#dwight

.*༄cry wolf masterlist

content warnings: blood & gore, explicit behaviour, sexual content, trauma, ptsd and more throughout the series. dni if minor and proceed with caution.

set: season 7 onwards.

pairing: daryl dixon x reader!slow burn!

002, THE BIGGER PICTURE.

A SHARP SCREECH, DREW you out of your beautiful daydream. Your eyes now wide and alert, they bore into the culprit of the sound.  A glass of rum had been slid across the table, toward you. Once more, the devil himself was sitting across from you, kicking back like a king.

You had been dragged back to Negan's headquarters. No thanks to Dwight.

It was only a matter of time before you were back here. To Negan, it was his opportunity to vent his disappointment at you. That was all this room was used for. If you weren't his right hand man, you knew their was horror was waiting within these walls. 

So, you knew better than to accept this offer. Instead, you studied the caramel liquid, not moving an inch.

"Oh, come on. This is just a small gesture of my gratitude," Negan coaxed. A wicked grin still painting his lips, he continued, "Heck, it's only been a few days but you did get him to speak." This captured your attention, orbs now on him. How did he?

The thought only tickled your mind before he explained himself. "Dwighty boy, here," The leader pointed to a corner where Dwight lurked, listening to every word. "He's been listening in for me, said you managed one conversation," Negan laughed.



Furrowing your brows, you searched his eyes for his true feelings. Was this sarcasm? One conversation can't be enough, if you could even call it that. 

Tilting his head, the man did the same to you. Closely observing every twitch or gaze. "I'm being serious, Y/N," Your name rang, in your ears. It sent a mind dumbing shiver down your spin. Negan never used it, at least he hadn't for a long time.

Something from deep within your soul escaped. "Negan, what are you after?" boiling with poison. You recalled the person you used to be, as if hearing it had taken you back in time. 

"There she is," Joy dripped from his evil smirk. It was clear he ached for a closer glance, his body now leaning over the metal table that kept the pair of you separate. His dark orbs zoned in on your body, taking every detail in. Invited or not.

Seconds went by before either spoke again. 

"Dwight," He exclaimed, "Leave us. I'd like to discuss freely with Y/N." The blonde man must of lingered for too long, because the leader's gaze ripped itself from you. Negan gave Dwight a pointed look, before continuing, "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

A thud of the door confirmed he had finally obeyed orders. The air shifted, it was unsettling. However, you remained firm, eyes still trained on the beast. He trusted you alone or these were your final moments. Final moments he wanted to enjoy alone. The thought caused your stomach to twist.

Negan made the decision to encroach on your personal space. The man shoved the glass toward you now, inches away. Recalling your earlier idea, you accepted his offer without hesitation. Letting out a deep sigh as the liquid burnt and left a caramel odor on your breath.  

This pleased Negan, once more.

Your body was still blazing in the man's stare, as if he had learned every feature by heart. Negan gently picked up the tumbler remaining in your hand and drank what was left of it.

"You see, Y/N, I like you," Negan drawled. "In another life, I would of made you one of my many wives," the thought made your skin crawl. You'd rather allow hell to swallow you whole than become his wife. "I like and appreciate you so much, I'm willing to offer you something even better than that," He spoke. Placing the glass back while crouching to your level, he continued, "An opportunity. Become one of my men."  

Become Negan.

"Why would I do that? After everything. My sister," you mustered. Ignoring your better judgement to accept the deal no matter the price.

His breath fanned your face, the caramel scent lingering in the air, while he calculated away. "Well, my boy, Tobias, has heard a few things. Whispers in the halls. One of my wives, has not been playing ball," He explained. Tobias Smith. Negan's son. The devils offspring. "I have a sneaky suspicion, she plans to pull something, soon."

You could only think of one person. Sherry. She was the only disobedient wife. 

"Your sister, she's fond of her," This confirmed your suspicion. "I mean if it wasn't for her ratting on her, you wouldn't be in here, now," Negan laughed watching your expression drop. Jean had ratted on Sherry? The pit in your stomach only expanded. A thousand thoughts crossed your mind. your sister, she'd never do that. Especially, knowing what Negan was capable of. 

