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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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hiii! not sure if your requests are open, if so then can you do a TWD Daryl x Walker male reader?

Like Reader followed Daryl & the group & always pops out time to time & Daryl goes to hunt but sees him just watching the walkers eating someone & Daryl sees him making an expiration of descust shocking Dayrl cuz Reader is a walker? Have a great day & take care off uself ^^

Dead Man Walking - Daryl Dixon X Male (Walker) Reader

I had a lot in mind for this request, so I decided to break it into multiple parts/chapters!! <33 If this series gets popular enough, I will post an extended version on AO3. If you have any questions on how the reader’s infection works, don’t be afraid to ask politely! Xoxo

The romance with Daryl will most likely start next chapter! 🫠

Warnings: Blood, violence, implied cheating (Shane + Lori)

Word Count: 1.8K

Your life from before the outbreak didn’t matter anymore, though it wasn’t like you remembered very much of it. Humanity’s civilization had crumbled within a few mere hours, and you had seen the worst of it.

At first, you wandered the streets of the city with plenty of others in your same predicament. That life was lonely, and your comrades never seemed to be good conversationalists. As bad as that was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame them. Your mouth felt uncomfortably dry after having no water and a hanging jaw for days. Days! You should be getting paid for this.

That all changed after a man disrupted this slow, daily routine, charging on a horse around the wrong corner. Was this how modern cowboys acted? Seriously, maybe the water deprivation was getting to you after all.

The mob went crazy at the sight, a sudden change from the prior leisurely pace, attacking the poor animal. You could do nothing, even as your stomach lurched, and you decided to focus your attention on the man instead. He was brave to a stupid extent, sliding under a tank as ravenous arms reached for him. The rush forced you forward too quickly as you stumbled over a bag, hitting the ground with a smack.

Everyone else was uncaring, focused solely on the target. You have never seen them from this perspective before, and here, you could see many more bite marks and unhealed injuries. And God, it stunk. You were surprised that anyone could get caught by these people, they could probably smell them before they could even see them! Especially the cowboy under the tank, there, for his age. Would he live, would he die? If you had a partner, you would bet on death.

Fate apparently had different plans for him, as he suddenly popped out of the tank, smacking a nearby infected hard enough to give him room to escape. Damn, you definitely didn’t want to get in his way. He struggled down the sidewalk, shooting to safety in a closed off alleyway. Part of you wanted to curiously follow him, but the smarter end told you to stay.

“C’mon!” A voice shouted from the alley, followed by gunshots.

Your name tag swung as you followed a group of survivors. The man and his savior had joined it after the drama on the street, and you were curious enough to see where they would head next. Apparently, that was a survivor camp, not too far away from the city’s borders. It was here that you learned the man’s name was Rick, and he had family there. It baffled you that he even thought of risking himself like that with a child as young as Carl.

His family seemed to think the same, running towards him and shouting in surprise. From your little spot yards away, you wondered if your family ever made it, and if they missed you just as much.

“Dad!” Carl shouted, and the man himself dropped to his knees to hug him. Was Rick crying?

You felt a little guilty for staring at such a vulnerable moment, so you turned your eyes onto the other members. They were a plenty, diverse group, bigger than any camp you’ve witnessed before. There was one other kid among the survivors, a little girl, other than Carl.

This observation session was quickly shut down, interrupted by a gruff alert, “Walker!”

A what? You?

Whipping your head towards the noise, you came to face a crossbow pointed at your face. Ah.

“I got it.”

Your slow, dead reflexes tried their best as you dived behind a tree, but they weren’t fast enough. An arrow pierced through your shoulder, knocking you off course, and into a bush. Using this as cover, you scampered back farther from the camp, praying that this day wouldn’t be your last.

“Daryl! Just leave it.”

“I ain’t never seen one smart enough to dodge before.”

“Exactly, don’t waste your ammo.”

“Pff, would’a gotten my arrows back anyway.”

The shock from the shot dulled as your head produced a light feeling, making you abandon any thoughts of getting up. You sat there, frozen, as the voices faded away. Well, one of them had been paying attention after all.

You gripped the arrow, ripping it out in a smooth motion, biting down on your shirt. The taste of dirt filled your mouth, and while you’ve done this a number of times, you had never expected to perform it on yourself. Red trickled down your shirt, making the hole even more obvious. This Daryl was a great man, amazing even. If you couldn’t have a bath, or any human interaction, you at least deserved a shirt without stains or holes in it. You didn’t have any spares!

