#the ruins of us

[daryltwdixon]

Rereading my series to get back into fmc’s headspace and this scene always ripped my heart 😭❤️

The Promise of Us: Chapter 39

“So the game goes, I say something I’ve never done, and if you have done it, you drink. If you haven’t done it, I drink. Then, we switch,” Beth explains, sitting across from Daryl with a cup in her hand. “You really don’t know this game?”

“I ain’t never needed a game to get lit before,” Daryl replies, the skin of his thumb caught between his teeth. 

“Wait, are we startin’?” Beth asks, her excitement clashing with his simmering reluctance.

“How do you know this game?” he mutters, his suspicion barely hidden.

“My friends played, I watched.” She brushes off his question and adds, “Okay, I’ll start.” She closes her eyes, pretending to think hard, but her first attempt is obvious. “I’ve never… shot a crossbow! So, now you drink.”

Daryl rubs his fingers together, staring at her with a deadpan expression. He wants to resist, but the rules seem simple enough. He reaches for his cup, bringing the strong liquid to his lips, feeling the familiar burn as he drinks. “Ain’t much of a game,” he mutters.

“That was a warm-up!” Beth insists. “You go.”

He grunts, hand returning to his mouth, teeth picking at the skin around his nails. His mind’s a mix of annoyance and hesitation. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“Just… say the first thing that pops in your head!” she presses, trying to keep the energy light.

“I’ve never been outta Georgia,” he finally says.

“Really?” Beth responds, intrigued. “Okay, good one.” She takes a sip, her curiosity palpable.

She continues quickly, eyes narrowing a bit as she thinks. “I’ve never been drunk and did somethin’ I regretted.”

Daryl stiffens, feeling the subtle dig. He knows she’s trying to pry, to make him crack open, even a little. His defenses flare up, and it’s not anger he feels—it’s shame. He lifts his glass and takes a swig, the bitter taste doing nothing to wash away the memories of all the bad decisions he’s made under the influence of liquor.

“I’ve done alotta things,” he says flatly, the words clipped.

“Your turn,” she prompts, eager to keep the rhythm going.

Daryl’s eyes shift as he thinks, feeling the weight of her gaze. “I’ve never been on vacation,” he says, voice low.

“What about campin’?” she asks, her tone lighter, almost playful.

“No, that’s just somethin’ we—” He pauses, the words catching in his throat. His gaze drops, shame bleeding into his expression until he looks up again after a heartbeat, “I had to learn. To hunt.”

Beth’s eyes soften. “Your dad teach you?” she asks, trying to be careful.

“Mhm,” he grunts, nodding, still watching for her reaction. 

Beth shifts awkwardly before coming up with her next attempt. “I’ve never been to jail. I mean—as a prisoner.”

His eyes narrow, the question striking a raw nerve. The old shame, buried deep but never forgotten, wells up inside him. He feels suddenly exposed, his past laid bare in front of her. 

“Is this what you think of me?” he asks quietly, voice tight with both defensiveness and hurt.

Beth’s eyes widen, realizing she’s crossed a line. “I didn’t mean anything serious,” she backpedals quickly. “I thought maybe the drunk tank. Even my dad got locked up for that back in the day.”

Daryl doesn’t let up, pointing to her with a rough gesture. “Drink up,” he demands, his hand back on his face, fingers covering his chin as if trying to shield himself from her scrutiny.

But Beth’s smile creeps back. “Wait! Prison guard, were you a prison guard before?” she guesses, her enthusiasm unintentionally prodding him further.

He takes his time answering, staring hard at her. “No,” he says at last, his voice low and flat.

“It’s your turn again,” she presses gently, trying to get back into the rhythm of the game.

But Daryl’s done. He pushes himself up abruptly, muttering, “Gotta take a piss,” as he stalks out of the cramped living room. It’s an excuse, and a thin one, but he needs distance. The game was never about fun to him—it was an interrogation, a slow peeling back of layers he’s spent the life he had now trying to forget.

