#Daryl Dixon jacket

[bluemerakis]

Fit check 😚 whatever’s going on with my pants in the 3rd pic is not my business and y’all didn’t notice it either (pls)

This is the back, it’s actually a TWD inspired top of Daryl’s jacket (the wings) and I LOVE IT. I just need to retouch it with paint because it faded with a few washes

[weretheones]

watched the walking dead: daryl dixon season finale...

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Warnings: alcohol & drunkenness Your giggling had Daryl smiling in spite of his inability to stand up straight. "I've never seen you this drunk, Dixon," you laughed.

"Yeah..." He stumbled off the crumbling curve and you gasped and seized the back of his jacket to steady him as best you could. "Ya shoulda hid that bottle. S'yer fault," he slurred, his Georgia drawl slowed down further by the clumsiness of his tongue rolling around in his mouth.

You laughed again and moved in front of him, not completely letting go of your grip on his clothes for a moment, simply readjusting. "My fault?!" you repeated. "I'm certainly not the one who poured it down your throat! I don't know what has gotten into you tonight, but it's not my fault."

He was peering down at you and his blue eyes seemed suddenly clear. Your heart skipped a beat, and you were suddenly very aware of your hands, gripping his shirt, but resting against the heat of his chest. Your breath seemed to catch in your throat. "What?" you breathed.

A little smile touched his lips. "'M gonna marry ya someday."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Can we just focus on getting you home before we start thinking about that?" you finally managed, your heard thudding so loud you swore he'd be able to hear it.

"Nah. 'M always thinkin' 'bout it. Every damn minute." Prompt: "I'm going to marry you someday." A/N: I love me a good drunken confession... *sigh*

[hidtired]

Love Burns

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: Some way somehow you crawled your way back from death. All to get back into the arms of one man. Daryl and the rest of the group were taking your death hard, your death was gruesome. So your disheveled arrival back to them was unfathomable… (Duel POVs)

6.1k words

Fall felt like winter. In a place made of concrete it was decided something needed to be done before winter truly came. The prison still needed a lot of work but with the new people of Woodbury things were getting done a lot faster. Only thing lacking was supplies. So a team was round up to go to a near hardware warehouse. Glenn, Maggie, Rick, Daryl, You, Carol, Sasha, Tyrese, and a few Ex Woodbury people headed out for as much as they all could carry. It was Hershel who suggested that this was dire because someone could get sick and that was supplies we just couldn’t spare. So… this wasn’t all for nothing. This run was the greater good for the prison. Even if it all went wrong by dusk. Even if it cost your life.

Almost all the cars had been full of things. It was decided to send a few of the new people back to empty their trucks and comeback. The chill was numbing everyone’s hands as they moved things back and forth. A fire was started inside the chain link fence. The U haul parked close to it to blocked the wind. Daryl had taken his bike, the psycho. But you had to admit the leather jacket he now wore looked good on him. You and Daryl, still no label but something was there. If the time spent cuddling him every chance you got inside the cellblock said anything. Always using the excuse you were cold, which wasn’t wrong. You’ve both kissed but that had happened only a few times. The only reason you had both gotten so close was the time spent after the farm fell.

It was decided in your mind after this run you would put all your card on the table. So while you were in the warehouse grabbing future farm tools Daryl walked past you making you turn and speak, “Hey, wanna share what little whiskey I have left when we get back.” Daryl turned a small smirk barely noticeably, he grunted before speaking, “Bring out booze? Must be a special occasion.” You glance away then back to him, gathering courage, “Just thought maybe it was about time we talked.” You smiled and walked past him with your head held high mimicking confidence. Little did you know you made the hair on the back of his neck stand and his heart beat just that much faster.

Finally dusk was fast approaching and everyone was gathered around the fire discussing before getting ready to leave. You sat staring into the fire half listening to the chatter of everyone. You had your arms around yourself trying to stop the wind. You were playing out things in your mind to say to Daryl. Trying to develop a way to get your feelings across. Strange how things escalate to life or death. Your peaceful gaze into the now hot coals was interrupted with sounds of gun shots drowned with screams and sounds of the dead marching. It was damn unlucky to have had two herds merge into each other at the warehouse. It was frantic but quick. You had been left to put of the fires. You had waited by the last smoldering one to beat the cold before all of you departed. When the gun fire and screams started you hadn’t thought to look behind you with all the action in front of you.

You heard a thunk before you felt something fall on top of you pulling you to the ground by your legs. You kicked and thrashed killing the walker that snuck up on you. However you noticed a wave of walkers now pulled down a part of the fence with their eyes dead set on you. A few slipping out of through holes in the fence. You unhooked your side arm from its place on your thigh. Pulling the knife you apparently stuck into the walker that jumped you. You look all around you trying to navigate options. But the situation that had originally got your attention also seemed to escalate with another wave of walkers come from every direction. That’s when your awareness made you freeze all together. A pain to your side close to your back. Lifting the layers of your cloths a mark of teeth bleed.

You had been bite.

Ice filled your veins, fear. Your grip tightened on your weapons. You stare as walkers closed the distance. Your name rung in your ears. Daryl scream for your attention, you slowly turned to him. He was a distance away behind a fence with others who seemed to escape the first wave they’d met. Even if you hadn’t been bite to may blocked your way to run into any means of safety. Daryl waved his hands trying beckon you to run to him. He looked like he was going to jump the already bending fence to get to you. Other faces you recognized to be the family you had found yelling in panic along with Daryl’s. You slowly pulled your shirt turning to them. Blood ran down dripping into your pants from the deathly injury. Others seeming to realize what had happened.

“NOOOOOOO!”

The pained yell Daryl had ripped out from himself being followed by the snapping fence falling to the pressure of the herd. Daryl still stood even with the danger coming to him, Rick clearly holding him back with Glenn running over to help drag him away. You smiled at Daryl some tears running down your face, probably the last Daryl will see it as his face disappeared from your sight. You turned around to the herd closer to you. A few walkers had gotten closer to you than you thought. This was your last stand. You fired gunshot after gunshot while managing to kill some with your knife. You tripped on one of the bodys you had put down. You fell expecting to quickly get back up and continue your count down to death bringing any dead bastard with you. But a flare of unexpected pain at your landing made a blood curdling scream vibrate into the air. You had landed into the fire pit. Hot coals with little flame burning you. Ambers exploding around you with your fall. Your open wound on your side sizzles adding more pain to the specific area. You instinctively jumped up away from the pit. Groaning while you forced yourself to stand vision blurred and legs wobbling.

It’s funny… to know you’re about to die. You could never imagine the things to go through your mind until it happens. Your past didn’t flash before your eyes. More thoughts of the future. How will people take your death? Maybe If this didn’t happen then how would you fit into there future. What if you had that drink with Daryl… That pushed you to now. Right now. You woke up. Groggy cold and numb. The smell of death strong. You weren’t sure if maybe you were a walker maybe it was all a dream.

The haze lifted with a spike of your adrenaline as your eyes focus. A walker close to your face with your knife jammed into its head. A gasp filled your lungs, you weren’t dead? You were lying on your stomach under the U haul nearly freezing. The body of walkers all around you seemed to be your insulation. You take in the scene around you, then you do the only logical thing, cry. A sob ripped from you, tears streaming down your now dirt covered face that was laying in the dirt. You were scared, in pain, and alone. It seemed like the only thing you could really do and have the mind to do. In the small gaps that walkers didn’t cover a slight glow came. You pushed through the body’s crawling between them until fresh air hit you. Dark gray clouds hung above you.

The night had passed while you were under the truck. You caught sight of the littered bodys around the area. It was quiet. Not a soul or other wise empty vessel around. You attempted to stand but fell when you became light headed and unbalanced. Another attempt had lead you slowly to your feet. You were covered in dirt. You could only think you were rolling around in it while keeping walkers away from you under the car. The longer you were awake the more you came back to yourself. A hand slowly moved to your forehead. You were cold but shouldn’t you have a fever by now? At the thought you moved some of the fabric from your bite only stopping when your cloths were singed to your body. Were the bite was now was left with a deep embedded scorch marks. Coals had seemed to burned you up to your shoulder and down to your hip on you left side.

The sight of it made you gag but you couldn’t feel a thing from it. The burns must have destroyed the nerves. If the infection of being bite wasn’t going to kill you the infection sure to come from this wound would. A flare of life filled you. A broken chuckle passed your lips filling the dead silence. You need Hershel badly and soon if you wanted a chance to live. A chance was better than what you had thought. You slowly turn around to the U hale in hopes you could drive it back but the tires were blown and a rainbow like liquid had formed a puddle. You probably shot at walkers while under there damaging the car. Like damaging the gas tank and somehow not exploding so you’ll take that win. No that meant you just had to walk several miles back to the prison. Suddenly you remembered you weren’t bond to the roads so maybe you were closer then you thought.

So you took off north into the woods, hopeful and better yet alive.

Daryl POV

Of course nothing ever goes smoothly and this damn run was no exception. It was so close, they were all packed and ready to go. A herd coming didn’t seem like a big deal just alerting them there was no time to dilly dally. So after killing a few and saving people who got surprised by it they stood behind a chain fences that wasn’t going to hold for long the more that pushed against it. Daryl’s eyes flickered to everyone behind the fence. Panic now felt when his eyes didn’t meet yours. He turned back around frantically until he say you standing facing what looked to be another herd. His eyes widened and your name was flying out of his mouth before he even knew he was doing it. You just stood there, not even in a defensive posture, just casually. Your head turned to meet his after hearing him.

Tears ran down your face but your face remained to looked shocked. Maybe you froze in panic so he gestured for you to come quickly but you didn’t move. Soon others joined in calling for you. But when you moved and lifted your shirt he felt like he was sinking. Blood dripped down your side and teeth were imprinted in your skin. His eyes flicked back up to yours to see you smiling at him. He was screaming and moving without a thought.

“NOOOOOOOO!”

A hand grabbed his shirt and then the fence in front of them fell. He still tried moving forward even then but other sets of hands now pulled him backwards. He grunted and gasped still looking at you as he was moved away. The smile on your face directed at him. The look in your eyes saying so many words that he didn’t have the time to decipher in the moment. He didn’t know the words coming from his mouth but he was yelling. For whoever holding him to let him help you in curses and cry’s. When he lost sight of you is when he faltered. More people seemed to be dragging him now. A gunshot went off making him jump in his skin along with the others around him. Sound now processing in his ears. Maggie sobbing along with muffled crying from others.

Everyone had assumed that gunshot was you giving yourself mercy. Then more came making him start dragging his heels again. You were fighting, you were bring some of the herd on them back to you. He was going to fight to get to you. But he froze along with the people clawing him backwards. You were screaming. No you were dying and they all were hearing it. It was guttural and sudden like you were surprised. He was yelling in tears now, “NOOO PLEASE-“ his words jumping starting people again to pull him away. Your pained cries fading when he was pulled into a car. Tyrese was the one locking him in place. Rick driving with Michonne in the passenger side leaning over like she was going to be sick.

Daryl was now desperate to grab air in his lungs as has he went limp in Tyrese grasp. His gasps filled with the now humming engine felt like he was spiraling. Sounds muffled and thoughts racing. ‘Just thought maybe it was about time we talked.’ The feeling from the words originally was like butterflies, now it was hornets. You always wiggled your away into his arms. Excuses of ‘it’s cold.’ or ‘But you’re always so warm.’ He knew for some reason you had taken interest in him. You had lit some dumb teenage feeling in him. Thoughts of you always crossing his mind throughout the day. Hopes of you trying to make your way into his space later in the day. The first time you fell asleep on him was when you crawled in his lap during watch and shivered endlessly while he held you. He continued to watch gaze flickering through trees while holding you and he knew deep down he was screwed.

The fear that kept him away and doubting had come true. He watched trees go by through the window in silence. Tyrese still holding him as he was lying across the seats. Like he would jump out the moving vehicle if given the chance. Even though he didn’t act on his feeling he had still loved you. He felt cold inside. The cold that would have drawn you to him. He will never hold you to him again. His hands trembled to his face and covered his eyes. Your screams echoing in his mind, your sad loving smile played into his mind. His palms dug into his eyes and he cried. His tears breaking seemed to trigger those around him. He heard Rick holding his breath as he sniffled. Michonne would occasionally suck in a gasp. Tyrese trembled with sighs and coughs trying to break the growing ball in his throat.

Eventually making it back to the prison Carl swung the gate open happily for two cars and Carol riding on Daryl’s bike. The unsuspecting grief hadn’t reached the prison but when they got out of the cars it was felt in waves. They were still seemed lost in thoughts, or lost in a moment. Carl looked on to his father who held is head down and hands on his hips. Maggie making her way to her father and cried silently when he hugged her with Glenn close by eyebrows furrowed in pain. When looking at Daryl it was clear to who they lost. He was stock still and pale, in shock. Hershel practically herded them into the cell block. Carol tried to come near him while walking there but he just shock his head and pushed past her.

They sat in silence sitting at the tables they had their breakfast just this morning. Daryl leaned on the wall keeping his distance. Rick was standing and looking on to everyone hunched in to themselves. Judith in his arms was probably the only reason Daryl didn’t go into a berserk rage. Though when Rick started retelling what had happened to the other that weren’t there he was gettin close to it. Nails digging into his palms and teeth clenched he still listened.

“Y/n’s gone… We were just about ready to go when a herd spooked us.” Rick sighed now looking to everyone’s face. “We had gotten behind a fence and Y/N was putting fires out…” Beth had clear tears now growing in her eyes as she listened. “We think a separate herd flanked us but we were so busy with the first to notice. She was across from us with a herd closing in from behind and in front of her. She could have possibly made it… if-“ he cleared is throat starting again. “If she didn’t lift her shirt showing us she was already doomed. I don’t know when or how, but she was bite.” Rick paused then chuckled wetly, “She had to go out being a badass, could hear it in my mind ‘Was it cool at least?’ Always theatrics with that one.” The thought bubbles in Daryl’s stomach, ‘she always said if she was ever going out it was in a blaze of glory, nothing “lame”.’ Daryl leaned forward off the wall moving to pass by everyone. Everyone had stilled at his movement but he just walked into the cell block.

He needed a minute, to cope, scream, cry, yell, he didn’t know but he felt like he was dying. He found his way up the stairs and pushing past the stupid Dino sheets you chose for your room. ‘They’re not ugly! We have a lot more in common with are extinct friends now. Though I would have preferred a meteor…’ He stared at everything that had been left where you had it. He stumbled to sit on the edge of your bed looking around. You had so many weird thing… you were so weird. A now deflated happy birthday ballon he remembered you yelling, ‘JACKPOT’ when you found it scavenging. Then his eyes locked onto a bottle of whiskey. It was not even half full but when he saw it tears started falling quietly. He picked it up and held it to his chest.

“Just thought maybe it was about time we talked.” That sentence would haunt him forever.

