junkpuppet225

[junkpuppet225]

Posted Part 2 to Ao3 ✌🏼

note: Not a DarylxReader. Pre-apocalypse. Young Daryl. Mentions of child neglect, underage smoking - drinking. Strong language. Daryl and Abby have been trying to survive way before the dead started walking. Daryl/OC

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Abigail

The first time I helped my mom up the steps to our worn front porch I was five. She was shit face drunk and I mostly just held her hand, guiding her into the single wide trailer only to have her jerk her arm from my grasp and growl her usual get the fuck off me you little shit.

It’s easier now. I’m almost eleven - stronger thankfully because she doesn’t walk up the steps anymore - she crawls and her drinking is the least of my problems. I always pray she’s just drunk when she gets home but those prayers usually go unanswered. Tonight she’s covered in her own vomit, eyes blood shot and pupils blown wide but she still smacks me away as I try to help her.

“Get the hell away from me Abigail! I don’t fuckin’ need you in my business! You’re the reason he wouldn’t come home with me!”

She’s talking about the random man that shoved her out of his truck calling her a whore while she cried and pleaded with him. It took me thirty minutes to get her to where we are now - struggling to make it up this last broken step as she calls me every name in the book.

By the time we make it into the trailer she’s calmer, to calm and that familiar panic begins to seep into my bones. “M-mom? Y-you okay?” I check to make sure she’s breathing when she’s in her chair and thankfully this time she is. I let out the breath I’ve been holding then hurry down the narrow hallway to grab a clean shirt. One with long sleeves to hide her track marks then grab a wet rag from the bathroom before making my way back to her.

“Okay mom…, arms up.” I’ve mastered the art of removing her shirt without getting vomit in her hair - watching her arms go limp after slapping at me again. “Get the fuck away from me.” I take in a quick breath, gently wiping at the heavy mascara that’s streaming down her battered face. When I was a kid - because I haven’t felt like a kid in a long time - I remember thinking she looked like an angel with her massive, curly blonde hair and bright smiling eyes.

The sight of her now floods my chest with despair, twisting my heart in anguish as I focus on this nightly task. It takes me less than ten minutes to get her cleaned up - only struggling once to get her limp arms through the clean shirt. I place a blanket over her and wait for her breathing to even out, grabbing her clothes to rinse and throw in the wash with the rest of the laundry.

When I make it back to the living room Daryl is standing at the open front door smoking a cigarette, the glowing cherry at the tip illuminating concerned blue eyes. They dart to my mother then to me. The silence is deafening as I check to make sure she’s still breathing before slipping outside.

Daryl jerks his face back as I try to pluck the cigarette from his lips, narrowing his eyes at me while taking a deep pull. I scowl and try again only to have him take a step backward. “One drag.” He’s mutters holding the cigarette to my lips as I take a quick puff and blow the smoke into his face. He says I’m too young to smoke but he’s barely twelve, give me a break. “She alright?”

Daryl always shows up when my mom gets home from a bender. Sometimes she’s so out of it he has to help me get her in the house. Sometimes he waits until she’s passed out in her chair to show up. “I guess.” I don’t even know anymore. A few weeks ago he had to drag Merle over here to give my mom some kind of shot that woke her up or…, brought her back to life - I’m not really sure.

This ain’t my problem boy. It’s natural selection at its finest.

She dies the cops’ll be up here askin’ questions and who do ya think they’ll start with?

Mom was back at the bar by noon the next day.

“They got Merle t’day.” Daryl mutters, blowing smoke over my head as he glances into the house to hide the fear that fills his gaze. Merle gets picked up every few months for his recreational activities - sent off to juvie leaving Daryl to take his beatings. “Shit.”

It’s his turn to scowl at the profanity that slips past my lips which makes my eyes roll into my head. I don’t need an overbearing big brother - I need a fucking mom who lets me be a kid even if I am secretly so so grateful for Daryl. He’s the only person in the world that tries to look out for me despite also being “just a kid”.

We keep each other’s secrets in hopes we aren’t sent off somewhere worse than this, if such a place even exists. “Your mom figure out you’ve been stealing her smokes?” I ask as he pulls away from my second attempt to steal the Virginia Slim hanging from his lips. He answers me with a glare. Daryl only lets me have one quick puff every few days. Says I’m not gettin’ hooked on this shit like his mom.

“Nah.”

His mom isn’t the parent to be wary of. I’ve never even seen her outside of her house. Daryl says she’s just lays in bed with her emotional support ashtray staring through the small floor model TV. He once told me he doesn’t even remember the sound of her voice. Tragic.

“You can stay here. If you want.” It wouldn’t be the first time he’s hid in my room while a drunk Will Dixon threatens to kill him from the safety of his own front porch. “Nah.” He mutters again lifting his eyes to mine slowly, teasing me by offering up the spent cigarette before flicking it into a nearby puddle with a sly grin. Fucker. “Dad found Merle’s stash. Took it t’town…, won’t see him for a few days.”

I hear my mother stirring in her chair.

“Abigail! You little shit!” A deep sigh escapes me as I turn back to the house and mutter a quiet goodbye to my only friend who stands in the darkness of my front porch smoking a second cigarette until my mom passes out again then he ducks his head and makes his way back across the lawn to his own shitty life without a word.

X

Daryl

The first time I saw Abby was at the bus stop when she started kindergarten. I was in first grade and Merle should have been in seventh but he was still in sixth. I remember she looked like a tiny version of the woman standing with her - big blonde hair and kind eyes, her mom was always smiling and asking us unwanted questions - holding her daughter’s hand protectively until the bus showed up. She always made a big deal of hugging her goodbye.

Twelve years on this earth and no-one has ever hugged me - unless you count the neck breaking headlocks Merle puts me in from time to time. I don’t. Not that I ever want to be hugged. Fuck that. The thought sends an uneasy feeling into the pit of my stomach.

Eventually Abby’s mom stopped accompanying her in the mornings, her frilly little dresses turned dingy and the light slowly dimmed in her big brown eyes. That was something I could understand.

The first time I spoke to her she showed up at the bus stop fighting tears because she couldn’t figure out how to tie her shoes and her mom wouldn’t wake up to help her. The familiar red mark across her cheek told me she asked one too many times.

After Merle (who was on his third attempt at the sixth grade) stopped teasing her I knelt down and wrapped the dirty strings around my fingers, explaining how to tie them twice before making her try. It took her less than a minute to master the task and she’s looked at me like I hung the fucking moon ever since. That day she just thanked me quietly and wiped her tears while Merle called me a pussy and shoved me on the school bus so hard I almost fell into the driver.

“Hey Daryl! C’mon!”

I look up from the blade of grass between my fingers as Randy, Mark and Nathan come tearing down the dirt on their bikes, kicking up dust as they drift up to the end of the driveway. I don’t have a bike but as long as they don’t go to fast I can keep up with them on foot - despite my ever growing Virginia Slim habit. I jump to my feet as they take off back the way they came glancing over at Abby’s house as I pass. I can’t shake the look on her face every time I see her. The grief trapped in her warm brown eyes. I watched her mom stumble down the steps this morning before daylight - hopping in a raggedy multi colored Ford without a care in the world. “Daryl! Keep up! We’re going to John’s!”

I force myself to stop thinking about Abby as I round the corner of the trailer park and take off running.

X

John has the biggest yard in the neighborhood - several feet of open land at the edge of the junkyard. That’s where we always meet up to play baseball. His dad bought him a Louisville slugger for Christmas last year but Merle ruined our fun when he showed up unannounced and made everyone watch him knock it out of the park. Watch this Darylina! I’m pretty sure he was high as fuck that day but he did just that - dragging my ass home by the ear after my friends cussed him for losing the ball.

Now I can only play with them when he’s in juvie.

“Alright Daryl yer up!” Mark hollers from across the yard tossing our makeshift ball in the air. I step up to the nonexistent plate and swing the heavy bat behind my shoulder - smacking it as hard as I can but unfortunately it’s just a pair of socks wrapped in duct tape so it barely makes it past Mark. I don’t bother running to first base.

A siren’s sudden wail lifts my head - a high pitched noise that grows louder by the second. Oh shit! Nothing exciting ever happens around here! Two volunteer fire trucks fly past us a minute later as my friends abandon the game running for their bikes before taking off down the road without me. Shit.

By the time I make it back to the trailer park it’s lit up like the Fourth of July. Three massive fire trucks sit with their lights on in front of a burning trailer. My trailer. A noise I’ve never made before rushes from my spent lungs, it sounds like a pained gasp as I watch the flames lick at the backside of my house angrily. Thick black smoke rolls from the back window where my mom’s bedroom is - where she’s been for the past two weeks.

I checked in on her before I left right? Made sure her cigarette was out? I always check to make sure her cigarettes out before I steal a few and go on my way. Last time Merle had to call the doctor in town to come check the burn she caused on her face. It never did heal right.

I watch my friends turn to stare at me with wide eyes. Then the people behind them turn and so on until all of these gaping eyes are on me and it feels like my chest is going to explode from the deep gasps I keep taking. I want to push past these nosey fuckers, want to yell for my mom in the sea of people but my feet won’t move - a crippling panic washing over me, bringing on a cold sweat as my limbs begin to shake.

“Hey.”

Abby appears beside me suddenly, placing a palm to my shoulder as I drag my eyes away from the flames slowly. She forces me to look at her but all I can focus on is that familiar pain staring back at me, my eyebrow lifting in curiosity as I watch a tear roll down her cheek. “They get m-my mom out?” I mutter with a voice too deep for a twelve year old then I’m pulled into her arms, chest to chest as she clings to me.

“Daryl I’m so sorry.”

No one has ever hugged me before. Abby buries her face in the bend of my neck - her unruly blonde hair nearly suffocating me as her arms slide around my shoulders. She smells like apples. I take in a deep breath feeling every muscle in my body coiling tightly with panic but I wrap my arms around her anyway - pulling her closer as my dad’s harsh voice carries over the crowd.

“Daryl?! What the fuck did y’do t’ my house?!“

X

Abigail

Three years later.

On my fourteenth birthday Daryl gave me an extra puff of his cigarette. I snatched his wrist in my hand and held it to my lips taking a deep drag while he growled at me. The sound sent a flutter of butterflies into my soul. “Alright, girl. Damn.”

After that something clicked inside my teenage brain when it comes to Daryl Dixon. For the first time in forever he makes me nervous - to the point I usually sound like an idiot when I open my mouth around him. He smirks at me a lot - even when I’m not trying to be funny and it makes my heart race in my chest. Last week I tried applying some of my mom’s makeup and he asked me if I got into a fight with a clown. I was mortified. The next day after stealing a few spritzes of perfume from a box under her bed he told me I smelled like a grandma.

I was to excited at the thought of him being that close to me to care. Pushing sixteen Daryl towers over me, his ocean eyes always watching - usually glaring. He spends his free time working on his brother’s motorcycle - keeping it tuned up while Merle’s in the army. When I hear him fire it up I nearly break my neck trying to get outside to watch him speed down the dusty road to town.

I like the way his shoulders flex when he rolls the throttle, which he always seems to do as he goes past my house. Most evenings after school he lets down the tailgate on his dad’s truck where I sit and watch him, memorizing the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat while he drinks down a stolen beer from the fridge. That’s where the glaring usually comes in. He catches me staring at him a hundred times a day but never says anything, just watches me for a moment then returns to whatever he’s doing.

His silence is maddening. I tried to kiss him at the bus stop one quiet morning but we were standing too far apart and maybe I was just picturing it happening in my head instead of actually doing it. He grunted at me to stop gawkin’ at him and get on the damn bus.

Today his hair keeps falling down into his eyes. I imagine brushing my fingertips through the dark strands until he’s glaring at me again. I give him by best smile - which I’ll realize later on tonight as I practice in front of the mirror how stupid I look - and let my gaze fall to the motorcycle.

“Can we take it for a ride?”

“Nah.” Daryl doesn’t look up from Merle’s bike this time but I catch the familiar cords in his arms tighten as he clutches the wrench tighter in his grasp. I want to pout but a beat up truck rumbles in the distance before pulling in beside us - bringing Daryl to his feet as he comes to stand beside me.

“Hey Dare!” A sing-song voice floats from inside the truck making my eyes narrow to slits as Daryl turns his attention to Tami Anderson. She’s a junior like him and sitting pretty behind the wheel all dark hair and crystal blue eyes. The dress she’s wearing shows off her perfect tits making me sink back into myself at the sight of them. I’ve been trying to stuff my bra for the past week but it always looks lumpy. The smile Tami gives Daryl chases my butterflies away as I look back to him praying for a scowl.

He’s just staring blankly at the girl who giggles at nothing while I watch her tweaker dad disappear into the trailer that’s now more of a shack. “Hey Tami.” My head snaps back to Daryl as his blue eyes meet mine before narrowing in confusion. He said her name? I don’t think he’s ever once said my name in the ten years I’ve known him! It’s always just girl. Maybe he doesn’t even know my name.

Tammy is rambling on about some stupid school drama that the kids with real drama don’t have time for as I wrack my brain for one instance that Daryl has called me by name. He’s had to of said it before. Right?

Daryl is staring at me like he’s seeing me for the first time, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as my eyes fall to his mouth slowly - bringing the butterflies back with a vengeance. I want to kiss him more than anything and that’s my cue to leave.

He can stand here and giggle with Tami’s dumbass for the rest of the night for all I care.

I hop off the tailgate misjudging how close we’ll be - our chests so close that Daryl has to take a step back to allow me enough space to storm off from him and his future wife. Tami hasn’t missed a beat, she suffers from diarrhea of the mouth and I’m a glutton for punishment. Once I’m at my trailer door I turn my head to take one last look at Daryl surprised to see him staring after me.

