#Daryl Dixon x Reader

[daddydixonscrossbow]

You step towards Daryl, “Daryl.”

He gives you a funny look, like why are you my space, kinda look. You ignore it, “I don’t think we should be here.” He looks at you more, “What do y’mean?”

You shrug, “I don’t- this place doesn’t feel safe. There’s something off about that Dr. Jenner dude.”

“Wait n’see what Rick says.” He mumbles, looking back towards Rick, “M’sure he’ll be a’right.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself, the eerie feeling growing harder to get rid of.

Your eyes focus on the screen, watching the lights flicker within the brain of the scan. You feel like you could puke. After a little bit, a loud alarm starts buzzing.

Everyone starts questioning what it is.

You look at Daryl and he tilts his head, “Maybe y’were right.” He reaches out, pulling you to him. The screen lights up with a red box and numbers, a voice counting down booms through the room, “thirty minutes ‘til decontamination.”

Everyone starts panicking. You hold onto Daryl’s arm and he looks at the doctor.

“What’s going on here doc?”

“Yall heard Rick, get yer’stuff and let’s go. Go now!” Shane yells. Daryl pulls you with him towards the exit, his hand tightening on yours. The door closes and you stop, spinning around to look for another way out.

“Did you just lock us in?” Glenn asks scared.

You start to breathe faster, but Daryl shakes his head, “Don’do that, calm down. We’ll get outta here, just- hold on.”

He gets more agitated, letting you go to go after the doctor, “You son of a bitch. You locked us in here!”

You and Shane go after Daryl, keeping him away from the doctor. You grab his arm, “No, no, no.” Shane pulls him back, and you step in front of him, “Stop, stop. That’s not gonna help.”

He looks down at you, huffing as he glances up at the doctor.

After a little bit of freaking out and the doctor losing his shit, Shane cocks a gun, aiming it at Jenner. You stand closer to Daryl and he wraps his arm around you.

Shane fires the gun repeatedly and you grip onto Daryl’s shirt, “Oh my god, I want out.”

He nods, “I know, we all do. Jus’relax, okay.”

Jenner moves to a key pad, and as soon as the door is open, Daryl pulls you to where the weapons are, and you book it with him.

He glances back every so often to make sure you’re still with him, “C’mon, girl. We gotta go.” You huff, following him ho the steps, “I’m goin’ as fast as I can, Daryl.”

You make your way to the doors, and nothing is working. He runs over, hacking at the windows with Rick. Nothing works until Carol pulls out a grenade.

Daryl grabs you, pulling you with him. He gets you down onto the floor, his arm around you as you use your hands to cover your ear, “Fuck, fuck.”

As it goes off, he holds you tighter, looking up as the glass shatters and he nudges you, “C’mon. C’mon.” You stand up, running out of the now broken window. Your heart was racing, you’ve never been this scared before. Even though Daryl wasn’t really a comfort kind of person, you somehow managed to feel safer with him by your side, at least.. a little bit.

You run out over the yard towards the vehicles. Shane, Rick, and, Daryl taking out walkers as you all hustle.

He reaches back for your hand, pulling you up to him, “c’mon.” He opens the truck door, pushing you in, “In, in, in.” You climb in, Daryl following you in and he lays his body on yours, “Stay down.”

You listen to the explosion of the building, closing your eyes as you try to control your breathing.

He sits up slowly, eyes on the building, “Y’okay?”

You nod, sitting up, “Mhm.” You mumble, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” He clears his throat, “Don’t expect it again.” You roll your eyes, “Asshole.” You look over at him and he gives you a slight smirk, shaking his head as he looks back at the burning building, “Fuck.”

You move away from him as he starts to drive, following the other vehicles. After a while, you come to a stop. Daryl ditches his truck and gets his bike from the back, “Get on and hang on.”

You swing your leg over the bike, adjusting your sitting position. You slide your arms around his torso and rest your chin on his shoulder, and that was a very scary, yet beautiful start to yours and Daryl’s relationship.

Here’s a kiss for likin’ and rebloggin’ 💋

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

warnings: language, a bit angsty "Daryl, stop—"

"This is what she wanted, wasn't it?! Huh?!" he roared, hoisting the bottle in the air and spilling a good amount of moonshine down the front of himself. "Time for a little party, righ'?" He took a deep drink and wiped his mouth on his forearm. "This is how white trash gets drunk!"

"You're acting like an ass!" you yelled at him. Beth was sitting back on her heels, her eyes wide.

He scoffed. "Yeah, well, maybe I am an ass! C'mon... I think we all know that neither of you woulda said a damn word to me in the old world! Tha's what she really just meant," he spat, drinking again.

"No, it wasn't—" Beth tried.

"I'm just some dumb, redneck piece of shit!" he yelled, pointing at Beth, wavering on his feet a little.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Beth insisted, rising to her feet now and yelling back.

He scoffed again and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, 'm fuckin' sure. Ya dun know nothin' 'bout—"

"DARYL! SHUT UP!"

He finally looked at you, really looked. The color was high in your face and your expression was determined and somewhat furious.

"Outside. Now," you snapped.

He heaved a sigh, the bottle of moonshine still dangling by his side, but he stomped outside into the open evening air. He took another drink until you snatched the bottle out of his hands.

"What the hell is wrong with you!? You're acting like a dick! Grow up!" You lowered your voice, a flame seeming to grow in your eyes. "She just lost her father horrifically. And maybe her sister too. And you're making a drunken fool of yourself. She didn't mean anything by it!"

"I ain't actin' like anythin'," he drawled, his words markedly slurred.

"What?"

"I ain't actin'. This is what I am. Ya just dun like what yer finally seein'."

You rolled your eyes. "Don't be an idiot. You think I've spent all this time around you and somehow haven't been able to see who you actually are? You're drunk and acting dumb. That's all that's happening here."

Daryl studied your face for a long moment and the angry fire seemed to leave him. His voice was soft when he spoke again. "Nah. We both know 'm righ' 'bout what I said before. Ya wouldn'ta even looked at me in the old world. And ya pro'bly shouldn't now." He ducked his head. "'M sorry. I ain't what ya think I am."

You sighed and shook your head. "You've got it backwards. You aren't what you think you are. You're much, much more."

Prompt: "I'm sorry. I'm not what you think I am."

[dixons-sunshine]

Fairy Princess | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

(GIF isn’t mine.)

Summary: While out on a run, Daryl stumbles across a bag of glitter that explodes in his face, leaving him covered in it. You were there to see all of it, and he wasn’t safe from your teasing.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Can be any.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 379.

A/N: I have no idea what this is, but I hope you all like it anyways lol.

The laughter you let out made the archer snap out of his shocked daze, looking up to see you doubled over and heaving for breath. “It ain’t funny.”

That only seemed to spur you on. Your laughter grew louder, tears beginning to form in your eyes as you pointed at him. “You—you look—I can’t—oh my god.”

Daryl found himself smiling at you. He rolled his eyes and scoffed, wiping at his shirt that was now covered in glitter from the bag of the sparkles that had practically exploded in his face. He was sure he looked like a clown.

Forcing yourself to stand upright and trying to let your laughter die down enough so that you could talk, you wiped the tears away with the back of your hand, chuckles falling past your lips. “You look like a princess, Daryl.”

Daryl scoffed again, crossing his arms over his chest after realizing that his attempts at getting rid of the glitter were proving to be futile. “I look like a unicorn puked all over me.”

You pursed your lips to prevent yourself from laughing again. “You look absolutely adorable. Intimidating archer? Never heard of him. All I see in front of me is a fairy princess. Sparkles everywhere.”

The glare Daryl sent your way did nothing except make you burst out laughing again, and despite the little bit of embarrassment he felt, he found himself smiling at you, shaking his head and picking up his crossbow. “Alright,” he began, shaking his hair like a dog and watching the glitter fall like snowflakes around his head. “Let’s just get home. I needa shower.”

“Words I never thought I’d hear you say,” you joked as you began walking with him, chuckling when Daryl nudged you with his elbow. “The kids are gonna love this new look. I think everyone is. Makes you look less broody.”

“I need ya to stop talkin’,” Daryl replied, keeping his eyes trained in front of him as the two of you left the building you had been exploring.

“Oh I’m sorry, your royal fairy princess highness,” you joked, smiling when Daryl narrowed his eyes at you, although you could tell it wasn’t in malice. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop…”

Daryl sighed. “Thanks.”

“...Tinkerbell.”

“You’re on thin ice, woman.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Y/N: You’re such an asshole, Daryl!

Daryl: Oh, really?

Y/N: It’s a natural law! The sun sets in the west and Daryl’s an asshole!

[lunajay33]

Searching for You Part.2

•🪽🧺🧟‍♀️•

Summary: Reader and Daryl have been together since you were teens, you have crazy news for him but then the world falls apart and your searching for him every second

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

Warning: Pregnant

Part.1

•Masterlist•

I wake up feeling the ache on the side of my face reminding me all over again of what happened the day before, looking beside me seeing Daryl still fast asleep still feeling like someone was watching out for us to come back together again

“Yer watching me again” I hear him grumble as his eyes peak open pulling me closer by my hips

“I can’t help it when I’m laying next to my ever so handsome husband” seeing him squint makes me laugh knowing he’s not rest with compliments but I always found it cute

“How’re ya feelin?” He sighs gently tracing what’s probably a deep purple bruise lining the whole of my left side of my face

I shrug my shoulders as I run my fingers through his hair

“Do you think I’m safe here? I don’t trust some of the men here”

“Ya know I wouldn’t let them hurt ya again”

“You can’t watch me 24/7 D, I’m just anxious that’s all” he squeezes my thigh which always calmed me

“But I can try”

🍂

The days blended together as I helped around the camp and Daryl helped hunt for the others who didn’t know a thing about survival, Merle had gotten himself stuck on a roof in Atlanta and now the group were arguing about how Daryl would take it as if I wasn’t right here

“Daryl’s gonna kill someone”

“Who’s Daryl?” The new guy Rick asks

“Merle’s brother, it ain’t gonna be good” Shane groans

“Hey enough, I’m right here” I snap as I walk over to sit by the rv to get a bottle of water

“That’s Daryl’s……girlfriend I guess, they don’t tell us much” Glenn said nervously he was such a nerd but he was sweet

“Daryl’s out there hunting for this group, he’s supplying food isn’t that good enough for you people?” They kept quiet after that until the children scream coming from the woods

Everyone flees but I stay put exhausted in this Georgia heat until I see Daryl come out with the others following

“MERLE!” He calls out as he walks over to me quickly squeezing my hand before looking back around for Merle, he isn’t much for pda but I know he can’t keep his hands off of me in private

“Where’s Merle?” He asks

“Something happened D, the group went to the city, he’s stuck on a roof” he turns to the group with anger

“Let me get this straight you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you LEFT HIM THERE?” He screamed

Things escalated quickly until Shane comes in holding Daryl in a choke hold, running over I try to push him away but he knocks me back making me fall to the dirt, something snapped maybe the heat and the stress plus the fall but things were feeling fuzzy

“YA SON OF A BITCH” I faintly hear Daryl yell before he’s at my side holding me

“Hey ya alright” he was blurry

“I…..don’t feel good” he snagged a water bottle from someone and pressing it to my lips I felt so weak

“Come on sunshine stay with me” after a few moments the ringing went away and I could clearly see again as I slowly sat up

“You okay dear?” Dale asks as he kneels down next to us

“Yeah just had a moment I guess”

“Come on let’s get ya some rest” Daryl says scooping me up and into our tent, laying me down

“What just happened?”

