Secret Gardens in My Mind

The beginning of the story will have the majority be surrounding Glenn. He’s my comfort character :)

My face claim for Carter is Phoebe Tonkin, but I don’t really take that seriously. Envision whoever you’d like! (Including you, lol)

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 was seeing red again— literal red.

The corpse's blood was dashed across the ground in a neat streak. It was handiwork, a clean kill. The only complaints to be had were the viscera clinging to her boots.

She grimaced, trying to shake the pieces of shattered brain tissue from the leather. They were old, worn things. Her work shoes. The soles had that sweet spot of fit and grip. Suitably tight without suffocating her feet, and with enough tread to prevent her from toppling face-first into the gnashing teeth of the un-dead. Needless to say, a true pity for them to be reduced to blood sponges.

Carter couldn’t complain. It was her own fault she’d made a mess of herself. She had the best intentions. She’d seen a woman fumbling around under a car, and naturally, considering the circumstances, Carter had run to her aide. It would have been a noble effort. Except this new world she’d woken up in weeks ago was not written by the same rules. The decree of man ruling above all other creatures was no longer absolute.

Instead, life would obey the will of the dead.

The damsel in distress turned out to be anything but. Her face was half caved in with missing chunks of muscle, and her hands had been worn to the bone from scratching after roadkill trapped under the vehicle. The creature’s legs were rotted down, shins likely crushed by the wheels of whatever sorry soul had been trying to escape its hunger. It wasn’t able to chase Carter, barely able to crawl after her. She put a bullet through its skull anyway.

Watching the corpse's blood soak into the dirt was cathartic. She couldn’t begin to think how many the thing had managed to eat before she put it out of its misery. The world, what was left of it anyway, was better off. Carter wouldn’t mourn. There was nothing left to. She placed her gun into one of the holsters slung around her shoulders and stepped carelessly over the mess of organs.

The sight of the rows of desolate houses caused that pit in her stomach to deepen. It was like a picture was taken in the middle of an average day. Cars were backed halfway out of driveways. Various everyday items, like purses and groceries, were discarded on the street as if their owners forgot something inside. There were even clothes and toys twisted into the overgrown lawns. The only thing missing was the people.

Of course, some remained. Their guts were spilled across the cul-de-sac.

Carter was careful not to muddy her shoes with more sinew. She kept an eye on the bodies and discarded trinkets alike, in hopes of scrounging up anything useful.

She was fortunate enough to have a better hand than most. Her arsenal served her well. A standard Glock 19, one for each holster tucked under her shoulders. They were issued to her from the Bureau, and had a cozy home in her suitcase until her trip home to Georgia had taken an unexpected turn.

Usually, her father picked her up from the airport, and they had their typical routine of catching an Atlanta Braves game and going out for steak thereafter. Instead, the only filets in sight were people turning each other into their own prime cuts. Her vacation turned into a scene from the ancient plague hysterias, complete with piles of burning bodies in the streets. The smell of the medium-rare chunks of flesh turning to ash in the sky was enough to stave off any cravings for meat again. She would have converted to vegetarianism if she had a wider variety of meal choices that weren’t chips and energy bars. That, and the fact she loved meat too much to subscribe to that hippy bullshit.

Carter kicked a stray grocery bag that had somehow remained untouched in her path. The sack pathetically flopped to the asphalt. Its contents were rotted and festering, save for a few stray soda cans. The woman had just about enough of a steady diet of fizz and processed corn starch. The smell hardly caused her to gag anymore. The minced meat of a woman behind her was far fouler than any mold could be.

She gave another petty kick to one of the cans and watched it soar away in a dazzling display of dented tin. Dinner would have to wait, it seemed.

The can clattered into the wheel of another nearby vehicle. From through the weathered glass, there was a flicker of movement.

Carter brandished her weapon again, taking a practiced, cautious step towards the window. The glare of the sun worked as a cruel gatekeeper to the potential danger inside. Through squinted eyes, a familiar sight of gnarled teeth peeked through a curtain of mangled tissue.

Carter’s lip curled in disgust. Poor fucker.

She tapped her finger on the glass like the thing was in a fishbowl and not a glorified cadaver. It seemed further aggravated, pawing at the window furiously in hopes of a meal.

She wondered how it had become trapped. The body looked too mangled to have been turned while locked up inside the metal cocoon. It looked to have once been a boy, no older than 16, she had to guess. Her stomach churned as her eyes trailed down to see the struggling corpse bore a Nirvana t-shirt. The faded yellow logo glared up at her tauntingly.

She had to turn away, fists clenching around her gun. Why should someone so young be rendered to such a demise? Disease was only meant to take the old and infirm. But Carter Wilder was well aware that fairness wasn’t a value held in regard by the universe’s morals.

The majority of her life was spent learning in intimate detail that most people were monsters. After seeing so many cases of innocents being slaughtered in creative ways, children being found in ditches, and women that vanished without a trace, Carter had learned that man hadn’t truly moved past wild animals.

Now, she realized that people really were monsters, but not all of them deserved to be.

The gun trembled in her hand as she held it up to the glass panel. It was flimsy, hardly a bar to stop her from killing that thing. But her finger was frozen over the trigger. She had spent all day executing these beasts. Why now could she not thaw the ice in her veins?

Her eyes squeezed shut, and her arm dropped to her side in defeat. She was a coward.

As she was about to finish scavenging the neighborhood, a rustling from behind her seized her weapon back to attention. From the sprawling fields of parked cars, a glimmer of rot emerged. More of those monsters lumbered towards her.

“Shit.” Carter hissed to herself.

She was nimble, dancing over the bodies soundlessly. It appeared that they hadn’t spotted her yet. When she ducked behind another car, they seemed to shuffle right past her.

Her heart seemed to hammer her into the ground. The sounds of coagulated fluid clicking in the back of their throats caused her to squeeze her weapon tighter.

Usually they came in small packs, typically passing in a few minutes. It was greatly perturbing to hear that the footsteps weren’t stopping.

Tentatively, the woman crept to the other end of the car. The truck bed provided her ample cover. She had learned that their eyesight was spotty at best. The last few nights, she’d used the cover of darkness to cloak herself. The clothes she’d nabbed from her suitcase— a deep navy tank top and dark pants—were a carefully selected camouflage. However, whereas sight was a vice, the monsters made up for it with a keen sense of smell.

So when Carter saw that the stream of heads was turning into a hoard, she knew she was amply fucked. Saying a silent thanks to whatever god was listening that her careless gunshot had covered her lower half in gore, she had a few moments of scent masking to crawl herself out of this ditch.

Her eyes, sharp and alert, spotted that one of the houses had a lower proximity fence than the others. The wood had warped down from the elements, however only slightly. The other barriers would take too much time to vault; by then her leg would become the aforementioned filet she was reminiscing on. While that might mean the monsters could break it down far easier, it also gave her the advantage she needed.

With bated breath, Carter waited until there was a gap in the horde. The moment came with agonizing anticipation, and with gritted teeth, she bolted.

The monsters lagged in their response, lazily turning to her with gnashing teeth. The fence was only a few feet from the truck, but it felt like one of those dreams where the ground turned into a bog. Her destination faded into the distance mockingly with each step.

The clicking in her ears was ammunition to fight her frozen limbs. Her muscles were taut with anticipation of being torn into. As she made her leap of faith across the wooden moat, she was greeted with an unwelcome memory from weeks before.

Teeth and blunted nails ripping into a screaming man, and through a fog of tears, watching lifeless eyes reanimate with something deader than before. That would be her fate if her legs failed her. And maybe, just maybe, she would deserve it. But then the soles of her feet thumped into soft grass below, and she realized she’d cleared the obstacle.

Carter wasted no time in delving deeper into the ruined backyard, just as the monsters began clawing at the fence. Despite the overturned garden table and trash blown in from the carnage outside, the place was relatively untouched. Thinking quickly, she figured she should jump the next fence, hoping to use the forest as cover.

She hauled one of the stray wire chairs over to the next gate, not keen on putting any more stress on herself. Days spent surviving off sugar and chemical carbohydrates had rendered her weak. Strength meant survival, and perhaps she could procure some sort of game from the woods.

But as she stepped up to peek over the fence, her stomach dropped.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Carter’s teeth gritted into a painful paste.

Monsters interspersed the trees like they were woven in with a needle. The place was entirely overrun.

She hurried off the chair, hands pressed to her knees to stave off the cramping in her chest. Her breath clawed at her throat like it was one of those monsters trying to shred through the wood to reach her.

Part of her wondered if she should surrender to her fate. What was there left of the world? Chip dust for meals, the dead waiting to beckon her to their ranks. A world without filets and Sunday night football with a warm, flannel-clad hug waiting for her.

Before her thoughts could trail further, she thought back to the Nirvana-loving boy trapped past his prime. The people rendered to guts across the pavement.

Her father used to chastise her whenever young Carter thought about throwing in the towel. The voice yelling at her not to give up may not have been here now, but his crossed arms and mustached smile wouldn’t soon leave her.

She pounded her fist to the ground, her knuckles bloodying with dirt. A coward and a quitter both. Her father would be disappointed.

Getting to her feet, plan B came in the form of a cracked screen door. She hurried over as the pounding from the fence grew louder. The screen hung off its hinges, revealing the milky door behind.

Carter gingerly tested the handle, letting out a labored gasp upon finding it, indeed, open. Typically, she tried to avoid wandering strange houses. Not due to some divine sense of morality, but because she wasn’t keen on being ambushed to smithereens.

Slipping inside was a delicate matter. The place was effectively ransacked. Chairs scattered, cabinets hanging open, their innards plucked of all the juicy bits of supplies. Carter reasoned this place was either pillaged or whoever lived here cleaned it out of anything useful.

With her gun held out before her, she began to secure the premises. It was no simple feat with the chaos. Anyone or anything could be lurking within the crevices. But she had time. The dead outside hadn’t seemed to catch on just yet. She made a point to barricade the back door with furniture.

As she searched for any semblance of life, Carter felt her fear ebb into anger. A commonplace state of mind for her, these fits often came with petty memories. After years spent drudging through the police system, she had finally been accepted to the Federal Investigation Academy. All that school and grueling training hours and where did it get her? Hiding from dead people. How painfully ironic that it was supposed to be the opposite.

Shattered aspirations aside, what her work did get her was the tools she needed to survive an apocalypse. Perhaps not an entire waste.

Carter rounded the corner to one of the upstairs bedrooms. The ground floor seemed secure enough, if chairs and tables preventing the dead from tearing her skin off could be counted for much. The house was eerily desolate, like those old paintings depicting snippets of life, yet missing that touch of what made it real.

If she had to guess, this was once a cozy master bedroom. The blankets were tossed together in jumbles of feathers and clothes. The state of the place looked just as unfortunate as beneath. The only thing that caught her eye, as it managed to reflect the only sliver of sun escaping the twisted blinds, was a picture frame.

Realistically, the gaping bathroom should have been a far greater priority. Carter still found herself reaching for the picture anyway. Her fingers practically tickled with anticipation. It was a guilty pleasure, peeking into people’s lives. The only redeeming part about her job had been those whom she got to see smile again after years of injustice. Seeing those pictures come back together through all the disarray; it was one of the only things that perforated her foul mentality.

While she knew she couldn’t achieve the same feat for the owners of this house, the least she could do was appreciate who had been living there.

A smiling family looked up at her from behind the glass. Two parents and three children, each with a head of deep black hair and matching eyes. Their expressions seemed to twinkle with the light of an easier time. The children, two girls and one boy, each wore colorful shirts and seemed giddy with gap-toothed smiles. Carter thumbed the silver frame, that tightness swelling in her chest.

Before she could take any more time to ruminate, she returned the frame to its perch. The woman turned on her heel in a rage and stomped off to secure the rest of the building.

༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻

There hadn’t been much to salvage. After ensuring no surprises were skulking about the halls, Carter thought her time would be best used rifling through cabinets.

She’d discovered a thrilling mystery: the basement was locked tight. While her curiosity longed for nothing more than to kick the flimsy wood from its frame, the horde of monsters outside dictated that commotion wasn’t exactly in her best interest. Instead, she settled for snooping.

Upon finding nothing more than a few granola bars and character-themed band-aids, Carter began to fiddle with the tenant's old belongings. Books, toys, magazines, enough to keep her busy from the distant noises of rotting flesh stampeding around.

Eventually her natural reading light that was the sun had to fade, just like most good things did these days. Carter sat with her head pressed against an upstairs window, feet dangling off a dusty bed. She could see the car where the teenage boy had been trapped. She found herself wondering if he felt left out of the goring that was happening outside.

As syrupy darkness stretched across the sky, Carter summoned her backpack to pull out a small treasure. An old, weathered yellow flannel. It was a few sizes too big for her. The sleeves dangled below her wrists and stretched past her hips, so it made for the perfect blanket. The smell of cigarettes and pine engulfed her in such a loving embrace, she almost forgot about the monsters below.

Almost.

