chokeholds-illegal

[chokeholds-illegal]

Fantasy (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Era: Season 5 -- The group is new to Alexandria

Summary: Since arriving in Alexandria, everyone is trying to adjust. One morning, when you come home from a hunt before dawn, you accidentally overhear your best friend and housemate, Daryl, indulging himself. What happens when you discover his favorite fantasy is... you?

Warnings: smut (minors, DNI!), mentions of typical TWD gore and violence, innocent & inexperienced Daryl, unprotected sex, past hurt/trauma, size difference kink.

[angst, romance, SMUT.] Daryl is soffftttt, sexy, and adorable. This is the chapter where things finally get... graphic.👀

Word Count: 3.7k (I got a little carried away OK)

Chapter 1: here

Chapter 2: here

---

Upon approaching the house, you and Daryl both slow your steps. We can't get ahead of ourselves. Your hearts are pounding in you chest, cheeks flushed in the darkness. You hadn't said word to each other since your suggestion to come back to the house, both silently swimming in your own surreal thoughts.

Your eyes scan the house for signs of movement. Although it had only been 30 minutes or so after Daryl's admittedly-dramatic exit from dinner, it seems that Rick and Carl had already cleaned up. The windows of the first floor are dark. On the second floor, where Rick's room is, you can see a figure through the closed curtain milling about. The light in Carl's attic space also appears to be on.

"Gotta be quiet," you whisper to Daryl, who has been assessing the house as well.

Wordlessly, the two of you creep up to the front door. Your mind is spinning; it's a funny feeling, sneaking around like horny teenagers trying to avoid their parents. It's surreal. You realize that you never thought life could be this simple again.

You watch as Daryl silently twists the handle and pushes the door open. Tiptoeing, literally, you follow Daryl's figure through the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement. You send a silent prayer that that one creaky step won't betray you again. Your eyes, now deprived of the moonlight, falter, and you nearly lose your step in the darkness. Luckily, Daryl's strong back in there to catch you.

"You okay?" he asks in an almost impossibly quiet voice. You nod and give him a shy smile.

So odd, you think to yourself. You can't even remember a time when Daryl made you feel shy, and now, here you were, acting like he's your high school crush.

Intoxicating.

Once the door to Daryl's bedroom is closed, and you're safely inside, you hear Daryl sigh a breath of relief. He slowly turns to you, as if unsure what to do now. His brown hair is a gorgeous mess, falling into his face. His feet shuffling a nervous dance -- fuck. He's so damn irresistible.

You make the first move, closing the gap between you with haste. Your hands rise to cup his face. His cheeks are burning, despite the chilly night air you'd just come in from. His large, work-worn hands waste no time coming up to hold to your waist. With every movement, your inhibitions seem to float further and further away.

When he dips his head to press his warm lips into yours, he tastes like moonlight, strawberry, and faint tobacco. You feel lightheaded from the realization that this is really happening. From the way Daryl's chest is pounding against yours, you know his head is spinning, too.

Your hands wander upward, gripping hungrily at the hair at the base of his neck. With that, he lets out that same soft, uncontrollable whimper. He pulls back in surprise at his own abandon, and you smile at him with amusement.

"Shut up, " he retorts with a tiny smile before rejoining his lips with yours, harsher this time.

You giggle, careful not to raise your voice above a whisper, as Daryl walks you backwards towards the bed.

Daryl's space is plain. It's just his bed, a shamble of blankets and a crumpled pillow, and his crossbow leaning up against the corner of the room. It's so perfectly... him.

He lightly pushes you onto the bed, and for a moment, he just gazes down at you through his disheveled hair. His dark eyes are blown wide with lust, and suddenly you realize how much larger he is than you. Tall, broad, and covered in beautiful lean muscle. Of course, you always knew the man was a force to be reckoned with, but now, with him towering over you like this... You think about how easily he could take you. How easy he could have taken what he wanted all this time, instead settling for pumping himself into his fist. Arousal pulls at your belly with the thought.

Of course, though, you knew it wouldn't have been easy. Physically, maybe, yes. But you knew Daryl's insecurities would have never let him make a move unless he was deadly certain you felt the same. Maybe others would see that as a short coming, but for you, it was just one of the many reasons why you adored Daryl. There was something so soft in him, under that steely exterior. A wave of gratitude washes over you, that you're here now, witnessing this side of him.

Daryl lowers himself down on the bed over you, leaning you onto your back. He takes care not to put all his weight on you. His lips collide with yours again as you wrap your legs around his waist. You can't help but groan when you feel his erection through his pants, pushing against your core where you need his most. A shaky breath escapes his lips as well.

You grip at the fabric of his shirt as he starts experimentally rutting forward, rubbing his hardness against you. It's as if your bodies are moving on their own, beyond desperate for some kind of relief. It had been so long for you; you hadn't touched someone like this since before the world went to shit. You need Daryl.

Suddenly, Daryl's movements slow. He removes his lips from yours, leaving the two of you quietly panting in the darkness. Worry sets in.

"What's wrong?" you whisper, trying to make out the expression on his face. "Are you OK?"

At first he doesn't reply; in fact, he's not even looking at you. Did I do something wrong? You desperately need him to speak. Finally, after a long pause of silence, he starts to move himself off of you, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

Shit. This was a mistake. I knew it. A million thoughts are scrambling through your brain as you hurriedly come to sit beside him, the edge of the mattress dipping under your combined weight.

"[Y/N]," Daryl finally says. His voice sounds small and far, far away.

"What is it? If you changed your mind, it's --"

"No, no," he cuts you off with a swift shake of his head. "I want to."

You're confused now. This is the Daryl you hated seeing. The quiet, pained, ashamed Daryl. You bring your hand slowly to his cheek and turn his head to face you.

"Tell me."

His eyes finally meet yours, and your heart shatters at the hurt in his brown irises.

"I want you. But what if I can't... make you feel good?"

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head lightly. No.

"I'm no virgin," he blurts out when you don't reply. Daryl straightens his posture a bit, clearing his throat and gathering his courage. "But... it's been a long time. I mean, even 'fore shit hit the fan, before that. And I ain't never done it like this."

"Like this?" you ask gently, wanting to fully understand his anxieties.

"Sober. In a bed instead 'a on some couch in some tweaker's apartment. With someone I actually care 'bout."

The last part comes out softly, as if the words physically stung to say aloud. Your heart swells with thankfulness for his confession and trust in you. The honesty. For the man before you, laying himself bare in the most intimate way possible.

You kiss him. It's soft, and nothing in the world has ever felt more right.

"If you want this, then I want this. And I don't care if I don't come, if that's what you're worried about. I just want you."

Daryl seems to physically melt at your gentle words. The tension in his muscles eases, and the ever-so-slight quivering in his bottom lip fades. A touch of confidence seems to return to his expression, and you beam with happiness when his hand wraps around your waist once more.

"Tell me to stop. And I'll stop. Don't matter when," Daryl breathes out, swiftly moving back over you. Your breath hitches in your throat, both from surprise and arousal, as you're pushed back down into the bed.

You swallow his kisses, which quickly become more and more heated. You graze your teeth against his bottom lip, eliciting a deep moan from the back of his throat. Soon, your hands are at his hips, frantically unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans.

The whimper -- that fucking whimper -- that escapes his lips when your hand accidentally brushes against his underwear-clad member has you in shambles. You're certain that your panties are completely, utterly ruined. Daryl stands up for a brief moment to slide his jeans off. The tent in his boxers look painful, straining. So, you lean forward and hook your fingers into the waistband.