“Just the heat and the fall I guess”

“Sleep, I’ll watch over ya while ya get her rest”

I woke up to the panicked voices outside as the sun was rising, Daryl not in the tent I get out seeing complete horror, walkers and camp members dead and scattered everywhere

“What the hell happened?” I state getting everyone attention

“There was an attack last night, ya slept through the whole thing” Daryl said

“Oops”

Everyone works on cleaning up as Daryl commands me to keep off my feet too worried about my health and the baby

“Wanna pull your weight around here or just sit on your ass?” Shane groans

“I…..Daryl wants me to relax after you almost knocked me out yesterday” I glare

“You’re not gonna survive with that attitude”

And for months after that those words stuck with me even now as we sat around the camp out side of the greenes house, now 4 months along I was finally popping, not being able to hide the bump anymore the others were noticing

“I hope this doesn’t come off wrong but are you pregnant?” Lori asks in front of the whole group

I nod not really caring because all I can think about is Daryl out there alone searching for Sophia

“Congrats dear, Daryl’s I presume?”

“Of course, he’s my husband after all” I heard some people gasp in shock

“What?”

“Your husband? You’re married I thought you guys kinda just met at the start” Glenn says

“Nope we’ve been together since highschool, got married, had a home, got pregnant and the next day after I told him all this happened”

“Wow I didn’t see that coming” Andrea said laughing and shaking her head

“What do you mean? Is it so hard to believe he could be married?” I groan as I rub my belly

“Well kinda ya, doesn’t seem the loving type”

“Well it’s a good thing you’re not in a relationship with him then, he’s mine that’s all I care about” I huff as I get up and head towards mine and Daryl’s tent out in the tree line away from the others

Sitting on a fallen over tree I dangle my feet over the edge, it’s been getting more and more violent on the farm the past week, with Sofia missing and Shane getting crankier it’s not feeling safe anymore

A rustling comes from the trees and out comes my sweaty glorious husband the sun hitting him just right

I walk over to him and throw my arms around him, his arms holding me tight

“How did it go today?” I ask as I lead him back to our tent to help clean him up

“The same, I don’t know where else to look”

“I overheard something today” I say nervously

“And what is that sunshine?” He asks as he holds my hips as I take a cleaning wipe and wipe over his face

“Dale and I were having a morning walk since he’s incessant that I get my walks in while I’m pregnant, we were walking by that old barn and I heard some noises, I looked through the cracks and…..it’s filled with walkers, women, men, and I swear I saw a child” he looked at me with a look of terror

“I knew something was off with them, do ya think she’s in there?” He asked a frown on his lips

“I’d love to say no but in this world now I can never be sure…..woah” I groan feeling a quick pressure on my belly

“What are ya okay?” He asks leaning me back to sit as he lifts my shirt to see a tiny footprint before it was gone again

“Oh my god, that was adorable” I giggle as he looks stunned

“She’s a kicker, our lil ass kicker” his hand rubs my belly wanting to feel her kick again

“She’s in there so small and innocent, she doesn’t even know what this world is waiting for her, she won’t even know how things use to be”

“I’ll try my best ta protect ya both, give ya the life ya both deserve”

“I love you Daryl but……you know we can’t stay here right, even though I’d love too but between the barn and the growing tension with Shane I don’t feel safe”

“I know Angel we’ll figure it out”

•

The day came that I was dreading the farm was over flowing with walkers, Rick, Shane and Carl out there somewhere

“Can you go out there and look for them” Lori asks Daryl

“No lori what’re you thinking you can’t just ask him to go and risk his life again for this group, please stay Daryl” he nods as he holds me close

“We gotta get outta here, try and get to yer cars we can get out before it’s too late” we get our things and leave the house but the walkers are on us, people going in all directions and I’m separated from Daryl being pushed into the forest Andrea drags be along

“Come in keep up they’re catching up” being 5 months pregnant now it’s hard to run for hours on end

“Andrea…..I can’t it’s too much” she groans and runs off leaving me behind, I panic taking in a deep breath and instead of trying to outrun them straight I try and jog off to the side hopefully out of the way of their path

How will I make it through this alone and pregnant?

~

Part 3

Taglist: @heidiland05 @i93jjk @stories4you04-x @itsjustmeandmyanxiety @writer-ann-artist @buck-this-nasty @holdmytesseract

[evillama666]

“Taking it slow”

“Taking it slow”

Daryl Dixon x reader

When I think about Daryl being in a relationship, I think about how slow he’ll need to take things. I, for one, like taking things slow. Daryl is new to this, of course you're going to have to teach him things and be patient. As much as I love confident and cocky Daryl, it’s going to take him a minute to actually get there. There’s going to be lots of baby steps! 

Summary: Must I explain much? Slowly entering a relationship with Daryl and getting comfortable 

Tags: Fluff, baby steps, inexperienced, headcannons, cuddles!!! No specific era or season

Word count: 4765

꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…

You’ve known Daryl since Atlanta. Of course, you two have been through a lot together, so he’s grown to care about you. Like the way he cares about Carol but, maybe more. You’ve seen him grow as a person, and all he’s gone through. You’ve always been there for him for everything, even if he tried to push you away at times. You two have a very close relationship, but lately, it seems to have been getting closer. Daryl needs a deep emotional connection with someone before anything happens. He’s probably on the ace spectrum. It makes sense. He’ll fall for anyone, doesn’t matter who, as long as they appreciate him. He just needs to feel loved. He’s bi just doesn’t know it or acknowledged it. 

You had to reassure him you can go slow, like really slow. You’d happily teach him everything since he’s never done this before. Eventually, he reluctantly gave in. First step was touches. He wasn’t used to affectionate touches. Whenever you touched him, he flinched. There was clearly some trauma bubbling up, so you never pushed. Eventually he trusted your touch and stopped flinching, even began to crave it. However, he doesn’t enjoy being affectionate in front of the group. That’s something you can put up with. If you want this to work, you have to respect his boundaries or he’ll push you away. Sometimes he’ll casually put his hand on your shoulder, or graze your arm around the group to show his appreciation. 

It took a while for your first kiss, and another week for your second. Sex would take even longer, but that’s not on your mind right now. The first kiss, he was hesitant, unsure, but when your lips brushed against his, he melted and kissed you back. Of course, you had to make the first move. His touches were slow, shy, and a bit clumsy, and he didn’t know where to put his hands. He was a mess after that kiss. That’s why it took so long for the second. However, the second one felt much more natural. He put one hand on your cheek, the other on your hip to pull you in close. He even used some tongue. His touches were much more confident. He’s a fast learner, after all. You're not sure where he picked that up from, but you liked it. He doesn’t kiss you often though, he’s still getting used to it.

He needs lots of reassurance from you. He always feels like he’s doing something wrong or it’s not good enough. If you teach him something new or if he picks something up from you, like something you do to him, he’s very tentative and hesitant. He’ll gradually feel more comfortable after you reassure him he’s fine. This man cannot make the first move. Not yet anyway. He needs you to give him a sign that it’s fine. There’s a lot of little affectionate gestures he wants to show you, but he’s just too shy. He’ll get more comfortable as time goes on and touch you whenever without hesitation. (:  For now anyway, he’s fighting with himself a lot. 

He has a lot of thoughts about how he’s not good enough, not handsome enough, doesn’t deserve you, you can do better. Thoughts along those lines. Why do you think he needs so much reassurance? When you two first started getting closer, he had a lot of those thoughts, so he pushed you away, avoided you. Little did he know is you melt those thoughts when you're around. He feels most at ease around you. It’s like you clear his mind. Of course, you gave him his space at first, but eventually you had to be near him. That little push made him realize how nice it feels to be around you. However, if you push too hard, he’ll push you away. He’s like a scared puppy. He has to make his way to you. 

We all know Daryl is a man of action, not words. He won't say ‘I love you’ too often, not early on anyway, but he’ll show you. He’ll pick up little trinkets for you on runs, let you have the first serving of food, or pick up rocks that match the colour of your eyes. When he’s more comfortable with touches, he’ll always show you small acts of affection to make up for his lack of words. Lots of little kisses everywhere and soft touches. He’s only gentle with you.

(Present)

He’s sitting on a log by the fire eating alone while the rest of the group is either still asleep, or grabbing food. You come up behind him slowly so you don’t startle him, and kiss his shoulder as you step over the log and sit. He grunts in surprise before smiling just slightly. He’s been getting more comfortable with your touches. He didn’t even mind that the group was near for that one, not like anyone of that actually saw. “Mornin’.” He says in a gruff voice, swallowing his food. You’re sitting closer than usual. He shudders when your shoulder brushes his. “Morning!” You reply cheerfully. 

His face scrunches when you kiss the corner of his lips, thinking he won’t want a proper one just yet. You were mistaken. He glances at the group behind him before cupping your cheek and pressing a quick peck to your lips. He looks back down at his bowl like nothing happened. He’s sure the group has picked up what’s been going on between you two. You two have been sharing a tent, after all. Your eyes widen after that quick kiss. “You’ve been getting bold lately.” He must be feeling comfortable. He just shrugs, quietly eating. You notice how he keeps looking over his shoulder at the group. “Worried about what the group will think?”

