#Daryl x optimism | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tinachristeen · 2 years

Text

Photos of You

Fem!Reader x Subbish!Daryl Dixon

word count: 20,498 (I hope)

NSFW.

Warnings: Explicit, full of horny, Minors DNI. Pillow humping, Sexual photographs, Vaginal sex, Oral sex, Talks of alcohol, vague talks of Daryl's child abuse. That's pretty much it, can't think of any more trigger warnings.

"Hey, look what I found!"

Daryl turned his head away from what he was currently occupied with, a box full of abandoned books in the corner of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick had sent you and Daryl to scavenge for, well, anything useful actually. The children needed new books to read, The pantry could always use more food, And you can never have too many medical supplies in an apocalypse. you and Daryl had thought you hit the jackpot when you came across an old, rather large, thrift shop with enough clothing and books to keep Alexandria stocked for a while. Daryl even found a recliner he seemed to like. Unfortunately, the universe has decided to make your lives a billion times more difficult ( as usual) by sending a decent-sized herd in your direction. you both made it out fine, with only a few bruises and at least 50 of the undead bastards still on your tail, so you both decided to look for a place to wait them out until morning. and like a beacon of light shining in the cold, damp night air, you both stumbled across a dilapidated shack with a set of metal doors protruding from the ground beside it. thinking it was your best chance at a safe shelter for the night, Daryl quietly opened the doors and moved down the stairs to scan the room for potential threats. Once he gave the all-clear, you shut the doors tightly and not even five minutes later, heard the shifting and shambling of the rotting undead above your heads.

turning on your flashlight, you scanned the room to take in your surroundings. it looked to be a makeshift bunker of some kind. It was pretty large, walls made from some kind of metal. In the left corner of the room, there was a bunk bed with gray sheets, colorful quilts, and rather comfy looking pillows. In the right corner, a little kitchenette with various appliances and cabinets for storage. In the middle of the room there was a wooden table with two folding chairs, cards and other assorted items strewn about the surface. you had to admit, besides how cold it was

"Do you think anybody lives here?" you asked Daryl as he started rummaging through cabinets to look for spare supplies. You watched as he brought two fingers down and gave the counter a quick swipe.

"Nah. S' a lotta dust"

You moved further into the room towards the table, where a storm lantern sat, untouched for months or even years. you pulled out your metal zippo lighter and palmed it fondly for a second. Daryl had given this to you months ago and it was one of your prized possessions to date. You recalled a time when you thought he would never give you a gift, or even talk to you for that matter. When you two first met, he wouldn't even look at you and only threw you the occasional snarl, and now he was one of your closest friends. He had really grown as a person since Atlanta... And you had grown fond of him.

Snapping back to reality, you tried to focus on the task at hand, lighting the lantern. with a single flick, the lighter produced a perfect flame. The damn thing was always reliable. The lantern roared to life and gave the room a soft orange glow. You moved around the room, lighting the other three lanterns that were meticulously hung for optimal lighting. You glanced over to ask Daryl a question, but it died on your lips as your eyes found him. From where you were standing, you had a perfect side view of his face. The light hit him as it danced in flickering shadows across his features. He knelt over a chest filled with blankets on the floor, concentration painted on his knitted brow. He looked pretty like this, his bangs falling lightly over his eyes while he moved about. He stuck his tongue out in concentration, one of his many admirable idiosyncrasies, like when he fidgets with something in his fingertips, or rubs his chin with the back of his hand.

You break from your thoughts again, mentally scolding yourself for once again getting side-tracked thinking about Daryl. You decide to at least try and look around for things that could be useful, focusing on a nightstand next to the bunk beds. It was a shoddy thing, looked like it was built out of a pallet and nailed together by a blind child. It had a drawer though, so that was a start. opening it, you find quite a few... interesting things. A chain of at least 15 condoms, a really expensive looking vibrator, a polaroid camera, a few boxes of film, and some already taken photos. Upon closer inspection, the photos revealed a couple in some very compromising positions. One photo in particular was a view of a woman laid out on a bed, sweaty and tense, breasts on display for the camera with her back to the sheets. You immediately begin striding over towards where Daryl was hunched over a box with an amused look on your face.

"Hey, look what I found!"

Daryl turned his head away from what he was currently occupied with, a box full of books in the corner of the room.

"whatcha got there?"

You lower your hand, silently offering the pictures to him. He flicks his head to the side, effectively moving his bangs from his eyes for a better look. His cheeks fired up as he flipped through each picture and felt the embarrassment welling up in his chest.

"These too," you said lightly as you held up the chain of condoms and the vibrator with an amused look in your eye.

Daryl's blush spread from his cheeks to his shoulders, and his ears were comparable to the color of a ripe strawberry at that point.

"Some couple back a' Alexandria gon' enjoy 'em," He managed to utter. But oh, how he wished it was the two of you putting them to use instead.

"Oh hell no! this bad boy is mine!" you said, holding up the vibrator, "They can have the condoms though."

Daryl did NOT need that image in his head right now. Of you all laid out, that thing going between your legs, your moans filling his ears, maybe his name spilling from your lips...

The truth is, Daryl had been harboring a crush on you since the prison. He had to admit, the beginning of your relationship with him had a rough start. He was mean to you for no reason other than he was too scared to get close to you. Wasn't any easier with Merle in his ear all the time, "Tha' girl ain' gon' wantchu baby brother. you're just a lowlife." But after Merle was gone, Daryl had slowly realized that he hurt you over time. You avoided him around camp and used every excuse in the book to prevent spending any time with him. When Hershel's farm burned down and the group was on the run, Daryl would ask Rick to give him as many watch shifts as he could with you. And when the group found the prison, He did the same thing. Taking shifts with you up in the guard towers, bringing extra snacks he found on runs with him so you two could eat. Eventually, Rick started pairing the two of you up on runs, and you two made a flawless team. you both maneuvered expertly, like you were fine tuned to each other's movements and reactions. You both worked on the same brain wave, which came in handy when you needed to make quick decisions on an impulse. And eventually, the archer began to develop feelings for you. At first, he would find himself looking at you, admiring how your body moved when you took out walkers on the fence. Then he started thinking about you, finding little things on runs that reminded him of you and pondering o if you would like them or not. He didn't usually bring them back though, Merle still in his head telling him that it didn't matter how many gifts he gave you, you still would never see him like that. Eventually, the thoughts wandered. They progressed, and sometimes even followed him into the confines of his cell late at night, swirling in his head like a catchy song.

click.

The sudden sound caught him off guard. He looked up to see you chuckling to yourself with that bright smile he adored. He would do anything to see you smile like that, even if it killed him. He watched you with adoring eyes as you pulled the freshly taken picture from the slit in the camera and shook it back and forth. He felt embarrassment creeping up his neck again when you took a look at the photo and smiled. He took a deep breath to compose himself and choked out, "ya gon' lemme see the damn picture r' wha'?." He's trying his hardest to sound nonchalant, but deep down he was nervous, and sweat forming on his palms was certainly showing it.

You hand him the picture, and he replies with a scoff. "tch! I look ridiculous," He remarked while throwing the picture down on the floor.

"No, I think you look great."

He stiffened at that. Fuck! one more thing he's going to think about later when he's alone. He could already feel himself growing in his pants as he groans just low enough so you can't hear. 'Really? jus' a compliment 's giving ya' a hard on? c'mon man,' He reprimanded himself in thought. The silence thickened, as you shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot with a sad-ish look on your face. 'Oh shit, she thinks she made ya' upset. respond asshol-"

"Well, I guess we should eat," you said, cutting off his thought process.

'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,' "Sure." 'you fucking coward'.

After that, you both sat down to eat your glamorous dinner of canned pork and beans. The uncomfortable energy had faded at that point, which was another thing Daryl loved about you so much. You never dwelled on anything longer than necessary, and you always knew how to make the mood right. When you got up to go get something from the kitchenette, Daryl couldn't help but replay what you said in his mind. 'You look great,' what did you mean by that? maybe he imagined the whole thing. Yeah, that must be it. His eyes drifted down to the legs of your now empty chair in thought, where your backpack was propped. And maybe he was imagining this too, but he could swear he saw the corner of a polaroid picture sticking out of the front pocket...

That night he laid down on the bottom bunk of the bed in quiet thought, agonizing over his lack of response earlier, thinking about the picture. He wondered if you would silently resent him now because of it, or even more, he wondered if you wouldn't take his picture again. He always hated having his picture taken as a child. Once in a while, his mother would pretend to give a shit and try to take family photos to hang on the walls. He hated the pictures she took because his bruises were always visible, almost as if to taunt and humiliate him when he'd walk by the frames in the hallway. He's been sour towards pictures ever since, avoiding them like the plague. That was, until about an hour ago. He found himself hoping you would take pictures of him, even with him maybe. God, he would let you do anything to him as long as it made you smile.

His thoughts wandered again, making his cock stiffen in the tight confines on his jeans. Fuck! He couldn't do this now, you were asleep right above him! The thought of you catching him made the burning feeling in his core worse somehow, as his pants became uncomfortably snug. He flipped over on his stomach in an attempt to diffuse the situation that had been building since the two of you entered this godforsaken bunker, but failed miserably when his sensitive tip brushed against the mattress, causing him to hiss out in pleasure. Fuck, he was a goner. Just then, he noticed the flannel shirt you had left on the floor next to the bunks. He felt shame at the idea that flashed across his mind, but convinced himself that it wouldn't hurt. He was about to do something he hadn't done since he was a horny highschooler. He pulled your flannel up onto the bed by the sleeve and brought it to his nose, taking a big whiff of the area around the neckline. He groaned in satisfaction and flipped on his back as he pushed his pillow on top of his hips and placed your shirt over his face. He reached down, lifting his hips off the bed just enough so he could free his red, throbbing, cock and push it against the surface of the pillow. The contact made him dizzy with anticipation as he thought about what he was going to do. He started moving his hips up in a thrusting, grinding motion slowly so as to not wake you up, moaning a little with each pull and push.

He thought of you as he chased his pleasure, as he always did. He thought of your hips and how they swayed when you walked. He thought of your hands, and how they felt that one day you grabbed his arm to show him something. He thought about that time you insisted on putting his hair in a ponytail, and how was he going to deny you when you looked all sweet and happy? The feeling of your fingers pulling at his hair to get it in the hair tie will be forever engraved into his brain. He thought about you on top of him, riding him while he holds that vibrator to your clit and brings you to your climax.

He whimpered a little bit, pushing the shirt into his face to envelope himself in your scent. you smelled so good to him, like that lavender soap you loved and leather books. The best goddamn smell in the world, or at least he thought so. His hips started to speed up as he became dangerously close to his high. The stark contrast in temperature between his hot, twitching dick and the cool, soft pillow sent shivers down his spine. The friction, The thought of you, Your smell, Your hands, Your mouth. It was slowly becoming too much for him to handle. He needed to cum. He needed to cum to you, FOR you. Then a thought hit him, what if you kept the polaroid because you were attracted to him? what if you kept it because you wanted to... use it. What if you thought about him like this, all sweaty and desperate for you??

That was it, That thought is what made his nerve endings light up all over. His climax came in white hot flashes of pure pleasure, His thick cock spurting long streams of warm cum all over his pillow and bare stomach. He moaned wildly into your shirt as he bit down on the collar, riding out the waves of his orgasm with reckless abandon and no concern for noise.

He laid there slick with sweat and semen, his hair stuck to his face and neck, breathing heavily as he shivered through the post orgasm cooldown. He stayed there for a good minute, still giving little thrusts that made him whine with sensitivity from the overstimulation. Ridiculing himself in shame over what had just happened, He slowly placed your flannel back on the floor where it had previously been and tucked himself back into his pants. He would just clean himself later. However, When he pulled his pillow back up to his head, he realized his mistake. in all his horny desperation, he had forgotten about the fact he had just cum on his pillow with no way to clean it. 'Way ta go dumbass, ya' ruined yer only pillow.' He shook his head as he threw the pillow under the bed and laid back down. Only one slightly embarrassing thought still crossed his mind before he fell asleep, 'I wonder if she'll take more pictures of me.'

Little did he know, that's exactly what would happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Morning came, and aside from the shame Daryl felt deep in his gut, the day went pretty well. You returned to the store you two were at the previous day, loading everything you could fit into the storage truck (especially Daryl's chair) and heading for home. The ride home had an awkward air to it, even though you tried your best to lighten the mood with jokes and gossip about the people of Alexandria. Daryl just couldn't keep the conversation going, too busy thinking about last night.

He lit a cigarette and opened the window to get some fresh air. You took notice of how the afternoon sun made his skin shine, and how his lips wrapped around the damn thing perfectly.

click

Daryl turned to you, watching you shake out the film again and giving it a good look.

"S' this gon' be a thing now?"

"Oh, absolutely."

He let a small smirk grace his lips and heard another click to his right.

"What? I rarely see you smile," You said, defending against his scrutinizing look. You gave the photo in your hand another studious glance. God, he was pretty. from the long, brown hair that graced his forehead, down to the stubble on his chin you dreamed about rubbing on your thighs. What would it feel like to have those angular lips drag across your body with need and desire? What sensations would those rough, callused hands make you feel? You bet he's rather dexterous on account of all the whittling he does with those arrows, and the pure skill his fingers use to expertly skin a deer. You bet he's really good at applying pressure in all the right places...

"Hey! Daryl, what the hell?"

Your attention is gripped by Daryl grabbing the camera from your lap with one hand and bringing it up to his face in one swift motion. He snaps a picture of you and glances at the road while he waits for it to print.

"'S my turn, sunshine."

Was he... Trying to be playful right now? The only other time he was playful was that night when you were both up in the guard tower and you challenged him to a game of knife throwing, to which he responded with a competitive grin and a, 'You're on.' You both threw your knives at a very well made target you had drawn yourself that was taped to the pole in the middle of the tower. The rules were simple, First person to hit the bullseye would emerge victorious. After three or four throws, you landed the shot perfectly, causing Daryl to sarcastically accuse you of cheating. Those nights in the tower were some of your favorite memories. Snacks shared over mutual silence, just enjoying each other's company and occasionally talking about random stuff. Such a simpler time.

"Are you gonna let me see the damn picture or what?" You remark, mocking him about the comment last night.