Carter awoke to the sound of rustling from downstairs. She bolted upright, hand reaching for her gun instinctively. She hadn’t even noticed she’d fallen asleep. It must have been a few hours, because the shreds of daylight were long gone, and her throat burned with a passion.

Water would have to wait, as whatever wandered below was doing a poor job of being silent. Carter cursed under her breath, knowing that a single shot would attract all those beasts right back to her. Taking a glance outside, she was partially relieved to find the horde had thinned out. She might even be able to make a run for it if things went south.

She sucked in a deep breath through tightly bound teeth. Her first decent rest in weeks, and this midnight visitor had ruined it all. She took meticulous steps out of the room, making her way to the stairs. Her noisy roommate appeared to be somewhere in the kitchen, if her ears didn’t deceive her.

Making her way down, she went gun first around the bend to the next room. She was surprised when only moonlight and debris greeted her in the kitchen. Even more curious, the compromised back door retained her barricade. Carter was left wondering just how whatever— whoever this was—got inside. Was there a door she didn’t know about? Impossible. She was thorough, more than thorough.

Her stomach sank when she turned and confirmed her theory that the basement door was, indeed, open. Carter bared her weapon at the void. The darkness stared back at her.

“If you’re alive, come out with your hands up.” She called out, careful not to attract unwanted attention from outside.

The rustling stopped. Carter was not for the wonderful idea of walking off into certain doom blind. If there was a family of monsters down there, well, at least she’d have a head start. Sure enough, there was a gentle creak on the steps. Something heard her.

“Slowly. I will not hesitate to put a bullet through your head.” Her voice was calm and firm; not a lick of anxiety seeped through.

A pair of hands emerged from the depths. Her finger hesitated over the trigger when she saw that whoever it was had listened. He raised them feebly over his head, voice coming out warbled.

“Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot!” A man peeked from the depths with a panicked expression.

He looked to be a few years younger than Carter, of East Asian descent of some kind, and with a lip quivering to boot.

“Not a step closer. You’re gonna stay right where you are.” Carter narrowed her eyes, scanning the darkness behind him. “Are you alone?”

The man nodded feverishly, “Yes! I’m cool. I swear I’m cool. I’m not looking for trouble.”

While it was unlikely he’d be able to pull some miraculous attack on her, she was not entirely convinced he spoke the truth. He was one of the first people she’d seen who weren’t seeking to tear her flesh off, and she hadn’t the slightest idea what to expect.

“We’ll see.” He gulped as the metal clicked under her fingers. “How did you get in here? I barricaded the doors.”

His eyes flickered to the basement behind him, but quickly thought better of it. “There’s a second entrance to the cellar outside…” He trailed off when he saw her skeptical expression. “It’s on the side of the house?”

Carter hadn’t exactly gotten a good look at the place. It wasn’t exactly like she could have checked outside. In fact, she wasn’t sure how this cowering man had gotten past the dead himself.

“And you just waltzed in, past the freaks outside?” She scoffed.

The man tentatively shrugged, “Well… yeah. I’m fast.” When she didn’t look convinced, he continued hesitantly, “I had a car, but it ran out of gas a little before I got into the neighborhood. I had to walk the rest of the way, but the sound of the engine was enough to draw some of them.”

That was sufficiently impressive. Most cars Carter had encountered were locked, or impossible to navigate out of all the permanently frozen traffic.

She was silent for a moment, surveying his terrified expression. Her gaze remained hard, unwaveringly pointing the chamber to the center of his eyes.

“If you’ve come to loot for supplies, you’re shit out of luck. These places have been cleaned out.” While she could gather he wasn’t a threat for now, he could become one. She wasn’t taking a microscopic chance. “This hiding spot is taken. Go find your own.”

It was the man’s turn to look bewildered, “But… this is my house.”

“What?” Carter furrowed her eyebrows.

He nodded adamantly, “I promise it’s true! Look, I can prove it.” He looked at the seething woman for confirmation, and slowly began to lower his hand to his pocket.

Her finger tightened over the trigger in anticipation. All tensions were stifled, however, when he revealed a small keychain. It was a touch juvenile, with a little alien charm hanging off the ring.

“I have the key to the basement door.” He explained in a desperate voice, “I just came here to search for my family.”

Carter froze. He looked absolutely dejected, his eyes trailing to the floor. She was at a loss for words.

“They probably aren’t here, are they?” The man said after a while, hands now hanging limply at his side.

She, in turn, let her shoulders loosen ever so slightly. “I haven’t seen anyone here, no.”

He wilted further, his lips pressing together wordlessly. She felt her stomach knot into that same feeling again. It was truly a loathsome thing when it happened.

As she watched the hope drain from his eyes, Carter shuffled nervously, “But I didn’t see any bodies.” She tried to console him, however, to poor avail, “They may have been able to get away. Everything has been mostly cleaned out.”

At the very least, his demeanor seemed somewhat rejuvenated. That enthusiasm quickly died when another wave of footsteps thundered from the street. Both snapped their heads towards the window. The blinds were tangled; it was easy to make out the sea of rotten flesh from outside.

“Get down.” Carter hissed, dragging the stunned man by the collar of his shirt.

He obliged, ducking behind the overturned coffee table a few feet away. Carter held her weapon at the ready, prepared to turn and strike if any were ambitious enough to get inside.

The anticipation was agonizing. Even after the stampede faded, neither was inclined to make a move. The night had grown silent, the only sound being the joined pounding of their hearts. Carter had to commend him. At least his breathing wasn’t as loud as his sneaking around. After another dragging moment of silence, she allowed her stunted breath to release.

“They’re gone.” She muttered, letting her head rest on the wood begrudgingly.

The man considered the situation. He looked to his hands, his baseball cap shielding her from identifying any emotion. It looked well-loved. Tarnished, yet not to the point one would expect from an apocalyptic environment.

“I know you probably don’t trust me.” He spoke up after a while, “But please. Don’t make me go back out there.”

Carter’s jaw tightened at his words. There was a sickly feeling in her chest. Whether it was contempt or regret, she couldn’t quite discern.

“I’m not going to kick you out of your own house.” She huffed, eyeing him harshly.

The man looked up at her with wide, confused eyes. He seemed surprised she had actually listened.

“But you’re right, I don’t trust you.” Her expression hardened. “If you try absolutely anything, give me the slightest bit of trouble, I’ll shoot you in the leg and leave you to the dead. Got it?”

The man’s face dropped. He nodded, but took a moment to swallow the dryness in his throat.

“Got it, that’s fair.” He relented, his tone seemed surprisingly reasonable in the face of her threat.

She watched him closely as his face scrunched up again. “But ‘the dead’… really?” He looked at her with a quizzical, almost jovial expression.

She took a moment of baffled silence. His question appeared to be entirely serious. She deadpanned.

“Is that not what I’m supposed to call them?” She asked, not really caring for the answer.

He gave her a weak smile. “I’ve been calling them Walkers. It feels less bleak.”

Carter scrunched up her nose, “That is… incredibly stupid.”

The man shrugged, seemingly content with her answer. His relaxed demeanor was unsettling, yet admirable all the same. Perhaps, Carter thought, he was just better at acting than she was.

“I’m Glenn, by the way.” He looked to her again, after staring into the remnants of his family home for a moment.

It had been some time since the woman had exchanged pleasantries. She was never good at talking, even worse at dealing with those who were. But, she supposed, she should play along.

“Carter.” She nodded.

“Well, Carter, I guess we’re roommates for the night.” Glenn offered her a meek smile. It almost covered up those somber eyes.

Joy. That was the first thought in the petulant woman’s mind.

𝜗ৎ That being said Daryl will member almost every little thing you’ve mentioned. That’s one of the ways he shows his love for you by showing that he truly listens to when you speak and remembers your words

𝜗ৎ when watching a movie you’ll have your head resting on his lap while Daryl plays with your hair. Also making sure the blanket is high enough to keep you warm “you ain’t cold right?”

𝜗ৎ After you found your way into his life his favourite weather became rain filled days, because in those days he can spend them just with you in the warmth of your shared house. He loves to spend them watching some old movie with you cuddled against him or even just laying in each other arms while you babble on about different things. He could listen to you for hours.

𝜗ৎ Daryl would never admit it out loud, but he loves when you are close to him. He’s touch starved man after all. In the beginning he wanted to shy away from your soft touch, pull away from it. But now he leans into your touch, when you pull him for a hug and he’ll lean his forehead on your shoulder. He’ll trace patterns on your hand when you take hold of his

𝜗ৎ On the summer evenings when the sun is still shining he loves to go on bike rides with you. And he will be strict about you wearing a helmet, even if he doesn’t wear one “it’s different sweetheart, now put on the helmet”

𝜗ৎ Daryl will drive the two you through the most scenic route he knows. Stopping at the highest point to see the sunset, all while his eyes are glued on you, watching the way wind blows trough your hair and how to sunset makes your face glow

𝜗ৎ When it comes to chores, he’ll do each and every one of them for you if you asked, he wants to make your life as easy as possible. When it comes to fixing up things, he’ll handle them, and when you argue you can do them as well he’ll just tell you to sit there and look pretty

Her fingers twitched at her sides as she walked in the same circles over and over. She'd already looked through the kitchen drawers—the ones that weren't stuck shut with old grease—searching through four years of expired coupons, bent silverware, and a dead roach across the counter. Nothing. Not a single pill. Not even a half-smoked joint, some of her clients had left behind. The bar had been stupid; Merle had been an asshole again, and the man whose dick she'd sucked had given her cash, but not what she needed so desperately. Cash she'd already spent on nothing, because there was no one to buy from at this hour.

Merle Dixon.

That young bastard, with his wide, dumb grin and dirty hands, made her shiver. He'd watched her crawl on the floor for a pill like a dog, and he'd also snorted the coke himself right in front of her. Then he'd left, walking out like she wasn't even there, like she was nothing but a piece of shit on the floor he'd gotten tired of looking at.

Eileen stopped walking in front of the window, her reflection staring back at her from the glass. Those hollow eyes, her tangled, strawberry blonde hair, and the exhaustion that was written all over her face. She barely recognized herself anymore. When had she stopped being the woman her daughter adored? The one with the pinned-up hair and the white apartment walls? The one who'd had pancakes on weekends and a husband who loved her more than anything and cut the crusts off sandwiches for their daughter?

Their daughter.

Eileen wanted to throw up.

She'd seen them. Ilyana and Daryl. In the tree. Curled up together, Ilyana's legs were tangled with the Dixon boy's, and with her head against his shoulder, as if she belonged there. It looked as if she'd found something Eileen couldn't give her. Like she'd found something Eileen had never been able to give her. The boy had looked at Ilyana the way men used to look at Eileen. Before. When she was still worth looking at.

She shook her head hard, trying to push the thought away, and went back to walking around.

The bedrooms were next. She pushed open the door—Ilyana's door, though she never thought of it that way—and stood in the doorway for a moment. The sheets were still rumpled from the last man who'd used this bed, condom wrappers were on the floor, and a spoon crusted with whatever was left on it was on the nightstand. She'd have to clean that before Ilyana came back, wherever she was now. Not that it mattered. The girl had seen worse.

Eileen dropped to her knees beside the bed, lifting the edge of the mattress, shoving her hand into the gap where the box springs met the frame. Nothing. She checked under the pillow, inside the pillowcase, and between the headboard and the wall. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Was there blood on the mattress? No, no, that couldn't be blood. Ilyana was fine.

Her hands were shaking now. Reality was becoming unbearable, and every thought was too loud. She needed something to take the edge off. Just a little something. Just enough to stop seeing Ilyana's face when she'd dragged her out of that tree—the way her daughter's eyes had gone empty, the way she hadn't fought and hadn't screamed.

No, she hadn't done anything.

Like mother, like daughter.

There was nothing in Ilyana's room, and she knew that looking through her own bedroom would be meaningless and to no avail.

There was nothing there.

Back in the living room, just when she was about to simply scream, she remembered the one place where she hadn't looked. The closet, the one that was standing far away in the corner of the living room. Eileen moved to the closet fast, pulling the door open so hard it came off its top hinge.

She pulled out something that felt like a few boxes, not knowing what it was at first. The bigger one looked old and dusty, and she didn't remember putting it here. For a moment, she almost shoved it back, too focused on her search for a new high to care about some forgotten bullshit. But something made her stop.

Sitting back on her heels, she opened the bigger box.

The smell of it, oh, the smell… She remembered. There was the smell of old paper, dust, and, underneath it all? Cologne. His cologne. The one he'd worn on special occasions, the one she'd bought him for their first anniversary, which was the one that still lived in her memory even though she'd pushed away every other memory of him a few years ago.

Her hands trembled as she reached inside.

Photographs. Dozens of them, held together with a rubber band that had long since turned to look as if it might snap at any moment. She pulled them out, and the first one made her gasp in pain.