He looks back at you. His eyes say everything. You’ve gotten better at reading them since he’s so quiet. “How about we try something simple?” He thinks for a second, then nods. He’s been trying to work with you, push past his boundaries. Anything for you. He sighs contently when you lay your head on his shoulder. That’s something he can handle. He looks back and gets a small smile from Carol. Yea, she knows. She’s glad he found someone…. Or more like someone found him. 

He watches you from the corner of his eye as you eat. He’s always watching you, observing, trying to figure out how you work. Also… admiring you. He doesn’t get how such a pretty thang could fall for him. Why you're willing to go through so much to be with him. He usually has to push those thoughts away. When he finishes his food, he lays his head on top of yours. You both aren’t getting any looks from the group, so he’s willing to be affectionate right now. You set your food down, wanting to soak up this moment. You don’t get to many of these. “Are you going hunting again?”

“ ‘Course.” He closes his eyes, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. You sigh softly, knowing this moment won’t last too long. “I’ll be waiting for you.” He holds you for a moment before he pulls away, standing up to go grab his crossbow. You look down at your food with a slight pout. You know he’s just trying to fend for the group, but he always spends the whole day hunting. He ruffles your hair before heading off to the woods, and you give him one last look.

Nighttime is your favourite with Daryl. He’ll come back, feeling exhausted from hunting, wanting nothing more than to just cuddle with you. He’ll be more affectionate since you two have the privacy of your tent. You tiredly lift your head when you hear the tent zipper. “Daaryl.” You say his name softly with affection. He hates the way his heart reacts each time you say his name like that. “Hey sw-” He cuts himself off before he lets ‘sweetheart’ slip. You wish he would just say it, but you’ll take what you’ll get. “How’d it go?” Daryl groans as he takes off his vest. He’s sore after a long day and can’t wait to cuddle with you. “Mmmh… Didn’t get shit, but set up some traps.” He huffs as he collapses on the pile of blankets on the tent floor. His eyes close as you run your fingers through your hair. This is when he lets you touch him. Let’s you push past his borders and boundaries. This is the time for you to test new things. Push him just a little. His eyes open when he hears you giggle after you boop his nose. There’s a small smile on his lips. “Enjoying yaself?” You scooch closer and nod. “Uh-huh.” He leans into your hand as you rub his hair. He wouldn’t ever admit it, but he’s clingy. You might get a few shy kisses from him, but you're usually doing all the work. Not that you mind, this man needs all the affection in the world. He sinks into the blankets as he unwinds from the day. “Ready for bed, Daryl?”

“More first.” He mumbles, enjoying the way you play with his hair. He’s never loud, but you can hear a few pleased sighs and content hums from him. He groans as your hand moves from his hair down to his shoulder, rubbing his taut muscles. “Damn…” He groans out. He didn’t think this would be so nice. His mind has always been focused on survival. He never stopped to consider the perks of a relationship. If he knew you’d do this for him every night, he would have probably been with you a lot sooner. “You like that?” 

“Hell yea.” His voice is barely audible. This man is in pure bliss right now. You need nothing more to be perfectly happy with him. It brings you such satisfaction to get him like this. He doesn’t even realize how vulnerable he is. That thought didn’t cross his mind. All he knows is how warm and safe you make him feel. Feeling a bit bold, you move your hand down to his chest.

His eyes open and he grabs your wrist, before seeing your look of surprise. He holds it for a second before letting go. Sometimes you’ll get something like that when you cross a boundary he’s not ready for. So, doing something you know he’s comfortable with, you bring your hand to his cheek, stroking your thumb over his goatee. His eyes close once he relaxes again. His head sinks against his pillow as he sighs.

You love the soft little sounds you're able to pull out of him. It’s a sign that you're doing something good. These are the times he’s most relaxed. When you're showing him affection. It’s easiest to read him when he’s vulnerable. Figure out what he likes, what he doesn't. Which isn’t much since he loves all the affection you give him. That’s what he needed in his life.

He grabs your wrist again, making you feel you did something wrong. Your brows furrow when he pushes himself up, then leans over you. “How do I…?” Oh, he wants to reciprocate. He hasn’t really done that. This must be growth. “Just do what feels natural.” He just looks at you, waiting for you to give him some more direct directions. “Uh… start with kisses. Kiss me wherever you’d like.” His eyes roam over your face and neck as he nods. He lowers his head, his lips just above yours, then he hesitates. You don’t close the gap, not wanting to push him. You want him to be able to make his way to you. He swallows thickly before tentatively pressing his lips to yours. You don’t kiss back until he does. For such a rough man, he has the softens lips you've ever kissed. 

He’s using this kiss to memorise your lips. All his other kisses were usually quick and shy. He never really felt your lips. After a good minute he sighs heavily against your lips as he pulls away. Then he moves his face down to your neck. He keeps his head buried there, enjoying your soft warm skin before he finds your pulse point and kisses it, since it's most vulnerable. It’s his way of showing you’re safe with him. One of your hands makes it to his hair. It’s gotten so long, it’s easy to tangle your fingers in it.

His hair is one of his favourite places to be touched. Why do you think he grew it out? You ruffled it once, back when it was short and he was hooked. He trails a couple of kisses down your throat before lifting his head for reassurance. He’s always asking for reassurance from you. He wants to be doing all of this right. You brush his hair out of his face. “That’s good, that’s good. Feels nice.” Your voice is breathless. He must be doing a damn good job if he was able to get you to sound like that. 

That’s all the confirmation he needs. He’s treating your skin so delicately. He hits a few sensitive spots that make you pull his hair. So those are the sweet spots? Duly noted. Now Daryl knows where to focus. You don’t know what this is leading to, if anything. Either way, you're happy. This is the most expressive Daryl has been since the two of you have gotten closer. His kisses are slow and soft, trying to make up for all the affection he hasn’t shown you yet.

Then he slowly lowers his weight on your chest, making sure not to crush you, and just lays there. There’s a lot going through his mind, there always is. You’re happily playing with his hair. His weight on your chest is soothing. It seems like he needs a minute, so you’re giving him all the time he needs. You don’t press, just leave him be. It must be a lot for him, but you're proud he pushed himself. You press a little kiss to his hair as a way to tell him he did good. You two have a way of communicating in silence. 

His brows furrow as he struggles with his thoughts. Is he doing this right? Why is it so difficult for him? He cares about you. Cares about you deeply, but it’s just so hard for him to get himself to show you. His thoughts get interrupted as you ruffle his hair. It’s like you’re directly scratching those thoughts away. He must be doing ok since you’ve never complained. 

He nuzzles his face into your chest. It’s the warmest part of you, so he loves it. That and your thighs. He loves laying his head in your lap, having his hair played with as you talk about your day. “Sleepy?” You ask quietly. He just grunts in response. Yea, he’s tired, but if he goes to bed, that means no more kisses. He tugs on your shirt like a child, silently asking for more. You happily give them to him, placing kisses all over the top of his head. He’s trying hard not to doze off. He craves more, but the warmth is getting to him. 

You lightly nudge his shoulder to see if he fell asleep. Apparently not, as he lifts his head with a small grunt. “Sorry. Thought you were asleep.” He huffs at that idea as he lowers his head. “Don’ wanna.” Wow, he sounded like a whiny child. You brush his hair back, trying to get him to look at you again. “Why not?” You're always trying to get Daryl to communicate. Even if it’s not vocal. Sometimes if he wants a kiss, he’ll nudge you or lay his head on your shoulder until you do something. Those moments are so cute.

He’s reluctant to speak. He’s not good and not used to voicing what he wants. “Wan- need more.” You laugh softly. Just a few words are good enough. You cup his cheek in your hand as you kiss all over his face. His face scrunches and he sucks in a breath before relaxing. And look at that, his cheeks are pink. Daryl loves and hates all the tingles your kisses leave behind. He never thought they could do that. He thought a kiss was a kiss, but you’ve taught him they're so much more than that. He lays his head back on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. It’s one of his favourite sounds. Your heartbeat, laughs and giggles, your breaths when you sleep, and the way your voice gets when you're excited or talking about something you're passionate about. 

Once he heard your voice get like that when you were talking about him to Carol. That’s when he figured you must truly have feelings for him. You’ve never once faked that voice. Thinking back, there were a lot of signs he missed. Maybe you didn't realize, or maybe you needed to take your time before you told him. Either way, he knows you’ve cared for him for a damn long time. 

He slowly untangles himself from you. Your hand lingers in his hair as you watch him pull away. Then his hands drop to his belt. Assuming he’s just taking it off for bed, you close your eyes and cuddle up with a blanket. He’s never taken his jeans off to sleep, even though you’ve told him to because, let’s be real, sleeping in jeans is uncomfortable. Maybe he’s not comfortable yet to let you see him like that. Your eyes snap open when you hear his fly. Damn, maybe tonight’s different. You catch a glimpse of the bulge in his boxers before forcing yourself to look away to give him some privacy. This is the first time he’s done this. Don’t ruin it by ogling him like a perv.

He slips under the blanket with you, cuddling your back, wrapping an arm around your waist. He presses a small kiss on your shoulder before closing his eyes. “Night.” You glance at him as he settles against his pillow. “G’night handsome.” A small breath of amusement passes his nose. You’ve been slowly easing into calling him pet names. He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he falls asleep.

The longer you slept with Daryl, the fewer nightmares he had. Of course, one will pop up once in a while, but mostly, his nights are peaceful with you. He loves using you as a pillow or holding you to his chest, using your weight for deep pressure therapy. It helps with nightmares. The warmth from your body is his favourite. Sleeping in a tent, the nights get cold, so he likes to snuggle close. He likes to think he’s doing this to keep you warm, but he’s doing it for his own comfort.

The first couple times he slept with you, he’d get up with the sun and leave, going on about his normal routine. One morning he slept in later than he wanted but didn't mind after he watched you wake up. You were so cute, all groggy, clinging to him, still pretty out of it, and so natural. But what he really liked? Your morning voice. It was so soft, softer than usual. Now he’s heard you use a soft voice with him before but this felt different. He ended up starting his day a lot later because he enjoyed watching you be all disoriented as you woke. He found it so interesting. He thought you were so beautiful at that moment. Like you were unreal. 