Tobias must be getting in her head. 

When they first arrived here, Jean had taken a liking to the boy. Ignoring all of his warning signs of course, at least that's what you heard. Sherry had a habit of talking with prisoners and you was one of them. The woman always kept a close eye on her, for your sanity.

"Due to that... and your excellent effort!" he exclaimed. "I'm offering you both a lifeline," he said with a delighted leap where he stood, making you jump. Grabbing the glass back, he waltzed towards the bottle, on his end of the table, eager to pour out more.

Left with your thoughts for a moment, you began sorting through all the offers he may make. This left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Especially, at the idea of Jean being manipulated by Negan's son.

"The lifeline being, you'll get a better bed, even better food and to top it all of I'll let your sister move right on in," he offered. 

You stood abruptly which caused your chair to tumble, you opened you mouth before thinking. "What do you want?"

"Woah, hold your horses, darling. I was getting to that," Negan offered you another glass. 

You knew better than to upset him, so you accepted it but refrained from drinking. Particularly right now. When you considered his might, you examined Lucille. You didn't want you or Jean to be the next victim, and the bat was waiting for its next victim against the wall. You'd do anything to be with Jean. So, you paid attention to Negan's requests.

"So," He reached into his back pocket and took out a walkie talkie. Negan clarified, "I want you to take my new puppy, and escape." 

Confusion comes as a fog to your brain, you searched for clarity in the leaders word. Escape? This had to be a trap, a sadistic ploy for him to laugh at.

It was written all over your face.

Clapping his hands in delight, "You should see your face, it is priceless," he laughed. He strolled toward you, again invading your personal space, and put the walkie-talkie in the waistband of you branded prisoner sweatpants. "I want you to take this," he said with a pleased grin.

Every part of you wanted to recoil from his touch but you froze allowing him to lead. Reminding yourself that it was all for Jean. Let him believe he had some hold on you.

"Just get out; I don't care how you do it. Dwight's birdy has been heard whispering to Daryl, so I'm sure she's thinking of something." This strengthened your idea that Dwight and Daryl had a past together. "She has done it before, and I have no doubt that she will do it again. Call me when she does," he clarified.

Negan's orbs wondered to you still full glass, prompting you to swig it back. Face twisting at the taste, you began, "Why? I don't understand. Why would you just let me leave... and Daryl?"

The whole situation was off.

"I need information and you have shown me your capable of doing dirty work," Negan spoke plainly. "The communities around us smell like shit and I want you to snuff them out. Continue this dance with Daryl, of course, to break him down, with those pretty eyes," His dark eyes stared deeply into your doe like ones. "But gather intel at the same time," He finished with smacking his hand on the table. 

Attempting to stay alert and in the moment, your mind continued to race with all the information Negan was spewing. Simply, Negan was offering you the one thing you couldn't say no to. All you had to do, is jeopardies countless lives. You'd have to jeopardies Sherry, a woman who didn't even know you but still offered to watch over your sister. You always wanted to be like her, in this place, outspoken. 

It was no longer just Daryl you had to betray. He was a tiny part in Negan's large scheme. 

Waltzing over to Lucille, Negan caressed the hilt lovingly, his eyes glued to your body. "So, what's it going to be? Rot away in that cell forever and never see your sister again... or do this to show me your loyal and you get a seat at this table forever," He twirled Lucille with a smirk. 

It would haunt you. The decision. Family over all.

Nodding hesitantly, you sealed your fate, "Yes."

Negan smiled, "I'll tell you all about our new friends then."

THE DAMP SILENCE OF the cells pressed down on you, thicker than the concrete walls themselves. It was suffocating in there. After making the decision you were thrown away again, to continue your mission. However, your emotions were catching up to you. Guilt was pressing down, not the concrete walls.

Shifting closer to the vent, listening to the faint scrape of chains from the other side. He was awake. You’d learned to tell the difference between the silence of sleep and the silence of someone refusing to speak. You need to hear a voice, more now than ever.