It was Dominic. Her Dominic. Standing by the lake, the one with the peach trees where they always went and where he promised to love her forever, his arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her pregnant belly. She was laughing in the photo with her head thrown back against his chest and her hand resting on his, where it lay across her stomach.

Eileen remembered that day. It had been hot, their first real Georgia summer. He'd insisted on driving there, even though she'd complained about the bumpy roads. "Worth it," he'd said, kissing her temple. "Always worth it."

Eileen's vision turned blurry, and she blinked hard, feeling angry at the tears that were about to fall down. She wasn't going to cry. Not over him. Not over any of it.

But the next photo was worse.

Him holding Ilyana in the hospital. The baby was wrapped in a blanket, one tiny fist pressed against his chest, with her face scrunched up and eyes closed. He was looking down at her like she was the most precious thing he'd ever seen.

"She's perfect," he'd whispered. "Just like you."

Eileen set the photo down, her hand shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. She reached into the box again, pulling out letters this time. The paper was creased from being folded and refolded; some of the ink was smeared—whether from tears or age, she couldn't tell.

The first one she opened was short. Just a few lines in his familiar handwriting.

'My dearest love, I can't stop thinking about you. About us. About our little girl. She's perfect, you know? Absolutely perfect. I never knew I could love someone so much, but she's changed everything. She's my sunshine, my everything. And you? You're my world. I can't wait to see what the future holds for us. For our family. I love you both. Always.'

Eileen started sobbing before she could even stop it. She pressed her fist to her mouth, trying to hold back the sounds, but it was too late. The tears were coming now, rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto the paper.

She'd read these letters a hundred times. A thousand. Back when he was still with her, one of them wasn't home because of work, when she'd put them under her pillow and pull them out in the middle of the night, she'd convince herself that the distance was temporary, that the construction job would end and that she'd get her promotion, and that they'd go back to Atlanta and everything would be fine.

It wasn't fine.

None of it was fine.

She looked through more photos—him at the lake with Ilyana, holding her tiny hands to help her balance on a tree stump; the three of them at Christmas, her in a red dress she'd bought on sale and him in the sweater she'd knitted that came out too big in the shoulders; and Ilyana's first birthday with cake smeared across her face, him laughing so hard she'd nearly dropped the camera.

The letters were words of love, promises of forever, and plans for a future that never came. And then she found it. The long one in the other box, the smaller one. The letter that hurt the most.

She didn't need to read it. She remembered every word.

'This weekend, while you're away to finally earn your promotion, I'm going to take her on a little trip. Just the two of us. I know you told me not to use my remaining sick days, but I want to show her the world, even if it's just another small piece of Georgia. And I've packed a picnic—her favorite sandwiches, the ones with the crusts cut off, and those little cookies she loves so much.'

Eileen couldn't hold herself up on her heels anymore and sat down on the floor, turning her back against the closet door, holding the letter in both hands. She could see it. She could see him in the kitchen, carefully slicing the brown edges off white bread and arranging the sandwiches in the old wicker basket they'd bought at a flea market. She could see him packing the butterfly net—the one he'd found at the thrift store, the one he'd been so excited about because Ilyana had been fascinated by the monarchs that gathered in the backyard.

'We're going to the lake. You remember the one, don't you? Where we used to go before she was born? Where I promised to love you forevermore, among all the peach trees? It's still quiet there, at our favorite place, our own personal paradise, peaceful.'

Eileen was breathing raggedly now. She hadn't cried like this in years. Hadn't let herself. Crying was a luxury, and she'd long since traded luxury for numbness.

But here, alone in the living room, surrounded by the memories of a life she didn't want to remember, she couldn't stop.

'Once we're at the lake, I'll take pictures for you, for us. Lots of them. I know you'll want to see her smiling face when you get back home to us. She's been babbling about her pretty Mommy nonstop, you know? She misses you so much when you're gone. Your cuddles, your kisses, and when you tickle her.'

Her daughter's pretty mommy.

When had she stopped being that? When had the woman in the photographs turned into this hollow-eyed no one, walking in circles inside a house that smelled like piss and regret, selling her body for enough cash to buy the next fix?

'I love you so much, my darling beauty. More than anything I ever loved. And I love her. More than life itself.'

The tears came faster now and dripped onto the paper, smearing the already smudged ink. Eileen moved forward until her forehead touched her knees, and the letter was crushed between her hands.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

She didn't know who she was apologizing to. Him? Ilyana? Herself? The woman she used to be, the one who'd believed in picnics by the lake and butterfly nets and forever?

"I couldn't do it," she choked out. "I couldn't… Not like you thought… I'm not…"

The letter crumpled in her fist, and she let out a ragged scream that was muffled by one of her arms, so no neighbor could hear. Not that they'd care. Not that anyone would come.

When the tears finally slowed down, and her breathing turned slightly normal again, she sat there for a long time, staring at the photograph on top of the pile. He and Ilyana. The lake. The tree stump. His hands holding hers, keeping her steady.

She reached out with a trembling finger and traced the outline of his face.

"I should have gone with you," Eileen whispered. "That weekend. I should have called in sick. I should have…"

She knew there was another picture like the one she'd looked at, showing the first day of Dominic and their daughter together at the same lake. However, she had no strength left to reach out and look at it. Not now, anyway. Now she remembered how she'd been too focused on the promotion and on the career; she'd spent years proving that she could be more than just a wife and a mother. And he'd taken Ilyana to the lake without her.

The letters were scattered around her on the floor now, and next Eileen picked up the shortest one. A note that had been tucked inside the pocket of the old plushie—the one she'd hidden from her daughter because she couldn't bear to see her holding something he'd touched.

'For my little Ilyana, my beautiful sunshine. With love, your Daddy.'

Eileen let herself remember. The way he'd looked at Ilyana and her as if they were his whole world. The way he'd sing lullabies in the nursery, making up Italian words when he forgot the real ones. The way he'd hold Eileen's hand in the car, even when she was too tired from work.

The way he'd loved them. Both of them.

Eileen opened her eyes and looked at the wall. Through it, somewhere in the other half of this miserable duplex house, she could hear footsteps stomping around—maybe Will Dixon had just woken up.

It was a pitiful attempt to distract herself, since she had these letters now. The proof that Dominic loved them. That he'd wanted them. That none of what she'd told Ilyana, the lies about him not wanting her, was true.

And she didn't know what to do with that other than push herself to finally look at the face again, which she so desperately tried to forget about. Eileen's fingers were trembling so badly she could barely hold the next photograph steady. She set it down on the floor beside her, then the next, and then the next. A life she'd tried so hard to forget.

There was Dominic, leaning against a car with a grin and eyes that looked ever so brown. His dark hair was curly, a little too long, the way Italian boys wore it back then, when they wanted to look like they didn't care but secretly spent quite some time on getting it just right. He'd always been so self-conscious about his thick hair until she'd told him it made him look like a young Massimo Girotti in La Corona di Ferro, and he'd called her 'Gioia mia' for the first time.

Gioia mia... My joy… Just one of the many names he'd lovingly called her.

She'd had to look it up later, hiding the dictionary under her medical textbooks so her roommate wouldn't see. Not that her roommate would have cared. But Eileen had been careful back then. She had been careful about everything and especially careful not to appear too interested in a boy who wasn't from her world. But maybe he'd been destined to become her whole world.

New York City in the year of 1975.

Eileen O’Brien was just eighteen, born in 1957, fresh out of high school, accepted to a University's pre-med program, and already planning her escape from the small apartment she shared with her mother and father in Boston, Massachusetts. She'd won a partial scholarship, enough to get her foot in the door, and she'd been working nights at a diner to cover the rest. Saving every tip and planning her future career.

Dominic Feranna had walked into the diner. Born in 1956, and only one year older than her.

She remembered it exactly. April 16th, 1975. A Wednesday afternoon. She'd been exhausted, running on three hours of sleep and too much coffee. Her hair was coming out of its ponytail, and there was a grease stain on her uniform. He'd sat in her section and ordered a cup of unsweetened Espresso, and when she'd brought it to him, he'd looked up at her with those brown eyes and said, "You look like you haven't slept in a week, bella."

She'd given him the death stare—the one her roommate used to annoy her with on purpose. 'The Slavic Stare.' A typical cliché, just because Eileen was half Irish and half Slavic.

"I don't know what 'bella' means," she'd lied, "but my name's Eileen, and I'll bring you the check whenever you're ready."

He'd laughed. "You're part Irish. I can always tell. It's the eyes. And the attitude… Slav? Maybe Russian?"

"Ukrainian. And you're Italian," she'd shot back. "It's all that Dippity-do in your hair and the too many hand gestures. Or maybe it's just grease."

"American and Sicilian!" He'd looked down at his hands, then back up at her, and grinned. "Monella mia... I don't know what to say!"

"Could've fooled me, Жартівник."

That should have been it. That should have been the end of a forgettable interaction between a waitress and a customer who tipped okay. But Dominic had come back the next Wednesday. And the Wednesday after that. And then he'd started showing up on other days too, always ordering the same and always finding a reason to talk to her.

She'd learned that he was nineteen, born in New York City, working construction with his uncle's crew while he saved up for who knew what. He'd dropped out of community college after a semester and said it wasn't for him. Said he'd rather work with his hands than sit in a classroom. She'd told him that was a waste of his chances at a good career; he'd told her she was too pretty to be so mean, and she'd told him to stop flirting and drink his coffee.

But the flirting hadn't stopped.

Dominic brought her a bouquet of wildflowers he'd picked from the side of the road, giving them to her right inside the diner with a bow before he bent down on his knee, which made her roll her eyes so hard they nearly fell out. He'd learned her schedule, memorized her shifts, and started walking her home after her late nights, claiming it was too dangerous for a woman to walk alone in New York City, that he was just being a gentleman, and that he'd be happy to keep her company if she didn't mind.

Eileen minded. At first.

Somewhere between April and the start of September, between the endless cups of coffee and the stupid jokes, she'd stopped minding.

They'd had their first real fight at the end of September.

Eileen had told him she was going to study somewhere else to avoid years of studying in New York for nothing and the mountains of debt. And Dominic, who'd never been anything but kind and charming, had gone quiet.

"You think I'm not good enough for you."

"I think I'm not good enough for myself if I don't try," she'd answered.

He'd stared at her then, and she'd let him. After a long moment, he'd nodded. "Okay… Okay. Then I'll be good enough for you until you figure out you already are."

She'd cried in the bathroom after that shift at the diner, and she'd told herself it was exhaustion, nothing more. But she was thankful.

The next photograph Eileen found was from their first official date. April 16th, 1976. The same date as their first meeting. He'd planned and wanted it that way, she remembered now—he'd confessed it years later, grinning like a fool after she'd asked why it took him so long to officially ask her out, saying he wanted to make their first real date mean something and to let her be sure about him. "Two birds, one stone," he'd said. "Now you'll never forget either one."

He'd taken her to a little Italian restaurant, the kinda place where the owner knew his family and the music playing over the speakers was something his grandfather had probably smoked a cigar to.

She'd worn a green dress in emerald green, her mother's favorite color, the color of Ireland, and she'd let her Strawberry blonde hair down for the first time in months. She remembered how nervous she'd been and how she'd changed clothes three times. She'd denied it, of course. Denied it all the way to the restaurant, and even when she saw him waiting outside in a button-down shirt that was slightly too tight across his broad shoulders, or when he took her hand and led her to a table in the corner.

But Eileen stopped denying it when he'd reached across the table, taken her hand, and said, "My mamma's going to love you. She's been asking about the Irish girl for weeks."

"Your mother doesn't know me."

"For sure she does. I told her everything. The way you talk, the way you walk, the way you tell me to shut up all the time."

Eileen pulled her hand back in shock, but she'd been smiling. She remembered that.

But the racism had started not long after their first official date. Especially after their first official kiss.

Not from Dominic's family—his mother had welcomed her with open arms, a woman who'd pinched her cheeks and loved to cook with her from time to time. His father was a quiet man. who'd worked construction his whole life, had looked her up and down once, grunted, and gave them his blessing.

No, the racism came from outside. From strangers on the street, from their own neighbors, from people who saw an Irish girl holding hands with a Sicilian boy and felt the need to share their opinions.

"You know what they call those like you?" Someone had hissed at her once, waiting for the bus. "Micks and Wops. That's what you two are. Not even two damn peas in a garbage can!"

She'd ignored it. She'd been good at ignoring racist bullshit like that.

"Your kind should stick to your own," a woman had said in the grocery store, watching them shop for ingredients for dinner. "It's not natural!"

Dominic had opened his mouth to say something to defend her, but Eileen had put her hand on his arm and pulled him away. "Not worth it."

"They can't talk to you like that!"

"They can talk however they want. I don't care what they think."

But Eileen had cared. Not about their opinions—those were coming from ignorant people who'd never left their neighborhoods and never seen anything beyond the radius of the block they'd been born in. It was because she could see it hurting him.

Even the letters from that time were hard to read.

Eileen found them at the bottom of the box, inside an envelope with no address and a postmark from New York.