The first night you invited him to sleep over at your tent, he didn't cuddle. Sure, he let you touch him a little, but he kept to himself as he fell asleep. You tried to get him closer but he kept his distance. All your little touches were still new for him so cuddles would’ve been too overwhelming. However he slowly made his way to you. That’s how it works. You need to let him make his way to you. Let him take his time. 

He always wakes up before you. He’s just used to waking up early. Waking up before you, he’s always greeted with your sleeping form. He gets to see you at peak vulnerability. When you wake up, he’s sitting beside you, quietly watching with a soft gaze. He’s already got his jeans and vest back on. He watches as you blink rapidly to clear the blurriness. Now he’s waiting for you to see him and cuddle close. He’s memorised the way you work each morning. And there it is, you're grabbing him, trying to pull him down, so he’s laying with you. He happily complies. 

He brushes your hair out of your face, then glances at your lips. Is this the right time to kiss you? Should he wait until you’re fully awake? He doesn’t know. He wants you to engage first. That way, he knows you actually want it. He’s always afraid of crossing a boundary. Fuck it. He’s going to go for it. You’ll tell him if you didn’t like it right? You're so much better at communicating than him.  He pushes his lips against yours, lingering for a moment, before pulling away. The happy hum he got from you makes him feel better. He’s considering a way to push himself a little further, but not entirely, so he’s not out of his comfort zone. Soooo... “Mornin’ sweetheart.”

Your eyes light up when he finally calls you that. He’s been wanting to for a while, he was just too shy. “Good morning, handsome!” Your excited demeanour makes him chuckle. Ok, so you like that. He’ll call you that more just to see you react like that. He runs his hand through your hair, trying to smooth it out. “Ya lookin’ a lil’ messy.” A small pout forms on your lips then you get an idea. “Would you like to brush it?”

His hand falters. That’s a very intimate act for him… but it seems easy enough. That’s something that can ease him into something more. He nods once with a grunt. You sit up, grabbing your brush, then sit in front of him. He hesitates as he looks at your hair. It’s messy, and he doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s rough with his hair on the rare occasion when he brushes it, but he knows he can’t be like that with you. You look over your shoulder when he doesn’t start brushing. “I’ll let you know if you pull.” He sighs as he brushes the ends of your hair. He’s brushing slowly, being extra mindful not to hurt you. “How’s tha’?” 

You close your eyes. You can feel how careful he’s being. “You’re doing good.” While brushing your hair, he only snags a couple times, but it’s not enough to really hurt you. Still, he feels like shit. “You’ll get better the more you do it.” He pauses. You’ll let him brush your hair more? He… really likes that idea. He runs his fingers through your hair, making sure he didn’t miss any knots. Then he tries something you always do to him. He lightly scritches your head, drawing giggles from him. “Haha, Daryl!” You laugh, leaning back against his chest and he wraps an arm around you. He’s learned the way you play with his hair, so he has some idea about how he’s supposed to do it. He presses his head against your shoulder, leaving little kisses. He’s observing your reactions, seeing what makes you react how. See, he’s learning. “I’m not goin’ huntin’ today.”

“Why-” You get cut off as he pulls you down with him. “Oh.” You laugh, cuddling up with him. Today, he wants to focus on getting closer with you, learning about you, and feeling more comfortable with you. He’s never going to get any better at affection if he doesn't try it. He compares it to hunting. There’s a lot to learn, a lot of patience, but if he practices then it’ll become second nature. He’s only really affectionate with you at night, and that doesn't last too long because you both end up falling asleep. When you wrap a leg around his waist, he tenses. He wasn't expecting the gush of warmth that would come with that. A second later, he relaxes, holding you close. “C- can I kiss ya?” 

“Of course. You don’t have to ask.” You’ve told him that a couple times before, but he still asks. Though if you keep telling him, he’ll slowly learn. Just reassure the baby. It’s all he needs. He presses kisses to your shoulder, making his way up to your neck. Soft little grumbles and sighs can be heard from him. He’s never let his hands wander, he’s just been too much of a sweetheart for that, but today he’s feeling bold. His hand moves down to your waist, gliding over your curves, then rests on your hip. He likes the way your body feels. It’s perfect. It’s so soft to touch. He’s not used to feeling something like that. His fingers squeeze just slightly, not wanting to be rough. 

Never feeling him touch you like that before, makes you feel those nice tingles. So, you snuggle closer, trying to encourage him to keep going. It takes him a second to realize what you want before running his hand up and down your side. The baby boy is learning! His movements are stiff at first before becoming more natural. He’s giving into the feelings you make him feel. You're soaking up every touch. It's the first he’s really ever done this. “Am I… doin’ ok?” He asks nervously. You sigh happily. As much as you love showing him affection, it’s nice to have some in return. “You’re doing more than ok.” Daryl's eyes gaze over your face and body language, trying to get a read on you. You’re really not that hard to read. You’re basically melting under him. He has to bite back a smile. He can’t believe he’s actually making you react like this. Do you know how good that makes him feel? Knowing he has an effect on you? He’ll be using that against you when he’s more comfortable. 

You mess with his hair as his hands roam from your sides to your tummy. He’s trying to memorise how you feel. He closes his eyes and buries his face in your neck, so he’s solely focused on the way you feel. He’s very bold this morning. He’s never this brave when he touches you. Once he feels like he let his hands roam for long enough, he takes a peek at your face. You look peaceful. He got you like that, huh? That makes him feel a sense of accomplishment. 

He flinches back when you suddenly bring your hand up to stroke his cheek. His facial muscles relax when he realizes you didn’t mean any harm. He’s gazing at you tenderly. His eyes always give him away. And when he closes them, that means he’s feeling comfortable. It’s his way of lowering his guard. He lets out a low groan as you ruffle his hair. That always makes him melt. He turns his head, pressing a kiss to your palm while he makes eye contact. 

The fucking BUTTERFLIES, this man just made you feel. He knew what he was doing. When he’s confident with his touches it’s going to be fucking over for you. He chuckles slowly as your cheeks flush and you try to hide your face with your hands. He grabs both of your wrists, holding them firmly to his chest. “Ah, ah, girl.” You meet his eyes. He loves the pink flush to your cheeks. Sure, he’s gotten you to blush a few times, but never like that. He hides his smile by resting his head on top of yours. He sighs contently as he wraps his arms around you. His thumbs are tracing little patterns on your back. 

You close your eyes as you relax, giving into his embrace. His big strong arms are perfect for wrapping around you and holding you close. Have you seen his arms? They’re perfect for this. His grip is tight and secure, shielding you from the world. It’s his way of showing he’s protective of you. He likes to keep you close to his chest. That’s where his heart is after all. 

꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…

Soooooo, this turned out to be a lot more fluff than I was originally going to write but who’s complaining?

[reedusdaily]

[daryltwdixon]

Daryl Dixon x Reader Don't Scream

Part 1 | Part 2 (coming soon) | masterlist

Summary: You didn’t mean to be here. You didn’t mean to see this. The motel door had already been cracked open, a splintered frame, a hint of something wrong curling in the air. You should have turned around, left, pretended you never saw the blood on his knuckles, the way it was painted across his throat. But then he looked at you. Slow, unfazed. Like you walking in on his carnage was nothing at all. You didn’t know why your breath shuddered. You didn’t know why your fingers itched to touch. And you sure as hell didn’t know why you didn’t run.

tags: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT 🕊️ horror, Dark!Daryl Dixon, blood and implied violence, no outbreak, motel room encounters, morally gray reader, predator/prey vibes, dubious situations and dubious consent (the reader whole heartedly consents they're just trying to reason with themselves that this is a terrible idea), serialkiller!Daryl, reader walks in on something she shouldn’t, fear-turned-arousal, misattribution of arousal, thanatos / death drive theory. a/n: thank you so so so so much to my friend @dixonsdarkelf for beta reading & giving me the boost I needed to post this! also thank you to @rheedus for this fabulous gifset that inspired me

The drive home always dragged.

You let out a long, exhausted sigh, fingers tightening on the wheel as the road stretched endlessly ahead. This wasn’t how the weekend was supposed to go. You were supposed to stay with your family for two more days—grit your teeth through the small talk, sit through the passive-aggressive questions about your job, your life, your choices. Smile. Nod. Pretend. But instead, you were barely a few hours in before it all fell apart.

Dinner had started fine. It always did. But then one question turned into a pointed remark, then into something sharper, something meaner. The same fight, just recycled into different words, but this time, you weren’t in the mood to swallow it down. This time, you pushed back. Voices rose, tempers flared, and before you knew it, you were grabbing your keys, shoving out the door, leaving behind the half-eaten meal and whatever thin thread was still holding the conversation together.

Now you were here—alone on the highway, miles of darkness stretching in every direction, headlights carving a path forward. 

Traffic jams bled into one another, each red taillight blurring into the next, the clock on your dash creeping past midnight. Eventually, the further you went, the emptier the roads became, until it was just you and the long-haul truckers, their rigs groaning under the weight of whatever cargo they hauled through the night.

Your eyelids grew heavier, dipping lower with every mile. You blinked hard, willing yourself awake, but exhaustion clung to you, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t just the late hour—it was the crash after the adrenaline of the fight, the weight of too many words you couldn’t take back pressing down on you.

You told yourself you’d be fine. Just another two hours to go.

Then a deafening horn shattered the quiet, and before you even realized what was happening, your tires veered across the lane. You gasped, jerking the wheel hard, the car lurching as you barely corrected in time. The highway was nearly empty, but that didn't matter—your heart was pounding, hands clammy where they gripped the steering wheel, the sudden shock of how easily that could’ve ended differently locking your breath in your throat. That was it, you knew you needed to stop, needed to pull off and find a place to get some rest before hitting the road again in the morning. 

You took the next exit, into a town that was barely a town at all, just a forgotten smear of civilization on the side of the highway. The streets were empty, the buildings slumped and decayed, as if the place had given up on itself long ago. A gas station, a diner with its ‘Open 24 Hours’ sign flickering in and out of life, and a squat little motel, its vacancy sign buzzing weakly in the dark.

