#daryl is my weakness

[fvckuiloveu]

god i love pathetic men

[lovelybaka]

Just Daryl holding and feeding baby Judith, I'm melting.

[iminaworldofpureimagination]

would it suprise anyone that back when i first watched the show I liked this character?

[awlimagines]

Unnamed Daryl POV Snippet

They had agreed to work together after the fiasco during Rock’s test of courage on the mountain. Daryl couldn’t help but grumble as he cleared a seat. The farmer had been nothing but presumptuous until now. She challenged him constantly about how any true scientist wouldn’t take stock of ghost stories and fairy tales correlated with strange readings in the valley. How was she always in the middle of spikes? No doubt Pony thought she had been successful in steering him away.

“Foolish farmer,” Daryl muttered. He had known something was off with this farmer for months. Daryl wouldn’t care anything about Pony if it wasn’t for her mystical entrance into a tree in the woods back in Spring. She had enthusiastically had a conversation with something he couldn’t see within the layers of bark. The bits he could catch through the tree’s small cavities confirmed there was more to the myths Pony publicly dismissed. They had a basis in reality. Their population most likely diminished from humans and industry (however limited such advancements were in Forget-Me-Not Valley) but warranted some concern. 

“Aww, you erased your little picture of Flora?” the sound of Pony’s voice suddenly in the lab caused Daryl to jolt forward. He whirled around to focus on the woman. He had just changed the codes yet again; how was she getting in? She infuriated him, Daryl decided as his heart pounded when Pony smirked,” It was so cute. You should have left it.” 

“Sit here,” Daryl roughly pointed to the empty stool. “You mentioned briefly your predisposition to seeing these creatures is genetic. From the few records I read, your father lived here unbothered for years without any paranormal events. I’m presuming your particular abilities are from your mother’s lineage. Have you always resided in the city?” 

“Are you going to draw a cute little doodle of me in there too?” she asked, leaning towards him to glance at the journal he used to take precise notes. Daryl snapped the book closed. Perhaps she came from a family of imps. 

“No, we moved around a lot. Just my mom and me, though we’ve met others like us. She kept an address in the city so Dad wouldn’t worry, but we were hardly ever there. The things living in the city tend to congregate and are more of a nightmare than just moving around.” 

“Would you mind if I check a few things?” 

“You’re going to dissect me, aren’t you?” Pony feigned shock, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

“If you’re incapable of taking this seriously-” 

“No, sorry! I was told experiments followed by dissection would be my life if someone found out. It just helps to joke about it,” Pony mumbled. “What do you want to check?”

“Primarily an eye exam. It would be the least invasive and rule out any physical abnormalities that alter your vision from what others see.” 

“Oh, yeah. That’s fine.” 

She agreed, so why was Pony not cooperating? Each time Daryl tried to view her eyes with the ophthalmoscope, she turned her head. It didn’t seem intentional on her part, but his patience was beginning to run thin. Daryl leaned back, waiting for Pony to shift to face him. His hand shot forward. Daryl’s thumb and fingers pressed firmly enough into the corners of her jaw to immobilize her from turning again. The shock provided an added benefit of her eyes opening wider from the action. He was dimly aware of Pony swallowing against his hand. Daryl pushed the sensation to the back of his mind to focus instead on his examination.

Nothing. Daryl wasn’t an expert with a medical degree, but there wasn’t anything outside the typical eye’s anatomy. He doubted Dr. Baddoch would obtain different results. Daryl was intrigued by the hint of another color lurking beneath her green eyes. He paused a moment longer intently staring into her eyes. Daryl couldn’t deduce if it was a hint of blue or grey before his hand fell away, and he sat upright. Daryl saw a faint blush spread across Pony. The realization chased his next question from his mind.

“W-well, I’ve got to go. Something just came up at the farm that needs my attention,” Pony recovered first. She hastened to her feet and towards the door. “Just, uh, let me know the results later. Okay, bye!” 

Daryl blinked in shock as the door clipped shut behind her. What just happened? He quickly recovered, scoffing at the flustered farmer. She obviously didn’t know how to behave in a professional examination. It was apparent to him from her inability to sit still and the pathetic excuse. Pony would have no method of knowing something was wrong with her farm from his lab. He’d be embarrassed by such behavior too. 

He wiped his sweaty palms on his frayed pants, dismissing how warm they suddenly felt. It was excitement from finally beginning work on unraveling the farmer’s mystery. It had nothing whatsoever to do with her flushed face.

[b1eedthefreak]

hii, I absolutely love your writing, I'm not used to requesting but I just had this idea and ugggghhh!!!

prison era, merle (or anyone else) teasing daryl after hearing reader moan his name all night, asking how he managed to get with someone like her, and daryl getting very confused because last night he was on watch and didn't see her at all, then he realizes that she were touching herself thinking about him and smut ensues lololol

maybe I'm crazy and this makes no sense I'm sorryyyy love ur blog keep the good work <3

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Sweet Sound

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: merle teases daryl after hearing you moaning his name all night. the only problem is, daryl wasn’t with you at all last night

⌇warnings: smut, mentions of masturbation, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering

⌇word count: 1.9k

a/n my rides here! gotta go! (daryl’s my ride) also your request was so much fun to write omg??? feel free to send more your creativity is amazing!

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Daryl didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. Not because he was on watch, though he was, posted up in the guard tower with a rifle and a thermos of weak coffee, but because when the sun started crawling up and the shift changed, Merle came sauntering past with a shit eating grin, cigarette in his teeth.

“Morning, little brother.”

Daryl stiffened at the rasp behind him. He turned to see Merle, leaning against the fence with a shit eating grin and a fresh cigarette in hand. The smirk on his older brother’s face was never a good sign.

“Merle,” Daryl muttered, already sighing.

“You look like hell,” Merle said with a laugh. “That watch last night kick your ass, or did your sweet little girlfriend?”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “What?”

Merle raised a brow, clearly enjoying himself now. “Oh, don’t act coy. I know what I heard.” He leaned in a little. “Was down near the south block. Heard somethin’ real pretty echoin’ through the vents. Thought a walker got in for a sec. Turns out it was just your girl, moanin’ your name like a hymn. Sounded like a damn choir.”

Daryl blinked at Merle, processing. “What’re you sayin’?”

Merle took another drag, grinning around the smoke. “I’m sayin’ she was touchin’ herself, baby brother. Thinkin’ about you, from the sound of it.” He gave a low whistle. “Can’t say I blame her. You been holdin’ out on us. How the hell’d you get a girl like that, huh?”

Daryl’s face was confused.

“I was on watch,” he muttered. “Didn’t even see her last night.”

Merle clapped a hand on his back, hard. “Then she’s got one hell of an imagination.” He let out a bark of laughter. “Shit, Daryl. You better marry that girl. She’s out here singin’ love songs with your name and you don’t even know.”

Daryl muttered a few curses and started walking away, ignoring Merle’s hoots and hollers behind him.

But he’d been on watch all night. He hadn’t even seen you.

Now, half an hour later, he was standing in the open doorway of your cell, his hand still resting on the curtain, hearing the quiet hum of your voice as you folded laundry on the bed. You looked like nothing had happened. Hair pulled up in a little clip, one of his old shirts hanging off your shoulder, bare legs tucked under you as you hummed a soft tune. He almost didn’t want to ask. Almost didn’t want to break the moment.

But he had to know.

“Baby?”

You turned instantly at the sound of his voice, brightening like the sun. “Daryl! I was wondering when you’d get back!”

He stepped in slowly, boots dragging a little as he moved closer. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

You tilted your head, curious.

His eyes watched yours. “That true? What Merle said?”

Your smile faded just a little. “What… what did he say?”

“Said you were sayin’ my name last night.” His voice was low, cautious, like he didn’t want to embarrass you, but the image of it was burning in his head. “Said you were… touchin’ yourself. Real quiet. Sounded like you didn’t want anyone to hear.”

You blinked, stunned still for a second. Then your cheeks went hot, and your eyes darted down to the rumpled pile of clothes on your lap.

Daryl stepped closer.

“Is it true, baby?”

You nodded, barely. Voice small. “I missed you.”

God, that about wrecked him.

“Sweet girl,” he rasped, crouching down in front of you like you were something fragile he didn’t dare touch too hard. “You really wanted me that bad, huh?”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy now, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“I just— I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And it was late, and I was all alone and you weren’t gonna be back until morning and—”

“Shh,” he hushed you softly, cupping your cheek. “You don’t gotta explain, baby. Nothin’ wrong with missin’ me. Just…”

His thumb traced your jaw, breath catching.

“Show me.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“I wanna see.” He leaned in, whispering like it was something sacred. “Wanna see how you touched yourself. Just like you did last night. I need to know what it looked like. What you sounded like when you were thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

You stared at him, wide eyed, and then nodded slowly, cheeks still pink but your thighs pressing together now. You laid back on the bed, curling your fingers into the hem of your shorts and easing them down your hips.

Daryl stood and reached behind him, pulling the curtain closed in one slow motion. The room felt warmer now. Closer. Safe.

You settled into the sheets, shirt still on, bare beneath, knees parting just enough. You slid your fingers down your belly, breath hitching as you got closer to where you needed it.

Daryl sat down on the edge of the bed, gaze locked on your every movement, and you swore he didn’t blink once. His hands were braced on his knees, jaw clenched tight, the bulge in his jeans impossible to ignore.

You let out a soft sigh as your fingers reached your clit, stroking light circles just like last night, and your eyes fluttered closed.

Then you heard it, Daryl’s voice, hoarse and low. “Eyes on me baby.”

You looked up, mouth parted, breath shaky.

“Tha’s it,” he murmured. “Show me how bad you wanted it.”

You moved your hand slower, more deliberately now, showing him every little tremble, every shift of your hips. The way your thighs flexed, the way your breath caught when you rubbed just a little harder.

“Say my name,” he whispered, fingers tightening around his own thigh. “Like you did last night.”

“Daryl,” you moaned, breathy and desperate. “Fuck…”

He grunted at that, the sound wrecking him from the inside out. “You think about me touchin’ you like that?”

You nodded, barely able to speak.

“You think about my mouth?” he asked, already lowering himself onto the mattress, eyes never leaving yours. “How bad baby?”

“S-so bad. I needed you—”

“You got me now,” he cut in, hands curling around your thighs as he pulled you to the edge of the bed. “Ain’t gonna make you wait.”

He didn’t hesitate. One strong arm wrapped around your thigh, the other hand spreading you open with a care that made you melt, and his mouth was on you before you could even gasp. He moaned into you like it was his first taste of heaven. Slow, deep licks, like he was drinking you in. His tongue dragged through your folds, his lips wrapping around your clit like he’d been dreaming of this every night since the world ended.

You were trembling already, moaning his name over and over, fingers tangling in his hair.

He looked up at you, voice wrecked and full of awe. “You sound so fuckin’ pretty baby. Don’t ever keep that to yourself again.”

And when you came, legs shaking around his head, back arching into his mouth, he didn���t stop. Not until he’d licked you through it, every last drop, every whimper, every gasp.

Then he stood up, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and unbuckled his belt with trembling fingers.

“You’re gonna take me now,” he said, voice rough, “and you’re gonna know exactly what I was doin’ up in that tower last night.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “What were you doing?”

“Thinkin’ about you. With your hand between your thighs. Moanin’ my name.”

He leaned down, kissed you slow, and then turned you over, pressing your chest to the bed and gripping your hips like they were home.

“I missed you too, sweet girl. Gonna show you just how much.”

He groaned deep in his chest and dragged his fingers through your folds, collecting the mess you’d already made for him. Then he pulled back, unzipped his jeans the rest of the way, and you could hear the rustle of denim, the soft thud of fabric hitting the floor. The bed dipped as he knelt behind you, and then his cock, hot, heavy, pressed between your cheeks, nudging at your entrance.

“Please,” you begged, eyes fluttering shut. “Daryl, I need you.”

That was all he needed to hear.

He slid in slowly, inch by inch, groaning under his breath as your body stretched to take him. You gasped at the fullness, clutching the sheets in your fists, back arching as he buried himself to the hilt. He held still for a second, one hand gripping your hip while the other smoothed down your back, grounding you, letting you adjust.

“Fuuuck baby,” he murmured, voice all gravel and heat. “You feel so good. So damn tight.”

You whimpered something incoherent, and then he started to move.

Slow at first, deep, steady thrusts that made your whole body rock forward. You could feel every drag of him, every inch sliding out and pushing back in. He kept a hand braced at your waist, anchoring you as he fucked into you like he had all the time in the world.

“You missed this?” he rasped, leaning down so his chest pressed against your back, breath hot on your neck. “Missed my cock, sweet girl?”

“Y-yes,” you cried out, voice shaking. “Missed you so much—fuck, Daryl—”

“That’s it,” he groaned, speeding up, hips snapping a little harder now. “That’s my girl. You sound so pretty when you moan my name. Don’t keep it in anymore, you hear me? You want somethin’, you come find me. I’ll take care of you.”

His hand slid underneath you, between your thighs again, and two fingers found your clit, rubbing in slow, perfect circles as he kept thrusting.

You cried out, overwhelmed, every nerve lit up.

“Y’close again?” he murmured, voice strained.

“Mhmm—can’t—too much—”

“Shh, you got it. C’mon, baby, gimme one more. Wanna feel you cum around me.”

That was all it took.

You came hard, back arched, legs shaking, mouth open on a silent scream as your body clenched around him. Daryl groaned loud into your shoulder, and a few hard thrusts later, he spilled inside you with a ragged moan of your name, fingers digging into your hips as he emptied himself deep.

He stayed like that for a moment, chest to your back, cock still buried inside you, both of you shaking and spent.

Then he pulled out slowly, carefully, and gently eased you onto your side. He kissed your forehead, your cheek, your jaw. Pulled your body into his chest like you were made for him.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice hoarse but soft, full of reverence. “Don’t care who hears you moanin’ my name. Hell, let ‘em. Wanna world to know you’re mine.”

You smiled through your exhaustion, curling your fingers into his shirt.

“I Love you, Daryl.”

And when you fell asleep, tangled in his arms, the entire prison could’ve burned down around you and it wouldn’t have mattered, because for once, you had everything you needed right there in his arms.