"Nah, don' think so." He retorted, taking a drag from his cigarette and puffing it in your direction.

You faked an offended look, watching him stuff the picture into his back pocket. You think nothing of it as you both make your last turn towards home...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Rick took it upon himself to throw a party for the new group that had arrived at the gates. You had to hand it to Him, The idea to put signs up on the major roads and train tracks had been a huge success. Alexandria had gained quite a few new members since then, most of which were actually decent people, which was hard to come by these days.

You invited Rosita over so you two could pick out clothes and do makeup together. You enjoyed quality girl time since You didn't have any sisters growing up. Rosita always helped you piece together outfits for these events, she was the self-proclaimed best stylist in Alexandria, not that you would disagree.

You stood in front of the mirror, Feeling the fabric of the dress between your fingertips. It was cute, a red sun dress that hugged your hips and showed off a considerable amount of cleavage. She paired it with a set of black strappy heels that accentuated your calves nicely. She also insisted on you keeping your hair up with two strands down in the front to, "make your collarbones and cheeks really stick out," or whatever.

"Damn mama, You look sexy as hell in that dress, I'm jealous. Daryl's going to love it."

You threw her a sour look.

"What? you know I'm right."

Deep down, you knew she was. "I just don't think he likes me like that Rosa," You said with a sigh. You gave yourself another look in the mirror with a droopy expression.

"That's a lie. Anyone would take the chance to be with you. If I swung the other way, I would sleep with you the minute I saw you, hermosa. And I KNOW Tara would too, That girl has a looking problem."

"Rosita!" You turn back to her with a shocked laugh.

She just shrugged and continued on, "What about that thing you told me about?"

" 'Sita..."

"You saw that man on the bottom bunk of that bed, Masturbating, right underneath you! And you still don't think he has a thing for you?"

You started to feel flushed, "That probably wasn't because of me."

"you're oblivious. Wait! was it big?"

"Oh. My. God. Stop."

Rosita cocked an eyebrow at you, expecting an answer.

"I- I didn't get a good look. It was dark and I didn't want to invade his privacy like that, so I just popped my head back up."

You remembered hearing him breathing heavily and dropping your head over the side to see if he was okay, Only to be met with the sounds of moans and whines and his face covered in some sort of cloth. probably to keep himself quiet so he didn't wake you... It definitely didn't work. You hate to admit it, but you listened to him carry on for another few minutes. Hearing him whine and moan so close to you had your underwear soaked and your legs rubbing together. When he reached his climax, it took everything you had not to make any noise. He was so vocal, and you were just aching for any kind of relief.

You couldn't help but touch yourself after you were sure he had fallen asleep.

"Bor-ring." Rosita said with a disappointed look, followed by her ushering you to come closer so she could start on your makeup. "Next time, Hop down there and assist him."

You chuckled, "Unfortunately, Rosi, I don't think there will be a next time. Now hurry up so I can start on you!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl heard a knock on his front door and shuffled off his new chair and up the stairs to answer it. He was not at all surprised to see Rick on his front stoop, holding a bag in his hand.

"What'd Ya want? M' not goin' to tha' damn party, so ya' might as well stop tryin'."

Rick knew Daryl hated these parties, but had to attempt to sway him to come anyway. When Daryl walked back into the house, Rick followed in hot pursuit all the way to his room in the basement.

"Come on, brother. Just give it a chance, you might enjoy yourself," Rick said as he stepped through the doorway.

Daryl flopped down on the wooden chair that he had pulled out from his workbench to face Rick, " 'S not gon' happen."

Rick had seen the way Daryl looked at you, like a desperate puppy who couldn't breathe unless in your presence. He was about to play dirty, but this was his last resort.

"Y/N is gonna be there."

For a split fraction of a second, Rick saw a hint of excitement in his eyes. But just as quickly as it was there, it was gone.

"an' why's tha' matter?"

Rick walked towards Daryl with the bag still in hand, lowering his voice a bit.

"Wouldn't you like to look at her in person instead of staring at that picture you like so much?"

Daryl stayed silent. He couldn't trust his voice not to come out shakey.

"Here, I brought you some clothes and some other stuff."

Rick tossed the bag in Daryl's lap. Daryl opened the bag to find a pair of charcoal dress pants and a dark green button up shirt, along with what looked like hair gel.

" 'M not wearin' this shit." He said with a disgusted look on his face. "Don't even know how ta'."

"I can help you, And she'd like it. you know I'm right."

Daryl grunted in response, embarrassment welling up in his chest.

"Fine."

"Good. Now take a shower and put those on and I'll help with the rest." Rick said as he walked out of the room. "I'll be waiting out here.

Daryl drug his feet to the bathroom that was connected to his bedroom and started stripping layers. As the water started to run, he got lost in thought. If Rick could tell he liked you, did you know too? What if you saw him and laughed at him because he looked dumb? Rick better know what he's talking about. He picked up his bar of soap and got to work on his legs, scrubbing vigorously until his skin had a pink tint to it. Now he was getting a little self conscious, trying to make sure his skin and hair was clean for you. He really would do anything to see you smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I look ridiculous."

"No you don't, now sit down and hand me the comb."

Rick was a persistent son of a bitch, Daryl had to give him that.

Rick ran the comb through Daryl's wet hair, slicking it all back and adding in some gel as he went.

"Alright, looks good! Oh, just one more thing." He unbuttoned the first two buttons on Daryl's shirt, causing him to let out an uncomfortable groan.

"Never leave the top two buttoned, Girls love to see a little chest."

Daryl threw the comb in Rick's direction as Rick dodged it and laughed. "I used to do this for my little cousin, He was a few years younger than me and he loved it."

"ya well 'm glad ya had yer fun, playin' dress up like I'm a damned doll."

Rick just chuckled in response and exchanged goodbyes so he could go get dressed and ready himself.

Daryl looked in the bathroom mirror, His nerves were getting the better of him. What was he doing? pretending like he wasn't redneck trash and dressing like an idiot. If Merle could see him now, he'd be having a field day with this. How was he even going to talk to you like this? You'd probably be too busy laughing to talk.

Well, at least he would see you smiling.

He shook the thoughts away and mentally prepared himself for the shitshow this was about to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rick smiled to himself as he entered his room to change.

He was happy to help his brother with any lady issues.

He was even happier that Rosita had come to him with this idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slowly approached the front door to the party, silently wishing Rosita had never talked you into this. "Damn Rosita! And damn rick and his stupid parties." You thought to yourself as you took a deep breath in and closed your fingers around the chilled door knob. With a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped inside.

The smell is what hit you first. Warm, home-cooked food and alcohol. A soft, upbeat tune played from somewhere deeper into the house. Before you could even process what was happening, Maggie had walked up to you, grabbed you by the hand, and pulled you into a circle of people to chat, muttering something about needing to introduce you to the new people. You met a few new folks, Including some new guy named Mitch who was an architect before the world fell apart. you two got to talking, but in all honesty, you were only half paying attention once you realized Daryl wasn't there.

As if the universe listened to your thoughts, the door slowly creaked open and in came Rick and Daryl. And he looked... wow. All thoughts escaped you as you looked him up and down. He cleaned up well, His hair slicked back and that tight-fitting shirt made your head swirl with desire. The two buttons had been popped open at the top, giving you an excellent view of his collar bones and upper chest. Then his eyes met yours, and it was like there was no one else in the room. Quite a few people turned to stare, mostly from your group, probably in surprise at how clean he was. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and decided to throw him a little wave and a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl left his house and started his stride to the party in the brisk, cold night air. "Ya really let Rick talk ya inta this huh? ya stupid bastard, she's gon' laugh atcha when she sees ya like this. swear ta god im gon' kick Rick's ass later." He approached the front door of the event, hearing the music and laughter buzz through the door. He considered going home and changing out of the stupid outfit to save himself the embarrassment, just sitting in his new chair all night and reading one of the books he found on that run last week. He had only been out for ten minutes and already missed the warmth of his bed and the comfort of his old ratty shirt. Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and spun around to find Rick smiling at him.

'fuck, too late now. The bastard caught me.'

"You'll be fine."

Daryl just offered a grunt in response as Rick opened the door and led them both inside.

The first thing Daryl noticed was you, it was always you. No matter if you were wearing the dirtiest rags you could find, or the most beautiful thing you owned, he would always be able to pick you out of a crowd. No matter what. The second thing he noticed was what you were wearing, and he would be damned if his heart was still beating after. He raked his eyes over every inch of you he could, taking in every agonizing detail. The black heels made your legs look strong yet delicate at the same time. his hands itched to run his fingers over your thighs while you sat on his lap, taking the pleasure you wanted from him. He longed to leave that red dress that showed the delicious swell of your breast on the floor of his room. When his eyes lifted to yours, he swore the world went quiet. your eyelashes fluttered as if you were trying to figure something out.

'Here it comes.'

But it never did. You only smiled at him and offered a small wave. And he offered one back.

Only then did he realize people were staring at him and he shrunk back into himself. He tore his eyes away from you and started walking towards the kitchen.

'Where's the alcohol?'

He made a B-line for the open liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Bourbon that would be his best friend for the night. He already felt sweaty and was thankful that cologne rick had let him borrow. He was still going to kill him later though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rosita swiftly walked towards you and you were already rolling your eyes before she ushered you to an unused corner of the room.

"Tell me you just saw what I saw, because I think I just had a stroke Y/N."

"Stop."

"Girl, that man showered and dressed up for you. His hair is out of his eyes, this may be a marriage proposal."

You had to admit, you were having less than pure thoughts about him right now, specifically his chest, which you thought about on a nightly basis at this point. That shirt brought out his ocean colored eyes perfectly, and you often wondered if you dove deep enough into them, would you ever be able to swim back to the surface? Did you even want to? How would they look closed tightly underneath you in an expression of pleasure? How would his mouth look pleading for more? How would that hair of his look spread out on the floor around his head like a chocolate colored halo?

"I have to admit, He does look rather handsome in that shirt." And you meant it. you REALLY meant it.

"Oh my god! You were totally just having a sex fantasy weren't you?" She said when she saw the ever so slight tint to your cheeks.

"Keep your voice down!"

Rosita gave you a knowing look and smile before you walked away and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water. Lord knows you could use a cooldown right now. Once at the sink, you pulled a red party cup from the stack on the counter and filled it up with the tap. Turning around, you find Daryl in the corner, sipping a glass of amber liquid.

"Hey."

He looked at you and nodded in response.

Fuck it, why not bite the bullet?

"You look nice. That shirt is a pretty color."

All right. this time his heart might have actually stopped. His body tensed and the room suddenly shot up a few degrees.

'Oh no, no this again. say sum dumbass, tell 'er she looks good'

"Ya- mm," He choked up a bit and lifted the glass in his hand to his lips to take a sip of liquid courage. "Ya look great too. 'S a nice dress."

"Thank you, Rosita lent it to me for the night, along with this tacky purse."

You gestured to the oddly shaped handbag that was draped around your shoulder. The thing was sort of ugly-cute, but it was the only bag large enough to hold the things you wanted to bring tonight. Oh! That reminded you. Somehow without Daryl noticing, you pulled your beloved polaroid camera out and prepared it for a picture. Luckily, Daryl was staring straightforward and lifting his glass for yet another sip, making it the perfect opportunity for a photo.

click

Daryl recognized the sound all too quickly and made an annoyed face. You had been terrorizing him with that camera for the past week. Snapping pictures of him while he was working on his bike or checking the snares outside the wall. You had to have at least 7 of them by now.

He shifted his eyes between you and the camera before you finally lifted the picture to your eyes and smiled.

There was that warm feeling in his chest again.

Your gaze moved from the picture, to him, and back to the picture.

"This one is definitely a keeper."

"pfft, I look ridiculous."

"You look handsome." You have absolutely no idea what just possessed you to say that. you were sure Daryl was going to leave and never come back. Why would you say some stupid shit like that? Why wasn't he saying anything back?

Well, the truth was Daryl was in shock. He must be hallucinating, because He could have sworn you just called him handsome. Were you flirting with him or just being friendly? He tried to come up with something witty to say, but all he came up with was, "Stop."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night moved like molasses in January. You talked with a few other people about upcoming events, future runs, and guard shift schedules. You introduced some of the new people to long time residents of Alexandria you thought they would get along with.

Rick approached Daryl at some point in the night and attempted to get a conversation out of him. Deciding he had enough of Rick's shit for one day, He started towards the porch to have a smoke. Grabbing the bottle of Bourbon, he stumbled a little when he took a few steps and almost fell into the door. Shit, was he really that wasted? Whatever, a little more couldn't hurt. It was a party right?

You noticed him leave the room out the corner of your eye and contemplated following him to make sure he was alright. You felt ridiculous for even thinking like that. Daryl was a grown man who could take care of himself, he didn't need you bothering him all the time. But maybe he would like some company? He never seemed to mind spending time with you, sometimes it seemed like he would even seek it out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air outside was a nice change from the stuffy atmosphere in the house. Stepping out on the porch, you immediately noticed Daryl leaning on the railing, a cigarette between his lips and a bottle of alcohol to his left. You cleared your throat to alert him of your presence and prevent him from getting startled. The moment he saw you, His face broke into a dorky grin and he dropped the cigarette into the ashtray on the banister.

"Hey, 'S you"

Was he drunk?

"Ya here ta see me?" He looked around for other people you could be there to see.

He was so drunk.

"D'ya want sum?" He slurred as he lifted the bottle towards you.

He was wasted.

His eyes looked so happy as he offered you the bottle. You had never seen him like this, it was uncharted territory in your friendship. You realized he was waiting for a response so you just smiled and shook your head no.

"How much have you had?" You said as you approached the banister and leaned on it with one arm.

He lifted the bottle and squinted his eyes at it like he was trying with all his power to see, then brought his thumb and pointer finger to the side. He looked like he was trying, and somewhat failing to measure how much had been taken from the bottle. When he was satisfied with his measurement, he held the two fingers up in your direction.

"'Bout tha' much."

You thought this was the most adorable thing you had ever seen, besides that time Judith had chocolate cake all over her face and threw some at Carl. You sat there admiring Daryl with a smirk as he picked up his cigarette and took a drag, a swig of Bourbon followed closely after.

"Daryl Dixon, you are the pinnacle of health, you know that?"

" 'anks, Got it from ma dad."

