#daryl dixon & you

[normanplusdaryl]

You, you, you.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Era: Season 10

Word count: 1.2k

Plot: After a long night, Daryl comes home and you decide he needs a little break.

Warnings: It's not smut but its implied? It's nothing explicit ig.

A/N: This is my second fic and I can not believe I'm actually doing this lmao, this is one of my favorite scenes on the show and I've always thought Daryl deserved someone who take care of him after a rough night. Thanks to my friend @weretheones for all the amazing help, I seriously couldnt have done it without u, muah!

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The dawn was beginning to come out when the gates of Alexandria came to Daryl’s sight, it had been a long night for him, where everything that could go wrong actually did.

The walk home was silent between the archer and his best friend, the only sound intercepting the thick tension were the grunts of the hooded whisperer trying to set himself free. This would end up really bad, he could feel it in his gut. 

Daryl’s mind was spinning around what happened, trying to understand Carol’s actions. He knew she wasn't the same after what Alpha did, but after all these months he could only hope her grief was at least healing — he was clearly wrong. There was something he couldn't identify in her eyes, more than anger or revenge, something that scared him.

Gabriel saw them coming inside and hurried once he spotted their hostage.

“You put us all at risk!” he barked at Carol.

“We need to find that horde before it shows up in our gates” Carol replied.

“So you decided for all of us? Knowing what it could mean?” Gabriel angrily answered back.

“Don’t matter anymore, we still gotta fin’ them” Daryl's voice came from behind the livid father — “We will figure it out'” he stated, ending the discussion as he started to walk home, to his home. To you. 

He opened the door slowly trying to be quiet, you were probably still asleep and he would be damned if he perturbed your very needed rest.  Daryl placed his crossbow down on the table you reserved for it.  “Come on baby!” you pouted, “This way you can always know where you left it and it’s easy for you to grab it on a run! It’s a win - win, don't you think?”  Your eyes were so wide with excitement he couldn't say anything else but to peck your lips while nodding “Alrigh’” he simply answered. 

The memory made him smile, then, it hit him. That was the reason why Carol’s intentions to stir things up scared the hell out of him: he was finally happy.  After so many years of walking on eggshells just surviving, being with you gave his life meaning, and the idea of you being in danger for her impulsive actions unsettled him, he couldn’t lose you.   Daryl sighed as he began to take his vest off, a fresh pair of clothes should be enough to remove the smell and fatigue from the night before.

“Hey, you’re back” your voice broke his thoughts. Daryl turned to you and his heart jumped.  You were together for more than 6 months now and he still couldn't believe he was lucky enough to behold you like this.

“Msorry, didn't mean to wake ya, go back to sleep angel” he softly said.

You frowned, something was wrong. “What happened? Is everything ok?” you replied with a sweet tone in your voice. 

He bit his bottom lip, staring at the window. “It’s Carol, she took one of em’ here, I, huh, helped her '' he wasn't certain why, but he felt ashamed as he spoke —“We will try to make him talk”.

Your mouth formed an “O” picking up on what troubled the archer. Alpha could take retaliation if she knew what happened. Shit.

“Come on baby” you softly said, raising your hand so he could take it. “We need to get you clean first”.

You led him to the bathroom. Unsure of what was happening he followed every step you made with the feeling of thousands butterflies in his stomach. The way his old shirt embraced every one of your curves barely covering your bottom made his heart race. He never thought getting a shower could be this exciting.  Sitting on the sink, Daryl watched you unbutton his shirt very slowly, pecking at the skin revealed with every button that was undone. Soon, his broad chest was displayed and you smirked with satisfaction. Bringing your hands to his neck, you brushed his lips just a little and whispered “Let me take care of you, please”. 

Daryl trembled, he didn't feel tired anymore. 

Once you were satisfied with the temperature of the water, you took your robe off getting into the shower. Daryl couldn't help but stare as he got rid of his boxers, the sight of your naked body wasn't something he would ever get used to. 

The hot water splashed against his ached body, making him gasp with delight. You chuckled at the action “I thought you didn't like showers, huh?” you teased him.  “I like them with ya” Daryl sheepishly answered.

Your eyes traced his whole body searching for injuries that might need more than just some cleaning, to your relief, there wasn't anything new. Taking a sponge, you delicately started to wash his chest, paying extra attention to every one of his scars, caressing them gently, wishing they could disappear along with his pain, just like the soap with the water. Daryl’s eyes were glued to the action, feeling a warm sensation spreading over his broad frame, god, he loved you. 

“I know you’re worried” he looked into your eyes, listening to your words closely, “But I need you to understand, whatever happens, I’m here for you, we can always fight together”  You placed his hand on your left breast, “Do you feel it? My heart beating?” Daryl nodded, lost in the sensation of your soft skin against his rough hand. 

You kissed him deeply, wanting to make him forget about the troubles of the world he always felt the need to carry on his shoulders. “I love you Daryl” you whispered between kisses. Daryl felt like crying, he wasn't used to this kind of burning, unconditional love. “I love ya too” Daryl managed to answer, unable to concentrate in anything else but the feeling of your lips on his, you were the only thing in his mind. Every fiber of his body was consumed in you. You, You, You. 

Soon, the steam from the hot water wasn't the reason the bathroom was boiling, it was the way you both got lost into each other until you became one.

Daryl came out of the house with his hair dripping, Gabriel approached him as soon as he spotted him. 

“Did you take a shower?!” he said with a hint of surprise in his voice “I thought we were going to check on that whisperer guy?”

Daryl remained stoic to the father's questions but he felt himself blushing, just when he was about to brush him off Aaron caught up with them.

“Hey! We were looking for you!” he exclaimed, pointing at Daryl — “You showered?!” Aaron’s eyes widened with disbelief and Daryl left a frustrated grunt.

 “Can't take a damn shower or what?” Daryl growled as he walked away from the two men with a hidden grin on his face. 

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

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

[ladymacbeth-writes-sometimes]

this man knows EXACTLY what he's doing...

gifs from @rheedus

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[allagogtoreblog]

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 𝐏 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𖥔

⊹ being a good girl and letting him use your mouth

⊹ daryl said he was handy, in more ways than one, so you tell him to prove it. he took it literally.

⊹ he comes back from a run to find you waiting for him in his cell

⊹ he loves taking you from behind, burying you deep in the couch

⊹ he loves to tease you and get you dripping wet first

⊹ he says he's inexperienced but he's always hitting the right spots

⊹ he's been away on a run all week and he’s feeling touch starved

⊹ him needing you so badly the second you're alone in alexandria

⊹ the group notice you and young!daryl missing from time to time when you’re supposed to be helping out around the farm

⊹ when the cell block is empty, daryl refuses to waste an opportunity to be inside you

⊹ you love helping him relieve tension when he comes home after a long day at the commonwealth

⊹ you sneak into daryl's cell but there's only so much you can do without risking getting pregnant

⊹ you were being extra bratty and he needed to teach you a lesson

⊹ young!bf!daryl who always sneaks into your room during the night when he needs to get away from his own house

⊹ young!daryl loves treating you like the pretty little slut you are

⊹ young!daryl loves watching you squirm as he thrusts deep into you

⊹ you’re always shocked by how good it feels when he’s inside you

[feral4daryl]

masterlist || MDNI

sweet scent.

perv!daryl x fem!reader

summary: while looking for his crossbow around the house, daryl ends up finding a pile of your dirty clothes and... used panties of yours. and when no one's looking, he decides to have some fun with them.

warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl is in his late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18), not entirely proofread, smut, mean!daryl sort of, corruption kink, daryl being an absolute pervert, panties sniffing, daddy kink, masturbation, cussing, daryl imagining himself doing the dirtiest things to you (unprotected p-in-v, squirting, face fucking, praising, loss of virginity, cunnilingus and i think that's pretty much it)

word count: 2.8k

a/n: please proceed with caution, this piece of work portrays a few extreme or unusual fetishes, so if you're not comfortable with any of those i've listed above please do not ready this. the idea that inspired this work originally belongs to @dilfsandmartinis.

if there was something daryl absolutely hated, it was the feeling of uselessness.

since andrea had mistaken him for a walker and shot him from afar, grazing his head, useless was exactly how he felt, having to lay down on a bed the whole day and night, doing absolutely nothing but be left alone with his own thoughts. and oh, what a disgraceful fate.

everytime he wasn't focused on hunting, fighting or surviving in general, the farmer's sweet younger daughter flooded his mind. your hair, your face, your stupidly adorable sundresses, everything about you was so... distracting.

daryl wasn't ever the kind of guy to simp for a woman, but that one specific girl made him feel emotions and sensations that were hidden deep within his being for years, maybe even decades. feelings he thought had vanished from his heart a long time ago were now blooming all over again, like he was some stupid teenager looking at a playboy magazine for the first time.

there was something about your innocence, your adorable mannerisms, your sweet voice and your kindness that had awakened something in him, something he wasn't quite sure what it was.

no, he wasn't exactly a young man. and while being aware that you were very young, he couldn't help but feel so guilty for having those feelings. whenever you bended over to pick something up, he had to fight demons not to have a glimpse of your panties. he often wondered how could you be so careless by exposing yourself like that, even if you didn't do it on purpose.

and there was him again, thinking about you. it's like no matter how hard he tried to push those thoughts away, they were like water, always finding a way in.

he huffed, feeling defeated. he knew he was still recovering from the incident, and that he should rest, but why was he following orders around anyways? he wasn't a damn puppy. plus, everybody else had left him there to go looking for sophia. he wanted to be able to help too. he was alive after all, and if he was alive, he believed he should be on his feet.

so that's what he did. he slowly lifted his right foot, resting it on the floor, then he did the same with his left one. his body reluctantly lifted itself up, and he immediately could feel the consequences for laying down for so long, his back killing him and his vision a bit foggy. anyways, he ignored any discomfort and started walking slowly, his head still a little dizzy.

then, he remembered he needed his trustworthy crossbow, he couldn't just leave unprotected like that. he looked around the room he was settled in but it was nowhere to be seen. he knew it was still in the house, so he left the room. he started walking down the corridor, his eyes attentively looking for any signs of his crossbow. he was even starting to think that his mates might've hidden it to force him to stay in the house when he spotted a halfway open door.

his calloused hands pulled it open, revealing a small bedroom, all pink themed and stupidly decorated. no, his crossbow wasn't likely to be there, it just looked like it belonged to one of hershel's daughters, but it was like something was calling him in.

he stepped in the room and it almost looked messy. the dressing table on the corner had lipsticks, combs, all sorts of make-up and girly stuff all piled up and... a perfume.

it was happening again, images of you flooded his mind and it was like he could almost smell you. oh, your sweet scent had the power to make him hard like nothing else. just by looking at that small bottle, just by imagining your scent, he could feel little shock waves travelling all the way down to his cock, threatening to awaken it.

he knew it was wrong, so fucking wrong thinking about a much younger girl like that. and it was even worse considering that you were the daughter of the man that provided him shelter in such difficult times. it felt ungrateful.

when he saw you for the first time, he didn't think much of you. he was actually careful, treating you like the stranger you were. and even when time passed, he never really got close to you. now and then you tried to share a word, even if just a little bit, but it seemed useless since he would reject all your attempted approaches. he didn't hate you like he tried to after acknowledging his disgusting desires for you, but he just couldn't allow himself to interact with a girl that made him sick to his stomach for all the wrong reasons.