Your POV

You groaned like the dead as you made your way through the woods. Speaking of the dead they didn’t much notice you. That had made you spiral in the whole am I really a walker?! But then you remember you were covered in dirt and blood and walking like you had a few to many. You were starting to feel warm putting you into a cold sweat. It was hard to not think that maybe the bite was still going to kill you. You had burnt it with the rest of your back to hell. You probably look like you crawled out from hell. The thought made you dazily laugh out loud. Ok so maybe you were delirious. If that manic laugh that bubbled from you wasn’t any indication. You weren’t thinking straight. Only moving in the direction you think is to the prison? God you could go for some pasta right about now, Olive Garden salad and bread sticks… damn. Little mint at the end. You trip out of your thoughts slamming into the forest floor with a groan.

It had snapped you back into a clearer head space. Your vision swam a little but you started to push yourself back up. So turns out your near death thoughts weren’t as epic as you thought they were going to be, just bread sticks and mints. You sighed looking around trying to gain your bearings. You could hear some water to your right meaning you were indeed going the right way. Just 20 more minutes and you were back to the prison. You wonder if you could have had a dinner date with Daryl. I suppose you still could if you didn’t die. The poor man had tried running into a herd for you. You were getting more unbalanced as you walked leaning from tree to tree. Wood splitting and jamming into your hands, only adding to a list of injures. The worst part was you didn’t feel much of anything pain wise. The cold numbed you and your lack of cognitive ability was no better help.

The stream broke off flowing into the direction of the prison. You saw the bridge that held the water pump before the prison. You somehow managed to get back here. The prison was still quieter than normal. You could see closer to the gate a few people were clearing walkers, vision to bleary to know who. A thunk sounded coming into the middle of the inclosed clearing. Rick was cutting wood with Carl moving logs for him to cut. Slowly making your way to the fence you didn’t realize your throat was so scratchy, nothing but a huff of air coming out. That’s right, you had been screaming…. and crying. You lean into the fence hands intertwined with the cool dewy metal.

A walker was pushed against the fence to your right staring to Rick and Carl too. You slowly push down to the floor grabbing a stick. You pushed back up using the fence to walk closer to the walker. Taking a deep breath you kicked the back of the walkers legs making it fall to its knees. The walker grumbled in shock or protest but it was silence with the stick shoved in its eyes. The constant noise of the walker was acknowledged by the Grimes so when it abruptly stopped they looked over to where it was. You were leaning into the side of the fence as you heard feet approaching, “Who are- Holy shit!” You heard them running and the sound got farther from you. The heavy gate door grunted open and the running sound came back toward you. You tried moving along the fence, tripping yet again on the walker, this time only to your knees.

A shadow fell over you causing you to look up seeing Rick kneeling in front of you, hands moving to pull you up. Your adrenaline was dropping now that the task you set for yourself was complete. The fall made your head swim, voices now muffled as blood pulled into your head. You saw Rick talking but didn’t comprehend anything he said. He soon pointed at Carl and your eyes moved over to the boy. Walkers had made their way out of the woods at the commotion. You suddenly were being jostled now. Rick had put an arm to the back of your shoulders and his other arm to the back of your knees and lifted you into him. You were slightly over Rick’s shoulder as he quickly moved. Then you realized what Rick was yelling.

“HERSHEL! HERSHEL! HERSHEL!”

That was right, you wanted Hershel to help you… help you? What for again? Your mind clicked as you watched the door of the gate close behind you. Some faces now appeared as Rick continued to carry while trying not to dig his hands into your injury. You had been injured, right. Some looks you caught while over Rick shoulder was nothing you’ve seen direct at yourself. The group formed shuffling to the gate to get into the court yard. You recognized Maggie gasping and her saying, “Oh my god is she alive?! H-how?” You rumbled out a deep noise. “Cause I’m a badass.” You were becoming slack and your vision was blurring. You were trying to remain awake. Maybe for the face you so desperately wanted to see, and the other part of you was afraid you wouldn’t wake back up. But at last you involuntarily relaxed as you heard him, “Y/N!” His voice was pained and dry, but it sent a smile to your face before you went still as Rick continued moving you.

Daryl POV

He fell asleep in your bed. Selfishly taking in what little smell was left of your space. The whiskey bottle was held to his chest untouched. He kept waking up ever hour. He felt wrong like something was missing. His body knew that you weren’t with him and it made him restless. He would think about your screams feeling like he still heard them. He would play back random moments with you. He just couldn’t seem to move. Stuck laying down holding the bottle you both were going to share, stuck going in and out of consciousness. He was depressed he realized. It was the norm for his sadness to spark rage but he just felt defeated. With Merle he got angry, upset even. But he could still move. His world was still moving then but now he wasn’t sure how it kept spinning with you gone.

Everyone was already moving through the day doing tasks that needed to be completed. He heard the shuffles and whispers of his friends- his family. He would hear someone’s breath hitch while talking about you. He was left alone with Glenn being the one saying, “Leave the man alone.” With other things like, ‘when Lori died-‘ or, ‘if it had been Maggie I’d be the same.’ He would thank the man on another day. So here he is still, morning coming to pass, in your bed staring at the ceiling. He tried to not think about how you might be a walker wondering or even worse your body was still there. He would have to push himself up to that. But the silence around the prison seemed to have broke.

The heavy door that lead in from out doors slammed opened and a panicked Maggie nervously yelled for her father. “D-Daddy somethings wrong Rick’s yelling for you!” Daryl’s hearing perked up feeling the pit in his stomach drop further. Dread seeping into him, ‘Another bad thing was happening.’ He heard the clicking of Hershel’s crutch’s as he moved through the door that Maggie’s had burst through. Daryl squeezed his eyes shut before sucking in a breath in and huffing it out. He got up.

He got to his feet moving down the stairs buzzing with adrenaline. Not sure if he was going to have to protect people or kill someone. As Daryl pushed through the metal door to the court yard an icy wind blew through him. The hair on the back of his neck stood. He turned over to the commotion gathering by the gate to the yard. Scanning the area he didn’t see danger so he made his way over to the group. “Oh my god is she alive?! H-how?” Daryl’s eyebrows furrowed as he got closer over hearing people now.

“Cause I’m a badass.”

Although the voice was deep and scratchy he froze at the familiar voice. He only paused for a moment before he started running the rest of the way there, “Y/N!” His voice was slightly harsh with dis use and the ball of tension in his throat didn’t help much either. You were being held up in a weird way by Rick but you sluggish turned drooping slightly as you did. When your eyes met you smiled but it slowly fell as you went slack. Rick was moving again with the demands of Hershel yelling orders to Carol and Maggie to gather things. Daryl saw your cloths, burnt holes and black and red covered you. Your skin stuck sticking to fabric as deep char marks riddled your back and side. He was speechless as the group passed him but he still followed. Maybe he fell asleep again and was dreaming all this.

“I need disinfectant and a bucket of clean water!”

Rick had set you down on your stomach in an unused cell. Your arm dangled over edge swaying. He stood the watching in shock. People were scrambling around him. He didn’t realize he had gotten the bottle still in his hands before he looked down and walked over practically shoving it into the man’s arms. Daryl was wide eyed as he watched your still form, “Daryl I need you to cut off her clothes. Be careful of her shirt.” A hand clasped to his shoulder finally clicking everything into place. His hand had moved for his knife and he slowly cut down right side on a seam. He slowly plead the shirt from you. It would stick then tug and pull off of you making him cringe. Hershel started talking again as Daryl moved to pull down your jeans.

“You said she was bite?” Daryl let your pants fall to the floor as he looked back up to the side he had seen it. Your entire side was indented and black. Some black circles were higher up to your shoulders as your enter left side seemed to have taken most of the burns. He pointed to were he had last saw the bite. “It was here- shit she fell into the fire pit.” The screams he heard played back into his mind. The pain and surprise that had ripped from you. Hershel now with a cloth and water started cleaning the area removing the grim, “That means she might have stopped the spread of the infection with how deep these burns are.” Hershel paused looking over her body. He then put a hand to your forehead, “She’s warm but not feverish…” Hershel grabbed the bottle of whiskey again turning to Daryl and popping the lid of,

“Get out of here Daryl. Maggie! Carol! I need hands!”

He watched as the two girls push past him and before he was out of sight from you saw Hershel dump some of the alcohol onto the area. He stepped out turning to see worried and confused faces. They stared at him silently with the background noise of Hershel making demands of his helpers. Sasha almost whispered her question to him, "How is she still alive?" Everyone turned to her before looking at him expectantly as the wondered the same. Daryl looked like he was visibly thinking before he sighed, "I don't know. She fell in the fireplace is all I know." Rick looked to the floor nodding thinking back to when he first saw you and struggled to pick you up around what looked to be burns. Daryl spoke again almost hopefully, "Hershel thinks there's a chance she stop the infection from spreading with how deep the burns are."

Hopeful gasps filled the air. Carl was the next to speak almost as a demand, "Then we going to use all are medical supplies we've got if there is a chance." Rick whispered, "Carl..." but Beth jumped in. "W-we have it for reasons like these! I know she is technically bite but we have no clue if she stopped it, its worth splurging to see if this could save others!" Rick looked surprised at the outburst mouth opening about to speak before Glenn jumped in also pleading to him, "Well find more!" Other silently agreeing and nodding. Daryl looked between the group so determined about your life smirking at it even but, he knew what Rick was trying to say. Sure enough the man had chuckled shacking his head, "Why are you all looking at me for, I'm not the leader anymore. This is a matter for the council. But I think that decision has already been made." It had only started not to long ago with Rick being the stand in while everyone settled on who the council consisted of. Michonne clapped her hands together, "Right is has been settled then, what ever cost to keep her alive." It was a waiting game now.

Days pass with the prison fueled with a hope. The once depressive air had lifted once Hershel declared you stable and with no fever. It was determined until a day later with still no fever you were not infected. The only problem now way you had yet to wake up. The girls had cleaned you of all the caked on dirt from your skin and hair they best they could with you unconscious and your injury. Daryl with any of his free time was by your side. He even took to sleeping in the bunk above you. He changed your bandage most of the time. You were on the your third IV by the 5th day. Daryl had a chair pulled by your side as he fiddled with his crossbow and bolts, your steady breathing having a calming effect on him. The breathing pattern faltered for a second making him look up to you. He stared for a moment before you seemed to grunt in pain. The hair was rising on the back of his neck. Hazy eyes open and your cuffed hand attempted to move but was halted by it be attached to the metal bed frame in the wall.

Daryl felt his heart race as he watched you slowly and groggily start moving. He reached to stopping your hand from moving with his own. "Hey, stay down." You groaned pain probably hitting you finally making Daryl call for Hershal. The clicking of crutch’s came closer but he looked back down to you at your sudden silence. Your eyes met with his and in that moment you saw straight into his soul making him feel exposed. All his nerves seemed to stand on end with your quiet gaze. A small smile creeping it way on your face. Daryl leaned down moving some hair from your face as you remained on your stomach. When he was crouched closer to you he whispered, ���Hey darlin’…” You huffed out air and a tear ran down your cheek. He was smiling down at you feeling the weight of deaths grip finally releasing you back to him.

Hershel broke the moment but he never stopped holding your hand as the older man fussed over you. Your voice was rough to say the least. He winched at your first attempt at using it. “iM aLivE…?” Daryl squeezed your hand and the ball in his throat suck to his chest as he let out a chuckle. You seemed just as surprised of the fact just like them. You hissed before flinching forcibly relaxing your muscles but you still spoke again, “tHe BiTe?” Hershel had moved injecting something in your IV bag, pain killers hopefully. Your eyes barely following the movement as Hershel spoke calmly with a smile, “You’ve been out for a few days. No fever. We are working on the burns because they are festering but blistering. You killed the infection.” Your eyes squeezed shut and you sniffled a little tears poured from your eyes in relief. Daryl couldn’t help for his eyes to blur a little to. A hand fell to his shoulder, Hershel. “Her blood pressure is still low so keep her lying down. Try and fed her something small for now until she is up right.”

With that he hobbled away probably going to spread the good news that you are up. His attention snapped back to you when he heard a faint whisper of his name, “daryl.” You had a dopey grin as you stare up at him making the knotted ball in his stomach loosen. You smile falter and a harsh sounding, “woOaH-“ your eyes blinking like your vision got blurry. He intertwined his fingers behind yours as he keyed open the cuffs. “goDdaMn…. HaRdcorE dRugS hEllo~” Daryl chuckled seeing you sag in relief. Your eyes moved to something behind him a long, “hEeeY…” your lips pouting. He turned around questioningly at what you were staring at. The bottle of now empty whiskey, aah. He turned back to you running his free hand into your hair, “Don’t look at me I didn’t drink it.” You stare at the bottle softly saying, “How wiLl I woe a DiXon nOw?”

Daryl sighs feeling that ever burning in his chest when it comes to you. “Don’t think you need to worry to much about that, think he is beyond woed.” You dawn a familiar smirk he knows means trouble. ‘Mmm’ vibrates from your chest, “Good… been really laying it on thick as of late. Hell crawled back from death for the guy.” Your voice seemed to not rattle in your hushed tone. You seemed to struggle to keep your eyes open and focus you spoke once more before closing your eyes and falling to drugs and exhaustion, “So much for not using the med supply like Hershel said…”

Love burns with either the loss of them or the fact they exist in the first place, but you would say the fireplace hurt a tad bit more than loving your gruff hunter.

Feedback welcome and requests open!

[vigilante-3073]

Cuddle For Warmth

Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Summary: Cold nights and shared sleeping bags.

TW: Fluff, pre-established relationship, cuddling.

The group had been traveling down the same road for days, slipping into the woods at night when they needed to set up camp. Daryl found himself getting antsy as more time passed without a solid form of shelter.

He didn't like being out in the open for long periods of time, especially with Y/N. Daryl worried about her more than himself at times, ensuring that she was always in his line of sight.

Daryl was not clingy by any means, but he couldn't keep himself from worrying.

He knew how dangerous the world had become and he couldn't help but be protective. Y/N was his one good thing in the world and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to her.

Their relationship had formed slowly over time, definitely not something that anyone would have expected. Y/N had always been kind to everyone, but she seemed to pay particular attention to Daryl.

She told him once that he made her feel safe and he believed her.

Daryl had never been good with words, but he showed his love for her in a variety of different ways.

He taught her how to survive on her own in case they were ever separated, paying particular attention to hunting and shooting. Daryl wanted her to be able to protect herself if there was ever a situation where he couldn't.

Daryl always made sure she was warm enough while also ensuring that she had enough food and water. He would even give her some of his portion when rations were limited.

Daryl was also one for physical touch, whether it be his arm draped around her waist at the campfire, his lips pressing quickly to her forehead before stepping away or his hand holding onto her's as they walked.

Daryl found it reassuring to know that she was there.

...

Y/N rolled out her sleeping bag by the fire before slowly crawling inside. She left the zipper open as she turned onto her side.

Daryl moved behind her, sliding into the sleeping bag with his chest pressed against her back.

"Lift your head," He muttered.

She lifted her head, allowing him to lay his arm across the ground for her to rest her head against.

"Thank you," Y/N said softly, Daryl grunted.

His arm wrapped around her waist securely, holding her close to himself as the fire crackled softly beside them.