Your face drooped a little at that. You remember Daryl telling you stories about his family on one of your late-night guard tower talks. He didn't outright tell you his dad was abusive, but he gave you enough pieces to build a very depressing puzzle. It wasn't a very happy puzzle either. You recalled the story about his 13th birthday. His mom forgot what day it was and His dad passed out on the couch watching old black and white movies. But Merle? Merle tried his best to give his little brother a good day. He bought Daryl a little cake from the convenience store in town and presented it to him at the local park. Daryl always said that Merle could be mean, but he still cared for Daryl as best as he could. As best as he knew how.

You took your camera out of your bag again and Daryl looked at you in sad confusion.

"why ya' always tak'n pictures o' me?"

You sighed and began piecing together your explanation. He probably wouldn't remember any of this anyway, so why not?

"Because you are Beautiful, Everything about you is. You are strong, and capable, and when the light hits you at the right angle, it's impossible to resist saving the moment. Your facial expressions are so unique and rare that it makes me want to capture them all and hang them up for everyone to admire. I would paint murals of you if I could find enough wall space to do so."

You hesitated for a split second before bringing your fingers up to his chin.

"You are the most amazing man I have ever met and you don't even know it, do you?"

He stood perfectly still, but not tense this time. He narrowed his eyes in focus like he was trying to sober up to remember this moment.

"y-ya really think tha'?"

Instead of responding, you just moved to his side and brought the camera up to put you both in frame. You got a little closer to him so your head was almost resting on his arm

"Of course I do."

...

Click

...

You brought the camera back down, Grabbing the fresh film and shaking it to cool it down. You turned over the photo, only to realize Daryl had been staring down at you instead of into the camera. You chuckled as you turned towards him to show him the picture.

"Hey big guy, you were supposed to look a the ca-"

You stopped your sentence when you met his eyes. He was still looking down at you. It felt like he was staring into your soul with puppy eyes and nestling his way into your heart with each passing second.

In all your months of friendship, nothing could have prepared you for what happened next. You felt two arms snake around your back and a head rest on your shoulder before you realized. Daryl Dixon was hugging you. And... sniffling?

"Daryl, are you alright?" You asked, worried you might have hurt him in some way.

No response.

You pulled away from him and saw that his eyes were a little wet, so you brought your thumb up to wipe them away. Normally, you wouldn't even think about being this close because he hated when people touched him. But right now, He looked like he needed it. It hurt you to see his beautiful eyes filled with tears, no one this sweet should cry.

"No ones ever said tha' 'bout me."

Your heart broke just a little bit more.

"Well it's true. Now, I'm going to tell Rick I'm calling it a night. Wait right here so I can walk you home."

Just as you walked away, Daryl grabbed your wrist to get your attention.

"Ya don't have ta leave 'cause of me."

Even when he was drunk, he was still as considerate as ever.

"Honestly, I'm getting sick of being here. It's too hot and my feet are starting to hurt from these damn shoes." You offered with a light-hearted laugh. "I'll only be a second."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Leaving so soon?"

You loved Rick, but sometimes you were really sick of his shit.

"Yeah. I'm taking Daryl home."

He raised a playful eyebrow at you. The asshole.

You sighed with annoyance, "He drank too much and I want to make sure he gets back okay."

"Well, that's very nice of you."

"Shut up rick."

He laughed that annoying laugh and gave you the go ahead to leave while Rosita gave you a look. You swore to yourself at that moment you would never show up to one of these parties ever again for as long as you lived.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright, come on." You motioned for Daryl to follow you.

He silently obliged.

"Alright, now give me your arm so I can keep you from falling down the steps."

He held his arm out for you and you wrapped your own around it. When touched him, his skin buzzed from the contact. He had never been this close to you, and his drunk brain questioned why he hadn't tried to sooner.

You successfully led him down the front deck steps and towards the road with few complications. He was still stumbling like a child trying to walk for the first time, and you found it pretty adorable how he put his hands out a little when he felt unstable. You both walked for a few moments in silence until Daryl lost his balance over a curb and fell into you, grabbing you for support, almost sending you barreling over.

“'M sorry. ya shouldn' have ta take care o' me like this.”

"I already told you, I don't mind it sweetheart."

He flushed at the pet name as he straightened up. Those goddamn pants Rick gave him were already too tight, but it was even more so now.

"Do you have your keys?"

"Hmm?"

"Your house keys bub. Do you have them? The door is locked," You asked him in as clear a voice as you could. He fumbled through his pockets as you waited patiently for him to produce them. He checked his last pocket and felt something jingle. Pulling them out, he placed them in your hand and watched you search the key ring for the correct one.

When you slotted the key into the door, you felt Daryl wrapping his arms around your waist from the back. You froze as he buried his head into the hair that fell against your neck. You heard him take in a large breath, like he was trying to smell something.

"Ya smell so good."

A heat grew in between your legs and you couldn't move. It was wrong to be turned on by Daryl when he wasn't in the right state of mind, but the way his body felt pressed against yours had your cheeks warm and your eyelids feeling heavy. You almost collapsed when his embrace got tighter.

"D-Daryl, honey, you have to get off so I can open the door."

"Mmm." He reluctantly let go of you and you shakily turned the key and opened the door.

"Can you make it from here?"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, that answered my question." You chuckled and stepped inside.

"ya have such a nice smile. Makes me happy ta see it."

"Thank you. I'm almost upset you won't remember any of this. come on big guy, let's get you settled and in bed."

By pure luck, you somehow managed to conquer the stairs to the basement with Daryl in tow. You opened the door to his room and ushered him inside to sit him on the bed.

"Hold on, I'll be right back. Change your clothes while I'm gone." The thought of him naked briefly made its way across your mind, but you shook it off and focused on getting him something to drink and eat. You entered the kitchen and made a mental note of things you would need. First off, water. You grabbed a bottle from the fridge and set it down on the counter. Next you needed something easy on the stomach. Looking in the pantry, you spotted a pack of saltine crackers. Perfect! That's what you used to eat when you had the flu. If it could work for sick ass you, it could work for drunk ass Daryl. You figured he would need something for the inevitable headache. The medicine cabinet was just over the refrigerator, you remembered from when Abraham needed antacid and the only person who had some was Daryl. It was a struggle to reach, but ultimately a small hurdle to clear. You mentally patted yourself on the back for a successful and bountiful expedition, and headed back down the stairs. You knocked on the door and heard an affirmative grunt from the other side.

"Alright, I have some water for you, some food too. and ibuprofen for the headache. Don't drink too much, you're gonna be thirsty in the morning."

Looking over at him, you noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. Now, you knew Daryl had been through a lot during the end of the world, and most of it left scars. But some of the scars littering his torso looked old, really old. You deduced that these were most likely marks left by his father, and most of them looked like healing came rather hard. How could anyone do this to a child? Especially someone as sweet as daryl?

You realized he was looking at you, waiting for you to continue.

"I brought you some crackers too, Eat them in small amounts or you will regret it."

He stared at you as you walked towards his nightstand and placed the items there.

Months of watching you. Months of hearing your sweet voice. Months of watching your thighs peek out from your shorts, and Daryl had enough.

You were startled as you felt a rough force pulling you downwards and it took you a second to realize where you had landed. Daryl wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him, His warm lips found their way to your neck.

"D-mm." Your words were interrupted by Daryl moving his hips upward. You could feel how hard he was and it made you cry out with pleasure. He was holding on to you with pure desperation, Every inch of your body felt like it was burning up.

He moved his lips away from your neck to speak, "I need ya', please Y/N. I need ya ta take me. Y-Ya can h-have me any way ya want. I need ta feel ya." He punctuated the sentence with a thrust upwards that left your head empty and your mouth unable to function. "I-I want ya so much, sunshine. Want ya ta hold me down an-...an`." His hips bucked up wildly and He let out a grunt as his hands left trails of fire down your shoulders and arms.

"Daryl, w-we can't."

He grunted in frustration and looked up at you with big, sad eyes.

"Why? You don't want ta? With me?"

His voice wavered on the last two words and you felt terrible, but he was under the influence and you were worried he didn't really want this. You just didn't want to take advantage of him...

"You're drunk Daryl. I don't want you to regret doing this," You motioned between the two of you, "With me. You might not even remember."

"S-so ya do want ta?"

You leaned down to place your lips on his forehead.

"More than anything."

You took his hands in yours and spoke.

"I'll tell you what, If you remember this in the morning and you still want it, you come find me."

You couldn't help but frown a little as he looked at you with those beautiful blue eyes full of sadness. You brought your finger up to his forehead and ran it over his brow bone, then down his cheek and on to his bottom lip. He kissed your fingertip and you smiled.

"Tomorrow, imma come find ya."

"I'll hold you to that, love."

Daryl sighed as you wiggled out of his lap, already missing the warmth of you against him. He flopped backwards on the bed and grabbed his pillow, shoving it under his head.

You padded your way back to the front door where you had left your heels and purse, all the while thinking about what just happened a few moments ago. Daryl fucking Dixon was kissing and begging for you to take him, and you felt him... All of him. You wanted nothing more than to rip off the layers of clothes that separated the two of you to feel him even more. Tonight's events got you thinking, what if Rosita was right? What if that night in the bunker, he was thinking about you? You shouldn't get your hopes up, he was most likely just drunk and horny. You've never seen him show any sexual interest in anyone, so he was probably as pent up as could be and just relieving a little bit of the pressure. As unlikely as it was, you hoped he wanted you like you wanted him. His words were like fireworks in your mind, bright and explosive with sparks of color.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

After such a long night, your bed felt like a toasty marshmallow. Your feet were aching, your thoughts were racing, and your body was at its limit. You needed a day of rest and at least three ibuprofen, but a glass of milk and 6 hours of sleep would have to do.

Before heading to bed, you pulled out your leather bound journal and added your new pictures from that night to the pages of your choosing, along with descriptions of each. This was a new thing you started doing after the day you found the camera. You got a few of Glenn and Eugene talking about video games, one of Carl stuffing his face with cupcakes, which was definitely a keeper. Your fingers stopped when they reached the pictures you took of Daryl earlier, especially the one of him looking at you. You decided to keep them out of the book and put them in your nightstand, along with your camera, for safekeeping.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Daryl noticed was the jackhammer someone let loose in his skull. The second thing Daryl noticed was the unbearable amount of light seeping through his basement window. Seriously, who gave the sun the right to be that fucking bright? He sat up and rubbed his eyes to try and rid himself of the mount Everest sized migraine, effectively making it worse. Great, a wonderful start to the day. He figured he might as well brush his teeth to get rid of alcohol breath. He noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A bottle of water, some pills that looked suspiciously like ibuprofen and... Were those crackers? No way he would have gotten these for himself, he's never done that before, just came straight home and passed out. which means someone brought him home. Someone very considerate.

He took the ibuprofen and washed it down with some water, then ate some crackers to settle the unease in his gut. He tried to desperately remember what the hell had happened last night. He got to the party with Rick and... drank. Ah, that explained the memory loss. He remembered you, and that dress. You took a picture of him, he remembered the camera lens pointing at him, but nothing else. He felt the gel Rick had lent him still stiff in his hair, which meant he had to wash it out. No way in hell he was taking another shower, so a quick wash in the sink would work good enough. He dipped his head down and turned the water on. If he saw Rick today, He made a mental note to hit him.

He lifted his head to stare into the mirror, and his hair was back to its normal self. Perfect! time for toothpaste. He thought about you and tried to recall if he even talked with you. After all, even though he would never admit it to Rick, he DID come to that party for you. He hoped he wasn't an asshole to you, he had a habit of being like that after enough to drink. He needed to figure out what happened, and he knew that someone at that party would have answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"yes?"

Rosita looked tired when she answered the door, eyes droopy and face turned down in a frown. Her face changed when she saw who was on her front stoop. "Well, if it isn't Romeo. Tell me, what can I do for you at 'way too early for this o' clock."

"Wha' happened a' Rick's dumb party last nigh'?"

"Straight to the point then." She motioned for Daryl to come inside, but he shook his head no.

"Jus' tell me."

"Other than you showing up looking like Al Capone? You drank a lot and Y/N... Took you home." Rosita gave him a suggestive look and if he was being honest with himself, he was shitting bricks. Did something happen with you last night? He would remember if you two... Wouldn't he? Of course he would, it was you, and you were unforgettable. His stomach was churning nonetheless though.

"Ya' didn't hear anythin' else?

"Well...''

"Jesus, jus' fuckin' tell me."

"Alright, Alright."

And she told him everything. She told him about the conversation she overheard on the porch, or at least the little portion of it she heard before she gave you two some privacy. She didn't have to say anything else though, Daryl started remembering a little. And then he remembered a lot. Then he remembered all of it. Everything.

He needed to find you.

He needed to find you NOW.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The knocking on your door grew quicker and louder with each passing second. Who the fuck woke you up and what the fuck did they want. You swore on your mother's grave that if it was Rick, you were going to beat him with your slipper.

"Y/N, are ya home?"

You cut him off mid-knock by opening the door.

"Daryl, are you okay? Is someone hurt?"

The look on your face almost broke him in two before he remembered why he was there.

"Can I come in?"

You opened the door and made a mock butler stance, bowing your head and gesturing towards inside. He walked inside and shut the door behind him rather quickly.

"Jesus, somebody is antsy-"

He got close to you, close enough that you could smell the scent of that cologne still radiating off him in waves.

"Did ya mean it? please tell me ya meant it! tell me ya want ta and we- I-. 'Ve been thinkin' 'bout this forever. dreamin'."

You looked at him in confusion, studying his hopeful features. To be fair, you had just woken up and were not firing on all cylinders. You usually needed a cup of coffee and some food in order to even see correctly. Then it hit you.

oh.

That's what he was here for.

"Yes, I meant it." You DEFINITELY meant it. You wanted him more than anything.

"Good," Was all he said before attacking your lips with his in desperation, as if you would vanish when he stopped to take a breath. His lips were surprisingly soft and warm, like a fresh meal just waiting to be devoured. Your hands threaded through his messy hair, tugging just a little. He groaned and you pulled him down so his head was level with your mouth.

"Any way I want?" You asked, mimicking his words from the previous night.

You heard his breathing stop suddenly for a moment.

"A-any way ya want."

"Follow me, beautiful."