My eyes linger on his for another moment before I push through the shitty trailer to find better socks to pad my bra with.

X

[junkpuppet225]

note: Not a DarylxReader. Pre-apocalypse. Young Daryl. Mentions of child neglect, underage smoking - drinking. Strong language. Daryl and Abby have been trying to survive way before the dead started walking. Daryl/OC

><><><><><><><><

Abigail

The first time I helped my mom up the steps to our worn front porch I was five. She was shit face drunk and I mostly just held her hand, guiding her into the single wide trailer only to have her jerk her arm from my grasp and growl her usual get the fuck off me you little shit.

It’s easier now. I’m almost eleven - stronger thankfully because she doesn’t walk up the steps anymore - she crawls and her drinking is the least of my problems. I always pray she’s just drunk when she gets home but those prayers usually go unanswered. Tonight she’s covered in her own vomit, eyes blood shot and pupils blown wide but she still smacks me away as I try to help her.

“Get the hell away from me Abigail! I don’t fuckin’ need you in my business! You’re the reason he wouldn’t come home with me!”

She’s talking about the random man that shoved her out of his truck calling her a whore while she cried and pleaded with him. It took me thirty minutes to get her to where we are now - struggling to make it up this last broken step as she calls me every name in the book.

By the time we make it into the trailer she’s calmer, to calm and that familiar panic begins to seep into my bones. “M-mom? Y-you okay?” I check to make sure she’s breathing when she’s in her chair and thankfully this time she is. I let out the breath I’ve been holding then hurry down the narrow hallway to grab a clean shirt. One with long sleeves to hide her track marks then grab a wet rag from the bathroom before making my way back to her.

“Okay mom…, arms up.” I’ve mastered the art of removing her shirt without getting vomit in her hair - watching her arms go limp after slapping at me again. “Get the fuck away from me.” I take in a quick breath, gently wiping at the heavy mascara that’s streaming down her battered face. When I was a kid - because I haven’t felt like a kid in a long time - I remember thinking she looked like an angel with her massive, curly blonde hair and bright smiling eyes.

The sight of her now floods my chest with despair, twisting my heart in anguish as I focus on this nightly task. It takes me less than ten minutes to get her cleaned up - only struggling once to get her limp arms through the clean shirt. I place a blanket over her and wait for her breathing to even out, grabbing her clothes to rinse and throw in the wash with the rest of the laundry.

When I make it back to the living room Daryl is standing at the open front door smoking a cigarette, the glowing cherry at the tip illuminating concerned blue eyes. They dart to my mother then to me. The silence is deafening as I check to make sure she’s still breathing before slipping outside.

Daryl jerks his face back as I try to pluck the cigarette from his lips, narrowing his eyes at me while taking a deep pull. I scowl and try again only to have him take a step backward. “One drag.” He’s mutters holding the cigarette to my lips as I take a quick puff and blow the smoke into his face. He says I’m too young to smoke but he’s barely twelve, give me a break. “She alright?”

Daryl always shows up when my mom gets home from a bender. Sometimes she’s so out of it he has to help me get her in the house. Sometimes he waits until she’s passed out in her chair to show up. “I guess.” I don’t even know anymore. A few weeks ago he had to drag Merle over here to give my mom some kind of shot that woke her up or…, brought her back to life - I’m not really sure.

This ain’t my problem boy. It’s natural selection at its finest.

She dies the cops’ll be up here askin’ questions and who do ya think they’ll start with?

Mom was back at the bar by noon the next day.

“They got Merle t’day.” Daryl mutters, blowing smoke over my head as he glances into the house to hide the fear that fills his gaze. Merle gets picked up every few months for his recreational activities - sent off to juvie leaving Daryl to take his beatings. “Shit.”

It’s his turn to scowl at the profanity that slips past my lips which makes my eyes roll into my head. I don’t need an overbearing big brother - I need a fucking mom who lets me be a kid even if I am secretly so so grateful for Daryl. He’s the only person in the world that tries to look out for me despite also being “just a kid”.

We keep each other’s secrets in hopes we aren’t sent off somewhere worse than this, if such a place even exists. “Your mom figure out you’ve been stealing her smokes?” I ask as he pulls away from my second attempt to steal the Virginia Slim hanging from his lips. He answers me with a glare. Daryl only lets me have one quick puff every few days. Says I’m not gettin’ hooked on this shit like his mom.

“Nah.”

His mom isn’t the parent to be wary of. I’ve never even seen her outside of her house. Daryl says she’s just lays in bed with her emotional support ashtray staring through the small floor model TV. He once told me he doesn’t even remember the sound of her voice. Tragic.

“You can stay here. If you want.” It wouldn’t be the first time he’s hid in my room while a drunk Will Dixon threatens to kill him from the safety of his own front porch. “Nah.” He mutters again lifting his eyes to mine slowly, teasing me by offering up the spent cigarette before flicking it into a nearby puddle with a sly grin. Fucker. “Dad found Merle’s stash. Took it t’town…, won’t see him for a few days.”

I hear my mother stirring in her chair.

“Abigail! You little shit!” A deep sigh escapes me as I turn back to the house and mutter a quiet goodbye to my only friend who stands in the darkness of my front porch smoking a second cigarette until my mom passes out again then he ducks his head and makes his way back across the lawn to his own shitty life without a word.

X

Daryl

The first time I saw Abby was at the bus stop when she started kindergarten. I was in first grade and Merle should have been in seventh but he was still in sixth. I remember she looked like a tiny version of the woman standing with her - big blonde hair and kind eyes, her mom was always smiling and asking us unwanted questions - holding her daughter’s hand protectively until the bus showed up. She always made a big deal of hugging her goodbye.

Twelve years on this earth and no-one has ever hugged me - unless you count the neck breaking headlocks Merle puts me in from time to time. I don’t. Not that I ever want to be hugged. Fuck that. The thought sends an uneasy feeling into the pit of my stomach.

Eventually Abby’s mom stopped accompanying her in the mornings, her frilly little dresses turned dingy and the light slowly dimmed in her big brown eyes. That was something I could understand.

The first time I spoke to her she showed up at the bus stop fighting tears because she couldn’t figure out how to tie her shoes and her mom wouldn’t wake up to help her. The familiar red mark across her cheek told me she asked one too many times.

After Merle (who was on his third attempt at the sixth grade) stopped teasing her I knelt down and wrapped the dirty strings around my fingers, explaining how to tie them twice before making her try. It took her less than a minute to master the task and she’s looked at me like I hung the fucking moon ever since. That day she just thanked me quietly and wiped her tears while Merle called me a pussy and shoved me on the school bus so hard I almost fell into the driver.

“Hey Daryl! C’mon!”

I look up from the blade of grass between my fingers as Randy, Mark and Nathan come tearing down the dirt on their bikes, kicking up dust as they drift up to the end of the driveway. I don’t have a bike but as long as they don’t go to fast I can keep up with them on foot - despite my ever growing Virginia Slim habit. I jump to my feet as they take off back the way they came glancing over at Abby’s house as I pass. I can’t shake the look on her face every time I see her. The grief trapped in her warm brown eyes. I watched her mom stumble down the steps this morning before daylight - hopping in a raggedy multi colored Ford without a care in the world. “Daryl! Keep up! We’re going to John’s!”

I force myself to stop thinking about Abby as I round the corner of the trailer park and take off running.

X

John has the biggest yard in the neighborhood - several feet of open land at the edge of the junkyard. That’s where we always meet up to play baseball. His dad bought him a Louisville slugger for Christmas last year but Merle ruined our fun when he showed up unannounced and made everyone watch him knock it out of the park. Watch this Darylina! I’m pretty sure he was high as fuck that day but he did just that - dragging my ass home by the ear after my friends cussed him for losing the ball.

Now I can only play with them when he’s in juvie.

“Alright Daryl yer up!” Mark hollers from across the yard tossing our makeshift ball in the air. I step up to the nonexistent plate and swing the heavy bat behind my shoulder - smacking it as hard as I can but unfortunately it’s just a pair of socks wrapped in duct tape so it barely makes it past Mark. I don’t bother running to first base.

A siren’s sudden wail lifts my head - a high pitched noise that grows louder by the second. Oh shit! Nothing exciting ever happens around here! Two volunteer fire trucks fly past us a minute later as my friends abandon the game running for their bikes before taking off down the road without me. Shit.

By the time I make it back to the trailer park it’s lit up like the Fourth of July. Three massive fire trucks sit with their lights on in front of a burning trailer. My trailer. A noise I’ve never made before rushes from my spent lungs, it sounds like a pained gasp as I watch the flames lick at the backside of my house angrily. Thick black smoke rolls from the back window where my mom’s bedroom is - where she’s been for the past two weeks.

I checked in on her before I left right? Made sure her cigarette was out? I always check to make sure her cigarettes out before I steal a few and go on my way. Last time Merle had to call the doctor in town to come check the burn she caused on her face. It never did heal right.

I watch my friends turn to stare at me with wide eyes. Then the people behind them turn and so on until all of these gaping eyes are on me and it feels like my chest is going to explode from the deep gasps I keep taking. I want to push past these nosey fuckers, want to yell for my mom in the sea of people but my feet won’t move - a crippling panic washing over me, bringing on a cold sweat as my limbs begin to shake.

“Hey.”

Abby appears beside me suddenly, placing a palm to my shoulder as I drag my eyes away from the flames slowly. She forces me to look at her but all I can focus on is that familiar pain staring back at me, my eyebrow lifting in curiosity as I watch a tear roll down her cheek. “They get m-my mom out?” I mutter with a voice too deep for a twelve year old then I’m pulled into her arms, chest to chest as she clings to me.

“Daryl I’m so sorry.”

No one has ever hugged me before. Abby buries her face in the bend of my neck - her unruly blonde hair nearly suffocating me as her arms slide around my shoulders. She smells like apples. I take in a deep breath feeling every muscle in my body coiling tightly with panic but I wrap my arms around her anyway - pulling her closer as my dad’s harsh voice carries over the crowd.

“Daryl?! What the fuck did y’do t’ my house?!“

X

Abigail

Three years later.

On my fourteenth birthday Daryl gave me an extra puff of his cigarette. I snatched his wrist in my hand and held it to my lips taking a deep drag while he growled at me. The sound sent a flutter of butterflies into my soul. “Alright, girl. Damn.”

After that something clicked inside my teenage brain when it comes to Daryl Dixon. For the first time in forever he makes me nervous - to the point I usually sound like an idiot when I open my mouth around him. He smirks at me a lot - even when I’m not trying to be funny and it makes my heart race in my chest. Last week I tried applying some of my mom’s makeup and he asked me if I got into a fight with a clown. I was mortified. The next day after stealing a few spritzes of perfume from a box under her bed he told me I smelled like a grandma.

I was to excited at the thought of him being that close to me to care. Pushing sixteen Daryl towers over me, his ocean eyes always watching - usually glaring. He spends his free time working on his brother’s motorcycle - keeping it tuned up while Merle’s in the army. When I hear him fire it up I nearly break my neck trying to get outside to watch him speed down the dusty road to town.

I like the way his shoulders flex when he rolls the throttle, which he always seems to do as he goes past my house. Most evenings after school he lets down the tailgate on his dad’s truck where I sit and watch him, memorizing the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat while he drinks down a stolen beer from the fridge. That’s where the glaring usually comes in. He catches me staring at him a hundred times a day but never says anything, just watches me for a moment then returns to whatever he’s doing.

His silence is maddening. I tried to kiss him at the bus stop one quiet morning but we were standing too far apart and maybe I was just picturing it happening in my head instead of actually doing it. He grunted at me to stop gawkin’ at him and get on the damn bus.

Today his hair keeps falling down into his eyes. I imagine brushing my fingertips through the dark strands until he’s glaring at me again. I give him by best smile - which I’ll realize later on tonight as I practice in front of the mirror how stupid I look - and let my gaze fall to the motorcycle.

“Can we take it for a ride?”

“Nah.” Daryl doesn’t look up from Merle’s bike this time but I catch the familiar cords in his arms tighten as he clutches the wrench tighter in his grasp. I want to pout but a beat up truck rumbles in the distance before pulling in beside us - bringing Daryl to his feet as he comes to stand beside me.

“Hey Dare!” A sing-song voice floats from inside the truck making my eyes narrow to slits as Daryl turns his attention to Tami Anderson. She’s a junior like him and sitting pretty behind the wheel all dark hair and crystal blue eyes. The dress she’s wearing shows off her perfect tits making me sink back into myself at the sight of them. I’ve been trying to stuff my bra for the past week but it always looks lumpy. The smile Tami gives Daryl chases my butterflies away as I look back to him praying for a scowl.

He’s just staring blankly at the girl who giggles at nothing while I watch her tweaker dad disappear into the trailer that’s now more of a shack. “Hey Tami.” My head snaps back to Daryl as his blue eyes meet mine before narrowing in confusion. He said her name? I don’t think he’s ever once said my name in the ten years I’ve known him! It’s always just girl. Maybe he doesn’t even know my name.

Tammy is rambling on about some stupid school drama that the kids with real drama don’t have time for as I wrack my brain for one instance that Daryl has called me by name. He’s had to of said it before. Right?

Daryl is staring at me like he’s seeing me for the first time, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as my eyes fall to his mouth slowly - bringing the butterflies back with a vengeance. I want to kiss him more than anything and that’s my cue to leave.

He can stand here and giggle with Tami’s dumbass for the rest of the night for all I care.

