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Johnny: So you have to choose one between Y/n and — Simon: Y/n. Johnny: You dog, let me finish! Simon: Sorry, continue Soap. Johnny: It's either Y/n— Simon: Y/n. Johnny: Pick Y/— Simon: Y/n. Johnny: ... Johnny, looking at Y/n: Are you fuckin' seeing this? Y/n, proud heart eyes: :)

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Norman Reedus in Floating (1997)

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close up shots of eyes make me tweak

when i see any with norman i lose my MIND

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simon hitting on the cashier at his fav coffee shop !!!

 Simon was *your* regular.

You were 99% sure Simon only visited the little café if you were on shift, that he came there just for you. Though... that seems a bit delusional.

Simon—spelled S-I-M-O-N— you always made sure to spell it correctly on his cup because in your head it mattered to him. He exclusively let you take his order, ring him up, and hand him cash.

It was the same routine; his usual grunts, his VERY intense eye contact, a $5 tip, and a gruff "thanks." Every single time you saw him.

...

"There's something wrong with the cup today."

His eyes locked on yours as he handed it over, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

You raise a brow as you investigate the cup and there on the back, in chicken scratch.. is his phone number. 

“Oh..” You had to bite back a grin, fearing he'd think you were laughing at him. “Oh, I see.. Let me make you a new one and I will just..keep this.”

You could see his chest puffing up in satisfaction as he grunted a quick “yeah.”

the others:

gaz

johnny

price

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“Don’t Touch Her”

It had been a long day too hot, too loud, too much work. You’d meant to rest for just a minute beneath the big oak tree at the edge of the base, where the breeze still rolled through the tall grass and the shade softened the sun. You leaned back against the trunk, eyes slipping shut as birds chirped somewhere in the distance and your breathing slowly evened out.

Daryl had seen you go out there, sweat still clinging to the back of your neck, that tired look on your face. He didn’t say anything, just followed at a distance, settling into a crouch a few yards away like a silent guardian. Crossbow resting across his knee, cigarette burning low between his fingers. He kept his eyes on you, watching the way your chest rose and fell with every soft breath.

You looked peaceful. Maybe the most peaceful he’d seen you in weeks. And he liked that.

Then he saw the guy some new recruit Rick had taken in, cocky in that way only people who hadn’t seen enough death could be. The guy walked up, boots crunching too loud in the grass, his eyes lingering a little too long on you asleep in the shade.

“Hey,” he said casually, nudging your foot with his boot. “You good? You can’t just nap anywhere, you know.”

You stirred, confused, blinking groggily as you started to sit up.

Before you could even answer, a low voice cut through the space like a knife.

“Back up.”

The guy turned, startled.

Daryl was on his feet, jaw tight, cigarette tossed to the dirt and forgotten. He stalked over, eyes dark and cold, every inch of his body radiating tension. Protective. Angry. Ready.

“She’s fine,” Daryl growled, stepping between you and the guy like a wall. “Don’t touch her.”

“I was just ——”

“You don’t touch her,” Daryl snapped again, voice sharp enough to draw blood. “You see someone sleepin’, you leave ‘em the hell alone. Especially her.”

The guy put his hands up, backing off fast. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean anything.”

Daryl didn’t say anything else didn’t need to. One look was enough to send the guy walking fast in the other direction.

You rubbed your eyes, still half-asleep, confused. “What… what happened?”

Daryl turned back to you, his whole expression softening the second his eyes landed on your face.

“Nothin’, sunshine,” he said gently, crouching in front of you again. “Just some idiot didn’t know how to mind his business.”

You smiled sleepily, leaning your head into his chest without a word.

Daryl wrapped his arms around you like it was second nature, his hand sliding up to your hair, thumb gently rubbing against your scalp. “You go on back to sleep. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And he didn’t.

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peace of mind means blocking the b*thyl tag

yall are so weird for shipping a teenager with an adult fr

i also don’t know if yall are so delusional that you think that beth, a character that is dead, is “coming back” or if you’re just fucking around

like can we normalize not shipping minors with adults????? and realize that the 2 can have an amazing connection that isn’t romantic

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Rh’auk (Fluff)

Pairing: Rh’auk (Yautja) x Reader

Yautja women were larger than their male counterparts, stronger too. One would be a fool not to fear them.

You weren’t that fool, but a growing sense of resentment prodded at your chest as a certain female joined in your conversation.

You knew she had no desire to talk to Dekvah, a highly respected Yautja who was standing tall to your right. No, the entirety of her attention was directed toward Rh’auk, your mate.

It wasn’t uncommon for females to seek out his attention, much to your frustration.

He was bigger than most males and rank sat right below the clan leader, an honorable recognition among predators.

He could sense your irritation. You always seemed to tense up when a woman of his species demanded his regard, which he never gave them.

His stance widened and mandibles flared slightly, he was steadily growing agitated. It deeply bothered him when you were upset, his small ooman. He only desired to please you and keep you pleased.

You watched while her eyes took him in. She stood a bit taller, looming over both males with a nearly inaudible chatter.

You recognized this behavior. From what you remember it was a subtle mating challenge, though Rh’auk and Dekvah seemed to ignore it.

By now your body was molded to his side, arms wrapped around the lower portion of his big one. You rubbed your thumb along his skin, feeling at the familiar texture as you cast you eyes down.

You so desperately wanted her leave. A bitter feeling stung your chest as you thought of her clawed hands on him.

