Chapter 43 - Ella

Dinner had come and gone, and Daryl still wasn't back.

But I didn't panic.

I got the kids fed and brought them back to the rooms we'd been given. The building had once been some kind of office—low ceilings, linoleum floors, old wiring in the walls that no longer hummed. Now it was converted into living spaces. We were lucky, really—two adjoining rooms, one for the kids, one for us. It wasn't our house in Alexandria, not by a long shot, but it didn't need to be.

I'd lived in a cramped, crooked little apartment for the first two years of Ian's life. These rooms, these four walls, were practically luxury in comparison. And anyway, we had everything that mattered.

Except one.

"Mom?" Ian's voice pulled me from my thoughts. He was sprawled on the floor on his belly, Ruby laid out beside him like a tiny, feral queen, sock halfway down her foot, fingers wiggling toward her mouth again.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Is Dad gonna be back by bath time?" he asked, his fingers dancing in front of Ruby's face. "You're too slow, Ruby!"

Ruby squealed, trying to catch his hand with a chubby fist, but missed. Her consolation prize? Her sock, stuffed straight back into her mouth.

"Oh, honey," I laughed softly, setting down the onesie I'd been folding. "Get that sock out of your mouth, you little gremlin."

Ruby shrieked with delight as I knelt beside them. Ian turned back to me, his expression serious.

"I don't know for sure, baby," I said, brushing hair from his forehead. "Daddy said he'd be back by dinner, but sometimes things don't go to plan out there. You remember what we do when that happens, right?"

He gave me a solemn nod, little brows furrowed. "Right. Dad said I gotta be strong. Said not to panic unless he's been gone a whole day."

My head tilted slightly. When had Daryl said that to him?

"I hope he is back for bath time," Ian added, grinning like a tiny menace. "He lets me splash."

"No, he doesn't," I said, narrowing my eyes playfully.

"That's what you think," he muttered, turning back to Ruby.

Bath time came and went without so much as a creak from the hallway.

Ian was a handful—fussier than usual, pushing every bedtime rule he knew. He demanded two stories, then one more for good measure. It took half an hour of rubbing his back before he finally gave in to sleep.

Ruby, bless her squishy soul, was already out cold. She didn't even stir as I laid her in the pack and play next to Ian's bed.

I eased the door shut behind me and exhaled slowly into the quiet.

Back in our room, I dropped to my knees by the chest of drawers and returned to the pile of clothing I'd been sorting through earlier. Hand-me-downs from Kingdom residents, mismatched and worn, but clean. I folded them one by one—shirts for Ian, a couple pairs of leggings for me, a tiny sweater that would fit Ruby in another month or so.

It should have been calming.

But with every minute that passed, the silence grew heavier.

I glanced out the narrow window. The moon was high. He wasn't just late anymore—he was hours late. And still... no sound. No creak of the stairs. No boots in the hallway.

I started pacing.

He could be dead.

No. No. Daryl Dixon was too goddamn stubborn to die. That man would survive a direct hit from a meteor, crawl out of the crater, and complain that someone scuffed his crossbow. If anyone was too mean to die, it was my husband.

But what if he was hurt? What if he was bleeding out in a ditch? What if he was pinned down by walkers with no one nearby to hear him call for help?

What if he'd been bitten?

"Fuck," I muttered, running both hands down my face. I sat on the edge of the bed, jaw tight, chest aching.

I'd know.

I would know if he was gone.

Right?

The click of the front door opening made me freeze. A second later came the heavy thud of boots—those familiar, dragging, slouchy steps I knew too well.

The bastard.

Worry cracked wide open and rage came flooding in to fill the space.

I stood, my spine straightening, eyes narrowed like knives. My arms folded tight over my chest as I stared at the door connecting our rooms to the rest of the building.

It creaked open.

And there he was.

Daryl stopped cold. His slight smile curled into that damn cocky smirk the second he saw me.

He stepped into the room, slow like he hadn't done a single goddamn thing wrong, and shut the door behind him. The new crossbow slid from his shoulder with a soft thud against the wall. I tracked every movement like a predator waiting to strike.

He started toward me.

I threw a hand up.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, voice like steel.

He paused, hands raised slightly like I had a weapon pointed at him. "Nope."

"Are you bit?"

"Not that I noticed."

"Did you run into the Saviors?"