I hop off the tailgate misjudging how close we’ll be - our chests so close that Daryl has to take a step back to allow me enough space to storm off from him and his future wife. Tami hasn’t missed a beat, she suffers from diarrhea of the mouth and I’m a glutton for punishment. Once I’m at my trailer door I turn my head to take one last look at Daryl surprised to see him staring after me.

My eyes linger on his for another moment before I push through the shitty trailer to find better socks to pad my bra with.

X

[junkpuppet225]

Just watched the last episode of The Walking Dead (for the millionth time) but anyway Daryl just said “We ain’t the walking dead”. I giggled and kicked my feet then I sat up real slow and thought about him.

Mmm. Awkward. RIP King. Wherever you are.

[junkpuppet225]

note: Some more forced proximity with our favorite archer. Walkers are literally the worst.

The comfort you found in Daryl’s silence is torture now, grating on your nerves as you rummage through another nameless corner mart. He’s barely escaped being bitten twice since that kiss under the bed choosing to fight instead of flee in fear you’d both end up trapped somewhere again.

The only sound comes from the faint snarl of a lone walker clawing at the back door as you search for anything edible to bring back to the group. The thought of Carl or Judith going hungry another day motivates you to join the grumpy archer on his runs. Much to his dismay.

Daryl tosses a small bag of expired beef jerky at your feet, the first sign that he’s acknowledging your existence since the rundown cabin. You lift your eyes to him slowly but his gaze is burned into the empty racks, bottom lip pulled between blunt teeth as he busies himself searching the nothing before him. That now familiar ache tightens in your chest as you let your eyes fall to the small bag of dehydrated meat, grabbing it to place it in your bag for the kids.

“Eat.” The word is so low and threatening it barely registers, bringing your eyes back to his quickly. Daryl stands with his back rigid - the muscles in his arms coiled tightly but he won’t look at you. He can’t risk looking at you. “What?”

“I can hear yer stomach growlin’ all the way over here.”

As if on cue a deep rumble emerges from your core filling your cheeks with warmth as you advert your eyes quickly. Yeah you’re hungry but so is everyone else. “I’m okay.” You assure him willing your stomach to quiet down. It answers with another deep groan. “Wasn’t askin’.” Daryl growls, hands clenching to fists at his sides as he finally glares at you.

“A-are you mad at me?” You place your hands in your lap as you look up at him with eyes that threaten tears. The two of you had an unspoken understanding, you worked well together - had each other’s backs but now he treats you like a pariah. All over one amazing kiss.

“No.” Daryl looks offended you would even suggest such a thing narrowing his eyes to slits.

“Did I do something wrong?” You hate the desperation in your voice. Hate the way his kiss lingers in your memory. The world is on fire - the dead walking and you’re fighting back tears because a grouchy redneck hurt your feelings.

He was the one who kissed you.

“Na. Ya didn’t do nothin’.”

You wipe away the tears that betray you and let your gaze fall to your lap. Above you Daryl starts to pace, nervous energy filling his limbs as he watches you stuff the jerky into your bag to share with the others. It fills him with a white hot rage and although you’re the one he unleashes it on it has nothing to do with you. He’s angry with himself, angry with these unfamiliar thoughts and feelings suffocating him every second of the day. Feelings he has no fucking idea how to show or give credence to. They’re eating him up inside - driving him fucking crazy.

“Fuckin’ eat.”

“I don’t—-.”

“Why ya gotta be so goddamn hard headed?! Huh? Ya think I don’t see ya? Don’t watch ya every fucking day take less food than the others?”

You grab the beef jerky from your bag and shoot up to your feet, closing the space between you to shove it into his chest glaring. “Yeah? Who do you think I learned it from?” Daryl always takes less food even opting to not eat at all if it’s something Carl actually likes. Your combined unwavering selflessness will be your downfalls.

Daryl grabs your wrist, holding your palm to his chest as he glares back - molars grinding from the flood of emotion filling his soul. Anger that you’re starving and there’s nothing he can do about it, regret from running away after kissing you that day and desire from how fucking beautiful you look standing here before him. It sends an ache through his chest as you take another step forward and sink your free hand into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Do you regret kissing me?” Your words are feathery soft, eyes trained on his lips that part with needed air. “No.” Daryl pulls you flush against his chest still gripping your wrist tightly while his other hand slides down your side and along your hip. “I want you to kiss me again.”

He answers with your name rumbling deep in his chest. Kissing you is the last thing on his mind right now. He wants to fuck you against these empty shelves - to feel every fucking part of you wrapped around him. Finally letting go of your wrist the beef jerky is all but forgotten as he brushes his rough palm against your cheek - fingers sinking into the back of your hair and chest heaving with desire as his ocean eyes search yours.

The words he wants to say are trapped in his throat - your faces so close he can feel your soft pants of needed air against his lips. “Kiss m—-.” Your request is cut off by his mouth on yours - one rough hand sliding to the small of your back while the other sinks deeper into your hair - kissing you with every ounce of desire running through him. He’s like a man starved, using his much larger body to push you back into the biting shelves - demanding your tongue with his as he swallows those beautiful little groans that escape your throat - sliding his hand further up your shirt to grasp at your waist.

Somewhere behind you the lone walker begins to thrash against the door - jarring the mop handle you used as a makeshift lock until it’s rattling dangerously. “D-Daryl…” Your worried eyes flutter shut as his mouth finds your throat, trailing a wet kiss to your collar bone as an idle hand brushes against the swell of your breast - bringing a deep almost primal growl to his lips. “…ain’t gonna get in.” He whispers in that rough thrilling voice before returning his lips to yours quickly - grasping at your hips to lift you up easily.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling to him as his slow desperate tongue moves with yours - worn boots kicking useless shit out of his way before he swipes his arm over the front counter sending empty boxes flying. He sits you down without breaking your kiss - grabbing your waist to bring your body against his as he settles himself between your thighs and buries his hands into your hair.

Daryl kisses you like his sole purpose in life is your mouth on his and it sends a wave of pure pleasure straight to your core as you kiss him back just as fiercely - placing your hands at the nape of his neck, nails digging into the back of his hair as he groans into your mouth. All sense of reality slips away - the world isn’t over, the dead aren’t walking - it’s just you and Daryl and his hard body pressed into yours so close you swear you can feel his heart hammering against your chest.

The archer pulls away from your mouth just enough to take in a ragged breath, eyes searching as he tries to figure out what to do with you. He wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything in his miserable life but the back door begins to bang louder - one walker can’t break through the barricade but several have no problem snapping the mop handle to pour inside the futile gas station.

Daryl hangs his head for a moment, a slew of profanity falling from his lips as he realizes he has to stop this again. He won’t risk your life no matter how good you’re making him feel. He won’t ever risk you. When he lifts his eyes to yours he’s taken back at the desire in your gaze, stealing one last long kiss as the back door finally burst open and several snarling dead bodies push through the narrow space.

He whispers motherfucker against your lips then grabs his crossbow from the ground beside him - turning to the threat as you hop off the counter to help. Once the walkers are truly dead you grab the small bag of beef jerky from on your way out. Daryl watches you idly as you take a mouthful of the processed meat and hand him the rest - silently daring him to protest. To your surprise the grumpy archer finishes it off as you make your way back to the others empty handed.

Later that night as your group sits around the low fire with hollow bellies and broken spirits Daryl watches you, replying every second of your time together today with his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. There’s so many concerning things that need to be addressed with the others of but all he can process is the feel of your lips against his. Idly wondering when he’ll get to taste them again.

[junkpuppet225]

note: A continuation of that forced proximity thing I wrote the other day. Language. I wouldn’t call it smut. I’d give it at least one chili pepper 🌶️ tho. It feels a little unrealistic to me but eh, I do what I want. Enjoy!

Daryl’s not sure how he keeps getting himself in these situations. He’s used to wandering around grunting and brooding, kicking peoples asses - now it’s like he’s a puppet on a string for some desperate housewife playing out these unlikely scenarios in her head.

He shakes the thought watching silently as you slide under the bed beside him with wide worried eyes. If you can both somehow fit in the middle the walkers won’t be able to reach you from either side but he has no idea how he’ll explain any of this to Glenn or Red when they show up to save the fucking day again.

A larger herd surrounded you in the woods, sending you both down a sloped ravine and into a rotting cabin by the water - the walkers inside forcing you into the bedroom to hide. Daryl used to be able to kill walkers by the dozen but today just isn’t his day, his breath catching in his throat as you continue towards him until your body is hovering over his - bright eyes staring down into two anxious pools of blue. You open your mouth to apologize for the proximity but let the word die on your lips as your weight sinks into him and the first of several walkers stumble toward you.

You both turn your attention to the edge of the bed watching filthy calves bump into the frame over and over again - the growling and snapping of jagged teeth filling the room as the dead try to figure out how to get to you.

A whimper rushes from your throat as you turn away from your inevitable fate - closing your eyes tightly as you will your mouth to be quiet and your body to stay calm. You don’t want to die here.

A sudden pop of gun fire outside the ruined cabin causes your body to jerk, tears spilling down your cheeks as you try to steady your ragged breathing - watery eyes opening quickly when you feel Daryl’s rough palm against your cheek. You hold your breath as he brushes his thumb slowly against your bottom lip.

“…it’s gonna be alright.”

The snarls above you beg to differ as he wipes away your tears and you nod, believing him despite the circumstances. You focus on his handsome face to keep from screaming - dark hair falling against his forehead - the rugged scar along his eyebrow and his soft parted lip. Your insides light up with nervous energy as he idly pulls you to him, wetting said lips just as they meet yours.

Everything around you melts away and there’s just Daryl sinking both of his hands into your hair as your tongue brushes against his and a low, threatening groan passes between you. More gunfire pops outside the cabin - pulling the walkers attention away from the bed as they turn and stumble into the main room as you pull away from Daryl just enough to take in a needed breath - his thumbs caressing soft skin before pulling you back for another deep kiss. He has to be able to feel your heart hammering against his chest - filling your mouth with his slow desperate tongue as his fingers tighten in your hair. The intoxicating noises escaping your throat fuel his desire, demanding your tongue with his as he swallows your soft moans causing your body to sink further into his.

You kiss him until you’re nothing but a needy mess being held up by his strong hands - sparks of desire running through your veins. Daryl spreads his legs wider, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as you rut against his length until his own quiet groans turn to whimpers then it’s his turn to pull away gasping for air - searching your eyes as you grind against the aching cock trapped between you.

You open your mouth to say something - you want to hear his gravely voice tell you how much he wants this but his mouth is on yours again, stealing the words while sliding his rough hands down your back to grasp your hips - squeezing tightly to stop their torment as his head falls back to the floor with a groan. Despite this feeling radiating between the two of you the bullets have stopped outside making you both silently worry about your friends. Maggie will never forgive you if you let Glenn get killed because you were too busy dry humping the archer under a worn bed. Daryl is still clutching your hips when Abraham burst into cabin yelling your name - heavy boots trudging past the bedroom in search of you.

You let your head hang beside Daryl’s for a moment, pulling air into your lungs as his hands slip into the hem of your tank top - warm palms gripping soft skin as you find his hooded gaze. All you can think about is kissing him again - feeling his hands on every part of you but Glenn joins Abe inside a moment later, worried voice cracking with concern for the two of you.

You pull away from your company with a pout and force yourself to move toward the wall - motioning to the broken window above your heads. Daryl nods, pulling himself to his feet while you climb through first then watch him follow after - adjusting himself in his jeans as you both look up to meet Abraham’s knowing grin.“Get busy living or get busy dying am I right?” He says with a wink - his smile only spreading as Glenn finally joins you outside looking confused. Daryl grunts a response before pushing past them to head back to the others, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder without a word.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him go. “You okay?” Glenn asks falling in beside you as you struggle to keep up with the archer who’s determined to put as much space as possible between the two of you. A deep sinking feeling fills your chest. “I’m, uh.. yeah, I’m good.”

Glenn saved you in Atlanta when all this started - similar to how he saved Rick. He’s risked his life for you countless times since the beginning and you owe him a debt you’ll never be able to repay which makes lying to him almost unbearable.

[junkpuppet225]

note: Part Nine. My Shayla. 🥺 Daryl escapes the sanctuary but he can’t escape his grief.

You’re sharpening the knife you plan on slitting Negan’s throat with when Daryl steps through Hilltop’s gates - his weary eyes still cast to his feet as he follows Jesus silently into the community. You feel your heart stop, a soft gasp rushing from your lungs as Sasha and Maggie lift their eyes to your now vacant seat at the worn picnic table.

Daryl stills as you cross the wide space in front of The Barrington House quickly, stopping inches from his chest as tears well in your eyes. He looks worse than before, covered in filth and dried blood - shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He won’t lift his battered face to you, his only communication the slight nod of his head when you ask permission to touch him.

His name rushes from your lungs in a desperate whisper as you bring him into your arms, placing a gentle hand on the back of his head as he buries his face in the bend of your neck gripping you so hard you know he’ll leave bruises.

“M’sorry.” The word comes out almost inaudible, Daryl choking on his grief as he pulls you closer to his chest. He feels like lead in your arms, heavily burdened and utterly exhausted as you look to Jesus whose worried eyes match yours. “Let’s get him inside before Gregory shows up. You can use my trailer tonight. I’ll stay at Maggie’s.”

Daryl’s body goes rigid in your arms, aching muscles coiling tight from the mention of Maggie but he doesn’t lift his face to look for her - just clutches your body tighter. “Maggie and the baby’s okay. I’m so sorry we couldn’t tell you - we had to protect her from him.” Daryl is silent, his chest not even lifting with needed air as you run your hand over his back in unrequited comfort. He stands there heavy in your arms for another long moment before Jesus ushers you both to a lone trailer furthest from the main building - your eyes never leaving Daryl - his never leaving the ground in front of him.

