rotten-biter - Tumblr blog

rotten-biter · 1 month ago

Text

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Your honor, there are bite marks on my laptop. tags: daryl dixon's slutty little lap, no smut but def naughty, grinding, kissing, dry humping. inexperienced daryl, premature ejaculation, mentions of arachnophobia, alexandria, no use of y/n yes I know I have like 50 other wips to work on but cmonnn

It started out as innocent as can be, honest to god.

The first time, it was a run gone sideways—one that started with two cars. The Camry you drove had broken down, leaving the only option of cramming into the single bench truck cab with Rick, Glenn, and Daryl. The rain was coming down in sheets, loud enough to drown out any conversation, hammering the truck’s metal roof like an unrelenting drum. There was no choice but to pile in, no time to hesitate, so you climbed in after them, waterlogged and exhausted, and sat in the first lap by the door.

You barely had time to register anything before strong hands slid around you, stiff at first, then settling firm against his own broad thighs. You looked up, blinking between the three men, before realization hit.

You were in Daryl’s lap.

Rick and Glenn didn’t seem to mind, too preoccupied with the flooded dirt roads, but Daryl? Daryl was rigid beneath you.

All sharp edges and silence, he wasn’t the type to give much away. The most you’d ever shared were quick words on hunts, muttered confirmations on runs, but that was it. He never looked at you long enough to let you wonder if he thought of you at all.

But now… now you were in his lap, warm and close, his body solid under yours, and for the first time, you were thinking about him in an entirely new way. He was handsome, sure. Very handsome, actually. But he never seemed to give any inkling of interest in anyone, really. So you never pushed.

Then the truck hit a pothole.

Your body lurched, and before your head could hit the roof of the cab, Daryl grabbed you. Big hands, rough palms, a reflexively strong grip. The sudden pull forced you to shift against him, dragging across the solid expanse of his thighs, and the feeling of him beneath you hit your stomach like a strike of flint to steel.

He hauled you back down hard, fingers digging in before they quickly jerked away as if he’d been burned by your skin. But the movement had you suddenly very aware of his body under yours.

At first, it was just heat. The firm muscles of his thighs, his body wound tight as a steel cable. But then the truck jolted again, another deep rut in the road, and this time, it sent you rolling forward, your hands pushing up into the dash to keep yourself steady.

And that’s when you felt him.

Thick. Heavy. Hard beneath you.

A sharp breath caught in your throat. Even through layers of damp denim, even with your own clothes separating you, there was no mistaking it.

Your stomach flipped, thighs tightening instinctively, trying not to react, but your body betrayed you—your fingers twitched against the dash, a slow, creeping warmth settling between your legs.

Daryl was fighting it—you could feel that too. His fingers moved, palms rubbing against the side of his own thighs, but he didn’t push you away. His breath turned uneven, hitched like he was trying and failing to keep quiet. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his head tilted back against the window, jaw clenched so tight it might crack. Every muscle in his body was locked up, like he was willing himself to stillness, willing himself to not react to the feel of your ass against him.

Another bounce knocked you forward, and when your body shot forward again, you had to push your palms flat onto the dash and into him to keep yourself steady, an unintentional drag of your hips that made his breath punched out of him. The sound he let out was barely audible over the rain–a deep, guttural noise stuck somewhere between discomfort and something far more dangerous.

A slow, unbearable heat curled in your stomach, spreading low, making your breath shaky. Your body was already acting of it's own accord, your thighs clenching on instinct, your pulse hammering so loudly you swore it would give you away. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe through it, to ignore the way this felt, the way your hips itched to move just a little more, just to test—to see—

And then his lips were near your ear, his voice barely more than a gravelly rasp, thick with something like desperation.

"Quit squirmin’."

A soft, helpless little whimper slipped from your lips.

You clamped a hand over your mouth immediately, but it was too late. Daryl had heard it. You knew because his whole body jerked beneath you, his hands suddenly at your waist, squeezing so tight it almost hurt. His breath came out sharp and unsteady, his thighs twitching under yours, like every muscle in him was coiled so tight he was about to snap.