You gasped and jumped when a loud snap erupted above you. The noise followed by a low, menacing growl. A warning.

The female quickly cowered back and slouched her frame, an attempt at looking small.

Your eyes widened and you glanced at Dekvah who had taken a step back as well, though he still stood straight.

Rh’auk’s mandibles flared again unhappily. He chittered quickly, sharply.

It didn’t take long for the female to leave, her golden eyes meeting yours for an uncomfortably long second before she withdrew.

Why’d he do that?

You looked up at him in both shock and question. He said something to Dekvah before leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours.

“Rh’auk, wh-?” you’d begun, only to be stopped by a deep rumble resonating from him.

He pulled you into his arms and nudged his head against your hair, inhaling as his tusks bit gently against your neck.

You gulped, body heating and mind suddenly aware of the other Yautja around you. Although they all, for the most part, paid no mind to your mate being so openly affectionate.

“Arhi’sa threatens you, little mate,” he said in deep, heavily accented English, random clicks working their way into the words.

You couldn’t help but feel both satisfied and a little guilty. “Well you didn’t have to bite at her,” you mumbled, resting your hands on his shoulders.

He chuckled against you and purred, relaxed after his outburst. He couldn’t just stand there and let his ooman be so aggravated, now could he?

He lifted his head and looked to your eyes, a clawed hand holding your chin carefully to look at him.

“I did what I must,” he said with a gentle and playful nip to your nose.

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Yautja x f!reader

Fluff, mention of fighting and injuries

Plot: You are dating one of the Yautja and a rival sees you and him together.  He gets into a fight with your partner trying to whin your favor.  thinking you’ll choose the winning fighter he tries to take you but you refuse and tend to your wounded partner. 

You had never really thought about your future being with someone but life sometimes changes for the better.  Your partner wasn’t the conventional one but he was yours and that’s all you could wish for.  Around a year ago you had an encounter with a Yautja.  You had heard about them before, how strong they were so you didn’t see any reason to fight back if there wasn’t a chance of escape, so you didn’t.  You lowered your head and waited for him to strike but he never did. 

You looked up to his face, his head tilted to the side looking confused.  Why didn’t you run?  Fight back? You just stood there.  You made eye contact trying to figure out each others thoughts.  “If I am going to die there’s no point in trying to avoid the escapable.”  You said softly and lowered your head again.  He was stunned, humans were resilient creatures, always fighting back but you, you seemed to be an exception.  It was amusing to him.  He gently caressed you cheek, lifting your head in the process.  He moved his hand to yours and began to pull you along, ever sense then you two have been inseparable. 

You and your partner were walking through the forest when you heard a rustling behind you. You turned around to see another Yautja standing a few yards behind you. He didn’t look like he was just hear to talk. Your partner stepped out in front of you, moving you behind him in a protective manner. He stood in a defensive position in front of you guarding you from the being in front of you. 

The foreign Yautja began marching toward you and your partner with his fists clenched.  You partner flew into attack position and began fighting.  Punches flew and blood was spilled in battle.  You watched as your partner was soon outmatched. The foreign Yautja grabbed your partner and threw him to the ground breaking one of his ribs. You hid behind a tree watching the fight go down, terrified that he would get you involved. 

You stared at your partner on the grounded battered and bloodied. He wasn’t getting up.  The victor raised his fist to take one last blow when he heard a scream from behind a tree. He looked to see you run out and slide to where your partner was on the ground, tears of fear streaming down your face. The victor tried to pull you away with him but you pulled away.  

Pure rage filled your body. You stood up and began screaming and hitting the strangers chest, furious and panicked about the scene you just encountered. After a few minutes of refusing to follow him and continuing to berated him he growled and shoved you to the ground and walked away, clearly annoyed. 

You crawled over to your partner trying to lift himself from the ground. You reached out to touch him but he shoved your hand away. He lost, your not his anymore.  He managed to get to his feet and tried to walk away from you but fell to the ground once more. You persisted, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look at you. You gently caressed his face and held his arm tight not wanting to  let go of him. He looked confused, he lost the fight. Why are you still here?

He turned his head away in shame, you deserved better. He couldn’t even protect you from an attacker. You felt your heart break as you saw the look of defeat on his face.

You pulled him closer you you and brought him into a gentle hug. You weren’t gonna leave him and you weren’t gonna let him leave you. He wrapped his arms around you reciprocating the hug.

You wrapped your arm around him and helped him to his feet and began walking home. The walk was silent, no words needed to be said to understand what the two of you were thinking. You got home and helped him to your shared bed and placed him gently on the end.  You got some cloth and water and began cleaning his wounds trying to be as gentle as possible. You had to stitch a few but after a while he was all cleaned up.

You sat down next to him and rested your forehead against his, “I love you” you said softly, he growled in response, at this point he understood what that sentence meant even if you two could understand each other. You kissed his cheek and gave a gentle smile. You loved him and wouldn’t trade him for anyone. 

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do you guys think that yautjas have like,,, their own form of social media and thirst edits and stuff? like one of the yautjas would be like:

“this is my hear me out”: shows picture of human reader after another gladiatorial combat, all messy, tired, filthy and most definitely covered in whatever blood of the creature

and the comments are either

yautja.No1: you fool, your “hear me out” is supposed to be something diabolical. like xenomorph or something

ooman_fvcker: i’m hearing you out

galacticalmenace: that ain’t a “hear me out”. that’s a “hold me back”

xeno-hater: i ain’t no damn prey but…

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i love bambi reader sm could you do a fic with her n daryl where she gets injured or something? (I don't know a lot about the walking dead in all honesty but I like your writing)

────۶ৎ more beast than man

or... daryl losing his shit because someone dared to put you in danger.

warnings : canon typical violence && cuss/curse words, Shane......