Y/N rested her hand on his forearm, sliding her palm downwards and intertwining her fingers loosely with his.

"You're cold," He muttered.

"I'll warm up," Y/N replied, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the comforting warmth already seeping into her body.

Daryl laid awake long after she had fallen asleep, listening for noises in the surrounding area.

It was like he couldn't turn his brain off when there was a possibility of danger with Y/N involved. His attention was pulled back to her as she shifted in his arms.

"I can hear you thinking," She mumbled without opening her eyes, "Glenn is on watch, we're okay," Y/N assured.

"I know," Daryl said gruffly, arm tightening around her waist to pull her body closer.

Y/N turned in the limited space the sleeping bag provided, looking up at him with tired eyes. Daryl lifted his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You need to sleep," Y/N said, he nodded.

She pressed herself against his chest, fingers slipping underneath his jacket before she slid her arm around him.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting out a content sigh as her head rested against his chest.

...

Daryl blinked his eyes open, surprised to find that he had actually fallen asleep for a few hours. The fire had dissipated, leaving only a small flame and bright red coals.

Daryl shifted, lifting his arm from around Y/N's waist as he slipped out of the sleeping bag carefully.

Her eyes fluttered open, turning onto her back as she blinked up at him, "Where are you going?" She mumbled.

"Just grabbing a drink. Go back to sleep," He said, lifting the warm material of the sleeping bag further over her shoulder.

Daryl dusted off his knees as he stood up, making his way over to the car and opening one of the backpacks. He pulled out a crumpled water bottle, taking a few sips before tucking it away.

Glenn sat on the hood of the car, a rifle held in his hands as he listened.

"Anythin'?" Daryl asked, Glenn shook his head, "Not a peep. I wake Rick in an hour to switch off," Glenn said.

Daryl nodded, he felt like he wasn't contributing when he had the privilege of sleeping through the night, but Rick had insisted that he take a night to rest.

"You two are really cute together," Glenn stated.

"Thanks," Daryl muttered.

"I think everyone deserves to have a love like that... One that makes life worth living again, you know?" Glenn said.

Glenn couldn't have been more right. Daryl would give his life for that woman in a heartbeat and he couldn't imagine a future without her in it.

Y/N was absolutely everything to him.

Daryl nodded, returning to his sleeping bag and laying down behind Y/N. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to his chest.

"Are you okay?" Y/N mumbled, hand finding his under the material of the sleeping bag.

"Yeah, I'm good," Daryl assured.

[dixonsgirl93]

Small, soft ways Daryl Dixon will show his affection:

Untucking your hair out from your clothing, his fingers so gentle.

Grazing a thumb over your cheek/chin.

Rubbing circles on your back when sitting next to each other.

Leaving you short, sweet notes when he’s gone from the other side of the bed. “Remember to eat. I’ll be back soon x”

Smirking slightly when he catches you trying on his winged jacket. You go to take it off and he shakes his head. “Nah, it looks good on you.”

Bringing you apples every day because he knows they’re your favourite fruit. He might leave one on the pillow next to you in the morning, next to his note. Tuck a couple away in your backpack, etc.

Wants you with him when he cooks, says he wants the company but wants to make sure you get the nutrients you need, like fish and red meat, lettuce and eggs. He never cared about that stuff for himself, never needed to, but with you, he wants you at your best, able to look after yourself.

At meetings he makes sure to involve you, values your opinion and makes sure you’re heard. Even if your ideas aren’t great.

Defends you in public, corrects you in private.

Let’s himself be vulnerable with you, lying in your lap while you stroke his hair, opening up to you about the darkness of his past and his mental health.

Kisses you on your forehead. (Also really enjoys forehead kisses too).

Squeezes your hand when you’re his backpack on his bike.

[intoxicated-chan]

❝𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐒❞ ↳ 𝐃. 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧

Inspired by “Judas��� by Lady Gaga // Best viewed in Dark Mode

You were part of the tight-knit group that consisted of you, Rick Grimes, Lori Grimes, and Shane Walsh. The married couple made a bet if you and Shane would end up together, they both knew Shane liked you, and you would say you were interested but not really.

Yet you felt like something was missing, you found the idea of being with Shane depressing. If it wasn’t for Andrea and Amy dragging you to a bar, you never would’ve met the man that flipped your life around. The man in the black leather jacket with the name JUDAS printed on the back.

Daryl ‘Judas’ Dixon…

Paring ➳ Biker!Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

Content Warnings ➳ Female Reader, MODERN AU/NO OUTBREAK, age-gap (Reader’s in late twenties, Daryl early forties), terribly written smut, violence, swearing, toxic relationships, mentions of marriage, mentions of having children…

CHAPTERS ↓ Tumblr Only

All of the titles are lyrics to Lady Gaga songs!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ║ ❝𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐬 𝐈𝐬 𝐌𝐲 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞❞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 ║ ❝𝐘𝐨𝐮❜𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭❞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑 ║ ❝𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐩 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐮𝐭❞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 ║ ❝𝐖𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐚 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧❞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓 ║ ❝𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐈𝐭 𝐁𝐚𝐝, 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞❞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔 ║ ❝𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞❜𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝❞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕 ║ ❝𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡❞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 ║ ❝𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐂𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐡❞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗 ║ ❝𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧❜𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞❞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎 ║❝𝐈❜𝐦 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐰❞ (Coming soon!!)

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. None of the photos used belong to me! Credits to @cafekitsune and @benkeibear for the dividers. I use it all the time.

[nervoushottee]

night shift | daryl dixon x fem!reader

Summary: [2k] You keep Daryl company on a night watch

Warnings: Set in Prison era of TWD (around season 3-4)

Note: back with more of our soft shy boy daryl. Thank you so much for all the beautiful reboots and likes and hello to the followers from my previous Daryl fic.

Hope you enjoy, mwah!

His side of the bed was cold.

Which wasn’t something unusual if he had a watch shift or had to take a piss. But you knew his shift was tomorrow night and if he had to go relieve himself he would’ve told you. Would have whispered it out in the darkness of the night with a small squeeze on your ankle. A physical tether and promise that he would come back.

But you didn’t hear any whispers nor feel a warm calloused hand squeeze your leg.

So you rub the sleep from your eyes, lift the blanket away from your body and go and look for him. Shoving your feet in the boots near the bed, you brush the curtain away and walk down through the quiet prison.

You see a few flashlights and torches on. One of them you already know to be Carl sneaking in a few more chapters of his comics before bed. A smile forming on your lips at the thought as you walk out into the common area. Metal tables that are usually filled with people are now empty and cold to the touch.

You pass by Karen who was coming from the bathroom/showers and ask if she’d seen Daryl. She shook her head with a yawn. You place your hand on her shoulder as a thank you, telling her to get some sleep.

The moon is shining bright and full when you open the door to the courtyard. You feel the cold seep through your long sleeve shirt. Hershel’s words come back to mind, that it felt like winter might come sooner than normal. The council has been doing extra inventory over the food, ammo and medicine just in case.

Crickets and the faint growls of walkers fill your ears. You look left and right and still no sign of Daryl. Finally you decide as your last resort and honestly too tired to walk about the whole prison to look for the man, you whistle. It’s a soft, short and low whistle. A bit quieter than you would normally do. Your throat a little dry from sleep but you knew if Daryl was out here, he’d hear the noise all the same.

A small smile grows on your face when you hear the faint whistle back from your left.

You turn and look up to see a tall figure standing in one of the cell towers. His body turned to you. You can't see his face but you know Daryl’s staring at you.

The walk up the top of the tower is short. You knock three times and two more times with a pause in between and Daryl doesn’t hesitate to open the hatch for you.

“What you doin’ up?”, you don’t respond as he extends his hand out to help you up.

“Should be sleepin’. ” he mutters as he locks up the hatch.

Your eyes roll. “Could say the same thing to you, mister.”

“Supposed to be Carol’s watch but the girls weren’ havin’ it. Said she’d take mine tomorrow.” You hum in understanding and walk over to the railing where he stands to watch over the prison. You could see everything from up here. The walkers around the gates, the pigs and chickens in their coops, the garden and everything else in between.

The chill of the wind goes through you, causing you to shiver. You feel Daryl slide the hand that’s not holding his crossbow around your waist and guide you closer to him. You put your hands inside his open jacket. Wrapping your arms around his waist to get as much warmth from his body heat as possible.

Daryl grumbles and you feel him shake his head against the top of yours. You look up at him in question. “Don’t even got somethn’ warm on. Could get sick.” You roll your eyes a second time that night.

“How was I supposed to know you were outside doing Carol’s shift if you didn’t tell me?” Daryl grunts a response back. A “he knows you’re right but won’t say it” grunt which pulls a teasing smile from your mouth.

“Oh. That reminds me.”, You unclasp your hands from his waist and reach for your butt pocket and pull out a smushed granola bar. “Here.”,you hand it out to him.

Daryl shakes his head. “ ‘S yours.”

He wasn’t wrong. With the amount of food the prison has now and how frequent all of you were able to get into a somewhat normal routine of eating. It brought back the hangriness you would once feel before the dead started walking. Something you didn’t really enjoy but happens nonetheless. Since then, you always kept little small snacks on you. Whether it's leftover bread from lunch or an apple Daryl’s snuck in your jacket or anything small you could get your hands on. Nothing too big that would put a dent into the rations though.

This time you kept a flattened granola bar you had found during one of the group runs. You found two and gave one to Carl who thanked you profusely. Remembering the Chewy brand of peanut butter chocolate chip granola bar he would eat when he was young. It was a bit stale and the chocolate and peanut butter chips were hard but it was tolerable. And food was still food.

“I know but I’m giving it to you.”

You know Daryl will protest. Your eyes meet his and have a silent conversation with one another. You’re not gonna back down, persistent as ever for him to take it. You can see it in his eyes that he wants you to keep it for later but you look right back at him. Even adding a squint for emphasis.

Daryl didn’t eat enough as it is. He usually was fine with scraps of anything he can get his hands on. Could last a long time on just that but most times you weren’t having it. If the prison had the supply then you were going to make sure he had a bit more than he lets himself have. You know it all trickles down to him feeling as if others need it more than him.

You tap the granola packet against his chest. Raising an eyebrow up at him, your chin on his chest. You can see a small faint smile grow on his lips. His eyes gleaming with adoration yet looks at you stoic and still. Finally, he relents with a deep sigh. Putting his crossbow down on the floor. It's awkward with how left hand is still loosely against your waist. You bend along with him as an attempt to help. Daryl turns back to you, his hand extended as he takes the granola bar from your awaiting hand.

You let go of him so he can open the wrapper and eat. Instantly feeling the difference of the loss of his warmth. He breaks a piece of. The smushed granola breaks off like bark and you snort at the sound. Daryl hands the first piece to you. His eyes tell you not to press him and for the third time that night, you roll your eyes. Taking the granola from his calloused hands.

The two of you eat quietly. You look around the prison, squint at the chickens and pigs sleeping. Fumbling with the last bit of granola, you can’t help but laugh quietly at its flatten appeal.

“Was’ funny?” Daryl questions.

You turn your head to see him already staring at you. You hand the last bit of granola to him and he eats it without hesitation. You knew he was hungry. “Have you ever had a Rice Krispy Treat?”

Daryl shakes his head, “The hell is that?”

You smile as you wipe the granola crumbs from your hands. “It’s this bar of marshmallow and rice puff cereal. They melt marshmallows down to a goo and pour the rice cereal and form them into little bars.” You explain to him. Daryl watches your hands as you use them to demonstrate as you talk.

He shakes his head again, “Never heard of ‘em.”

You hum, turning your back away from the look out. “I used to love them as a kid. They were sweet and chewy and we’d get them as a snack at school. My mom was a health nut and it was too many calories, too much sugar and all the too much that kids don’t really give a shit about.” You feel the rumble of Daryl’s laugh which makes you smile in return.

He pats his hands against his jacket pockets and pulls out his box of miscellaneous cigarettes. You remember taking a peek in them one night and seeing some that looked different than others. Daryl had told you he didn’t feel like carrying multiple boxes. So when he finds more cigarettes lying around he just adds them to his pack.

“I was laughing because I remember as a kid. My friends and I would deliberately smush the rice krispy treat.”Daryl’s eyebrows furrow as he lights his half smoked cigarette. Confused as all get go but still listens to you nonetheless.

“We’d put them on the floor and step on them really hard until we heard the wrapper pop and we’d just eat them flat like that.”

“Why?”

“Because for some reason we thought they tasted better that way. Sweeter.” You say with a smile as you remember the tasty treat and young smiles. “Man, I can’t even remember the last time I had one of those. Way before all this. Maybe when I was a teen or somethin’.”

Daryl extends the cigarette out to you in question. You hesitate before taking it. You don’t smoke often, sometimes the taste annoys you and sometimes it doesn’t. Daryl knows you don’t smoke enough for him to give you your own cigarette so he always just shares the one he smokes with you.

“These things don’ taste sweeter smushed.” He tells you with his head gesturing to the forgotten wrapper. You laugh and hit his shoulder playfully as you take a hit or two of the cig before handing back to him with a grimace. You wrap both hands around his arm closest to you, sliding one of your hands to connect with his and loosely play with his fingers.

“Yea well. Those rice treats sure tasted better smushed from what I remember.” You tell him as you place your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything, simply hums and the conversation slides into a comfortable silence. You hear the crickets again. The sound of Daryl’s cigarette burning. The small sounds of metal creaking from the prison. When it’s quiet like this, you forget that the world is dead. That you’re just out looking at the stars and the moon. With the cool wind as your friend.

The feeling of your locked hand in Daryl’s bump against your leg and pulls you out of the daydream. You look up at him with questioning eyes. He gives your face a once over, making sure you’re not stuck in your head again before speaking.

“You should get some sleep.”

“You tryna get rid of me Daryl Dixon?”

“I’m tryin’ to get your ass back in bed where it’s warm.”

You were cold. The two hits of nicotine smoke do nothing to warm your chest. And if you weren’t so cold then you’d probably protest and stay with him a little while longer. Instead you sigh and nod a few times. Agreeing to Daryl that it’s cold and that you should sleep. With that you let go of his arm with a tight squeeze and Daryl opens the hatch for you to go back down.

“Wake me up when you get back.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You snort softly and kiss his cheek. you feel a very faint tap on your backside before heading down the cell tower and back over to the prison side door. The sound of a faint whistle greets your ears on your walk back to the prison. Stopping you in your tracks, you smile softly to yourself and whistle right back to him. A good night of sorts.

You curl back up into the sheets and think about cigarette smoke and rice krispie treats.

[loanecore]

sunshine!girl… with daryl dixon! ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

sunshine!reader… loves to wake up to the feeling of the sun warming her skin.

sunshine!reader… always looks like she fascinated by everything, someone talk about their interests? she will listen and doesn’t want to miss anything. she going outside and see flowers? she will look at them like it’s the first time she’s outside.

sunshine!reader… have a body made of glitter, happiness and sunflowers.

sunshine!reader… is a very good listener and will always try to help everyone.

sunshine!reader… have a lot of nicknames “sunflower”, sunshine”, etc… and everyone calls her that but it always sounds different when daryl calls her that.

sunshine!reader… is a very touchy person and daryl is not a touchy person, he’s a sunshine person.