X

Jesus offers the silent archer food but he just stands in the middle of his quaint home with his head hanging. He doesn’t acknowledge the offer - lost in the horrors of his mind as you quietly thank Jesus for his hospitality while he’s assuring you to use anything you need and that you know where to find him.

After a few quiet minutes with Daryl back in your arms you help him out of his shirt, eyes filling with tears as you take in every dark bruise along his chest and torso - biting the inside of your cheek to keep from sobbing. “M’okay.” He mutters - one jumbled word so full of pain you’re not sure if he’s trying to convince you or himself.

“Daryl…, I’m sorry I didn’t help you.”

You watch his bottom lip pull between his teeth, head hanging further as he takes in a shallow breath to say something then closes his mouth again with a grunt. Once you realize he isn’t going to say anything you guide him to the small bathroom near the back of the trailer where you plan on giving him some space to wash the grime of the past two weeks away but as you turn to leave you feel his rough hand slip around your wrist and hold you in place. You turn slowly expecting to meet his haunted gaze but his head is still hung low, ragged breaths of panic choking him as he asks you to stay with him in a hushed whisper.

X

You sink gentle fingers into Daryl’s hair loosening the dirt and dried blood from the dark strands as he stands before you in the small shower - warm water washing over his battered body. He stands close to you, palm pressed against the shower wall to keep from falling into your arms as you work the shampoo through his scalp. Seeing him like this, so… broken breaks your heart all over again as you place your hand on his jaw and try to lift his eyes to yours. Instead they shut tightly as he tries to breathe through the panic that’s consuming him, the slight shake of his head assuring you he doesn’t want to answer your unasked questions. You brush your thumb against his cheek and return to his hair, taking in a deep breath to try and steady your racing heart.

“Almost done.” You say softly as a quiet groan escapes his throat and he grips your waist with his other hand - idly pulling you closer his body. “…they would have killed ya….” He whispers finally lifting his eyes to yours - the anguish in his gaze pulling a sob from your chest. “…n’that would’a killed me.”

You tighten your fingers in the back of his hair, so much heartache radiating off him as he leans into you. You want to assure him Glenn’s death wasn’t his fault, that none of this is his fault but you know the words will die on your lips so you stand, fully clothed and soaked through under the steady stream of water - thankful to hide the tears that stream down your face. “I love you.” You whisper with a shaky breath as you close your eyes tightly while he places his forehead to yours.

His own words fail him as his face falls to the bend of your shoulder again - strong arms wrapping around your back tightly as his own sob escapes him.

X

Sleep never comes for either of you - just as his breathing begins to slow and his strong grip around you loosens Daryl’s entire body jerks - sending him into a panic that has you on your back in the borrowed bed pleading for your life. Even at his weakest Daryl could snap your neck like a twig and right now he’s on top of you with one powerful hand clenched around your throat, eyes narrowed and chest heaving.

“Daryl, it’s me…” You try again watching him blink away the tears that threaten his eyes as he focuses on your face - white hot rage turning into fear as he loosens his grip around your throat and hangs his head beside yours. “M’sorry. Fuck. Y/N…, I’m sorry.”

You run your fingers into his hair causing a whimper to rush from his chest as he mumbles more apologies against your shoulder - hot tears wetting your throat as you bring his chest to yours while stroking the back of his head. He lays quietly in your embrace trying to steady his ragged breathing as your fingers brush against the nape of his neck sending a frisson of unwanted pleasure into his aching bones. “It’s okay.” You try to assure him - wrapping your arms around his neck as he tries to lift himself from your embrace, clinging to him desperately as you plead for him not to leave. Daryl’s hand is still at the base of your throat, warm palm running along your sternum as he sinks into your body and lets you wrap yourself around him.

“Let me help you carry it Daryl.” You whisper against his cheek as his body shakes with silent sobs and he buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck. You’re not sure how long you lay there holding him while he falls apart but eventually - just as the morning sun is breaking the horizon his full weight sinks into you, finally finding that moment of solace he so desperately needs.

X

[junkpuppet225]

note: Part Eight. Dialog used from Season 7. Character building. No smut, oh but the angst is chefs kiss. Pookie’s gonna be okay, he’ll be back to Hilltop in no time and you’ll be right there to welcome the man you know and love home. Whatever’s left of him at least.

“Okay, let’s get her down and get y’all on your knees.”

You watch them lower Maggie to the ground with tears in your eyes, feeling a rough hand on your shoulder as someone much bigger than you forces you to your knees beside her.

“Gonna need ya on your knees.”

You lift your face to Rick who is searching the area around him with wide blue eyes full of terror and the thought of him being afraid terrifies you. Rick’s the strongest person you know but he takes a knee quickly then another, running a hand over his face as realization hits him.

Someone’s going to die here tonight.

The thought makes your heart hammer in your chest as you watch everyone get into position, glancing over to Maggie as she leans forward slightly with her palms on her thighs. Her breaths are ragged, eyes unfocused as she tries to pull air into her lungs.

“Dwight? Chop, chop.”

You lift your eyes to the skinny asshole with the fucked up face forcing yourself to ignore the fact that he’s carrying Daryl’s crossbow as your heart twists in your chest. Please don’t let him be dead. Your heart can’t take it. Dwight jerks open the back doors on the van and Daryl’s grunts fill the quiet space. “Come on, ya got people to meet.”

Once you see him your eyes automatically fall to the ground before you, a soft whimper escaping your throat as a surge of grief fills your soul. Why is this happening? Who are these people and why are they doing this? You weren’t a part of their deadly mission a few weeks ago - someone had to stay behind and watch Judith and Daryl didn’t bore you with the details. Seeing these savages surrounding you now you know no good came from it.

“Maggie?” The heartache in Glenn’s voice jerks your gaze up, heart twisting in your chest at the fear in his eyes. Daryl sits silently to his right with a blood soaked blanket around his back. His blue eyes locked on yours and silently pleading as another whimper bubbles in your throat. The message he’s trying to send you is loud and clear - don’t speak, don’t react - just wait. The ache that fills your chest brings you slightly forward on your knees as you let his gaze fall, following the trail of blood that runs from his throat to his chest then down his left arm.

“We got a full boat. Let’s meet the man.” The loud mouth up front makes his way to the RV and raps his knuckles against the thin door - giving everyone a creepy, enthusiastic smile. You watch silently as the door swings open and a tall man wearing a leather jacket and wielding a baseball bat covered in barbed wire steps out into the cool night air. “We pissin’ our pants yet?”

X

“Y/N. We have to go.”

They took him. They took Daryl and you just let them - Rick just fucking let them - frozen by fear, knowing if anyone protested that sadistic fuck Negan would kill someone else. You wrap an arm around your middle and sink further to the dirt, closing your eyes tightly as you begin to drown in the darkness.

X

“Y/N. We’re going to get him back. I swear to you.”

Rick’s words don’t even register to you anymore, his promises falling on deaf ears as you spend every waking moment scavenging supplies for The Sanctuary. If you can keep them happy maybe they won’t kill the man you love. It’s a big if that keeps you up for days on end. You only eat when someone forces something in your hand, only sleep when your body finally shuts down from exhaustion and you don’t speak. To anyone.

Not even when Negan strolls through Alexandria days later to collect his bounty do you bother acknowledging his degrading comments as you stand beside Olivia glaring. You hold your breath so you don’t have to smell his cologne as he leans close to your face with a shit eating grin.

“That goes for everyone.” He assures you in a sweet, sing song voice - reminding you that no one is to touch or talk to Daryl while he’s here collecting half your shit. You manage to hold Negan’s gaze the entire time he torments you, waiting for you to crack - to go to Daryl, to plead for his life but you know he isn’t lying about cutting things off of him if you fail this test. The growl that vibrates in the archers chest as he moves closer gives Negan all the proof he needs that you’re his girl. He saw the way Daryl watched you in that line up. Nothing fucking gets by him. Daryl is standing beside Dwight looking as defeated as you feel. Deep black bruises across the bridge of his nose, ocean eyes full of anguish and locked on you as his chest heaves with a quick intake of air. You watch his hands clench into tight fists as Negan invades your space just praying his prisoner lashes out again.

X

“Now that you know we can follow your rules. I’d…, I’d like to ask you if Daryl can stay.”

Once Negan’s had his fill and collected all of Alexandria’s guns and ammo he stands at the gates saying his long goodbyes with Dwight and Daryl flanking him. The archer has his eyes cast down, the tremble in his hands so slight only someone who’s spent countless hours studying every detail of him could spot it.

It started at the makeshift graves Gabriel dug for Abraham, Glenn and Maggie - your heart lurching in your chest as you realized Daryl will have to think it’s true - that Maggie didn’t make it - just to keep Negan from hunting her down. Your small group stood quiet and solemn while Negan cracked jokes about Glenn’s death, blaming it on Daryl’s outburst and how he had high hopes in catching Maggie’s eye. Distracted by the thought of her Negan rambled on and gave you a chance to really look at Daryl as he wiped at the lone tear that betrayed him with the back of his hand. He hasn’t lifted his head again for the rest of their visit.

“You know what, I don’t know. Maybe Daryl can plead his case. Maybe…, Daryl can sway me.”

The ache in your chest only grows, stealing your breath as you watch the archer sink even further into himself - head down, matted hair caked in blood falling over his forehead. You let your gaze fall to his bloodied lip, choking on the sob that threatens escape as you force away thoughts of those lips on yours - how they confessed his love for you, how they lied without missing a beat. Daryl, please don’t go after that asshole who killed Denise. You place a hand to your stomach, fighting back the bile rising in your throat as Daryl remains completely silent. The clothes they have him in hide the worst of his bruises, baggy filthy sweats in this heat - he looks miserable. He looks broken.

M’not goin’ anywhere.

“Well, ya tried.” Negan’s voice is so calm - humor radiating off each word as he repeats his expectations to Rick while you imagine knocking every one of his straight white teeth down his fucking throat. Just when you think this drawn out farewell will never end Negan asks Rick if he really wants him to go. Your own hands begin to shake at the thought of him staying another minute. If he closes his eyes in Alexandria you’ll slit his throat in his sleep.

“I think that’d be good.”

Negan smiles again, maybe wider than before and you idly wonder if all his amusing bullshit makes his jaw tired. “Then just say those two magical words.” Rick looks like he’d rather die than thank Negan for his time but he swallows his pride and does it quickly - sending another ache through you. He won’t fight for Alexandria - for Daryl. Everything that he’s done for him without question and he won’t fight for him - he’s holding Negan’s bat for fucks sake!

You finally look away from the group of intruders, turning your back to Daryl as he stands motionless at Negan’s side.

X

“Y/N, we’ll get him back. I promise.”

You’re tired of empty promises.

“I can’t be here when they come again Rick. I c-can’t see him like that. I’ll end up getting us all killed.”

Rick finally nods, running a rough hand over his tired eyes. “Aaron and I are taking one of the vans north to scavenge in the morning. We can drop you off a few miles outside of Hilltop.”

You’re going to check on Maggie - help protect her like her family once protected all of you. If Negan comes back and Daryl is worse than he was today your fucking heart will split in half and you’ll die trying to kill that mouthy bastard. Not to mention get your entire family killed in the process. Daryl would never forgive you for that - no matter what their doing to him right now.

After assuring Rick you’ll be waiting for them in the morning you finish packing what few belongings those assholes left in the nearly empty bedroom, brushing the tears from your eyes as the past few days catch up with you. The heartache in Glenn’s voice as he called for Maggie. The horror that hasn’t left Rick’s eyes. Seeing Daryl so broken today. It’s all too much - bringing you to your knees beside a bed that isn’t there anymore as you sob into your hands.

[junkpuppet225]

note: Something that came to me just now. No real plot. Maybe a part 2 if I can figure out another spot they get stuck in. DarylXFem!Reader, language, forced proximity, comfort, anxiety, fluffy. Written quick and barely proof read. Enjoy!

While on a run a herd forces you and Daryl inside a small supply closet.

x

Daryl never considered himself to be claustrophobic, not devastatingly so like Carol - he doesn’t particularly enjoy being trapped indoors or behind walls, preferring the openness of the great outdoors - the damp air clinging to the trees deep in the forest just as the sun comes up.

The thought gives him a rare moment of peace as his eyes fall to you, knelt behind a counter rummaging through picked over drawers. He likes going on runs with you because you’re quick and quiet, a no nonsense kind of gal. You’re also so fucking beautiful it makes his chest ache every time your eyes meet. Just like now as you lift your eyes to his and jump to your feet - a sudden heard of walkers pouring into the small independent pharmacy behind him, brining on a slew of grumbled profanity. They’ve caught you both off guard piling into the small building quickly as you pull Daryl into an even smaller supply closet and close the door behind you. He never considered himself claustrophobic but it suddenly feels like he’s suffocating and it has nothing to do with the tight space.

“S-sorry.” You whisper - your chests touching, standing so close he can feel your quick nervous breaths against his face. “H-how many did ya see?”

Before you can answer something angry slams against the door at your back bringing you into Daryl’s chest again with a choked yelp. “I’m sorry.” You repeat, placing a gentle palm to his chest as his entire body goes rigid. “H-how many?” You can feel his words vibrating against your hand as you let it fall to your side and take in a needed breath. “Maybe ten?”

Daryl grunts his response as a walker bangs against the door again, a wave of fear rolling through you as you turn to face the threat - idly sinking your back into Daryl’s chest. “We’ll be alright. Jus’ gotta wait it out.” His voice is so sure, almost soothing as he mutters the words against your ear, watching a shiver run through you as goosebumps prickle your smooth skin. “O-okay.”

