mayday2007

[mayday2007]

~•♡•~ Intruders

➳ Summary: Getting moments to yourselves is hard when you have pets (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, anytime during 6 year timeskip or after

➳ Word count: 1.6k

➳ C/W: Half-assed oral (f!receiving) & p in v

➳ A/N: I just wanted regular casual sex smut (I'm lazy) (By lazy I mean I have like 40 drafts but I'm so busy for the next two weeks I'm going crazy) (I had to take a picture of my own damn socks for this ☠️)

Daryl's hands dragged roughly over your clothed waist, you giggling some against his lips then cheek as he hastily stumbled down the hall with you towards your bedroom, kisses moving down to your jawline as his groping descended to your ass.

“God, sunshine… yer so damn sexy,” He mused, shoving open the door and hitting his heel back against it in an attempt to get it to shut, too focused on peeling your shirt away to take note of any success: closely followed by his own. “Make me need ya so bad.”

Just as he pushed you down, landing you on your back with your legs dangling over the edge of the mattress, a brown blur bounded into the room and up onto the bed.

“Nah-, Dog-.. stop tha’!” Daryl grunted, waving his hand while the shepherd was basically stepping all over you, excitedly wagging his tail and mouth hanging open as he tried to lick your face.

“Hey buddyyy,” You purred, bringing hands to both sides of his head and rapidly scratching the fluffy fur beneath his ears, forcing him back a little so he wasn't directly in your space.

“Don’ indulge him. Want ‘em outta ‘ere!”

“You didn't close the door.” You couldn't hide your playful grin as you sat up, ruffling the dog's scruff and laughing as Daryl scoffed, clapping his hands to try and redirect Dog’s focus from you.

“I tried. Now c'mon … Dog, c'mon. Out.” He patted his back a couple times, earning a look and light cocking of his head. The man raised his eyebrows, snapping his fingers and aggressively pointing towards the exit. “Out.”

Dog turned, nearly hitting you in the face with his tail and jumping from the bed, trotting out of the room as Daryl immediately shut the door behind him. He spun back on his heels, undoing his belt as he'd been intending to before and dropping his jeans to pool on the floor.

He loomed over you, finding your lips in another kiss as he worked the button on yours and helped you wriggle out, hoisting you up the bed so your head rested on the pillows. “See? Got fur all over yer tits. Gon’ have'ah hairball lickin’ it all away.”

“I dunno, maybe you'll be a hot dry-heaver, archin’ yer back ‘n all.”

“Shuddup.” He shook his head, pressing a wet kiss to your neck that cut off your taunting giggle by drawing out a moan. His palms smoothed up the curves of your figure, reaching under and undoing the clasp of your bra before tossing it aside.

“M'tha only one who should be all over these like tha,” Daryl murmured, cupping both breasts and smothering his face between them before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and rolling the other between calloused fingertips.

“Mmm, mhm? They all yours Dixon?” You trilled, to which he gave an affirming grunt and sucked a bit harder, sliding a hand down under the hem of your panties and beginning to circle your clit.

As he was starting to set his rhythm, there was an odd scratching at the door and the sound of metal clicking, before it burst open and Dog came running right back into the room, shoving his maw into Daryl's face and driving him back as he tried to pounce on him.

“How tha hell ya-? Dog, stop.”

You were snickering at this point, propping up on your elbows to watch, Daryl leaning up and straddling you as he tried to ward the canine off. “Did you lock the door?”

He bowed his head a little, failing at obscuring his embarrassment with his hair. “Thought I did…. He'sa dog anyway! Shouldn't be openin’ damn doors..”

“He's a smart dog, baby. Don't know whatcha expect from him.”

“I expect him tah not break in ‘ere like ‘es rabid or sum'thin’,” He huffed, slouching for a moment in defeat before grabbing the dog and gently pushing him off the bed, a little harder when he resisted. “Dog. S'aint gon kill ya tah be outta tha room fer thirty minutes.”

“That's cause he knows ‘thirty minutes’ turns into two hours.” Daryl gave you a look, and you traded back an innocent but knowing smile. He begrudgingly swung his leg to have them on one side, sliding off the bed and forcing Dog with him: placing hands on either side of his chest and literally walking him out of the room, once again closing the door, and putting emphasis on the little ‘clink’ when he set the lock.

He let out an exasperated sigh, resuming his position but skipping ahead on his ministrations, having grown impatient. He hooked fingers around the band of your panties, groaning a little at the way you wiggled while he brought them down, flirtatiously biting your lip and covering your breasts.

“Don’ be actin’ like'ah tease.” He parted your legs, hands feeling over your hips and thighs while he lowered his head and drew a slow lick up your center to spread your folds, openly moaning at the taste.

“Fine. Only now cause Dog's been doin’ it for me,” You chuckled, and the archer just narrowed his brows, grasping harder at your flesh as he traced circles around your clit before lapping again and sucking it into his mouth.

“Ya always so fuckin’ wet for me, always gon’ love tha’,” Daryl hummed, tugging you flush against his mouth and delving into your enterace for a quick moment with the thrust of his tongue. Your fingers wove through the roots of his locks, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “You gon’ tell me how good it feels tah have me eat'cher perfect pussy?”

You opened to respond, but were interrupted by an obnoxiously loud whimper outside the door, left saying his name for the wrong reason: “Dar…”

“I know, jus’ ignore it,” He said, voice muffled against you, trying to hone both your attentions only on the feeling of his tongue working your core. But the malinois grew noisier, scratching at the hardwood floor and struggling to shove his nose beneath the small gap in the doorframe.

“Daryl.”

He groaned deeply, placing another kiss to your cunt before releasing his hold and unwinding his arms, going to deal with it. “Ts'aint tha kinda whinin’ I wanna be hearin’.”

Turning the handle just slightly to shoo him, Dog barged right back in again, leaped onto the bed again, and just twirled around with a clueless grin to look back at Daryl, confused with how displeased he appeared. He took steps towards the shepherd, hands out, and Dog growled just a little when he moved to rid you of him.

“Ay! Ts'ma woman! Not yers. Get tha hell outta here ‘nd quit buggin’ me,” The man snapped, Dog completely unphased as if the frustration in his tone didn't resonate at all. Daryl gave up and grumbled something under his breath, going to the top drawer of your shared dresser and retrieving a pair of his socks.

He dangled it in the air, the pup immediately locking in on it like he was hypnotized. He barked once, excitedly following as Daryl walked down the hall and threw the bundle down the stairs, which was essentially throwing them into the pits of Hell. Far too many pairs of his socks had met grim fates when Dog would steal them from the laundry, either of you finding him later surrounded by shreds of fabric. But the sacrifice was necessary.

“Lemme have sum damn privacy when Ah'm with yer ma!” He shouted down the steps as that brown flash scurried to descend them. He scoffed again and how simply Dog'd abandoned his efforts, then returned to you, closing the door and locking it once more.

“You finally get him gone?” You taunted as Daryl discarded his boxers and settled over top of you and between your legs once more, silencing your amused remarks as his mouth found yours. You latched your arms around his neck, bringing him close to deepen the kiss as he slicked the tip of his near weeping cock between your folds, edged by all the disturbances.

He waited for a few seconds, like he expected something more, then thrusted into you, head falling to your chest with a pleasure-filled exhale. He maintained the stillness, another beat passing.

“Jus’ go, angel. He's distracted,” You reassured him with a kiss to his hairline, and slowly he pulled back before rocking in again. Daryl kept a steady hand on your hip, the other propping him up by your shoulder as he began to relax, garnering speed and listening to every filthy noise your bodies made when you connected, his grunts reverberating against your collarbone.

“That's the kinda gruntin’ I wanna be hearin’.” Daryl chucked at your comment, palm leaving your curve so the pad of his thumb could press against your clit, massaging it in pace with his movements and drawing out a whine from you.

He threw his head back to clear the strands of hair from his face, looking down to watch you for a moment; watch himself disappear in and out of your walls then came near again. “Shit, ya feel so fuckin’ good…”

But then another something hopped onto the opposite side of the bed, much lighter and more sophisticated. Door was still shut, still locked.