ೃ⁀➷

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

sunshine!reader… loves taking pictures of things she likes but daryl HATED pictures. when one night he was having fun with judith and RJ she discreetly take her camera out and snap a picture of daryl. she captured his smile and the fun in his eyes, it became her favorite picture ever.

sunshine!reader… is always happy and see the positive side all of the time, daryl never understood that but he knows that without her, most of the time, he would have give up easily.

sunshine!reader… is the sun and daryl is the moon. opposite attracts.

sunshine!reader… is the prettiest girl daryl have ever seen so of course he’s carrying a picture of her everywhere he goes and look at it all the time. this picture is so important to him when he feels helpless and feels like there’s no hope anymore, he take the picture out of the pocket of his leather jacket and look at it, he always feels the warm in his chest as the sight of her smile.

sunshine!reader… loves car trips with daryl, she always look outside like she’s fascinated by the nature and the world, her hair flying from the speed of the car. the sun warming up her skin as daryl looks at her with intensity and a warm feeling in his chest, not caused by the sun.

ೃ⁀➷

➜ 𐙚masterlist • my social𖦹°‧

[gutsby]

Playing Dangerous

Pairing: Detective Dixon x Reader

Summary: Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Warnings: NSFW. Thigh riding. Brat taming. Daddy kink. Dubcon elements vis-à-vis power imbalance and forceful facefucking, plus some dark-ish dirty talk, face slapping, overstimulation where Daryl keeps making you cum after you say that you’re finished (all meant to be consensual).

Notes: Big big thank you to @dilfsandmartinis for this filthy lil idea!! 🫣🩷 Requests are always welcome :-)

Shitty was an understatement.

This was a full-blown, top-notch terror of an evening, rivaled only in its sheer lethality by the time you once broke your nose and got arrested twice in the same day.

Tonight was likely to be a close second, though.

You’d spent all of ten minutes in the center of that hot and sweaty club, fighting madly not to drop your drinks or lose your purse, when suddenly, simultaneously, it seemed every guy around you had lost the power of self-control. You were prodded and groped like a shiny slab of meat ripe for any man’s hands—and no matter how hard you elbowed each offender, you couldn’t find reprieve. You were constantly being grabbed.

You’d grumbled as much to your friends, and they’d told you to ‘lighten up’ and ‘not be so surprised when you were wearing something like that.’

Something like what? A super mini skirt and a bustier?

You promptly informed each member of your party they could kiss your ass, and left.

That had been almost half an hour ago, and you were still currently stuck outside the club waiting for a lift. In the snow. With no jacket, or adequate covering.

Every time a taxi passed, you’d wobble over to the street corner and wave your hand, but on each endeavor, without fail, its driver would shoot you a dirty look and speed right off. Like you had, ‘I’M GONNA ROB YOU’ written on your forehead or else smelled of rotting flesh.

You were mystified, distraught, and supremely pissed off. You didn’t know what you were doing wrong.

The second you saw a semi-reputable looking Dodge Charger pull up to the curb, you decided you’d had enough. Uber or not, you needed a fucking ride.

You stalked over to the vehicle, already seeing its passenger side window creeping down on your approach. Your arms were quick to fold over your chest as you bent down and scowled,

“Could you please take me home?”

The man you saw inside looked polished. Well-groomed.

You hardly had more than a second or two to inspect his appearance, though, because in an instant, he was leaning over the center console to shoot you a smile.

“How much, hon?”

You heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, someone was taking you seriously.

You reached for the door handle and tumbled right in.

“Any price, just name it,” you groaned. You rubbed your face with both hands and leaned back in the seat. Almost unable to believe your stroke of good fortune after so many failed attempts, you let out a shaky, but grateful, breath and spread your legs just a little to get comfy.

“Good,” the man to your left said, calmly, evenly...then, “Now put your hands where I can see them.”

You lowered your hands from your face and gave the stranger a puzzled look.

“What?”

“Hands, show me hands,” he said, voice raising ever slightly in volume.

What the fuck was he on? Staring you down with that stupid, self-righteous face, lip curled in a melodramatic snarl like he could’ve been one of those lousy fuckin’—

“Police,” he barked. Louder, this time. Flashing a badge before your panic-stricken eyes and clenching his jaw.

Your hands flew up instinctively.

Was it illegal to hail a cab now?!

You didn’t have time to think, or blink, or do much else besides breathe when the well-dressed man got out of the car and instructed you to do the same. Your hands and feet seemed to move of their own accord as you gingerly slipped out from the front seat of the car to the cold wintry night outside. You were pushed to your knees on the concrete sidewalk and made to kneel.

To your right, you saw a gaggle of college kids strolling by—some pointing, others laughing, but all watching in muted awe as the undercover cop circled to your back.

“You have the right to remain silent—” he started, reaching for the handcuffs on his belt.

“Excuse me?!” you hissed.

“—anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—” he continued. A couple gentle clinks and suddenly your wrists were in chains.

“What’d I do? What the fuck did I do?”

“You have a right to an attorney,” he droned on, heedless of your cries as he read your Miranda rights, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

You felt tears spring to your eyes as both cuffs locked into place and you were being hauled back onto your feet, sniveling and sobbing before throngs of amused onlookers. Your face burned with embarrassment.

“I didn’t know it was a crime, officer— I didn’t know, I swear— I-I-I’m so fucking drunk!” you blubbered as he guided you swiftly to the rear of his car. You practically bawled when he opened the back door.

“I just really needed a taxi!” you wailed, legs shaking as he started to lower you into the vehicle.

At that, he stopped.

He tugged you back on your feet and spun you around.

“A what?” he asked.

“A taxi,” you cried, “All the other drivers kept— kept driving away, I thought, I-I don’t know, I thought you might be another Uber driver or something.”

The man’s expression betrayed a change, though you couldn’t decipher just what that was through your tears. You sniffled and tried to wipe your cheek with your shoulder but ended up smearing more makeup in your line of sight. You whimpered at a pathetic pitch.

“Taxi,” the police officer repeated, seeming to mull over the word in his mind like it was the latest addition to the English language. He frowned.

Through your tear-streaked vision, you could just then detect the faintest trace of affliction…even remorse? His eyes wavered between your face, your ensemble, and the ground below, making a couple quick circuits before finally settling on your wet, bleary gaze.

His voice sounded strained to you now.

“You weren’t…trying to have sex with me?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You coughed, blinked, looked the man up and down and hardly knew to even shake your head with how blind-sided you felt.

“W-What? What?”

“You’re not…a prostitute?” the man said, almost pained.

That query threw you for a loop just the same. You pressed your weight on the car and sensed a strange unsteadinesses seize your limbs. This undercover cop thought you were a hooker—and a cheap one at that, game for any price the man was offering—and presently, you felt queasy. You looked down at your outfit.

It surely wasn’t that revealing, was it? He couldn’t have been so easily convinced of your profession by a...pair of glossy go-go boots, latex skirt, and lacy top, right?

Okay, you looked a little bit like a hooker.

Worse yet, you noticed a wad of cash stuffed between your left tit and armpit, from the time you tried to bribe the bouncer for a ride while leaving the bar. A loose cigarette stuck behind your ear, two hickeys suckled into the skin of your neck, and a teensy bag of blow to boot, tucked haphazardly between an assortment of Trojans and Magnums strewn lazily throughout your purse.

Alright, you could’ve been cast in the next Pretty Woman remake, but who cares? Half the girls in the club were dressed just as scantily, if not more so.

You somehow mustered the strength to squeeze your hands into frozen little fists behind your back and gave the officer a brazen look.

“Think I don’t have anyone better to fuck?” you scoffed.

The detective’s expression went from inscrutable to uncomfortable in fewer than two seconds. He seemed hardly able to look you in the eye any longer, casting sidelong stares at the crowd growing larger on the sidewalk. Collective curiosity piqued at the sight of a cop and a would-be streetwalker making small talk outside of the club, he knew he had to get out of this. Quick.

“I’ll, uh, take ya home, ma’am,” he said under his breath.

Before you could either accept or reject his offer, he had your cuffs undone—discreetly—and your body shuffled hastily inside his car. You heard the door slam shut and saw the officer make quick strides toward the driver’s side. You raised both brows as soon as he re-entered.

“That’s it?” you quipped.

“What?” he returned as he started the engine.

“You make that hot-shot unlawful arrest in front of all those people, and you’re not even gonna say sorry?”

The man made every effort not to shoot you a look in the rearview mirror. Slowly, he pulled into the street.

“Well...y’know, you do look the part. But I’m sorry.” Proffering one of the most pitiful apologies you’d heard in your life, the detective fixed his gaze on the road.

You knew he was bluffing. The man was humiliated as shit, too coy to come clean with the fact that he’d just made an egregious error, and now offering you a ride all to make himself out to be the good guy—and quite possibly avoid a wrongful arrest lawsuit.

Maybe it was the residual amounts of alcohol still coursing through your veins or else the cocaine, but you couldn’t let the dipshit get off that easy. You scrambled your way up to the front of the car.

It was at that moment Detective Dixon sincerely wished he’d driven the squad car—complete with a cage, of sorts, to keep inmates locked away in the back seat—rather than his unmarked vehicle, to be making arrests that night. He stifled a groan when you plopped down in the passenger seat next to him.

“What do you mean, ‘looked the part,’ hm?” you quizzed, burning a hole through the side of his head with how intently you were watching him.

“Put yer seatbelt on,” the man rolled his eyes, attention never straying from the long line of cars ahead of him, “And where do you live?”

“Over on ‘Fuck 12’ Avenue, Officer...Dixon?” you answered sarcastically, scanning his chest for a nametag.

“Detective,” he corrected, “Friends call me Daryl.”

“Detective Dixon, I am not your friend.” You smirked, and for the first time, you thought your discomfited front-seat companion might be tempted to crack one too. You watched him fight his base instincts, however, and force a frown instead. Still not tearing his gaze from the road, he reached over, blindly, for your seatbelt.

“C’mon now, buckle up,” he urged, echoing the words of a concerned father but somehow making it sound far more sexy when he said it. You swallowed a giggle and swatted his hand away.

“Detective!” you feigned an offended gasp.

“Ah, hush up, will ya?” Daryl muttered as his broad, veiny hand continued fumbling for the seatbelt, “You know it’s against the law to— shit!”

The two of you simultaneously leapt in your seats with near-identical sounds of...shock. You, feeling his fingers accidentally graze that tender spot between your legs and him, in turn, finding it unclothed. And soaked.

Detective Dixon retracted his hand just as fast as he’d sunk it in place, only holding it up in the air for an instant—but that was all either of you needed to see that his digits were glistening. You clamped your legs tight together and sucked in a breath.

Under any normal set of circumstances, you would’ve been much more in tune with the way your body was reacting to external stimuli. With all the commotion of your almost-arrest and the subsequent desire to exact revenge on the undercover detective, you hadn’t even realized how physically aroused you were.

Still reeling from his touch, you sank back in your seat. Suddenly more conscious of your bodily fluids than ever before, and embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry,” Daryl blurted out in a hurry. Gripping the steering wheel and pretending not to notice the slight wet slip of his right hand.

You couldn’t speak. He wouldn’t dare to venture a look to see if you might.

Now this would make for one hell of a career-ending lawsuit, Detective Dixon thought with a grimace. Wrongful arrest, soliciting sex on the clock, making unwanted advances on a woman who was technically, in a sense, being detained in his car while he—

Jumped, again, the second he felt your hand on his own.

You were pulling his arm over to your side of the car.

When Daryl turned his head, he paled the instant he saw you bring his hand to your mouth. Watched you pucker your lips and move them over his still-damp fingertips. Then suck them inside your mouth, three at a time.

He nearly swerved off the road and took out six civilians.

“Eyes...on the road, detective,” you murmured quietly, words garbled by the obstruction of his fingers.

Daryl swallowed thickly, and then, reluctantly, turned his attention to the street. He didn’t see much of what was in front of him.

“13 Peachtree Place.” You plucked his fingers out of your mouth just long enough to tell him your address. Then you went right back to suckling down the skin, letting your tongue glide gently over the tender, slick digits.

Daryl stifled a groan. There was no fucking way this was happening.

Guided by the faintest idea of where your neighborhood was located, he pulled off onto a side road and tried hard not to let out a sound when you sucked his three fingers to the back of your mouth—and felt your throat seize just a little at the sudden intrusion.

You pulled him out of your mouth with a wet pop and started over his lap.

You, yourself, were hardly more aware of what you were doing than why you were doing it, a slave to your sensory impulses and a sucker for a man in brown slacks. You crawled across the lap of the plainclothes officer who’d accused you of ‘selling yourself’ just minutes ago, only to show him what you were happy to do, free of charge.

It wasn’t your most gloriously feminist moment, to be sure, but then again, when were you going to get another chance to fuck the police and get off scot-free like this?

You palmed Detective Dixon through his pants and smiled when he whined just a little.

“Bet you wish I was selling, huh? Wish I was some pretty little thing for you to use at your convenience?” you purred, stroking over him gently.

Daryl gritted his teeth but said nothing in return. He brought the car to a stop under a red light.

You didn’t like the quiet types. You squeezed him harder in your hand, felt his erection grow even larger between your fingers, and moved up to press a kiss on his neck, tasting tiny beads of sweat there.

“How badly did you wish I was a whore, detective?”

When you leaned in for another couple light kisses, you were startled to feel a hand at your own throat, jerking your face up to his.

“Already knew you were the second I saw you.” he returned, deadpan, before your wide and unsuspecting eyes.

When the light turned green, he released your neck and reached for the back of your head. You let out a muffled whimper as he shoved you down against his crotch, stiff as a rock underneath your cheek.

“Why? Does a whore wanna suck it?” he asked, pressing his foot on the gas.

At a moment’s notice, you were robbed of your slight dominant edge and made to grovel under his touch like a bitch in heat. Daryl rubbed your plush lips over the mound in his pants like he was proud to make you feel it. And you, yielding as ever, made no attempt to keep from being manhandled because, if you were honest with yourself, you knew that you wanted it that way. You smiled against the cotton blend of his trousers and made a soft moan along the fabric, letting him drag you by the hair any way that he pleased.

When he yanked your head up and the car came to another stop, you weren’t surprised in the least by the trail of saliva that followed your lips. You locked eyes with his steel blue set and grinned again, quite stupidly.

“Well?” Daryl pressed, giving your hair a sharp tug.

You thought the sight of your watering mouth and blissed-out expression would have sufficed for an answer, but clearly, he wanted more. You worked gracelessly over the belt buckle and zip beneath your chin, and had his cock freed in seconds.

The car sped up again. Detective Dixon’s grip tightened on your scalp.

The second your lips latched onto the head of his dick, you knew you’d be in for a bumpy ride. He hissed as soon as the warmth of your mouth enveloped him, gripped the wheel like a vice, and made sure to spare your throat no expense the second he came to a sloppy halt.

