THE SCARS WE SHARE | Daryl Dixon

THE SCARS WE SHARE | daryl dixon

❝i looked for you…at the start. why’d you leave without saying goodbye?❞

summary: you were the only good thing daryl had in his life. bonded by similar trauma, you suffered abuse at the hands of your stepmother, just as daryl had suffered from his own father. when you finally decide to escape your abusive home life, you’re forced to leave behind your best friend in the process. now with the world in an apocalyptic state, you’re left wondering if daryl was even alive.

pairings: daryl dixon x f!reader.

warnings: smut, violence, blood and gore, unrequited love, best friends to lovers, mentions of s/a, mentions of abuse, use of deadly weapons, fluff, angst, slow burn-ish, strong language, kidnapping, coercion, seasons 5-11, 18+, minors dni.

playlist: already gone - kelly clarkson | hanging on - emilee moore | through the trees - low shoulder | skin - zola jesus | home to you - fka twigs | words - skylar grey | two is better than one - boys like girls | back to december - taylor swift | how to save a life - the fray | for the love of a daughter - demi lovato | confessions of a broken heart (daughter to father) - lindsay lohan.

©darylmydix. please do not repost.

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So Much to Lose Chapter 18 PART 2

PLEASE READ: This is PART 2 of 2 for this chapter because apparently Tumblr wants to make my life a nightmare and won't let me post the whole thing in one. So please don't panic, PART ONE IS HERE.

Also important: TAGS AND WARNINGS FOR THE WHOLE CHAPTER ARE FOUND AT THE BOTTOM OF THE CHAPTER UNDER THE JOEL GIF. SCROLL THERE TO SEE ANY WARNINGS OR TAGS.

RATED 18+

And lastly... please review. This chapter is over 30K. It was re-written after laptopgate 2024. It is blood, sweat and tears. Please review, reblog, and COMMENT. Even if you're mad at me.

Chapter 18: Useless - Part 2

The day begins like any other.

You’re shivering with Charlotte slept against you, her tinier body snuggled as close to you as possible, her dirty hair pressed against your cheek. The two of you are chained to the large metal radiator in the corner. It clinks when you shift a bit. 

She's warm, which is a boon considering how cold it's been. You gaze down at her still slumbering face. You see the length of her lashes, the slack of her mouth. You notice the way her normally full cheeks have started to go hollow and the dark bruises under her eyes. You haven't seen your reflection in months but you can only assume you look similar. 

Muffled laughter begins behind the door and this startles her into waking. She yawns softly before raising her head. 

"S'early," she offers, seeing the sky outside the window is still dark. 

"Must be hunting today."  

The bedroom doors open and Red steps out, still talking to his wife Freckles. You never learned their names, never wanted to, but in your mind they're categorized by features. Beard and Ponytail arrive moments later, followed then by Smokey, the Raider who never stops smoking even when the air becomes acrid and you choke on it.

The entire group is suited up in their hunting gear, large guns strapped to their backs. Smokey goes to unlock the chains around both sets of wrists before tugging you both to a stand. You both learned early on that compliance was the only way to stay alive, although some days you don't know why you bother. 

Freckles helps you both into heavy jackets and your boots. You both stand, slightly wobbling.

"Toilet?"

You both nod. 

They aren't cruel to you in the traditional way. They take you to the bathroom. They give you water and feed you both an apple and slice of cheese while they drink their coffee and eat their toast and muffins. They let you sit in the chairs and sometimes if there are leftovers they shove their plates towards you. You always make sure Charlotte has first dibs. 

"Gonna be a long one today," Red, the de-facto leader tells the group, sucking at his back teeth. "Grant on the CB says there's a big house half a day by truck. He'll meet us at his place first."

"What's so great about it?" Ponytail is always challenging Red, glaring at him from behind her taped glasses. 

"Big place, nicer’n this. Old lady that's there is a hoarder. Never leaves unless it's to get medicine or food. She's got chickens out back too." 

Freckles whistles lowly in appreciation. Fresh eggs sound good. 

"Why doesn't Grant try on his own if he knows about it? S'just some old lady."

"Says too much noise coming from the house to be just one person," Red confirms. "Doesn't wanna go unarmed. Needs one of the Searchers."

"Which one?"

The Group slowly turns to scan between you and Charlotte huddled close together. You feel their greedy eyes bouncing between the two of you, trying to decide who is better for this mission. 

"Might as well bring 'em both, 'n Grant can choose."  

///

The ride is long and cold. You and Charlotte bump in the back of the truck, your bodies huddled together for warmth. Despite the heavy clothes and jackets you're both still freezing in the crisp air. 

Grant's compound is dirty with high chain link fencing; vicious looking dogs that pace back and forth as you arrive. They've been trained only to bark if infected come near, but they growl lowly when the Group and you and Charlotte approach. 

Grant pops his bearded head out from the shack he calls a home. Despite everything happening in the world he remains portly, well fed and ruddy-cheeked. 

"Up the road a ways," he tells Red before spitting a line of brown chewing tobacco into the dirt. “Place called Rock River. Used to belong to the real hoity toities before everything went down.”

He and Red chat a moment longer before Red motions your way. Grant scratches his ratty beard with a thoughtful look on his face before deciding. 

"We can bring 'em both. Place is big." 

"If there's nothin’ there you know it costs to use 'em," Red warns. "So you better come through."

"Don't you worry about that. Old lady's got lots of space in that big house. She'll have plenty worth trading for." 

The group chats amongst themselves quietly before Ponytail breaks from them, stalking over to you with a frown. 

"Here," she says handing you a large bowie knife from her belt. "You see anything you start stabbing and screaming."

If you were more naive you could think of this as a kindness. But you know better. This is a protection of assets, the privilege that comes with being a good and dependable pet. 

You turn the gleaming knife around in your palm, eyes tracing the serrated edge. The errant thought of jabbing it through her throat crosses your mind. But even if you stabbed one of them the others would gun you and your sister down within seconds.  

You grip the knife in your hand, motioning to Charlotte behind you. 

"What about my sister?"

Ponytail sneers. 

"Share."

She stalks off and you glare after her.

“Here," you tell her Charlotte after handing her the knife. "Make sure you have a strong grip on it."

"What about you?"

"Take care of yourself Charlie." 

///

Grant takes you and your sister in his truck, citing that the open back of a truck is no place for two ladies. Grant affords you more kindness than the others, but you know his intentions aren’t philanthropic. You’ve seen how he eyes your sister when the two of you are brought out to him.

“Got you two something.”

Grant’s meaty hand grabs something from the front of his rattling truck, handing it back to Charlotte. It’s a chocolate bar, old and white from age but she tears into it happily, breaking it in half. The two of you eat quickly, starving most if not all days.

“Thank you.”

Grant’s dog Lady, beside him in the cab of the truck, resting on the blanket afforded her regarding you both with an intense glare in the backseat. She’s an old dog, Grant’s most loyal companion and he brings her everywhere he goes. She’s too old to hunt, too old to do much of anything except shoot nasty looks at everyone.

“Here we are.”

Grant helps you both down from the truck, his hand lingering on Charlotte’s a little too long. You wince, grabbing her and tugging her out of his grip. The Group pulls up alongside Grant’s truck and all of you take a look at the large estate.  

The house is dilapidated, wood hammered over windows, the lawn yellowed and withered. If it weren’t for the faint clucking of the chickens in the backyard you would think it abandoned. A large tree sits in front of the house, a tire swing attached to it, an obscene mockery of old fashioned family life. 

Freckles passes you one of the flashlights and you take it.

“Alright you two,” Red says sucking his teeth. “Go on.”

You and Charlotte link hands, taking a deep breath and making your way towards the home. The rest of The Group hangs back inside the vehicles. If there’s a horde of infected they’ll get away easily.

This is the panic that always overtakes you at the start, the hurdle you have to overcome. The infected. You do it because if you don’t you’ll be killed. Your sister will be killed. And so you trudge with terrified steps up splintered wood steps, pushing the creaking door open.

You swallow thickly, listening for anything. Charlotte does the same, her head tilted to the side. When nothing but silence greets you the two of you exchange nods and step inside.

You’ve developed a silent shorthand for when you’re together, a way of communicating with barely imperceptible movements. Wide eyes: I hear something. Squinting eyes: Careful. Nods: Safe. There are dozens more, but those three are the most commonly used.

You stand back to back, arm linked as you move through the first room. Creaking floorboards and old furniture rest inside. There is no dust, no debris. This house is lived in. That means there’s a chance there’s someone here. But they’re a human someone.

You move through the bowels of the house, flashlight raised in front of you. Charlotte is silent, her eyes scanning the space around you both. You move through the hallway, flashlight scanning the empty bathroom.

You move to the kitchen, eyes on the muffins that sit on the table. Your mouth waters and you look at your sister. She’s seen the same thing. Without words the two of you scramble over to the table, gripping the muffins and hungrily shoving them into your mouths. The sugar makes your jaw ache, the taste of it so sweet on your tongue. Charlotte has her eyes closed, chewing quickly, savoring it all.

You wonder if the place has anything to drink. What if she has milk? You haven’t had milk in years. The thought makes the food thicken in your mouth. You swallow before turning, preparing to see what’s inside the fridge.

A flash of movement starts in front of you and a blinding flash of pain rips into your abdomen that drops you to your knees. The flashlight goes rolling under the cupboards and you grip your stomach, knelt over.

Charlotte hears your groan of surprised pain, whipping around to see an old woman with a shaky hand holding a bloodied knife.  The woman looks terrified, her frizzled hair in a loose bun and her hands gnarled. She looks at you in horror at what she’s done.

“I’m so sorry,” she gasps.

She doesn’t finish. You watch as you baby sister takes the knife and slices it brutally across the woman’s neck. Red spurts like rubies along the edge, flying over the floor.

“Charlie, no!”

The woman drops to the floor beside you, her hand around her throat as she tries to staunch the blood flow. You look to see she’s fallen on her knife, the handle digging into her spine. Your breathing is labored as you try to assess the situation. You fall back on your training.

“Is there anyone else in the house?”

She shakes as the blood pours from her, the sticky warmth spreading. She stares up at you with saddled brows, regret apparent on her face. Charlotte is sniffling; rubbing at her eyes as the knife she was holding clatters to the ground. She’s never killed anyone before, not anyone human.

"Only m-my grandson," the old woman whispers, her gnarled hand coming to grip your jacket. "Please.... P-l-lease take care of him. He's -"

You watch as the light fades from her eyes and she slumps back. Her fingers fall limply from your jacket to land on her abdomen. You glance up to see Charlotte’s eyes spilling tears, her face paling and her entire body shaking. She’s going into shock.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“You did what you had to do,” you tell her honestly, your voice dead as you hold her, warming her up by rubbing her arms. “And now we have to scan the house. We have to do our job. C'mon." 

It takes a few moments of this before the life comes back to her eyes.

“Your stomach.”

“Its fine,” you insist, groaning as you stand. “It hurts but she didn’t get me too bad.”

You’re lying of course. The pain is there, but adrenaline is overtaking you for the time being. You take a nearby tea towel and press it to your stomach to stop the blood flow. You dig around in the kitchen drawers, frustrated before moving to the bathroom. You pull out the drawers in there, thankful to find several packed bandages.

With Charlotte’s help she winds it around your abdomen several times, keeping the tea towel snug to your body, securing it around your ribs.

“Great, thanks,” you insist with a wheeze. “Let’s go.”

You go back to the kitchen, both sets of your sneakers and the bottom of your jeans drenched in her blood. You can’t find the flashlight and none of the lights seem to be working. The boarded up windows make the place dark and murky.

“Grab your knife,” you instruct Charlotte. She does so, attempting to dislodge the one under the woman but giving up when it won’t budge.

You glance around the kitchen, disappointed to see nothing that will help aside from a butter knife. She must store her weaponry elsewhere. That will be something to report back to Red; that will earn you both extra rations tonight.

You take Charlotte’s hand in yours, guiding her through the rooms a bit more at ease knowing that there’s only one other person in the house. You make your way up the stairs, marveling at how well-maintained the home is.

The first room holds a bed with plush looking sheets. You have the strangest urge to touch them, but you don’t. You know The Group will take them for themselves, you best not get attached. Maybe you could talk them into giving you one of the pillows to share though.

Next you come upon an office, your eyes scanning the various books held on sagging shelves. The Grey’s Anatomy textbook propped up on the large desk. Yellowed pages full of script and drawings catch your eyes and you step into the room.

One is of a human brain, different labels on each section. You were never good at biology, but you can see that she was working on something to do with brain and serums. You take a look at the journal with hastily written in script. It dates back four months.

Charlotte takes a look around the room, pocketing a small pencil as you read. 

You however are coming to realize something as you look at the beakers and different plants and herbs before thumbing through more of the entries. She’s written it there in plain English, and you feel your stomach tighten at the realization.

"She was trying to make a cure," you murmur to yourself, looking at the sheets of paper and notes.

Charlotte draws over, her eyes wide as she scans the pages, her hands trembling in ancitipation.

“Did she? Did it work?”

You look at the book half opened in your grip, flipping to the latest entry. A single sentence stares back at you, ugly and short.

“Subject remains infected.”

Disappointment floods the both of you, shoulders sagging. There is nothing quite like the pain of lost hope. 

“I don’t know why I thought for one second it was possible,” Charlotte scoffs angrily.

You start when she rips the journal from your hand and flings it against the wall. You can see the furious tears in her eyes, the curve of her mouth as she pushes more of the papers off the desk.

“I don’t know why we even bother! We’re never escaping this fucking nightmare!”