He shook his head, the smirk deepening like this was all some joke to him. I didn't even think. I snatched the pillow from the bed and hurled it at his face.

He caught it easily—because of course he did—and grinned. That stupid, rugged, insufferably sexy grin that made me want to scream and climb him at the same time.

"Then where the fuck were you?" I shouted. "You were supposed to be back by dinner. That usually happens when the fucking sun is still up, Daryl! In case you didn't notice, it's pitch black outside!"

"Darlin'—"

"No!" I snapped. "Don't you Darlin' me, you motherfucker! You made a promise. Said you'd be back by dinner. If you weren't bleeding, weren't bit, and didn't run into trouble, then where the fuck were you?!"

He bit his bottom lip and stepped forward, all calm and swagger and way too pleased with himself. His hand curled around the front of my throat, pulling me in like I was gravity and he couldn't stay away.

"You know I love that smartass mouth of yours, darlin'" he murmured, dragging out the darlin' just to piss me off further. His thumb rubbed lazy circles against my pulse, and god help me, my knees actually wobbled.

But I wasn't done being mad. Not even close.

"I saw Carol," he said softly.

I blinked. That wasn't the answer I expected.

"Is she okay?"

He nodded. "She's fine. Even fed me dinner."

The second that smug grin returned to his mouth, I shoved his chest with everything I had, my fist connecting with solid muscle. It didn't move him an inch.

"What the fuck, Dixon!"

He huffed a laugh, his grip tightening—not rough, never rough, just enough to remind me how much he liked when I got like this. Liked when I stood my ground, when I called him on his shit. Liked when I was fire.

"You couldn't have come to get me?" I seethed. "You couldn't have told someone where you were going?! Delivered a fucking message?"

"She don't live too close," he said with a shrug, eyes dropping to my mouth like he was already undressing me with his gaze. His other hand slid around my waist, down to my hip, squeezing like he was staking a claim. "C'mon, baby... You really gonna stay mad at me for checking on her?"

"I'm not mad you saw her," I hissed. "I'm glad you did. I love Carol. But I am livid that I had to do everything tonight—dinner, bath, bedtime—alone. You were hours late. You didn't say a damn word. What did you think? That I'd be waiting here with open arms and fresh lingerie?!"

He grinned, the bastard.

"I mean... it has happened before."

I growled, ready to smack that smirk right off his face, but he only pulled me tighter against him. His hand slid down, grasping a handful of my ass, hard enough to make my breath hitch.

"What if I show you how sorry I am?" he whispered, lowering his mouth to my neck, kissing the sensitive skin just beneath my ear. "What if I spend the whole night beggin' for your forgiveness?"

I shivered.

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, voice low and gravelly. "You wrangled our two little monsters all by yourself. And you did it like a fuckin' queen. That deserves worship."

"You think a quickie's gonna fix this?" I asked, sarcasm laced thick in every word.

He leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Oh no. I'm thinkin' I need to beg. On my knees. Maybe let you teach me a lesson or two."

My eyes fluttered shut as his hand slid up into my hair, tangling in the curls, tugging just enough to make me gasp.

"Let me make it up to you, darlin'," he whispered. "Let me take my punishment like a man."

I gritted my teeth. I was still furious. But damn it, he knew exactly what buttons to press. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy watching him squirm a little first.

"You think you can show up late, act smug, and distract me with that voice?" I whispered against his mouth. "You think I'll just forget I spent all day losing my mind with worry? That I had to wrangle bath time while Ian tried to teach Ruby how to splash like a goddamn dolphin?"

He had the audacity to grin.

"I missed the splashin'," he murmured, mouth hovering close, his breath hot. "Guess I deserve a little splashin' of my own."

"Oh, you'll get it," I growled, yanking his hair hard enough to make him groan. "On your fucking knees."

His grin turned wicked. "Yes, ma'am."

He dropped like he'd been waiting for the command all night, settling between my thighs with the reverence of a man bowing before a goddess. His hands slid up the backs of my legs, thumbs digging into my thighs as he nuzzled his face between them.

"You gonna forgive me yet?" he asked, voice low and sinful.

"Not even close."

I pushed him back by the shoulder and planted my foot on his chest, holding him there, towering over him like a queen assessing her knight.

"You wanna earn it?" I asked.

His blue eyes met mine, wild with hunger. "Tell me what to do."

I smirked, slowly peeling my shirt off and tossing it to the floor.