An angry bang on the thin door sends you further back, taking the air from him lungs as you whisper another quiet sorry. Daryl gathers your hair to one side to rid it from his face, calloused fingers brushing against the nape of your neck - straightening your back as he clears his throat. Whatever’s on the other side of the supply closets door only grows angrier - snarling and slapping at the wood - it makes your heart hammer in your chest as you squirm against the man behind you.

“Stop squirmin’.” Daryl growls low in his throat, sending another shiver through you as you nod but refuse to apologize again. Behind you the archer is fighting for his life, holding his breath to keep from inhaling your scent - sweet but also warm and comforting like vanilla and honeysuckle warming in the sun. It’s doing things to his body that are out of his control. Just as your ass brushes against his now semi hard erection he grasps your hip and turns you so you’re facing each other but he’s closer to the door now, shielding you from whatever may burst through. “We’re gonna be alright.” He mutters, watching your doe eyes blink slowly as you try to convince yourself. “Maybe we should have fought our way out. I… I shouldn’t have trapped us in here.”

Daryl lifts his hand to your face, brushing his rough fingers along your jaw before sinking them into your hair. It’s an uncharacteristic gesture that’s oddly comforting to you both. “We’re gonna be alright.” He repeats, searching your eyes as his thumb brushes your cheek and your heavy breathing begins to slow.

You’ve known Daryl since the quarry, finding comfort in his brooding silence - you like going on runs with him because you can get in and get it done without the mind numbing chit chat. He doesn’t push or pry for your life story and appreciates that you do the same. You can both coexist in this fucked up world without any of the drama. Even if you’ve memorized every small detail he’s shared with you about his life before this as well as every dark fleck of navy that swims in his ocean eyes. You could describe them in perfect detail standing here in the darkness of this supply closet but that’s something you’ll take to the grave with you. Daryl doesn’t strike you as a man who wants to be lust after.

At least he didn’t, until this very moment - trapped in this small space with you - his familiar eyes hooded and stealing glances at your mouth. Another loud crash in the pharmacy brings a soft whimper from your throat as you idly grip the material of his shirt near his hip and he clears his throat again, unable to drop his hand as he runs the pad of his thumb over your parted lips. You marvel at him as he stands perfectly still while your body jerks with every loud bang then he’s pulling you closer to his chest to shield you from the noise. “…won’t let anythin’ happen to ya.”

You nod again forcing a smile that lights up the darkness and brings another low grumble from his throat. “I won’t let anything happen to you either.” You assure him, your smile turning playful as he rewards you with one of his own. You’re half his size and although you’re quick on your feet you know which one of you is the muscle in this situation.

Daryl allows himself a quick breath, filling his soul with flowery vanilla as you lift your eyes to his and his fingers tighten in your hair. He’s still focused on your lips, silently imagining feeling them against his as the door jerks open and light floods the small space causing you to pull him closer as you bury your face in the bend of his neck. “Come on! We gotta move move move move!” Abraham’s loud demanding voice and strong hands jerk you from Daryl’s embrace as he follows you out into the destroyed pharmacy and lifts his bow, covering your group as Glenn ushers you through the broken glass.

The four of you take off running as the walkers shuffle through the broken glass, your heart dropping when Daryl doesn’t follow. “Wait. We have to wait for him.”

“Daryl can handle himself little bit. We gotta fuckin’ move.”

Abraham’s grip on your arm is too tight to jerk it free as you stumble down the dirt path, relief whooshing from your lungs when Daryl finally emerges through the glass and meets your panicked eyes. The next few moments go by in a blur as the dead shuffle after you.

“I got ‘er.”

Daryl’s deep voice fills your head as he palms your hip and glares at Abraham who drops your arm like its burnt him. “Heard, keep up.” The larger than life red head instructs loudly as he takes off with his longer stride. Daryl presses his rough palm against your back protectively as you move into the tree line to escape the herd of walkers on your heels.

[junkpuppet225]

note: Your wish is my command. Part Seven. There’s prob gonna be a part 8. Pinch of smut. A dash of angst. I hope you like it! DarylxFem!Reader. This goes along with the episode East, Season 6 Episode… 16? So spoilers and all that jazz. Enjoy!

You hold your fist up to Denise in a “pound it” motion, receiving a nervous smile as your knuckles touch and she readies herself to leave with Daryl and Rosita. Why she wants to do this you’ll never understand. She’s the only doctor in Alexandria and she has zero experience being outside this gated community. This is a mistake.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Tara will never forgive any of you for letting her go but birds gotta fly and you’re not her keeper. Plus she’s going out there with two complete apocalyptic badasses even if you still narrow your eyes at the thought of Rosita’s horde of luxury lotions she thinks you don’t know about.

The thought takes you back to that night and every other night Daryl’s stood outside your bedroom door desperate for a moment of peace only you can provide. Nights when his fingers sank into your hair the second you open the door - nights that have left an ache embedded deep inside your chest.

Once his shoulder healed things got busy in Alexandria. Pete killed Reg, Rick killed Pete, the wolves, the quarry full of walkers - the food shortage. It’s left your people - Rick’s people - exhausted, physically and mentally and none more so than his right hand. Some nights Daryl comes to you just to wrap himself in your embrace and sleep.

That sharp ache surges through you at the thought of his tired eyes and how he does whatever needs to be done for the community without question or regard for himself. He puts his own wellbeing and happiness off for the good of the group and it breaks your heart a little more every time you have to witness it.

“I want to help.” Denise assures you, answering a question you’ve already forgot.

“Ya got any requests?”

Daryl’s rough voice is at your back suddenly, his hand idly brushing against your hip to bring your attention to him. “Just that you come back in one piece.” The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them, raising the archers eyebrow as you gape at him with wide eyes. You’ve kept these thoughts buried for so long they sound foreign on your tongue. “All of you, I mean. Everyone. Just, come home safe.”

“Always do.” He assures searching your eyes for a long moment with his hand still searing against your skin - calloused fingers idly brushing just under the hem of your shirt. When Denise starts speaking, pleading her case as to why she should go he brings it back to his side giving her most of his attention but glancing back to you now and then while you memorize every detail of his face.

“Promise me.” You whisper, cutting off the doctor’s words as his eyes fall to your parted lips. It takes every ounce of your self control to keep the distance between the two of you - you want to fall to your knees and beg him to sit this one out but you know it’s not your place. Your relationship isn’t a secret, most people give you knowing grins when they see you together but they’ve got it all wrong. This isn’t that and Daryl is just the hot archer you let into your life and your body without question. As soon as the rising sun kisses the horizon he’s off to do whatever’s asked of him leaving you with that sharp, crippling ache you never breathe a word of to anyone. You’re not trying to fall in love in this ruined world and Daryl Dixon’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve it anyway.

Denise and Rosita watch your interaction with curious eyes, mirroring Daryl’s expression as the gears in his head turn. You deserve so much more than he could ever offer you so he forces himself to ignore the ache you leave inside of him, even if it’s slowly killing him.

“I promise.” He finally says, the few words a low whisper between the two of you and they give you no relief or reassurance. The tight ache in the center of your chest only intensifying with each passing moment as you watch the beat up truck stall about three times before the gears grind their way through the large gate, making a mental note to teach Daryl how to drive stick when they get back.

X

When Dale died he felt guilt. With Merle it was anger, Beth - sorrow but now as he forces his shovel into the dry dirt over and over again he just feels empty. Hollow like his heart isn’t even beating. This is on him. He knew better than to bring her. Denise had no fucking reason to be outside of these walls and now she’s gone.

You’re standing across the shallow grave from him with your arms wrapped around yourself. For you the tears of grief don’t come anymore - you’ve lost to much since all this started but that ache in your chest makes it hard to breathe. You should have never let them take her. She didn’t belong out there. Now Tara’s girlfriend is dead and Alexandria doesn’t have a doctor. You can’t even begin to think about what that means for Maggie and her baby.

“The antibiotics you brought back could save Eugene from an infection. Denise did that.”

It’s Carol who speaks but her voice sounds far away - eyes fixated on Daryl as he digs, only stopping to pull another mini bottle of Jack Daniel’s from his pocket to swallow it down in one quick gulp. You watch him toss it to the ground on top of six other empty bottles before returning to the task with a grunt.

“I’m gonna go check on Judith.” You say to no one, eyes lingering on Daryl a moment longer before turning on your heels.

X

“How many more of those do you have?”

Carol’s voice comes out strained as she watches Daryl toss another empty bottle to the pile before grabbing the shovel again. He’s reverted back to only speaking like a cave man with grunts and the occasional growl.

“Have you at least ate something?”

“Yeah.”

He’s lying and he knows she knows he’s lying but he doesn’t really give a fuck, idly wondering why she needs to be here with him while he does this. You know when to give him some fucking space, Carol should take a hint.

“Daryl, this isn’t your fault.”

He dig’s harder.

“Daryl.”

He closes his eyes tightly, taking in a shallow breath as the booze in his system starts making the world spin faster. Fuck. When they open again he resumes digging, ignoring Carol’s glare. “What?” The word comes out low and dangerous, like he may snap any second. This is his fault. He should have killed that motherfucker the first time he crossed him. Denise paid the price for that. Who else is going to pay for his mistakes?

What if it was you out there with them and that pricks bolt sunk into your head? Picturing you lying in this grave sends his shovel to the ground roughly as he searches his empty pockets for another bottle of liquor.

“Motherfucker.”

“Daryl, Denise—-.”

“Don’t, alright? Just fuckin’…, don’t.”

He doesn’t need a pep talk about how this isn’t anyone’s fault but the asshole from the burnt forest. He needs you and the peace you fucking bring him. Then he’s going to hunt that fucker down and make him wish whoever fucked up his face finished the job. Daryl stalks off from Carol to go find you with another low grunt. “Daryl, don’t take this out on her.” Carol calls after him but he’s already halfway there.

X

You close the door behind you as you leave Judith’s bedroom spotting Daryl climbing the stairs a second before he sees you. He looks angry. The muscles in his shoulders and arms wound as tight as coils with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. When he spots you that anger doesn’t go away it just makes room for the desire that fills his ocean eyes.

You brace yourself for the impact of his chest crashing into yours causing your back to hit Judith’s door, quietly pleading with him to calm down before he wakes her. “Alright.” Is all he says then his mouths on yours using his weight to hold you in place. It brings on a sudden rush of adrenaline mixed with fear and sorrow. It’s only a matter of time before he goes after that asshole they killed Denise. He fills your mouth with his desperate tongue, gripping your hips so hard he leaves bruises on your skin. You know he’s hurting and you know there’s nothing you can say to take that pain away right now so you do the only thing you can to keep him here with you.

You kiss him back. Brushing your tongue across his as he groans into your mouth and grasps your ass - lifting you up in his arms as if you’re weightless before bringing your legs around his hips. He smells like whiskey and he doesn’t break your kiss until he’s all but tossed you on his bed, climbing over your heaving chest to find your mouth again. This time isn’t like the first time. It’s not innocent and fun. It reminds you of the night you stood in the middle of Alexandria surrounded by a massive herd of walkers covered in rotting entrails. You watched silently as Daryl climbed to the top of that truck and fired a fucking bazooka into the man made lake just past this house. That night after you washed away one of the worst days of your life he was waiting for you outside of your bedroom. That night he kissed you just like this.

Desperately.

Your fingers rake into his hair as his mouth moves to kiss your jaw, then your throat - resting his forehead against your sternum as he takes in a deep breath gripping your waist roughly. “Jus’…, fuck… jus’ gimme a second.” The room is fucking spinning from too much Jack Daniel’s on an empty stomach - he can almost hear his brother calling him a pussy from beyond the grave. He lifts his face to yours slowly, hooded eyes searching before falling back to your soft lips. “…could’a been you out there.”

The heartache in his voice brings your back off the bed as you help him sit up placing your hands on his hot face as he watches you with tears threatening his eyes. “Was bad enough it was Denise…, but you.. if you…” The thought of you lying lifeless before him with a bolt in your brain causes him to choke on a quiet sob as you bring him to your chest.

Daryl buries his face in the bend of your neck wrapping strong arms around your body as your fingers sink into the back of his hair. “Daryl, I’m right here.” That thought gives him no comfort because he knows all to well how quickly you can be taken away. He says your name, barely a whisper against your throat as you tighten your fingers into his hair forcing him to lift his eyes to yours again. The words he’s so desperate to say are trapped in his throat as he runs a hand over your cheek, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip before he’s kissing you again.

You wish you could say you forced him to stop, made him go downstairs and eat something or talk about all these feelings inside of his head but you never claimed to be strong - especially when it comes to Daryl so you return his kiss just as fiercely, pulling your shirt over you head before demanding his, buttons flying from your shorts as he jerks then down your thighs - pushing you back onto the bed so he can sink into you deeply.

Once he’s inside of you all of the fucked up shit going on disappears and there’s just you and him and the soft groans between you. You card your fingers through his unruly hair as your eyes meet, his thrusts slow and deep - never wanting this to end, never wanting to go back to the outside world. Just as your fingers tighten in the back of his hair to bring his lips to yours he bends his face into your shoulder as a sudden rush of emotion surges through him.

“I love you.”

Everything stops - his slow moving hips, the deep thrusts - even his lungs stop taking in air as he keeps his head bowed beside yours. What the fuck did he just say? He whispers your name against your throat as your fingers slip from his hair, trailing feather light strokes down his back as he finally lifts his eyes to yours - surprised to see the hint of a smile on your lips. “Daryl…, I love you too.” You assure him softly as his mouth finds yours, kissing you until you’re a squirming mess beneath him as he begins to move again - harder this time, bringing your back off the bed as you clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your deep moans. “F-fuck, Y/N��-, s-say it again.”