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: RAHHHH DARYL DIXON GIVE ME YOUR CHILDREN.

♱ *ೃ.⋆

The sun bled low over the tree line, gold spilling between branches. The heat clung to your skin, damp and heavy, and your boots were caked with dried mud from the walk out of camp. Daryl’s hand hadn’t left yours once.

Rick trailed ahead, quiet, the kind of quiet that comes from carrying too much. He had just recently joined the group and, by hence, his wife and best friend. His rifle was slung over one shoulder, boots crunching over leaves and pine needles. Shane, a few paces to the side, kept making noise—mutters under his breath, passive jabs too low for Rick to catch but loud enough for Daryl to hear.

“Don’t see why the hell we gotta bring a girl out huntin’. What, need your little pet holdin’ your hand while you piss too?”

Daryl’s jaw locked so tight you heard the faint pop in his teeth. You felt his thumb twitch over your knuckles.

You didn’t speak. You just glanced at Shane, your lashes low, mouth a soft line—but your stomach twisted. There was something... off in the way Shane looked at you. Not hungry like a walker. No. Worse. It was human.

Daryl didn’t answer him. He didn’t have to. His silence was thunder.

Rick noticed the tension, glanced back over his shoulder with those baby blue eyes. “We got bigger problems,” he murmured. “Focus. We need meat.”

And so the four of you kept walking. You still held Daryl’s hand. You always did.

You were halfway through tracking a trail of rabbit prints when Shane got loud again.

“So what is it?” he asked, voice like gravel dragging through spit. “She your girl? That it?”

Daryl stopped walking.

Rick’s shoulders tensed.

You looked up at Daryl from under your messy curls, eyes wide, already reaching for his arm. His body was coiled like wire.

“She comes with me,” Daryl said, slow, death in his throat. “She stays with me. That’s all you gotta know.”

Shane scoffed. “Yeah. Like a little pup, huh? Gotta keep her on a leash so no one else gets a taste.”

That was it. That was the taste. That word. Daryl didn’t move, but the look he gave Shane could’ve hollowed a man from the inside out.

“Shane..” Rick muttered under his breath, trying to difuse tension.

Shane raised both hands like it was all just a joke. “I’m just sayin’. Ain’t healthy, havin’ her attached at the hip like that.”

You swallowed. Your fingers clenched tighter around Daryl’s bicep. You sent the sheriff a look that was the clear eye version of an 'SOS' sign. Rick stepped between them, quick. “Enough,” he said, voice calm but hard. “We’re here to hunt. Not tear each other apart.”

Daryl didn’t answer. But his eyes—those wolfish eyes—burned holes in Shane’s skull. But still, he said nothing. Not yet.

Because he’d seen the way Shane looked at you. The slow, quiet way his eyes dragged over your legs when you bent down. The way he licked his lips when you laughed. Daryl had noticed and that’s why you hadn’t been out of his sight in weeks.

And then it happened.

It was fast. So fast it didn’t even seem real.

One second Rick was standing between them, Daryl looking at Shane, Shane rolling his eyes.

And the next, a walker lunged from the brambles.

You didn’t even have time to scream.

It stumbled towards you. Not the men. Not the noise. You.

You backpedaled, heart slamming your ribs—and your boot caught on a root. Your boot always caught on roots. You fell. Hard. Your arm cracked against the forest floor, a white-hot pain blooming like fire up your wrist. You choked on a sob and tried to scramble back.

The walker’s teeth snapped inches from your throat.

And Daryl…

Daryl snapped.

He was on it like a reflex.

A primal, animal, reflex.

His crossbow clattered to the ground, forgotten, and in less than a heartbeat he had his knife buried in the walker’s skull. Once. Twice. Over and over and over— He wasn’t just killing the walker. He was erasing it. Red stained the leaves. Bits of rotted skull cracked under his boots. It took Rick grabbing his shoulders to pull him back, and even then, Daryl shoved him off, panting, eyes blown wide with rage.

Then he turned to you.

“Baby girl—oh, baby—” His hands were on your face, then your arm, gentle despite the tremble in them. “You hurt? Where—what—lemme see—shit—fuck—you okay?”

“I-I think I hurt my arm—”

You barely got it out before he scooped you up, holding you to his chest like you weighed nothing. “that okay, s'okay- did it touch you? Where? Where’s the blood from?”

“My arm, I think I fell on it- I didn’t get bit, promise, Daryl, I’m okay-”

“No you ain’t,” he rasped, voice cracking like a fire. “You fell, I saw you fall, I should’ve been lookin’. I always look, always got eyes on you, why the hell didn’t I-”

He buried his face in your neck like he was trying to hide inside your skin. Like he was trying to crawl back into the safety of your heartbeat.

Rick crouched nearby, whispering something that sounded like, “She’s fine, man. You got to her in time. Daryl—it’s okay.”

But Daryl didn’t look at Rick. Not once.

He looked at Shane.

And that look?

That look was death.

Like he knew what Shane wanted. What he would’ve done, if Daryl wasn’t always wrapped around you like barbed wire.

“You,” Daryl growled, low and guttural. “This is on you.”