He heads into the kitchen, releasing his fly, dropping his glass of leftover alcohol on the floor as it shatters on the ground. Her questions riled something in him—how different their lives have been, how far apart their worlds are. Beth grew up with family dinners and curfews; Daryl grew up with broken bottles and bruises, fighting just to exist. And then there’s Y/N, who grew up in the same kind of hell he did. She got it, never needed to ask these kinds of questions because she knew—she lived it. The shame from his past was never something he had to explain to her.

The glass shatters beneath Daryl’s boots, and Beth’s voice cuts through the chaos, urgent but hushed. “You have to be quiet.”

But Daryl’s fury is already boiling over, his body coiled tight with anger. “Can’t hear you! I’m takin’ a piss!” he shouts, voice harsh and ragged.

“Daryl, don’t talk so loud,” Beth hisses, her voice tense.

“What? You my chaperone now?” he barks back, his voice rough, his words laced with a bitterness that’s been festering inside him for far too long. He urinates against the kitchen wall, the anger a twisted kind of relief. When he’s done, he zips up, spinning to face Beth. “Oh, wait, it’s my turn, right?”

Beth’s face is a mix of frustration and something close to pity, but Daryl ignores it. He looks out the grimy window into the darkness of the woods, eyes distant, searching for something he’ll never find. “I’ve never, uhh…” he mutters, adjusting his belt as he steps into the room. “Never eaten frozen yogurt , never had a pet pony. Never got nothin’ from Santa Claus .” His voice turns sharper, colder, as he shoves over a dusty vase that crashes to the floor, shattering in front of him. He steps closer to Beth, lip curling with disdain. “Never relied on anyone for protection before—hell, I don’t think I’ve ever relied on anyone for anything!”

“That’s not true—” Beth begins, her voice softening as she tries to reach him, “You and—”

“ Don’t ,” he snarls, his voice breaking, pointing a finger at her, his face twisted with barely-contained rage. “Don’t you dare.” It feels like a dam breaking now, and he keeps going, throwing words at her again and again:

“I’ve never sung out in front of a big group in public, like everything was fine,” he continues, his voice heavy with contempt, each word dripping with raw pain. “I sure as hell never cut my wrists lookin’ for attention.”

Beth’s eyes widen, her initial shock quickly turning to anger. She twists to face him fully, her back straightening, her expression hardened. But before she can speak, the banging against the door grows louder, a chorus of guttural growls now turned to snarling from the walker outside.

“Ah, sounds like our friend out there’s tryin’ to call all his buddies!” Daryl screams, his voice rising with a reckless, desperate edge. He kicks a chair across the kitchen, making as much noise as he can. “Hey, you never shot a crossbow before? I’m gonna teach you, right now,” he snarls, grabbing Beth roughly by the arm. He kicks open the back door, dragging her out into the low evening light.

“Daryl, stop it! Daryl!” Beth squeals, panic and anger clear in her voice, but he pulls her forward, ignoring her protests.

The walker at the window turns toward them, drawn by the commotion. “Dumbass,” Daryl growls, leveling his crossbow at it. “Come here, dumbass.” He releases an arrow, pinning the walker to a nearby tree.

“You wanna shoot?” he demands, shoving the crossbow into Beth’s hands.

“I don’t—I don’t know how,” she stammers, her voice breaking.

“Oh, it’s easy,” Daryl says, positioning himself behind her, his chest pressing into her back. He forces the crossbow into her trembling arms, guiding her to aim. “Come here, right corner,” he mutters darkly, firing another arrow that lands with a dull thunk.

“Let’s practice later!” Beth insists, fists clenched as she tries to break free from his grip.

“Come on, it’s fun,” he grunts, voice harsh and almost manic.

“Just stop it! Daryl!” she cries, twisting away.

“Come here,” he repeats, his voice low and menacing, pulling her back toward the walker pinned to the tree. “Eight ball,” he snarls, releasing another arrow that thuds into its chest.

“Just kill it!” Beth yells, her voice thick with fear and frustration.

“Come here, Greene. Let’s pull these out,” he says releasing her, his tone almost taunting as he steps closer to the walker.

But Beth moves quicker, lunging forward and plunging her knife into the walker’s skull with a sharp, angry thrust.