your sweetness was almost annoying. the entire world had gone to shit, for goodness sake! dead bodies walking around and eating all the people they could find. how could you act so clueless all the time? daryl even wondered if you had ever seen a walker before, if you knew what was really happening out there. after all, it was very obvious that you were a daddy's girl, always protected under your father's wing.

but strangely enough, acknowledging that only made him protective towards you. he was always somewhat watching, always around you making sure you were safe and he barely knew why, he just felt like he should.

so he didn't stop himself from reaching over to your small perfume bottle. the design was very simple, no labels to be seen, time had probably faded it away. the cap was baby pink and heart shaped, and when he removed it, he immediately brought the bottle to his nose, giving it a gentle sniff.

fuck.

now, he was 100% sure that was your room. the fragrance was the same one that filled his nose and made him drunk in you everytime you walked by. he wondered if that was the scent he would feel if he ever hugged you, burying his face into your chest.

in that moment, he couldn't think about anything else, not rick, not carol, not his chores, not surviving, not even sophia. you were everything that he had in his fucked up mind.

he wouldn't feel so fucking guilty if his thoughts were only about your innocence and sweetness, but they were also dirty as fuck. countless were the times when daryl imagined groping you, running his hands all over your delicate body, feeling every texture, squeezing every junk and listening close to your every little whimper. he would pull your hair, gently at first, just to get it off your face and neck so he could pamper them with little wet kisses, gently scratching his teeth along them. he imagined he'd have to keep you on your feet himself, since you'd struggle to because of how weak your knees would get at all the sensations he would provide you and...

wait, no.

what was he thinking? was he out his fucking mind? he needed to stop those absolutely disgusting thoughts right away. he couldn't keep having those thoughts about you, not when you're out taking care of such important business with the others. he put the perfume bottle back on the dressing table, determined to let all that go. he knew he couldn't just let himself get so distracted like that over something so mundane and unimportant as his own sexual desires but then...

...he spotted a basket filled with clothes when he turned around to leave. his mind immediately started to rush all over again, and for the 100th time that day, he turned careless. he slowly approached it. shorts, tops, pants and so on could be seen at the top of the pile.

in that moment, he had totally forgot why he had entered that bedroom or even left his bed in the first place. he couldn't even remember the existence of his crossbow or his duties.

and then... he gets an idea. he starts going through the pile of dirty clothes and in no time, he finds your panties. they were white with a pink ribbon on the front, a clear reminder of your innocence. for a moment, he just looks at it, contemplating the possibilities. then, he remembers seeing you in it when you bended over to pick some off the floor the day before. he remembers catching a glimpse of it under your yellow sundress when you went to change his bandage.

that meant that those panties had been freshly worn.

if just your perfume ignited such vile desires in him, he couldn't even imagine what your natural scent could do to him. and he was oh so curious to find out. he still felt guilty, but that man had been sex deprived for so fucking long, he didn't even masturbate very often. he knew damn well he was about to commit a big mistake, maybe even starting something he was sure he couldn't finish, but he finally made up his mind.

he flips the small piece of cloth over, eyeing the soft-looking lining of the panties. he gulps, feeling his mouth water right away. god, what was he doing? what was right, what was wrong wasn't even important to him anymore. he just wanted to embrace his sickness.

there was a small stain on the lining, probably from you wearing it. just that sight alone was enough to get him off, and once again, he found himself having to face that tingling sensation inside his pants. he knew damn well what that meant and what was about to happen. but honestly, he couldn't give a single fuck anymore.

in one quick motion, he brought the fabric to his face, giving a long sniff while he rolled his eyes to the back of his head. that fucking scent of yours got him drunk the moment it filled his nostrils. so intense, so feminine and raw, daryl couldn't remember the last time he felt that type of pleasure, or if he had even felt anything like it before.

it made him needy like a horny teenager. he felt himself going back to puberty when all he could think about was jacking off day and night. and it was all your fucking fault.

daryl palmed himself through his denim pants, never taking your panties off his face not even for one second. the natural scent of your cunt was more than successful to make him hard as a rock, the sensation of being in his pants started to get uncomfortable as his dick grew bigger and bigger.

just palming himself wasn't enough.

he slowly unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, inserting one of his hand in his briefs to catch his hard cock in it, freeing it for the first time in a while. his angry-red tip was literally pulsating while a clear and sticky liquid dropped down his length.

he wasn't able to hold a small grunt as he wrapped his calloused hand around his cock, the rough sensation of his fingers causing him to feel a jolt of pleasure so fucking delicious and guilty at the same time. the archer brought his hand to his mouth, catching some of his saliva to use as lube.

oh, how he wished you were there. he'd make sure you'd get his cock nice and wet with your spit so you could rub it up and down. and then, without warnings, he'd just shove it down your throat, forcing you to prove how much of a good girl you could be just for him.

and just for him. he wanted you all for his own. daryl never really liked to share, specially when it came to a girl like you, so princess like, so adorable looking. your plump lips looked so fucking perfect, and they would look even more wrapped around his big cock.

knowing how fragile you were, he knew you would definitely choke and gag on him, struggling to fit all of him in your mouth. he would whisper sweet encouragement words to you like “tha's it, tha's ma good girl”. he imagined how he would hold your head in place and keep a hand on your throat so he could feel his cock while he aggressively pumped it in and out, making you drool all over him. “just like tha', yeah, show daddy how fuckin' good ya are fer him”.

in his imagination, you would look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, with a mix of uncertainty and desire to make him proud. “am i doing this right, daddy?” he could almost hear your voice saying it whenever you would take him off his mouth to catch your breath for a moment, never disconnecting your small hand from his thick length.

he started pumping faster, squelching sounds were all that could be heard in that silent room, a proof of his degeneracy. the grunts and stifled moans were only getting harder and harder to hold back. he was sticking those panties to his face and sniffing on them like his life depended on it, like he was a desperate virgin.

a virgin. he wondered if you were one. you sure looked like it, your dad never let you out of sight for long enough for you to try something like that, he supposed from what he knew about your relationship. he imagined how would it feel like to be the one to pop your cherry for the first time.

oh, he would teach you so many things, everything he knows. he would guide you through it all along, teaching you where to touch, where to kiss, where to lick. he would make your virgin little cunny cum so many times it would get all puffy and red. he even wondered if he could make you squirt, stuffing you with his fingers, brushing against your sweet spot over and over again until you were a quivering mess, squirting all over his skull tattoo. and yes, he would make you lick his fingers clean, your sweet little tongue dragging across them, and then, he would kneel down in front of you, not wanting to waste a single drop of your sweet release, attacking your sensitive clit and slit with his lips and tongue.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

he was so fucking eager to taste your slick, to revel in your salty taste. he imagined how fucking good the smell he was getting from your panties was from the actual source. he would lick it all, your lips, your slit, even your ass, but he would give special attention to your little clit, flicking his tongue on it, making it cum again just for him. he would never grow tired of it.

and when he felt you were finally ready for him, he would bend you over just like you used to do so absentmindedly. he would be gentle at first, but knowing himself, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself back for too long before absolutely railing the shit out of you, making you cry out and scream his name in pleasure and pain.

and when he flipped you over on your back, he would be able to see the bulge on your lower belly caused by his big cock inside you. just by imagining that he felt himself getting close to the edge. he would press his hand on it, making the little room inside your pussy even tighter. fuck, he imagined the sweet sounds you would make just for him.

all those dirty thoughts and your sweet scent from your panties were more than enough to make shivers run down his spine and his whole body tremble. he kept his eyes shut tight as he licked a stripe on the lining of your panties, trying to get some of your delicious taste. meanwhile, he hadn't stopped his hands not even for a second, harshly rubbing his cock up and down until it was too much.

in a strangled moan, his cock started shooting spurt after spurt of thick cum onto the floor, the dressing table and pretty much anything that was around. he couldn't remember the last time he had such an intense orgasm, the sensation making his mind completely empty except for your image.

his movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. he sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. he opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.

then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...

you. standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.

“u-uncle daryl?”

[PART TWO]

a/n: i know, i'm disgusting. i'm sorry. (just a quick reminder, english isn't my first language, so please excuse any grammar mistakes or awkward phrasing lmao, and tysm if you read it this far)

[ashbye]

Ok I'm sorry but if I see one more story labeled x reader and when I go to read it your fugly ass OC named 'nicole' or 'bridget' are in there IM GONNA LOSE MY FUCKING MIND! THAT IS NOT X READER! I know some of you could say "well just switch it out with your name"

NO I WILL NOT! ITS ABOUT THE PRINCIPLE OF FALSE ADVERTISING! STOP IT!

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

And if you are one of the people that does this... I will find you and it will not be pretty

No hate to you if your name is nicole or bridget those re just examples

[dixonzzgirl]

imagine… 

finding daryl a really cool zippo lighter and seeing him mindlessly flick it open and close throughout the day.

sitting with your feet in his lap while you both relax on the porch swing (alexandria era).

pinky linking instead of full on hand holding. 

finally getting to the playful butt swat stage of your relationship + him winding up his t-shirt and chasing you around the house. 

him praising you whenever you kill an animal: “nice shot, girl.” “look at you.“ “atta girl.” 

reading a book with your legs crossed on his work bench as he tinkers with his bike.

getting a cold and when daryl dips down to kiss your lips, you turn your head away from him. “daryl, don’t! i don’t wanna get you sick!” and then he grabs your chin and presses a firm kiss on your lips anyway.

daryl finds a cowboy hat and drops it on your head. you let out a giggle. “what’s that saying? save a horse, ride a cowboy?” you smirk. his cheeks darken and he turns away from you. “think ya’ got tha’ backwards..” he drawls. “no? pretty sure i’m right…”

eating a lollipop and daryl walks right up and pulls it out of your mouth and puts it in his (or vise versa).

having a journal that you can both communicate in. we all know daryl isn’t the best at communicating his feelings verbally and maybe you aren’t either, so you just write back and forth to each other.

i love the journal idea because you would use it for everything. daryl has to be up early to help rick with something? he’ll scribble a quick “helping rick. come find me.” and as soon as you wake up and feel the void in bed beside you, you go right to the journal.

him getting hard as fuck when you give shane attitude (farm era).

you get into an accident on a run and ending up losing a lot of blood and you wake up later in the infirmary. “ya’ lost a lotta blood,” he says. “then i bet you did too…” you smiled groggily knowing that he gave you some of his (he’s a universal donor).

rubbing aloe vera on his sunburnt skin and he just lets out these sexy ass heavy breaths.

him watching you get visibly frustrated when someone else is helping you with something, but not doing it the way you want it done, so daryl steps in and tells them to get lost.

daryl giving you cold medicine while you’re sick and he makes you take it in front of him and open your mouth to show him that you swallowed it.

a/n: these are my favorite scenarios to imagine when I'm in class :) if you wanna use any of these ideas for a fic, tag me! i'd love to see them!

[fordaryl]

REMEMBER.

minors dni. 2.6k words. smut. daryl dixon x fem!reader. protective daryl. hint of size kink. strength kink.

It's easy to forget his strength when his touch is always so gentle. When you're safe, he lets you forget everything he's capable of; the reason you've both made it this long.

Safety lets you forget.

And then—when it inevitably all it all goes to shit again—you remember.

"Get in!" he calls through the wall of bodies separating you. He keeps the attention of most of them, but there's a few stumbling in your direction—too many for you to handle alone. "Now!" he shouts as he takes another growling walker down.