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[escapisms-posts]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒍 𝑫𝒊𝒙𝒐𝒏 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Daryl won’t ever make the first move. He wouldn’t risk making you feel uncomfortable or putting you in that type of situation. He knows that with the apocalypse, you have to deal with all different kinds of men and wants you to know he isn’t one of them.

When you make it clear that it's what you want, he’ll do whatever you tell him to. He wants you to feel good, he derives pleasure from seeing how you react to his touch. The way your temperature rises when his hands explore your curves. Or how your eyes flutter when he’s climbing between your legs. The soft moans that escape your mouth when he hits the right spot. How your hands dig into his flesh, all of it gives him the motivation to keep going.

As much as Daryl loves leaving you nice and full, on occasion he will paint your face, stomach, and right on top of your pussy. He attains a certain gratification from watching you pick it up and lick it off your finger. 

Daryl loves the way you taste. He loves burying his face between your plush lips. Soaking up all the juices you release for him. The way your hands run down to his hair. He keeps your thighs to bed as you arch your back, mind desperately trying to run from his tongue. However, the way your body reacts every time he’s near, it’s clear how badly you're infatuated with him. 

He loves leaving kisses all over your body when he’s inside you. He can feel your extra heartbeat around him, a feeling of pure ache and pain. When you're under him, unable to form complete sentences. He’ll grab the back of your hand and leave kisses all over it.

He describes making love to you like having ice-cold water on a hot day. Relief washes over his entire body. Feeling the liquid crawl through every inch of his body. The way you envelop him sets his body on fire. A flame that could burn forever. 

The contrast between his hardness and your spongy softness is a sensation that can only be described as connection. Feeling his cock hit that spot right before your cervix does nothing but send a wave of pleasure throughout your entire body. 

You love watching yourself expand to house his entire length. Spellbound to see his cock disappear inside you. The initial rush of his first movements gets your blood rushing and pulse rising. Your body naturally welcomes him in, like you were made for this.

Once Daryl is close, his pace begins to get messy, slamming into with all the strength in his body. All he feels is your warm, moist, and slimy guts that make his muscles weak. All he can do is give into you. 

That spot that sits on the far back side of the cervix. Pass your G-spot. When he hammers into you, it creates a lot more lubrication, only furthering his actions. 

Daryl loves cumming in your mouth. There's no better sight than seeing tears swell up in your eyes, drool oozing from the sides of your mouth. Seeing how hard you're trying to please him. 

Even though he’s strong enough to manhandle you and throw you around, he doesn’t. He loves being gentle with you, slow and sleeping morning sex with you before he goes on about his day. Making each other feel good early in the morning, showing how much his body needs you. 

Spooning in bed together is often a nice way to unwind after a long day. Though some nights his hand will crawl through the blankets to reach your pussy, slowly massaging your clit. Making you squirm under him, trying to pretend you're sleeping. It’s pointless because you’ll always release a plea for him to go faster. 

Daryl would love fucking you outdoors. Pounding you into a tree, while the others are busy taking care of work. He’d grip your breasts to protect them from the rough bark. Letting a mixture of your juice fall down your legs. With your panties around your ankles.

Words of affirmation!1!! This man will constantly remind you how good you feel around him, how toasty you make him feel. Sometimes he’ll talk to your pussy saying things like “Does my pretty pussy wanna go again?”

When you ride him, Daryl would lock his arms around you. You’d stop riding him when he says so. And when he gets you in this position, there's no getting out, you’re practically a living fleshlight for him.

Daryl wants to fill your pretty pussy to brim and then clean it up with his tongue.

[magia-nera]

all wound up

── daryl dixon x fem!reader

summary: after barely escaping the outbreak, you find shelter outside of atlanta, with a group of survivors. someone catches your eye, but you don’t dare getting close.

era: season 1, at the quarry

warnings: not yet proofread!!! mentions of blood, curse words, lowkey mutual pining but more on reader’s side, implied age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and daryl’s age is canon to season 1 so late 30s-early 40s), daryl is possibly a bit ooc i hope not

word count: 2.7k

a/n: not my best work, but i just wanted to post something for daryl, i have like a ton of other ideas planned for him anyway :)

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

When the outbreak started your life did a complete 180. You were alone, away from your family, in a city you never knew while growing up, trying to navigate through life and adulthood and their ups and downs all on your own.

Every now and then you still thought about the night when the anchorman on the TV talked about this new virus spreading rapidly throughout the whole country, you remembered your ears perking up and the dinner on the stovetop being forgotten, all your attention was on the man’s words. You got scared, you thought ‘what the hell am I going to do?’, you thought about your mom and your siblings and hoped they were okay, you thought about your friend Amy and made the split second decision to head to her house. It ended up being the right thing to do, seeing as now you were sitting safe and sound in a camp on the outskirts of Atlanta, with other survivors, helping each other. Amy’s sister, Andrea, was home when the news broke out and you managed to escape with them, unscathed. The days you spent on your own made you tougher, the world you knew was long forgotten and you didn’t want to be a burden to the two sisters.

You never considered yourself weak before the outbreak – you never thought about this kind of stuff anyway, there was no point, right? But the situation unfolding required you to toughen up, so that’s what you did, what you tried doing. You helped the women with tasks at camp at first, like washing clothes and cooking for everyone, but eventually you were picked to go on runs, seeing as you were one of the few young adults in the camp. You were scared at first. Looking closely at what the men in the group did, you learnt a thing or two: you wanted to be able to survive, protect the others even. Andrea, whose presence made things easier for you, was also tasked with going on runs sometimes and you never left her side on those occasions.

There was one man in particular that caught your attention though.

Daryl couldn’t be more different from you. He was a redneck, a hunter and expert bowman, kept to himself, but wasn’t scared to speak his mind, get confrontational, even if it meant being hated. It all started as simple admiration, you strived to be worthy like him. You didn’t understand why everybody in the group barely tolerated him: sure, he could be somewhat hostile sometimes, but you could easily see the heart of gold hiding underneath the aggressive facade. He always shared the preys he hunted and he was skilled at shooting down walkers with his crossbow, defending the group on multiple occasions.

One day, while out on a run and paired together, you got swarmed by a herd. Daryl led you through endless alleys and helped you jump fences till you got to safety.

“T’was close,” he huffed, sweat beading on his forehead. You took one good look at him while he was distracted checking the surroundings: you shouldn’t have. That was the moment you noticed just how attractive he actually was, his arms were strong, his muscles flexed as he reloaded the crossbow with ease, the dust collecting on his dark shirt contrasted with his glistening skin. His scruffy look was charming. And after that day you never stopped stealing glances at him.

Your eyes found him with ease every night around the campfire, glancing at him in the dim light of the ambers, the orange hues made his features look somewhat softer. You wondered why he still wore that jackass sleeveless shirt even in the chilly October night breeze. Not that you minded.

Whenever he came back from runs on his motorcycle he looked almost like a god, the sun made his skin shine like gold, his hair tangled from the wind. His hands held the handlebar with ease, his biceps flexed when the bike came to a halt, you were mesmerised when he effortlessly slung his crossbow on one shoulder and the supply bag on the other.

Your heart jumped when, on the few occasions you did laundry, your hands found his bloodstained shirts, soaked with the smell of freshly turned earth, gasoline from his bike and cigarette smoke. You played with the fraying hem, thinking about him. Thinking about his skilled hands, the ease with which he skinned the preys he caught, the thrilled glint in his eyes after escaping walkers, how calm he looked when he was aiming his crossbow, the curve of his lips when he let a smug grin take over after getting a kill.

You never dared getting close. It wasn’t hard to understand that Daryl didn’t like people. He always kept to himself, interacting only with his older brother Merle, sometimes fighting, his tent sat distant from the rest of the group. Even when you were on runs, he barely talked, and it was only about the task at hand. It wasn’t too bad most days, but sometimes it became excruciating. But then again, Daryl was almost never at camp, always out hunting: you wouldn’t even have the time to make a move on him.

You always kept your distance, watching him attentively from afar, being careful of not getting caught. Was it twisted to want to be caught, hoping he’d take the hint and make the first move? You didn’t want to approach him first, sure that he would reject you. So watching him was the only thing you could do.

It got to the point that, whenever you got paired with Daryl to go on runs and you tried talking more, your nerves got the best of you. It was a bad habit of yours, hiding nervousness with rude remarks. You could only spit out mean words when you talked. In some sick way, you thought that riling him up would at least make him pay attention to you, which was better than being ignored while staring at him from afar.

You would bicker constantly, he would chew you out when you couldn’t fight off walkers all on your own, yet you would notice his gaze lowering from your eyes to your chest, barely covered by the lowest cut tank top you could find that day, that you purposely wore to hopefully get some reaction from him.

One time you were fiddling with some loose bullets shells, lying on the counter of a shoddy convenience store, while waiting for Daryl to break the lock that sealed the entrance to the warehouse.

“Can you just hurry up?” you whined.

“Come do it yerself if ya want it done so badly then,” he snarled back. “Don’t fuckin’ piss me off already.”

You groaned, deciding to leave it alone while mentally cursing yourself for even bringing it up. What reaction were you even expecting? He was right to be angry anyway, you were probably annoying him on top of being unhelpful.

Lost in thought, you almost didn’t even hear the loud clang that some cans made when you accidentally hit them.

“Could ya be any more stupid? Ya wanna attract a herd here or what?”

“Just shut the fuck up, it was an accident,” you bit your tongue.

The tension eased when you finally got into the warehouse and picked up enough supplies to last a week, you even managed to kill off a couple of walkers all by yourself. You secretly hoped that Daryl saw that, you wished he was impressed by your skills, but he said nothing about it. That day you left with a couple more purple hued bruises and a chest heavy with unease.

Daryl did see that though. He didn’t tell you but he thought you looked pretty damn hot too, sweaty from the Georgia heat, expertly stabbing them with your knife, without hesitation. He swears he doesn’t, but he steals glances at you from time to time. More often than he would like to admit. But he can’t help it when you look so pretty doing anything, effortlessly. In his eyes, you’re the coolest chick he’s ever met, always standing your ground, unapologetic and unafraid to speak your mind. Everyday, he wakes up hoping you’ll come to him and have something nice to say, but all he gets is snarky remarks on those rare occasions you’re with him. He starts believing you hate him, which makes things worse when he overhears him defending him from the others.

“He’s always so grumpy, like, okay we get it, you’re a lone wolf or whatever, but at least be nice about it.”

“Shut up, he’s actually kind. Maybe you just don’t deserve it,” your voice is like music to his ears. He actually blushed a little at your acknowledgment. He knew you had good judgment but this still managed to surprise him. He felt a little lighter that day, and the days following, knowing you had his back even if he didn’t ask you to.

He decided that it’s impossible that he likes you. Better yet, you don’t like him for sure, so it’s just better for him to ignore the topic at hand. That’s the only way he can get a wink of sleep at night, otherwise your face just won’t leave his thoughts. So he convinces himself that you hate his guts, and he doesn’t like you either, it’s settled. He can go back to thinking how his hunt will go tomorrow.

Until he finds himself stuck in the backseat of a tiny ass car, with you by his side and walkers snarling all around the vehicle.

It was supposed to be a quick run, scavenging a couple houses he found on his latest hunt, they looked untouched and he thought he could find supplies there. But on that day, a bunch of walkers came storming from out of the woods all around, and with the house still some yards away, your best choice was hopping in the car to come up with a plan.

You brought your knees up in front your face, hands laying on your leather boots, “so what now?”

There was — surprisingly — no irritation in your voice, you sounded more worried than anything.

“We can make a quick exit maybe,” he mumbled, “you try distractin’ ‘em and I shoot ‘em.”

“No, that’s too risky. I probably can’t even make it two inches from here before they get me,” you replied, checking the window on your side. Glancing at you, Daryl got an idea.

“Do ya think we can get them if we lower the windows jus’ a crack?”

“I mean, maybe, I guess we can try. We can roll them up if things get ugly,” you grabbed the handle. Thank God they were manual.

“On my count, ‘kay?” he shoots you a complicit look, before counting down.

The glass was painted crimson from the blood spilling at the hands of your blade. You lurched back when the walkers manage to get their fingers through the crack, feeling Daryl’s leather clothed back flush against your own.

You breathed a sigh of relief when the last walker fell down.

You turned to look at Daryl, his face mere inches from yours.

“We never speak of this again, do ya hear?” he whispered, his bated breath fanning your lips, making your blood rise up to your face. You simply nodded, too shaken by his proximity. You didn’t want him to notice the heartthrob in your voice, nor see the blush that painted your cheeks.

Some rotten wooden fence posts stood between you and the porch. The halls were quiet, except from the persistent creaking of the floorboards beneath your soles.

A few walkers lingered in the living room, but Daryl quickly took care of them. You heard the thumps of bodies hitting the furniture, lamps and other objects falling on the ground and shattering. You rushed to check on him, and your intuition was right, because he was standing there, heavy breaths shaking his shoulders, holding his wrist.

“Are you okay?” you asked, barely whispering.

“Yeah, don’t worr- ouch.”

“Here, let me see,” you extended your hand, signalling him to let you check the extent of his injury.

Your eyes widened when you saw the red gash, vibrant on his skin, “how the fuck did this happen?”

“One of ‘em sons of bitches had a knife,” Daryl felt his skin burn where your fingers were touching him. Your dainty hand held his arm like it was the most fragile and precious thing in the world. He liked this aspect of you, despite being so strong and fierce, you couldn’t help but be delicate with anything you did.

“Let me patch you up. There must be something here, I’ll check the bathroom,” your nerves were making you shake when you realised your hand was still holding his.

“Nah, I’m okay, don’t need ya to fix anythin’,” he muttered, barely audible over the clanking of pills bottles in the cabinet you were already rummaging through.

“Shut up and just let me take care of you,” you came back with your loot: an half empty bottle of disinfectant and some band-aids. “This is all that was left.”

The swaying of the linen curtains in the breeze was the only background noise enveloping the moment. The disinfectant stung like a bitch and Daryl even flinched a little, which made you chuckle. He could be so childlike sometimes, even in endearing ways, and he probably didn’t even realise.

“Here you go, almost as new,” you asserted proudly, inspecting your pretty decent work. Daryl took a peek at his hand, now covered in probably more band-aids he had ever used in his whole life, “thanks, I guess.”

He stood up, eyes zeroing in on yours.

“It’s okay, you know, to need a little help sometimes,” you mumbled. What the fuck had gotten into you, spitting out sappy crap like that? Get a hold of yourself, damn.