"Can I?" you ask, meeting his wide eyes with yours. You'd never seen him nod so quickly.

When his erection springs free, you groan at the sight. He's huge: long and thick and as hard as a rock. His cock is beautiful, perfectly shaped with a slight curve upward. The head is shiny with slick, and a bead of precum is sliding -- so erotically -- down the shaft.

Something feral takes over you as you dip your head down without another word. A too-loud gasp rips from Daryl's lips, as you lick a thick, wet stripe up his cock. You hope that the two floors of distance between you and Rick was enough to stifle the sound. Daryl quickly brings his arm up to his mouth, biting down on the back of his wrist to keep quiet. His head tips back in pure ecstasy. You wonder if anyone has ever done this for him before.

After another firm lick, you take him into your mouth. The salty precum coats your tongue, making you moan quietly. The vibration of your moan elicits another gasp from the man above you. Daryl's free hand swiftly comes down to palm your scalp, fingers grasping desperately at your hair. You relish in the feeling of being able to make him come apart like this. You bob your head once, twice --

"Fuck, [Y/N]," Daryl frantically chokes out, both of his hands coming to grip your shoulders. "You gotta stop, or I'm gonna be finished righ' now."

You remove your mouth from his member, wiping a bit of droll that had spilled past your lips. You're about to make some quick-witted jest about how you've barely touched even him yet, but you're just as ruined as him. Years now, without being intimate with another human, has left you both oversensitive and frantic.

You pull your shirt and sports bra up and over your head, letting the clothing drop to the ground. Daryl's discarded his own shirt, and is on you before you can process it; his large, calloused hands roam your body like a wild animal.

"So damn gorgeous," he breathes out roughly, pushing you down into the bed and peppering your soft neck with kisses and nibbles. "Wan' make you mine so badly." Your hands roam over him, feeling his innumerable scars -- old and new -- underneath your fingertips. You grab at his shoulder muscles, trying to ground yourself.

But it's too fucking late. You're already lost to the sensation of his bare chest on yours, his mouth working hungrily at your skin, the clean, pine-like scent of him... You're a goner.

Daryl's head travels lower to your breasts, making you gasp out quietly. Your eyes fall shut as his mouth and hands explore your left breast, then the right. The valley in between them, and then finally, his lips close around your nipple. Your back arches off the bed as you writhe beneath him.

"Daryl," you moan out. "That feels so good."

He continues to pleasure you, alternating between your nipples. His lips and tongue work in tandem until your legs are shaking. After taking his time on your breasts, Daryl comes back up to your face, planting gentle kisses on your lips. His care and attention to detail make you feel weak. How long has he imagined doing this?

When Daryl's hands begin to roam lower, tracing the edge of your pants, you waste no time unbuttoning them and pushing them off your legs. Your panties are soaked, and when you remove them next, the air is cool on your wetness. When you peer up at Daryl's face, he's staring down in awe. The shininess of your arousal coating your pussy and inner thighs makes him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. The way his eyes are trained on your wetness gives him the appearance of a wolf in heat. So focused, so lustful.

What he does next makes your heart beat even harder. Daryl, the huge, rough man who would never kneel for anybody, sinks to his knees on the hard floor. He pulls you to the edge of the bed until is face is face inches from your throbbing pussy. He's so close that you can feel his breath on your core, teasing. Slowly, timidly, Daryl brings his middle finger to the dripping entrance of your pussy. The feather-light touch makes you bite you bottom lip.

“Can I taste you?” His voice is so soft, almost pleading.

“Please, Daryl,” you reply breathlessly. “Taste me.”

Carefully, he dips his head to your cunt. Painfully slow, he licks at your slit. He can't help the moan that escapes when your juices coat his tongue. When Daryl's tongue finds your clit, an involuntary "fuck" slips from you. He feels so damn good.

"Shit. Even better than I thought you'd taste."

"More. Faster," you beg.

Daryl instantly complies. He continues to swirls his tongue around your sensitive bud before experimenting with his lips. He gently sucks on your clit, making you see stars. Delicately, he slides his middle finger -- which had been teasing at your entrance -- into your pussy. One knuckle... two knuckles. You feel yourself clench around his finger. When he adds his index finger as well, you cry out with pleasure.

"Daryl! Fuck."

"That feel alright?" he asks, pausing and meeting your eyes.

"Yes, fuck... So good," is all you can manage to reply. You hadn't had anything besides your thin fingers in your pussy in what felt like a lifetime, and you're unimaginably tight. Daryl's digits opening you up and stretching against your walls is ecstasy. You shiver at the anticipation of what his cock will feel like.

"Tell me what feels best," comes Daryl's voice again. So sweet, so needy.

"When you swirl your tongue... do that again. And keep fingering me," you reply, pleasure clouding your mind. "Please."

Daryl follows your instructions without a word. And fuck. He catches on quick. As his mouth works your clit, he begins to curl his fingers upwards inside you. When his fingertips push against your g-spot, you gasp out and shiver. Your knees threaten to clamp together, but Daryl's free hand holds your legs apart.

You're in heaven.

As you feel the knot of pleasure in your stomach start to grow, you frantically grip at Daryl's shoulder.

"Come here. I need you," you gasp out, clawing at him. "I need you inside me, Daryl."

As he rises from the floor, you shuffle backwards on the bed a bit so you're not so close to the edge. His cock is covered in precum again, leaking streams of the clear liquid. As Daryl climbs on the bed, you take the moment to admire his beautiful physique: tanned skin over hard muscle, shoulders and arms that can lift you with ease... The best part though is his face. His dark eyes half-lidded with overpowering arousal, lips covered in your juices. He looks like an angel.

He lines himself up with your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock through your drenched folds. Daryl's gorgeous mouth is hung open in awe.

"Do you still want this?"

"Yes, yes, Daryl." The words come tumbling from your mouth. "I want you so badly. Fuck me."

That's all the encouragement that Daryl needs. He begins to push into you, so painfully slowly. You grip his hips in a vice, needing something to steady yourself. His forearms frame your head, surrounding you in his scent. The feeling is indescribable; Daryl's cock is so big, and so desperately hard. He slides in easily with your combined juices, yet he moves at a snail's pace, not wanting to hurt you. A litany of curses fall from his lips.

When he's about half-way into your pussy, Daryl pulls back. When he thrusts forward again, it's faster. You cry out in pleasure, attempting to muffle your voice against his bicep.

"I'm not gonn' last long," Daryl admits, his light southern drawl dancing on the shell of your ear. "Fuck. I've wanted this for so long, [Y/N]. You have no idea."

"Go slow," you whisper to him, tears pricking in the corner of your eyes from ecstasy and pain. "It's okay."

Daryl continues his controlled thrusts, venturing deeper and deeper into you until your pelvises meet. The burn you had initially felt is replaced only with pleasure. You moan out his name as he fills you over and over again.

"[Y/N], oh. Fuck," Daryl growls, face buried into the crook of your neck.

You can feel every groove and vein on his cock as it pistons in and out. You shut your eyes, stars filling your vision. All you know is this very moment: the feeling of Daryl inside you, his mouth sucking and kissing desperately at your neck, the heat radiating off of him. You think back to what he had confessed earlier, and wonder if, maybe, you've never had it quite like this either. Bliss fills you, growing.