'Eileen,

I can't sleep. It's two in the morning, and I'm lying here thinking about giving you these letters soon, about how you will read them, and about how I usually love our little ritual of me writing you these. Right now, I can't sleep. My Uncle says I'm stupid, wasting my time on a girl who's gonna leave me for a doctor in another state. He says you're just with me until someone better comes along.

I broke his nose.

But I need to know. Is he right? Will you leave? Because I don't think I could take it if you left. I know I'm just a construction worker. I know I don't have a future like you do. But I love you, Eileen.

I'll wait for you. However long it takes. I'll wait.

— Dominic'

She remembered that letter and how she'd read it in her dorm room, with her roommate asleep in the bed across from her. She'd cried then, too, and she'd written him back immediately, a single sentence on a scrap of notebook paper:

'Come with me.'

He'd shown up at her dorm the next day with a dozen red roses and a ring box in his pocket. She'd said no at first. It was too soon; she was too young, and there was still so much studying ahead. But she'd kept the ring box anyway, hidden in her underwear drawer, and sometimes, when the studying got too hard, and the future looked too uncertain, she'd take it out and hold it in her hand and let herself imagine…

A loud BANG made Eileen open her eyes. The memory of the ring box was gone from her mind as she tried to process the sound she'd just heard. A gunshot? No… A door? The backdoor? Yes, that must have been it.

She stumbled to her feet, leaving the letters and photographs behind on the floor, and walked over to the window, careful to stay behind the dirty curtain.

Will Dixon.

Stumbling across the backyard with his hunting knife in one hand and headed toward the woods. Toward his shack in the woods.

Eileen watched him disappear between the trees, waiting to see if he'd turn back. He didn't. But her hands were shaking as she stepped back from the window. Somehow, she was jealous of him, at least, right now. He probably wasn't sober. Will could just let the hours pass by now, but she could feel the minutes ticking away. Even the seconds.

Eileen looked back down at the floor. Down at the photographs and the letters. She hadn't finished looking through them, and she knew there was more in the box. More memories and more of… him.

Sitting back down, she pulled the box toward her. She needed to see the rest. She needed to remember everything.

𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋮ 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨 ⋮ 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋮ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────────────────────────────────────────

“You want me to go faster or slow it down? Use your words, honey.”

Overstimulated with pleasure, you weren’t able to respond yet, and tears streaked your cheeks. Daryl kissed them away and kept moving. The hand that wasn’t supporting his weight began stroking his hair, and he spoke again.

“C’mon, sweet girl. Not gonna know what you want if you don’t say nothin’. Want me to stop?”

Your eyes widened at the idea of Daryl stopping, and you frantically shook your head. It took a few seconds for you to speak, and your voice was tinged with desperation.

“D-don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“That’s a good girl. Answer my question?”

“Oh, maybe… a little faster?”

The hesitation in your voice made Daryl’s heart ache, and he redoubled his efforts. He wanted you to feel good, to feel heard. Your husband pressed a kiss to your forehead and quickened the rhythm of his movements. His fingers were still in your hair when he praised you again.

“Thank you for usin’ your words. You’re listenin’ so well.”

Knowing that Daryl wanted you to respond to him, you swallowed a whimper and nodded. The pleasure was overwhelming, but in the best way imaginable. Your voice trembled when you spoke between small gasps.

“Tryna be good. It’s a lot.”

“I know, baby. I know. You can take it, though.”

Daryl’s breathing was ragged as he continued moving inside of you. He could feel the euphoria pulling at his lower stomach, but he was more focused on you. It was obvious that you were getting close to that edge, and he was determined to push you over it. He changed the angle of his hips, and the orgasm immediately crashed into you. You cried out his name and tried to anchor yourself by clinging to his shoulders.

His peak soon followed, and it took all of his strength to not collapse on top of you. After thrusting a few more times, he smirked and nodded in satisfaction. His tone was dripping with cockiness.

“Pretty good, huh? I told you I’d make you feel good.”

It took several seconds before you could speak again, and you laughed breathlessly. Seeing your husband act boastful was always amusing. You grinned and nodded.

“Yes, my love. That was real fuckin’ good.”

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Daryl was still not entirely trusting this place. He would've lied if he said otherwise. But nevertheless had it been the right decision to move here temporarily. Without a doubt. It was better for Jude and RJ. Above all, though, it had been what was best for you. Alexandria wasn't the safest place at the moment. Especially not for birthing a baby and raising a newborn. The archer would've never forgiven himself if something happened to you or his baby girl. So, the decision had been quite an easy one to make.

Now, almost five months and a birth luckily without any complications later, Daryl was able to hold his four-month-old daughter in his arms. It was a rare day off of work for him - and he was eager to spend every spare minute of it with her, you, the other kids and Dog, of course. Family.

He actually hated that he had to be most of the times present and ready to serve as a Commonwealth soldier, but simultaneously he knew that he practically had no other choice. Daryl had to make sure to keep the food on the table for the six of you while you were on 'maternity leave' - as batshit crazy as it sounded. He had to provide, and that's what he'd do.

A small whimper redirected his attention; eyes dropping on the baby girl tucked in the crook of his arm. She was so tiny compared to him. He could easily hold her with just one hand. As if she weighed nothing. Ruby was so precious. So soft. Innocent. Pure. A miracle.

And she was his.

The archer smiled; marvelling at the even tinier fingers which clenched and unclenched to fists as she slightly wiggled around in her dad's hold. Her face scrunched up - about to let out a cry, but Daryl was on the scene; immediately tried his best to soothe her.

It was one of those nights and now days where Ruby had a rough time to sleep. She woke often; unsettled, restless. "Hey, baby girl. Wha's wrong, huh?" He spoke quietly - not wanting to risk waking you up. You had drifted off into a much needed, peaceful sleep while reading in bed two hours ago and Daryl was adamant to let it stay that way.

He gently started to rock Ruby; walking a few steps through the living room of the quiet apartment. The kids were at school and Dog with you asleep in bed. "Jus' can't seem 't find sleep, righ'?" A soft whimper left her pouty lips, before she put her fist to her mouth; starting to suckle.

By now, Daryl was kinda used to his new role as a father. Jude and RJ had helped him grow into this as well. He knew what his little girl tried to tell him. Not always, but mostly. "Ya hungry, sweetheart? Yeah?" Equally blue eyes looked up at him; filled with yet unshed tears. The archer smiled down at his baby and dipped his head to press a soft kiss on her fuzz covered head. "C'mon. Let's getcha sum'thin' 't eat. Hopefully yer mama has some milk in the fridge. Dun wanna wake 'er..." He mumbled the last few sentences more to himself while making his way over to the kitchen counter. His free hand reached for the fridge to open it; checking if you stored some breast milk there.

Luckily, you did. Daryl took one bottle out and put it into the baby bottle warmer Carol got you two. Sum real fancy shit, the archer thought when he had first seen and used it. Hell, he didn't even know something like that existed. Why should he?

It didn't take the little... device long to work its magic - which was a good thing since the baby on his arm got antsier and antsier with every minute that passed. "Jus' another minute, lil' princess. Almost there." Daryl tried his best to reassure Ruby. When the bottle was done, he squeezed a drop of milk on his wrist in order to test the temperature.

Safety first.

It was just right, so he adjusted Ruby in his arm and brought the tip of the bottle to her mouth; offering. She understood the assignment, of course, and instantly latched on. "There ya go." The archer smiled, threw a burp cloth - an item you had practically stowed away in every room somewhere in the apartment - over his shoulder for later and slowly made his way back over to the sofa where he sat down with Ruby.

He watched her suckle on the bottle; making the most adorable noises he had ever heard in his whole life. Another soft smile darted across his face; heart sloshing over with love for this miniature human. But then he noticed how fast and greedy Ruby ate. So greedy that a few droplets of milk didn't make it inside her mouth but dribbled down her chin. "Slow down, baby girl," Daryl spoke in a gentle, deep voice and pulled the rubber tip of the bottle back a little. "I know yer hungry, but ya jus' gonna choke on the milk. Tha' ain't good." He 'explained' quietly; trying to prevent this to happen. His 'tactic' worked but the archer had to repeat it a few times.

Once the bottle was empty and Ruby fed and satisfied, Daryl placed the bottle on the small coffee table in front of him. Then he took the burp cloth from his shoulder, carefully dabbing her mouth, chin and even neck to wipe away the milk she spilled. When that was done, he placed the white cloth back over his shoulder and adjusted the newborn. Wrapping both his big palms cautiously but securely around her slim torso - right underneath her little arms, he lifed her up to rest her head against his shoulder; one hand moving to cradle her bum. "A'right," he mumbled - again more to himself.

Of course, Daryl had done this a dozen times by now - but he was still highly focused on doing it right. He wanted to be everything his father never was. This precious girl deserved only the best - and hell, he'd give her the world and more.

A small burp ripped him out of his thoughts - and he smiled. Mission accomplished. "There we go. Good girl," Daryl praised the baby and lifted her off his shoulder again. But instead of laying her back down in the crook of his arm, he lifted her up higher - so that his arms where stretched. She was looking down at her dad now; arms and legs dangling freely in the air. The archer didn't know why, but Ruby loved this. Whenever he held her like that, she was the happiest little girl. It never failed to make her smile. This time either...

"Hey, baby girl," Daryl said; locking eyes with her. As soon as she realised what was going on, a big smile stretched over her face and she giggled. By god, if the laugh of his daughter wasn't one of the best things he ever heard. Music to his ears. He'd never get tired of hearing it. The archer couldn't help but smile as well. "Yer a happy little princess now, aintcha? Yeah, ya are." Ruby continued to smile, giggle and gurgle happily; little legs dangling and tiny hands trying to reach for him.

Daryl kept on smiling and lowered her a little; biceps bulging in the black sweater he wore. Ruby's little hands were instantly on his face. He let her 'explore', of course; having to squeeze an eye shut from time to time. But then she found his goatee - and was fascinated. Eyes wide; tiny fingers feeling the soft, coarse greyish hair underneath her small palms. "Been waitin' on this day, ya know. When ya gonna start findin' yer daddy's beard interestin'," he said; chuckling softly. "Da da da," the little girl babbled back. The archer nodded, "Tha's right, sweetheart. 'M yer daddy." and smiled, then lowered her further to pepper her cute chubby cheek with kisses.

It caused Ruby to giggle even more.

Daryl smiled and stood up to lay the baby on a soft blanket on the floor; giving her a toy to play with while he cleaned up the bottle and burp cloth. It was a plush rattle in the shape of a caterpillar.

Cleaning up didn't take the archer long - five minutes at the most, but when his blue eyes landed back on his daughter, she had switched positions. The four-month-old had rolled over and was now laying on her tummy. Much to his surprise. Sure, she had often tried to do that - to roll her body over but until now, Ruby had never made it. The bowman was impressed and proud of course. His lips curved yet into another soft smile as he watched her for a long moment. She's growin', he thought; getting reminded how fast time suddenly flew by.

After Daryl had cleaned up, he decided to take Ruby on a little walk. She enjoyed walks and they mostly helped lulling her to sleep. Given the situation and circumstances they were in today - a rough day for her to get sleep, this seemed like the best idea. Plus the weather was not that bad for a late morning in early March. Spring was definitely approaching, but slowly. It was cloudy and cool but not raining like yesterday. So, the decision was quickly made.

Daryl snuck quietly down the short hallway to Ruby's small nursery; passing by yours and his shared bedroom. He got some warmer clothes for her, then returned to his child. Instead of picking her up off the blanket, he knelt down on the floor and rolled the cooing, babbling baby over on her back again. Another smile darted across the tiny girl's face when she recognised her father - which in turn made Daryl's heart skip a beat.

He would've never seen it coming but hell, he loved this. He loved being a father.

"Ya gonna go with daddy on a walk, little princess?" A sweet gurgle left her tiny lips. "Yeah? Thought so," he chuckled quietly; big hands working to get the antsy infant in some warmer clothes. It took the archer a hot moment, but with a little patience, he managed to put her in the warm, white fleece overall. Now she looked like a polar bear cub. Literally. The overall had two ears attached on top. Daryl would've lied if he said it wasn't one of his favourite outfits for her.

"A'right. 'M gonna slip inside my jacket real quick, look after yer mama 'n then we get goin'." Said and done. The archer slipped inside his chosen piece of clothing - a black-ish jeans jacket, which would keep him warm outside and, of course, threw his signature angel-winged vest on as well. Then he snuck down the hallway again, but this time entering your shared bedroom - quietly, of course. He checked on you; noticing that you were still peacefully asleep. Your partner smiled and watched you for a moment, before he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear which had fallen into your face. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss against your temple.

Unlike you, Dog was awake but still laying on the bed beside you; taking in Daryl's side of the bed. He watched his master with perked ears. "Ya gonna join me, boy?" Daryl addressed his animal best friend then; whispering. "Walkies?" The Malinois was definitely less excited than he was. Dog huffed and rested his head back down on the blanket. "Nah?" The canine had made his choice; choosing you this time. The bowman shrugged his shoulders, "'Kay. 'M goin' alone with Ruby then." and quietly left the bedroom again.

