#Daryl x reader

[xmiaacxio]

twd s2 aesthetic..

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression @timebomb1101 @inejghafasdagger @koshkahhh @juliperezsilveira @pandaofsilentdeath @straw--b3rry

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

TW: Cussing, Walkers (Zombies), tension, kidnapping, helplessness, coercion, lecherous behavior, predatory behavior, angst, Negan is a Villan, SA (Implied, offscreen), panic attack.

Part 45

Dead Weight - Part 46

The gates of Alexandria swing open, and Daryl feels something in his chest ease for the first time in weeks. Home. Or as close to home as anywhere could be these days.

But the relief is short-lived when he looks at you walking beside him, your shoulders hunched inward, eyes darting around like you're expecting an attack from every shadow.

She ain't the same, he thinks, jaw clenching. Hell, she ain't been the same since that night she threw herself over me, beggin' for my life. The memory makes his stomach turn.

He should've protected you.

Should've been stronger, faster, better.

Instead, your paying the price for his failures.

Glen is the first to spot you both, his face lighting up with relief and joy. "Oh thank God, you're both okay!" He rushes forward, arms outstretched for his usual enthusiastic hug.

But you flinch so hard you nearly stumble backward, your hands coming up defensively. "No—don't—sorry, I just—" Your voice cracks, and you wrap your arms around yourself.

Glen stops dead, his hands falling to his sides, confusion and hurt flickering across his features. "Hey, It's just me ... I wasn't gonna ..."

Daryl's hands curl into fists. Glen's been one of your closest friends since the prison. You've never flinched away from Glen in your life. Never looked at him like he might hurt you.

What did that bastard do to her? The thought makes Daryl want to put his fist through the nearest wall. He'd only seen the way Negan looked at you in passing, or through Dwight's relutant updates.

Seeing you like this, seeing you afraid of touch from people who'd never hurt you...

Makes his whole chest ache.

"It's fine," you manage, but your voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm fine, I'm sorry"

You're not fine.

Anyone with eyes can see that.

Carl appears next, relief written all over his young face. "You're back," he says simply, but there's so much emotion in those two words. He steps forward for a hug—the same kid who's been your constant since he was eight years old, who you've worried over and cared for through everything.

You try. Daryl can see you trying to be normal, to let Carl embrace you. But your whole body goes rigid when the teen's arms wrap around you, and you have to force yourself not to pull away immediately.

"Sorry," you mumble against Carl's shoulder, and Daryl can hear the self-hatred in your voice. "I'm sorry, Carl. I'm so sorry."

What the hell's she apologizin' for ?, Daryl asks himself and the rage in his chest burns hotter.

Carl pulls back, looking between you and Daryl with understanding beyond his years. "You don't have anything to apologize for."

Rick appears, taking in the scene with sharp eyes. Daryl can see him cataloging the changes—the way you stand closer to the fence than the center of the group, the way you keep your arms wrapped around yourself, the careful distance you maintain from everyone.

"We need to get you both inside," Rick says quietly. "And we need to talk. Negan's going to come back, and when he does, he can't know you're here."

At the mention of Negan's name, you go pale. Daryl notices the way your breathing quickens, how your hands start to shake slightly.

She's scared, he realizes. She's fuckin' terrified.

"We need to move tomorrow," Rick continues. "Go to the Kingdom, start building alliances. We can't do this alone."

"No." The word comes out sharper than you intended, and everyone turns to look at you. "I mean... What if he finds out? What if—"

"Hey." Daryl's voice is rough, but gentle. He wants to reach for you, wants to pull you close like he used. But he can see how you're holding yourself, can see that even his touch might be too much right now.

Carol recognizes the signs immediately - the way your breathing is getting shorter, how your hands are starting to shake, the glassy look creeping into your eyes.

She's seen this before, in herself, in others who've survived the unsurvivable. Without drawing attention to what she's doing, she moves closer to you.

"Hi," Carol says quietly, her voice cutting through the rising panic with practiced calm. "Look at me for a second." She positions herself in your line of sight, not crowding you but close enough that you can focus on her face instead of the spiraling thoughts. "We're going to figure this out together, okay? But right now, I need you to breathe with me."

She demonstrates, taking slow, deliberate breaths, and you find yourself automatically trying to match her rhythm. "That's it" she says softly, Her presence is steady, grounding, and somehow the panic begins to ebb just enough for you to think clearly again.

"You're safe right now," Carol continues, her voice never wavering from that calm, sure tone. "Right here, right now, you're safe. But he will come to visit, and both you and Daryl can't be here when that happens"

"What if he comes back while we're gone?" you continue, and Daryl can hear the panic curling around your voice. "What if he knows we escaped? What if he takes it out on everyone else?"

Rick's expression softens with understanding. "He won't know. We'll be careful."

But Daryl can see you're not convinced. You're thinking about consequences, about retaliation, about all the ways Negan could hurt the people you care about.

Just like you were thinking when you threw yourself over Daryl that night, begging for his life.

Always puttin' everyone else first, he thinks.

"I don't know," you whisper, and Daryl can see you retreating inward, building walls to protect yourself.

Thinks she's gonna cause retaliation, Daryl realizes with a sick feeling.

The worst part is, he doesn't know how to fix this. Doesn't know how to reach you when you're drowning in fear and self-blame. All he knows is that he failed to protect you and now you're paying the price.

Should've been me, he thinks for the hundredth time since the Sanctuary. Should've let me take the goddamn hit.

But it wasn't. And now he has to figure out how to help you heal from wounds he can't even see, while fighting his own demons about not being enough, not being worthy of the sacrifice you made for him.

Merle was right, the familiar voice whispers in his head. Look what hangin' around w'me got 'er.

Daryl pushes the voice away, but it leaves its mark. Just like it always does.

Later that evening, you find yourself in Judith's nursery, gently rocking her to sleep. The familiar routine is soothing, one of the few things that feels normal anymore. When Carol appears in the doorway, her face soft with understanding, you don't flinch.

Something about Carol, even with her righteousness, has always felt safe.

"How are you holding up?" she asks quietly, settling into the chair beside you.

"I'm fine," you say automatically, then catch yourself. "No, I'm not fine. I hate that I can't even hug Glen without falling apart. I hate that Carl thinks he did something wrong when he's never done anything but love me."

Carol reaches over and gently touches your hand. When you don't pull away, she keeps it there. "You've been through a lot. Your body is trying to protect you, even from people you love. It doesn't mean your choosing to do it."

"I feel broken," you whisper, looking down at Judith's peaceful face. "I feel like he's still there, still watching, still—" You cut yourself off, unable to finish.

"You know, when I was at the Kingdom, I met someone I think you'd like," Carol says, changing the subject with the gentle skill of someone who understands.

"The king there, Ezekiel. He's... different. Kind. Theatrical, but genuinely good. He has this way of making people feel safe."

You nod, not trusting your voice.

"We're going to get through this," Carol says firmly. "You won't be alone."

The water runs scalding hot, but you barely feel it anymore. Your skin is raw and red from scrubbing, but you can't stop.

Can't get clean enough.

The soap burns the abraded skin on your arms, but still you scrub harder, trying to wash away the memory of his hands, his breath, his voice whispering things that made your skin crawl.

Get it off.

Get it off.

Get it off.

The dress you wore at the Sanctuary lies crumpled on the bedroom floor - that awful thing he made you wear, said it looked "real pretty" on you.

Your breathing becomes ragged as the panic rises. The small bathroom feels like it's closing in, the steam making it hard to breathe. You slide down the shower wall until you're sitting on the floor, hot water beating down on you as sobs wrack your body.

You want to scream, but your throat feels to tight.

You hear footsteps outside the bathroom door, then a gentle knock.

"Hey." Daryl's voice is soft, careful. "Y'alright?"

You try to answer, but only a choked sound comes out.

"I, uh... I put some clothes out on the bed for you. "Ones y'like."

The kindness in his voice breaks something loose in your chest, and you cry harder. He's trying so hard to take care of you, and you can't even function properly anymore.

"Take y'time," he says quietly. "M'here if you need anythin'."

When you finally turn off the water, your skin is pruned and raw. You dry off mechanically, avoiding looking at yourself in the mirror.

On the bed, Daryl has laid out your most comfortable clothes - soft cotton pants and one of your favorite t-shirts. But when you pick up the shirt, something feels wrong. It's too light or too thin, too something.

Without really thinking about it, you set it aside and go to the dresser you share with Daryl. Your hands find one of his flannels - the yellow one that's gone soft with age and washing, he doesnt wear it much anymore. When you put it on, wrapping the oversized fabric around yourself, you finally feel like you can breathe again.

It smells like him - like home.

Daryl notices the t-shirt still on the bed when he comes to check on you. He sees you curled up in his flannel instead, looking lost, and something in his chest tightens.

There's a flicker of something that might be hope.

He picks up the discarded dress from the floor, holding it away from himself like it might contaminate him too. The fabric feels wrong in his hand - tainted with memories of what happened to you while wearing it. Carol watches from the couch as he carries it downstairs without a word.

He doesn't ask permission.

Doesn't need to.

This thing needs to be destroyed.

Carol follows, helping him build up the fire. They watch in silence as the fabric catches, curls, and turns to ash.

The flames seem to purge something from the air, and Carol catches Daryl's eye.

"When's the last time you slept?" Carol settles beside him, studying his profile.

Daryl shrugs. "Don't matter."

"It matters."

They sit in silence for a while before Daryl finally speaks, his voice rough with emotion. "I failed her, Carol. I was supposed to protect her, and I failed."

"Daryl—"

"Nah, listen." He turns to face her, and Carol can see the pain etched in every line of his face.

"She threw herself over me that night. Begged for my life. Offered to be one of his ..." he can't finish the sentence, it makes him feel sick. "If he left m'alone... And what did I do? Nothin'. I let him take her."

"You were outnumbered and outgunned. There was nothing you could have done."

"There's always somethin'." His hands clench into fists. "She can't even stand to be touched now. Can't hug the people she loves without breakin' apart. That's my fault."

Carol's voice is gentle but firm. "It's Negan's fault. Not yours."

"I love her," Daryl says suddenly, the words torn from somewhere deep inside. "I love her, Carol. Been too scared to tell her, too scared I ain't good enough for someone like her."

"And now?"

"Now m'more scared. What if she can't stand my touch neither? What if every time she looks at me, she remembers that prick ? What if lovin' me gets her hurt again ?"

Carol is quiet for a long moment. "You know what I see when I look at her with you?"

Daryl shakes his head.

"I see someone who feels safest when you're near. Even now, even hurt like she is, she gravitates toward you. She trusts you in a way she doesn't trust anyone else."

"Then why won't she let me help her?"

"Because she's scared too. Scared of being vulnerable, scared of being a burden, scared of being hurt again. But that doesn't mean she doesn't need you. It just means she needs you to be patient."

Daryl nods, but Carol can see the doubt still eating at him.

"She made her choice that night," Carol continues. "She chose to protect you because you matter to her. Don't water that down by believing you're not worth it."

"What if I can't fix this? What if I can't—"

"Then you'll be there while she heals herself. Love isn't about fixing someone, Daryl. It's about standing beside them while they find their own way back."

That night, your danp hair curls over the edges of your pillow in your shared room, you watch Daryl lean agasint the doorway. He's keeping as much distance as possible, clearly trying not to crowd you.

"Daryl?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

He looks up immediately. "Yeah?"

"Stay? Please?"

"Course," he says simply, settling back against the pillows.

You stay on your side close enough to feel his presence, but not close enough to touch.

He doesn't reach for you, doesn't try to hold you like he used to, but knowing he's there makes the darkness feel less overwhelming.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?"

"For being patient with me. For not making me feel broken."

"Y'ain't broken," he says into the darkness.

For a while, you both lie there in the quiet darkness, the space between you achingly empty. You can hear Daryl's breathing gradually slow and deepen as sleep takes him, and eventually, lulled by the familiar sound, you drift off too.

Hours pass.

In sleep, Daryl's body relaxes completely for the first time in weeks. The hypervigilance that kept his muscles coiled tight during waking hours finally releases its grip.

Old habits and deeper instincts take over - the same ones that used to draw him to you every night, when you both to seek comfort in each other's warmth like gravity.

His body shifts unconsciously, turning toward you like a compass finding true north. In the depths of sleep, muscle memory guides him as his arm slides across the small space between you, coming to rest across your waist in a gesture as natural as breathing.

For a few peaceful moments, you both sleep the way you used to - close, connected, safe in each other's presence.

But peace doesn't last long, you wake up disoriented, heart pounding like a war drum in your chest. There's weight across your body, an arm pinning you down, and the world tilts sideways as terror floods your system.

Your skin feels like it's crawling, every nerve ending screaming danger.

The darkness presses in from all sides, and for a terrifying, all-consuming moment you're back in that room with Negan - his voice a predatory whisper in your ear, his hands claiming territory on your skin that wasn't his to take.

"No, no, don't!"

The words tear from your throat raw and desperate. You scramble away so violently you nearly fall off the bed, your body moving on pure instinct, pressing yourself against the headboard with wild, unfocused eyes.

Your chest heaves as you hyperventilate, the room spinning around you.

Daryl jerks awake, immediately pulling his arm back like he's been burned.

"Hey, hey, S'me. It's just me." His voice is soft, but there's panic underneath - panic for you, not at you.

But you can't hear him over the roar of blood in your ears, over the phantom sensations still crawling across your skin.

The room is dark, full of shifting shadows that could hide anything, anyone. Your vision tunnels to a singular point, and all you can feel is trapped.

"Don't touch me, please don't touch me," you gasp, the words coming out in broken sobs, but even as you say it, some distant part of you knows this isn't right.

You know that voice, know those hands wouldn't hurt you.

Daryl's heart shatters watching you cower from him, but he forces himself to move slowly, deliberately.

Every instinct screams at him to reach for you, to pull you close and promise you're safe, but he knows that's the last thing you need right now.

"Look at me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just... feel."

He moves like he's telegraphing every motion. His hands hover in the space between you, not quite touching, waiting. When you don't pull away, he very gently, very carefully, takes your trembling hands in his.

He guides your fingers to his head with movements so tentative they're almost reverent, like he's afraid you'll shatter at any moment.

"S'me," he whispers, and there's something broken in his voice. "Its jus' me."

Your fingers tangle in the long strands, and slowly, slowly, recognition begins to dawn through the fog of panic.

This isn't Negan. This is Daryl- the hair you've run your fingers through countless times, soft, familiar and safe.

Next, he brings your hands to his face, letting you map the familiar territory. The stubble that's rougher in some places than others, the scar on his chin from a childhood accident, the way his skin crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles.

"Daryl?" Your voice is small, uncertain, like a child waking from a nightmare.

"Yeah." The relief in his voice is palpable.

The panic gradually recedes like a tide pulling back, leaving you shaky and exhausted in its wake.

When your breathing finally evens out, when the wild look fades from your eyes, only then does Daryl move.

He takes your hands - the same hands that were just clawing at the air in terror - and brings them to his lips.

He turns his head slightly, angling so his lips find the soft flesh at the base of your thumb first, soft and lingering, like he's trying to kiss away all the memories of fear.

The kiss is feather-light, barely there, but you feel it like a brand of safety against your skin. His breath is warm as he murmurs against your palm, "Y'safe."

His thumb traces over your knuckles with the barest whisper of pressure, back and forth in a soothing rhythm.

"Ain't nobody gonna hurt you while I'm here," he drawls, his voice thick with emotion. "Never again."

When he moves to your other hand, he takes even more care, if that's possible. His lips brush against the center of your palm this time, lingering there as if he's trying to pour all his love and protection into that single point of contact.

"M'here" he whispers against your skin. "Y'know me. Y'know I'd walk into a herd 'fore I let anyone lay a finger on you."

His own hands are steady despite the tremor you can hear in his voice, and he brings your joined hands up so your palms rest against his cheeks.

"Ain't gonna let anythin' hurt ya"

"I'm sorry," you whisper, shame flooding through you.

"Nothin' to be sorry for." His voice is firm, final.

The moonlight filters through the small window, casting gentle shadows across the sloped ceiling above your shared bed. "Jus' you and me," he murmurs, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the attic room.

His hands cover yours, guiding your fingers through the longer strands at his temples with infinite patience. "Y'here?" he whispers.

Your fingers follow his guidance, threading through the soft hair that curls slightly at the ends. The texture grounds you, reminds you of countless nights curled against him.

"Y'with me ?," he breathes, his eyes closing as your touch becomes more sure.

You nod slowly, sinking back into the comfort of reality, like a plush blanket.

The attic creaks softly around you, the old house settling into the night. Here, in this small space that's become yours and Daryl's sanctuary, the world narrows to just this - his hair between your fingers, his quiet voice anchoring you to the present.

"Ain't nowhere else m'gonna be," he tells you so quietly its almost swallowed by the darkness, his forehead almost touching yours. "Just right here, wit' you."

Your fingers find the longer pieces at the back, and you run one strand between your fingers, focusing on the texture, the realness of it. In the darkness, with your hands in his hair and his quiet presence beside you, you finally feel safe enough to close your eyes again.

[kaayyyys]

he's so cute when he's goofy

[twd-bee3]

Stay

Summary: After running into a hostile group of scavengers, you were shot while covering for Daryl, and the consequences are devastating.

Warnings/Tags: violence, gunshot wound, blood loss, trauma, HEAVY angst, canon level of gore, there is no happy ending, death, established relationship, female reader (she/her), season ten, no use of y/n

Word count: 1.6k words

A/N: I deeply apologize for the heartache that I'm about to put y'all through. I was going to spare you guys from the ending scene, but bestie Kayla (@b1eedthefreak) said to keep it in. I've been getting requests for more angst, so I've been writing more. I am so happy that y'all are loving these. Please keep the requests coming. The support from you all has brought me so much joy. Oh, and before anyone loses their shit, I will be posting this piece rewritten with a happy ending. Additional note - I was listening to “Rock That Body” by Black Eyed Peas. Do with that what you will.

The sound of gunfire splintered the air, and everything blurred around the two of you. This was supposed to be a simple supply run, but you had run into a hostile group. It was only you and Daryl, so things were getting dark fast. The couple had almost reached their cabin when there was another loud crack, and with you being in front of Daryl, you were hit by the stray.

You felt a sharp pain in your right side and cried out. Looking down, you saw the crimson blooming across your tank top and froze. “Oh shit.”

Hearing your pained gasp, Daryl spun you around so that he could look you over. He glanced down and saw the blood soaking your shirt. A cold sense of dread washed over him, and his eyes went wide.

“Fuck. No, no, no.”

“I don't know what to do, Daryl.”

You were taking labored breaths, and you were already starting to stumble. The shock was setting in fast, and Daryl was even more desperate to get you to safety. The last of the men was bound to find you two if you stayed where you were. Acting on pure instinct, he lifted you into his arms and started running again. He was careful not to drop you and clutched your body close to his chest.

“Stay with me, baby. You're okay. We're almost there.”

His words were rushed, and his voice was strained. It felt like it took hours, but you finally reached your home, and he made sure that the perimeter was clear of walkers. Daryl laid you on the couch and frantically tore your tank top to get a clearer view of the gunshot. It was deep. Really fucking deep. There was no exit wound, but he tried to maintain some semblance of hope.

The blood was pouring from your abdomen, and he felt sick to his stomach at the sight of it. This was his girl, and she was bleeding out on their couch. Daryl used his hands to apply firm pressure, but the bleeding was relentless. Tears streamed down his face as he tried desperately to keep you with him.

“I got you, sweetheart. Just- just stay awake for me. You can do that, right?”

“I'm really tryin', but I'm tired. I'm so fuckin' tired, Daryl.”

“Don't say that. You're okay. I've got you.”

Daryl kept his palms pressed against your stomach and watched as the blood seeped past his fingers like water. He needed to stop the bleeding before he could even think about attempting to stitch you up. Knowing that he needed to do more, he took off his shirt and applied more force against the wound.

You were only growing paler, and your eyes kept fluttering shut. You were trying to be strong and keep them open, but it was increasingly becoming more difficult. The sight of his baby going out on him made his chest feel heavy. He couldn't give up, though.

“Hey, sweetheart. I need you to stay with me. Please. Talk or somethin'.”

Forcing your eyes open again, you nodded and let out a shaky exhale. “Okay. Can you tell me somethin' good?”

“Somethin' good?” It took him a moment, but he was able to think of something, and he smiled weakly. “Remember that trip we're supposed to take?”

“Yeah. You're gonna take me to Oceanside and we're gonna put our feet-” your words were cut off with a sharp gasp, but you pushed through and kept speaking softly. “Our feet in the water. Dog's comin' with us.”

Daryl's heart ached hearing how hard it was for you to speak, but he was proud of you for trying. You were making an effort to stay with him - that was all that he could ask for.

“Yeah, baby. We're all goin' to the beach. You ain't gettin' in the water, though. Your dumb ass ain't never learned to swim.”

His words were teasing, but his tone was forced. He was grasping at straws to keep you awake. Daryl looked back down at the wound to see that the bleeding hadn't stopped. Your breath kept hitching, and the pit in his stomach grew. The shirt was soaked in your blood, and his forearms were caked in it - there was no fixing this. He didn't want to stop, but it was clear that his efforts were in vain.