Either your car was in bumper-to-bumper traffic, or the man couldn’t drive for shit while getting road head. You’d put a large sum of cash on the latter if you had it.

Regardless, you bobbed your head up and down and tried your best to suppress the urge to gag when you could. It was tough work, flattening your tongue down his length, gripping his cock at the base, sucking hard until your cheeks hollowed out, and then bump went the whole fucking car, and suddenly your throat was forced to take four more inches in the span of a second.

You lifted your head to protest but were swiftly met with a firm hand holding it down. Keeping it down.

“You’re done sucking this cock when I say you’re done,” Daryl informed you sternly, sucking a breath through his teeth when you gagged around him once more.

He pulled you off just long enough to breathe—and answer a question.

“You live over by McGinty’s? Or MacManus’?”

“McVeigh’s,” you supplied in a shaky voice. No one ever got the Irish pubs around you right.

Daryl hummed and shoved you right back onto his dick, pretending to take no notice of the way you gripped his thigh or tried to groan, ‘Fucker’ against his shaft. Your oral cavity was presently flooded with cock, pre-cum, and saliva, and the longer you sucked, the harsher he got to pushing your head up and down. Your eyes stung with tears.

“In through yer nose, darlin’, almost there,” he hummed, smug as ever. Whether he meant you were close to your house or he was about to cum down your throat, you couldn’t be sure. Your mouth slipped and squelched gently over the man’s throbbing member and made tiny whimpers when you felt you might climax any minute.

In a clandestine act, you moved one hand down your body while you continued blowing Daryl’s brains out. You were half-cockdrunk and hardly more sentient than a sex doll, it seemed, but you could’ve sworn you were quite discreet about the endeavor between your legs. You had just grazed the slick wet seam of your slit, about to press two fingers to your clit, when a hand jerked at a clump of your hair. Hard.

As soon as your mouth was disconnected from his shaft, Daryl landed a tart slap on your cheek.

“My baby need something?” he said, almost tauntingly.

You blinked up at him, failing to understand, until he reached down and pried your hand away from your heat.

“If tha’ wet, greedy cunt needs sum’n, ya better tell me.”

You were amazed how deftly he appeared to maneuver the car now, just pinching your face between forefinger and thumb as he veered down winding streets. When you paused a second or two to answer, you were punished with another slap.

“Just wanted a touch,” you whined, trying to rub the cheek that was stinging and finding yourself outmatched by Daryl’s grip. He squeezed you even tighter.

“Then you say that next time. With your big girl words,” Detective Dixon grunted, bringing the car to a sudden halt and hauling you into his arms.

You looked small splayed across his lap. Perhaps even tinier just straddling one leg, as you were, body writhing beneath his touch and moans and whimpers bubbling up your throat one at a time.

When you looked around, you realized you were home.

Part of you wanted to bolt, for a second. Go sprinting up the lawn toward the safety of your home and jump straight under the covers, a place where you would be free to touch yourself as you pleased—no smug homicide detective breathing down your throat.

But, as you straddled his wide, beefy thigh and felt one gentle pulse of the muscle underneath, you knew you were done for. He saw just as clearly as you that your body was in need of release. Not from your fingers, not from his tongue, perhaps not even from the fat, throbbing cock that had been fucking your mouth the whole way home.

In this moment, all you needed was for him to bounce you on his thigh, let you ride, and make you cum.

Your expression must have looked exceptionally pathetic when you tried stirring your hips and felt two hands stop you cold in your tracks.

“What did daddy just say about big girl words, hm?” Daryl’s voice took on a tender lilt so unlike anything he’d said or done before that you almost didn’t hear the word ‘daddy,’ or think it strange at all. It seemed so natural playing off of his tongue.

“I need you, daddy,” you whimpered.

To say you were putty in his hands was still something short of the truth. You were damn near liquified underneath his touch, half-limp and wholly yearning as the man steadied you in place and began his delicate ministrations like you’d never experienced before.

The once callous, largely cruel law enforcement figure took on something of a gentle affect as he ran his hands up and down your body and let you ease yourself into his touch. There were kisses, caresses, and all sorts of soft little touches on your skin that made you feel pampered and prized, even precious in his eyes. Was this really the same man whose cock had been choking you to the point of tears just minutes ago?

Daryl hiked your skirt up your hips until the sight of your bare, needy cunt was all he could see. Still, he stayed cool and trained his eyes up to yours.

“How’s that feel, honey?”

Even as still as a stone, you felt sparks of hot energy fly up from your center. Remembering your big girl words, you replied, ‘So good, daddy, I just need some more.’

Daryl seemed happy to oblige his good little girl and made sure to shift his knee a little to the right. At the slightest bit of friction, you moaned.

“Oh, daddy,” you whined, leaning in to that praise-heavy dynamic Daryl seemed keen to play out. When he bounced his foot once or twice, shaking your whole body as he did, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and grabbed hold of his thigh. Even rolled your hips right back to his movements.

As light, tender sounds tumbled past your lips with increasing frequency, so too did Daryl’s mouth impart more gentle kisses and dirtier words for your ears to hear:

“Such a pretty little thing, ridin’ daddy’s thigh like tha’.”

“Grindin’ tha’ needy wet pussy all over my leg.”

“Gonna make a mess fer daddy? Show me how much my sweet girl’s been needin’ a good fuck?”

You loved every last filthy syllable. You braced hard against his leg and rutted up and down, in circles all around until you thought you could’ve soaked his whole pant leg. Meanwhile, he was bouncing his thigh, stroking your sides, and making sure you were never wanting for affection or praise as a soft swell of pleasure came dimly into view.

When he flattened one palm across your tummy and told you to lean back, you knew the end wasn’t far from sight.

Daryl took hold of your hips and made an even quicker cadence with his leg, bouncing you fast and hard and hopelessly tight against his thigh as he drank in every one of your moans coming out.

You pressed one hand to the window—long since fogged up and opaque with the hot breaths you were panting—and placed the other on Daryl’s shoulder.

You could tell by the glint in his eye and the grin on his face that he loved you like this. Spread out and desperate for release as you rocked your hips a vicious course over him, using his body for leverage as you fucked his leg for all it was worth.

“Tha’s my girl,” Daryl beamed, practically scintillating with joy.

He watched you rut your hips again and again in the most obscene sort of fashion, riding his thigh with a moan never far from your lips. You squeezed his shoulder.

“Daddy, I—” you started, only to swallow your words with a whimper the second Daryl started bouncing his foot even faster.

“Daddy what?” he teased, pretending not to notice the elevated pitch to your whines.

“Fuck— you know what!” you cried.

“Nah, pretty baby, I ain’t got the slightest clue,” Detective Dixon was exuberant now, grinning from ear to ear as the pleasure visibly mounted inside of you, “Fuck my leg a little harder and tell me how it feels.”

You did. He helped. Even gripped your hips and moved them for you, keeping that breakneck pace as you moaned and writhed and sank your nails into his shoulder as the feelings just got to be too much.

With one last strangled cry, you came all over his thigh.

And, whether that climax lasted two seconds or two hours, the man beneath you didn’t really care—he kept bouncing his leg as you finished, and long after you had, as well.

You seized both of his shoulders this time as you tried to slow his movements. He made no such effort to oblige, only flashing a smile and nodding his big, dumb head as he said:

“I want one more.”

What? No fucking way, you thought, communicating as much through your frantic eyes and the shake of your head. Daryl kept right on moving his leg and holding you firm to that mile-wide wet spot on his thigh, which only grew larger and larger the longer you rode him.

As a bizarre, unfamiliar feeling sank to the pit of your stomach and twisted, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or cum all over again—luckily, your body decided for you and graced you with yet another orgasm. You gritted your teeth and tried not to scream as a wild wave of a new sensation washed over your senses…

And Daryl kept bouncing that fucking knee.

Mind-numbing waves of ecstasy came crashing closer and closer than ever before, and frankly, you couldn’t quite tell how, or when, you’d ever cum again until you did it, you felt it: walls clenching back and forth while your vision blurred with pleasure. A sound wavering somewhere between a scream and a plea—Daryl, keep that goddamn knee to yourself, for fuck’s sake!—tore out of your chest and prompted you to sink all ten nails into flesh that told your sly detective it was time to stop.

Your whole frame was shaking by the time his foot came to rest. If you hadn’t been so fucked-out and sensitive, you just might’ve jumped out of the car the second it did.

But you didn’t. You stayed frozen in place, let your vision return apace, and didn’t let your eyes stray an inch from Daryl’s smug face while your third orgasm subsided.

Fighting every urge to giggle when he squeezed your ass and begged for another.

“Fourth one’s gonna cost ya, asshole.”

“Oh yeah?” Daryl said, grinning, “What’s your price?”

[bluemerakis]

Guys look at my finished TWD-themed tube top!!

This top was quite old and abandoned in the back of my closet so I wanted to spice it up with some TWD theme and I’m so chuffed with how it came out. I used to paint clothes a lot back in high school, so this was a fun little project!!

[dixons-sunshine]

Baking | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Day Eleven: Burnt Cookies

“Fucking stupid piece of shit!”

Daryl stopped in his tracks at the sound of your exclamation. His hand was raised midway to the coat hanger, his jacket slipping through his fingers and falling down to the floor. He quickly snapped back to reality from his initial shock and rushed towards the kitchen where your voice had come from.

When he got into the kitchen, his eyes widened at the sight in front of him; smoke filling the air, the oven door wide open, with you hunched over and clutching your hand to your chest. It was safe to say that he didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Before he had left that morning, you had mentioned wanting to bake some cookies that day, and clearly, it backfired.

“Fucking hell!” you exclaimed, your eyes screwed shut as you tried to will the burning on your skin away.

“Jesus Christ.”

Your eyes flew open at the sound of your partner’s voice. You quickly straightened your back and sent him a smile. “Daryl! Hi.”

Despite the situation, Daryl let out a small chuckle. “Hey. Y’alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, letting out a sigh as you pointed to the tray that rested on the countertop next to the stove. “The cookies aren’t, though.”

“Mhm. I can see that,” Daryl chuckled whilst looking at the charred biscuits. “How’d ya manage that?”

You sent him a sheepish smile. “I kinda fell asleep on the couch and slept through the timer going off…”

Daryl shook his head with a fond smile. “And now them cookies are burnt.”

“And the kitchen is filled with smoke,” you finished with a sigh. You grabbed the tray from the counter and dumped all the cookies into the trash. “I guess I’m just not supposed to be a baker. I’ll ask Carol if she’ll bake me some before I burn the house down.”

“S’pro’lly for the best, yeah.” Daryl laughed and rubbed the spot you had lightly hit in retaliation to his joke. “M��jus’ kiddin’. You’ll get it eventually.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I know so.”

[violettwrites]

crush — trailer park!daryl

a/n: hi guys!! so sorry it’s been a little while since i last posted something for you all to read, but i finally had a bit of time and i’ve got this for you! thank you nonnie for requesting and i hope you enjoy!!!

if you did enjoy this, please don’t forget to give me a like, reblog, and/or comment ! i always appreciate the support.

summary: making out with daryl dixon in the middle of a thunderstorm 🫶🏻

requested: anon requested — hello!!! I absolutely love you tp!daryl dixon works and I was thinking of a scenario where reader and Daryl make out in a stolen car or something, I always think about something like this when I listen to Crush by Ethel Cain for example and I would love to see how you could interpret it in your writing !!

warnings: making out

word count: 1,041

resources: divider by @/adornedwithlight

➵ masterlist

➵ ask box (currently closed for requests)

the wind howled outside as the storm rolled in. lightning lit up the sky in quick flashes, followed by cracks of thunder so loud they made your heart race. you could barely hear the rain over the pounding of your pulse as it drummed against the roof of the old abandoned car where you and daryl were hiding.

the seat was small and uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. when the first heavy drops started to fall, you and daryl had slipped out of the trailer park, sneaking into the junkyard where the beat-up car sat abandoned. now, the windows were fogged, the air thick with humidity and the charged energy of the storm.

daryl’s lips were on yours—rough, but somehow gentle in that way only he could manage. his hands were everywhere—one steadying himself on your waist, the other ghosting over your back, tugging at your shirt like he couldn’t get close enough. his breath was hot against your neck as he pulled back for a moment, eyes dark with hunger.

“you sure about this?” his voice was low, but there was a tenderness hidden under the roughness.

the rain poured harder, drowning out everything but the sound of your breathing. you reached up, fingers brushing through his damp hair before pulling him back to you, closing the gap again. his lips crashed into yours, mirroring the storm outside—wild, consuming, reckless.

“i’m sure,” you murmured against his lips, your hands gripping the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer. the warmth of his body sent a shiver down your spine, a sharp contrast to the chill creeping through the cracks of the old car.

daryl let out a low growl, his hand sliding up your thigh, making you gasp. the kiss deepened, more urgent now, as if the storm outside only fueled the intensity. each roll of thunder seemed to echo the thudding of your heart, each flash of lightning casting his face in stark, beautiful light.

his calloused fingers tangled in your hair as he kissed you like it was the last time he ever would, like he was memorizing how you felt in his arms. every touch, every brush of his lips, felt electric.

outside, the wind rattled the car, cocooning the two of you in your own little world. maybe you were. here, in this stolen car with daryl, nothing else mattered—not the storm, not the trailer park, not whatever trouble tomorrow would bring. it was just you, him, and the raw connection neither of you could resist.

his hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned back to catch his breath. you were both panting, your chests heaving, but you couldn’t help smiling at him. the storm raged on, but in that moment, you felt safe in daryl’s arms.

“guess the storm ain’t the only wild thing tonight,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

you laughed at his dumb little joke, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers. “no, it’s not.” you shook your head, admiring how beautiful he looked in the dark, the shadows playing across his features, making them sharper, more defined.

his smirk widened, and his breath ghosted over your skin as he leaned in for another kiss. his hand slid down your side, fingers grazing the hem of your shirt, teasing it upward, but there was no rush now. the storm might’ve been wild, but daryl’s touch was deliberate, sure.

“yer somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmured, his voice deep and gravelly. his fingers traced patterns along your waist, sending jolts of electricity through you, more potent than the lightning flashing outside.

you couldn’t help but smile as you cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks. “only with you, dixon,” you teased, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. he groaned softly, pulling you closer, his hands roaming freely.

the air in the car was thick, almost stifling, but it only added to the heat between you. you could feel every inch of him, the hard muscle of his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, the way his hands gripped your hips, grounding you even as your head spun.

his lips pressed against your neck, the scrape of his stubble making you gasp. rough around the edges, but tender when it mattered, he knew how to make you feel like the only person in the world.

you tugged gently at his hair, and he responded with a growl, his grip on your waist tightening as he nipped at the sensitive skin below your ear. “yer gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he muttered against your skin, but his voice held a smile, like he wouldn’t have it any other way.

the car creaked as you shifted, the weight of the moment heavy between you. the storm outside seemed to fuel something untamed within you both, the air charged with raw, unspoken intensity.

“daryl…” you whispered, the sound barely audible over the wind, but he heard it. his eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything stilled. his rough hand cupped your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he studied you, like he was committing every detail to memory.