Of course, the man didn't leave the house without writing you a note where he and Ruby went. He didn't want you to worry in case you woke up before he returned.

Daryl slipped in his boots, picked his baby girl up and quietly left the apartment; making his way downstairs where the stroller was parked. With one hand he got the 'vehicle' ready and carefully laid Ruby in the baby crib. "Almost ready, little princess," he kept talking to her while tucking her in; making sure the warm blanket was snugly wrapped around her. Not the easiest task, since this little lady was really wriggly today. But eventually, he made it.

No five minutes later, Daryl was casually walking down the street; pushing the stroller. Again, he had never thought that he would be the man he was today. Especially not after the world went to shit - which was actually the wrong term. For everybody else did the world end, but for him... It actually started. A new beginning. A new life. It healed him. It brought him all the close friends he called family and would've never crossed paths with if all that shit didn't happen. He would've never met you. Never got Dog, and certainly never became a father.

Daryl had found the most precious thing in the ruins of the world... Love - in several different variations. Self-love. Friendship. Brotherly love. Actual romantic love. And fatherly love.

Now he was here, and hell, he would lie if he said he didn't enjoy the domesticity of it all. For once, it was quiet. No unstable walls or missing food to worry about. No threats - be it walkers or humans. No wars. No blood shedding. Just peace.

Sure, his senses were still sharp. He was still a fighter and survivor after all, but... In this very moment? All he cared about was that miniature human inside that stroller.

"Daryl, hey!" A voice suddenly urged to his ears. A very familiar voice. He stopped, and looked around - finding himself standing opposite the little bakery his best friend worked in. He smiled as he spotted Carol; jutted his head at her in greeting and made his way across the 'street'. "Yer up for a lil' detour, sweetheart? Wanna see aunt Carol?" Ruby cooed and looked up at her dad with big eyes; still not asleep. Well, admittedly, he was only about five or ten minutes on the way, so...

Carol stepped out of the little shop and awaited him with a smile. "Hey," they said in union; greeting each other and leaning in for a short hug. "Ya good?" The woman nodded. "Work's a little busier but not bad. And you?" Her eyes landed on the stroller, which Daryl was softly pushing back and fro; trying to keep it in motion to help Ruby fall asleep. "Taking a walk with Ruby?" He nodded. "Yah. She ain't really sleepin' today. Thought the weather ain't bad 'n decided to give it a try." "I'd say put her in a car and drive for a while - it always helped Sophia, but I guess that's a difficult thing to do here." The archer huffed. "Kinda. Stroller has 't be enough."

A particularly loud coo from inside the stroller interrupted the two. Carol smiled and bent down a little to peak inside and look directly at her best friend's daughter. "Hello, Ruby. Are you complaining? Right of you to do so. Your dad and auntie Carol just speaking about your sleep schedule and not asking you. That's truly rude." Daryl scoffed with a smile, while the four-month-old continued to babble at the woman - as if she was talking to her. Carol played along, of course; nodding, "Mhm, I see, yeah." and kept talking to her.

"She ain't ever gonna sleep if ya keep entertainin' 'er," Daryl teased his best friend; trying to 'peel' her away from the infant. But Carol was Carol and he actually knew better. An answer came promptly. She straightened up again and looked at the archer. "Ruby complains about your snoring every time she naps on your chest."

Tit-for-tat.

Daryl scoffed again and shook his head. "Ain't snorin'." "Yes, you do. Sometimes at least. Ruby knows it, I know it- Shall we ask Y/N?" "Shuddup." The woman smiled and giggled; placing a hand on his arm - as if in apology. "I should get going again. My break is over in less than two minutes." Daryl nodded. "'Kay, yeah. See ya?" Carol nodded as well, "Of course." then looked at her niece again. "Bye, Ruby." She waved at the baby and got a smile in return.

The archer continued on his walk; mission still the same. Ten minutes later, Ruby's mood shifted again. She turned from a happy baby into a discontent baby. Whining, whimpering and close to crying. Daryl sighed; stopping for a moment to adjust the blanket over her. She was wriggling around constantly. "C'mon, baby girl. Get some sleep. I know yer tired. Can tell." He placed one big palm on her tummy - or well, front upper body and moved it in small slow circles; trying to somehow calm her down. This tactic wasn't quite a success either, but Daryl had one more ace up his sleeve... A pacifier.

His hand vanished in the changing bag attached to the stroller - searching and finding the object of his desire. He got the pacifier and offered it his daughter. Ruby was a bit hesitant at first, but then accepted the item; suckling on it. And this time, the archer's plan worked. The pacifier in combination with the constant movement of the stroller managed to finally lull the baby to sleep. Something Daryl was utterly glad and relieved about.

He decided to walk a few yards more - just to be on the safe side. Another ten minutes later, he turned around to walk back home.

On his way, he encountered another very familiar face - although dressed in Commonwealth soldier armor... Rosita. "Hey," she greeted him; helmet dangling from her hand. The archer stopped and greeted her back, of course. The co-worker she was with faded into the background; Daryl not giving him more than a short nod. "What brings you out here? It's not exactly great weather for a walk," Rosita remarked and he looked up; seeing the sky darkening with grey clouds. "Wasn't tha' bad half an hour ago... Had to take the little princess out. She ain't sleepin' today. Thought a walk might help." Realisation and clarity could be visibly seen on the woman's face. "Yeah, I know that problem," she said - referring to Coco, of course. Then she rounded the stroller and looked inside; smiling up at Daryl. "Looks like it worked, though." Daryl nodded with a grunt. "Yah, but jus' 'cause 'a tha' pacifier. Ain't been workin' without it. Took 'er longer than usually 't fall asleep. Dunno wha's off today."

Rosita shrugged her shoulders. "It just is sometimes. Coco's sleep schedule is all over the place sometimes, too. Despite Eugene's mathematical efforts." Daryl wanted to answer as Jacobs - the colleague of them suddenly jumped in and spoke up. "We gotta go, Rosita. Mercer waits." "Yeah I know," she answered; quickly turning to face the man before she redirected her attention again. "You'll get the hang of this all eventually." With a smile at her friend, Rosita walked on. "Let's go. Before you get your panties in a twist." Jacobs scoffed, "See you around." and jogged off to match Rosita's pace. Daryl walked on as well; not hearing what the other man said to Rosita. "Dixon's a father?" His voice was tinged in disbelief. "Obviously, yes. Why?" Jacobs shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. Just didn't think he'd be the type to have a family. Always seemed to me like a lone wolf." Rosita gave the man a crooked smile. "You don't know shit about him."

Another fifteen minutes later, the archer parked the stroller in the main entrance hallway of the apartment building he and his family lived in. Carefully and with utmost caution, he lifted Ruby out of the stroller and carried her upstairs; praying to every force above that she wouldn't wake up and actually got a few hours of desperately needed sleep. So it was no wonder that Daryl was utterly relieved when he had her safely tucked in her baby bed; still sleeping peacefully. He switched on the baby monitor and shoved the other half in the back pocket of his jeans; quietly closing the door to her cosy, little room behind him. That was the moment he heard some muffled noises alongside the distinct sound of a flushing toilet, coming undoubtedly from the bathroom. He smiled. Looked like you woke up from your nap. The archer's feet let him automatically into direction bathroom - just in time for you to leave said room. When you saw him, a sleepy smile started to stretch over your face. "Hey." Your self-declared husband couldn't help but return the smile.

"Mornin'," he spoke in that deep, raspy voice as he bridged the distance between the both of you; hands instantly coming to rest on your hips. "Woke up, sleepin' beauty?" You scoffed; a little laugh leaving your lips as well. "Sleeping beauty?" You shook your head. "Certainly not, babe. More like vampire or Frankenstein's monster - or something else. Won't say zombie gone back to life. That's... No. Not a fitting saying anymore..." Now Daryl shook his head. "Nah. None of tha'. Sleepin' beauty. Definitely." You scoffed once again but smiled, then took another step closer to wrap your arms around his middle. You snuggled against him; head on his chest. A chuckle rumbled through his upper body, and he pressed a lingering kiss against the top of your head.

"Baby asleep?" You mumbled into his sweater. "Baby asleep, yah." A relieved sigh left your lips. "Thank God. Finally." Daryl hummed in agreement. "What did you do to get her to sleep? Took a walk?" "Mhm. Walk 'n pacifier." You pulled back just enough to be able to look up into his eyes. "You're the best dad I could've wished for Ruby." Your husband shrugged his shoulders - almost nonchalantly. "Nah. 'M jus' tryin' 't do the right thing." "Stop downplaying this, Dar. You're an amazing dad, babe," you stated again and squeezed his waist. "Really."

He smiled bashfully; blushing softly. "'Kay. If ya say so." "Know so." You smiled as well, "Kiss?" and puckered your lips. Daryl huffed, but of course dipped his head to grant your wish. "Yer something else, woman." You giggled, "Pot kettle." and stood on your tiptoes to kiss Daryl again.

"Ya wanna do wha'?" Daryl asked you already the second time - still blinking and still in disbelief. "You heard me, Dar." The archer blinked, then shook his head. "Yer sum'thin' else woman. Swear 't god."

This hadn't been the first time you had come to your boyfriend with a new 'idea' or crazy suggestion. Whenever it was a run, an escape plan, pastime at home in Alexandria or even home decoration - it was never boring with you. But this... This put everything on a whole new level and admittedly changed the way Daryl saw you - at least a little. He thought he knew you well after almost six months of being your significant other, but the archer had to admit that he was wrong about this.

"'Kay..." He started, "Lemme process this real quick, sunshine..." and took a breath to sort his thoughts. "Jus' 't make sure I get this right... Ya want me 't... hunt ya down like a fuckin' deer, drag ya in a cabin or sum'thin' and..." He had to pause in order to form the right words with a blush already creeping up his face. "Take yer... yer virginity."

You nodded with a big smile and clapped your hands - like a toddler who just solved a puzzle on their own. "Exactly, babe."

Daryl just stared at you for a solid minute and chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. But then...

"Nah," he said; shaking his head. "Why not?" You sighed; already pouting. "Dun wanna hurt ya or sum'thin'. Ya never... a-and I... Nah."

You were still a virgin, yes. That much was true. It took you quite a while to come around and 'confess' to your partner since the archer was your first proper boyfriend - and sex wasn't a topic you both were super confident to talk about. Daryl, though, took it with the utmost respect and gentleness. He never forced you into anything - and never would. You promised to give him your virginity - but he never anticipated that you'd go along and ask him to take it like this.

"You're not gonna hurt me, babe. I promise. We're gonna chose a safe word and all. It's gonna be fine. And hot. And thrilling! Just imagine it!" He scoffed; still not quite convinced. "Told ya I wanted 't do this right... Proper bed 'n all. Romantic shit." "And I told you I don't want romantic shit and not lose it the normal, boring way." Daryl scoffed again. He really wanted to 'do it right' - but if that was what you preferred...

The archer sighed and nodded. "'Kay." You let out an excited squeal and tugged at his biceps; rocking up and down on your heels. "But if somethin' ain't right we're gonna stop right away." You nodded again. "Promise," you smiled and pulled him down for a kiss; saying 'Thank you'.

"Ya really sure ya wanna do it? Yer ready 'n comfortable enough?" Your partner checked in on you once more; wanting to be truly on the safe side. "Yes, babe. One hundred percent sure."

A few days later, a 'plan' was made and a safe word determined, before Daryl would go 'hunting'. The weather was nice. Not too hot, not too cold. Nothing on both your schedules. Daryl gave you a head start, of course. He was a little nervous about this all - but also excited. He couldn't deny that. You were right about this whole scenario. It was kinda hot.

An hour after you left Alexandria, Daryl followed. "Going on a hunt?" Eugene asked the man since he was on guard duty. Daryl adjusted the knives on his belt. No crossbow today, but prepared and armed nevertheless. He gave his friend something close to a nod, "Sum'thin' like that, yeah." stepped out of the gates and left a confused Eugene behind.

Once outside the safety of the walls, the archer scanned his surroundings - and instantly started to track you down.

Let the game begin.

And for Daryl, this game was very easy. He was an excellent tracker. Sure, you didn't really cover your tracks, but still. It wasn't much of a challenge for him. Within about an hour, he had almost caught up to you - and once he did, the fun really began.

You tried to hide from him, of course. Naturally. Your goal was to run from him as long as possible - and the thought was thrilling.

You were hiding behind a thick tree; trying to stay as quiet as possible with your heart beating rapidly inside your chest. Adrenaline. Excitement. Anticipation - of what was to happen.

And Daryl? Daryl was locked in. You had asked for this - and he'd make sure you got what you wanted. He could've sworn he had already smelled you from a few miles away. The sweet scent of your shampoo in combination with the detergent you used. He was like a shark in the ocean... He had smelled blood - and now he was going to bite.