Making eye contact with his girl again, exhaustion was written all over her face. The most that Daryl could do now was make you comfortable. Taking a shaky breath, he removed his hands from the fabric and gently stroked your cheek. The tears continued to flow.

Seeing your usually stoic boyfriend cry and the heartbreak in his gaze, you reached up to gently swipe some tears from his face. Your movements were weak, but it was obvious that you were doing your best to comfort him. You gave him a small smile and spoke again, your voice strained.

“Shhh, it's okay, my love.”

“No, don't try to comfort me. Not when you're dyin' in my fuckin' arms.”

His voice was rough and his tone was harsh, but it was obvious that he was devastated. Daryl couldn't stop crying, and his chest felt tight. Too tight. He knew that he needed to be strong for you, but he struggled to pull it together. He couldn't even speak through the sobs, so he resorted to gently stroking your cheek. Needing to be closer to you, he sat on the couch beside you and pulled you into his lap. He had never felt pain like this, and he could feel something breaking deep inside of him.

The sight of Daryl breaking down almost hurt more than the gunshot itself. His holding you was a small comfort, but you were still quickly fading. Your breathing continued to slow, and your eyes kept closing. You forced them back open and attempted to keep talking. Wiping his cheek again, you let your hand rest on the side of his face.

“I love you so fuckin' much, you know that right? Lovin' you is the only thing that I've gotten right.”

That only served to make him sob harder, and Daryl felt like a part of him was dying with you. He took ragged breaths and spoke through the tears. “I love you, sweetheart. More than anythin'. I'm so sorry that I ain't able to fix this.”

“You can't fix everythin', Daryl. This- this was bound to happen. I'm just glad that you're here with me.”

“Are you in any pain, baby?”

You felt a bit cold, but you couldn't feel the wound anymore. That only meant one thing - you were almost there. You shook your head and gently stroked his unshaven jaw. It was harder for you to speak, and your answers had been reduced to just a few words at a time. “No pain.”

Your answer confirmed what he already knew: he was losing his baby. By some miracle, Daryl was able to compose himself, and his tears slowed. He managed to keep the tremor in his voice to a minimum. He didn't want you worrying about him in your final moments.

“That's good. I ain't want you to hurt. You want me to keep talkin'?”

Your eyelids flittered again, and you gave him a small nod. You were too drained to speak at this point, and your breathing was almost imperceptible. Your pupils were dilated, and it was hard for you to concentrate. You were listening to him, though.

“Remember when we came back from dinner the other night and Dog had torn up a few of our couch pillows? The little shit was waggin' his tail and everythin'. Thought he'd done somethin' real good. You nearly pissed your pants laughin' so hard, and that only encouraged him more.”

Your lips curved in a small smile, but your gaze had started to lose focus. It was only a matter of minutes now, and the idea of that made Daryl feel hollow. He kept talking and absentmindedly stroked your cheek, though.

“Oh, remember the time when he brought that injured little bird into the house and you were hysterical? You thought that I was so mean for laughin'. I felt like a total asshole, but you're cute when you get like that. You've got the biggest heart.”

Daryl kept rambling until he felt your chest still, and he glanced down to see that your lips were parted slightly. The eyes that he always got lost in were still open, but they lacked their usual light. You were gone.

“I love you, sweet girl.”

Openly sobbing now, Daryl whispered softly and used his fingertips to gently close your eyes. He was absolutely shattered, and he hadn't even reached the hardest part yet. He knew what he had to do, but he was trying to prolong the inevitable. Before the next step, he leaned his face down and gently kissed your lips. They were already slightly cooler than usual, and their pretty pink color had faded.

You wouldn't have wanted to turn, and he owed you this small bit of mercy. He waited a few moments before grabbing your revolver that was lying on the coffee table and pressing it to your temple. Daryl screwed his eyes shut, took a shaky breath, and pulled the trigger.

The sound reverberated around the small room, and it was accompanied by his harsh sobs. His whole body was wracked with the force of them. Daryl slowly rocked your limp form like a child and whispered unkept promises to you throughout the night.

Once the sun had risen, Carol found you two like that. She had come over to see why Daryl hadn't been answering her on the old police radio - she got her answer.

[holdmytesseract]

Guardian Angel

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When Pamela Milton makes the big mistake to threaten Daryl and his family, the archer isn't afraid of protecting what's his - at all costs.

Warnings: usual TWD stuff, violence, blood, choking, injuries, threatening a baby, attempted murder & murder, mentions of birthing a baby, protective dad!Daryl, fluff & babies!

Set in Season 11!

Word Count: 3,4k

a/n: I wrote this for @dixonsstinkysock , 'cause she was so excited about dad!Daryl, hehe. Thank you for the inspiration! I LOVED writing this! Hope you like it, too.

Disclaimer: Some words of the interaction between Carol and Daryl aren't mine. I just used them to fit the plot.

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

A father... He got blessed with becoming a father. Never ever - not even in his wildest dreams would've Daryl thought that the end of the world was going to bring this his way. Never. And yet here he was. It was incredible and borderline unbelievable. The archer would've scoffed and laughed into everybody's face who told him that in the beginning of this shit show.

Daryl buttoned up the fresh black grayish shirt he was just forced to slip into. Kudos to the tiny bundle of joy who had gotten to see the light of the world only a mere week ago and decided to 'burp' milk all over his shoulder. Daryl forgot to use a burp cloth; still adjusting to this whole new situation.

He couldn't help but smile to himself, as deft fingers worked the buttons.

The archer's heart was close to exploding with all the love he felt for you and his baby girl.

"What got you smiling so cute?"

Your sudden remark catapulted Daryl out of his thoughts. He finished the last button on the shirt, then lifted his head properly. His eyes met your frame; standing in the doorway - and it was probably the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. You were wearing one of his sweaters, sweatpants and fluffy socks. Clothes who did not tick many boxes besides being absolutely comfortable. Comfort was all you cared about at the moment - understandably. Besides the easy access to your daughter's food source, of course. Speaking of her... She was neatly tucked against your body to provide body warmth; hands cradling her bum and head. Eyes closed and most likely sleeping; milk drunk and satisfied.

He merely shook his head; still smiling. "Nothin'. Jus'..." Daryl crossed the short distance between you and him. One hand gripped your hip gently, the other cupped your cheek. "...this. You. Our daughter." His oceanic blues gazed into your Y/E/C ones. "Ain't never been happier in my life, I think." Daryl's words caused you to smile as well. Turning your head slightly, you kissed his palm. "Me too. Even more now since we go back home." He nodded in agreement, "Yeah. 'S gon be perfect." and pressed a tender, lingering kiss against your forehead. His goatee tickling your skin.

"I love you, Dar."

Although he heard you say it about a million times by now, his heart never failed to skip a beat. "I love ya, too, sunshine." His eyes flickered to the newborn in your arms. "Both 'a ya." You smiled; eyes speaking the language of pure, unbridled love.

"'M gonna go check if the others are ready. 'N I gotta get my bike, too," the archer said; thumbs caressing your soft, delicate skin. You nodded. "Sure, go. I'll get everything ready here. Could you send Jude and RJ over? They have to check their room again and make sure they got everything." "'M gonna send the kids over, yeah, but you, darlin', ain't gonna do anythin' besides movin' yer cute ass over to the sofa 'n lay down."

A last loving look was exchanged before he grabbed his angel-winged vest, slipped inside the signature piece of clothing and left.

You wanted to open your mouth and say something in protest but Daryl was quick to leapfrog you. "Nah. No buts. Yer gonna rest. Yer body is still recoverin' 'n we got a long way home." You sighed, but nodded; knowing that arguing wouldn't get you further. Plus, you couldn't deny that your partner was actually right.

"Okay, yeah. I'm gonna lay down." Daryl smiled, "Good girl." and dipped his head to bestow a soft kiss on your lips before he let go of you. His thumb brushed over one tiny foot of his daughter; safely confined by the romper she was wearing. "I won't be long," he promised; marveling at the baby's smallness. You watched Daryl with yet another smile. How his eyes stuck on the tiny girl. His gentle touch. "Yeah, I know."

He had managed to make it a one on one; killing one of the men. The clearly weaker fighter. The other one was stronger and harder to defeat. One moment of negligence was enough to get into a predicament. That was the moment the guy became a problem. He gained the upper hand and had the archer now pinned to the concrete floor; choking him. Daryl tried hard to fight it. He couldn't and wouldn't die. He had a family to look after now. To protect. To provide for. You and his newborn daughter.

Little did the archer know that he was going to fight for his life only a few minutes later...

He had reached the meeting point; carriage completely abandoned and messy. Wooden boxes laid on the ground with their content mostly destroyed and distributed on the ground. No Maggie. No Hershel. No Jude or RJ. Nobody. Daryl frowned, kicked down the pedestal of his bike to park it and immediately started to analyze the scene; quite confused. The traces led him into the warehouse behind the scene, but he didn't have the time to 'investigate' any further. Two men sneaked up on him - the perfect ambush. Before Daryl could even blink, he found himself in a fight again. Two against one - not even remotely fair, but not really a problem for the experienced fighter. Yet.

"They got the kids, Maggie," Daryl panted and breathed hard to get air back into his lungs. His eyes met the ones of his best friend; showing his gratitude. "They got everyone," Carol stated. Daryl's eyes widened to the size of plates as the meaning of his friend's words hit him like a truck. If Pamela's men tried to abduct everyone of the group, it meant... "Y/N..." Daryl gasped. "Fuck. I gotta go. I gotta check on 'em." Carol nodded in understanding. "Go, but be careful, yeah? Don't act headless. I know you." Daryl merely nodded; already halfway disappearing around the corner. Carol looked after him with a worried look. She wasn't sure if it was a good idea to split up.

No, he wasn't going to die. Not today. Not here. Not now. And certainly not because of this asshole.

Help was just around the corner, though. Carol, who apparently had the same thought as him, appeared behind the men and used a slat to hit the prick on the head who was currently choking her best friend. Daryl got quickly up and grabbed his knife - just in time to watch the man he killed take a bite out of his former colleague. It was an easy task to get rid of the threat then; driving his weapon through both men's skulls.

Daryl more or less ran back to the house in which he shared an apartment with you. He hurried up the steps as fast as his legs carried him - only to find the door slightly ajar. His heart thumped hard against his ribcage; almost bursting at the sight. He already feared the worst, but then the signature cries of his baby urged to his ears. Without hesitation, he stormed inside.

The scene he walked into made his blood boil. The apartment was messy; signaling the archer that you had clearly been involved in a fight as well. His eyes frantically searched for you. It didn't take him long to do so... A man had pinned you to the wall beside the sofa and crib. One hand firmly around your throat, the other trying to reach for the tiny girl in the grip; attempting to cover her mouth to keep her cries muffled. Wheezing breaths left your lips as you tried to stay conscious. Your hands wrapped around the man's wrist as he choked you; scratching and pulling. Your legs kicked repeatedly against the shins of the man, but all of it wasn't quite helping. Usually, you had no problem to fight a man - or more. Daryl had taught you very well, but right now you didn't stand a chance. Not after birthing a baby only a few days ago. Your body was still recovering and not strong enough for a fight.

Daryl balled his hands to fists; jaw clenching. The primitive urge to protect his woman and child stronger than ever before. He was about to absolutely lose it and run over to fight the man who hurt his family - but then your eyes flickered up and landed coincidentally on your partner. Out of instinct, your eyes widened and you started to wriggle even more against your opponent's death grip - a mistake. Your understandable but obvious behavior blew Daryl's cover; took him the advantage of going unnoticed away.

The intruder noticed, of course and looked over his shoulder to witness the archer on the verge of storming over. Unfortunately wasn't the man stupid. He let quickly go of you; carelessly, and took a step to the left - towards the crib with his hands hovering about the crying infant inside. "One step closer and the baby dies!" The man yelled, causing Daryl to literally freeze in his movements. The archer threw him a death glare; heart racing in his chest. Fear and anger pumped adrenaline through his whole system.

"Touch 'er 'n I kill ya," Daryl growled through gritted teeth. "Try me," spat the man in return. The tension was thick; cuttable with a knife.

You sat on the floor; body slumped against the wall. Your strength was running so low that you weren't even able to keep yourself on your feet. Especially not after being halfway choked to death. You barely registered the conversation and stare contest between your attacker and partner since your body was too occupied in getting air back inside your lungs. You coughed; breathing hard and unsteady. It broke Daryl's heart to see you like that... In pain and suffering. He wanted to hurry over to you. Help you. Make sure you were okay, but he couldn't risk it. He'd never forgive himself if this innocent, tiny life got hurt because of him.

Your body may have been weak, but your motherly instincts strong. The cries of your baby - cries of helplessness and discomfort sent you into a frenzy. "P-Please, don't, please..." You stammered out; tears gathering in your eyes. "T-That's my baby, p-please!" You were begging the man, while trying to heave your exhausted body closer to the crib. But he didn't have any of it. "Stay where you are! Nobody moves, or...!" He put his hands dangerously close to the tiny girl's neck. Both, you and Daryl knew that it wouldn't take much. She was barely a week old; still so tiny and fragile.

He had unlocked the animal inside of the archer with threatening his baby and its mother, and was now paying the price. With his life.

Daryl's brain worked feverishly to find a way to get both his girls safely out of the situation, while you kept whispering 'Please' over and over again like prayer.

"Whaddaya want?! Where did ya take the others?!" The archer started to indulge the man in a conversation; hoping to distract him enough to get his knife out of its sheath unnoticed. "Freeing the Commonwealth of a plague," the man hissed. Daryl shook his head; hand working subtle and precisely. "Ya didn't answer my question, ya prick. Where are the others?" "I don't know, scum! And I frankly don't ca- Ahhh!" A painful yelp slipped past the man's lips as he was forced to cut off his own sentence. Daryl's plan had been a success. He had freed his knife, took the risk - he had to, and threw said knife which was now plunged in the man's shoulder. It caused him to stumble a few steps back - away from the crib and the newborn inside. That was Daryl's start signal. He lunged forward to literally tackle the intruder to the ground. From that moment on, everything happened so fast. Fists colliding with skin and bones, until they were bloody and went to wrap around the throat. The man underneath Daryl was struggling and desperately trying to shove him off and away from him, but it was no use. Daryl was too strong; too dominant.

His heart clenched.

"Told ya I was gonna kill ya, prick," Daryl growled, pulled his knife out of the man's shoulder to pierce his skull with it instead, before he crawled off of the lifeless body. He quickly wiped his bloodied knuckles on his shirt and lifted himself off the ground to tend to his still crying baby. His fatherly instincts kicking into overdrive.

Daryl approached the crib; hovering over the wooden furniture. The tiny girl inside was wriggling around in her warm confines like crazy. Cheeks stained with tears and red from all the crying.

"Hey, lil' angel, dun cry," he whispered hoarsely yet gently and reached carefully inside to cradle the miniature human in his big hands. "Sh, sh, sh, 's all good. Daddy got ya, sweetpea." He lifted her up to lay her into the crook of his arm to provide some body contact and warmth in an attempt to calm her down. His pointer finger softly traced her cheeks and the small hands which were closed to fists with the even smaller fingers attached.

Once your breathing got even and regular again, one hand reached out to cover Daryl's - which was cupping the newborn's bottom to keep her safely tucked in his arm. You looked up; eyes meeting your partner's - and he knew. He saw the longing in your eyes. The urge. The need to hold your daughter. So, without a word, the archer maneuvered the baby girl cautiously in your arms. She protested at the short loss of warmth with a whine, but once she felt that her mama was close, the world was perfectly alright again. You buried your nose in the baby's tufts of chestnut brown hair; deeply inhaling her scent and pressing your lips repeatedly against the utter softness.

At her father's words, touch and comfort, the little girl calmed down. Her cries got quieter and quieter, until they faded into soft coos.

"S-She okay?" Your broken, shaky voice urged to his ears and he instantly looked up to face you. You were still sitting on the floor; wiping away some stray tears and trying to get a grip and grasp what just happened. Daryl hadn't forgotten about you. Of course not! He just thought it would be best to tend to his crying infant first. He nodded; eyes thoroughly scanning the baby's body again. "All good. She's fine, sunshine." A relieved breath you didn't even know you were holding left your lips.

The archer stepped over and sat down on the floor beside you; back propped against the wall. He opened his arm for you. "C'mere. Gotta make sure my woman is a'right as well." You didn't let yourself tell that twice. You slid closer - into Daryl's awaiting arm and cuddled against his side. His closeness (and your baby) being all you needed right now. He instantly tightened his grip around you; chapped but gentle lips peppering your forehead repeatedly with kisses. "'S okay. 'M here. I got ya," your partner whispered as he tried to offer as much comfort and love as possible. "Ain't lettin' anythin' happen to my family." You were still in a state of shock, so you said nothing at all and just held on to Daryl. Closing your eyes, you relished in his touch and inhaled his natural scent. Leather, smoke, something earthy and musky, and a touch of blood and sweat.

She was okay and safely back in your arms.

Daryl adjusted his position; was now seated behind you. His back against the wall, your back against his chest as you sat between his open legs. Strong arms pulled you protectively closer; tucking you neatly against his front.

"Ya okay, darlin'?" He muttered softly, as his thumbs started to rub soothing circles into the clothed skin of your sides. You nodded. Merely, but you nodded. The shock was the worst - besides the still lingering pain around your neck and throat. Daryl's eyes flickered over every visible body part of yours; making sure. They got stuck on your neck, of course, and saw the bruises forming already. He swallowed. Another wave of rage crushes into him. He was angry. Angry of Pamela for breaking the deal and kidnapping his friends and family. Angry of himself for not being here to help earlier. For letting this happen.

The archer's head dropped to your neck, where he peppered the bruised and hurting skin with gentle kisses. "'M sorry," he whispered. "'M so sorry. Shoulda been 'ere earlier. Then this wouldn't have happened. Fuck, should've never even left from the start..." His voice broke at the end; close to shedding tears.

You had listened to his every word. Your eyes watered as well. You shook your head and freed one hand from the now sleeping newborn in your arms to reach behind and cup Daryl's head; fingers buried in his curls. "It's not your fault, Dar. You couldn't know that this was going to happen..." "Dun care. Shoulda been here. 'S my job to protect the both 'a ya, 'n I failed. I dun even wanna know what would've happened if I didn't..." He trailed off and swallowed hard; unable to finish the sentence. It hurt too much. "Daryl..." You whispered his name and angled your head; lips brushing his stubbly cheek, then his lips. "Stop, baby. What happened happened. You can't change it. But we're alright, okay? We're here. We're alive - and whatever Pamela throws at us... We're gonna make it. We're gonna find the others and make it. Together. Like we always do."

Your heart sunk.

Daryl swallowed once more. You were right. He couldn't change the past, but the future. He swore to himself to protect you even better. And together you were going to make this. Like you always did. Starting over.

His lips searched and found yours; entangling them in a linger kiss filled with love and the promise to keep you and his baby safe - until the very last breath he was going to take on this godforsaken planet. You melted into the kiss. It gave you the strength and confidence you needed. It always did. Daryl was the bright and shining light in this dark world. Always was, and he always would be.

Once you ended the kiss, Daryl started to shift then; gently squeezing your sides to urge you on to stand up as well. "C'mon, sunshine. We should go, 'n find Carol." You nodded and started to move as well; Daryl helping you stand up. After all, you had a cute, tiny creature tucked in your arms... "Carol managed to flee? Thank god..." The archer nodded and grabbed the most necessary backpack you had packed - filled with baby stuff. Diapers, bottles, fresh clothes, blankets and such things. "Yeah, 'm glad too, but I think nobody else beside us made it to escape."

"W-We gotta find them. Help them." Daryl threw the backpack over his shoulder and took the tiny girl from your arms in his so that you were able to slip in your 'outdoor' clothes with your weapons attached. "And we will, sunshine," he promised you and lastly helped you slip inside the baby carrier with one hand. "We'll find each other again. 'S what we do. 'S what we always did. Ain't nothin' in this world is gonna keep us apart for long." Daryl maneuvered the little girl into the carrier. You made sure that she was safely and securely strapped inside; luckily still sleeping. "We're gonna safe 'em and Alexandria."

A surge of hope and confidence swept over you at his words. You took your partner's hand; intertwining your fingers and gave his big hand a squeeze. You nodded, "Let's go." and smiled. Daryl dipped his head to bestow another kiss on your forehead then gave you a small smile in return, before he started to guide you out of the apartment. You had to find Carol, find out where the others had been taken and then get the hell out of this place.

One thing was certain... The archer was done playing games.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @dixonsdarkelf @dixons-sunshine @negansbestie @bigbaldheadname @ellasdixon @loz-3 @imadisneyprincessiswear @mayday2007 @huntedmusicgardenn @belitoxx @marvelcasey05 @stitchintimefan @whore4romance @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @cakesandtom @sweetz1919

[renren-006]

Immunity | Daryl Dixon x fem (immune) reader

plot: what if the reader was immune...and the truth came out

a/n: just an idea bc i was watching the last of us also thank you to everyone who voted for this to be the next story posted!!