“What the hell are ya sayin’?” yeah, even Daryl was utterly confused now.

“Nothing, it’s just… you’re always on your own, I think you could ask for help sometimes, I’m here if you ever need anything,” your mind was in the gutter, you felt your brain turn into literal mush from how small the distance between you and the man was. His eyes were carefully scanning your face, but you couldn’t hold the eye contact anymore, deciding instead to stare at the room behind him.

“Why d’ya even care?” was he fucking stupid?

“Are you fucking stupid? Do I need a reason to care about a member of my group?” you immediately but your tongue, there you go again with the attitude.

The distance seemed to grow smaller, you could feel the earthy essence emanating from his skin, with a hint of blood underneath. Your eyes fused to his.

“Yer the first one to do so,” his voice was barely a whisper at this point.

“Maybe it’s cause I fucking like you?” fuck. That was the moment you realised you were totally, completely fucked. You didn’t want to confess. For a plethora of reasons, starting with the age gap, which you for sure didn’t mind, but were worried he cared about, and ending with the fact you convinced yourself that he did dislike you. How were you even going to face him after today?

“Forget it,” you scooted back, trying to get away from the awkwardness that permeated the now stuffy room.

“Say that again,” his commanding tone still managed to get you hot and bothered.

“I like you okay? But please just- forget it. Let’s get the job done and head back.”

Broken glass creaked under his soles as he took a step closer to you, eliminating the distance between your bodies. He grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. “I can’t fuckin’ believe this,” another feathery kiss, before letting go of your fingers, “I thought ya hated me or somethin’.”

“Yeah, I get why you’d think that,” you lowered your head, “still, I can’t believe you didn’t know I liked you, I thought it couldn’t be more obvious.”

“I had my suspicions, just couldn’t believe it, is all,” his voice was soft, joy spilling through, not even trying to hide it, “such a pretty girl like you. Couldn’t wrap my mind ‘round it.”

“Daryl,” you whispered, receiving a hum from him as a response, “can I kiss you?”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

[wendichester]

request for kissing sammy for a prolonged period of time that your glasses get all foggy and crooked and he fixes them for you and wipes the lenses tenderly before kissing you some more… sigh. my mind is just full.

∘˙○˚.•꒰ ⎚-⎚ ꒱ misty kisses,

summary. nothing stops sam from kissing you. and he's just adorable

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 361

notes. absolutely in love with this request. such a soft and loving moment. ugh ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Sam’s lips meet yours, soft and warm, stealing your breath with each kiss. It starts slow, tender, but quickly deepens into something that makes your knees weak. His large hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

You’re vaguely aware of your glasses slipping down your nose, the lenses fogging with every heated breath. But it’s hard to care when Sam is kissing you like this—like you’re his only reason for being.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. The heat of his body seeps into yours, and the rest of the world fades away. His kisses are slow but consuming, the kind that makes your heart race and time stretch endlessly.

When you finally part for air, Sam chuckles softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Your glasses,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

You blink up at him, dazed, and he gently pushes them back into place, though they’re hopelessly crooked. His smile is soft as he takes them off entirely, holding them delicately. “Can’t have you walking around like this.”

Sam pulls a corner of his flannel shirt up and carefully wipes the lenses. His hands are so gentle, his movements precise. When he’s satisfied, he slips them back onto your face, adjusting them until they sit just right.

“There,” he says with a grin, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Perfect.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sam leans in again, his lips brushing against yours. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

He doesn't give you time to respond, capturing your lips once more. This kiss is softer, slower as if he’s savoring every second. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer until you’re completely lost in him again.

When he finally pulls back, his hazel eyes are warm. He brushes his thumb over your cheek, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

“Glasses okay?” he asks, a playful lilt to his voice.

You nod, grinning. “Much better now,”

“Good,” he says, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead. “Now, where were we?”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume

[junkpuppet225]

note: This is just something that came to me. It’s basically just smut with no plot. Minors beware. You’re responsible for the content you consume. Enjoy!

Daryl clutches the door handle to his bedroom so tight you swear you hear wood cracking from the force of his hand. Shit. You were just having fun - pretending you weren’t living in absolute hell where the dead walk.

It wasn’t the first time Daryl caught you doing stupid pointless shit but the first time you were only trying on wedge sandals at a department store you and the archer were scavenging. This time you were standing in front of a floor length mirror in his bedroom wearing a luxurious black dress that slid over your skin like silk - hugging you tight in all the right places.

“I’m sorry—- I just wanted to see the whole thing and your room is the only one with a mirror like this. It was in the back of my closet and I didn’t have anything going on right now—-, I thought you were on a run.”

You’re pretty sure that entire statement came out in one long rush of air escaping your lungs - standing frozen in place with your eyes locked on his in the mirror’s reflection - your hair still gathered in your hands above your head.

Daryl hasn’t said a word - his lower lip grinding between blunt teeth as he watches you.

He’s going to yell at you again. Tell you that none of this materialist shit matters anymore and that it’s stupid to waste time thinking it does. He’s going to make you cry again. Not loud and sobbing, the worst kind - a single tear betraying you as he paces at your back or the tremble of your hand while he reminds you of all the walkers surrounding the place while you’re in here wasting fuckin’ time!

…except he doesn’t say anything and his eyes are burning into yours from across the room. The only sign of life coming from him is the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“Daryl?”

He blinks, finally letting his eyes fall from yours to take in every inch of your body. You let your hands fall from the soft strands of your hair, moving them down the silky material as his ocean eyes linger on your ass a moment too long before he looks down at his feet with a grunt.

“I’m sorry I was in your room—-, I’ll go change.”

You try to push past him but he grabs your arm roughly - jerking you to his side as he pulls the door shut with the other. This close to him you see there’s nothing slow about his breathing, his chest expanding deeply to try and drag air into his lungs as he lifts his eyes to your parted lips causing a groan to rumble in his throat. He smells so fucking good - like pine, earthy and delicious and you can’t help but step closer to him to breathe it all in.

“Daryl I—-.”

Before you can register another thought he crashes his mouth to yours, pulling you to his chest as his other hand sinks into your hair - holding you to him. His kiss is hot and desperate - his tongue demanding yours as he pushes your back into the door hard causing a gasp to rush from your chest. Your heart is pounding so hard you worry you’ll pass out as you slide a shaky hand up Daryl’s chest, savoring his kiss as your fingers caress his jaw and he wraps a strong arm around your middle - brining your hips together to sink his body further into yours. The feel of him - all of him - has your mind spinning as you try to get a grasp on what the hell is happening.

Daryl has never kissed you before - he barely even speaks to you and when he does you wouldn’t call it friendly. You press your palms to his chest but his kiss has you to weak willed to push him away - all you can focus on is his desperate mouth on yours and when you try to jerk your face from his to make sense of this he grabs your throat - holding you in place while he kisses you.

It’s so fucking hot you have to press your thighs together to try and dull the ache he’s causing between your legs. You curse the dopamine that surges inside of you - your heart pounding against Daryl’s chest as he presses his hard length against the inside of your thigh, his fingers tightening around your jaw as his tongue continues to assault yours and stars dot your vision.

“Daryl.” You need to catch your breath. You need to make sense of whatever this is but he can only allow one, pulling away just enough to take in his own needed breath before his mouth is on you again. This time he kisses a wet line down your throat - still grasping your jaw tightly as his teeth graze the sensitive skin just below your jugular and a soft moan falls from your lips causing his grip to falter slightly as he pushes his leg between yours still pressing you to the door.

“…want to fuck you…” He grunts against your lips - it’s the only thing he’s said since barging in on you admiring the dress - groping roughly at the silky fabric clinging to your body, cussing against your throat as he tries to gather it around your hips with no luck. It’s tight in all the right places and unzips from the side so he’s going to have to back off an inch so you can fumble with the mechanics a moment. Or, he just grabs the material in his hands and yanks hard - ripping the dress at the narrow thigh slit causing you to gasp before his mouth is on yours again. You spread your legs for him slowly as he palms your hip before slipping between your thighs to brush his thumb against your damp panties, a cry escaping you as he runs his fingers over the soft material and whispers some inaudible words about how wet you are for him before ripping them off without a thought.

Good thing you aren’t living in an apocalyptic nightmare with limited goods like nourishing food and clothes that actually fit.

Daryl kisses you until you’re lack of underwear disappears from existence - barely clinging to reality as he works two fingers inside of you - beckoning you to come for him as your insides begin to quake. His chest is heaving with desire and his words are whisper quiet between you. “…please let me fuck you.” It’s not a question so much as a statement and your heart seizes in your chest as he finally pulls away to look in to your eyes. There’s an unmistakable longing between the two of you as you nod and lean into his kiss once again.

With your dress ripped all the way to your waist now it’s easy for him to gather the ruined material in one hand - fumbling with his belt with the other before lifting your leg to thrust into you with a deep moan. He stretches your soaked cunt slowly, pushing further until he’s buried deep - your nails digging into his arms as you try to steady yourself from the feel of him. “…feels so fucking good.” You slide your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck as he thrusts up into you hard and fast - tightening his fingers in your hair as he swallows your moans with his rough kiss. He has to pull away again to take in a breath - looking between your bodies as he sinks himself inside of you over and over, low desperate grunts filling your soul.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before - waves of pleasure filling you as he fucks up into you desperately, one hand back on your hip - bruising delicate skin as you feel yourself come undone around him, eyes closing tight as a surge of euphoria explodes inside your core chased by Daryl’s own release as he fills you with a quiet groan, chest heaving as his eyes lift to yours and a slow smile creeps to his lips.

“That’s some fuckin’ dress, sunshine.”

[lunajay33]

Am I Gonna Make It?

•🌲🌑🪵🐾•

Summary: You found yourself pregnant during the prison but it fell and you’re on the road alone till you find the group but with your growing belly and growing weakness will you survive? Will Daryl be strong enough to watch you wither away

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

•Masterlist•

After the prison fell I was on the road with Tyrese, the three little girls and Carol, being 5 months pregnant really weighed me down but when we got reunited with the group and I was back safely in Daryl’s arms it felt like maybe things would be looking up again

That was a month ago and we’ve lost Beth and Tyrese since then, no food, no water, plus the blistering heat was taking its toll on me, I could feel my little baby sucking up ever last bit of nutrients from me and I could tell Daryl was getting worried even

“Okay everyone back in the road again” Rick called out, we’ve been walking so long and he gave us a little break but I don’t know if I can last much longer

I stand on wobbly legs gripping Daryl’s arm as he helped

“Ya okay sunshine?” I nod even though my sight was blotchy

“Ya just…..give me a sec” the group heads infront of us as we stick near the back, Maggie and Glenn in front of us keep looking back with worried eyes

“Here have my water” Maggie said handing it over to me

“No you need it too”

“Sweetheart you’re pregnant take it” I smile and gulp down the little water that was left, Daryl took the bottle and put it in his pack

“I’m so tired D” I sigh as I keep pushing each step I take

“I know sunshine, we all are something will turn up” I could see the weariness written all across his face

After another hour of walking I couldn’t do it anymore and as the world spirals around me I fall, my back scratching against the road

“Rick we gotta stop” Glenn calls as Maggie and Daryl rush to my side, I feel so limp like I don’t have a bone in my body

“Come on stay awake, ya can’t go on me like this” Daryl says frantic as he holds me close

“I’m……I’m just so tired” and the world finally goes black

•

Daryl’s pov

I sit with her in a barn I found, her limp body laid across my lap as I brush my fingers through her hair

The rest of the group scattered around, I’m hoping the fire will help her

“We will find something Daryl” Michonne said next to me, I stay silent resting my hand on her baby bump, scared I’ll lose both of them

I grunt not being able to take my eyes off of her, seeing her breathing settle I hold her closer not being able to sleep all night seeing the sun start to shine through the ran down barn

Maggie and Sasha come across some man trying to convince us back to his place but for good reason we’re untrusting

“We have doctors we have food, we can help her” he said gesturing towards y/n who was still out making me more worried every minute

“She needs help Rick” Maggie chimes in and the rest nod and then we’re off back to this town

Sitting next to her in an RV as she’s laid on the bed

“Ya gotta wake up, we’re going somewhere new, they can help ya” I hear her groan and squeeze my hand

Y/n Pov

I wake up feeling weak, my arms heavy and my head splitting, I knew what was happening, my body was growing weaker, the baby taking any bit of nutrition I had

I look around noticing I’m in a strange room just like back in the old word, clean and put together

“Finally yer awake” I hear Daryl next to me as he stands over me brushing my hair back worry written all over his face

“Where are we?”

“Found a place, they got ya hooked up to some medicine er somethin”

“Is….is the baby okay?” My heart tensing waiting for what he might say

“She’s fine Angel, we’re havin a lil girl”

“Are you serious!” My lip wobbles as I feel tears well up

“Our lil baby girl”

For the rest of the day he lays with me catching me up on everything and just making me feel safe, he always has been that protector and I’ll love him and this baby forever

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Without you." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

Summary: As the two of you navigate the mysterious and sometimes turbulent waters of falling in love, a devil in angel's clothing threatens your life, managing to keep you quiet. Until Daryl finds out...

@gunnerblue21: So cool! I just found your content yesterday and so far im loving what im reading so youre amazing in my books lol so, for my request, i was wondering if you could write a story where back in the prison era, daryls girl best friend is secretly being harassed by one of the guys from woodbury, he knows that reader and daryl have a friends with benefits relationship secretly and threatens to out the reader to everyone about their secret if she tells anyone about about his harassment. When the dude from woodbury takes it too far one day and beats up the reader for trying to run from his abuse, daryl finds out and finds reader, he deals with the harassment his own daryl way lol im sorry if its long, i just really love protective daryl energy especially when its someone he really loves.

A/N: I felt some nice things with this imagine, hehe Promise it's not THAT boring, but I do hope the person who asked for this like it at least a little. Sorry for saying your name! I generally don't like the "she's mine" thing, but with Daryl I can break that rule. A warning about the sexual harassment theme in this story! although it's not very explicit. To everyone who has been harassed in any way, I'm so sorry. I still don't know why we keep silent, feeling guilty about our weakness to speak up and defend ourselves, ultimately feeling like we deserve that experience. I hope everyone can recover from that. There are surely mistakes, but it's 3 am and I have a baptism tomorrow, so I'll correct them as soon as possible. Thanks as always!