"Bed," I ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he rasped, voice wrecked with need.

And when I pushed him down, crawled into his lap, and tugged his shirt off?

He didn't smirk anymore.

Daryl's hands hovered at my hips, unsure if he was allowed to touch. I smirked, running my fingers down his chest, feeling the shiver that raced through him.

"Ah ah," I whispered, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the bed above his head. "You don't move until I say."

His throat bobbed. "Fuck, I love when you boss me around."

I leaned down, my mouth brushing the shell of his ear. "Good. Because I'm not done punishing you yet."

His breath stuttered. I could feel the heat of him pressing between us, straining against his jeans, begging for relief. But he wasn't getting it. Not yet.

I rolled my hips slowly over his lap, just enough to drive him insane. His eyes fluttered closed, jaw clenched, like he was holding onto the last scraps of sanity. I licked a slow line up his neck and smiled when I felt him twitch beneath me.

"I've been thinking about this all night," I purred. "While you were off eating dinner with someone else, I was here. Lonely. Mad. Wet."

"Shit," he rasped, straining against my grip, eyes flying open. "Ella..."

"Uh-uh." I pressed my finger to his lips. "Not a single fucking word unless I say."

He groaned into my finger, but obeyed, his hips shifting beneath me like he couldn't stop himself. I let my hand trail down his bare chest, slow as honey, until I was unbuckling his belt—never breaking eye contact. He looked like a man seconds from falling apart.

I leaned in close, lips brushing his. "Do you wanna touch me, baby?"

He nodded, desperate.

I stood with slow, measured steps and undressed in front of him. I let every layer fall to the floor like it was part of a ceremony, his eyes tracking every inch of skin I revealed, like it would vanish if he blinked. He looked like he was in pain—and I loved it.

I crawled back onto his lap and rocked my hips over him again, slow and merciless, watching the way his jaw locked and his fingers twitched like they were itching to grab me.

"You're gonna wait," I whispered, lips brushing over his. "You're gonna stay there and take every second of this, Dixon."

"Yes, ma'am," he rasped, breath ragged.

I leaned down, kissing a trail down his neck, letting my teeth scrape just enough to make him curse. His thighs tensed beneath me. He was losing it, unraveling beneath the weight of my vengeance.

Good.

I rolled my hips again, harder this time, and his head tipped back against the mattress with a groan that shot straight to my core.

"You like being punished?" I murmured, dragging my nails down his chest.

"I like you when you're mad," he growled, hips jolting up despite himself. "Fuck, woman, you're sexy when you're pissed off."

"I told you not to talk—"

He surged up suddenly, flipping us in a blur of motion so fast it knocked the breath right out of me. My back hit the mattress with a soft thump and my eyes flew wide.

"Daryl—"

His mouth crashed down on mine, hot and possessive. "Nah, baby," he growled against my lips. "You had your fun. Now it's my turn."

I gasped as his hand wrapped around my thigh, spreading me open. He settled between my legs like he belonged there—which, let's be real, he did.

"You wanna punish me?" he breathed, grinding against me. "Then punish me for this."

His mouth descended to my throat, biting and sucking, leaving marks that would last for days. His hands roamed like he couldn't decide where to touch first—my breasts, my hips, my thighs—he wanted it all.

"You think I forgot what this mouth tastes like?" he asked, voice rough as gravel. "Think I forgot how fuckin' sweet you get when I put my mouth where you need me?"

"Daryl—" I tried to sass, to claw back some kind of dominance, but he was already kissing his way down my body, slow and reverent and lethal.

"I didn't forget, Ella," he murmured against my stomach, voice shaking with hunger. "I ache for it. For you."

And then he was there, between my thighs, gripping them like he was starving and I was his last damn meal.

His tongue swept over me once and my back arched like it was possessed.

"Jesus Christ—"

"No, baby," he said, licking another filthy stripe up the center of me. "It's just your husband. Making it up to you."

He devoured me, taking his time, pulling moans and curses from my lips until my fingers were buried in his hair and my thighs were trembling around his head.

"Still mad at me?" he asked, voice hoarse, lips slick.

"I hate you," I gasped. "I hate how good you are at this."

He smirked. "Better make sure you remember next time I'm late."

I grabbed him by his hair and yanked him up, crashing our mouths together.

"You better fucking ruin me, Dixon," I growled against his lips, tasting myself on him. It only made me want him more.