You didn't like lying to them; it was practically the opposite of what you wanted to do. You tried to tell them when they first found you, but you didn’t. The words fell from your lips the moment your eyes met his. 

The group found you when you had escaped from the doctors who had you captive. You were tired, rabid, and scared. You had quite literally run into one of the members of this new group.

 As you later found out, Carol instinctively wrapped her arms around you after you bumped into her. The conversation after that was lost on you; all you knew was that this new group was happy to let you join once they made sure you were alright. They tried asking you about your past group, but you refused to answer. A few of them were cautious of you, including the man who had caught your eye.

You did your best to help the group out on the road before finding the prison. You did what you could. Beyond helping them, you also stuck to Carol's side. Unknowingly, Carol had a habit of making a small family of people with whom she felt a connection. You almost expected her to be wary of you and push you away, but seeing you scared and desperate for comfort, she let you inside her heart.

“You can bunk with me” Carol had said to you, motioning to the top bunk. You smiled at her kindness and her comfort. 

Daryl, however, took the most time to warm up to you. He let you have his share of food, medical supplies, and an extra gun, but he also kept you at arm's length. He would grunt when you didn't eat, shove the rest of his surviving food into your bowl, and then leave, saying he was going on watch. This didn't stop in the prison, either. He always made sure that you got more food than what was portioned for you. 

You kept everyone else at arm's length, never fully letting them in. You couldn't let them know the reasons why those people had you locked up or why you wore long sleeves. They didn't know about the doctors or the lockup, but you felt that at least a few suspected some dire situation.

The real issue was you were somehow immune to the virus. The thousands of bite marks that scared your skin were hidden underneath your long sleeves and jeans, proving this.

Even in the heat of Georgia, your thin long sleeve was still on.

“You know you don't have to wear long sleeves now?” Maggie said to you as she rounded towards you. You were watching the yard, leaning slightly on the brick prison walls. 

“I know. Just more comfortable…” “Beth wears long sleeves, too,” Maggie said after a moment. You had heard the stories about Beth's attempts early on and how she's ashamed of them now. You knew Maggie was assuming, so you merely nodded your head. “We don't have to talk about it. I'm here for you.”

You smiled. Maggie was around your age, so for you to say she was treating you like a big sister would be a little off-topic. She was treating you like family, however.

“Now. Are you going to keep just staring at Daryl, or will you ever try?” she asked you. You laughed slightly and moved down the wall so she could share your spot. It was one of the few spots with good sun without the glare. As you both watched over the yard, you realized just how much you liked Daryl.

“Well…Shit,” you said, “Maybe you're right,” Maggie burst out into laughter. It slowly developed over time the subtle things Maggie would do to get you closer to the man. 

It started with sitting next to Darly and moved over to make you sit there instead. Daryl would give you a once-over nod and turn back to his food. Then, the conversations slowly started.

“You went on that run this mornin’, right?” he asked you when you sat down. You nodded your head. It was just the two of you at the table, eating early before everyone else. Darly had a night watch. 

“I did,” you told him, “didn't find too much; everything has been picked over” 

“Seems ‘bout right,” he said before standing. “I got to watch”

Slowly things started to become easier and more comfortable between the two of you. 

“Ya going with them?” Daryl asked as he moved next to you. You watched the group pack up the car for another run into a nearby town you felt would be the same as the last. You shook your head and absently scratched at your arm. 

“Not today.” Another bite rested there on your left arm, freshly bandaged from yesterday's run-in. Thankfully, no one saw or noticed how you found a jacket and threw it on even though it was almost 100 degrees. When you got back, you found a quiet spot and patched yourself up, changed your shirt, and made it back for dinner, saying you wanted to change out of your sweat-ridden shirt. Daryl noticed the scratching. 

“Ya good?” he asked. You looked up and smiled.

“Oh yeah. Mosquitoes are a bitch” you said with a laugh. Darly nodded his head, shook it, and put the thought swarming his head out the window. You were not Beth; he shouldn't worry about a little itch. 

“I was going to go on a run tomorrow. Do you want to come?” he asked, and you smiled.

“Only if I get to ride the motorcycle,” you said with a smirk. Daryl had never let anyone ride on it since getting to the prison, but somehow, you knew he would let you. Darly smiled.

“Sure,” you knew at that moment that all those months of getting extra food, supplies, and small talk were Daryl's way of showing he cared. Now, you wondered if he ever would express it to you or if the two of you would continue this known unknown thing forever. 

When you joined him on the run and tried your hardest to keep calm while you hugged him on the motorcycle, you managed to get closer to Darly in that small little run. You cleared houses, found hidden supplies, and he even found you some hidden jewelry in a box under a floorboard. “You want it?” he asked, handing you the old jewelry box. Inside were lots of silver treasures. You smiled. It had been a long time since you had worn any or had a guy bring you a whole box and almost demand you take it. 

“I'd be crazy not to take it,” you said, looking through it and then delicately placing it into your backpack. If you find more treasures, I want to see them,” you told him. Darly looked at you with an oddly calm calculation. “What?” “Nothin’,” he said, “you finally seem like yourself,” and left the room without another word. You stared at the spot he had been. Daryl not only noticed your slow transition to finally being a part of the group and feeling good again, but he commented on it to let you know he did. You found him waiting by the bike.

“Tell me I'm wrong,” you said, not mentioning what, but the look you gave him and the way he lowered his head and nodded told you enough.

“You're not,” he said, reaching out to help you into the bike. That spoken, unspoken thing was there, and now it wasn't so much spoken. 

When the prison fell, and you escaped with him and Beth, you traveled together like a family, lost Beth, and fought against bikers like a couple. Daryl did everything he could in those months to keep you safe. Daryl was only a man, however. 

Blood dripped down your arm, and another bite tore your skin open. The old warehouse seemed like a bad place to be in now.

“Shit,” you hissed as you looked at the bite. The walker was dead on the floor before you now, but Daryl had his eyes trained on you. 

“y/n…” Daryl spoke with a heartbroken emphasis. Your eyes met his and returned to the bite you knew you couldn't hide this time. 

“I'm fine,” you said. Quickly pulling out a bandage and trying to wrap it. Daryl stopped you, standing over you. 

“We have to..” he started. “Im fine” you said, you didn't dare look up at him. “Nothing's going to happen..” “The hell you mean nothin’ gonna happen,” he said, scoffing a bit at the end. “You got bit”

“And I promise nothing's going to happen,” you said, staring into his eyes. “I…”

“What?” he said, clearly annoyed.

“I'm immune,” you said looking up at him. 

“You can't be…” “I am…It's why I was out on the road when you met me. The people that had me before…they were doctors…testing me and my immunity,” you told him. Darly stood frozen as he watched you put your backpack down. You tore your shirt off, letting him see you fully. Bite marks scarred your upper arms and stomach. Daryl took it all in. “I…can't get the infection.”

“Why?” he asked, moving to you and letting his hands touch your skin. He felt the bumps, saw how the infection tried to spread from them but faded out, and even saw how some of the bite marks went below your jeans. 

“I never stayed long enough to figure it out,” you said, your voice sounding small. “I would have died…if I had stayed any longer.” Daryl just nodded. He put your shit back on, bandaged your arm, grabbed your back, and wordlessly walked out of the building. That night, you sat by the campfire, cold and uncertain. The air around you felt like it, too, was holding its breath. 

“Imma kill em,” he said, breaking the silence. You looked over at him. “They hurt ya like this. would have killed ya to figure it out…” He looked as if he wanted to fight the world for you. Daryl's eyes mirrored the fire that roared in front of you. 

“They didn't” you told him.“You saved me remember, you took me in”

“You saved yourself,” he said. I wish you had told me so I could have gone and killed them.” Darly sounded small at that moment, as if he had not done enough to help you. You felt it, the way Daryl blamed himself for not being able to rid the world of the men who hurt you. “That wouldn't have fixed anything,” you told him. They weren't anywhere close to figuring out what was wrong with me.” “Nothings wrong with ya,” he told you, speaking only seconds after you. This makes you resign if there is ever something wrong with you. Daryl moved to your side, sitting next to you. He fiddled with your hand, bringing your sleeve down a bit to see the marks, “Something wonderful is wrong with you, and I'm glad you can't leave me.”

It was a declaration to the world. The wind swept through you, rustling the leaves, the cans, and the wire. The fire slowed down from its roar. Daryl didn't move from your side from that night on, always sleeping with you beside him. He became your shadow, always there, always protecting, always loving.

[sandradreams]

I still wait for you between the trees

Sometimes, when the woods go quiet and the only sound is the crunch of leaves under my boots, I swear I hear your laugh.

I stop.

Close my eyes. Pretend you’re right behind me, wearing that look that always said more than words ever could. But it’s just the wind again, messing with my head.

Since you left, I don’t really talk to anyone. Not really. Just the trees, the shadows, the night. They don’t ask questions. They don’t leave. They don’t die.

I left flowers in that same spot where you said the pines smelled like home. They barely grow anymore, but I still go back. I still leave something.

I was never good with words, but if you’re out there—if you’re listening from wherever you ended up—just know this:

I still leave space beside me, in case you come home.

Written by Daryl Dixon – date unknown

*dividers by @enchanthings

[b1eedthefreak]

hi beautiful, i always loved seeing your hispanic reader x daryl fics they warm my heart sm, recently i had a bad episode including xenophobia bc of my background and i felt so bad about it, if you have time you think you could write something with daryl comforting reader after someone told her to go back where she came from or just said hurtful things to her💔 hope this doesnt sound too odd but i love your blog and wish you the best💕

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Belong Here

⌇daryl dixon x hispanic!reader

summary⌇after settling in alexandria, you face racism from your neighbors and daryl takes action

warnings⌇racism towards hispanic!reader, violence

word count⌇1.8k

a/n⌇anon this is NOT odd at all. what’s odd is the racism you experience!!!!! babe you are worth more than words can ever describe and are so loved! i’m bringing back hispanic!reader for this anon i love you. also, anyone reading this please educate yourself on what the u.s government is doing; deporting and ripping families apart. no one is illegal on stolen land!

The house was small, creaky, with faded wallpaper and a porch that needed fixing—but it was yours. Yours and Daryl’s. You’d picked it together, rooms quiet with promise, a space to breathe after years of blood and chaos. He’d let you pick the curtains, the faded rug, even the chipped blue mugs for your mismatched kitchen. You’d laughed when he called them ugly, but you saw the way he used his every morning anyway.

You were finally starting to feel safe.

That is, until today.

You’d been the one to answer the door, hair pulled back in a loose braid, sweater slipping off one shoulder. You weren’t expecting anyone, but Alexandria always had people passing through, smiling too wide, talking too fast. The neighbors—two of them stood there holding a basket of homemade bread wrapped in a gingham cloth.

They blinked at you, faces stiff.

“Oh,” one said. “We thought… this was Mr. Dixon’s house.”

You smiled politely. “It is! Vivo con Daryl.”

The moment you spoke, their expressions shifted—like you’d said something wrong.

“Can you… speak normally?” the other one asked, scrunching her nose. “English?”

You blinked, confused, trying to laugh it off. “I am speaking English…”

They exchanged glances, clearly unimpressed.

“Such a shame,” the first one muttered. “That fine gentleman’s with you. Can’t even speak English or understand us. Should’ve stayed wherever Mexico country you came from.”

Your breath caught. You stared at them, the words hitting you like a slap, cold and sharp. Mexico country. They didn’t even ask. Just assumed.

And you froze.

Your smile faded, hands tightening around the door frame. You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to process the sudden flood of heat in your cheeks, the sting in your chest. You were still standing there, stunned and silent, when Daryl’s voice cut through behind you.

“What’s goin’ on?”

He stepped up beside you, one hand brushing the small of your back protectively. You barely registered his presence—you were still stuck in that awful moment, eyes starting to blur with tears.

The neighbors shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to him with fake smiles.

“Oh, we were just leaving,” one of them said, handing him the bread. “God bless you…”

It sounded like a curse.

They moved past him quickly and disappeared down the sidewalk.

Daryl turned back to you, and stopped cold.

You were still standing in the doorway, your shoulders shaking, tears slipping down your cheeks as you stared at the ground. You couldn’t meet his eyes. Couldn’t even speak. Your throat felt tight, your heart racing with something ugly.

“Hey, hey—” he said softly, stepping closer, hands cupping your arms. “What happened? You okay? Did they—did they hurt you?”

You shook your head, lip trembling.

“N-no… they just… they said…”

He leaned in, brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to find what was broken.

“They said I… I don’t speak English. That I should go back to where I came from. That I don’t belong here.”

The words spilled out like they weren’t even yours. Like they were echoing from somewhere else.

And still, you couldn’t look at him.

“Darlin’,” he whispered, voice thick, thumb brushing your cheek to wipe away a tear. “Look at me.”

You didn’t want to. But you did.

And he looked furious.

Not at you. Never at you. But at the world. At the people who thought they could say that to you. That they could make you feel small. Wrong. Unwelcome.

“You do speak English,” he said, voice low and tight. “Better than half the folks in this town. And you belong here. With me. This house? This life? Ain’t none of it right without you in it.”

You finally let out a shaky breath and he pulled you into his arms, holding you like you were something precious. Like you were breakable. Like he would never, ever let them get to you again.

“I got you,” he murmured into your hair. “Ain’t nothin’ they say that changes who you are.”

You buried your face in his chest.

He didn’t let go.

It was dark by the time Daryl slipped out of the house, shoulders tense, jaw clenched.

He wasn’t one for drama. Wasn’t one to start shit. But tonight? Tonight, it wasn’t about pride. It was about you.

He was heading for Rick’s when he saw them—those same neighbors, walking hand in hand under the streetlights like they hadn’t shattered someone’s heart just hours ago.

They saw him too.

“Oh! Hello, darling!” one of them chirped.

Daryl stopped.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t greet them.

“Heard what y’said to my wife,” he said flatly.

The air shifted.

They paused, still smiling but something behind their eyes changed.

“We were just being honest,” the woman said. “People like her don’t belong in a place like this.”

That was it.

The punch landed fast, sharp, and brutal right to the man’s jaw. He stumbled back, falling hard onto the grass with a grunt. Daryl stood over him, fists clenched, breathing hard.

“Say it again,” he growled. “Say it again.”

Rick’s voice cut through the air.

“Daryl!”

Michonne was right behind him. Carl too. They ran over, eyes wide as they saw the scene—Daryl breathing like a wild animal, neighbor bleeding from the lip, the other screaming.

“They said she don’t belong here,” Daryl snapped, voice shaking. “Said she can’t speak English, said she should go back where she came from.”

Rick looked at the neighbors. Saw the guilt on their faces. Didn’t need to hear another word.

“You’re lucky that’s all he did,” Michonne said coldly, stepping forward.

The neighbors stammered something about misunderstanding, about not meaning it. But no one believed them.

Rick turned to Daryl.

“Go home. I’ll handle this.”

Daryl didn’t hesitate.

You were sitting on the porch when he came back, arms wrapped around your knees, sweater bunched at your wrists. You looked up at the sound of boots on the steps.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said, crouching down in front of you. “Y’alright?”

You nodded. “Did you talk to Rick?”

He hesitated. Then smiled faintly.

“Talked with my fists first.”

Your eyes widened.

“Daryl—”

“They deserved worse,” he said. “No one talks ‘bout you like that. Not while I’m breathin’.”

You blinked back tears again—but this time, they were different. Softer. Safer.

He reached up, cupped your cheek again. Don’t let ‘em make you doubt it. They don’t deserve to even breathe near ya anyway.”

You leaned into his hand.

“I love you,” you whispered.

His face softened.

“I love you too.”

And in that moment, on a quiet porch in a world still learning how to heal, you knew—you didn’t need to belong to them. You belonged with him.

And that was more than enough.

[mvth3r]

daryl doesn’t think he’s anything special. he never has. but to you? he’s everything.

or

5 times daryl feels your affection down to his core and the many 1 time he unconsciously returns the favor.

cw: 18+ MDNI, p-in-v, mention of injury, swearing, mostly fluff, 4283 words

a/n: this draft got the most votes in the poll, which was surprising tbh! next up medieval au, princess reader, forbidden romance?? hmmmm

one.

daryl hears you coming before he sees you. he knows it’s on purpose, so you don’t startle him (“and get an arrow in the tit or something, i don’t know!” you had explained, laughing). he’s long since taught you how to be quiet when walking over leaves and branches.

his eyes drifted in the direction of the noise, watching you melt out of the trees, water bottle in one hand and knife in the other. you had a bad habit of speeding through or ignoring your own duties in favor of tracking him out into the woods while he was hunting. the teasing looks from rick and carol when they saw the gates open in the evening, revealing the two of you instead of just him, were enough to have him blushing up to his ears, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop you. if anything, daryl found himself lingering closer to the prison when he was first setting out for the day and making his tracks a little easier for you to follow as he went on. he liked to think of it as a teaching moment, encouraging you to follow his lessons, but he knew what it really was.

he liked having you here with him, away from prying eyes and ears. daryl wasn’t big on pda, he’d never been, and you knew that, but you could be as affectionate as you wanted out here.

the smile that split you face when you saw daryl was blinding, creasing your eyes and cheeks, “hey, handsome.”

daryl felt his heart start to pound immediately in his chest and warmth radiate through his belly and down his limbs. he had the distant, bizarre thought that any walker for a few miles would probably be able to smell his blood as it rose rapidly to his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

he scoffed quietly to keep the words he really wanted to say from spilling unbidden from his throat as you caught up to him, instead deadpanning, “handsome? really?”

you hummed, raising a hand to card through his long bangs, eyes tender when they met his, “mhm, very handsome. don’t i tell you every day?”

you leaned up to press a sweet kiss to his lips, no longer than a moment. you hand drifted from his hair down to cup his jaw as you did, and daryl found himself leaning into your palm, his own hand coming up to grip your wrist loosely.

you pulled away with a smaller, more intimate smile, one that daryl had only ever seen directed at him. and, if you had felt the pounding of his heart through his shirt or seen the intensity of his flush, you didn’t say a word.

two.

daryl was distracted.

this council meeting was dragging on much longer than intended. what was initially supposed to be a quick conversation about planning a run to get supplies for judith and a few of the other kids had turned into a heated debate about possibly opening up the council to a few of the people from woodbury. he could understand why. there was still a stark divide between their group and the new people, but daryl had been content to sit back and let the situation mend itself, so long as it didn't escalate.

the discussion was split down the middle. or.. maybe there were more in favor of maintaining the current council? daryl couldn’t tell because he couldn’t focus and he couldn’t focus because every time he tried to lock in on the conversation, he could feel your fingers brush over his knuckles.

earlier, when the meeting started, you had sat yourself right next to daryl, reached under the table, and grabbed his hand where it was resting on his knee. no fanfare, no lovesick gazes, just your fingers intertwined with his calloused ones like they belonged there. which, he mused to himself, maybe they do.

and so there your hand had remained as the meeting went on. every so often, you would brush your fingers lightly over his knuckles, or give his fingers a squeeze if you happened to catch his eyes… which would lead to you chuckling quietly to yourself when his neutral expression would warm over with a blush.

the meeting had been going on for at least an hour. god.

“daryl, what do you think?”

glenn’s voice cut through daryl’s thoughts like a knife. he jerked a little, almost dislodging your hand when he looked across the table, meeting the expectant stares of the council.

“uhh,” he grunted eloquently, “‘bout bringin’ some of them folks on?”

hershel nodded expectantly, his voice thoughtful, “don’t you think we could afford their input? after all, this is their home now just as much as it is ours.”

your fingers brushed again over his knuckles and daryl willed himself not to lose focus. not to allow his mind to run on with thoughts about the softness of your fingers and how much he liked the feeling of your palm against his. how comfortable-

no.

daryl blinked and cleared his throat, “we don’ even have rick on the council right now, i’on think it’s a good idea.”

glenn nodded along with maggie and, reluctantly a moment later, hershel did too, though his mouth had settled into a thin frown.

daryl felt your hand squeeze his twice, taking it as a nonverbal ‘good job!’, and paused only a moment before squeezing back his own nonverbal ‘thank you’. he saw a small smile flit across your face out the corner of his eye.

before the debate could start up again, you were leaning forward and speaking up, saying, “alright, let’s table this for next time then. the run is already planned for the baby stuff, so—?”

hershel’s eyes swept across the table and he nodded, “meeting adjourned, i suppose.”

three.

the woods were clear as daryl looked out over the gate. he could see everything from the watchtower, as was intended, but for once the calm darkness was not a comfort.

instead, every moment that passed heightened the panic that had been swirling in his gut since earlier that evening.

it had been roughly fourteen hours since you had left on a run with glenn and maggie. there was a small gas station a little ways out that looked to be mostly untouched, and you had been pulled to fill in daryl’s usual slot since he was already slated to go hunting.

he was regretting it now, though, as he continued to watch the road leading up to the gate for any sign of maggie’s headlights.

while the general rule of thumb was to be back to the prison before dark, everyone knew that sometimes shit happens, whether it be walkers appearing at the worst possible time, or not being able to secure the haul. hell, shit happened more often than it didn't, as far as daryl was concerned.

maybe the haul had been much larger than the three of you had planned for, and you had to hide some of it away for a return trip.

maybe y'all had come across a herd large enough to block the car's path and had to find a way around it to get home without leading them back behind you.

maybe the gas station had been a bust all together and you’d gone further out in hopes of not returning empty handed.

the thoughts swimming through his mind sent daryl pacing across the small area of the watchtower. back and forth he went, eyes flashing over to the gate of the prison every few seconds.