Glass beakers go crashing to the floor as she kicks over the desk and you grip her around the elbows, tightening so that you’re bear-hugging her. It sends a searing pain through your abdomen, fresh blood starting to seep through the bandage.

“I’m going to get us out of this,” you promise her, your forehead against her spine. “I promise.”

It’s a hollow oath and you both know it. It’s been years of this and you’re no closer to saving her, no closer to escaping. She just goes limp in your arms, silently sobbing. You let your sister cry, her sobs wrung from her tiny body. And then you release her, gripping her face in yours.

“Trust me Charlie. I’m going to protect you.”

She opens her mouth to say something when a thump sounds out from down the hall.

The two of you start, Charlotte gripping the knife from her jean pocket. She raises it, eyes going to you and narrowing. You nod, the two of you slowly making your way down towards the hallway.

Thump…thump…

You stand outside a door at the end of the corridor, your eyes going to the pale blue sign on the door. It’s got whimsical cartoon dinosaurs all over it, hand painted.

Ryan’s Room. No girls allowed.

"Her grandson," Charlotte says with sad eyes, her voice a whisper. "He’s just a kid."

Your stomach sinks as you realize the same thing. Charlotte lowers the knife to her side, looking at you with an imploring gaze. The thumping has ceased.

"We could take care of him," Charlotte reasons. "He could be like our little brother. We could tell them that he'll be a searcher like us." 

You shake your head, frustrated. The Group would never go for it, not another mouth to feed. And not a young child. They would see no use in it. And you don’t need another person to look out for.

"Charlotte we have to do our job. We scan the house and report back. It's not up to us to rescue anyone."

“After what I did to his grandma,” she says with a trembling lower lip, “I can’t leave him here. I just can’t.”

You see the toll that today has taken on your sister. Her first kill of an innocent, the guilt of that and leaving a child behind would break her further. You can’t have that happen. With a frustrated exhale you grip her shoulder.

"We can help him escape the house but that's it, Charlotte," you tell her in a whisper. "Give him time to pack a bag and run to the nearest QZ. Tell him how to avoid Raiders, but that's it. He cannot come with us." 

Charlotte nods and you hate to disappoint her. What if this kid is really young? Can you really turn your back on a frightened toddler in peril? You can only pray Ryan is old enough to get to a QZ on his own.

Charlotte breaks into a relieved smile, giving you a tight hug. The door is creaked open and you wait at the doorframe. You don’t want to scare the kid. He likely heard the noise from the office, likely taught to hide if he hears something.

“Hi Ryan,” Charlotte coos into the darkness. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

She steps into the room, fumbling for the light switch. But something feels off, something that makes you grab her shoulder and tug her towards you out of the room. You both stumble back further, horrified when a snarling sound emits from the dark room.

"Oh fuck!"

Your sister whimpers as the rotting corpse of a young boy leaps towards you both at the door, gnarled fingers outstretched. Half his face is covered in the fungus, his teeth ground down to points.

You both fall back onto the rotting wood in shock. In terror Charlotte loses her grip and the knife clatters to the floor. You stare at the boy, seeing the thick rope tied around his waist and secured to the heavy bed. He can go no further than the door. Despite this he swipes at your both fruitlessly. 

You begin to grope around on the floor for the fallen knife, your eyes wide with fearful adrenaline. The boy makes a chilling clicking noise and you hear the groaning of wood. 

Your fingers finally grip the knife and your sister shrieks again as you scrabble to a stand, pulling her back by the shoulder. The boy is halfway out the door, dragging the bed behind him. You hear the wood splintering 

"HELP!"

You hold your knife in front of you as you drag Charlotte backwards to the stairs. You hear the sound of the Group coming up the stairs with Grant leading them. They have their weapons raised, and Red barks at you from the bottom step. 

"How many?"

"O-one infected up here," you shout at him. "One dead woman in the kitchen." 

Red sprints up past the rest of the group and takes the knife from you. His glare is narrowed on the boy stuck by the width of the bed and the doorframe. He snarls at the Group, swinging his arms wildly. 

You pull your sister along with you as you hear the wet sound of a knife being thrust into flesh. Red has often remarked that he doesn't like to waste bullets when a knife will do just fine. There's a wet thunk and then finally a silence. Charlotte has tears streaming down her face and you go to wipe them.

"It's okay," you tell her, wrapping her in your arms. "You're safe. I've got you."

“Fucker took my knife,” Red snarls as he stalks back. “Can’t get it out of his fuckin’ skull.”

You and Charlotte make your way out of the house, followed by Grant.

“You stay here,” he instructs. “We’re gonna load up.”

The two of you sit in the back of the truck, Charlotte shivering as you attempt to comfort her. She doesn’t speak, just keeps whimpering and whining. The Group goes through the house, pilfering useful items, weapons and foodstuff before loading them into the vehicles. They all make jokes and smile as they tally up their goods.

“You both did good,” Grant says with a smile as he finishes up. His round face is sweaty from excursion. “Let’s head back. Hop up front.”

You nod, crawling eagerly from the back of the truck bed. You wait for your sister to join you, confused when she stays there, holding onto one of the mattresses that Grant took from the house. 

“I’ll stay here,” she mutters.

“Charlotte, its freezing,” you say, urging her to stand by grabbing her by the shoulder of her jacket. “C’mon.”

“Alright,” Red calls from his truck on the other side of you. “Let’s head back.”

“Charlotte, c’mon.”

Charlotte remains crouched, shaking her head as Grant comes alongside you. 

“I’ll hold the furniture,” she insists. “Make sure it doesn’t fall out.”

“Nah, don’t need that,” Grant insists. He’s big and strong and before she can deny him he’s holding her under the armpits and lifting her unwilling form out of the back of the truck bed. He settles her down on the ground, smiling at her patiently. “Besides, I don’t get your company often. I wanna take advantage.”

Charlotte doesn’t smile back; she just stands there until you take her hand, cajoling her into joining you. You open the door, urging her in before you. You see the blood around her sneakers and the bottom of her jeans. It matches yours, left from the old woman in the kitchen. You wince.

Charlotte is withdrawn as Grant brings the truck to life. The previously sleeping Lady awakens at the sound, giving a little sniff as she licks Grant’s face. He smiles lovingly at her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Lady sniffs the air again, her bleary eyes scanning the truck bed. She fixes her gaze on Charlotte, who stares back balefully. You both start when Lady begins to growl and then bark.

“Hey now,” Grant soothes, patting her belly. “Enough ‘a that, Lady.”

But Lady isn’t stopping. The old bitch is up on all fours, trying to leap into the back seat. Her eyes are fixed on Charlotte and you can see how the blood has drained from your sister’s face. Grant’s bemusement suddenly shifts and his eyes go to the rearview mirror, his eyes lingering on Charlotte before going back to the snarling Lady and then back to Charlotte.

Grant stares at her for a long moment before sighing. You watch his pudgy fingers go to the ignition, slowly turning the key to stop the truck from running. You stare at him, confused when he opens the door of the cab with another sigh, grabbing Lady by the collar and dragging her out of the cab. He closes the door, leaving your sister and you sitting in anxious silence.

You reach over and grab her hand, tightening yours around it. She gives you a watery smile.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

You turn to watch Grant out the window talking to Red in the truck. They look serious. Red keeps shaking his head and throwing up his hands before he and Ponytail shove open the doors and follow Grant back to the truck.

You’re startled when the door is yanked open and Red grabs Charlotte by the back of the neck, dragging her out of the truck. She shrieks and you clamor down, held back by Freckles as you attempt to intervene.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Red holds Charlotte by the upper arm in front of him, nodding at Grant. Grant, looking devastated grips Lady by the collar, guiding her slowly towards Charlotte. Lady immediately goes crazy, barking madly and almost foaming at the mouth as she nears your sisters ankle. Charlotte whimpers, looking at you fearfully. 

“Leg,” Ponytail says pointing at Charlotte’s blood-smeared jeans and sneakers. Freckles holds tight to you as you try to wrench out of her grip, shaking your head. They think she’s infected? Are they stupid?

“It’s not her blood! It’s from the woman we killed in the kitchen!”

Grant guides Lady backwards, watching as Smokey comes over, yanking up Charlotte’s jeans to show everyone a faint bite mark above her ankle. Everyone circling around lets out a groan of disappointment. Your stomach drops and then your world collapses on top of you. You fall to the ground onto your knees, unable to comprehend what you’re seeing.

“Musta’ got snagged by the kid upstairs before we got there,” Red remarks. “Fuck.”

He shakes his head as if he’s more irritated than anything. He looks your way, anger in his eyes.

“And you?”

You don’t answer him, you can barely hear anything. Everything is muted, like you’re under water. This can’t be happening. You just stare at her as Lady is brought over to you by a wet-eyed Grant. You don’t even acknowledge the dog sniffing at you; you just shake your head with wet eyes as you gaze at your sister.

“Charlie it’s not from the kid, right?” you ask with a trembling voice. “It’s a mistake, right?”

Charlotte doesn’t answer you.

She just looks at you with heartbreak in her eyes before she’s thrown to the ground by Red. She cries out as the cold ground bites into her hands and knees. A scream sounds out from you, ripped from your lungs at the sight of your sister in pain. Red looks at the rest of The Group before nodding at you with his head.

“Load her in the back.”

You’re halfway to your sister, jogging with your outstretched fingers almost touching hers when you feel arms around your middle, tugging you back brutally.

“No!” you shout as they begin to drag you over to the truck. “You can’t do this! CHARLOTTE!”

Smokey and Ponytail grab Charlotte by the wrists, tugging her screaming body back to the large  tree outside the front of the house. You watch in despair as they begin to wind rope around her body, tying her to the tree. She screams your name, her face crumpled in terror.

“Just one moment,” you beg as they hold you, “I just want to say goodbye.”

“Too dangerous,” Red announces. “Only got one ‘a you left now. Can’t take any chances.”

You scream and struggle and when you won’t stop Freckles decks you across the face. Blood goes spurting from your split lip and you immediately silence. Terror is there in you, knowledge that if you make more screaming noises you’ll be hurt further.

You’re thrown into the back of Red’s truck, just as you were that morning when it was you and Charlotte huddled together. Your ankles are tied together, attached to one of the heavy dressers brought from the home.  You lean over, your frantic eyes able to make out your sister’s trembling frame and Smokey and Ponytail headed back towards you.

Charlotte continues to scream your name, shouting for you. You can’t understand why they’re leaving her tied up like that. You look over when Red is about to get into the driver’s seat, your heart in your throat.

“You can’t leave her out here,” you beg him, tears falling down your cheeks. “Please. You can’t.”

Red takes a look at Charlotte tied to the tree, shrugging at you before clamoring into the front seat.

“She’s as good as dead. And I ain’t in the business of wastin’ bullets.”

///

Joel is holding you, as he has been the entire time you’ve been speaking. You know he’s looking at you in the dark, seeing the tears that stream down your cheeks as you cling to him. But your eyes are a blur of tears and blue-black night.

“I never understood if they did it to punish me or if they really just didn’t want to waste bullets,” you say in a voice so detached it doesn’t actually sound like you.

 “The last thing I remember is she was screaming for me. And all I could do was sit there, holding my hand out, useless, crying and watching her get smaller and smaller…”

Joel shifts to a seated position, you half in his lap, his fingers trailing soothingly up and down your spine once more.

 “I left my sister out there to turn by herself because I was too weak to fight back,” you say through clenched teeth. “I should have forced them to take me to her. I should have grabbed Red’s gun. I should have done something, but I was so scared.”

“You woulda been killed.”

“And my sister wouldn’t have had to die alone,” you whisper, tears slipping onto the pillow under your head. “I was her big sister. Her hero.”

Joel must sense that there’s no use trying to rationalize how you feel. It’s no different than how his emotions get the better of him when he talks about the night Sarah died. Sometimes in grief there is no logic, only pain.

“And I was never able to go back,” you tell him, swallowing. “Chiyo and I were so far from it by the time we started for Jackson City. We didn’t have enough to get us back to Rock River. So I don’t know if she’s still out there, wandering around, trapped in an infected body. I don’t know if she was killed. I’ll never know.”

Joel clings to you, holding you tighter than he ever has as your face moves to his shoulder and the sobs begin anew.  He seems to know that nothing he says will help in this moment, nothing he tells you will change the past. Instead he holds you in both and spirit, the compassion flooding from him into you as he rocks you in his arms. There are tears on your temple but not from you.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a thick voice. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for.

///

Joel holds you until you fall back asleep and he’s there when you wake up, fingers trailing over your cheek. You lick your dry lips, eyes crusty from sleep as you peer up at him in the early morning light.

"Did you watch me sleep all night?"

His lower lip sticks out slightly, a shoulder brought to his ear in a noncommittal shrug. 

"Wasn't really that tired."

You see the way he sleepily squints down at you, watching as he poorly swallows a yawn. You could ask him why he did it but you know why. 

"Liar."

Joel chuckles rich and soft before kissing your cheek. With a pout you let him extricate himself from your limbs. You yawn, listening to him using the shower before exiting dressed a few minutes later, damp hair curling at the ends. 

He crouches down beside your bed, his broad hand coming to push back the hair from your forehead. He kisses your face over and over, soft, feather-light kisses, warm from his plush lips and you melt into them.

"I got a lot to do today. Helping Tommy with building some shit, meeting with Hank about the fencing and then guitar with Ellie."

You're disappointed of course, but there's not a part of you that's resentful. You had an entire night with him; he has a life outside you and you him. Your hand goes to loosely wrap around the wrist of the hand he has against your forehead, ready to tell him as such.