Shane scoffed, lifted his hands like a mock apology. “What, I summon walkers now?”

Rick stepped in front of Shane fast. “Alright. That’s enough. This ain’t helpin’. She’s hurt. We go back. Now.”

But Daryl didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

You were still in his arms, clinging to his shirt, cheek buried in his chest.

“You ever look at her again like that,” Daryl said, voice colder than death, “I’ll rip your fuckin’ throat out with my teeth.”

Rick looked like he might speak. Then thought better of it.

Shane tried to smirk it off. “I mean, I didn’t know there’d be one so close. Shit like this happens. Girl like her shouldn’t be so far off the trail.”

Rick stood between them fast. “Daryl. Hey- hey. Don’t.”

But Daryl’s arm was already reaching for his crossbow. Slowly. Controlled.

“She wasn’t off no trail. She was five steps from me. And if you hadn’t run your damn mouth and made me look away-”

“I ain’t got eyes in the back of my head either, Dixon. Maybe she shouldn’t be here in the first place.”

And that’s when you felt it.

The shift. The air pressure. Like something inside Daryl snapped.

Rick put a hand out infront of him, firm. “You swing on him, it’s over. Daryl.”

You clutched Daryl tighter, your voice small. “I wanna go home. Please. My arm hurts.”

And just like that, his rage dissolved. Not gone. Just locked away.

“C’mere, bambi,” he whispered, and he picked you up bridal-style, one arm under your knees, the other cradling your head to his chest. “I got you. You’re okay. You’re okay, baby girl. I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ get near you again. Not even him.”

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hiii i’m a new reader of urs but let me just say i loveeeee ur work anyway i have a request if you’re taking any.. i neeeed a lil angsty fluffy moment of daryl x reader finding each other again after everything that happened with terminus and the whole prison debacle. just a lil idea i got while reading one of your works!! thank you!!

Finding You

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 4

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Angst

✧ Word Count : 1.5k

AN ~ @kcundercover4 Hi angel, thank you for the request and the very kind words. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get to writing this, I've been in a bit of a funk when it came to creating new ideas. But rest assured, I'm slowly but surely getting back into the swing of things. I hope you enjoy! xoxox

When the prison fell, there was nothing left. Nothing but crumbling cement, dented fences, and whatever rotting bodies the dead decided to leave behind. The fire that was set took care of the rest, burning down the place you had once felt comfortable enough to call home. In an instant, everything was gone. And the ones from the community who made it out alive, had nearly nothing left to show for it.

Daryl felt nothing. No sadness, no hint of anger, just…nothing. It was a strange feeling that settled in his chest, a kind of emptiness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. A feeling that couldn’t be described. The best way he himself could picture it was like he was on some kind of drug, one that could numb his limbs and his mind, leaving him feeling oddly tired. Like he didn’t have the energy to get up and keep moving. Although he managed to escape with Beth who wanted nothing more than to get up and go, to try and find their people that she was certain were out there, he couldn’t.

He didn’t see much of a point in caring anymore. Whether everyone else really had managed to escape the brutal chaos, or they bit the bullet, it didn’t matter. Neither of them would catch a glimpse of their family ever again. And he’d much rather swallow down the tough pill now rather than hold out hope, only to be even more devastated in the end. He wouldn’t find Rick, or Carol, or…you.

That was a whole other pill he had yet to get down.

Daryl wasn’t one for openly expressing how he felt, but those who knew him well, knew his feelings ran deep. And the things he felt for you…he could hardly put them into words. It was like his whole life he had never known love until you suddenly walked into it, always looking at him in a way that made him feel truly seen. He didn’t have to say much for you to know what he was thinking. He didn’t have to hide his eyes behind his hair in fear you would see a flicker of vulnerability. He didn’t have to put up a front that he was fine…because deep down he knew that you could see when he wasn’t. He loved you. But now as he sat here alone and clueless, not knowing what had happened to you, it was slowly tearing him apart.

Throughout the following days, Daryl wasn’t too keen on talking. He wasn’t much for eating either. Just a dead man walking. The only thing going through his mind was surviving to see another day and to protect the only person he seemed to have left. But the most painful part of it all was every time he looked at Beth, he saw you. Her kindness resembled your own, along with the light she held behind her eyes that could only be described as hope. The same kind of hope you always possessed. It was somewhat of a bittersweet feeling that was for certain, finding himself to be pathetic that he missed you so terribly, he was starting to pick apart someone else in hopes it would somehow bring him back to you. It wasn’t fair; none of it was.

Though just when Beth began to find a crack in Daryl’s armor, getting him to finally begin to bring down his walls…he lost her too. He wasn’t even sure how it happened. One minute they were escaping the small herd of walkers that had somehow gotten into the funeral home, and the next he was watching some car speed down the road with her inside. Driving further and further away with no kind of indication of where they were going or what they planned to do with her. The familiar feeling of grief wasn’t lost on him, but that didn’t make it any less painful. The only way he was able to see it, was that he failed to save someone else. And when he attempted to find her, he only ran into more trouble.

There were the claimers, a group of men that turned out to not be men at all. Instead they were disgusting monsters that just preyed on fear. Then there was Terminus, a seemingly bright light at the end of the tunnel that led him back to his family, only to be revealed they were cannibals. Leading them like lambs to the slaughter. 