“Sweetheart… you forgot the cat.”

Daryl didn't even glance back, rolling his eyes and muttering another curse. “Ion even care anymore.” And he just found you in another kiss.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

[mayday2007]

Good lord... 😩

Sem hypnotizes me😮‍💨

[mayday2007]

Gorgeous 🥰😍🥰

[mayday2007]

Ahhh this is soo sweet!

A scenario where reader sees Daryl's scars and she shows him hers in understanding

oh i love this! he’d immediately stop talking about how his are ‘ugly’ because he doesn’t want her to think hers are 🥺 he’d run his fingers softly over them, no matter were they are on the body, and try to make her feel beautiful. he wouldn’t want her to ever question or feel self-conscious about the way she looks and the fact that they share such a thing would make his trust and love for her grown even more

[mayday2007]

Ahhh this is soo sweet!

A scenario where reader sees Daryl's scars and she shows him hers in understanding

oh i love this! he’d immediately stop talking about how his are ‘ugly’ because he doesn’t want her to think hers are 🥺 he’d run his fingers softly over them, no matter were they are on the body, and try to make her feel beautiful. he wouldn’t want her to ever question or feel self-conscious about the way she looks and the fact that they share such a thing would make his trust and love for her grown even more

[mayday2007]

Looking forward 🤪

꒰੭ ⸝⸝ 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐂'𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐⭑𝟐𝟓 .ᐟ

₊˚‧︵Ꮺ୧ ˚ ﹒guys, i’ve finally decided to do my first kinktober this year and i'm actually so excited .ᐟ being so, i also decided to get a head start and post my masterlist now as a way for me to make it more of an ‘obligation’ for myself, rather than leaving it to the last minute and just giving up. that being said, please keep in mind that i’m a pretty slow writer but i’m going to be trying my best to keep my word with the dates etc. also, these are subject to change if i see fit. anyways, love you all so freaking much 𐑺

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ⭑ daryl dixon ꒰ 𝟏/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

thigh-riding. begging. exhibitionism.

⭑ s10!daryl loves it when you’re needy for him

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ⭑ captain john price ꒰ 𝟑/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

voyeurism. toys. face-fucking.

⭑ john catches you in the act and can’t help but watch

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ⭑ joel miller ꒰ 𝟔/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

sleepy morning sex. wet dream. spooning.

⭑ sometimes he just needs to start the day being inside you

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 ⭑ steve harrington ꒰ 𝟖/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

breeding. creampies. spanking.

⭑ your argument to try for a baby wins steve over

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ⭑ simon ‘ghost’ riley ꒰ 𝟏𝟎/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

size difference. dominance. squirting.

⭑ he loves being bigger than you in every aspect

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐗 ⭑ zayne li ꒰ 𝟏𝟐/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

mirror sex. body worship. handjob. lovebites.

⭑ you prove just how beautiful you think he is

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 ⭑ eddie munson ꒰ 𝟏𝟑/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

messy sex. lube. lots of lube.

⭑ eddie has always fantasised about getting insanely messy

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ⭑ sylus qin ꒰ 𝟏𝟓/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

gun play. fingering. dirty talk. lovebites.

⭑ sylus shows you the prototype he’s been working on

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 ⭑ daryl dixon ꒰ 𝟏𝟕/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

sexual inexperience. praise kink.

⭑ daryl’s inexperience has always hindered him, until you

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐍 ⭑ rick grimes ꒰ 𝟏𝟗/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

age gap. begging. roleplay.

⭑ sheriff rick grimes teaches you a lesson for being naughty

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 ⭑ leon kennedy ꒰ 𝟐𝟎/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

teasing. overstimulation. forced orgasms.

⭑ when he’s off-duty, his favourite pastime is playing with you

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 ⭑ simon ghost riley ꒰ 𝟐𝟐/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

knife play. dominance. squirting.

⭑ you ask him to teach you how to use his knives

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ⭑ zayne li ꒰ 𝟐𝟒/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

office sex. teasing. orgasm denial. brat tamer.

⭑ your plan to surprise him doesn’t go exactly as planned

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ⭑ rafe cameron ꒰ 𝟐𝟕/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

cockwarming. dirty talk.

⭑ sometimes he just needs to be inside you to clear his head

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ⭑ rosita espinosa ꒰ 𝟐𝟗/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

mutual masturbation. squirting.

⭑ rosita shows inexperienced!reader the proper way to finger

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 ⭑ vi (arcane) ꒰ 𝟑𝟏/𝟏𝟎 ꒱

massaging. breast play. cunnilingus. stress relief.

⭑ you let vi relieve some of her tension by using you

©𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐂 ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025. mature/explicit content. minors do not interact. do not plagiarise/repost my work as your own, or in general, to any other platforms. divider edited by me.

★ back to masterlist ⋮ join my taglist ⋮ blog rules

[mayday2007]

This looked fun!

What I look like currently:

What I want to look like:

starting a tag game cause i'm bored and i hate my notifications :D

WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE IRL

WHAT U WANNA LOOK LIKE

picrew: here!

tagging @random-doctor-on-the-internet @cataperat @discoveredreality @ladykiller-yt and @midnights-dragon

[mayday2007]

[mayday2007]

⌞ 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘. ➺ d.dixon. ⌝

𝐜𝐰 : mdni. nsfw—sexual content. suggestive themes. emotional vulnerability. first time implied. insecurity. intimacy. light smut. childhood trauma implied.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : daryl dixon x fem!reader.

⋆˙ 𐙚 just thinking about how shy daryl would be when having sex.

our sweet daryl —all rough around the edges, all gruff voice and calloused hands from using his crossbow and knives too much— being so shy and nervous when it comes to sex.

not because he doesn’t want it. nope. he wants it so bad it hurts. but because he’s nervous. like really, really nervous.

he’s not used to being looked at like that—with soft eyes and gentle glances. not with love or care. not with hunger or desire. not with tenderness. he doesn’t know what to do with all that adoration, much less how to handle it.

so when your soft hands touch his body? when you run your hands under his shirt and kiss the soft spots on his neck? he gets quiet. real quiet.

his breathing quickens for a fleeting moment, but his eyes still don’t meet yours. his fingers twitch with something unspoken, like he wants to touch you back but he’s unsure how to do it. his voice turns hoarse when he tries to speak;

“y-ya sure ‘bout this…?”

and when you whisper in his ear, with the softest voice you have, “yes, baby,” he swallows hard.

it’s the first time someone’s ever called him baby.

he flinches a little when you start undressing him, not because he feels uncomfortable, but because he feels too exposed—vulnerable. he’s scared you’ll see all the living proof of the harm his father left on his body, and maybe change your mind about him.

but when you don’t run the moment you see them, and instead start kissing every little mark, he finally lets himself relax on the loving embrace you’re holding him in.

he hides his face in the crook of your neck when he finally slides inside you, as if he can’t handle how intimate everything feels—how deep, how raw, how real.

and when you whisper his name? whisper how good he’s making you feel?

he moans softly against your skin and clings to your hands like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the earth—because in this moment, you are.

daryl during sex isn’t shy and quiet because he’s uninterested.

he’s quiet because it means everything to him, and he doesn’t know how to handle being loved like this.

but god, does he need it.

and he’ll never forget how gentle you were with him the first time you loved his body.

✶ main masterlist. ⌇ navigation. ⌇ join my taglist here.

ᯓ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ @tamakiamajikisgf @whsschuu @dixonsdarkelf @dixons-sunshine @holdmytesseract @astermwah

ᯓ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 : by me

a/n: i’m so sorry for the inactivity. i haven’t had time to write much or be active here. ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა but i’ll be posting all my requests in the next few days. 𖹭

[mayday2007]

even more daryl aiming his crossbow🙏

[mayday2007]

࿔... 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐊 & 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 ⁞ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 .ᐟ

✶ table of contents ⨾ stablished relationship. explicit sexual content—mdni. obsession. mouth fixation. mommy kink. nursing/lactation kink. subby daryl if you squint.