"But I can cancel the stuff with Tommy and Hank if you need me to," he murmurs, mouth against your forehead. "Just say the word. I could even reschedule with Ellie, she’d understand." 

You gaze at him from your pillow, taking time to memorize the wrinkles around his eyes, the plush of his lower lip, the gray creeping into his beard and hair. You are in awe of the way his dark eyes seem so soulful, so open as he looks to you like you bring out the sun.

You lift your head just to kiss him gently, citing that it’s fine, that you actually need some time to yourself, that you’ll see him tomorrow for patrols and eventually after many kisses and ‘you sure?s’ he leaves you, looking concerned until you throw a pillow at him and tell him to get lost.

Left alone in the quiet of your home, in the bed still warmed from Joel’s body, you stare up at the ceiling. Contrary to what you expected there is a lightness about today, of sharing everything with another person. There is freedom in telling Joel everything, even the parts you kept from Chiyo. It makes you feel strangely reborn in a way.  

You’d expected darkness and depression, but instead you’re met with a strange sense of calm. You know however that the ugly thoughts may resurface, muddling your thoughts. On days when your brain feels crowded it helps to go for a walk, to clear your head and make sense of the world. So you pull on your boots and you make your way to the old farmhouse.  

Buckley is there at the end of the street wagging his tail merrily as you give a scratch behind his ear. You pass him and begin to wander down the quiet path leading to the farmhouse. As you do your mind is cluttered with emotion and feelings you have to sift through. 

You still can't believe you shared all of that about Charlotte with Joel. Further yet to can't believe he didn't try to give advice or press you for more details. He just held you, shed a tear and watched over you until you woke the next morning. 

Your heart feels achy but in the best way. Like there's so much love inside your meagre body can't contain it all. 

You enter into the old farmhouse but take your time, scanning the space through fresh eyes as you recall Joel's assessment of the place the last time you were both here. 

Place has good bones.

It's the kind of thing someone says when they want to buy a place, isn't it? When they envision starting a life with someone else and-

Stop it. 

You walk up the stairs, making sure to note every scuff mark, every chipped baseboard, every threadbare carpet in the bedrooms. You wonder about the family here before. No knickknacks were left behind, no personal effects. 

It's a blank slate in some ways, the walls even more bare than yours at home. But the small bits of furniture that remain speak to a family. 

You pause, glancing into the first bedroom. The narrow bed, the faded pink stars of the wallpaper. You can imagine that a young girl one resided in this room, she did her homework under the window, read books in a chair by the corner.

You move to the bigger room with no bed, but one rickety end table. The walls are a faded taupe color, attached to a large bathroom with a rusty toilet and a shower with a missing door and broken shower tiles. 

But the longer you stare, the more this visage fades from view and morphs into something out of a dream. You can imagine everything repaired, the windows washed and casting warm light in every room. 

You can envision a working claw foot tub and Joel's handyman skills working at refinishing the broken tiles, making a mosaic in colors of your choosing. 

You imagine nights walking wrapped in a towel, slick and warm from the tub into Joel's waiting arms. Of nights taking turns bringing each other to toe-curling orgasms as you cling to the sleigh bed from his bedroom back on Rancher Street. You're not shocked when you feel your cunt throb in your jeans. 

You go to the next bedroom, looking at the large boarded up window and thinking it would be perfect as an art room for Ellie once it was spruced up. You could even do some crafts in here when you felt like it. 

The next room is at the far end of the hall. It's got it's own private bathroom, a large bedroom. It's not as independent as Ellie having her own space in the garage, but maybe she'd like it anyway. 

You can almost hear her girlish laughter as you sit on her bed and brush her hair, whispering about Dina and first kisses. In that same fantasy you can imagine Joel poking his head around the frame and saying something about interrupting girls day. 

You can easily envision mornings laughing over coffee with Joel in the kitchen, of Ellie rolling her eyes but unable to keep the grin from her face as you and Joel press your lips together gently. 

A family. 

Nothing like the one you envisioned as a young girl, but perfect to you in this world.

You catch your reflection in the busted mirror above the sink. You're beaming, actually fucking beaming at this imagined scenario. At the sight of it you flush, eyes averted to the ground. 

"Stop it," you murmur to yourself out loud, frowning. "You fucking loser."

It's too early to be thinking like this, to have such domestic fantasies of moving in together and becoming some little family. You're being silly, delusional. 

You had such little romantic experience before outbreak day and then after that you felt stunted. Dating in the QZ wasn't the same, romance was odd and rushed. Even without a wider context of relationships you know that you're thinking too far ahead, wanting to move too fast. 

But one thing is clear as you walk along the uneven wood towards the front door, you are thinking of a future with Joel Miller. 

///

Patrols arrive the next morning and as you get dressed that morning you're strangely giddy. You pull on your socks smiling. You hold back the urge to skip into town, swallowing the excitement of seeing him.

You want to talk with him about Ellie and Jennifer and see what he thinks. He asked you to the dance, obviously he knows what that means. But maybe he doesn't want anyone knowing until then. But you need to tell him Jennifer needs to know now, the minute you get back from patrols. 

Joel isn't there yet and Hank tells you that you're early, smiling when you hand him the bag of apple tarts. 

"What're these for?"

"Practice," you smile, taking some of the peels from a separate bag and bringing them over to Chestnut. 

"Hello beautiful boy," you say, pressing a soft kiss to Chestnuts soft nose. "Did you miss me?"

You hold out some of the apple peelings, grinning when he huffs his warm breath along your palm before indulging. Midnight stands nearby, the two of them secured to the fence in anticipation of patrols. 

"Here you go," you offer almost shyly, your palm flat and your eyes on the ground. There's a shuffling and then you feel his warm breath on your palm. Your eyes peek up to see Midnight surveying you warily even as he munches on the snack. 

You're gradually aware of a warmth behind you. You glance over your shoulder to see Joel standing there. He's smiling subtly, his voice dropped for only your ears. 

"Told ya you'd win him over."

That same warm arousal builds in your lower belly as you tell yourself to look away from him, knowing that the longer you stare the harder it is not to kiss him. His eyes flick to yours, the pull clearly strong in him as well. 

"There you are Joel," Hank says cheerfully coming up behind him. "The horses are all ready for ya both." 

Joel's expression immediately drops and he turns to face Hank, wearing his customary scowl. 

"Good." He glances down at the bag in Hanks hand curiously. "S'that?"

"I'd offer you one of these tarts but your partner there only made enough for me."

He shoots you a playful wink as you giggle. The look Joel shoots Hank could wither fruit on the vine. He looks over at you. 

"Are you ready to go or not?" 

There's something about Joel pretending to be stern in front of everyone that amuses you, and if you're honest, turns you on a tiny bit. You muse that it rests in the knowledge that Joel is so sweet and soft but only with you, away from the prying eyes of Jackson City inhabitants.  

It makes you try very hard to swallow a giggle when he looks at you dismissively before throwing his leg up over the saddle. You and Chesnut follow him out, the gates closing behind you.

"I liked your apple tarts, you know." 

Joel is watching you out of the corner of his eyes. You glance over, seeing his face looking solemn. 

"Huh?"

"Those ones you gave Hank. I liked ‘em."

"Oh good."

You ride beside him, lost in thought. Why is he bringing up your baking? Was he hungry? Joel is never hungry on patrols like he's trained his body to only feel hunger during the lunch break. Realization slowly dawns on you. 

"Joel are you upset I didn't bring you baking?" 

"No," Joel says quickly, frowning at the empty space in front of him. "Just that if you're goin' around givin’ out baking I wouldn't mind some." 

He looks over sharply when you start laughing to yourself, your cheeks sore by the time you're done. 

"Joel, I just figured you'd have some when you came over next."

You don’t miss the pink at his cheeks as he nods almost shyly.

“Okay. Good.”

You and Joel are quiet the next little bit, knowing that silence is paramount on patrols. It doesn't stop you from watching him out the corner of your eye. Doesn't still your heartbeat when he randomly glances over at you and smiles. 

You give Chestnut a gentle pat behind the ears, looking down at your beloved horse with affection. He moves at a steady clip, his movements smooth and focused. 

"Hey."

Joel's whisper draws your attention to see he's looking at you not with warmth but instead heavy concern. 

"It’s our turn to check the traps," Joel offers with a gentle tone. "You okay with that?" 

What a difference Joel's kindness makes. When he asks you to do this instead of commanding it. You nod, following him dutifully atop Chestnut. 

"We'll be fast," he tells you as the two of you jump off and tie up your horses on the outskirts of the forest. The same one you ventured into before. Both horses huff at each other, their breath caught by the chilled air and frozen. 

You fumble with Chestnuts reign, distracted by the way Joel's arms bulge in his jacket. Filthy images of him in bed are invading your mind as you half-heartedly tie Chestnut to the nearby tree by Midnight. 

You feel your heart pound delightedly when Joel catches your gaze and gives you a smirk and a wink. 

"Let's go."

He reaches a hand towards you and you take it with a grin up at him. This all feels so natural, so easy. He seems so comfortable walking with you through the snow, a faint look of contentment on his features.

You make your way through the forest quietly. Got the first time since you took his hand you feel anxious, despite having him at your side, gun always ready. You still hate the forest, still haven't gotten used to the thin fingers if branches that strain forwards you.  

Joel must notices this because he gently urges you into one arm, dropping your have so that he can band an arm around your shoulders, holding you. You both survey the traps quietly, seeing nothing of note. 

"Jennifer is making me a dress for the dance," you say out of nowhere as you circle them twice, just to make conversation. "It's blue." 

"Yeah?" Joel's eyes flick down your body, likely imagining it. "I'm gonna enjoy seein' you in that."

"Why do I feel like you'll enjoy taking it off me more?"

Joel bursts into a laugh before he catches himself, remembering you both have to be quiet out here. 

"Damn, I remember when you were a shy thing offerin' me cookies. Now look at you, getting’ me hard in the middle of patrols."

Oh.

Your face feels warm and you have to look away from him, suddenly shy. That familiar thrum begins between your legs and you try to change the subject. 

“I’ve been practicing my shooting,” you offer with a creak in your throat. “You might be surprised at how good I’ve gotten. I hit four cans at practice the other day."

You walk behind him with your shoulder’s back, feeling cocky.

"Four cans huh?" Joel says lightly. You glance over to see him suppressing a wry grin. 

"Oh shut the fuck up," you say with a laugh and playful shove at his shoulder. "I'm so sorry I didn't grow up in Texas with a shotgun next to my pacifier."

Joel chuckles loudly at this, the rich sound bouncing off the trees. You grin at the sound, your heart thumping delightedly. Again he remembers himself, smirking at the ground and shaking his head in amusement.

He seems to think of something before reaching into his pocket. He produces one of his knives, a thin thing he barely ever takes out. He places it in the center of your palm, urging your fingers to wrap around the handle.

"Let’s see how good you are at aimin’," Joel says with a crooked grin. "Stay here." 

He walks over to one of the fallen trees, placing his flask atop it. Much like when you and Luke and Jenny practice shooting the tin cans. His boots crunch over the snow as he comes to stand in front of you once more, his face coming into view as you gaze up.

His dark eyes are like liquid heat, bright and hypnotizing. It makes you feel like you're in the calm before the storm. He eyes you slowly, gaze drifting over every inch of you, his hand coming to readjust himself in his jeans. 

"You look good like that," he muses, his voice low and rumbling. He takes a step forward, disbelief and lust making his speech sound slurred. "Holdin’ my knife.”

You roll your eyes, secretly pleased.  

“I haven’t practiced throwing knives, Joel.”

“Then this is your first lesson,” he offers cheekily. "Hit the flask."

"I'll wreck it."

"I barely use it," Joel reasons before his mouth hitches on one side as he looks meaningfully at you. "Plus I don't think I have much to be worried about."

“Hey!”

"Prove me wrong, darlin'," Joel says, coming to stand behind you. 

Darlin'. It sounds so good coming from him in that low, husky twang. You wonder if he said it on purpose to throw you off. 

"I'll even give you a pointer to start you off," he continues. "Step one is actually raising your arm up."

"Okay, get outta here," you grumble, trying not to smile as you shake off his hand on your shoulder.  A knife can’t be that hard to throw.

You breathe slowly, your chest rising, holding. You remember what Jennifer said about thinking of something safe. Your something safe is standing behind you. 

"That’s my girl," Joel murmurs behind you, breaking your concentration just as you throw. Not shockingly the knife goes wide, sinking into the snow. 

"Just jitters," you tell him as he goes to retrieve it. "I'll get the next one." 

"Mhm."

You take the cool blade into your hand once more, feeling him standing there behind you. You tell yourself to ignore him and that this is the shot you’ll make. You balance the knife in your fingers, trying to find the best spot to grip it.

"Are you aimin'?" Joel croons in your ear as his hands start to slide up under your jacket. Cold air hits your skin, causing goosbumps to rise. You twist your head to look at him, seeing the merriment that dances in his eyes.

"What're you-"

Your breathing hitches when his large palms slide up under your sweater and then under the band of your bra until your breasts rest heavy in his eager hands. 

"So soft," he murmurs, kissing the back of your neck as his thumbs trace your nipple. 

His voice is low, seductive and it drips between your legs like warm honey. His large hands begin to knead your breasts, his greedy fingers locating your nipples with ease. They immediately pucker under his touch, mercifully warm from being in his gloves. He tugs at them, making you moan, knife wavering.

"C'mon, baby," Joel murmurs with a grin, his hands sliding down your skin, coming to slide down the front of your jeans, rubbing your swollen clit through the denim. "Concentrate." 

