop running off all by yourself?” 

You froze. Slowly, you pulled your hands away from your face and looked over your shoulders, your eyes squinting to look at the person who had the nerve to say those words to you. 

“Depends on who's asking.” You mumbled, making Glenn scoff and plop himself beside you. 

“You keep running off.” The Asian man grumbled, his hold on his tomahawk loosening as he placed it on his lap. “I know you'll only listen to Rick, but you have him stressing out, too. I could tell that Sophia being missing is messing with your head, but you need to take it easy.” 

“Yeah?” You muttered, your fingers fiddling with the sleeve of Rick's jacket that you tied around your waist. “Don't have the time to rest and take it easy.” 

“You have!” Glenn hissed, but he quickly stopped himself from being harsh and cleared his throat, trying to stay calm and composed, “Sorry. I didn't mean to.. What I mean is, you have time. You just refuse to let yourself rest. Everyone needs rest. We're all worried about her, but rest is important, too.” 

You scoffed, eyes narrowing as you look away and grumble, “Ain't nobody has time for rest.” 

Glenn groaned loudly, rubbing his hands on his face to emphasize how frustrated he is at the moment for feeling like he was talking to goddamn wall. 

“You're real stubborn, (last name).” He mumbled, sighing heavily into his hands.

“Heard that a few times now.” You retorted, pushing yourself off the church stairs and turned away from him. “You have to come up with something new.” 

“It's not an insult.” Glenn uttered, standing up from the steps as well. “It's an observation.” 

“Guess you're not cut out for one.” You snorted quietly, pivoting in your heels and started walking over to the large tree on the cemetery, which was a few feet near from where Andrea and Shane were talking. 

“Hey!” The man exclaimed, picking up his tomahawk and running after you. “I wasn't done talking!” 

You ignored Glenn and kept walking, only did you stop when you got under the shade of the tree and plopped yourself down onto the elevated tombstone near it. 

Glenn followed suit and dropped himself beside you. 

You glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing. You're trying real hard to detach yourself from everyone else in the group, especially Rick, but some people just love to be stubborn.  

Thankfully, Glenn didn't bother nagging you again. 

The two of you watched as the rest of the group came over to your spot, but Rick and Shane separated themselves to talk about something— that something being Rick wanting to cover more ground to ensure that Sophia is somewhere nearby. 

You let out a sigh, your eyes trained on Rick. 

After a couple of minutes of whispering to each other, Shane finally stepped back from his best friend and walked over to the group. 

“Y'all gonna follow the creek bed back.” Shane announced, making others perk up and straighten up in their spots. “Daryl, you're in charge. (Last name), you come with us. Me, (last name), and Rick are just going to hang back to search this area another hour or so just to be thorough.” 

“You're splitting us up.” Daryl commented, eyes squinted towards Rick. “You sure?” 

“Yeah, we'll catch up to you.” Shane responded. 

“I want to stay, too.” Carl chided, stepping forward and looking directly at Shane. “I'm her friend.”

You watched as Rick and Shane shared a glance, the two of them looking reluctant to let the little boy come along, but Lori stepped forward and cleared her throat to catch her son's attention. 

“Just be careful, okay?” She told Carl, making the boy nod. 

“I will.” He mumbled, lips curling into a smile. 

“When did you start growing up?” Lori mumbled to herself, leaning down to hug her son and planting a kiss on the top of his head. 

Rick watched his wife and son for a moment before he started walking over to them. You took that as your cue to stand up from your spot and trudged your way past the married couple to stand a couple of feet away from Shane. 

You tuned out the rest of their conversation by looking over to the treeline. 

You didn't have to distract yourself for long though. Rick walked over to you and patted your upper back, causing you to glance at his way as he walked past and went to the church. 

“He told us to give him a minute.” Shane stated, walking past you as well. 

“Come on.” Carl spoke up this time, grabbing your wrist and tugging you towards him as the two of you jogged after the two former sheriffs. 

You let the little boy lead you to the church, but the two of you didn't have enough time to sit down, because Rick was already walking out of the establishment, his face twisted into a deep, displeased frown. 

“Got what you needed?” Shane asked when Rick walked past him. 

“Guess we'll find out.” Rick answered vaguely. 

“Come on.” You mumbled, tugging Carl to follow after his stomping dad who was clearly in not a good mood.

The four of you walked through the trees once more, with you and Rick leading the small group, but with you walking a foot ahead to ensure that you're following a path. 

You don't know how to track a trail if you're going to be honest, but the you in this world have a little knowledge. You could tell by how the leaves on the ground looked a little different from the rest, you could tell by how the soil looked darker compared to others. 

You can't track a human trail properly, but you could tell if it was an animal trail or not.

“We got ourselves a deer.” You announced softly, eyes locked onto the small trail on the ground left by the said animal, “We have to be real careful though.. This one seems like it's jittery based on the prints.” 

Rick and the other two shared glances. They knew that you could hunt, but they didn't know that you're this good. 