By the end of it all the group was exhausted and defeated, having to literally fight for their lives to make it out of there and now watching it burn to the ground as an end result. Carol’s unexpected arrival had saved them all. But what came next, no one could’ve predicted. The woman led them back to a small cabin hidden within the trees, only for the door to open to reveal Tyreese holding Judith securely in his arms. Both Rick and Sasha took off in a sprint when they recognized their loved ones, reuniting with them in hugs and tears whilst the rest stood back and watched.

But the wind was suddenly knocked out of Daryl when he caught sight of who stepped out of the cabin next, the harsh blow was enough to nearly bring him down to his knees. It was you.

Your eyes widened greatly when you spotted him from across the way, seeing him safe and unharmed despite the horrible things you heard about the community they walked into. You had been worried to the point of feeling nauseous ever since Carol had left to save them, but now seeing that he was alive, the relief that washed over you was unimaginable.

With a breath you immediately began to rush over to where he stood, watching as he stayed frozen in place and just stared. As if he were scared to move, or even attempt to touch you in fear that you would vanish into thin air the moment he accepted this moment was real. He couldn’t deny the sudden racing of his heart as you got closer and closer, the anticipation almost beginning to be too much for him to handle. And then you touched him, tentatively brushing the hair away from his forehead as you had done a thousand times before. The familiar need to see his eyes.

That’s what ultimately caused him to crumble.

His body all but melted at the feel of your soft fingertips dancing against his rough skin, a shuttering and emotional breath leaving his lips as he leaned his head down to bury his face into the crook of your neck. Making himself smaller. Your hand instantly moved up to cradle the back of his head, keeping him steady while he practically leaned his whole body weight onto you. His legs suddenly felt like jelly, like he could no longer support himself and needed you to help with the heavy burden he carried. Every emotion he had kept buried deep down was now unleashed all at once.

You felt his hands come up to hesitantly hold onto your waist, his fingers curling around the fabric of your clothes in a way to somehow keep him grounded. His breathing grew more ragged as he kept his face tucked away and hidden from view, his nose brushing along your pulse to feel you were alive, to breathe you in. The emptiness he felt was unexpectedly being replaced with a sudden ache, but it wasn’t unwelcomed. It was a reminder of the longing and sadness he had felt all those weeks you were apart, the utter heartbreak he wouldn’t dare let anyone see.

His lips pressed a kiss against your skin, the action being so soft and delicate like he feared of leaving even the tiniest mark on you. He couldn’t even imagine what you must’ve gone through on your own, and he wanted to make it known that he wasn’t planning on letting anything hurt you again. A silent vow only you would be able to receive. 

After a few moments of holding him you gently pulled back ever so slightly to really look at him, your heart sinking when you noticed the black eye and scrapes along his face. But those hardly mattered to him, not really. Not when the only pain he could focus on was losing you.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly, your tone no louder than a whisper.

When he heard you speak he could hardly find the strength to respond. Your soft spoken voice that he was convinced he would only hear in his dreams, now seemed to echo throughout his mind. Soothed his weary soul. His eyes glistened with tears as he simply looked at you, his lip quivering as he desperately tried to hold back the intense emotions he was feeling. As for your question, all he could do was nod his head. His real answer being far too complicated for even him to process. 

He saw the sadness etched on your face before you wrapped your arms tightly around him again, not willing to let go so easily this time. And it was clear the both of you found what you had been desperately missing.

~ Thanks for reading!

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hiii! could you do daryl fluff where reader is sick but is determined to go out and help around and daryl just keeps finding her and dragging her back to bed to take care of her, or just something like that!

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Under The Weather

⌇daryl dixon x reader

summary⌇you’re sick, stubborn, and set on helping out, daryl’s having none of it.

warnings⌇none!

word count⌇0.6k

a/n⌇this is so cute anon thank you for the request!! happy father’s day 🫰

A sniffle.

Then a cough.

Then you hacking up a lung behind cell block c while trying to sweep the hallway like some victorian chimney orphan, hunched and wheezing into the broomstick like it wronged you personally.

“Jesus Christ,” Daryl mutters when he finds you for the third time that morning. “What the hell are ya doin’?”

“I’m helping… or can you not use your eyes to see anymore..” you croak, defiantly upright despite your sweat slick forehead and three layers of clothes you’re now regretting. “People are busy. I’m fine.”

“You’re burnin’ up.”

“I’m not—”

He walks over and places the back of his hand to your forehead before you can finish the sentence. You swat at him halfheartedly.

“Don’t,” you whine.

“You’re cookin’ like a goddamn stew,” he mutters, glaring like the fever personally offended him. “That’s it. Go. Bed. Now.”

“I don’t need to go to bed.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh. That why ya just tried to sweep the same three feet of hallway for ten minutes?”

You glance at the ground. It is… in fact, very clean.

“Coincidence,” you grumble.

“Yeah, ‘cause bein’ dizzy as hell’s real helpful.” He snatches the broom from your hand. “Go lay down ‘fore I carry ya there.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He gives you a flat look. “Don’t test me.”

You shuffle back toward the cellblock with the dramatic flare of someone being banished from the kingdom. He follows behind, muttering under his breath the whole way.

“Stubborn ass… sick as shit… mopin’ around like a damn walker…”

You ignore him. Until he throws his arm gently across your back when you wobble on the last step. Then you lean into him. A little. Just for balance.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move his arm either.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re in bed under three blankets, sipping water, being glared at like you’re on death row.

“I could’ve totally fixed that wiring in the rec room,” you mumble.

“You couldn’t even sit upright for five minutes.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I ain’t the one who passed out on the table tryin’ to peel potatoes.”