Baby. He's definitely doing this to fuck with you. Your ass rolls against his front, not immune to the erection pressing into your lower back.

"Hit it and I'll fuck you," Joel promises his breath hot against your cold cheek. "Right against that tree there." 

You follow his finger pointing at the large trunk a few feet away. You're swaying in his arms, unable to concentrate but you raise the knife anyway. It's held tightly in your grip, but Joel isn't stopping the fingers that rub between your legs, making you arch. 

"You're so fuckin' soft," Joel rumbles against your hair. "But I know just where you're the softest."

You gasp when you feel him unclasp the button of your jeans. Your body breaks into goose bumps as his greedy fingers find their way underneath the waist of your panties. 

"C'mon and aim," he urges you in a rough whisper, the tone teasing. "Show me how good you are."  

"I can't," you mutter, already giving over to the sensation, your hips rolling as his fingers slide between your slick folds. His thumb circles your clit and you cry out, nerve endings already strained.  

"You were just braggin'," Joel reminds you. "Four cans was it?" 

"Only the one time," you tell him breathlessly, ass rolling against his hardened front, feeling his long fingers starting to thrust up into your velvet clutch. "Just once. And that was with a gun." 

Joel's wet mouth is sponging along your neck as your eyes shut, your back leaning against his front. He's holding you upright, your legs turned to jelly as his thumb comes to tap and circle your clit, his second and third finger curling within you.   

"I wanna watch how good you are with a knife," he says softly, moving the hair sticking to your heated cheek and kissing there. 

You look over your shoulder at him, your free hand gripping him by the back of his neck as you feel his fingers thrusting deep. 

"Joel, please."

Joel gives you a quick peck and now he removes his fingers from your panties. You feel his hands going on either side of your hips, positioning you. 

"C'mon sharpshooter," he teases. "Let's see." 

You raise the knife shakily, swallowing. 

Focus. 

You want to impress him. You want to show him that you're better than he thinks. But his hands are still at your hips, holding. You inhale slowly, forcing all other thoughts to leave you. You raise your gun, looking through the scope.

The flask. The tiny silver square that glints at you in the sunlight, teasing you. It becomes the only thing you can see, the rest of the world going fuzzy and quiet. Throw it on the exhale.

You throw it. 

You see the flask wobble as the blade whizzes by, the rush of air upsetting it slightly but it remains standing. Your shoulders sag in disappointment.  Joel grabs you, gently spinning you around to face him. You're surprised to see he's grinning as he hoists you into his arms with a grunt. 

"Close enough."

You laugh at that, holding onto him like a horny koala, your legs wrapping around his waist. You kiss his neck, desperate to feel him as he carries you to the tree. He pins you against it, his mouth and hands hungry for you.

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, groaning lowly as your thighs squeeze around his waist. Your hips begin to jerk, chasing the friction that builds between you and its only seconds before your jeans are shucked down and your panties are pulled to the side before he’s plunging into you, a condom over his cock.

He pushes your sweater up and tugs your bra down, exposing your breasts to him in the chilled air. You keen as his mouth sucks at your nipples, tongue flicking as you arch. His mouth kisses your collar, tasting you everywhere with your back biting into the bark of the tree. He raises his head back up, eyes on your face.

There's something about Joel's warm body and the frigid air that makes you feel so awake. The dueling sensations make everything feel more acute, sharper. The bristles of his facial hair rough on your neck as he kisses you there, the softness of his thick curls in between your fingers. He sinks deeper into you, his soft groans muffled against your neck. 

You feel safe with him, you feel alive for the first time in years. You urge him deeper; as if by doing that he can physically feel the adoration you carry for him. 

He moves you both in rhythmic undulations against the tree, hurried in desire but gentle in execution. He wants you to feel good and you want the same for him. You grip your arms around his neck, murmuring softly between kisses about how good he makes you feel.

"Anyone else make you feel this good?"

"No," you gasp, hips rutting against his. Your hand is on the back of his neck, your face inches from him as you bounce against him, thighs spread wide to accommodate him, the rasp of the bark against your tailbone. 

"Only need my cock," Joel grunts, thrusting himself to the hilt with a rumbling groan.   "Only need me."

You stay gripping his neck, eyes on him as he buries himself in you over and over, grinding his hips to yours, his mouth chasing yours as welcome him deeper. You rise and fall like the waves of an ocean, bodies in a dance as old as time, in a rhythm as ancient as time itself.

"Not just because of that," you whisper, your body still moving in time with his. You're gaze is still stuck on him, soft. 

"No?"

Joel's cheeks are red circles, his body increasing in tempo as he pins you against the tree. You can see the question in his dark eyes, the almost hopeful expression. 

"You make everything good."

It comes out in a whimpered rush. It escapes you so quick you don't even have time to think about it because you're cresting, falling over the edge into bliss as Joel continues to fuck you through it against the tree. 

He kisses you, urging your thighs to part further. He pivots his hips, circling them and your eyes begin rolling back at the sensation. Your fingers grip him by the shoulders, bouncing against him, your back rasping against the bark of the tree at your back. 

"Joel I don't wanna stop," 

"We ain't gonna." 

"I d-don't just mean now," you groan as he starts to withdraw and thrust into you with relish. "I-I mean-n-n..."

You can't say anymore, your words are gone, lost in the trees that shake with the approaching wind.

"I know what you meant, baby," Joel says as his mouth covers yours again. "I know." 

A thrill goes through you at his words and you kiss him back ardently, neck tilting back when he hits the perfect spot deep within you. Your spine lengthens as you arch violently. 

"Fuck! Right there!"

His forehead presses to yours, his eyes inches from your own. He's staring at you, unblinking as his hips continue to rhythmically jerk. 

"Come for me," he rasps, eyes not blinking. "Come on my cock right now. Gimme what’s mine." 

Joel moves his face to your shoulder, his growls feral and loud against your jaw. It's the kind of noise that makes you keen and come harshly on his still pistoning cock, coating him. 

"That's it," he praises as his hips start an even faster rhythm, making every part of you bounce for him. And then your entire body shudders as you come for him, offering desperate little whines as he continues to pound into you.

“Fuck, I can feel you flutterin’.”

He releases with a growl at your neck, making you moan as you continue to come down from your high. His hands come to your face, the end of his sharp nose grazing yours. He’s panting, his face flushed and his stare intense.

 "I wanna give you everythin'."

You grin, feeling completely wrung out. You kiss him softly, everything inside you blooming. Then your head is against his chest, hearing the staccato of his heartbeat as you catch your breath. 

I love you, Joel. 

The words rest behind your teeth, gnashed down by nerves. You can't say them out loud. Not yet. But they exist and in your mind you can scream them over and over. 

You drag his mouth to yours, sighing when he shows no hesitation. He's never said it, but you can feel it on his side. The warmth he casts over you with his smile, his words. A Joel you found by digging in his shadow.  

He moves you both in rhythmic waves against the tree, hurried in desire but gentle in execution. He wants you to feel good and you want the same for him. You grip your arms around his neck, murmuring softly between kisses about how good he makes you feel. 

You love him. 

In this moment with him, in so many moments the words bubble up inside you. Like a still corked bottle of champagne, waiting to be popped. The words rest behind your teeth, gnashed down by nerves. You can't say the words out loud. Not yet. But they exist. In your mind you can scream them over and over. 

"Well ain't this cute."

Your blood runs immediately cold as your eyes blow open. Joel's motions immediately stop, his grip on you tightening. He's facing you against the tree so you can see the moment his eyes widen in horror. 

"Caught myself two little lovebirds.”

The voice is a low growl from behind Joel. You lift your head up to see a man with oily hair standing, watching you both. He wears a thick jacket, gloves with holes and his face is drawn thin and malnourished. 

A raider. 

Your blood runs cold, that familiar fear cloying in your throat. 

"Might wanna get dressed," the man says amused. 

Joel's eyes meet yours briefly as he tucks himself away and you pull up your jeans, both buttoning in a hurry. He's trying to gauge your reaction. Your eyes are blown wide in terror and Joel murmurs something that sounds like stay behind me, but the blood is roaring in your ears. 

The raider holds a gun in his right hand and a smile stretches over his thin lips. He cocks it when Joel reaches for his shotgun resting against the base of the tree. 

"Ah ah, I don't think so, friend." 

Joel grits his teeth and continues to stand in front of you, shielding you from the man. You tremble behind him. 

"Sorry to interrupt love birds. But I think you might have something of mine." The man eyes you both. "A shipment of medicine? I was delayed a bit and rumor is you folks helped yourselves." 

"We don't have it," Joel tells the man flatly. "We just came to check the traps."

"C'mon now," the man laughs, the gun still aimed at you both. "You think I don't know a liar when I see one?"

 He comes closer; his eyes glancing over at you huddled behind Joel. 

"I told you we don't fucking have it," Joel repeats. 

The humor flees from the older man's face. 

"Now I've been polite but you're really starting to piss me off. I know you have my shit and I want it back." The man sniffs angrily. "We heard about a guy fittin' your description. Came by with a few others last week."

"We did come looking for it last week but we didn't find anything," Joel relents. 

"Now why would you go and do that?" The man asks as if he's actually offended. "Stealin' another man's property?"

"Didn't know it was yours."

"Well it sure as shit wasn't yours, now was it?"

Joel says nothing, but you feel his breathing hitch. His broad shoulders that you stand behind seem to slump. You don't have any way out of this.

You peek your head out the side of Joel, eyes fixed on the grungy raider glaring at Joel. You want to help in some way. 

"P-please," you whisper in a stammer. "We don't have your things. I swear." 

The man's eyes slide over to you, his face a sneer. 

"Like I'm gonna believe the words of a whore," the man spits out with a cruel smile. 

"Watch your fuckin' mouth," You hear Joel growl. His hands are balled fists at his sides. 

"You wanna try that again?" The man asks, pressing the gun to Joel's forehead. You feel your body shaking when you feel Joel's body tighten up. His back is to you but there's no mistaking the way he holds himself terrified. 

"The others will come lookin’ for us," Joel warns the man. "Leave us be and we'll pretend this never happened."

“Ain't no one gonna find you out here."

"You wanna bet?" 

The man's eyes narrow.  "Even if they go come lookin' after ya I'll be long gone."

"Your tracks won't be." Joel motions to the man's heavy boots. "We got bloodhounds that'll sniff you out in under an hour."

Joel is still stiff but his voice is cold and menacing. You see the man in front of him falter slightly before his yellowed eyes flick your way. They rove your body hungrily, sucking at his back teeth before he speaks. 

"In that case I better get my kicks in while I can." He gives a gap toothed grin your way. "Girlie it's been a while, so be polite for me. Get on your knees and show me why your friend here keeps you around." 

When you don't move he reaches around to aim his gun at your head. Your stare at the barrel pressed between your eyes.

This is how you die. 

You whimper, eyes wet with terror. You finally found something to live for outside of your own survival and this is how it ends? Dead in the snow at the hands of some stranger? Before anything more can happen Joel pushes in front of you, the barrel now aimed at his chest. 

"Get the fuck away from h-"

Joel doesn't finish the sentence before the man hits him harshly with the butt of his gun. Joel hisses and he folds at the waist, his face cracking to the side. You shriek, your voice carrying through the forest.

“Joel!”

"I don't wanna repeat myself, girlie." 

The injustice of all of this makes furious tears roll down your cheeks. This bastard is going to take everything from you after all you've been through. Images of Charlotte flood your mind, the sound of her screams, the sight of Maria covered in her own blood, the way Penny held you as you sobbed for your dead family. All of this pain, this horror, its never-ending.

A scream comes from you, an unholy terrified thing from the bottom of your toes as you glare at the raider, your eyes wild. The man looks momentarily taken aback at the sight and sound of it, gun faltering. 

And then it all happens so fast.   

A loud whinny echoes through the trees shocking all of you. You turn to see Chestnut comes hurtling towards the group of you through the trees. His gallops are slick in the icy snow, his breath coming out in white clouds as he streaks towards you. 

"The fuck?"

The man is confused. He might be wondering if there are more of you about to surround him. 

Joel whirls around to face you, half his face covered in sticky blood. He bear hugs you to him, tackling you to the ground. He cushions your fall but you let out a grunt as your spine hits the snow. The air is punched out of your lungs. 

Instinctively the man raises his weapon, his gun aimed and with a terrifying finality he pulls the trigger. It’s like slow motion, watching as Chestnut’s eyes widen so much you see the whites. Red blooms at the side of his head and you scream.

"No!"

Chestnut goes stumbling and then crashing to the ground, a strangled whinny of pain going through the forest before a hideous silence settles. 

It's a split second but it's enough, Joel's hand is already on the butt of the shotgun. It's in his grip within seconds and before the raider can do anything Joel's aiming it at the man and pulling the trigger. 

A spray of red shoots from the man's shoulder, dotting the snow and causing his gun to drop, but not before shooting widely. He turns on Joel with a snarl. 

"Fucker!"

You can't see Joel's face from where lay in the snow but he moves as if he's on autopilot. A force to be reckoned with. His shoulders are tight and he raises the gun to his eyes. 

Joel blasts the raider again and you watch the spray of red that explodes from his head. This one sends the man crumpling onto the ground, blood pouring from the half of his face that's now missing. He lands forward in the snow, the red of his blood seeping into the white earth like ink on paper. 

There's a throbbing in your leg that you're noticing as Joel is urges you to stand, pulling you onto his arm, his face a contortion of anxiety and frustration.

"C'mon, get up. We gotta go."

He hauls you towards the entrance of the trees without thought, one arm around your waist, the other hand aiming his gun at anyone who you may meet along the way. 