Your breathing is soft, but almost nonexistent in the void of the silent prison after the night swallows the sun, so silent that it forces Daryl to slide an arm around your waist, breaking the distance he promised himself to keep with you, searching for your warm skin beneath your short–sleeved shirt, fingers tickling your flesh with just a touch to elicit a slight movement from you, always accompanied by a sigh, a proof that you're still alive.

Sleeping together was not part of the deal, but a rule he broke long ago when, amid a world fractured by thunderous noises (guns, screams, curses), the gentle sound of your breathing helped him sleep.

Far from being a romance, the bittersweet story between the two of you began when you appeared that sweltering afternoon in the city alley next to Glenn, aimless walkers wandering the world, ruling it, and yet, his petulant, sarcastic, and judgmental, though always alert gaze, matched his condescension and hopeless and even somewhat dark comments that day—real, you couldn't deny it—but unnecessary, until it all ended in an argument between the two of you (the first of several along the way), with his true belief that he knew best shining brighter than the scorching sun.

Blue eyes like an ocean too dangerous to swim in stared at you relentlessly, a clear warning not to come closer, infested with trauma like sharks in the water.

“Ya wanna die, woman?”

That was his response to your desire to rescue Glenn when he was kidnapped, underestimating the only thing you had at hand and within you: a weapon you barely knew how to use, and an insatiable desire to live and help people. Daryl wasn't selfish, you could see it in his deep gaze—along with a somewhat terrifying intensity—it was just his own fervent wish not to die with that sharp pain under the hands and teeth of the undead, and yet, that didn't prevent the feeling inside you. You hated Daryl so deeply you could taste it on the tip of your tongue, an almost metallic taste.

“There are worse fates than death.”

Your words echoed in him the entire time it took you all to return to the camp outside Atlanta, everyone finally safe, momentarily.

Losing his brother made him withdraw from the back—and—forth conversations, sometimes empty, never deep because everyone wanted to leave the past in the back of their heads when the present and future felt like stepping into a minefield, but Daryl was always ready for the hunt and feed the people, bringing in small animals (after losing that deer and taking out his frustration on that already–finished walker) leaving them quietly near Carol or Lori, before retreating to the solitude of his tent.

Yet you always ran into each other in that small space, by chance or when Rick started to lead the camp in his endless attempt to keep everyone alive. Arguments between such different people became normal, something routine, but you were one of the few who let him go off the deep end, with the annoying and loud way Daryl used to snap at others, highlighting their lack of survival skills, with you ending the pointless conversation with a whatever, leaving him incredulous, with a frown so deep it hurt and the incandescent desire to throw a curse at you that he swallowed.

A new life had begun when that new world arose, stained with the blood of those who perished along the way, and although Daryl was always calm and ready to survive—amid his short temper that sometimes put him at risk as well—the annoyance that settled in his chest when he saw you, laughed in his face, turning the table where his cold apathy rested.

You were beautiful to look at, and the way you wrinkled your nose before smiling caught him like a poor rabbit in a trap, falling into his own trap, turning him into a prey, pathetic, vulnerable, and weak, and Daryl hated you even more for it. He hated you because you made that gesture especially with Glenn, as if you could destroy all your walls around yourself when you were with the Chinese boy (even though Daryl knew he was Korean) only to build them up again when you were with him. Daryl didn't recognize it as jealousy, even though it was, in all its splendor.

Daryl Dixon wasn't used to calling people with sweet names (they were a punch to his masculinity), but he found himself calling you lil' bunny, using that false sweetness that carried all his sarcasm in that moment. And those words were a mockery of your entire existence, you knew it, as if you were weak. But with what would happen later, you managed to convince yourself that you were.

But your sass almost matched his own, turning you into a dream Daryl dreamed at night and a nightmare during the day, and yet, he began to look for you with his eyes when the day began, always making sure you were somewhere safe, always making sure you were in his line of sight. And maybe it was staring at you too much that made him think of you differently, almost sinfully, thoughts so shameless and impure that they made him blush or feel the heat on the tips of his ears and inside his pants.

Sometimes, just seeing you exist there in the middle of the woods made him feel things that were warm, and unpleasant, and totally foreign to him. Life had been a bitch to Daryl, so unfair that it was hard to believe those things had happened to a kid (like something out of fiction, out of the most twisted mind), but they were real and they happened, and all the experiences he'd lived through built who he was—though he'd eventually put it all behind him. Daryl was hurt, both physically and emotionally, so battered and broken that he was unable to feel big, good things, keeping the wounds of war in the shadows after he'd barely escaped from that hostile place alive: his own home, ironically.

The iron blows of his parents' fists sank into his body and played cruel tricks on his mind until that little angel with blond hair and blue eyes had his tiny wings ripped off and he was convinced that heaven never existed, and that he deserved hell. So for Daryl, this new world was just a new kind of hell he knew how to live in.

Although he had also managed to chuckle a few times, a short, harsh sound, always accompanied by his usual sarcasm, like that day you two had to find a car to get back to camp when night fell, too dark and dangerous to walk.

The damned engine resisted, stubborner than a mule.

“Go ahead, give it some gas. Jus' a lil'.” You turned the key that was connected to the car, hearing a dry, harsh sound that Daryl tried to stop with a rap on the hood, his eyes finding yours between the slits. “Stop! I said a lil'!”

“That was a little.”

“No, that was too much.”

“How am I supposed to know when too much is too much, Daryl?”

“Ya listen, and if it sounds like too much, then s' too much.”

You frowned, confused and irritated.

“You're too much.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What?”

A moment later, the car decided to cooperate, but when Daryl got in, slamming the door with a little too much force than necessary, your body tensed in the seat as he drove back, opening his stupid mouth to just snarl at you like a child. And as always, you let him talk until he shut up.

“Bite me, asshole.”

Though with all the dirty thoughts about you piling up in his mind, a pile so high he could no longer see the end of it, Daryl didn't know if that was an insult or an invitation.

His temper was a roller coaster that went up and down so violently that a crash seemed imminent, with you always feeling like it would all be over in a second, catastrophic, making you feel unstable. But among the things that could be salvaged about Daryl, it was his undeniable, indelible desire to protect people—his people. Behind his apparent apathy, there was a need to make sure everyone was safe.

You had seen it, you had felt it. Between the unspoken words and the stares that trapped each other, even between the layers of his false hatred for you, he would often stand in front of you at any sign of danger, when things felt deadly, one arm extended in the air to guide you behind him while Daryl used his own body as a shield for you at the same time.

By the time you all arrived at the CDC, the fake place that seemed like a fairy tale (too perfect to be real) gave you a false sense of security, and beneath four walls that promised a safe and even promising future, Daryl dared to do what he never thought he'd be capable of.

That night, when there was no one left, not a soul wandering the world, there was only him and you, and his hand that closed around your waist in the kitchen. With your back to him, your body tensed, his heat invading your senses until you were drunker, even after all the wine at dinner, but when you felt his breath on your hair and recognized his full presence, the confusion of pulling away and pressing yourself against his body, which was already too close, was so great that the line between them blurred.

“Tell me to stop. Please.” You closed your eyes as his calloused fingers, the result of a lifetime of working with them, pressed against your stomach, and it contracted every muscle in your body, awakening a scorching heat inside, right where he was touching and a little lower. “Can I keep goin'?”

You nodded. And the rest was history.

Daryl just needed to get you out of his system, give his body the answers to that question in his head: what would it feel like to touch you, to feel you pressed against him, naked? Part of him hoped to feel in his own body that your time together would be a disaster so he could move on, but the problem was, it wasn't at all.

Shit, you were passionate even in intimacy, your hands pressing his body against yours the entire time that night lasted. And like becoming addicted to the most dangerous drug in the world, he and you started looking for each other again after that, even after the explosion of that place, during the time at the farm. Being between your legs, doing something other than thinking, blocked out the outside world and all the dangers and sadness it brought. Daryl always started there, especially when the whole dysfunctional but close–knit family arrived at the prison and that gave you two a kinda decent bed instead of the floor of a tent, when time gave you all a break.

Then you started to think that the more you cared for someone, the more vulnerable you were to a broken heart. But between the way you started wrinkling your nose when Daryl actually said something that might have been funny (sometimes unintentionally because he had no sense of humor) he started to let his interest in you show, though only one person outside of the original group seemed to notice.

Among the people of Woodbury, existed someone who hid his empty heart beneath the facade of being a good boy, always willing to lend a hand. Like new lives in a new environment, everyone struggled to adapt to that kind of normalcy, trying to collaborate to ensure the well–being of others. You among them, because you were kind or tried to be, eager to build a true future for the adults and especially the children, until that person mistook your good wishes for weakness.

One night, dressed again and breathing more calmly, Daryl and you existed in silence because life was simpler that way, less lonely, side by side in bed, but not touching, leaving a small space between you two, until he took a small rock from his pants that seemed even smaller in his large hands. It had no sharp corners, only smooth, smoothed edges.

It seemed polished, soft against your fingers, a reminder that not all that is hard is rough.

He handed it to you silently.

“Are you proposing to me penguin–style?” You joked with him, laughing when Daryl scoffed to mask the feelings he’d genuinely tried to keep from growing too much, but that were already spilling over the edge of his soul.

And as you inspected the stone under the dim light of the candle on a nearby table, Daryl took in the profile of your face, the tip of your nose, the edge of your lips, the ones he used to press against his, a demanding hand on the back of your head to keep you in place, and that sparkle in your eyes that seemed to glimmer with the power of a star.

“Thank you.” You meant it, but when you turned your head to look at him, Daryl looked away again, his eyes lost in the space between the cracks in the ceiling. “I’m truly grateful for this, so I apologize for all the times I cursed you too loud.”

Daryl frowned, his gaze searching yours, brave enough to do anything when it wasn't about feelings.

"Yer not loud, yer quiet as shit."

"In my head, I've cursed you in every way possible, very loudly. So I’m sorry.”

Again, a scoff, almost accompanied by a roll of his eyes as he settled back onto the uncomfortable mattress, closing his eyes as the weight of sleep began to overcome him, an arm draped over his face.

"Whatever. Now shut up, I wanna sleep."

Confused, and slightly offended by his sweet personality, your eyebrows tried to knit together.

"Are you going to sleep here?"

There was no annoyance in your voice—so you weren't chasing him away.

"I don' wanna walk back to ma cell."

And even with his eyes closed, you could see a new kind of ocean in his eyes, safe, peaceful.

You shrugged even though he wasn't looking at you, putting the rock in your pocket for safekeeping before closing your eyes as well. But when reason stumbled for an instant, you knew it was stupid to fall for Daryl—the person at your side who could be as much of a jerk as he was handsome—with his long hair now and those damned arms exposed, clearly hard to the eye even when he wasn't flexing them.

Daryl was intimidating, walking silently with his steely gaze that made people fear and respect him at the same time. His imposing figure was scary, but none of that mattered when everyone noticed that he genuinely cared for all and for you, in a selfless way.

And all of that made someone truly hate him.

Sean was charming, the opposite of Daryl's exterior: smiling, falsely warm, so kind at first glance that he offered to entertain the children in the library to distract them a little from the reality on the other side of the gates. And that's when it happened for the first time: his hand pressed against your backside in the solitude of that hellish place, empty after everyone left, so violent it froze you there, like a little rabbit that knows it will be devoured in the cruelest way possible.

“What are you—?”

Your stuttering made him smile, laughing at your fear, which crushed you cruelly, like a blow to the stomach that knocked all the wind out of your body. You knew there were still bad, unscrupulous people, but you didn't expect to find one in that place. A sick desire shone in his green eyes, a feline that played with the mouse's body even after it was dead, because deep down, he enjoyed that macabre and perverse pleasure of knowing he'd ended a life and could continue to amuse himself with the remains, of knowing he could do whatever he wanted with his victim.

You were never a victim, but he turned you into one in a single second, silently, taking away pieces of your will to live little by little.

And the harassment began that night, and not gradually, but escalated with such brutality that it made you vomit. Why didn't you say anything? Maybe you knew, maybe you didn't; maybe it was all the reasons, and because you couldn't find any that made sense. The fear of speaking up and made him being kicked out of security burned in your stomach, a new kind of hell that screamed at you with anger and mockery how stupid you were being. Telling Daryl would be like unleashing the lion from its cage, the beast that would end everything, though you knew Sean's expulsion would be a godsend considering what Daryl would do to him.

There were no labels between the two of you; you were nothing more than a piece of silence when the world became heartbreaking, but there was something about Daryl that everyone knew, a truth they spoke only with their eyes. The difference between Daryl and Rick, or Glenn, or the rest, was that Rick seemed to be guided in his decision–making by the shadow of his morals that still lingered within him, a memory of his past life, a compass to stay on track, while Daryl seemed willing to have no morals at all if it ensured the safety of his family.

And his anger could easily overcome his morals, or make them disappear in an instant.

Unbridled, such was his love and his anger. Daryl fought, hurt, and even killed, and you didn't want another body to fall lifeless because of you and become another scar on his mind, another reason to feel guilty about still being alive.

Sean's harassment was just words piercing your insides, calling you names others would call you if they found out you were Daryl's whore, words that were just that, nothing more: a terrifying touch that, like the wind, came and went, until one night, his hand pressed so hard into your flesh it almost felt like a bone of your ribs would break.

And when all that torture of a few minutes was over, you sat in the prison's backyard, asking for some kind of guidance from whoever or whatever was on the other end of the call. A sign, a hint of what to do, how to stop keeping quiet, how to stop suffering and fearing, but with no answer, just the devastating emptiness that seemed to swallow you alive—only shining to tell you that maybe the only way out was a bullet in the head, in his or yours.

But shit, the beast was dragging you down to hell with him, and you let him do it.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath when someone sat behind you, but like the first time his body landed behind yours, it only took you a second to recognize him as you glanced over your shoulder. “You scared me.”

Daryl chuckled, his legs on either side of you.

“Whatcha doin' here? S' cold.”

Always hiding your feelings, you chuckled back.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Shut up.” He scoffed, wishing with all his might that it were true, that your feelings for him were as strong as his, but silently, always avoiding speaking about them, Daryl leaned forward until his chest was so close to your back that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, even under his poncho. “Did ya have fun with the kids?”

He cared for everyone, without measure or any condition.

“Yeah. We read a lot today. I know it’s not your strong suit, so I won’t bore you with the details.”