You scowl. He smirks.

“Not funny.”

“Kinda funny.”

Daryl sits at your bedside, one hand picking at the label of the water bottle he brought, the other resting near your pillow. You know he won’t say it outright, but you can see the worry all over him — that twitch in his jaw, the occasional check of your temperature, the quiet sigh when you close your eyes for too long.

You peek over at him. “You gonna hover all day?”

“Yeah.”

Your smile grows. “Weirdo.”

He shrugs, not even bothering to deny it. “Ain’t leavin’ you like this. Not when you’re sick ‘n stupid.”

You reach out and flick his wrist. “I’m not stupid, I’m determined.”

“Same thing.”

“Daryl.”

He finally looks at you, soft but tired. “Ya scared me, alright? Was out there lookin’ for you all damn morning. Thought maybe someone got in. Turns out, you were out back tryin’ to scrape mildew off the damn water barrel.”

“…It was really gross mildew.”

He lets out a half laugh, half growl. “You’re impossible.”

You grin. “Still love me though.”

His expression softens in that way it always does with you — like he’s melting around the edges, even when he’s trying to keep the hard shell on.

“Yeah,” he mutters, brushing a knuckle over your fever warm cheek. “I do.”

Later, he tucks you in a little tighter when you start to shiver.

You fall asleep to the sound of him sharpening his knife nearby, muttering, “Ain’t doin’ this sick bullshit again,” under his breath.

But when you wake up, he’s still there, sitting on the floor, leaning against your bedframe, fast asleep with one hand wrapped loosely around yours.

[ideajpeg]

"I heard them talking," you said, picking at the threadbare spot of fabric over your knee.

"Dun worry about the others," Daryl drawled. "They dunno what the hell they're talkin' about."

You looked up at him, hesitant, the little camp mug still cupped in your hands. "Do—do you think there's something wrong with me?"

He looked almost startled at the question and then sighed heavily.

"Well, you saw what happened... I keep having these—panic attacks or whatever they are. And the flashbacks—and—and I—"

"Hey. It dun matter," Daryl said, leaning in so you'd look right into his blue eyes. He shook his head slightly. "It dun matter. There ain't nothin' wrong with ya. Yer strong. And yer dealin' with all that shit because ya went through some things they couldn't even imagine. There's nothin' wrong with ya." He straightened up. "I'll watch out for ya. And things will get easier. You'll see."

"But how do you know? What if they don't?"

"They will," he said with certainty. "They did for me. And in the meantime, I've got ya." Prompt: "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

[ideajpeg]

[ideajpeg]

Daryl Dixon x reader

Summery

You had always Had a small crush on Daryl ever since you’d met him in the Atlanta camp but you were a good 10 years younger than him. He obviously wasn’t into you or were you just oblivious and second-guessing? 

Setting -the prison

Warnings

Age gap

1,25k words

You didn’t notice how often Daryl Dixon was around until Carol pointed it out. But once she did, it was impossible not to see it.

He was always nearby.

Not close enough to draw attention, not close enough to make you suspicious—just… hovering. Present. Quietly reliable.

You were ten years younger than him, and it wasn’t like that kind of thing could work out anymore—not in this world. People aged fast now. There was no space for flirtation, no time for heart-eyes. But even so, your stomach still fluttered every time he looked at you too long. You hated how obvious it felt, how young.

But he never gave any sign that he felt the same.

Not really.

It started small.

One evening, you were gathering water just outside the prison gates. You’d stayed out too long, not realizing how fast the light had faded. The woods beyond the fencing rustled and snapped, and you turned sharply, heart leaping.

Then you saw him—Daryl—emerging from the trees like some kind of shadow. He walked straight to you, eyes scanning the perimeter before they locked onto your face.

“You shouldn’t be out here this late,” he said, not harsh but firm.

“I lost track of time,” you murmured.

He didn’t say anything else. Just took the water jug from your hands, holding it easily in one hand as he turned toward the cell block.

He walked you all the way back without another word. But his presence next to you said enough. Said everything.

After that, it kept happening.

On supply runs, Daryl would always make sure you were in his line of sight. Even when you were paired with someone else, you’d find him watching you in mirrors, over shelves, through cracked doorways.

One time, you scraped your palm on a rusted piece of fencing. You didn’t even think he was nearby—but not ten seconds later, he was at your side with that scowl of his, inspecting your hand before you could even protest.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, but he already had a bandage in hand, rough fingers surprisingly gentle as he wrapped your palm.

He didn’t speak, but he did look at you—and that look said I saw. I cared. I’m here.

But you kept second-guessing.

You were younger, less experienced, not nearly as strong. You weren’t a warrior like Michonne, or practical like Maggie. Daryl was a fighter, a survivor, someone who had lived a whole life before the world went to hell. You? You were still learning to stand on your own two feet.

That’s why, when Carol sat beside you at lunch one day, you were already trying not to stare across the room at where Daryl was quietly skinning a squirrel.

She didn’t say anything for a while. Just took a bite of beans and let the silence sit.

Then she said, “He watches you.”

You froze.

Carol didn’t look at you. She just kept eating.

“What?” you asked, trying to play it off.

“Daryl. He watches you. All the time.”

Heat rose to your face. “He’s just… being protective. He does that for everyone.”

Carol finally looked at you. “Not like that. Not that often. Not that closely.”

You blinked.