It goes against every instinct you have—to leave him to fight this alone. But this was his domain. This was when you did whatever the fuck he told you to do. It was how you survived.

You drag the door of the container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the walkers. It would be if it weren't for Daryl. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.

One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.

One is fine. You can handle one.

Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on Daryl. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.

You kick the walker you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.

Locking it is another story.

You have no hope of accomplishing that.

Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Daryl keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.

Then one gets shot down. Daryl, is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Walkers you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.

They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Daryl anymore. He's either dead or hiding.

Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.

You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.

“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”

Any second now... any second they'd find Daryl and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.

"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.

You hold your breath.

"Well check it out then!" another demands.

Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.

You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the walkers are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Daryl would be watching... waiting. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.

"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of your sights, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking."

You know what'll happened when they find you. It's the same thing each time. You're prey to people like these—something to hunt in a world without consequences for that kind of thing.

Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.

"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage—vulnerable. Not a threat. "I'm—I'm unarmed."

Then a bright light blinds you.

"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims. Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"

There it was. Little. Thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Daryl more time.

"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.

You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Daryl was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something.

You just had to stay alive.

"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.

You get muffled laughter in response. Guards down. Distracted.

"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."

They're flash lights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.

Five. You count five. If you kill two...

"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger, a little less distracted.

The rest ignore him. Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. They're hands send a wave of repulsion through your body as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their touch feels against your skin.

The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.

"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm says, clearly irritated and impatient.

"But—"

"Now."

His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of walkers, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.

Then, only a few steps later—you're stopped. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."

You blink away the burn threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...

The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry walkers. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."

There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.

But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?

You were dying tonight if Daryl was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...

Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.

You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all.

The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.

Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.

You were nothing. Prey.

The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the head before he can get hands on his own weapon.

The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though, those moments with an enemy weapon pointed at your head always do.

But then Daryl is there, strangling the man with a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck you spot the bodies behind him.

He'd been waiting for you.

You watch him stand, hair hanging in his face and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.

Then his eyes are on you.

Then his hands.

Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky.

You nod.

"You did good," he says, that deep gravel back in his voice. "So good, sweetheart." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point to rest at your clavicle. "We gotta go," he says. "Stay close for me, yeah?"

—————

The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs. To the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.

His thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you.

"You like that sweetheart?" His voice is almost sweet as his lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. "Huh? You like that?"

You nod with a small whine, pressing your hips back into him—desperate.

He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your slippery, spongy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.

"Fuck," he grunts. "You need me here? Huh? You all fuckin' empty?"

"Yeah," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."

His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely, his warmth seeping into your skin from his calves to his hot breath on your neck.

"What do you need?" he asks. As if he doesn't know; as if he didn't always know.

"You."

"Hm?" he hums, sweet and coaxing. "How?"

You reach blindly to find his wrist, gripping it firmly. "Hold me tight," you gasp between jagged breaths. "Please... Please."

His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas.

Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he fucking knows.

He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you; like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.

Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. It's temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he'd buried himself deep; once his cock was guided safely into your throbbing cunt.

You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.

Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats. He mumbles this way as he teases; as he plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink of desperate sobs as he guides his cockhead over your slippery, throbbing cunt... over and over.... and over...

Saying he liked you needy was an understatement.

Then, eventually, he slips inside. Just the tip.. and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.

This is when he gives you a hint of his strength. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his strong arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.

He keeps you there, just with a taste of that fullness—a taste of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he says, simple and a little croaky.

You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily—his lips chasing yours as you attempt to catch your breath.

"Daryl," you gasp eventually. "Now. Please."

His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck.

Then he pulls you down to meet his cock, to fuck himself deep. It's hard, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his neck weakly as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.

Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.

You nod weakly in response.

His fingers press into your skin moments before he's moving, fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his messy thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.

He's got you.

His breathing is quickly transformed into uneven pants as he attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... aren't you, baby? Hm?"

One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.

"My girl," he grunts. "My needy little girl."

It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips and tugs you down to meet him as he uses you, each thrust a slapping of skin and punching a helpless sound from your lungs.

Strength. Everything you've been forced to remember.

"Daryl," you gasp. "Daryl, fill me. Please."

His fingers dig a little more into your skin, his hair falling over his eyes. Then his lips part, a grunt... a broken, "Fuck."

He falls over you as he floods you, his cock twitching and pumping you full—just like you asked. But even then, even as he loses himself, he catches his fall—arms landing either side of your head to cage you in. "Got you," he gasps out between desperate lung fulls of air. "I got you."

[xd-m1a]

I love how Norman just casually takes the HARDEST pics of himself. AND HE ALWAYS LOOKSBSO HOT INALL OF TJEM

[normanplusdaryl]

Back to black.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Era: Season 9

Word count: 2.5k

Plot: Daryl comes home after many years to face the consequences of his actions.

Warnings: ANGST, pure ANGST!

A/N: I've been wanting to write this shared idea I had with @finalgirlrick for a while now, I hope I can break your heart (affectionate).

@weretheones I couldnt done it without u, like always! Ily <3

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

Daryl was in pain and he knew it.

He tried to ignore the pang running through the wound for several days but the burning sensation wouldn't cave in and the medical herbs were not being really helpful. 

Deep down he knew he needed help but somehow the idea of coming back to Alexandria stung more than the freshly cut on his face. 

The river flowed quiet and calm, leaving barely any trace of the storm that crashed hard the day before. With one knee on the ground, Daryl watched the water following the trail while contemplating his options. 

It’s been so long since he visited Alexandria. 

When he decided to follow the river in hopes to find Rick’s body he never thought it would take so long, until days, weeks and months passed by.  But he couldn't stop, the promise he made to Michonne drove his body incessantly. 

He would never admit it, but there were moments when a small part of his heart hoped the reason why he couldn't find a trace was because his brother was alive.

After many years, that hope slowly started to fade away. Every day became harsher, colder, more dangerous. Sometimes he just survived for instinct, not because he really wanted to.

Days like this were tougher, he could deal with some injury across his face but he wasn't sure how devastating it would be for him to come back home and face everything he left behind to pursue something he wasn't successfully accomplishing. 

He never let his mind ramble too much about what was going on back in Alexandria, he knew if he thought about it too much he wouldn't be able to resist dropping everything to go home, to Michonne, to Judith and RJ, to you.

The first years you visited him constantly, bringing food, blankets, fresh clothes or even weapons, anything that could help him out in the woods, trying to be close to him.

Still, that meant you were exposing yourself to the dangers of the path along the river. 

He knew you were capable of handling yourself out in the open but Daryl couldn't bear the thought of you being in danger trying to find him. This was his task and no one should suffer with him the consequences of his decision, especially you.

“It’s been years, Daryl, you need to take at least a break, come back home, we can think of a new strategy, maybe this time I could come with you and…”

“Just stop” Daryl spoke in a growl without letting you finish. —“Ya shouldn't be here”.

You sighed, you knew you were pushing some dangerous buttons but after so many times of the same conversation over and over, you needed to make sure he heard you.

“I understand Daryl, I really do, but we need you too, I need you.” you begged.

Daryl’s gaze was glued to the ground, paralyzed with the fear of catching your eyes, he knew if he looked at you nothing would stop him from finally hearing your pleas.

“I talked to Michonne, you know? and she isn't expecting you to fulfill the promise, she just wants you back home, we all do” you continued.

Usually, you could read him like a book but right now, you couldn't point out what was going through his mind.

“I… I…  dont think Rick would’ve wanted to see you like this either, Daryl”.

Daryl’s head snapped towards you. His face carried a trace of anger and sadness. 

“I’m never gonna stop looking” he finally said, his tone of voice lower than usual  — “This stops now, I never asked ya to be here”

The feeling of a thousand needles pinching through your body washed you over. You blinked twice, as fast as you could, trying to swipe away the tears that were forming in the corners of your eyes.

It took two long deep breaths for you to finally be able to speak.

“What does that mean Daryl?” you said almost in a whisper, afraid of an answer you already knew. 

Hell, you knew it from the moment that bridge exploded, your legs ran towards Daryl so fast to the sound of the dynamite invading the forest, by the time you got there the flames started to fade away, giving space to dark a fume that took over the sky. 

Your eyes searched everywhere for Daryl until you spotted him a few miles away, crossbow in hand. You yelled his name, twice, and when he finally turned to you, you knew, you could see it in his eyes, devastation consuming his body. Nothing would ever be the same from that moment but you loved him enough to fight and delay the inevitable for years, clinging to a hope that now was slipping right between your fingers.

Daryl took a step back, breaking your thoughts. He paced back and forward trying to gather the courage to speak.

“It means ya need to move on like I did” Daryl’s voice echoed in the silence of the quiet woods.

Daryl closed his eyes to the memory and sighed, that was the last time he saw you.

The way your face contorted with pain when he pronounced those words haunted his dreams almost every night. He knew he hurt you, and he regretted it everyday for the last couple of years.

Sometimes, he wondered if you could forgive him, maybe if he came back home and explained to you he never meant that, you’d take him into your arms like all those nights in the tiny basement of your house in Alexandria. 

His skin was burning, but inside his veins felt loaded with ice, making him shiver.

That wasn't a good sign. The fever was rising fast, shit, there wasn't another option, he needed to go now before he was too weak to make the ride. 

-

The guards of the guard tower recognized him immediately, the sound of the angry motor was something hard to ignore. “It's Daryl, let him in!” someone yelled from the inside.

Daryl drove through the gates giving them a thankful nod. Alexandria was different from the last time he was there, the community was thriving under Michonne’s leadership, they were not taking any new members for a long time now but still it felt bigger than usual. 

 “I thought I heard a bike” Aaron approached as soon as the doors closed behind him, extending his arms to give him a big hug.

“It’s been a while” Daryl squeezed his friend’s arm in response.

“It shouldn't be, this is your home too” Aaron gave him a sympathetic smile.

Home He might be back to the place he once called home but he knew the meaning of the term was gone the day he lost you.

“Jesus Daryl, that looks infected” Aaron broke the silence pointing to Daryl’s cut across his face.

“S’ not that bad” Daryl said as he shrugged.

Aaron’s expression changed as soon as he understood the reason behind his sudden visit, tension slowly invading his features.

“Daryl, I think we should talk before you go to the infirmary” Aaron’s tone of voice became serious. “Look, you probably don't know this but…”

“Daddy!” The sudden scream of a child interrupted the conversation. Both men followed the direction of the sound, finding a little girl walking towards them, pouting with fresh tears along her cheeks. 

“What happened sweetheart, are you okay?” Aaron took the little girl in his arms, swiping away the tiny drops. “I’m sorry, let me take her home so we can talk” he frowned — “Don't move, I’ll be back in a minute”.

Daryl nodded watching his friend leave, confused by his words and sudden change of demeanor.

Once the residents spotted him he felt exposed. People greeted him with surprise, some of them came forward to ask him how he was doing while others just stared, clearly unaware of who he was.

Anxiety took the best of him, the chances of running into you were high the longer he stayed there, he thought it was for the best if he could sneak in, get his antibiotics and leave before you notice. 

He owed you at least that.

The small white house came into his sight, pots full of flowers carefully placed following the road to the stairs. His heart raced when he recognized which kind they were: tulips, your favorite ones.

The curtains on the window were open, leaning on the corner outside the door he peeked inside in hopes to see Siddiq there, but what he saw made him freeze, feeling every inch of his skin electrified. 