“I can read, woman. I jus’ don’ like it.”

“Can you? Tell me the truth; I won’t tell anyone.”

It was an attack, but not an offense, and Daryl chuckled once more, that signature sound of his, before pressing himself against you, his hand cupping the spot where Sean had touched you without a hint of kindness, hand holding you with affection and a hint of teasing, his fingers almost cupping your breast.

"Hey." The tickle of his touch made you try to escape, but there was no way out when his other hand held you in place. "At least ask me out first."

He's screwed, always had been since that first afternoon together in the city, and now Daryl knew it clearly as he smiled softly against your hair, ignoring your fake protest as he tried to hide from his own feelings.

"Missed ya, bunny."

That same night, when he buried himself in you, you held him even closer, wanting to erase every touch Sean left on you, which still felt like fire burning your skin. But trauma, guilt, or shame—everything made you keep silent for the weeks that followed, which brought more damage, leaving you feeling more worn down every day, making your self–loathing grow, and even your desire to end it all.

And one day, it all turned into just pain, physical in every fiber of your being.

Sean had an unstable temper, quicker to anger and lose control than a little boy who didn't know how to manage his emotions, and hell, he did just that. In one moment, one of those distant moments now because you'd stopped going to the library alone, the devil disguised as an angel caught you in the emptiness of a hallway, his claws closing so tightly around your arm that it was easy for him to push you into an uninhabited room.

Don't cry, don't give him that pleasure. The only thing he won't be able to take away from you is that. Not one tear, not because of him. Fight, or at least die trying to be free, but he didn't give you the chance when his fist slammed into your belly, destabilizing your whole world, breaking something inside, just because in his eyes, as if you belonged to him, you dared not to listen to him, to try to run away from him. And when he felt he had nothing left to lose, Sean took advantage of every second of it. His anger was like those natural disasters that sweep away houses and people in their wake, leaving a stain of mud so big that covered the essence of your life and the hope to live that you always knew how to keep alive.

He didn't make a sound, and your body screamed without making the slightest sound either.

But life and pain became one when you were told it was your turn to go on a supply run, just you and Daryl because the chosen neighborhood was remote and small, enough territory for only two people to go. You were good, you were careful, meticulous about not letting walkers see you, but Sean had exposed you to so much pain that your vision blurred at the edges of your eyes, obscuring your gaze to the point where you didn't see the walker who pushed you against the wall of that kitchen in that abandoned house.

Maybe it was the sound of his fist in your ear that kept you from hearing death.

Life passed in a second, like the worst things that end quickly because they don't deserve to have freedom in the world, almost dying when you took too long to press the knife against his skull, the sharp edge finally sinking into what remained of his rotting flesh at the same time as an arrow.

The lifeless body fell to the ground, as heavy as your breath.

Every day that you had to leave the protection of the prison, it was like a blow to his chest, or so it felt to Daryl, with no air in his lungs until you finally returned, always worried that something would happen to you, that you wouldn't come back to wrinkle your nose in sarcasm or happiness, but in that moment, when death's hands truly almost closed around your body, Daryl could swear he saw life laughing at him as it played with yours.

You were there, but the next second you could not be.

And Daryl lost control.

"Are ya stupid?!"

Yes, you were, but not for the reasons he thought.

He shouted a few cruel words, and you listened silently, missing another chance to tell the truth, lowering your gaze for the first time in your life, but holding your head as high as you could, somewhat exhausted. For Daryl, the thought of you vanishing from his life was terrifying, but in that moment, that possibility became devastating and unbearable.

The drive back to the prison was so silent it stunned you.

The afternoon fell, heavy and lonely as you sank into your cell, lying on your side and face against the wall, wanting to disappear so far that not a trace of your existence would remain in the world. With your body aching, your muscles begging for mercy, and a mind screaming into the void to let it sleep until the end of days, you fell asleep. You had fought hard for the hope of living even in that world dictated by Sean's selfishness, always without conscience, eager to see blood, but not spilling it like the coward he was, enjoying sending you tumbling off the cliff only to catch you a second before hitting the ground, repeating the action over and over again.

Always on the verge, but never allowed to truly die.

That night, late when the icy wind chilled him to the bone and let him think, Daryl entered your cell, leaving dinner on a plastic plate on the only table.

“(Y/N)?” He sat on the edge of the bed, his heartbeat blocking his throat and any attempt at an apology Daryl was ready to utter. “Hey—”

“Leave me alone.”

“Bunny—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Your indifference hurt more than your anger, more than the blows he’d received in his childhood and in that life. So many years of abuse in the place that should have been the safest for him—his house, not a home—and yet, Daryl would much rather have to face that hell again, as a child, than have to feel the cold of your heart.

“M' sorry.”

“I don’t wanna hear you.”

Daryl swallowed, hard.

“Can I stay here at least?”

His voice was low, deep, but terrified, like the child silently begging his mother to love him, even after feeling her hatred.

“Do whatever you want.”

It felt like the entire prison was collapsing on his chest, crushing him underneath.

Daryl feigned courage, refusing to accept the idea that this was the end of both of you, and he lay down, on his side even though his view of you was your back, the space between you feeling wider than an abyss. And again, as the minutes or a couple of hours passed, your breathing slowed, hiding behind the silence of the place. You had forbidden him any access to your body, losing that right himself with his stupidity and his actions, with his outburst, with his fear of losing you that Daryl didn't know how to begin to explain, but the idea of ​​feeling your lifeless body, in any sense, in the most brutal or the simplest way (like simply stopping breathing, an unnecessary fact that Hershel had dropped one afternoon long ago) made him cross the boundaries you silently drew, reaching out his nervous hand to tickle you as he had been doing so many times that he had lost count.

Just a touch, so light you wouldn't feel it. Yet when his fingers lifted a fraction of your long–sleeved shirt, a whimper of pain seeped between your closed lips. Daryl frowned, for you'd never done that in your life together, and then, a red bruise glowed almost imperceptibly in the light of the candle that was a few nights away from burning out.

His calloused fingers slid over your skin to expose you even more, just as the pain made you wake with a gasp.

"Stop."

"The fuck happened to ya?"

Your words and his collided, a mess scattering around the room as you turned, sitting up with a pain you held prisoner between your still closed lips as he sat up as well, and your confused, dazed, and anger–filled expressions met, face to face. There was no place to hide your surprise anymore.

“Daryl—”

“Who?” His voice grew thicker, more dangerous with the full weight of his rage. “Ain't gonna ask ya again, (Y/N). But m' gonna beat the shit outta every single person in this whole fuckin’ place 'til I find out who it was if ya don’ tell me who did that to ya.”

He was threatening you… not you, but there it was, the moment looming when he would lose control, reaching the point of no return. Your throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, feeling the fear in every corner of your being, as if you were made of nothing but that.

“Daryl—” His jaw was so tight it hurt, you could see it, every muscle that contracted, but he didn't ask again, true to his promise. “Please, no, it's not worth it.”

And then he saw it clearly, the pain in your eyes that hurt more than that bruise on your skin, the misguided idea that, somehow, you were the one who wasn't worth it, that the person who hurt you wasn't worth hurting. And that was more painful for him, for the man who took other people's pain as his own, especially if it came from the person he loved the most. And between the small spaces of his anger, Daryl felt his gaze water as he approached you as he could, pulling you close, until his demanding hand cupped the back of your head, once again to look you in the eyes.

“M'sorry, m' so sorry.” His deep voice cracked on the last word, but it was all or nothing, to love you completely or not to love you at all. “M'sorry I yelled at ya, m'sorry I was such a jerk. I swear I only did it 'cause m' terrified of losin' ya. I love ya so much that I know I can’t live in a world without ya. I’d die for ya, ya know that, but I hope I don’ have to 'cause I want a future with ya. An' to do that, I need to keep ya alive.”

Daryl pulled away, playing his part.

“Tell me the name. I’ll do the rest.”

Then, you said his name out loud, for the first time. And Daryl nodded, pressing his lips to yours in a hard, short kiss before he left, without another word. Unable to speak, you knew it was either you or Sean; you couldn’t save both of you: and he didn’t deserve to be saved either.

And it all made sense to Daryl in that moment, the way you stopped going to the library alone, the way you started jumping in fright whenever he touched you, an act that began when that boy came into his own home, daring to destroy it, not knowing how far someone like Daryl Dixon would go for you. Sanity faded into the shadows, terrified of fighting a nearly savage man, a man who lived so much in the wild that he adopted the instincts of an animal: fight to dead to live, to protect.

He clenched his fists, so tight the skin seemed to stretch to the point of breaking. Daryl needed nothing more than his own hands, hard and rough after using them to fight for his own life. And though his mind was clouded with only one murderous thought, his near–perfect memory led him seamlessly through the prison until he found Sean's cell.

The bars creaked slightly when he opened them, but the peacefully sleeping boy didn't feel it until Daryl's hand closed around his neck, with no trace of gentleness until he pushed Sean to the ground, though his fingers itched to break it right there. It was like forcing a dormant volcano to awaken, a force of nature that not human could stop.

Sean whined, scared, feeling the fear of being prey in his body. He looked so small compared to Daryl that Daryl felt a throb of pity, one that disappeared instantly.

"Out."

"What?"

“Get the fuck outta this prison 'fore I step on yer neck. An' if ya cry for help like the lil' bitch ya are, I'll break it 'fore ya say a word.”

He knew Daryl would do it, without any guilt. There was a blankness in his gaze, but somehow, all his composure was gathered there, and that was even more terrifying to Sean. Daryl wasn't completely blinded by his anger, but rather used it almost strategically, calculatingly. So he did it. Sean walked down death row in silence, feeling his heart pounding in his prickles, his mind so messed up that he couldn't even imagine how it would all end, but knowing it would.

The cold air hit him in the face, as hard as a punch.

"Listen, man, I don't know what's going on, but I swear you're wrong." Daryl's expression remained flat, emotionless, even though they were all over his body, noisy, buzzing in his ears, so loud that they blocked out the sound of the walkers' growling on the other side. And when Sean saw that his words didn't make even the slightest change on his face, he feigned dementia even more. "I don't know what (Y/N) told you, but she's crazy. She threw herself at me."

There it was, the typical excuse, absolving himself of all blame only to throw it at you.

Which only made his blood boil.

"Yeah, she kinda is. (Y/N) is wild, but she's good, one of the best people in this fuckin' place an' in this fuckin' world, an' ya dared to hurt what's mine even though ya knew I'd kill ya."

“I don’t—” Sean choked on his terror, so latent it made his body shake even more, like a tiny leaf. “I’m sorry, I swear. Please don’t kill me, I don’t want to die.”

And it was funny how Daryl remembered what you said to him that first day.

“There are worse fates than death, but by the time m' done with ya, yer gon' beg me to kill ya.”

Like fire on gunpowder, everything was strident even when there wasn’t a deafening sound. Time stretched each time Daryl gave him a break, a pause just to make him feel the pain of each blow more, for his body to register it even after his mind shut down when it could no longer take so much damage, his system shutting down as well, leaving Sean on the edge of the precipice until morning came.

The exact trace of time was lost long ago, but when Daryl returned to your cell, you were still there, sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked beneath you, the other on the floor as if everything had frozen, until you looked up and your gaze regained a little life, a promise that everything would soon be all right.

“Lie down.”

You did, silently and painfully. Daryl lay down with you, closing the space between you for the first time, as if it had never existed.

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16

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TW: cussing, early seasons Daryl, angst, descriptions of walkers (Zombies) , firearms, Shane is creepy, mentions of hunting, mentions of dealing with hunted animals.

Part 7

Dead Weight - Part 8

The world is bone-white and brittle.

Snow crusts the edges of the broken asphalt road, turning brown with slush and dried blood. The trees are bare and skeletal, their branches reaching like claws toward a sky the color of dirty wool.

You’ve been walking for hours. Every step cracks ice or crunches through frozen leaves.

You’re wrapped in a coat two sizes too big, sleeves flopping past your hands. There’s only one blanket for every three people. Lori got hers first. No one argues —not that you would have before either.

Not when you see the bump poking out from her shirt, Lori needs this she is pregnant after all.

When Glen quietly offers you half his protein bar, you shake your head.

“I’m alright,” you say, voice soft and steady. “She’s the one carrying a baby. She needs it more.”

You don’t see Daryl watching you from just up the trail.

His expression is unreadable—but his eyes flick down to your coat, the way your shoulders tremble despite the layers. He notices how your lips are starting to dry from the cold.

He says nothing.

The next shelter is a sagging two-story colonial at the edge of a pine grove. The front door hangs askew on its hinges. There’s no glass in the windows. Snow has drifted in across the living room floor.

Rick calls the group to search in pairs. Daryl disappears upstairs without a word, crossbow slung over his back like a second spine. You end up in the kitchen, poking through ruined drawers.

The pantry is stripped. You find a can of peaches, a broken flashlight, and a cracked bowl.

You exhale quietly and sit down on an overturned crate, rubbing your hands together for warmth.

“Not hungry anyway,” you murmur to yourself.

Upstairs, Daryl hears that.

He pauses by a bedroom doorway, jaw tightening.

He’s still fuming—not at you, but at everything. At the cold. At the emptiness. At the unfairness of who eats first and who gets left shivering.

But mostly, if he’s honest, he’s angry because you aren’t angry.

You should be.

You should be yelling at Lori, or at Rick, or taking that protein bar—but you’re not.

You’re being good.

Selfless.

Sweet.

And for some reason, it pisses him off.

You’re hauling a half-frozen crate out of the root cellar when he appears behind you like a shadow. You jump, your breath catching.

“Shit,” you whisper, “you scared me.”

“Ain’t my fault you can’t hear nothin’,” he mutters, brushing past.

He snatches the crate out of your hands and sets it down with a thud like you’re made of glass.

“What are you doin’ liftin’ this? Gonna throw out your damn back.”

You blink at him, surprised. “I was just trying to help.”

"Help by not getting in the way.”

There it is—that growl of his. That sandpaper tone he uses like a wall. But his hands are on his hips, not his crossbow.

He’s standing between you and the icy draft creeping down the stairs. Without realizing it, he’s shielding you.

“You cold?” he barks, eyes flicking down your form.

You hesitate. “I’m fine.”

He makes a noise between a scoff and a curse and reaches into his vest. His gloves, fingerless—still faintly warm from his own hands—are shoved toward you.