Should you still follow this group? They’re bound to move soon, mobs will start moving out of the city and out among the borders. It was suicide if you did, but you found you didn’t care all that much. The world had ended, you had no family, and nothing to live for. A little fun before you died wouldn’t hurt anyone, you decided.

Your body felt heavy as you pulled yourself into a tree, pressing yourself against the bark and peering through the leaves at the camp. Here, it should be safer. Their threats were all on the ground, only hunting will bring them to look in the trees.

The same gruff voice reached your ears, “And you just left him?”

“We had to, we had no choice.”

“Yeah, well, I’m goin’ back to find him.”

A pause, “I’ll go with you, we can form a rescue group.”

“Fine.”

“I’d like to get my bag back, too; it has supplies.”

Through your cover, you could see Rick choosing different survivors to come with, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved that one of the sharpest was among them. Now that he and his crossbow are gone, albeit temporarily, you feel a weight come off of your shoulders.

Before you could dwindle in that bliss for long, a second group split off, significantly smaller than the other. Just two people, a man and a woman, one you recognized to be the mother of Carl. You shifted, trying to get a better view.

“We can’t do this anymore, Shane,” the woman started, “He’s back now.”

“Rick doesn’t have to know.”

“He’s your best friend, and don’t forget the only reason I did this was because everyone thought he was dead!”

These people were lucky you couldn’t talk.

“Lori—”

“No, we’re ending this.”

Shit. As the woman briskly walked back to the main camp, you could still see Shane hadn’t moved. He grumbled incoherent, resentful sentences, and you felt like a rat. You wanted to scream at Rick about what you just witnessed, snitching the very details of the things his wife and best friend had been doing.

None of the survivors seemed keen on hearing you out, though, so their secret was safe, for now.

You woke up with a start, hissing as you accidentally banged your head on the wood behind you. Sitting up, you heard feet shuffling below you. Not just a pair, however, it must’ve been at least ten. Was it happening already? The rescue group must have led them back to the camp and knew they were coming, surely.

Yelling rang through the camp, snarling and the snapping of teeth almost overpowering it. You could see the fire, shadows of the survivors dancing around it, the moves quick and fearful. An arrow flew, gunshots rang, and you could smell blood. Daryl was back, with the rescue team following close behind.

“What happened here?”

“Walkers, a whole mob of ‘em,” stated a rather stoutly, panting old man.

Rick asked another question, “Is everything alright, was anyone hurt?”

…

“A few, uh, Amy and Ed, Carol’s husband.”

You weren’t familiar with this Amy, but you weren’t fond of Ed. You had caught him trying to hit his wife, a sweet woman, while she was doing the laundry earlier. Really, he deserved this fate, but it must be concerning for Carol. It couldn’t be easy to raise a child alone in this environment.

A silence fell over the group, a moment of mourning for their first losses. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see the fate of the two victims. You knew what would happen, knew it well, as the final shots of the night sounded.

“He was bit,” Daryl growled, and with a click, a gun was pointed at him.

“We don’t kill the living.”

“But you can point a gun at me?”

“You woulda killed him if I didn’t.”

“What’re we gonna do with him, then? Let ‘em turn?”

“We have to leave.”

“There’s nowhere to go, walkers are everywhere!”

“I know a place, it’s a facility in Druid Hills. If anywhere has a cure, it’d be in there.”

Shane made a face, “Are we sure ‘bout this?”

“It’d be protected, a safe place to stay; we can leave in the morning.”

His tone made it sound final, and his best friend looked unconvinced. Daryl gave the bitten man a final, bitter eye, stomping off to brood alone. As much as the two of you were different, you had to agree with him. The man would only suffer and die in a more brutal way, after all. Alas, the only thing you could do was watch.

You watched as the remaining survivors settled into sleep, you watched as Shane grew more agitated, you watched as they packed their things when the sun rose, and you watched them drive away.

A few decided to hang back, to go their own way. Silently, you wished them well with the others, and then you watched them leave too. This is where you deemed it safe, sliding down from the tree to slip back onto the ground. With a stick you snapped off, you started your journey to Druid Hills, the bite mark on your left leg aching.

And who knows? Maybe they could fix this pesky infection.