✶ pairing ⨾ daryl dixon x fem!reader.

daryl’s the kind of man who’d act like he’s not looking, but his eyes will always drop to your chest the second you enter in his peripheral vision—he doesn’t even mean to do it on purpose, it’s just an unconscious movement.

he’s a man with a simple truth: he’s obsessed with your tits. doesn’t give a damn about size, shape, or color, he’s just greedy for the weight of them in his hands, the softness against his calloused fingertips, the way your nipples stiffen up when his hands or mouth get too close. sometimes it’s not even sexual for him —though it’s obviously filthy as hell— it’s grounding. comforting. like the second he’s got your tits in his hands, the rest of the world finally shuts the fuck up for a fleeting moment.

therefore, there will be times when you’ll feel him come up behind you, rough palms sliding under your shirt, thumbs hooking in your bra band. he’ll tug it down slowly, just enough for your breasts to spill free, and the mere sight will make him salivate like a man contemplating a feast before his eyes after almost starving to death. then, he’ll cup you fully—calloused thumbs brushing your nipples, squeezing the weight in each hand like he’s testing if you’re real or just a fever dream he made up in his mind. sometimes he’ll pinch, pull, or roll your nipples between his fingers, watching your reactions like they’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. other times? he’ll just hold. warm, heavy and steady—because sometimes touching you is the only thing that makes him breathe easier.

and once he gets his mouth on you? you’re not getting him off easy. he’ll suck with purpose—deep, slow pulls that make his jaw flex, tongue swirling around your nipple before sealing his lips tight again. there’s no hesitation in him there, just quiet groans and whimpers against your skin. he uses a little too much teeth when he gets lost, but usually are just his lips suckling with need. and if you make a sound? oh god, he’s gone. his grip on your waist will tighten, like he’s telling you without words, “stay right ‘ere, ain’t done yet”.

and if we wanna go straight to an scenary in bed, well... it becomes a second nature for him to have his mouth on you. if you’re riding him, his eyes will go all lazy and hungry at the sight of your tits bouncing in his face, and he’ll lean forward to latch on, cock buried deep in your heat while he’s sucking deep with those soft, desperate puppy eyes like he can’t believe you’d let him have this. if you’re under him, fucking in missionary, he’ll lower his head to lick over your nipple, teeth grazing, tongue circling before he sucks with the kind of hunger that makes you arch, if you moan particularly hard at something he did with his mouth, he’ll cum immediately. and if he’s taking you from behind —good luck keeping your balance, babe!— his hands will be cupping and pulling at your tits the whole time, fingers quickly finding your nipples just to feel you shiver against him.

either way, your tender buds will end up swollen, sore, wet and abused, all thanks to baby boy.

but the part he would never admit out loud, not even to you? is that he’s got a not-so-innocent fantasy of you breastfeeding. the single thought of you producing milk just for him makes his head spin and his cock twitch. if you were pregnant, he’d be all over your tits every chance he got, drinking slow at first, like a real baby nursing, and. then he’d get greedier, moaning against your skin as he ruts against your thigh, sometimes murmuring mommy like it just slips out, other times just being quiet—eyes half-lidded, arms wrapped around you, using your breast like a lifeline until his breathing evens out.

✶ credit dividers ⨾ @/anitalenia

⋆˚࿔ 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 ⁞ heartbreak in haute couture ✦ dark & taboo themes. i’m not responsible for the media you consume. ˖ ۫ ʚ

[mayday2007]

Rude asf people who got nothing better to do with their time but bring you down. Don't listen to them, babes. 💋

I would like to be your moot. But you seem pretty mean and rude.

"Please be my mutual. But you suck." – That's basically what you wrote to me... But why? Because that actually caught me off guard. Like, I don't mean to come across as rude, so maybe tone got lost in text somewhere? If I seemed mean, I'm sorry and I apologize. That was never my intention. But please let me know why you think that way about me? I'd appreciate it! ♡

[mayday2007]

𖥔 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐘 𖥔

𐔌 the beginning of the end. daryl’s girly stuff 𐦯

[ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 + 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞 — prequel ]

𖥔 pairing : 「 daryl dixon x fem!reader 」 + merle dixon .ᐟ

𖥔 contains : pre-apocalypse, modern au. absurd humor, crack vibes. panty thief daryl. porn mags. chaos. misunderstandings. daryl being a lovesick puppy. accusations. ridiculous drama. cringe.

𖥔 warnings & triggers : merle playing detective (enough to be a warning). embarrassing situations. strong language. mentions of cross dressing (used in comedic context, not meant to harm). implied sex (past event). cringe again.

𖥔 setting : small town in georgia—prequel of the series, it can be read as a stand alone work.

𖥔 word count : 4.0k

summary : when merle's desperately in need of his precious porn mags, he stumbes across something shocking under his baby brother's bed—a pair of pink, soft panties. convinced daryl has a secret alter ego, merle begins a dramatic investigation about his brother's "double life".

or: merle meets his baby sis-in-law.

main masterlist. | series masterlist. ➵ next part.

a/n: this part of the story includes themes like cross-dressing and mistaken gender identity. all presented in a lighthearted and absurd tone, purely for comedic storytelling. these moments are never meant to mock or harm anyone. the humor comes from the characters’ ridiculous misunderstandings, not from anyone’s identity. 𖹭

It all started on a boring Thursday afternoon.

The kind of thursday so lazy, so oppressively hot, so void of meaning that even God had clocked out early. Not a bird chirped. Not a squirrel squeaked. Even the flies outside the Dixon trailer had given up on life.

The weather was sticky as hell, the air smelled like armpits and sweat, and there wasn’t even a single car crash outside to spice things up.

Merle was slouched on the couch like a sad, melted meatball, a warm beer balanced on his belly. He was dying. Spiritually, emotionally, and hormonally.

Daryl had left early that morning, muttering something about “huntin’ squirrels and inner peace” or some other shitty nonsense he didn’t pay attention to. Said he’d be gone 'til tomorrow. And just like that, Merle had been abandoned without a chance to object. Left in the trailer alone, vulnerable… and dangerously unsupervised.

Now he was shirtless, sweaty, and vibrating with boredom.

And worst of all, he was horny.

“God, I’m so bored I could eat a Bible,” he muttered, “ain’t even got the energy to be stupid.”

But then, his brain —fueled by desperation and lack of stimulation— sparked to life.

He needed relief.

It had been two hours since he last rubbed one out, and his body was already staging a full protest. Knees shaking. Eye twitching. The urge to commit sin was rising like steam in a gas station hotdog tray.

He had no Daryl to mess with. No chaos to unleash. No crimes to commit.

So there was only one answer.

Porn.

Yes. Salvation lay beneath Daryl’s bed—his sacred stash of classic, old, vintage filth. He kept them tucked under there like sacred relics and he was the proud curator of that smut collection, Daryl was just the victim.

With renewed purpose, Merle leapt to his feet, ready to commit sinful acts without regret. “A’ight,” he said, storming toward the bedroom like a war general. “Time to spank the monkey. Let’s do this.”

He barged into Daryl’s tiny place, violently kicking open the door with a dramatic bang, “OH HELL YEAH. NUDIE TIME!”

Inside, the room was a mess of dirty laundry, questionable smells, and childhood trauma in physical form. His smut stash was hidden where no one dared to look—under Daryl’s bed. A sacred space containing only the worst horrors known to baby brother: soap, shampoo and morals.

He dropped to his knees beside the bed and reached into the void. “Alright, now where’s that good ol’ Volume 72: Desert Sluts ‘n Dusty Butts, with the blonde cowgirl ridin’ that cactus… mmhm, yeehaw, baby…” He reached in deeper, grunting, “c’mon mama...”

His hand brushed through years of forgotten trash, crossbow bolts, an old grimy shirt, something slimy, and what seemed to be a dead cockroach.

But instead of glossy boobies, his hand grazed…

The Sock.

The crusty sock.

Stinky, smelly, cheesey.

The color drained from his face. The thousand-yard stare settled in his eyes.