“Here. Take 'em.”

You glance at them, then up at him.

“Won’t you need it?”

His jaw ticks.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Your fingers brush his when you take the gloves.

He jerks his hand back like he’s been burned.

The group sets up in the living room, huddled around a weak fire made from broken furniture. You’re curled in your coat, you’ve got the can of peaches beside you, unopened.

Daryl sits across the room, crossbow in his lap, watching you from beneath the brim of his hair.

He watches you offer the peaches to Carl before taking a single bite yourself.

He watches you laugh softly at something Carol says, he watches you not complain, when you have every right to.

The house creaks under the weight of cold, the wind howls low through broken shutters. Inside, the fire’s died down to a dull orange flicker.

Everyone’s sprawled across the living room—wrapped in coats, curled up on floorboards softened only by dust and thin blankets. Rick’s against the far wall, rifle nearby. Glen and Maggie are a tangle of limbs in one corner. Lori has Carl tucked close.

You’re by the cold hearth, curled on your side, your coat drawn tight—but your shoulders tremble with visible shivers.

Daryl notices.

He’s not even trying to. He’s seated upright against the wall, crossbow across his lap like a guard dog at rest. His eyes are half-lidded, but when the firelight hits your face and he sees the faint tremble in your jaw—his entire posture shifts.

A twitch in his fingers.

A flick of his eyes.

The poncho he’s had slung over one shoulder since camp—a patchwork thing of earth-tones and fraying edges—sits bunched beside him.

He stares at it.

He mutters under his breath. Something about “stupid Woman not speakin’ up” and “freezin’ like a damn idiot.” But then he slowly stands, knees cracking softly. Crossbow left behind. Silent steps. Barely audible over the creak of the floorboards.

You’re still asleep. Shivering.

He hovers.

You look even smaller like this—half-lost in the coat, hair falling messily around your face, one hand tucked under your cheek.

There’s a crack in your lip and your fingers are raw from cold. But your expression is calm—like you trust this broken world to leave you alone just long enough for rest.

Daryl scowls. Not at you. At himself.

He kneels. Haphazard and ungraceful, like his body doesn’t quite know how to move gently. The poncho unfurls in his hands.

He hesitates.

And then, with unspoken care, he drapes it over you, adjusting it near your shoulders, tucking the edge against your cheek to stop the draft. He pulls it down just enough to keep you covered but not wake you.

He stares a second too long.

His hand twitches—almost like he might brush your hair from your face.

“Dumb Woman,” he mutters under his breath, getting to his feet.

“Sweet, you mean.”

He freezes.

Carol stands in the shadows, arms crossed. She’s leaned against the archway between the lounge and kitchen, her expression full of warmth. No judgment. No teasing. Just the quiet patience of someone who sees what others don’t say out loud.

Daryl huffs and looks away.

“Don’t start.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” she says softly. “But she’ll be warmer now.”

He mutters something incoherent and stalks back to his corner of the room, reclaiming his seat like it offended him. The fire spits. He crosses his arms before begining to chew on his thumbnail.

The pale gray of dawn barely seeps through the broken slats of the abandoned house’s boarded-up windows. Cold clings to the floor like a second skin, biting at exposed fingers and faces. Most of the group still sleeps in hunched silence, the rhythmic sound of breath and the occasional creak of someone shifting beneath thin blankets the only noise.

A soft rustle breaks that stillness.

You flinch slightly as something nudges your shoulder—calloused fingers, not rough but not quite gentle either.

“Hey,” Daryl’s voice rasps low. Gravelly. Mornings always make him sound like he’s been smoking nails.

“Up. ‘Fore they start hoggin’ all the fire.”

You blink groggily, pushing your hair back. “Is everything okay?”

“M'Alright.” He stands, already crouched near the fireplace, fiddling with kindling he must’ve scavenged earlier.

He tosses a look over his shoulder. “Figured you might want somethin’ warm ‘fore everyone else gets their fill.”

Then you see it.

A squirrel. Lanky, limp, and freshly dead—a hint of blood near the head where an arrow did its work. Daryl has already slit it open with his hunting knife, peeling back the fur with swift, practiced efficiency. His hands are stained but steady.

You sit cross-legged nearby, trying to hide the instinctive crinkle of your nose.

He doesn’t miss it.

“What?” he mutters, not looking at you. His voice is rough and only a little mocking. “Too raw for your pretty little stomach?”

“I—I didn’t say anything.”

He pauses, glancing up with that familiar squint of his, head tilted slightly, knife poised mid-slice.

“Didn’t have to,” he says, but there’s no venom behind it. More like... amused observation. He flicks the squirrel’s guts aside into a rusted pot with a soft squelch.

“Bet yer the type to order salads in restaurants, huh?”

You blink. “Sometimes.”

“Figures.”

He returns to working the carcass with quick, precise movements—knife dragging along sinew with a wet sound. But then he speaks again, quieter this time.

“Ain’t gotta watch if it bothers you. Just figured… y’know. You looked cold. Hungry.”

That quiet sentence lands heavier than it should. Daryl has never offered kindness this easily.

You realize he must’ve gone out hunting before sunrise—for the group.

You inch a little closer despite yourself. “Doesn’t bother me. Just… never seen anyone skin something before.”

He finally glances up again, squinting against the light breaking over the windows. His brow softens a touch.

"M'sorry.”

The fire catches, and he shifts to cook the meat on a piece of old mesh wire. He stays crouched the whole time—knees wide, forearms resting across them, crossbow set beside him. His movements are sharp but measured, shoulders always tight, always ready.

When the squirrel starts to sizzle, he tears off a piece and holds it out on the end of his knife.

You hesitate, then take it between two fingers. It’s greasy, gamey, and not entirely pleasant—but the warmth makes your stomach ache with longing.

You chew slowly.

Daryl watches.

And for the first time in your interactions—he doesn’t seem angry. Or suspicious. Just… watchful.

“Ain’t bad, huh?” he mutters, leaning back slightly.

“Told ya. Folks always think squirrel’s all nasty. Ain’t if you cook it right.”

You look at him, eyes soft. “Thank you, Daryl.”

That catches him off guard. He shifts his weight, scratches the back of his neck.

“Don’t make a thing of it,” he grunts. “Just food.”

But then he rips off another chunk and holds it out again.

“S'warm. Eat up.”

The fire pops softly between you as the last bones of the squirrel blacken in the coals.

The cold presses in through the broken seams of the house—each gust of wind rattling the warped windowpanes like ghostly fingers.

You wrap your arms tighter around yourself, both for warmth and perhaps courage.

He’s sitting cross-legged near the hearth, boots scuffed, a few squirrel hairs still stuck to the blade he wipes clean on his pant leg.

You watch the way he moves—quick and practiced, like someone who’s been fending for himself a long, long time.

And then, too softly to sound like a challenge

“Could you teach me to shoot?”

Daryl doesn’t look up right away. He flicks his eyes your way, squinting through his fringe like he’s trying to decide if you’re serious.

“You?” he mutters, tone half-amused, half-dismissive. “Reckon you’d jab yourself before you hit anythin’.”

Your lips tighten—not because he’s wrong, but because the tone bites. Still, you hold your ground.

“Teach... Not insult.”

A pause. Daryl stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why your asking him.

“Just… don’t be like Shane was, okay?”

And that—that’s where it changes.

He freezes.

A shadow crosses his face, and his expression shutters, mouth twisting like he’s been slapped.

The way he stares at you now is different. Not angry—not exactly—but something darker.

Defensive.

Hurt.

And the worst part is, he tries to hide it with attitude.

“Tch. Think m'like 'im?” he barks, louder than you expected.

You blink, startled by the sudden snap in his voice. “No—I didn’t mean—”

“Y'sayin’ I’m some handsy asshole who don’t listen?” he interrupts, rising to his feet in one fluid, restless motion.

He paces a few steps away, voice low but sharp like a rusted blade.

“That what you think I am?”

Your heart starts to pound, not from fear—but from the rawness in his tone. You realize, too late, that you touched something deep.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quickly.

“It’s just—he made me uncomfortable. Back at the farm. You told him to back off, remember?”

He does remember. You know he does. You can see it in the way his shoulders stiffen, his jaw grinds. But he’s not ready to let go of the wound you’ve just opened.

“Y’know what people like you see when they look at me?” he snaps, still not facing you. “Trash. Redneck. Backwoods freak with a weapon.”

The words are acidic.

Self-loathing.

And they fall too easy from his lips, like he’s heard them before—from himself, from others.

Maybe even from Merle.

“Ain’t never laid a hand on no one that didn’t come at me first. Ain’t ever forced nothin’ either. But one word—one—and suddenly I’m the same kinda bastard as him?”

His voice cracks at the end, and he stops pacing, running a hand through his hair, half-snarling under his breath.

You rise slowly, keeping your voice gentle—measured.

“I didn’t mean to compare you. I trust you, Daryl. That’s why I asked you to teach me. Not anyone else.”

Silence.

The kind that hurts.

Then, he glances back. Eyes shadowed. Lips pressed in a hard line. Something flickers there—uncertainty, maybe regret.

He stalks toward his crossbow, scoops it up, and tosses a glance toward the back door.

“C’mon. Ain’t got all day.”

The wind bites at your cheeks as you step carefully over frost-bitten leaves, your boots crunching just loud enough to make you flinch each time.

A thin veil of fog clings to the forest floor, curling like smoke around tree roots and brittle branches. The house behind you creaks with the wind—your makeshift practice spot for the morning. Sunlight filters in through the overgrown trees, which form the forest around what was once a home.

Daryl walks a few paces ahead, crossbow over his shoulder, the tail of his poncho fluttering behind him like a ragged flag. He doesn’t speak at first—but there’s something different in his gait.

He’s keeping your pace, not striding too far ahead. Every so often, he glances back with a furrowed brow like he’s checking to make sure you haven’t bailed.

"Alright,” he grunts, finally stopping and dropping a small bag to the ground. “Ain’t no targets, we use what we got.”

He nods toward a rusted can perched on a stump and draws out a small pistol, offering it butt-first.

“Safety’s on. You hold it like this,” he says, miming the grip in the air beside you—but keeping his distance, just like he promised.

You mirror him carefully, hands trembling just a little, not from cold. He watches, hawk-like, and when you get it wrong—your elbows too tight, grip too high—he doesn’t move to fix it.

"Don’t strangle the damn thing. You ain’t tryin’ to choke it out, just guide it.” He growls

It’s rough. But it’s honest. And it makes you chuckle—just a little.

You raise the gun again, correcting your grip.

“S'Better,” he mutters.

Just as you steady your aim, a low groan rasps through the trees. Both your heads snap to the sound.

A walker.

One.

Then another two.

Shambling, slow, but too close.

You step back instinctively, heart already pounding as your breath catches. Daryl raises his crossbow in a flash, but he doesn’t shoot.

“You got it?” he asks, voice flat. Testing you.

You stare. The nearest walker is maybe ten feet away, its jaw slack, face half gone.

A woman once.

Your fingers twitch around the gun.

"Ain’t gonna wait forever,” Daryl growls. But his eyes are locked on you—not the walker. On you.

With a shaking breath, you raise the gun again. Hands slippery. You don’t even aim well, just squeeze the trigger and—

Bang.

The shot cracks through the air. The walker stumbles, but it’s the second shot—reflexive, panicked—that drops it.

The third walker is already on you.

You don’t think—you stab. Your knife, shinny and new, plunges up into its chin and lodges through soft bone and grey matter. It collapses against you.

Heavy. Wet. Real.

The smell hits you first—burnt gunpowder and rot.

The weight of what you've done hits second.

You start to shake.

You're kneeling on the cold, uneven earth, your knees soaking through with old leaf rot and snowmelt. The forest is still again—too still. The walkers are gone. The sounds of groaning and shuffling, the adrenaline-filled thump of your pulse in your ears, have been replaced by a silence so deep it feels like your own breath doesn’t belong in it.

The walker’s body lies just feet from you—slumped, collapsed, still. The blade still juts from its skull at a crooked angle, the handle vibrating faintly with the last twitches of undeath leaving the corpse.

Her face is half gone. One eye hangs low in its socket, milky and unseeing. Her skin—what remains of it—is mottled and grey-green, tight in some places, peeling in others like wet parchment.

Tufts of stringy hair cling to her scalp, but they’re no longer a color that belongs to the living. There’s a necklace still tangled around her throat, half buried in dried gore—a cheap pendant, shaped like a dolphin. It shimmers faintly in the sun.

She was someone once.

And you ended her.

Your mouth goes dry.

Your vision swims.

You blink once.

Twice.

You fall backward and land hard on your rear in the dirt, the breath rushing out of you with a tiny gasp. The pistol dangles limply from your fingers. You stare down at your hands, at the drying blood that cakes your knuckles, smears your sleeves.

The tears come without warning.

“I—” your voice trembles, throat closing. “I killed her…”

Daryl’s boots crunch as he steps closer, cautious. He doesn’t say anything at first.

“S'already gone,” he mutters finally, voice low, gravelly.

But you barely hear him.

Because it hits you all at once.

She could have been someone’s friend. Someone's daughter. Someone waiting to be rescued. You imagine your own friends faces—soft smile, tired eyes—and for a terrible second, it is her. The walker. You shake your head as if to erase the image, but it stays, burned behind your eyes.

Your stomach lurches. You curl forward, both arms around your middle like that might hold in the sob clawing its way up your throat.

“They're all dead.”

Your voice is just a whisper, but it’s full.

"My family. My home. My friends. My whole country…”

You knew that, logically, but you’d buried the weight of it under layers of distraction—of helping, of surviving, of trying to find new footing in this strange land with these stranger people.

But that walker made it real.

There’s no plane to take you home.

No family waiting.

No future to return to.

The scream that rises in your chest doesn’t escape—only a keening sob that tears through your demeanor and rips you raw.

You double over into your hands, crying now with full, shaking shoulders, tears and blood mingling.

You don’t care how you look. You don’t care who hears.

You are alone.

And you are a killer.

Daryl watches from a few feet away. His jaw clenches tight. He shifts his weight from one boot to the other like he’s resisting the urge to move—to do something—but has no idea what that is.

He glances over his shoulder—maybe checking for more walkers, maybe for witnesses—but then he turns back to you. His fingers twitch again by his side, like he wants to reach out but doesn’t know how.

You flinch when he shifts closer, and he freezes.