“you’re gonna wear out your shoes like that.”

oh right. daryl isn’t even on watch, not officially at least. he’d joined carol a little after the sun went down and been up here ever since.

carol continues on despite his brooding silence, “they’re okay. something probably held them up, it happens.”

daryl turned to face carol, scrubbing a hand down his face. he opening his mouth to respond, but before he could, the sound of wheels crunching across gravel made him whip back around.

he barely registered that it was maggie’s car before he was yanking the floor hatch open and climbing down. rick, who’d been poking around the farm despite the late hour, unwilling to admit his own anxiety, was already pulling the gate open to let the car in.

daryl stopped further up the hill to meet you, and, as soon as you popped the lock on your door, he was tugging it open with one hand and reaching for you with the other.

you went willingly, a sheepish smile on your face as you let him turn you this way and that, checking for any injuries or bites, neither of which you had.

“sorry i’m late, handsome,” you whispered, “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

daryl grunted in response, resisting the urge to press himself against you and feel your heart beat against his skin. he understood that you were capable, and that you had lasted just as long in the apocalypse as he had, but he can't help but wonder if he'll ever get used to this, or if he'll spend any moment you aren't within his reach on the edge of a panic attack.

by then, rick had made his way up the hill to the car and was helping unload their findings from the boot. all things considered, the three of you had brought back a pretty decent amount of stuff.

“everyone alright?” rick questioned, eyes skirting over the contents of the trunk to scan the three of you instead. "what held y'all up?"

maggie shook her head with a smile, “nothing like that. we found a good bit at that gas station, but there was a map of a small trailer park a little ways away, and we thought it was better to go for it while we were right down the road.”

“and we had the space anyway. didn’t make sense to waste a second trip, but it took a little longer to search than we thought,” you added. you had turned to face the group and, under the cover of the dark, you leaned back just slightly into daryl’s side.

carol, who had followed daryl down from the watchtower, hummed, and rick nodded thoughtfully. they both followed behind maggie and glenn, grabbing as much as they could carry from the car and heading up to deposit it for sorting tomorrow.

now alone, daryl took a moment to breathe you in, but he was moving soon as well, heading for the trunk to grab what was left.

he didn’t notice you coming up next to him until he felt your fingers slipping into his pocket.

“found something for you,” you said quietly, standing at his side.

daryl patted his pocket, feeling the dented box of what he assumed to be cigarettes and looked over at you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i noticed you ran out the other day,” you answered his unasked question, a small smile lifting your cheeks, “combed through every trailer looking for ‘em.”

with that, you turned away from him and back to the trunk.

daryl stood speechless, his heart building up to that rapid thrum he only seemed to feel in your presence.

you had brought something back for him. had spent the daylight rummaging through dirty trailers on the off chance that you’d find a pack of cigarettes to replace his empty one that he himself hadn't even bothered to go searching to replace.

he wanted to think he didn’t understand why you would do something like this, why you would care, but he did. he’d done the same for you, time and time again on the road, if only to see you smile. he understood exactly why.

“‘preciate it,” he grunted, thankful that the darkness surrounding you kept his blush from being too obvious.

you hummed in acknowledgment, and daryl could your small smile growing out the corner of his eye.

four.

having sex in the prison was no easy feat, mostly due to the lack of privacy. a sheet could only provide so much, and even then it did nothing for the noise echoing constantly off the concrete walls.

as far as most were concerned, maggie and glenn had found the best spot early on, making the most unused watchtower their designated private retreat, but you and daryl knew otherwise.

deep in the tombs, which were no longer a threat as they had long since been cleared and sealed, there were a few tucked away offices that had sat empty even after the woodbury residents had been moved in. noise didn’t escape the tombs, and no one ever just wandered in, especially not in the middle of the night, so despite the cell that you and daryl shared, you both much preferred spending your more intimate moments here.

well, daryl did. you weren’t picky, and could be quiet when you really tried, but it made daryl more comfortable.

he’d like to think it was just because he was wary of any listening ears, especially with all the children roaming around, but he knew the truth of his resolve.

daryl had never been a selfish man, and certainly not after the world fell. everything he had, everything he was, he would give to his family in a heartbeat.

but this.. this was just for him.

your body arched beautifully under his, legs falling open to accommodate his weight settling against you. daryl’s hand left your heat, fingers dripping with wetness, to squeeze your hips, using them to guide you as your moved against him.

you were already bare, both of you having stripped each other of your clothes between heated kisses while you stumbled in the office. you hadn’t even made it to the double-stacked cot in the corner, daryl instead pushing you firmly down on the dusty desk and leaning in to mouth at your neck.

you moaned under him now, a breathy sigh of his name, and the sound sent a shiver down daryl’s spine.

“needy girl,” he grunted teasingly, reaching down to grasp his hardness. he dragged the head of his cock up your slit, collecting your wetness and smearing it over your clit.

your head knocked back against the desk and a loud groan burst out of your throat. your knees tried to close around daryl’s waist as if to keep him away, but you arms came up to wrap around him, pulling him closer to your body, and he leaned into you willingly.

your voice trembled when you spoke into his ear, want dripping from every syllable, “please, baby. need you inside me so bad.”

and god, daryl wanted to make you beg for it. he wanted to wait until he could see the desperation in your eyes and then wait some more, but he couldn’t. not when you looked so pretty spread out beneath him and your hands were petting over his shoulders and neck just how he liked. he almost thought you were doing it on purpose, but he knew better. this was just you.

you couldn’t stay off him when he was in you, always tugging at his hair or rubbing his chest, hands scrabbling for any skin you could reach. it used to send him reeling, flustered and blushing bright, but now he looked forward to it. he could feel the want in your touches like physical imprints of your affection.

daryl pushed into your slowly, groaning deep in his chest. your slick walls felt heavenly around him, but daryl was more focused on you right now.

soft whimpers fell from your lips as your hands drifted over his sweat slicked skin. daryl’s thrusts were slow but purposeful, and he ignored your legs squeezing around his waist, trying to urge him to speed up.

“relax, peach,” he soothed, hands drifting up and down your sides in pace with his thrusts, “i’ma take care of you.”

“kiss, please,” you whispered, voice floating past daryl’s ear. he would have missed it if you weren’t pressed together like this.

daryl would not describe himself as a selfish man. he might have had his moments in the past, but now, with the dead walking and a prison full of survivors to protect, it was virtually out of the question.

but as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, feeling your hands finally make their way up into his long strands, daryl thought that he might be a possessive man.

he’d sooner spread you out deep in the woods than have you where anyone could see you like this or hear the noises you make.

no, daryl thought, tongue sliding in your mouth to tangle with yours, this would always be just for him.

five.

daryl came into awareness slowly and then all at once. he startled, trying to sit up, but a searing pain made itself known in his abdomen. the pain clouded his senses, blooming out across his torso and down his limbs. he flops uselessly, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him.

hearing bits of voices above him, daryl wills himself to focus. he’s hurt, obviously, and it’s pretty fucking bad, but he’ll have to suck it up and figure out a way home if he’s in bad company.

the voices start to filter in. the volume makes his temples throb in rhythm with his abdomen and his heart as the situation starts to force adrenaline through his body.

“—harder! put more pressure on it!”

daryl relaxes just a bit. that’s rick. frantic, angry, but rick all the same.

“what the fuck do you think i’m doing?!” the other voice, higher, snarls in response, “just drive the damn truck!”

and daryl feels his body try to relax all together. he would recognize your voice in his sleep, and this milky haze of pain is no different. he can feel your hands pressing a wad of something soft into his abdomen.

he can hear your panicked breaths and feel the way your fingers flex continuously against his skin. whatever’s wrong with him must be bad, and it definitely hurts like hell, but daryl takes comfort in the weight of your body against his. you won’t let anything happen to him if you can help it, you’d sworn that fiercely, and if you can’t help it then he doesn’t think anyone could have.

daryl can just barely make out the creaking of the gate being pulled open over the sound of rick laying on the horn.

as they pull in, the gravel of the path rocks the truck and daryl feels the ache in his abdomen bloom again, distracting him from his thoughts, but here, knowing he’s safe and back with his family, he allows himself to drift away.

—

this time, when daryl comes into awareness, the first thing he feels is fingers carding through his hair, tugging gently as if to untangle a couple of knots and snarls.

without even opening his eyes he knows it’s you. he can feel the heat of your body settled next to him and smell the soap you like to bathe with. daryl leans towards you, chasing the warmth of your hand against his skin.

the bandages on his stomach are wrapped tight, but it’s more annoying than anything and the pain has finally, thankfully, subsided to a dull ache. daryl stretches on the cot, trying to loosen him limbs from their inactivity, but what he focuses on is your fingers immediately pulling away.

“daryl?” your voice prods quietly, “you awake?”

he opens his eyes slowly, squinting at the sunlight that streams through the bars of the cell. the privacy sheet isn’t down, actually there’s no sheet at all, daryl notes as he looks out. he must be in one of the cells near hershel’s.

“‘m up,” he grumbles, a cough working its way out of his throat. before he can attempt to clear the dryness, you’re standing to grab a bottle of water off some boxes stacked nearby and pressing it into his hand.

your fingers linger against his wrist as you pull away, but you’re resuming your previous position anyway, in a chair brought right up to his bedside.

daryl hasn’t sat up yet, staring instead at you as one of your hands return to his hair and the other rubs down his arm.

a few quiet moments pass before you speak again, head bowed and voice a little choked, “we almost lost you. i almost lost you.”

“didn’t though,” daryl croaks. he feels your grip tighten on his arm and just knows. knows that you’ve been sitting right here every moment that you could since he went down. knows that you probably haven’t had your hands off him. knows you’ve spent the time, however long it’s been, agonizing over what went wrong and how to keep it from happening ever again. he knows.

“i didn’t,” you agree with a barely restrained sniffle. you refuse to allow the tears beading your waterline to fall, but daryl sees them all the same.

oddly, he feels that familiar warmth blossom in his chest. he hates to see you upset, but to see your love, your heart laid so bare for him? daryl thinks he can finally understand the depth of your affections.

plus one.

to anybody who knew what to look for, it was obvious that you and daryl were.. something.

you remembered when the woodbury residents had really began to settle in, how they began to whisper about ‘the hunter and his lady’.

it had confused you at first. the group knew, of course, nothing could be kept a secret from them for too long, but for strangers? it was odd, given that you weren’t very public with your affections.

regardless, with an entire prison to secure and almost triple the amount of people to provide for, it was nothing to think too hard about. there was always something that needed to be done or something bigger to think about. you couldn't afford to think about it now.

eventually, though, you ended up mentioning it to carol, and the older woman had laughed, a teasing edge to her smile as she considered you.

“i think it has less to do with you and more with him, if i’m being honest,” she said.

“more to do with.. daryl?” you said slowly, raising an incredulous eyebrow, “nah, no way.”

carol hummed, her smile turning knowing, “just watch. he’s more affectionate than he gives himself credit for.”

you’d left the conversation feeling like carol had no idea what she was talking about. later that evening, though, when you were sitting with the group for dinner and daryl was sliding a couple pieces of meat from his plate to yours despite your multiple protests, you understood.

your face must have been the textbook picture of a lightbulb going off because carol sent you a wink from across the table, lips twitching like she was hiding a laugh.

it wasn’t that the woodbury residents were over analyzing the very minimal physical affection that passed between you and daryl in a day, no. instead they were observing his quieter, more unconscious actions.

they saw the way that daryl always took care to come and find you before leaving for a run, even if it meant holding everyone up a little.

and how every so often they could find daryl sharpening a knife that was far too small for him to be wielding safely while you sat nearby, watching with a grateful smile.

and how whenever you were in the same room, you always had his eye. daryl had been adamant about keeping you within his sights while you were on the road, and the habit hadn’t left him just because you were behind walls now.

even now, months later, the newer additions to the prison were starting to catch on quicker and quicker.

they overheard daryl talking to glenn about taking your place on the run later today because you’d overdone it in the sun earlier and he wanted you to get some rest.

they saw you gush excitedly every time daryl brought you back any kind of gift, whether it be a pretty rock that he thought you’d like, or your favorite animal to cook into the stew.

they watched him watch the road every time you left for a run, regardless of who was with you, and also saw him come back to be the first to greet you when you returned if he could help it.

daryl was a quiet lover and a private man if you didn’t know what to look for, but if you did, you’d see that his affections ran just as deep as yours.

your thoughts brought a sleep smile to your face as you stretched out on the cot in your shared cell, waiting for daryl to shut off the lantern on your makeshift nightstand in the corner.

you could barely make him out in the dark, but the weight of him settling in next to you sent you right into his arms, your head pillowed on his chest while his arms came up to wrap around your back.

you tilted your head up to place a small kiss to the bottom of his jaw, mumbling a quiet, “love you.”

daryl’s arms tightened around you momentarily before loosening again. you felt him lean down to press a kiss to your hair in turn.

just over the steady thumping of his heart against your ear, you could hear him whisper back, “love you too.”

[archive-of-ink]

chapter 5 is up!!

Savior Complex - MasterList

(reader is not described but has backstory.)

Pairing(s) - Negan Smith x Reader, Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary- Taken by the Saviors alongside Daryl, Reader makes a promise to get them out of there, no matter the cost. She promises herself that she's killing Negan on the way out too.

Her plan comes to a halt when she feels it, that tiny flicker of empathy that sends her pushing him back to arm's length. The last thing she needs is to let him get too close and compromise her mission. But the feeling was persistent, wriggling its way into their every interaction and then she realized, she cared about him. And caring about the monster, Negan Smith? That was a fate worse than death.

warnings- canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, graphic depictions of violence. eventual smut, sexual references, language, like a lot of bad language, Negan Smith's mouth, really. possible love triangle.

updates on wednesday!

-- -- -- 

Prologue - October 20th

Chapter 1 - October 27th

Chapter 2 - November 3rd

Chapter 3 - November 10th

Chapter 4 - November 17th

Chapter 5 - June 11th

Chapter 6 - June 18th

A/N- I'm back to posting this!

[tinysunshine]

━━━ ✧˖° 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍

‎ ‎ [ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: protective daryl, reader is extremely girly and feminine, fingering, very light dom/sub, fucking on a motorcycle, daryl sucks his fingers, pet names, oral sex, cum swallowing, slightly rough sex, some dirty talk, true love

warnings and triggers: age difference, reader is a former sex worker, trauma bonding, violence, death, slut shaming, bullying

word count: 13.4k

plot with porn, slight alternate universe.

you’re known as the princess of your group - soft, feminine, a girly girl who doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. despite the cruel new world you’re living in, you still hold on to whatever remnants of beauty you can find, hoping for a better tomorrow.

daryl is the opposite of everything you stand for. he’s hardened, rugged, ruthless - he’ll do whatever it takes to survive. despite your differences, you find yourselves drawn to each other in ways nobody, not even you two, can really understand. you bring softness to his strength, and in daryl you find a friend, a lover, a protector.

he’s everything you find warm and safe in this cold, scary world. you cling to him, and the best part?

daryl clings back.

“Cookies?”

The look Daryl gives you actually makes you crack a smile, and it’s a nice feeling. It’s been a long time since you smiled, now that you think about it - but it’s not like you’re keeping score. 

Because if you were - you’d probably be able to count the amount of grins that’ve graced your face in the last eight months on one hand. Life has been brutal to everyone this year.

“I know it sounds weird,” you explain, crossing your legs on the rock you’re sitting on. Daryl’s supposed to be keeping watch of the camp while Rick and a few other men from the group make a run into the neighboring town for supplies. The plan was, because even the smallest things need well thought out plans in this world, that the women and children of the camp would rest, and if Daryl saw any walkers, he’d wake everyone up. 

Sort of dumb, in theory, with how fast things happen when walkers are added to the equation, but it’s all this group has got. 

Plans and Rick’s hope. 

You’re supposed to be resting too, since yesterday was a travel day - long and exhausting. But you can’t sleep. You’ve got a headache, you’re hungry, and your sleeping bag is still a little damp from your water bottle, the plastic gone thin from having been dropped too many times, breaking while you drove from your last destination. Your tent is cold and you’re sharing it with a single woman who has a child, and their crying is really starting to bum you out. 

So you decided to join Daryl keeping watch. He’s perched on a little ledge that overlooks the rest of the camp, able to see anything coming or going before anyone on the ground can. You’re not great with a gun, but since the world went to shit, you can handle yourself pretty well.

You want to help protect the camp and everyone in it, especially since you asked Rick to pick up another reusable water bottle for you while he was in town. The look on his face was so priceless it actually made you a little sad. 

“Doesn’t just sound weird,” Daryl replies, shifting to get more comfortable on the grassy ground. There’s another rock for him to sit on, but it’s something you’ve noticed about him - Daryl always chooses to sit close to the ground, even if there’s a proper place for him to sit. “It is weird,” he grumbles the last part, busying himself with chucking a rock a few feet away while a squirrel scampers up a tree. He curses under his breath, no doubt pissed at himself for not securing another meal. 

You’re distracting him. You should feel bad, but you don’t. 

Before walkers and the end of the world as you knew it, you used to be so concerned with manners. Worried about what others thought about you more than you worried about your own well being. You’re not like that anymore. It’s a dark, although funny thought - that it took something as drastic as an apocalypse to finally rid you of your people pleasing habit. 

There’s a crunching sound a few yards away that has the both of you tensing up, frozen while you listen for the sound of growling, but it never comes. Daryl visibly relaxes after a minute, which is your cue to start talking again. He just listens, although from the angle you’re sitting at, you swear you see him roll his eyes. 

“You ever think about how weird it is, the stuff we miss?” You ask, but you already know he’s not going to reply. Daryl rarely replies, but you know he’s listening. You don’t have any real proof that he is - but what else would he be doing while you chat his ear off? He can stand up for himself, doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do - if he didn’t want you talking to him, he’d tell you to fuck off. 

It’s a small victory you hold close to your heart - the fact that he just puts up with you. You continue. “I mean, everyone always says they miss things like hot showers, electricity, or whatever. I do, but I guess it’s not the thing I miss the most. For me, it’s cookies. But not bakery cookies. The kind of cookies you get from the store, the cheap ones. When you flatten the cookie dough yourself, and no matter what, always burn them or undercook them,” as you talk about it, you can taste the ghost of cookies past on your tongue. It waters a little, your mouth, which goes to show you just how hungry you are. 

All you eat these days are protein bars and uncooked cans of whatever food the group can find. Sometimes, with your eyes closed and your breath held, you’ll try bits of squirrel or owl or whatever other animal Daryl hunts and shares with the group, but even the thought makes you nauseated. You never knew you’d be able to have preferences when the other choice is starving to death, but the difficult human spirit prevails, you suppose. 

Daryl glances at you, and although it’s pretty dark, the moon shines light enough that you can see his expression. You’d expect his face to be mean, aggravated - tired. Listening to a young woman ramble about baking cookies while his body is on high alert to protect an entire fucking camp - but instead, Daryl’s expression is soft. He lets you continue, although his reaction does remind you that you’re also on guard. But aren’t you always?

The gun strapped to your hip and the knife in the pocket of your boot feel extra heavy at the reminder. 

You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice low. God forbid a fucking walker kills you or anyone else in this group because you couldn’t shut up about cookies. 

“Maybe it’s stupid, you know? I just,” you look down, playing with the zipper on your jacket. Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed. On the spot. Daryl probably thinks you’re a fucking idiot. Your face heats up. 

But it’s not just the cookies. You leave out the part where the cookies remind you of your parents. How your mom, when she was alive, used to make them for you after a rough day. That those cookies were the staple of every sleepover you’ve ever had with your best friends. How those cookies were -

“It ain’t,” Daryl’s voice takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him, brows furrowed. You catch his eyes for only a second, before he looks away quickly, pretending to be occupied by something on the dirty ground. “It ain’t stupid,” he finishes. 

You wonder that night, after Rick and the others come back to relieve you and Daryl of your duty, while you’re laid up in your sleeping bag that hardly protects you from the cold - what does Daryl miss? Sure, out of everyone in the group, he’s most equipped at living this kind of life. Knows how to hunt, can stomach raw fucking meat, isn’t scared of anything, or so he says. What reminds him of home? What thoughts comfort him?

Surely, whatever those thoughts are, they’re not as dumb as store bought cookie dough. 

But what Daryl said stuck with you. Not stupid. You fall asleep, albeit with one eye open, feeling a little less cold. 

Because for a moment, Daryl’s understanding?

It made the world feel a little less broken.

────

“Gross,” you mutter, blood slashing on your face. You just shot a walker in the head, and your ears are ringing from the loud noise of the gun. You’ll never get used to firing that thing. How loud it is, the way your hand shakes even minutes after you pull the trigger.