She gave a soft, knowing smile. “He’s not gonna say anything. Not the way you’re probably hoping. But the things he does? That is him saying it. He cares about you.”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure you could.

⸻

That evening, you caught Daryl alone in the yard, sharpening arrows by the dying light of the sun. You lingered near the edge of the grass before walking toward him.

He looked up briefly, then went back to his work.

“You always do that?” you asked gently.

He shrugged. “Do what?”

“Sharpen arrows by the garden?”

His hands paused. “Quiet out here.”

You stepped closer. “Carol said something today.”

That got his attention. He looked up, eyes guarded.

“She said… you watch me. That you care. Just not the way most people show it.”

Daryl dropped his gaze to the arrowhead in his hand, jaw tightening.

You swallowed hard. “Is it true?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Then he set the arrow down beside him and stood up slowly, brushing his hands off on his pants.

He looked at you—really looked—and for a moment, the weight of his silence was deafening.

“I ain’t good at talkin’,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “Ain’t never been. But I see you. Always see you. It’s impossible not to.”

Your breath caught.

“I know I’m older. I know I’m not… the kinda guy you probably deserve.” He shook his head, eyes darting away for a moment. “But you think I’d risk my ass for just anybody? Nah.”

He stepped a little closer. Just a few inches. But your chest was pounding.

“You feel somethin’?” he asked gruffly, like the words were hard to say.

You nodded, slow and sure. “Yeah. I do.”

Something in him softened. His shoulders relaxed, just a little. Then, hesitantly, he reached out—his calloused fingers brushing yours.

It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t even a hug.

But the way his fingers curled around yours?

It said everything.

And despite all your doubt and second-guessing standing in the dead of night with him felt right like you belonged with him and you knew he felt the same way.

[ideajpeg]

he's so cute when he's goofy

[ideajpeg]

country life -> daryl dixon/f!reader

just husband and wife life :)

no warnings, no zombies around, just daryl is a real traditional alpha husband with a lovely wife. hints of misogyny but its daryl and not real

Important: My account and everything i post is MDNI, and i do not recommend looking through my account for anything else, unless you are prepared to read through my pinned and take caution. I feel like im getting a lot of new attention with a fluff story, but its something ive never had on here.

the morning sun beamed, slanting through the opaque kitchen window of the small, hand built house. the rays painted stripes across the worn linoleum floor, natural light filling the rooms of your home slowly, but surely. the air outside was thick with humidity, but inside was filled to the brim with the scent of frying bacon and rich coffee, wafted over by fresh baked bread in the oven. you, standing proper with long hair pulled back in a loose braid, moved with practiced ease between the skillet and the table. donned in a floral apron, faded but clean, was tied neatly around your slender waist.

"mornin', darlin'," daryl emerged from the bedroom with a grunt. despite rubbing the sleep from his eyes and open mouth yawning, he was already dressed in his usual uniform: a faded flannel shirt, jeans that had seen better days, and scuffed work boots. his hair, that long and perpetually disheveled hair you loved to twirl around, some faint tufts of facial hair shadowing his jaw. he didn't bother with any please’s or thank you’s or any other pleasantries- just settled into his designated spot at the head of the kitchen table, pulling out a chair with a scrape. you knew just how to fall in place.

you turned, a soft smile gracing your honey-balmed lips. "mornin', honey. coffee’s brewed, and bacon’s almost done." you poured his mug full, the dark liquid steaming and flowing into the air. placed it precisely to his right, just as he liked it. his large hand was already set in motion to pick it up, like clockwork.

daryl took a long sip, slurping loudly as he eyed your figure.  "…took you long enough with that bacon. thought that pig i killed was gon’ die for nothing."

your smile didn't falter. "just wanted to make sure it was perfect for you, daryl." you slid a platter piled high with crispy bacon, eggs cooked to perfection, and golden biscuits onto the table. there was a small assortment of butter and jams for you two to use as desired. you finally sat opposite him, plate modest, popping some berries you picked onto your tongue.

daryl dug in, not looking up. "woman’s place really is in the kitchen, ain't that right? keepin' a man fed and happy." he chuckled, rough and gravelly. that morning voice, it could melt you away.

"that’s right, honey," you murmured, gaze tender as you watched him eat. took you a while before you finally cut into your biscuit, spreading some jam on the steaming, soft inside. you poured a glass of sweet tea, taking a quiet sip to wash it down. you loved the quiet rhythm of the mornings, all the familiar sounds and smells. treating your husband to a proper breakfast, knowing you are going to set the motion of the rest of his day. it was a comfort, something sacred in a world that was otherwise unpredictable and tainted.

right as he finished eating, daryl pushed back from the table. "gonna head out to the woods. check some traps, maybe bag a squirrel or two for supper." he stood, stretching his broad shoulders and groaning. that meant food was good, but now he had the energy to get started on some work. 

"got that washin' done yet? and don't forget to patch up that tear in my good hunting jacket, alright?” he pointed at you, but you already knew your chore list for today. always did.

"yes, daryl," you drawled with a grin, already gathering the plates. "the wash is already done, just hangin' it all out. i’ll get right to your jacket. don’t you worry."