"Y'know," you whispered, voice raw, "I keep thinking about my sister. Can't get her out of my head. Used to drive me nuts when she followed me around, back when things were normal. Now, I'd give anything just to hear her laugh again."

The chains stilled. Nothing.

Letting out a shaky breath, you pushed on. "She's all I had. Still all I have. If she died, then..." You trailed off, pressing your forehead against the cold concrete. Just the thought of Jean was a stab in the heart. "...then what the hell's the point?"

It was similar to a confessional. Daryl didn't know her, so he wasn't able to hold judgement. He was forced to listen to you too.

A rough sound broke the quiet — a sharp exhale, almost a scoff. Then his voice came, flat, clipped: "Don't matter. Thinkin' on it don't change nothin'."

Surprised he responded, you bit your lip. You was pleased to hear him but his word were harsh. "It keeps her alive in my head. Makes me feel like I didn't—" you caught yourself, swallowing the rest of the sentence before it could escape. "...like I didn't lose her yet."

Metal scraped as he shifted again, heavier this time. His reply came slow, like every word was dragged out of him: "Sounds like you already did."

The sting of his words settled deep, but you forced a bitter laugh. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just... holding on the only way I know how." Jean would hate the type of person you’ become, all out of the selfish need to protect her.

Silence followed. Not soft silence — sharp, pointed, the kind meant to shut you down.

You whispered anyway. "You ever hold on to someone like that?"

This time, no answer. Not even the clink of chains. Just silence stretching out so long it threatened to swallow you whole.

Closing your eyes, throat tightening. "...Guess that's a no."

Still, You didn't move away from the wall. Holding out on something from Daryl.

Then the sound of boots in the hall echoed, brisk and purposeful. The jingle of keys cut through the still air before Dwight's voice followed, rough and impatient.

"On your feet," He ordered from the other side. "Both of you!"

Your stomach twisted. You knew what that tone meant — this wasn't food or another lecture. This was for show. Chains rattled as your cell door scraped open. Dwight's scarred face appeared in the frame, eyes narrowed like he could already see straight through you. He jerked his chin. "Move."

Legs heavy as you stepped into the hall, wrists shackled. For the first time since you’d been thrown in, the stale air of the corridor gave way to something wider, colder. Dwight pushed you forward, boots crunching against gravel as the heavy doors opened into the courtyard.

The stench hit first — rotting flesh, hot metal, the faint sting of blood. The courtyard fence groaned under the weight of the dead, their snarls and claws pressing through the gaps. They reached for you mindlessly, teeth snapping, fingers tearing at the air.

And then you saw him.

Dragged out from the same door, chains around his wrists too, Big Joey pushed him forward. He looked worse than you imagined from the sounds alone — gaunt, bruised, dirt clinging to sweat. But his eyes, sharp and feral, lifted to meet your’s across the open space.

Your breath caught. For nights, he'd been just a presence behind a wall, a voice in the dark, sometimes nothing but silence. Now, standing here in front of him, it was like all of that had been stripped bare.

His stare cut through you like a blade. Cold. Distrustful.

Dwight smirked at the pair, like he was enjoying the moment. "Ain't much different, huh? Cages or fences — all the same. You stay in line, you live. You step out, you end up there." He gestured to the walkers clawing at the fence.

One of them lunged close, teeth gnashing just inches from your face. You flinched back, chains rattling, heart hammering. The layout of the courtyard, was burned into your brain, from when you were first here. Across the yard, Daryl didn't move. Didn't flinch. He just kept staring at you— like he'd already made up his mind about the kind of person you were.

You attempted to hold his gaze, lips parting like you might speak, but nothing came out.

Dwight's hand shoved you shoulder, snapping your attention back. "Eyes forward."

The walkers moaned louder, fingers scraping metal, the chorus of death drowning out all of your racing thoughts. You risked one more glance at him. Daryl's expression hadn't softened. If anything, the silence between the pair was heavier now than it had ever been through the vent.