When the truck finally rolled to a stop at the gates, you bolted.

You didn’t even look at him, didn’t dare risk seeing what was in his face—shock, confusion, regret, want—whatever it was, you couldn’t face it. Your heart pounded as you threw the door open, practically jumping off his lap, ignoring the way your legs trembled when your feet hit solid ground.

But later—in the solitude of your cell–you found yourself lying in the dark, breath heavy, fingers slipping between your thighs as the ghost of that feeling came back with a vengeance.

The second time it happened, it also started out innocent, thank you very much.

For someone who had survived this long into the apocalypse, you sure were damn afraid of spiders. So afraid that when you and Daryl were paired up for a run, you’d nearly died when a nest of them made themselves known. One second, you were reaching into a cupboard for an old can of green beans, the next you were screaming, stumbling back, and then—out cold on the floor.

Daryl had freaked. He’d never seen someone just faint before, not outside of blood loss or injury. He crouched down fast, tapping at your cheek, muttering your name, but you were completely gone. Before he could even process that, a sound outside made his stomach drop—low, guttural hisses, the unmistakable snarl of the dead, drawn in by the sound of your scream.

He didn’t have time to wait for you to wake up.

So, in the most awkward, uncomfortable way imaginable, he scooped you up, hauled you onto his bike, and realized real fast that an unconscious person wasn’t exactly great at holding on. You were too slack, too limp—one wrong turn and you’d slide right off.

Daryl swore under his breath, already sweating at the thought of what he was about to do.

Before he could think too hard about the repercussions of it all, he repositioned you in his lap, facing him, legs hooked around his thighs, arms lightly folded in front of you and against his stomach. His arm curled around your back, holding you upright, while his other hand gripped the handlebar. It was awkward as hell trying to steer while keeping you from slumping sideways, but he managed.

Then you started to stir.

At first, it was subtle—your fingers twitching against his chest, a faint murmur against his shoulder. He prayed you’d stay out just long enough for him to get back to camp because if you woke up like this…

But of course, that would’ve been too easy.

A slow, unconscious shift—your body adjusting, pressing closer, your hips shifting forward right against him.

Daryl tensed so hard he thought he might snap in half.

His arm around your back locked up, his grip on the handlebar nearly crushing it. He forced his focus on the road, on anything but the slow friction against his lap. But then you sighed—soft, barely there, breath warm against his neck—and fuck, he felt it. The heat of you, the lazy drag of your hips as your body instinctively sought comfort.

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

This was not happening again.

But it was.

And it was so much worse than the truck.

Because now, you were asleep. Unconscious. And your body was doing things that you weren’t even aware of, things that made him ache in ways he didn’t know how to deal with. His skin burned, his breath turned shallow, and goddammit, he was getting hard. Again.

Daryl felt like the worst person alive.

This wasn’t supposed to happen—he wasn’t supposed to react to you like this, not when you weren’t even aware of it. But every little shift, every unconscious roll of your hips, every soft breath against his neck was making him suffer.

By the time you finally started to wake up, Daryl was already gone—face burning, heart racing, his body so tense it felt like a live wire. He didn’t even realize how hard he was gripping you until you let out a small noise, your fingers flexing against his shirt as your lashes fluttered.

As you stirred, instinctively clinging to him, your arms beginning to wrap around his middle for better support, your body pressed closer. He felt your hips shifting just enough to grind against him, forcing another sharp twitch beneath his jeans.

Daryl went rigid.

Your body tensed against him as awareness settled in, your breath catching for just a second. Daryl knew the exact moment you realized where you were—what you were sitting on—because you stiffened, fingers gripping at his shirt, but you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you leaned in. His entire body locked up, his grip on the handlebar going white-knuckled as the warmth of your breath brushed against his neck. The hum of the bike beneath him did nothing to drown out the pounding in his ears, the way heat licked up his neck as your lips barely skimmed the sensitive skin on his throat. He felt you move against his lap too, a gentle rocking of your hips against him. His stomach flipped, his fingers twitched, and for a split second, he froze, completely unsure of what to do, how to stop this without making it worse.