The signs were still in good shape, and what a blessing they were. You hobbled on, for two days and nights, not catching up to the people of your interest. Halfway through, a familiar face caught your eye, sitting propped under a tree. He gnashed his teeth, eyeing you, clearly not able to get up to reach you. Sighing, you shook your head as you realized what they did.

You raised your stick, finally looking down at him with pity, and drove it through his eye. Blood and body residue dropped off the end as you ripped it back out of the unmoving Jim, and you leaned heavily on it again. No matter how exhausted, you continued on your way, determined to be a normal man again.

End of Chapter One.

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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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Knives, Bikes, and Stitches, Oh My!

Summary: Daryl is working on his motorcycle and you watch. Too bad you can't keep your focus.

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader, 1.3k words

Era: Prison (again) because he's just so yummy...

TW: Mention of blood and stitches. Maybe chronic horniness?

Y'all loved my first story and I hope this one whets your appetites just as well! I have no idea how motorcycles or vehicles of literally any kind work, so please feel free to educate me in the comments.

You put the fear of God in Daryl every time he sees you with a knife.

It’s not that you can’t use one. On the contrary, you’re a force to be reckoned with when you’re fighting. Sometimes all that can be seen of you in a fight is the shine of blood-tinged metal as you slash and stab at whatever is attacking with your twin blades. No, your knives are comfortable and at home in your grip. Maybe too comfortable.

“How many times I got to tell ya to stop eatin’ off yer damn knife?” Daryl’s rough accent sounds out in the empty courtyard. His head is bowed low as he works on his bike, not looking up as he speaks.

I’m perched on the tabletop of one of the prison’s picnic tables eating a can of peaches. Daryl, for some reason unknown to me, had elected to start taking his bike apart and putting it back together and I followed along to watch the process. I don’t know shit about vehicles, much less motorcycles, but I like spending time with the grumpy man.

“It’s fine, I’m not gonna cut myself.” I tell him as I tilt my head down to drag a slice of peach off the blade. Daryl’s eyes don’t move from the work in front of him, but I can feel him watching me. I pull the chunk into my mouth and lick the blade clean of the sticky juice.

“Told ya to cut it out.” I’m eating the canned fruit haphazardly, not paying any attention to how close I am to the edge. Daryl shakes his head. He knows it’s a matter of time before I cut my lip or tongue.

At his repeated command, I roll my eyes but pull away from the edge of my knife. I set the can of peaches down and watch him. His brown hair is getting longer now and it’s sliding down into his eyes, shielding most of his face from my watchful gaze.

“What are you doing, anyways?” I ask. I scoot myself closer to the edge of the table and peer down over his shoulder. He has one of his tools in his hand and some pieces of metal I can’t identify. It is roughly the size of my fist and cylindrical. Whatever it is, it looks important.

Daryl glances over his shoulder, feeling my curious eyes looking down. He huffs and continues his task. “Workin’.”

“No shit. Working on what?” I’m playing with my knife in my fingers, absentmindedly twisting and flipping it. Daryl looks up at me through his hair, squinting one eye against the sunlight. My breath catches in my throat, and I try to play it cool.

“Do ya really want to know or are ya jus’ bored?” He asks in his gruff voice. I don’t answer for a second. He looks so pretty. Get a grip, Y/N, I think to myself.

“Really want to know. Come on, I don’t know anything about bikes. Teach me something.” Daryl squints at me for several seconds longer and I’m convinced he’s going to send me inside to bother someone else, but he slowly starts talking.

“’M cleanin’ the carburetor.” He tilts his hand up to show me the same piece I was looking at earlier. “It’s startin’ to get clogged.”

“Oooookay. What’s that do?”

“It keeps the engine runnin’ smooth, basically. Don’t keep it clear and that can fuck up the bike, make it stall or overheat. Gotta take it apart and clean it every few months.”

Daryl lets me watch over his shoulder as he points out different parts of the carburetor and how to clean them. After a few minutes, his gruff voice starts to fade out and my mind begins to wander.

He just looks so good. His hands are greasy and dirty from all of his work today and his biceps are sweaty from the Georgia heat. He’s wearing one of his simple black shirts that already fit him so well and the sweat is only making him look more delicious. I’m watching his hands work over the small brass jets when I feel burning heat in my palm and look down.

I’d been messing with my knife the entire time and cut myself. I instinctively let go of the blade and it hits the concrete with a harsh clang. Daryl’s head lifts at the noise and he spins around right as I rush to tuck both hands behind my back. I look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar and I’m trying to hide the chocolatey evidence. Except this time, it’s blood.