Pulling into the parking lot, your headlights washed over cracked pavement and weeds pushing up through the concrete. Only a few cars were parked outside, most of them old and rusted, as if they’d been sitting there for far longer than a single night’s stay. The only light came from the neon sign overhead and the sickly yellow glow spilling from the front office window, casting shadows that felt too long, too stretched.

You swallowed, gripping the steering wheel. Something about this place felt…off. Not in an obvious way—no shattered windows, no ominous figures lurking in doorways—but in a way that made your skin crawl. Like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting. These were the kind of motels in movies where you’d scream at the protagonist: Keep driving, idiot! Find someplace else!

But there was nowhere else, and you couldn’t risk driving another hour to find the next rest stop.

It wasn’t ideal. Hell, it was probably a breeding ground for bed bugs, or worse–the kind of place where people checked in but didn’t always check out. But the thought of curling up in your car for the night, stiff and vulnerable in an empty parking lot, wasn’t much better.

All you had to do was get the key, lock the door, and make it through till morning. You’d toss your clothes the second you got home, scrub this place off your skin like it never touched you.

It was fine. It would be fine.

The fluorescent lights in the front office buzzed overhead, their hum just a little too loud in the unnatural silence. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of something overly sweet—like someone had tried to cover up years of cigarettes and mildew with cheap air freshener.

A small bell sat on the counter. You hesitated, then tapped it once, the chime ringing out sharp and hollow.

Nothing.

You waited, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, the feeling of being watched crawling up the back of your neck despite the room being empty. Just as you were about to hit the bell again, a figure shuffled out from the back.

It was a woman, older, her expression carved from stone. Stringy hair pulled back into a loose bun, a cigarette smoldering between two fingers, her nails yellowed from years of nicotine.

“What can I do for ya?” she drawled, exhaling a long stream of smoke. It curled thick in the air, stale and cloying. You forced yourself to breathe through your nose, ignoring the burn in your throat.

“One room, please. Just for the night.”

She tapped at the ashtray on the counter, knocking the embers loose without looking. Her gaze stayed on you, too steady, too knowing, as if she was peeling you apart one layer at a time.

“You travelin’ alone, honey?”

Your spine straightened.

“No,” you said a little too quickly. “My dad’s waiting in the truck.”

She hummed, dragging another long inhale from her cigarette as her beady eyes stayed on you. Like she could tell it was a lie, no matter how sure you tried to sound.

“So, two beds?”

“Just the one is fine,” you said, tightening your fingers around your bag strap “We’ll manage.”

"Cash or card?" she asked, watching, peeling away whatever confidence you tried to have.

"Card," you murmured, fishing it out with stiff fingers.

She slid it through an ancient-looking reader, her other hand tapping the desk with the long, deliberate patience of someone who had nowhere to be. Her name tag was smeared, almost unreadable, and the glass of the front desk window was covered in a film of grime. 

She handed the card back, then a single brass key, its tag worn soft with age.

“Room one eighty,” she said, sliding it forward. “End of the lot.”

You took it quickly, fingers brushing against the cold metal.

The woman leaned back, taking another drag, her lips curling around the cigarette. “You let me know if y’all need anything, alright?”

You forced a nod, but something about her stare made your skin prickle. You turned toward the door, gripping the key so tight it pressed sharply into your palm.

Outside, the air felt too thick, like the humidity had climbed in the last few minutes, settling heavily on your skin. 

Then, you felt it again.

That thick, crawling awareness pricking at the back of your neck. That quiet, animal instinct that told you someone was watching. You turned your head before you could stop yourself.

Across the parking lot, just beyond the neon glow of the motel sign, a man stood under a broken street light. At first, he was nothing more than a dark shape, half-obscured by the flickering light, his face hidden in the deep hollows of shadow. 

He was just… standing there. Watching. 

You didn’t recognize him, and he was too far away to make out anything but his built form, the broadness of his shoulders. But there was something in the way he stood, still as stone, his body angled just slightly toward you, his gaze locked and unblinking.

The look in his eyes, dark and unreadable even from a distance, sent a shiver licking down your spine.

You turned quickly, your nerves on fire. But as you made your way down the long stretches of rooms on the outer perimeter, the railing overlooking the parking lot, you began to hear signs of life. The sounds seeped through the walls, slipping under doors and filling the narrow stretch of concrete. A bass line thrummed from somewhere nearby, muffled by thin walls as it seemed to pound with the rhythm of your heartbeat. Somewhere farther down, men shouted, their voices rising and falling, drunken or angry or both. Laughter burst out, sharp and sudden, followed by the distant clatter of something knocking against a table or a wall.

When you turned around and looked back across the parking lot, the man was suddenly gone.

TVs droned from multiple rooms, the glow of static flickering through slatted blinds. Someone had left theirs too loud, a newscaster rehashing old stories like it wasn’t the middle of the night. A couple was arguing behind one of the doors you passed, their voices biting and loud, words slamming into each other with no space to breathe. Something crashed—glass, maybe, or a chair knocking over—and you picked up your pace without realizing it.

Anywhere else, maybe it would have felt normal. Just people awake too late, passing the time, waiting for morning. Here, it only set your teeth on edge. Something about it felt wrong.

The fact that so many people were still awake at this hour made the muscles in your back pull tight. You weren’t alone here. But that didn’t mean you weren’t isolated.

Then, a heavy thump.

It came from the room to your right, sudden and jarring, loud enough to shake the thin wall between you. Your breath caught as you flinched back, your heart hammering against your ribs. There was movement, the slow creak of weight shifting, but nothing else followed. No voices, no explanation. Just silence settling too quickly, like whatever had happened had stopped the second you reacted to it.

Your feet moved faster, a reflex more than anything, carrying you down the walkway before you could think too hard about it. The numbers on the doors passed in a blur—178, 179, and finally, 180—your fingers tightening around the key as your room finally came into view. 

You fumbled once, just once, hands suddenly damp, but the second the lock turned, you pushed inside, slamming the door behind you.

The second it shut, you turned the lock.

The noises outside dulled, voices and music muffled the moment you closed the door and slumped your back against it, your chest rising and falling like you’d just run a half-marathon instead of walking across a motel lot. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, gripping at nothing, your pulse a frantic beat against your ribs.

You dragged in a breath, trying to slow the restless thrum in your veins. Just get through the next few hours, get some rest, and then you’d get the hell out of Dodge.

It was fine. It would be fine.

Except, sleep didn’t exactly come easy. You tossed and turned on top of the stiff bedspread, every shift of fabric loud in the silence, ears straining for any sudden sound beyond the walls. A door shutting, footsteps outside, voices carrying just enough to make you wonder if someone was too close to your room.

After what felt like forever, you gave up, flipping on the TV just to drown out the rest. The low murmur of late-night programming filled the room, casting weak blue light over the cracked ceiling, but it didn’t do much to settle you. You weren’t sure anything would.

The one thing you couldn’t ignore in favor of sleep, though, was the slow, gnawing ache of your stomach.

You should’ve stayed for the rest of dinner. Sat through the tense conversation, swallowed the words you wanted to throw back at them, and picked at your plate even if you had no appetite. At least then you wouldn’t be thinking about stepping outside again, not in the dead of night, not in the seediest motel you could’ve possibly stumbled across.

But the longer you lay there, the worse the hunger got.

Every motel had a vending machine, didn’t they?

You sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face, already hating where this was going.

You just had to be quick. In and out. Then you’d lock yourself in and actually try to sleep.

You knew it was wishful thinking to assume the vending machine would be easy to find. It was never that simple. You circled the building twice, passing the same cracked pavement, the same rusted-out cars, the same rooms with their curtains drawn too tight.

By the time you finally stumbled across the middle hallway, the glow of a single overhead light barely illuminating the space, you were already regretting this. The vending machine sat in the corner, humming under the flickering fluorescents, the metal frame dented, the glass fogged with fingerprints.

Your fingers hovered over the rows of snacks, barely able to focus on the choices, your body still on edge from the walk over. The motel felt alive, like every sound behind every door was something you weren’t supposed to hear.

The machine hummed under flickering light, the buttons worn down to the plastic. You fed it a couple of crumpled bills and tapped at one, then another, and waited. A loud mechanical churn. Then—nothing.

Great.

You smacked the side of it. Nothing again. Your stomach twisted painfully, a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since you’d last eaten. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face, and turned to leave.

And that’s when you noticed it.

A door, cracked open at the very end of the hall.

The frame was splintered, like it had been forced open.

Something in your gut tensed.

You should walk away. Right now. Get back to your room, lock the door, and pretend you never saw anything. But something about it—about the stillness of it, the way the dim glow of a bedside lamp barely reached the threshold—made your feet stall.

Someone could be hurt. Or worse.

You swallowed hard, pulse in your throat as you crept closer, every instinct screaming at you that this was a bad idea. The air shifted the closer you got, thick with something you couldn’t name, something wrong.

And now that you were standing at the threshold, staring at the cracks in the doorframe, splintered from some kind of forced entry, your eyes drifted lower. Something dark and sticky was splattered on the ledge of the door, thick streaks leading onto the carpet inside.

Your heart stopped altogether. It was no longer rattling in your chest from fear, but fully frozen, skipping and halting as if trying to jumpstart itself while you stared into the dimly lit room.

At first, it was just shapes—shadows swallowing each other, the motel’s tiny lamp and the flickering TV casting everything into uneven light—warm and dark one second, sharp and cold the next. As your mind caught up to your eyes, it sharpened, the darkness peeling away, and you finally realized what you were looking at.

On the queen-sized bed in the center of the room, the bedspread was untouched, barely rumpled, except for the body laying perfectly still atop it.

Like someone had laid them there on purpose.

A mess of red had soaked deep into the fabric, fresh enough that the air was thick with it. The copper scent was overwhelming, clinging to the back of your throat, so metallic and sharp you could almost taste it. There was so much blood. More than you had ever seen in one place. Too much for it to be okay, too much for it to mean anything other than the obvious. You should have turned around. You should have stopped looking. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything except stand there, heart frozen in your chest, as your brain worked double time, locking onto every detail like it needed to catalog the carnage in order to make sense of it. The body was positioned too neatly, arms at its sides, legs straight, head turned away just enough that it felt unnatural—like whoever had done this hadn’t just been brutal, but deliberate.