Your eyes however land on the frozen body of Chestnut. You sweet, darling savior. A creature that heard your scream and came running. His ribs don't expand and he lies with eyes wide open, unblinking. He's not moving.

You go to step towards him but Joel continues hauling you away, his eyes fixed in front of him. 

"We have to go."

Your hand reaches fruitlessly for Chestnut as Joel drags you from the clearing. Tears slide down your cheeks and your voice is cracked. 

"We can't leave him out here, Joel. We have to bury him or something."

Joel's face betrays a shadow of regret. 

"We don't know if this guy had friends who just heard a bunch of gunshots. We gotta go." 

His breathing is rapid, but his focus is clear. He knows what to do in this situation whereas you’re blind with panic and regret. 

"I didn't tie him properly," you sob, your cries cracked in the cold air. Each inward breath feels like a stabbing behind your ribs.

"You did," Joel insists distractedly, guiding you both through the trees. 

"No, I was just so excited to touch you," you spill out, not caring that it's embarrassing to admit this. Your heart aches too painfully to care. "I was distracted and ... He's dead because of me."

Your feet fumble, tripping up as you hold onto him as you beg him to do something with Chestnut. He grunts, righting you and urging you to keep going. 

"I know you're scared and sad and I can't take that away, but we gotta go," Joel says pulling you more aggressively. 

You choke down another sob, finding your footing and running back alongside Joel until you make it out of the clearing and back to an anxious looking Midnight, still tied to the tree. The horse watches warily as the two of you approach. 

You're trying to muffle your sobs as Joel kneels, motioning for you to stand on his thigh to climb onto Midnight's back. You're halfway onto the horse when his dark eyes widen and you stop climbing confused at his expression. 

"You're shot."

You look down at your leg to see a bloom of red starting under the denim. 

"It's not mine," you insist, swiping at the denim. You hiss when you realize in fact you did get hit. The stray bullet must have grazed you. You were so focused on that was happening around you that you didn't even notice. 

You raise your eyes to his terrified face. "I don't feel anything."

"It's shock." 

You should be crying. You should be feeling something, but nothing is happening. You just feel cold all over. 

Joel looks like he's going to be sick. 

"I'm fine," you insist with a tremor in your voice. 

You're shaking, body going cold. Joel is pushing you onto the horse, urging you to wrap your arms around his waist when he climbs in front of you. 

"Hold tight."

He takes off like a bat out of hell, the trees whipping by you all as Midnight gallops back to Jackson City. 

You fade in and out of awareness. The pain in your calf keeps you awake, but what just happened has you feeling absolutely drained. You could cry when the familiar sight of Jackson's walls come into view. Midnight huffs exhausted, clopping quickly to the entrance. Joel’s spine straightens, his voice a gruff boom.

"Open up!"

You see Hank climbing down from the watchtower, calling for Fred and others. Joel throws himself off the horse.  

"She's hurt!" Joel shouts, his voice cracked. "Bullet to the calf."

The doors remain closed. Your body tightens, anxiety holding you. You hear Hank's voice through the heavy wood. 

"Grab the dog."

"No time for the dog!" Joel roars. He bashes his gloved fist against the closed door until Hank opens it a crack, his face just visible through the thin slit.  

"Joel you know the rules," Hank says quietly eyeing you both. "Someone comes back injured from patrols, we gotta test 'em."

"S' fucking ridiculous,” Joel pants, motioning to you. “She's bleedin' out."

"We've already sent for the doctor. Just sit tight." 

You're whimpering from the pain as Joel paces back and forth in front of you, looking increasingly agitated with every moment that passes by. Finally Melody from the dog kennels jogs over with a bloodhound, followed by the town medic, Lily. 

Melody raises her hand in front of the dog that eyes you. Joel helps you down from the horse, murmuring something to you that you can’t hear.

"Boba...check."

Melody gives a snap and the dog takes off trotting towards you. Boba sniffs you as you try to remain standing. After a moment the dog rubs his face against your kneecap, accepting the scratch behind his ears. 

Boba moves to Joel, sniffing at his boots before he moves back to Melody, unimpressed at having found nothing of note. 

"All clear."

You see Hank visibly relax. Lily, the medic on shift for the evening urges you both inside the gates. Lily is a ruddy faced woman of about fifty. Her strawberry blonde hair is cut just at her jaw.

She always has a sense of no-nonsense, a professionalism that makes you feel safe. She was a nurse back before the world went to shit. She doesn't ask you much outside of what occurred out there.

"You're both gonna come to the infirmary," Lily informs you after a quick rundown of what happened. Joel says nothing, but he urges you onto his shoulder, helping you limp after the woman to the nearby hospital bay. 

She puts you in the first room, usually saved for things like surgery. Lily’s eyes flick between the two of you briefly as Joel helps walk you to the bed, his face grave.

"You stay out there," Lily instructs Joel when she enters with her medical bag. He looks about to contest this but the door is closed in his face and you’re too tired to fight for him to remain. 

She helps you slip off your jeans. You wince as the denim peels away from the dried blood of your wound and Joel peers from over her shoulder. 

"Just a graze," she says sounding relieved. 

She helps you into the bed, tugging off your jacket before you lay down. Sweat is drenching your hairline, you're body sweaty but cold. Lily keeps insisting you drink water even after you've swallowed the pain pills. 

She patches you up slowly, cleaning the wound on your calf carefully to avoid infection. You lay tensed up; eyes scrunched shut as she works on you. It hurts, despite the painkillers she gave you. 

"Joel, I can't work if you're breathing down my neck. And I thought I told you to wait outside."

Your eyes crack open and you shakily raise your head to see Joel in the room beside the bed, gazing down at your leg with what looks like anguish. You follow his eyes and glance down to see the puckered flesh of your calf being sewn together. 

A wave of nausea goes through you and you lay your head back down on the pillow. 

"I'm okay," you tell him quietly, as if Lily isn't in the room with you. He drags his eyes from your leg to your face. 

"This never shoulda happened." 

He looks angry, but not at you. His eyes have that haunted, distant look to them. A look you've grown to fear when you see it in the eyes of people you care about. Without thinking you reach for him, but he stays standing with his arms hung at his sides. It's like he's a million miles away even as he stares at you. 

You stretch your arm further, fingers aching to come into contact with any part of him. In your desperation you begin shifting in the bed. 

Lily sighs, irritated at your movement as she attempts to work on your injury. 

"Joel, go wait in the other room. I'll be there in a sec to get you stitched up." 

Your hand lowers to the bed despondent when Joel says nothing. He takes one lingering last look at you and then he's stalking away from the bed, slamming the door behind him. 

///

Lily doesn't let you leave the infirmary until late the next afternoon with a bandaged leg and a few pain pills in a bag. She gives you crutches to use, citing you probably won't need them long. 

She sends you home with specific care instructions that include finding her the second the site begins to swell. 

You attempt to use the crutches but find them more cumbersome than helpful. You make your way home stiffly, trying to focus on not slipping with your psyched leg, ignoring the looks that the others give you on your journey. 

You settle in on the couch, napping and taking pain pills when necessary. The sky darkens and your mind goes to Joel. You hope he got patched up okay. You don't remember hearing him after Lily left your room. 

You're a little surprised he hasn't been by to check on you today. A part of you thought that he'd want to be after everything that happened. You know you wish you were in his strong arms right now, feeling protected. 

I wanna give you everythin'.

There was something about the emotion in how he said that, his large hands holding your cheeks. Something that makes you think that perhaps he was thinking the same as you were. 

That you love him. It snuck up on you or maybe it just feels like that. One second he was an asshole you couldn't stand and now he's the one person you want to see more than anything. 

There's a knock on your door just as you think about putting yourself to bed. Relief spreads over your features as you glance at the locked door.

Joel is finally here. 

Delight floods through you, combating the sting that goes along with standing and hobbling over to the door. You tug it open, surprised to see that it's Tommy on your porch. 

"I come bearing food," he says, raising a crochet bag to eye level. Whatever's inside smells amazing and your stomach rumbles. You give him an appreciative grin, pushing the door open. 

"Come in." 

Tommy enters the home, closing the door behind him. He places the bag on the coffee table where you have your leg propped up. He looks at the injury, his lips thinning before he forces a weak smile.  

"So how's the patient?"

"The patient is doing okay," you shrug, yawning from both fatigue and the pills. "What's in the bag?"

"Stew and Maria sent over cookies," he tells you pointing at the bag. "She says there nowhere as good as yours but that she hopes you like ‘em anyway." 

You give a soft chuckle at that while Tommy looks around your home, observing the small pieces of yourself that you've started decorating with. The framed photo of your parents on the mantle of the fireplace, the paper flowers on your dining table. The space is far from homey, but it's getting there. 

"You need anything ‘side from food?"

"Nah."

You shake your head. Tommy exhales slowly, coming to sit on the coffee table, facing you with his hands folded between his legs. He looks serious. 

"Joel told me what happened to y'all out there." 

You wince, not wanting to think about what occurred. Tommy seems to understand this and so he speaks softer, more gently. 

"I know it's askin' a lot, but you got enough energy to answer a few questions about it?"

You swallow. "Sure." 

"Joel tells me the fella was older, early sixties."

"Yeah."

"He look well fed?" 

"No, pretty thin from what I remember." 

"Any distinguishing features?"

"Not really. Just old." 

Tommy swipes a hand down his face in thought. "Did he say if there were more of ‘em?"

You take a moment to think about what happened. 

"I can't remember," you answer honestly after a beat. "I don't think so."

"S'what Joel said," Tommy sighs, looking grim. "Was hoping you mighta heard somethin' more."

"Honestly I don't remember much. I was hiding behind Joel for most of it."

There's a shame that comes with that admittance, embarrassed that while Joel stood between you and a loaded gun all you did was cower pathetically behind him. 

Everything is so tinted with panic and fear that it's hard to hold onto any details outside your own terror.  You attempt to hide a yawn but Tommy sees it, giving you a smile that doesn't touch his eyes. 

"I should let you rest. I'll stop by tomorrow to see if you need anything else."

He stands, heading towards the door. 

"I'll be fine, Tommy you don't have to do that."

"Maria'll kill me if I don't," Tommy grins and this one seems sincere. You grin back, brows raised when he stops mid-step. 

"If you have the energy tomorrow night we're playin' a movie in town," Tommy suggests brightly. "Curtis and Viper. Thomas found it on the last patrol."

"That sounds fun," you acknowledge, pressing your thumb into your forefinger, distractedly. 

Despite everything, this visit has warmed you, touched by your friend's care for you. When his hand is on the doorknob you add:

"Tell Maria thanks for the cookies."

Tommy grins, giving you a little mock salute before closing the door behind him. 

"Will do." 

///

The medicine does its job and you fall into a fairly dreamless sleep. You wake bleary-eyed with cotton mouth to see it's after eleven. And like most mornings as of late, your thoughts turn to Joel; the tingles that go through you when his beard grazes your neck, the sweet way he exhales when he's inside of you. 

And it's not just the tactile, it's everything. It's him sharing his deepest pains and accepting yours. It's his smile when you say something funny. It's the softness of his eyes

I wanna give you everythin'. 

You want to give him the same. You want nights and days with him, dances and card games, dinners with he and Ellie. A family. 

Images of Jennifer and Ellie go through your mind, going through an imaginary list of their potential responses. In the end you realize it doesn't matter. You're going to tell them tomorrow, you tell yourself. No more waiting.

Jennifer will understand, you're sure of it. She may be hurt at first but she's an understanding woman, she's your best friend. As for Ellie... That may be up to Joel. But either way the truth is coming out. 

The dance is in less than two weeks and you want to go feeling happy and beautiful on Joel's arm. You want people to smile and greet you. You want both of you laughing with Jennifer and Luke, you want to dance with Maria and Tommy there cheering you on.

With this fantasy in mind you shower and dress in fresh clothes, wrapping your red scarf around your neck and tugging on your gloves. 

Your leg is still sore, but you can walk just fine on it, only limping slightly. The pain is nothing to you though because you're buoyed by the promise of Joel's face bleeding into a smile when he sees you, the warmth of his eyes when he opens the door.

You make it there quickly, thankful you don't run into anyone you know on the way. Your heart pounds in anticipation as you rap your knuckles on his door. There's a shuffling and then the door creaks open. Joel stands there dressed in his customary flannel and jeans. His hair is damp from a shower. He blinks at you slowly.

"What're you doin' here?"

The response is colder than anticipated, but you chalk it up to him being in pain. You can see the stitches running over his cheekbone, subtle but there. Another scar, another horrible memory. You reach a hand out to touch him, confused when he steps back further into his home, tilting his face from you. 

Silence falls and he doesn't invite you in. Indecision starts to creep into your belly; making your body feel colder the longer you stand there staring at him. He remains half in the shadow of his dark home. He doesn't look welcoming or even relieved to see you. He seems hard and unmoving. 

"Is Ellie home?"

"School."

“Oh. Good."

He raises a brow at that, a flash of movement on an otherwise stoic face. He doesn't look away from you, but he doesn't beckon you closer. You think perhaps he's feeling a bit out of sorts from what happened and you think perhaps this is a good time to brighten his day. 

“I thought we could talk?”

He turns away from you, walking into the house but leaving the door open. Confused you trail in after him, following him to a room you haven’t seen before. This one is neat and organized. It’s got tables holding papers with scribbled notes, pieces of wood and hammers hung on shelving. Joel is digging around in one of the drawers.

“I’ve never been in here,” you observe. “It’s so organized.”

“Have to be organized if you’re in construction.”