As if to prove you right, a sound of a branch breaking echoed in the air. However, to make sure, you snatched your machete from your belt and raised it in the air, getting ready to slash through whatever kind of threat is up ahead. 

You and Rick walked farther, both of your footsteps quiet and careful, but the sight before the two of you caught your breath. 

It's a deer, and it looked lost. 

It shook its body and started sniffing the ground, its mouth parting to chew on some leaves. 

Rick stepped forward, but when he spotted Carl walking past him as carefully as he could, he decided to just let his son steal the show for a short moment. When Shane raised his gun to shoot the deer, Rick tapped him on the arm to stop him, then he gestured towards the little boy who's slowly walking up to the deer. 

You held your breath, but you watched Carl get closer to the animal. You know what's going to happen next. You know that he will be laying on the ground in a matter of seconds—

Bang! 

The sound of gunshot rang through the air, just in time for the deer and Carl to collapse on the ground. 

Rick and Shane froze. They stared at the fallen little boy for a moment, unable to process what was happening. You were quick in your toes and you scrambled towards Carl, your knees wobbling once you were close enough and dropped beside him. 

“No, no, no! Carl!” Rick cried, his breathing quickening as he rushed over to the two of you. 

“Press down on the wound!” You ordered shakily, your hands fumbling as you took off Carl's jacket and pressing it down hard on the gunshot wound. 

Rick did as he was told, albeit shakily so. 

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. You cried deep in your mind, your hands trembling as you helped Rick press the jacket onto the open wound. 

There's too much blood. Your skin is covered in red. All you have right now in your mind is how to stop the bleeding, but your process of thoughts is too jumbled for you to actually think of doing anything rational. 

“I'm so sorry!” Came an urgent apology. “Let— let's take him back to my house! I know someone who can help—” 

You don't remember much after that. You don't remember running across the farm's field. You don't remember screaming or crying for Otis to hurry up. You don't remember what you said to Rick— you remembered nothing. Your mind blanked out.

You just found yourself inside of Hershel's home, with him shouting orders to Patricia and Maggie. 

Rick, on the other hand, was carrying Carl's unconscious body into Hershel's room. The doctor quickly pushed the cover aside and stepped away from the bed, allowing Rick to place Carl down onto the mattress. 

“Pillowcase.” Hershel ordered Rick, but Rick was in a state of shock to actually do anything. 

“Here, here—” You stammered, rushing forward to reach for the pillowcase and take them off from the pillow, handing it to Hershel who was busy placing a belt under Carl's body. 

“Take the jacket off.” The doctor ordered, making you snatch it and throw it somewhere in the room. “Fold it. Make a pad.” 

You quickly did as you were told and folded the pillowcase, your hand still shaking, your breath still caught in your throat. You pressed it on Carl's wound, not even bothering waiting for Hershel's order to do it. Seeing that you're still functioning unlike Rick, Hershel turned to Patricia to take the stethoscope from her. 

He pressed the diaphragm onto Carl's pulse on his neck and waited for a second. 

“I've got a heartbeat.” The old man breathed out, making Rick nod shakily. “It's faint, but it's there.” 

“I got it.” Patrica spoke up and placed her hand on top of yours, causing your eyes to flicker to look at her. “It's fine. Step back. I got it.” 

“Maggie, IV.” Hershel demanded. 

“We need some space.” Maggie said, shooting Rick a look as she fetched the IV from the basket they carried inside the room. 

“What's both of your names?” The doctor asked, glancing at you briefly. 

“I’m.. (Last name).” You answered, voice small and quiet, heart racing as you stared down at Carl's pale face with wide eyes. “He's.. He's Rick.” 

“(Last name), Rick.” Hershel called both of you, but it wasn't enough to tear your attention away from the little boy. “We're going to do everything we can, okay? Both of you need to give us some room.” 

He turned to look at Rick, who was hovering beside him. “Now.” 

You slowly stepped back, your knees wobbling under your weight. You knew this was going to happen. You knew— but you still froze, even just for a moment, when you saw Carl got shot. Like with Sophia, you couldn't do anything to prevent it from happening. 

You brought a hand up to your face, intending to wipe the sweat on your forehead, but when you brought it up, you immediately noticed how red your skin was. 

Your hands are stained with a child's blood. 

Your breath hitched sharply, and you stared at your hands like it had done something so horrible.  

If it weren't for Rick wrapping his arms around you to seek comfort, you would have kept staring at your hands and thinking further about what happened, possibly thinking of how useless you are despite being right there— right behind Carl when it happened. 

“What.. What am I going to—” Rick sobbed, his arms tightening around you as he buried his face on the crook of your shoulders. “W-What am I going to tell my wife?” 

The divide between the Vampires, Witches and Wolves had become too much. Wars had plagued the factions for far too long, killing far too many. To settle the war, Elijah was pressed to marry a werewolf, Hayley, Freya too married a wolf, Keelin and then Kol and Niklaus were pushed to marry witches, Davina and Y/N. Rebekah had managed to marry Marcel before the war had started keeping her out of the negotiations. Such decisions had been made to ensure the Mikaelsons would end up protecting all parties. Despite their violent nature, family did come first and so making them family was the best chance they all had at becoming one.