He obeyed and trailed after you, hand in hand, up the stairs towards your room. His nerves were starting to catch up to him and he wished he was as confident as drunk ass Daryl right now. What if you didn't want to be with him and you only wanted to satisfy an urge? This time he didn't let what Merle said, or even his own overthinking, get to him though. You wanted him, you really wanted him, and nothing else in the world mattered to him right now except that. Even if you only wanted him for pleasure, he could learn to live with it. As long as he got to be close to you. He told himself that multiple times as you led him down the hall, and the truth was, it was a lie. He wanted to be with you in every sense of the word. He wanted to wrap his arms around you at night, and confide in you about his worries, and take pictures of him, and put his hair in a fucking ponytails every day so he could see the smile that lit a campfire under his heart.

You opened the door to your room and led him inside. "Everybody crashed somewhere else for the night, so don't worry about being loud. Although, you really didn't seem to care when we were in your room." You shot him a sarcastic grin but stopped when you turned to look at him. He had an embarrassed aura about him and his eyes were diverted to the left. You put your arms around the back of his neck and spoke in a low, suggestive tone, "Your little noises made me so wet, sweetheart. Couldn't stop thinking about them all night."

His cock jumped a little at your words. He was growing in his jeans, and you seemed to take notice. You turned around in a brisk stride towards your bed, and swayed your hips with each step. Daryl was quick to follow as you sat down on the edge and beckoned him.

"Undress yourself for me, sexy."

He stood in stunned shock as he tried to process what you just said. Y-you wanted him to strip for you? He'd never done that before. Well, he had never done much of anything before actually. He wasn't technically a virgin, but just barely. Despite his nerves, he was aching at the thought of being on display for you, so he slowly shucked off his vest and started working at the top button of his sleeveless flannel. No matter how hard he wanted to be sexy and keep eye contact, his brain failed him and his eyes drifted down to focus on his hands. He managed to get two buttons undone before pausing.

You knew immediately what was wrong and you stood up to take his hands in yours.

"I-"

"It's alright Daryl, I uh- I already saw last night, remember? You don't have to continue if you don't want to. You can keep your shirt on, or we can stop if that's what you want. No pressure, all you have to do is tell me. But I want you to know that you are the most breath-taking man I have ever met, and nothing can ever change that."

You rubbed his hands with your thumbs and smiled up at him, trying to tell him how much he meant to you without uttering a single word. His eyes almost welled up in tears from the onslaught of emotions you made him feel. You dropped his hands and softly grabbed his chin, waiting for his answer.

He somehow mustered up the words in his chest and spoke, "I don't want ta stop. P-please."

His little beg went straight to your core. "Then don't," You said as you sat down and leaned back on your forearms.

With each button that came undone, more of his toned chest was exposed to the chilled air in your room. He looked up to see your expression as he reached the last button, your expression looked... hungry. No one had ever stared at him like that before. He weirdly liked it. He watched your eyes rake over his torso as he shrugged out of his shirt and let it fall to the floor. He was so hot right now, so completely turned on while he stood in front of you, as vulnerable as could be. 'Slow down ya dumbass...'f she wants a show 'en giver 'er a show,' He thought to himself as he reached for his belt. He got the buckle free and pushed his hips forward ever so slightly as he slowly pulled the belt out in one tug. He felt stupid for the attempt until he saw you rub your legs together the slightest bit in arousal. He pulled his jeans down over his hips and ass, making his erection slightly more visible to you, and he saw you lick your bottom lip and pull it between your teeth. That meant you liked what you saw, right?

Sensing his question in the air, you spoke, "You are doing so good Daryl, you look amazing for me. Such a god boy."

Your words spurred a sudden confidence and arousal through him. He turned his head to he side, shutting his eyes tightly as he hooked both his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers. He hissed as he dragged the boxers down his legs, making sure his cock was pushed down until the elastic caught on the rim of his sensitive head. He stayed there for a second, making sure you got a full view of his heaving chest and veiny shaft.

"Daryl. stop."

Fuck! Fuck! you didn't like it. You thought this was stupid and he was trying too hard. You decided you didn't want to do this with him-

"Can I take a picture of you? Like this?"

Y-you wanted a picture of him? Like this? T-to keep? God, his cock was throbbing at that thought and he couldn't form words right now, so he just weakly nodded his head.

"Don't move. you look perfect just like this." The praise was making his head weak and his skin glossy with sweat.

You reached into your nightstand and pulled out the camera which was, thankfully, pre-loaded with quite a bit of film. He watched you lift the camera to your eye and speak, "Look at that, so beautiful." You could see the effect your words were having on him. "Look at that sexy chest, and that thick shaft. I bet you are going to feel amazing buried inside me Daryl." He whined a bit and moved his head to the side, most likely to hide his embarrassed flush.

*click*

"Look at me, sweet boy."

He obeyed.

*click*

"F-fuck. Y-ya love takin' pictures, don't ya?" You could hear how horny he was by his speech, and it was really starting to get you going.

"How can I resist when you look so damn tempting. I'm gonna stare at these when I miss you and get myself off to he thought of your hands on me Daryl."

"Ahhhh," He moaned as he lowered the boxers enough to let his hard cock spring upwards and bounce a bit. He just needed relief, just a little relief. He was big, bigger than average, and you knew it.

"I want it in my mouth baby, only for a second, will you let me?" He nodded furiously and already walked towards where you sat on the bed.

" 'Ve never had s-someone- not with their-"

"I'll make it feel good for you sweetheart, I promise. Just enjoy the way it feels." You said as you brought a hand to his pink tip and lightly ran it over his slit.

"G- ahh." He started whimpering lightly.

"I've barely touched you yet angel, and you're already singing for me. Are you sure you can handle more?"

He nodded in response and you closed your hand around his length and started slowly stroking. His hips were shaking a little, this poor man was so pent up it wasn't even funny. You then leaned your head down a bit and opened your mouth to drop his tip on your tongue, and his knees started to wobble when you took him into your mouth fully. Your throat was like heaven around him, hot and wet and tight, so tight. You kept eye contact with him as you worked at his cock, smiling a little when you saw his head throw back in pleasure. Your tongue traced every vein on his girthy meat until you were satisfied you had memorized and mapped out every single one, and by the time you were done, Daryl was panting for air in between moans.

"Now, what was it you told me you wanted me to do? Hold you down and..?"

The sound of his dirty words leaving your lips was the most erotic thing he had ever heard.

"Come on, big guy, use your words."

"H-hold me down an- an f-fuck me 'ntill I can' T-take it." His words were failing him and he felt stupid for not being able to say a single dumb little sentence. He wanted nothing more than to be underneath you while you used him for your pleasure, as long as he got to touch you.

"Lay down then honey,” you said, pulling his arm towards you.

He still couldn’t believe what was happening, even though it was unfolding before his eyes. All the months spent telling himself hell would freeze over before you considered him an option, and here he was, laying on your bed waiting for you to have your way with him. He watched in awe as you started removing your shirt.

“Do you want to help?” You asked him and he nodded in response. “Words baby.”

“Y-yes.”

He went to put his hands on your stomach where your shirt ended, but stopped before he could touch you.

“Are you okay Daryl?”

The genuine concern in your voice toyed with his heart strings in the worst way possible, and he was reminded of how much he actually adored you. You were so caring, understanding, and thoughtful. How was he going to tell you he didn’t know what to do? How was he going to tell you he was nervous to touch you and mess up? Luckily, you spoke up.

"You're overthinking Daryl, I can practically hear the racing thoughts. tell me what's going on in there." You lift your pointer finger and tap at his forehead.

Here goes nothing.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Daryl shakily spoke,

" 'v Jus' never done this before really with anyone and I-I jus' don' want ta mess this up because I r-remember tha' time at the prison when y-you and Rick were in the garden... t-talking 'bout your high-school days an' all the guys ya've... and..." His eyes lower from yours, and his voice softens to a whisper, "Ya' just have so much more e-experience 'an me when it comes to ta'... this."

Oh, that's what he's worried about?

You open your mouth slightly to begin your reassurance, to let him know it didn't matter to you and you want him no matter what, but he hurriedly started up again.

"I jus' want to make ya' feel good Y/N, I-I think about it all the time. when 'm alone a-at night, touching myself ta' the thought of ya'. the thought of bein' b-buried inside of ya'... I d-don't deserve ya'"

The fire that has been lit by Daryl is now burning with reckless abandon, only stroked by his breathless, heartfelt confession.

"Daryl, look at me."

His face doesn't move, still pointing towards the left of the room somewhere, obviously embarrassed.

"Look. at. me." You grab his chin softly, resting your thumb under his lip, and tilt his head towards you. When his eyes meet yours, your breath stops. You have never seen a man look more lost and full of need in your life, and it breaks your heart to see him like this.

"Daryl Dixon, there is not another man that has, is, or ever will be on this planet that I will want more than I want you." You lean down to his ear and lower your voice, "There is no man I would rather have buried inside me, experienced or not."

He moans lightly, and you feel his cock twitch under you.

"T-tell me what ta' do Y/N. T-tell what ta' do ta' make ya' F-feel good an' I'll do it. Please. I'd do anything ta' please ya'."

"Fuck, Daryl, I can't handle it when you beg like that."

"D-do ya' like it when I beg?" He looks uncertain, and you reassure him with a soft kiss on his nose. The sweet and seemingly innocent gesture makes his face warm.

"Yes, very much. Take off my shirt for me."

He obeys, hands shaking, but only slightly. His gaze burns trails of heat up and down your abdomen as he reaches out a thumb and places it over your naval, rubbing at the skin softly. He looks up at you, assumedly for permission, which you hastily grant with a controlled nod. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Daryl's hands trail up your stomach and towards your back, moving ever closer to your bra clasps.

His fingers work at the little hooks for a few moments before he turns a whole new shade of red and drops his hands to your lower back in defeat.

"Need help?" You ask quizzically.

"Y-yes... please. 'm not sure how ta' yet."

You giggle a little bit but immediately stop when you hear him groan in frustration. Oh no, you hadn't meant to make him upset. He wasn't used to a little playfulness in between the sheets. You pull the clasps of your bra and slide it down your shoulders ever so slightly, you want to leave him the pleasure of removing the garment himself. You grab his hands and pull each of them up to the bra straps hung low on your shoulders. As he pulled the bra free from your chest with a muted gasp, his eyes widened in awe. You both stayed there a moment as he studied every hill and valley on your chest. His eyes met yours in a desperate yet silent plea.

"You can touch me Daryl, go on pretty boy."

The nickname makes him involuntarily move his hips in a wave of unexpected pleasure. You take note of this and decide to stow that information away for later. Led bravely by your words, he reached his palm up and cupped it over your right breast, testing the weight of it in his large, warm palm.

"Shit, 's so...soft," he grunted, experimentally pinching your stiff nipple in between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation shot electric currents through your nerve endings and earned him a short but sharp inhale of breath from your lips. His eyes widened in horror as his hands recoiled from your skin. "S-Shit Y/N, Fuck! 'm sorry, did I hurt ya'? I told ya' I weren't no good a' this-"

Sensing the panic in his voice you cut him off without letting him finish his ramblings. "NO! No! Daryl that felt great. do it again, please. Your hands feel amazing on me." You waste no time in pulling his hands back to your chest and using his fingers to pinch your nipple again. All reluctance vanished from his features when he heard you moan in pleasure and press your still very clothed core against his very naked cock.

"Fuck Daryl. Good job, Good boy."

His cock twitches once again and he knows you felt it for sure this time. He turned his head and buried the side of his face into the pillow beneath him.

"Oh you like that, don't you? Do you like being my good boy Daryl?"

No response. He just closes his eyes tightly.

"Talk to me, sweet thing. I like it when you're vocal, It's hot."

Upon hearing you liked it, he spoke up.

"Y-Yeah. I do like it. I like being-... I like being your good boy Y/N."

You don't think his face can get any redder and the blush is now appearing over his shoulders and chest, as if his system is so overloaded it doesn't know what exactly to do.

"Don't move, keep your face right there, angel."

When the bed shifts he becomes a little suspicious but doesn't dare move after you told him to stay. He wants to be good for you. He wants to be your good boy. Daryl doesn't have to guess what you are doing for long, as you return and he notices the outline of the camera in your grasp. Fuck, you want more pictures of him.

Why does that thought turn him on so much every time?

He lifts his hands to the side of his head, gently tugging at the pillow... posing for you. He'd pose any way you wanted him to just to make you happy. He'd let you take a million photos if that's what it took.

"Somebody's eager. Do you like being my model angel? You like having yourself on display all desperate and horny for me?"

"Yes. L-Love being under ya Y/N. Love b-being yours ta look at. Never thought ya'd W-want ta-... see me like this...T-Take all the pictures ya want. P-please. Never stop. Please never S-stop."

*click*

You wiggle your hips a bit against his erection and his mouth opens as his back arches off the bed. He whines as his chest lifts towards the sky.

*click*

"So pretty. you look so good in these pictures Daryl. I may just have to put one in my wallet to carry around."

You still liked to carry your wallet around from before the world went to shit. It makes you feel normal, like it's just another work day where you forget your keys and spill coffee in your lap. You could think of no better place for some of these photos than in your back pocket, tucked away in between the leather folds...

"Ya'd really do tha?" He looks surprised.

"Oh, absolutely. Now, what do you say about getting these sweatpants off of me?"

He offered no verbal response, just the hasty movement of his once nimble fingers, now clumsy as he fiddles with the knot on the drawstring of your pants. You internally laugh a little. You had witnessed Daryl's dexterous fingers build hundreds of arrows and carve a multitude of sticks. and yet here he was, fumbling with a simple knot that, quite frankly, wasn't very tight.

It made you beam with pride that you could reduce him to this.

"What was it like, your first time?" You inquired incredulously. You were filled with curiosity as you remembered his flustered statement from earlier.

After finally loosening the knot from your pants, and resting his hands on your hips, he answered, "was alright I guess." His expression became sheepish and you knew he was being stingy with details on purpose.

"You don't have to talk about it, But I'm not not going to judge you."

He contemplated for a split second.