“Guess old habits die hard,” you offer brightly, coming to stand behind him. Your hands trail over the wood table, noticing the carved dog in wood. It looks like Buckley.

“Yep,” Joel mutters to the bolts he sorts through. 

You thought that hanging with Joel at his place would be a good idea, a chance to talk and hold one another. But judging by his tense shoulders and the way he won’t look at you, you decide perhaps an outing might be better.

"So there's a movie on tonight. A Curtis Viper one. You were saying that you and Sarah watched those movies right? You wanna go and-"

Joel sighs, throwing the last of the bolts into the drawer. He slams it, turning to face you. He crosses his arms, his lower spine balanced against the table. An ugly darkness has settled over Joel's features. Something you recognize as one recognizes the sound of distant thunder; a warning. It makes the rest of your question die in your throat. 

"I'm not goin' to the movies," Joel says quietly.

There's something about the way he's looking at you, this quietly intense stare that makes you shift the weight from one foot to another. 

"Oh, are you busy?"

"No."

You give an awkward huff of a laugh at his truncated response. A breathless, insecure thing borne of the building gravity in his face. 

"Then, why-"

"Because I'm not your fuckin' boyfriend."

And just like that the cold, cruel Joel is back. 

You thought he'd been cast aside, slain like some mythological creature. But no, he's here in the flesh standing with his painfully beautiful eyes and disdainful curl of his mouth. You feel uneasy, a creeping insecurity flirting across your features. 

"I never said you were, Joel."

No, the words had never been spoken aloud. But hadn't they been there, seeping through the cracks? Hadn't it been whispered in the touch of his fingers on your skin? Hadn't it been huffed over your heart when you told him about your sister and he told you about Sarah? Hadn't the two of you morphed from something more than just patrol partners? 

Apparently to Joel that's all you two remain. He stands with his feet planted, dragging his muscled arms into a tight cross over his chest. You wish he'd look away from you with that ugly expression, but at the same time you long to look at his face. 

"I’m not fuckin' you anymore," Joel says stiffly. "I'm done with all that." 

You feel the way your eyes well at the cut of his tone. You swallow thickly and as your do you see it - the flash of soft that creeps into his gaze. The brows that almost saddle before forcing themselves into a knot. He turns angrily, facing away from you to busy himself with his tools. 

"Joel, please," you say barely above a whisper, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over your lash line. 

"Please what?"

You exhale softly before wiping your damp eyes with the back of your sleeve.

"Please don't do whatever it is you're doing."

You watch his shoulders sag, head facing down. 

"What am I doin'?"

"Pushing me away." You blink at his back. "What I don't understand is why you're doing it."

"You're actin' like we were in some kind of relationship," Joel says, the sneer evident in his tone. "We were just fuckin’ each other because we were bored."

"That's not true," you tell his shoes.

"It is true," Joel says, voice dead. He starts busying himself with putting away his tools.

You stare at his broad shoulders a moment, wanting to pull him harshly to face you. Insist with a scream that he tell you the truth.

"We wouldn't share the things we've shared with each other if this was just sex," you insist, chin wobbling. "You... You wouldn't ask me to go to the holiday party."

He falters for only a moment, his broad hand sweeping a few screws into a drawer.

"I would if I wanted to get you in bed," Joel says over his shoulder and you don't miss the ugly curl of his mouth as he says it. 

 "Joel, you can't-"

"You're a good lay," Joel cuts you off. "But I'm bored of it so I'm done. You’re gonna have to find a new fuck buddy." 

You let out a soft sound halfway between a whimper and a gasp. It physically hurts to hear this coming from Joel, to hear the words that you secretly feared. That you pinned all this affection on a man who saw you as nothing more than ready sex. 

But you don't want to believe him.

"Joel you can't... You don't mean that."

He balances the base of his spine against the table before launching off of it. He comes to tower over you, tilting his neck down, forcing you to look into his face. His eyes are fierce.

"I'm only sayin’ this once and then I want you outta my house." His voice has dropped to a menacing baritone. "I don't wanna see you anymore."

You physically recoil at this statement, not just from the words but from the dark pitch of his eyes. 

"I don't need some useless patrol partner who can't even shoot straight clinging to me like some needy little-"

He stops abruptly when he sees your shaky hand rise between the two of you. It's like you're holding him off from physically attacking. 

"Stop," you all but beg, cringing away from him. "Just... Stop."

Joel's mouth closes slowly, jaw clenched so tightly it tics. It’s almost like he catches himself and you’re half convinced you see regret in his gaze.

Useless. 

The world is tilting, growing hazy as you try to steady yourself. You take a moment to breathe deeply, trying to organize the thoughts racing in your mind.

Joel doesn't care for you at all. You're a fucking idiot to have thought he could. You built up this vision in your head of some tragic romantic figure when he's been clear all along. He never promised you anything, never claimed he liked you outside of your time fucking together. You pieced that together with your own delusion, taking snippets of moments and trying to give them deeper meaning. 

"I'll leave you alone," you tell him in a shaky voice. You blink rapidly, refusing to cry in front of him. "I... I'll... I'll go. Just please stop talking."

You twist around, swallowing the sob in your chest. You grope for the doorframe, the world becoming a watercolor blur. You move into the cold of the night and it stings the tears on your cheeks. 

You think you hear his footsteps coming towards you, creaking over the wood porch and you hold your breath. Seconds pass and you realize it's your imagination. 

You're alone. 

As you walk back to your home in a daze you think of the doe that first day on patrol. The empty look in its eyes after Joel killed it. At the time you'd only been able to think of Chiyo, about how his eyes had that same glazed look when you killed him. 

But now you realize you were the doe all along, just waiting for Joel Miller to strike.

-------------------------------------------------- 

WARNINGS/TAGS/DO NOT READ FURTHER UNLESS YOU WANT SHIT TO BE POTENTIALLY SPOILED.

tags/warnings: romance, love, soft!Joel, ANGST, gore, blood, Animal death, human death, mentions of guns, P in V (protected), oral (m and f receiving), dirty talk, trauma, clickers, horror. I think that's it.

--------------------------------

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Those Summer Nights, When I Look in Your Eyes

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (No France) Warnings: Sexual Situations; Vague Smut

Summary: Daryl's childhood had lacked so much and at the beginning of the turn, he had never known love beyond Merle's version of it. Now, he had it all and he would never let them wonder how much he cherished them.

A/N: For @louifaith, I hope this is close to what you imagined for our archer. 🩵 - Also, I have Daryl calling reader "pip" because someone suggested him nicknaming her "pipsqueak" in another story and it has just stuck with me. I was as vague as possible about reader’s age but let me be clear - she is above 18. I don’t write for huge age gaps. I don’t judge those that do and I do read them. I just do not write them but I have no control over where your mind takes you. Anyway, the song he hums is attached. ;)

Life was good. 

For thirteen years, there had never been a point in time where Daryl had felt like he could say that and genuinely believe it. For an entire year, the Commonwealth had thrived. Not a single threat. The walls held. The governing unit was fair and compassionate. It really was like the old world. 

But not for Daryl. 

In the old world, he had been a drifter. A useless drifter walking in the shadow of his brother. No job, no friends, no purpose. And he had, at that time, liked it that way. 

Not anymore. 

Because now he had a job. He had friends. He had a family. He had a purpose. And he had everything he had lacked growing up. He had love, and not just Merle’s variation of it.

Carol had taken over Lance’s position when Ezekiel and Mercer had stepped up to govern. She had pulled Daryl aside and asked him if he wanted to stay in their reformed force, giving him the choice. His decision was to promptly decline. So they put their heads together to come up with something. 

Daryl possessed many skills, most of them learned by doing throughout the years. He had one condition that he would not negotiate on, however. 

Daryl’s time outside the walls was over. 

He agreed to train hunters to take his place and conceded to three weeks on the road with volunteers that he left up to Carol’s choosing. There was more than enough trust between them for him to be comfortable with who she would deem worthy to provide for the community. 

Then he was given the job of overseeing construction and structural upkeep, equipment maintenance, and of course, a seat in the governmental advisory council. He was nothing if not adaptable and took to his position quickly, finding that he liked it. He was respected and his suggestions for the good of the community were heard and considered. 

If he chose to hunt or ride, it would be for leisure but he’d hardly needed it in the past year. Domestic life had tamed the inner need to hide or escape that had been ingrained throughout the years even before the turn. 

Years ago, you had tumbled into his life. A hot mess that he had spent many a day battling the urge to absolutely throttle. You had a stubborn streak a mile wide that made his own nothing more than a small trail. He absolutely couldn’t stand you. 

Funny thing, time. 

Now you wore his ring and proudly carried his last name. You had wanted the ceremony, even if his proposal was lackluster. He had been seeking you out after the end of the Whisperers. 

“Where’s Y/N?” At first no one answered. He barely parted his lips, intent on asking again with a little more well placed ardor when a woman he recognized as a former Hilltop resident spoke up.  “I saw your wife! She’s over with the children!” He muttered his thanks and took a single step before you were finding him.  “Daryl!” Your body collided with his, knocking the air from his lungs. His heartbeat lowered regardless, feeling you there in his arms, alive and breathing and whole. “I couldn’t see you in the herd. I was about to come find you but Jude, she made me promise to stay.” “M’here. An’ they’re gone” He tightened his arms around you and rested his cheek on the crown of your head.  “So I’m your wife now, huh?” He felt the shift of your facial muscles against his chest, knew you were smiling.  “What of it?” He grunted. “Ya wanna be?” He felt his heart skip a few beats when you lifted your head to smile at him, beaming and beautiful.  “Of course, I do. Might as well be at this point. We sound like an old married couple.” Daryl snorted and then shrugged. “Then I guess we are.” “That simple?” “That simple.” When you grinned, he knew you would never let it be that simple. 

You got your wedding, simple and intimate, with only the few remaining people that were closest to the two of you. When Gabriel said the words, you got your ring, too. Oh, the hell and herds Daryl had gone through to get them. Matching bands, camelot black titanium. Crafted to withstand the way the world was. 

He was twisting the ring round and round as he walked home, tired from a full day’s work and more than ready for the weekend with his family: you, Jude, RJ, and his little River. His boy was nearly two years old, the spitting image of Daryl with a heaping dose of your attitude. 

You were younger than Daryl, still at an age where pregnancy and giving birth was not considered risky beyond the state the world was in and the lack of some resources. It was horrifying yet the best news he’d ever heard in his self-proclaimed useless life.

River Merle came along right in the midst of the unease in the Commonwealth. When they had taken you and River along with Jude and RJ, it had required all the power Carol possessed to stop Daryl from losing his goddamn mind. He was prepared to rip out entrails with his bare hands and use them to strangle each and every trooper that stood between him and his wife and kids. It was not a good time to support Pamela. 

It all worked out in the end when, bruised but alive, the people took back the Commonwealth.

And now, here he was. A husband. A father. A boss. A survivor. 

Life. Was. Good.

“Ya home, Pip?” The words habitually rolled off his tongue the moment he opened the door and stepped inside. Jude and RJ were watching a movie, the elder looking over with a hey, Uncle Daryl before turning right back to the television. It was the weekend. No reason to bug them about homework. 

“Where else would we be?” You called from the kitchen. Daryl unlaced his boots, was in the middle of pulling off the second one when you came out with River on your hip. “Someone’s cranky today.” 

“I ain’t cranky.”

“I’m not talking about you but assuming I was says a lot.” You smiled softly, passing off the baby while simultaneously stealing a kiss. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” He nearly melted, probably would have if you weren’t situating a small human right against his chest.

“Get a room.” Judith was rolling her eyes when Daryl shot her a harmless look. 

River’s little arms went straight around his father’s neck, his little hiccups and sniffles muffled against Dary’s shirt. “S’wrong, lil’ man. Mama houndin’ ya over veggies like she does me an’ RJ?” River pulled back, rubbing his left eye with a chubby fist, looking at Daryl with a scowl that he knew very well adorned his own face more often than not. Even being so content with his life, he couldn’t seem to rid himself of what you called his resting bitch face.

“Daddy.” Was all the boy said before burying his face back into Daryl’s shirt.

“He had a nap?” Daryl was jostling his son as little as possible while ridding himself of his precious vest, tossing it over the back of ‘his’ chair at the dining table. His large hand covered a wide expanse of the small boy’s back when he rubbed soothing little circles, following you into the kitchen. You shook your head and took the lid off the pot on the stove. The scent of meat and herbs wafted toward Daryl and his mouth watered, but first thing was first.

“He wouldn’t go down. I think it’s a daddy day.” You smiled at the sauce but it wasn’t meant for the pasta topping at all. Daddy days were Daryl’s favorite. River wanted absolutely no one but him. The baby would fuss during meals, refuse to nap, and absolutely forget about bath and bedtime unless Daryl was there.

“I got ‘im then. See if I can get ‘im down for a bit.” Daryl was ducking and angling his head to catch River’s attention, finally earning a shy smile when blue met blue and the archer scrunched his nose and stuck out his tongue. Pressing a kiss into the mess of wavy hair, he noticed you standing with your back against the countertop, a certain type of smile on your face.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just sexy.”

“Pfft, stop.”

“We are so playing chess tonight.”

Daryl arched a brow. “Yeah?” 

You nodded, your smile morphing into something else entirely; something sinful. “Oh, yeah.”

Dinner done, older kids in their rooms after teeth brushing and goodnight hugs, Daryl sat in the nursery with a sleepy River resting his head on his father’s shoulder while the chair gently rocked. The baby’s hair was only the least bit damp but he smelled of the lavender lotion that you always seemed to have near the changing table, instructing Daryl to use it after baths and before bed because it was calming.