He groaned, grinding against me. "Oh, I plan to."

And then he was inside me.

One smooth, deep thrust—fuck—and he was home. My back arched off the mattress as a cry ripped from my throat, fingers clawing into his shoulders, grounding myself before I got swept away in the storm that was him.

He didn't move at first.

He just held there, buried to the hilt, eyes locked on mine like he needed to watch me come apart.

"You feel that?" he asked, voice low, guttural, like he was barely hanging on. "Ain't no one else who gets this. Just me."

I nodded, barely breathing. "Just you."

"Damn right." His hands grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head as his hips slammed into mine.

"Fuck!"

He set a brutal rhythm, all power and desperation, each thrust a vow he couldn't say with words. His mouth found mine, stealing the moans he was forcing from my throat, swallowing every ragged breath, every curse, every gasp of his name.

"You think I don't feel guilty leavin' you with the kids all day?" he growled, voice hot against my skin as he moved to kiss down my throat. "Think I don't hate that I made you worry?"

"Then why'd you do it?" I gasped, trying to sound angry but failing—because holy shit, he was hitting so deep, so right—

"I had to make sure she was okay," he muttered. "But I should've come home first. Should've let you know. I fucked up, Ella. Let me fix it."

He shifted, letting go of my wrists only to grip my hips and pull me into him harder, faster, until I couldn't speak—just a mess of sounds and sensation.

"Look at me," he growled. "Look at me while I make it up to you."

I did. And what I saw—eyes dark and blown wide, his jaw clenched like he was fighting not to lose control—set me on fire.

"Daryl—" I whimpered.

"Let go," he said. "I got you, baby. I always got you."

And I did.

I shattered around him with a silent scream, my body writhing, gasping, burning as wave after wave crashed through me.

But he didn't stop.

Not even close.

"Oh no," he panted, lips brushing my cheek. "You think one's enough? Nah, darlin'. I'm just gettin' started."

He flipped me onto my stomach, dragging me back against him with one arm around my waist, his mouth hot on my neck as he pushed back in, deep and filthy.

"Still mad at me?" he asked, rutting into me like a man possessed.

I couldn't answer. Couldn't think.

My mouth opened but nothing came out but a moan.

He bit down on my shoulder, groaning. "Didn't think so."

I lost count of how many times he made me fall apart. My body was wrecked, boneless beneath him, but I didn't care.

Because every thrust, every kiss, every growled praise—goddamn, he meant it.

This was how he said sorry.

And hell, it worked.

When we finally collapsed onto the bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, he rolled me into his arms, cradling me against his chest like something precious.

"Forgive me?" he whispered, lips brushing the crown of my head.

I let out a breathless laugh, boneless in his arms. "Only if you promise to be bad again."

He chuckled, kissing my temple. "Oh baby... I live to be punished."

The last thing I remembered was Daryl's arms wrapped around me, his chest pressed to my back, his lips whispering sleep-drunk apologies and praises into my hair—like he could still make up for being late last night even while half-asleep.

~

The sun was barely peeking through the thin curtains when I felt the bed jolt.

Then something pounced.

"DAD!" Ian whisper-shouted—whispered, because he knew better than to wake me up yelling, but shouted, because restraint had never been in his vocabulary. "Dad, Dad, Dad!"

Daryl groaned behind me, his arm tightening protectively around my waist. "Wha—?"

"Dad," Ian insisted, scrambling up between us like a jungle cat, legs flailing, elbows flying, sharp little knees landing right on my lower back. "Ruby's stinky. Like, real stinky."

I blinked my eyes open and turned my head just in time to see Ian bury his entire face in Daryl's chest with a dramatic ugh.

"She farted in her sleep and it smells like eggs," he added.

Daryl let out a half-conscious huff of laughter, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand while the other arm wrangled our wriggling five-year-old. "Mornin' to you too, gremlin."

Ian grinned. "I missed you," he mumbled into Daryl's chest. "You were gone forever."

"I was gone for a few hours," Daryl grunted.

"Forever," Ian repeated, hugging him tighter. "I had to help Mom give Ruby a bath. I was so tired."

I chuckled into the pillow, voice still scratchy. "He said you made him promise not to panic unless it'd been a whole day."

Daryl groaned. "Did I say that?"

"Yup," Ian said proudly. "I was strong though. I didn't cry. But Ruby did. She cried like five times."