“Stop,” he muttered, voice rough, barely above a breath.

You didn’t.

The vibration of the bike only made it worse. He was so goddamn tense, his entire body fighting against the instinct to react. He was barely breathing, just trying to focus on the road, but it was impossible with your mouth teasing at his skin, the warmth of your body curled into him, the weight of you pressing down in a way that was too much.

It was all he could do to hold you still against him.

"Stop," he said again, but this time it was louder, less like an order and more like a plea.

Your lips lingered for a second longer before you finally pulled away.

Daryl exhaled shakily, heart hammering, body strung tight, but he still didn’t push you off, didn’t pull his bike over to switch places and get you off of him. He just sat there, stiff and locked up, trying not to let his hand shake where it pressed into your back.

But then when you pulled away, finally listening to his pleas and he looked down at you for a moment, he saw the flicker in your expression—the way your gaze dropped, the way your lips pressed together, the way your hands loosened their hold on him like you suddenly weren’t sure you should be touching him at all.

His chest ached instantly, sharp and unexpected. That wasn’t what this was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you—it was that he did. So badly it scared the hell out of him. But the way it had happened, the way he had put you in this situation. You hadn’t been fully aware, hadn’t made the choice, and the last thing he wanted was to take advantage of something your body did before your mind had caught up. And the way you hesitated now, the way you pulled back, made something in him panic.

"Sorry," you murmured, voice softer now, any sense of teasing completely washed away.

Daryl swallowed hard, but his throat felt tight, his jaw locked up so bad he thought it might snap. He wanted to say something, to explain, to tell you that this wasn’t about not wanting you.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was keep his grip firm on the handlebar, eyes locked on the road ahead, his arm still braced against your back as he forced himself to focus on anything but the way his body ached for you to come back.

Now…the third time it happened…you couldn’t say it was all that innocent.

The Alexandria watchtower stood separate from the rest of the town, white and quiet, a lone structure overlooking the entrance. It was meant to be a defense point, a place for vigilance, for keeping the people inside safe.

Right now, it felt like a goddamn confession booth.

You sat on the window ledge taking first watch with your arms draped over your knees, the darkened treetops sway in the night breeze, pretending not to notice how tense Daryl was inside behind you up against the opposite wall. You had been up there for nearly an hour now, and he had barely said a word outside of the occasional grunt, playing with an arrow in his hands like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You knew why.

You had been avoiding each other even worse since the bike incident—both of you too flustered, too unsure of what the hell to do with yourselves. But it wasn’t sustainable, not in a place like this, where the community was small and jobs were assigned. The universe—or more likely, Rick—had decided it was time for you to deal with it.

So here you were.

You sighed loudly, twisting around to face him.

"I'm sorry," you said, tilting your head back against the window frame, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

Daryl stilled across the small room, the moonlight catching in his hair, but his features remained shadowed, obscured in the dim glow of the lantern that sat on the floor nearby.

“Fer what?” he finally asked, twiddling the arrow between his fingers, rolling it absentmindedly.

“For everything,” you said, a humorless laugh making your shoulder shake.

His eyes finally flickered up to you, uncertain, but it was enough for you to want to keep explaining yourself. You felt stupid, so so stupid.

“I mean it,” you said, hands pushing against your cheeks, trying to scrub the redness already creeping up your skin, “It won’t happen again. Even if we get stuck in a crowded truck together, even if I faint from another god damn spider attack. I swear to you, Daryl, I will stay far away from touching you,” you glanced at him, and trying to ease the tension, you added: “Next time I’ll just sit in Rick’s lap,”

Daryl’s eyes flickered away for a long moment, something ghosting through them that he was clearly trying to push down. His gaze shifted toward the corner of the room, where nothing but overturned boxes and dust sat in the dark, like he could find the right words buried somewhere in the silence.