“I love you.” His grunts turn into soft whimpers as you grip him so fucking hard he’s seeing stars, spilling into you a moment later as you wrap your arms around him tightly. You know Daryl better than most and you know this is some kind of fucked up goodbye before he leaves to kill Dwight. You can’t lose him. He can’t leave you again. “D-Daryl, please don’t go after that asshole that killed Denise.” You whisper against his jaw, hot tears pouring from the corners of your eyes as you cling to him.

His back goes stiff at your words, brushing your tears away with a slight nod. “M’not goin’ anywhere.” He’s always lied so easily. Merle taught him how to lie before he taught him how to speak so it comes easy to him when he needs it but he wasn’t lying when he said he loved you. He felt that shit deep in his fucking soul. It just doesn’t change what happened on those train tracks yesterday. That motherfucker deserves to die for what he’s done. “Promise me.”

Daryl whispers your name, silently begging you not to ask this of him. “Daryl. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He whispers he loves you again later that night while he fucks up into you against the shower wall then again as you’re falling asleep wrapped up in his strong arms. He even says it in his head the next morning, chewing his bottom lip as he fights an inner battle before he slips out of the room without a sound. You’re his last thought as he sinks down to his motorcycle and guns it towards Alexandria’s gates to make this right.

[junkpuppet225]

Daryl: You think you could—-.

Y/N: Sit on your lap?

Daryl: No uh—-.

Y/N: Get on my knees?

Daryl: …um…

Y/N: Crawl to you?

Daryl: …hand me my uh, bow?

[junkpuppet225]

Me standing behind this train wreck of a conversation trying to grab some Häagen-Dazs and go tf home. 😂

[junkpuppet225]

Daryl Dixon is not a virgin…, at least not in my mind. You don’t look like that and keep it all to yourself. Now, has he had a plethora of woman dropping their panties for him all hours of the day? Nah. Probably two or three friends of Merle’s many partners brought over to keep little brother company but he never said no to a good time back then and he always used protection.

Now, when he meets me - err, you after the worlds went to hell all bets are off. The primal animalistic need he feels for you would never stall long enough for him to search for a condom. Sorry girly, Daryl Dixon’s getting you pregnant in the zombie apocalypse. You’re welcome.

😂 I will die on this hill.

[junkpuppet225]

note: Part Six, and scene! 🥵 If you need me I’ll be taking a cold shower. Smut! Yay! strong language and one intense back rub - enjoy! Also thanks for all the awesome feedback- you’re amazing!

The look on Daryl’s face as you stand at his bedroom door that night is hard to describe. Confusion laced with desire and maybe even a hinge of regret. He’s a complicated man.

“Thought ya took that shit back to Olivia.” He mutters, letting his gaze fall to whatever’s in your hand. “Oh, this isn’t for you Dixon.” You assure pushing your way into his bedroom without an invitation as you hand him the tube of lotion and make your way to his bed.

He’s still standing at the door gaping at you as you sit down and pull your oversized shirt over your head. Despite holding the soft material against your breasts he drops the lotion to his feet. “Yer not really gonna make me do this, right?”

The smile you give him sends an ache through the center of his chest as you nod your head, gathering your hair in your hands to pull it to one side of your neck as you wait for him to join you. Hell yeah he’s doing this.

Daryl is still standing at his bedroom door with the tube of lotion you confiscated from the supply Rosita is hoarding at his feet, blue eyes wide and chest unmoving. He’s stopped breathing and although you don’t want him to pass out you don’t really care.

He’s doing this.

You’re not mad at him for keeping his healed shoulder a secret for a few days, you knew it was better by his body language anyway but you do plan on being compensated for your trouble. Plus you’re desperate to feel his hands on you.

…and your neck is still sore from holding it at the wrong angle while working on his motorcycle - AND he ruined your favorite shirt driving through those mud puddles on your ride today so yes, he’s doing this.

You try to hide your smile from him as you remember earlier - both covered in mud and laughing like idiots as you stepped into Carol’s clean kitchen - getting chased off to the showers by the deadly woman. You swear you saw Daryl hesitate for a second before heading to a separate shower and you’ve spent the rest of the evening imagining if he hadn’t.

You snap your head to the left and meet Daryl’s wide eyes, watching him snatch the lotion from the floor and take a small step towards you. “Y/N…,” Your eyes soften as your name rushes from his lungs, he’s stopped moving again with a foot of space still between you. “Not sure how you’re going to do this all the way over there.” Is all you say.

By the time Daryl baby steps his way to the edge of the bed he’s growling low in his throat and you idly wonder if he really doesn’t want to do this. When you outed him for cashing in on extra back rubs he agreed to return the favor idly hoping you’d never mention it again. There’s no fucking way he’s going to be able to touch you like this without losing his fucking mind. A frown forms on your lips as you raise your eyes to him, stopping at the impressive bulge already growing in his sweat pants for only a split second before meeting his gaze. You press your shirt into your chest to try and keep your heart from leaping from your body.

“A deals a deal, Dixon.” You’re not letting him out of this without a fight and to your surprise and possible utter horror he sinks down to the mattress behind you and pops open the tube, squeezing a small amount of lotion on his rough palms and rubs them together - making you find your smile, patiently waiting for him to begin.

“Fuck, this smells good. Hell of a lot better than what you were usin’ on me.”

Your eyes roll but you don’t bother mentioning his was a medicated menthol cream to relieve sore muscles and yours is just a nearly empty tube of expensive vanilla scented lotion with no other purpose other than to make him extremely uncomfortable.

“Right? I thought I was going to have to cat fight with Rosita to borrow it. She has like four different ones in her room.” Daryl swallows a groan as the image of you and Rosita going at it flashes in his head suddenly. Fuck.

He still hasn’t touched you, watching you with a pained expression as you scoot back on the bed until you’re settled between his thighs with his palms hovering over your shoulders nervously.

Kissing you was one thing, a thing neither of you have mentioned since it happened but this… “f-fuck”, he swallows hard and finally places his warm hands against your skin - moving his thumbs in small careful circles. Thirty seconds in and he’s pulling away from you quickly, assuring you he kept his word as you turn your head and glare at him. “Seriously?!” Daryl can only stare at you holding his breath to keep out the way the vanilla lotion mixes with your own sweet scent - silently begging his dick to go away. A puff of exasperation rushes from your lungs as you turn your back to him and begin gathering your shirt in your hands to put it back on.

It’ll be a cold day in hell before you rub his back again, which isn’t true at all. Daryl Dixon could order you to crawl to him and you’d fall to your knees without question - but he doesn’t need to know that. Just as you’re about to pull your shirt over your head you feel his rough hands against the nape of your neck again - working the tense muscles loose as he brings you closer to his chest.

“T-there you go.” The archer only growls in response, causing you to giggle at his ire as you assure him after this you’ll be square. The only problem is he doesn’t want to be square with you so he plans on giving you the best fucking back massage of your life so you’ll continue this tit for tat shit forever.

He can do this. It’s just rubbing your back for a few minutes. Surely you don’t expect him to do it for as long as you did? Putting him to sleep like a fucking baby for the past week. He focuses on the curve of your neck as his fingers dig into your tight muscles - receiving a soft groan in approval that makes his cock jerk in his sweatpants. “…f-fuck me.” He growls, tightening his hands along your back as your head falls forward and he focuses on the freckles that dot your shoulder. “Hmm?”

“N-nothin’.” His voice cracks like he’s a teenager causing you to giggle softly before you’re groaning from his touch again and just like when he was a teenager he’s begging any god that will listen to keep him from coming in his fucking pants.

Only a few more minutes and you’ll be satisfied, he assures himself - eyes closing with his own muffled groan as you sink further into his chest. You’re nearly in his lap now, the hair that always falls into his eyes brushing against the back of your neck as he bows his head and really begins to pray.

His hands slow as they grasp at your rutting hips, thumbs kneading into your lower back as your breath catches in your throat making him press his face to the back of your head - quietly begging you to stop squirmin’. “S-sorry…, feels really good…” Eight seconds more is all he can take. “Goddamnit Y/N…”

You’re entire body is humming with pleasure as Daryl growls at your back, letting his skilled fingers drop between you as a soft sigh of satisfaction rushes from your parted lips and you turn your face to thank him.

You lift your eyes to his slowly, pupils blowing wide as you meet his dark gaze that sends a shiver of pleasure straight to your core. There’s a storm brewing in these ocean eyes as he watches you - fighting, and losing an inner battle with himself as you let your gaze wash over him. From his dark unruly hair that falls over his forehead back to his tortured gaze, lingering on his parted lips as they take in deep needed breaths that make his chest rise quickly. You idly hear your name roll off his tongue with a deep growl as you continue down his torso, appreciating the way his worn t-shirt clings to his abs - riding up just enough to expose that soft patch of hair that disappears under the band of his sweatpants. The room is to quite, the rush of your labored breaths matching his as he straightens his back and closes the space between the two of you slowly - afraid if he moves to suddenly you’ll disappear like a doe he’s tracking, his eyes dilated and full of desire as brushes a hand against your jaw - sinking rough fingers into your hair then sliding them to the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his.

When he kisses you it feels like you’ve been struck by lightening - brining you to life as you clutch your shirt against your chest with one hand and rake the other into the back of his hair, moaning into his mouth as he pulls you forward so you can straddle his lap.

You stopped at his happy trail when you were ogling him a moment ago, afraid of what you may find if your eyes kept going but now you can feel every thick inch of him against the thin material of your lounge shorts making you sink into him further as he tightens his fingers in your hair - his tongue never leaving your mouth.

Neither of you mentioned the kiss you shared in the quiet of Aaron’s garage eariler, chalking it up to too much testosterone surrounded by power tools and gasoline but this kiss is nothing like that kiss. This kiss is desperate and pleading, it’s sloppy and demanding and the groan that escapes Daryl’s throat is damn near primal as he jerks his face from yours quickly - pulling air into his spent lungs. You rest your forehead against his as you try to catch your breath - mind racing as his lips graze yours and your fingers sink into his hair.

“Daryl?”

He’s back to grunting like a caveman, still out of breath with his eyes closed tightly. Whatever you say next will break him either way, making him grasp at your rutting hips as they grind slowly against him - chasing that incredible friction that’s making it hard to breathe.

“Do you…, w-want to?” You can only hope he’s picking up what you’re putting down because despite how good this feels your chest is flooding with anxiety - heart hammering at the idea of being with him. Daryl’s still losing that inner battle, he knows if this goes any further there’s no coming back from it but if he stops now there will be no living with himself.

“Y-yeah.” He finally grunts, the word lingering in the air a moment longer before you’re kissing him again. This time you don’t stop - letting your discarded shirt fall away as he reaches behind himself and pulls his own over his head the way guys do - keeping his eyes locked on yours as you lean back to slide your shorts down your legs.

When you’re laid back before him completely exposed - cheeks flushed pink and breathing hard he crawls to his knees before you and leans into your kiss, working his sweatpants off with one hand as the other grasps at your waist - rough palm gripping soft skin as he brushes his thumb along the swell of your breast, swallowing your soft moans. Fuck, he’s not gonna last ten seconds inside of you - fisting his now freed cock in his right hand as you allow yourself a quick peek - eyes going wide as his eyebrows pull together in concern. “W-what?” He follows your gaze to his hand - his right thumb mirroring his left as he brushes it over the wide head slick with his own desire - swallowing his own groan.

“You’re r-really big.”

“Fucking hell, Y/N…” Daryl whimpers, a sharp - strangled noise as his dick jerks in his hand. Ten seconds inside of you would have been a prayer answered but he’ll be lucky to last two now. The emotion that fills your chest as he lifts his pleading eyes to yours is nearly your undoing, grasping the back of his hair as you bring him to your parted lips and beg him to go slow before crashing your mouth to his. Daryl groans into your kiss, running the head of his cock along your soaked slit as that strangled noise rushes from his chest again and he sinks into you, causing your nails to dig into his shoulders as your head falls back to the bed with a gasp.

“…f-fuck…” You’re so fucking tight he has to slow his thrusts so you can stretch around him - wide eyes watching carefully as he gives you another inch. “…you alright?” The words are barely audible as he pushes further - bringing a deep moan from your chest as your eyes close and he brings his face down to yours. “…u-use your words…, don’t want t’hurt ya…” Another soft moan rushes from your lungs as you nod your head and whisper how good it feels.

“…fuck yeah it does…, takin’ me so good…”

Your nails rake into the back of his hair, causing his own groan to pass between you as he begins to move - sinking into you deeply as he kisses a wet trail down your neck, cussing against your jugular as you tighten further around him. You are completely void of all coherent thought as his teeth graze your throat - thrusting into you with desperate grunts as fireworks detonate behind your eyes, bringing your back off the bed as he slides an arm under your hips and fucks into you deeply.

When he lifts his eyes to yours again he’s taken back at how beautiful you are, pupils blown wide before closing tightly - nails biting into his back as the prettiest sounds fall from your lips. Daryl groans your name against your throat, bruising your hips with his calloused hands. “…m’gonna cum…” You bring his face back to yours, kissing his parted lips before pleading for him to come inside of you. “…f-fuck…” He does just that - emptying himself deep as he rests his forehead against yours and tries to pull air into his lungs.

“…t-that was…”

There’s too many words in the English dictionary to describe what that was but he mumbles an appropriate adjective against your temple as you sink a hand into the back of his hair, raking your fingers into the strands in that perfect way that has his eyes growing heavy a moment later.

“…will ya stay in here with me tonight?” Daryl manages to say, each word coming out slower than the last as you nod and bring his head to your chest - your racing heart and soothing fingers lulling him into a deep post-orgasm sleep.