You were there.

Time didn't seem to pass by you cause he could’ve sworn you looked the same as the last time he saw you, except the pony tail you used to wear everyday was gone, and your hair looked shorter. He smiled recalling how many times you complained about being too long for the damn summer. 

God, he missed you. 

Daryl endured a lot of things down the river, but being away from you was the hardest one.

After your discussion in the woods, he made himself a promise. To make it through, he could never allow himself to think of you. Not because he didn't want to but because he was certain he wouldn't survive if he did it. 

All the feelings he captured inside him all these years were coming out in waves, leaving him in a daze. He wanted to leave, this wasn't what he was planning on, but Daryl felt hypnotized. He drank you in, memorizing for one last time every corner of your beautiful face. 

Siddiq’s frame appeared next to yours, whispering something in your ear that made you chuckle. The scene had a hint of intimacy hidden in the way you both looked at eachother. 

And then, Siddiq’s hands took your waist, pulling you closer to him, until the distance between your bodies disappeared. He placed one kiss on your forehead followed by another one on your lips and you smiled at the action.

Oh

That's why Aaron wanted to talk to him first.

Daryl’s breathing hitched. No, no, no.

Siddiq looked different from the last time Daryl saw him, older, more mature and he could’ve sworn even taller.

He looked like the happiest man on earth. Daryl couldn't blame him, once he felt like that too.

He took your hand giving it one last kiss before waving goodbye, Daryl’s eyes were glued to the action, feeling a strange sense of relief once he left the room.

He didn't know how long he stood there in front of the door but he couldn't move, it felt like the strength from the earth was nailing him to the wooden deck, immobilizing his body.  Everything hurt, if the fever didn't kill him this certainly would.

Immerse in his thoughts he missed the sound of your steps approaching the door, you opened it before he could make a move.

“Da.. Daryl?!” your eyes widened at him. — “What are you doing here?!”

The shock of having you suddenly so close left him flabbergasted, he remained silent feeling the lump on his throat getting bigger, words couldn't physically come out of his mouth.

Your eyes scanned him, you knew Daryl and the only reason he would come back was if he was dangerously injured.

His skin looked pale, and the bags under his eyes were starting to have a purple look but what really concerned you, was the swollen massive cut across his right eye.

You brought your hand towards his forehead, he was burning.

“Oh my god! Come in, come in." — " We need to take care of that, it’s already infected” you rushed him in as fast as you could.

Daryl nodded, still unable to talk.

Sitting on the stretcher Daryl watched your trained hands hurriedly clean up his wound, the smell of your sweet perfume captivated his nostrils every time you leaned over to apply some ointment. He hummed inwardly with delight, even as you were trying to be really careful to not hurt him further, he couldn't feel a thing, his mind was consumed in the sensation of your delicate touch.

“Here, you need to take one in the morning before eating, make sure to have something in your stomach, please” you softly said while giving him a bottle of pills.

“Ya sure don't need this?” guilt pang him, he was strong, two pills would do the trick, he didn't need more.

“Don't fight me, please?, I know what I’m doing” you scolded him tittling your head.

“Yeah, I know” Daryl’s voice came out almost in a whisper.

The tension in the air was palpable, filled with a thousand emotions. There was so much history between the two of you, even if you weren't together now, both of you knew you would always love and care for each other to the end.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were afraid you’d faint right there. You knew you would see Daryl again, sure, but not like this, not after Siddiq just left. 

It took a long time before you could feel like yourself again, days and sleepless nights wondering for years why you weren't enough. Sometimes you would go outside the gates of Alexandria determined to search for him and talk, beg for him to take you back, to love you again. But his words rang loud in your head whenever you approached near the river “It means ya need to move on like I did”.

“M’ sorry” Daryl broke the cruel silence. “I didn't knew”

You closed your eyes, facing the window, unable to look at his face. It was crazy how deep down the feelings you had for him still burned like fire, hearing the sound of his voice made your heart race, attempting to jump out of your chest.

“Are ya happy?” Daryl continued, standing from the stretcher walking over to you. — “I need to know”.

You were happy indeed. Siddiq brought something different in you, a version you enjoyed. His love was calm, easy, steady, exactly what you needed after so much time alone feeling pity for yourself. A breath of fresh air for your drowning soul. 

Sure, it wasn't the fervent passionate love you felt for Daryl, but it was enough to make you happy.

“I am” you simply answered. “And I hope you found the peace you were looking for”.

Daryl nodded, trying to keep himself together. He was truly glad you were happy but the sorrow he felt knowing he wasn't the reason behind overwhelmed him. 

He couldn't blame you. You fought hard for many years to be close to him but the grief blinded him until it was too late. He told you to move on, so you did. It wasn't that hard to understand.

“Thank ya for the medicine and everythin’, angel.” he managed to answer.

Your head buzzed at those words, it took all of your strength to not run into his arms.

“Daryl, I…” you mumbled, hugging yourself afraid of falling apart into pieces. 

Wishing he was a better man, Daryl walked towards the door crushed by the reality he was facing. He raised his eyes to yours for one last time.

“My heart will always belong to ya.” Daryl pronounced before crossing the frame of the front door, landing every word right inside your aching heart.

You watched him leave wondering if you were making a mistake, but fully aware that right now, there was nothing you could do.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Y/N, giggling: You sneeze like a girl.

Daryl: How ‘bout I pound ya like a boy?

Daryl: …

Daryl: That didn’t come out right.

Y/N: I know what you meant. Your place or mine?

Daryl: Yours.

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Matchmaker Merle

Warnings: slight drug use, mentions of Lori, Daryl is a virgin, Shane being Shane, No use of Y/N, unprotected sex

Summary: Merle tries to get Daryl laid with an old family friend. Apparently, Merle is a master matchmaker? Buildup to smut. 

Notes: Sorry for having the buildup so slow, I'm really bad at porn without at least a LITTLE plot lmao

You were allowed a little leeway your first day at camp. Glenn had found you, confused and lost, covered in dirt and blood after the bombs had gone off and separated you from your friends and family. You were on the highway, like everyone else, but as soon as they saw the city being lit up, all hell broke loose. They started acting like animals. Running and screaming, looting. The dead coming back to life didn't help much either. 

On your second day, you were expected to start pitching in. You didn't mind helping, it was the way Shane approached you that rubbed you the wrong way. You offered to help hunt, fish, and go out looking for supplies, but he just laughed at you. He laughed like you were a child asking for a gun. He handed you a brush and sat you down beside Carol, who was washing clothes at the bottom of the quarry. 

You found comfort in familiarity. Which came in the form of something extremely unexpected, Merle Dixon. Maybe it was because you'd seen each other a few times at the corner store back near where you lived, maybe it was the fact he had respect for your folks, but when you were taken back to camp he didn't treat you the way he treated the other women. 

He wasn't respectful or chivalrous by any means, but he didn't treat you like a piece of meat. He didn't constantly try to get in your pants or speak to you in that slimy demeaning way he had with Andrea or Amy. You were grateful for it, even if you did catch him staring at your ass more than once, because he was the one thing that made you feel a little more at home with the group.

You'd never met his brother before. You'd seen him once, at the small mechanic shop near the corner store you'd occasionally see Merle in. Rednecks were anything but rare where you grew up, but something about Daryl felt different. He was quieter, more of Merle's shadow than his own person. But you knew just by looking at him that he was anything but somebody's shadow.

He saw you on your second day, after you'd done your morning “chores” and went to sit next to the campfire. He was carving something, maybe a bolt for his crossbow, and he barely looked up when you sat down across from him. 

Daryl looked up again, a spark of recognition in his eyes. His voice, strong and firm, called your name as if it was a question. 

“Yes?” You could see the exact moment the realization clicked that he did in fact remember you.

He didn't know much about you at all. He knew Merle knew your folks, and you lived pretty close, but he'd never actually spoken to you before. 

He did like to watch you, though, you'd always go into the corner store next to the mechanic shop and buy a coke and a bag of chips at lunch. He thought you were the prettiest woman he'd ever seen. Merle had a different set of words he'd prefer to use for you, but Daryl thought they felt too nasty. You weren't white trash, you were pretty, out of place, and the words ‘hot piece of ass' just didn't fit you. 

“Shit. Didn't think it was you when they said your name yesterday.” His fingers absentmindedly rubbed the length of his stick, looking over you a few times as he tongued the inside of his cheek in thought. “Huh. You seen Merle yet?” 

“Yeah, I got here yesterday morning.” You answered, the day before Daryl had been gone most of the day hunting. By the time he got back you were already in your new tent, something that Glenn had made sure to pick up when he brought you back to his group. 

“What happened? Your folks alright?” He asked, knowing it was strange for you to be here without your family and friends. 

“I have no idea. Don't remember much. We were real close to the city when the bombs went off, all I remember is fire and screaming and I woke up in the back of a gas station.” 

He nodded again, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he listened. 

Daryl wanted to stay with you, talk for a while, having a familiar face made him feel like less of an outsider. But from the corner of his eye he saw Shane with his hands on his hips in that stupid pose he liked to do when he was about to give someone  attitude. Daryl looked back to you and gathered his crossbow and bolts, muttering a quick excuse about needing to go hunt and that he'd see you around. He couldn't stand Shane, he'd only known him for a few weeks, give or take, and he was doing everything he could to avoid the wife fucker. 

Shane gave you a talking to that evening, warning you about the “backwoods rednecks”, even though you knew it wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. It was just another way to control the people in his camp, something he got off on doing. He didn't trust either of the Dixon brothers, that was for certain, but going out of his way to ‘warn’ you? It took everything in you to just nod and say okay. 

“When you gonna tap that, baby brother?” Merle's voice and the way he said it made Daryl cringe. He needed to do a better job about not staring at you so blatantly. 

“Not my type.” Daryl lied through his teeth, picking another strip of stringy squirrel meat from the stick he'd used to roast it over the fire. 

The Dixon brothers usually had a smaller, separate fire away from the main groups. It was mostly Merle's idea, he'd tell Daryl ‘they're not like us, keep your distance, we're just redneck trash to them.’. Not that Daryl gave a shit. He mostly thought the same anyways. 

You were at the group fire, sitting beside Andrea and Amy, who were busy chattering about how they wished they could catch some fish instead of surviving off tree rats and canned peas. You didn't mind it, even though you preferred larger game, meat was meat. You ate your squirrel like it was a gourmet dinner, something Daryl took note of.

“Not your type? Hah! That's bullshit and we both know it. She's everybody's type, boy, you better get on that before someone else does.”

Daryl wasn't sure who Merle was referring to. Glenn could barely speak to women, T-Dog was far too respectful, Shane was so far up Lori’s ass he had shit in his ears. (That's so gross I'm so sorry) 

The sound of harsh sniffing had Daryl looking away from you and back to his brother. He wiped the white residue from his nose and offered Daryl his large knife, containing another line. 

“Nah. I'm good.” Daryl waved him off, not feeling like being on uppers around all these people. Made his temper even shorter than it already was. “Careful with that shit, if Shane sees-”

“He ain't gonna do shit about it. I'd like to see him say somethin’.” The fact Merle was always looking for an excuse to butt heads had Daryl on edge. “Take it, and go take her off in the woods before I do.” 

It never took too much demanding from Merle before Daryl would give in. It was a fatal flaw in his character. He looked up to him and whatever he said went, even when he didn't really want to. So he took the coke and worked up the nerves to talk to you. 