“The hell you do that for? I was havin’ fun!” Daryl yells, his voice raw as he gets in her face, his breath coming fast and angry.

“No, you were bein’ a jackass!” Beth shouts back, her eyes blazing with tears. “If anyone found my dad—”

“Don’t,” he snarls, cutting her off sharply. “Not even remotely the same.” He’s close now, so close that his anger is palpable, radiating off him in waves.

“Killin’ them is not supposed to be fun ,” Beth spits, leaning in, unafraid now, her eyes fierce. 

“What do you want from me, girl?” he roars, his voice breaking with a mix of rage and grief. 

Beth cries in his face, “I want you to stop actin’ like none of this matters! Like nothin’ we went through matters! Like none of the people we lost meant anything!” her voice is harsh, cracking, as she bares her teeth at him, “It’s bullshit!”

“Is that what you think?” Daryl’s voice drops, his anger smoldering into something darker, more bitter. His eyes are cold, but his voice trembles slightly. 

“That’s what I know,” she snaps, voice faltering as she looks him up and down, “You haven’t even said her name , Daryl— just say it! Say you miss her! And that you miss the others! Rick, Michonne—”

“You don’t know nothin’,” he growls, shaking his head violently.

“I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl ,” she cries, her voice wavering with a mix of pain and frustration. “I’m not like her, Daryl! I’m not like Y/N! I’m not tough, but I’ve survived! But you don’t get it, ’cause I’m not like the two of you, or the others. Carol or Maggie… But I made it! And you don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid!” She waves her hands at him, her face wet with tears.

He steps closer, his face inches from hers, his breath ragged. “I ain’t afraid of nothin’.”

“I remember,” Beth says, her voice lower, shaking with tears, “When that little girl came outta the barn, after my mom. And the night you found Y/N in the field, seeing you in the morning on the highway with her covered in blood, the both of you. And now God forbid you ever let anybody else get too close.”

“Too close, huh? Bet you know all about that,” Daryl sneers, his finger jabbing at her accusingly. “Lost two boyfriends and can’t even shed a tear!” His voice is full of venom. “Your whole family’s gone and all you can do is just go out lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch!”

“Screw you, you don’t get it!” she shouts.

“No, you don’t get it!” Daryl roars, his voice breaking. “Everyone we know is dead! ”

“You don’t know that!” she screams back, desperation in her voice.

“Might as well be, ’cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again!” he snaps, “Rick–” he stops short, her name almost coming off the tip of his tongue then, but he holds it back, the only morsel he can hang onto as his walls come crumbling down in this moment, “You ain’t never gonna see Maggie again!”

“Daryl, just stop!” she begs, reaching for him.

“No!” he twists away, the pain and guilt rushing up uncontrollably as his back faces her. After a heartbeat, his voice breaks as he says, his throat tight, “The Governor rolled right up to our gates. Maybe if I… if I wouldn’t have stopped lookin’, maybe because I gave up. That’s on me!” 

“Daryl—”

“No!” he shouts again, shaking her off, his voice cracking, “And your dad …Maybe I coulda done somethin’...and her , god…” his voice wavers now, the sting in his eyes, his throat tight and throbbing, “She’s…she’s prob–probably already...already...dead,” the words barely make it out of his mouth, his throat so thick with grief.

But suddenly, Beth is on him, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle, hugging him with a fierce, desperate strength. It’s like she’s trying to hold together all the unraveling pieces of him as her arms wrap around him, fingers interlocked against his chest so he doesn’t push her off. But he doesn’t. Daryl’s chest heaves, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The dam finally breaks, and he sobs into the night air—quiet, breathless, and broken.

[dummy-daisy]

“accidental” anal. i'm laying on my stomach and you're over me, pinning me down with your weight. your cock is pounding into my willing, wet pussy hole when it slips. there is no prep, just brute force, your hard cock, still wet from my other hole, pressing against the tight muscle, pain, then it gives in and you sink your length into my ass. you've planned this all along. you love the way my thightest hole grips your cock. how i tense and scream underneath you and you just hold me down and make me take it. you whisper your apologies into my ear as you force your cock in again and again. it just feels so good for you. you can't stop. it was just an accident, but i'm doing so well taking it. fuck, you're going to cum. you fuck me harder. accidentally.

