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mayday2007 · 3 days ago

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nsfw alphabet — daryl dixon

a/n: all canon events cus i say so! very opinionated. yes, i am insane.

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

daryl isn’t exactly warm and cuddly. aftercare doesn’t come naturally to him. the first time you have sex, and you latch onto his arm, he sort of just freezes. he’s never had anyone who wanted to snuggle with him. he lets you, but he doesn’t really reciprocate. he’d do anything if you asked, sure, but it’s a process.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he loves your hips. little waist, hip dips, chunky thighs, tummy. it’s primal—he loves the little V pointing him directly to your cunt. an ass man, too, definitely. if your shorts ride up, oh, he’s melting.

he really doesn’t think about his own body a lot, but he knows he’s got nice arms. thick, muscly biceps, he loves the way you cling to them whenever you can. he likes being able to pick you up at a moments notice.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

eats his own when he’s alone fs i don’t care. it’s easier than finding a towel and wiping it up. whatever, it’s protein, right?

but he doesn’t expect you to enjoy his cum. of course, you would, lapping it from his tip greedily and making him swoon. he secretly adores when you swallow, ‘so good, takin’ it all.’ the feeling of unloading in your mouth (or cunt) makes his knees wobbly.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

daryl can be a sub little princess sometimes! he’d never ever admit it aloud, but if you praise him during sex, purring some ‘good boy,’ ohhh, he’s a goner. he loves when you take the lead, when you boss him around tellin’ him how you want it. you’d make fun of him, only to get shoved around for it later, because he’s still a dom at heart.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

eh. he’s had sex, definitely, but he’s not a sex god by any means. he’s awkward, uncoordinated and hesitant unless he’s having sex with the same person consistently. even then, he’s not super experimental, constantly worried about hurting the other person. if you two are dating, he takes things slow and definitely doesn’t make the first move. he waits for you to start something, finding your pace and matching it.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

cowgirlllllll all the way. he loooves seeing you on top, rolling those hips. if you have rolls, he’s all over it, squeezing and pawing at your soft skin. watching you bounce on his cock, seeing it bulge in your tummy has him reeling. that way, you have full control of how much you want, how fast you want it. he can finally relax, and let you take control. reverse cowgirl is hot, too, giving him a beautiful view of your ass as it wobbles atop him.

otherwise, doggy is a safe bet. you can always count on daryl to hold your hips the right way, hit it just so to make you melt.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

definitely not a goofy man, but a flustered mess, yes. blushing profusely, grumbling little ‘shuddup’s when you tease. he’s not one to make jokes during intimacy, but it’s mostly because he’s too focused on the task at hand.

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

idk who said he’s well groomed but uh… that man does not own a razor. whatever hair he’s working with stays, and while you may convince him to shower regularly, he will not tame the bush (i like a hairy man, what can i say?). chest hair, armpit hair, back hair. god, he’s like a bear.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

daryl is not a romantic, not a smooth talker, not a flirt. but if he loves someone, he isn’t going to have sex unless he can handle the emotional aspect. he’s not going to call you his baby, not going to whisper sweet nothings, but he’ll tell you he loves you. he’ll praise you, tell you you’re doing so well. maybe he’ll stroke your hair (before pulling it), or kiss your neck softly.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

daryl doesn’t jerk it often. hell, he wouldn’t even think to do so unless he was falling for someone. when he finally admits to himself that he has a crush, it opens up a can of worms, and those worms are horny. i imagine he’d hold out until he was going mad, pressed against a tree in the woods or the side of a shed, fisting his cock trying to relieve himself quickly. he’s huffing and puffing, trying desperately to get rid of the arousal. i feel like he either can’t cum, or edges himself until he just falls apart. definitely struggles with shame afterwards, staring at his load sitting in the dirt, panting and sweating. if he can’t cum, oh god, he’s stiff and irritable for days. whining and close to tears as he jerks himself till it hurts, bucking his hips mindlessly.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

daryl has a complex relationship with sex, i feel like that is obvious. he’s fairly vanilla. but if he’s comfortable, he may open up about some stuff he might be into. i don’t feel that he’s had a chance to explore a lot of those kinks, but he’s definitely stroked his dick thinking about them. he’d moan if his hair got pulled during sex, or if you claw at his back in missionary. primal stuff gets him going; sex is a very primal thing for him. he’d love to fuck your throat, despite hesitation and concern for your wellbeing. he’d need a lot of reassurance to really explore his kinks.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

he’s not an exhibitionist, he’s not willing to do things in public, buuuuut!!! going back to the primal aspect of sex, doing it in the woods would be so hot to him, although he’d be hesitant. if you reassure him, he’ll fuck you anywhere, really. but against a tree, in the dirt, connected with nature, would get him going. otherwise, he’d love bending you over the couch, or the bed.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

daryl is not interested in PDA, and is very stubborn about keeping sex to when you two have time alone. you won’t catch him getting hard during a supply run because you rubbed up against him (“knock it off!”). with that being said, what turns him on? domestic things. you’re washing dishes? he’s coming up behind you, nuzzling your neck. you’re cooking? let him paw under your apron. you could be sitting still, reading a book, and he’d get all hot. all he’d want for his lover is for them to be comfortable, healthy and safe. seeing you enjoying life would make him drool.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

like i mentioned earlier, he isn’t into PDA, public sex. if you tried to make the moves on him in front if the group, he’d shove you off, ignore you. sex, love and romance is private for him. he wouldn’t ever hit you, he won’t tie you up or gag you. he’s been through that on his own, and he does not want to recreate it.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

don’t get me started!!!! we all know daryl is a certified pussy muncher, eating you out with his whole body. he’s sloppy, drooling, slurping, sucking. he loves giving you head, doesn’t care if you haven’t showered, shaved, if you’re on your period. getting head is different, he’d be more hesitant to let you do it (“i wouldn’t put my mouth down there, why would i make you?”). once you did it, however, he’d be a total mess. whimpering, whining, struggling not to fuck your mouth. eventually, like i mentioned previously, he’d fall in love with throat-fucking you. once he found your limits, knew when to stop, how long to go for, he’d melt into it. of course, he’d only do it if you mentioned it. he’d be too nervous to ask for it.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

daryl is slow and hesitant, cautious and mindful. of course, once he gets permission, he might lose it a little, fucking you hard and fast. he struggles with self control, which is why sex is so hard for him. i imagine during sex, daryl might turn into a sweaty wreck, begging for you to tell him if he’s hurting you. he holds back for your safety, because he’s a big man, very strong, he could very well break you. generally, he wants to make it last, to ensure you’re satisfied. he doesn’t need to cum, as long as you feel good.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

again, daryl likes to make sex last, but time does not always call for that. if he’s comfortable enough, he may ask for a quickie, just to get some tension out. you might ask for one, and he’ll allow it if there’s time. it’s not his favorite thing, he’s pretty particular about when and where, but if he loves you, if he feels safe with you, he’ll do it.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

eh. i feel like the most he’d do is screw in the woods. if not for the apocalypse, yeah, i’m sure he would. but daryl is too much of a survivalist to take a lot of risks. especially with someone he loves, he won’t put your life in jeopardy for sex.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

oh boy!!! premature ejaculation daryl is canon per norman reedus himself, sooo… but! if he’s in a long-term relationship, stamina builds up, and he’ll go as long as he can to make you happy. he’ll torture himself if it means getting you off. overall, he’s not really down to go for hours and hours, he needs energy to protect his people, but he’ll do his best.

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

no!

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

hehe. he’s a major tease once he’s established a relationship with you. making little comments that he knows will rile you up, edging you until you cry. once he learns your boundaries, what makes you tick, whoo, you’re in for it. he loves toying with you, rubbing your sex until your squirming all messy and desperate. he’s constantly making fun of how needy you get, how bad you want it or how quick you cum.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he’s quiet, for sure, but those feral grunts and groans escape his lips. he works hard, pounding into your tight holes with conviction. he’s sweating, huffing and puffing like a wild animal. he never gets real loud, always extremely self aware (unless you’re giving him head / rimming him, then he’s a whiney mess!!).

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

daryl’s first time trying something freaky was nerve-racking. he was shaking, constantly asking if you were okay. you kept saying, “daryl, i’m fine, you haven’t even done anything yet.” he was just so nervous, so scared to hurt you. all you had asked was for him to choke you during sex, and he could barely manage. once he sunk into your tight heat, you placed his fingers on your throat. he hesitated before he wrapped them around, squeezing gently. you had to guide him, reassuring him every five minutes. until he found a rhythm, got close, thrusting into you as you clenched around him. every time you moaned, begged for more, his hand tightened.

now, every time you ask for him to choke you, he will oblige. he loves hearing your wheezes and croaks as he squeezes your neck.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

FINALLY!!!! daryl isn’t a monster, but mans is thick. call me a psycho idc, somewhere around 5-6 inches, cut, veiny, fat. untamed bush, do not test me. dad bod for sure, but we know he’s fit as hell.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

daryl could go his whole life without sex. if he needs to cum, he can do it himself. once he’s in love, though, all he wants is to provide and protect. that includes pleasing you. he doesn’t have a high sex drive by any means, but if you’re home, pouting with those pretty eyes, how can he deny you?

z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

daryl is a snorer. he’ll try so hard to stay up, to keep you entertained after, but he works so hard, especially if you’re needy that night. coated in sweat and slick, he just passes out next to you.

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mayday2007 · 3 days ago

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I Promise | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: After getting some shocking news, Daryl left, taking a day to clear his head. However, when he came back to Alexandria, he was nervous, afraid of how you’d feel about his almost immediate absence after the life-changing news. He could only hope that you wouldn’t be too mad.

Era: Alexandria, can be pre- or post saviour arc.

Genre: Hurt to comfort (?)

Warnings: Swearing, Daryl’s kinda self deprecating inner monologue, more I probably can’t think of.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: I don’t really know what this is, but I wanted to write something quick since I realize I haven’t been on top of writing lately. I hope you all like this!

Navigation. TWD Masterlists. AO3.

Daryl felt like the lowest scum of the earth. Seriously. He compared himself to the likes of some of the worst people he could think of and he still felt like they had nothing on him. He’d done a lot in his life, upset more than enough people, but this time, it was different. It was just different.

Trudging through the forest that surrounded the Alexandrian safe zone, shrouded in the darkness the night brought, Daryl kept his eyes as alert as he could, scanning for any dangers that lurked in the shadows. His trusty crossbow was raised in front of him, prepared to be fired at a moment’s notice. Daryl’s body was tense, rigid, cautious. His mind, however, was a completely different story. He was far from focused.

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself, grinding his teeth together. “So fuckin’ stupid. Such a fuckin’ coward.”

That was his mantra as he made the journey back to his home. That was what he kept repeating to himself over and over, berating himself for how he’d reacted, for how he’d gone about everything. Yes, it had been a shock, but to just leave? To not say anything and disappear for a whole day? That was low. That was beyond low.