'welp, here goes'

"Must'a been 'bout sixteen 'n Merle, He t-took me ta some druggie's house. Druggie's sister was a' least five years older 'n me. She did some... Work on the side. Merle thought it'd be good for me, "It'll make ya a man," 's what he said. S-she-"

He paused for a second, looking up to you for what you assumed was reassurance. You had never seen him look so vulnerable. You placed your hand on his chest, just under his left collar bone. He breathed a bit and continued.

"She took me ta one of the spare rooms an' I told her I'd never done anythin' like tha' before. She told me it wouldn' be an issue and we continued... I- uh, I didn' even finish. She never breathed a word ta Merle and 'm thankful for it."

He looked uncomfortable, and you felt terrible for him. You were the first person to admit that your first time wasn't the best, when you impulsively slept with your lab partner in sophomore year and faked an orgasm to get out of there, but this was definitely worse.

"And you never tried again?"

"N-nah... never wanted ta... 'till now," He replied with a wavering tone.

At least you've had some good experiences. He hasn't had any, and that thought just made you want to give him some.

"So you've never cum inside someone before?"

He weakly shook his head.

"Well then, we'll have to fix that then, won't we pretty boy? Now, I know for a fact you can cum..." You leaned down to his ear and whispered, "especially on pillows." You felt him stiffen below you.

"Fuck! Y-ya saw tha'?"

"I saw it and heard it, sweet thing, made me so horny. I just had to touch myself that night." You punctuate your sentence with a brisk roll of your hips that Daryl mewled at. "What were you thinking about?"

"Y-you."

Your suspicions were confirmed, and it gave you a rush of confidence.

"What were you thinking about me?" You wanted to hear him stumble over his words. you wanted to hear his shameful, dirty thoughts formulate on his tongue.

"Jesus fucking s-shit y/n. I was thinking about you and how ya sound 'n s-smell. I- fuck I love tha way ya smell c-couldn't help myself from..."

Your ears perked up, "from?

He tried to look away from you, but you wouldn't let him. Raising an eyebrow, you offer him a silent challenge to defy you.

His mind was racing now, afraid you might be disgusted with his confession. He needed to learn how to keep his big fat mouth shut. He just couldn't help himself though, he wanted to tell you everything. He wanted to tell you anything you wanted to know about him. He would do anything for you.

He would do anything for you...

He loved you.

In the next few microseconds, Daryl moved that word around in his head over and over again. It felt so right. Like the word had been on the tip of his tongue for a long time, just waiting to be spoken.

He figured now wasn't the best time to tell you though. Instead, he quieted his self deprecating thoughts and opened his now red, plush lips to answer you. He wouldn't let Merle's voice fill his head when he had your sweet one to do it instead.

A sudden wave of confidence rolled over him in ripples.

"Your shirt. Tha' green flannel tha' hugs yer chest like it was made for ya. had it pressed up against m-my face so I could smell ya all around me when I finished. Imagined if ya thought of me when ya t-touched yerself too. Wondered if maybe ya... used tha' picture ya took of me for... other things."

The smile on your face could be considered sinister from an outside perspective. "You have no fucking IDEA how hot that is Daryl. No idea at all. Jesus, Fuck, that just made me so wet. I think about you all the time when I pleasure myself, does that make you happy? Does it turn you on that I did look at that picture of you when I had three fingers stuffed inside myself to mimic two of yours?" You punctuated that sentence with a cock of your eyebrow.

Your voice almost sounded mocking.

It made your words even more erotic to him.

That was the single most arousing thing he had ever heard with his own ears. He didn't know if it was because of the current sexual context, or if it was just because they came from you.

He decided it was a combination of both, leaning more towards the latter.

You were overwhelming him and he loved every single second of it. All he smelled was you. All he saw was you. All he heard was your voice and your breathing. Everything was you. Just you. You. You. You. He needed to have you with every fiber of his being. He needed to be surrounded by you even more.

"Fuck me Y/N please. please please pleasepleaseplease. Can't- Can't stand not being inside ya anymore." He whined out the whole thing and it was almost incomprehensible.

"Whatever my good boy wants."

And with that, you put your hands on his and guided them back to the elastic at your waistline. Something about his hands in yours felt absolutely perfect, like they were made for it. That idea mixed with the feeling of his rough fingers brought a familiar swell in your chest that you often felt when you were in Daryl's presence. However, this time it was much stronger and much more warming. You wondered if it was because of the sexual contact or if it was just because of him.

You decided it was a combination of both, leaning more towards the latter.

You lifted your hips for his for a moment so Daryl could remove your sweatpants from the upper part of your waistline more easily. You pulled them the rest of the way down and removed them completely, along with your red silk panties.

Daryl's brain short circuited when your bare ass and pussy sat down just above his throbbing cock. He could feel your wetness leaking onto his stomach and the thought of tasting it crossed his mind. 'Later' he said to himself. He'd pleasure you with his mouth later if you would let him. And even though he had never eaten a girl out before, he would damn sure make up for it with enthusiasm to do so.

You looked at the soft panties in your hand and then back to Daryl, who had his eyes fixated on where your sex met his skin. He was so deep in thought he didn't even notice what you were doing right now. You could practically read his mind at this point, so you called out to him and held out your soaked panties towards his face.

"Go ahead baby. I know you want to."

He wasted no time in bringing the garment to his nose and giving a big, unashamed whiff... Then brought them to his tongue and licked a long strip of the crotch while keeping eye contact. The look on his face was like a starved man being fed a feast for four. His eyes darkened and he let out a moan of pure satisfaction before tossing them to join the other discarded clothes in the room.

You reached over to the drawer in your nightstand and pulled out a condom that you guessed was his size. Taking the wrapper between your teeth, you ripped the foil in half and pulled the condom out.

A memory from highschool flashed behind your eyes and you got a wicked idea. You made an "O" shape with your lips and suctioned the condom on them. You lowered your head to his cock and started slowly rolling the condom down the head and over the shaft, using your tongue as assistance.

You guessed by the little throb that pulsed inside your mouth that he liked it.

"Fuckin' Fuck!"

You giggled, "So eloquent."

"S-Shut up."

A Little amused sigh was shared between both of you.

This moment was so perfect, and it was about to get even better.

"Are you ready?" You asked genuinely, even though you knew the answer. You just wanted to make sure.

"Jesus Fuckin' Christ yes Y/N. F-fuck me already."

That definitely sounded like consent to you.

You gripped his shaft lightly as you positioned your hips over his in a kneeling stance, the head of his cock just barely beneath your entrance. Without warning, you started sinking him into your warm, wet heat.

Two things happened at that moment. You were overcome with pleasure and nearly collapsed all the way on top of him due to your wobbling knees, and Daryl let out a moan that could only be described as pure fucking bliss. If you were feeling pleasure, he must have been feeling heaven given the sheer volume and force the noise from his lips possessed. You didn't know if Daryl's neighbors could hear him right now, and quite frankly? You didn't give a single fuck. You wanted everyone in this whole godforsaken community to hear how good Daryl was feeling. How good you made him feel. You wanted that asshole Rick and Rosita to know that they got their wish and you were both enjoying every second of it. This spurred you even more, and despite your knees protest, you sunk down on him even slower to prolong the moment. Your eyes rolled back and you whimpered deeply as his meaty dick hit bottom and stretched you out sinfully. As soon as his cock was fully sheathed inside you, His moans turned to whines.

As his body fought for control over itself, he shivered and his hands became restless. At that moment he decided, somewhere deep down in his subconscious, that he was going to spend every second he had buried inside your wet, tight cunt. He was never going to waste another second without the feeling of you around him, whether it be your arms or your sweet pussy. The rest of his days were going to be spent with you. Of course, he didn't voice any of these thoughts. His mouth was too busy telling you how good you made him feel, even if it wasn't with words. He managed to open his eyes only to meet your piercing gaze, full of what appeared to be admiration. And if he wasn't buried inside of you, he could probably cry at your sincerity. He realized you actually cared. He realized you wanted him to enjoy himself. His whole life, no one had ever looked at him like that before you, like he was something to care for. After a moment, Daryl realized you were also searching his face for any signs of discomfort, and his heart melted at the sentiment. He gave you a slight nod and a soft, somewhat awkward smile.

A smile looked foreign on his face, given that he always seemed to be annoyed at one thing or the other. His frown was well known and well joked about between you and the other members of the group, especially Carol. You have very rarely seen even a ghost of a smirk flash across his face. While it was strange to see the happy expression on the mostly angry man, it was not unwelcome. A smile suited him, and you were determined to see it more often.

Agonizingly slowly, you lifted your hips and dropped them back down, the feeling it left resembled fire on your trembling walls. Daryl was laying back with a blissed-out look on his face like a man high on the most exquisite drug money could buy. That's what you felt like to him, a drug, Intoxicating to the point of suffocation, and he could overdose on you at any second. You altered his senses in the best ways possible until he couldn't form a single cohesive thought. Every movement of your insides that was awarded to him sent a jolt of electricity and pleasure up his spine, and he knew his right hand could never compare to this. With every passing second he spent buried inside you, he knew exactly how much you had ruined him.

Nothing could ever make him want it any other way.

You had never felt like this before with anyone.

No man had ever made you feel as empowered as Daryl was right now. Sex with most guys you knew just consisted of them trying to take what they needed from you, and then making up some lame excuse to leave. It always felt like a task for you, leaving you unsatisfied. Daryl was different in every way possible, he gave you everything. At this moment, he bared his entire soul to you, every vulnerability and insecurity on display, a sign of his complete trust. Even though he was a bit out of it, he still ran his hand up and down your back and chest, delicately pinching and caressing your breasts with fervor.

This was more than just sex to you, and it was more than just sex to him. The rhythm, the matching movements, the energy that was radiating in the air, all of it formed itself into the most delicately perfect dance, a waltz of two lovers. You couldn't imagine a better dance partner. Daryl was a masterpiece to you, an awe-striking painting that was made with billions of perfect brush strokes and a quality of paint that only true master artists possessed. He deserved to be admired. He deserved to be recognized. You wanted to paint murals of him and write songs about him, you wanted to capture his every expression in photos and fill the empty spaces of your existence with them. You wanted to be full of him in every way you could be because the laws of imperfection didn't apply to him in your eyes.

You mustered the strength in your arms to pick the camera back up from where it was resting, and bring it to your eye. You wanted to remember this moment forever, and you were going to snap as many photos as it would take for that to happen.

*click*

Daryl whimpered and bucked his hips.

Before you could realize what was happening, Daryl had a surge of coherence and used it to flip you over, keeping up the pace without a hiccup. You were surprised at how fluidly he managed the motion like he had done it a thousand times, even though you know he hadn't. You would be proud if you could muster up a thought that wasn't laced with lust and wanting, however, the rhythm of his snapping hips wouldn't allow that at the moment.

You opened your eyes to take in the sight above you, the camera still in hand. This gorgeous man's woodland brown hair was hanging from his head and swaying in the air with every thrust, and his eyes were strained shut with concentration. There was just enough space between you for you to bring the camera in front of you comfortably and snap a quick picture. His strong shoulders and forearms were flexing deliciously as he held himself above you, and the camera flash made the sweat on them sheen like he was glowing.

That one was going to look great later when you could focus.

You dropped the camera to your side and reached out your hands and placed them on his face, rubbing them over his brow bone and cupping his cheeks in your fingers. His facial tension dissipated the moment your skin came into contact with his, and he opened his eyes to greet the image below him.

"It's okay to go slow, my love. There's no rush. Just feel it. Just feel me." You stated in a husky, almost whispered voice.

He exhaled in response, and the sheer length of the breath served as a reminder of how much smaller than him you actually were.

"Wan' ya to feel good." He informed you, sounding mildly timid, yet still as confident as ever. He smirked at you and punctuated his sentence with a rather cocky roll of his hips that momentarily left you breathless.

"I feel fucking fantastic," you sighed, "I feel like you are wrapped around every piece of Me Daryl. I can feel you in my nerve endings, I can sense you in my lungs. Please don't stop. You make me feel like I am dying in the best way possible." You meant every word and so much more.

Daryl's expression changed from confident to loving in an instant, and he experimentally rolled his hips slower and softer, studying the movement of your face. He spent so long with his eyes shut from the pleasure that he barely got to see what you looked like when he buried himself inside you, and he could kick himself for wasting that time. You looked like a dream with your eyes fixed on his, that pure sexual expression painted on your features. Your hair spread itself out over your charcoal gray pillows and sheets like you were floating in a pool of water. He took notice of how your breasts were warm and sweet like softened butter, the small amount of light in the room cast shadows that contoured your figure perfectly. You looked like a goddess below him, chest heaving and long, feminine lashes blinking. Somewhere along the way, the comforter had been discarded from the bed to the floor, and the sheets had become rustled. They shaped themselves around the outline of you like a renaissance painting of a noble queen, the kind that would have men bowing at her feet.

It was his turn to take a picture.

Daryl leaned back on the balls of his feet and grabbed your thighs so he could pull your hips to meet his once again, letting his touch linger for a moment or two before grabbing that camera that you loved so damn much and charging the flash.

"Stay still." You hear him grumble out under his breath.

You gave him your best sexy pout and felt his cock jump a little inside you.

"F-Fuck," You heard him grunt out once again, "Fuck, you are so- such a-." He pulled the photo from the camera and studied it, shuddering out a breath as you clenched around him slightly. "B-Beautiful."

He dropped the camera down somewhere gently, and honestly, you couldn't care less about the fucking thing right now. All you wanted was to feel him moving inside you again. You didn't have to wait long, because he was back on top of you again in an instant, but this time it was different.

Daryl lowered himself onto his forearms and knees, making sure to bury his head in your neck and hair, keeping his chest connected to yours to the point where you could feel his heartbeat. He wanted to be able to smell your scent all around him when he finished, just like he did with your shirt in that bunker. He wanted to be surrounded by you as much as possible. He wanted to be totally overwhelmed by you. This new position allowed him access to places you didn't know someone could reach, and his moans and whines were bringing you ever closer to your end.

"Close." You struggled the words out, both a warning and a promise.

"Tell me. T-tell me where yer-." He was interrupted by an involuntary moan escaping from his throat, "Tell me where ta T-touch you. Want to help ya. Please I-I'll be good. Promise. Please please please," He trailed off.

He definitely knew how to get what he wanted.