[verflares]

just how long is forever? // not long enough, with you

pssst. check this out on inprnt :]

[daryltwdixon]

Writing season 1 & 2 Daryl was so fun and I love him sm 😭😭😭 my angel !!!!!!! 😇👼🏼

What's so tragic and difficult about season 1-2 walking dead and their treatment of daryl is how hard he tried to be a good member of the group. he defended camp in season 1, he fought to get out of the c.d.c with everything he had, he saved t-dog with no hesitation, he looked for sophia (he looked for that girl every single day!!) the moment they told him they needed something daryl made it happen. he even had the drugs to fight tdogs infection. AND he was offering everyone as much comfort as he could along the way. The way his conversations with carol and andrea went,,,, the man just wanted to make things okay in his on way. and people judged him so much for being a hick and never thanked him for all of the effort he put into everything he did- and because they never thanked him and showed him the kindness he deserved he genuinely thought they looked down on him in the way merle said.

ugh

season 2 daryl dixon you mean everything to me

[katsukistofu]

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x teacher! fem reader. fluff. ⭑ he keeps staring. the kids notice.

In your five years of teaching, you never thought you’d see Dynamight sitting cross-legged on the daisy shaped carpet in the center of your classroom, while your kids swarm around him to paint his face.

Warmth spreads across your chest as you take it all in. It’s quite the sight, to see the big, buff, seasoned twenty five year old pro hero letting all these tiny toddlers take turns taking clumsy swipes at his face with the colorful paints you bought for them the week before for art class.

What you don’t notice is the way his eyes trail to you wherever you are in the classroom. When you move to open the windows to let the fresh air in, to wipe the chalkboard, even when you’re organizing the mess of crayons on your desk into their rightful bins.

“Why do you keep staring at our teacher?” One of them, a little boy wearing his t-shirt backwards, curiously pipes up. Everyone else nods in agreement, they’ve been wondering the exact same thing.

“You gonna tell her what I said when I leave later?” Katsuki raises a brow. A chorus of playful noooo’s follow him.

“We’re gonna tell her while you’re still here!”

These little brats. He’s barely known these kids for two hours and already he knows that they love you like a second mother, and wouldn’t be letting him go so easily. There’s fondness in his eyes as Katsuki chuckles and leans in, and the kids eagerly lean in to hear what he has to say.

“I’m starin’ cause she’s pretty.”

Gasps and nods of agreement spread across the carpet just as you clap your hands together, your sweet voice ringing through the classroom, to which everyone, including Katsuki with his paint bedazzled face, turns to give you their fullest attention.

“Alright my angels, let’s give Mr. Dynamight some space now okay?”

Curious little eyes glance back and forth between you and Dynamight with, when someone loudly pipes up, “Ms. L/n doesn’t have a boyfriend!”

“Mr. Dynamight thinks you’re pretty!”

“He stares at you like the way my brother stares at ice cream!”

“Hey I was going to say that!”

Bickering ensues across the carpet and you simply gape at them as a hint of a smirk appears on Katsuki’s face.

Should we tell them after class? He mouths in your direction.

No, you mouth back, covering a giggle behind your hand at the continued chaos of your kids behind your boyfriend.

A little homework never hurt anyone.

[lotus-pear]

cringefail exes oh my god

[hinamie]

alongside someone like you

[riddleturner]

he's an apostate. he's a grey warden. he's on the run from the law. he's bonded body mind and soul to a spirit of the fade. he practices one of the rarest and most taxing magical diciplines known to mages. he's a cat dad. he was put in solitary confinement for a full year. he saves lives daily and asks for no payment. he's a massive bitch. he's personal friends with the hero of ferelden. he hates the church. he's hopelessly in love with you. he writes and distributes his own manifesto. he was forced to kill his own ex boyfriend. he doesn't see a way out. he's fucking blonde.