Your stomach clenched. The smell invaded your nose again, worse now, thick and nauseating, making something cold claw its way up your spine. You stumbled back a step, your hand flying to clamp around your mouth before you could decide whether you were about to scream or be sick. You needed to move. You needed to leave. You needed to call someone, do something, but your limbs refused to cooperate, locking up as if freezing in place would somehow make this all disappear. Your body was waiting for direction, for instinct to kick in, but it never did.

Then, the bathroom door on the other side of the room swung open, spilling yellow light into the dim space as a man stepped out.

At first, it was the fluffy pink robe that threw you off, a ridiculous contrast against the raw violence laid out before you. Your brain latched onto it, desperate for anything that made sense, anything that didn’t belong to the nightmare in front of you. But then your eyes dragged upward, and you saw it—the blood.

It was everywhere. Splattered across his throat, smeared up his neck, drying in dark, uneven streaks along his collarbone. His hand was coated in it, the thick, dried red cracked over his knuckles, like he hadn’t bothered to wash it off. Like he hadn’t cared enough to try.

Panic reared its head, shoving its way into your chest, squeezing your lungs tighter than before. It was one thing to stumble across a body, to witness a crime. It was another to look into the eyes of the man who had done it. Your body understood before your mind did—the liquid fire of adrenaline flooding through your veins, your muscles locking up in place, every nerve screaming caught, caught, caught.

His gaze locked onto you, heavy and assessing, and even from where you stood, you could tell his eyes were the deepest ocean blue you had ever seen. There was no rage in them, no madness—nothing that fit the sheer bloodshed he had left behind. He was unnervingly handsome, despite it all. Maybe because of it.

He inhaled, dragging another slow pull from his cigarette, letting the smoke curl lazily from his lips before shifting his weight, completely unconcerned.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“Well,” he muttered, voice rough and edged with disinterest as he let out a puff of smoke, “shit.”

You should have run.

You should have turned and bolted down the hallway, thrown yourself outside, screamed for help—something. But you didn’t. Your body wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t let you turn and run from the scene in front of you. Your limbs were locked in place, rooted to the motel floor like they had forgotten how to move, how to respond, how to do anything but tremble.

He seemed to notice, and flicking his cigarette, he made his way slowly toward you. He was so slow and careful it was almost predatory, like he was trying to camouflage into whatever normalcy was left in the room. Like he was trying to convince you that this was completely normal and he wasn’t some axe murderer in a pink fluffy robe.

“C’mon now,” he muttered, stepping toward you with zero hesitation, like your presence here was nothing more than an inconvenience. “Least shut the damn door.”

He moved with easy, unbothered confidence, reaching past you, pressing his palm against the motel door and nudging it inward. It swung heavy on its hinges, closing behind you with a soft, final click.

Your breath shuddered. You were really stuck here now, with him, and for some reason, the panic in your chest wasn’t flaring like before. You remained stock-still, frozen, waiting for him to make his move, to put you out of your misery for being a witness to his crime. What was his weapon of choice? Did he have a knife? A gun? Did he kill with his bare hands?

The man stepped in close, standing just in front of you now, close enough that you could see the uneven streaks of blood drying against his throat, close enough that you could smell the mix of cigarettes and sweat and something deeper layered with the metallic tang of blood. 

He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at you, head tilting ever so slightly, like he was turning over a thought in his head, working something out.

Then he exhaled, lifting a hand—slow, deliberate, like he was giving you a second to react—and twisted a lock of your hair between his fingers.

His touch was light, but it sent a bolt of something electric straight through your spine, and yet, still, you didn’t move. You should have pulled away. You should have slapped his hand down. But your body wasn’t yours right now. It belonged to fear.

He hummed low in his throat, almost to himself, turning the strands between his fingers, studying them with an unreadable expression.

“You’re real pretty,” he muttered, almost absentmindedly, like it was a passing observation, not something meant to soothe you. His voice was low, rough, dragging over the syllables like he didn’t use them often. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Your throat locked up, lungs seizing against the flood of adrenaline. You weren’t even sure if your heart was still in your chest based on the way blood was roaring in your ears, drowning out every rational thought. He was teasing. Curious. And—God—flirty?

If you didn’t know better, if you hadn’t just stepped into this room, hadn’t seen the blood, hadn’t noticed the body stretched out too perfectly on the bed—you might’ve… you might’ve…

You swallowed hard, but your throat was too dry to get any sound out. Your pulse slammed in your ears, your heartbeat betraying everything you wanted to hide. He watched you for a moment longer, then let your hair slip from his grip, rubbing his bloodstained fingers together as if testing the softness.

“You’re shakin’,” he observed, mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but leaned in that direction, like your fear was interesting to him… like it was cute.

His fingers twitched then, and after a pause, he reached up again after sticking his cigarette in his mouth—this time, just barely brushing his knuckles along your jaw. The touch was fleeting, but enough to make you tense even more.

He made another small sound in the back of his throat, mock sympathy edging into it.

“Like a scared little bunny.”

You should have been running. Screaming for your life. You should have turned and bolted the second you saw the blood. Why weren’t you fucking running?

The part of you that should have been shutting down, the part of you that should have been clawing for survival, digging its heels into your fogged, terrified brain to pay fucking attention—that part of you…

It was curious about him too.

You watched as his face changed then, watching your reactions like a predator tracking in his prey, eyes narrowing as they darted around your face, reading you, piecing something together. His lips twitched like he was amused, like he had figured out something you didn’t even understand about yourself yet.

“No…” he said, pulling his hand away, head tilting slightly before his face split into a grin, pulling the cigarette out between his fingers, “you’re not scared, are you, little bunny? You like this.”

“No!” The word ripped out of you, barely a whisper at first, but then louder, cracking in the dim room around you., “No.” Your breath stuttered as you tried to sound more confident, your whole body wired too tight, but the denial felt weak even to your own ears.

“Oh, there she is,” he said, watching you closely, pleased that he had finally drawn something out of you. “You gotta name, sweetheart?”

Your lips pressed together, your jaw tight, but your eyes sharpened, taking him in, really seeing him now. His blue eyes were dangerous and beautiful and terrifying all at once, cutting through the haze of your fear like a blade. There was blood splattered up his face, drying along the sharp structure of his cheekbone, disappearing into the strands of dark hair that hung loose in his eyes. It should have made him look monstrous. It should have made him unrecognizable as anything human.

But it didn’t.

It made you want to lean forward. Your mind flashed with the idea, and you did everything you could to keep your body from following, the idea that you wanted to trace the sharp cut of his jaw, to drag your tongue over the remnants of metallic blood he had missed along his lip and—

No.

No no no no no.

The thought seared through you like an open flame. Your breath caught, your skin igniting in humiliation, a flush so deep you wanted to disappear. You couldn’t believe this. Couldn’t believe your own body, couldn’t believe the way your stomach clenched, the way something hot and ugly was overlapping the sheer horror of what this man had done. There was fear, yes—a lot of it. But there was something else crawling underneath, something just as intense, something that made your pulse skyrocket as his hand moved.

His hand pushed the cigarette into the wooden frame, the hiss of the burning end snuffing out by your head. His fingers then found the strap of your shirt, curling around the fabric, dragging it down over your shoulder with his bloodstained grip.

“No name, huh?” he murmured, watching your face, watching every shift in your expression, like he was memorizing what you looked like when you trembled. His voice was lower now, quieter, dangerous in a way that wasn’t loud or obvious, but steady and unshaken. He leaned in closer, close enough that the heat of his breath ghosted over your throat.

“That’s okay, bunny,” he muttered. “I don’t got a name either.”

Your stomach dropped.

And then, to your utter horror, he kissed your shoulder.

Not deep. Not forceful. Just the slow, deliberate press of his mouth against your skin, his lips barely parted, dragging warm and rough over the place he had just exposed.

It sent a violent shudder down your spine. The sensation—the heat of him, the quiet intimacy of it, the way he didn’t move away after, just lingered there—lit something in your chest, something sharp and unbearable. Your nipples, the traitors, hardened underneath your shirt, poking through the thin fabric that stretched across your chest. A gasp left you before you could stop it, your eyes widening in shock.

The man huffed softly against your skin, something amused in the sound.

“You like this, bunny?” His voice was slow, edged with something almost thoughtful, like he was figuring it out as he spoke. His nose brushed the side of your throat, his breath warm as he tilted his head, inhaling the scent of your perfume.

“You like a man like me takin’ advantage of just how scared you are?” His hand tightened just slightly at your shoulder, his mouth ghosting along your jaw before he murmured, “That it, bunny? You like the fear?”

His lips brushed your pulse.

“The shame?”

His fingers traced along your collarbone, the metallic tang of copper filling your nose as his hand got closer and closer to your face again.

“You turned on by a little bit of blood?”

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers curling at your sides, and you knew whatever you said next would change everything. You should have lied. You should have denied it, should have shaken your head, should have shoved him away and run before it was too late.

Your mouth parted, your chest heaving like you had just surfaced from drowning, but before you could answer, his hand snapped up, grabbing the nape of your neck, fingers lacing in your hair. His other hand suddenly gripped your jaw, forcing your face to tilt toward him.

It was fast, sudden, a flash of violence that slammed through you like a bolt of electricity, it made you gasp sharply, eyes going wide.

His grip wasn’t bruising, but it was firm, unyielding. His fingers dug into your jaw just enough that it bordered on pain, enough that you felt the quiet threat humming underneath him.

His eyes narrowed, sharp, dark, and hungry, locking onto yours like a predator seeing prey for exactly what it was. His grip tightened for a split second, his thumb dragging rough over your cheek, the dried blood flaking slightly against your skin, crumbling like dust beneath his touch.

“Say it,” he rasped, voice still calm, still steady as stone, but something inside it had changed—harder now, more dangerous.

Your body locked up, trapped between the heat of him and the cold reality of what was happening, of what had been happening for longer than just that moment.

Because it hadn’t started when you stepped into this room.

It didn’t start when you saw the blood. It didn’t even start when you heard the body hit the floor.

It started long before that.

You’d always known something was wrong with you. The way fear didn’t keep you away—it called to you, wrapped around your ribs and had you in its grip. The way you’d always looked for danger, for the spike of adrenaline that made your heart hammer against your ribs, made you feel more alive than anything else.