Bathed and in a fresh diaper and pajamas, mini-Daryl was beginning to drift off while his father simply rubbed his back or kissed his cheek or even held a little hand just to count the fingers over and over. Soon enough there would be potty training and pre-school—Carol had said that was still a thing in the world now and yes, they had one in the Commonwealth—so for now, Daryl just wanted to soak it all up, take it all in.

River would likely be the only baby the two of you would have, so not a single second was being wasted or taken for granted. You kept a daily journal of simple things that some might find trivial but Daryl knew he’d be reading that journal often enough to wear the ink right off the pages. Sometimes, he missed things because of work, but in the end, that’s what happened when you were a parent, he supposed. His old man didn’t care about milestones or daddy days, and his mama wasn’t around for bath time or boo-boo kisses. River would have it all. And as long as they were his to care for, so would Judith and RJ. In fact, since the baby had Daryl, you were currently reading a story to Rick and Michonne’s son before bed.

Man, if Rick could see Daryl now. Would his brother even recognize him? God, would his brother even recognize him? He let his mind drift for a moment to Rick and Merle, just long enough to keep them close and then he was back to River, pressing a kiss to a chubby cheek. 

You would always rock and sing to the little one but he didn’t need that from Daryl. There was just something about their bond that didn’t require words and hardly even movement. It had been that way since the moment you had pushed him into the world. He had cried, red-faced and angry and cold while Tomi leaned to put him onto your chest. You had your time with him, cuddling and nursing, his little sounds still expressing his discontentment with the change from your warm womb to a loud, bright world.

They had Daryl take off his shirt, which he didn’t understand until you explained better than any doctor or nurse could. The moment River was pressed against his skin, the connection was apparent to anyone who saw. The baby went silent, wide eyes mirroring the ones Daryl himself had. He had felt guilty for the longest time that River wanted you to feed him and then he wanted his daddy back immediately. He still had his mommy days and you said that was enough.

You were always supportive, never angry or jealous. You’d share the moments with him while he enjoyed them with you. 

It was all what he’d never had, so he’d make sure River, Judith, and RJ never went without it.

His eyes were slow to open, squinting at the traitorous window that dared let the morning rays creep across the bed and to his pillow. It took a few sluggish blinks to remember what day it was and that he was free to go back to sleep until River required either you or him. With a deep breath, he stretched his arms above his head and looked at you, still wrapped around him with your head on his chest. Naked. Still so very, very naked.

He was barely in the bedroom door before you were pushing him against it, almost catching his fingers when he attempted to mute the sound of it closing at his back. You had his shirt unbuttoned and your mouth on his before he could even take a breath. “I told you,” you panted against his lips, “we’re playing chess tonight.” Daryl grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you easily, spinning you to press you against the door. “Goddamn right, we are.” The first round was a frenzied bout of moaning and skin slapping skin, hands covering mouths to keep the noise down. Your nails had left gouges on Daryl’s ass and back, clawing at him for more. You weren’t unscathed. A bruise was blooming on the curve of your right breast, a perfect black and purple bite he had inflicted at some point. It ended with you lying across Daryl’s torso while he was flat on his back with the pillow halfway over his face. Panting and sweating while the sheet covered neither of you where it mattered. Why it was anywhere near either of you was anyone’s guess. The second time was slower, every second savored. Your fingertips memorizing his face while his hips rolled into you, back arching to push himself deeper. His lips were on your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks and mouth. His fingers danced down your ribcage and back up to your breasts, gentle caresses while he pressed his lips over the mark he’d left earlier. You didn’t have to try hard to roll him over. He went willingly, his hands going straight for your hips. You let your fingers roam his chest and stomach. His scars were yours to explore, he’d given that power over to you long ago. The marks no longer held him prisoner after you’d shown him how to be free. You were incredibly attracted to the way his body had softened with age and he worshiped each wrinkle and stretch mark that time and pregnancy had gifted you. You loved each other wholly, without condition. 

And you laid where you had collapsed, goosebumps on your skin from the cool morning air. Daryl didn’t want to go back to sleep, so he laid there, watching you and just enjoying the silence with the knowledge that his family was safe. That you had survived together and built something so precious.

When River began to fuss, it was Daryl that slipped out of bed and left you to rest a bit longer. He had no qualms with being the one to get up earlier to take care of the baby.

The weekend went by fast, as it often did. Sunday night, he found himself sitting on the couch after the kids were all asleep. He had helped clean up after dinner and was contently watching you pick up toys and fold laundry. He didn’t step in to help because he had no intention of allowing you to continue for long.

“What?” You finally inquired, obviously catching him staring.

“Nothin’.” He smirked, huffing a laugh that came out as an exhale through his nose. You were still regarding him when he stood and beckoned you with a finger. “C’mere.” Your pretty eyes narrowed but you placed the unfolded towel on the top of the pile in the basket and stepped into his space. Daryl wasn’t romantic, truly believed he didn’t have it in him to be anything near it. Still, when he guided your arms to his shoulders and lowered his hands to your hips, he watched you melt.

“There’s no music, Daryl.”

“Don’t need it.” He shrugged, just swaying back and forth with you, pulling you closer until you rested your head against his chest.

“The formidable Daryl Dixon is dancing with me when there’s no music playing. This’ll make the papers. It’ll be the headline.”

“Stop.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss into your hair. He was smiling when you sighed, somehow pressing yourself closer to him. You didn’t react at first when he started to hum, whether you were in shock or just relishing the moment. Maybe both. You let him continue.

It was an old tune, one from a favorite album released more than a decade before the first walker rose from the dead. The tune was slow and deep, his chest vibrating with every drone. Finally, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, the corners of your mouth perked.

“What is that?”

“How dare ya! S’Ozzy, woman.” He feigned offense but was tenderly tucking your hair behind your ears.

“I’ve never heard it.”

Daryl scowled playfully before scrunching his nose. “Remind me why I married ya?” You wrapped yourself around him and with the fondest smile he had ever let cross his face, he held you tighter.

“Because you love me.”

“Yeah.” He breathed. “Yeah, I do.”

When all the fanfiction series your reading slowly start drying up and you don't know what to do with yourself.

Late Night Brilliance

Pairing: Rafael Barba x Reader

Summary: Barba shows up at your house unexpectedly one evening to go over a case. What began as an honest need to work through some inconsistencies, turned into a battle to maintain professionalism and composure.

Warnings: SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), oral (M receiving), mentions of F receiving oral, fingering, light dom/sub vibes (Rafi is totally a dom).

A/N: Spanish Translations:

Querida/Cariño/Nena: Terms of endearment (darling/sweetheart/baby)

Meirda: shit

Por favor: please

The rest will be in brackets and italics after the sentence.

You were in the middle of eating your Chinese takeout when you were disturbed by a knock at your door. You weren't expecting any company and had been taking full advantage of a quiet Friday night in.

You sighed quietly as you pulled yourself off the sofa and went to answer the door. A shiver of surprise ran down your spine as you peered through the peephole. You groaned inwardly, glancing down at your rather disheveled appearance. You'd thrown on an old baggy t-shirt and leggings when you'd gotten home from work, but one look at the man standing on the other side of your door filled you with regret.

You pushed down any feelings of dread--and butterflies--as you opened the door and greeted your visitor with a warm smile. "Rafael Barba. What brings you by at 6:30pm on a Friday?"

Your tone was light and teasing, despite the unease you felt internally. He gave you his signature half-smirk, eyes quickly scanning you from head to toe, making you feel even more self-conscious.

He was wearing a beautiful three piece navy pinstripe suit with a lovely pink tie. You had no doubt he had matching suspenders under that damn vest...you hated how good he looked even after a long day of work.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said in a tone that indicated he knew damn well he wasn't interrupting anything. "I was hoping to talk to you about the Milligan case."

"Nothing better to do on a Friday night, Counselor?"

He chuckled. "My options were to spend the evening in my office, at home alone, or come spend it with a beautiful woman. I chose the latter."

You were more than a little surprised by his words, though you did your best not to show it. The two of you were known to flirt occasionally, but neither had dared to cross the line. A relationship between the two of you was out of the question, not that he was even interested in pursuing one with you. After all, he was married to his work and you were quite far from his type...you'd seen Yelina.

"Lucky for you, I also have no life outside of my job," you teased. "Come on in and make yourself at home. I've got Chinese food if you're hungry and I just opened a bottle of Merlot."

Rafael followed you in, shedding his suit jacket and draping it across the back of a dining chair. He began to roll up the sleeves of his white button down and you felt a stirring in your abdomen. "Chinese sounds amazing, but I can't say I'm a fan of Merlot."

It took you a moment to register the words he'd spoken as you were too preoccupied with not revealing how incredibly sexy you thought he looked in that moment. "I, uh--I think I have some bourbon if you're interested."

You practically bolted to the kitchen to look in the cabinet where you kept the liquor. You desperately needed to be as far away from him as possible before your face gave away the thoughts in your head.

"Bourbon sounds good."

Your eyes scanned the cabinet, locating the half-empty bottle at the back of the shelf. "Two fingers or three?"

"Three," he answered, voice much closer than it had been moments before.

You turned around to see Rafael leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest. Your eyes nearly rolled into your head at the sight and you let out an audible sound you hoped could be interpreted as surprise.

You poured the drink in silence, before handing it to him and gesturing for him to follow you to the living room. "We can eat at the table if you prefer..." you trailed off.

"Not necessary. The couch looks perfectly comfortable."

He sat down on one end of the couch and you sat on the other, as far away as you could possibly get without sitting on the arm. He raised an eyebrow at you, but didn't comment on the awkward distance you'd managed to put between you.

"So you--um--you wanted to talk about Milligan?" you asked.

"Not exactly. I wanted to talk about the victim, Shelly."

"What about her?"

"Something about her story isn't sitting right with me."

"Okay..."

"I want you to go over it with me again. Maybe give me a fresh set of eyes and a different perspective?"

"I'm not sure how much help I can be, Barba. I was in the room when she disclosed--that's not exactly a fresh set of eyes."

"Perhaps, but you are a psychologist. You see things very differently from the rest of us."

You sighed. "Alright, I'll bite. Where do you wanna start?"

As the two of you began to discuss the case and the inconsistencies in the victim's story, your discomfort started to evaporate. This is what you were passionate about--what you were best at. Everything else simply faded away and Rafael became just a colleague, not a man you were hopelessly romantically interested in.

Two hours passed, but it felt like no time at all. Your coffee table was littered with files and papers, and both you and Rafael were leaning over it, examining pieces of evidence. He was mere inches from you, but you were so absorbed in what you were doing that you hardly noticed.

"Cariño, can you pass me that witness statement?" Rafael asked.

You grabbed the paper he was referring to and handed it to him, eyes still scanning the page in front of you. The term of endearment didn't even register in your mind, nor did he seem to realize he'd even said it aloud.

After a few moments, Rafael asked you another question. "Do you have the surveillance photos from the bar?"

You pushed a few folders out of the way, digging the file with the photos out from the bottom of the stack. "What are you looking for?"

"Her outfit."

"Why?"

He didn't answer as he flipped through the photos, finally landing on the one he had been looking for. "Look at this."

He handed you the photo, which you'd seen before. "Yeah that's Shelly leaving the bar before the assault."

"Right. Notice her outfit?"

You glanced at the photo again. "Typical night out attire. Why is this important?"

He handed you the statement he'd been reading earlier. "She came directly to the precinct after her assault to disclose, right? Nowhere in her initial statement does she say she ever changed clothes."

You'd been there the night in question, had sat beside Olivia as she took Shelly's statement. "She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt," you stated.

"So why didn't she tell us she went home first?"

"She might have been worried we would judge her or blame her for the assault because she wasn't dressed like a nun."

"Yeah, I suppose that's possible."

He looked a little crestfallen, like you'd rained on his parade. He knew in his gut Shelly wasn't telling the whole story, but he couldn't prove it. He needed a single thread...just one thread to pull on. He needed to know now before the trial began and the defense unraveled the entire case.

A thought dawned on you. "No semen, no body fluids," you mumbled as you searched the coffee table for the rape kit report from the hospital.

Rafael watched you, unsure of what you were thinking.

"Ahh!" You grabbed the report and flipped through it. "There was evidence of trauma to her vagina and several bruises on her body, but there were zero traces of any DNA that wasn't hers."

"Okay, but that's not uncommon."

"Perhaps if she'd waited to report, I would agree, but I think there's an alternative reason."

He raised an eyebrow and waited for you to continue.

"She went home and showered."

Realization dawned on his face. "Didn't you or Olivia ask that question?"

"Of course we did, but I think she was scared to tell us, scared of what we'd say."

"We need to reinterview her."

You nodded.

Rafael pulled out his phone and called Olivia. He relayed what you'd discovered and asked her to reinterview Shelly the following day. Olivia agreed and thanked him for letting her know.

"You're brilliant, you know that?" he said as he hung up, vivid green eyes locked on your face.

"Minor detective work, at best," you said with a shrug. "I've been doing this long enough that I should be able to put pieces of a puzzle together. Besides, as you rightfully mentioned, it's my job to study and understand human behavior."

He smiled. "Even still, it was good work."

"You found the pieces, I just put them together."

"Take the compliment, (Y/N). You know I give them so rarely."

You laughed. "Alright, alright. Thank you, Rafael."

His expression shifted slightly, gaze darkening as he looked at you. "I don't think you've ever called me by my first name before." Even his voice was lower, huskier.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks. "I--uh, I'm sorry."

He reached out and grabbed your hand. "Please don't apologize. I liked hearing it...very much."