A coward, indeed, he thought to himself, scoffing bitterly as the familiar, rust-covered gates of Alexandria came into view. Each step towards the safe zone made his heart lurch, and the usually anxious archer’s anxiety spiked even more. He had no idea what waited for him once he set foot into his home, and that was terrifying. He was terrified.

When Daryl approached the gates, the man on watch opened the gates for the hunter, sharing a simple nod with the brooding man. Walking slower than he had even when he’d been injured, Daryl made his way back to the home he shared with you, completely dreading what awaited him. Would you be angry? Would you be sad? Would you be so pissed that you’d tear him a new one? Or worse, would you be so pissed that you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore?

God, he hoped it wasn’t that last one. He’d take you angry and screaming at him over you leaving any day.

Once he stepped onto the porch, his nerves were practically shot. Straining his ears, he tried to listen in, to get an idea as to what awaited him inside. However, the house seemed eerily silent, and that scared him. Had you already left? He really hoped not. He wanted to talk to you, to tell you that he didn’t mean to just leave, to assure you that it had nothing to do with you.

Sucking in a deep breath through his clenched teeth, Daryl braved the unknown and pushed forward, opening the wooden, white painted door and stepping inside. At first, the inside appeared just as it did on the outside—quiet. The dishes that usually were left to dry on the rack were gone, put away, and the rest of the house was in a similar state. Completely clean and tidy, lifeless, like nobody had stepped foot in it in days, and that made the archer’s heart drop.

“No, no,” he muttered, dropping his crossbow by the door and rushing further into his home, calling out for you desperately, but he got no reply. “Fuck. God, please no. No!”

Daryl searched the rest of the house in a frenzy. He checked the bathroom, your shared bedroom, the guest bedrooms, hell, even the hallway closet, but to no avail. You were nowhere to be found. The thing the hunter had been fearing had come to pass. You were gone. You’d left.

“Fuck!” Daryl cursed aloud and sat down on the couch in the living room, trying to resist the urge to punch a wall in frustration, and dropped his head into his hands. He was angry, but only at himself. You leaving was all because of him. “Stupid piece of shit!”

No amount of cursing would bring you back, that much Daryl knew. However, he had no idea where you could be. It was late, around midnight if he had to guess. Where could you possibly be at this time of night except staying somewhere else? Distancing yourself? How—

“Daryl?”

The archer shot up from the couch faster than the speed of light. His eyes darted across the room, scanning across the fireplace, the photos that painted the walls, until they finally landed on you. There you stood, clad in a pair of jeans and the fluffiest jacked you owned, your arms crossed over your chest in an attempt to appear smaller, and that broke his heart.

“Sweetheart,” Daryl spoke, his voice breathless from pure relief. “You’re here.”

You nodded slowly and stepped further into the room, looking at everything but him. “I am.”

Daryl instantly picked up on your awkwardness, and in turn, it made him awkward as well. “Um…I couldn’t find ya. When I got here.”

“It’s because I wasn’t here,” you confirmed. “I saw you come in and I came back. I, uh…I’ve been staying at Michonne’s. Couldn’t stay here alone knowing I was the reason you left.”

The archer quickly shook his head and took one step towards you, and when you didn’t move away, he walked over to you fully, but he didn’t touch you. Not yet. “It ain’t nothin’ ya did, darlin’. I want’cha to know that, alright?”

You frowned at his words. “But…after I told you—”

“It ain’t your fault,” he repeated with absolute certainty, cupping your cheeks, his touch soft and a stark contrast to his rough, work worn hands. “S’me. It ain’t you.”

“You left, Daryl,” you said sternly, a frown tugging at your eyebrows. “You left and I had no idea where you were, if you’d come back, if you were okay…I knew the news would be a shock and you’d probably need some time to process it, but to just leave? Without telling anyone? What the fuck, Daryl?”

Daryl sighed, but he nodded. There it was. The anger. However, some small part of him was relieved. At least you were still here. Mad, yes, but here. “I know, s’jus’...my mind wasn’t workin’. I was shocked. Shit, m’still shocked. I didn’t know how to feel, ‘n before I knew it, I was walkin’ in the middle’a the woods.” He sighed again and shook his head at himself. The archer was a man of few words. He wasn’t good at feelings, and he probably never would be. However, you deserved an explanation, and that’s what he’d do. It’s the least he could do. “I needed to clear my head, think ‘bout everythin’. I jus’ didn’t realize how long I was gone ‘til the sun came up again.”

You inhaled deeply and nodded again. You wanted to chew him out, wanted to let him know just how scared you’d been, but you didn’t. He was trying, and that’s all you could ask of him. “It’s okay. At least you came back, right?”

Daryl quirked a small smile at you. “Always will, Sweetheart. I promise ya that.”

That managed to pull a tiny smile from you, although it quickly fell again once you remembered what you needed to talk about. “So…how do you feel? About what I said?”

The archer was silent for a few long, agonizingly slow minutes. He pursed his lips and looked deep into your eyes, his ocean-like eyes softening at the sight of your clear nervousness. “Ain’t gon’ lie, s’fuckin’ terrifyin’. I don’t know what to do or how m’gon’ be, but…I ain’t goin’ nowhere. M’in this with ya. Whatever you choose to do, m’with ya.”

That made you smile. Small, unsure, nervous, but real. “Yeah?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. I promise.”

You engulfed Daryl in a tight hug, one which your partner reciprocated. You were still nervous, still scared of what the future held, but at least now you knew that you had Daryl by your side. At least you knew you had his support. And now, after so long of agonizing over how you’d tell him, after the silent disaster that was the breaking of the news, you were allowing yourself to be happy, to be a little excited.

Your voice was soft, quiet, and tentative when you spoke again. “I’m pregnant,” you said, shaky and a tad afraid, but sure and sounding a little excited.

Daryl kissed the top of your head. “Yeah, s’pose you are, huh?”

You laughed a little. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

The hunter smiled. “That we are.” He pulled away from the hug and gazed at you, his face showing that love and softness he reserved just for you.

There was still a lot to figure out. There was still a lot to talk about. And Daryl, he was still scared. He never expected he’d ever be a dad, and now life threw that opportunity his way, and he had no idea what to make of it. One thing he did know, though, was that he was going nowhere. He would not leave you to do this alone.

Whatever was coming, he’d face it, right by your side.

Everything taglist: @francisofthespook @angelsanarchy @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @lovergyal @dixonsdarkelf @stellar-waves

All Norman characters taglist: @mayday2007 @janiehellion @ddixonsangel @the-strangest-things @unforgivemn @smuttfuelled

Daryl Dixon taglist: @zombieblunt @lightning-hawke @banshees-martin @bambidixon @xx-lostgirl-xx @silentlysuffering98 @d1xonss @dixonsrot @sa1nt-bambi @darylgf @b0ssyboots

Join my taglist/s here!

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mayday2007 · 4 days ago

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I need more of this chaotic trio in my life

𖥔 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𖥔

𐔌 daryl’s misfortune & trio's pharmacy ban 𐦯

[ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 + 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞 ]

𖥔 pairing : 「 daryl dixon x fem!reader 」 + merle dixon .ᐟ

𖥔 contains : pre-apocalypse, modern au. absurd humor, crack vibes. swearing. sexual references. chaos. suggestive jokes. debates. mannequins. merle being merle. daryl suffering (like always). cringe.

𖥔 warnings & triggers : merle in a pharmacy (enough to be a warning). adult themes. embarrassing situations. mentions of menstruation. sex-related topics. strong language. crude jokes and references. shoplifting. implied sexual content (non-explicit, no smut, all jokes). inappropriate behaviour in public spaces. cringe again.

𖥔 setting : small town in georgia—this is the third part of the series, but it can be read as a stand alone work.

𖥔 word count : 4.0 k

summary : what was supposed to be a cute shopping day with Daryl turns into a multi-store catastrophe. starting with a mannequin assault, and ending with Merle stealing half of the sexual hygiene products.

main masterlist. | series masterlist. ➵ previous part.

It was a gorgeous, sunny day. The kind of summer afternoon where even the cicadas sounded like they were sipping tea and gossiping. The sky was clear, the birds were chirping, and it just felt wrong to be wasting it rotting on Daryl’s couch, especially after the whole pornocalypse incident with the Dixon brothers. You needed serotonin, and you knew exactly where to find it.

The mall.

Unfortunately, convincing Daryl to come along was like trying to drag a feral cat into a bubble bath. The moment you uttered the word shopping, he started groaning like he’d been shot with an arrow.

“Dun’ wanna go to the damn mall, sweetheart,” he whined, already flopping dramatically on the couch. “Ain’t nothing f’ me to hunt 'cept fuckin’ coupons" his face was lifeless. “Let’s jus’ stay right here, all snuggled. I’ll cuddle ya real good. Promise.”

Unlike you, he wasn’t feeling like going out and touching grass. And he definitely wasn't in the mood to go to the fucking mall for who knows how many hours just to try on pretty girl clothes for you and carry hundreds of shopping bags. Nah. Nope. No.

But then you hit him with your strongest weapon—the pout. With teary puppy eyes. And maybe a soft little whimper.

And he caved.

He always caves.

That’s how four hours later, Daryl was eight bags deep into consumerist hell. Carrying your shoes, your makeup, your scrunchies, your three dresses you insisted in get and swore were different but actually weren’t, and one pink hoodie that read “babygirl” in glittery letters—which he didn’t understand why you needed it since you’ve already stolen all his hoodies, but paid for without question.

He had definitely hit his emotional limit three and a half stores ago. Possibly when you said the word mall. Perhaps the moment he stepped into the parking lot. Hell, maybe since birth.

He looked like he’d fought in three wars, —one with the Governor, other with the saviours, and the last one with the whisperers—, and survived a goddamn zombie apocalypse. (Which, technically, he had. Just not in this particular timeline.)

You, meanwhile, were glowing. Prancing around like a child on a sugar rush, spinning in front of every mirror you came across, squealing, “LOOK AT THIS, DARYL! IT’S SO CUTE!” every two seconds.

“Mhm,” he grunted, each time, sounding less alive than the last.

At least he could already see the mall entrance as you walked towards it. The promised land. He could smell freedom.

“You having fun, baby?” you asked sweetly, batting your lashes.

“…a lotta,” he grunted, blinking like a man who had been through too much shit.

You giggled, hooking your arm with his and pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. He didn't even blush, thpugh, too tired to react.

But of course, fate had other plans.

There, glowing like a fucking religous temple, was Victoria’s Secret.

You gasped. “OH MY GOD.”

Daryl’s face dropped like a man who just witnessed how his house burnt down. For the second time. “No. No. Sweetheart—no, please. I can’t feel my arms no more. My feet are screamin’. Please don’t do this.”

Did you care? Absolutetely nope!

“Pretty pleaaase? Just a quick peek. Pinky promise!”

He looked mortified. “Please don’t make me do this.”

You batted your lashes and, without second thought, wrapped your pinky tightly around his. “There you go! We already did a pinky promise, you can’t break it.”