You could’ve stayed at your parents’ house. You could’ve forced yourself to sit through another dinner filled with questions about your future, their expectations suffocating you like a cage you were never meant to fit inside. But you didn’t.

You left in the middle of the night, peeling away from their house like something inside you was clawing to be free, chasing an impulse you hadn’t fully understood at the time.

You hadn’t stopped driving until exhaustion forced your hand. And when you pulled into this motel, when you stepped onto that cracked pavement, when you heard the distant sounds of raised voices, of something heavy hitting the ground—your pulse hadn’t stuttered in fear.

It had spiked.

And while you tried to ignore it, ignore that pull, to force yourself to sleep, you couldn’t say no to that part of you that needed to see. You’d left your room, weaving through the shadows of the motel, passing this exact door. The vending machine hadn’t been the excuse you told yourself it was. It wasn’t hunger for food that had your stomach twisting, your body restless against the scratchy motel sheets.

It was hunger to know.

To see.

To find the blood, the body, and the man who did it.

And now he was standing in front of you, looking at you like he already knew all of it. Like he’d read the answer in your dilated eyes, in the way your breath had hitched when you first saw him, in the way you were still here, still trembling under his grip but not running.

Your mouth was dry, your body refusing to move, refusing to break free of his hold. Because the worst part wasn’t that you were afraid.

The worst part was that you liked it.

You made a small, broken noise, your fingers twitching, your whole body tight as a wire as you reached up, your hands sliding around his  forearm.

“Yes,” you whispered. It was barely a sound, barely more than breath, but his eyes flickered, something shifting beneath them.

The pressure released all at once.

His grip loosened from your jaw, tracing down the side of your throat with something slower now, something more deliberate. You let your hands fall, reaching for him instead. His thumb dragged along your cheek, wiping away the remnants of old blood he had left there. His lips lingered, the warmth of them stark against your skin, a slow drag over your jaw as he exhaled. The scent of him—smoke, sweat, the faint metallic ghost of dried blood—was thick in your lungs, wrapping around you, leaving no space for anything else.

His lips barely moved as they traced your jaw again when he spoke, the words slipping against your skin, low and quiet, like they weren’t meant for the space between you but meant to sink into you, settle deep, curl around something inside you that you didn’t even have a name for.

“I know, bunny.”

It was soft, almost affectionate, but threaded with something deeper. Something knowing.

Like he had been waiting for you to admit it to yourself first.

His fingers, the ones still tangled in your hair, tightened slightly—not rough, but firm, keeping you in place, keeping you still for him. He turned your head just enough to guide you, slow, like testing a skittish animal, like making sure you wouldn’t bolt the second he took what you were already offering.

You didn’t know him. You didn’t even know his name.

And none of that mattered.

Your hands, trembling but restless, lifted before you could stop them, pressing against the warm plane of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath your palms. He was solid. Real. Your fingertips brushed against the edge of the pink robe he still hadn’t bothered to shed, the soft, ridiculous fabric clashing with the rough scrape of stubble along your throat as his mouth continued its path downward.

You felt the shift in him before you even saw it, the slight pause of his breath, the way his grip in your hair flexed before tightening further. His tongue peeked out from his mouth, tracing the vein of your artery along the column of your neck. You shuddered against him, eyes fluttering closed, and he chuckled, low and breathless against your skin, the sound of it vibrating against your pulse.

“That feel nice, sweetheart?”

You opened your eyes to look at him, and his were darker now, heavy-lidded, focused entirely on you, taking in every shuddering breath, every small twitch of your lips, the way your pupils had swallowed nearly all of your color.

Then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was ravenous. Not just hungry but starved. The slow, intoxicating drag of lips and teeth and heat blurred every thought, every warning screaming in your head turning into static. You felt one of his hands skim lower, tracing the dip of your waist, fingers pressing into the thin fabric of your shirt like he was debating whether to rip it from your body or take his time peeling you open.

His mouth moved over yours like he already knew you’d open for him, like he had been waiting for it, waiting for this.

And God, you let him.

[dixonsfawn]

no cause i have this headcanon that daryl is always the first person to understand your anger and your hurt and your frustration whenever something happens and that he's always the first person to want to help you let it out. he'll let you scream at him, shout things, even blame him, but he knows that you don't mean any of it. the difference between you and the way his dad used to do it is that you never do it out of malice and he is always the one that initiates it. he doesn't want you to bottle up your feelings the same way he does, did, and was raised to. he doesn't want you to turn out like him. he wants you to be free of the bad feelings and thoughts that plague your mind, wants you to rid yourself of all of it so that you can just be happy. but most importantly… be happy with him because there’s no one else in the world that matters to him like you do and the thought of anything ever having a negative effect on you literally kills him ᡣ𐭩

[xojdmasf]

daryl dixon and me 🥰

[bambidixon]

Daryl dating a weird off-putting girl who looks like she could lead a cult. Someone please write some headcanon I don't want to do it myself.

[daddydixonscrossbow]

Seeing Daryl with baby is just so… cute! 🥰

Y/n - *smirking as you walk up to Daryl* “Who knew. Daryl Dixon with a soft and mushy side for babies.”

Daryl - *shakes his head, fighting back a smirk* “she can’t feed herself.”

Y/n - *leaning over to look down at Judith* “You should feel special, sweetheart. It’s not everyday that Daryl is nice.”

Daryl - *scoffs* “Go away.”

Y/n - “What? Sorry, seeing you with a baby is just so… cute.”

Daryl - “Don’t get any ideas, princess.”

* A FEW YEARS LATER *

*you’re standing there, watching as your daughter runs to Daryl after his few day run*

Daryl - “C’mere, girl! I missed you!” *lifts your daughter off the ground*

Y/d/n - “I missed you!” *hugs Daryl tight*

Y/n - *walking over* “I missed you, too!” *you lay your hand on his shoulder*

Daryl - *turn to face you* “Shit, can’t forget about you. C’mere.” *pulls you into a group hug and presses a kiss to your head*

Y/d/n - “I made you something. Here, I’ll go get it.” *runs to get Daryl’s gift*

Y/n - *wrapping your arms around daryl* “Do you remember when we were at the prison, and you were holding Judith?”

Daryl - *chuckles as he hugs you tighter* “I told ya not t’get any ideas, princess.”

Y/n - *laughing* “Yeah, look how that turned out.”

Here’s a kiss for likin’ and rebloggin’💋

[annoyance-for-u]

This sucked me into Daryl Dixon wormhole

dancer in the dark — daryl dixon

fem!reader x daryl dixon — france

WE’RE BAAAACK !!!

i’ve been rewatching the daryl dixon spinoff and i missed my daddy so here you go !! this is heavily based off the vibes of gibson girl by ethel cain so i highly reccomend listening while you read. enjoy !!

p.s i don’t usually write third person but i was kinda writing from daryl’s point of view so it just fit better 😭

the demimonde was a world of its own. the glow of dim red lights bathed the club in something intimate and sinister, like a place where secrets came to dance and never left. the air was thick with perfume and cigarette smoke, the kind of haze that softened edges and blurred reality, making everything feel just a little more unreal.

daryl dixon had seen his fair share of places like this before the world ended— seedy bars, dim-lit dives, places where people went to forget. but demimonde was different. it felt like another world entirely, like he was stepping through a door into something he wasn’t supposed to witness.

he didn’t belong here. he knew that much. his boots were too worn, his vest too rough, and his presence too heavy for a place where people pretended the world outside didn’t exist. but he didn’t care about fitting in. he was here for information— tracking a lead.

and then he saw her.

she moved like smoke curling from a lit cigarette— slow, deliberate, intoxicating. dark lashes framed eyes that held a spark of mischief, lips painted a shade that belonged to trouble. she was just a dancer. no. she owned the stage like she had carved it from the bones of this broken world herself.

daryl had never given much thought to performances like this, but he couldn’t look away. the way she swayed, the way her fingers traced the air like she was speaking something only the lucky ones could understand. it had his breath catching in his throat.

when the song ended, the spell she seemingly had him under didn’t break. she locked eyes with him as she stepped off the stage, as if she had known he was watching all along. the corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly— not a full smile, just enough to tell him she knew exactly what kind of effect she had.

daryl swallowed hard, fingers flexing at his side nervously. he had seen a lot of beautiful things in his like, but this was different. she was different.

and for the first time in a long time, he wanted to get closer.

she moved through the club like she owned the place. people parted for her without realising they were doing it— drawn in by whatever force she seemed to carry with her. daryl watched, his fingers moving to tighten around the strap of his crossbow, his heartbeat a little too steady for how damn unsettled he felt.

now, he wasn’t the type to get shaken by a pretty face. he’d seen plenty in his time— before, after. but this? this was something else. something slow and dangerous, like the feeling you got right before a storm broke.

she finally reached him, leaning one hand against the edge of the table he was standing at, her nails tapping against the worn wood in a rhythm only she knew. up close, she smelled like smoke and something sweet, something expensive, something that didn’t belong in a world this broken.

“you don’t look like you belong here.” her voice was smooth, low, teasing. she was american. he could tell by her accent, and the way she held herself, like she had seen something of the old world before it burned. it made him wornder how the hell she ended up here, in france, in this den of ghosts and whispers.

daryl raised a brow, his lips quirking just slightly. “neither do you.”

that made her grin, slow and knowing. “maybe,” she shrugged her shoulders, “but i make it work.”

she comfortably leaned on the table, like she had all the time in the world. the red light caught on the curve of her collarbone, the faint sheen of sweat from the stage still clinging to her skin.

“what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this? an american, too,” she asked, tilting her head.

daryl exhaled through his nose, leaning back. “lookin’ for someone.”

her grin widened, almost sinister. “hope it’s not me. that’d make things too easy.”

that made him smirk— just a little. he took her in, the way she held herself, the way she seemed to be measuring him just as much as he was her. he wasn’t sure what he had expected when she sauntered over, but he was definitely not expecting this.

“got a name?” he asked, his voice gruff.

she leaned in, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. “depends on who’s askin’.”

daryl held her gaze, steady, unwavering. “daryl.”

she let his name settle between them, rolling it over like she was trying to decide if it suited him. then, finally, she spoke.