You grabbed his hand and guided it slowly between your legs until the rough pads of his fingers found your clit and you cried out. He began carefully rubbing circles over that spot as he picked up the pace. This was absolutely devastating for you, the feeling of his fingers and his cock working in perfect tandem had you practically crying for him. Daryl's moans were becoming needier by the second. Every time he pressed down on your clit, you clenched around him tighter. You felt like wet velvet. Wet, hot velvet.

"P-Please cum fer me Y/N, want ta know 'M makin' ya feel good. 'M so c-close fer ya. Please let me feel ya cum 'round me." His voice was almost unrecognizable, filled with need. And it sent you over the edge.

Your legs wrapped around his lower back, and your fingernails dug into the flesh of his shoulders, leaving streaks of red in their path. The wave of your orgasm came crashing down around you, clouding all of your senses and making your vision go white. All you could feel is pure pleasure, and Daryl's hair in your fists. He wasn't too far behind.

Your legs constricted around him like a snake ready to strike, but if this is what being poisoned felt like, then he would gladly die right here, like this. The only pain he had ever felt was filled with hate and malice, but as your fingernails raked down his back, the fire he felt made him dizzy. The pleasurable pain spurred him on even more. Your scent surrounded him as he desperately pressed open-mouthed kisses wherever he could reach on your neck and jaw before he felt your sweet pussy pulse around him. The final straw was the feeling of your fingers pulling at his hair, and the coil inside his stomach snapped. He came in thick, hot spurts that forced a small scream from his throat as he humped into you needily. He melded completely into you, and you were so close at that moment, that you didn't even feel like two people, you felt like one.

The scene looked like something out of a movie. The sheets were misplaced and wrinkled, and clothes littered the floor, thrown off in the throes of passion. Countless polaroid pictures were spread out around the bed, surrounding you and Daryl, the camera long forgotten on the floor. You both came down from your high breathing heavily, slick skin now comfortable and chilled in contrast to how feverish you both were a moment ago.

And you just lay there, reveling in each other, in the feeling of one another's presence. Your skin vibrated with the feeling of your afterglow, and you both silently agreed to spend a few moments relaxing.

....

You felt him slowly gain control of his limbs and leave some soft kisses behind your ear. If anyone told you that Daryl fucking Dixon would be so soft and emotional after sex, you would have called them crazy. But right now, as he starts to trail the kisses up your jaw and cheek, making his way to your lips, you would believe anything. When his lips finally do meet yours, it's the sweetest kiss you think you could ever receive. He's so gentle and you can tell that he poured everything he was feeling into it, that way you could feel it too.

The silence was broken by him pulling out of you slowly, and you shuddered at just how empty you felt without him. You both groaned when he left you, and he noticed how you shivered.

"Are ya cold?." He asked, and he looked genuinely concerned.

The sentiment warmed your heart.

"I-," You went to speak but he cut you off.

"Cuz I can get ya a blanket, er I could turn up the heat. Here." With that, he lifted himself off the bed in search of the comforter, covering you with it when he found it.

"Thank you, Daryl, bu-."

"Or I can get ya some food if yer hungry, sumthin ta drink?"

"No no, I'm good baby. I really appreciate it, I do. but jus' want you to come lay with me. please? Hold me? If you want to, that is." You slurred out the words due to exhaustion

"Y-yeah alrigh'."

He went to take off the condom, probably to tie it off and dispose of it, but you couldn't have that. You've been dying to know what he tasted like for way too long.

"No, stop. Let me." You demanded as you sat up, the comforter falling to your lap. "Come here, please."

He complied, walking to the edge of the bed, waiting for you. You reached out and grabbed the tip of the rubber, working it off of his softened shaft slowly.

"Ya better hurry up, or imma get hard again real soon.''

The condom came off and you held it by the top as you opened your mouth, making sure to keep heavy eye contact with Daryl. His cum flowed out of the condom in thick, creamy globs, landing on your tongue in a sizable puddle.

"Fuuucck girl, yer gonna fuckin' kill me," Daryl spoke in his delicious southern drawl.

You fully expected him to stand there and watch you until the condom was empty, but instead, he grabbed your face and pressed your warm lips to his. This utters a noise of surprise from you until you feel his tongue enter your mouth and mingle with yours.

Oh, he wanted to taste himself with you.

That was bringing some familiar feelings bubbling up in your stomach.

You returned the kiss with equal amounts of passion and an eager tongue. The kiss left you both breathless as Daryl pulled away and you drug him down to bed with you. You both laughed lightly when he landed on top of you with an 'oof'. He rolled over on his back and looked at you, waiting for you to cuddle up next to him like you promised you would.

Eventually, you got the hint and made your way under his arm, laying your head on his chest.

Even though Daryl hadn't really cuddled before, it felt natural with you, like breathing. His mind wandered a bit, wondering if you enjoyed your time with him. 'Of course she did, you retard, she was screaming underneath you a few minutes ago.' At least his internal voice was actually helpful for once. He couldn't help but wonder though... Thankfully, he didn't have to.

"I can see your mind moving, sweetheart. Ask what you want to ask."

He was really thankful you could read his mind sometimes.

"Did- Did ya... Enjoy urself?" His reluctance was obvious.

He sounded small when he spoke. You didn't like it.

"Daryl Dixon, I want you to listen to me very closely. That was the best sex I have ever had. You are the best man I have ever been with, and I would definitely like to do it again. With you. In my bed. Or maybe yours. Possibly your new recliner. Your workbench. Maybe against the bike..."

"Alright, Alright. I get it," He let out a low chuckle, his mind put at ease.

The room was silent for a little while as you just enjoyed the silence that was so rare in a world filled with the shambling dead.

...

"So the bike, huh?" Daryl asked, laced with humor.

You looked up and met his gaze, smiling deviously.

"If you like that, you would love some of my other ideas."

His interest peaked. "hmm? Tell me all 'bout 'em."

You both chuckled.

"Well, I've seen you flipping that combat knife around..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtain-covered window, it danced across the hardwood floor smoothly. Right away you noticed three things. First, Daryl isn't next to you, which made you feel a bit sad at first. Second, You smelled something absolutely delicious, and you wanted to track down the source of the scent. You noticed the third thing as you were searching for your clothes, Daryl's shirt draped across the nightstand by the bed, which meant he was probably still there. You put it on, along with your discarded sweats from the previous night, and made your way downstairs. The smell got stronger and stronger until you entered the kitchen, the source of the odor. And there he was, standing in front of the stove in a pair of pants and no shirt. Suddenly, the smell wasn't the only thing that was delicious.

Daryl was dishing out pancakes when you walked in, a plate of bacon, and a cup of black coffee sitting next to him. He noticed you immediately and smiled softly. You walked up behind him while he was pouring more coffee from the pot into a second mug, and wrapped your arms around his torso. You noticed the scratches you left on him from the night before, and leaned your cheek on his back, feeling a sense of pride.

"What's all this?" You feigned ignorance.

"'S breakfast. for us." He looked very proud of himself.

If he got any sweeter, you don't think you could handle it.

"This looks delicious, Daryl. You did an amazing job," And you meant it, "You Look pretty damn delicious too."

He chuckled and you could feel his shoulders shake with the action.

"Tell ya what, finish yer greens, and ya can have dessert.'' The last word was a little heavier than the rest of the sentence, and you understood the implications. Who knew Daryl Dixon was so playful?

Having you in such close proximity was driving him wild all over again. He had never been touched so much by someone in such a short amount of time, and feeling your warm skin on his in a domestic environment was making him hotter by the second. He peeked over his shoulder to look at you and when your eyes made contact, he felt that electric spark all over again. You were a sweet little thing, pressing your lips softly against his back and touching his chest like this. He could feel the love radiating between you two, and it was laced with a barely tamed lust.

Were you wearing his shirt?

He might just have to fulfill the promise he made to himself the night before, and get a taste of you for breakfast instead.

How would he even initiate that though? He didn't really know what to do exactly because he was still new to this, but he did know that he wanted his tongue buried inside your moist heat until he couldn't feel it anymore. Do you even like that sort of thing? Would you want that from him? No. No, he wasn't going to let himself overthink this. You liked eager, right? Well, then he was going to be eager for you. He decided that what he lacked in experience when it came to this, he was going to make up for in his desire to make you feel good.

"Daryl, are you ready to eat?"

"Hell yes, I am." He replied to you under his breath.

"What was that bab- Ooh!" The wind was taken from your lungs in surprise as he swiftly turned around, picked you up by your thighs, and set you down on a nearby countertop. The shock factor soon wore off and faded into excited giggles.

"The food is going to get cold," You whined as his palm covered your sex, catching you off guard again.

His mouth came to your ear and you shivered, feeling his breath tickle the skin there.

"Food feels warm ta me." He really hoped you would find this sexy and not stupid. Just in case, he made sure to deepen the tone of his voice just a bit.

You found it very sexy.

He pulled away and made direct eye contact.

Was he really serious about this? Did he actually want to put his mouth on you, or was he playing around? You wondered that for a moment, his eyes bore into you like a needle in some fabric.

And then he slowly sank to his knees...

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Still keeping that intense eye contact, Daryl moved forward on his knees and pulled you to the edge of the counter by your thighs, then started working on the drawstring of your sweatpants.

You had to admit, your brain was short-circuiting a little. Was this really about to happen, or were you dreaming that Daryl Dixon was pulling your pants down from the ankles? The latter was very likely, considering you had dreamed about scenarios like this before, In this kitchen, With him. And he was about to make that dream come true, whether he knew it or not.

He made quick work of discarding your sweats, and you were thankful you had decided to forgo wearing panties today. The shaky nervousness from the previous night had obviously dissipated, and you were definitely glad for it. His gaze had moved from your face down to your cunt, greedily taking in the sight of you, almost as if he was memorizing everything perfectly. You were practically soaked already, and he felt a wave of pride wash over him.

At least he knew you liked this so far.

You grabbed a handful of his hair, forcing his eyes up to look at yours. The feeling of your fingers yanking the roots of his hair was something he could get used to.

"Please Y/N, please let me eat ya out. Ya like when I beg right? 'll be good. Promise. Please? Been dreamin' 'bout how ya taste fer a long time. P-Please use me, use my face, pretty girl."

His admission made you gush. You gripped his hair tighter.

Your tone dropped lower, and your eyes became lustful.

"Open your mouth," You commanded, and he obeyed.

You pushed your hips out, presenting yourself like a five-course meal just waiting to be devoured, and pulled his head forward until his now outstretched tongue rested against your folds. You moaned softly, eyes rolling in the back of your head. His mouth was devilish, lapping up your juices like they were the best thing he had ever tasted. To him, they were.

Daryl was feeling beyond amazing, you had the most exquisite flavor he could imagine, nothing could compare. He sped up his tongue, licking from the bottom of your sweetness, all the way to the top, then flattening over your clit. Your noises got louder, and your fingers pulled him closer by his hair. You chased your pleasure by jutting out your hips, practically grinding yourself on his face. He lifted your legs over his shoulders to give you a better angle on him, to make himself more accessible to use. Every sound you uttered made him swell with even more pride, letting him know he was touching you like you needed. He pushed his tongue inside of you, wiggling it around slowly in experimentation. He noticed you gripped his hair more when he angled it up, so that's what he did. Your thighs sandwiched his head in their pillowy warmth, and it was his turn to groan, although it was muffled by the flesh of your sex. He knew what Merle meant now about eating pussy, This was fucking fantastic.

You fed off of each other's noises and touches, each becoming more eager every time. You were getting close, and Daryl could feel it in how hard your thighs clenched around his head with every movement of his tongue. It was now or never.

Daryl brought his fingers to your entrance and moved his tongue to your clit, slipping two of them inside and curling them upwards slightly like he did before. It was like he had pressed a button when he stroked that spot inside of you, and it made you see stars. Your orgasm hit you so powerfully that you almost went limp when the first wave hit. You spasmed around Daryl's fingers like you had never cum before, your vision went white momentarily and you felt something else coming from inside of you. His fingers continued their motions inside of you, coaxing you through your release. You felt yourself getting wetter, Impossibly so.

Oh shit. Did you just-?

Looking down after you gained control confirmed what you suspected.

"Fuckfuck, Y/N. Wha' the fuck was tha'?" Daryl looked mesmerized, staring down at his now-soaked arm and chest, glistening in the kitchen light.

You were still a little light-headed, so your response was staggered.

"That was-... It's called squirting. It- It happens when a woman gets really aroused." You were still a little out of breath, so all you could do was lightly run your fingers through Daryl's hair, massaging his scalp with your nails. "It means you did a very good job." You closed your eyes for a second and spoke again, "Sorry for not warning you."

...

Daryl's lack of response mildly concerned you until you looked down and he was staring at his hand in what looked like awe. His hand moved closer to his mouth and he was... tasting it? He was sucking on his fingers like his life depended on it, taking as much of your juices in as he could.

"Mmm, fuck. Ya taste better 'n ice cream," He spoke, his words muffled by his fingers.

You responded with an amused chuckle, pulling him back up to stand in between your legs. Deciding it was your turn to taste yourself in his mouth, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, tongues mingling affectionately.

"We should probably clean up a little and eat," You suggested, remembering the food that was probably ice cold by now.

Daryl offered a satisfied grunt and kissed you quickly before wandering off to look for a towel.

You couldn't be happier.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The food was, in fact, ice cold by the time you got around to it. However, considering the fact that your legs wobbled a bit when you walked, you couldn't care less about how warm breakfast was. You would do it all over again.

You both talked about what the plans were for this week. Runs, weapons training, and the box of motorcycle parts Daryl found a few days ago in an old auto body shop. Somewhere during the conversation, you realized just how domestic this was, like you two were a married couple spending the morning together.

You liked it.

You loved it.

You loved him.

You both made it about halfway through your meal before you were ever so rudely interrupted by a slight knock at the front door. With an annoyed sigh, you padded your way there across the hardwood floor and unlocked the knob while twisting it. When you opened the door, Rick was standing on the porch, hands resting by his sides.

Rick took notice of your choice of clothing, specifically Daryl's shirt. He decided to play dumb anyway. He knew damn well that Daryl went to see you after he talked to Rosita because Rosita told him so.

"Can I help you with something, Rick?" You sounded mildly annoyed, which made him smile a bit.

"Have you seen Daryl 'round? 've been lookin' for 'im. Wonderin' if he maybe went out without tellin' someone again."