You let out a slow breath, thinking that was it, that he’d let the conversation die the way he always did. But then, suddenly, he spoke up.

“Don’t.”

Your brows furrowed. “Don’t what?”

His jaw tensed, fingers flexing as he set down the arrow, “Don’t sit on nobody’s lap.”

The words came out gruff, like he hadn’t meant to say them, and the way he turned his head slightly, like he was bracing himself for your reaction, made something in your chest tighten.

Silence settled between you again, heavier this time. The only sound was the wind rustling through the leaves below, the distant hum of Alexandria behind the walls until he spoke again.

“…I liked it.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Daryl shifted, uneasy, fingers finding his mouth, chewing weakly on the skin of his forefinger like he was regretting opening his mouth. “When you… did that,” he mumbled, gaze flickering toward you before dropping again. “I liked it.”

Your stomach flipped. You studied him, the way his shoulders curled inward slightly, the nervous twitch of his fingers, the pink creeping up his neck. He was avoiding your gaze, embarrassed, like he expected you to laugh, to brush it off, to tell him he was imagining things.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you pushed off the ledge, moving slowly, deliberately, making your way over to him. When you knelt down in front of him, his breath hitched, his fingers clenching, his entire body going still.

You reached out, fingers brushing over his jacket, trailing up toward his shoulder. His breath shuddered, his muscles tightening beneath your touch.

“You liked it?” you murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

You bit your lip, tilting your head. “Which part?”

Daryl’s eyes darted to yours, filled with something uncertain, something hesitant. “What do ya mean?”

“Tell me,” you said, voice softer now, a little breathless. “Which part you liked.”

He didn’t answer right away. His skin was growing pink even in the dim light of the tower, the tips of his ears burning as his fingers twitched against the floor He was looking everywhere but at you, like he was trying to will himself out of this conversation.

You took that moment to shift forward, climbing into his lap without hesitation. His breath stopped, his body going rigid beneath you, hands jerking up before he forced them back down like he didn’t know where to put them.

Your thighs bracketed his hips, your hands settling on his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin.

“Did you like when I sat on your lap in the truck?”

Daryl felt like he wasn’t even breathing beneath you, his hands splayed beside him, fingers curling against the wooden floor as if itching to touch you. His eyes finally caught your gaze and stayed there, flickering between hesitation and something deeper, something you knew he was fighting against.

His voice was barely a murmur, thick and hoarse when he answered.

“…Yeah.”

A slow smile curled at the edge of your lips, and you leaned in, close enough for your nose to brush against his.

“What about the bike?” you whispered.

Daryl swallowed so hard you heard it. His hands finally moved, gripping your thighs where they rested against his, unsure but there, fingers flexing as if he was testing his own restraint.

“…Yeah.”

You could feel the heat of his breath against your mouth, the tension so thick it was dizzying. His body was wound so tight, his grip tightening slightly on your thighs, his entire frame burning beneath you.

“Daryl,” you breathed.

His fingers dug in slightly. His eyelids were heavy, his mouth parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words out.

Then his blue eyed gaze dropped to your lips.

Something in your chest tightened, anticipation coiling low in your stomach as you leaned in, testing, waiting to see if he’d stop you again, if he’d push you away like before, tell you no in that reluctant way that left you aching even worse than before.

But this time, he didn’t.

This time, your lips brushed against his and he sucked in a sharp breath, his hands flexing hard against your thighs, fingers gripping like he was trying to ground himself. Then his lips molded to yours, hesitant at first, like he was still trying to figure this all out.

But the moment you let out a small, contented sigh against his mouth, he made up his mind.

Daryl grabbed at you, rough palms sliding from your thighs up to your hips, and pulled you into him in one desperate, instinctive movement. You gasped softly, fingers tangling into his hair as your body pressed flush against his, the warmth of him searing through the fabric between you.

The pure thickness of him beneath you, solid muscle and broad strength, sent heat rushing through your veins, and then—fuck.

You felt him. Hard, heavy, and pulsing between your legs.