Witches were the faction Niklaus had liked least. He didn’t like that they could have to upper hand; the power. He’d used and abused them many times through the centuries and now was forced to marry one.

Whilst the other Mikaelsons attempted to get to know their new partners, Klaus refused to meet Y/N before their wedding day.

And so, for one of the few times in his long life, Niklaus felt nervous. Stood at the alter, staring down the pathway, waiting for what felt like an eternity before the witch emerged with no father to walk her down the aisle.

Klaus took the time it took her to approach, to admire her appearance and choice in dress. Though he was mildly disappointed by the modesty, it also intrigued him. He could feel her looking him over too, though he couldn’t quite tell whether she was impressed or not. She merely glanced at the witch who already stood by the alter, the maid of honour presumably, who nodded with encouragement as Y/N finally came to stand beside Niklaus.

When they turned to face one another, he could see the fear inside her eyes, the touch of sadness and defeat. His jaw ticked and he turned to glance at Elijah who only glared back as a reminder of how crucial this marriage was.

And so, with reluctance from both sides, Y/N and Klaus said their “I do”s. He watched as her face flushed pink, and her eyes shifted awkwardly across his face, eventually stilling on his lips. Klaus knew in that instance that she had never been kissed before, that she was scared not only because of who and what he was but because she was young and lacked any life experience let alone relationship experience. So he responded as gently as he could, kissing her softly, almost sweetly before taking her hand and leading her back down the aisle whilst everyone else began to shift into the next room for the dinner, drinks and dances.

Klaus took her into a smaller room, away from the bright lights and the cameras, the music and the people. There he sighed quietly to himself when her eyes grew red and wet, her bottom lip wobbled and her hands shook.

“It’s alright.” He murmured, cupping her face and stroking her cheek with his thumb in an attempt to comfort Y/N.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered, rubbing her nose with the back of his hand, causing him to grimace slightly before pulling the handkerchief from his inside pocket.

“Come now love,” he wiped her nose gently, “I’m not so bad.” The words were lightly teasing, an attempt at some humour but Y/N wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready for any of it.

Still, eventually he coaxed her to go with him to the main hall and pulled the chair out for her. He attempted ignore the faint whispers of “she’ll be fine” amongst the witches, the glances his siblings made and the mutterings of the vampires who were still against the alliance.

Klaus felt his gaze soften upon their dance, when he heard her uttering the steps under her breath, it was clear she had rehearsed. She watched her feet and his, her breathing picking up when she made a slight misstep. Klaus wondered silently why the witches would have chosen her to marry him.

Hayley had been a strong female alpha wolf, matching Elijah’s morality and pushing back with force. Keelin, similarly had as much bite and say as Freya and even Davina, although sweet had her defiance and fire. But Y/N seemed only afraid, not a force to be reckoned with at all.

But the witches knew what they were doing. As much as Niklaus enjoyed a challenge, he enjoyed feeling needed and wanted more. Having someone to protect, to look after would likely be longer lasting than someone pushing back against his buttons. Y/N was a deliberate choice, a gamble on what they knew and believed of Niklaus Mikaelson.

They just so happened to be right.

Klaus spent the majority of the first few weeks of their marriage attempting to bring her out of her shell, telling her stories and offering her different things. He took her shopping, waiting patiently as she came out in different outfits. At night he would press his mouth to hers, encouraging her to part her lips and let her tongue dance with his. He’d chuckle softly when his eyes would open to see all the items in his room floating. Y/N would flush, thinking Klaus was laughing at her before realising that her magic had once again slipped from her control.

Klaus soon enjoyed sitting and reading through grimoires with her, watching as she perfected spell after spell.

Klaus found himself enjoying her presence very much, there was just one thing their relationship lacked: sex. Although it had only been a couple months, Klaus hadn’t had to go without sex for longer than a few days in centuries.

So, he began to hint. Hand on her thigh, encouraging her hands on his thighs, brushing her breast whilst kissing her deeply, hiking her leg over his hip in bed, but she just didn’t get it.

Klaus could smell her arousal, practically taste it, but she made no move to reciprocate or any indication that she even understood what he wanted.

It was only upon her accidentally walking in on him with his hand around his cock that she realised his needs. She’d been looking for him for a while, began wondering the other rooms. When opening the spare bedroom door, she expected to find only a clean empty bed. Instead, her husband lay a sweaty mess with his hips bucking up and head back. The gasp that left her made him spring up, the sheets pulled over his lap as his wide eyes locked on hers. Minutes later he was sat in his, now their room, gently explaining that he was simply fulfilling one of his needs and he was sorry for not locking the door.

“It’s okay” she whispered, “s’my fault for ignoring you when you tried to show me”

Klaus only blinked at her. “You knew?”

“I won’t be any good, I’ve never done it.” The way she said it, was as though it would be a surprise. Klaus only smiled.