He stared at it. Stared at you. And then, he sighed, almost loud enough for the entire food court to hear. “Fine. But we ain’t spendin’ more than ten minutes in there. Got it?”

"Got it!" you nodded excitedly.

Ten seconds in and Daryl regretted everything.

The store was a paradise of lace and sin. Sparkly bras dangled like the forbidden fruit of Eden. Pink satin sets draped over mannequins with dead eyes and perky boobs. Music soft and sensual. And perfume that smelled like horniness and debt.

It was a land where modesty and innocence went to trash.

Daryl instantly looked like a man who wandered into the wrong dimension. A pervert lost in a pastel explosion of decorative butt fabric. Every woman in there glared at him like he was some kind of mdieval beast.

He tried not to look at anything, because every corner felt too dangerous. Left? Tits. Right? Ass. Dead ahead? Crotchless bodysuit.

So he chose the only safe space he could find—stare at the floor like it was the most beautiful landscape in the world.

Meanwhile, you were living your best life. Humming. Twirling. Holding up every piece with the exitement of a little girl with a new doll. “Look at this one!” you said, picking one up. “Do you like it, baby?”

“Uhh…” he hesitated, “y-yeah… that real angelic. Will look good. On ya. Not like… on a ghost. I mean yer hot. No! Yer heavenly. Like—” he cut himself of with a frustrated grunt and a tiny blush. “Ya get me, right?”

You giggled, feeling a flutter in your stomach at how cute he was. “Thanks, baby.”

Then you picked a sheer pink one. “What about this?”

He blinked hard. “That one’s… see-through.”

“That’s the point, silly!”

“R-Right… yeah. Just makin’ sure.”

Then you showed him a red one.

Big mistake.

His pupils dilated. He physically twitched. “Oh, fuck. That one’s hot as hell.”

You pouted. “So the other ones weren’t hot?”

Daryl panicked. “No! I mean—yeah! They’re all hot! Baby, don’t twist my words! I like the red ‘cause… ‘cause it’s red! Passion. Blood. Love. Fire. Like us. This one’s just… devil hot. The others are like gentle hot.”

You dumped them all back on the rack with a little sad sight.

Daryl mentally scolded himself.

A few racks later, things got weird.

You stumbled into a section that looked like someone tried to design lingerie while being high or out of their mind: Strings. Loops. Buckles. Harnesses. Hooks. Chains. Minimal fabric. Maximum confusion.

You tilted your head. “…What is this?”

Daryl frowned. “Well, sure as hell ain’t clothes.”

You took one of the strange devices and inspected it. “I think it’s a... bra?”

“Nah. It's a fucking monstrosity.”

“This looks like a thong.”

“More like a cry for horny-help.”

“Where’s the front?”

“There ain’t front.”

“Looks like a suicidal rope.”

“Think it’s backwards.” Daryl leaned closer, squinting. “Does it go… in? Down there?”

You made a face. “God, I hope not. It’s just string. It’s literally string.”

“Should be illegal, then.”

“Looks like already is.”

You stared at the harnessy thing in your hand and declared, “horniness is a disease..”

Daryl pointed to one that was crotchless. “Now that’s jus’ lazy.” Then he picked another up. “I think this goes on yer tits.”

You looked at him as if he had offended you and the lingerie. “That’s definitely not for tits Daryl. Can’t you see the shape? It doesn’t got cups!”

Daryl sighted exhasperated. “It does go on yer boobs, I’m tellin’ ya. Doncha look at the clasp, baby?”

You crossed your arms, “It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Yeah! It does. Just—hold on!” He stepped behind you, gently wrapping the straps around your chest like some awkward fish net armor. “See? Goes right ’ere.”

You gasped. “OH MY GOD! Daryl, you’re groping me in PUBLIC!”

“I ain’t gropin’! I’m provin’ a point!”

You stared at yourself in the mirror, wearing whatever the hell that was. “…Wait. This… really goes here,” you said, surprised at Daryl's knowledge.

...

Daryl's knowledge?

You turned to him suspiciously, “how did you know it went there?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Have you been reading Merle’s stuff?”

“WHAT? No! It’s jus’ shaped like a bra, baby!”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW BRA SHAPES?! HAVE YOU SEEN OTHER BRAS?! THIS IS CHEATING, DARYL!” you hurled the item at him.

He caught it and looked like he wanted to scream. “Baby, the only ones I seen are yers. Please. Yers are perfect. Iconic, even.” You glared, pouting, and in response, he gently cupped your face. “Sweetheart. Yer the only one I wanna see wearin’ anythin’. Or nothin’.”

You huffed, but at the end you forgave him. Because love always wins. “Okay.”

He sighted in relief. “Good,” he said as he gave you a sweet, chaste kiss. "yer the apple of my eye, y’know that, sweet girl?” his thumbs softly caressed your cheekbones.

Your heart fluttered thanks to his words and leaned in to kiss him again.

And everything was cute in that moment. Sweet. Loving. Cheesy. Fluffy.

Until you saw the kid.

A child.

A literal child.

Staring.

Dead in the eye.

A kid was staring at you both.

Daryl’s soul left his body. You had the thousand-yard stare.

...

“…WHAT THE FUCK IS A CHILD DOING IN A LINGERIE STORE?!” you both yelled at the same time.

After that embarrasing and traumatizing incident with the kid, you had wandered off to another section of the store, leaving behind a poor, exhausted Daryl who was still carrying your eight shopping bags like a good boyfriend should.

He didn’t even try to follow you anymore, too tired to keep up. Maybe he could rest a little while you enjoyed the good life.

Or maybe he could just... scape.

Chase happines. Good excuse.

But then it happened.

Red. Again.

A crimson set glowed in the corner like the burning bush in the Bible, if the bush was made of lace and temptation, of course.

Tiny push-up bra with silky lace on the cups. Delicate, soft garter belt. Knee socks. A skimpy matching little thong. The whole fantasy.

Daryl gasped. “Holy shit.”

It was perfect.

His pupils dilated as the image of you in that sinful set crashed into his brain like a train. He crouched down to quietly place the bags on the floor. Then, he stood up again, looking around the place for possible witnesses.

Coast clear. Good.

He picked it up. “She’d look so damn good in this,” he mumbled. “Shit. Might not even survive that.” Then checked the tag. “Yeah, this will fit ya just right,” He smirked, already picturing you in it. Or out of it. Either way worked.

In his excitement, he knocked down some hanging pieces, cursing under his breath. “Oh, shit...” he knelt, trying to gather everything back in place. In doing so, his ass bumped a mannequin behind him.

Thunk.

“…Huh?”

His head turned around just in time to see how the mannequin fell in slow motion —like an epic scene of a movie where a car explodes right after the main character jumped of a cliff— and knocked over the one behind it.

And that one behind the first hit another as well.

And another.

Ten mannequins.

Felt. Like. Dominoes. In. Slow. Motion.

In his goddamn face.

“Ya gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he whispered, frozen in horror as those plastic human-size dolls dressed on skimpy clothes lied on the fucking floor like fallen soldiers in war.

He looked up.

Across the aisle, a teenage girl saw the whole catastrophe. She was was staring at him like she’d just watched a grown ass man assault ten plastic women with his butt. Literally.

They locked eyes.

...

She blinked.

He blinked.

She turned.

She ran.

Daryl panicked and tried to fix it, but made it worse.

Then he saw it.

Security camera.

Blinking red. Recording everything. Every. Damn. Thing.

He grabbed the red set, stuffed it under his arm, scooped up the bags, and sprinted.

You were still happily browsing when he crashed into you, breathless.

“BUY YER SHIT. We’re leavin’. NOW.”

“What? Why? What happened?” you asked, confused.

“DON’T ASK. JUST GO.”

“Is that red under your arm—”

“GOOOOO!”

Then you saw the pile of mannequins behind him.

“…Daryl.”

He shoved his wallet into your hands. “JUST PAY. RUN. MOVE! ANYTHING, BUT PLEASE LET’S GET OUTTA ‘ERE.

After that domino effect in the lingerie shop, you left Victoria’s Secret with a visibly traumatized Daryl trailing behind you. He was clutching something red against his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. Although he kept glancing behind like a fugitive, eyes wide, breathing shallow, as if a feral plastic human might come flying around the corner to finish him off.

Your gaze turned to him. Something between annoyance and concern was reflected in your features. “Okay… spill it. What the hell happened back there? Why were… mannequins scattered everywhere?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes haunted. “Nothin’, baby… nothin’. Let’s… let’s just go, 'kay?”

You blinked, and even though curiosity was gnawing at your insides, you didn't push the issue. He looked like a man who’d been spiritually violated by some cursed thong.

But just as the exit of the mall came into view, the realization hit you like a rough period cramp—

“Wait! Wait! We need to go to the pharmacy!” you said, alarmed.

Daryl froze, his eyes glazed over with existential fear. “No.”

“Yep.”

“Sunshine, ple—.”

“It’ll be quick, Daryl. I just need to get pads and tampons. My uterus will open the gates of hell in 48 hours!” You said, already dragging him by the wrist like a mother would do with her toddler.

He groaned, but followed reluctantly.

Inside the pharmacy, you made your way towards the feminine hygiene aisle, where you started loading pads and tampons into the basket as if you were preparing for a nuclear winter.

Daryl stood beside you, stunned, staring at the mountain of pink and purple boxes piling higher by the second. His brow arched, “…ya really need all that?” he muttered.

“Are you the one who bleeds out of your crotch every month and want to make it through without snapping someone’s face? No. Then shut up.”

Daryl frowned. “…fine, Jesus.”

You held up a box. “These should work, right?”

“For what?” he asked, deeply confused.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “For me, Daryl, for me. They’re pads. Don’t you know what a period is?”

“No! I mean—Yeah! Uh—sorta—I just… how do they work?”

You narrowed your eyes like a high school teacher tired of explaining hundreds of times how fractions worked. “What, tampons or pads?”

“Tampons,” he asked, cautiously, “ya just... stick it up... there?

“Well. Kinda.” You raised the box, showing him. “You insert it like this, and then there’s a string—”

A woman browsing laxatives five feet away turned her head with a grimace.

Daryl noticed inmediately her discomfort and maybe annoyance, probably because you were explaining to a man how tampons worked. Too fucking loud. “‘kay!” he hissed, flushing red. “‘kay darling. I got it now, just... just please stop—!”

But of course you kept going, “—and you pull it out when it’s soaked. You don’t feel it if it’s in right. But the first time you try them, it can hurt. Especially if you’re nervous or too dry—”

“Baby, please, hush, the whole damn town don’t gotta know ‘bout yer insides!”

You ignored him, “inside, it expands and—”

“EXPANDS?!” Daryl shrinked. The woman across the aisle flinched and dropped a bottle of vitamins.

“Yeah! And you gotta change it often or you’ll get TSS.”