His fingers touched something moist. Something fuzzy. Something that definitely had an ecosystem of fungi and bacteria, probably new diseases not discovered by humanity yet.

He screamed in silence and slowly, with all the horror of a man pulling his hand from a bear trap, he withdrew his fingers and wiped them on Daryl’s pillowcase.

“Ugh! Goddamn! What in the fungal toe-infested, Daryl?!” He sprayed his hands with Lysol. “Boy sleepin’ on cordyceps,” he muttered. “Lil’ bastard needs to be quarantined.”

But he wasn’t gonna let one crusty sock defeat him. No, sir. He was too far gone.

He dove back under.

Digging past ancient stuff, moldy McNuggets, and what he hoped was just a dead mouse, he was greeted by something else.

Soft. Smooth. Delicate.

His self-preservation said “maybe it's a napkin.”

His brain yelled “don’t pull it out.”

His chaotic instincts said “pull it out anyway.”

So he did.

And there it was.

A pink pair of panties. Lacy. Feminine. A goddamn satin bow on the front

He froze.

“THE HELL—?!” he recoiled like he’d just picked up a dead rat and shrieked like a little girl as he flung them across the room. “WHAT IN THE SEVEN INCESTUOUS LEVELS OF ALABAMA IS THAT?!” he screamed, frantically wiping his fingers on his jeans. “Oh my god, oh my GOD I TOUCHED ‘EM—”

He hyperventilated. Bent over, hands on knees, muttering to himself. “Those weren’t even crusty. They were fresh. Like... worn-recently fresh. Oh sweet motor on a Jesuscycle I’m gonna puke.”

He dared to give a peek across the room.

The panties were lying there. Still. Watching him.

Mocking him.

And that’s when he really stopped to think.

Panties. Under Daryl’s bed.

…

Panties. Under. Daryl’s. Bed.

His eyes narrowed, squinting toward the spot where they landed, “wait damn second.” He pointed at them. “Daryl don’t got no girl.” He scoffed. “Hell, lil’ brother don’t even look at women. Probably still thinks babies are delivered by mail.”

He started plotting. “Ain’t no woman within a 20-mile radius got the patience for his dirty ass. What’s he doin’ with panties then?”

He paused, head tilted. For the first time in his life he was thinking. “Unless…—”

His eyes went wide.

A long, dramatic gasp escaped his lips as realization struck him like a lightning. “LORD ALMIGHTY. HE WEARS ‘EM.”

The mental image flashed before his eyes—Daryl in a skimpy black top, wearing tiny shorts that left nothing to imagination, and dainty lace underwear.

He reeled back, tripping over his own feet and slamming into the wall. “My baby brother’s transitioning! He’s one of ‘em..—! ‘em daytime boys, nighttime ladies!”

“Jesus Christ, is that what he does when I ain’t home?!” his hands went to cover his face. His lip trembled. “Sweet mother of Joseph. My baby brother’s a panty-wearin’ cowboy!”

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“God give me strength, I ain’t ready to raise a trans sister. I just wanted to jerk it to a cactus cowgirl...”

He wasn’t even mad. He was just… confused. He needed time. He needed answers. He needed—

The Dixon brain activated. One remaining cell sparked to life. He wiped his tears away and stood up with resolve.

He needed a full-blown Merle-Style investigation.

In the following days, Merle became the most bizarre, questionably-licensed detective of the entire state of Georgia.

He started watching closely his brother like a damn hawk. Like a yandere stalker when it comes to investigate about their crush and memorize their routine, but with less shame and more boldness.

And during those days, he noticed several... suspicious behaviours.

First of all, Daryl had started going out more than usual. Voluntarily. In daylight—which was really strange for someone like him.

He was waking up early every little morning. Taking baths. Applying cologne before leaving the trailer. Even fixing his fucking hair.

Why the hell would Daryl Dixon do that?

Merle’s known that feral beast of a man since he was born, literally. And he’s never once seen him wear cologne. Hell, he’s never even seen him bathe willingly unless he fell in a river or got hosed down like a dog.

That kid used to recoil from soap and water like it was acid. And if Merle hadn’t physically wrestled him into the tub as a child, he would have grown up as a greasy, grimy human ball.

That only confirmed that something was very off with baby brother.

But that wasn’t the strangest thing.

Daryl also seemed in a better mood every time he came home. Always smiley.

Smiley.

Like, “I just got kissed behind the school” smiley.

He was relaxed. Soft. His eyes held taht weird, loving sparkle as if someone just complimented on his cerulean eyes. The mere thought of it horrorified him. “Goddamn. He looks like one of them lovesick anime boys.”

And yet, Merle couldn’t bring himself to believe that everthing was because of a woman. Because frankly? No woman would actually put her eyes on Daryl and think, “yes, this is the man for me. I want the freak from the woods who smells like beef jerky and squirrels.”

No woman alive would be that desperate.

So the only logical conclusion was that Daryl was hiding something. Something that involved gender identity.

That’s how Merle’s “Investigative Operations” began.

Every time his little brother went out, “all cleaned up ‘n smellin’ like soap and masculinity”, he pounced.

He’d dive into Daryl’s room like a wild cat, rifling through drawers, sniffing fabrics, licking suspicious objects for science.

And the things he found…

Oh, the things he found.

First, a pink lip gloss, right next to the fancy cologne Daryl has been wearing a lot these days.

Then, a suspiciously sweet, feminine scent, clinging to his shirt. Something floral, vanilla, fresh.

Another day, he spotted a single pearl earring and some cute hairclips on the nightstand.

Finally, while rooting through Daryl’s dirty laundry, he found three receipts—one for a summer dress from a women’s boutique, one for lip balm and moisturizers, and one for a bouquet of roses.

Merle stood over the collection of clues, breathing heavily like a heartbroken housewife who just found out her husband’s been cheating on her.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “he’s got an alter ego… A whole double life.”

He carefully arranged all the items on Daryl’s bed like he was about to present them in court. The panties in a ziploc bag, the receipts carefully placed next to them, the lip gloss , and finally the crusty sock on the pillow.

Daryl had asked Merle yesterday if he’d seen his toothbrush, and of course, he lied. He’d hidden the toothbrush in a sock drawer because “might be evidence.”

It wasn’t.

But now it was time to analyze the case.

He put on his super deductive glasses, his plastic sheriff badge from a halloween costume he found, and a pair of oven mitts he called “forensic gloves.”

He held a pencil like a cigar and opened a pink, glittery notebook titled “Merle’s Philosophical Book Of Criminal Acusations Against Daryl—a.k.a baby brother.”

✎ CASE REPORT ⋮ CONFIDENTIAL.

Accused: Daryl Dixon. Charge: Cross-dressing, probable full blown femininity. Investigator: Merle “Porny Mags Connoisseur” Dixon.

➵ EVIDENCE : Exhibit A: girl’s panties in a ziplock bag—discovered under my lil’ brother’s bed while titty mag hunt. Exhibit B: shiny pink lip gloss—found next to Daryl’s mysterious cologne. Exhibit C: Mysterious feminine scent on shirt—found right after the criminal was out all day. Exhibit D: receipt of girly stuff and... flowers?!—found in dirty laundry. Exhibit E: emotional instability—had an outburst when I crashed the truck and yelled at me.

He closed the notebook slowly. His expression turned serious, it was time to theorize.

And suddenly, there was no doubt.

The math was mathing.

The conspiracy was conspiracying.

Merle was Merleing.

He stood in the center of Daryl’s room, eyes wide staring at the evidence as his brain connected the dots.

“aint’t no way this boy just buyin’ all this for some imaginary woman,” he muttered, the muscles in his body tense. “Ain’t got no girl. No friends. Ain’t even got dignity.”

He inhaled deeply. “…there ain’t no doubt, he wearin’ that shit.”

He sat slowly on the edge of the bed like a man who’d just discovered his house was seized, staring into space. “Jesus… baby brother’s a chick…”

His voice broke.