Soon, Daryl's movements start to lose their controlled nature. He trusts in harder, more sloppily -- his need starts to take over. His hips collide with yours hungrily, and his moans transform into whimpers. You know that he's close.

"Just a bit more, babe," you moan encouragingly, tangling your fingers in your hair.

Suddenly, you feel his teeth as they bite at your earlobe. You let out a shuddering gasp. It's enough to sting, but not enough to truly hurt. It drives you crazy. Before you can process the sensation fully, you're there, too, the knot of pleasure in your stomach snapping and sending you over the edge. Your orgasm rips through your body, making your pussy flutter wildly around Daryl. Your ears ring as you ride out your ecstasy, but you still manage to hear Daryl's voice.

"[Y/N], oh, god. I'm..." is all he can muster before swiftly pulling out of you and releasing on your stomach. You watch in awe as Daryl pumps himself onto you, covering your skin in glistening ropes. His face is contorted into the most beautiful picture of pleasure you've ever seen.

He lets out one final groan before letting go of his cock. As you both catch your breath, you can't help but admire how absolutely gorgeous Daryl looks. A slight sheen of sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead. The heaving of his chest and back as he tries to slow his breathing. And finally, his dark eyes that open to meet yours.

As if suddenly realizing that you're covered in his spend, he hurries himself to the bathroom attached to the bedroom through an open door. He returns a moment later with a wet hand towel. You reach you hand out for it, but he ignores it. Instead he carefully cleans you himself, wiping the warm towel over your stomach and breasts. He does this wordlessly, taking his time, focusing to make sure there's none left. When he satisfied with his work, he tosses the hand towel into the corner of the room.

You reach out again, this time, for his body. You beckon him into arms, and he allows you to lay him down on the bed beside you. Daryl is so warm, so secure and safe. Your entire body buzzes with contentment as you lie there, limbs tangled together.

As the ringing in your ears fades to nothing, the feeling of disbelief slowly starts to creep back into your mind. Did this really just happen? You decide, right then and there, that you don't care if this was all just a dream. You could die right now and be happy.

Finally, Daryl speaks.

"Was that okay?"

Despite the tinge of concern in his voice, you can't help but chuckle. You lay a delicate hand on his cheek, letting your eyes lock on one another.

"Daryl, that was perfect," you assure him. "You're perfect."

Your easy, content smile seems to make its way to Daryl, who allows to return a happy grin. You nuzzle closer to him, enjoying the warmth between you.

"I wasn't lyin'," he suddenly says after a few moments of silence. "I've been wanting you for a long time."

You run your fingers through his messy brown hair, savoring every moment of this unexpected intimacy. After all, it's not just about sex. This quiet -- just laying together, holding one another, laying hearts bare in the silence of the night -- is something you never thought you'd get again.

"When did you start seeing me like this?" you ask curiously.

"Hmm. I don' really know," he admits. "It's like I jus' realized one day that I always wanted to be around you. I dunno. The quarry, maybe."

You whip your head to look at Daryl, shocked by his casual confession.

"The quarry? Like outside of Atlanta?"

He shrugs lightly, a bit of pink returning to his cheeks. "Yeah. Maybe since then. Now, hush. Remember, we ain't the only ones in this house."

You scoff at him, smiling in disbelief. Atlanta. It felt like so long ago -- was so long ago. You settle back into him, letting his strong arms engulf your body.

"All this time..." you whisper, feeling sleep start to tug at your eyelids. "Let's not waste another day."

---

Sorry Part 3 took so long, yall! Life got crazy! This is probably the last part of this Fantasy storyarc, but I'd love to write more chapter of this "world" if people are into it. :)

tags:

@graniairish

@moonlightreader649

@idkseraphine

@noneofitmatterswithoutyou

[chokeholds-illegal]

Fantasy (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Era: Season 5 -- The group is new to Alexandria

Summary: Since arriving in Alexandria, everyone is trying to adjust. One morning, when you come home from a hunt before dawn, you accidentally overhear your best friend and housemate, Daryl, indulging himself. What happens when you discover his favorite fantasy is... you?

Warnings: smut (minors, DNI!), mentions of typical TWD gore and violence

[angst, romance, SMUT.]

Word Count: 2k

Chapter 1: here

Chapter 3: here

With the sun fully dipped below the horizon, the night air is growing chiller by the minute. You unroll the sleeves of your jacket down over your forearms, a shiver running up your neck.

But, you admit that your shivers might be more-so caused by the situation at hand than the cold.

You clutch the cool metal fork you had slipped into your pocket. Peering around the empty street, you wonder where Daryl could have gone. You head between two houses across the road and start walking the perimeter of the great, big wall. Noticing that some of the taller, unkept grass closest to the perimeter was flattened, you know you're going the right direction.

You notice Daryl's cigarette first. Even from 40 meters ahead in the darkness, the little orange glowing butt catches your eye, floating like a firefly. You breath catches. Continuing to draw closer, you start to make out the dark outline of Daryl, leaning against the perimeter wall.

"Hey," you softly call out to get his attention.

He ignores you, not even turning to look. But, he doesn't run.

"Whatcha' want?" he growls out as you come to his side. "Didn't say I wanted no company."

A deep sadness falls on your shoulders at his comment. Daryl never pushed you away like this, not anymore. He always invited you along when he veered away from the group to hunt. He kept you company on watch sometimes. The last time he spoke to you so harshly must have been... well, the day you met.

You swallow the lump in your throat, producing the fork from your pocket.

"You forgot this."

He glances at the fork in your outstretched hand, then at you. You holds your gaze for a moment, as if trying to read you. He looks frustrated, angry.

Finally, after a few long seconds, he take the fork from your hand, burying it into the pocket of his dark jeans. You watch as he takes another draw of his cigarette. Thin smoke snakes out of his mouth in a long sigh. You keep waiting for him to say something, but every time you think he's about to start, he doesn't. You watch him as he finishes his entire cigarette. He drops it to the ground, stomping it out with his boot. Still, silence.

It occurs to you that pretending as if the incident never happened was not going to work. Neither you nor Daryl were fake enough to carry on business as usual.

"Ok, let's cut the shit, right?" you blurt out, letting your own back fall against the wall next to Daryl.

Daryl's eyes dart to you, squinted, cautious. You can palpably see his nervousness. The slight sheen of sweat appearing on his brow, despite the cool air and his lack of sleeves. The tiny movement in his face as he chews on the inside of his lip, waiting for your next words. Your own nerves are bubbling over, too. You don't really know how to bring it up, but you know that you can't go on with this tension between you and your best friend.

"I overheard something private," you say clearly, letting the rush of adrenaline give you courage. "I'm sorry. Can we drop it, though? I know it didn't mean shit, so let's not make it into shit. I can't stand... whatever, this is."

Your heart pounds. Daryl is silent. God, just say something. Your eyes have been adjusting to the dark, and you can now make out more of his features. You hold his eyes bravely, and... wait -- Is Daryl blushing? In all your time together, you had never seen it before: the slight rosiness filling his cheeks, rising all the way up to the tips of his ears, which peek out from his messy brown locks. Despite the betrayal of blush, the rest of his face is stoic. Perfectly still, holding his emotions in check.

Finally, he breaks his eyes away, looking down at his feet.

"I didn't want you to hear that," Daryl whispers.

His voice is barely audible -- so soft, so ashamed.

"No, I shouldn't have been sneaking around down there," you assure him, taking a step closer. "My fault. I just wanted to leave those --"

"I'm s' sorry," he blurts out, cutting you off.