“WHAT THE HELL?! THEN WHY ARE YA PUTTIN’ ‘EM INSIDE YOU?!”

“Oh my god, you sound like a Victorian husband discovering female anatomy for the first time.”

“OKAY. OKAY! Let’s stop ‘ere.”

“No, listen! You have to learn! You don’t need to push too deep, or it’ll get stuck and you’ll have to—”

The lady was halfway across the store by now. Daryl looked like he wanted to evaporate into the sanitary wipes display.

“Oh shit,” you suddenly said, finally stopping your educative explanation. “We ran out of condoms.”

Daryl's soul left his body for the thousandth time that day.

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “What if we get those chocolate flavoured ones? Or the ultra-thin ones that feel like you’re not wearing anything?”

He wheezed. “Why yer sayin’ this in public!? And— why would we need chocolate ones?!”

“I’m asking for your opinion. You’re the one putting them on!” You shrugged. “Dunno. In case I get hungry?”

He shoved his face into his hands. “This is God punishin’ me.”

You both headed to the Family Planning section. Ironic, considering what condoms do. There was no planning at all. Just heat, raw impulse, tears, and sometimes barbecue sauce.

And just when you both were about to pick the ones you’d use, that’s when you saw him.

The menace.

The chaos.

The biological mistake.

Standing proudly by the lubes, was Merle Dixon.

“Oh god, not again” you and Daryl groaned in sync.

“Well, well, well,” Merle smirked, already holding a box of glow-in-the-dark condoms. “Look who’s horny.”

Daryl sighed, “please don’t,”

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” he asked, eyes glinting with the kind of mischief that ends in the police department. “Birthday balloons? Dick jackets? Somethin’ fruity for foreplay?”

“NO. You don’t get to ask questions!" you snapped, full judgmental stare. "What the hell are you doing here?”

“Uh—shoppin’, duh!” Merle scoffed, like you were the idiot.

You arched a brow. “For yourself?”

He blinked, offended by the question. “Nah, these are for grandma,” he stated, full sarcams-mpde. “Granny’s wild as hell.”

You froze. Daryl facepalmed so hard you heard the slap echo all over the place. “WHAT?!” you shouted. “You have a grandma?!”

“course I do!” Merle grinned like a cartoon villain. “Name’s Bigballs. Loves piña colada flavoured condoms and feral sex. These glow rubbers were her dyin’ wish.”

“She’s dying?!”

“She already did,” he giggled. “But still, a wish is a wish.”

You blinked rapidly, stepping away like his insanity was contagious, (it was). In the meantime, Daryl muttered, “Don’t know 'em. Never met 'em in my life,” to a passing customer.

Trying to salvage your sanity, you turned back to the condoms. Merle, meanwhile, had grabbed three boxes and started juggling them like a maniac.

“MERLE, STOP!” you snapped as he nearly opened one with his teeth.

“What? Don’t ya want a demonstration?” he winked. “Got glow-in-the-darks, good for night huntin’. Extra tiny for Daryl’s lil’ vienna sausage, might finally fit it. And ultra spikey for people with no fear and a death wish.”

Daryl lunged. “I’M GONNA MURDER YA.”

Merle pirouetted out of range like a delicate ballerina would do.

You grabbed an extra-large box and inspected it.

Merle immediately leered. “Ya want extra large? For what, dollface? Yer plannin’ to smuggle a salami in there?” he giggled. “Cuz ya got room for a full rotisserie chicken!”

You frowned. Perturbed.

He shifted to Daryl, waving a giant jumbo hundred-pack of XLs in his brother’s face. “Here ya go, baby bro! Starter kit for real men! Break the bed, split the walls, destroy your balls!”

Daryl smacked it out of his hand. “WE AIN’T NEED THAT MANY—”

“Speak for yerself, casanova!” Merle cackled.

Finally fed up with him, you dumped all eight of your shopping bags, plus pads, tampons, and a bottle of shampoo on Merle. “Here. Be useful. Go… pretend you’re a functioning adult.”

“I’m yer—what? Shopping mule now?” he gawked.

“Yes. I'll even use a whip for more realism.”

While you and Daryl got deep into a very serious debate about whether ribbed was superior to ultra-thin, —you claimed it tickled your coochie; he swore it scraped his dignity—, a bored and unsupervised Merle found the tampons.

Bad.

He yanked one out and stared like it was alien technology. “Damn. This a marshmallow rocket? The damnest hell?”

No one answered, so he sniffed it. Twirled it. Yanked the string and said, “Yoink.” Then he pulled one out, yelled “TAG, YER IT!” and slapped a passing customer with it.

You didn’t see it. Daryl didn’t see it. But the cashier did.

Then he ripped another open.

Destroyed a third.

Started juggling with the rest.

Meanwhile, you were arguing with Daryl over fucking condoms.

“Ya said ya liked strawberry last time!” he snapped.

“I NEVER SAID THAT—” you answered back.

“‘Ooooh, baby, tastes like a fruity gummy bear’—yer words!” he even tried imitating your voice.

Back at the crime scene, Merle wandered up to the cashier, laughing like a deranged clown. “Excuse me, ma’am, got any user manuals for these? Or a YouTube tutorial? how do these go in? Do they twist? Pop in like pills? Insert like USB?”

The cashier tried to handle him. “Sir, I'm not a lady, and please put that down—”

Merle grinned. “Well, guess we’re learnin’ together.” he opened the pad pack. Ripped one out, peeled it open like a taco, and stared. “Oh hell yeah—these look cozy.” Then, dead serious, “I’m gonna wear one of these next time I ride my bike. Want my boys feelin’ like they’re sittin’ on clouds.”

Before anyone could stop him, he fucking stuck a pad on the cashier’s forehead and screamed, “I CROWN YA, QUEEN TRANSLADY OF PERIODLAND!!”

And just like that, chaos erupted.

Security was called.

The store alarms blared.

You were still bickering with Daryl about flavours when he came sprinting back five minutes later. “Hey, uh. I broke yer tampon science kit. Mighta traumatized a kid too. We gotta go.”

You stared in horror. Daryl froze.

“WHAT?!” you and him screeched.

But then —WHEEEE OOO. WHEEEE OOO— the police. (Didn’t know how to describe it.)

“OH SHIT—ABORT MISSION!” you screamed, grabbing your bags. “MAYDAY! MAYDAY!”

Daryl grabbed your hand, hauling you toward the exit.

But Merle?

Merle screamed, “I’M LIBERATING THE SAFE SEX SECTION!” and bolted the opposite way—arms full of lube, condoms, glittery penis rings, and Daryl’s dignity.

“I’M DOIN’ THIS FOR THE PEOPLE! FOR THE BALLS! FOR GRANDMA BIGBALLS!”

But then, security appeared out of nowhere, stopping him in his tracks. Two guards tackled him as he wiggled like a worm and squealed like a pig.

Fifteen minutes later, in the mall parking lot.

Daryl was shaking with rage. You were on the verge of pulling your hair out. And Merle? Merle was chewing a piece of gum he’d definitely stolen from the cashier’s counter.

You glared at him, seething. “MERLE. WHAT. DID. YOU. DO!?”

He shrugged with zero remorse. “Minor miscommunication.”

“Minor—?! You traumatized a child!”

“Lil’ bastard shouldn’t have been in the condom aisle.”

“YOU SLAPPED A MAN WITH A TAMPON.”

Merle crossed his arms. “Technically, I tagged him. It was a warning shot.”

You rubbed your temples while Daryl silently paced like a ticking time bomb.

Then you looked at the bags—or, more accurately, the pile of crumpled paper and exploded foil that used to be bags. “My pads didn’t make it…” you whispered tragically. “The tampons…” You just stared into the void, “let’s not talk about the tampons.”

“At least I learned things,” Merle said proudly.

You ignored him, digging through the wreckage. “Okay… my clothes survived. Makeup too. Lingerie also. Phew~. We can work with this.”

There was a brief, exhausted silence.

Then you spotted something that made your face light up with genuine hope. “At least… we still have the bag of Cheetos.” You raised it triumphantly like Simba.

But something changed in Merle’s face.

His head snapped toward you.

His pupils shrank.

His lips parted like he’d seen the face of death itself.

“No,” he croaked.

Before you could even blink, he yeeted the bag across the parking lot like it was a living grenade. It hit a roof and detonated in a puff of orange dust.

You and Daryl just stood there. Staring.

“Don’t,” Merle whispered, barely above the wind. “Don’t let Cheetos near me.”

You turned to look at him. His expression was hollow. Haunted. Somewhere between Vietnam and Chernobyl.

“I still see the orange dust… in my dreams,” he muttered. “Sometimes… it’s on my hands.”

You blinked. “What— what happened to you?”

Merle didn’t answer. Just lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and stared into the middle distance.

Daryl didn’t speak the entire drive home. Not until nightfall.

And even then, it was only to look at the stars through the windshield, sigh, and mutter under his breath:

“…what the hell is wrong with my family?”

n/a: this was requested as well! apologize for taking so long, dear nonnie! but i hope you like the second part of your request. 🫶🏻 i didn't really like how i developed this, but i made it with all my love for you. ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

dividers: by me ‹𝟹

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mayday2007 · 4 days ago

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okay, but what positions would daryl like? because that man is so damn caring and cute and beautiful that i don't think his first choice would be one that denotes a power dynamic, but rather one that makes him feel close, perhaps even with eye contact and all

oh my god, i love this !!

i think the lotus position is definitely one he’d like. just holding you close and being able to bury his head against you as you ride him. hands gripping at your skin, breaths tangling together. he definitely wants to be face-on, and loves to watch your face as you come apart. another is missionary (duh) cause he's our lil vanilla baby, but he's also getting old and his back can't handle much so i think he'd also love the spooning position, just being able to hold you against him and focus on you more than himself. he loves hiking your leg up over him and being able to open you up as he fucks you, hands diving between your legs to tease and play with your clit as he does. his head pressed firmly against the back of yours, pressing kisses all along your neck and shoulder. ugh 😣

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mayday2007 · 4 days ago

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mayday2007 · 4 days ago

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Omgomgomgomg

That soft “yeah?” he does? Hold me back.

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mayday2007 · 5 days ago

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OMFG, I'm not crying tears of want and need for this, you are 😭💋

Nesting Season | Daryl Dixon x Reader

synopsis: In the safety of Alexandria, survival is no longer your priority—living is. You’ve started cooking real meals, folding laundry with clean soap, and yelling at Daryl for tracking mud into your house. But with every soft, domestic habit you reclaim, Daryl finds himself falling harder—and imagining a future where you’re barefoot, pregnant, and his.

w/c: 5.6k

warnings: unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, creampie, impregnation, talk about pregnancy, daryl develops a breeding kink

a/n: i need to see daryl as a dad. biologically or through adoption, idfc

navigation

You didn’t realize how much you missed the sound of a wooden spoon clacking against a pot until Alexandria made it possible to cook again—not just boil, but cook. Real food. Garlic sautéed in oil. Dough rising in bowls. Crackling butter, eggs cracked into hot pans. You had spices now. Not many, but enough. Enough to make you feel human again.