Another shaky whimper slipped from your throat, muffled against his lips, and Daryl groaned at the sound. It was deep, wrecked, vibrating through his chest like he was a man starved of this for far too long. When his mouth parted, panting from the overwhelming friction, you seized the moment, sliding your tongue past his lips to meet his. The taste of cigarettes and something undeniably him flooded your senses, warm and intoxicating, making your head spin.

The friction. The push, the pull, the way his body fit against yours—it was maddening. You rocked again, just enough to feel the way he twitched beneath you, just enough to make his hands clench as they reached back to grip your ass, his hips jerking up in response. The sharp, choked noise he let out sent heat flashing down your spine, turning your thoughts into nothing but molten, aching need.

You ground down on him harder, the steady roll of your hips chasing that friction, the ache building between your legs as his hands dug into your denim clad flesh, guiding you into him like he couldn’t help himself. The obscene noises of lips and tongues and heavy, desperate breathing filled the still night air, drowned only by the distant rustling of leaves outside the tower.

Daryl was unraveling beneath you.

His lips only parted from yours to move hungrily against your neck, dragging over heated skin, sucking at the sensitive flesh beneath your jaw. Every press of his mouth sent shivers racing through you, made your fingers clench tighter in his hair as your hips rolled against the hard length straining beneath his jeans.

The brush of his scruff against your throat had you moaning, a sound that made his hands twitch where they held you, gripping tighter, pulling you down against him like he was chasing it.

You weren’t even thinking anymore.

Not about Alexandria, not about the watchtower, not about anything except how good he felt, how his hardness was aching perfectly beneath you, rubbing just right against the throbbing need building at your core.

Daryl sucked in a ragged breath, dragging his mouth back up to yours, capturing your lips again like he was ravenous for it. His tongue met yours in a messy, desperate tangle, his hands flexing against your hips as he rocked you down into him, his groans spilling into your mouth, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.

You could feel it. The way his muscles were wound tight, his hips bucking beneath yours, his breathing turning ragged, uneven. He was so close. He was overwhelmed, so overstimulated, so completely lost in the way you were moving against him that he didn’t even realize he was chasing it, rutting up against you like he needed it.

And then you rolled your hips again, slower this time, more deliberate, grinding down just right, and Daryl broke.

His whole body seized beneath you, hands clenching at your ass as his hips stuttered up into yours, a wrecked, choked noise tearing from his throat as he came apart. His muscles locked up, every part of him going rigid as the pleasure overtook him.

You pulled back just enough to watch his beautiful face scrunched up, long, greasy hair pushed back just enough for you to see everything—the deep crease in his brow, the way his mouth fell open on a desperate, shuddering groan, the sheer helplessness of it as he twitched beneath you, his release spilling warm under his jeans. His grip on you was bruising, fingers digging in so tight you knew you’d be wearing the marks of him tomorrow.

His chest heaved beneath your palms as you released his long locks from your hands, his whole body shuddering through the aftershocks as reality slowly returned to him. When his eyes finally blinked open, dazed and so beautifully wide, his sweat-slick face somehow managed to flush even redder.

“I—I’m sorry—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Your finger pressed against his lips, silencing him as you tilted your head, watching him freeze beneath you again, all flustered and wrecked, like he was seconds away from bolting if you let him. His wide, desperate blue eyes stayed locked on yours, waiting for something, bracing for the worst.

But you just grinned.

“Don’t—” you began, voice full of warmth and maybe a little teasing, “Don’t ruin the single hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire existence.”

Daryl didn’t find it amusing. If anything, he went even redder under your gaze, his entire body tensing as he turned his head away, looking anywhere but at you. Like if he avoided your eyes long enough, maybe the last few minutes would magically undo themselves.

“Hey,” you murmured, reaching out to grip his chin, forcing him to look at you. His skin was burning under your touch, his breath shallow, his pupils still blown from what had just happened. “I’m not done with you yet,”

Daryl swallowed hard, his jaw shifting under your fingers. “But I—”

“You just got to have your fun,” you cut him off, voice dipping lower, slower, as you leaned in, letting your mouth brush against the outline of his lips, “What about me?” You rolled your hips against his lap, slow and teasing, making him shudder beneath you. “Gonna leave me hangin’, Dixon?”