Heat began to spread through your entire body, coloring more than just your cheeks. You were unsure how to respond--the unfamiliar territory both daunting and exciting.

Rafael mistook your silence for discomfort, immediately removing his hand from yours and looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Everything in you wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure him that his words--and his touch--were welcome, but you knew that would be crossing a line you couldn't uncross.

"No worries," you mumbled.

The awkward silence stretched on for a few moments, during which time you were silently kicking yourself for making things weird.

"Well, umm, thank you for your help tonight. I-I guess I should be going," Rafael muttered lowly.

He started to get up and gather the papers strewn about the coffee table. You knew you should help him, but you didn't move--frozen in place with indecision. He couldn't see the war raging inside you, couldn't hear the thoughts screaming in your head.

After what seemed like an eternity, you finally forced out two words, "Don't go."

Rafael paused, holding a few papers in one hand and a folder in the other. "Pardon?"

You swallowed thickly, rising to your feet. "Please stay."

Surprise lit up his handsome face. "It's getting late," he said softly. "Are you sure you want me to stay?"

You nodded.

He slowly set the papers back down and came to the other side of the coffee table, positioning himself directly in front of you. He reached out, tentatively placing his warm palm against your cheek. You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

"I need to hear you say it, querida," he murmured.

Your bright (y/e/c) eyes met his, a surge of confidence making your words clearer. "I want you to stay, Rafael."

His lips parted slightly, partially in surprise and partially in arousal. He stepped closer to you, closing the gap between you. His lips ghosted over yours before finally pressing gently against them, pulling you into a soft kiss.

You wanted nothing more than to lean into his kiss, to feel his hands on your body--you wanted to know what it was like to be worshipped by him, to make love to him.

But the rational part of your brain--the part that kept you on the straight and narrow your entire life--had managed to rear its ugly head. You couldn't drown out the voice in your head screaming at you that this was wrong--that you couldn't do this with him...he was your coworker, for god's sake.

You suddenly pulled away from him, voice coming out in a rushed whisper, "We can't."

While he was disheartened at the sound of your words, he wasn't really surprised. It wasn't forbidden--technically--but that didn't make it easy, or even right. "I won't force you, cariño."

His soft, comforting words made you want him even more. You sighed quietly and leaned your forehead against his. "We shouldn't," you whispered so softly he almost missed it.

His hands had settled on your hips and he began to rub soothing circles into your sides. "Can't or shouldn't?" he asked lowly.

Your trembling hand pressed firmly against his chest in a way that made him feel like you were pulling him closer, not pushing him away. "Please," you begged softly, neither of you sure of exactly what you were asking for.

Rafael's left hand slid lower on your hip, the tips of his long fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your bottom. His right hand pulled you closer to him, holding you flush against his body. "Tell me you don't want me--don't want this," he pleaded, voice husky with desire.

Your lips trembled against his mouth, body responding to his like it was made for him. "I can't..."

His left hand moved to grab you more fully, eliciting a soft moan of need from your lips. "Querida...tell me to stop."

"Please don't stop," you whimpered. "I need you--por favor, Rafi."

"Mierda," he growled, pulling you somehow even closer to him. His lips crashed into yours with a hunger you couldn't describe--a hunger you returned in kind.

The next several moments were a flurry of hands all but tearing at each other's clothes, desperate to feel skin to skin contact. In what had to be a record pace, the two of you found yourselves standing in nothing but underwear in the middle of your living room.

Rafael grabbed you tightly and tugged you down with him as he fell into a sitting position on the couch. You straddled his strong thighs, lips still hungrily devouring his.

He groaned lowly as your pelvis ground against his erection, the intense need for friction almost painful. His soft hands ghosted up your back, unclasping your bra with practiced ease.

You pulled away from him just long enough to send your bra flying across the room. Rafael licked his lips in anticipation before leaning forward to capture your nipple between his soft lips.

You sighed softly, fingers twining through his hair in order to hold him tightly against you. He used one hand to massage your other breast before switching to ensure both received equal treatment.

"Rafi," you whimpered as the need to feel him inside of you continued to grow.

"Si, hermosa?" he murmured.

You ground down against his erection again, silently telling him what you needed.

His hands immediately went to your hips, halting your movements. "I need you to tell me what you want, querida."

"You," you begged.

He smirked. "Puedes hacerlo mejor. Usa tus palabras." [You can do better. Use your words.]

If you were being honest with yourself, your Spanish was not nearly as good as it had been when you were younger...after all, you hadn't really spoken much Spanish since high school. Working with Nick Amaro, and now Rafael, had forced you to revisit your knowledge of the language in an attempt to brush up. Thankfully, you understood a hell of a lot more than you spoke, so you were able to piece together what he was telling you to do.

"I want you, Rafael, please."

"I'm right here, hermosa."

You glared at him, which earned you a patented smirk in response.

"Si quieres algo solo tienes que preguntar," he murmured softly. [If you want something, you just have to ask.]

You bit your lip. You weren't a shy person, but you had never been very vocal during sex in the past. Your partners didn't often ask you what you actually wanted, so you weren't even sure how to respond to him.

"I want you to touch me."

"Donde?" [Where?]

You realized he wasn't going to let you get away with not being explicit, but you couldn't quite bring yourself to say the words out loud. Instead, you grabbed his right hand and guided it between your legs, placing it firmly against your extremely damp panties. "Here."

Rafael smiled wolfishly. "Now was that so hard?" His voice was teasing, but there was a heat in his eyes that betrayed exactly how turned on he was.

He didn't give you a chance to respond as he pulled your underwear aside and slipped his fingers between your dripping folds. You gasped softly, hands gripping onto his shoulders for support.

"Is this what you needed, cariño?" His fingers gently toyed with your clit, providing some stimulation, but not exactly what you needed.

"More, Rafi, por favor," you begged.

In response, Rafael slipped two fingers inside of you, twisting his hand to form a come hither motion as he sought your sweet spot. His thumb provided the pressure against your clit that you so desperately needed and you moaned loudly as his fingers found your g-spot.

"There we go, nena. Te tengo." [I've got you.]

You clung to his shoulders as his expert fingers worked you closer and closer to the edge. You were almost surprised by the ease with which you felt your orgasm approaching--you couldn't remember the last time you'd cum from nothing more than a man's hands.

Rafael slid a third finger inside of you and began to add more pressure to his movements on your clit. The stimulation was exactly what you needed and you knew your orgasm was close. You were hesitant to tell him, but you also didn't want him to stop. "Rafi, I'm so close--please don't stop."

"I won't," he murmured, changing nothing about his current movements. "Quiero sentirte venir." [I want to feel you come.]

Your breathing was labored and your legs had begun to shake--a surefire sign of your impending orgasm. He could feel your walls squeezing his fingers and he couldn't wait to feel the sensation around his cock.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as your orgasm rushed over you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Rafael slowed his motions, but didn't stop until you began to whimper and squirm away from him.

He pulled his fingers out of you and lifted them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan of enjoyment. "Tastes so good, nena. Can't wait to taste you properly."

Your eyes widened slightly, having found the action extremely arousing. Your gaze then traveled down his body, landing on his still clothed cock. Your eyes flicked back up to his, your expression practically begging him to fuck you properly.

"Hay algo que quieras?" [Is there something you want?] he asked with a smile.

"I'd really like you to lose the boxers."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, enjoying your demanding tone more than he'd expected. "Stand up for me, querida."

You did as he asked, albeit slowly.

He lifted his hips and slowly tugged his boxers down, finally freeing his painfully hard cock. Your eyes widened slightly, gaze appreciative of his member. He was both thick and long, and the head was leaking enough precum to give you the strong urge to taste it.

Your eyes never left his cock as you tugged your own panties off, wanting to be just as deliciously naked as he was. You started to drop to your knees, but Rafael reached out and grabbed your arm.

"What are you doing, nena?"

"I wanna taste you," you answered softly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, swearing softly in Spanish under his breath. "As much as I would love to feel your pretty little mouth on my cock, I don't think I can take it."

You felt incredibly disappointed and your expression must have shown it because his gaze took on a slightly pitying look.

"Just a taste?" you pleaded.

He couldn't deny he wanted it as badly as you did--probably more so, but what really pushed him over the edge was the sound of your soft voice begging him. He didn't wanna say no to you--ever.

He released your arm with a soft sigh. "Está bien--just a taste." [Alright.]

You grinned, feeling pleased at having won. You dropped to your knees and gripped his cock in your warm hand, gently stroking him before leaning forward to lick the precum from the tip. Rafael groaned at the feeling, followed by a string of Spanish curses as you took his cock in your mouth.

The sensations you were providing him had him making more noise than you'd ever imagined. His fingers fisted into your hair and his hips jerked as you pleasured him--a feeling of pride settling into you as you listened to his moans. You felt powerful, having made the great Rafael Barba turn to putty in your hands.

His grip in your hair tightened and he pulled you off his cock much sooner than you would have liked--a groan of displeasure leaving your lips in protest.

"Get up here," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was the same tone he used in court when he was tearing someone apart on the stand.

You immediately did as he asked, once again straddling his thighs, but this time, you awaited further instructions. Everything about his demeanor oozed dominance and you were more than happy to slip into a submissive role for him.

He gripped his cock and slid the head between your folds, sending sharp bolts of pleasure through both of you.

"Dime que me quieres," he demanded. [Tell me you want me.]

"I want you, Rafael," you answered instantly.

He smiled at your clear willingness to obey. "Dime que me necesitas." [Tell me you need me.]

"I need you."

He leaned forward so his lips were inches from your ear. "Vas a gritar mi nombre?" [Are you gonna scream my name?]

"Si, Rafi! Please!" you begged. "Te necesito dentro de mi." [I need you inside of me.]

He rolled his hips up slightly, pushing the head of his cock into you. He held you tightly in place, not allowing you to move lower.

"More, please!" you cried, desperately trying to lower yourself onto him fully.

"Rogar por esto, nena. Dejame escucharte." [Beg for it, baby. Let me hear you.]

"Please, Rafi, please," you pleaded. "I'll do anything--please. Please just fuck me!"

His grip on your hips lessened just as he rolled his hips upwards, allowing him to plunge into you as you pressed yourself down on him. The tip of his cock brushed against your cervix, sending a jolt of pain through you, but pain quickly turned to pleasure as he began to move.

"You feel so good, querida. So tight and warm--made for me, weren't you?" Rafael murmured into your skin as he slowly rolled his hips.

You whimpered slightly, the slow pace not enough to soothe the burning ache within you.

He noticed the way you shifted, clearly seeking more friction, so he loosened his grip on you, allowing you more freedom. You gripped onto his shoulders, using them as additional leverage as you began to ride him properly.

Salacious sounds filled the room, a mixture of your bodies joining together and your shared moans and whimpers. Rafael's mouth nipped and sucked at your pulse point, your collarbone, and your lips--anything he could reach.

The position was enjoyable, but Rafael sensed you needed more--and he felt the need to take over. He pulled you in close to him, holding you tightly as he stood, flipping you onto your back on the couch.

You gasped in surprise, delighted at the change in position. Rafael immediately took charge, bending your legs towards your chest and thrusting into you hard and fast.

"I need to feel you cum, hermosa. Dime que necesitas." [Tell me what you need.]

You were a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him, and your brain was struggling to make sense of the words he was saying. It took you a moment to understand, but even then you couldn't find the words. Instead, you slipped your hand between your bodies and began to rub your clit.

Rafael pushed your hand out of the way, replacing it with his own. He'd be damned if he wasn't the one who made you fall apart. "Vendrás por mi?" [You gonna come for me?]

"Rafi!" you cried out--the only coherent thing you'd said in minutes.

Your pussy clenched down on his cock, squeezing him so tightly he nearly came on the spot. He continued to fuck you exactly as he had been, fingers still pulsing against your clit.

Moments later, you came with a loud cry of his name, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing down on you as he rode you through the orgasm.

He removed his hand from your clit, using it instead to grip the back of the sofa, his other hand supporting his weight on the arm. He chased his own high, finding it a few seconds after you. He groaned your name as his hot seed filled you up, hips still pumping for a few moments before he collapsed on top of you.

You wrapped your arms around him as he came down, aftershocks wracking both of your bodies.

Once you'd both caught your breath, Rafael lifted his head to look at you. He smiled as he took in your fucked out appearance--evidence of your enjoyment written all over your face.

"You're so beautiful, querida," he murmured.

You blushed. "So are you."

He chuckled. "I'm not quite sure a man wants to hear that he's beautiful."

"Eres muy guapo, papi," you said with a grin.

His eyes darkened slightly. "That's much better."

He pulled himself up so he could kiss you properly. When he deepened the kiss, you found yourself heating up--the desire once again building in your core.

"How 'bout I take you to bed and properly worship you, cariño? Would you like that?"

Your eyes widened. "You don't have to..."

"I know, but I want to. I wanna taste that pretty pussy properly before I fuck you again."

You grinned a little, enjoying the twinkling in his eye as he looked at you. "Second door on the left," you stated, pointing down the hall.

"Perfecto," he murmured as he stood up. He leaned down and scooped you up in his arms, bridal style, and began to carry you towards the bedroom.

"Rafi!" you yelled in surprise, a soft giggle leaving your lips.

He tossed you onto your bed and crawled on top of you to kiss you deeply. "Now, if it pleases the court, I'd like to spend the next 15 minutes with my head between these sexy thighs."

Your cheeks blushed as you chuckled lightly. "It pleases the court very much."

He gave you one last grin before lowering himself between your legs and sending you to heaven as many times as your body would let him.