Daryl comes from behind you, and he lets out a laugh. It’s low, short - if you weren’t trained to hear the noise, you’d miss it. Because really - it’s like you’ve literally trained yourself to look for little cues that Daryl is having a good time. Or, since you doubt anyone these days is having a good time, at least that he’s alright. That he’s not annoyed at you for hanging around him or talking to him or irritated at your presence in general. 

“Blood on your face grosses you out, but you’ll pick through walker guts for a bottle of nail polish,” he shakes his head, but it's not like he’s judging. In fact, Daryl actually seems a little…fond? He’s teasing you, and normally the reputation you have in this group as a girl that’s afraid to get her hands dirty, too girly to do anything for yourself - it stings. 

But not when it comes from Daryl. You can tell he’s teasing, and you roll your eyes playfully. 

“Didn’t dig in walker guts for that nail polish,” you remind him, even as he walks past you to lead the way. You glance at his back, the angel wings on his leather vest, and will yourself to stop the heat rushing to your face and the arousal pooling in your belly at how fucking strong he is. Big arms, muscles that look like he should be on the cover of a body building magazine instead of in these creepy woods with a crossbow. You gulp. “There was a little blood in the nail polish section when we did a run the other day. I cleaned it off the bottle I wanted. No biggie.”

Daryl scoffs, and you smile. “Yer crazy, girl,” he replies, and at that you look down at your nails. Baby pink, the same color you always used to choose when you’d get your nails done back at home. You could shiver with pleasure, just from thinking about the feeling of warm water on your hands, someone paying special attention to your cuticles - lotion, that you don't have to share with every other woman at the camp. The polish you’re wearing, painted just two days ago, is chipped and stained red with walker blood, but it’s better than nothing. 

Makes you feel a little more human. A little more like a woman. A little more like yourself.

Now, if only you could find some hairspray and a razor. 

You’ve been joining Daryl whenever he lets you - or, more truthfully, whenever Rick tells Daryl it’s okay for you to join him. Rick still doesn’t believe that you know what you’re doing, thinks of you as a liability, but you’re determined to prove yourself. You got to go on a run the other day, and today, Daryl went to check out the perimeter of the grassy hill the group is currently camping in, and you volunteered to go with him. 

“You sure?” Rick had asked when the plan was originally made, looking at Daryl with squinted eyes. He pretended like you didn’t exist, even as you were standing right next to him. Daryl nodded. “S’okay with me. I’ll look out for her. Bring yer gun,” he told you, and you nodded, skipping after him down the trail. 

Around Daryl, and maybe this is why you like him so much - it’s easy to feel like a woman. Easy to feel safe, too. Daryl just knows what he’s doing, and he’s so strong, big, can handle so much. Being around him feels good, but you know it’s all just a farce. 

You’re not safe and neither is Daryl, a fact that becomes even clearer when you almost trip on a dead body by a stream you’re both passing on the way back to camp, alerting a walker that was only a few yards away. Daryl was able to kill him with an arrow, but it was a close call. 

One minute, laughing and talking. The next, like you’re begging death to open the door after ringing his doorbell a few too many times. 

You walk back to camp in silence, walker blood splattered on the both of you. When you get back, it’s nearly dark, and you help a few of the other women finish some laundry and keep an eye on a few restless kids. Life sucks in this world as an adult - but you can’t imagine living like this as a kid. Although, you think, watching them throw dirt at each other and believe the food their mothers are giving them really tastes just like chicken nuggets, maybe being so clueless is for the best. 

After dinner, on your way to your tent, you see Rick and Daryl talking. You try to listen in, pretending that you’re just getting your sleeping bag ready for bed, but you don’t hear anything of importance. Meaning, you don’t hear either of them bring up your name. You feel like a highschooler, desperate for friends, eager to belong - hoping your crush notices you. 

Because that’s what this is with Daryl, isn’t it? You’ve got a crush on him. Butterflies, wanting his attention, looking for excuses to be around him. It’s pathetic but a little beautiful, you admit - that even in a situation like this, where death surrounds every person, no matter who they are - there’s room in the human spirit for a little love. 

A crush, you think again, fixing your nails in your tent. You can almost convince yourself that life isn’t so horrible, just for a minute, until the woman you share your tent with comes in for bed and complains that the smell of the polish is too strong and makes it hard for her to sleep. 

Okay, bitch, you say in your head. It’s not like the walker guts and dead bodies beyond our tent smell any better. You bite your tongue and walk out of the tent, making your way to the empty clearing a little ways away from the tents. It’s so quiet, there’s no way you wouldn’t hear a walker if one was to come around you, but you have a knife on you just in case. No gun, since the noise would just draw more to you. 

You think these things through. You just wish Rick, and the rest of the group, would see that too. 

It’s dark, except for the moon and the stars shining pretty above you. Maybe the little fact you read online years ago about the environment is true - people are the cause of everything bad and all the pollution. A little more than half a year into the apocalypse, and there’s no smog clogging up the skies. It’s a gorgeous night. 

You sit with your hands flat on the ground, waiting for your nails to dry. You get a good few minutes of silence, until the noise of footsteps has you nearly jumping out of your boots, reaching for your knife, only to realize that it’s not a walker, but Daryl coming to plop down next to you.  

“Gosh, Daryl. You scared me,” you complain, letting out a whine. He doesn’t say anything, just sits next to you on the ground, although he moves so his back is facing your back. Makes sense, so you're both safe from all angles. Daryl always thinks about little things like that. 

He’s quiet for long enough that you start to think of something to fill the silence. “Damnit,” you mutter, letting out a huff. “I ruined my nails.”

“Oh, quit it,” Daryl replies. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yerself? You got a death wish, girl?” You’re mortified that Daryl is scolding you like you’re a kid, like you’re an idiot, and coming from him it just hurts even more. 

You’ve always had an even temper, but in this new world, you lose it more often than you used to. It’s probably just the way life is now - the stress, the hunger, the cold and the dirt and the sweat and the lack of anything that used to bring anyone joy. It makes everyone crazy. 

“Yeah, well - ‘m sure your buddy Rick hopes a walker gets to me. Know he was talking shit about me earlier.” You sniffle, but you’re not crying yet - it just really hurts, that you feel like such dead weight at this camp. You’ve never really been insecure, but you feel like nobody likes you. Nobody understands you. And yeah, surviving is more important than being miss popular with a group of people in the apocalypse, but everyone’s always talking about this group being family. Does that include you? It doesn’t feel like it these days. 

Daryl is silent, as you expected. Normally you don’t mind the company, even if it’s a mute one, but tonight you’re feeling on edge. Until Daryl speaks. “Rick ain’t my friend. No one wants you to die, kid. Yer too much,” he mutters, and then you stand up, aggravated and not wanting to take it out on him. 

You begin to walk away when Daryl reaches out and grabs your ankle to stop you. “Daryl,” you warn, as if you’d do anything to retaliate even if he pulled you on the ground with him. But you keep up the hard ass attitude - it feels good, you admit, being difficult for once. You don’t get to be anything but accommodating at camp. 

“Rick and I were sayin’ how valuable you are to the group. How much you’ve grown,” he explains, and you roll your eyes, make a show of stomping away, knowing, loving that Daryl is right on your heels. Because there’s no reason for him to stay in that clearing - he’s not on watch tonight. He was only hanging around there for you. 

Despite acting like Rick’s comment meant nothing to you, on the inside, as you walk to your tent, you fight a smile. So Rick has noticed your effort. That’s all you wanted, except - 

You realize that maybe approval you wanted so badly never needed to come from Rick - 

Because the approval from Daryl feels pretty damn good.

────

Daryl fixes you with a look that makes you burst out laughing. 

You’ve only been at this spot in the woods for a few weeks, but so far, quality of life among the camp has improved. Almost a year in this new world, and this is the first time anyone’s ever slept with both eyes closed since before people turned into the living dead. There’s a river nearby perfect for fishing, and tonight at the campfire, you had your first taste of - what did Daryl call it?

Sushi.

“Just so you know,” you say, crossing a leg over the other on the little log you’re sitting on. The sun is going down, and the sky is a pretty shade of pink and even a little purple. You wonder if nature has always been this beautiful - you’d always just been too preoccupied to see it. You put a tiny piece of the fish Daryl caught and cooked into your mouth, surprised at the taste. You don’t have to fake your reaction. It’s not bad at all - but you wouldn’t necessarily say it’s good. Tastes better than another can of old spaghetti rings though, that’s for sure. 

Still, you can’t help teasing. You finish your original statement. “Sushi tastes much better than this.”

Daryl smiles, just slightly. And not the fake kind of smile he does when he’s just trying to be polite. Like when an elderly man from the group tells a joke no one else laughs at, or when the strap of your last bra broke and you started crying until Rick promised, cheeks red, that he’d look for your size on the next run.

Right now, it seems like Daryl’s actually having a good time. 

The thought makes you smile.

“Thank you,” you tell Daryl, and you swear you see him blush. “It's better than sushi, really.” 

“Yeah,” Daryl says, nodding. He’s grown uncomfortable with the compliments already. “It’s the best yer gonna get.” Others from the group join you around the campfire, and then Daryl takes off, but not before giving you one last lingering gaze. He has small eyes, you’ve noticed - a little hooded, but so beautiful. He’s incredibly handsome, in a unique way. A pretty, no, beautiful man. His stare burns you, warms you up even with the chill in the air.

It’s only later, when the rest of the group clears off and you and Daryl are alone again, that he speaks. He’s sharpening a knife, leaning on the side of a camper van for support, and you’re at a makeshift sink (bucket) washing the dishes. It was your least favorite chore before this new world, and it’s still your least favorite after. 

But, if you let your mind go there - something about the dynamic between Daryl cooking dinner and you cleaning the dishes up has you - 

No. You’ve got to stop acting so juvenile. 

On one hand, this little crush you have on Daryl is something positive that gets you through the day. Waiting to talk to him, excited to be around him - it shines light on a dark, terrible reality. On the other hand, getting attached to anyone at this camp is a bad idea. You just lost someone else a few days ago. 

The reality, that death really is lurking everywhere - that something could happen to you, or Daryl…it makes your palms sweat and your breathing become erratic. The reality of this new world is just so scary and cruel.

You’re done with the dishes and you dry your hands on an old flannel that the camp uses as a dish towel. You feel Daryl watching you, and you like it. 

“What are you looking at?” You tease, pushing some hair away from your face. “There a walker behind me or something? 

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t look at no walker like that,” he grumbles, but then he must realize what he said - what it really means. You’re so excited you’re almost vibrating, wondering, realizing now - that maybe this crush isn’t one sided. But you still try to play it cool, even as Daryl shakes his head, says, “Wasn’t lookin’ at nuthin.’”

You don’t know what to say to that. You begin to walk away, excited to spend the rest of the night in your tent going over this interaction until you fall asleep, but what Daryl says next stops you in your tracks. You freeze.

“Gotta get you a bra on the nex’ run,” he says, and your knees feel weak. “Those things almos’ poked me in the eye. You cold or sumthin’?’”

You fast walk to your tent, nearly crying from embarrassment - but your entire body is dizzy with excitement. It’s adrenaline, but not the same kind you get when you’re running or kill a walker and make it out alive - a different kind, one you haven’t felt since maybe even before the walkers. It lights you up inside, makes it hard to breathe - and the funniest part?

Daryl has no idea your nipples are hard because you’re aroused - all from watching him sharpen a knife. What can you say? A man who can handle a weapon like that can surely handle…other things.

────

The fire crackles as you sit back, the warmth from the flames doing little to ease the chill in your bones. It’s freezing outside, but you’re under a warm blanket, and if you delude yourself enough you can almost convince yourself that this is just a toasty evening with friends and not a risky fire that could very well lead walkers directly to the camp.

But there’s nothing the group can do - it’s simply too cold to go without a fire tonight. Even Daryl, king of having his arms always showing, is in a jacket tonight. Which sucks, because you really love looking at his arms…but this is survival.

There’s hushed conversation while Rick tells a story, a few pairs to the side chattering, and you feel left out until you notice that Daryl isn’t talking to anyone either. He’s just looking at the ground, then the fire, gaze flickering to you every few minutes. 

And you only notice that because your eyes can’t stay off of him. You can’t help it - it’s like you’re always looking for him. There’s something about that man, as dumb as it sounds, that makes him feel like your own security blanket. Even seeing him from across the camp, just a glimpse, can settle your nerves like nothing else. 

Suddenly, a voice from next to you tries to get your attention. It’s Derek, a decent looking guy about your age - but he’s pretty useless, as far as skills go. He accompanies the rest of the men for runs into town, can kill a walker if necessary, but he’s selfish and all about himself. Won’t even take watch at night, says it interferes with his sleep. You can’t stand him. 

You try to avoid his gaze and pretend to be busy, picking at your cuticles and hoping he leaves you alone, but no such luck. 

“Look at you, princess,” he teases, and you cringe so hard you wonder if it’s visible. It’s embarrassing, being referred to like that - so what, that you like the color pink and happen to be attractive? You’re not hurting anyone. The clothes you’re wearing, the pink clips you have to hold your hair back, the floral printed pillow case - those were all things you had before the world went to shit. 

You didn’t know the apocalypse had a dress code. 

You’re sick of being teased. Of being reduced to this overly feminine character - as if you don’t keep watch just as much as the men. As if you don’t kill walkers when they get close to the camp, while the other women hide. As if you don’t cook, and clean, and - 

Derek is still talking.

You sneak a glance across the campfire at Daryl, who holds your gaze for a minute before dropping it. You look back down too, play with your fingers on your lap. You’d go to your tent right now if you weren’t scared about the safety of falling asleep with no one actively on watch. 

“So, what’d you all do before this?” Derek asks, leaning forward. He’s asking the group, but he’s looking at you, which means - you’re supposed to go first?

You wonder if this has anything to do with what you told Cindy, someone you used to share a tent with before she found room in another one. There’s not much to do these days when you’re not cooking or cleaning or hunting or moving - lots of time to sit and talk. The apocalypse is so much more boring than you ever anticipated. You shared a lot about your past with her, but surely she wouldn’t gossip about you to the others in the camp?

You thought girl code was still a thing, even in these trying times. 

Everyone is silent, waiting for your answer. Even Daryl and Rick seem interested, which makes you feel even worse. You wanted to fit in, not be the center of attention.

You shift uncomfortably, before clearing your throat. You can feel Cindy’s eyes on you, sitting just a few people down. “Nothing special. Just,” you pause and shrug, unsure of what to say. “Whatever I had to. To survive.” 

Back then, surviving was all about money, and ever since your parents died when you were a teenager, money is the one thing you never had enough of. One thing you did have though, is your beauty. So you used it, to get the things you needed, and sometimes a little more - but it all boiled down to one thing, just like it does now - to survive. 

That’s all life is about, really? Take away the frills, the fun - people just want to stay alive, no matter how rough things get.

So - you had a boyfriend to pay your rent. A man that loved to take you shopping. A lonely guy who paid off your car. You’ve never lived in luxury, but you always made it. Always got by. Had the things you needed and a little bit more. Always -

“Yeah, well, we all knew you were a whore.”

The words leave Derek’s mouth and you’re frozen. Speechless - and that never happens to you. You’re so shocked at what he said that your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and it’s only then that you realize the bottle of hard liquor on his lap. 

You glare at Cindy, who quickly gets up and runs to her tent, more scared of you than walkers apparently - good, you think, because she’s such a bitch for talking about you behind your back. You try to be cool about it, to laugh it off like Derek is so wrong it doesn’t even deserve a reaction, but you’re so embarrassed you feel your chest aching. 

Has everyone known about your history the entire time you’ve been at camp? You shared those stories with Cindy in the beginning, one of the first nights you arrived, desperate for some comfort. Is that why everyone treats you so differently from the rest? Is that why you’re the black sheep of a fucking camp formed during the apocalypse?

Does Daryl know?

You’re ready to defend yourself, but you don’t get to. Because Daryl is around the fire so fast you don’t even have time to blink, grabbing Derek by the collar of his shirt and pounding his fists into his face. 

The sound of knuckles against bone is excruciating, makes you want to hurl - but you don’t tell him to stop. You’re frozen, and anyway, Derek deserves it, doesn’t he? 

It’s Rick, and a few other men that pull Daryl off of Derek, who’s sporting an eye so swollen it won’t shut and a busted lip, a cheek that’ll be purple for the next few weeks for sure. “Whore,” he spits, still able to talk, even as someone drags him away. “Man, shut up already,” one of the guys says to him, but nobody eases the sting of what he says. 

Daryl wipes sweat from his brow while Rick walks off to talk to Derek, but he can’t get a word in with the shit the other man is spewing. “Fucking whore,” he keeps grumbling. “There’s no money to milk from men anymore, is there? Bet you put out for that fish Dixon caught for you. Did you do the same for that new bra? Or that water bottle Rick brought back for you? Almost died you know, getting that shit for you, maybe you can thank me with,” Rick kicks him in the ribs before he can finish and tells him to shut up in that leader voice of his. 

You run off, now that the rest of the group has scattered, but you hear Daryl yell out, “Yeah, man, you should’ve died,” with a string of curse words. “All you fuckin’ people looking’ at her. Yer all whores in your own way. Useless too,” he continues, but you don’t hear it because you get into your tent and zip it up.

Great. All this drama, and now nobody is ever going to fucking like you now. You’ll be the black sheep forever, won’t you? It’s a harsh wake up call, and you’re thankful you’re alone. Your tentmate must’ve taken her daughter out to be with the other kids, away from the rowdiness at the fucking campfire. You sniffle, and climb into your sleeping bag. 

A minute later, before you’ve even had time to process what’s happening, Daryl enters the tent. He’s so big, it’s hard for him to fit, but he manages - cursing and crouching in a way that would make you laugh if this wasn’t such a depressing situation. 

He sits next to your sleeping bag. Knees bent, arms around his legs. He just sort of watches you. You look anywhere but his face, but you notice his knuckles are bloody red and torn, all because of you. 

“Didn’t have to defend me,’ you say, instead of thank you. “I wasn’t a whore, so,” but Daryl cuts you off. 

“Don’t matter what you were. He shouldn’t talk to you like that. Little prick deserves his ass kicked anyway. Can’t even shoot straight,” it’s like this moment is as uncomfortable for him as it is for you. You share a look, but you look away first, afraid of the intensity. You’ve never had someone stand up for you before - not like this. What are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do? 

You say nothing at all. A few more minutes go by, with your vision blurry as you stare at Daryl’s knuckles and he stares at the hole that shows the grassy ground in the bottom of your tent. Finally, he sighs, annoyed, and even though you’re not talking you’re still worried he’s going to leave. He’s your teddy bear after all, right? Your security blanket. Maybe you’re selfish - but you don't want him to go. 

And he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl adjusts his position so he can reach into his pocket and pull something out. It’s bright pink, satin looking - you wonder if he’s going to hand you a pair of racy panties just to seal the deal that he thinks you’re a slut. A whore. 

But is he wrong? The look of the muscles in his arm, at his sheer size - at the smell of him, so masculine and woodsy in this little tent it almost makes you dizzy with want. 

After what just happened, how can you be thinking about sex? Maybe you are a slut. A whore. You’ve done things for money before, but -

Daryl hands the piece of pink satin to you. “S’posed to be a ribbon,” he says, shrugging. He’s embarrassed you realize, and it’s cute. “Found it on a toy, er, teddy bear, thought you might like it. If you don’t, I,” but you cut him off, scoot closer to him as you tie it around your wrist. 

“Thank you, Daryl,” you say softly, sweetly - and it feels so natural to lean in and press your lips against his cheek. His body is warm, and when you grip his bicep every cell in your body is on fire with desire. He must’ve taken his jacket off after the fight. If it could even be called that, with the way Daryl jumped Derek. Fights are usually a two way street.

Your heart swells, at the fact that he protected you. Thought about you on a run. Saw something and thought of you. Men have bought you things before, of course - but never something personal like this. Never something you didn’t have to ask for beforehand, for nothing in return.

Daryl, he - he gives you feelings so fuzzy and pure in your chest that you almost forget you’re sleeping just a few feet away from a forest of dead bodies. 

He doesn’t wipe his cheek when you pull away after the kiss, which is a step in the right direction. You’ve seen Daryl lose his shit over the intimacy of a simple thank you hug with someone else from camp before.

You feel special.

“Was nothin,’” he says, before pausing. He looks at you, then away again, wringing his hands before continuing. “Don’t feel any typa way about doin’ what you had to do to survive, ya hear me? I know what it’s like to do what you hav’to to live, ya know? That fucker. He doesn't have a clue about makin’ it on your own. How tough it can be. Don’ listen to the shit he’s got to say. Don’t listen to none of these people,” he won’t look at you, but you look at him, the side profile of his face so handsome you want to reach out and touch him. But you refrain. 

Instead, you squeeze his arm, bicep tan and bulging. You lick your bottom lip. “Daryl,” you interrupt him and he looks at you, gaze on your eyes, then your lips, then to the pretty ribbon tied around your wrist. He visibly swallows, before looking back at your eyes. His eyes are blue, pretty. Too pretty for a man as rugged as him, but what’s the saying? 