“My lil’ bro… he a whole-ass woman and I didn’t even notice…” Tears welled up in his eyes as he started to sniff. “What kinda brother am I?! What kinda father misses the signs?!”

He clutched at his chest, dramatically.

“Darylina…” he stared at the ceiling, searching for god.

“My sweet baby brother-sister... Ya took it real serious when I called ya that, huh…? I was jokin’…” he broke down in hiccuping sobs.

“I didn’t mean it, ya were just so… feminine to be a man… and too masculine to be a chick… I didn’t know…”

Some minutes of deep crying passed, until he finally calmed down enough to blow his nose on Daryl’s panties. (He didn’t realize what he was doing until it was too late. Then, he just kinda committed.)

He stood up, shoulders heavy with grief, lost and confusion, “gotta accept him... her... they... brother, sister, cousin. The entity that is Daryl, whatever he identifies as,” he sighed, packed a bag full of snacks and get out of the trailer to go sit dramatically in a field somewhere.

Probably to reevaluate his entire life.

The investigation wasn’t over, though, but detective Merle needed a walk.

And spicy pork rinds.

Tons of spicy pork rinds.

Daryl was pacing so much across the trailer floor, you’d think he was going to make a hole in it. Every five minutes, he stopped to tug at his shirt —just a faded band tee from some group that maybe three people on earth had heard of— like it was a designer suit.

He’d brushed his hair… well, tried to. It still stuck up in weird little tufts, but he told himself it looked “natural,” which wasn’t a lie.

He had even put on cologne. Not too much, not too little—just enough to not scream, “I am trying too hard to smell good for you, please notice me.”

“Ain’t nothin’ weird ‘bout smellin’ good…” he muttered to no one, gnawing his lip until it was nearly raw.

He had spent all morning cleaning the place—no beer cans scattered on the floor, no hunting knives left lying around, no mystery stains on the couch cushions. He even bought snacks, like real snacks. Not just jerky and tasteless peanuts from a gas station.

And, miracle of miracles, Merle wasn’t around. He hadn’t been home since yesterday. Probably off doing something that would eventually get him arrested. Perfect.

Daryl wanted this night to be… well, perfect. He wanted you to see him as someone worthy of your love. A man who could give you the moon, the stars, the whole sky, even if he didn't have the wealth and charm some other man would.

So yeah, he was pretty nervous. Nobody knew what might happen, so he needed to be prepared, for everything.

The knock at the door made him snap out of his thoughts, and literally sprinted to open it.

And there you were.

The air was knocked straight out of his lungs the moment his eyes landed on you.

“Hi, baby.” Your voice was soft, sweet, the one you used just for him.

God… You looked so fucking pretty.

The yellow summer dress he’d bought you hugged every curve of your body like it was made for you. The color lit up your face, made your skin glow. He swore the fucking sun was standing on his porch.

And he was frozen. Just stood there staring at you like a man who’d forgotten how greetings work.

“H-hey babe… Uh— ya look… yer— I mean… uh—” His brain short-circuited as his eyes shamelessly ran over you from head to toe. He couldn’t find the words to describe how ethereal you looked.

You giggled. “Daryl…”

“I— fuck— sorry, I just… ya look pretty, like, really pretty— I mean, yer more than pretty. Yer beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, precious… sexy, hot… uh—” He dragged his hand over the back of his neck, blushing like a lovesick puppy.

Aww, pretty cutie patootie!

You threw your arms around his neck and kissed him. His hands clamped awkwardly on your waist, but he kissed you back like you were oxygen.

“Thank you, baby! You’re so sweet!!” You gave him another peck on the cheek. “You look sexy too.”

His knees almost buckled.

He swears he could have fainted right then and there.

…

You stood there… and stared at him.

…

He stared back.

...

Your head tilted slightly, eyes flicking toward the inside of the trailer.

It took him a second until— Oh...

“Shit, right.” He stepped aside so fast he almost tripped over the welcome mat. “Sorry… ya just hypnotized me… hehe.”

You stepped inside, looking around the place while he closed the door behind him. The trailer wasn’t exactly Home material, but you didn’t care. It smelled faintly like pine soap and him. Cozy.

“Ya, uh… want sumthin’ to drink? We got… water. Warm water also. Uh— tea. Bought soda too. For… you.”

You smiled and closed the space between you, wrapping your arms around his middle. He stood stiff as a board before finally hugging you back. “C’mon baby, don’t be so shy. Everything’s okay,” you murmured against his shoulder.

He exhaled like you’d lifted a mountain off his chest. “A’right…” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Though I want soda.”

He chuckled, “whatever my girl wants.”

He led you to the couch, which you immediately noticed had a cracked armrest—like someone had dropped a bowling ball on it. (Or, as Merle would proudly admit if he was here, “banged a girl so hard there, the damn thing snapped.”)

Daryl returned with a pizza box, a bowl of chips, and two sodas. You pulled candy and cookies from your bag like it was some trailer park picnic, and then, you both settled in, snuggled close, and flipped on the TV.

And for a second, it really did feel perfect.

Two hours later, you were cuddling.

Daryl was sprawled out on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around you as you lay on top of him, both bundled under a soft blanket, looking like a perfect burrito of love. The TV played some low-budget nature documentary where a turtle was being harassed by a frog. Neither of you were really watching.

You were too busy being gross and cute.

Little nose kisses. Soft giggles. Dumb flirting. The kind of cuddly domestic bliss taken directly out of a cheesy romcom.

Everything was sweet. Fluffy. Cozy. Tender.

Until your brows furrowed.

“…Daryl?”

"Yeah, baby?"

You locked eyes with him, voice serious. “Have you seen my pink panties?”

His entire body went rigid. Like you’d just asked if he’d ever murdered someone. “What?”

“The pink ones with the tiny bow,” you said, pushing up on your elbows to get a better look at him. “Last ones I wore before we… y’know…” You blushed. “Did stuff. Then they just vanished after you left.”

Daryl started choking. Not fake choking. Real choking. Like his soul tried to escape through his throat. “Y-ya sure?”

“They were my lucky ones,” you pouted dramatically. “I miss them.”

He cleared his throat, face turning scarlet, “maybe ya dropped ‘em in the laundry… or sumthin’.”

“I checked. They weren’t there.”

“Maybe they got… lost in the wash,” he said, not even convincing himself. “Evaporated. Gone. Disintegrated. From too much passion. Don’t exist anymore.”

“What?”

“I dunno, I ain’t a scientist!”

“…Daryl.”

“Mhm?”

“You didn’t accidentally take them, right?” You squinted, teasing. “Like… to sniff?”

His entire face flushed red. “Wh—no! Pshh—panties? What even are panties? Never heard of ‘em. I wear boxers. Man underwear. Panties is a concept I do not understand nor possess nor interact with. Hah. Panties. Weird word.”

You narrowed your eyes even more. “You’re actin’ real suspicious, Mr. Dixon.”

He was sweating now. “Nah! Yer conspiracyin’ against me. I ain’t weird. Yer being weird! I didn’t take no panties. Maybe God did!”

“God?!”

Before you could press further, the front door exploded open —literally— with the dramatic force of an horror movie jumpscare.

Both your heads whipped toward the noise. You confused, Daryl, on the other hand, dreading.

There, in the doorway, stood a shadowy figure—jaw set, eyes dark, steps slow and ominous like a doctor about to deliver the news that someone’s grandma didn’t make it through surgery. His hair was wild. Eyes crazed. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt open over a stained tank top and jeans that were very low-riding for no reason.

“Daryl Dixon,” the man said gravely, “we gotta talk.”

You blinked. “Who—?” Daryl groaned, already cutting you off and cradling his face. “Ignore him. Just ignore him. He’ll go away.”

“I won’t go away,” Merle snapped. “I know.” He stepped forward dramatically, “I know, I know everything.”

Daryl let out the world’s longest, loudest sigh.

“I know ‘bout the panties under yer bed,” Merle continued. “How ya wear ‘em under yer jeans when no one’s lookin’. Hidin’ ‘em next to my stash.” He jabbed a finger in his face. “I know yer a trans woman.”