Daryl wetted his lips and once more scanned his surroundings; standing absolutely still and listening to every sound that urged to his ears. The different songs of birds. Bees and gnats humming. Crickets chirping. Luckily no sounds of the undead which roamed the earth.

His senses were sharpened to the brim; waiting for you to make that one mistake. Daryl knew you were close - or well, that he was close. All he needed was a last hint - and in your 'recklessness', you freely gave it to him. Since the woods around you had started to get suspiciously quiet - too quiet, you dared to risk a gaze from behind the safety of the tree which hid you - a mistake. You knew you had fucked up the very moment your eyes met the blue ones of your hunter from a distance.

So you started to run; hoping to be faster than him and able to escape.

And Daryl started to run as well; now truly hunting you down.

You were good. Quick on your feet - but not as fast as Daryl. He picked up his pace; caught up to you within seconds - and before you could even try or react, a strong, thick arm wrapped itself around your waist from behind. "Gotcha, sunshine," Daryl panted in your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. You didn't fight him, of course. Why should you? The hunter had caught his prey successfully.

Exhausted from all the running, your body slumped down - causing the archer's biceps around your body to bulge in order to hold you and let you down gently.

Sure, he helped you live out your sexual fantasy, but that didn't mean he was going to hurt you or let you hurt yourself.

As you laid on the cool forest ground; still catching your breath, Daryl towered over you - and it was without a doubt one of the hottest views you ever had of him - of a man in general. The sun shone from above him; brightening his dark brown curls and creating a halo around his silhouette. Sweat glistened on his biceps and arms. The black shirt with the torn off sleeves tightened around his upper body with each heaving breath he took; making the worn buttons fight for their life. His rugged jeans with the patches was slightly covered in dirt and resin from the hunt; hanging lower on his hips than usual from the running. Piercing blues gazing down at you.

You had always considered Daryl to be nothing but gorgeous and attractive - but this... This was a whole new dimension of sexiness - and the man didn't even try.

You swallowed hard; feeling another wave of arousel strike your core. It was nothing new, but exciting for sure.

"A'right," Daryl started and reached in the back pocket of his jeans to get the small rope he packed. "Time 't take home wha's mine. Caught ya fair 'n square," he stated with the tiniest smirk and crouched down to tie your wrists together with the rope. Work-worn, skilled hands went to work, while you just watched and stared. Fuck.

It got even worse (in the best way) when he also blindfolded you with the red rug he always carried around. Your breath hitched.

"Where are you going to take me?" It was a question fitting for your 'role', but one you truly didn't know the answer to. Finding a fitting place to do those sinful things you both had in mind had been Daryl's task. He knew the woods better than anyone, so... You left it up to him.

"Ya'll see." His deep, gruff voice announced, before he swiftly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A small queak of surprise left your lips as Daryl manhandled you easily to carry you through the woods to his chosen destination.

Despite the fact that all your senses were sharpened, you trusted Daryl with your life - literally. Blindfolded, handcuffed - easy prey for the dead and the living.

It didn't take Daryl that long to reach his destination - a hidden cabin he had found already months ago and often used as a sleeping accommodation when he was out on a run or hunting. The cabin was secluded and safe - the perfect place outside Alexandria for what Daryl was about to do to you.

Opening the wooden door, he carried you inside, made sure the safety measures applied again - he wouldn't want a walker to stumble in on you, and gently tossed you on the new King-sized mattress the archer had scavenged for the bed inside said cabin. The old one was ratty and quite frankly disgusting. He always preferred to sleep on the floor instead. But not today. Today, Daryl was prepared. He even spread out a freshly washed blanket from home over the bed. Sure, you said you didn't want to lose your virginity the 'romantic' way, but he wouldn't be Daryl if he didn't make sure that you were at least comfortable.

Then he went to untie the rope around your wrists again and take the blindfold off your eyes. You looked around; taking in your environment. You couldn't help it. Since the end of the world, your senses were sharpenend - always checking first if everything was safe. As if being able to read your thoughts, Daryl said: "Dun worry, bunny. Yer safe here. Gonna make sure 'a tha'." He shed all his knives and his angel-winged vest. "Now lemme unwrap my prey, eh?"

That sentence was - again, enough to sent a tingle down your spine.

Completely at his mercy, you let him get rid of all the unnecessary garments hiding your body - except your panties. No beating about the bush. His eyes screamed hunger, but they also held something soft; always making sure you were okay and comfortable.

Your partner admired your body; kissed your lips and every square inch he could reach, before he backed up to unbutton his black shirt and threw it aside. Daryl wasn't comfortable being shirtless around many people. You and Carol were the exception.

You were so entranced by the beauty of the man in front of you - scars and all, that you didn't even notice him stepping closer once more.

Until strong hands wrapped around your thighs - and swiftly pulled you to the edge of the bed with a little squeak leaving your lips.

"D-Dar? What are you up to?" The man looked up at you - darkness and hunger swallowing the blue in his eyes. "Caught 'm prey - only fair 't get a taste of wha's mine," he stated in a husky voice; gently pushing your legs open and keeping his palms splayed on your thighs to keep them open for him. Then he knelt down and bent over to bring his face on eye-level with your already electrified core. "Gonna devour tha' innocent lil' pussy," Daryl whispered in that deep timbre and flicked his tongue over the damp cotton of your panties; inhaling your scent - and you could've sworn that your brain crashed.

Error 404.

His words, that single gesture - it was enough to get your head spinning. A man was about to go down on you for the first time in your life. Daryl was about to go down on you for the first time ever. You'd experience things you never experienced before - and it was thrilling. The anticipation, excitement and arousal was a dangerous cocktail which flooded your veins.

"P-Please," was everything you were able to stammer out.

A little smirk tugged at the archer's lips before he licked over the fabric once again; softly suckling on the cotton - testing, teasing. You bit your lip; eyes not leaving him for even a second. Hell, you weren't even blinking; not wanting to miss a thing.

"Look atcha..." He whispered; gently tugging at your panties, "Barely even touched ya 'n yer already so ready fer me." and nibbling on them. He kept on teasing you for another moment which felt like an eternity and caused your hips to push further into him. "Dar, please..." You whined again - finally wanting to feel more; finally wanting to feel his mouth on you.

"Patience, bunny. Ya waited years fer the right man 't take yer innocence - now ya can wait five minutes longer." His words were firm but also sinful and made you whine again. Fuck. Of course, you were at his mercy and so he kept on teasing you. Biting, nibbling, mouthing at the piece of cotton underwear; driving you crazier with every passing minute.

Lucky for you, Daryl's patience wasn't eternal as well, so at one point his resolve broke as well; the arousal pumping through his veins begging him to finally eat you up like a piece of candy.

Thumbs hooked underneath the fabric and swiftly pulled them over your legs; carelessly throwing the garment aside. Without wasting another second, and before you were even able to comprehend what was going on now, he dove in.

"O-Oh my god," you squeaked out and gripped the blanket beneath you; legs quivering the moment you felt his hot, wet lips and tongue on you - and it was like an entire new world opened up to you. A feeling so intense, you never felt before. Daryl gave you one broad, lingering lick before he pulled away to ask: "Tha' good, bunny?"

A disbelieving, airy laugh slipped past your lips. "A-Are you kidding? D-Dar, it's something I've never felt before!" The archer smiled, "Good." and slightly adjusted his position. "Gonna make it even better for ya. Promise."

And he did keep that promise.

He lapped at you messily like you truly were his last meal; taking every drop of the sweet arousal you gave him. Not even five minutes in, he was nose-deep buried in your heat with your hand in his chestnut brown locks - a gesture that spurred him on even more as you discovered. Daryl growled against you and flicked his tongue faster, before he dipped the muscle inside you - switching between gently tongue-fucking you and suckling on that little sensitive nub.

And that was exactly what catapulted you quickly over the edge. "Fuck, Dar!" You literally cried out; fingers in his curls tightening before your whole body went numb against the bed as searing hot pleasure flooded you. Pleasure so intense you had never felt in your life. Daryl physically had to hold your hips down.

Of course, you had gotten yourself off before. You were a virgin - not a saint, but this... This was an entire new level. Mindblowing. Heart-stopping. You feared for a second that you were going to pass out from the intensity of it all. Daryl had positively catapulted you into another stratosphere - just with his mouth.

The man between your legs was very satisfied with his work and gently guided you through your high before pulling away. You needed a moment to recover; brain rebooting. "Ya good, sunshine?" Daryl's voice got through to you. You gave him a nod. "Ya still wanna keep goin'?" The archer broke his 'role' for a moment; checking in on you. Once again you nodded and added a hoarse, whispered: "Please." "A'right," Daryl said and adjusted his position once again; standing up.

Then you finally focused on your partner again - and his vision sent another delicious tingle straight downtown again. He was a mess. Drool and your sweet release everywhere. On his lips, chin, goatee - and even some on his nose. It almost looked like he had enjoyed this more than you had. Perhaps he did. Who knew?

Daryl's hands on your hips ripped you out of your thoughts again. He was gently pushing you further up the bed again to give him space to kneel on the mattress as well. Then he kissed up your pubic mound, navel and stomach until he reached your chest; shoving his still clothed thighs underneath yours. "Ya gonna lemme fuck ya now, bunny?" He mumbled against your skin and straightened up; watching you nod once again. "Yeah?" Daryl asked once more - to make sure, while letting his hand wander to the bulging front of his jeans. "Y-Yes. Please, Dar." He gave you a nod as well and watched how your gaze got stuck on the hand which rubbed himself over the fabric of his jeans.

Another smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Nah," he announced then; remembering that you had never seen a man's most intimate parts before - in a sexual way. "Gonna let ya feel me first. Ya want tha', bunny?" You absentmindedly licked your lips. The thought alone of feeling him - touching him caused your head to spin. "Y-Yes. Want that." "'Kay," the archer said and unzipped his jeans; making some room. "Gimme yer hand."

You sat up and did what he asked; gave him your hand. Daryl gently took your hand and guided it; slipped it inside his pants to let you feel and rub his hardness. An audible gasp left your lips at the new feeling against your hand. Firm, hot, pulsing flesh - and all just for you. "Feel tha'?" Of course, you could. "'S all for ya, bunny. Got me rock hard since I fuckin' left Alexandria." "Oh yeah?" You whispered and bit your lip while your hand kept on rubbing him. Daryl nodded; hips slightly bucking into your touch. "C-Can I... touch?"

A smile flickered over the archer's face. "'Course, ya can," he stated and instantly shifted to get rid of his pants and boxers. You watched him unpack his package with big, hungry eyes. Of course, you knew how a man's private parts were supposed to look - but you had never seen them in a sexual way. Until now.

And it caused you to gulp.

Daryl was a big boy - everything about him was, and so was his manhood as well. Thick, hot and pulsing; standing tall and proud between his legs. After shedding the rest of his clothes, he returned to his previous position between your legs; of course noticing your gaze on him.

"Whatcha sayin', bunny? All shy now or do ya still wanna touch?" "S-Still wanna touch," you answered right away; totally intrigued and more than excited. "'Kay. Gimme your hand again." You did what he asked and laid your hand in his.

Once again, Daryl guided your palm - but this time, he did something you hadn't seen coming. Something filthy - in the hottest way possible. He let some spit drool on your palm - for lubrication, and wrapped it around his length. You gasped at the feeling. He gently moved your closed fingers then up and down; letting you feel and explore. Once more you bit your lip; feeling him hot and heavy in your palm. You kept up the movements - even when Daryl's hand had already slackened around yours and fallen to your thigh. "Ya like tha', bunny? Rubbin' tha' dick? Givin' me a handjob?" You nodded; licking your lips.

"D-Do you like it? Am I doing this right?" Daryl softly squeezed the flesh of your thigh in return. "Yer doin' perfect. 'S real good." You smiled; satisfied and proud of yourself. After a long moment - when you gained a little more confidence, you increased the pace and even squeezed him gently from time to time, which caused the man's eyes to slip shut and a deep growl to fall from his lips.

Then your hand stopped - and Daryl reopened his eyes again to meet your gaze. "Do you... want to teach me how to... go down on you?" Daryl groaned again at your words. The mere thought of your mouth on him... Jesus Christ. But then again...

The archer shook his head, "Nah." and gently pried your hand away from his dick. "'M gonna show ya another time. This is 'bout ya. Not me," Daryl stated firmly and adjusted his position again; lining his hips up with yours.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt him against you. Oh my gosh... This was real - and it was about to happen. "O-Okay," you stammered; anticipation but also slight nervousness flooding your veins. You trusted Daryl. Fully. But you couldn't help but feel your nevers a little.

The man nodded, "'N now relax." and trapped his cock between your folds. "Jus' feel." He pressed it down and moved his hips to let it glide through your slit; repeatedly bumping your little bundle of nerves. Daryl wanted to just let you adjust to the feeling and also lube himself up - making things easier. You moaned; legs twitching. Yet another sensation you hadn't felt before in your life.