A person who is good on the inside - their beauty shines through. You think that’s true about Daryl. At this moment, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man as beautiful as him. You breathe him in, going crazy over his pheromones - his smell. You can feel your body getting aroused at his closeness, and he’s not even doing anything sexual.

“Next time,” you say, teasing tone in your voice, “Can you bring the whole bear?”

────

“Look at us,” you say, trying not to skip beside Daryl. A mood this good feels eerie in this new world, but you can’t help the way you feel.

Daryl asked you to join him for a walk, and ever since that night when he gave you the ribbon in your tent - you’ve been closer than ever. You wear the ribbon around your wrist every single day, except for right now, when you’re wearing it to hold some of your hair back. 

You’re not sure what’s going on with you and Daryl, but there’s a freedom about it that fills you with joy. Helps you exhale easier in this crazy, cruel world - because he’s safe, and you like being around him, and he obviously likes you too, right? Or he wouldn’t ask you to go for a walk every single day, wouldn’t pay special attention to you during meals, making sure you’re eating enough - 

And he really wouldn’t have kissed you against a tree during his watch last week if he had any bad feelings towards you. 

Things at the camp are complicated, because that stunt Derek pulled separated the group. There’s people that hate you, because they’re really mad at Daryl - but nobody can be actually mad at Daryl, since he does so much for the entire group. Catches animals for food, is one of the strongest men besides Rick. You’re not exactly his girl, not even close, but you know that the only reason you haven’t been used as walker bait is because of Daryl’s status at the camp. 

When he kissed you, just a few weeks after that night in the tent - it was so much softer than you imagined. Because, yeah - you imagined what it would be like to kiss Daryl Dixon. Ever since you met him, really. He’s so tough, so crass, such a force. It’s always been an opinion of yours, that the toughest people really just need some softness. You wonder now, when he smiles shyly at you as you walk past a stream, if you’re that softness for him these days. 

“Look at us, what, girlie?” He asks, and you stifle a giggle, trying to remain serious for the bit of the joke. You brush your hand against his as you walk, wondering when he’ll grab it. Wondering when, if, he’ll ever claim you. But you’re trying not to rush things. It’s easy to get worried about time, when every single day is life and death - but there's something kind of beautiful about just going with the flow of what feels good. 

Living in the present, which is literally all you have now. All anyone has. And right now, your goal in the present, is to make Daryl laugh. 

“You’ve got your bow,” you say, gesturing to his weapon, “And I’ve got mine.” You flip your hair, showing off the pink, satin ribbon holding your hair away from your face. Daryl chuckles and shakes his head, but it only lasts for a second. 

Your face heats, pleased with yourself for making him laugh, and then your breath hitches when he grabs hold of your hand. 

“Yer sumthin’ else, girl,” he says fondly, and you walk into an area dense with trees before he nudges you against the trunk of one.

You don’t know what life was like for Daryl before walkers took over the population. You’re not sure if he had a lot, or a little, experience with women before this all happened. In fact, you don’t know a lot about Daryl at all. He’s closed off, he’s a little mean sometimes, too tough for his own good -

But god, the way he kisses. 

Hesitant, like he’s scared to take something he didn’t earn. You want to tell him that every single part of you, he has earned. You’ve known him for more time than your longest relationship. You’ve seen each other filthy, desperate, depraved. Covered in blood, covered in guts - starving, dirty, depressed. For a man that hardly talks, Daryl somehow knows you better than any man, maybe even any other person, ever has. 

He stood up for you. He tries to take care of you. He’s a good friend, he’s -

When he slips a hand to your hip and drops his crossbow on the ground, squeezes at your skin in a way that’s so possessive it makes your breath hitch, you literally let out a cry. Against your lips, Daryl murmurs, “Quiet, ‘less you wanna have a threesum with a walker.” His tongue tastes like cigarettes, a little bit like the apple juice one of the kids at the camp wanted him to try, because he’s a good sport, even if his resting bitch face might suggest otherwise. 

There’s something about him ordering you around that does it for you. You let him take charge of the kiss, but you grab his roaming hand and move it to your breast. He squeezes, but in your new bra, you don’t feel the friction you’re so desperately craving from him rubbing over your nipples. You want more, and you whine, trying not to be greedy but it’s just so damn hard. 

Against the tree, Daryl slips a leg between yours, and you shamelessly bend down to try to rub your aching core against it. “Daryl,” you whine, and he laughs, pulling away to look at you, his hair that’s getting longer plastered against his forehead with sweat. Everything about him is overwhelming. His smell, intense, his lips, delicious, his strength and size, so fucking hot you just want to curl up in the pocket of his shirt and stay safe forever. 

Because you don’t have a doubt in your mind - Daryl would keep you safe. You wonder, why you wasted your time with finance guys and entrepreneurs and men who’d never gotten their hands dirty, back when life was normal. Daryl, with calloused fingertips and his thick accent, a country boy through and through - he pleases you, makes you happier than anyone you’ve ever met before. 

Yeah, even in the apocalypse, you can find the romance. You kiss Daryl deeper. 

He moves his hand down from your breast to slip it into your pants, and he lets out a low noise in his throat at the feeling of your wetness already. Just from kissing him. You’re not ashamed - it’s been a long time since anyone touched your pussy like this, a long time since you even touched it yourself. There’s just no time alone, and you share a tent, and -

“Yer soakin,’” Daryl comments, and your entire body flushes with humiliation. But the good kind. You nod. “For you,” you whisper, and he leans his forehead against yours before capturing your lips in his again. 

Just as you expected, Darly is good with his fingers. He positions one of your legs over his hip so he has better access to finger you, rough hands, the calloused pads of his thumb dragging over your clit, so swollen after so long without cumming. It’s not going to take long, you know, to completely fucking burst. You want it so bad, to come apart on his fingers, to show him just how good you can be. He’s knuckle deep inside of you while still also putting pressure on your clit when you let out a screech, thankful you opened your eyes in time to see the walker coming from behind Daryl. 

You push him off of you until he curses and tries to pick up his crossbow, fingers still slick with your pussy, but you beat him to it. You grab the knife out of your boot, even though your body feels like jelly, and you slam it into the walker’s forehead as hard as you can. You huff and puff, because it takes a lot out of you, and when the walker is on the ground you slam your boot into its face a few too many times until the bottom of your shoe is covered with walker brains. 

“He’s dead,” Daryl says behind you. “Don’ waste yer energy.” You roll your eyes, wiping sweat from your face with a bandana you had in your pocket. 

“I know. That’s for him ruining my orgasm,” you say out loud, and behind you, Daryl lets out a low whistle. You’re really humiliated now, but what are the chances? A fucking walker trying to eat Daryl while you’re trying to get him to eat you? Some fucking luck. 

There’s still blood splattering on your face, and you turn to Daryl, wiping it with your sleeve. “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” you say sheepishly, unsure of how to read his bland expression. But just because a walker interrupted, doesn’t mean you don’t want to continue your little fingering session. Just in case, shame out the window, you reach for him. Daryl backs away slightly. 

“Slow down,” he says, pulling away from you. “Don’ wanna fuck you in the forest,” and you understand, but also - where else can you have sex? Everyone’s always watching each other. When else can you get some time alone? 

Daryl looks down at the bulge in his pants, and you reach down and grope him, like some kind of horny harlot. Maybe you are. He watches you, the color of your nails, your tiny hand - and he lets out a groan himself. 

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says, leaving you speechless and wet in the middle of the woods. He starts to walk away, but his head is turned to you and his eyes never leave you. You know it’s because he’s making sure you’re safe, watching over you, even with his dick chubbing up in his pants. He tugs his weapon up to rest on his shoulder. 

If that’s not a man, you don’t know what is. 

“Daryl,” you start to say, following him, about to beg him for something more, but he just throws an arm around your shoulders and tugs you along. You use the opportunity with his hand on your shoulder to tie the ribbon around his wrist, a small mark of your ownership. You wonder what he’ll say about that, if he’ll be mad -

He just squeezes your shoulder. “Not tryna deny you. I want you. Me and the little guy,” he looks down to his cock in his pants, obviously referring to that. “Yer just too pretty to do somethin’ like that in the woods. My tent, tonight?” You know that his tent mate is keeping watch tonight, so you’ll be alone for a good amount of time. Enough time to - you shiver just thinking about it. 

You nod eagerly. 

“You sure you’re not just disgusted at what I just did?” You phrase it like a joke, gently rubbing your lips on the healing cuts of his knuckles, but you’re serious. Maybe seeing a woman behave greedy, wanting, desperate - violent - maybe it was a huge turn off. 

Daryl shakes his head and tugs you closer, presses his lips to the top of your head. “Nah,” he assures, looking back down to the bulge in his pants. It’s even more noticeable than before. He takes the hand he used to finger you and sucks the digits, covered in your slick, into his mouth. The muscles in your cunt clench, at the way his cheekbones look, the level of lust in his eyes aimed at you. 

“That was fuckin’ sexy,” he assures, popping his fingers out of his mouth.

────

At dinner that night, which is squirrel - so you settle for half a protein bar and a bruised apple, Rick sits down beside you. You’re eating away from everyone else, because Daryl’s helping someone with something like he always is, but it’s alright because you’re in your own world, thinking about what’s to come later tonight with him. 

You’re in a trance, remembering the way he scratched at your scalp fondly when he walked you to your tent and watched you bend down to get inside. “Don’t sprain yer wrist before tonight,” he joked, insinuating you’d be finishing yourself off. He went off with a wink, leaving you reeling - because since when did Daryl Dixon joke around? 

You’ve been riding on a high for the rest of the night. 

Rick sitting beside you takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him and swallow the bit of stale protein bar you’ve been chewing for probably ten minutes, quirking an eyebrow at him. He’s so serious, it’s annoying. 

Don’t get it wrong - you like Rick. Appreciate everything he’s done, does for the camp - he’s just so intense, but he’s handsome in his own right too. Not your normal type, but then again - neither is Daryl. You just don’t understand a man like Rick, and he doesn’t get you. But he’s the best thing this group has, because he has everyone's interest at heart. Even someone like Daryl, well - 

He puts himself, and you by extension now, maybe - first. It’s not a bad thing, in fact, you find both sides of the coin admirable in their own way. 

“What’s up, Rick?” You finally ask. He looks down to his hands, before nodding behind you, and you turn and look at what he’s referring to - it’s Daryl, looking angrily at Derek, who’s by the fire drunkenly talking shit about everything while people try to calm him down. You sigh. 

“You and Daryl,” Rick says, and you’re not sure what to say to that - statement? Accusation? You just nod. “What about us?” You ask, and you really don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not sure why whatever you’re doing with Daryl is any of Rick, or anyone’s, business?

You expect a lecture. Something about needing to earn your keep, to stop distracting him, to make things right with Derek. Instead, Rick just pats you on the back, literally. 

“You’re good for him,” he says, before awkwardly walking off when someone calls his name. No doubt for a crisis that could easily be solved without his help. You feel sorta bad for Rick - people are so stressed, so traumatized in this new world, that they don’t want to use their brains at all. They put all their problems, no matter how small, on Rick, and that’s gotta be hard. 

You want to call out some sort of acknowledgement for all he does as he walks away, but Daryl begins walking towards you before you get the chance. You’re still looking towards Rick. “You checkin’ the boss out?” Daryl jokes, with something like possessiveness or jealousy in his tone. It burns you in the best way possible - that Daryl might worry about something like that. 

What can you say? You’ve always thought a possessive man was hot. 

Daryl plops down beside you. You’re sitting on a log, but he’s on the ground. Typical Daryl behavior. He wraps a hand around your ankle - and suddenly you’re very glad you got a chance to shave with the razor you stole from someone’s pile of toiletries after the last run. 

“That all yer eatin?’” He asks, referring to the empty wrapper in your hand. You shake your head and show off your sorry apple, but Daryl just shakes his head and scoffs. “Tha’s not enough. You can’t be picky about,” but he stops when he sees the expression on your face. 

You’ve talked to him about this before. He didn’t reply, but you know he was listening. Food - it’s the only thing you can be a little picky about. Everything else, you don't have any choice over. Where the camp goes, who you share a tent with. Food and now, this thing with Daryl - that’s all the power you have. Daryl nods, like he gets it but doesn’t like it, and then changes the subject. 

“Are you cold?” You ask, and Daryl laughs. As kind as he is to you, you know that he’s uncomfortable when you, or anyone, tries to show any kind of care for him. He nods his chin towards the ratty blanket you’re using. “You gon’ share with me, girlie?” You shake your head, a grin spreading across your face.

“No,” you say, tossing the blanket, the apple, and the wrapper into a duffle bag next to the log you’re sitting on. “Just thought I could warm you up in your tent.” Daryl looks like a deer caught in headlights as he peaks over your shoulder to where the rest of the group is getting ready for bed, his tent mate grabbing a gun before heading to the area where he’ll keep watch while everyone sleeps. 

Daryl nods. “Yer dirty,” he grumbles, standing up, but he runs his hands up and down his bare arms like he’s feigning being cold. “C’mon then. You gunna warm me up or what?”

────

The first time Daryl fucked you, he went slow. Took his time, opening you up with his thick fingers, even though you didn’t need the extra time. You were aching, wet - desperate for him to shove his cock inside of you, because you’d been thinking about it for too long. Too much kissing, humping, friction between the two of you - all you wanted, could imagine, was how his cock would feel against your throbbing center. 

When he finally thrusted inside of you, stretched you out and began to fuck into you, he didn’t let himself go like you always imagined. Insecurely, you narrowed your eyes, even as your back arched off of his sleeping bag. “When’s the last time?” You asked, referring to the last time he had sex. Daryl just let out a shaky laugh and calmed your fears with a thrust that made your toes curl and a moan escape your lips. 

“Long enough, pretty girl,” he assured, all while you huffed in brat and dug your nails into his shoulders. “Jus’ wanna enjoy it. We’ve finally got the time.” And Daryl was right, but really, when is he ever wrong?

The first time you had sex you got to enjoy going slow. But the rest of the times after that - and there’s been a lot now, it’s always a quickie. A rush, because shit hit the fan at your current camp soon after the first night together. The entire group had to move, you lost people to walkers (though not Derek, unfortunately), and now getting off with Daryl only happens in quick spurts whenever you’re alone. 

In a way, the drama surrounding the camp has made the two of you closer. 

When the entire group has to drive down a walker infested highway, normally you’d be in a camper van with the other women and children, but Daryl has your back. 

“You’re ridin’ with me,” he says, shooting Rick a look before anyone can object. As he walks off, he purposely bumps his shoulder into Derek, who scoffs and does the same to you. Daryl doesn’t notice, but Rick does, and he tells Derek off before Daryl can do anything drastic like beat his ass again. 

“Hey,” he warns, shoving Derek away from you. “Watch it,” Derek grumbles, glaring at you before hopping into the back of a truck with a few of the other men. “What?” He asks mockingly, because you’re frozen, watching him in a trance while Daryl starts up his bike. 

Derek just can’t leave you alone - he picks on you every single chance he gets. “You got Rick standing up for you now too, huh?” He says, shaking his head in disgust. “You let him fuck you too?”

It’s not his words that hurt so much, but it’s the fact that he’s saying them at all. You’ve never done anything to Derek, have only been nice, yet he looks at you like a target and it hurts so bad your eyes threaten to spill tears. Thankfully, Daryl comes for you, and you get on the back of his bike with ease. 

“You okay?” He asks, even though it’s hard to hear with the sound of the rumble from the motorcycle. You nod, and press your face into his back. Daryl takes off down the highway, leading the way while Rick follows behind, and you selfishly let yourself doze off against him. You trust Daryl, more than you’ve ever trusted another man - and that’s a lot of pressure. 

Trusting anyone these days means you’re putting your life in their hands. It’s exhausting. When you tell the women at camp you’ll watch their kids while they go to the restroom, or go for a walk - essentially what you’re saying is you’ll protect their kids if shit was going south. Even just the thought, being responsible for someone else - it makes your chest heave. 

Your arms are tight around Daryl as he drives. You’re not sure how long you’re on the road for when the motorcycle stops, but you know you’re much farther ahead then the rest of the group. In another life, you imagine Daryl happy and free - driving to a city, or another town on a brand new motorcycle. Maybe working in a shop. You feel a pang of sadness, that he’ll never get that. 

He deserves so much more than this shit. You all do. 

Except maybe Derek. 

And Cindy. Fuck that bitch.

Daryl stops the bike and you get off, stretching your legs. 

“You good, dolly?” He asks, and you wrinkle your nose at the nickname. You’re pretending not to like it, when in reality, it makes you tingle all over. You nod. 

“You go fast,” you say, and he laughs, steps off of the bike and walks to an empty field off to the side of the highway. “‘S the only way to go. Stay here,” he orders, before walking off. He grumbles something about taking a piss and you stifle a laugh, pretending to salute him. You see his hand twitch, like he wants to jokingly flip you off, but he stops himself. 

Something about that, that he won’t play rough with you, has your knees feeling wobbly. You feel like you can breathe, without the rest of the group breathing down your back, insulting you, accusing you of doing sexual things just to be treated like a human being. You try not to think about it, because you want to have a decent day and don’t want Derek to be the cause of tears when you’ve been through worse circumstances without crying. It’s hard though. 

You walk around the motorcycle, eyes on the ground. You catch a glimpse of your shoelace, pink against the black of your boot, because you used the ribbon for added flair when you gave your shoelace to someone at the camp who needed a belt. 

Daryl saw you, and promised you that night with his cock buried deep in your throat, “I’ll get you some more ribbons, pretty girl,” he assured, while you gagged and spit dribbled down your chin. “Too hard to hold your hair back when yer suckin’ me off like a pro.” 

That comment should’ve stung, but you know Daryl didn’t mean it like that. In fact, it was so hot that you did your best, until he spilled down your throat and you licked the mess you made off of his cock and balls and thighs. 

You’re lost in your thoughts, busy giving your pussy a heartbeat when you notice a little gold, bullet shaped thing on the ground. You’re not sure what it is, but if it is a bullet, you know having extra is always good. You reach down to grab it, only then realizing that it's a lipstick. 

You pop open the lid. It’s a pretty pink color, and while it’s used - you can’t even remember the last time you wore makeup. You wipe the top layer off before dabbing some with your finger and putting it on, trying to check yourself out in the mirror of the motorcycle when Daryl comes back. 

“The fuck are they?” He asks, zipping his pants up. He’s so, so, so - crass sometimes that it’s endearing. You shrug, and that’s when he notices the lipstick you’re wearing. His eyes are hooded, heavy with tiredness, and it makes him look all the more handsome. “There a makeup store aroun’ here I shud know about?” He teases, and you shake your head and hold up the lipstick tube. 

“Found this. How’s it look?” Daryl just nods, looking at you with a strange expression. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, until he tugs you closer to him by the wrist and tentatively presses his lips against yours. 

“Don’ care about the gloss,” he comments, and you resist the urge to explain it’s not gloss, it’s lipstick. “But I don’ call you pretty girl for no reason. Always pretty,” he says shyly, and Daryl is a perfect guy, but he never opens up. Hardly ever says how he feels, or what he thinks - but he’s being clear now. That he wants you, verbally, even though his actions in everything he do is always proving that to you. 

It’s crazy, the feeling of happiness bubbling in your chest, all thanks to Daryl Dixon. On the fucking highway filled with walkers probably silent in their cars, with flat tires and blood stains and ramsacked belongings, you stand on your tip toes and nudge the toe of your boots against his, grabbing hold of his handsome face and peppering kisses all over. You leave pink lipstick marks, but he doesn’t know that yet - and it makes you giggle. 

Putting your mark all over Daryl - you’ve never been possessive, but wow does it feel good. When you finally pull away, Daryl looks at you like you’re crazy. Then he takes a look down the highway to make sure nobody’s coming, before bending you over the front of his motorcycle. 

“Grab the handlebars,” he orders, a hand on your back before roughly pulling your pants down your ass. It’s risky, knowing that the rest of the camp could drive up at any minute, but who really cares? They already think so low of you. They already -

Your eyes shut as Daryl shoves his half hard cock inside of you, and your walls clamp down around him, so tight you feel him growing. It happened so fast he wasn’t even fully hard, but now he is, small thrusts so the both of you can get used to the feeling. Your hands are cramping where they grip the bars of his bike, so tight, until it almost starts to tip. Daryl has an idea. 

He pulls out, cock in hand with his fucking pants not even pulled all the way down, and he sits himself over his bike like normal. “Take em’ off,” he says, nodding towards your pants, and you obey, stripping them off until it takes too long because of your boots and Daryl just hauls you over to him. 

You almost trip as he lifts you onto the bike, bent over the handlebars, eyes on the road, before he slips his cock into you. It’s like you’re sitting on his lap, and he reaches around you, fully supporting your body while rubbing your clit. 

“Can you move?” He asks roughly, and you whine, trying to go up and down on his cock but it’s too hard at the angle. Daryl presses a kiss to your head, moves some of your hair back while he takes hold of your hips and ruts you back and forth over his dick. You know he’s strong, but feeling it first hand is something else entirely. It’s like you’re a doll with the way he easily controls your body, dick so thick it feels like he’s stretching your pussy into the perfect mold just for him.