“I know, love. I knew the moment I saw you at the end of the aisle, when you weren’t sure how to kiss me back. But you’re an excellent kisser now” he reminded, “because you’ve had plenty of practice.” The words were teasing and she smiled shyly back. His hand gently caressed her knee as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I can teach you to be good at anything.”

Y/N leaned to him, resting her head against his shoulder whilst he danced his fingertips along the soft skin of her thigh, up under the little dress he’d bought for her.

“Come here.” He whispered, kissing the side of her head gently and pressing down into her flesh, grabbing both her thighs and urging her forward. Slowly, Y/N shifted onto his lap. “Like that” he murmured as he set her legs open around his waist, straddling him effectively. He lifted the skirt of her dress, staring down at her panties on the verge of drooling. “Just…just gonna rub okay?” He held his hand out and caressed her gently through the soft cotton, admiring how the fabric dampened and clung to her pussy. Klaus listened to her breathing, enjoying the uneven pattern when he teased her entrance through her underwear.

Y/N swallowed thickly as she felt her whole body became hot. She wasn’t quite sure what to do when her hips bucked without her meaning to. Klaus only continued to praise her. “See? Your body is already learning, see that?” He brushed her the same way, causing her hips to flex again. “Good girl, right there” he rubbed her clit quickly, grinning to himself when she humped against his fingers.

The soft little sounds she let out only grew louder before her panties were soaked through, her pussy so wet he could hear her little hole clench. “Fuck, come here” he mumbled but Y/N wasn’t sure how to get any closer.

“Where?” She whispered and he groaned, tugging her panties until the elastic inside snapped and he could tear the fabric off her skin. At the exposure, Y/N instinctively tried to get off and close her legs. Klaus let out a small yelp when her knee knocked between his own legs.

“Love-“ he tried to get a hold of her but she was pulling her dress back down with trembling hands. “I’m sorry,” he apologised, wrapping his arm over her waist to pull her back beside him. “Shh, I’m sorry.” He kissed her temple and cupped her cheek, feeling how hot her skin was. He could feel her embarrassment, and he resented himself for it. “I shouldn’t have done that” he mumbled, kissing her face in small but repetitive gestures.

“I’m not…I haven’t had time.” She whimpered and he rubbed her side comfortingly.

“Time for what, love?” He murmured, his forehead against her cheek, a position that appeared almost submissive.

“To look ready.” He watched her swallow the little lump down her throat. His brows pinched for a second before he nudged her gently with his nose.

“Love?” He whispered and she remained quiet but he knew he had her attention. “I don’t care about some hair.”

The words lingered and she felt her face get even hotter. Her friends had made it clear that Klaus, being as old and as experienced as he was, would expect nothing less than perfection. Y/N had taken it too seriously. She was too fearful something wouldn’t look right or feel right.

“I’ve not…I don’t know how to shave it off.” She whispered and Klaus nodded, stroking her arm slowly.

“That doesn’t matter. I just want to feel you, love.” He nuzzled her cheek and brushed her thighs again. “You’re beautiful, I know you’ll be gorgeous there too.”

After another minute or too, he had her legs back open, caressing her directly this time rather than through her panties. She watched him watch her, seeing the love and affection in his eyes led her to comfort. Slowly, her body relaxed and moved with his hand toward her pleasure once again. Her fingers curled into the material of his henley when his head settled between her thighs.

“There, like that” he had her tap him twice quickly. “You tap like that if you want it to stop.” Klaus nodded up at her reassuringly before letting his tongue stroke along her lips. He pulled her legs up over his shoulder and dug in. Y/N arched naturally, her body pushing against the heat of his mouth as he sucked her clit between his lips. Klaus worked with only his tongue and teeth to push her to the edge, his eyes occasionally glancing out to watch how her face contorted with pleasure.

He didn’t push for anything more, didn’t try guide her hands to his crotch. Just led back beside her and held her close to his chest. When she fell to sleep, he slipped back away to finish himself off.

It wasn’t long before he had her down on the floor, her face in his hands whilst he gently guided her head back and forth, watching her struggle to slide his cock down her throat. Her eyes would glaze over and he’d catch the little dribble of saliva from the corner of her mouth.

Y/N had attempted to seduce him, positioned herself across their bed in a brand new set of underwear, waiting nervously as the door handle twisted. Klaus was of course entranced, but he also couldn’t help but find her adorable rather than a sex symbol. He could see how much she was trying, how uncomfortable she felt in the clothes. So of course, he helped take them off. He caressed the little bumps on her skin from where she’s shaved her hair down.

“Told you I didn’t mind.” He mumbled but kissed her mound in appreciation anyway. As much as Y/N enjoyed his mouth, she moved away and nudged him down onto his back. klaus smiled to himself when she settled on top of him, grinding clumsily on his clothed cock. His eyes narrowed slightly at the little show she put on, the sway of her hips and her mouth suckling along his skin as she pulled his pants open and down. She held him in her shaky hand and without any consideration for herself, took him inside her in one swift motion.