The archer grinned as he felt you instinctively move your hips with his; wanting and creating more friction. "Feelin' good, bunny? Yer pussy likin' this dick, eh?" You nodded vehemently; eyes closed. He smirked again, then pulled back a little further to nudge the tip against your entrance. You gasped and literally froze; hand reaching out to grip his forearm. "D-Dar..." "Ya ready, bunny?" You nodded. "Y-Yes. Just go slow, p-please."

For a moment, Daryl's entire body language and expression shifted. "'O course, sunshine. I got ya," he said in a gentle voice - slipping from his 'role' once more. He leaned forward to kiss your forehead and steady himself properly. Then he lined himself up and slowly, carefully slipped inside you - inch after inch.

You would've lied if you said it didn't feel uncomfortable at first or even hurt a little, 'cause it was. Weird, strange - again, a whole new feeling. Once more, your breath hitched in your throat as a burning sensation spread from between your legs throughout your core. "D-Dar..." "I know, I know, 'm almost in. Doin' so good fer me, bunny," your partner whispered in a raspy voice; soothing and praising you simultaneously. "'K-Kay..."

While you clearly struggled a little to take him, Daryl had a very hard time holding himself back. He would, of course, because he didn't want to hurt you - but it took all his willpower to hold his primal instincts back. You were so tight and wet and warm - absolutely unfair. And watching you trying to swallow him whole wasn't helping as well.

With a last shift of his hips, he was buried inside you; giving you a moment to adjust and himself the opportunity to get his act together again. "'M in, bunny. Ya good?" He breathed; wanting to check in on you.

"Y-Yes, just feels... strange a-and... full." Daryl felt himself twitch at the word 'full'. Yeah, that was the point, right? "Yer gonna get used 't it. Promise. Gonna take real good 'a ya - 'n this pussy. She's mine now, after all. Claimed 'er fair 'n square." "A-All yours," you confirmed; taking deep, shaky breaths.

Another small smirk darted across his face at your words. "Tha's right. All mine," he whispered darkly and gave you an experimental thrust; slowly returning into his 'predator role'. You squeaked up - more in surprise than discomfort, but still; eyes fluttering at the sudden friction. After testing the waters, Daryl picked up a proper rhythm - slow but deep; starting out with missionary. The archer figured that this was probably the best position for your introduction into the world of sex.

Daryl's eyes were stuck on you; watching you intensely as he fucked you slow. "Feels good, bunny?" You nodded; biting your lip and fisting the blanket beneath you. "Uh.Huh. S-So good." Daryl's chest swelled with pride and he picked up the pace a little before he adjusted his hands; no longer pressing them against the mattress beneath him but rather gripping your hips. He straightened up a little to be more upright and get a better look at the delicious view of where your bodies were connected.

"Look atcha, bunny," he almost growled; watching his dick repeatedly slip in and out of you. "Pussy takin' me so good. Was made fer me." You moaned at the praise - borderline obscene, which got Daryl smiling boyish in return again; satisfied and happy that he was apparently doing his job right.

"Tha's how ya imagined this, bunny?" Daryl asked after quite a few thrusts; slightly out of breath. "Y-Yes, but..." You stammered out with a whine. It was hard to concentrate on words when your boyfriend did such sinful things to you.

"But what, bunny, huh? Use yer words. C'mon," he whispered and delivered a particular deep thrust which shortly knocked the air out of your lungs and totally threw you off track for a moment.

"M-More," you mumbled then; brain foggy with pleasure. "W-Want... more." Your words caused the archer to stop dead in his movements. He blinked and looked down at you through hazy eyes. "More? Ya want more?" You nodded; biting your lip.

And that was the moment Daryl entirely lost his composure. He had tried to hold back and keep things gentle for you and here you were now, telling him to give you more. His eyes darkened, "Ya want more?" as he adjusted his position between your legs. "Fine. 'M givin' ya more."

Daryl roughly lifted your legs up and pushed them back against your shoulders; gaining more leverage and switching into the mating press position. "Gonna give ya everything, bunny. More than ya can take," he growled lowly and started to thrust again. Hard, deep, quick; literally fucking you into the mattress. "O-Oh my god," you sobbed in pleasure; gripping his sweaty biceps tightly - nails digging into the muscular skin with your mouth hanging open in pleasure.

Nothing could be heard except your airy moans, skin slapping obscenely against skin and the occasional creaking of the bed beneath you.

"Tha' better, bunny, eh?" "F-Fuck, yes!" You cried out; holding onto him for dear life. "W-Want all of you, D-Dar!"

You words sparked something deep inside him. Something primal, dark and hidden. He was already lost in you. In the feeling of you wrapped around him, but this... This cut the last cord he had been holding on to. It brought him dangerously close to his high.

"Gonna give ya all 'a me, bunny," he growled again. "Gonna get my load." Thrust. "Gonna cum so deep inside ya." Thrust. "Ain't gonna pull out." Thrust. "Dun care if I get ya pregnant." Thrust. "Gonna look good carryin' my baby- Christ!" One more powerful thrust was enough to tip Daryl over the edge. "Hng," he stilled; feeling himself twitch and contract - breath stuttering.

And like he promised, he didn't pull out.

Then he collapsed beside you - careful not to crash you; totally spent, just like you.

Once the haze had cleared a little from his brain, he swiftly turned to face you again. "Ya okay, sunshine?" Daryl asked gently, while gently rubbing your upper arm. Predator mode entirely forgotten.

All you could do was nod; staring at the ceiling. "Wow... That... That was... wow." You couldn't find the words. What you just experienced had absolutely blown your mind - in the best way possible.

A little, proud and cute smile tugged at your partner's lips. "Tha' how ya wanted yer first time 't go? Did I, uh, do it right?" You giggled and turned to face him as well before snuggling against his bare chest. "More than right, Dar. It was perfect." The archer embraced you and reached for the second blanket he had brought here to cover the both of you up.

"Ya, uh, ya think I really got ya pregnant now?" Daryl whispered after a long moment of silence. "Nah," you said; shaking your head. "Think we're good, babe. One time won't hurt."

Well...

Turned out it did.

Exactly fourteen months later, Daryl found himself sitting on the porch of your little house in Alexandria - with a small baby girl sleeping snugly on his arm; tiny cheek squashed against his biceps. Yeah. One 'slip-up' had truly been enough. Your first time with Daryl - and it instantly managed to create a little miracle.

With literal heart eyes, the archer watched his daughter sleep and drool over the muscular skin. "There are you two," you said in a gentle voice and joined your family on the porch with a smile. Daryl's eyes lifted to meet yours. "Should've told ya we'd be out here," he answered; shifting a little to make room for you. You instantly shook your head, "No, no, it's okay. I'm just glad she's asleep now." and sat down beside your partner. The archer gave you a small nod and picked up the tasked at hand again - watching over his daughter.

"We created that..." He whispered then after a long beat of silence; voice slightly strained. Your mind travelled back in time at his words - to the very day you lost your innocence to Daryl. The day you literally became entirely his. "Yeah...," you whispered back; smiling and running a finger through the tiny dark-ish curls of fuzz on the baby's head. "We did. And I don't regret anything."

he squints at you. “split it?”

“in half.”

he clicks his tongue. “i know what splittin’ it means.” he says abruptly. you fight the urge to grin at his clipped tone, lilt like gravel or a torn piece of paper. pretty rough around the edges. (yet you feel as if you could listen to it all day, not that you’d ever say it aloud.)

you shrug and shift from one foot to another. “so do you?”

“i already said no,” he grunts. “what’chu wanna split for anyway?”

“it’s too much,” you say, unable to find any other excuse to get him to eat it with you. truthfully, you’re eager to get to know him. you’ve seen him stalk around even at the atlanta camp, you’ve seen the way he helps out. he seems nice, you conclude — if not a little abrasive.

you can’t lie when you say your eyes tend to find him regardless, though. toned, golden skin with darker hues along his shoulders and nose from where the ultraviolet hits, dark & overgrown hair, beady eyes. all of it’s also very alluring, you think.

he cocks his head at you, bewildered. “too much?” he asks. “it’s an orange, girl. just eat it.”

“daryl—”

he ignores the way the syllables of his name rolls of your tongue so easily, like the bronze granules of sand slipping through your fingers. he huffs, “if i eat half, will you leave me alone already?”

you take a moment before cracking a grin. “yeah,” you breathed.

he nods his head with a furrowed brow, relaxing his posture despite his skeptical face. a begrudging form of acceptance, but that’s okay. you take it upon yourself to plop down beside him, grass flattening underneath your legs as you fold them over one another and bring them to your chest.

he eyes you, turning his head ever so slightly — petting the slope of your nose and gazing into every pore now that you’re up close. his eyes flit to the sudden pinch in your brow, then follow your eyeline to the fruit in your hands that you struggle to dig into.

he watches you struggle for a couple more seconds before he tsks and shows his palm.

you look at it; you look at the ridges and wonder what a reader would tell him. whether he’d listen. they’re a bit dirty from messing around in the dirt all day, but you hardly care. when you look into each other’s eyes, you swear you can see every swirl and pattern that lie within them, like watercolors colliding around your iris.

you hand it to him and he manages a soft sigh, nails piercing the flesh of the orange and taking off clumsy chunks of skin to reveal the fibrous pith. “real princess, ain’t you,” he grumbles. you know there’s no bite behind it, though. so, all you do is lean your head against the wood and watch intently as he peels away the rind.

you switch between the orange and his face occasionally. it’s quiet, save for the buzzing of cicadas filling the hollow air.

your tone is soft when you speak again. almost like you’re afraid to break the thin pane of repose. “why do you come all the way out here?”

he huffs. “to get away from all you people.”

you hum at that. daryl catches a glimpse at you from his peripheral. he’s about halfway done peeling considering his nails are so short. “why’d you come out here anyway, huh?” he mutters. “huntin’ me down?”

“just curious to see if you wanted some.” you shrug. “don’t see you often.”

he holds the nude orange out for you to grab, now free of its shell and glistening in all its glory. you clutch the heart of the orange as you roll it between your fingers, holding it up to the light and seeing the almost glassy look of the orange glow against the sun, juices threatening to drip down the sphere. your nose stings from the scent as you watch daryl toss the exocarp somewhere along the soil. “don’t need your charity,” he scoffs.

you split half of it without much grace, grabbing another slice that you hadn’t managed to get in order to get an even half for the two of you. your hand lolls to the side after, offering it to him.

“it’s not charity,” you say.

he looks at you, quiet, before grabbing the fruit from you. rather than taking slice by slice, he eats it whole, shoving spring into his mouth without applause and chewing as the sweetness explores upon his tongue.

a deep breath escapes through his nose as he leans his head back, a soft thump against the chipped bark. you can hear the faint squelch of the way his teeth pierce the skin and mush it up. you must stay staring at him because he meets your eyes with sharp pair of his own, flickering down and then up before finally asks, muffled, “y’happy?”

you breathe out a laugh. “was that so bad?”

he faces forward again. “whatever,” he mumbles. “go on, now.”

“was it good?” you tease.

his eyes find you once again with a look you can’t name, but obviously what you said couldn’t be too far off. “get outta here. quit botherin’ me,” he quickly manages.

“whatever,” you laugh again, extending your legs and unfolding yourself until you finally stand up, some bones popping like soft air pistols. you stretch your arms over your head before dusting yourself off and starting off on your way.

you throw him one last glance over your shoulder before shoving your hands in your pockets and growing further into the distance. daryl’s not sure why, but his eyes follow you for quite some time.

he mutters something unintelligible to himself, grabbing the forgotten arrow and messing with the head of it again. yet, as his fingers are stained with dirt and carbon, he can only smell the citrus prickling at his nose.

On a seldom quiet afternoon, Daryl finds himself kneeled over working on his bike. The solitary pastime keeps his mind and hands busy when things get unnervingly quiet. 

His grease-covered hands are too preoccupied to wipe the sweat off his brow, let alone grab the wrench he left annoyingly out of reach. When he catches a glimpse of you passing by at the perfect time, you hear that familiar drawl call after you with surprising casualness. 

“Babe!” 

You double back just to be met with sheepishly avoidant eyes. Before either of you can really process or address the slip of tongue, Daryl gives a curt nod towards the open toolbox sitting a few feet away.

"Gimme a hand, will ya?"

You hand the wrench over along with a smug look, which earns a warning glare and a begrudging grumble of thanks in return.

Frantic voices cut through the ongoing gunfire and permeate the staticky airwaves over handheld radio. While it's reassuring to have your found-family fighting at your side, the absence of your other half when the chaos begins distracts you. Steadfast directions are thrown out to maintain some semblance of order, but it's difficult to absorb details as panic begins to rise.

Like a shining beacon, the buzz of Daryl’s worried voice cuts through the surrounding frenzy from the walkie glued to your hip. As soon as you respond, the ensuing exchange is a concise flurry of ‘where are you?’s and ‘are you okay?’s from both ends. The huff of his breath is enough to tell you that he’s rushing to you as fast as he can, but he assures you anyway.