“Don’ worry,” he assures, letting out a breath of pleasure right by your ear. “I got ya. Only time yer quiet ‘s when you got my cock in you, huh?”

He’s not wrong. You wish you could see his face, but this position, your back to his front, is pretty hot too.

It’s only a minute later, when his hand slips while you try to pull your body up to do some of the work, that he nearly pinches your clit and it’s the pain that sends you over the edge. You cum, that easily against him, and you cry out his name just as you both hear the sound of an engine in the distance. Daryl curses, throws his head back at the feel of your tight pussy squeezing him, and quite literally picks you up off his cock and puts you on your feet. 

“Knees,” he says quickly, and you obey, because of course you do, even though the gravel of the road is a little painful on your knees. He grabs you by your hair, and forces your mouth onto his cock where he spills his load down your throat. You swallow it down and kitten lick the head of his cock clean after, admiring the pink lipstick marks all over his perfect dick as he quickly zips tucks his dick in his pants and zips up, but not before helping you get your pants back up too. 

“If we live another day,” Daryl says, helping you straighten out your pants when the other cars pull up. He snaps the band of your panties, white cotton and floral print, against your skin while the rest of the group gets out of the cars to have a meeting over some bullshit, you’re sure. “I’ll return the favor,” he finishes. 

You don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you pull up his arm and cuddle into his side as he stands up, his tongue on your mind even though you just came all over his cock. You wish you could’ve had time to ride your orgasm out, but you’ll take what you can get.

Rick nods to Daryl as he gets out of his truck. He looks between the two of you, and for the first time, maybe ever, - you see him smirk a little. 

“‘S your color, man,” he says, closing the car door. Daryl is confused, and takes a look at himself in the rearview mirror of his motorcycle, notices all the kiss marks and another first happens -

Daryl Dixon blushes red.

────

“I wanna come,” you say, resisting the urge to literally stomp your foot as Rick and Daryl and a few other men head out on a run. 

It’s not like you actually want to go, but you can’t bear the thought of Daryl leaving without you. You know he can take care of himself, but the thought of him not returning - it literally makes you feel sick. You tug on the sleeves of your sweater while Daryl loads a bag of guns into the back of Rick’s truck, the other men exchanging glances that you know are them hoping Rick puts you in your place. 

Ever since people caught on about you and Daryl, they’ve kept their mouths shut in regards to you. Which is good. You’re still ignored, like before - but at least you’ve got a little respect. You cross your arms as Rick and Daryl walk towards you. 

“It’s dangerous out there,” Rick says, as if you’re an idiot who’s head has been buried in the sand for the past year. He sighs. “Look - we need you here. This is your role,” he looks like he wants to continue, but Daryl places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a look that Rick knows means let me handle this.

But you already know what Daryl is going to say to you, and you don’t want to fucking hear it. “I want to come, Daryl,” you say, trying not to whine. “I’m good with a gun, and since Derek can’t go,” you lower your voice, but Derek must’ve been slinking around. He pops up next to you, and Daryl tenses. 

“You,” Daryl warns, mood gone sour just from Derek’s presence. “Fuck off.”

Derek laughs, but he’s obviously pissed. He can’t go on anymore runs, at least not for a while - he’s too scared, after a walker almost bit him the last time. 

It’s only when you tense up, that Daryl realizes the other reason you don’t want to be left alone. 

You don’t want to be alone with Derek. Yes, there’s other women at the camp and a few other men, but Derek is a scary, loose cannon. He’s the last person you want to be around right now. Daryl’s jaw locks, and he looks between the two of you, at the way you’re uncomfortable. Someone in Rick’s truck blares the horn, and he turns around, stressed out, not knowing what to do. 

“Fuck face,” Daryl grumbles, running a hand down his face. He’s addressing Derek with a glare. He walks closer to him, chest to chest almost, backing Derek almost onto his ass. Derek can pretend to be tough all he wants - but he’s a bitch in comparison to a man like Daryl. 

“Stay away from her. Don’t even look at her. If I come back and you so much as,” but Derek smirks. “If,” he emphasizes, until Daryl literally shoves him. Rick calls his name, and Daryl backs off. 

You end up dropping whatever you’re saying, hating the position you’re putting Daryl in - like you’re a kid who has to have your way. Daryl is just trying to help the group, he has responsibilities - you don’t need to make his job harder than it is, so you wave him off. “I’ll be fine, Daryl. Just - come back safe.” You kiss his cheek and then he’s off.

You go to your tent to avoid Derek when the men going on the run are gone, but as you walk away you hear him speaking to you. “What’re you doing with that white trash? You might’ve been a whore, but you’re no trailer trash. You wouldn’t be with him if this was any other world.”

You stop in your tracks. “Don’t talk about Daryl like that,” you say softly, but firmly. For all Daryl does for everyone - you can’t believe Derek has the fucking nerve to talk shit. You want to flip him off, but he walks closer to you, and you freeze. You’re more scared of this man than a fucking walker, and your stomach flips with anxiety at his nearness.

“I worked in finance,” he says, like it matters. You actually have to stifle a laugh, confused at why his past matters - he’s so worthless that this is all he has to brag about? He thinks you care? Is he trying to relate to you, by putting Daryl down? He’s an idiot.

You smile sweetly, as if that’s anything to brag about. All the finance guys you knew in the city before all of this - they were horrible people. Of course that’s what Derek used to do. 

“Trust me, Derek,” you say, hoping it stings. “I know.”

You walk away again, but just as you do, he grabs you by the arm. You try to pull your arm out of his grasp, but he won’t let you go. He tugs you closer to him, and you wish anyone cared about you enough to help you. 

“Let go of me,” you spit, but Derek just shakes his head.

“You’re such a stupid bitch, you know that? Acting too good for any of us, treating all of us like shit. But you put out for fucking Dixon - let all of us hear you letting him fuck you in his tent and the woods. We saw you on your knees that day on the highway. I mean, it’s not a secret you’re a slut, but it’s another thing to see it. And now Rick is defending you? That why you were talking to him the other day for dinner? Offering yourself up for more rations or something? You’re sick,” Derek rants and raves, bruising your arm with his grip.

“Let me go,” you say, trying not to show how scared you are. “Or I’ll fucking scream.” 

Derek actually laughs, shaking his head. You’re disturbed to know that he’s been watching you? Following you and Daryl? Because the both of you know - you only ever fooled around with Daryl when nobody could listen and see unless they were trying to. You wouldn’t do that, and neither would Daryl.

“If I’m such a stupid slut, that must make you pretty bad, huh? That I won’t even put out for you,” you hate that you even say those words, like you’d ever consider having sex with this man, but you want to hurt him. To get him to see that he's wrong about you - you want him to leave you alone.  

“You fucking bitch,” Derek says, pushing you to the ground.

You let out a cry. You should’ve never told Daryl and Rick you’d be okay, you should’ve -

Suddenly Derek is off of you. You’re frozen for a second, before you hear screaming and someone calling out your name. 

You’re in shock as someone helps you up. You know it’s Rick, because you notice his watch. “Damnit,” he curses, and you register the sound of Daryl’s voice. You look around for him, and when you find him, you see Derek on the ground, an arrow in his head. 

He’s dead - for now. That fast. Until he turns into a walker. 

Daryl walks to you, pulls you into his arms. “What happened?” He asks, and you’re worried he’s going to blame you, because you provoked him, and you stupidly left your weapons in your tent. You’re worried he’s going to think differently of you, that Rick will be mad that Derek is dead, and all these worries start swirling in your head until you can’t be strong anymore. You start crying so loud that you know you’ll be responsible for any walkers coming into camp tonight. 

Rick starts to talk, but Daryl, for the first time ever, shuts him down harshly. “No, man. I ain’t sorry. He had it coming,” he says sharply, and Rick just swallows, holds his hands up like he agrees. 

“Jus’ was gonna say to finish the job,” and you know he means, kill the fucker before he turns. 

But you don't want Daryl to do it.

No, this is a job you can do. 

Wordlessly, you pull yourself out of Daryl’s arms and walk towards Derek’s corpse. Everyone at the camp has gathered around now, too little too fucking late, but Rick tries to stop you from getting closer. You smack his hand away, and hold your palm out. It takes a minute, until Daryl finally orders Rick to give you what you want. 

Rick hesitantly places a gun in your hand - and you shoot Derek in the head.

────

You’ve never killed someone who hasn’t turned yet. Derek was the first.

What scares you the most, is how little you care. 

After what happened, you told Daryl everything that Derek said. You learned that night, from both Rick and Daryl, that the reason Derek was so horrible is because he wanted you - and how scary is that? What if he hurt you in another way once he had you on the ground? You’re lucky Rick forgot his gun and backpack on the run, that they had to turn around and come back to camp - the reason they got to you in time.

Rick assured you that you did the right thing. Which felt good, coming from the moral compass of the group. Everyone else was kind too, apologetic - you guess Derek scared more people into submission than you thought. 

But Daryl was just pissed. More angry than you’d ever seen him. Throwing shit, breaking stuff - burning Derek the minute he dragged him a far enough distance from camp. Derek never even got a chance to turn. 

Daryl threatened to leave the group with just you. It seemed like a good idea at first, until the reality that two people can’t survive on their own. No matter how resourceful, strong, and brave Daryl is. 

But that meant a lot, that Daryl was trying - but the important thing is to survive. 

The last few weeks, you’ve kept your head down. You clean, you help cook, you even take a few bites of whatever Daryl cooks because he pretty much forces you to - and because, secretly, you like how proud of you he looks when you try something new. 

You just wish the world was different. But Daryl’s been amazing. 

Rick’s been kind too. Everyone has, and maybe -

The sound of the zipper on your tent takes you out of your thoughts. You’re braiding your hair since you just washed it, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. You’re thankful for the distraction.

It’s Daryl.

“I already ate,” you tell him, worried that he’s bringing you some rodent that’s badly cooked. But you’re trying to be nice - he’s the only good thing in your world these days, so you soften your words. “Come inside and cuddle.”

Daryl squeezes inside the tent, and he leans on his side by your sleeping bag, just watching you. His head balanced on his hand, propped up on his elbow.

“Have somethin’ for you,” he says, not waiting for you to reply. In his hand is something wrapped in a tissue and you wonder what it is. He places it on your lap, and you look at him, excited but also a little upset. 

“I told you to stop risking your life to get me things,” you scold, because everytime Daryl goes on a run, he finds things for you. Ribbons, hair clips, a pink toothbrush the other day. Lip gloss and lipstick (he knows the difference now), a pair of socks with little bows on them that are a size too big but still your favorite. He’s always saying how cute you are, how he thinks about you whenever he sees something pink.

It’s the best compliment ever.

You look to the other end of your sleeping bag, where a teddy bear Daryl found for you on a run a few weeks ago faces you both. It’s missing an eye, has the ribbon, the first gift he ever gave to you tied around its neck, and you love it so much that you sleep with it every night.

It’s definitely seen better days, and you don’t really know where he found it, but it’s so special to you - partly because Daryl gave it to you, and partly because it’s a little part of him that’s always with you. Part teddy bear, part security blanket - just like him.

It’s also a little scraggly. Sort of rough, dirty - but cuddly just the same. Kind of like Daryl. You move it a little closer.

Daryl groans in frustration and you almost roll your eyes at the dramatics. “Hush, lady, y’know I can take care of myself. ‘S nothing,” he nods to the thing on your lap, and you sigh and open the tissue. 

It’s a cookie. 

Your brows furrow, and you look at Daryl, all confused. “What,” you start, and he shrugs, sitting up. He rubs a hand down his face. 

“Remembered what you said, about the cookies,” he’s sheepish, as if this isn’t the sweetest thing in the world. You gulp, trying not to cry at how touched you are, but you can’t help it. Tears brim at your waterline, and you wipe your eyes. 

“Oh,” he scolds, letting out a huff. “Don’ cry. I just remembered what you said, is all. It’s probably not good anymore, but you’re my girl, and I want,” you smile even as tears run down your face. 

“Your girl,” you hold that close to your heart, and Daryl nods, avoiding eye contact. You don’t care. You throw yourself into his arms. 

His hug is warm, strong, and you feel the stress leave your body as he kisses your temple. He was listening, all those times you were talking. 

Daryl Dixon, you think, the man that you are. 

Your silence must be unexpected. He pulls away, watches your thumb brush over the most likely stale cookie he probably found on a run. You’re not really gonna eat it - but it’s the thought that counts. 

“You talked about what ya miss, from before. But when I look back,” pretty blue eyes look at you. He cups your chin, presses his lips against yours. 

You make a note to ask for chapstick for the both of you on the next run. 

“Don’ cry, c’mon. You’re makin me soft,” he complains, even as he holds you closer. You want tell him that you can’t make him something he already is, but what he says next throws the sass right out of you. “When I look back, before I knew you,” he finishes shyly, “I just miss you, ya know?” 

Daryl says that he’s not romantic, but he’s the most romantic man you've ever met. He’s a good person. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and even though he’s vague sometimes, too quiet for his own good - you know what he means. 

You can’t believe there was a time you didn’t know - a time you didn’t love - this man. He’s everything to you.

And maybe, yeah - this world is hell. There’s death and decay and too much sadness to catch a break, but there’s one good thing in all of it. One thing so important to the both of you, that gives a little bit of meaning to this shitty, shitty world. 

You found each other. You have each other. 

You sniffle and nod, holding the cookie close, but Daryl even closer.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek softly. You feel him relax at your touch. “I’ve always missed you too, Daryl.”

[zomquette]

Let Em' Dream

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader

Genre: Protective Daryl / established relationship / Angst & Comfort / Survival Tension / Flirty Banter

Warnings: Language, tense power dynamics, creepy men (Claimers, ew), implied past trauma, protective behavior, mild violence, emotional vulnerability, implied sexy vibes but no smut.

Summary: You and Daryl joined the Claimers for safety. That safety came with a price. Leers, comments, tension you can cut with a knife. But you’re not weak—and you’re not alone. Daryl’s love language might be grunts and glares, but when it comes to keeping you safe, he’s louder than words.

Era: Post-Prison / Pre-Terminus

Long-ass Author’s Note: I really wanted to write a fic involving the Claimers because… well, no one really does. And when they do, it’s often the same tired formula: the reader is heavily objectified, used as a plot device to elevate the male character or trigger protective instincts. That kind of storytelling not only feels lazy but can be genuinely harmful. It reduces women to props for drama and reinforces the idea that being mistreated is somehow part of the fantasy. That’s not what I wanted here.

I know—it’s just a fic. A silly little story. But even in these kinds of spaces, the way we write about objectification and misogyny matters. I didn’t want to center the reader’s value in how much pain she could endure or how much she needed saving. I wanted her to be capable, complex, angry, soft, and human. And yeah, I couldn’t resist adding a bit of fluff at the end too. Sue me.

On a more personal note, this fic hit close to home. The kind of treatment the reader faces here—subtle, persistent, exhausting—is something I (and so many other women and girls) know all too well. It’s isolating. It makes you second-guess your own instincts. And sometimes, you forget that it’s not your fault. I wish someone had told me that earlier. So if you’re reading this and any of it resonates—please know you’re not alone. None of this is okay, and it never was.

Anyway, I’ll shut up now. Hope you enjoy. :)

**************************************************************

It was the kind of cold that settled in your teeth. Dry air, dry land. Smoke from a cooking fire clung to your jacket like something alive, and every step crunched like bone underfoot.

You stayed close to the tree line while Daryl walked ahead, crossbow slung low on his back, posture half-feral. The others trailed nearby—Joe, Len, Billy, and whatever stragglers they'd picked up since the last camp. The Claimers. They called themselves that with pride, like they weren't just scavengers with vocabulary.

They weren’t so bad at first. Talkative. Friendly. The kind of friendliness that came with teeth.

You and Daryl joined up a few days ago. Not by choice - not really. You needed the strength in numbers if you guys wanted to sleep at night without two eyes open. It was simply smarter to travel in groups, or at least that's what you kept telling yourself. The rules were simple: don’t take what’s been claimed, and don’t walk away.

That last one was never spoken aloud. But you could feel it, like being circled by wolves that hadn’t decided whether to bare their teeth. This was only temporary. This first chance we get we are hightailing it and we never see these assfucks again. You could only dream of that moment for now.

The nights were the worst. You always woke up before sunrise, not from noise, but from the quiet. The wrong kind. Like someone holding their breath near your ear.

You felt eyes on you. Not Daryl’s. His, you were used to. His gaze was steady, grounding, always followed by the warmth of his palm finding yours under the blanket.

No, the others were different.

Joe had a habit of watching too long and saying too little when it came to you. Always quiet, always smiling, always sitting just close enough to be noticed. Len, on the other hand, didn't hide his thoughts. He'd whistle when you walked by, crack jokes about "needing a good woman to stick around." The worst was Billy, who once asked if Daryl "shared well."

You laughed it off, quickly stepping in front of Daryl so he wouldn't tear the guy's eyes out. Sure, that would be fun to watch, but two against eight weren't odds you would gamble on. Besides, you knew that was what they wanted; to see you snap - that would be like stepping into a trap. And at this rate, Daryl would be at his breaking point sooner or later.

But every word, every look, chipped away at your reserve. You started wearing Daryl's clothes over your own, stopped washing your hair so often, and kept your gun closer than usual. You felt like you were betraying yourself, smothering who you were to appease others. This wasn't you; cowering under others' stares while you shrug your hood over your face. No, you would think let em' dream while you strutted by them, swaying your hips like Shakira. And if someone did decide to be dumb and mouth off, you would show them why that was dumb - no need for scary boyfriend Daryl to shoo them away. Maybe everything really was weighing down on you; the loss of the prison, of Hershel, of your group, of… Beth. Maybe that person was left behind at the prison, and here you were left trying to scramble for the pieces, rithing at how vulnerable you felt… it made you sick with fury.

And Daryl felt it, too.

He noticed the change in you. The way your body tensed when someone said your name. The way you touched his arm a second longer when someone else was near. He didn’t need you to say it out loud. He didn’t need to see it happen. He knew, and it twisted something in him.

He wasn’t used to this—to feeling this much. He didn’t always have the words for it, didn’t even always understand it himself. But when it came to you, it showed up in the way he watched. The way he kept near and his eyes stayed on the backs of men too long, like he was calculating angles.

He knew you could handle yourself. Had seen it. Trusted it. That wasn’t why he hovered. It was because his body didn’t know how not to. Because loving you made his instincts loud, louder than they’d ever been. Protection wasn’t a comment on your strength. It was a confession of his. That he couldn’t bear to lose the one thing that made this hell of a world feel like something worth enduring.

The air of your camp for the night had the taste of rust and smoke, thick with campfire. A good place as any - being in the woods was better than out in the open on the road. You excused yourself quietly, weaving through the abandoned, rusty cars that some of the guys had settled into, and stepped over the metal wiresu descended into the woods for some privacy surrounding the makeshift camp, which created a perimeter as yo. Daryl watched you go with a look that said everything—be quick, be careful, be back. 

You felt him before you heard him. Len.

The crunch of leaves behind you was too heavy, definitely intentional. You slowed after a few minutes of walking, every nerve on alert, gaze sweeping the shadows. It was a full moon tonight, silver light catching on the blade at your belt. At least you weren't caught with your pants down. 

“Didn’t think we were doin’ shifts,” you called out flatly, not turning around.

He chuckled behind you, smug and slow. “Just makin’ sure a lady like yourself doesn’t get turned around. It’s dangerous out here.”

You turned. Not startled. Not shaken. Just done. So done with this bullshit. The apocalypse was so effective in wiping out most of the population, why couldn't it have included the entitled pricks like shit-for-brains here?

Len had his thumbs hooked in his belt loops like he owned the night air itself. You stood your ground, arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip.

“You got about three seconds to turn around and walk back to camp," you said, voice cold. "Or I start making souvenirs outta your fingers."

He smiled, eyebrows raising, taking a step closer.

"Oooh," he drawled. "Small thing talks a big game."

"You'd be surprised what a small thing like me can do with such a small tool,” you shot back, taking out your knife to admire it. “Course you know all about that, don't ya, Lenny?”

“C’mon now,” he said, mock-wounded. “We've been travelling companions together, ain’t we? Breakin’ bread, sharin’ fire. That’s gotta mean somethin’.”

“Oh sure. It means i havent slit your throat yet,” you replied, flashing your dazzling smile and twirling your knife.

He didn’t laugh this time.

You saw it then—the flicker of frustration. The way men like him hate being reminded they’re not owed anything. Especially not you.

He moved fast, hand going to your arm.

Your knife was faster. Your leg shot out and swept his leg from under him when it came into contact with the back of his, making him take a knee. It happened so fast, he went from reaching for your arm to now kneeling with you behind him. Oh, and the small tool you mentioned earlier was now pressed against his neck so harshly it was like you were going to peel his skin off like a potato.

“Try that again,” you say quietly into his ears, sending shivers down his spine. “I dare you.”

He blinked, neck taut against the blade, and for the first time, Len looked small.

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” he muttered.