X

You wish you could say you and Daryl lived Happily Ever After after that first night together but the second thing you’ve learned in this dying world is Daryl Dixon is as loyal as he is stubborn so just like you said, he eventually goes back to being Rick’s right hand - putting himself in the middle of the danger for the good of the group but every now and then, when he meets your eyes from the rim of your early morning coffee cup you know you hold his heart in your hands.

…and anytime he needs one of your world famous massages all he has to do is ask.

[junkpuppet225]

note: Part Five. I think I made it over the hump. language and fluff, eventual smut is eventually coming - promise. I’m digging the slow burn. Enjoy!

You woke up alone in Daryl’s bed, wrapped up in his delicious scent with your head on his pillow. You have no idea how you got there or where the archer is but the morning sun is filtering through the windows making you realize you’ve slept in.

Pushing yourself up from his bed you pad across the floor and to the hallway stairs, brushing a hand through your unruly hair as you descend into the kitchen and meet ocean eyes from across the room.

Rick, Carl, Michonne and Judith are around the table and they each greet you warmly while Daryl just stares, leaned back against the countertop looking absolutely edible. You allow yourself a moment to appreciate his tight body in the daylight and those damn sweatpants hanging form his hips. When the piece of toast he’s been waiting for pops up from the toaster he slathers it with Carol’s homemade apple butter and hands it to you without a word.

“T-thanks?”

He responds with a grunt, turning his attention back to Rick who continues with the plans for the day as you close the space between you and Daryl quickly - standing close to his right side and blocking your leader from his usual enthusiastic and motivational shoulder slap as Daryl eyes you suspiciously. Rick suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he gives you both a curt nod and takes his leave with his family - demanding Carl take Judith to Jesse’s house before going to school.

Once you’re alone with the archer he turns to you, your chests nearly touching as his eyes search yours for any inkling of an idea as to why you’re so close to him. All you can manage is to take in a deep inhale, savoring the smell of him while you can. “Why was ya sleeping in that chair this mornin’?” He asks but you don’t hear any annoyance in his words - if anything he sounds disappointed you weren’t in his bed. A warmth rushes to your cheeks as you apologize and assure him the reason is too stupid to say out loud.

To your surprise Daryl doesn’t step away from you, waiting patiently for your answer.

“You just looked…, I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

You have to look away from his curious gaze to get the words out. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you while you were asleep. Like a walker attack or a house fire, or whatever.” Lame. The smile Daryl gives you nearly brings you to your knees before him. “This comin’ from the girl who didn’t even flinch when I moved ya to the bed this mornin’.”

You feel yourself blushing again. “Why were you moving me with a bad arm? Do you even want it to heal?” If it means you’ll stop coming to his bedroom then no - he’ll cut that motherfucker off to keep your hands on him. Daryl clears his throat at the thought and changes the subject.

“Ya didn’t have t’sleep in the chair, could have just stayed in the bed with me.” It’s his turn to look away - awkward doesn’t even begin to describe the silence that washes over the two of you and for the life of you, you can’t seem to make him a comment. You just gaze into his eyes like a love struck fool. “M’sorry I fell asleep on ya though - literally - but if money was still a thing I’d work three jobs just to pay ya to rub my head like that every fuckin’ night.”

Somewhere deep inside of him he knows all he has to do is ask and you’ll touch him anywhere he likes, the thought making your heart hammer in your chest yet again as he holds your gaze with his blue eyes. It would be so easy to just lean into him and see what happens. Would he kiss you back or run screaming from the room? Looking at him now you have no idea how you ever thought you weren’t on his radar. He’s looking at you like you hung the fucking moon.

Things are way too tense between the two of you so you take in a breath and take a step back into the countertop. “Maybe you can pay me in a different way.” His eyebrow raises at the thought as his eyes fall to your parted lips and you watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “I’ll scratch behind your ears if you take me for another ride on your motorcycle.”

If he had even an ounce of Dixon blood in him he would assure you he has something you can ride but the thought sends a rush of heat up his neck and he forces an awkward laugh. “Deal, but ya gotta help me fix the chain again. It keeps slippin’.”

Your smile lights up the entire kitchen, offering him your hand in agreement. Daryl looks at it like it may bite him at first - meeting your eyes again as he slips his into yours and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way his linger in your grasp as you turn to start your day.

X

Daryl’s arm stopped hurting a week ago thanks to your nightly massages and pain management but for the life of him he doesn’t want whatever the fuck this is between the two of you to end so he lays on his back staring up at his motorcycle with your head in the bend of his neck - your arms stretching over your head to loosen another nut.

He also could have fixed this motorcycle weeks ago but lying here beside you in Aaron’s garage is the closest thing he’s ever had to happiness and Dixon men are a stubborn breed for sure. Like mule but he justifies himself with the faint ache that runs along his shoulder blades and into his back, the ache that he’s had since he was twelve but at least he isn’t lying to your face when you ask him if hit still hurts. He promised himself he’d let you go after today.

…but that was before he kissed you.

Once the chain was back in place on the motorcycle you sat up beside him, turning your neck with a groan before glancing down to meet his intense gaze - his eyebrows pulled together in concern as you place your hand on the back of your neck and rub. “I think I was lying the wrong way.”

Without thinking Daryl lifts his right arm easily, running his calloused fingers along your shoulder to grasp the nape of your neck - digging strong fingers into the tight muscles as your eyes flutter closed and a groan of relief rushes from your lips. “You’re pretty good at that.” You assure with a grin, leaning into the massage as he pushes himself up on his other arm and sinks his fingers into the back of your hair - bringing you down to him quickly. Your eyes pop open just as your mouths meet then flutter closed again as his tongue brushes against your lips sending a wave of pleasure straight into your soul. You place your hand on his chest to steady yourself as he grips your hair in his fist and holds you to him, kissing you like his very life depends on it as you melt into his arms.

You’re not sure how long the kiss lasts, not until you realize the fingers tightening in your hair belong to his hurt arm and you pull away from him to take in a needed breath. You knew his arm was better a few days ago but maybe he isn’t the only stubborn person in the garage because you don’t want whatever this is to end either. The thought of him going back to ignoring you sends a flood of emotion into your chest - sending you back into his kiss again.

This time he sinks both hands into your hair as yours slide down his torso - his slow tongue filling your mouth - bringing a deep groan to his lips as he pulls away just enough to take in a ragged breath - eyes searching as his chest heaves with desire. You idly wonder if he’s had much practice kissing, sending a slice of jealousy to your core as you assure yourself he’s just good at everything he does - waiting for him to continue.

Maybe you can bake Aaron some of those weird cookies Carol’s been handing out. A peace offering that says sorry I fucked the archer in your garage, here’s some cookies.

When you realize Daryl’s lost his nerve to kiss you again you ask him if he’s finally going to admit his arm is better, bringing on his sly grin. He looks like a little boy who’s got caught in a lie but he doesn’t look sorry for telling it.

“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about…, still hurts.” The words rattle in his chest inching you towards him again as a ghost of a smile spreads across your face. Whatever this is with you and Daryl, it’s gonna hurt like hell when it’s over but thankfully you’ve always had a high tolerance for pain. Eventually he’ll realize he doesn’t have time for any of this and fall back in line with Rick and the others so you’re going to enjoy it while it lasts.

A rush of air escapes his parted lips as you inch closer to them, licking your own as his hand falls from your hair to grasp your jaw - running the rough pad of his thumb across your cheek. “This morning when you were done telling Rick about our run?”

The low hum of a desperate growl is your only answer.

“When he slapped your shoulder to send you on your way?”

Daryl’s eyes are trained on your lips and now he’s not making a sound. You’re not even sure he’s breathing and he’s definitely not listening to the soft words that leave your lips. Not until you say - “…you didn’t wince in pain.”

“Shit.”

Slowly Daryl sits back on his arm, shaking his head in disbelief. All he can do is glance up at you every few moments silently begging your forgiveness but unable to hide his grin. “You owe me like a thousand back rubs Daryl Dixon.”

…and that’s something he knows he won’t fucking survive.

x

[junkpuppet225]

note: Part Four. language, smidge of smut, minors do whatever you want but know you’re responsible for it. I hope I got Daryl’s pov right. Third person writing is hard.

He broke his right arm when he was twelve. Fell out of an oak tree in the woods just behind his house and it’s given him trouble ever since.

He learned how to do several things with his left though, steer a motorcycle, feed himself but never quite mastered the art of jerking off. Never could get the grip right so when his cock jerks at the memory of you running your soft hands up his stomach then along his chest to gather the material of his shirt in your hands a quiet groan escapes him and he lifts his face to the hot water flowing from the shower head. Think about anything else. Rotting corpses. Carol’s meatless meatloaf. The way your eyes look when you’re hiding in the dark - watching him from the rim of your coffee cup, the faint rays of early sunlight hitting them just right and making them shine like jewels. The way your hands felt on his back a few nights ago when you showed up with medicine to help him. The last person that deserves it. He’s the one that’s supposed to help people, not the other way around.

It’s why he’s always stayed a safe distance from you. Shane’s group needed him, to track and hunt and gather but watching you sitting by that quarry at the start of all this he knew he’d let every one of them burn for you.

The thoughts unsettling but it helps with his boner. He sure as fuck can’t go back out there and have you lather him up with muscle rub with it raging between his legs so he focuses on the fact that your group is doomed the closer you get to him and that meatless meatloaf shit he was forced to eat last week.

It instantly returns when you look up at him from his bed - on your knees and waiting. “F-fuck.”

“You okay?”

You’re so goddamn sweet. Beautiful and kind, a badass with a knife and a decent mechanic. Yep, Rick maybe your brother but he’d burn this whole fucking world for you starting with their leader.

“Y-yeah.” Daryl crosses the room and sits at the edge of the bed, eyes closing as your knees sink into his sides and you begin to warm some of the muscle relief cream between your hands.

Straight to business, you have to be sick of coddling him by now but when your palms meet his back they move slowly and skillfully across his skin - minding the shoulder and bruises along his ribs but working hard into the tight muscles in his back. It feels like fucking heaven and the groan that leaves his chest slows your fingers further. “I’m not hurting you right?”

Your voice is so soft, breath fanning over the menthol medication as his head hangs forward and a deep pleading no rushes from his lips. “O-okay.” You work your thumbs along his spine just close enough to the tightness in his shoulder without making it worse. “…f-fuck… f-feels so fucking good…” You swallow hard and continue, trying to ignore the disparity in his ragged words and the way they light up your insides filling you with desire. You want to hear them again but whispered against your ear while he’s buried inside of you. “S-shit.” His back rises with a deep intake of air as he asks what’s wrong causing your fingers to falter again, chest tight as you scramble for something to say. You’re throaty moans and sexy words are turning me on Daryl Dixon isn’t it so you place your hands back to his skin and whisper something that your brain can’t even process - feeling a rush of heat crawl up your neck as you take in your own deep breath.

“H-how did you get these?” You whisper with a shaky breath, running your finger along the longest scar across his back - watching a shiver run through him. Silence fills the room as you wait, running your hands along the muscles beneath the scar and receiving another quiet groan. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” You assure him softly, bringing your fingers over the smaller scar and up to his left shoulder.

“Leather strap. Dad would get black out drunk and take his anger out on me. A lot.”

You’re not surprised by his answer but it still hurts you just the same, tightening the muscles in your chest as you work your fingers down to his lower back. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” Daryl grunts, lifting his good shoulder in a slight shrug as he assures you it was a long time ago. “You said it was just you and yer old man? How was he?”

“Mostly a happy drunk. He liked to gamble so we never had much. My mom died when I was little so it was always just us. He tried his best, he was a good dad.”

The thought of you having at least one decent parent relaxes his muscles further as Daryl takes in your words. “Mom died when I was a kid too…, but she wasn’t much better than my old man. At least ya knew where ya stood with him. Don’t remember my mom ever havin’ much t’say to me.”

You find yourself alternating between rubbing Daryl’s back then gliding your nails gently across his skin, watching his head fall forward with a happy sigh. “I guess we can’t pick our parents…, we can only strive to be better than they were.” You watch him nod slightly as your nails creep close to the base of his skull and he leans back into your touch. “Y-yeah.” He whispers bringing on your smile as you sink your fingers into his hair and massage his scalp.

“Ya do this shit before the world went to hell?” Each word is but a mumble of syllables as you work your fingers deep into the nape of his neck, loosening the tension along his shoulders as a quiet sigh rushes from his lips. “Nope.” You’re not sure if he’s listening but you explain you’ve never given anyone a massage before him - fingers hesitating at his shoulders as he whispers how good it feels - sending that tingling feeling back into your core.

Daryl Dixon is putty in your hands, you could ask anything of him in this moment and he would die trying to give it to you. The thought is thrilling. You also think he’s almost asleep by now heavy his head is getting. “Daryl?”

“Mmm?”

A whimper rushes from your throat as he whispers your name followed by please don’t stop in an almost inaudible moan that has your fingers tightening in his hair. You’re not sure how much more of that you can handle but luckily (or unluckily) that’s all you’re blessed with tonight because in the next minute Daryl’s gone slack and you have to grab his arms to keep him from falling forward. Shit.

It takes you several minutes to maneuver around him (he’s nearly twice your size) and guide him to his back as he turns - almost trapping you as he takes in a deep breath. You force him to move further up the bed so he’s not half on half off then place your hands on your hips to catch your breath. If you’ve ever wrestled a bear this is what it feels like you think as you take in the sight before you.