Daryl’s hands slid up, moving with more intent, his palms splaying over your ribs, fingers flexing just beneath your breasts. He wasn’t just reacting anymore—he was choosing this. He looked up at you, eyes dark, lips parted, voice just barely above a whisper.

“I wanna…” He hesitated, his brows furrowing like he was trying to find the words, trying to ask for something without knowing how. But then, his hands moved to your back, gripping you firmer, like he was realizing what he wanted even as he said it.

“I wanna make you feel good.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Daryl swallowed, his thumbs skimming over the soft skin beneath your shirt, his gaze locked onto yours, searching. “Tell me how,” he murmured, his voice raw, thick with something desperate. “Show me what you like.”

Something hot and deep coiled in your stomach at the way he said it—so eager, so earnest, his hands shaking slightly like he was aching to touch you but needed you to let him.

“You sure?” you murmured, voice barely more than a breath.

His grip tightened. “Yeah.”

You smiled, slow and wicked, leaning down to kiss him—soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. His breath hitched, and when you rolled your hips again, this time he wasn’t just taking it.

This time, he was meeting you halfway.

664 notes · View notes

rotten-biter · 2 months ago

Text

God, I want to sleep

Daryl Dixon x Disabled!reader Part 1?

Warnings: Chronic pain, the feeling you cannot go on any longer, Daryl comforting in his own Daryl way, ANGST, ableism

Summary: You are struggling more and more. The pain starts to get unbearable, specifically since you do not have your medication. Daryl finds out and does what he can to help you.

You were so tired. That is all you could think about. The exhaustion that has settled deep into your bones, making you weary. It was another night of turning and tossing. Every pressure, on your legs, no matter how small like a piece of cloth felt like it was searing your skin. Every night was the same since your meds ran out. Tossing and turning trying to find a position that felt at least somewhat comfortable. Everytime you thought you had found a position that felt good you had to turn a minute later the pressure on your side felt horrible. Sighing you got up, sitting with your head bowed your arms loosely at your side. During the day you made the best of it, smiling and acting as if everything was alright. But in the dark, with no one around you could not pretend anymore.

Rubbing at your eyes, you slowly got up. Like everything you did it took you just a bit longer. So you stood there staring at nothing, your mind blank, your eyes heavy, before slowly starting to move. You made your way out of your cell. Luckily located at the bottom, not upstairs. You had no idea how you would manage to walk the stairs, not in this condition. Hell, you thought to yourself, if a walker were to come after you, you had no idea how you would react. How to fight it. Everything seemed to slow like you were frozen in time. Maybe your instincts would kick in, the primal need to survive, but you could not be sure.

You made your way out of the cell block, towards the kitchen. Maybe they had some dirty dishes to wash, something to focus on besides the bone tiredness you felt.

It felt like ages before you finally pushed open the doors of the Cafeteria. The moonlight provides enough light to see. Even so, you have become accustomed to walking in the dark. You made your way around the serving station into the kitchen. With one glance you saw the tubs usually used to put the dirty dishes in empty. Sighing, you turned around, guess that was not an option. Maybe some laundry needed to be done?

You did not get very far, sleep deprivation made you woozy, so you plopped down at one of the benches, your arms laying on the table, you had no idea for how long you sat like this. Your eyes staring at nothing before you, your mind not comprehending what was going on around you.

Daryl made his way towards the kitchen, he had just gotten off Guard duty. Carol had told him she left some granola on the counter for him. He was not all too hungry but it felt good having a full stomach before going to bed. So he did not protest, for now the prison had enough food, even with the many new people. Rounding the corner, he saw the doors to the cafeteria open, normally they looked up everything tight during night, just in case. Daryl lightened his steps, not wanting anyone to hear him coming. Creeping up on the door, he dared a quick glance in it. He had not expected to see you there, sitting on one of the tables, but instantly his shoulders relaxed.