"She's a baby," I muttered, stretching my legs out under the blanket. "What's your excuse?"

"She farted on me." Ian said it so matter-of-factly that Daryl cracked up, a raspy, sleepy laugh vibrating against my back.

"That'll do it," Daryl agreed, tugging Ian in tighter and pressing a kiss to the top of his mop of wild brown hair. "I missed you too, buddy."

Ian beamed.

Then, still curled up against his dad, he whispered: "Did you say sorry to Mom for bein' late?"

Daryl's arm wrapped around my middle again. "Yeah," he said, his voice dropping into a lazy drawl. "I said I was real sorry."

"Good." Ian yawned. "You better not leave again. She gets all... like this." He waved a hand vaguely in my direction. "And then she makes me take a bath."

I snorted.

"Oh no," I said, rolling over to face both of them, arching an eyebrow. "The horror."

Ian giggled, shoving his face back into Daryl's chest.

Daryl reached over and tucked a stray curl behind my ear, still looking smug as hell despite the little boy wedged between us.

"You still mad at me?" he asked quietly.

I bit my lip, trying so hard not to smile.

"I haven't decided yet," I murmured.

"I can think of some more ways to say sorry," he whispered, voice husky and dangerous.

"Gross," Ian grumbled from between us. "You guys are so gross."

Daryl laughed and hugged him tighter. "Get used to it, gremlin. Your mom's got me wrapped around her little finger."

"Damn right I do," I said.

And just like that, we sank into the morning—Daryl on one side, me on the other, and our gremlin son right between us, safe and warm and stinky-sock-footed.

~

Ruby was wailing.

That shrill, high-pitched baby cry that meant only one thing: Code Brown.

Ian, still in last night's wrinkled shirt and mismatched socks, had his nose tucked into the collar of his shirt.

"It's in the air," he whined. "I can taste it. It's in my mouth."

"I didn't sign up for this," Daryl muttered, holding Ruby at arm's length like a tiny, screaming time bomb. "What the hell is in her? What did she eat?"

"Dad, you're gonna die," Ian whispered from the hallway, wide-eyed. "You're gonna breathe it in and your lungs'll melt."

"Ian, go wait by the door," I gasped through laughter. "You're not helping."

"But I'm hungry!" he whined. "I'm so hungry, I'm gonna faint and die and you'll all be sorry."

"You'll survive fifteen minutes, drama king," I said, pointing toward the hall. "Go wait."

Ian groaned and dragged himself out like the world's most underfed Victorian orphan. "No one feeds me," he said under his breath. "Nobody loves me."

"Love you too, son!" Daryl called after him, then turned his attention back to Ruby. "Alright, princess. Let's get the demons outta you."

I watched from the edge of the bed as Daryl laid her on the floor and unsnapped her onesie like he was disarming a bomb. His face twisted in absolute horror as the smell hit full-force.

"Jesus Christ—what in the hell, Ruby?! You been eatin' garbage behind my back?!"

Ruby just blinked up at him, then giggled. A sweet, innocent little laugh that absolutely did not match the unholy stench radiating off her.

"Oh, she's proud of herself," I wheezed, hand over my heart. "She's proud, Daryl."

By the time Ruby was clean, powdered, dressed, and back in Daryl's arms (gnawing on his shirt like she hadn't just released chemical warfare on us), Ian came stomping back in, arms crossed.

"I'm dying. You made me wait."

"You're so dramatic," I said with a chuckle.

He narrowed his eyes. "I'll tell the tiger you said that."

I stared at him. "You wouldn't."

"I would. And she'll remember."

"Okay, okay," Daryl cut in, clearly over all of us. "C'mon, little man. Let's go get you fed before someone reports a murder."

We made our way through the halls of the Kingdom, Ian clinging to Daryl's free hand while Ruby babbled in his other arm, still chewing his shirt.

"Dad," Ian said, swinging their joined hands, "if I eat two bowls of oatmeal, will my poop smell like Ruby's?"

Daryl didn't miss a beat. "If it does, I'm puttin' you up for adoption."

Ian burst out laughing, then looked up at him with total adoration. "I missed you."

Daryl softened. "Yeah, I missed you too, bud."

And I, trailing behind them—watching the man I loved walk through this makeshift kingdom with a baby in one arm, a boy in the other, and a smile stretched across his scruffy face—felt it settle deep in my chest.

This. This right here.

My family. My chaos.

My everything.