“No?” you snapped, voice going slightly higher, effectively taunting him with the situation he was in. A chick has you by the throat, gonna cry bitch boy? “Well then, don’t go sniffin’ where you’re not wanted. I ain't a prize, and I sure as hell ain’t yours.”

You pressed the knife just enough to nick the skin, drawing some blood. A sweet reminder for later.

Then you stepped back, shoving him into the dirt to tower above him.

“And you can go ahead and tell your little buddies that, too. You want someone to own get a damn dog.”

Len didn��t speak. Didn’t move. He just lay there, butt hurt trying to process what just happened, lips thin, pride in tatters.

You walked away first, and you didn’t look back. And for the first time in a while, when turning in for the night, you didn't feel like you had something weighing on your chest.

______________________________________________________

The car creaked gently as the wind rocked it. Daryl’s arms had settled heavily around your shoulders, spooning you in the backseat, one hand tracing slow lines along your arm. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t peaceful either. It hovered, like both of you were trying to name something you’d carried too long.

You shifted against him, voice barely above the hum of cicadas. “It’s weird, y’know? The world ended, and for a while… men weren’t the main problem anymore. Just walkers. Just hunger. Then suddenly, it’s back. That same old look. The kind that makes your skin crawl.” 

Your eyes glued to the car ceiling, lost in thought. Part of you didn't wanna say these things to him. Wouldn't it just make him sad? It was one thing to feel completely helpless as a woman in a disgustingly testosterone environment; the last thing you needed was a pity party. But that wasn't how Daryl worked. “Makes you think… maybe it’s better to be hungry than desirable.” 

He didn’t speak right away. Just rubbed his thumb along your arm, like he could erase the tension coiled there.

“You think you’re past it,” you added, voice so quiet it was just short of a whisper. “Then someone stares too long, or gets too close, and it’s like muscle memory. You always watch for it, and the moment you catch on, everything just stops. And you think ‘how the fuck am i gonna get out of here?’ and that feeling hasnt left since we got stuck with these assholes”

Daryl didn’t need you to explain it — he’d already seen it in the way you were always on edge around the Claimers. And still, hearing it cracked something in him. It was one thing to know you were tense — it was another to know you were expecting it. Bracing for it like it was routine. You had to prepare yourself for the way men looked at you. The idea that those bastards had you scanning exits, holding your breath — that they got to live in your mind rent-free like that — it made him sick. You were the best thing in this goddamn world. Tough, loyal, quick as hell, and his — which he still had trouble wrapping his head around half the time. And still, they had the audacity to think about you like that. To make you feel like something to be claimed. He didn’t know how to carry that — didn’t know how to fix it — but he’d be damned if he let you carry it alone.

“Merle used to say somethin’,” he said finally, breaking the heavy silence. “Said, ‘Ain’t nobody gonna care for you but me.’ Like… that was supposed to be enough. Like givin’ a damn made you weak.”

You turned your body to look up at him slowly, your brow furrowed.

“I believed him,” Daryl admitted. “For a long time, I did. Thought the only way to survive was keepin’ your distance. Keepin’ everybody out.”

His hand moved from your arm to your back, warm and steady.

“But you… You make me wanna stay close. Make me wanna care. And I ain’t scared of that no more. Not if it means ya feel safe… Not if it means I can carry some of that for you.”

Your throat went tight—not because you were afraid, but because it was the first time in a long time that someone wanted to share the weight.

You leaned into him, letting your forehead find it’s place in the crook of his neck.

“I gotcha,” he murmured, rubbing your back. “Long as I’m breathin’, ain’t nobody layin’ a hand on ya.”

You huffed a soft laugh against his skin. “Kinda melodramatic, Dixon. ‘Ain’t nobody touchin ma woman ya hear?!’.” you mocked in a hushed voice, face scrunching exactly like his signature scowl.

He grunted, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… you bring it outta me.” 

He hugged you tighter, his arms closing around your frame and locking you to him in the most wonderful way and kissed your head as he nuzzled into your hair. 

______________________________________________________

The morning air was crisp, tinged with dew and the fading smoke of last night’s fire. You wandered down to the creek with a change of clothes tucked under your arm and sleep still clinging to your bones. It was rare to be alone these days, but you needed a moment. The water was cold, biting at your fingers as you crouched by the edge and scrubbed the grime from your skin. You let out a slow breath, staring at your reflection. Jeez, I look like a Tim Burton character.

Behind you, Daryl lingered.

He was meant to be back at camp, but he stayed just a few metres away by a tree, crossbow slung on his shoulder, eyes never leaving your form. Watching, but not invading. There was a quiet reverence in the way he kept his distance. Not because he thought you needed protecting, but because he needed to know he was there if things went sideways.

And things almost did.

Two of the Claimers had peeled away from the group. They tiptoed away from them and made their way towards the creek. Towards you. Their faces dropped instantly when instead of finding you, they found a irratable redneck. One of them let out a short laugh that didn’t reach his eyes, and Daryl’s stance shifted.

“You best turn around,” he said before they got too close.

The two men froze. One of them — a lanky guy with a toothpick — tried to play it off with a smirk.

“We ain’t doin’ nothin’,” he said, face blank.

“Didn’t ask what you were doin’. I said turn around.”

The tension stretched thin as fishing wire.

The bigger of the two men — the one with the beer-can crush of a face — squared his shoulders like he thought he had something to prove. “You always this twitchy, Dixon? She’s just takin’ a bath.”

Daryl stepped forward. “And you’re just about ready to take bolt to the ass. So, unless you wanna get an extra hole, I suggest you walk.”

That did it. They backed off, muttering curses under their breath, but Daryl didn’t move until the last boot crunched out of sight.

You walked back over, hair dripping and a towel hanging off your shoulder, oblivious to the tension that had just slunk off into the trees.

Daryl was leaned against a tree like he’d been relaxing the whole damn time — one foot crossed over the other, arms folded, face like stone.

“Everything alright?” you chirped, side-eyeing him as you wrung water from your ends.

“Uh huh,” he said, nodding once. “Just enjoyin’ the view.”

You paused. “…The creek?”

He smirked, eyes skating over your figure. “Among other things.”

You narrowed your eyes, smiling as you stalked towards him. “That right?”

“Mhmm,” he muttered, straightening up. “Nature’s real pretty this time of mornin’.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, shaking your head. Then — crack — you snapped the towel against his thigh with a mischievous grin.

He jerked back. “The hell, woman?!”

“That’s for being a creep,” you laughed, already backing up.

He lunged like he might chase you, but you squealed and darted ahead. “Don’t start nothin’ you can’t finish-” he hollered after you, boots thudding in pursuit.

You glanced back with a grin. “Baby, I finish everything I start. You of all people should know that”

“Don’t go bringin’ that up unless you’re plannin’ on finishin’ somethin’ right now.”  He closed in on you, shoulders now relaxed. “cmon, I'm hungry for breakfast.” He motioned for you to walk beside him, playfully patting your ass to move, which of course earned him a scowl from you. "You better be talking about game, Dixon. I ain't servin' up anything else." You looked over to him to see his face, now sporting a cunning smile, and that look in his eyes which you only saw when you guys were alone. You dropped your head in disbelief, a big smile growing on your face as you whipped him with your towel again. "keep dreamin' Dixon."

The earlier tension was now forgotten, or at least tucked behind the sly grin he wore only for you.

**************************************************************

Let me know what you think 🥴🤭

[escapisms-posts]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝑫𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒍 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

When you're alone, Daryl loves picking you up for absolutely no reason. He’ll throw you over his shoulder without saying a word. It pleases him knowing he can pick you up without breaking a sweat. 

When Daryl first finds out you're pregnant, it scares him A LOT. It will take him a while to gather his thoughts, because he has never had a good role model. The only thing going through his mind is all the mistakes he’s going to make. You reassure him that you see how he connects with the others. That he is a caring and loyal person.

Once the fear clears from his body, he becomes obsessed with the idea of you carrying his child. Before your bump is even visible, he’s holding you by the stomach. He’ll come up behind you and start rubbing your belly, reminding you of how beautiful you are. 

Daryl knows you're capable of taking care of yourself, even while pregnant. But he can’t help but make your life as easy as possible. He’ll walk with you to work and help you complete your tasks, even after being tired of doing his. Daryl begins to go on runs a little less often because he wants to be near you and the baby more. He loves taking care of you so much.

As your body begins to change due to you growing a whole new person, you can’t help but feel a little insecure. Staring in the mirror every night since you’ve noticed the first changes. Stretch marks are beginning to form around your stomach, your chest becomes heavier, and the fatigue that wears you down after a long day. You miss your old body. Daryl is there, telling you how ridiculous you sound. Telling you that it's normal for your body to go through this. His in your corner, cheering you on, telling you how sexy you are to him. Nothing's more beautiful than you creating his child.

Since you don’t have a pregnancy pillow, Daryl holds your stomach while you sleep. It doesn’t even bother him, all he wants is for you to be comfortable. This late into the pregnancy, he can feel the baby react to his touch. 

Worry-free creampies ꨄ︎

Sometimes his mind can’t help but wander, Pregnancy is incredibly risky during an apocalypse. Though you’ve talked about the risks, you still decided that you wanted this baby. It's not impossible, just difficult. Even understanding all this, he can’t bear the thought of losing you. Which is why he wants this pregnancy to be as easy as possible for you. 

Lying in bed together, Daryl talks to the baby about his day. It's the most he says all day. Pregnancy is almost coming to an end, the baby jumps, everytime they hear their father's voice. Daryl lies between your legs, planting kisses along your stomach. You don’t know if it's because you're hormonal or straight up dramatic, but every time he says, “I can’t want to meet you,” it makes you want to cry.

[twd-bee3]

Learning to Breathe Again

Summary: Daryl and you have to cross a freezing river to escape a herd. You get pulled under, and he has to fight to bring you back.

Warnings/Tags: hypothermia, drowning, descriptions of performing CPR, near-death experience, trauma, HEAVY angst, established relationship, female reader (she/her), season ten, no use of y/n

Word count: 1k words

A/N: I warned y’all that I like writing angst in my introduction post, and I delivered. Also, this is my first time writing in almost five years, and I'm still getting into the groove of things. Don't say anything if it's ass lmao. I promise that I will get better as I keep writing. Thank you @b1eedthefreak for being so sweet and encouraging me to post this. I would’ve been way too nervous on my own. Sorry for this being fucking depressing.

As the herd was closing in, the couple approached the river, and Daryl knew what you guys had to do. He understood that you were not a strong swimmer, and he was reasonably concerned, but you had no choice. The two of you needed to cross before it was too late.

“Baby, we gotta cross.”

Your facial expression immediately turned into one of panic, and Daryl instinctively grabbed your hand. He could tell that you were afraid of crossing, but there was no other option.

“We ain't have a choice. They're closin' in and I ain't losin' you to the dead. You trust me, yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and focused on his eyes. The fear was written all over your face, and you were trying your damndest not to shut down. You knew that you couldn't swim well and the idea of having to travel through the river had you scared shitless.

“I trust you, but I'm fuckin' terrified.”

“I know, sweet girl. I know. We have to move now, though. Just keep holdin' my hand.”

Daryl was speaking softly to keep his girl calm, but his tone held a sense of urgency. The walkers were getting closer, and it was only a matter of time before they reached the pair.

Not bothering to wait for your response, he kept holding your hand and pulled you into the river. The icy sting of the freezing water hit you guys fast, and it was a cold that could be felt in your bones. Both of your bodies were shivering, and it was so frigid that it was almost painful. He could tell that you were still nervous, so he continued offering gentle reassurances.

“You're doin' so good, baby. We're almost there. Just keep goin'.”

You had made it halfway across the river before the unexpected happened, and you were pulled under. Daryl tried to maintain his tight hold on your hand, but his grip faltered. You were submerged in the water, and he no longer had eyes on you. Ignoring the heavy chill, he took a deep breath and dove into the water. He could hardly see, but he felt around until his hand brushed against the fabric of your shirt.

He grabbed on and pulled you to him. His girl felt heavier, and it was taking all of his strength to get you both to the surface. Finally, Daryl was able to get his head above water, and he lifted you to allow you to get some air. You were coughing and gasping, but you kept slipping under. He fought hard to keep his hold on you, but he was quickly losing strength.

“Fuck. Baby, c'mon.”

Daryl continued to tug you up every time that you disappeared beneath the water, and he was moving the two of you the entire time. His vision started to go black around the edges, but he pushed on. After what felt like forever, you finally reached the riverbank. He hauled both of you onto land. He coughed and tried to catch his breath. He was exhausted, but he couldn't let himself fall asleep. Not yet.

After taking a few seconds to steady himself, he realized that you were eerily quiet, and he looked over at you. You were completely still, and Daryl felt the weight of dread build in his chest. He quickly sat up and moved over to you.

“No, no, no. Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

There was no response, and he panicked. Reaching over, he frantically shook your shoulder and waited for a reaction. Your face remained slack, and he saw that your chest was unmoving. Your lips had also taken on a bluish tint. Quickly, he moved you flat on your back and checked your pulse. There was nothing.

He had never performed CPR before, but he had seen it done. With shaking hands, he interlaced his fingers and pressed his palms against the center of your chest. He wasn't even sure if he was doing it correctly, but he was putting all of his remaining energy into the rhythmic chest compressions. The forest was quiet, save for the sound of Daryl's ragged breaths and his soft muttering.

“Breathe, baby. C'mon. Don't you fuckin' do this to me.

He was rambling, but he had never felt fear like this before. Daryl Dixon had fought walkers, experienced his fair share of loss, and been tortured. Nothing compared to the terror and adrenaline filling his body as his hands thudded against his baby's chest. The audible cracking of your ribs made him feel sick to his stomach, but he couldn't afford to quit now.

“I need you, baby. Please breathe. You gotta take a breath.”

At some point, he had started crying, and he could feel the hot tears as they ran down his face. His muscles were strained, and his whole body was shaking from the cold. Daryl was a stubborn motherfucker and he had no intensions of stopping. Continuing to press down on your chest, he remembered that he also needed to breathe for you.

Pausing compressions, he tipped your head back and made sure that your airway was clear. He then put his lips over yours and gave two quick breaths. Your chest rose slightly, but it was obvious that it was only because of Daryl's actions. His body was trembling, and he couldn't stop his teeth from chattering, but he refused to stop. Placing his hands back on your chest, he began chest compressions again and kept begging you to stay.

“Baby, you need to take a breath. Please, sweetheart. Just one.”

He gave you another round of rescue breaths and waited for something to happen. After what felt like hours, but was likely only a minute, you finally started coughing. As the water spilled from your mouth, Daryl quickly rolled you onto your side and gently rubbed your back. He was still sobbing and shaking, but it was out of relief.

“There's my girl. You're okay, baby. Just breathe. I got you.”

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

Part 2 | part 3

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

Part 2

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[dixons-sunshine]

Improvement | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: After starting a playful argument with your partner about not knowing whether or not he had improved since you two first slept together all those years ago—which you knew he had, you were just messing with him—Daryl decided to take matters into his own hands.

Era: Alexandria, can be any time post Saviour war.

Genre: Smut.

Warnings: Porn without plot, basically, soft sex (I think), unprotected p in v, swearing, dirty talk, praise, others I am probably missing.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: So...hi lol. I haven’t written anything in over three weeks, so this was long overdue. This was mainly written for practice because I am not that confident in my smut writing skills, but I hope you all like this! And thank you so much to @dixonsdarkelf for being a second set of eyes 💜

The sound of soft gasps and groans filled the air in the bedroom. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon, illuminating the room in a way that gave the atmosphere a more romantic feel. The room was warm, the summer heat clinging to every atom it could. However, the heat in the room did not compare to the warmth of the archer on top of you.

Daryl’s warm, solid body pressed against yours, his bare chest nearly flush against yours, your breasts moving with each thrust of his hips. His face was buried in your neck, his breathing heavy and erratic, his eyes closed as he relished the feeling of pure, utter bliss that washed over his body. Your moans and gasps of pleasure reached his ears with each snap of his hips against yours, and that sound was like music.

“Oh, Daryl,” you drawled your partner’s name, your voice several octaves higher than usual. Daryl’s dick dragged against your walls deliciously, hitting that one spot inside of you that he knew well. “Oh god, just like that.”

“Yeah?” Daryl whispered into your ear, breathless and panting. He snapped his hips against yours, his cock hitting that spot once more, and it tore a breathless ‘Daryl’ from your chest. Soft, almost asking, begging, pleading for him to get you over that edge in the way that only he could. “Y’like that, Sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he picked up his pace, going a little faster, a little harder, a little deeper. “Yes,” you whined, your fingers tangling in his brown locks. “Jesus Christ, please don’t stop.”

“Not even if the world was endin’,” Daryl promised you. He pulled his head up from your neck, only to then lower it back down to capture your lips with his for a messy but absolutely perfect kiss.

If it were any other situation, you would make a joke about what he said. Probably say something along the lines of “well the world already ended.” But not now. Not while he was making you feel so good. Not while you were steadily approaching that edge, getting ready to dive headfirst off of it, right into the pool of immense pleasure.

Without breaking the kiss, and without letting his pace falter, Daryl snuck one of his hands down your body, gliding lower and lower, softly kneading at your flesh along the way, until it reached its destination. Daryl smirked slightly against your lips when he gently pressed his thumb against your clit, loving the way your body responded to his touch.

Not missing a beat, he began rubbing slow, tight circles against the little bundle of nerves, his kisses trailing from your mouth to your cheek, your jaw, down your neck to your collarbone. The urge to mark you was strong, but he resisted. You were going on a run that following day, with people in the group who would be relentless in their teasing if they saw hickeys on you. Because of that, his teeth only lightly nipped at your flesh, enough to cause pressure but not enough to leave a mark.

“Oh my—oh my god.” The sounds that escaped your mouth were downright pornographic. Your mind was clouded, that coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. You weren’t going to last much longer, that you knew for certain.

Daryl groaned when you lightly tugged his hair, his breath hitching at the feeling of you clenching on his cock, squeezing him, a sign that you were at your peak. You just needed that little push to fully let go.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Daryl whispered into your ear, pressing a tender kiss to the skin there. “Let go f’me. Wanna feel you.”

Almost as if his words were the key to unlock the metaphorical gate, the coil in your stomach snapped. Waves upon waves of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over you. You arched your back and let your hands fall to Daryl’s shoulders, gripping them to try and ground yourself as your orgasm continued to take over your body. Soft whimpers spewed from your lips, muffled only by the archer kissing you once more. You could taste the faint linger of the cigarette he had earlier on his tongue, mixed with the flavour of the whiskey he had drunk before this. There was something else as well, something you could not quite make out, but that wasn’t important.

When the fog in your mind cleared just enough for you to be lucid, you detached your lips from his and focused on Daryl. His brow was furrowed, quiet grunts slipping past his lips as his thrusts grew sloppier, but his pace sped up. He was close. You knew it. You could practically feel it.

“You close, Baby?” you asked breathlessly, leaning up slightly to press your lips to his jaw. “You gonna let go for me this time?” Your lips moved lower, lightly nipping at the flesh beneath his jaw and smirking slightly when Daryl muttered a quiet fuck. “Come on, Dar.”

With one, two, three more thrusts, Daryl came undone. He snapped his hips forward, locking himself there as he spilled deep inside of you, small, quiet curses spilled past his lips. The archer dropped his head to rest against your shoulder, his body shaking and his mind clouding up in the best way possible.

You were breathless, still coming down from your own euphoric high as you held Daryl, your fingers gliding through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp as they went. The huntsman was panting, his eyes screwed shut and holding his body weight up with his shaking arms, trying his hardest not just to collapse on top of you.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, just basking in each other’s presence and slowly coming back to reality. It was peaceful, quiet, except for the sound of your erratic breathing that was beginning to even out.

You were the first to break the silence. “Wow.”

That made Daryl chuckle. He lifted his head and gazed down at you, his beautiful ocean-like eyes scanning over your face. Even after all these years together, after many times of being in this exact position, Daryl could never get over how absolutely gorgeous you looked post orgasm, how you seemed to positively glow. “Yeah. Wow.”

You raised your hand and gently cupped Daryl’s cheek, a lazy, contented smile on your face. “I love you.”

A small, genuine smile graced the archer’s features. He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to your wrist. “Love ya too.”

Slowly and carefully, he gently eased his cock out of you, and you instantly missed the feeling of him. However, your heart swelled with love when you saw Daryl reached for his discarded shirt on the floor, using it as a makeshift rag and gently cleaning you up. When he was done, he flopped down on the bed next to you, opening his arms so that you could snuggle into his chest, which you did.

With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes. However, Daryl’s voice cut through the air before you could begin to drift off.

“Y’think I’ve improved?”

Laughing lightly, thoughts of your earlier playful argument surfaced to the forefront of your mind, the very reason you both were here at that moment. “Yeah,” you mused. “You have definitely improved since our first time.”

Daryl hummed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Told ya so.”

“Oh I know you’ve improved. I was just joking around earlier,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his chest. “And I was hoping that it would rile you up so that this could happen.”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed again. “You could’a jus’ asked.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” you joked. “Seeing you all riled up…it’s hot as fuck.”

Daryl scoffed, but that small smile didn’t falter. “If ya say so.”