“yeah?” he asked softly, the tension between you crackling like static before a lightning strike.

“i think i—” you swallowed, and he squeezed your thigh gently, urging you to continue. “i think i kinda like you,” you confessed, your voice soft but certain. this was more than just a storm, more than a stolen moment. it was him—the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel safe and wild all at once.

daryl let out a quiet laugh, his lips curving into a rare, soft smile. “’bout time you figured that out,” he teased, leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time. less frantic, but no less intense. his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he didn’t want the moment to end.

maybe it didn’t have to. in this old, stolen car with the storm raging around you, maybe you could have this—something real, something wild, something that was just yours and daryl’s.

[janiehellion]

Imperfectly Perfect

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Winter has always been a season of bitter memories for you—cold nights, a frozen soul, and scars that still bleed into the snow. Until Daryl Dixon shows up, dragging a plastic Christmas tree with him—and the warmth that'll melt the ice around your heart.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: HURT / COMFORT / TRAUMA / CHILDHOOD NEGLECT & ABANDONMENT / EMOTIONAL & PHYSICAL ABUSE / FLUFF / ANGST

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.227

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: S9E16—ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: A work around the themes of loneliness, healing, and Christmas. The holidays aren’t always full of joy and warmth, and sometimes they bring up the memories we’d rather forget.

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

Outside, Alexandria was covered in snow, untouched and pure, like the world had decided to play pretend for a day.

Everything looked peaceful.

You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, though it wasn't the cold creeping through the windows that made you shiver. It was the kind of silent pain that settled in during the quiet moments, the one that came when the world slowed down enough for your mind to wander where you didn't want it to go.

It was beautiful in a way that felt cruel—mocking, almost. The kind of beauty that reminded you of what the world used to be, back before the dead started walking and the winters turned colder in more ways than one. And you didn't know when it started—the feeling that something inside you was broken beyond repair.

That you could never be whole.

Your eyes looked at the group arriving outside. They were wearing whatever winter clothes they'd managed to scavenge over the years—puffy jackets, old scarves, patched gloves.

Judith ran through the snow as Lydia chased her, trying to hit her with a snowball. RJ crouched behind Michonne, who had her hands on her hips, pretending to scold him while he piled snowballs together for an attack. Carol stood nearby, her arms crossed, but with the kind of smile that said she was about to join. And then there was Daryl.

God, Daryl.

He was back. He was safe. That was supposed to be enough to make you smile too. But, even now, as you watched him, your thoughts wandered elsewhere.

You had always been happy to see him come back home after a long trip, but this time, something felt different. He'd been gone for what felt like forever—taking the people from the fallen Kingdom to the Hilltop, making sure they were safe. And usually, you'd be waiting by the gates, running into his arms, even more so because of how much you secretly loved him.

And now he stood out there like he belonged to that snow-covered world.

He had a snowball in one hand, and the second you saw the way he laughed, you knew someone was about to get hit by it. Sure enough, he threw it across the street, hitting RJ, but the grin on his face said he wasn't angry.

You realized how you'd never seen him like this—laughing, actually laughing, as RJ made a surprise attack on him and managed to hit him back. Daryl stumbled back dramatically, pretending to be wounded, before throwing himself into the snow with a groan that made the kids and everyone else laugh in pure joy.

Daryl didn't get moments like this often. Hell, none of you did. Watching him like this felt like being let in on a secret he didn't even realize he was sharing. For a moment, it was enough to warm you.

But then it wasn't.

The smile faded as the memories came back, uninvited as always. Snow had never been a source of joy for you. It had been the weather too many winters where the cold wasn't just outside but inside, too. Inside your home, inside your family, inside the way they'd looked at you—or didn't.

No, snow never brought good memories for you. Winter meant cold floors and lonely nights, shivering under thin blankets that never quite kept the frost out. It meant sitting by a broken heater in the living room, praying the old thing wouldn't quit on you while you were freezing near the Christmas tree your grandma had decorated with so much love.

She'd tried; bless her heart. She'd tried so much. Your grandma had done everything she could for you, but she'd been sick, and she wasn't getting better. She was all you had, and she loved you even though you had always felt like a mistake, the failed abortion and black sheep, in your family. The scapegoat.

You let out a deep and slow breath, trying to shove the memories back where they belonged—some dark corner of your mind where you didn't have to feel them anymore. But the pain was still there, as it always was, like a scar that never quite healed.

"Get it together," you mumbled to yourself, trying not to sob. "That was a long time ago. Doesn't matter now. Not anymore."

But then there were them.

Your aunt had moved in not long after your grandma started showing signs of dementia, bringing her two mean, hateful kids with her. Cousins around the same age as you who looked at you like you were shit and treated you even worse than that. And Christmas? Christmas was just another excuse for them to make you feel like a burden and to bully you.

It was the time when you had to sit far enough away that it was clear you weren't part of the celebration and were unwanted. Wrapping paper on the floor all around you, your hands busy cleaning up while everyone else laughed, opening the gifts you didn't even dare hope were for you, and feeling the emptiness in your heart when your treats disappeared before you could even touch them.

You could still remember sitting by the beautiful Christmas tree, watching them rip into the presents. You didn't get to open yours the same way, either—no, your aunt made sure of that. She'd hand you the gifts with your name on them like it was some kind of joke, then make sure her kids could take them away before you even had time to blink.

"Why don't you let your cousins play with it, huh?" She'd say, not even trying to hide the hate in her voice. "They don't have much, you know."

And the food? God, the food. You'd sit there, stomach growling, watching the plates on the table full of ham, mashed potatoes, and so much more—more than enough for everyone. But somehow, when it was your turn to eat, the plates were already empty. Or worse, someone would take yours right out of your hands.

"You don't need that," one of your cousins would say, shoving a stolen cookie into his mouth or spitting on it while you sat there, not wanting to cry in front of them and make your grandma feel bad for you. "Let me eat it. You're too fat already, so…"

They'd talked about how your grandma was a fool for keeping you around, for "wasting good food on a mouth that didn't deserve to eat." And later came the sounds of plates breaking, footsteps stomping closer to your dark room where you'd curled up on the bed, too afraid to even breathe and too scared to move at all.

You remembered the way your cousins would come into your room as they whispered the things they knew would make you cry.

"Why don't you run away? No one here wants you anyway."

"You're not a part of our family; you don't even look related. Bet you're adopted."

"She only kept you 'cause she felt bad that you're the child of her dead daughter. Bet she wishes she didn't. It's your fault, after all."

And the worst—oh God, the worst—was when they'd smirk and say, "She's gonna die soon, you know? Then it'll just be us. And you'll be all alone."

You'd bite your tongue until it bled, refusing to let them see the tears they wanted to see. But when you were alone—when the house was finally quiet at night, when the cold was the only thing around you, keeping you company—you'd cry so hard your whole body hurt, muffling the sounds into your pillow so no one would hear. Because if they heard, they'd use it against you.

And then there were the nights when the lights didn't come back on. When the power went out and the heater stopped, you sat in the dark, curled up in a ball, listening to the wind howl through slightly broken windows. Nights when you were so cold that you wondered—not for the first time—if it would be better to just... stop trying.

You used to dream about what it would be like to disappear. To leave that house, that family, that life. Not to run away—no, running wasn't enough. You wanted to vanish, to sink into the snow and let it bury you, let the frost take you somewhere they couldn't follow. Somewhere quiet.

But you never did. You'd tried. You just never let yourself. Because every time you thought about really giving up, you'd remember her—the way your grandma's trembling hands would tuck the blanket tighter around you in the middle of the night, only to kiss the top of your head and stroke your cheek while watching you hug the teddy bear she'd bought you with the bit of money she'd left of her pension.

You remembered how your grandma also tried to fight for you when she could. Still, she was too weak, and your aunt always knew how to manipulate her. Her own mother.

You bit your lip hard as the memories came back like old scars tearing themselves open again. Your hand tightened on the blanket around you, your knuckles turning white as you remembered how much you'd hated the teddy bear at first, thinking it was given to you out of pity back then. "That fucking Teddy. I never knew why I hated it… until I didn't anymore," you whispered, though the words felt meaningless. "No! It's over. Done. They're all gone. Dead. Doesn't matter anymore."

But it did matter. It always did. And it still does. No matter how much you told yourself and how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise. It all mattered.

Your eyes moved back to the window, back to Daryl. For a man who didn't seem to think much of himself, he sure had a way of making people feel safe, of making them smile—even when he wasn't trying.

He had just been tackled by Lydia, who laughed as she tried to shove snow down the back of his poncho. He was pretending to be mad, but the way his hands ruffled her hair when she let go made it clear he didn't mean it.

You couldn't help but wonder if Daryl had ever had something like that growing up—if he'd had anyone to laugh with during the winters, anyone to pull him away from his own painful memories. Or if he'd just kept it all hidden the way you did.

You sighed, your breath fogging up the glass of the window as you watched the snowflakes fall softly to the ground. "You're a real idiot," you said to yourself. "Standing here like this when he's out there laughing and being happy."

Still, you didn't move. Not yet. Something about watching him felt safer than stepping out there like the glass between you and the fun was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

And here you were, still inside, while he was out there living. It wasn't fair to him—not when he'd done so much to keep you safe, to remind you that life could still have moments like this. Moments of joy, no matter how small.

You sighed, taking a step back. "Guess I'll just keep watching for now," you whispered to no one in particular. "He looks so damn happy out there. Don't wanna fuck that up."

But as much as you tried to convince yourself, you couldn't shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—he'd notice you were missing from the fun. He always noticed, didn't he?

But maybe he could be part of what could heal if you let him in.

He had to know, right? That you were more than just the person who waited for him to come back and make sure he was safe, too? That, sometimes, the waiting felt like suffocating, like you were caught in your memories that didn't belong to you anymore?

He was always there for you. You knew that. He had shown up when you needed him most, and yet, here you were, watching him laugh with the others, longing for something more.

But what would more look like?

You didn't have the answer yet.

The laughter outside just felt like it belonged to another world—something distant and innocent, something you couldn't quite enjoy without bringing all your memories with you. That was the problem, wasn't it? You didn't want to drag anyone else into your past, least of all him.

Especially not him.

He deserved this—the joy, the playfulness. He deserved to feel like things weren't so damn hard all the time.

But you also couldn't tear your eyes away.

Daryl looked up as RJ yelled something you couldn't quite make out while he dodged another snowball, quick as ever, and then his eyes looked away for just a second—enough to catch you staring out of the window. You gulped. Hard. You froze like you'd been caught doing something you weren't supposed to, something bad, even though all you'd done was watch.

And then he smiled.

Daryl bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and packed it into a ball. You saw the smile on his face turn into a smirk right before his arm moved forward, sending the snowball flying right toward the house.

It hit the window, leaving a wet trail that started to drip down the glass. You blinked, startled, and the kids outside burst into laughter. Judith tapped Michonne's arm, pointing at the window like it was the funniest thing she'd seen all day.

You wanted to be annoyed—you felt as if you should've been annoyed—but instead, a little laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

And Daryl noticed.

His smirk turned into a soft smile, but the way his brow furrowed just slightly told you he'd picked up on more than you wanted him to. He knew something was wrong. And something told you he wasn't about to let it go.

"No… Don't ruin it for him," you said again, trying to convince yourself to stay put. He was happy out there. That should've been enough.

Of course, you wanted to be near him, but not to annoy him with unnecessary sadness. You were still thinking when you noticed him stand up, brushing snow off himself as he took a quick look over his shoulder. Then he said something to the kids and the others before turning away. Judith pouted, clearly wanting him to stay, but he shook his head.

And then? Then he walked toward the house.

Shit... He'd noticed. He knew.

You turned away from the window, your heart racing as the sound of his boots crunching through the snow grew louder. Part of you wanted to run upstairs and hide in any room until he gave up, but you just stood there, unable to move.

The front door opened, letting in the cold air from outside that made you shiver, and you heard him stomp the snow off his boots before he took them off by the door.

"Thought I saw ya by the window. What're ya doin' standin' here all by yerself?"

You didn't turn around to face him; you didn't trust yourself to look him in the eye just yet. "Just… watching," you mumbled quietly, looking down to the floor.

Daryl didn't believe you. You could feel him staring at you, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong. "Nah, ya look like hell," he said bluntly, but it wasn't mean—it was just Daryl.

You snorted in return, shaking your head. "Thanks, I guess."

"What's goin' on?" He asked, more gently this time, taking a few steps toward you.

"It's nothing, Daryl. Come on… The kids are still out there, waiting for you."

He didn't call you out on it, but you could feel his frustration. He hated when you shut him out, but he also knew better than to push too hard. Instead, he just stood there now, waiting.

And it made you want to cry.

No, Daryl never pressed you further or forced answers you weren't ready to give. He just let out a quiet grunt after a while, the kind that could mean anything from 'fine' to 'I'll be right back,' before he turned and headed toward another room.

In an instant, everything felt emptier without him. You figured he was giving you space—something he did better than most people in Alexandria—but when you heard the sound of another door opening and closing again, your brow furrowed.

You didn't do anything until you heard Daryl clear his throat behind you, and when you finally looked at him, the sight stopped you dead.

There he stood, looking more awkward than you'd ever seen him, holding the most hideous and rather small plastic Christmas tree you'd ever laid eyes on. It was lopsided, with lots of fake needles missing from the branches, and the base looked like it'd been duct-taped back together at some point. In his other hand was a beat-up old box with the words 'Our Holiday Decorations' written across the side with a marker that looked faded by now.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

He moved uncomfortably, his eyes looking from you to the ridiculous tree and back again. "Found it a while back," he said in a way that suggested he was already regretting the decision to bring it out and show it to you. "Thought... maybe we could, uh... fix it up. Or somethin'. Like, y'know?"

You blinked, completely confused yet surprised. "Daryl, what in the world…"

"It ain't much," he said quickly, cutting you off like he was bracing for you to hate it. "Jus' somethin' I found. Figured it might…" He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes now looking anywhere but at you. "Y'know... help. Dunno."

You didn't realize your hands were trembling until you had to tighten your grip on the blanket once more to keep them steady. "You… Daryl, why did you do this? What did you do this for? That—"

He shrugged, almost a little too unbothered for your liking, and cut you off again. "Ain't nothin'. Jus' thought ya might, uh… like it. Yeah. No one else 'round here does. Can't blame 'em. Looks ridiculous, don't it?"

He set the box with the decorations down on the coffee table and started looking through it. Inside was random stuff, like ornaments, most of them having a crack. A string of lights that no longer worked with a few burnt-out and broken bulbs. A garland that looked like it had been pieced together from three others or more. It was a complete mess.

Daryl then held up a dusty angel topper and a star topper as well, the gold paint peeling off the wings from the angel. "Ain't pretty either, but it'll do," he said, turning them over in his hands.

Your heart ached. It was too much—too sweet, too thoughtful, too Daryl. You wiped the edge of the blanket over your face quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, but of course, he did.

"What's wrong?" His voice softened, and when you looked up, he was watching you in a way that always made you feel like he could see straight through you. "Don't like it?"