Klaus’s eyes widened when she suppressed a cry, and the way her tight hole attempted to push against him. His hands flew to her hips, holding her tight so she didn’t move too much.

“Christ,” he breathed, trying to keep her still as she whimpered. “Shh, it’s alright” he carefully arched himself to try check she was alright; no tearing or blood. “Can’t do that yet, love. You’re too tight for that.” He whispered, kissing her cheek gently and caressing her hips. “What made you do that, hm?”

“I’m sorry.” She sniffed, nuzzling into his neck. “Saw it and thought you’d like it.”

“Saw it?” He questioned, his brows knotting together.

“I was just trying to learn how to do it.” She whispered and Klaus bit back a groan.

“I said I’d teach you.” He murmured, kissing the side of her neck now. “God knows what you ended up watching.” Y/N only held onto him tighter.

Slowly, Klaus began to shift his hips against hers. He held the back of her head and rolled her onto her back as he began to take her. He shushed her went she let out a moan that was a little too loud to be real.

“Don’t copy any stupid video.” He mumbled, thrusting a little deeper to pull a genuine gasp from her lips. Klaus took his time exploring her body, trying different angles to see which ones would make her arch more, whine higher and beg better.

Despite everything people assumed about Daryl Dixon, despite the cigarettes and the silence and the rough edges that made strangers dismiss him before he even spoke, his first instinct had always been loyalty. “Ain’t runnin’ from it.” And you knew him well enough to know he meant it.

The months that followed were ugly in ways neither of you had expected. Not because of the baby, but because the world around you made it painfully clear how little faith it had in the possibility of people like you surviving together.

Your parents looked at Daryl the way people looked at storms rolling over the horizon when they'd just planned to go out: dangerous, inconvenient. Your mother cried quietly over dinner while your father spoke in measured, humiliating sentences about ruined opportunities and "so much wasted potential", about all the money spent on private schools, ballet classes, and piano lessons just to watch you throw your future away for some mechanic from the “wrong side” of town who barely spoke in complete sentences.

Daryl sat through every word with his jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack from the pressure. He never defended himself, raised his voice or begged. He simply endured it because you were pregnant, exhausted, and scared, and somewhere in that silence he had decided your comfort mattered more than his pride.

Your son was born during a thunderstorm after nine painful hours of labor. It felt like the weather itself mimicked your screams with thunder shaking the hospital windows. And against your parents’ wishes, Daryl stayed beside you the entire time.

The gentle nurse who spoke to you afterward admitted she had never seen a man more terrified in her life than when he heard you screaming in pain.

Once the baby was finally placed against your chest, Daryl felt his entire world change. He muttered something under his breath while staring down at the tiny screaming infant wrapped in blue blankets, looking stunned in the purest sense of the word. The baby had his eyes.

For a while, the two of you tried. God, you tried harder than most people ever knew. Daryl picked up extra work wherever he could find it, often coming home with grease on his hands and exhaustion dragging beneath his eyes so heavily it aged him years overnight, while you balanced college classes with motherhood and constant battles against your parents’ disappointment.

You were exhausted all the time, surviving on burnt coffee, interrupted sleep, and a stubborn love that refused to die even when life gave it every reason to.

But eventually the pressure became unbearable.

Your parents escalated from disapproval to ultimatums, threatening to cut you off completely — tuition, housing, every safety net you and your son had left.

You and Daryl had your final fight the night your son turned three, screaming at each other in the apartment kitchen while the little boy slept in the next room. You knew in that moment that you would remember the look in his eyes for the rest of your life, the exact moment Daryl realized you were drowning beneath expectations you could no longer carry.

“Ya think I wanna be the reason your whole damn life falls apart?” he snapped, voice raw with frustration and heartbreak tangled together. “Think I don’t see what this is doin’ to you?”

“It’s not you." you cried back immediately.

“But I’m in your way.”

“Daryl—”

“Yer family’ll never see me as one of ‘em, and they already said they’ll cut you out if ya stay with me.” He cupped your cheeks, taking a deep breath before continuing, calmer now. “I don’t want our son havin’ a life like mine.” a tiny pause. “He has opportunities here.” the last sentence was barely above a whisper.

You let out the most heartbreaking sob he had ever heard, simply because loving someone wasn’t always enough to survive the machinery of the world crushing down around you.

You separated six months later. There were nonstop tears, shaking hands, and promises to stay kind to each other for your son’s sake, and somehow, against all odds, you managed it. You became good coparents. Great ones, even. Better friends than lovers by the end of it, as you liked to lie to yourself.

Daryl stayed involved no matter how far life dragged him, showing up for birthdays with awkwardly wrapped gifts and scraped knuckles, teaching your son how to fish before he learned long division, how to track deer prints through mud, how to throw a punch without breaking his wrist, how to survive disappointment quietly.

Your son adored his dad with that fierce, uncomplicated love children reserved for fathers who made them feel safe, and Daryl loved the boy with a devotion so profound it terrified him.