You stirred the soup gently, humming to yourself, bare feet cold against the tiled kitchen floor. The windows were open, and somewhere down the street, Judith was laughing. That kind of laughter—the kind that didn’t sound like it came from someone holding their breath—was new. A rare luxury. You soaked in the sound.

Your little house wasn’t much. It had peeling baseboards and that one light in the hallway that flickered if you stepped too hard. But it was clean. Yours. You’d hung mismatched rugs, lit candles with no scent left in them, fluffed pillows that didn’t quite match, and named the little houseplant on the windowsill “Martha” just to remind yourself to water her.

And for some reason, lately, Daryl Dixon kept showing up.

“Got ya wrench,” he said gruffly from your doorway, holding up a rusted tool with one gloved hand.

You looked over your shoulder. “Did I… ask for a wrench?”

“Nah. Figured y’might need one eventually,” he muttered.

You quirked a brow. “You sure that wasn’t just an excuse to show up during dinner?”

He shrugged like it was possible. “Smelled somethin’ good from down the street.”

You pointed your wooden spoon at him. “Boots off.”

Daryl glanced down, pretending not to notice the trail of mud he’d already left behind. “Shit. Sorry.”

The next time he came by—two days later—he left his boots on the porch without a word.

It became a routine neither of you acknowledged. You cooked. He showed up with something—an old book, a fixed knife, once even a box of instant pudding mix he’d found “for later.” You stopped asking why. You just made enough food for two.

“Soup again?” he asked one night, eyeing the steaming bowls on your table.

You handed him a spoon. “Be grateful. It’s chicken this time.”

He gave you a crooked smile. “Damn near gourmet.”

“You ever cook, Dixon?”

He leaned back in his chair, looking far too comfortable for someone who never officially moved in. “Cooked squirrel once over a campfire. Burnt the ears off.”

You choked on your drink. “They have ears?”

“Yeah. Cute little ones. Not anymore.”

You laughed so hard you snorted, and Daryl grinned at the sound—barely, but enough.

Sometimes you’d catch him watching you. Not in a weird way. In a way that felt… reverent. Like he wasn’t quite sure how you were real. You’d be folding laundry on the couch, sleeves inside out, warm fabric tucked under your chin. You didn’t look your best—your hair was tied up in a half-falling bun, you had a smudge of flour on your cheek, and your socks didn’t match.

Still, his eyes lingered. Especially on your hands.

He didn’t know why he kept imagining them folding something smaller. Softer. Baby-sized.

Didn’t know why the thought made his heart twist like that.

One afternoon, you were putting away canned goods when you realized your shelf was suspiciously full. You stared at the neat row of tomatoes, peas, beans.

You turned toward the man fixing your porch light without being asked.

“You been sneaking in food again?”

He didn’t look back. “Ain’t sneakin’. Just settin’ it down.”

“Daryl.”

“Y’run low on stuff. I notice.”

You crossed your arms, trying to hide your smile. “You know, if you wanted an excuse to move in, there are more subtle ways.”

That made him finally glance at you. His ears went pink. “Ain’t movin’ in.”

“Sure,” you teased. “You’ve only eaten here five nights this week.”

“Six,” he corrected under his breath.

The next day, you caught him sniffing your laundry.

Not, like, creepily. He didn’t even notice he was doing it.

He’d picked up a folded shirt to move it and paused, his brow furrowing.

“Daryl?”

“Huh?” He looked up, startled, the shirt still in his hands.

You smirked. “That mine or yours?”

He glanced at it like he couldn’t tell. “Yours, I think.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat. “What soap d’you use?”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

“Smells… real nice.”

Your lips curved up slowly. “You mean I smell real nice.”

He went bright red. “Didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He dropped the shirt and muttered, “Ain’t askin’ no more favors.”

“Yes you are,” you said, grinning. “You’ll be back tomorrow.”

He tried to hide the way the corner of his mouth lifted. “Tch.”

One evening, while you were both on the porch—he was fixing your railing, you were drinking lukewarm tea—you caught him saying it.

“So,” you started casually, “you just go around fixing everybody’s house?”

“Just yours,” he said. Too quick. Too natural.

You blinked. He didn’t seem to notice.

He finished hammering in a nail and leaned back on his heels. “Was thinkin’… ya might wanna repaint this part of—” He paused, then frowned. “—your house.”

You gave him a look.

“What?” he asked, suddenly cautious.

“You were about to say home.”

“No I wasn’t.”

You grinned. “You were! ‘Your home.’ Admit it.”

He stood up, scowling. “Ain’t gotta admit shit.”

“Uh-huh.”

He muttered something under his breath about “smartass women” and stalked back inside—barefoot.

You followed him in, cheeks warm.

That night, when he left, he lingered in the doorway longer than usual.

You leaned on the frame beside him. “Y’know, you never knock.”

“Door’s always open.”

“Only for you.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Eyes soft beneath the rough edges.

“I ain’t used to this,” he murmured.

“To what?”

“This,” he said, nodding at the warm kitchen, the folded laundry, the candles melted low on the table. “Quiet. Bein’… wanted.”

You rested your hand on his arm. “Get used to it, Dixon.”

He hesitated. Then nodded.

When you shut the door behind him, you could still smell the flannel he’d left on your couch.

You picked it up, held it close, and whispered into the empty room, “You already live here, dumbass.”

From the street, Daryl glanced back once before walking home.

Or, maybe—just maybe—not home.

Not yet.

But close.

So damn close.

It started with sandwiches.

At first, just plain ones—peanut butter, or if you were feeling generous, ham with a thin slice of tomato. Then they got fancier. Little notes tucked in foil. An extra fruit wrapped in cloth. One time, you even snuck in a brownie and drew a tiny, lopsided squirrel on the napkin.

You didn’t expect him to bring anything back. But he did.

A bottle of honey. A tiny carved bear he claimed “just showed up.” A beat-up paperback with half the pages intact.

“Found this in a glovebox,” he said one afternoon, tossing the book onto your kitchen counter.

You turned it over, lips twitching. “A Beginner’s Guide to Making Soap. Is this a hint?”

“Nah,” he said, though you caught the way his eyes darted toward you. “Jus’ thought ya liked that kinda shit. Feels… homey.”

You pressed your mouth to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dixon. I’ll be sure to whip up some lavender body wash next time you stomp in here smelling like smoke and bear traps.”

He chuckled—low and gravelly. “Ain’t my fault. Nature likes me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Nature wants you to shower.”

The rhythm between you and Daryl wasn’t something you planned. It just… settled. Like dust on windowsills, or the way the kettle always whistled five minutes before he knocked.

He never asked for food. Never requested anything. He just showed up, sat down, and quietly accepted whatever you handed him.

And in return, he gave.

Little repairs around the house. Odd tools left on your porch. And one particularly cloudy morning, a shelf.

He was on his knees, screwing the last bit of wood in place beneath your window when you padded in with a mug of coffee.

“You building me furniture now?” you asked, sipping slowly.

He didn’t look up. “Ya said ya ain’t got no place for them cookbooks. Figured this’d work.”

You stared at the sturdy thing. Real wood. Sanded edges. No frills, just strong and clean.

“You made this?”

“Didn’t steal it, if that’s what yer askin’.”

You bumped your hip against his shoulder, grinning. “We’re practically married at this point.”

That made him freeze.

Just for a second.

Then he cleared his throat and rose to his feet, brushing sawdust off his jeans. “Yeah, well… ya bake good.”

The wound was stupid.

Barely a scratch, really—just a scrape along his upper arm from a rusted fence post. But it bled, and he grunted about tetanus, and you rolled your eyes so hard it gave you a headache.

“Sit still,” you said, holding the wet cloth to his skin.

He flinched.

“Drama queen.”

“Ain’t dramatic,” he muttered. “Y’just heavy-handed.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

You sat on the edge of the kitchen table, close enough to smell the pine on his clothes, the sweat on his collar. His shirt was half-pulled down around his arm, bunched up awkwardly against his chest. Every time he moved, the fabric lifted just enough to show a line of taut stomach, scarred and sun-kissed.

Your fingers slowed.

His eyes flicked up—watching you, not the cloth.

“Y’almost done?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, but your hand didn’t move. “Yeah. Just…”

The room felt quieter than it had a moment ago. Like something was leaning in. Like the walls knew.

You looked up, and he was already looking down—at your mouth.

And there it was.

That pause. That almost.

Your breath caught.

But then he blinked, and the spell broke, and you shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “Stop fidgeting, Dixon, you’ll get blood on my floor.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Ain’t the first time, probably won’t be the last.”

Later that week, while folding your laundry, you found his flannel again.

Still draped across the arm of your couch. Still worn and warm.

You held it up, burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled like firewood and wind. Him.

You didn’t ask if he left it on purpose.

You just folded it and left it on your bed.

“Here,” he said one evening, holding something small and metal between his fingers.

You looked up from your stew. “What’s that?”

“Knife. Cleaned it. Sharpened, too.” He pressed it into your palm. “Just in case.”

Your throat caught. “Daryl…”

“Don’t mean nothin’,” he mumbled quickly, backing off. “Y’know. Jus’ in case I ain’t around sometime.”

You closed your hand around it, blade snug in the leather sheath. It was small, light, but deadly. Like him.

“I feel safer already,” you said quietly.

He shrugged, but his ears turned red.

That night, you stood together in your tiny kitchen, washing dishes side by side.

You handed him a plate. He dried it.

You reached for a cup. He bumped your hand with his elbow.

“Careful,” you teased. “I’ll sue.”

He snorted. “For what? My crossbow?”

“Damn right. I’ll mount it above my new bookshelf. Like a trophy.”

He smirked. “Still think we’re married?”

You paused, fingers submerged in soapy water. “What, you think we’re not?”

He didn’t answer.

You turned, dish towel in hand, ready to tease him again—but he was already looking at you.

That same stare. Soft, wide-eyed, awestruck.

The towel slipped from your fingers.

Your shoulders brushed. His hand was on the counter, fingers just inches from yours.

You were close enough to kiss.

You were close enough to want.

Your lips parted slightly—but then he blinked, looked away, and rubbed his jaw with a muttered, “S’gettin’ late.”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He left a few minutes later without taking his flannel.

And this time, you didn’t move it.

You curled up with it on the couch, heart fluttering against your ribs like it wanted out.

He didn’t say much the next morning. Just nodded when you handed him a sandwich, tucked it into his bag, and slung his crossbow over his shoulder.

“You comin’ by for dinner?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

He hesitated at the door.

Then, real soft: “Yeah. Reckon I am.”

He stepped out, but didn’t quite shut the door behind him. You could still hear his boots on the porch.

And just before they faded, you caught it—quiet and rough, like a secret spilled from his chest:

“Ain’t that somethin’…”

You stood frozen, dish towel still in your hand, heat rushing to your cheeks.