His remark is punctuated with a crack in his voice. You feel your eyebrows jump in surprise. Daryl shouldn't be the one apologizing.

"Why are you sorry?"

He's looking in your eyes again, but his gaze is different this time. He looks... small. He still has that hardness in jaw -- that every-present show of toughness. But, in this moment, Daryl truly looks ashamed, and you feel so terrible for this entire thing.

"I ain't got no right to be thinkin' about you like that," he finally breathes out, shakily.

You're taken aback. Not in a million years, did you think that's what he was going to say. You had assumed that Daryl calling out your name was just a strange exclamation in the heat of the moment. We all say and do weird things when we're horny. Did he really... actually... think about you like that?

"Daryl. I don't... I don't get it."

Suddenly, his demeanor changes to frustration. Upset at having to explain himself, upset at this embarrassment -- upset at you.

"Stop playin' dumb," he retorts angrily, taking a few steps away from you.

"I'm not playing dumb," you plead.

"Ya' are. Ya' know what I mean."

Daryl's voice is angry now, growing louder.

"Shh," you tell him desperately. "People are sleeping. Come back!"

He's turned his back to you, starting to storm away in the opposite direction. You jog after him. You grab his upper arm in an attempt to make him stay. Before you can process it, Daryl spins around, snatching your wrist away from him. He hold you there, towering over you, roughly holding your arm.

For a moment, it's just the sound of breath. The two of you, shakily inhaling and exhaling, air thick with emotions unspoken. Your heart is pounding in your ears, making you lightheaded. Daryl's face, just inches from yours, is contorted into an emotion you can't easily pin down. Anger, fear, and shame -- all wrapped up into one.

"I ain't Spencer," he growls, causing confusion to splay across your brow. He voice is sharp as a knife, but so quiet that you have to crane your neck closer. You forget the rest of the world exists.

"Spencer?"

"Yeah. I been seeing how he looks at ya'. Pearly whites, trust fund son-of-a-bitch, Spencer. And I saw ya' two together this mornin'."

You remember the encounter this morning at the pantry. How Daryl brushed right by you, as if you didn't exist to him. You had no idea he had even noticed who you were with.

"And I ain't Rick, neither," he continues before you can respond. "I ain't no leader. Don't know nothin' about politics, or being a neighbor."

What is Daryl trying to say? He's still gripping your wrist so tightly, your fingers are starting to go pale. But you barely feel it. All you feel is his warm breath on your face and the weight of his words.

"Spencer and I are not a thing," you tell him firmly. "No chance in hell for that. And I don't know why you're talking about Rick."

It seems like Daryl suddenly remembers his grip on your wrist. He quickly lets go and returns his arm to his side, but he remains a breath away from you.

"Point is," he retorts, his voice less harsh. "I ain't got no right to be wantin' you like that."

His last sentence sends your mind whirling. He wants me. He wants to fuck me? Or he wants to be with me? How -- why would he want me?

Shit. You silently curse yourself when you realize the slight wetness that has formed in your underwear. You want to deny it, but you're turned on by Daryl confession. All the times you had lustfully snuck a glance at his broad, muscular shoulders as he held his crossbow at full draw. The times you had watched him brush sweaty hair out of his eyes, exhausted from taking down a group of walkers, or hauling a deer back to camp. You hated how his roughness spurred on these occasional fleeting thoughts -- you hated it because it was Daryl. This man means so much to you. He's grown so special to you that you know you could never bear to lose him. And so, you never let these thoughts linger for more than a brief second. But now, with Daryl standing before you, confessing his deepest, darkest desires, you feel yourself teetering helplessly on the edge.

You hold his eyes, the two of you locked together like a stand-off. Daryl takes a deep, shaky breath. The traces of anger from minutes ago have melted away, leaving a softness behind: a resignation to the fact that he had spoken his secret aloud. And there was no taking it back. And suddenly, you watch his eyes flicker down to your lips, and back up -- so subtle, you'd miss it if you blinked.

That. That pushes you over the edge.

Like a slingshot, you press forward, quickly pressing your lips to Daryl's. You're both shocked at first. You, at your boldness, and he, at the fact that you didn't run away in disgust. His lips are warm against yours, steady, and you melt further into him, letting your eyes fall shut.

A moment later, you feel a large hand come up to your shoulder. Your heart flutters, as Daryl’s palm radiates warmth into you. His touch is delicate, as if he’s still unsure this is really happening.

The kiss is slow, but chaste. You gently pull back, still close enough to feel the heat from his mouth.

“You’re wrong,” you whisper into him. A sudden wave of sadness coming over you. “You’re the best man I know. You deserve whoever you want.”

You hear Daryl sharply inhale, wavering.

“Well, I want you,” he ghosts back, caution still laced with his tone.

His voice sounds as if it’s about to break. He kisses you again, pressing himself to you as if his life depends on it. You let him kiss you, the hand on your shoulder beginning to hold you more firmly. You raise your hands to his neck, and then the back of his head, tangling your fingers gently in his hair.

You’re heart is still pounding relentlessly in your chest, but you let yourself feel it. How long has he wanted me? Is this wrong? What if we're seen out here? Each thought buried by the next, cascading, until you decide it's best not to think at all. This is your first kiss since... before. Arousal pools in your stomach, making you grip at him hungrily.

You grab a handful of his hair, and a tiny moan escapes Daryl's lips. He pulls back, surprised at his own lack of control.

"They can't see us from here, can they?" you ask when your lips separate.

You're both breathily heavily, nearly panting, bodies pressed together. If anyone saw you two... Well, who knows what they would think?

"I dunno," replies Daryl quietly, but his mind is elsewhere. Concern about public appearance seems to be the last thing on his mind as he continues to stare down at you with half-lidded eyes.

He looks so damn sexy. Rough, and frantic, and lust-ridden. His features are part-illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, highlighting a delicate sheen of spit coats his bottom lip where your mouth had just been.

"Let's go back to the house," you whisper, suggestively.

Daryl had never agreed to something so fast.

[chokeholds-illegal]

Fantasy (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Era: Season 5 -- The group is new to Alexandria

Summary: Since arriving in Alexandria, everyone is trying to adjust. One morning, when you come home from a hunt before dawn, you accidentally overhear your best friend and housemate, Daryl, indulging himself. What happens when you discover his favorite fantasy is... you?

Warnings: smut (minors, DNI!), mentions of typical TWD gore and violence

[angst, romance, SMUT -- not a huge amount this chapter, but it heats up from here.]

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter 2: here

Chapter 3: here

Alexandria, despite being the safest, most comforting place you could have wished for in this world, suffocated you at times. After being on the run for so long — constantly looking over your shoulder, having to scavenge for every meal — “normalcy” felt bizarre. It felt unnerving, strange, and ironically, hostile.

Once an outdoor cat, always an outdoor cat.

That’s why you liked being out there. Whenever you could, you volunteered to go on runs, even if it was by yourself. Deanna even gave you the job of “First Ranger of Alexandria,” in charge of all excursions beyond the town walls. It was different than what Aaron and Daryl did; you weren’t supposed to recruit. Just retrieve and explore, then return.

That morning, you had been out hunting, long before the sunrise. Every good hunter knows that deer like to move in darkness, especially later in the season. Your journey into the woods in the wee hours of the morning paid off — you had shot down a decent-sized buck. Clean, one shot, through the heart.