You kept your relationship heartfelt, every time you asked him how he was doing it was genuine, and vice versa. Every year since your son turned four, you sat on the corners of his birthdays enjoying to catch up with eachother, slipping curious questions like "Are you seeing anyone?" after some alcohol kicked in and the answer was always no, of course it was no.

Truth be told, you kept expecting something change and finally get over eachother, but you weren't really willing to let go, some time after his 13th birthday party ended, you caved in, had a relapse, snuck out with Daryl like a teenager and had sex on his trailer. The next morning you came back home with the bitter taste you weren't allowing yourself to have more of him purely out of cowardice, that you should face it like an adult and allow yourself to be fully happy for once.

Then the world ended.

You had taken a trip with your son to visit your aunt Deanna miles away from where Daryl lived, the true love of your life, if you were honest enough to admit it. You were ready to be back and tell him how sorry you were that you didn't try harder, you didn't push more and you didn't face your folks for him. And then you grieved him again. So much harder this time. You spent two years believing Daryl Dixon was dead.

Alexandria smelled like fresh bread and woodsmoke the afternoon everything changed. The gates opened to receive Aaron back with another group of survivors. You'd grown fond of him in these years and he treated you and your son like his own family.

Aaron walks in first, dirt-streaked clothes and a tired look on his face. You were halfway through unloading crates with your son, he was talking about his last hunting trip when he suddenly froze mid-sentence beside you. Almost sixteen now, he towered over you already — all broad shoulders and long limbs, his sharp blue-gray eyes mirroring his father’s so painfully that sometimes you had to look away not to cry.

The abrupt tension that overtook him made you glance to where his eyes layed immediately. Then you understood why. It felt like a mirage. You had dreamed of this moment so many times before that your first instinct was to believe this was just another cruel fantasy made up by your brain, that it would disappear the second you blinked.

But it didn't. He didn't.

A group of strangers entered through the gates alongside him, people you had never seen before. They looked exhausted, starved, worn down by the world. And right in front on them, Daryl.

He stood only a few feet away near the gate. A crossbow hung oven one shoulder and he looked older now, older than you'd expect someone to age in two years. His hair was long, streaked faintly near the temples, his gaze was harsher and his face was scarred in ways visible even from a distance. Grief had settled like concrete into the lines of his face the way exhaustion settles into old soldiers.

But his eyes were exactly the same. And they locked onto you so intensely you felt it burn.

A woman with snow-white hair stood beside him saying something he clearly wasn’t listening to, because he had gone completely still. Completely, horrifyingly still.

For one suspended second, neither of you moved. The noise around you faded strangely, like the entire world had inhaled and forgotten how to exhale again.

The crate slipped from your hands and hit the pavement hard enough to crack open one corner, canned food spilling across the ground, but neither of you cared because Daryl’s expression had already begun collapsing into something raw and disbelieving and dangerously emotional. You watched his gaze move frantically over your face like he was trying to confirm you were real before running to your encounter, he hugged you tighter than he ever did "You're alive." he kept repeating hoarsely, over and over like he genuinely could not process it. “Jesus Christ, you’re alive."

When he finally opened his eyes to look behind you, he shifted his gaze to your son. The boy stared back at him in stunned silence, every feature unmistakably Dixon beneath the years neither of them had shared together, and Daryl looked like someone had physically struck him across the chest.

The woman beside him glanced between all three of you once before realization visibly dawned across her face, then spread silently through the rest of the group nearby.

Daryl Dixon had a son, a nearly grown son. And somehow none of them had ever known. He'd mentioned having lost people, they all did, but nothing ever specific.

“Holy shit,” a tall, muscular redhead muttered somewhere behind them, not even trying to lower his voice, and nobody corrected him.

Daryl broke from your hug, finally took one shaky step forward, then another.

His breathing looked uneven now, chest rising too sharply beneath the worn fabric of his vest, and you realized with sudden overwhelming clarity that this man had mourned you. Deeply mourned you. Somewhere out there in the brutality of the apocalypse, Daryl had believed you were dead all these years, and whatever walls he had built around himself afterward were cracking apart in real time right in front of everyone.

His voice broke the second he spoke your son’s name.

He blinked rapidly, clearly trying not to look emotional in front of an entire audience, but his composure failed almost instantly. “Dad?”

The sound that escaped Daryl after that barely qualified as human. He crossed the distance in seconds.

And when he wrapped his arms around his son for the first time in two years, holding him so tightly it looked almost desperate, the entire courtyard fell silent around them because nobody there had ever seen Daryl Dixon unravel before. Not with tears visibly gathering in his eyes while his son clung back just as fiercely, laughing shakily despite himself because he could barely breathe beneath the force of the embrace.

When they parted he held you again, afraid that if he let go maybe you'd vanish on thin air. And just like that, the pain of the years apart disappeared between you. There was no more space for it. You had spent years regretting letting him go after believing the two of you had been permanently separated forever.

Now, standing in his arms again, you could physically feel the love that had lingered there all this time. Quieter now. Older now. Reshaped by time and grief and survival. But still there.