Daryl’s eyes run over me for a second, then flick down to my knife as it sits on the dirty floor. He slowly bends down and picks it up. “Y/N.” He starts, a low warning in his tone.

“It’s fine! I’m fine, I just dropped it.” My voice rambles out. There’s a high, nervous note to it and I’m hoping to God he doesn’t notice.

He raises an eyebrow. “If yer fine, why’s the knife got fresh blood on it?” Fuck.

“Uhhhhh.” I look around the courtyard, trying to find an excuse. I, naturally, see nothing. “Magic?”

Daryl huffs and crosses his arms. “Let me see your hands.”

I wince. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I can feel the blood dripping off my hand, and it stings. The longer I hold off showing him the angrier he’ll get.

“Y/N. Hand, now.” Daryl’s voice leaves no room for arguments.

“Jus’, don’t be mad?” I ask. He says nothing and I sigh, then slowly move my hands back in front of me. The blood is quickly evident on my skin.

“God damn it, girl. Why can’t ya ever listen to me?” Despite his rough tone, his hands are gentle as he takes my wrist and tilts my hand, inspecting the damage. I risk a glance at my hand. There’s a slash across my entire palm and more blood than there should be. It’s going to need stitches.

“Ya need stitches.” Told you.

Daryl looks up from my hand but doesn’t let go of my wrist. His eyes lock with mine and he gives me a warm look. There’s exasperation and concern and I don’t know what to do with it. He takes a surprisingly clean rag from his pocket and ties it around my bleeding palm, firmly but not enough to hurt.

I can’t help but be surprised by just how gentle he’s being with me. I was expecting a pop in the side of the head and a banishment to Hershel’s cell. I look up at him through my lashes, waiting for my verbal lashing. After almost a minute, I realize there is none.

“Does this mean I gotta go in now?” I try to keep the potential disappointment from my voice and don’t entirely succeed.

“Yeah, yer going to go get those stitches. Ya weren’t listenin’ anyways.” He grumbles at me. “The hell were you doin’?”

I look away from him. I do not want to explain that I was too busy being horny over him to notice that I gouged my palm open. I risk a glance at him and I’m caught by those ocean-blue eyes.

“I was watching your hands…”

Daryl pauses, then snorts. “Maybe instead of watchin’ my hands ya should’ve been watching yours. Go get your damn stitches and I’ll show ya somethin’ else.”

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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponent al, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the ool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick thribbing, first clenching, ear rining, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, cant walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail stractching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magniticent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos, he could put a nuclear bomb inside me and i'd still ride it and I would give this man the sloppiest, wettest, creamiest, soul taking, slimy, life changing, death DROPPING, heaven sent, flabbergasting, hypnotising, ungodly, astonishing, leg trembling, back arched, hands desperately grabbing the sheets, legs stretching out again and again, toe curling, voice breaking, whimper causing, waist slowly moving up and down, small heavy breath " I can't take much more of this", breaths getting quicker, twitching, throbbing, eyes shut, lip biting, edging begging for relief, warm hot rush bubbling up, spit upon the tongue twisting ground tip-talking against the mouth, sideways spit from the end and lick from the bottom to the top then spit and lick to the bottom.

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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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‘He needs a hug, but if you hug him, he’ll try to stab you.’

-Norman Reedus/Daryl Dixon - The Walking Dead

Traditional animation made with 23 sketches.

Based on this gif

#Daryl Dixon

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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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the fact that daryl could be at a party with carol rick people he knows and others but he prefers eating with his fellow homosexuals who are also emarginated from the community just like him idk just warms my heart

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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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I want him to yell at me until I'm in tears

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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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im just saying that if Ron didn’t end up being a stupid crazy scoundrel he and Carl could’ve been the cute faggy couple where they totally aren’t walking Judith together and Ron’s hand totally isn’t sweating from how hard he holding Carls and he definitely denies the allegations but also can’t beat them by how often he’s nervously knocking on the grimes front door to ask the whereabouts of his boyfriend

i ❤️scrawny gay teenage boys

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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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📼 just daryl and his midwest small town boyfriend ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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Rick Grimes x farmers son

Tears welled in the eyes of the farmers son as he spoke

"I'm never gonna be enough for you am I?"

The farmer's son gave and gave and all Rick did was take and take at the expense of everyone but himself.