You'd just finished washing everyone's stupid dirty dishes and went into the woods to piss when you saw Daryl again. You gasped as you walked around the tree you'd used for cover and saw him walking through the treeline, worried he'd seen you. But he was too focused on his steps, and that put you at ease. 

You walked up the half-assed trail to meet him, not feeling like chatting next to your pee puddle. 

“Hey, you going hunting?” You asked, slipping your hands in your shorts pockets. 

He shook his head as he reached you, snatching a stray stick out of his hair. “Goin’ down to some of the old shops down the road. Tired of all these canned peas. You comin’?”

You eagerly nodded, happy to be away from the group. They were nice enough, but since you normally hung around Merle, they treated you as someone they didn't fully trust. Especially Lori, Shane and Dale. The amount of times you caught Lori staring daggers into you every time you were within ten feet of Carl was starting to drive you insane. 

“Been wanting to get out and do something for days. Can't fucking stand Shane's micromanaging.” You said as you walked, wishing you would've known you'd be going on an impromptu supply run. You only had your knife, you'd prefer to have your Ruger your father had given you. It was in the RV, where Shane had taken it to ‘clean’. You were more than suspicious that he just didn't want you carrying a gun around camp. 

Daryl snorted. “Yeah. Can't stand that asshole. What kinda man-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. 

“What?” You looked over at him, careful not to trip on the multiple storm blown  branches from the larger trees. 

“Nothin’. Just don't like ‘em.” 

You were silent for a few minutes as you thought of something to say. You know, in apocalypse type situations, you mainly think about securing your next meal, how to not get killed in your sleep, how to protect your friends and family. But here you were, trying to think of what to say to a man you were steadily growing attracted to. You always thought he was cute before this, but seeing how capable he was, how he was so sure of himself, it was a side to him you didn't expect. It was like he was one of those people always secretly hoping for an excuse to go live in the woods and live in anarchy. 

“How attached are you to this group?” He asked, catching you off guard. 

“Not at all. Can't stand most of them. Why?” 

“Just thinkin’ about leavin’. Don't belong here with these people. Lori screamed at a damn snake the other day and got the kids all riled up.” He had a visible look of distaste on his face. Of all things to scream your head off at in an apocalypse, wildlife wasn't on your list. 

“Are you asking me to come?” You asked, unsuccessfully attempting to hide your excitement. The idea of splitting off with the Dixon brothers seemed your best bet, even if Merle was, well, Merle. You knew you were probably one of the only women on earth that didn't have to worry about him constantly trying to get in your pants. What you didn't know though, was that he was trying his damnedest to get his little brother laid, even if you were the daughter of a family friend. 

“Yeah. You don't belong here either.” You didn't know if it was true or not, but it felt true to you. 

“Sure. As long as I'm not gonna be a burden, or anything.” You knew you'd need to rely on the two of them for protection and some food, at least until you got used to your new life. You adapted fairly quickly. 

“Wouldn't’ve asked if you were.” 

“Alright, well, if you make up your mind, let me know.”

You arrived at the first store, a small gas station much like the one the two of you used to frequent back then. It was fairly untouched, but you knew it wouldn't be that way for long. 

You broke into a bag of jerky, thankful it was Daryl with you and not anyone else. If someone gave you a speech on taking care of the group before yourself you might just take off on your own without Daryl. 

He scored a bunch of chips, some cup noodles, and a 6 pack of beer for Merle. 

Instead of going back like you'd originally planned, you talked each other into going further off down the road to an old Dollar General. You stored your stash in a hollowed out log next to the road so you wouldn't need to carry it the entire time and carried on. 

“This was a great idea.” Your tongue was stained red from sour patch kids, you went through five bags and gave Daryl the greens and yellows. 

Daryl licked the sour crystals from his fingertips and grunted in agreement, tossing the empty bag over his shoulder off the roof that the two of you had gone up to to indulge in your spoils. 

You laid on your back and sighed, surrounded by empty snack bags and wrappers. “Fuck. I needed this.” Neither of you cringed at your corny comment, because although a cliche, you really, really did need this. 

Daryl hadn't eaten much besides the gummies, thanks to being pressured into taking the coke by Merle. He cursed himself for it, wishing he had the nerve to just say no and stick with it. 

He glanced over at you, your body orange in the light of the setting sun. You still wore those cute short Bobbie Brooks shorts he'd always seen you wearing around town. His eyes drifted to your legs and he let out a soft exhale, wishing he was as silver tongued as he thought his brother was. Even if the ladies rarely appreciated Merle's filthy flirting, he had to admit his one liners were pretty impressive sometimes. 

You opened your eyes and used your hand as a shield from the sun to look at him. You'd barely caught him staring at your legs, and felt a smile tug at your lips. 

“You wanna fool around?” You half joked, prepared to laugh if he turned you down. But the look on his face told you he really, really didn't want to turn you down. 

He froze for a moment, his eyes looking anywhere but you, his heart hammering against his chest. His thoughts ran frantic, from Merle telling him to have sex with you, and to you, who he was terrified to have sex with. He was suddenly very grateful for the coke he'd taken, and it clicked in his mind why Merle had been so insistent on him taking it. He knew he wouldn't last three minutes without it. 

“You serious?” He asked, his brows knitted tightly together from the sun and in concentration as he read your face. 

“Yeah, why not?” You shrugged, sitting upright so you didn't have to keep squinting up at him. You looked cool on the outside, but on the inside you were barely holding it together. You'd never thought of Daryl this way before, given you'd only seen him once before all this, but now that you were, it felt like you were about to potentially have sex with the hottest man on earth. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” 

Awkward was an understatement. Daryl didn't know what to do with his hands. His dick had been hard off and on the whole trip with you, despite the coke. He didn't know what would feel good to you, something he found himself oddly concerned with. His only experience with women was watching them getting fucked in porn, so he tried it that way. 

Your eyes widened in surprise when he quickly turned and leaned over you, his hands slipping up your shirt. He choked out a gasp, looking down at the outline of his hands as he squeezed your tits. You were caught off guard by his sudden boldness, and the way he was roughly groping your chest wasn't helping. You grimaced, about to tell him to ease up, but he caught your mouth in an unexpected kiss before you could speak. 

You were way too horny to care about how messy his kissing was. Truthfully, it was pretty hot, filled with so much desire and lust that it didn't matter he was inexperienced. The fact he was this eager just because of you had you moaning into his mouth. 

He took that as a sign he was doing something right and rolled your nipples between his fingers, doing what felt right. He pinched them, making you gasp against his lips, and he couldn't hide the crooked grin from his face. He pulled back just long enough to start unbuttoning your shirt. 

You took over for him, not wanting him to get impatient and rip off one of your only good shirts. When his eyes landed on your chest he whimpered, he fucking whimpered! You groaned at the sound and pulled him back against you by his shoulders, sinking your head into the crook of his neck to kiss the skin there. 

He hadn't expected you to do anything to him. In the videos he watched, most of the time the dude just rips her clothes off and fucks her in different positions for half an hour while she screams and moans like she's hurt. He hated that sound, the over exaggerated noises, he much preferred the noises you made. 

You laid down on your back, grateful the sun had sunk below the tips of the trees so it wasn't so bright anymore. He was on you in a second, now kissing your neck, eager to give you the same pleasure you were making him feel. The moan that rumbled in your chest made his heart jump, knowing he was doing something right. 

“God, s’so good.” You exhaled lazily, your eyes closing as he used his knee to kick your thighs apart for his waist. He quickly ground against you, a stifled groan stuck in his throat at the feeling of friction. 

“Take ‘em off.” He demanded, tugging impatiently at your shorts before he went to unbuckle his belt. You happily obliged, unbuttoning your shorts and dragging them down your thighs. 

When Daryl saw your lacy red panties he shivered. At camp, most of the underwear he saw hanging up were more… practical? The women had quickly changed their lace panties and thongs for boy shorts, but here you were, the skin around your hips indented obscenely from the way they hugged you like magic. 

“Fuck.” He exhaled deeply, his forehead resting against yours as he looked down at your body under his. He was really, really glad Merle gave him coke. Just the sight of you mostly naked under him had his cock throbbing painfully.

He finished with his pants, only pulling them down enough to drag his leaking dick out, his jaw dropping when he saw you shimmying out of your panties. His head spun, his mouth watered, and before he could even think he was scooting down to plant his face between your legs. 

You gasped, your head falling back against the rough flooring of the roof. He was so eager., so heartbreakingly eager to please you, it had your pussy so wet it was almost unbearable. His hot tongue was sloppy, inaccurate, it couldn't decide where it wanted to be. He'd be licking broad stripes one second, and the next he was swirling it around your clit. You were beginning to think maybe he wasn't as inexperienced as you believed. 

Daryl learned all he knew about sex from porn. If there was one thing he was fascinated about, it was giving head. One of the first things he always wanted to do was eat out a woman. He never thought it would be someone as hot as you. 

He tried everything he knew that made the women in videos moan, and to his surprise, you moaned the most when he kept it simple and just sucked your clit. So he did that, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking it into his mouth to roll his tongue around. 

You were in shambles. You tried desperately to pull at his hair, but it was too short to grab so you settled on sinking your nails into his scalp as you rolled your hips against his face and tried not to be so loud. 

Your jaw dropped and your eyes squeezed shut when he dug his tongue into the side of your clit, dragging your orgasm out so unexpectedly that you gasped. 

“Fuck, oh, oh god!” You sputtered, your thighs squeezing his head to hold him there as you came, your back arching and your toes curling so hard your foot almost cramped up. 

Daryl slipped his hand under him and grabbed his cock, stroking it as he felt your body tremble and jerk under him. He was sure this was a dream, he'd wake up any second in his tent with Merle snoring beside him and you all the way across camp. He squeezed his dick, milking the precum from his tip as your thighs finally relaxed. 

“My god. You're really good at that.” You panted, your eyes blurry as you watched him slide up your body and take its place on top of you. 

He grinned, knowing you were unintentionally starting to give him an ego. “Yeah?” He racked his brain for dirty talk, but since it was fried from making you cum, all he could come up with was “I got somethin’ I'm even better at.” Complete lie. 

You, on the other hand, had no idea he was a virgin, and grinned widely at the implications, shifting your body up till you felt his heavy cock graze against your inner thigh. The feeling alone sent a bolt through your body, and your chest heaved with deep excited breaths. 

He leaned up and grabbed your shoulder, signaling for you to turn over. You didn't question it and rolled over, propping yourself on your hands and knees. 

The sight of you from behind had him falling apart. He let out a quiet whimper and bit his bottom lip before grabbing his cock and scooting forward to push it against you. 

“Jesus, so fuckin wet.” He breathed, his heart beating so loud he could hear the blood in his ears. He slid his dick between your folds, going through all the steps in his head that he'd seen countless times. He even slapped it against your pussy a few times, missing the amused expression on your face, and pushed himself into you. 

What Daryl  didn't learn from porn was that usually, you go in slow when someone hasn't had sex recently. So when he just pushed his dick inside you with no hesitation you cried out, the burn from the unprepared stretching making you jolt forward. He grabbed your hips to bring you back against him, his jaw going slack as he felt your hot wet walls squeezing the life out of him. 

“Fuck!” You spat, the burning and stabbing pain almost enough to turn you off completely. “You gotta be slower than that, Daryl.” 