You had also found two undamaged crossbow bolts in a pile of garbage. You had tucked them into your backpack, knowing that a certain crossbow-wielding friend was always on the lookout for extra ammo.

You were carrying the field-dressed buck back through Alexandria’s gates just as the sky was starting to show signs of light. The sun still wouldn’t be fully risen for another hour or so. As you pass through the gates, you give Abraham, who’s currently on watch, a friendly “good morning” nod. Your group had only been accepted into Alexandria a short time ago, but you were all trying your damndest to pull your weight. Alexandria is a blessing, but not everyone is fitting in with equal ease.

Daryl, in particular, is having a difficult time. Being a part of the community, exchanging small talk with neighbors, attending welcome parties... it was all foreign to him, even before the world went to shit. He’s a lot like you in that way. You both need your space. You think, maybe, that’s why the two of you got along so easily. Ever since you met back at that camp outside Atlanta, there was a level of comfort between you that you cherished.

After processing your catch in the community kitchen, you start back to the “home” Deanna had designated to you. You, Rick, Carl, and Daryl were assigned the house — with you and Rick on the second floor, Carl in the attic, and Daryl in the basement bedroom. It was a good arrangement. The three of you, and Carl, were thick as thieves; it made sense to be put together.

You quietly enter through the front door, mindful to keep the noise down. Your three housemates are undoubtably still fast asleep at this hour. After setting your things down on the kitchen table and removing your jacket, you decide to go downstairs and leave the crossbow bolts outside Daryl’s door. You wanted to get a few minutes of sleep in before breakfast and didn’t want to miss Daryl, in case he headed out early.

Gingerly, you tiptoe down the wooden stairs. When you reach the basement, Daryl’s bedroom door is closed per usual. You slowly bend down and place the arrows outside the door.

You’re just about to turn around and head back upstairs when you hear an unusual sound from the bedroom. You freeze. Did I wake him?

After a few moments of silence, another sound, slightly louder this time, comes from behind the door. It was a quiet moan. For a moment, you consider knocking on Daryl’s door. What if he was in pain? Or having a nightmare?

Another moan. You feel your breath hitch in your throat. The sound was clearly Daryl, and this time, you were sure it wasn’t a moan of pain. The moan was subdued, almost a whimper. It sounded strained, yet beckoning.

Daryl was masturbating.

You purse your lips and hold your breath. Fuck, fuck. Of course, Daryl jacks off; everyone does. You guess you just never pictured Daryl relieving himself like this — he was always so steely, so steadfast. And on top of that, in all the time you’ve known him, he never seemed interested in anyone in that way, man or woman. Daryl as a sexual creature just seemed... utterly private.

More moans begin to penetrate the door, punctuated with heavy exhales. You know you should quietly sneak away — but what if he hears you? He’ll know you’ve been listening. And besides that, you hate to admit it, but there’s a part of you beginning to fill with intrigue. Is he naked in there? Is he lying above or below the sheets? Which hand does he stroke his...

Fuck. You silently scold yourself for letting your mind wander to such dirty and invasive places. This is Daryl Dixon for crying out loud. He’s one of your dearest friends; one of the people you cherish most in this devilish world.

Daryl’s noises of pleasure are starting to grow louder, more frantic. You should get away now; it’s time to get out of—

“[Y/N]... mmmph...please...”

You can’t believe what you just heard. Your ears must be deceiving you. Did Daryl really just moan your name?

Before you can process the utterance, it comes again: your name, gasped out in Daryl’s soft southern drawl. It comes buried within a litany of groans and curses. The realization dawns on you.

Daryl is touching himself to you.

You feel the blood drain out of your face. This is wrong. You shouldn’t be hearing this. You start moving towards the stairs, praying your steps don’t make a single sound.

One stair... two stairs... creeeaaaakkkkk.

Fuck.

Your breathing stops. There’s silence from Daryl’s door. Shit, shit, shit.

Panic rises up. He heard you. He totally heard you. You’re fucked.

More silence.

In a wave of frantic fear, you sprint as quickly and quietly up the rest of the stairs, fleeing the scene as swiftly as your legs will take you. You don’t stop until you reach your room on the second floor and shut the door behind you. You lean with your back against the door, still cursing yourself over and over in your head.

Shit! The arrows.

You forgot that you had left them right outside his door. Daryl knew you’d be on a run early this morning. It’ll take him all of two seconds to realize that you’re the one who left them there, and so you must have been the one on the stairs.

You rub your eyes and then push your palms into your hair. You fucked up bad. Somehow, in an attempt to do a nice gesture, you had supremely screwed it all up. Frustrated, you hastily strip off your hunting pants and shirt, leaving you in your underwear. You climb into bed and bury yourself beneath the covers.

Can I just disappear?

You try to think of other things, but your mind is stuck on Daryl. Why was he saying — moaning — my name? Does he like me? Or am i just the first person he could think of to fill his fantasy? You can’t get the sound of his whimpers out of your head. Those noises... you never expected him to sound so... needy.

After years of living in this new world, everyone was a bit deprived; you knew that all too well. But the desperation in Daryl’s moans was jarring, coming for someone who you’ve always seen as so independent, so needless, so firm. And on top of that, his desperation was folded in with... you.

Without fully realizing, a hand had snaked down to your underwear. Your middle finger draws a soft line up the length of your core. To your surprise, you’re dripping with arousal, soaking a warm, wet spot in your underwear.

You quickly pull your hand back up, almost shocked by your body’s own reaction. Why was this experience having this effect on you? You should be mortified, anxious, not turned on.

In reality, you were all three. How were you going to face Daryl today? You glance up from out the bed, out the window. The sun is just beginning to show a sliver of itself over the horizon, dashing the sky in the new blue and pink colors of the day. Should you just avoid him at all costs? But fuck, you live in the same house for Christ’s sake. How long could that last?

You melt down further into the bed and shut your eyes. You will yourself to rest, but of course, it doesn’t come.

At breakfast later that morning, you should have been dead tired, not having slept a wink since nearly 3:30am. But you were wired.

“Hey, [Y/N]!” Spencer calls out to you when he sees you enter the pantry garage.

Deanna’s son was chipper as ever, dressed in that typical “good-boy-master’s-degree” way we always dresses. Today is a clean sweater with slacks.

“Mornin’, Spencer,” you reply with a smile.

You step into the queue behind some others, waiting your turn to get your breakfast rations from Olivia. Spencer steps up next to you.

“Saw that deer you brought back this morning. You’re gonna be getting a lot of pats on the back today,” he remarks. “Everyone’s been dying for another round of that stew.”

You chuckle and give him a kind smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Your eyes are scanning the room, looking over your shoulder... waiting for Daryl to show up.

“Seriously, you’ll have to teach me how to hunt sometime,” Spencer continues. “You’re a master.”

Ever since your group arrived at Alexandria, you knew Spencer had a thing for you. The tall, handsome man always had his eye on you. He was also trying to bolster your ego and find excuses for one-on-one time. It’s not that it annoys you; he’s undeniably good-looking, not to mention charming. He’s just not your type, though.

“Wanna come have breakfast with me?” Spencer asks sweetly.

Your brain searches for an excuse. He had given you the same proposal not a week ago, and you couldn’t reject him again.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you reply coolly. “Your place?”

After exchanging pleasantries with Olivia and loading the morning’s ration of bread and eggs into your small side-bag. You stride towards the exit with Spencer close at your side.

Little did you know, that at that moment, Daryl was entering the pantry from the opposite direction. You nearly knock right into him as you exit the door.