“Fuck.” You gasped out, eyes closing tightly as you hunched over to catch your breath. “Why must things go this way?” 

You couldn't stop yourself from wondering why you're still looking for Sophia even though you already know that she's gone. You can't stop yourself from walking through the trees even when the sun is already coming down. 

It's weird. You can't stop yourself from hoping. 

No time to kick myself over this. You thought and straightened yourself, lifting a hand to wipe the sweat that dripped down to your chin from your forehead. 

You tried to convince yourself that Sophia is dead— that she won't make it out alive, that she's probably inside the farm by now, that she's already caught by Otis and Hershel. You tried so hard to convince yourself to let go of the search, but for some reason, a part of you, a huge one, just can't accept the fact that she's gone. 

This is why I don't want to get attached. You grumbled in your mind, your feet carrying you back to the highway. 

By the time you got back to the highway, you found everyone scattering away from Carol, Andrea, and Lori, and you could more or less guess that Rick and Daryl had told her that Sophia's trail went cold a couple of hours ago. 

The sound of your footsteps drew the attention of others, and it was Glenn who looked relieved when he spotted you. 

“What's the news on your end?” Glenn asked out loud, making everyone, including those who were walking away, turn their heads to look at who he was talking to. 

Rick and Daryl paused in their tracks, their faces slightly hopeful. 

“Got two walkers.” You informed them, throwing your leg over the fence and plopping your weight down onto it, huffing. “I was gonna slice them open, check if they swallowed something, but remembered I have no gloves. From the looks of it though, they haven't eaten anything for breakfast or lunch.” 

“So, still nothing?” Andrea asked, more like towards herself than you. 

“Nothing.” You stated bluntly, pushing yourself off from your sitting position to walk over to the supplies the others have gathered. “I'll try again first thing in the morning. Pretty sure she knows a thing or two on how to survive the night in the woods—”

“She's just a little girl!” Carol cried out, sobbing into her hands. 

You paused, your hand falling onto the holster of your knife. “I taught her back at the quarry— taught her a thing or two on how to survive if she were to get lost one day.” 

Everyone grew silent. Not that they were talking in the first place, but still, they were silent. 

You inhaled sharply, your eyes becoming glossy. You could feel yourself becoming tilted by exhaustion and the frustration of not being able to do anything for the little girl, but you simply tipped your head up to look at the sky to stop your tears from spilling over. 

“I told her to be quiet, to eat berries she can find if she gets hungry.” You told the crying mother behind you as you let out a deep breath. “Did the best I could, so all we can do right now is hope.” 

Carol sniffled, her tears falling. Your words eased the pain and suffering she's feeling, but it wasn't enough. She knew that she shouldn't lash out at you, or Rick, or anyone for that matter— she really did, but it was hard. 

“We’ll try again tomorrow.” You repeated, turning your head slightly to the right to glance at her over your shoulder. 

With your speech done, you focused your attention back onto the highway and walked, rushing forward towards the cars that were already pushed back to the side. You could see Rick walking as well, but you couldn't find it in yourself to follow after him and comfort him. 

You veered away from the direction Rick was walking to and decided to settle on one of the cars, jumping over on its hood and sitting on top of it. 

You looked up at the clouds, the sight of the bright orange sky hurting your eyes a little, but you couldn't find it in yourself to look away. The sky is beautiful, hauntingly so. It was as if the world hasn't gone to shit yet. 

You watched as the sky slowly became dark, the orange hue that once covered the skyline transitioning to a fine midnight brew. 

Yeah, tomorrow.. You're going to look for Sophia. 

You spent the night out of the RV and settled yourself on the same car you jumped into. You made yourself comfortable in it and when you got cold, you just opted on wearing Rick's jacket to keep yourself warm for the rest of the night. 

You found yourself drifting in and out of sleep, unable to actually fall asleep, but when morning came, it was T-Dog who came to fetch you from the car. 

“You slept out here?” The man asked, eyebrows furrowed as he watched you get off the hood and tie the jacket back around your waist once again, “Did you even get any sleep? Weren't you cold? You could have asked for a blanket. There's an extra in the RV—” 

“It wasn't that cold.” You grunted out, stomping your feet on the pavement a couple of times to wake up your sleeping limbs. “Besides, I have Rick's jacket with me, and I couldn't just squeeze in the RV to sleep. It's cramped enough as is.” 

“Still, man..” T-Dog grumbled, frown deepening. 

“Seriously. I'm alright.” You assured him, patting him on the arm as you walked past him. 

You could hear the man muttering more words under his breath, complaining about something, but you ignored him and continued your way over to Rick and others— spotting the sheriff deputy spreading out the small arsenal of blades that Carl found yesterday. 

“Everyone takes a weapon.” Rick ordered, taking a step back to give everyone space to take whatever they want. 

“These aren't the weapons we need.” Andrea complained the moment Rick said those words, shooting a glare his way, “What about the guns?” 