He was too deep to process what you said. He finally let out the breath he'd been holding with a deep, guttural groan, still frozen inside you. “Sah-Sorry.” He sputtered, his hands squeezing your hips so hard you knew for a fact there'd be ten little light purple bruises there tomorrow. 

Before you could say or do anything else he started moving, setting the pace quickly, snapping his hips against your ass so roughly your hands almost slipped out from under you. The uncomfortable stretch quickly faded into a deep, primal pleasure, and soon you were letting out short moans with every thrust of his hips. 

You barely got used to the feeling before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it back, drawing a cry from your throat. You weren't expecting this from Daryl, he was so confident, so rough, it confused you but drove you absolutely wild at the same time. 

His other hand kept its tight grip on your hip, pulling you back to meet each of his demanding thrusts, making sure his dick went as deep as possible each time. The way you were moaning and gasping fueled him to fuck you rougher, wanting to hear every sound that you were possible of making. 

“Dirty little whore.” He grunted, his jaw aching from how hard he'd been clenching his teeth. 

His words earned a strangled whimper from you, making his lips curl up in a cocky grin. 

He fucked you for a while like that, hips pounding against your ass so hard that the noises of your skin slapping was making your cheeks burn in embarrassed arousal. So much for keeping it quiet. 

“Hey-” The words were hard to get out from his aggressive thrusts, especially now that he was hunched over your body so he could squeeze your breasts. “I- wanna turn over.” 

He raised his chest from your back and took the opportunity to catch his breath while you shifted under him to roll over on your back. The look on your face made him shudder with a quiet gasp. Your face was tinted a light red, blissed out, your pupils blown and hair all messed up around your face. He was back on you immediately, kissing you hungrily as he slipped his cock back inside you, much easier this time. 

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good.” He breathed against your lips, wet from his sloppy kisses, and he kissed down your jaw to your neck. His accent was much thicker when he was inside you, barely pronouncing any words fully anymore. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist, angling your hips up so he could drive his cock deeper into you. The new feeling made him moan pathetically into your neck, and he had to stifle the noises he didn't like with a bite to the skin where your neck met shoulder. 

The pressure of his teeth had your eyes rolling back in your head. There was so much stimulation, his dick driving relentlessly into your throbbing pussy, his fingers pinching your nipple and the other hand in your hair, pulling your head to the side to give him better access to your neck. A particularly deep thrust made you cry out, and you felt yourself nearing your second orgasm.

“Fuck!” You whined, your eyes squeezing tightly shut as you felt the tension building in your core as he fucked his dick into you. 

“That's it, y’gonna come for me?” His teeth drew away from your red neck, a string of spit connecting the two of you. 

All you could muster was an obscene “Mhmm!”, your thighs squeezing him tight around the waist. 

“C'mon girl.” His words were choppy from the force of his thrusts. He slowed for a second, readjusting himself before building back up to his former quick pace, each thrust sending your body scooting a little upwards along the floor of the roof. You were incredibly thankful it wasn't concrete. 

“Lemme hear it, c'mon.” His words alone were enough to send you falling over your edge. Your jaw dropped, your head tilting back as your back arched under his heavy body, and his arm slipped under you to hold your chest tight against his. 

The look on your face and the feeling of you cumming around his dick was all he needed. His face went slack and he let out a shameful whine, something he'd never heard himself make before, and came inside you. Neither of you noticed, too fucked out of your minds to even process it. 

You cried under him, twisting and squirming, impaled on his dick as your orgasm shook you to your core. Only when the final waves rolled off you did you relax, your eyes struggling to open as your breathing slowed.

Daryl raised his face from your chest and looked down at you, enjoying the look on your face as he regained his bearings. He ran his hands up and down your torso a few times, his eyes appreciating every little red mark on your neck and chest from his teeth.

 Only when the last jolts of pleasure left his body did he realize he came inside you. 

“Shit.” He grunted as he slowly drug his dick out of you, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the way his cum oozed out between your slick, puffy folds. 

“Hmm, ‘s fine.” You mumbled lazily, reaching up to push your hair from your face. “We're on top of a Dollar General. We'll get the morning after pill.” 

He nodded at your words, still hypnotized by the sight of his cum leaking out of you. A deep part of him wanted to stuff his dick back in you and keep it in, he didn't know why, but the idea was so hot he could've gone for a round two if you wanted. 

“We better get back.” You struggled to prop yourself up on your elbows, your weakened muscles protesting. The sun was well below the trees now, and if you got back when it was dark you knew Shane would throw a goddamn hissy fit. 

“We ain't gotta.” He half joked, a lazy grin on his face. “Can just stay here. Go back in the mornin’.”

You smiled, shaking your head, even though the idea was incredibly tempting. “Shane will kill us.”

“Fuck him.”

“I don't wanna piss him off when he's the one in possession of my gun right now.” Your words had him raising his brows and nodding in agreement. 

The two of you put your clothes back on and went through the back entrance, grabbing all your bags and making sure to pick up some morning after pills from the locked shelf behind the front desk. You caught him trying to discreetly grab some condoms, not knowing you saw, and you felt excitement bubble in your chest at the prospect of him expecting this to happen again. 

Thankfully Shane wasn't in camp when you snuck back in. He was down by the quarry, catching frogs or some shit, and you were able to share your spoils with the group before he came to ask questions. 

“Well, shit. Look at you.” Merle was smiling ear to ear, clapping Daryl on the back after he went to his brother's tent with a bag of goodies. 

It was extremely obvious what the two of you had done. Your hair was still messy despite you brushing it with your fingers on the way back, your face pink, your neck red. You were climbing into your own tent as Merle watched you from across camp. 

Daryl's neck and face were also red, and he had a few scratch marks on the back of his neck. 

And his fly was still down. 

“Shut up.” Daryl shrugged his brother's hand off him, opening a bag of Funyuns.

“My baby brothers no longer a fuckin’ loser!” He laughed, giving a wolf whistle before playfully ruffling his hair. “Atta boy. I told you.” 

“Ya’ ain't tell me shit.” Daryl grumbled, stuffing Funyuns in his mouth to hide the smile that was creeping onto his face. 

“Hey.”

“What?” Daryl groaned, exasperated already. 

“Think she’ll give me a ride?”

“Shut the hell up, man.” 

[normanplusdaryl]

"The back of your palm landed against his forehead. Hot. Then dropped to his chest, just below his collarbones. Your hand laid flat against that black cotton, stretched over the broad expanse of his chest, and felt that same burning underneath. Daryl hadn’t flinched, he seemed to give up that impulse when the fever took control, but his eyes did flicker down to your touch. "

OH MY GOD, this chapter was so good, they been fighting and running around for so long they needed a break to heal and bond a little more.

I loved how vulnerable Daryl was during his fever episode and was willing to be more open about the past and showing reader how much he cares for her to the point he was willing to sacrifice himself if the herd came in.

AND READER FINALLY PLACING HIS BANGS BEHIND HIS EAR?!!??!?!! EXCUSE ME IM SHAKING AND KICKING AND THROWING UP!!!

CANT WAIT FOR NEXT CHAPTER IM SO FUCKIN EXCITED!!! Pls read this series, its fuckin amazing

All You Got | Part 7

Part 7: Burning Out

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4) 

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 5k Warnings: description of injury, infection, and other typical twd content. mentions of death. A/N: oh hi <3 im happy to be back with a new part for you guys. definitely needed that break. I had my last class of university this week and I've just been a bundle of feelings lately. thank you for being so patient and for all the lovely comments lately :) mwah! enjoy

These last few years, the fight had been constant— to find shelter, to defend a friend, to get your next meal. Each day was like a knife at your throat, leaving you to wonder when the blade would finally pierce and bleed you dry. 

It was an oddly empty feeling when there was nothing left to do. A gnawing in your gut, like you'd been doing to the raw skin of your thumb the last half hour, as if there was an answer you were forgetting. 

You ran through the list for the ninth time. The last of that antibiotic cream. Dressings coated in a layer of honey— Daryl taught you that one. A damp cloth over his forehead. As much ibuprofen as you could give him. You’d done it all. Now there was nothing left to do but wait for the fever to break. 

It was miserable. 

The room was dark, lit by a single candle. Sometimes it flickered with your occasional sigh. Otherwise, it cast a gentle glow across the small bedroom. You sat in a cushioned chair by the door, five feet from Daryl’s bedside. It had been in the living room until you dragged it in here yesterday, falling into the same routine as you did now. Chin resting in your palm and a lazy stare at the sick man ahead. 

It’d gotten bad since that first day. Infection came— of course, it did— and without much more than that antibiotic cream and the rest of the drugs you'd used for your leg, Daryl was forced to fight through it. That meant long, feverish nights like this one. 

Waiting. 

“Ya jus’ gonna stare at me all night?” 

You sat up. His eyes were narrowed into a slit, but open. With only the low flicker of the candle beside you, they almost looked black. 

“You’re awake.” 

“Guess so,” Daryl mumbled. “Hot as hell in ‘ere.” 

He was already stripped of his vest, that flannel he wore on cold nights, and his boots. Yesterday, in one of his steadier moments, you’d dug a simple black t-shirt from the dresser and made him change. It took him a couple of minutes, his shoulder still stiff and swollen with infection. It gave you time to wash his usual sleeveless button-down as best as you could, though a litter of blood stains still dried across the fabric. 

As you stepped closer, flickering candle in hand, you could see the damp mark of sweat around his collar, but if anything, the room was cool. 

“Your fever’s getting worse.” 

You grabbed the cloth from his forehead. It was tepid on the edges, warm where it rested against his skin. Puffy eyes met yours, scanning your serious expression. He’d been asleep for hours. You’d only managed to get a few with that anxious pit in your stomach waking you up, over and over. 

“Feel like shit.” He adjusted his spot, sitting up against the pile of pillows behind him with a low groan. You passed him his bottle of water and placed it back after he’d had a few sips. 

“How long I been sleepin’?” 

“Most of the night.” You sat by his legs. The bed was bare of its thick blanket; you’d torn it off him when his skin started to burn. The top sheet was thin enough that you let him keep it when the chills hit. He kicked it down when the first hot flash came. “You woke up a couple of times.” 

“Don’t remember tha’.” 

“I figured. You’ve been pretty out of it.”

Daryl nodded, eyes as tired as they’d looked at sunset. Yours must’ve been similarly drained. 

“Ya got any sleep yet?” 

“A bit,” you said. “I’m fine.” 

“Ya don’t look fine.” 

You gave him a playful, lopsided grin. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” 

Daryl huffed, eyes falling to his lap. But your tease had done what it meant: to distract away from the bloom of purple that was, no doubt, forming under your eyes. Those sickening worries about Daryl’s health were already suffocating. You didn’t need the weight of your well-being piled on top. 

“You hungry?” 

He hummed yes. That was a good sign, you thought, before drifting out of the room. 

Dawn was still a few hours away. You walked the dark halls of the house you’d come to know, and a few minutes later, that same candlelight welcomed you back into the bedroom Daryl stayed in. You had a bowl of steaming chicken soup and a half-eaten package of crackers in hand. It was a good thing you’d gone for the bag, after all. If you hadn’t, it would’ve been just another thing to worry about.

His appetite was low, but better than it’d been the last couple of days. There were still three crackers he hadn’t touched and a quarter of soup left, but he seemed adamant about having the rest later. Food was often in such short supply that he wouldn’t dare waste a bite. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. 