“Whoa, there,” the long-haired man growls in that ever-present pseudo-annoyed drawl.

Your heart jumps into your throat.

“Sorry, Daryl!” you reply with a surprised yelp.

But Daryl is already past you, making his way into the building. He gives you a gruff of acknowledgment but nothing else.

Ok...

“What’s up with him today?” Spencer asks you with raised eyebrows once Daryl is out of earshot. “You two get into it or something?”

“No, no,” you quickly say, trying you best to seem unshaken. “He’s just like that sometimes. He doesn’t sleep well.”

It wasn’t a lie. Daryl was often abrasive, cold, and seemingly unfriendly to the untrained eye. But he was never that way towards you, not anymore. You bite the inside of your cheek nervously.

Was this it? Did this morning’s unfortunate run-in ruin yours and Daryl’s relationship? You prayed to whatever gods are above: Please. Don’t let this be happening.

Before you turn away and continue walking alongside Spencer, you dare a last backwards glance. Through the door window, you make out Daryl’s shape standing in front of the counter, leather vest draped over broad, strong shoulder. His trusty crossbow is slung over his back. And... the two new bolts in his quiver.

The rest of the day goes by quickly. After breakfast with Spencer, where nothing of any importance was discussed, you manage to find time for a quick nap. Afternoon watch with Rosita went off without a hitch. Your relief comes to take over just as the sun is starting to slide down to the horizon.

Walking back towards your house at the end of the street, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to Daryl. If you were being honest, your mind hadn’t really left him all day. You couldn’t shake the way he had shouldered past you outside the pantry, barely looking up out from his shaggy bangs. The way he barely acknowledged you. You slouch, and not from the weight of your gun.

When you enter the front door, you’re greeted with the thick aroma of garlic and tomato. Saliva immediately flows into your mouth.

“Just in time!” Rick calls out happily.

“What’s this?” you ask with a chuckle, setting your things down on the couch. “Did you — Rick Grimes — cook dinner?”

He rolls his eyes and laughs.

“Carl helped.”

“Hey!” the boy exclaims in mock-astonishment. “I did most of it, actually.”

You grin widely, approaching the table. You suddenly purse your lips when you notice Daryl, also sitting at the table. He hasn’t said a word to you. Hell, he’s not even looking up from the table. A closer glance reveals that Daryl seems to be busy studying a small topographical map.

“Hey, what’s that?” you ask, sitting down in the chair beside Daryl.

You decide that the best course of action is to pretend like nothing was wrong. Fake it ‘til you make you, as they say.

“Map,” replies Daryl shortly.

“Okay,” you poke lightly, letting an easy grin come to your lips. Everything is normal. Fake it until you make it. “What, where, why?”

“Aaron got it. It’s that town up by Sector 8. Wan’ go check it out. Nex’ week, maybe.”

At this point, it appears that even Rick has noticed the unusual tension in the air. Daryl’s barely looked up from the paper in front of him since you entered the house. Rick attempts to move the attention elsewhere.

“Ok, here we go, folks,” he announces, starting to deposit large servings of red sauce-covered noodles onto the plates. “Spaghetti dinner, gourmet-style, a la Rick and Carl Grimes.”

"Carl and Rick Grimes," Carl corrects him which a mischievous grin, seemingly unaware of the weirdness in the room. You're thankful for his childlike innocence.

Daryl suddenly stands up, his chair pushing backward with a jarring squeak.

"Takin' mine t'go," he mumbles out, picking up his plate in one hand. "Need some fresh air. Been inside all day."

"Daryl --," Rick begins in protest.

"Thanks for cookin," he says, cutting off Rick.

You watch blankly as Daryl heads for the front door. He gives Carl a kind smile, and then, he's gone.

"What the hell was that?" Rick asks once the door slams shut, talking to no one in particular.

You bite your bottom lip, not knowing what to do. You feel like shit. It's all shit.

"I dunno," you lie.

You shoot Carl an apologetic look, noticing how his face has fallen at the archer's sudden departure.

"[Y/N], do you think, uh," Rick says, looking in to your eyes. "You wanna go check on him?"

That familiar dry lump starts forming in your throat. You gaze back at Rick's pleading eyes. You know that Rick's been worried about Daryl since you all arrived at Alexandria. Deanna and the other residents were just starting to cease their wary glances at the group as you walked down the street. Things were still uneasy -- the group was doing all they could to earn their keep, but they were still strangers. People were unsure about Daryl most of all. His wild demeanor, reluctance to come indoors, and rough exterior made him unusual. One loose cannon, any incident and...

"Why me?"

"He listens to you, [Y/N]," Rick replies, pleads. "Ya' know he does."

You sigh and scrunch up your nose in defeat. Fuck.

[chokeholds-illegal]

Make Me a Deal

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Era: Season 3 -- Prison

Summary: After clearing the prison, the group finally has what they wanted: beds to sleep in, fences to keep the walkers out. But not everybody is convinced. In the dead of night -- when only two souls are still wide-awake -- a watch tower rendezvous leads to a confession.

[AKA soft!Daryl is shy and admits his feelings for you.]

Warnings: mentions of typical TWD gore and violence

fluff/romance

Word Count: 2k

"Sleep."

You couldn't believe it.

"Sleep," Rick repeats.

It felt like centuries since the last time you dared drift off to slumber without fear of the dead creeping up on camp in the dark. There was always a rustle in the trees, a shadow in the corner of your eye. But now, Rick, who had become like family, was telling you to drink your fill of rest.

"Are you sure?" you ask, hesitantly taking a step towards the cot in the corner of the cell. "I mean, I can take first watch."

You and the group had cleared the courtyard and cellblock earlier that day. For the first time since the beginning, you had fences surrounding you -- tall ones. To the best of everyone's knowledge, this section of the prison was secure. It felt bizarre.

"Nah," Rick replies before sending you a reassuring half-smile. "You need to sleep. The fences will hold. And besides, Daryl already laid claim to the guard tower."

You sigh and plop down on the mattress. It's thin, and awful, and horridly springy. But it's the most inviting thing in the universe right now. Daryl Dixon -- of course he claimed first watch already. You swear, that man sleeps even less than you. Ever since the day you met him, back at that little quarry outside Atlanta, he was always the martyr. He didn't like to show it, but it was obvious: Always the one who jumped at the opportunity to protect. Always the one who didn't need the extra serving of whatever dinner your group had scrounged together -- "Nah, I'll catch something to eat tomorrow morning." Always the one who didn't need a blanket -- "I ain't no pussy. Ain't even cold."

Daryl Dixon is a damn good man.

That night, you seem to toss and turn endlessly despite knowing that the prison is clear. The slightest sound -- probably just Carl or one of the others shifting in their sleep -- causes your eyes to snap open, and your heart rate to spike. Your cell feels too small, too strange. And after what must be a few hours of honest effort, you decide that sleep won't be coming tonight.

Maybe, Daryl wants someone to take over the watch tower. You silently ease yourself out of the cot and slip out past the half-open cell door. The cell block is quiet, and moonlight scatters in from the upper windows, bathing the concrete floors in pale blue. You make your way outside and quietly pad across the courtyard. A gentle breeze billows through the yellowed, drying grass, sighing a hushed whisper in the nighttime air.

If you squint, you can make out a few shifting figures in the distance outside the fence -- walkers mulling about, passing through the forest unaware of the group's presence in the prison. But even with them out there, you have to admit that the scene is damn peaceful.