You didn’t know if he meant the sandwich. The shelf. The almost-kiss.

Or you.

Maybe all three.

But yeah.

It was somethin’.

It started with a vision he couldn’t shake.

You, barefoot in the kitchen. The morning light soft and golden, filtering through linen curtains you hung just to make the place “feel less apocalypse-y.” A coffee mug in your hand. One of his old button-downs barely buttoned over your chest, hanging loose over your thighs.

Your belly round, swollen, alive.

The image hit him like a punch to the gut. Not because it was hot—though it was—but because it felt like something sacred. Something he had no right touching.

He blinked hard and looked away, jaw tight.

You were just standing there. Coffee in hand. Bedhead. Sleepy eyes.

Messy and real.

And his, if he ever dared to claim it.

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Didn’t mean he didn’t think about it.

Didn’t mean he didn’t ache for it.

“You okay?” you asked, voice raspy from sleep.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Jus’… starin’ off.”

You moved toward the stove, yawning into your shoulder. “You want eggs or oatmeal?”

He didn’t answer. He was too busy watching the way your shirt dipped at the collar. The way your hip swayed as you reached for a pan.

God help him, he wanted to walk over, wrap his arms around you from behind, and press his hands to the curve of your belly—his baby under your skin, your soft sigh in his ear.

He hated himself for it.

But he wanted it anyway.

The rain started around noon.

By four, the power cut out.

You lit candles like it was second nature, placing them carefully in jars, tea lights on the counter. Daryl stood in the doorway watching you, arms crossed like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Cozy, right?” you said, holding a match to a stubby wick.

He grunted. “S’quiet.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Ain’t bad. Just… loud.”

You tilted your head. “That sentence made no sense.”

“Did to me,” he mumbled.

You handed him a candle in a chipped ceramic mug. “There. You get ambiance.”

He took it, blinking at the tiny flame. “Ain’t this a fire hazard?”

You smirked. “So is your attitude.”

The storm outside turned from steady rain to thunderous sheets, rattling the windows and howling through the gaps in the frame. The wind shoved hard against the house. You pulled a blanket around your shoulders, sitting on the couch cross-legged. Daryl paced once, then settled across from you in the armchair.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Just candlelight and stormlight and the quiet.

Until you said it.

“Why do you keep coming back?”

His head snapped up.

You didn’t say it with malice. Just curiosity. Just soft and warm and real.

“You’re here almost every day,” you continued. “You fix things. You eat here. You sleep on my couch when you think I don’t notice. But you never say why.”

Daryl stared into the candle like it owed him answers.

“Dunno,” he muttered.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Bullshit.”

He shrugged. “Ain’t got nowhere better to be.”

“Liar.”

“I ain’t.”

You raised your brows. “So you just happen to bring me coffee filters and screws and dried lavender you found in someone’s abandoned sock drawer for no reason?”

His lip twitched. “Weren’t a sock drawer. Was a glove box.”

You smiled, but it faded quick. “Daryl. Just say it.”

“I don’t know,” he said again, voice harder now. “I jus’… it’s quiet here. Y’don’t talk too much. Smells good. You make real food. And I—shit—I like it, alright?”

You sat back, blinking at him.

He scrubbed a hand down his face and muttered, “Ain’t mean t’get loud.”

You didn’t flinch. You just said, “You’re already a part of this place. Of me.”

He looked up.

You gave him a little shrug. “Whether you realize it or not.”

The candle flickered between you.

You reached forward to adjust the glass jar around it, and your fingers brushed his.

He didn’t pull back.

You didn’t either.

His hand turned under yours, rough palm meeting your skin.

Warm. Solid. Familiar.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You let your gaze drift up to his—those stormy, uncertain eyes, like he was at war with something inside himself.

“Daryl,” you said softly, “you’re allowed to want something good.”

He inhaled through his nose, shaky.

“Ain’t used to it,” he said. “Wantin’ somethin’.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause if I want it, that means I can lose it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full—so full it felt like the room was pulsing with it.

You didn’t let go of his hand. “Maybe it’s time to stop thinking you don’t deserve it.”

He didn’t answer.

But his fingers curled around yours.

And that was something.

You stood a little while later, candle in hand, heading to the kitchen to check on the rainwater leak above the sink. You were halfway there when you felt him behind you.

He didn’t say a word.

Just lifted a hand, brushing your hair from your cheek.

Calloused fingertips against soft skin. Barely a touch. But it made you shiver.

You turned to look at him, and the candlelight caught his face just right—softened him. His brow furrowed in thought, lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You said it for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled. Shaky. Relieved.

“You promise?” he asked, voice almost broken.

You nodded, stepping in just enough that your foreheads almost touched. “You already have me, Daryl. You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

Outside, the thunder rolled.

Inside, you stayed quiet.

But your hands stayed locked together until the candle burned low.

Your lips hovered over his, waiting for him to make the next move—wanting for him to make the next move. He stared up into your eyes, hesitating.

You closed the gap for him, pressing your lips into his. Dry and unmoving, you tried getting him to open up. Parting your lips, you lap at his lower lip once, twice—until he's parting his lips and taking your tongue in his.

Your tongues dance for dominance, Daryl's hands crawling lower and lower until they're rested on your hips. You suck on his lips, arching uour back to press your breasts against his hard chest. This action has the bowman grunting into the kiss, hands squeezing at your hips.

Your hands find themselves cupping his cheek and jaw as your greedily take and take and he just lays there and lets you.

As the pleasure builds inside you, so does the desperation. You're breathing harshly, your sex growing wet and hot, demanding for any kind of friction. So you give yourself exactly that.

You move your hips slowly, grinding down on Daryl's growing member. Heavy breathing fill the room as you grind harder onto him, the hard material of his jeans accentuating the feeling of bliss.

Your head starts growing light as you throw your head back, hips quickly moving back and forth as you chase after your high.

Daryl grunts and pants underneath you, eyes trained on your moving hips. His eyes shift up at yours as he looks at you through his lashes.

You smirk down at his desperate expression, planting your hand on his chest as your hips move faster. "Could you—" Daryl grits out, holding your hips down. Unable to move, you tilt your head to the right, waiting for his next move.

With his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands stay glued to your hips. The tension is thick and buzzing in the air—waiting for something, someone to move.

Then Daryl's hands move to hook your panties to the side, exposing your needy cunt. He presses his thumb onto your sensitive clit, making you roll your eyes back. He starts drawing circles, making you roll your hips.

"God, yes." You breathe out, pushing Daryl to add two more fingers, pressing onto your sex. He looks up at your for permission, only to be met with desperate eyes.

Daryl smirks, pushing his digits easily through your slick walls. A low moan leaves your chest as your hips slowly move back and forth, gringing onto his open palm.

Your fingers move nimbly to undo the last buttons of your shirt, exposing your bare breasts underneath. You can feel the way Daryl's hand hardens as soon as his gaze lay on your breasts.

Hand on his nape, you pull at him. "Open your mouth." You mutter, pulling him closer. He immediately follows your order, taking your nipple into his mouth. You let out a satisfied breath as his warm tongue circles your hardened bud.

He takes your other breast in his free hand, playing and tugging at your nipple. The stimulation from both the bottom and the top has your euphoria quickly rushing over at you.

Your moans quickly become louder as you grab and claw at the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. Your digits curl and tug as your orgasm washes over you, making your back arch and your pussy walls flutter around Daryl's digits.

You lift and lower yourself as you ride out your ecstasy. It quickly washes off, bringing you back to the present.

Looking back down at Daryl, you can't help but giggle at how desperate he looks. "Mmmm, your fingers are amazing." You move your hips into a slow circle, lifting them up.

Daryl's digits easily slip out of your cunt as you move into him, closing the gap between the both of you. You taste him once more, notes of cigarettes and musk filling your tongue.

Daryl's hips move on their own, pressing against your dripping cunt. His lips slowly move toward your neck, biting and nipping and leaving small marks until he reaches where your shoulder and neck meet.

His hands move quickly, undoing his belt and pants. His breathing is ragged and quick, but you don't point out his neediness.

"Condom?" You whisper, making him freeze.

He slowly looks up at you, eyes searching your face. You can practically see the wheels in his head turning as he thinks of another way through this.

"No..." He whispers back, still thinking of a different solution. You smile, pressing your lips into his. "Good." You watch as his eyes grow wide with your unexpected response. "Had to make sure."

"What do you—" You cut him off by taking his cock in your hand, pumping it a few times before lowering yourself on it until his head is pushing up against your ready folds.

You cradle his head, looking into his eyes before you continue lowering yourself. His size isn't something new to you, but you could never get used to his overall size. He was thick, filling you up completely, so much that it's hard to breathe.

When he's completely inside you, he stalls for a moment, holding you in his arms. He loves staying still inside you, just feeling the way your cunt pilses and grips around him.

He pulls back, only to roughly thrust in again. That first act pulls a surprised moan out of you until he's ramming his length in and out of you, his cock has the right curve to hit that bundle of nerves you love.

His hips snap at you roughly, forcing your tits to bounce and your moans to become more high-pitched, more whiny. And God knows Daryl loves hearing you come apart because of him.

With a new-found motivation, Daryl flips the both of you, pinning you to the couch. He grabs at your thighs, parting them even more to give himself more space to work with.

"God, yeah." He breathes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his jaw grows slack. His eyes arebshut as his hips move mechanically, as if he isn't thinking about anything else, anything at all, really.

With his head thrown back, his hips move selfishly for his own pleasure. You love how he uses your body greedily, but you don't dare tell him so he doesn't overthink his actions.

His thrusts become faster, more shallow; like he's moving less to feel you and more because he's—

"Close," He grunts, "I'm so fucking close." He's almost slurring his words as he thrusts into you, obviously nearing his release.

You gather your breasts together, looking up at him with wide eyes and scrunched brows. "Daryl?" You call out, his head snapping in attention to you. "Put a baby in me?"

The second he drinks in your lewd look, you immediately feel his release coating your walls. "Is—Is that what you want?" He hiccups, hips going still as he finishes releasing inside you.

"Want me to put a baby in ya?" He breathes into your neck, hand wrapping around your neck. Squeezing lightly, a grin stretches across your lips.

You love bringing this side out of him.

He straightens himself out, his hips resuming to deeper and slower thrusts as he regains his composure. "Hmm? That what the lil' lady want?" He mocks, tilting his head to the side.

His gaze digs into yours, moans spilling from your chest as he slowly reels upur own high in. His movements are slow but languid, building up the tension until you're ready to snap.

"Please, please!" You whine, digging your nails onto his shoulders as he squeezes your left breast. He stares at your nude body, legs eagerly open for him.

"You look ready to be a mommy." He chuckles, grunting as he feels his own release quickly approaching. "Tell ya what—" He breathes out, "Come with me," He looks into your eyes, "And I'll make sure you won't have to worry 'bout no period cramps for nine months."