Rick's eyes turned cold as he spoke

"it's not fair to Lori and Carl. You know that don't act like you don't."

"it's not fair to me either"

The younger man stormed away vowing to be done with the man.

Later that night a knock on his bedroom window had him crawling right back into the sheriff's arms.

#twd #rick grimes x male reader #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes #the walking dead

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daryldixoncankickmeintheface · 1 year ago

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comfort. ₊˚ෆ˚ 🐇

male! reader x daryl dixon

plot: daryl gives you your much needed comfort. (sigh i feel weird saying comfort twice but i can't think of any other word right now.)

warnings: shitty, rushed writing but it's okay i'm just a boy, reader has daddy issues, non-sexual use of the word daddy.

You've been in bed all day so far, haven't got up to shower, haven't got up to eat, haven't even got up to use the restroom. You've been like this for a couple weeks so far, staying in your room, pushing everybody away. Everybody in the group has taken notice of this, especially Daryl, but he and the rest of them know better than to force you, so they mostly just let it be.

But Daryl couldn't go like this any longer, watching you slowly become worse and hit rock bottom. It pains him more than anything else in the world. He had to do something about it.

You hear the thumping of steps and soon the sound of your bedroom door creaking open, revealing Daryl in the doorway. He keeps his head down and awkwardly steps in, closing the door behind him. He looks at you. You're in bed, facing the wall, curled up in a fetal position with your knees to your chest. He presses his lips together into a thin line as he contemplates on what to say.

"Ya alrigh'? Haven't been outta bed all day," he speaks softly.

You glance at him, then back at the wall. The room reeks of silence for a good moment until you mumble something barely audible.

"Fine."

He crosses his arms over his chest and gets a little closer to you, looking down at your curled up form. "Ya ain't." He pauses for a second. "Ya've been doin' this a lot, not leavin' yer room. Somethin's wrong. Don't lie t'me."

You're not sure what to say, so you just hum in response, not seeming to interested in the conversation.

He lets his arms fall back to his sides and sighs. "Look, I ain't gonna force anythin' outta ya, but ya gotta talk t'someone eventually. Ya can't jus' keep goin' on like this."

You turn your head to look at him, your eyebrows furrowing. "Like what?" you question, your tone slightly aggressive.

"Like this." he snaps as he swings his arm towards your direction.

You look at your surroundings: used dishes, some with uneaten food on them, empty bottles, and dirty clothes covering your floor and nightstand. It's a complete wreck. You feel your stomach drop a little. You're sick, and you know you're sick, but staring at it, really taking in just what state you're in, what you're doing to yourself, it does something to you, something unexplainable that makes your bottom lip start to quiver, but you're quick to hide it.

"'S not healthy," his voice softens, along with his gaze. He saunters over to your bed, sitting on the edge of it, looking at you, concern displayed on his face. "'M worried about ya. Ya ain't even eaten yet today, have ya?"

You're eyes are locked on him, just staring. You don't respond.

He reaches up to rest his hand on your thigh. You feel the firmness of it against your skin through the blankets. The touch is calming.

"Somethin's goin' on wit' ya. Like I said, ya ain't gotta tell me, but 'm always here if ya need t'talk, y'know that right? I love ya 'n' I care about ya."

Hearing those words made you crumble. Your body tensed and a lump built in your throat, your eyes swelling up with tears, your bottom lip starting to visibly quiver.

Daryl instinctively pulled you close to him as he saw the tears.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he uttered, putting his hands under your armpits and lifting you into his lap gently. His big arms encaged your body, cradling you as if you were a baby, one arm under your knees and the other against your back, your face pressed against his chest as you cried.

You felt safe like this, in his arms. It was as if he was shielding you from all the bad in the world. It was the first time in your life you've ever been held like this, comforted like this, have someone show so much love towards you. You didn't know it was possible. "I got ya, shh, shh, 's alrigh'."

Words spill out of your mouth faster than you can think, shaky and barely coherent. "'M-.. 'm sorry, Daryl. 'M jus' so tired, 'm so t-tired.."

He holds you closer and wipes the tears from your red face with his thumb, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Shh, I know, baby, I know. Ya ain't gotta apologize fer nothin'."

His words fulfilled your entire body, spinning inside your head like all of your worries, but this time it was something better, something you've been yearning to hear for a while, something that warms you. It just makes you sob harder, body practically shaking in his arms. You can't speak, or do anything for that matter, just let Daryl hold you, keep you in this cocoon of warmth. You never wanted this moment to end.