“Hey,” he says, low and rough. Not unkind. “Ain’t gonna touch ya, alright? Ain’t Shane.”

That makes you sob harder.

“They’re gone, Daryl,” you whisper. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye"

You look up. His eyes are stormy and unsteady, like he’s not used to being looked at—really looked at. But something in his expression cracks open, just a sliver, and you see it.

He understands.

Without a word, he reaches behind his neck and pulls his poncho off in one swift motion. Gently, deliberately, he drapes it around your shoulders. It smells like smoke and pine and old leather. Him.

He settles beside you—not touching, not crowding—but close enough to offer warmth.

[starshipsofstarlord]

nosebleed | daryl dixon

summary. you’re prone to nosebleeds, which startles rick when he first witnesses it, but your ever doting boyfriend daryl knows just what to do (0.9k)

warnings. blood (from nosebleed), fluff, caringbf!daryl, petnames, mentions of death, established relationship

an. this is inspired by my own sickness atm, every couple of weeks ive been getting a few nosebleeds, and it definitely isn’t fun among my other symptoms. my nose even bled over one of the books that i was reading and you can be sure that i scrubbed it until it looked like nothing more than a water mark

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The plan for the run was simple, all you had to do was follow it through, and so you hunched over the map, Rick beside you, scouring your eyes across the once accurate layout of the small town. It would have all been correct if carnage had not tarnished everything, it was not only people that succumbed to death, but the places that they had once lived and did their grocery shopping. Walkers patrolled where they wished, and the buildings became weak from lack of maintenance, also housing some of the undead that had trapped themselves inside amidst the outbreak, thinking they would be safe when they were humans, but either starving to death or having their lives taken either by their own hand or that belonging to another.

“So…” Rick began to spew the words that supported his wishes on how the run was to go, though of course there could always be the possibility of hurdles in the road, in some cases even physically. “You got that Y/N?” He asked you, and frowned at your lack of response. A lightheaded sensation overwhelmed you, and you placed your hand on the table, supporting yourself so that the dizziness would not cause you to fall. Rick leant in beside you, steadying a hand on your back, watching as you closed your eyes as if awaiting something. “Y/N?”

He tried to gather your attention, and whilst you were conscious of that, all focus had derived from your being. It then began, the trickle from your nose, causing a few splotches of red to pool upon the map, tainting the paper with your blood, marking an incorrect destination on the sprawling of lines that resembled roads. “Daryl.” Rick called to his friend as he entered the room, the man swiftly coming over, taking Rick’s place, establishing already from your demeanour what you were experiencing. His hand soothingly stroking across your back, comforting you through the torment that your own body begrudged you with.

It didn’t last long, only for a couple minutes, but that was enough to make you feel perilously tired for that time. With a loving and gentle hand, Daryl tipped your head back, ceasing a continuation of the nosebleed to unveil. He removed a rag from his back pocket that he reserved solely for the occasional bleeds, placing it against your nostrils, the stained fabric absorbing the crimson that flared and spilled out on no will other than its own. The nosebleeds had occurred at some of the worst moments, including when you had been hiding from walkers at the beginning of the outbreak.

They held no devastating impact, you had prompted the attention of doctors prior to the outbreak, them coming up empty handed and saying ‘some people just have nosebleeds’. It had made you feel as though nobody cared, and they hadn’t until you had found Daryl. He never fussed or made a big deal about it, but he looked after you during both the thick and thin that your blood ran. You exhaled heavily, taking the rag into your own hand to simply hold it, smiling Daryl a smile although he couldn’t see it due to the material that was held against your face, covering most of the lower half of your face.

“Ya alrigh’ sunshine?” Daryl asked you tenderly, as you shut your eyes, nodding your head slightly and at a strange angle, feeling the heart thumping tension in your head dissipate with each passing second. Rick cocked his head at the natural visage the two of you portrayed, watching intently as you released a sigh of eventual relief as you removed the rag. You passed it back to Daryl, who would no doubt soak it in water later and lay it out to dry so that it could be used when your nose felt drawing red lines down your face again. You seemed abnormally calm, and Rick reached out, steadying his hand on your shoulder, appearing to be the only one that was concerned.

“Are you going to be okay to go on the run?” If you weren’t feeling up to it then that wouldn’t be an issue, he would get someone else to cover your place in the run. You could stay back with Carl, and he knew that if you did you would cater your attention to Judith despite Beth being there. It was just a run, and whilst your group was in need of supplies, the health of each member of the group did matter. You’d all been through hell and back together, some of you surviving whilst others of you did not. The last thing that Rick wanted was for you to push yourself too far if there was an underlying issue. That would not only bring suffering to you, but it could endanger everyone that went on the run, and you’d all lost enough people as it was.

“I just get nosebleeds, it’s no biggie Grimes.” Your shoulders uplifted into a nonchalant shrug, dismissing the situation as if your nose had never bled. Daryl pressed a kiss to your forehead, secretly adoring you more for the little quirks that your body liked to abruptly spin on you. Rick seemed less tense, and Daryl knew better than anyone else that the sudden nosebleeds, whilst affected you in the moment, had no lasting symptoms. You would be fine, and as always, he would watch your back. He had the rag in his hand still, and he reached to your face to wipe away the drying red residue from around your nose, pressing a kiss to it when there was no smear of blood left in sight.

[ars0nists-lullabye]

Need more sub Rick smut!! Last one was so good omg

edge

pairing: sub!rick grimes x reader

summary: rick finds a raunchy book in your dresser. you want to recreate a scene.

warnings: smut, dry humping, handjob, oral (m rec), riding, edging, restraints, MDNI, +18

word count: 3.5k

an: long-awaited... hope it was worth it ;)

* update: read part 2 here !

——————————————————————————

‘Can I help you?’.

Rick drops the book like it’s burnt him, the paperback making a dull thud on the bed as he swings around to look at you.

His mouth opens to offer an explanation but no words come out.

You’re leaning against the doorway of the room you share with him, a smirk tugging at your lips as your eyes fall to the hardness pushing against his jeans. A hardness he had just been rubbing at before you so rudely interrupted him. Because the book he had been reading, that he clearly found by rooting through your bedside locker, wasn’t any old book. It was a raunchy romance novel. A book you kept for lonely nights. Smut, essentially. Pages to keep you entertained when rick wasn’t around. Or, clearly, to keep rick entertained when he thought you weren’t around.

You push away from the doorframe, walking slowly towards him.

‘See something you like?’ you smile.

He blushes.

‘I wasn’t - I … I was looking for a battery. I thought you might have one in there.’

‘Oh yeah? You find any?’.

Rick sighs, rubbing his hand over his face.

‘I got distracted,’ he mumbles against his palm and you grin. He’s clearly realised there’s no point denying it. It’s glaringly obvious what he was doing. I mean, it looks like he’s about to poke through the seam of his pants.

You sit at the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside you and he sits dumbly on the duvet, hands crossing uselessly over his crotch.

You lean in to kiss his cheek softly.

‘Calm,’ you whisper. ‘I’m not mad. Just curious.’

He eyes you cautiously.

‘Wanna know which part you were reading,’ you add and his blush darkens furiously. He ignores the question. You let it slide. For now.

‘That book,’ he starts as you reach for it where it lays behind you, thumbing mindlessly through the well-worn pages.

‘It’s - it’s…’

‘Light reading?’.

‘Porn’ he murmurs and you bite back a smile at his scandalised look.

‘You gonna arrest me, officer?’.

Rick huffs and rolls his eyes lightly at your teasing.

‘I just mean … I don’t know. Where- where did you even find this?’.

‘I know a guy’ you wink, leaning in closer to nibble a little at his ear, but he draws back to look you in the eye, frowning.

You sigh and smile.

‘Relax. Rosita and I have a little agreement. We share … literature. Any that we find on the road.’

Rick’s eyes widen even more.

‘Rosita?’

You laugh.

‘Don’t look so shocked. Girls talk, you know. About things. Sex. Fantasies.’

Your lips return to his jaw, this time working south down his neck, licking and pecking gently. Teasingly.

Rick shifts a little, his voice sounding weak.

‘Fantasies? Like what?’.

‘Aw, you wanna know mine baby?’.

You meet his eyes and he nods carefully.

‘Well, that’s not fair. Didn’t I ask you first?’.

Rick opens his mouth to protest but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

‘No. I’m serious. I wanna know what you read in that little book that got you so hot and bothered.’

His eyes avert from yours and you feel a little bad. Maybe you’re moving too fast for him.

‘Hey,’ you turn his cheek so he’s looking at you again. ‘You don’t have to be embarrassed. I mean, it’s my book, so whatever it is, I’m obviously into it too. It’s not like I’m gonna be put off by it.’

He seems to consider this for the first time but he pauses still. You can tell he needs one more push.

‘Okay, how bout this. All those nights on patrol, or supply runs with Daryl, how did you think I kept myself entertained? My imagination?’.

He looks between your face and the well worn book cover now lying limply in his hands.

‘You mean-’

‘I mean,’ you breathe, straddling his waist now and seating yourself on his lap. ‘Whatever it is you read, I read it too. And while I read it, I thought of you.’

His face flushes even deeper and his breath catches as you whisper the last part of the confession in his ear.

‘And it made me so wet, I touched myself until I came.’

Before the final word is out of your mouth, Rick is groaning lowly; eyes shut like he’s imagining the filthy picture you just painted for him. His hands fumble with the book and he flicks through the pages, trying to find the passage he had been reading before you interrupted. You watch him fondly as he searches; pink-faced and so, so hard beneath you. Finally he offers you the open page- all reluctance gone and replaced by pure heat.

You smirk, taking it from him and scanning the words as you begin to read. Rick watches in suspense, hands gripping your hips where you’re still straddling him, waiting for your response.

Oh.

Oh. . . .

It takes all you had not to grin as you read the familiar passage. You can feel Rick’s eyes hot on your skin, trying to judge your expression, waiting for your reaction with bated breath. Your eyes skim lazily over the paragraphs as you try not to shift at the heat building between your thighs. Because the scene printed on these pages was something you’d only fantasised about doing with Rick. Or to Rick, really.

Edging.

He wanted you to edge him.

‘Hmm’ you hum as you turn the page, feigning thoughtfulness. Your brows furrow as you read, just to let him squirm. His eyes track your face, darting between yours. Finally, you close the cover, leaning back to place the book on the bedside table while Rick steadies you in his lap.

Then you yawn quietly, giving a lazy stretch and standing up. You bite back a laugh at how he looks at you, wide-eyed and jaw gaping a little in confusion and worry.

‘Well?’ You raise a brow.

‘Well, what?’.

‘What are you doing just sitting there? Aren’t you gonna be good for me? Take off your clothes and lay down.’

It's like a spark is lit beneath him. He stands immediately, hands flying to his collar and fingers fumbling with his buttons, his gaze locked on you the whole time. You swear you saw it darken when you asked him if he was gonna be good for you, but you ignore that for now, storing the information away.

You turn to look through a locker and smile as you hear the clink of his belt buckle behind you, the quick wrestle with denim before his pants fall to the floor.

‘You- you’re … did you-’.

‘Shh, lay down, baby. Keep your boxers on for now,’ you reply, interrupting his nervous rambling.

You bite your lip as you find what you've been looking for. Beside Rick's Sherriff's badge and gun: a set of handcuffs, cool and heavy in your palm.

You exhale when you turn and see him on the bed. Naked, except for his underwear, bulging noticeably. A trace of nerves still on his face, but something else too. Anticipation. Hope. Lust. You can feel yourself getting wetter.

Slowly you walk to the bed, certain you hear his breath hitch when he sees the cuffs in your hand.

‘Just like in the book,’ you wink as you climb on the bed beside him. He nods dumbly, looking between you and the cuffs.

‘C’mon, lift 'em up,’ you gesture to his arms which he raises rapidly, eagerly.

‘Good,’ you coo and he swallows hard, shifting as you click the cuffs shut around his wrists.

You rub gentle circles into his palms before your hands trail down his arms, nails running lightly over the muscle.

‘Do they feel okay?’ you murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to his shoulder.

Rick hums above you and you withdraw. He frowns.

‘I wanna make one thing clear, okay? I want you to use your words tonight. When you want something, when something doesn't feel good. Or when it does. Especially when it does. You need to tell me, okay?’.

Rick nods and then quickly adds, ‘Yeah. Yes.’ And then, ‘The cuffs feel good’. He blushes at this last part as if hearing what he's actually admitting.

‘Good.' You reward him with the return of your touch. Your lips this time. Trailing across his chest, sucking and kissing and nipping, licking over his nipple to hear his breath catch again. Your nails join, grazing lightly across his skin, barely touching him as his muscles jump under them and goosebumps spring up in their wake.

‘I want...’

Rick's voice pierces the silence, hoarse and strained. Uncertain.

Your lips stay where they are, sucking a mark into the skin above his navel. Your eyes meet his and you hum for him to continue.

‘I want you to take your clothes off too. Please’.

You release his skin with a pop, smiling.

‘Yeah? Okay, baby.’ You stand and pull off your pants, giving Rick a nice view of your panties before you mount him again, making sure to perch yourself just beyond his crotch. Slowly, you start unbuttoning your shirt.

‘I want you to tell me something else,’ you begin. His eyes watch your fingers darkly as they move lazily from button to button. ‘How long have you been wanting this?’.

Rick blushes.

‘I only just found the book today. Just before you came in.’

You tilt your head.

‘No, I mean generally. You knew about this stuff before. You never wanted to bring it up with me?’.

‘I- I don’t know. I guess, I wasn’t sure if you’d be into it. I didn’t even know that I was into it until I read the book.’

‘Mm, but you are into it, aren’t you Rick?’ you breathe, fingers parting the material of your now unbuttoned shirt and watching his eyes fall to your chest, greedily taking in the sight of your breasts, the lace of your bra.

‘You like it a lot, huh?’ you continue, scooting down a little so your ass meets his crotch, his jaw clenching as he watches you. ‘I can feel it’ you whisper, smirking. ‘That little passage, that’s what got you so turned on? That’s what has you so damn hard beneath me right now?’.

You start to move, slowly, just rocking back and forth against his boxers and you can feel him tense beneath you.

‘What was it, huh? What was it exactly that made you hot? I wanna know.'

Rick's eyes close as you grind a little deeper against him, maintaining your slow pace.