Straightening up now that there was no danger he made his way into the cafeteria.

You heard someone approaching but it did not register until he was practically in front of you. You lifted your head and met with Daryl Dixon. You gave him a small smile, or what you thought was one, you could not be sure anymore. Daryl shot you a confused look. Only then did you realize he had asked you a question. “Said w’at you doin’ here?” Looking around you surveyed your surroundings as if for the first time. “I was gonna do some dishes.” You looked at him. “In the middle of the night?” His head tilting sideways, running along your frame. Normally you would feel weird at someone staring at you like that but you could not careless. “You good?” You just hummed, looking past him at nothing.

Were you good? No. But you also did not want to say anything, that small part of you that faced too many snide comments in your life, from teachers and peers and even your parents, had your tongue tied. What if Daryl rolled his eyes at you? Just another ‘poor little thing’. A cripple with nothing to offer and burdens to give. What if they decide you were not worth the trouble and it would be a mercy for everyone just to get rid of you?

Of course this was your sleep deprived and most insecure part of you talking but you could not stop. Even before the world ended you knew you were never really part of it. Last one to be picked for any kind of sports team, the friend who had to cancel plans, the girl who spent her free time going to physical therapy, and doctor visits. Who knew more about medical procedure than what a teenage life was like.

You had spaced out, ignoring Daryl completely, consumed by that pressing feeling in your chest, and the burning of your eyes.

Daryl had sat down next to you, his crossbow on his right and you on his left. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes. That was Daryl for you, the one to fix things, but no idea how to approach a situation like that. So he gave you room, just sat next to you, not pushing you to talk.

Finally you looked at him. “Are you okay?” His lips twitched upwards, that was very you, always checking in making sure everyone was okay. “Yeah, just got off Guard Duty, was headin’ here to grab me some Granola.”

“I can get it for you.” But you made no move to stand up, as if in your mind you had already gotten it from him. He watched how one eyelid closed faster when you blinked. It was concerning to say the least, he knew that you must be more than exhausted if your body was so visibly reacting. Your head kept dropping and he noticed how you were slumped to one side. Unconsciously he scooted closer, just to make sure he could reach you in case you keeled over. “Hey,” he murmured. Lifting his hand to your face he turned your head to him. Once again his gaze was intense, observing every part of you. He was so warm, you could not help but lean into his hand a bit. “I’m okay,” you mumbled again. Your eyes now hardly open. “Ya ain’t,” he roughed out. If there was one thing Daryl hated was bullshitting lies like these. “You look like hell, woman.” There was no need to beat around the bush. If he did not know you he would have thought you were a walker. Hell he still was not entirely sure you were not becoming one right this moment. Taking a deep breath, his other hand gripped you around the waist. “Common,” he almost said sweetheart. “Let’s get you to bed.” He pulled you up. “Can’t be kickin’ no ass tomorrow otherwise.” He tried to joke. But you just leaned on him, your head on his chest. Gods he was just so warm! He pulled you along, the hand that held your face, leaving to grab his crossbow. He slung his trusted friend over his shoulder before, without thinking his hand found its way back to the side of your face. If you were more awake you’d think he was cradling you. You’d think how wonderfully sweet the rough man holding you up was. But you were not, so you just let yourself be guided back towards the cellblock. Once you stepped into the common room, you were close to the handful of stairs that led down to the small area. You tried to hold yourself up, but the pressure of stepping down was too much for your aching and inflamed muscles, and you crumbled. Daryl had a tight grip around you but he did not want to hurt you more. The painted moan you let out enough to make his, even though he would never name it as such, protective instinct kicked in. He lowered you onto the step, almost covering your body with his as if there was some invisible force coming for you. And there was just not one that he could fix with his crossbow or fists. You sat there for a second and finally the dam broke. You choked out a sob. “I am so tired, Daryl, so tired.” He did not quite hold you in a hug but he did hold you up. “Is alri’ht sweethea’t. We gonna get ya to bed, okay?” You laugh-sobbed. Sleeping? Sleeping won’t help this, you thought. Then you began to sob in earnest. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Another sob broke out. “I just don’t.” Now Daryl felt absolutely helpless. His old self would have scoffed at you, called you a brat or weak. But he knew better now and he knew you. You were not soft, or weak, or a brat. You were strong, kind, and selfless. He had no idea what brought this on but he was damn sure he was not gonna lose someone else. “Hey, come on now.” He gently grabbed your face. “We gonna figure this out ‘kay?” He tried to catch your eyes, show you how serious he was but no matter what your eyes were half shut overflowing with tears. Fuck it he thought. He swiftly grabbed you under the arms, heaving you up. Quickly before you could fall again, he maneuvered one of his hands under your knees and the other behind your back. With you in his arms he made his way down the stairs. He almost jumped back in fright when he saw Herhsel standing in the entry to the cellblock, a look of sadness on the older man's face. Normally, no one was able to sneak up on Daryl but he was so focused on you.