“nice to meet you, daryl.” she leaned back again, that same teasing smirk playing on her lips. “you can call me whatever you want.”

daryl huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that right?”

she shrugged, eyes gleaming in the low light. “sure. long as you say it nice.”

something about her— hell, this whole place —felt like walking a tightrope over a pit he couldn’t see the bottom of. but hell if he didn’t want to take another step forward. he wasn’t sure what it was; her confidence, her sharp tongue, or the way she looked at him like she already had him figured out.

“think i’ll stick with the truth,” he said, his voice low, steady. “what’s your real name?”

she considered him for a moment, tapping her nails against the tabletop again. it was a lazy rhythm, but he got the feeling she was testing him, seeing if he was the kind of man worth answering.

then, finally— “(y/n).”

he nodded, letting her name roll of his tongue. “(y/n).”

she liked the way he said it. he could tell by the way her lips twitched, just a little.

“so,” she hummed, leaning her chin in her hand. “who’re you really looking for, daryl?”

he glanced around the club, scanning the dark corners, the clothes of people drinking and talking in low voices. “a man named quinn.”

her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. “can’t imagine why someone like you would be looking for someone like him.”

daryl lifted a shoulder. “got somethin’ i need.”

she studied him for a beat, like she was weighing something in her mind. then, slowly, she leaned in again, close enough that he could see the smudge of her lipstick.

“quinn doesn’t deal with just anyone,” she murmured. “but me? i might be able to help.”

daryl didn’t move, didn’t let himself react too much. “that right?”

she smiled, slow and dangerous. “that’s right.”

a slow song started up, something haunting and sensual. (y/n) stood up straight, stepping back, tilting her head toward the dance slow. “c’mon,” she said. “dance with me.”

daryl scoffed, shaking his head. “ain’t much of a dancer.”

she grinned. “didn’t ask if you were good at it.”

he exhaled through his nose, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. every damn instinct told him to stay seated, to keep his guard up. but there was something about her, something that made him want to throw caution to the wind— just for a minute.

so, against all better judgement, daryl dixon followed her out onto the dance floor.

the moment daryl stepped onto the dance floor, he knew he was in over his head. the red light above cast everything in a slow, fever-dream haze, and the music— low and sultry —seemed to vibrate through the floor beneath his boots.

(y/n) turned to face him, tilting her head, a lazy grin tugging at her lips. she didn’t reach for him immediately. instead, she let the moment stretch, like she was giving him a chance to walk away.

he didn’t.

“relax, daryl,” she murmured, stepping closer. her hands found his shoulders, fingers light but sure, sliding down his arms before guiding his hands to her waist. he tensed— only for a second —before exhaling through his nose, letting himself follow her lead.

“see? not so bad.”

he huffed at her, shaking his head. “ain’t exactly waltzin’ here.”

she laughed, low and sweet, the sound curling around him like a slow burning fuse. she swayed, guiding him into the rhythm of the music, her body moving in time with his. daryl was stiff at first, unused to this kind of closeness, this kind of softness. but (y/n)? she moved like she belonged in moments like this, like she’d done it a thousand times before.

“you’re holding on like you think i’ll disappear,” she teased, fingers brushing over the back of his neck. “you nervous, cowboy?”

daryl scoffed at her. “ain’t my first time dancin’.”

that made her smirk. “no? could’ve fooled me.”

he rolled his eyes, but she caught the way his fingers tightened slightly at her waist. it was subtle, but it was there— that shift, that moment when he let himself sink into the moment.

“you always drag strangers onto the dance floor?” he asked, voice low.

she hummed, pretending to think about it. “only the ones i like.”

daryl didn’t say anything, just held her gaze. steady and unreadable. but there was something in his eyes— something dark and curious, something hungry but restrained.

the song dragged on, slow and hazy, stretching time into something almost unreal. (y/n) pressed a little closer, her lips near his ear now, just enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath.

“quinn won’t trust you,” she murmured. “not right away.”

daryl stiffened slightly at her words. “that supposed to mean somethin’?”

she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “means you’re gonna need me.”

daryl searched her face, trying to figure out what game she was playing. but it this was a game, she placed it well. too damn well.

before he could answer, the song ended, and (y/n) stepped back, her hands slipping from his shoulders like a whisper.

“meet me after my next set,” she said, flashing him one last slow, knowing grin. “i’ll see what i can do.”

then, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd like smoke, leaving daryl standing there, his hands still tingling from where he had held her.

yeah. he was in deep now.

[negansbestie]

carol: oh god, what's wrong with y/n?

daryl: ya mean now or since she was born?

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Y/N: Chuck Norris can slam a revolving door.

Daryl: Stop.

Y/N: When the boogeyman goes to sleep, he checks his closet for Chuck Norris.

Daryl: Y/N.

Y/N: Chuck Norris can strangle you with a cordless phone.

Daryl: I swear to god—

Y/N: Chuck Norris is the reason Waldo is hiding.

Daryl: Will ya shut up an’ pay attention?!

Y/N: …

Y/N: …….

Y/N: Chuck Norris doesn’t pay attention. Attention pays Chuck Norris.

[ficnation]

Dead Girl Walkin'#2

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female! Reader

Warnings: sickness, usual the walking dead themes

Word count: 1k+

A/n: Let's get into those flashbacks! Hope you enjoy it!

Main Masterlist || Daryl Dixon Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Your sickness got worse. So much worse.

And you were all alone with it—until Daryl and Merle showed up.

At first, Daryl didn’t know why Merle bothered. He wasn’t the kind of guy to play nursemaid, and he sure as hell wasn’t the type to stick around when things got tough. But for some reason, he kept dragging Daryl back to that rundown trailer in the middle of nowhere, like it was just another stop on their endless list of bad decisions.

Being there for you was probably the best decision the two of them had ever made.

But it wasn’t.

And you let them in—not just into your house but into your life and heart.

Daryl didn’t get that either. You should’ve known better, should’ve realized they would only bring trouble and heartbreak. It never ended well with him and Merle around. Then again, Daryl figured you didn’t have much left to lose anyway.

You were getting worse by the day, skin paler than it had any right to be, bones jutting out where they hadn’t before. Every time he saw you, it was like looking at a ghost that hadn’t figured out it was dead yet.

And still, you smiled.

Even now, coughing up blood into a tissue, you grinned at them from your spot on the couch like it was just another Tuesday.

“At this point, the Grim Reaper must be scared of me,” you wheezed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Just doesn’t wanna show the fuck up.”

Merle let out one of those wild, barking laughs of his, shaking his head. “Shit, girl, I don’t blame him. You’re stubborn as hell.”

“Damn right.” You stretched, wincing, but you didn’t let it show too much. “I oughta start charging him rent if he’s just gonna keep circling and never really move in.”

Daryl didn’t laugh. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching you like you might disappear between one breath and the next.

Because you might.

Merle, either oblivious or just refusing to acknowledge reality, sprawled out in the recliner across from you, kicking his boots up on the coffee table. “So, what? You gonna outlive all of us just to spite that bony bastard?”

“That’s the plan.”

You and Merle grinned at each other like it was all some big joke.

Daryl didn’t think it was funny.

You were wrapped in that same old blanket you always had, the one with holes in it, the one you swore was perfectly fine even though Daryl had half a mind to steal it and replace it with something that wasn’t falling apart.

That night, when Merle was outside smoking and talking shit on the phone to some guy Daryl didn’t care about, he sat on the couch beside you. Not too close—just close enough to remind himself you were still here.

Your hands trembled when you reached for the glass of water on the coffee table. Daryl saw it before you could pretend otherwise and handed it to you instead.

You nodded in thanks, taking a slow sip before leaning your head back against the couch. “You’re quiet tonight.”

Daryl huffed, staring at a crack in the wall. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

“Yeah, you do.”

He glanced at you, scowling. “No, I don’t.”

You smirked like you knew some big secret. “You get all quiet when you’re mad about something.”

Daryl looked away. He didn’t want to admit you were right. Didn’t want to admit that his heart skipped a beat because you noticed that little fact about him.

You sighed, running your fingers over the rim of the glass. “You don’t gotta be mad for me, y’know.”

He clenched his jaw. “Ain’t mad.”

You gave him a look, all sharp and knowing. “Bullshit.”

Daryl inhaled through his nose, tapping his fingers against his knee. His hands felt restless, like they should be doing something—fixing something, fighting something. But there wasn’t shit to fight. Nothing he could win anyway.

“I don’t like seein’ you like this.” The words came out rougher than he meant, but they were the truth.

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“Feels like…” He trailed off, frowning.

“Like what?”

Daryl shook his head, restless energy thrumming under his skin. “Like you’re just sittin’ here waitin’ to die.”

You didn’t look surprised by that. Maybe you’d already thought the same thing yourself. Maybe you’d been thinking it longer than he had.

After a long pause, you said, “I don’t think I’m waiting to die. I think I’m just trying to live while I still can.”

Daryl swallowed hard, shifting in his seat. “That ain’t much better.”

You shrugged. “It’s all I got.”

And maybe that was what pissed him off the most.

That you’d accepted it. That you weren’t fighting. That you were making jokes about the damn Grim Reaper instead of doing something.

He knew it wasn’t fair. Knew this wasn’t something you could punch your way out of. But that didn’t stop the anger from curling hot and sharp in his chest.

Didn’t stop him from wanting to do something.

You must’ve seen it written all over his face because you sighed and nudged his arm with your knee. “C’mere, Dixon.”

He frowned. “For what?”

You patted the couch beside you. “Just come here.”

Daryl hesitated, then shifted closer. You tugged the edge of your blanket over his lap and leaned your head against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Daryl froze, shoulders tense. “The hell you doin’?”

“Relax, would you?” You sighed, closing your eyes. “You feel like a damn rock.”

He let out a breath through his nose but didn’t move away.

“You ever just let yourself be still?” you murmured.

He didn’t answer.

You hummed, like you already knew. “You should try it sometime.”

Daryl stayed stiff for a long moment before slowly letting himself relax.

Just a little.

Your breathing was steady, soft—like maybe, for the first time in a while, you weren’t in pain. Like his presence was better than any painkiller you’d ever taken.

And for the first time in a while, Daryl let himself believe—for just a second—that maybe you’d still be here tomorrow.

If not for yourself, then for him.