You placed his bowl of leftover soup and the half-eaten package of crackers on the dresser you’d raided for cloth, towel, anything that could be boiled sterile and made into a bandage when that roll of gauze finally ran out after his second dressing change. 

Back at his side, you gave him a small smile. “Still feel like shit?” 

He chewed his lip. “Shoulder’s throbbin’ somethin’ awful. Head too.” 

There was a small bump in his hairline left from that day. He hadn’t caught a concussion, but the fever had been giving him a wicked headache. 

“There’s another hour until you can take the next round of painkillers.” You dipped the cloth back into a small bowl of water. Rubbing your thumb along the inches that had become warm, you waited for the fabric to cool. Droplets trickled down as you rang it out, causing ripples to catch in the faint light. It was the only noise in the air, save Daryl’s slow, heavy breaths. 

Until you turned and he caught that dispirited expression across your face. It must’ve been particularly obvious; the candlelight barely reached your face at this angle. As you stepped closer, the glow curtained you in delicate gold. An easy warmth that looked quite special painted across your gentle features, even if they were hinted with regret. 

The closer you got, the harder his head pounded. No, his heart. Which seemed to echo in his head. 

His eyes shifted away when you found that spot next to him again. 

“Should save ‘em anyway.” 

“No. This is what they’re meant for.” 

He huffed as you placed the cloth on his head. As your fingers inched closer to his skin, he blinked rapidly. It wasn’t quite a flinch, but you felt the resistance all the same.

“Still. Might need ‘em later.” 

“You need them now,” you challenged. “We’ll have time to find more when you’re better.” 

When. 

“Guess you’re the boss.” 

You scoffed. If anything was in charge, it was that fever. 

“Is there anything you can think of that could help? Another pillow or…” You shook your head, not even sure what else you could offer. 

He rolled his good shoulder back, biting back a groan as he found a comfortable spot against the bed. “‘M alright.” He nodded, even sparing you the smallest curl of his mouth. 

You gave him a bittersweet smile back, fighting the urge to brush his bangs behind his pinkened ear. His cheeks were flushed too, even if he seemed to be retreating back into the warm bed. Perhaps the hot flash was nearing its end. 

“You should drink some more. It’ll help.” You handed him the water again. 

He took small sips. 

It wasn’t until a few minutes later when a distant thump came from the other side of the house, and Daryl didn’t jump up, that you realized just how out of it he was. Thick in the fog of fever and pain, his senses were dull. On the contrary, the twitching in your muscles had started hours ago, a cruel mix of exhaustion and restlessness. It made you more jumpy than sharp, but demanded your attention for every small creak in the house the same. 

Your shoulders tensed, and your head snapped to the side. 

Daryl noticed that. 

“Wha’?” He grumbled. 

A gun sat on the small table next to your chair, next to the book you couldn't read well enough under only candlelight. You stood up and grabbed it, weighing the heavy handle in your palm. You made a mental note to keep your twitching finger off the trigger. 

“Stay put. I’m serious,” you told Daryl with a quick stern glance and closed the bedroom door behind you. 

The wooden floors whined even under the slowest, steadiest steps you could manage. The hallway was thin, drywall stained with cigarette smoke. There were two doors ahead, one on the right leading to a small linen closet and one on the left that passed into the kitchen. Quietly, you made your way to the general area where the noise had come from, near the kitchen, while raising the gun Ross gave you. The exit to the back porch was there and, fuck, what if someone had snuck in? What if they had a gun and cruel intentions and what if you had to— 

Deep breath. 

You hovered in the same spot for a second longer, waiting for the drum of your heart to slow. It wasn’t much, but at least you were able to open your eyes without that dizzy fog suffocating you again. 

It was only a few more steps to the kitchen’s doorway. With your back to the wall, you reached the hallway’s end and peeked around the corner. 

Good thing you only peeked. 

A figure caught under the moonlight. It shuffled past the small window, looking out to the side of the house. Shadows cascaded onto the cheap tile floors. Two— three— four walkers stumbled past the wrap-around porch. It reminded you of that first night after the prison fell. How Daryl stood watch all night with nothing but his bow as a herd of the dead moved through the street, surrounding the house he'd dragged you into. All night, you sat on that couch, nursing your hurt leg, watching the dance of their shadows along the walls, and avoiding Daryl’s abrasive stare. Waiting for the moment they finally knocked down the door and took you into their cold fingers first. 

This herd didn’t seem as big. Maybe a few dozen. You could only guess from the noise of bodies thumping carelessly into the house’s siding. 

Carelessly— that was good. It meant they hadn’t realized you were here yet. Best keep it that way. 

Delicately, you snuck back to the small bedroom. The thick curtains were already drawn, and that single candle was soft enough that you weren’t inclined to race back and blow it out. 

You opened the door again, and, well, should’ve guessed Daryl would’ve been out of bed, knife in hand and about to open the door himself. The gun slipped into the holster at your belt, and your eyes sought out his. They were uneasy, red-rimmed with dilated pupils.  

“It’s just a group of walkers passing by,” you said in a hushed whisper. “Get back in bed.” 

“How many?” 

“Maybe a couple dozen.” You gently pushed him back toward the bed, twisting the knife out of his grip as you did so. “They didn’t see me, so we can just wait it out.” 

“Ya can’t take ‘em all on.” 

“That’s why we're gonna stay here and be quiet.” 

“You should go.” 

You blinked. 

“What?” 

“If those assholes get in ‘ere, you run,” he said. His voice was hoarse and his accent thicker. “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Your brows furrowed. Your whisper was soft, even if pitched with confusion, “Daryl, they don’t know we’re here. They’re not coming in.” 

There was a fog in that usual bright blue. It wasn’t from the dim lighting, either. He was dazed. 

The back of your palm landed against his forehead. Hot. Then dropped to his chest, just below his collarbones. Your hand laid flat against that black cotton, stretched over the broad expanse of his chest, and felt that same burning underneath. Daryl hadn’t flinched, he seemed to give up that impulse when the fever took control, but his eyes did flicker down to your touch. 

You shook your head. “You’re burning up. You don’t know what you’re saying.” Your hand hadn’t fallen off him yet, a lingering touch as the rhythm of his heart became a soft pulse underneath your palm. Gently pressing him back toward the bed, you hushed, “Lie back down. Relax. We’ll be fine.” 

He listened. Whatever that outburst had been about seemed to slip away with the cushion of an old mattress underneath him. It felt like a new weight lifted off your shoulders; you weren’t sure if you could sit through a lecture about how you should leave him for dead. After all he’d done, all you’d done, that just wasn’t an option. 

You sat beside him again. “Here.” You held a pill in the same palm that’d landed on his chest. 

“Thought it was too early?” 

“One more isn’t gonna kill you.” 

The fever could.

He glanced down at the small blue capsule. “How many left?” 

You almost laughed. Feverish, incoherent, and still stubborn. 

“Enough. You need them.” 

If you told him there were only three more pills in that bottle, he’d refuse. You held your tongue and he tossed them into his mouth. Swallowed, leaned back, and groaned. 

“Water?” 

“Elderberries,” he muttered. Your brow furrowed, and he gave you a weak shrug. “Hershel used ‘em for the fever, ‘fore we got back.” 

Hershel. 

You remembered that name. Of course, you did. The Governor had called it out right before he used him as a bargaining chip. Hershel, the man with the long white hair. He’d kneeled in front of that fence, tan shirt damp with sweat and hands tied behind his back. Even tried to reason with the Governor. It was his neck that poured blood, him that inched his way around the cars you were hiding behind when the bullets started flying. 

Until the Governor cornered him. Chopped into his neck three times before his head finally rolled across the bloody grass. 

The memory made your skin pale, your breathing pause. 

A second later, when your vision focused again, Daryl’s eyes were closed. His chest raised and fell with deep breaths, his heavy exhales tickling your clammy skin. 

After you’d had a moment to regain your composure, you asked, “‘Got back’?” 

You weren’t following his train of thought. It seemed to go beyond the weeks the two of you had shared, reaching into his time spent at the prison. That part of his life had been mostly out of bounds for you. Blocked from the casual conversation you sometimes fell into. 

The fever seemed to tear those boundaries down.

“The vet college. We had to— to get the meds for the sick ones,” he muttered under his breath. 

The cloth sitting on his forehead had fallen onto the bed, presumably when he’d gotten up to follow you. Your boundaries seemed to slip away, too; you finally brushed away the damp mess of bangs on his forehead, tucking a few strands behind his ear. 

There was a part of Daryl that never seemed to let up. It went deeper than stubbornness. He was strong, innately, even when his body was failing him. You knew it took a lot out of him to try and follow you out, and had probably brought on some kind of dizzy spell that was making him spill his guts now. 

“Elderberries,” you repeated. “I think I remember. If you make tea, they can help bring down a fever.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Smart man,” you said under your breath. 

He still caught it. Fever and all. 

“He was.” Daryl nodded slowly. His eyes seemed to glaze over again. “He was a good man.” 

A lump caught in your throat, stealing your voice. That old feeling of guilt sunk into you again. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “He didn’t deserve it. None of you did.” 

“Should’a kept lookin’.” 

It was overdue, you thought. Daryl didn’t seem the patient type, not when it came to his own body, at least. Give him a long hunt, he’d be fine. A wound that kept him bedbound? He was itching for something— anything— to do. The worrisome fact that his family was still out there couldn’t have helped. 

You sighed, “We will—” 

“For the Governor.” 

Oh.

“Maybe if I wouldn’a gave up…” 

He sunk deeper into the pillow, mouth moving as incoherent whispers slipped past. 

It dawned on you that Daryl was perhaps his most vulnerable right now. Maybe even more so than when you first cleaned his back. In this moment, that surly, reserved man slipped away to leave someone who… who seemed lost. Guilty, like you. His words left you confused, filling in the gaps in his story, his regrets. 

He’d been looking for the Governor. If you had to guess, which you did, you’d assume after he killed Merle. Daryl had issues with his brother, no doubt, but he’d proved time and time again to be fiercely loyal. To his brother, his people, even you. Why he’d give that up, you couldn’t say. But Daryl didn’t seem irrational, or disinterested. There had to have been a reason— something— to pull him back. 

There was an undeniable part of you that ached to hear more, to let him bare himself to you in ways he hadn’t dared before. Curiosity could prove to be a dangerous thing. The trust between the two of you was fresh. Delicate. Leading him on with questions or letting him ramble in the midst of a daze, could rip it to shreds. 

You refolded, then placed the cloth back on his forehead. 

“Elderberries,” you whispered again. “I’ll look in the morning.” 

The walkers outside were still too close. 

It was quiet for a while. Daryl drifted off to sleep quickly and the dead passed thirty minutes after. You curled in the chair again, chin perched in your palm, leaning over the armrest. There was still that gnawing feeling in your gut. Still that worry that you could be doing more— should be. 

But exhaustion had dulled caution when the dead passed that half hour ago. Your blinks slowed, moments of darkness stretching into seconds, then minutes, and it became nearly impossible to keep your eyes open. 

The last thing you saw was a thin ray of early morning light, slipping between a gap in the curtains. Barely noticeable, until it had landed across Daryl’s face.

It seemed as good a sign as any, you thought, before drifting to sleep.

— 

The fever broke the night of the herd. Cups of elderberry tea helped subdue the few symptoms that lingered, and the stream of puss from his wound seemed to reach an end, after all. Four more days passed by and with them, the constant stress and anxiety that plagued you those late nights. 