For the first time, you wished he hadn't answered at all.

Dwight paced the gravel with a sneer carved into his face, barking orders at the Saviors flanking the courtyard. The dead clawed at the fence, snarls weaving into a chorus of hunger that seemed to echo in your bones.

You risked another glance at the man across the yard. His eyes hadn't left you. They burned with something you couldn't name — suspicion, maybe interest.

"Quit starin'," Dwight growled, noticing the tether between the pair. He shoved you hard enough that you stumbled, chains cutting into your wrists. "Eyes forward, both of you."

Catching yourself against the gravel, breath shaking. From the corner of your eye, you saw him move. Daryl shifted just slightly, like he might've stepped forward — but stopped, jaw tight, shoulders rigid.

You found your voice before you could stop yourself. "I wasn't—"

Daryl's glare had cut you down cold. "Don't talk to me."

The words were hoarse, spat like venom. They shouldn't have hurt — but they did. After nights of silence through concrete, hearing them out here, in the open, was sharper. Louder. Your heart squeezed, realizing you had finally laid eyes on your next victim and by the looks of thing it was going to be tough.

Dropping your gaze, biting back whatever excuse was about to fall from your lips.

Dwight barked at another Savior, tossing a laugh into the stale air, "See? You're both right where you belong. Caged dogs lookin' out at the world, beggin' for scraps."

The walkers banged harder against the fence, rattling metal in a fevered rhythm. The noise was rising, building to something unbearable—

And then the world cracked open.

Gunfire. Sudden, sharp, echoing through the courtyard. A Savior dropped beside Dwight with a scream, blood splattering across the gravel. Another went down a heartbeat later.

Chaos.

"Shooter! Shooter!" someone shouted, scrambling for cover. Bullets rained out of a near by truck, kicking up dust, biting into metal. Dwight swore, ducking behind a barrel. The chain on your wrists dragged you down, but instinct had you diving too, hitting the ground hard.

Ears ringing , heart pounding. Through the haze, you looked up — and across the courtyard, Daryl was already moving. He'd hit the dirt, chains dragging, hair hanging in his face as he searched for the source of the shots. His eyes flicked to you for the briefest second.

You didn't know what he saw — fear, guilt, desperation — but it held him. Just long enough for another bullet to shriek overhead.

You crawled toward the nearest cover, the fence behind you alive with the snapping of jaws as the dead clawed closer. Your hands shook, your knees scraped raw. When you glanced back, he was closer — not beside her, but near enough that the chaos forced them into the same shadow.

For the first time, words slipped out of him not as venom but necessity.

"Stay down."

Freezing.

Daryl’s voice was still rough, distrust dripping off every syllable, but it wasn't rejection. It was instinct — survival. However, the gunfire ceased. More Saviors shouted, scrambling for rifles, the sound of boots scattering across concrete.

"I only want Negan!" A voice you didn't recognize call. Through the haze, you caught sight of him again — a kid, no more than sixteen, eyepatch, clutching a rifle like it was an extension of himself. Who was he?

Now beside you, Daryl shifted, chains clinking, his body coiled like a wolf ready to strike — not at you, never at you— but at the ones holding the leash. His eyes met your’s for just a flicker, hard and unrelenting. He knew the boy.

An all to familiar whistle broke through, Negan.

Daryl didn't hesitate to abandon his spot beside you, pouncing at the fence closes to the boy. You followed, eager to get more insight on the man.

Negan and a handful of saviors stood before the truck, boy still clutching to his weapon. The smirk on the leaders face was wider than you had ever seen, and you was sure he never stopped. He soaked in the boys details, admiring his handy work.

"You are adorable!"

The boy pointed his gun at Negan's head, so he carelessly pushed another savior to shield him. Head resting over the saviors shoulder, he continued, "Did you pick that gun 'cause it looked cool?"

Worried for the poor boy, he must of been a similar age to Jean, there was no telling what Negan would do. Glancing beside you, to analyse the southerner. Daryl had an almost animalistic stare, similar to a threatened wolf try to protect his pack. However, his stares would go unnoticed, or Negan did not care for them.