“Jus’ hang in there, sweetheart. ‘M almost there.”

The endearing term slips through the cracks of panic, but it’s enough to steel your nerves and remind you of what you’re fighting for.

Black blood splatters on your skin and decorates your clothes as you take down your targets one by one. When a walker nearly knocks you on your ass, Daryl is there to take it out with a swift arrow to the cranium. With a sharp thwack, the walker crumples to the ground in a limp heap. A rough yank on your arm pulls you to his side.

"What's the matter wit' chu, girl?! Ya got s'mthin' to prove?” 

He takes the brief moment to lay into you before setting off again, clearing a path for the both of you back to the group. Something about the way he growls out the warning prior to effortlessly parting a sea of walkers has you following along without argument.

He may loathe your reckless insistence on sticking near the frontlines and putting yourself in harm’s way, but he has your back without fail.

Solo runs with Daryl are one of the only times you get him all to yourself nowadays. Venturing away from the group may come with its fair share of unpredictable concerns, but those worries are pushed to the back of your mind today. All you care about is the afternoon sun warming your skin, your hair whipping back like ribbons in the wind, the rumble of the bike beneath the leather seat, and the man you currently have your arms wrapped around.

It’s been so long since your last outing alone together that this feels more like a date than a supply run. The notion puts a soft smile on your face.

Those mushy thoughts are abruptly interrupted by an unanticipated lurch of the bike that sends you reeling back as it picks up speed and roars down the open road. Your resulting flinch has you clutching him tighter, palms pressed to his front as you will your racing heart to climb back out of your ass.

Daryl spares a glance over his shoulder. The glimpse you get of an amused twitch at the corner of his mouth stirs up a familiar fluttering in your stomach. He returns his attention to the road, but not without laughing at your expense—a deep rumble that you can feel more than hear.

“Watch those hands, sunshine,” he calls back over the drone of the engine. The rare levity in his voice is unmistakable. One of his hands leaves the handlebar to firmly readjust your grip around his waist.

“At least wait ‘til we stop movin’ t’ feel me up.”

You know he’s only joking, but that doesn’t stop the very tempting idea from lodging in the back of your mind for the rest of the ride.

author’s note: you just read my first ever fic! i started stitching together this teensy collection of daydreams on a whim and have been sitting on the draft for a long while now. considering sharing more substantial fics soon. lmk what you think! anyways, hope u liked it & thnx for reading ♡

He knew you knew he knew about the crying, but it seemed as long as he didn’t say a word of it, it was fine. So he just kept his mouth shut, and did other things to help; hold you, cook, finish up whatever task had been too frustrating. Words couldn't fix it and he didn’t even know where to start to try, but he could do something to make it better still.

Another fact, that both endeared and terrified him, was how you acted when a storm was coming.

In fact he wasn’t sure you even knew about it; the slightly wide-eyed look you would get seemingly out of nowhere, the sudden itch to do everything right now,the sudden inexplicable anxiety. You were like a deer before the first hard winter storm.

Winter was bad in Alexandria, but Manitoba? Nothing could ever have prepared him for this. But when you were afraid, when he saw that utter exhaustion in your eyes when a storm was coming, as though you were really and truly considering giving up, that was the worst sign of all.

What giving up was in your mind, he didn’t know, but whatever it was, it was far from good. It didn’t matter that you had done it all alone before, countless times and were far too stubborn to just lay down and be done with it all, he was here now and he had to do something to make it better.

Somehow.

The first year he’d met you, Daryl hadn't thought so much snow was possible. Now, that seemed like practically nothing. Almost overnight, it got bad; drifts piled up higher and higher, past his shoulders, and just kept piling up more and more. Any paths worn down to comfortably walk were like they never existed, and you were so far away, despite standing right beside him, he couldn’t be certain you were still with him.

Like a switch had been flipped in your mind, you were gone just like that. You barely spoke — unless it was to one of the animals, and even then you were far too subdued for his liking, only really speaking enough to comfort them — and you didn’t acknowledge the snow at all, besides the near constant shoveling. Your body may have been within arms reach, but you weren’t anymore.

He hated it. Despised it. Wanted to burn all the snow away somehow just to bring you back from whatever dark place in your head you were stuck in. But the snow kept coming, and coming, and coming. It just wouldn’t stop.

Every day was much of the same; whiteouts, winds rattling the house and more and more snow. Work that barely took ten minutes took nearly an hour on the good, clear days. The bad, he refused to count.

You didn't come back in after checking on the animals. Food was nearly done, sunlight fading, the same tired end to every single day now. Despite the relentless wind all day and blowing snow, it was slightly better than the last few. At least, until you took too long to check on everyone and send them back to bed for the night.

“Where’d you go?” Daryl called out, stepping outside to look for you in the yard. “Food's almost done.”

The cold air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t go back to grab a jacket. It hurt, but the worry for you overshadowed any care for the cold or the pain that it brought.

This winter had been terrible, even by your standards (by now, his own were thrown out the window, and he relied solely on yours), but nothing so bad that it would take this long to finish sending the animals to bed. Something happened.

When he found you, still near the closed barn door, you were on your knees, head in your hands, shoulders trembling as you sobbed. Without a thought, he rushed to your side, hands on your shoulders, searching for an injury, a bite, something; it wasn’t like you to do this. Fear gripped at his throat, terrified of what could have possibly hurt you. The dead didn’t often wander out this far, but some still did — what if you got…

“What happened? Where are ya hurt?”

You shook your head, shoving his hands off as he spoke, the frozen leather sticking to his skin and making him wince.

“I'm not hurt,” your voice was shaky, but stubborn. Almost exasperated with the thought that that was his worry when there were worse things afoot. “It's getting bad again,” you added, as though that explained everything.

Your temper stung, but he shook it off. You’re not injured, anything else could be fixed. He would fix it. “What's getting bad again?”

You sighed, gesturing haphazardly around with one hand, the other wiping away frozen snot and tears from your face. “Winter,” you said quietly, your voice shaky and looking downright pitiful with snot on your skin and eyelashes frozen against your face. “Look at it,” you pointed at the growing snow drifts that never seemed to stop anywhere.

He sighed. That he couldn’t fix.

“C’mon,” he got to his feet and hoisted you up to carry you bridal style, not giving you a chance to protest. The added weight of your heavy jacket and all the extra layers made his already frozen, aching muscles protest, but he ignored it. “We’ll figure it out inside.” I’ll figure it out.

You squirmed a bit in his arms, but quieted down quick. Resigned to your pitiful fate, you hid your face against his shoulder and let him take over.

A minuscule part of him liked that you stayed quiet in his arms, trusting him to not hurt you, to help, and not acting like a headstrong ass about him offering help. No matter how long it had been since he fell into your arms and home, the reminder that you had finally warmed up to him enough to trust made his chest ache and heart feel too big for his ribcage.

The bigger part of him felt like it was dying for liking that such trust had to be shown because of your pain.

He wanted to say something — I’ll fix it, it won’t be bad again, I won’t let it get bad again — anything to make you feel better… but it would be a lie. And he couldn’t lie to you. There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop nature from doing what she did, no amount of anything would change what came next.

He brought you inside, ignoring the sharp pains in his throat as you sniffled and wiped at your nose.

“S-sorry,” you mumbled as he set you down on your feet, keeping your eyes planted on the floor. “I didn’t mean to worry you—”

Daryl cut you off before you could keep going. “Nah, none of that. It’s fine.” He refused to let you beg for forgiveness you never needed in the first place. “You got everyone to bed?” he asked, breathing heavily on his frozen fingers to warm them before grabbing the zipper on your jacket to start undressing you.

You nodded. “Yeah… yeah, it’s all done.”

Snow falls off the heavy jacket, landing everywhere around the door, on his feet, on yours, and you winced at the coldness.

“Good.” He didn’t let you help him as he pulled off all your now snow-soaked layers, unceremoniously dropping them on the ground near the door. They could get picked up later, and Dog could have fun with the snow that fell off of you before it melted. (At least someone still thought snow was fun.)

Underneath everything, now down to an old ratty shirt and pants still soaked down to your skin, you looked even smaller. Snow still clung to your face, skin likely stinging as much as his did at the sudden warmth.

You looked away, ashamed and rubbing at the ice still stuck to your face. Already you’re curling up, wanting to run despite having nowhere to go in the house. If it wasn’t so dreadfully cold, and you weren’t soaked down to your bones, you would’ve ran back out. Away from him, away from being known and seen and away from everything you needed.

Somehow, he had to fix things. Make things right, whole, warm again.

Reaching down, he took your hand with a small squeeze and pulled you along into the bathroom. “Strip,” he said, though it came out sounding more like an order as he closed the door behind him so Dog doesn’t come help. “I’ll get dry clothes,” he added, more gently.

You looked at him like you want to argue and fight, but it died quick, and you just nodded. Silently, you turned your back and do as he asked, pulling off your soaked clothes and dropping them on the floor with a wet thud.

Daryl watched a moment, keeping his eyes above your shoulders until he was certain you weren’t about to bolt out the door the second he turned his back, before going to grab clothes.

In the shared bedroom, it’s a mess; blankets tossed around, clothes hanging off the end of the bed and the dresser. It’s lived in, warm. A mess, but a safe home. Dog's fur coats the end of the bed, with rips in the edges of the third, rattiest comforter on the bed, stains still still looking soaked from drool despite being dried days over.

He grabbed one of his shirts, and your pajama pants off the bed, and returned to find you curled up in the tub. Steam rose up from the hot water, and his skin hurts at the thought of such hot water on frozen skin.

“Thanks,” you didn’t look up at him as he walked back in, keeping yourself curled up tight under the water.

He already seen everything, but he didn’t look down. Careful to keep his eyes above your shoulders, he drops the clothes on the edge of the sink. “Do you—”

You cut him off. “No,” you kept your eyes downcast, shifting awkwardly. “Just… I need a minute.”

Everything in his gut screamed that it was a bad idea, that you needed him, that he should stay, even if only to awkwardly stand around, but he doesn’t argue. Last thing you needed was him pushing for the sake of his own comfort.

“Okay. Food’s ready when you are.” He looked over his shoulder before he closed the door, risking a quick glance. Your eyes met for a second, and you looked away just as quickly.

.

.

.

You spent longer in the tub than he expected; long enough for him to change into dry, warmer clothes, to clean up the mess at the door (made worse thanks to Dog's ‘help’ spreading snow around), and for the food to burn (still edible, but not great).

When you finally come back out, you don't look so cold, or so subdued. You don't say anything or look up at him, but you sat closer than normal as the three of you ate.

It's better than nothing.

“Sorry it’s burnt,” Daryl murmured between bites.

“Not a big deal. I’ve had worse,” you picked at your plate, the unpleasant burnt tinge to it far too noticeable. By the time Daryl’s done, you’re still eating, and more than a few pieces have fallen off the plate near Dog’s head for him. Only after you finished your plate, you finally spoke up again. “…Sorry I scared you.”

“You’re fine,” Daryl shrugged off the apology, reaching over for the plates and stood up.

It wasn’t fine, but not the way you would take it. That you were hurting and that there were so few ways for it to get any better was the furthest thing from fine — but that wasn’t on you.

“Shouldn’t’ve run out there like that,” you started, picking at your fingernail when he turned back to look at you in confusion. “Frostbite.”

He scoffed, “Wasn’t gonna leave you out there. What if—” Daryl quickly cut himself off, refusing to word the countless, horrid what ifs that had ran through his mind.

“You don’t need frostbite too.” Stubbornly, you blow right past his words, fussing over the one thing he didn’t care about. “Bad enough I gotta deal with it.”

“Don’t need to make it worse, either.”

“Daryl—”

He looked back at you with a glare, and you cut yourself off and went quiet, dropping your eyes. It made his heart ache at the sight, seeing you lose all your fight so easily. Any words that he considered tossing at you, arguing over how stupid it was to worry over his skin over your own, how it wasn’t him that mattered, all dissipated in his mind at your quietness.

Arguing would’ve been the easiest thing to do, saying whatever hard words he came up with while you looked halfway to tears however…

With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his hand over his face, tying to push away those thoughts. “C’mere,” Daryl said instead, dropping back onto the couch beside you. He wrapped his arms around you tight, pulling you up into his lap. His hands rub over your skin, callouses catching on the stray threads coming undone on the ratty old shirt draped over your frame.

He didn’t say anything more — words weren’t his strong suit, but he could hold you, keep you warm and bring you food when you got hungry. If he could, he’d fix everything, no matter how herculean a task it might be.

His grip on you tightened as you curled up against him, face tucked up under his jaw, freezing hands pushed up under his shirt to rest against his belly. The cold almost made him flinch, tensing under your touch before relaxing again.

Soon enough you warm up more against him, and just as he thought you were close to falling asleep, you spoke up.

“Tell me about Alexandria,” you murmured. “I wanna know what it’s like.”

And so he did.

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