Daryl’s soul visibly left his body.

“Thought it was a sex thing. Ended up being a gender thing. I don’t judge. If my baby brother wants to be a lady, I support her. I mean him. I mean them.”

“I AIN’T A LADY!” Daryl exploded. “AND THOSE PANTIES— IT’S NOT— JUST SHUT UP!”

You choked. “WHAT?!”

Merle turned to you, now acknowledging your presence. “Sorry, trans-man. I ain’t judgin’. Just tryin’ to be supportive of my lil’ sister.”

"EXCUSE ME?!"

“ARE YA STUPID?!” Daryl stood up so fast the blanket flew off. “THE HELL YA TALKIN’ ABOUT?!”

You sprang to your feet as wll. “NO, WAIT—WHAT?!”

“Don’t be shy, sugar plum,” Merle said, as if this were a heartfelt intervention. “It’s okay. I’m here for ya.”

Daryl was actively trying to shove Merle back out the door. “GET OUT! STOP EMBARRASSIN’ ME!”

“Nah! Ya gonna listen to me, lil’ sis— bro… bro-sis… whatever!” Merle bellowed, resisting.

"SHUT UP!"

"ARE THOSE MY PANTIES HE'S TALKING ABOUT?! DID YA REALLY STEAL THEM?!"

“WAIT, WHO ARE YA?! WHAT YA IDENTIFY AS?”

“I—I didn’t steal ‘em! I—borrowed—No! I just—! They was... I was thinkin’ ‘bout ya... and they smelt like you... and I—I AIN’T WEIRD, ‘OKAY?!”

Merle clapped. “YES, ya are!”

“WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH BEING TRANS?!” you yelled.

“I NEVER SAID I WAS A WOMAN!” Daryl shouted back.

“THEN WHY’RE YA WEARIN’ PANTIES?!”

“I DON’T WEAR ‘EM! I SNIFF ‘EM!”

“OH MY GOD—”

"I DIDN'T MEAN TO STEAL 'EM! I WAS JUST MISSIN' YA! I was gonna give ‘em back! I was! I just… sniffed ‘em once or twice or twenty times, okay?! I AIN’T PROUD.”"

“HOW IT FEELS TO BE A WOMAN?!"

"I'M NOT A WOMAN"

The room descended into absolute chaos. Accusations. Screaming. Crying. Daryl defending his honor. You yelling about your sacred missing underwear. Merle somehow ended up half-naked.

In the middle of this storm, you suddenly paused, eyes narrowing.

“…Wait. Who are you?” you asked, pointing at Merle.

He blinked. “Merle. His big brother.”

Your jaw dropped. “His brother?!”

“Yep,” he tilted his head. “Who are you?”

“His girlfriend!”

“BABY BROTHER’S GIRLFRIEND?!”

You both turned and screamed at Daryl at the exact same time:

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU HAD A BROTHER?! I THOUGHT HE WAS SOME DERANGED PANTY FETISHIST!”

“YA DIDN’T TELL ME YA HAD A GIRLFRIEND?! I THOUGHT YA WAS MAKIN’ OUT WITH YERSELF IN A SKIMPY THONG!”

Daryl slumped against the wall, face in his hands, muttering “why is my life like this?”

Then, out of nowhere, Merle slung an arm around your shoulder with a shit-eating grin. “Well, welcome to the family, baby sis.”

You smiled awkwardly. “Uh… thanks.”

He gave you a wink. “Sorry ‘bout earlier. Guess I judged too quick. Yer real and baby brother’s not a girl. Real shame bout the panties, though. They seen things now. Things no fabric should go through.”

You gagged. “Ew.”

Then, he smirked. “By the way… did you know baby brother once got his foot stuck in a Pringles can?”

“MERLE—!”

“It made a pop sound when it came out,” he added proudly.

You frowned. “Why was his foot in there?!”

“Oh! OH! WAIT!” Merle snapped his fingers. “Tell her about the time you cried ‘cause yer pet frog died.”

“STOP—!”

“Ya made a grave. A whole lil’ cross and funeral speech and all! Boy gave it a eulogy!”

“That’s actually cute. And sad.”

“I still got the VHS somewhere. He made a speech like, ‘Jeremy was a good frog—he jumped real high.’”

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU,” Daryl barked, bright red and charging.

Merle wiped a tear from his eye. “And once he thought he could ‘fart a candle out.’ Lit the whole damn curtain on fire.”

You nearly choked, “YOU’RE KIDDING.”

“And one time he cried watchin’ a commercial for paper towels.”

“MERLE, I SWEAR TO GOD—” Daryl lunged at him.

You just sat back down, sighed, and calmly took a sip of your lukewarm soda as the two Dixon brothers crashed into the coffee table and knocked over the TV like two wild animals.

Ah, family.

✶ navigation. ⌇ join my taglist here.

ᯓ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⊹ @tamakiamajikisgf @whsschuu @dixonsdarkelf @dixons-sunshine @holdmytesseract @astermwah @my-name-is-heartache @pr3ttygrlz

ᯓ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 : by me

a/n: this part was requested by a lovely nonnie! i hope you like it and that the wait was worth it. ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა i’m so sorry for taking too long. ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

[mayday2007]

Hello! So, after an extremely long time of being on this app, I finally decided to try and formulate an official taglist that I can easily keep up with. I made a google form that asks a few simple questions about what your preference would be if you’d like to be tagged in the things I create. Obviously this is optional and you can choose whether or not to be included, but I figured I would put this out there in case anyone wanted to be!

I got this idea from @dixonsdarkelf who so kindly said I could use the same idea for my page<3

Here's the link to fill it out!

Tagging some mutuals ~ @dixons-sunshine @bigbaldheadname @scudslut @darylsdelts @silentlysurffering98 @bambidixon @ellasdixon @francisofthespook @negansbestie @lisluvstwd @hayley1998

Others who might be interested ~ @mayday2007 @holdmytesseract @hakushineox @jazzybsstuff @alexisabramson @mystictf @lonelynoah @yas-yas-mimi @chimkin1 @imadisneyprincessiswear @bymailin @jlsweetnightv @twd-bee3 @ihearttwd67 @justareader95 @ryoujoking @sipsthecoffee @winterassassin1804 @marsmallow433 @catlalice @writingstreetspirit @remuslittlesister @in0320 @mythicalyyours

[mayday2007]

“finally clean”

In which Daryl doesn’t wanna shower…until

Daryl Dixon x reader

triggers: none

author’s note: wrote this between 2am and 6am cause well writing is more interesting than sleeping

—

Daryl didn’t like showers, like at all. Even before the apocalypse, he didn’t shower must or clean in any sense, until the smell was just too unbearable. That’s why he couldn’t find a girlfriend, that’s what Merle thought at least.

Though after he met you in Atlanta, when you two started to stay together more, he began to be more cautious about it. He still didn’t shower, the walkers attacking you being a good excuse for it. He found some ways to hide it, like stealing perfume bottles and deodorants from deserted supermarkets. It worked, you never explicitly told him he stank and he was quite happy about it.

However, after the fall of the prison and his escape with you after losing Beth, he really started to stink.

After arriving in Alexandria, everyone was finally relieved to be able to take a hot shower, except like once again Daryl. Everyone had cleaned up and he totally stood up in the middle of them.

A few days passed and he still hadn’t showered, one evening you see him sitting down on the porch, smoking like always. “You still haven’t showered did you?” You sigh slightly after saying that, sometimes you were wondering if he just never did what you told him only to bother you. “Come on I don’t stink right?”

Well, he actually doesn’t. Not really at least. You could ask Michonne, Rick or Carol and they’ll told you he doesn’t with a chuckle but sleeping next to him every single night, you clearly knew the answer.

“You kinda do sweetie…sorry.”

He grunts slightly like he always does and doesn’t bother turning your way to talk to you. “So ya forcin’ me to shower now?” He scoffed and stood, crushing his cigarette butt on the ground before turning to finally meet your gaze. “Ain’t happenin’ I’m sleepin’ on the couch if that bothers ya so bad.” He just walks inside, leaving your sight.