‘The- the control,’ he mutters.

‘What- giving it up?’.

‘No. Well- yes, yeah. But to you.’

‘What do you mean, baby? To me, what?’.

‘Giving up the control to you. You being in charge. Getting to decide when to touch me. When I cum.’

You grin.

‘Yeah? That’s what got you all worked up?’.

He nods, opening his eyes again and wetting his lips as he watches you trail a hand down to rub at your clit over your panties. The other, palming at your breast over your bra. You sigh, continuing to move over him and letting yourself enjoy the relief for a minute. Despite the double barrier of his boxers and your panties still between you, the friction is delicious. You can only imagine how it feels for Rick, so on edge already. You bite your lip as your fingers pinch your nipple and his hands strain against the cuffs; forgetting they're there for a minute as he tries to reach for you. They clank against the headboard and you smile as he limply gives in to the restraint, eyes trailing over your body wantonly. You pout at him.

‘What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted?’.

Your hips begin moving faster.

‘Wanted me to tie you up? To tie you down? Touch you? Make you feel good?’.

He nods, breath getting heavy and laboured.

‘Wanted me to bring you to the edge?’.

He nods faster, again and again.

‘And then take it away?’ you stand, suddenly, the pressure lifted from both of you. Rick’s body slumps against the mattress with a heavy exhale as need crosses his face.

You raise a brow, reminding him to use his words.

‘Yes. Yes, this is what I wanted’ he pants, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips despite the frustration he must be feeling. He's loving this.

Good.

So are you.

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

You think maybe he's loving it a little less five minutes later when you're draped on top of him, hand down his boxers, gripping and stroking him at a torturously slow pace. Or maybe he's loving it even more. You glance down at him below you, cheeks tinged pink and eyes screwed shut, bucking up into your grip as you whisper into his ear. Yeah, definitely loving it more. You smirk, pressing little kisses to his ear, telling him how good he'd being for you. Your thumb presses along the sensitive slit of his head and he groans, hips starting to jerk faster and faster.

‘I - I’m gonna … I’m-’.

You don’t let him finish. His sentence or his orgasm; your fingers slipping slowly away. Rick groans, looking up at you with dark eyes.

‘Please,’ he mutters and you huff a laugh.

‘Please? We’ve only gone twice, baby. You’re not tapping out on me already are you?’.

You begin to move down his body, hands finding his boxers and tugging them down his legs, him eagerly lifting his hips to help you.

You hum thoughtfully.

‘Or maybe that’s not what you’re asking, huh? Maybe you’re asking me to keep going.’

You press a kiss to the base of his shaft; one to the middle, one to the top. He lets out a shaky breath, hands clenching in the cuffs.

‘Yeah?’ you smile. ‘Is that what you’re begging for? For me not to stop?’.

You lick him a little, experimentally. Teasingly. Up his length and around his head. Brief flashes of pleasure.

‘Cause you want this, don’t you? You’re loving it.’

‘Feels good,’ Rick grits out from above as your nails lightly graze his inner thighs.

You smile when you feel him shiver.

‘Yeah, I bet it does. But I think I know something that would feel even better. Want me to show you?’.

He nods and nods again, and then you’re taking him into your mouth, his length sliding against the wet warmth of your cheeks and his head is falling back onto the pillow.

He doesn’t groan this time. He moans. A high, breathless sound that makes your thighs clench. You’re soaking wet at this point, you’re sure. Your bra and panties were discarded somewhere between grinding against him and teasing him with your hand.

‘Oh god … Jesus,’ he hisses as you move your head. His hands tug again at the cuffs. At the sound you look up, your eyes meeting his from below, and he almost cums on the spot. He figures you can tell because you release him then with a wet plop. Licking saliva from your lips as you swipe at a dribble of precum that escapes from him.

‘Oh fuck-' he grunts at the feeling of your thumb passing again over his head.

You chuckle.

‘Sensitive?’.

He nods, eyes half lidded now as they trail over your body, lingering at your neck, your chest, your thighs.

‘Wanna touch you,’ he murmurs pleadingly, his hands fidgeting in the restraints.

Your head tilts slightly as you consider freeing him. You pause in thought, then reach for the little key on the bedside locker.

Rick straightens a little at this, eagerness and hope flashing across his face.

‘I wanna be clear,’ you tell him as you fiddle with the lock. ‘I’m taking off the cuffs, but you’re not in charge. If I feel you trying to take control, they’re going back on, and I’m going to edge you all night, until you don’t know which way is up.’

Ricks eyes are wide and dark as he looks up at you, bottom lip plump and hanging open, practically drooling with lust.

‘Okay?’ the key clicks in the lock, the cuffs opening.

Rick nods quickly. ‘Okay’ he agrees, and you smile.

‘Good boy,’ you coo as you sink down onto him, and he releases a strangled version of your name as his eyes screw shut again in pleasure. His hands find your hips immediately, not to steer you (you can tell he’s being very, very careful so you won’t make good on your promise) but just to find purchase on something. To ground himself. To feel you.

‘I love you’ he sighs weakly and you soften at the reverence in his voice, the softness in his expression as his eyes search your face.

‘I love you too, baby’ you stoop down to kiss him, hips rocking slowly against him, trying not to squeeze too hard too soon. He’s close already, you can tell. That’s okay. So are you.

‘Can I touch you here?’ His hand hovers by your pussy and your jaw clenches.

‘You can touch me anywhere you like, Rick.’

His right hand meets your wet lips, thumb quickly finding your clit and beginning to stroke. His left hand rises to meet your chest, palming and squeezing at your breast, faltering only for a moment as you pick up your pace, riding him now with vigour.

The room fills with the sounds of your heavy breathing, and you feel Rick begin to tense beneath you.

‘I want you to tell me one last thing,’ you begin and you see a flicker of caution cross over him.

‘I want something else. Another fantasy.’

He hesitates.

‘C’mon,’ you insist. ‘You held out on me for so long with this one. And look at all the fun we could’ve been having.’

You punctuate this with a particularly deep roll of your hips and his breath hitches.

‘The cuffs-' he begins and you smirk.

‘Yeah? You wanna use them again?’

‘On you.’

‘On me?’ Your brows raise. ‘You wanna edge me, baby?’

‘No,’ he begins, eyes shutting like the image in his head combined with the stimulation you’re giving him is too intense together. ‘Wanna tie you up … make you … make you cum.’

‘Make me cum while I have the cuffs on?’.

He nods. ‘And again. Wanna make you cum again and again. Over and over. Until - until you can’t take any more.’

‘Fuck, yes. Okay. Good.’ you moan, head falling back at the image. You hadn’t expected this side of Rick, but fuck if it didn’t turn you on. You tighten around him.

His eyes meet yours in something of a panic. Worried he’ll cum before you can stop him, or worried you’ll actually stop him. You can’t tell. But it makes you smile all the same.

‘What’s wrong? You getting close? So soon?’.

Rick nods, brows beginning to furrow and you can tell he’s just on the edge; waiting, waiting for the inevitable moment you’ll pull yourself off him again. Deny him again. Leave him aching.

But you don’t stop. If anything you get faster, clenching around him now as he inhales shakily. His left hand falls to your hip, grasping at your skin as his thumb rubs diligent circles onto your clit until you think your toes will curl.

‘That’s okay,’ you croon through your panting. ‘You can cum, baby. You’re allowed. Been so good for me. Come on now, give it to me.’

The words are hardly out of your mouth before Rick's muscles are seizing beneath you, his head hitting the pillow as he moans loudly and lowly; cumming harder than you’ve ever seen him. He shudders as you follow him, your warm walls milking his orgasm until you’re drawing his hand from your clit, trying to escape the sensitivity.

'Jesus... fuck, sweetheart. Oh, God.' He twitches with the final waves of his orgasm, totally spent and drifting into the balmy bliss of the afterglow.

You collapse against him, cheek pressed to his clammy chest and listening to his rapid heartbeat begin to slow as he softens inside you.

One hand finds your back, rubbing gently. The other brushes the hair from your face where it falls on his chest. You reach for it, turning the wrist this way and that for inspection, pressing a kiss to the red mark left from the cuffs.

‘Did they hurt?’ you’re worried suddenly, but it dissipates as you look up at Rick. Deeply flushed, hair tousled, a dazed and totally fucked-out expression on his face. Pleasure. Satisfaction. Relief.

He shakes his head.

‘Good. Because I’ll be wearing them next time’.

You wink, a smile tugging at your lips as Rick’s eyes darken. You feel him grow hard inside you again.

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

an: part two - rick gets his own back ... read it here ;)

[b1eedthefreak]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. That Time Again

⌇daryl dixon x reader

summary⌇daryl takes care of you during your period

warnings⌇none :3

word count⌇0.9k

a/n⌇okay this has been in my drafts and i finally finished it for my bae @xx-lostgirl-xx !! please ignore any mistakes i’m half asleep.

The Alexandria sun was golden and soft through the curtains. It was beautiful.

But it didn’t matter. You hated everything.

Your stomach felt like it was twisting itself into knots, low and deep and sharp. You were curled up on the bed, blanket tangled around your legs, face buried into the pillow as another wave of cramps crawled through your body and made your toes curl.

The worst part?

You didn’t even get the comfort of solitude.

“You okay in here?”

Daryl’s voice drifted from the doorway, low and tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d bite his head off or not.

You groaned into the pillow.

“That bad?”

You didn’t answer. Just shifted with a soft whimper and curled in tighter.

The bed dipped as Daryl came closer.

He didn’t say anything for a minute. You could feel him sitting there, just watching you, probably feeling helpless.

Finally, you rolled onto your back and let out a loud sigh. “Everything sucks.”

Daryl raised a brow. “That time again?”

You gave him a weak thumbs up. “Kill me.”

He snorted quietly, but his expression was soft. “Y’ain’t dyin’. Jus’ bleedin’ a little.”

You peaked slightly from the pillow giving him a dirty look.

Daryl blinked. “Y’want me to… go get ya something?”

You groaned again. “Unless you can go back in time and punch Eve for eating that apple, no.”

Daryl frowned like he was taking that a little too seriously. “Don’t think that’s how it works.”

You managed a soft laugh despite yourself, eyes closing again.

“I’m cold. And hot. And hungry. But everything sounds gross. And my back hurts.”

He reached out, hand warm on your ankle through the blanket.

“D’you want me to stay?”

You opened one eye.

He was already kicking off his boots.

“Please.”

—

Daryl climbed in slow, settling behind you like he always did, the bed shifting under his weight.

His arms wrapped around you without hesitation, chest pressed against your back. One of his hands found your belly, resting there carefully, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your lower stomach like he could chase the pain away.

“Right here,” he murmured. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You sank into him like he was the only safe place in the world.

“Y’always get this bad?” he asked, voice low against your ear.

“Not always. But when it’s bad… it’s bad.”

He hummed softly. “Wish I could take it for ya.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, heart aching a little at how genuine he sounded.

“You already help just by being here.”

He was quiet for a moment, hand still moving on your belly, slow and rhythmic.

“You know I don’t really get this kinda stuff. Don’t know what I’m s’posed to do. But… I’ll do anything you need.”

You turned your head slightly, nose brushing his cheek. “Just stay. That’s all I want.”

And he did.

—

The hours passed.

You drifted in and out of sleep, cocooned in warmth, Daryl holding you like you were made of something precious and breakable.

At one point, you woke to find him gone—but only for a few minutes.

He came back holding a mug.

“Made ya tea. Dunno what kinda magic it’s got but Carol swears it works.”

You blinked at him from under the covers. “You made me tea?”

He shrugged, cheeks slightly red. “Didn’t know what else to do.”

You sat up slowly and took the mug, letting the warmth bleed into your fingers.

“You’re perfect.”

He looked away like he didn’t know what to do with that.

—

Later that night, the cramps came back with a vengeance. You cried.

Not because it was that bad—but because you were exhausted, overwhelmed, and felt like your body had turned against you.

Daryl was already there, arms around you, rocking you slow as you sobbed into his chest.

“Shh. I gotcha. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with cryin’. Jus’ let it out, girl. I’m here.”

He kissed the top of your head, voice gentle and low, over and over.

You clutched his shirt like he was the only thing anchoring you to the planet.

—

Eventually, when the tears passed and your body calmed again, you lay in his arms with your head on his chest, fingers trailing over the scarred skin of his ribs.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered.

“You deserve good,” he said simply.

His hand rubbed your lower back, firm and slow. It helped more than you could say.

“I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But it ain’t gonna beat ya. Y’stronger than it.”

You gave him a soft, sleepy smile. “You talk like it’s a walker.”

“If it was, I’d put an arrow in its fuckin’ skull.”

You laughed, and it actually didn’t hurt. Not this time.

—

That night, he spooned you close with both arms wrapped around your waist, his hand spread protectively over your belly.

Every time you stirred, he murmured, “shh, I gotcha.”

And he did.

Because that’s what Daryl did best—

He stayed.

He held.

He loved quiet, and steady, and strong.

Even when the world felt like it was crumbling from the inside out.

Especially then.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Daryl could see Judith glancing over to stare at the lilt in your walk, the couple inches of prosthetic visible below your pant leg, and he wondered how he could chastise her for staring without you hearing (he couldn't).

You didn't seem to notice though, and only looked over at her and smiled when the little girl couldn't hold it in any longer and asked, "How did you lose your leg?"

"Jude," Daryl sighed, "it ain't polite to—"

But you cut him off. "It's okay. She's just curious," you said gently. "I stubbed my toe and just decided to get rid of the whole thing," you said with light-hearted smirk.

Jude screwed up her face in suspicion and it drew a laugh from you. Daryl's heart jumped at the sound and the way your eyes crinkled at the corners as they closed. "I knew that wasn't it!" she giggled finally.

"You're too smart for me," you cooed. "I actually lost it before the world fell apart, if you can believe it. In a car accident."

Jude nodded thoughtfully. "Were you scared? When it happened?"

You nodded and your face grew more serious. "Yes. I was. Everyone gets scared sometimes, and that's okay. But even though I was scared, I did my best to be brave and made sure that I did everything I needed to do to live life how I wanted and squeeze as much good out of it as I could... just—one limb down," you said.

Daryl was looking at you with an expression that made your stomach flip and your face flush. "What?" you asked in an undertone, laughing nervously.

He shook his head. "Nothin'," he said, but his voice was so soft it made you weak at the knees.