Before you could answer, you felt the presence of warm hands on your sides and a chin resting on your head.

"Ya found me," Daryl sounded annoyed too, "Ya need sum?"

You melted into Daryl's touch a little and cocked a questioning eyebrow at Rick. You could tell that Daryl's PDA put him off track for a second or two before that shitty grin of his returned even stronger. God, you wanted to punch him.

"I was jus' lookin' for you so we could go over the plans for the supply run in a few days," His words were filled with smarm, "But it can wait for later."

Daryl spoke before you had the chance to.

"Good, See ya later," Daryl closed the door before Rick could spout more bullshit, pulling you closer to him and sniffing your hair.

Who was this affectionate man and what had he done with the hardass you knew?

You both could hear Rick laughing as he walked off the porch, and Daryl groaned into your neck.

"'M gonna beat 'is ass later. can' believe he talked me inta goin' ta tha' damn party."

You laughed a little. "As much as I hate to say it, you should probably be thanking him. I mean. some good definitely came of it."

"Oh my god, you're right," He spoke sarcastically, fake shock playing in the undertones of his voice.

You stood there for a minute, laughing in his arms and reveling in the attention he was giving you. You had never seen him like this, so happy and loving, He seemed like a completely different person right now. Somewhere deep down, you knew this side of him would be reserved for only you, and it made the moment all the more special to you.

In truth, Daryl had never felt like this before. Of course, he felt love towards the group, but it was a familial kind of love, This was different somehow. He wanted to be your partner, your best friend, and your backup in dangerous situations. He wanted to patch up your cuts, share a beer with you, and protect you when you needed it. But most of all, he wanted to give you everything you could ever want from him. Whether that was a life of fighting and hunting or a white picket fence with a few kids, It didn't matter to him as long as it was with you.

Daryl picked you up by your legs, still giggling, and carried you deeper into the house to spend as much time as he could with you before you both had to face the life that waited for you both outside.

Neither you nor Daryl would have ever guessed that the dead would rise up and bring the apocalypse,

Neither of you ever thought you would find a family from a group along the way,

And neither of you ever guessed you would find love in a world where it was lacking.

And honestly?

Neither of you would want it any other way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"That was a genius idea, I have to admit," Rick spoke with playful admiration.

"I told you it would work, that girl has a serious thing for formal wear... and for Daryl," Rosita stated with a hint of smarm in her voice.

Rosita, tired of her best friend's shit, came to Rick a few weeks ago and they devised a plan. Rick's job was to throw a bullshit party for the newcomers and get Daryl to shower and wear normal clothes, Which Rosita knew would be easy once he mentioned you, then all they had to do was push you two towards each other all night. The outcome of that evening may not have been what they expected, but regardless, the result was still the same. At least now Rick didn't have to witness Daryl pine for you from afar, and Rosita didn't have to deal with you talking about him all the time and never doing anything. And what better entertainment was there than matchmaking during the end of the world.

Rick, who had placed a bet that Rosita's plan wouldn't work, pulled out her winnings from his jacket pocket, placing the chocolate bar in her hand, which she received with a smug smile. He really thought it would take Daryl a bit longer to lock this down, but this is what he gets for doubting his brother, and Rosita's matchmaking skills.

"As promised," He uttered in his southern drawl. "A bet well won."

"Thank youuuu Grimes," Rosita remarked sarcastically while tearing open the wrapper.

A few short seconds of comfortable silence passed before Rick spoke up with a genuine smile instead of his usual grin.

"It's nice to see them happy, they deserve it."

Rosita finished chewing her mouthful and swallowed to reply.

"Yeah. they do.... and so do you."

"Oh no, I know where this is going." If Rosita brought up Michonne one more time, he swore to God.

"Soooooo.... Michonne?"

"Goodbye Rosita." Rick had enough of this.

"Aww, c'mon! hear me out! So, she has been complaining about the lack of toothpaste, and I was thinking..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N

sorry this took so long to write, School sucks, and yadda yadda. To be honest, I just lost the motivation to write for a long time. I have shit grammar and my spelling is a hit or miss. English is IN FACT my first language, although you wouldn't be able to tell that from my writing. No amount of Grammarly can help me at this point, Fuck formatting anyway. No beta, we die like the show's ratings after season 7. Please enjoy and be sure to point out any mistakes in the comments so I can fix them.

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renren-006 · 6 months

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Sunshine Optimist | Daryl Dixion x fem reader

plot: you were sunshine and he was scared of getting burned.

word count: 1305

a/n: heyyyy here is another daryl story hope you enjoy!

Daryl was always jealous of your optimism, the way you constantly thought things would get better or that the world wasn't as screwed up as it seemed.

Every time the group had a bump in the road, you were there, telling everyone that things would turn around; most of the time, you were right, and when you were wrong, Daryl was the only one to remind you of it. You liked him and never let his words hurt you too much, not when you knew he was just hurting. Daryl didn't let many people in, including you, but when he did, you knew it was because of your optimism that he did.

You were like sunshine in his eyes, and he was afraid of getting burned.

You thought he was like the night sky, dark, but with a few shining stars, the dark wasn't that intimidating.

The prison was the first shining star in Daryl's world. He hated that he believed your optimism then and loved that you were right. He grumbled about it to Carol so often that the woman would just laugh and shoo him away to go figure out his feelings. Daryl knew he liked you, you made his world light up, and he also knew he could never tell you. He did the only thing he knew how to do when he had feelings: push them and you away so he wouldn't have to worry about it.

That only made things worse for him.

You knew he pushed you away, you could feel it and see that whatever he was feeling scared the shit out of him. Rick even tried to comfort you about it.

“He's scared,” Rick said as he walked up beside you. You were standing on the gravel road watching him ride off on his motorcycle after another failed conversation with the man. Rick put a hand on your shoulder. “He's…not good with his feelings”

“I know. Just wish he would talk to me.” You told the older man. “I like him but sometimes it hurts too.”

“Sometimes love hurts”

“That's not helping this situation Rick” you told him sarcastically.

“I know. I'm sorry. Daryl…he's like a deer, startle him and he’ll run”

“That's probably the best way to describe him,” you said laughing. Rick smiled, patted your soldier, and walked back to helping the others with walker controle.

Daryl kept burying his feelings for you, deep, deep down. He felt his skin burn when he was near you, so he never put himself in that situation. That never worked because you would seek him out more than he wanted you to. It took 6 months of being in the Prison before something happened that forced him to feel what he was trying not to.

You joined Daryl, Michonne, and a few of the new people at the Prison on the run. You rode with Michonne in the pickup truck while the others tagged behind. Daryl rode beside the truck, failing at not watching you in the passenger seat. You knew he was watching, knew you wanted to be on that motorcycle with him, but knew you needed to let him come to you.

Once you arrived at the store a few miles from the prison and looked to have not been raided, you all made your way inside. The building was dark and muggy, and it sounded like a few employees didn't make it. You took care of the ones on your side of the store. Daryl closes behind, keeping an eye out. You glanced around before motioning to Daryl to hand you one of the bags to start filling. You got about halfway down the aisle when a Walker jumped you out of nowhere. He didn't bite you, but shit, he scared you.

“Fuck” you cursed as the walked pushed you back twords the wall, making you knife fummble out of your handsat the supprise. Daryl jumped into action shoving the walker off you and killing it before it could get a taste of skin. Daryl jumped back over to you looking over every inch of skin.

“He didn't get me. He didn't get me. Im fine” you told him, repeating the phrase over and over till he looked you in the eyes. “Daryl, im fine”

“You ain’t comin’ out ‘ere again” he said seriously, “No more runs”

“You can't bench me Daryl” you told him turning from fright to anger.

“Hell I can” he said back.

“No. I'm not yours, Daryl. You have made that very clear. You can't come back and act like you care,” you said angrily, letting all those pent-up months of feeling like nothing to Daryl out. He stared at you blankly, realizing how horrible he must have made you feel, always shoving you away.

“I….” Daryl started, wanting to scream at himself for what he had done.

“No. Im done” you told him pushing the man off you, “i'm going over there, stay the hell away Daryl”

Daryl stared blankly at where your body had previously been before you walked off, grabbed your knife, and continued on to the next row, far away from him. For the rest of that run, you stayed away, walking to another aisle whenever he tried to keep close. Michonne picked up on the energy shift between you, too, without having to say anything.

“If she doesn't want you around Daryl, it's because you pushed her so far to do so” she told him.he nodded back, knowing it was his fault and that he caused it. “You have to fix it. No more shoving her away”

“I know”

“Good. Now get back to work, we leave in thirty” Michone said.

That night Daryl found you at your guard tower sitting outside watching the stars. He knocked on the window on the corner wall by you. Glancing over you raised it was him, you rolled your eyes.

“I thought i said to stay the hell away Daryl” you said, a bit of venom dripped in your voice. Something Daryl had never heard from you.

“I know, Im sorry”

“Sorry isn't going to cut it” You told him, “For months you have pushed me away, made me feel worthless to you and I pushed through but you have no right…”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off. “I was afraid of getting’ hurt y/n”

“Hurt?”

“yer sunshine and I'm…”

“A starry night,” you told him. Holding his gaze. “You're like the stars in the night sky, bright enough to make the darkness not so scary. I always thought you were, but then you changed.”

“I…I couldn't stand yer optimism” he said, “ya made me feel…”

“Made you feel what”

“Like my heart was gonna explode” he said, crouching down by you, “yur makin me feel optimistic about the world”

“I like having that effect on people” you told him, “I like having an affect on you”

“Ya do” he said, “Ya make me feel happy like I haven't been in a while”

“Good” you said and pulled him down to you, crashing your lips onto his. You pulled away from him, “Tell me your sorry again”

“I'm sorry Y/N” he said, the husky voice of the redneck sent shivers down your spine.

“And that you won't ever push me away like you did”

“I promise,” he said, smiling at the way you were making him tell you what you already knew was true. You pulled the man back and kissed him deeply. He pulled you closer to him, picked you up, and carried you into your tower. The sounds and moans that escaped your guard tower that night were heard across the starry sky, which seemed to smile down towards the Prison.

#daryl dixion #twd daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #twd daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x female reader

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theteasetreads · 2 years

Text

Here is a list of stuff I love/recommend from writers I think are neat. Please be sure to check out their blogs and their other stuff too! I will be updating this list the more I find stuff I love.

*this list is arranged in alphabetical order

❤️‍🔥 = smut (18+) 💝 = fluff 💔 = angst 👀 = suggestive/implied smut

❧ @collecting-stories ↳ I am not sure if this writer is currently writing for Daryl at the moment, but I ADORE their Daryl content! Be sure to check them out, and maybe you'll find that they write for some other characters you like, too!

❧ @devnmon ↳ Rye is one of my pals, and they just so happen to write some of the best Daryl Dixon fanfiction ever. Like, ever. They write some of the sweetest, sauciest, sexiest smut I've ever read, and their writing style is just amazing. I am so bad at describing this kind of stuff, but trust me when I say that they are essential reading if you like Daryl Dixon x Reader!

❧ @haruhey ↳ So much has been said about Haru, but I truly cannot express how amazing their work is. Not only do they write the most mind-blowing, earth-shattering smut on this planet, but they also put so much care and detail and love into their writing. I love how they put tons of effort into creating a real relationship between Daryl and the reader character. It's truly spectacular. Please check their stuff out if you haven't already.

❧ @normanplusdaryl ↳ Ari is just starting on her writing journey, and boy is she already turning out to be another ICONIC addition to the Daryl Dixon x Reader family. I love the way she writes Daryl, how he's true to his character and does/says things I actually think he would do/say. That is a really hard thing to do! Plus, she writes angst super well, and, once again, that is not an easy feat.

❧ @starlessea ↳ This writer's work pretty much introduced me to the world of Daryl Dixon x Reader. In fact, her series, Here Comes the Sun, is what inspired me to write my own series, and my own fanfiction in general.

❧ @weretheones ↳ Madi is not only one of the sweetest, kindest, smartest, funniest, coolest, most talented people you will ever meet, she is also a stellar writer who truly understands the complexities of Daryl's character and basically everything about him. She is truly the gem of Daryl Dixon x Reader. She is an icon, a star, a revolutionary. She rocks my world. Oh, and she is one of the best angst writers. Ever. I don't even particularly like angst, but Madi? She does it so well that it's not even angst, it's just pure art.

❧ Back to Black by normanplusdaryl | 💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl comes home after many years to face the consequences of his actions. ↳ Word Count: 2.5k

❧ Doctor's Orders by weretheones | 💔 ↳ Summary: When a sprained ankle takes you off run duty, the new girl goes in your place. Which would’ve been fine– if she didn’t have that brilliant wit, gorgeous smile, and effortless skill. But she did. And it was only a matter of time before Daryl noticed too. (Season 4) ↳ Word Count: 7k

❧ Gone For Good | Part 1 & 2 by weretheones | 💔💝 ↳ Summary: It was easy to lose hope when everyone around you started dropping like flies. When the flu hit, Daryl saw your optimism drain alongside your health, but it wasn’t until the brutal attack of the Governor that he lost his. ↳ Word Count: 9k (total)

❧ Hide Away With Me by haruhey | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. ↳ Word Count: 3.6k

❧ In Vino Veritas by haruhey | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: After a particularly rough run, Daryl wants nothing more than to shut himself away from everyone with you. However, he’d agreed days prior to be your ‘date’ to one of Alexandria’s welcoming parties thinking you needed someone to share the pain of new people with. Guilt gnaws at him the whole night and he gets wasted to numb the feeling, resulting in you having to carry him home. The alcohol in his system and the way that dress hugs you makes him particularly… talkative, and as the Romans say, in wine there is truth. ↳ Word Count: 30k

❧ Late To the Party by devnmon | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl has a knife kink. ↳ Word Count: 7.1k

❧ No Rush by weretheones | ❤️‍🔥 ↳ Summary: Daryl took his time with you. ↳ Word Count: 950

❧ You Deserve the World by devnmon | 💝💔👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl’s been insecure about his age starting to show, and is worried he’ll lose you. You show him every way he won’t. ↳ Word Count: 3.4k

❧ You, You, You by normanplusdaryl | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: After a long night, Daryl comes home and you decide he needs a little break. ↳ Word Count: 1.2k

❧ All You Got by weretheones | 💝💔 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

❧ Georgia by collectingstories | 💝 ↳ Summary: King County, Georgia. In a small town like that, where everyone knows everyone, people can get pigeon-holed into personalities that aren’t their own. Daryl Dixon was a troublemaker, a good-for-nothing, redneck kid who would grow up to be just like his dad. Drinking too much, smoking too much, and cheating his way through life. But Daryl isn’t any of the things people say he is and you’re willing to shoulder the burden of their judgement when you find yourself falling for him.