You never understood why he didn’t like cleaning. You always felt good after a shower, you thought everyone did but apparently not him. When you think about it, it’s true that you two never really talked about your lives before, you almost knew nothing about him. It was strange to you, he’s the person you talk the most to, the one you always go with but you don’t even know his age, he never even told you that.

You finally decide to get in, he was actually already laying down on the couch, ready to rest. “Wait you’re really gonna sleep here? I thought that was a joke.” He looks up at you, eyes already half closed. “Well you told me I stank.”

You scoffed slightly, he kind of acted like a child sometimes. “Daryl I’ve never said that I just said that…yeah okay maybe I said that but you can still sleep in the bed.”

Obviously he was as stubborn as you, maybe even more so he decided not to move, just crosses his legs over one another and closes his eyes. You roll your eyes. “Okay whatever, I’ll just go to sleep…goodnight.” He doesn’t answer back and you eventually finish to turn off the lights leaving him in the dark.

You lay down in bed wondering why the hell would he just not shower, it wasn’t hard was it? Or maybe was it for him? You couldn’t really put your finger on it and just decided to drift off to sleep. The soft sound of crickets outside starts putting you to sleep when you feel a way laying down next to you in the bed. You gasp quietly, you usually always hear him come in but this time you didn’t hear a thing. He kicks off his boots before whispering hoarsely. “I thought ya were asleep already.” You couldn’t quite distinct his features in the dark room, but you certainly could imagine them due to as close he was laying. “We’ll shower tomorrow.” He grunts but eventually mutters a slight “alright” before you both drift off to sleep.

—

You both wake up the next morning around the same times, he yawns before rolling off of bed putting back his boots and walking to the door. You rub your eyes, your voice a bit deeper from sleep. “Hey, hey, where are you going?” He turns raising an eyebrow. “Can’t a guy take a piss?” You just roll your eyes and bury your face in your pillow. He also rolls his eyes and goes to the bathroom before returning. “So are we showerin’ or what? Before I change my fuckin’ mind.” You groan before eventually sitting up and putting on a shirt. “Just go to the bathroom…”

You actually didn’t think he would agree but you weren’t going to complain, he was finally going to smell good. You go to the bathroom and find him just standing in the middle looking clueless, it actually was kind of funny to witness. “What are you waiting for exactly?” He grunts again and decides to finally take off his shirt, reluctantly though.

It wasn’t the first time you saw him shirtless, you knew about this scars, never knew how he got them though. He always shut up about it. You’re waiting for him to take off the rest but nothing happens. “You’re not just gonna wash your upper body right?” He looked away slightly embarrassed before putting his gaze back on you. “I’ll wash the rest myself.” You chuckle softly before taking off your shirt as well. It wasn’t the first time he saw you shirtless neither, you actually weren’t really “modest”.

You turn on the water, the bathroom started to feel like a total sauna for him. He was stressed, embarrassed just uneasy really and you quickly caught that up. “You alright?” He grunts, sometimes this man just sounded like a damn animal. “Just let’s get it over with.”

You both step under the hot water, it felt weird to shower with your pants on but you quickly forgot about it as you squirted some shampoo into your hand. “Could you kneel down a bit? Like just a bit…” He rolls his eyes and just turns to face you, leaning down a bit so you could reach his hair easier. He quickly relaxed as your fingers ran through his locks, the dirt leaving with the used water.

After rinsing his hair, you start to softly clean his back, your fingers tracing down along his scars. This felt weirdly intimate, you never done that before and no one ever done that to him neither. He was actually surprised at how relaxed he was. If someone told him he would be here today with you washing his back, he’d probably grunt because that’s all he knows to do.

You two didn’t exchange a word during all the shower, you didn’t need it the soft sound of the water running out was enough. You finish and turn to him. “Finally clean.” He exhaled softly, running a hand through his wet hair. “Thanks…want me to do the same? I can’t just do nothin’ back ya know?” He stutters slightly, not able to meet your gaze. You smile softly and hands him the shampoo bottle. “Yeah go on.”

He wasn’t really sure of what he was doing but eventually tried his best, his fingers in your hair felt really soothing. You never saw him that concentrated before, it was kind of cute. After rinsing your hair he cuts off the water. “Hope I didn’t put any soap in your eyes…” You step out the shower and chuckle softly. “No don’t worry…I’ll just let you finish washing.”

You still hear the sound of water running as you walk into the bedroom to change and dry your hair.

The rest of the days goes on quickly, you both spend it together like always really but this time it felt different.

He was softer.

@mathildes-stuff

[mayday2007]

I’m foaming at the mouth and shaking like a fucking dog I NEED HIM

[mayday2007]

ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ!

— “You were chased by the cops, got in my car, and just yelled ‘drive!’”

pairing: librarian! g/n reader x daryl :] (reader is a mess)

w/c: 2.5k

warnings: merle (tried not to make him much of a bastard but he is so nothing I can do abt that) uhhh blood being taken from Daryl but nothing too graphic I believe, mentions of alcohol and drugs and that's it!! meet cute but it actually is NOT.

A/N: pre outbreak but might not be accurate!! tried to keep it as in character as possible, hope you enjoy! ♡

Daryl’s day had been as chaotic as it could get… or not, because you never really knew with Merle in the picture. 

First off, Merle had gotten up suspiciously early—suspicious, both because he never did and because he'd drunk like a bastard the night before. Immediately, he'd grabbed Daryl with the enthusiasm he only showed whenever he got laid or had a fresh stash coming. He gave Daryl barely enough time to pull on some pants and a worn-out hoodie, its color faded and half-eaten by moths.

He should’ve known he’d be roped into something like this.

"This" meant him sitting on a couch that reeked of sex and weed in the back of a sketchy downtown bar, next to all the storage boxes. His own belt was wrapped tight around his bicep as a makeshift tourniquet, and a needle pierced his skin unapologetically, again and again, until the scrawny guy in front of him—too wasted to function—finally found a good vein to fill up the bags.

Soft suction noises filled the room, too loud with only the hum of a barely functioning air conditioner for company, until the click of a lighter interrupted and smoke filled the already dense air.

Merle leaned against the wall beside the couch, spluttering nonsense about the payment. Daryl wasn't listening, but his brother plopped down on the couch next to him as soon as the scrawny dude—who was so washed out on cocaine he was as thin as a paper sheet and also ignored Merle without an ounce of shame—took the needle out of his arm once the blood bag was filled.

Daryl hastily undid his belt, unwrapping it from his bicep, and leaned his head back when black spots covered his vision. It had been a while since he had last done this, and while he attempted not to make it noticeable, he felt dizzy. Of course, Merle smiled mockingly once he saw him breathing out, raising an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with you, little brother? You ain't that tough anymore, huh? Gonna pass out on me like some kinda sissy?" Daryl didn't respond, sending his brother a glare which was received with a bark of laughter. "Yer softer than a baby's butt now."

That earned him a grunt, and Daryl was about to tell him to fuck off when the storage room door opened with a creak. The bartender came in, recounting some bills, then threw three wads of cash on the table in front of them. "Three hundred," the man said, his tone bored, revealing just how common this was for him. A mere transaction like any other was done inside his bar.

Before Merle could even reach for the money, the bartender dropped another thing on the table: little Ziploc baggies, five pills each, if Daryl was counting right. Colorful and bright. "And the X," the man finished.

Merle's grin was so wide he might as well have cut up his cheeks to show more of his teeth. He clapped an arm heavy over Daryl's shoulders. "Cheer up, Darylina! Yer blood's gonna save some fool's life out there, and we get a little somethin' for ourselves." He slammed one of the wads onto his chest. "What's not to love 'bout that?"

[...]

While still lightheaded, Daryl was dragged to a cheap diner with food so greasy it made him want to throw up even more. Now, they were back at the garage.

And today was already proving to be the worst.