"You scared the shit outta me," Negan confessed too casually.

On cue, a savior bolted for the boy, prompting him to execute him on the spot. You watched in horror at the sight, finally taking in the few bodies scattered around the courtyard. A boy had done this, a teenage. Mouth slacking at the idea of such an innocent soul taking life so carelessly.

It sent shivers down your spine.

Dwight, however, took the opening. Springing into action, Dwight swiftly apprehended him and disarmed him of his weapon. Daryl didn't take too kindly to that. Especially, when Dwight decided to point the same weapon at the teens skull.

Daryl was about to bite, and you could feel it. So you shook your head and gave him a warning look while putting a hard touch on his chest. "Don't," you attempted to calm him down. "You'll get the kid killed." You words must of struck something, as if memories flooded through him, because he obeyed.

The kid was laying defenseless, now staring at Daryl. They study one another for a moment, trying to communicate without words.

"Is that anyway to treat our new guest?" Negan exclaimed, shoving Dwight out of the way, while offering a hand to the young boy. He hesitated, glancing between Daryl and Negan. "Come on, kid. I'll show you around!"

No matter who yo were, you were always stunned at how casual Negan was. So, it was no surprise when the kid didn't take his hand. The boy was brave, or maybe stupid. You were unsure of that.

"Y'know, you do the same damn stink eye as your dad, except its only half as good 'cause...well y'know," The leader teased, pointing to the dark haired boy lack of one eye.

Carl.

The brief description of each person, Negan had given you, in there last meeting, about the people from the communities, echoed in your brain. Carl was one of the leader's kid, a leader that was causing Negan all this fuss.

Erupting in a cold chuckle, Negan finding himself hilarious. Which soon turned for the worst. "You really not gonna take my hand? 'Cause you're lucky you still even have a hand."

This statement clearly made Daryl uncomfortable because his grip was now tight, on the fence, turning his knuckles white. You noticed the specs of dry crimson liquid and scabs that covered them, most likely from the times he'd fight with your cell wall.

Daryl's burning gaze must have tickled Negan's skull, since he was now facing him. "Same as your boy Daryl here, now that I think about it," Negan pointed out, his sparkling eyes contradicting Daryl's worn ones. "How's the job going Daryl? Y/N...don't look at me like that, it breaks my heart," He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

Sharing the same distasteful stare as Daryl, you knew his threat was empty, it was just horrific watching Negan getting under someone's skin.

Choosing to ignore them, Negan offered his hand once more, Carl now taking it with brief hesitation. "Smart, kid. Come with me," Negan ordered.

Turning towards Dwight, Negan pointed in the direction of his two prisoners,"Dwighty boy, why don't you grab Daryl. Take him to the kitchen, do a little grub prep."

"What about Y/N?" Dwight quizzed.

Negan turned, eyes hungrily taking every detail of you. "Good question! I think she can come with me and the kid, I want to remind her of something," He conjured.

You sighed heavily, another moment longer with Negan and you were sure you’d lose your head of hair. Daryl was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of Negan whisking Carl away, from his harsh eyes.

The thought of Sherry crossed your mind, remembering how you offered to watch over Jean. It had brought her peace. You wanted to offer Daryl that.

Dwight swiftly dragged the pair but you pushed on, brows furrowing. "It's okay..." you locked eyes with the battered man. "I'll watch him, I promise," She attempted to comfort

Daryl's eyes burned into your’s, the moment fleeting but a thousand words spoken in the stare. Both ignoring the demands of Negan.

However, Negan took matters into his own hands.

Dwight's loosening grip was now replaced by leather hands. The vice grip tightening every passing second on your forearm. Pulling you out of his icy blue gaze, to replace them with a hollow one.

"Don't keep me waiting," Negan seethed.

Obeying, not wanting the young boy or Daryl to fall victim at Negan's wrath, you allowed yourself one last greedy glance.

Daryl's orbs stalked the pair to the very last second.

authors note,

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