"good," he grunted, giving you a curt nod before heading out the back door, his heavy boots thudding on the porch steps. 

you watched him go, a warmth spreading through your chest. he was a man of few words, rough around the edges, but he was your man. provided for you, protected, and in his own rough and unconventional way, loved you. you knew it, deep in your bones. he might not say the words often, but he showed it in the way he made sure you had a warm roof over your heads, food on the table, and the occasional bunch of wild flowers he’d pluck from trails and leave at your bedside or in the small, glass bottle vase on the kitchen window. places you’d always be, always see.

you spent the day immersed in your little chores, humming softly as you worked. the laundry was hung on lines strung between two ancient oak trees, still standing after years of turmoil and natural, yet harsh, weathers. you carefully mended that tear in daryl’s jacket, fingers nimble with needle and thread. you remembered the time you had to stitch up a cut on daryl’s arm. he talked you through it, reminding you: “ain’t i the one with the cut? stop shaking, you ain’t hurt. i got you, just push it through at the end there…”

apple pie was in the oven, the sweet, cinnamon-laced aroma filling the house. last time you tried to make pie, you burned it, this was your chance to make it up to him. when it happened, the kitchen was burnt for a while- not many cleaning supplies left in the world and only so much airing out did. you tried to keep the house smelling good, hated when you could smell the rot bleeding in from outside.

it was now late afternoon, and as the shadows lengthened outside, daryl finally returned. a couple squirrels slung over his shoulder, and he dropped them quite rudely on the porch.

"got 'em," he announced, wiping his brow with the back of his thumb. "i’ll skin 'em and you get 'em ready for the pot. where's my supper? i’m starvin'." he held a palm to his stomach, almost like a child. 

"welcome home, honey!" you said, stepping onto the porch, a soft towel in your hand. you wiped some of the sweat and grime from his face. "it’s all set up for you. I made your favorite for dessert too… apple pie~" you felt a bit shy, knowing you messed it up last time. 

daryl grunted, a flicker of something that might have been approval in his eyes. "shit, that sounds real good. hope this one came out right.” he headed inside, dropping into his armchair by the small, flickering television.

you set about your final big task, hands moving quickly and efficiently as you prepared daryl’s plate. you’d think back about how some women used to complain about this kind of life, but when you met dary, you knew immediately. you would be the type of woman to take care of her husband, no matter what. your vows promised that, and you two have been put to the test since what happened in the world. million times better than even thinking about how you’d fend for yourself.

as you two sat at the dinner table, the rich aroma of the stew you cooked all day filled the small kitchen, and daryl ate up heartily. "this is damn good, woman," he said between mouthfuls. "you done real good today."

you beamed. "i’m glad you like it, daryl."

"course’ I like it. you cooked it all for me, didn't ya?" he took another heaping spoonful. "you make sure you got enough stew put up for tomorrow? I ain't got time to be waitin' around for you to cook all day again."

"yes, honey, there's plenty left over," you assured him. "I'll even pack you a lunch for when you go fishing tomorrow."

"that’s my girl," he said, a rare, almost-smile gracing his lips. he finished his stew, then pushed his plate away. you got up smoothly to take the bowl away. he slapped your ass when you stood by him, giving a quick squeeze that made you giggle cutely. "alright, pie time. don’t tell me you forgot now." that same hand-on-belly pose, stretching his back over the chair.

"never," you feigned an offended gasp, rising to fetch it. you sliced up a generous piece for him, serving it warm with a fork tucked underneath the flaky bottom.

as daryl devoured his pie, you watched him, heart full. you almost dared to imagine him devouring you. he was rough, yes, and sometimes the things he said could seem demanding and ungrateful, but you understood him- more than he did himself. he was a product of these woods, of this way of life and his family before. he expected you to be a certain way too: fulfill certain duties, care for the house he built you, care of the life you’ve built. and you did so willingly and with love and respect. 

you knew his heart, even if he kept it carefully guarded. you saw the way he’d fix a leaky faucet without being asked, or how he’d stand guard over you when you were out picking berries, his crossbow ever at the ready, even though there were no walkers here, just the occasional flutter of a bird or a small animal too quick for daryl to catch in the moment.

after the bountiful dinner and dessert, daryl settled into his armchair, popping a tape in the TV. probably a recording of a show or film he found. you cleared the table, washed the dishes off, and then sat on the small sofa opposite him, taking up some knitting. the only sounds were the low murmur of the television and wind blowing branches and leaves around outside.

"you gonna be up all night with that?" daryl asked without looking away from the screen.

"just a little longer, honey," you replied softly. "makin’ a new blanket, winter’ll be comin’ down soon."

"alright," he grunted. "just… don't be up too late. you don’t sleep, you start slackin’. you’re no slacker.”

"of course, daryl," the corner of your lips quipped, eyes still focused on your work. you knew what he actually meant- even though his words come off aggressive, he’s playing it up for you. you knew he just wanted to talk to you a little longer, even if he thinks he has to command you to bed soon. maybe he wants to go to bed early, cuddle some.

night fell and as husband and wife lay in bed, the sounds of crickets chirping outside their open window, daryl turned onto his side, his back to her. "g’night, y/n."

"goodnight, daryl," you whispered, and then, a moment later, "i love you."

there was a long pause, and she thought he might be asleep. then, a low murmur, almost went unheard. "yeah.. you too."

it wasn't a grand declaration, not a passionate embrace, but for you, it was more than enough. you were emotionally secure enough to know: it was just daryl. his way of saying it, his way of showing that beneath that hardened exterior, there was a man who cared, a man who relied on you. a man who loved you through it all. you snuggled closer, pressing your back against his broad, warm one, and closed your eyes, settling down, nestled into your husbands protective presence. he pulled up the blanket further, covering your body fully and having just a sliver to himself. another reason you knew.