You shook your head, trying to laugh it off. "It's just… I didn't expect this, you know? I don't—" Your voice cracked, and you hated how pathetic it made you sound. "I don't deserve this, I suppose."

Daryl frowned, his eyes narrowing like you'd just said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "That's bullshit."

You turned away, biting your lip, trying to keep the memories hidden, but it was like trying to hold back a storm. It wasn't just the tree—it was Daryl standing there, trying so hard to give you something you couldn't ask for, even if you wanted to.

"I just…" You swallowed hard, your voice shaking. "Christmas was never good for me. I—" You stopped, stumbling over your own words, but Daryl didn't say anything. He just waited, patient as always.

You took a deep breath, staring at the ugly little tree like it might help you. "I never told you anything about my past, even though you've asked me about it for years by now, I know. It's just… Okay, you really want to know? Do you want to listen? To hear it? Fine."

You walked over to the window again, preparing yourself. "My parents died when I was a baby. I don't even remember them. I just know my mom was beaten by my dad, which led to her death in the end, and my dad then killed himself. Of course, I've been told all my life it was because of me. That it was all my fault. I grew up with my grandma, but she was sick—really sick. She tried, but she couldn't keep up after Grandpa died, and only a bit later, my mother, too. My aunt moved in to ‘help,' but she just... made everything worse."

Your hands clenched into fists, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as the memories came back in full force. "She hated me. I don't know why, but she did. She only wanted my grandma's money. The bit that was left of it. And every Christmas, she'd make sure I knew I wasn't part of the family. The presents weren't for me—they were for her kids. If I got anything, it was trash. Like, literal trash. The wrapping paper and such…"

You swallowed hard. "I wasn't allowed to sit with them under the tree. They'd make me clean up the wrapping paper while they opened their gifts. And one year…" You hesitated, the memory hurting like a fresh wound. "One year, my aunt backed her car over my foot outside the house. On purpose. Said I was in her way when we wanted to drive to church."

You hugged yourself, fingers pressing into your arms like you could stop the pain. "I heard the engine before I felt it. And then…" You closed your eyes like it was happening all over again. "I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even scream. I just stood there while she rolled the window down and said I should’ve gotten out of the way."

Meanwhile, Daryl's muscles in his arms flexed, his hands turning into fists at his sides, but he didn't interrupt.

"I spent the rest of that Christmas in my bedroom," you whispered further as you continued. "Well, it was more of a storage room for them to use from time to time, really. One of my cousins sometimes hid rotten food in it and all. But when I sneaked out in pain to get something to eat, all the food was gone. They didn't save me anything. Nothing at all. My grandma thought I'd eaten already. I lied and said yes, that I was staying home on purpose in case Santa might still be around. I haven't told her what her own daughter did. I didn't want to worry her. Didn't want to see her cry. I wanted her to be happy, to see and have a happy family, or… what was left of it."

Daryl was still quiet. You had no idea what he was thinking, but you didn’t want to know. Not right now.

Your shoulders shook, and you hated yourself for breaking down, but it was too late to stop it. "I hated Christmas from then on. Hated winter. The snow. It just… It always felt cold, no matter how many blankets I had. I never felt… wanted. It's ridiculous, I know! It's embarrassing! It's... bullshit! God, I don't even know why I'm telling you all this, even though it's only a tiny part of my past."

You turned to look at Daryl, and the anger in his eyes wasn't for you—it was for them, for every single person who had ever hurt you. "'S still yer past. And it ain’t yer fault."

It was too late. The words had already left you, and now, there was no going back.

"But it is," you said softly, almost to yourself. "Because maybe it’s just... me."

"It ain't. They're gone," he said quietly, reaching out to grab your arm. "They can't hurt ya no more. And I ain't them," he added, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "I ain't gonna let ya feel like that ever again. Gonna make sure of that."

You couldn't stop yourself from laughing all of a sudden—loud and unhinged like it was the only thing left in you to do as you jerked your arm away from his touch. "You don't know shit, Daryl," you spat out, shaking your head as you backed away. "You think just because you showed up and listened to me, everything's gonna change? That everything's gonna be okay?"

Your voice trembled, but you didn't care. You were already gone—lost in the shame, the rage that had been deep inside you for so long. You didn't even look at him anymore when you spoke. You couldn't.

"Nothing's gonna change. Nothing, okay?" The tears burned like acid behind your eyes, but you were done holding them back. "You think you can fix this? Me? You think you're just gonna come in here and make everything feel better?" You then rushed toward him, fists in the air. "It's too fucking late for that!"

Your hands hit his chest, not hard enough to hurt him, but it was enough. Enough to make your anger feel real. You hit him again and again, your rage turning desperate. "You don't get it! You can't fix shit! You can't! I don't want your fucking pity, Daryl!"

You shoved him backward, your breath coming out ragged and fast. "What the hell do you think you're even doing? Trying to save me from myself?"

Daryl didn't back away from you. He didn't even move when your fists hit him. Instead, he huffed, and he reached for your wrists, pinning them back down to your sides.

"Let go of me, Daryl!" You fought against him, trying to push him away, but he was too strong. "Just leave me be!"

"Damn it, jus' stop," he growled. "Stop pushin' me away like ya always did. Like ya still do!"

But his words didn't stop you. You kept trying to get free and to escape. "No! And I don't care, Daryl! I don't! Just forget about it! Forget about what I said!"

His eyes closed, and you felt him tense up. But instead of letting go, instead of pushing you away like everyone else had, something inside of him just... snapped. And in an instant, he pulled you into his arms.

You didn't fight. You couldn't. You just let yourself go. You relaxed into him, your hands holding onto his shirt after his arms wrapped around you. The tears hurt your eyes, wet and painful, like a fire that was trying to burn you alive from the inside out.

Daryl didn't speak for a long time. You couldn't even look at him. You couldn't look at anything. You just needed to breathe—just needed to stop feeling like you were suffocating and turning into ashes while being trapped inside your skin.

After some time, Daryl finally spoke, his voice sounding like he was struggling to keep it together himself. "I get it," he mumbled, one of his hands rubbing up and down your back slowly. "I get it more than ya know. I ain't never been fixed. Ain't never been saved. Hell, I'm still fuckin' broken myself, too."

You shook your head, sniffling, but you didn't pull away. His words hit you like a punch to the gut—his words were a truth you couldn't deny. He'd been through his own hell, his own darkness. And you knew. He'd told you. Out of every person he could've trusted enough, he'd always chosen you.

But when you finally pulled back, he handed you a small, wrapped package from his jacket pocket without any explanation and no hesitation either. "And actually…" He continued and held it up. "Got this for ya."

He opened it with slightly trembling hands, your breath stopping when you saw the small, handmade bracelet inside. Each charm was different—a tiny feather, a little carved dog, a tree, and an arrow.

Pieces of him, pieces of you.

"It ain't much," he said again, but the way he looked at you said it meant everything as he handed you the bracelet.

You stared down at it in your hands, your heart racing, the tears in your eyes making the little charms blurry as you looked at them and turned the bracelet over, your fingers trembling. "What…? Daryl, no…"

He moved a bit awkwardly in front of you, his eyes moving from you to the floor like he wasn't sure where to look. "Ain't nothin' too fancy," he grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "Jus' figured... y'know. Thought ya might like it more if ya won't like the tree."

"Like it?" Your voice cracked, and you laughed a little, though it came out choked and shaky. "It's, it's... I just—" You swallowed hard, your heart aching from how much you wanted to say. "I don't… I don't deserve this."

Daryl's head snapped up at that, his eyes narrowing fast. "Cut that shit out," he sighed, though there was no anger in his voice. "Ain't 'bout what ya think ya deserve. S' yours."

Your hands trembled as you turned the bracelet over once more, and Daryl then started to point at each charm of the bracelet.

"This one," he then said, pointing to the tiny feather, "s'posed to be a dove's feather, maybe. Thought it could mean somethin' like peace."

"Peace? Feathers are just what's left after the bird is gone. Blown away like it never mattered," you scoffed in defiance, not wanting to believe him.

But he simply moved on to the next charm, the little dog. "That one's a dog. Reminded me of… well, Dog. Y'know, always loyal. Ain't goin' anywhere."

"Loyal," you grumbled. "Or just waiting. Waiting for its owner, who might not come back."

Daryl took a quick look at you but continued. "The tree... ain't jus' 'bout trees out there. It's... I dunno, 'bout strong roots. Growin'. Even when it's hard."

You huffed. "Roots keep you stuck, too, don’t they? No choice but to stay wherever the hell you are. Rooted too deep to move, even when you want to."

Daryl's lips parted slightly, and he sighed, maybe in frustration, maybe in understanding. Still, he pressed forward. By now, your hands were shaking so much you could barely hold the bracelet steady. His eyes looked at your face, noticing the tears still, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

"And the arrow," he said. "That's for strength. 'Cause ya pull it back, and then it flies farther than ya think. Thought… maybe ya'd remember that. Every time ya see it. Goin' forward."

You laughed through your tears. "Or it misses. It misses and ends up somewhere you didn’t mean it to."

"Or maybe," Daryl answered in an instant, "it hits exactly where it needs to."

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. The bracelet. The care. It was too much, and yet it wasn't enough to make you believe you deserved it.

"Daryl," you choked out, "I really can't… I don't…" You couldn't finish, and suddenly, you were holding the bracelet to your heart as though letting it go might tear you apart in an instant.

But you didn’t even realize you were falling—not until you felt his arms around you. Strong and impossibly gentle, they caught you before you could hit the ground. For a second, maybe two, the world stood still. It felt as if your tears froze, and the only thing holding you to reality was the real presence of him.

His hands held you like you might fall apart if he let go, pulling you closer, closer still. You didn’t even have time to stop him, not that you could. Your legs started to tremble, and for a moment, you thought this was it—this was when you’d finally break.

But he didn’t let you.

Instead, Daryl moved with you like he’d done it a hundred, maybe a thousand, times before. Over and over again. Slowly—so, so slowly—he sank onto his knees on the cold floor with you.

The cry that tore through you wasn’t quiet or controlled—it was loud and ugly, ripping its way through your heart like it might kill you. But Daryl didn’t move. He didn’t pull away.

His hold only tightened. Like he could block out the world, the pain, the memories—all of it—just by holding on. Neither of you moved. You were frozen in that moment—held not just by him, but by the truth that this—this—was the first time in forever you had let yourself fall.

But you weren’t just falling.

You were being caught.

Time felt like it had stopped.

Daryl's fingers soon fumbled with the bracelet as he put it around your wrist without giving you time to protest. "Hold still. I gotcha," he grumbled. "This damn thing's harder than skinnin' a squirrel."

You snorted a laugh through the tears in return. "Why? Is that something you still do often?"

"More'n ya'd think," he answered, finally managing to fasten it. "There. Ain't gonna fall off or nothin'."

You stared at it—the small, simple charms. The tiny feather. The dog. The tree. The arrow. Each one a piece of… him.

"But," you whispered, looking up at him. "I... I don't have anything for you in return. I have nothing to give you."

"Bullshit," he said, sitting back on his heels. "Ya think I don't see it jus' 'cause yer the one who can't see it? What ya give me?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on the spot as he reached up, his hand hushing you.

"Stop. Don't wanna hear that shit, alright?" He pulled his hand back. "Ya give me peace."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. "Peace? Daryl, I don't even know what the hell I'm doing half the time! You—you hold everything together, and I just—"

"But yer holdin' me together..." His voice cracked, and you froze. He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable, but he still didn't move as you pushed your head against his shoulder.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, wrapped in Daryl’s arms, but your breathing had finally slowed, and you sniffled, your fingers loosening their grip on him.

"Ya good for now?"

You nodded against his shoulder, though your answer felt pitiful at best. "Yeah... I think so." You wiped at your face quickly, too embarrassed to even look at him.

"Alright, then." He shifted slightly, giving you room to pull back, but one hand stayed on your arm. "C'mon. That tree ain't gonna decorate itself."

You blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic. "The tree?" You sniffled again, your voice cracking, and Daryl grunted in response.

"Yeah. Figured if it’s gonna stand there lookin' like shit, might as well give it somethin' worth fallin' over for."

"It already looks like it wants to fall over just from existing, Daryl. Or from dying."

"Exactly." He leaned back on his heels. "Means we gotta hurry ‘fore it gives up."

"It already has… The tree's ugly as hell."

"'S what I told ya," he agreed, smirking at you. "But so are ya when ya cry. Guess it fits."

Your jaw dropped, and you smacked his arm with force. "You're such an ass, Daryl Dixon!"

"Yeah, yeah," he answered, reaching over to grab the box with the decorations. "And that thing's lookin' like a wet noodle from here."

Before you could choke out another tearful laugh, Daryl moved his head toward the tree again. "C'mon now," he said. "Tree's waitin'."

And it was waiting, alright—waiting to collapse at any second. When the two of you knelt in front of the "tree"—if a bunch of plastic could even be called that—it looked worse than you remembered when he had brought it in.

You couldn't help it—you laughed again. "Daryl, it is looking like a tiny crime scene."

He snorted, reaching for an ornament inside the box. "Hey, don't judge it. Yer bein' small as hell, too."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe. But I'm pretty sure it's leaning like it's had too much to drink. It's looking very… rustic."

"Rustic my ass," he grumbled, with that same smirk on his face. "Ya better help me clean up the crime scene now."

And you did.

You put the ornament on the tree, and slowly but surely, the tree started to look... well, not good. But better. Sort of. The garland was still sagging, and the broken lights didn't work, but by the time you reached the top, you found yourself smiling—really smiling—for the first time in what felt like ages.

When you reached for the toppers, you paused, turning the angel one over in your hands. The peeling gold wings and torn-off face should've made it ridiculous, but somehow, it felt right.

You looked at Daryl, and without saying a word, you carefully placed the angel at the very top before you turned back to him.

And that's when a branch gave out, dropping half the garland to the floor with a sad-sounding plop.

"Tree's fightin' back," Daryl pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "Guess it don't like the angel."

You just grinned in response. "Maybe it's protesting how ugly it is. This thing looks like it wants to be put out of its misery, after all."

He smiled, leaning closer so his shoulder touched yours. "Could be worse. Coulda put Dog on top."

And you were laughing again, so hard it hurt.

It was the kind of laugh that came out of nowhere, loud and uncontrollable, leaving your stomach in pain. You hadn't laughed like this in… God, who even knew how long? Maybe forever. And as ridiculous as it felt to be laughing over a plastic Christmas tree, it was exactly what you needed.

Your eyes looked back to Daryl, who was by now grinning a little—just enough that you could tell he was enjoying himself in his quiet, own kind of way.

But he caught you looking and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, but your heart was doing that annoying thing where it felt as if it dropped straight down to your feet. You blamed the stupid tree—or the stupid bracelet—or maybe the stupid way he'd pieced a part of you together without asking for anything from you in return.

"Bullshit," Daryl said, squinting at you like he was trying to guess the answer. "Yer makin' that face again."

"What face?"

"The one where yer thinkin' too much." He shook his head, returning his attention to the tree before continuing. "Overthinkin'."