[d3cayingdolly]

you can take a girl out of the messy teenager phase but you can't take the messy teenager phase out of a girl

[thepoisonroom]

anyone else know in their heart that they would absolutely adore smoking cigarettes so they have to avoid them like the plague or just me

[daryltwdixon]

longer works

✦ complete ✧ in progress ✭ smut

✦ The Ruins of Us ✦The Promise of Us ✧ The Heart of Us✭

✧ Dominion ✭

One shots

Red Dress ✭

Sucker

The One on the Bike✭

Picture You✭

Worship✭

Kinktober masterlist ✭

The Shower ✭

Inexperienced Daryl ✭

daryl kisses you in his truck

Daryl Returns

Teach You ✭

Feral ✭

Requests (open!)

Double Lines

Live-In Bodyguard

Northern Lights

Memory Loss

"Kinda Hot"

Giveaways #1 #2 #3

Angel ✭

Twisted Grace

˖⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆☕︎Support my work by buying me a coffee!☕︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆.

I tend to post / reblog explicit writings, so please do not follow or interact if you are a minor. You will be blocked.

Everything is also on Ao3

Just a quick heads-up: if you see me interacting from my main blog, @plzlou it’s because this is a side blog! There are some features that side blogs don’t have, so I’ll need to switch to my main account for certain actions, especially when it comes to liking posts & following.

I post about The Walking Dead. Please expect when you read for there to be canon-type violence (aka walker deaths, gore, smaller character deaths, etc). I will leave warnings for anything outside of the usual realm of the show like s/a, major character deaths, extreme gore. Please read with caution if that is not something you can handle!

And lastly, thank you so much for your love & support!! It means so much to me

[dummy-daisy]

bring me to your work in the morning but instead of taking me up to your office, strip me naked and tie me up on my knees at the bike racks in front of the building. then send a company wide email, offering my services for everyone. how long will it take until the first of your colleagues starts abusing my throat? how long until my tits are fondled? how long until i get fucked like a dog on my knees? how long until my holes are dripping with overflowing cum? how long until you're on your lunch break and come to inspect me, your free use toy?

[choccy-milky]

how seb and clora get together in my fic 💕bc what better time and place to confess and share your first kiss than around a bunch of inferi + the dead body of a man you just killed?? 🥰💖

[teaboot]

Sometimes at work it's not my place to tell people the things I want to say, and I find I often go home at the end of the rougher days to stand blankly in my shower and tell myself over and over what I wish I could pass on.

This accomplishes very little, and mostly just gives me a tension headache, but through it all I think I've narrowed myself down to a few solid things I'd like to tell people the most.

You can't change people. Not permanently, not for anythig. You can support them, encourage them, love them, give them tools and opportunities and resources, but you can't make them change. They can change themselves if they want to, but they have to want to, and they have to want it for themselves, because they're the only one that's certain to be with them forever.

For better or worse, you make your own choices, and blaming bad choices on others doesn't only work to absolve you of responsibility- it also robs you of control. Because if you say you only did something because I did something, then you arent only shifting blame- you're admitting that you cannot control yourself, that you cannot truly make choices for yourself, that other people can control you- and as long as you truly beleive that, you'll keep facing the same problems over and over. You'll keep letting others dictate your choices, because you'll beleive that they can, and you'll never be free.

White knights on horseback are from fairytales. Nobody can help you if ou're not willing to help yourself. To try, to put the dirty work in, to belive you're worth that effort- Act as though nobody is coming to save you. From a struggle, from pain, from bad relationships, from yourself. And when you do save yourself, because you will, because failure here isn't an option if you want to survive, you'll never find another dragon that can keep you prisoner.

Don't say anything to anyone that you wouldn't want them remembering forever.

Doing the right thing in bad circumstances is hard. It's the hardest thing. But if you make the choice to do that hard thing anyways, despite your fear, you'll go on the rest of your like knowing that you're the sort of person who did something.

The present only seems the hardest because the past I over and the future hasn't happened.

There's so much joy ahead of you, the kind you can't possibly understand until you see it yourself.