An old lady came in, dressed clothes too fancy for it not to be performative and a purse, with a stick so far up her ass that Daryl swore she even walked weird. Merle, of course, was no help; he was passed out inside the house. Not that he was ever much help—Daryl usually did all the work. But Merle was way more extroverted. He was gross, sure, but he loved hearing the sound of his own voice so much that he never shut up, and oddly enough, it worked with customers like this. Merle would've sent the hag to hell the first chance he got—or maybe driven her away with gross compliments or by "sweet-talking her" as his brother would've said. Either way, it would've worked.

Daryl, with his lack of a personality, was stuck listening to a story he couldn't give a rat's ass about.

The lady kept talking, glancing around the garage with a critical eye and making snarky remarks about the mud, his clothes, and everything else. They were so discreetly hidden in her story that Daryl wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't used to those comments.

"Anyway," she finally wrapped up her story. "That's it, do you think you can fix it?" It was just an A/C problem—of course, he could.

Daryl ended up just nodding. "That repair's usually 'round five hundred... could be more if other things are busted."

He should've kept his mouth shut until the repair was done.

The moment he mentioned the price, the lady's eyes nearly popped out of her skull, and she instantly started yelling at him as if he had strangled her dog or done something equally terrible. "I came to this garage because it looked cheap!" Daryl stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do or how to react. So he did his best not to react at all. In the end, the woman just left, sputtering about the price and the garage and his clothing and whatever.

The only moment Daryl got to himself all day wasn't even actually his. He took advantage of Merle's state to finally have some quiet and work on a car that had been sitting in the garage for a little too long.

When he finished, Daryl re-entered the house, covered in diesel. Merle was there, half-assedly watching a TV show, but he perked up as soon as Daryl walked in, as if the drug had already worn off. It probably had, considering how much he'd been taking lately.

"Darylina!"

There goes his peace, then.

[...] 

Ten minutes with his ass perched on a barstool, and Merle was already into his third drink. Daryl held his own, one forearm resting on the wood counter of the bar— a different one, because who does illegal shit at the bar they frequent?— as he stared down at the foam on his beer.

Merle was trying to sweet-talk the new bartender with the usual mess of yarns he liked to spin when he got to drinking. The woman simply ignored him and refilled his glass. Merle was so calm, Daryl swore he would finally get a quiet night, just nursing his drink.

He was in the bathroom for less than five minutes.

When he got back, Merle was on the ground, just wailing on some bald guy. Daryl didn't even know what started it, but the cops were already on their way, so he had to pull his brother off. Fast.

It wasn’t fast enough. For the first time, maybe the cops were doing their job right— sirens could be heard in the distance, and Merle, even in his drunken state, finally snapped out of it.

Both brothers scrambled out of the place, Merle’s arm heavy on Daryl’s shoulders, drunk enough not to walk without support. Their bikes were out front, but so were the cops, so without hesitation, they both exited through the back. They’d pick up their bikes another day.

[...] 

Meanwhile, your day had actually been great, for once.

The week was rough. You might think that working at a library was calm, and it was—for the most part. Clients were usually just respectful, shy teenagers who didn’t want to study at home, or actually enjoyed reading. Sometimes, office workers came by with their laptops and sat at the corners, drinking coffee out of the only machine that still worked. You even got to see first dates a few times!

But for some reason, the week had been awfully busy.

The new stock had come in too soon, and you didn’t have the time to let your regulars know you were going to close for a day like you usually did. You also didn’t have the heart to do it without telling them. The boxes were stressing you out so much by just being there that you actually stayed after closing hours.

No biggie, right?

Except the teenagers—loud, disrespectful, not regulars, and definitely not shy—had been coming by a lot lately. Yelling, laughing… one even had the nerve to flirt with you! Joe, your coworker, had laughed at first, but then told the teen off, and you couldn’t have been more grateful. It was so embarrassing that you didn’t even know what to say.

Going back to the subject, the problem was that those teenagers were not only obnoxiously loud and confident, but also obnoxiously messy. They left stains and crumbs of whatever they had been eating, even though you had specifically told them to please not to eat. They left the books scattered everywhere and messed up the shelves you had spent so many hours organizing by pulling a dozen books they didn't even read, then leaving them anywhere they found a space. Not only did you have to stay late, but Joe had to, too. And that meant paying him extra, even if he said it was no issue.

Then the coffee machine broke.

These things happened for the majority of the week, so it was nice to finally be back to the usual routine.

The library smelled of coffee and books instead of sweaty teenagers and chips. Joe left early, said he had a date, so you wished him all the luck. One of your regulars gave you a chocolate bar, and two respectful, nice teens had a date—the boy bought her a whole series! How cute is that? The day was so calm you even had some time to read a few chapters of a book, and you got so engrossed in it you ended up closing later than you wanted. But you weren’t mad about it this time.

Even the walk to your car was nice! The weather was exactly how you liked it, and you could see the stars tonight.

Sighing dreamily, you opened your car door and got into the driver's seat, ready to go home and have the nicest sleep you'd had all week.

…That didn’t happen. The moment you settled in and put the key into the ignition, you heard sirens. A guy you hadn’t ever seen before opened the back door and practically threw a passed-out guy inside your car, then got in himself and closed the door too aggressively.

"Drive!"

…What?

You didn’t even have time to give it any thought. The sirens and the guy’s desperate gaze in the rearview mirror made you react before your brain did. You started the engine and drove off, maybe a bit too quickly for the quiet streets.

It was only when the sirens started fading into the background that you realized just what you were doing.

These guys were running from the law… Were you an accomplice now? Shit! What if the other guy wasn’t passed out, but dead? What were you going to do? Were you going to get arrested?!

You were tempted to stop the car and demand explanations, then your brain started rushing again.

…What if he was armed? It would make sense, right? He had practically demanded you to drive; he wouldn’t have gotten inside a stranger's car if he weren’t sure they’d listen, right?

You were so engrossed in your thoughts that when he spoke again, you didn’t hear him.

"Here's good…" It was a rough murmur, as if he were embarrassed, but you should’ve caught it. The sirens couldn’t even be heard anymore! "Here's good," he repeated, just a bit louder, and you finally snapped out of it.

Clearing your throat, you nervously nodded and pulled to the side, your knuckles tight around the steering wheel.

As soon as you parked the car, the guy was out the door and pulling out the other, bigger dude, who groaned, barely conscious. Not dead, then, good. You weren’t an accomplice. He leaned the burly man on your car and knocked on the passenger window, which you reluctantly rolled down.

"Hey, uhm…" The guy’s voice was raspy, and he sounded as reluctant as you felt. With him leaning there, you finally got a good look at who had gotten into your car.

A man, as you had known, in his mid to late twenties, with blond hair that had started to turn brown with the years, or maybe it was the lack of light making it look darker. Whatever. All you could focus on were his eyes, blue, yes, but it wasn't the color that made you stare.

There was a softness to them that instantly made you feel drowned in guilt and caused you to soften your own expression. You must have been staring for a bit too long, because he looked away before he spoke again.

"...Thanks, for—you know, gettin' us outta that."

Telling him that you did it out of pure instinct and that you had been scared for your life most of the trip would’ve made you feel even worse for the poor guy, so you just nodded slowly. "No problem…"

Both of you fell silent then, and he bit his lip, unsure.

"Can I… uh. May I ask what happened? I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…" You dared to break the silence, then instantly trailed off, motioning with your hand mindlessly.

"Nah, 's fine... Merle got in a bar fight. Didn't feel like sittin' at the station all night."

"Oh," you said, then felt even more embarrassed about what you had thought before. Your eyes trailed to who you assumed was 'Merle', then came back to him. To make up for something he didn’t even know about, you continued. "Do you need help with getting him home?"

He shook his head, and you consequently nodded, assuming that was the end of the interaction, but he didn’t move from where he leaned over the window. After pondering something, he sighed to himself, licking his lips.

"If ya' ever... uhm, have trouble with yer ride, just drive over to the garage a few blocks from 'ere. 'S the only one nearby. Charge free."

The offer made you smile, your heart all warm. "I’ll take you up on it…" You raised an eyebrow.

"Daryl," he finished.