You reach the base of the guard tower and start to climb the stairs. When you reach the top, you gently push the door open, not wanting to startle Daryl. Although, you're sure he was already aware you were there. His senses are too keen not to notice the soft footsteps ascending the stairs.

"Whatcha doin' here?" Daryl remarks as you gently close the heavy door behind you.

He's sitting on the wooden sill, over looking the courtyard. His back is leaned against a support beam, and he appears to be fiddling with the string of his crossbow.

"Need someone to take over?" you ask in response.

"Nah, I'm good," the dark-haired man answers in a low, gravelly voice. "Can't sleep anyways."

You chuckle under your breath, making your way over to the sill where Daryl is perched.

"Yeah, me neither."

Daryl reaches in the pocket of his worn jeans, producing a bruised box of Marlboro cigarettes. He offers it to you, and you take it from his outstretched hand.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, taking deep draws of your cigarettes and breathing out sift snakes of smoke. Just two orange glowing dots in the dark. There had always been a strange comfort with you and Daryl. Despite the innumerable differences between you, there was something special that made it so damn easy for you to talk to him. Maybe it's the way his eyes soften when he's listening to you speak. Or maybe it's the way he always treats you as an equal.

But for Daryl, it was more. He tried his best not to show it, but there was something about you that tugged at him relentlessly. He tried to push it down at first. It's bizarre feeling for him, and he finds himself grappling, trying to decide what you are to him. What he can allow himself to feel. Yeah, you were pretty — he’d admit that much to himself. But that’s where it had to stop, or so his inner voice scolds him. There was no way in hell you felt the same way about him. Despite your kindness towards him, there was so way you saw him as anything more than a loudmouth redneck.

Right?

"Weird, isn't it?" you remark, snapping Daryl from his thoughts.

He gives you a confused stare.

"I mean, having this place. It feels surreal," you elaborate. "Do you think the fences will really hold?"

"They seem to have been doing just fine so far," Daryl replies, reassuring you. Despite his words, he feels a similar skepticism -- this place is surely too good to be true.

"Rick was talking about planting some seeds over there," you say, pointing to the far left corner of the courtyard. "It could be the start of something. And for the baby... it could be good."

You and Lori had a strange relationship from the start, and Daryl knew that. This made it all the more apparent to him that you were desperately hoping for this place to be all it seems on the surface.

He was hoping too. Since the start of the end, everything was run, run, run. Go, and don't look back. He wasn't going to admit it, but he's exhausted. To just settle down for a bit, to be able to close his eyes and rest... it would be heaven. Maybe they could make something here. And then maybe -- just maybe -- there would be time to start sorting out his strange and foreign emotions surrounding you.

"Never thought I'd be glad to be in prison," you jest, letting a chuckle escape your lips.

A pang of soreness shoots through your shoulder muscle. Maybe, you pulled it earlier today dragging all those walker bodies out of the courtyard. Or, it could have been tense from holding that heavy gun nearly all day. You rub at it and let out a soft groan.

Before you know it, Daryl is on his feet.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning you to come closer.

You let him come up behind you, your arms dropping to your sides. You feel his large, warm hands connect with your upper back. He kneads at the muscles there, firmly but hesitantly. Suddenly, your heart is racing.

Daryl’s is, too. He wonders where in the world he found the courage to offer you a massage — it’s as if the action came first and the thought lagged behind. He feels the soft fabric of your tanktop... He allows his hands to roam a bit further, brushing against your bare shoulder...

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Sorry, my hands pro’ly don’t feel very nice,” he blurts out, quickly snatching his hands away from you. He glances down at his rough, calloused fingers and starts to feel embarrassment rising up.

You turn around to face the man, and the sight before you nearly melts your heart. A slight blush of red has made it’s way to his cheekbones, with a matching hue creeping up to the tips of his ears. Daryl Dixon... blushing?

Even in the darkness of night, you can see him quietly chewing at the inside of his lower lip, the way he does when he’s nervous. Something about seeing such a muscular, hulking man reduced to a blushing mess stirs deep emotions inside you.

“Actually, your hands feel quite nice,” you reply sweetly, giving him a shy smile.

The moment that follows seems to last an eternity. Daryl’s eyes are locked on yours, searching. His hair is getting long; a few unruly bangs falling into his face. Still, his blush is apparent.

In that moment, something swells inside you. A thought passes into your mind, taking you by surprise.

God, I wish he would kiss me.

A million little “what ifs” whizz through.

What would his lips feel like? What would he taste like? Would he bring those rough hands to my face and hold my cheek? Would he press his body to mine...

“Can I touch ya' more?” Daryl suddenly asks.

The words come out barely louder than a whisper, a soft rasp. You couldn’t have heard him correctly, right? You feel your heart pound harder still.

“Hmm?”

You’re sure you must be blushing now, too. Did Daryl Dixon really just say that?

At first, he doesn't reply, he just keeps those gorgeous, mysterious eyes steadfast. You swear, in that moment, you feel electricity in the air.

“Sorry," he finally mumbles out. His eyes fall to the floor in utter embarrassment. He silently wishes that, just once, he could rewind time. "I dunno why I said that."

He takes a step towards the door. Damn it. You feel suddenly stupid for not saying anything in response.

"No, no!" you blurt out, stepping to the left to block his leaving. You take a deep breath and slowly let it go. Courage, I need you now. "I just... Daryl... I just want to make sure I'm not reading this wrong. I haven't even had a chance to think about anything beyond survival for so long, it feels like. But I... I just want to be around you all the time. But I don't want to ruin us --"

"You ain't readin' it wrong."

His words bring your rambles to a full halt.

He likes me.

Daryl's hair has fallen into his eyes, obscuring his face. But you can tell by the tone of his words that he's sincere. He's also scared. You take a gingerly step forward, approaching him closer. Slowly, you lift a shaky hand to his face. He doesn't flinch away, so you gently brush a loose strand of hair from his eyes. You move slow; Daryl's always felt like a wild bird to you. If you move too fast, too sudden, he'll get spooked and fly away.

And you want him to stay.

"I want you, too," you whisper, causing his eyes to flutter up and meet yours.

You can actually hear his shaky exhale -- the breath he had been holding. A wave of relief washes over his features.

"Then, make me a deal, [Y/N]," Daryl says quietly, his voice steadier than moments ago. "If these fences hold. When Rick starts tha' garden of his... When that baby's born... healthy... When we can sleep at nigh' without jumpin' at every sound. Give me a chance."

His words are so sweet, so intimate, so... Daryl. Your heart flutters. Your feel so privileged to be a part of this secret exchange in the dark, this secret promise. Daryl is so close that you can feel his breath on your face. He looks so handsome in the moonlight; the soft glow illuminating his nose, his jaw. In that moment, you'd promise him anything.

"Deal."

[chokeholds-illegal]

Just Between Us

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Era: Season 4 -- after the Prison's fall

Summary: You're not sure if anyone else made it out. All you know is that the Prison is gone, and you and Daryl have to keep moving. You hunker down for the night in an abandoned cabin -- and more than just moonshine pours out.

[This story is based on the Episode 'Still' (S5E12) with the reader taking on a perspective similar to Beth's. The reader and Daryl are close friends who have been in a group together since the beginning of the outbreak. Tensions are high after the fall of the Prison, and deeper emotions make their way to the surface.]

Warning: angst, typical TWD gore and violence, tensions between characters.

fluff/angst

Word Count: 1.6k

You play it back, again and again, until your brain throbs.