He was treating you in a way your father didn't even do. This man, this treasure of a man you somehow stumbled across in the dark world of the apocalypse, treated you better than your father did. How? Why? Why you? Why were you the one who was picked by the gods above to receive this gift? You didn't deserve him, you didn't deserve anything good in life in your head.

You wanted to tell him, tell him how much he meant to you. He deserves it, you knew that after he told you about his childhood. He deserved the love he never received, but you couldn't form words. You just held him as tight as possible, hoping he'd get the signal, what you're trying to tell him. I love you, I trust you, thank you for being here.

He could feel the tightness of your grip. You were holding onto him like he was gonna slip away if you even dared to let go. His hands tightened around you too. He could make out your message. You've told him about your bad past, about your father, how he's impacted your life harshly, just as he did with you. He knew you needed some type of parental figure in your life, with how young you were. You needed someone to guide you. Maybe, just maybe he could take on that role.

"Shh, breathe fer me. 'M here. Daddy's got ya. Daddy's got ya, sweet boy. Jus' breathe," he speaks, his tone gentle, as if he was talking to a fussy baby.

His words made your breath get caught in your throat, the world stopping around you. Daddy. Sweet boy. It was like you were a little boy again, being nurtured. You were a fussy baby, being held and soothed oh so tenderly once more. Your breathing suddenly slowed and the hurt in your throat eased as Daryl pressed another little kiss to your hair.

"There ya go. Jus' like tha'. Good boy," he praised, the gruffness of his voice vibrating against your ear, his forehead against yours.

He continued petting your hair and whispering sweet words into your ear. He comforted you in a way nobody else could. He was your father right now. You felt safe in his arms. He wouldn't let anything hurt you whatsoever.

It took some time, but you eventually calmed down, and Daryl was with you for the entire time, holding you the whole way through.

As he heard your sobbing turn into nothing but soft sniffles his grip loosened on your body, letting you take your face out of his chest to look up at him, your eyes glossy and your face tinted with a light shade of pink.

He flashed a grin, something that you didn’t get to see very often. You appreciated the sight, even if it was small.

“Better?” he questioned, stroking your hair, moving a couple strands out of your face.

You nodded, giving a hum of confirmation.

“Mhm,” you let your head loll to the side, back on Daryl’s chest.

“Anythin’ I can do fer ya? Ya hungry? Thirsty?” there was genuine concern in his voice. He wanted to put you at ease in anyway he could.

“Mm-mm,” a purr came from your throat. You were too tired, too weak to speak clearly. You felt all limp and fuzzy inside now that you’ve got the cry out that you’ve been needing to release for ages, “sleep.”

He let out an understanding grunt, standing up with you in his arms and resting you back down on your worn out mattress again, reaching for the blanket and covering you with it, making sure to tuck you in nicely.

You buzzed sleepily, cuddling up in the blanket and closing your eyes, feeling your exhaustion begin to overtake you. Daryl stared for a moment, admiring you. You were a sleeping beauty in his eyes, to say the least. You looked so peaceful. He leaned down hesitantly, letting his lips brush against your hair, kissing it then standing up to his full height again.

He turned, starting for the door. He grabbed the doorknob, turning it before he heard your voice again, making him stop and turn his head towards you, your eyes open again, glazed over with sleep.

“Stay, please.”

He grunted, then blinked, his hand falling from the door. He hesitated. Daryl was never much of a cuddler, he thought it was too sappy, but if his boy wanted something, he’d damn well give it to him, no matter what.

He strutted to the bed, his head bowed slightly. The bed creaked under his body weight. He reached down, shuffling his boots off of his feet, hitting the ground with a thud.

He placed his hands on the sheets of the bed and crawled to you, until he was right next to you. He lays down, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

You bury your face in his neck and let your hands roam around his body, feeling the cold leather of his vest beneath your hands, sending a shiver down your spine. A yawn escapes you and you close your eyes once more, now content and able to sleep.

He holds you tight as he watches you slowly drift off, stroking your back. Once he hears the soft snores coming from you, he lets himself rest too, nuzzling his face into your hair with a grunt. “Night, sunshine..”

this is short but it literally took me a month to write. ive just been so lazy lately thats mb 😿

ALSO!!

I HIT OVER 100 FOLLOWERS ?? OML THANK U GUYS SM !! I LOVE U !! 💗💗💗

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