The thought of him so willing to impregnate you is what pushes you over the edge. Unprepared and incredibly sensitive, your walls clamp down at his dick. Daryl groans as he releases inside you for a second time, your walls milking him dry as you pull him closer.

You can't get him close enough.

He keeps you plugged full until you've completely ridden out your orgasm, slowly pulling himself out. You feel his release slowly dripping out of you.

"Need ya pregnant by tomorrow." He mumbles into your neck, making you giggle.

"That's not how it works, Dare!" You squeal, his fingers tickling you as he slowly wraps his arms around your waist. He flips the both of you once more, settling you on top of him.

You yawn, the sense of home and peace overcoming you. It's like a big, warm hug. It's Daryl.

You look up at him one last time, studying his features, memorizing your favorite ones before letting your lids fall shut.

He woke up before you did. He usually did.

Even in Alexandria, with safety stitched into the walls and comfort stacked in jars on the shelves, Daryl’s instincts still buzzed before dawn. But for once, he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for a weapon. Didn’t sit up and scan the corners.

He just lay there.

Watching you.

You were curled up under the quilt you insisted on keeping even when the nights were warm, one leg poking out, hair a wild mess against his arm. Your breath was steady. Soft. There was a crease by your mouth from the pillow, and you had this stubborn little frown, like even in sleep you were fighting something.

He reached up and gently ran a finger across your cheek.

Didn’t know why, but the sight of you—real, messy, completely unguarded—made his chest feel too tight and too full at the same time.

He’d never had this before. Never thought he could.

Peace.

Warmth.

You.

He could’ve laid there forever.

But then you stirred, mumbling something unintelligible and blinking up at him.

“Mornin’,” he said, voice low and scratchy.

“God,” you rasped, stretching with a dramatic groan, “do you always look this good at sunrise, or is that just my dumb luck?”

He snorted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Pretty sure it’s the other way ‘round, sunshine.”

You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Come on. Let’s make something that doesn’t come out of a can.”

You cooked like it was therapy. Barefoot, hair up, music humming from the old record player someone scavenged last month. Daryl didn’t know the song—it had twang and heartbreak and something about wildflowers—but it made you sway around the kitchen like you were dancing just for yourself.

Or for him.

He stood behind you, cutting up potatoes. Clumsy but focused.

“So,” he said slowly, like the words might spook you, “what would ya name a kid if ya had one?”

You dropped the spatula with a clatter.

“Jesus, Daryl.”

“What?” he shrugged, defensive but not really. “Just askin’. Ain’t like I’m handin’ ya a ring or nothin’.”

You gave him a look. “Uh-huh. That a proposal in disguise?”

He flushed, ears turning pink. “Ain’t what I meant.”

You grinned. “You’re blushing.”

“Ain’t.”

“You so are.”

He turned back to the potatoes, grumbling, “Well, you didn’t answer.”

You bit your lip, stirred the eggs. “I dunno. Something sweet. Maybe something old-fashioned. Nora, if it’s a girl. Eli for a boy.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Nora Dixon. Got a nice ring to it.”

You turned, arching a brow. “You just assigned your last name without even blinking.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, smirking, “ain’t givin’ ‘em anyone else’s.”

Your heart gave a traitorous little flutter.

Later that day, you were on a supply run near the edge of town—clearing a half-looted baby store you’d always skipped, assuming there wasn’t much worth salvaging. Most shelves were dust and crumbled boxes, long since picked over.

But Daryl stopped dead in the middle of an aisle.

You turned to find him staring at something.

A crib.

Wooden, pale. A little dusty but intact. A tiny mobile still hung from one corner, faded stars and clouds gently turning.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked up to it, gave it a little push, and watched it creak back and forth.

Then—without a word—he bent down, lifted it, and carried it to the cart.

You blinked. “What… are you doing?”

He didn’t look at you. Just said, “Ain’t gonna be here next time. Someone else’ll take it.”

Your voice came out quieter than you meant. “You think we’ll need it?”

He paused. Just long enough to say everything without saying a word.

Then: “Hope so.”

That night, the crib sat in the corner of your bedroom, not built yet—just leaning against the wall like a promise waiting to be made.

You lay beside him in the low light, one hand on his chest, the other tracing lazy patterns across the thin scar just above his collarbone.

He was quiet. Tense in that way that meant his brain was working overtime.

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded once. Then again. Then finally spoke.

“Ain’t never had a real home,” he said, voice soft. “Not one where I felt like I belonged. Always someone else’s rules. Someone else’s roof. Got used to leavin’. Got good at packin’ light.”

You didn’t interrupt. You just let your hand rest over his heart.

“But you,” he continued, “you make me wanna build one. Y’know? With walls I picked. With shit on the shelves. With meals that ain’t cold. With you in it.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, heart full to the point of aching.

“Daryl,” you whispered.

He looked up at you, expression unreadable.

You cupped his face in your hands, thumbs brushing his stubble.

“We already are.”

Then you kissed him—slow, deep, like sealing a vow you hadn’t even needed to speak aloud.

The next morning, you found his crossbow mounted on the wall.

You hadn’t heard him do it.

But there it was—above the fireplace, neat and proud and deliberate. Not tucked by the door like he was waiting to leave.

You touched the edge of it, smiling.

A silent signature.

This is where I stay.

The sun was setting when you brought two mugs of tea out to the porch. The air was warm and sticky, the sky painted in shades of honey and fire.

Daryl was already sitting there, legs stretched out, eyes on the horizon.

You handed him his mug and sat beside him, your thigh pressed to his, head resting on his shoulder.

For a while, you just breathed together.

No words.

No pressure.

Just that quiet kind of peace that only shows up when you’ve got nothing left to prove.

“So what now?” you asked softly.

He didn’t look at you when he answered, but his fingers laced with yours.

“Now?” he said, voice low and sure.

“Now we live.”

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mayday2007 · 5 days ago

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Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader fanfic idea

Sorry but I want Daryl fucking reader while he’s sucking milk from her tits…

Also, have ya’ll thought about the fact that they’re often out, barely getting anything to eat when our bodily fluids contain protein…👀 Just saying. Daryl and reader could feed off each other through stimulation when needed…

Tag list in no significant order of writers i enjoy so far which keeps expanding as I discover new blogs:)

@feral4daryl @heathermason6060 @tinysunshine @dixons-sunshine @corvidcrossbow @moonbaby6 @ffsjustletmesleep @raewritesfiction @daryldove @scudslut @dixonsdarkelf @b1eedthefreak @holdmytesseract @angelwings-crossbowstrings @cosmicamor @starshipsofstarlord @darylsdelts @junkpuppet225 @janiehellion @mee30p @twdfemmefetal @ilistentometal @darylsgarden @letmedixonyou @dixonsstinkysock @xwritingdixonx @daddydixonscrossbow @ewradical @retroellie @aliceezworld @r66dusthewriter @twd-bee3 @zomquette @daryl-dixon-daydreams @ddixonsangel @starksinner @daryldicksuckon69 @deansapplepie @heavens-devils

Please tag me if you use any of my ideas!

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

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mayday2007 · 5 days ago

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"Well—thanks for the lift home," you said, stepping back up onto the curb behind you.

You were already drifting away from him and Daryl was already feeling it. His sides were still tingling where your hands had been only a few moments before. "Sure. S'nothin'," he nodded.

You gave him a half-smile. "And thanks for—you know, stepping in at the bar. I'm sorry it got you into trouble."

Daryl waved a hand vaguely and ducked his head. "S'just a fine. Ain't a big deal." He ran his fingers over the swelling on the other hand's knuckles, thinking that he'd do the same thing again and maybe worse.

You sighed. "I'm gonna pay that for you. I promise," you said. You felt a fluttering in your stomach and your nerves suddenly failed you. "Well, goodnight," you said quickly, tearing your eyes off him and turning to head up your walk. But you suddenly realized—"Oh! Your jacket!" you said, spinning quickly and starting to tug the weight of the warm leather off your shoulders.

Daryl had an expression on his face that you couldn't quite read. "Ya should keep it. It looks better on you anyhow," he somehow managed.

You walked back to the curb and held it out toward him, shaking your head. "I—I can't keep your jacket. It's your signature look! It has the wings on the back—your vest!" you insisted. "Besides, it's way too big anyway. But thank you. I was cold before."

He nervously chewed on his bottom lip and reached out to take it back from you. His rough fingers brushed yours as the fabric passed between you. "Ya just ruined my plan, ya know?" he drawled. You gave him a questioning look.

"Your plan?"

"Yeah... I was hopin' ya'd forget ya had it on and that way I'd have a reason to see ya again." He was too nervous to look at you while he spoke, so instead he picked at the edge of his motorcycle seat.

You were stunned for a moment, staring at him with wide doe eyes when he finally looked up again, but then your lips broke into a smile and you stepped toward him again, down off the curb.

"Hmm?" he hummed, anxious.

You held your hand out. "Gimme back the jacket," you said, grinning. Prompt: "Keep it. It looks better on you."

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mayday2007 · 7 days ago

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OMG BESTIEEEEE

THE QUEEN HAS RETURNED

looks like you guys are in a daryl drought right now💔

if only someone would do something about it huh… 🤗🤗

#norman fucking reedus 🎀

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mayday2007 · 7 days ago

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Animals

A/n: This was actually so fun to write! Thank you to @dixondisease for THIS prompt as always guys go give her a follow she is an amazing writer and one of my fav people <3

☽ Summary: honestly idk just funny smutish moments?

☽ Warnings: crude comments from both reader and Daryl, F!reader, Swearing, name calling, light smut, sexual touches, breif description of reader giving head

☽ Word count: 1.4k

You and Daryl have been together since Hershal’s Farm, and naturally you’d fooled around together multiple times since then. By some miracle you’d both managed to only be caught two times, once actually having sex and the other you guys were just teasing, groping still incredibly embarrassing to be caught in the moment.

The first time you’d been teasing Daryl all day, tempting him with looks and gestures when no one else is looking. You are coming out of the pantry after putting your gun back when Daryl corners you against the wall of the stairs, his eyes are dark and hungry, the kind of look that lets you know you aren’t getting away unless he lets you. A wide teasing but nervous smile pulls onto your face as you look up at your man “Whatcha doin baby?” it’s a seemingly innocent sentence to outsiders but he knows you know what he’s doing. Daryl tilts his head and scoffs as he looks you up and down slowly, hungrily “Don’t fuckin’ play dumb, you been playing with me all day woman” This makes you giggle softly as you kiss him slowly on the lips, your hands wandering dangerously south even though Olivia, hell anyone could walk in. Daryl bites back a groan as you palm his cock through his jeans like a horny teenager, you pull away once you gain your common sense again.