You’ve mostly seen Daryl ready to strike at any given moment, wound tight and skeptical but right now he looks so innocent - almost vulnerable and it fills your heart with an emotion that scares the shit out of you. So much that you cross the room and cut out the light, fumbling your way back in the dark to crawl into the side chair in the corner of his room. Once your eyes adjust to the darkness you study his handsome face - the fading bruise along his cheek from who only knows what, his full lips - idly wondering how they would feel pressed against yours. You listen to his even breathing, watching his chest rise and fall peacefully as he lulls you into your own dreamless sleep.

[junkpuppet225]

note: Part Three. Loyal to the end, Rick says jump and Daryl asks how high but it somehow brings you closer together.

Judith’s face scrunches together as Daryl’s motorcycle roars to life four houses down, her mouth forming a perfect little “o” as you watch the archer push the bike out of Aaron’s garage to where Rick is standing bringing your eyebrows together in concern.

“Da?” She twists in your arms as you force a smile, unable to take your eyes off Daryl as he nods to whatever Rick is saying - watching the leader point to the east then to your utter horror give Daryl a reassuring slap to his right shoulder.

All you can do is stare as his back goes rigid, his head hanging low as he nods again and rolls the throttle - disappearing down the street towards the gates. “Da!” You stand to your feet as Rick turns to Judith and waves, closing the space between you quickly as you try to calm the unease filling your chest. “W-where’s he going? He told me he wasn’t riding today.” You ask, hating the way your words break up with worry as Rick takes Judith from your arms and raises an eyebrow. You’ve never been concerned with Daryl’s comings and goings before and it spikes an interest in your fearless leaders gaze.

“Asked him to check in with Glenn and the others. I don’t trust the kid that took them on their run.”

Your eyes lift to where Daryl once was and feel yourself frowning. “Daryl can handle himself, Y/N. Ya don’t have t’worry about him.” Rick assures with a knowing grin as your eyes meet and you nod helplessly. Of course he’s right. You’ve seen Daryl take on a herd of walkers but he shouldn’t have to, especially with a bad arm.

Rick’s next words bring your eyes up to his quickly. “I’m glad he’s finally worked up the nerve to talk to you. You’re the first person he asks about whenever he gets back from a run, always have been.” You try to keep your face neutral but the thought of Daryl asking about you sends a surge of emotion through your chest and makes you worry about him that much more. “Y-yeah, me too.” You assure Rick turning your attention back to the empty street.

X

Glenn and the others got back a full day before Daryl and you stood in the watch tower above the front gates from the moment they returned until his motorcycle rounded the curve and he came into view sending you flying down the steps to greet him.

The bike rumbled forward slowly, gears whining as your eyes meet - surprise washing over his handsome face. You let your eyes fall to his right arm resting in his lap as he guns the vehicle. Once he’s through the heavy gate and sitting before you you wrap your arms around his neck in a relieved hug, burying your face in the bend of his good shoulder as his body stiffens then relaxes into yours as his left arm wraps around your back.

“You told me you weren’t going to ride while your arm was messed up.” You growl in a hushed whisper, tightening your arms around his neck as your fingers sink into his hair and your chests meet. It’s taking everything you’ve got not to burst into tears as the anxiety that’s bloomed in your chest begins to fade. Daryl palms your back, fingers gripping your waist as your quiet words brush against his neck sending a shiver through his aching body. “Hadn’t planned on it.” Is all he says, the words coming out barely a grunt as you take in a deep breath finally pulling away from him just enough to look into his eyes.

“How’s your arm?” You’re still whispering despite being the only two people in the street - your face inches from his as he searches your gaze trying to decide if he wants to trust you. If the others find out he’s hurt they’ll lock him up in a bedroom somewhere and force him to see that prick Pete. “…it’s fucked.” He finally mutters and drops his head with a groan.

You tighten your fingers in the back of his hair, bringing another low grunt from his lungs as he mutters your name like a prayer. The word straightens your back and makes your heart hammer in your chest as he lifts his eyes and pulls his bottom lip between blunt teeth. “Why the hell are ya out here?”

“Guarding the gate.” You lie. Gabriel guards the gate at dusk on Thursday’s and by the way Daryl’s looking at you he’s fully aware of that. “Yer on watch Tuesday mornings.” He mutters, eyes blowing wide as he realizes he’s outed himself. He knows you lurk in the dark with your coffee, Rick says he’s always asking about you and he knows where you are during the week. You’re definitely on his radar. He’s still waiting for you to answer his question though. “I switched shifts.”

Daryl grunts a quiet laugh making your heart seize in your chest and heating your cheeks as you take a step back from him brining his scent with you. It’s the best blend of earthy pine and musk and it makes your mouth water. “Go get something to eat and take those pills, okay?”

“Okay.”

You take in another breath of him. “M-make sure you eat so they don’t fuck up your stomach.”

A ghost of a smile spreads across his face as he nods once and lifts his eyes to Gabriel as he returns to his post. “Thanks for the break, Y/N. I can take it from here. Daryl, glad to have you back, this one was ready to send the calvary out looking for you this morning.”

When his eyes meet yours you have to place your cool hands to your face to try and hide the embarrassment of getting caught in your lie. Daryl’s either too busy watching you to notice or he’s being polite. Whichever it is you’re thankful for it.

“Get on. I’ll give ya a ride to the house.”

Your eyes go wide.

“Oh, that’s okay. I couldn’t…”

“Come on.” He says again and his tone assures you he’s not asking. “I don’t—-.” How are you going to straddle the bike without hurting him more than he already is? You won’t be able to lift your leg over without grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. “Y/N, it’s alright.”

You hesitate for just another second before placing your hand to his shoulder and throwing your leg over the seat, landing way too close to his back. You try to scoot away and give him some room but he reaches his left arm behind himself and grabs your thigh, pulling your front flush against his back as he slides your arm around his torso. “Don’t fall off.” He orders and rolls the throttle - bringing your body closer to him as you tighten yourself around his middle and bury your face in his back as adrenaline replaces your worry.

X

Daryl takes you around the block twice before finally stopping at the front steps of your shared and borrowed home. “That was amazing.” You assure him still buzzing with adrenaline and clinging to his back. “You gonna tell me why you were really up there on that post?” He mutters as he helps you off the motorcycle, grasping your elbow to keep you from darting off. You lift your eyes to his slowly, surprised to find him staring at you like he’s trying to pull the truth from your lips. “I was worried about you. Rick kept saying to give you another day but I swear if you didn’t come around that bend when you did I was coming to find you myself.”

He watches you for another long moment, studying every detail of your face before letting his gaze drop to your lips - giving you a quick nod in understanding as he starts backing the motorcycle down the road. The feeling the archers left in his wake makes it hard to breathe, watching after him until he disappears inside Aaron’s garage and you finally turn to go into the quiet house.

X

It’s late so you have the kitchen to yourself - grabbing the leftovers from the fridge as you put together a plate of food for the archer. You finish up just as he steps into the house, raising an eyebrow and closing the space between you as you set the plate gently before him. “Those pills will fuck your stomach up if you don’t eat.” Assuring him once again as you move to take your leave, idly expecting him to ask if you’re going to chew it up for him and baby bird it into his mouth. You’ve got to shake this weird desire to dote on him. That’s Carol’s job. “Okay. I promise I’ll leave you alone now. Eat, and take those pills…”

His eyes never leave yours. “…and use that cream.”

A flash of pain fills his eyes at the thought as he finally looks away, slumping into the chair beside you and reaching for his fork with his left hand, watching you idly reach out to help him. “Ya ain’t gotta feed me. Let me keep a little dignity.” He mutters taking a quick bite of food as his eyes lift to yours again. “…gonna have to shower in this fuckin’ shirt though.” He doesn’t bother telling you there’s no way in hell he can apply that cream himself.

He’s not sure he’ll survive your touch again.

X

[junkpuppet225]

note: Part Two. Daryl needs your help.

The next morning you’re sitting at the kitchen table sipping on your guilty pleasure when Daryl jogs down the stairs and for the first time since all of this started your heart skips a beat at the sight of him.

Despite having been with the group since the quarry the two of you aren’t friends. Not really. He’s shared his food with you and made sure your fires burned hot during those long winter nights before Alexandria but that’s about as far as it goes between the two of you.

Until yesterday at least. Desperate times and all that.

You’ve never even been on his radar but after your friendly back massage yesterday he’s definitely on yours. You stay hidden in the shadow of the kitchen watching him from the rim of your coffee cup, those damn sweat pants still hanging off his hip bones. The worn shirt you helped him into last night clings to his broad back as he opens the refrigerator door flooding the kitchen in a harsh unnatural light.

“Mornin’.”

Your eyes go wide as you sit your cup down on the table and gape at him. He didn’t even look at you but somehow knows you’re there - lurking in the shadows. Maybe you aren’t that far off his radar after all.

“Good morning.” The phrase comes out more of a question than a statement. You wonder how he slept, if his shoulder is any better? “You want a cup of coffee?” You’re feeling awfully helpful towards him all of a sudden. Daryl Dixon can get his own damn cup of coffee but the thought of him having to do that brings you to your feet. He watches you cross the kitchen and set your cup in the sink before assuring you he doesn’t drink that shit with a simple. “Nah.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.” He lies, eyebrows pulling together hard as he lifts his arm to pull out the pitcher of tea Carol made a few days ago. “Did you take those pills?”

“Mmhm.” He takes a drink straight from the pitcher, making your eyes go wide. “Are you telling me the truth?”

You watch him set the pitcher back in the refrigerator and close the door leaving you both standing in darkness now. “I’m not a liar.” He snaps causing your eyes to roll at the thought. “I hope not. You need to take them like I said.”

“I took ‘em.” He assures and this time you force yourself to believe him. It’s too early to argue with a grown man. “Okay, good.”

The awkwardness from last night fills the room but neither of you make a move to leave. Daryl’s blue eyes have you locked in place, searching for any sign of pain in their depths. “How are you really feeling?” Your words are so soft he takes an idle step towards you - filling your lungs with menthol. “Like shit, but better than yesterday.” He assures you just as quietly.

“Okay good.” You sound like a broken record. To your utter surprise, and possible horror Daryl smiles at you - sending an ache through the center of your chest. A rush of heat comes to your cheeks as you turn away from him quickly and take in a quick breath. “You still gonna help me with the bike today?” As if his smile wasn’t enough Daryl slips his fingers around your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

“Sure.”

“Alright. M’gonna go get dressed and I’ll meet ya over there.”

You swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat and nod - forcing the image of Daryl changing out of his clothes from your mind and biting your tongue to keep from asking if he needs your help with the task. He raises an eyebrow - searching your face for another long moment before turning back to the steps and disappearing upstairs. Only when he’s out of sight do you allow yourself to breathe again.

X

If you thought things between you and Daryl were awkward in the darkness of the quiet kitchen they’re down right tense on Aaron’s garage floor. The archer is on his back beside you - the heat of his body radiating into yours as he explains what nuts needs loosened, his deep voice vibrating in your chest as he mutters something about the rear wheel and chain slack. It’s hard to concentrate with him this close.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of everything about him as he tries to help you, lifting his arm mindlessly to grab the back wheel. You turn your face to Daryl’s as a slew of profanity falls from his lips - his eyebrows pulled together in pain as he grinds his molars. “F-fuck.”

“You need to go see Pete before you really fuck yourself up Daryl.”

The growl that follows assures you that’s not happening. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere near that dead eye’d prick.” Daryl mutters adjusting himself back to your side as he lifts his arm again - forcing the pain away as he rotates the wheel to loosen the chain. Once it’s where he wants it his eyes fall to yours, surprised to see you staring at him. “What?” He grunts adverting his gaze quickly.

“You’re really stubborn.” You assure him softly and he laughs without humor, nodding to the nut to assure you he’s ready for it to be tightened. “Daryl…” His name rushes from your chest in a tone that brings his eyes back to yours, making your heart hammer as his gaze falls to your lips. The words you want to say are to personal - it’s not your place to reprimand him but the worry filling your chest of him suffering with this injury is to great.

“M’alright Y/N.”

Your hand slows above you as he says your name sending a herd of butterflies into your lower stomach and making your fingers shake with nervous energy. “…okay.” You whisper just as the wrench falls from your grasp, smacking you right in the forehead.

“Ow.”

You lift your head as Daryl leans over you bringing your throbbing face closer to his with a groan. “Ya alright?” The pain from your clumsiness is nothing compared to how hard your heart is beating now that he’s hovering over you with concern in his eyes. “Y-yeah, shit.”

Just when you think cardiac arrest isn’t in your near future Daryl brushes his calloused fingers across your face with a feather light touch, pushing your hair from your eyes as he studies the spot where the wrench assulted you while all of the air rushes from your lungs.

“You’ll live.” He mutters with a grin bringing on yours as you place your fingers to the sore spot just above your eyebrow. “You a doctor now?” You ask repeating his question from yesterday as he smirks and pushes himself away from you with a groan.

Now that there’s some space between the two of you, you can breathe easier trying to ease your racing heart as Daryl offers you his left hand and pulls you to your feet. Just like that you’re back in his orbit and he holds on to your hand a moment too long before dropping it like it burnt him. “Thanks…, for the help.”

“Y-yeah. No problem. You aren’t going to ride with your arm messed up are you?”

“Nah.” Is all he says searching your eyes another moment before someone calls his name from the street. You both look up to Rick who’s standing just outside Aaron’s garage with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Daryl. Y/N. What’s going on?”

Daryl tenses at your side. He doesn’t want anyone to know he fucked his arm up. Especially Rick. “Oh, Daryl was just showing me his motorcycle. My dad was a bike guy.” It wasn’t a lie. “Right.” You don’t think you’ve fooled the fearless leader but he asks Daryl to walk with him as you all say your goodbyes. You turn back to the house to seek out Judith, missing Daryl glance behind himself to watch you leave.

X