“We’ve been over that.” Shane scoffed, pushing himself off the RV as he lifted the bag of guns off the ground. “Daryl, Rick, and I are carrying. We can't have people popping off rounds every time a tree rustles.” 

“It's not the trees I'm worried about.” Andre retorted.

“Say somebody fires at the wrong moment, a herd happens to be passing by.” Shane shot back, pushing his hands halfway to his pockets. “See, then it's game over for all of us.” 

You walked over to the hood of the car and stopped beside Carl. Your eyes sweep over the available blades before you settle for the machete that was on the farthest left of the bunch. You pull it out of the pack and walk over to the fence to get yourself ready for the search. 

You could hear Daryl giving out instructions on what to do, then Rick gave them out the next. 

Everyone said their temporary farewell to each other, more like to Dale and T-Dog because the two of them will be the only ones left alone in the highway, before they scatter around to get whatever else they will need. 

You could hear someone walk behind you, but you didn't have to turn around to know who it was. 

“Ya could track now?” Daryl asked, jumping over the fence and stopping a couple feet in front of you, keeping his back turned on you, “Thought ya ain't good with tracking? Where’d ya learn it?” 

“I'm not.” You answered, pushing your weight off the highway fence and leaving your response vague. 

The archer scoffed. “So much for an answer.” 

You didn't pay attention to him after that, simply letting him lead the group as all of you tread off to look for the missing little girl. 

You only have a machete and a knife with you, but it will make do. If the group will split, then you will have to go to Rick, Shane, and Carl. You refuse to leave the father-son duo’s side starting now— especially now, of all times, because you know Carl will need blood. 

Changing the plot is crossed off the list, so all you can do now is try to lessen as much damage as possible. 

With you deep in your thought, you didn't notice how softly Daryl, Rick, and Carol are calling out for Sophia from outside the tent that they have found. The tent is only a few feet up ahead from your spot, so you can't really hear what they were saying. 

You were right behind Shane, refusing to let him trail behind you. You don't trust the guy, not even with a single drop of your blood. You hated his guts— more than you hated the walkers’ rotting guts. 

You know that Shane is essential to the group right now, but goodness, just thinking about the things he will be doing in the future is already pushing you to point your knife at him and kill him right there. You know better though. You're better than that. 

When they were done with the tent, everyone veered off to another path. 

Once again, you're following behind the group as they move forward, your eyes sweeping across your surroundings to make sure that nothing will slip past your radar. 

Then, there it was. 

Clang! Clang! Clang! 

The rhythmic sound of church bells clanging echoed loudly from the distance, alarming everyone in the group and making them look around in panic. 

Not you, of course not, but by the time you heard the church bells ring for the fourth time, you were already up and about on your feet, sprinting past Rick, Shane, and Daryl, making the three of them snap their heads to look at your running form. 

“(Last name)!” Rick hissed, already hot on your trail. 

“Shit, why does that woman keep runnin’?!” Daryl growled, but he was also hot on your trail, swinging his crossbow over his shoulder to run easier after you. 

You know it was dumb. You know that, but you can't stop your heart from racing as you sprint past through the trees. 

You hoped deep in your heart that something had changed, that the story got twisted, that the little girl was hiding somewhere near the church, that she was the one ringing those damn bells. 

It was hopeful thinking, but you can't stop yourself from thinking about it. 

You forced yourself to run faster. You pushed your legs to carry your weight across the woods harder, more swift, more quietly— quicker. You pushed yourself to the limit until you were out of the treeline, and are panting hard, your throat burning from running a little too hard. 

You gasped for air, slightly hunched over with your hands on your knees, but when you heard Rick and Shane talking behind you, you started running again. 

You raced across the cemetery to get to the church, one of your hands clutching the holster of your knife to ground yourself in reality. Once you reached the church, you didn't waste any time pushing the red doors open, slamming it hard against the wall and capturing the attention of the walkers sitting inside. 

You panted heavily, your eyes sweeping across the room to check how many walkers are there 

Three. You counted, already snatching the machete from your belt and stalking forward to get close to the nearest walker to you. 

You reeled your arm back and slashed forward, the blade of your machete catching the female walker's head and sending it tumbling onto the floor. You didn't allow yourself to breathe and quickly turned to the male walker on the left row of chairs. 

You raised your arm and brought it down onto the walker's head with enough force, making the blade sink down onto its skull. 

Looking past your arm to look at the third walker, you checked if it was close. 

When you spotted it having trouble getting off the chairs, your free hand quickly snatched your knife off the makeshift holster and approached it, letting go of the machete that was still embedded into the walker's head to take care of the other gnarling monster. 

You stalked towards it, arm raised to stab it in the head. Your knife sunk down onto its rotting eyesocket, the blade sharp enough with the force of your stab strong enough to kill it. 

You inhaled sharply, your chest heaving up and down as you stared at the walker as it toppled down onto the floor. 

Just then, you heard others run up the stairs. 

“Well, shit.” Shane huffed, eyeing the walkers that you had killed alone and are now laying on the church floor, motionless.

“Shit indeed.” Rick grumbled, breathing heavily.