“Get her to bed, I will be right there.” Even though his face conveyed his sadness, Daryl recognized the tone of the old man's voice, it was all business. So he did what he was told. Walking into your cell, he saw your blanket, crumpled and pushed to the side so he easily enough sat you down in your bed. Quickly he covered you with the blanket. As usual when Daryl was nervous he started to chew on his thumb cuticle.

Herschel came into the cell, a glass of water with him. “Here give her this.” He handed Daryl two pills and the glass of water. You were laying still in your bed, feeling horrible that the exact thing you did not want happened. Daryl nodded before turning to you. “Here girl.” He lifted you slightly, holding the pills to your mouth. You did not protest, just took them and a swallow of water to wash them down. Laying back down you stared at the bottom bunk bed. “Just try and get some sleep.” Daryl did not know what else to say, so when you nodded, he got up and followed Hershel out of your cell. Once again you were back where you started alone in your cell.

Daryl followed Hershel down to his cell. “What’s wrong with ‘er?” No need to beat around the bush he thought. Hershel exhaled deeply. “Chronic pain in her muscles caused by inflammations.” He simply stated, thinking the same as Daryl, no need to beat around the bush. “She told me once at the farm.” The older man entered his cell, sitting by the small desk, on an old metal chair. “I have to admit, after everything after the farm, I forgot about it.” He rubbed his hands together, contemplating. “She is good at hiding it.” Was all he said.

Daryl mulled over the words. He had to agree, you were good at hiding it. “She must have run out of medication some time ago,” Hershel went on. “Hard to sleep when your entire body is in pain constantly.” Daryl hummed in agreement. “So, w’at does she need?” Finally, Hershel looked at him. “For now I gave her a painkiller, it will not do too much but paired with a slight sleeping aid she at least should get a couple of hours. But she will need muscle relaxers, maybe even more pain killers, and those are valuable.” He turned to Daryl. “And she knows that, that’s why she did not say anything. But maybe with additional supplements it will help keep the inflammation down.”

“Alri’ht, what kind?” Hell, Daryl had no idea where he would get any of the shit but he would try. Hershel pulled out paper and pen from his top desk drawer. “For one, the best would be Pregabalin, if I remember correctly that is what she had before, but any muscle relaxer will do.” He shot Daryl a look. “Maggie can go with you, she knows what kind to look out for. Then supplements, any magnesium, amino acids, vitamins.” Daryl watched Hershel write down all kinds of things. Once he was done he handed Daryl the list. “Where do I ‘et some of tha’ stuff?” Hershel thought for a moment. But he was getting old and he had no idea how many places they had raided already. “Let’s get the map.”

As the two made their way out towards the common room, Rick stepped out of his cell. He took one look at the two men and followed. The next hour the men purred over the map coming up with a plan to get you the stuff you needed.

Back in your cell, you had no idea what they were doing, not long after you had swallowed the pills you felt yourself drift off.

Should I do a follow up?

161 notes · View notes