The responsibility of consequences is often disguised as the power of permission. "I won't do this if you help me", "I'll work on my anger if you do this for me", "I promised you I'd quit, but can I have just one?". The unspoken question is, "Can it be your fault if this goes badly?"

You cant make someone love you the way you need to be loved. Someone can love you very much and still be bad for you, even if you love them very much in return. Two people can love each other very, very much, and try their very best, and still be wrong for each other.

Sometimes being near to someone changes you, even in good ways, and the people you become don't fit together as well as the people you were.

Caring takes work. Even if it's real. Especially if it's real. And the most important gestures aren't the grand, poetic, songs-and-flowers-and-tears moments; they're getting out of bed even though you don't want to. Paying attention to things you don't enjoy. Scrubbing pans, or opening a window, saying "thank-you", or helping carry groceries into the house. The small things fill the big things- without the small, boring, mediocre things, big things feel hollow.

Thrre is honour and dignity in humble work.

If you are a cruel and spiteful person, then you will find every place you visit to be full of the same cruel, spiteful people. This is not because the world is as cruel as you, but because everywhere you are, you will be disliked. This is the curse that comes with being persistently cruel and spiteful.

If you are a kind and ppsitive person, you will repeatedly encounter kind and positive people, because as they grow familiar with you, they will be happier to have you near. This is the reward of being a kind and positive person.

When splitting paths with loved ones, briefly or forever, aim for your last words to always be "I love you".

[drip-p1ss]

use a catheter on me. fill me up before going to sleep, water, soda and of course a lot of tea. in the morning I'm desperate, pleading for my morning release, but you don't let me go. I'm squirming, even standing is really painful. I think it's finally over when you come to me at my catheter, but you just attach a funnel and fill me up with your piss. at this point my bladder is unbearably stretched, it just hurts. I beg you to let me pee but you have other plans. you dress me in a slutty outfit, short crop top with no bras and a tiny skirt without panties.

"we're going to the grocery store" you say. and that's it, my begs are usless.

every step is painful, my legs can barely hold me but fortunately the store is near. we go through the aisles, you order me to bend to take some stuff, just to see my ass, my bare pussy showing off and whimper escaping from my lips. it hurts so much, I need to empty my bladder. we wait in line for payment, luckly an old woman allow us to pass.

"you should go first since you're pregnant, such a lovely couple" she said, pointing towards my bulging belly. I can barely smile, the bladder is so full and stretched, you smirk. "you're so kind ma'am, wanna feel the baby?" so you guide her hand to my belly, prodding and squishing it, I just wanna cry. the old woman starts touching it too.

"please..." I manage to whimper. "oh poor girl, you must be so sensitive, you might need a massage" said the woman, starting touching harder to help but just getting me more desperate. you chuckle, seeing how the ma'am was unknowingly torturing me.

"thanks for the advice, I'll treat her at home" you smirk. after paying and getting back I start begging you. on the floor of the house I'm just a whimpering mess.

"don't worry, I got you" you said, just for you to turn me over, my bladder pressing on the floor in a hurtful way and your cock sliding into my tight cunt.

"please so full... to full..." I can only whimper, my bladder stretched to unbearable limits. you continue pounding into me, while I cry until you cum and cum again. my pussy abused, overstimulated and red, your cum filling me even more. you let out some other sprout of piss, just to plug it in me and leave me on the floor like this, a whimpering and crying mess, full, hurt and bruised, with my belly stretched out and bulging a lot. piss and cum filling me up.

"get up, you have my bath to run" you order. it will be a long day and I can already barely crawl without crying in pain.

pretty please??? (MDNI)

[blushingbubbles]

!!!i made this! if u want to repost plss give credit🥺!!!

notes will close on 7/3/24 at 11:59pmmm, which is when my no-touch denial endsssss. i will finally be allowed to touch but i still wont be able to cummmmm sooooo make me stupid EDIT: it's been up for 35 minutes and i already have almost 34 hourssss of edginggg heeheh 1 hr: 62.75 hrs edgingggg heeheheheh

4 hrs: 97.75 hrs edginggg!!!! eeeeeee