He wasn't wrong. Thinking too much was exactly your problem. Overthinking... Like how you were suddenly very aware of how close he was, or how the warmth of him was feeling so comfortable as he tried to put a piece of garland back onto the tree.

You thought about how he had simply shown up after returning to Alexandria, dragging a plastic disaster of a Christmas tree into your life, not because he had to—but because he wanted to. He'd done it for you. For you.

"Daryl," you said softly after a while, and he turned to look at you, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"Yeah?"

You opened your mouth, but the words felt stuck. How the hell were you supposed to explain this? How were you supposed to tell him that he'd somehow managed to give you something you hadn't felt in years? That for the first time in forever, you didn't feel like you were completely alone? That, right now, you were feeling anything but the loneliness that has been eating you up for years?

And so, instead of answering, you did the only thing that felt right. You didn't overthink.

You let yourself feel it—the warmth of him being so close, every quiet moment he’d chosen to be here with you. You stared at the bracelet on your wrist, the tiny charms... Each one was what you hadn’t let yourself believe in for so long.

Your heart raced as your eyes looked up to meet his. There was no pity there, no hesitation—just the quiet way he looked at you like you were something worth standing still for.

It scared you how much you wanted to trust it. To trust him.

You took a deep, trembling breath, your hand stopping midair like it couldn’t decide if it was brave enough to reach for him. And then, without thinking—without overthinking—you closed the space between you.

You kissed him. Hard.

It wasn’t smooth—your noses bumped against each other, and his stubble scratched against your skin. But it was real. Your hands held onto the front of his shirt, grabbing it like you were afraid to let go. Afraid to fall.

Daryl froze for a second, and you nearly pulled back, terrified you’d made a huge mistake. But then his hands were on you, pulling you closer, and the desperation in the way he kissed you back pushed away every fear and every doubt you’d ever had.

He kissed you like he needed this as much as you did.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, Daryl’s forehead rested against yours.

"’Bout time."

You blinked at him, still trying to catch up with what had just happened. "About time?" Your voice cracked, halfway between a laugh and wanting to argue again. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean now?"

"Means I been waitin’." His voice was rather quiet—like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Before you could reply, the tree behind you made way for another pathetic sound, the angel topper tilting dangerously to one side like it had finally given up.

Daryl stared at it, rolling his eyes. "Guess the tree’s still waitin’, too."

You snorted, the sound half-choked by the laughter that came out of you. "Waiting for what? A funeral?"

"Nah." He pulled you closer, putting his arm around you. "'S waitin' for more duct tape, probably."

You buried your face against Daryl's shoulder, unable to stop your laughter. The plastic tree was still ugly, still barely holding itself together. But somehow, it looked like the most beautiful and small Christmas tree in the world.

For the first time in years, it felt like Christmas. Like a winter that didn't feel so cold anymore.

It felt like home.

This—this moment, this feeling, this man who somehow saw you when you couldn't even see yourself—was home.

And maybe—just maybe—it was perfect.

Imperfectly perfect.

This is one of those stories where I asked myself, ‘What am I putting my readers through today?’ and spun the wheel of seasonal sadness.

On a more serious note, this story is deeply personal to me, so I’d really appreciate thoughtful feedback if you choose to leave a comment.

Writing it meant a lot to me, and I hope it resonates with those who read it. Those who've ever found themselves searching for warmth in the cold.

The song below is a recommendation that just ties to this story.

[wolvietxt]

𝓭aryl 𝓭ixon…

and quirks he has in a relationship !

pairing : daryl dixon x reader warnings : fluff, slight angst?, a bit of hurt / comfort, some quirks aren’t necessarily good, set in alexandria era but i think i kinda slipped up sometimes wc : 1.5k

ᰔ he’s always checking his weapons. daryl’s obsession with his weapons is no secret. he’s constantly checking his crossbow, knives, or any other tools he’s carrying. even when he's around the house, you’ll find him quietly inspecting them or making sure everything is in place. you’ve lost count of the times he’s done this right in front of you, like when he’s sitting on the couch, half-watching tv, but still fiddling with his knives. when you get frustrated and ask him why he can’t just sit still for a minute, daryl’s response is usually a gruff, "ain’t nothin' wrong with being prepared." he might not fully understand why it's annoying, but when you give him a pointed look, he’ll eventually stop and sit next to you, placing his weapons out of reach to show he’s trying to be present.

ᰔ he takes forever to get ready. daryl's not exactly the type to spend time in front of the mirror, but he’s got a peculiar routine when it comes to preparing for a trip or even just heading out for a short errand. you’d think a guy like him would be quick to throw on some clothes and go, but no - he’ll spend ten minutes checking his gear, making sure his jacket's right, his boots are clean, and that every tool is in place.   when you complain that he takes too long, he’ll just shrug, but if you get antsy or start giving him the silent treatment, he’ll throw his jacket on faster than usual and give you an exaggerated, "see? i'm ready. all set." it’s his way of apologizing, though he never really admits it.

ᰔ he’s a very attentive listener. daryl may not say much, but he listens to everything you say. when you’re talking, he’s paying attention, even if it’s just with a nod or a soft grunt of acknowledgment. when you need him to, he’s there to offer support or just quietly be by your side. you can tell he cares by how seriously he takes everything you say.   when you point out how good he is at listening, he might get a little embarrassed, but there’s no denying that he values your words. "i’m just listenin’," he’ll say, though it’s clear he’s more invested than he lets on.

ᰔ he’s always running late. while daryl doesn’t have a problem being punctual for important things like group meetings or during a crisis, when it comes to hanging out with you or something less urgent, he’s always late. it’s like he gets too caught up in his own world - whether it’s tinkering with his bike or cleaning his weapons - and forgets the time. you’re always the one waiting, tapping your foot impatiently.   when you point out that he’s late again, daryl’s awkward about it. he might grumble something about losing track of time, but if you call him out on it, he’ll try harder next time. when he finally shows up, he might bring you something small, like a coffee or a random flower he found on his way, trying to make it up to you in his quiet way.

ᰔ he’s super stubborn. daryl’s one of the most stubborn people you'll ever meet. once he has his mind set on something, there's no changing it. whether it’s about a decision or how to do something, he refuses to listen to advice, even from you. this makes it hard when you’re just trying to help or offer your thoughts on something.   when you get upset with him for not listening, daryl can get defensive and shut down for a bit, but if he notices you’re genuinely frustrated, he’ll quietly give in. it’s subtle, but he might come around later and admit, "maybe you were right about that," though it takes a lot for him to say those words directly.

ᰔ how he always remembers the small things. daryl doesn’t forget the little things about you - your favorite snacks, the way you like your coffee, or the book you were reading a few weeks ago. it’s not obvious to everyone else, but he picks up on these tiny details and quietly makes sure to remember them.   if you thank him for remembering something, he’ll look away, muttering, "wasn’t hard to remember." but you can see the small glimmer of pride in his eyes when you mention it. it’s just his way of showing he cares without saying it outright.

ᰔ he’s not the best at communication. daryl’s not great at expressing his feelings or talking things through. when something’s bothering him, he bottles it up until it eventually comes out in a gruff comment or an angry outburst. when you try to talk to him about it, he shuts down or deflects, and it leaves you feeling like you’re hitting a wall.   if you get upset by his lack of communication, he might get frustrated with himself, but after a while, he’ll sit down beside you and mutter something vague like, "i’m just not good with words, alright?" and while it’s not a full apology, it’s his way of showing he’s trying, even if it's not perfect.

ᰔ he’s very protective over you. it’s not always obvious, but daryl’s incredibly protective of you in small, subtle ways. whether it’s walking on the side of you closest to the road or keeping his eyes on you when you're around people, he makes sure you’re safe without saying much. his protectiveness is instinctual, and even though he tries not to be overbearing, it’s clear that he cares.   if you point it out, daryl might just grunt and say, "it's just how it is," but if you tease him about it, he’ll give a slight smile, even if it’s hidden behind a gruff exterior.

ᰔ his little, quiet gestures of affection. daryl's not big on grand gestures, but he has his own ways of showing affection. maybe it's putting his hand on your shoulder when you're cooking or a quick, unnoticeable touch to the small of your back when he’s walking beside you. these little actions are his way of staying connected to you, always. even if he’s not always vocal about it.   when you tease him about being more affectionate, he’ll act tough and deny it, but if you catch him staring at you for a moment too long, his cheeks might flush slightly, and he’ll grumble something under his breath like, "ain’t nothin’ wrong with it."

ᰔ his awkwardness around you when he’s nervous. daryl’s a lot more awkward than he lets on, especially when it comes to you. he has this habit of fidgeting with his hands, running them through his hair, or avoiding eye contact when he's nervous or unsure about something. it’s endearing, and you can’t help but smile when you catch him looking away quickly.   if you point out how cute it is that he’s acting all nervous around you, he’ll roll his eyes, but there’s a small part of him that warms up to your teasing. "shut up," he’ll mutter, but he’s secretly grateful you notice his little quirks.

extras:

ᰔ his stubbornness can cause fights. daryl’s stubborn streak is a part of him, but sometimes it gets in the way. like the time you tried to convince him to let someone else take over a chore so he could rest. he brushed you off, muttering something about not needing anyone's help. you let it go at first, but when you pressed him again later, he snapped with a sharp, "just leave it, alright?" the comment cut deeper than he probably meant it to, and you walked away without another word. later that night, you heard him fumbling around outside your door. eventually, he knocked, muttering, “ya awake?” when you opened it, he stood there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. "didn’t mean to bark at ya earlier," he said quietly, looking at the floor. "just... don’t like feeling useless." his honesty softened your frustration, and when he finally glanced up, the genuine regret in his eyes made it hard to stay mad.

ᰔ he struggles with communication, and it can leave you upset. daryl’s not great with words, and sometimes his silence feels like a wall between you. like the time you asked him what was wrong after a long, tense day, and all you got was a gruff, "nothin’." you tried to push him gently, but he just shrugged and walked off, leaving you feeling shut out. it wasn’t until much later, when he found you sitting outside alone, that he tried to fix it. he sat down beside you without a word, passing you one of the beers he’d been holding. after a long stretch of silence, he finally muttered, “ain’t good at this kinda thing.” you looked over, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “don’t mean i don’t wanna talk to ya. just... takes me a minute.” it wasn’t a perfect apology, but it was enough to remind you how hard he was trying, even if he didn’t always have the words.

🌀 daryl dixon : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @sunnykittyzz

@california-boys-and-sun, @cable-kenobi, @omen-keke, @hhiggs

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[xoxo-sarah]

Do you think you could do a darylxreader where he takes it upon himself to teach her bushcraft skills bc her fire making skills are absolute trash despite her eagerness to prove they aren't. -❌️⭕️❌️⭕️

Patience

↝a/n: rushed but I hope you still like it! 🩷 Thanks for requesting.

↝pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

|| 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. ||

↝⎙ 11.9.24

You tried ignoring the eye on you, but that didn't do much to help. If anything, it frustrated you more. The whole day was already too much. When you had agreed to go with Daryl, everything was fine. You were in a decent mood.

Then, a buck showed up. It was beautiful. The horns stood strong, the south twitching. It was looking around, glassy eyes shining. After admiring it, you reached back, right into the quiver on your back. Your fingers fumbled, and the arrow fell onto the crunchy leaves below. The buck was quick to run in the opposite direction.

As if on cue, your stomach growled. You threw your head back in frustration.

Daryl watched, brows furrowed. “I saw a squirrel over there.” He pointed to the left of where the buck had been standing. You stomped your way over, not saying anything to him.

Daryl carried the squirrels over his shoulder, thoughts running through his mind, thanks to the silence. You hadn't said a word since you two had left. He could see the gears turning in your own head.

“Stop right here. It's gettin' dark.” He hung the squirrels up on a nearby branch, sliding his bag off his shoulder. Shrugging the thin jacket off, he laid it on the ground, offering a little more comfort than the twigs and leaves of the wood floor.

Sitting down on the edge of the fabric, you shrugged your own bag off.

Scrounging up some leaves and twigs, you put it in a circular shape. Next, your hands were working quick to make a flame. Maybe too quick.

The frustration was growing on your brow. Again, Daryl silently watched.

Grumbling, you threw the sticks a few feet away.

You huffed, the twigs refusing to catch fire despite your best efforts. The frustration was boiling over.

Daryl watched for a moment before kneeling beside you. “Here, you're goin' too fast.”

You scoffed, “No I'm not.” He ignored you.

He took the flint and steel from your hands, demonstrating the proper technique with practiced ease.

You watched closely, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping in. “I know how to do it,” you muttered, though your tone lacked conviction.

Daryl smirked slightly, “Ain't about knowin'. It's about patience.” He handed the tools back to you. “Now, try again. Slow this time.”

Taking a deep breath, you followed his instructions, striking the flint with more control. This time, a small flame flickered to life, and your eyes widened with triumph.

“See? Told ya,” Daryl said, a hint of pride in his voice.

You smiled for the first time that day, the warmth of the fire matching the warmth spreading in your chest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, settling back against a tree. “No problem. We'll make a survivalist outta you yet.”

Your mood changed for the better. The frustration from before wasn't warranted. Truthfully, you couldn't remember why you were mad to begin with. Usually going into the woods with Daryl was relaxing. Today just wasn't one of those days, at least, not at the beginning. Now, you were willing to talk, even ask questions about survival tips and tricks.

“Do you ever get frustrated out here?”

Daryl looked at you, considering the question. “Yeah, sometimes. But that's part of it. Ain't always easy, but it's worth it.”

You nodded, taking in his words. “I guess I just need to be more patient.”

He chuckled softly. “Patience ain't somethin' you just have. It's somethin' you learn. And you're gettin' there.”

You felt a sense of relief wash over you. “Thanks, Daryl. For everything.”

“Anytime,” he replied, the firelight dancing in his eyes. “Now, let's get these squirrels cookin'.”

You and Daryl made quick work of skinning the squirrels, bellies grumbling with hunger.

You felt something fall in your left hand. Stopping your movements, you looked up.

Another water droplet fell on your face, sliding down the side of your nose. Soon, more droplet fell between the tree leaves, sizzling on the fire. The frustration was quick to come back, “What the fu-”

Daryl glanced up at the sky, then back at you. “Looks like it's gonna pour.”

You sighed, feeling the frustration bubble up again. “Great, just what we need.”

He stood up, grabbing a tarp from his pack. “We gotta move fast. Help me set this up.”

Together, you worked quickly to rig up a makeshift shelter, the rain starting to fall more steadily. The fire sizzled and spat as the droplets hit it, but you managed to cover it just in time.

“Guess we won't be cooking those squirrels tonight,” you muttered, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

Daryl shook his head. “We'll find a way. Always do.”

You couldn't help but admire his calm in the face of yet another challenge. “Doesn't any of this get to you?”

He shrugged, adjusting the tarp. “Been through worse. You learn to roll with it.”

As the rain continued to fall, you settled under the tarp, feeling a strange sense of peace despite the situation. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to understand what Daryl meant about patience and rolling with the punches.

•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!]