The way Rick's voice wavered trying to reason with the Governor. The glint off the katana's blade in the moments before it collided with Hershel's neck. The gunfire. The screaming of rubber on pavement as the getaway bus barreled away. And finally, Daryl's voice -- his calloused hand grabbing your bicep -- "We gotta go."

Even as you propel your knife down into the temple of a walker, you continue to replay the events of last week in your mind. Or was it only a few days ago? Or had it been longer?

It all happened so fast. One moment, the prison was safe. People were fed, happy; Carol was even doing story time for some of the kids. You had let yourself, for just a moment, believe that maybe, this could be life. But of course, it couldn't last.

You and Daryl had escaped the battle together, fleeing as fast and as far as your legs could carry you. No looking back. Must find safety.

You peer down at the dead walker at your feet for a moment. Dark, tar-colored blood oozes from the side of its head, spilling languidly onto the forest floor. When did it all become so mechanical? When did this become every day? Why couldn't the prison last? Daryl's voice snaps you out of your momentary trace.

"[Y/N]! C'mon!"

You hear another walker growl nearby, likely drawn by the sound of the brief struggle. You take off, running after the older man. You follow him close behind, disappearing to the trees.

It seems like all you've done since the prison was run. One foot in front of the other. There had been more than once in the past few days when you and Daryl had encountered a horde too big to fight, and you had to flee -- running so hard and long that you both collapsed from sheer exhaustion. Chests heaving, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes, cheeks so hot and red that you thought you might cook from the inside out. Where were you even going? There was no plan anymore. Just keep moving and search for signs of the others along the way.

It was the next day, in the sweltering midday heat when you spotted the small cabin.

"Daryl, look. Look over there," you exclaim, pointing through the trees towards the well-hidden dwelling.

Without another word, the two of you begin heading towards the cabin. After thoroughly checking the interior for any walkers or living, you let out a sigh of relief.

"Nothing here," Daryl says, wiping a sweat-soaked lock of hair out of his eyes. "But at least it's some shade from the sun."

You curiously pick up a glass mason jar from the closet floor. After a quick sniff, you emerge back into the main room, holding it up for Daryl to see.

"Not entirely nothing. Moonshine," you remark with a chuckle.

You quickly unscrew the lid and take a swig. You scrunch your nose up from the burn, but oh boy, does it feel good to have a drink. Daryl gives you a serious look before placing his crossbow down on the carpet. He plops himself down into the dirty recliner chair on the opposite side of the room.

"Don't," he growls in that ever-annoyed tone. "Could be walkers jus' waitin' nearby."

You roll your eyes dramatically.

"Let 'em come," you retort, exasperated with his distrust in you.

Suddenly, your mind starts playing that reel again. The violence, the destruction. The end of the Prison. It hits you like a tsunami. Let them come. Who actually gives a shit? Why should it matter? The two of you have no direction, you friends are all probably dead, Hershel is dead.

You take another gulp from the mason jar.

"[Y/N], I said don't!" Daryl yells, jumping up from the recliner. The speed with which he crosses the room takes you by surprise. He snatches the jar from your hand and glares down at you with a ferocity he's never directed at you before. Anger bubbles up inside you.

Maybe it was the horrid events you'd been through the past week, or maybe it was hunger, exhaustion. Whatever it was, something made you snap inside. Before you know what you're doing, you're shoving Daryl away, both hands roughly colliding with his chest. He stumbles backwards, shocked. You storm past him, heading for the door.

"What the fuck!" he yells. He grabs your arm, spinning you back around before you make it a step further. "What the hell 'ya think you're doing?"

His grip on your upper arm is like a vice. Even though you've known Daryl for years now, and he's grown to be your closest friend, his strength always takes you by surprise. You feel a shimmer of fear flutter in your heart. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced by red-hot frustration.

"Let me go, Daryl," you hiss at him. The two of you are standing in the middle of the room, locked in a fiery standoff.

"Jus' like that, huh?" he growls at you, not letting go of your arm. "A few people die, and you jus' give up? Right? You give up and decide you jus' wanna lie down and get eaten by walkers?"

His voice grows louder with every word until he's basically screaming.

"'A few people?' Are you kidding me, Dixon?" you scream back, matching his volume. "Those 'people' were our family! You walk around acting like you don't give two shits, and it's pathetic. You care. And you're too much of a coward to show it!"

"Don't talk to me 'bout being a coward!"

Your breath hitches in your throat. Daryl must have felt the change in your body, because he lets go of your arm. His hand falls back to his side, and a moment later, his gaze falls to the floor. He turns away from you.

"I shoulda' kept looking," Daryl suddenly sobs out. "Maybe if I hadn't stopped looking for the Governor... maybe..."

You've never felt anger melt out of your heart so fast. Daryl Dixon -- ever since the very first day you met him, back at that makeshift camp by the quarry outside of Atlanta -- he was always trying to protect everyone. He cares. Immensely. And by no means was he ever a coward, not even once.

You two shouldn't be fighting. After all, now, it was just you and Daryl against the world.

You rush forward, embracing Daryl. You wrap your arms around his strong back, holding him tightly to your chest. He flinches at first, but he doesn't fight you. Instead, more sobs wrack his frame, and he let you hold him.

Later that night, you find yourselves sitting by the entrance, letting the warm summer night air blow on your faces. Crickets chirp loudly all around the cabin, and the white-glow of the moon shines down. Daryl's features are illuminated in the soft moonlight, and you study him from where you sit opposite. He idly plays with the blade of his dagger, twisting it into the wooden beam by his leg.

"Sorry I yelled," he says quietly, not making eye contact with you.

"Me too," you reply softly. "I just don't know what to do."

The statement was vague, but somehow Daryl knew exactly what you meant. About all of it.

There was a long, comfortable silence as you gazed out into the dark woods while Daryl continued to prod at the wood beam.

"Back before all of this... I didn't do anythin'," your friend suddenly remarks. You look over, curious, and he's finally looking you in the eyes. "I just did whatever Merle said we'd be doin' that day. I was nothing. Nobody. Just an redneck asshole with an even bigger asshole for a brother."

Daryl looks down at his lap, shame playing on the corners of his mouth. You don't reply; you just continue to study him thoughtfully. Everyone knew that Daryl didn't talk about feelings. But something about the connection you two have always made him feel inexplicably safe. You make him feel safe.

"But you already knew that, right?" he continues when you don't respond. "That why you're the only person who has never asked what what I did before. Righ'? Because you already knew."

"I never asked you because it doesn't matter," you reply firmly. His gaze rises back to your at your words. His brows are slightly bunched together in a show of confusion.

"The old world," you start. "is gone. That world, where people cared about the stupid Ivy League college you went to, or how many Facebook friends you have, or how fancy your new car is... I don't think it's ever coming back."

Daryl looks at you intently. There's something soft in his eyes. You feel a surge of gratitude, knowing that he's trust you enough to show his vulnerability. Where other people only saw a stone wall, you got to see a lake: a shimmering pool of memories and fears and desires that make up Daryl Dixon.

"And in this new world, none of that shit matters," you continue. "Daryl, I think you were made for this world. You're gonna be the last man standing."

You swear you see a glimmer of wetness in his eyes before he breaks his gaze away.

"Nah," he retorts with a soft chuckle. "That's gon' be you."

You snort with laughter at his comment.

"Yeah, right, Daryl Dixon. Yeah, right."

Maybe, if I have you by my side.