Thankfully just as you tear your face off Daryl's Olivia walks down the hallway and squeaks behind Rick standing shaking his head with a poorly suppressed smirk. “You two are worse than two teenagers in highschool” Rick chuckles as he slides past you and Daryl. You gingerly remove your hand from Daryl’s pants and use the distraction as a moment to flee from your very pent up and now very embarrassed partner. You speed walk and practically jog down the street Daryl is hot on your heels and you know it but you don’t look back that would cost you seconds that you couldn’t afford. That’s when you spot your saving grace, Tara. “Tara! Hey” You grin as you come to stop in front of your friend who looks mildly concerned at your sudden presence. “Uhhh hey? What's up?” She asks her head on a confused swivel until she spots Daryl making a B-line for you. “Oh nothin’ just feel like we ain’t talked in a while hey?” You bluff but your efforts are futile as he reaches you grabbing you by your belt buckles and dragging you away with a mumbles “yeah nice chat but she’s fuckin busy”

“Hey?! I was talkin’ to her you prick” You pout as Daryl drags you inside and hastily into your shared bedroom but that doesn’t last long as he smashes his lips against yours nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs in doing so.

The second and last time you both got caught was mortifying, mostly for Daryl.

Rosita, Daryl, Eugene, Tara and you had gone on a run to get some ammo and food. It was going good so far you’d managed to get a few boxes of food and a bit of ammo only 2 days into the runn. That's when you decided it’s time for some fun you passed Daryl while he was waiting for Eugene to finishing yapping, the gap between Daryl and your path is small and tight so instead of saying excuse me you decide it’s a great idea to turn to the side and squeeze past deliberately pushing your ass against his cock as you move past.

If Eugene wasn’t there Daryl would’ve called you out and fixed your attitude before it became a problem but Eugene, Tara and Rosita are with you so it’s up to Daryl to find a good enough space. So you do it again, brushing past Daryl with just enough friction to make him bite down a grunt. Rosita noticed it was hard not to when you clearly went out of your way to brush past Daryl.

“Hey guys, it’s getting darker i think we should camp out here tonight” Tara offers as she stands in front of a cottage style house it’d be big enough for the five of you to sleep. After you’d all brang your stuff inside Tara started going through the food deciding what you all should eat. You get an idea you were already standing close enough to Daryl to whisper in his ear “Y’know what’d really top off today?” You whisper just loud enough in his ear, but clearly Daryl's poker face isn’t as good as it usually is as once you pull your head away from his ear Rosita gives you a head shake and a slightly disgusted look but in a playful way. you just shrug because well she hasn’t commented on it yet so you continue

“Y’know you still haven’t gotten me back for my little stunts… You wanna do somethin’ bout that?” You whisper in Daryl’s ear this time his poker face is working but it’s too late Rosita knows exactly what you are whispering and giggling at.

“You’re fucking animals.. Both of you but mostly you” Rosita says rolling her eyes but theres a small smirk on her lips. “Me?” You say dramatically pointing to your chest in disbelief “I'd do no such thing” Daryl lets out an amused scoff at you which makes you giggle

“I’m calling bullshit” He grumbles but he shuts up quick as you whisper “Come and get me you fucking animal” before standing up and giving Daryl a look before walking off he follows quick he’s smart enough when to swollow the embarrassment and go. “Where are they goin?” Eugene asks painfully loud as his eyes train on your ass as you walk away and Rosita and Tara both scoff. “Where do you think Idiot?”

Clearly Euegne didn’t get the hint because he decided to piss at the worst time possible. The bathroom door didn’t have a lock which was already a risk in itself but to be completely honest in the moment you were too horny to worry, what a mistake that was.

You’d managed to undo Daryl’s pants, get on your knees and start having the time of your life sucking Daryl’s painfully hard dick. Your tongue was working its magic, swirling around the tip and on the underside of his shaft as you toyed with his balls in the most perfect combination. Daryl was close you could tell by the little grunts and whines he couldn’t stop from slipping out and the way he gripped your hair tighter and started bucking his hips into your face. That’s when Euegene clearly thought it was time to piss as the bathroom door swung open. Fully. Daryl's back was to the side wall and so was yours so Eugene has the perfect view of both you on your knees and Daryl's dick half in your mouth.

You’d never moved quicker, not even when a walker had tried to eat you earlier today, you quickly stood up grabbing the door handle and slamming the door shut with a yelled “asshole!” But you couldn’t help but burst into laughter as you looked up at your boyfriend's face to see the utter horror and embarrassment on his face.

Daryl was red, redder than you’d ever seen him.

Loud and pure laughter spills out of your mouth that had just been performing dirty acts. “Oh my God, Daryl- i- holy shit” You sputter out as he grumbles “yeah so fuckin funny, why you laughin?” while shoving his now limp dick back into his jeans with a deep annoyed pout. “He just saw my dick dunno, why is that so funny?” “S’ funny cause I ain't the one who got seen, for once i was fully clothed” You manage to say as you pull yourself together and kiss Daryl on the forehead. “Ain’t like they didn’t know what we were doin’ in here anyway” Daryl just frowns at you, he hates being embarrassed more than anything and your sassy man of a boyfriend hates a lot of things. “Don’t make it any better.. He saw my dick”

“Baby if ya that bothered do you want me to pants Eugene so everyone can see his dick too?” You joke which Daryl doesn’t appreciate at all but you swear there's a small smirk on his lips.

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mayday2007 · 7 days ago

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When I feel a headache I look at this..

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mayday2007 · 7 days ago

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ordinary day; daryl dixon

• just some ordinary day in your life with him. (this is a bit long sorry)

• paring ✩ daryl dixon x fem reader. season ten, the latest episodes.

• a/n: hi guys so this is my first ever post and also the first time I’ve write something thing so please don’t be mean and have a little faith on me I’ll get better I promise:) also English it’s NOT my native language so please if you see something wrong you can point out!positive comments are appreciated !

Alexandria was a total mess, those motherfuckers whispers destroyed everything. It was pretty early when you both woke up, the warm sun on your skin made you smile widely and he noticed it putting a little smile on his lips, he gently brushed the hair that was on your face "mornin" he said with a raspy voice as you stretched your arms and groaned softly "hi handsome" you said smirking at him, he scoffed and leaned towards you brushing his lips on yours, it was gentle but also hungry for your love.

As you both got ready you passed Lydia’s room witch the door was slightly open, you knocked… no response so you open it carefully, you could hear her peaceful little snores she was still asleep, you smile and said "morning lyd, comon im making breakfast get ready and get down" she groaned and turned to you "coming" she said, you closed the door behind you leaving her room. You and daryl ate together with a comfortable silence, lyd took a while to get downstairs so you left her food there for her.

When daryl was heading out you said your goodbyes as you looked at him examining every single detail of his face, he narrow at you " what?" he said with his hand in your hips "nothing just admiring you, never know when could be the last time" you said raising your shoulders and tilting your head to the side, he looked at you like he was looking into your soul "It won’t kay!" he said bringing his hands and cupping your face closing the space between you two, he pulled away and smirked at you and you just simply scoffed at him and smiled, and just like that he was gone. Daryl went out to hunt, he’s been out a lot recently but since you guys started whatever you guys are, you knew, knew that you couldn’t keep him locked for too long so you just accept that, sure it made you a bit nervous but you also knew he’d always come back, for you. He asked you if you wanted to come, you hesitated a little but you denied cause you wanted to help Alexandria get back on their feet.

Carol went with him, you got happy to see them together again, you loved their friendship, it is a special bond for both of them and you appreciate it. You worked with Jerry the entire day, caring things, helping others yeah, it’s was pretty draining but deep down you liked. You were on your pause when Lydia came and put her hands over your eyes, you tensed a little but when you heard her giggles your body relaxed you knew, it was her, "hmm let me think?, maybe the coolest girl in this place?!" you took her hands out of your face and turned to her smiling hard and immediately pulling her into your arms giving her a big and warm hug, she loves you, always had, you were one of the only ones who cared, really cared about her.

"how are you?" she asked getting rid of you "good, u?" you said as you pulled all of her hair that was resting on her shoulders all to the her back "good… look you remember that book you barrow me, little woman?" she asked "yeah, why?" "well yesterday I had nothing to do so I made…how can I say it…an essay maybe, and I uh…kinda wanted you to read it" she said shyly "are you serious?, oh my god of course I can lyd" "really bc if you don’t want to it’s fi-" you stopped her "stop that okay of course I want to, after dinner you n me at the living room, alright?" you said and she smiled at you "okay!" before she could say anything Jerry called her for help "go! don’t forget okay!!" you said nodding at his direction, she smiled and left.

The hard work finally came to an end, leaving you exhausted, as you were about to enter your shared house with daryl and lyd, Carol enter the gates with dog. You narrowed and walked towards her "hi u okay?" you asked her she nodded "he’s fine just haven’t finished what he wanted but he’ll be back in the morning I guess" you nodded at her, getting closer "you’re really okay?" "just tired" she smiled tiredly patting your shoulders and left. You walk home, immediately heading upstairs to the bathroom you took your clothes off and went straight to bathroom, you took your time and finally got out putting a oversized shirt who was Daryl’s and some comfortable shorts. You ate a basic sandwich.

By the time you finished it Lydia enter the house also heading upstairs, you went to the couch and waited for lyd, she came back after 15 minutes "you hungry? you asked as she slipped into the couch with you "no I ate at Jerry’s" she said as she took a paper out of her pockets "here, don’t judge me alright?" you nodded and took the paper and started reading.

"Wow that was really good lyd and I mean it, you really know how to make a point you know that?" you said smirking at her "wait really?" " yeah look it’s very good and I agree hundred percent about Amy and Laurie" she looked at you and smiled "thanks it means a lot, well im gonna sleep im sooo tired oh my god" she said getting up heading upstairs "good nightt lydi" as she disappeared. You sight and looked around, god the house felt so empty without that stubborn, you missed his scent, "alright girl your so clingy omg" you scoffed and got up heading to bed.

It was sunny by the time daryl come back, he immediately remembered you, you’ve always loved this whether. He enter the house heading upstairs opening the room you shared looking at you so peaceful, so beautiful, he went straight to the shower. You were so tired that you didn’t even hear him, suddenly the bed cracked a bit and you signed eyes still closed, you felt a body getting closer to you, you obviously knew it was him, your man.

His face glued to the crock of your neck letting sweet kisses on it, wrapping himself around you, you groaned softly "hey you" you said "hi" he answered back, you could notice how tired he was by his voice, "everything alright?" "yea everything’s alright", you stayed quiet for a while, then you turned to him just a little so you could see his fratures you asked "you showered?" you asked he scoffed rolling his eyes at you "yes ma’am I did" you smiled weakly at him then turned back around grabbing his arms and placing then around your waist, keeping your hands with his, he immediately accepted it and squeezed, he leaned into your face pressing his lips against yours, it was slow and sloppy, he sighed softly "missed you" he said looking at you tiredly, "me too babe" you said back, brushing his hair out of his gorgeous face kissing his forehead, he leaned back adjusting himself, he missed you so much, he just wants to get lost in your fragrant hair. God he missed you so goddamn much.

You both stayed like that for hours not worrying about anything.

- 𝔤𝔞𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔞.

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