A few more hours of sleep under your belt and life had become calm. Idle, even. 

The wind was lazy, its soft huff could barely rustle the fallen leaves. Hues of red, yellow, and anything in between scattered the woods, stretching into the backyard. A sharp crunch under your boot. There was a bite to the air, but the new berries you found had lasted through the weather’s turn. 

All those chilly mornings and early sunsets were not in vain; autumn was here, and winter was nearing, too. Though the cottage had been good enough while Daryl healed, it wasn’t suited to become a permanent stay. Certainly not a home. The surrounding trees were too dense, the walls too thin, and it didn’t matter how many strings of cans you set as alarms since the herd passed that night, you couldn’t sleep without one eye open. 

Even if it hadn’t been for his people still being out there, you’d have to leave. 

With the small bag in one hand, you pulled the first alarm string above your head. It chimed in the wind until it steadied again. It was an effective system; Daryl was opening the back door before you even had a chance to break through the tree line. 

You passed into the backyard with a smile. 

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey. Find anythin’?” 

“Just some berries.” 

The morning’s sun had drifted away within the last ten or so minutes. It wasn’t much of a shock to find the sky had darkened with heavy-looking clouds. 

“We should go in, looks like it's gonna rain,” you said, sliding between his frame and the door. 

It didn’t take long to place those buckets around the porch, just past its cover. A couple of empty, uncapped water bottles sat next to them. It didn’t take long for the rain to start, either. 

Inside, the small table in the kitchen was homemade. Shoddy work, but it could balance the few candles you’d found in the basement when night came. You picked the berries clean of their stems while Daryl confirmed the findings of your foraging were, in fact, edible.

Maybe at the start, when your brother had found that survivalist book, you would’ve been able to tell. But that got lost a mere month after he found it. Since then, you’d only stuck with the basics. What you knew was safe, without a doubt. That meant you spent a lot of time scavenging abandoned buildings instead of the woods. 

Daryl, on the other hand, seemed to know the forest better than anyone. You could assume from that deep accent and the fact that he never cringed at mud on his skin that he wasn’t a city kid. No, he probably grew up in the sticks. The middle of nowhere. In this world, that kind of experience was invaluable. You’d spent many hungry nights, staring at a bush of unrecognizable berries, wondering what could’ve been if you’d had it, too. 

By the time the two of you were done, a damp cold settled along the walls. The rain had been pouring down for some time. It wasn’t as harsh as it had started, but the cool, moist air was sinking in. The temperature of the usually feverish sun dropped, hidden behind grey clouds. 

Daryl started a fire with that wood you’d found a couple of days ago. The pile was dwindling faster than expected; the nights had been cold. The short flames reached up to the bottom of a pot you’d positioned. You poured some rainwater inside, then tossed in a couple rags to sterilize, and waited for it to reach a boil. 

By the time Daryl heard those bubbles begin to break the surface, you had wandered back to that back door, standing with the heat of the fire to your back and the cool breeze brushing across your face. 

You heard his steps approach behind you. 

“I like the rain.” 

Daryl stood at your side, quiet. 

“I always loved that smell, too.” You inhaled a deep breath, staring beyond the porch. “Do you remember what that’s called?” 

“Nah.” Daryl shook his head. “Jus’ called it rain.” 

You grinned. “Well, regardless. I always liked it.”

He watched the rain come down. It soaked the fallen leaves and dampened the soil. The breeze was slow, weaving its way through dripping trees. The roof was a weak material, something cheap and old, and echoed a low patter of rain. It made everything feel softer. Muted. 

“Me too.” 

You glanced over your shoulder, that grin slipping into a tender smile, kind and sweet. Daryl met your look, felt that bloom of familiarity in his chest, and gestured you to come back in. The cold would become bitter again and inside was warm, so you followed. 

He sat by the fire, arms wrapped around bent knees. He’d peeled off his vest, then his flannel, and finally pulled down the left sleeve of his shirt. Just like the first day you checked his wound. You sat behind him, a small pillow under your knees and the freshly boiled rags sitting in a clean bowl to your left. 

That little routine the two of you had fallen into— you’d come back to Daryl, who’d help deal with whatever you scavenged that morning, before you cleaned his wound, then ate— came easy. He’d gotten less tense every time you had to face his bare shoulder again. Which was frequent, unfortunately, since the exit wound had proved more troublesome than the smaller entrance. 

That heavy pit in your gut at the thought of those scars and their cruelty hadn’t alleviated much though. 

“How’s it feeling today?” 

“Better.” 

You nodded and unwrapped the bandage. The fever had been the height of that infection that hit him a few days ago. During the worst of it, his wound had swelled and reddened, leaking a trail of puss that reminded you why you could have never been a nurse like your brother. Today, the swelling was gone and the redness cleared. It was improving.

“It looks better, too.” 

“About time,” Daryl huffed. 

On the other hand, his attitude hadn’t improved. 

You sighed, “It’s only been a couple of days.” 

“’S been a week.” 

“You were shot.” You passed the rag along the few dried bits of puss, careful to leave the growing scab undisturbed. “It takes a while to heal from that.” 

“We don’t got a while.”

“I know.” Your jaw tightened.

Daryl was becoming more agitated with his rest as the days dragged on. Cabin fever, maybe. It must’ve been especially bothersome for a man like him, someone who seemed to feel more comfortable in the woods than four walls and a roof, to be trapped here. Especially when neither of you had forgotten the whole point of running house to house in the first place— finding his friends. 

“But we agreed. You need to let this heal as long as it can before we leave.” 

“Trail could’a gone cold by now.” 

Even with your eyes on the back of his neck, drifting down the outgrown strands of dark brown hair reaching to the cuff of his shirt, you could almost see him chewing his lip. It turned out that Daryl’s unease had become mixed up with yours some time ago. By now you could feel that stiffness in his muscles, as if it was in you, too. 

“It could’ve.” You dropped the last strip of clean cloth back into the bowl. “It could be fine, too.”

Daryl glanced back at you over his shoulder. It made you freeze— he hadn’t offered any attention other than the small talk you shared while you patched him up. Not until now, when those narrow blue eyes burned into you, demanding your attention. 

It was almost instinctual, that warm smile you offered. Still, you were sure he could notice that somber look in your eye. The one that remembered the fear and urgency you felt while in pursuit of your brother— before it ended the way it did. 

He seemed to notice every hint of emotion that slipped past your grip. 

“Dwelling on it won’t help us find them any faster,” you said. 

You glanced over his expression, almost leisurely in your inspection. His lips were parted slightly, jaw slack. Though he wasn’t angry, there was a heaviness in the pretty blue of his eyes. Lately, you were realizing that might be permanent. 

While it was sweet, your smile didn’t do much to soothe his urgency or frustration. He turned back. 

“I can’t keep doin’ nothin’.” 

You swallowed, bandaging a clean strip of cloth around his shoulder as the tone shifted. 

“Four days ago you could barely get out of bed.” you firmly stated. “And two days ago, you could barely lift your bow.” 

“‘M fine now,” he snapped. 

“You’re still healing.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t care.” 

The cloth reached its end and you paused. Going in circles with him was exhausting. It made your stomach flutter with anxiety, too. This routine the two of you had fallen into, something idle and restful, was comfortable. He was comfortable. 

Maybe even a friend. 

“Well, I do,” you replied. “I guess I like you too much to risk you getting hurt worse.” 

Daryl glanced at you from the corner of his eye. Subtle enough that you almost hadn’t noticed. 

“Thought we didn’t have to like each other,” he retorted in a lighter tone from his previous. 

“It makes things a lot easier, don’t you think?” You smirked. “And if you can’t aim that bow, you’re kinda stuck with me anyway.” 

You, like anyone else nowadays, knew what it was like to lose a friend. You certainly didn’t want to lose Daryl— whatever it was you had with him— from perhaps a curse of your own overprotectiveness. It was hard to let someone go back into that dangerous world after you learned how bright their blood ran, but this thing you two shared was fragile. Trusting. If Daryl said he was ready, you had to be willing to give him a chance. 

So, with a cautionary glance at his new bandage, you gave in an inch. 

“One more day.”

His mouth opened, but you snapped before he could, “It's bad enough we’re leaving while you’re still hurt. I’m not doing it in the middle of a storm, either.” 

The rest of the day Daryl was still tense. Emotionally, at least. He practiced picking up his crossbow, balancing the weight in his hands. You packed both bags, boiled and bottled all the water you could carry, and hoped this was the right thing to do. The rain didn’t let up until long past sunset. 

When morning finally came and the sun broke through grey clouds, you followed through on your word. Backpacks stuffed full, your boots landed across that empty road and the two of you finally left that little house for good.

A/N: slower part, but I think they need that right now. it can't all be fighting and running and shooting and blah blah. I love these little interactions between them as they grow closer <3 I hope u do too!

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

[darylbae]

𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡🩰

i think daryl would definitely not realize it at first, in fact i think the group would notice it before him. rick would see the way daryl's gaze would linger onto you when he'd talk about a risky supply run. rick would of course tell michonne, who would poke a little fun at him. "you like her!" "shut up, i do not!" and it wasn't until he'd laid down for the night, that he had realized it. he'd think about your eyes, and how bright they were when you'd be talking to anybody. he'd think about the nervous tells you had, like bouncing your leg, chewing on your lip and looking around the room. he'd think about how, sometimes annoyingly, bubbly you were no matter what. it would typically bother him how happy you were mid-apocalypse, but he lets it slide more often than not. he would not pick up on this stuff if he didn't have a crush. he'd be hyper-aware of how he acts around you, after admitting to himself he had a crush on you. he'd glance at you, then quickly glance away, but always end up looking back over at you. he'd study your lips and how they moved, wanting nothing more than to feel them on his. most of all, he'd keep it to himself. because the last thing he needs is everyone finding this out. and making your friendship with him tense. carol could see through daryl almost too easily, so she's the only one who can get away with poking the bear. besides you. "you like her, huh?" carol would ask, and daryl would just roll his eyes. "so what?" "do something about it!" daryl had no understanding of 'doing something about it', despite his moody, careless attitude, he cared deeply about your friendship and wanted nothing to ruin that. rick was playing matchmaker and suggested the two of you to go out on a run, much to daryl's dismay. now he'd have to deal with his constant reminder of his crush on you, as well as you. there you were, sat sweetly on the hood of a car waiting for him, a smile plastered onto your face as you spotted him. "ready to go?" you asked, your voice smooth as honey and it had sent shivers up his neck. "get in." he'd mumble. "yes, sir." let's not talk about your use of the word sir, and what it does to him. he couldn't explain it, the authority of the word sir, just hit him in his sweet spot. he'd constantly look out for you on runs, even when going along with others, he'd volunteer to split up but stick with you. it wasn't like you were a nuisance, not all the time anyway, he just loved being there for you. he'd walk behind you, trying to be a gentleman and stop himself from gazing across your body as you walked. you were the total personification of sex. "can i bring this back?" you'd ask, picking up something stupidly unnecessary, this time it was a small, pink, glittery cowboy hat attached to a pink headband. "will it help us?" he'd respond, not even looking your way, but still having to keep you entertained. "no." you'd respond, glum face as you look down at it back on the shelf. "then i think we found our answer." daryl was always a bummer, but you had gotten used to it. you knew how deeply he cared for his people, so what was a little grumpiness. but you'd always return back, and find whatever stupid thing you'd found on a run, sitting on your bed by the end of the day.