❧ Here Comes the Sun by starlessea | 💝👀 ↳ Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you’re not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn’t like your singing, or that you can’t use a gun for shit - and don’t get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he’s found a best friend for life, and that he doesn’t actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Updated: 3/13/2023

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic

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theteasetwrites · 2 years

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Merciless Beauty

Chapter 1: Your Eyes Slay Me Suddenly

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mentions of blood/gore and violence ❧ Word Count: 5.3k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: Duke Richard of House Grimes and his knight, Sir Daryl, arrive at King Ezekiel's court, though they do not know why they've been invited. Meanwhile, things are not well in the kingdom of Alexandria as a new threat begins to terrorize its citizens. Despite this, the princess dreams of seeing the world outside the castle walls by which she is imprisoned. She meets someone who she thinks might be able to help.

❧ A/N: Well, here it is. The first part of this weird ass thing I'm writing. I realize that this is super cringey but do I care? Well, a little, but you know what, I am having so much fun writing this and learning about medieval stuff so I am happy with it. I will link a "Before You Read..." page so that you guys can get a little more background info about what I'm trying to do here. I know this is kind of a weird AU and stuff so I have some disclaimers in that link. I've also included a link to the Merciless Beauty Glossary, which lists definitions for some of the terminology I will be using throughout the series. I recommend having that document open as you read as you can use it to quickly refer to in case you come across a word you are not familiar with.

Beyond gentle slopes of overgrown emerald pastures rose tall, imposing battlements of limestone, with tiny silhouettes of guards poking out of each crenel. From this distance, they looked hardly menacing, but the king’s guards were diligent, and their prowess in battle was not to be underestimated.

The duke raised the blue flag of Alexandria, signaling to the guards that they were no threat. In response, a guard reached over the wall to wave the same flag.

“They see us,” remarked the duke, pulling on the reins of his golden horse. “Here.” He handed back the worn piece of cerulean fabric to the knight who rode by his side. “Strange customs, but I don’t blame them.”

They moved upon their horses in a dignified trot, the knight’s ebony friesian stallion trained to mirror the movements of the steward’s palomino steed.

“They should be afraid,” said the knight. “The world is a dangerous place. Can’t believe they’ve held out this long.”

The duke flashed him a knowing look, that almost seemed to curl into an amused crack of the lips. “Sir Daryl,” he said, “I’ve always admired your optimism.”

The knight adjusted his feet in the heavy iron stirrups. He’d never quite get used to his lord’s jests. “Sorry,” he spoke simply. A man of few words, Richard always said.

“It’s all right, but you’d be advised to put on a cheerful face for the king. Joviality goes a long way with his type.”

“His type?”

“Unlike you, my friend, King Ezekiel is known for his… good humor.”

Daryl scoffed from the corner of his crooked smirk. “Thanks… What does the king want with you, anyway?”

Richard’s brows knit together in another amused expression of faux offense. “You think I’m not able to acquire a king’s favor? Careful, knight, you’re a free man now, but you could be downgraded to villein if necessary.”

Of course, the serious knight knew that such a threat was meant in good humor. Ten years of loyal servitude to the duke was more than enough reassurance.

The men continued onward, their horses plodding through moors that seemed to stretch on forever. The castle couldn’t come closer for Sir Daryl. He was dreading it, the pomp and circumstance of it all. But then, he knew that when he became a knight. It wasn’t the typical story, in fact. He wasn’t of any kind of good birth, his parents being poor and rather unsuccessful merchants in some other kingdom he’d purposefully forgotten the name of.

No, he wasn’t a nobleman’s son or a squire. He’d earned his title almost reluctantly, through his triumphs and battle prowess in the First War. That is, the war that preceded the Scourge.

A knight’s duty was to protect a lord, of course. He’d managed a position as the protector of Duke Richard’s land, just outside of Alexandria. In exchange for his protection, the knight had a place to live, and not a bad place at all. It was better than any decrepit wooden shack he’d lived in before, and, as far as nobility went, the duke was not a bad man. In fact, he was a good man, and that was hard to come by in times like these.

“But it’s odd,” Richard continued, “I don’t know what the king wants with me. I know he wants me to join his court, but I’ve heard he hasn’t invited anyone to court in ten years, since it broke out.” It, of course, was always understood as a reference to the plague that killed ordinary men with a gruesome fever, then brought them back as snarling, rotting walking dead men that feasted on the flesh of those who were unlucky enough to still be alive.

No one knew where it came from, but many thought the curse was nothing short of the wrath of God Himself. It was the only explanation in a world completely devoid of comfort. Though the idea that a supposedly benevolent god bestowing such a pestilence upon his so-called beloved children was hardly comforting. In these times, people took what they could get.

“Maybe he just wants your wonderful company,” Daryl replied, sure to speak with a sarcastic lilt to his gruff voice.

“No, no,” Richard said. “It doesn’t make sense. Ezekiel and I have only spoken a few times… You know, there’s a princess.”

Oh, yes, everyone knew of the princess, of course, though no one had seen her in years. The gatehouse of that castle hadn’t opened in ten years. No one had come in, and no one had gone out. Until now, of course.

“There’s always a princess,” Daryl huffed. “What does that have to do with anythin’?”

“Well, she’s got to be a woman now… I’m sure the king is looking to wed her to someone.”

Daryl flashed a suspicious glance at the curly-haired man, who returned the look with a steady shake of his head.

“You think he wants you to court her?”

“I don’t know, but if what they say is true, the princess is the most beautiful woman in Alexandria. Some say beyond Alexandria, too.”

It was odd for a man of Richard’s age and status to be unmarried. His wife had died six years ago in childbirth, along with the child. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it was a great tragedy in the duke’s life. The knight couldn’t see him remarrying at all after that, but if the king was going to offer his daughter to him, he would be a fool not to accept.

“Women with that kind of beauty are hard to come by,” continued Richard. “And royal, too. Hell, the princess is the king’s only child. That means… I could become king when he dies.”

“Gettin’ ahead of yourself,” chided Daryl. “We’re not even at the gatehouse yet.”

“Welcome, my friends!”

The king extended his arms wide, about as wide as the grin upon his countenance. He crossed the great hall, the steps of his pointed poulaines echoing off the grand high ceilings. The king’s hand clasped jovially upon the duke’s shoulder, but the gesture quickly turned into a hearty embrace.

“It’s good to see you,” said the king. “It’s been too long, Richard.”

“It has.”

The duke raised his eyes to gaze upon the magnificence of the hall. Though the exterior of the castle may have appeared quite imposing, the great hall was warm, welcoming, even. Elaborate arrangements of strong wooden arches upheld the roof, complete with intricately designed corbels to support them. Draped from the high stone walls were long blue banners bearing the royal family’s crest, no doubt made from the finest threads. Tapestries depicting mythical creatures and romantic scenes of knights going to battle or courting ladies were on full display, too. The hall was illuminated by the gilded light of what seemed to be a hundred or so candles, some upon sconces, others upon tables and in iron chain chandeliers. The pungent aroma of honey and elderflower tickled at the uninitiated noses of the two travelers, and, sure enough, in the king’s hand was a fine pewter goblet, which no doubt must’ve been brimming with a particularly pungent, sweet smelling mead.

“Come!” exclaimed the king. “Have a drink! This is cause for celebration.”

The loud bravado in the king’s voice must’ve alerted the court as finely dressed nobles began to pour in from the arches and the upstairs landing. As the duke and his knight followed the king to his banquet table, just in front of his imposing bronze throne, the court gathered in greater globs. Murmurs began to permeate the great hall, and the knight could just feel an army of eyes laid upon him and his lord. It wasn’t a feeling he reveled in.

“We’ve already had our feast,” said the king, sitting himself comfortably at the head of the long wooden table. “But I can have a servant bring you something. Only the finest dining here.”

“We’ve already eaten. Just a drink is fine for now, your majesty,” said the duke. As he sat, the loyal knight followed.

Daryl felt bear, having been made rid of his greatsword and his cloak by the guards at the entrance to the keep. There were few places outside of his home that he felt safe enough without either.

“Ah, libations!” exclaimed the emphatic king. He held his goblet high for emphasis. “This is the finest mead in Alexandria and her surrounding kingdoms. It comes from a monastery, I’ve been told. They raise bees there, isn’t that fantastic?”

The knight and the duke exchanged a glance. They had no idea what to make of the king. He was so full of merry, the likes of which they hadn’t seen in years. Perhaps it was the mead, but Richard knew the man was jovial. Still, it was a kind of shock.

The servants arrived with intricately detailed pewter pitchers full of the honey wine, filling their goblets to the brim. The excesses of wealth and royalty were foreign to the knight. Duke Richard was wealthy, yes, but not like this.

“So,” spoke the king, “I trust your journey through my kingdom was pleasant? No dead ones crossed your path?”

“Not at all,” said Richard. “Your kingdom is quite safe, it seems. Those tall walls will keep anything out.”

“Hm, yes,” agreed Ezekiel. “But you can never be too careful. No one’s left the castle in ten years, I’m sure you know. It’s better to be safe.”

That reminded the duke. He intended to ask why the king had invited him to court, but before he could speak again, the boisterous king looked to Sir Daryl with an enthusiastic curiosity.

“This is your knight?”

“Yes, this is Sir Daryl.”

The king settled back in his chair, stroking the gray corkscrew hairs upon his noble chin. “Ah, I’ve heard of your gallantry in battle, how you earned your title. My father knighted you, didn’t he?”

Daryl looked to his steward, wordlessly asking for permission to speak. Richard nodded. “Yes, your majesty,” spoke the knight. His voice was raspier than usual, having been silent for so long since arriving at the castle. After all, what could a knight possibly have to say? His only duty was to protect his lord, as a vassal. He was of lower rank than Richard, and, though he never much cared for the details of hierarchy, it was in his best interest to know his place.

“How grand! Well, gentlemen, I do hope you find this court to be a fount of merriment in these dark times.” He gestured to the surrounding great hall, and the people who watched with bated breath as they clung to the monarch’s every word. “Everyone has been so eager to meet you. This is a momentous occasion. A toast!” The king stood to his feet, raising his goblet high. Others followed suit, of course, as the two newcomers sat overwhelmed at the king’s table. “To Duke Richard and his knight, the first additions to court in a decade of strife.”

“Huzzah!”

With a long drink of his mead, the king met the duke with wide eyes, then removed the cup in a near panic, though it was a jolly panic. “I almost forgot! How could I forget? My daughter, (Y/N). Elizabeth! Fetch my daughter!”

“Yes, your majesty.” The mousy young maid with flaxen hair frantically ascended the staircase with great haste.

Richard straightened in his seat, clearing his throat. The knight could tell he was nervous, but he couldn’t understand why. A princess was hardly anything to be nervous about. It was the king the duke needed to impress, he thought.

“Minstrels!” the king exclaimed, gesturing towards the troupe of musicians across the great hall. There were three, each dressed in colorful garb and feathered caps. One held a lute, the other, a flute, and the third, a tambour. “Play something for the princess’s entrance. Something… delicate, but dignified, like her.”

“Yes, your majesty!” one of the minstrels replied.

Yes, your majesty, seemed a rather common phrase around here.

Then, from atop the stairs appeared a young woman.

You heard the musicians begin to play their little tune—a soft, simple tune that seemed to evolve with each step you took. Each step was calculated and precise, partly because that was how you were trained to walk, and partly because you were careful not to trip over your gown. Your father had instructed you to wear your best clothes the last few days, though you weren’t sure why. You’d heard of a duke coming to court, but it was hardly of any interest to you. Why should you care? Why should you welcome an outsider when you haven’t been able to leave this dusty old castle in years?

“That must be the duke,” whispered Margaret. She followed your every move, as a lady-in-waiting was supposed to.

“He’s handsome,” Michonne whispered back.

You shushed the ladies out of the corner of your mouth. They were much too excited for their own good, much more excited than you.

At the base of the staircase, your father held his hand out to you, beaming at your beauty. Tonight, you wore your favorite champagne-colored surcote, made from a heavy silk, with long, flowing sleeves that split at the elbow to reveal the pure white lace-front gown. The décolletage was modest, but deep enough to reveal just the beginning of your cleavage, formed by the tight lacing that held your chest in place. It wasn’t quite in vogue these days, but then again, nothing was in vogue these days.

As you took his hand, you realized that the duke and his knight were standing for you. Of course they were, but their new faces caught you off guard. You knew everyone in court so well, it was strange to see two strangers standing for you.

Your father lifted his hand, in turn raising your arm to show you off like a prized mare. With knitted brows and a quivering lip, you flashed him a confused expression. He’d never introduced you like this before, but then again, he never introduced you to anyone before.

“Gentlemen,” he said, turning his attention to the duke and his knight. “I present to you my daughter, (Y/N), Crown Princess of Alexandria.”

The men each bent over to bow before you, and you took in their appearance with great interest. It wasn’t often you had new faces to study.

The duke was well-dressed, wearing a damask scarlet doublet that must’ve cost a fortune, with tight-fitting wool hose to accentuate his lean legs. It would be remiss not to note how handsome he was, with a head of lush curls and a short, well-trimmed beard to frame his salmon-colored lips. If it weren’t for his title and his clothing, you could tell the man was a noble just by looking at the shape of his nose, aquiline and strong. Yes, he was handsome.

But just beyond his shoulder, your eyes were pulled like magnets to the knight. His clothes were more muted, but made from a fine material. A plain black wool tabard draped over his broad shoulders, his waist cinched with a fine leather belt, strapped to which was a lone misericorde, the dagger which you knew from your studies to be what knights used to deliver the final death blow to an enemy. The sharp tip sent a shiver down your spine as you wondered briefly if he’d ever had to use it.

Though his coloring was similar to the duke, both having hair of brown and eyes of blue, their similarities ended there. The knight had a much more tired face, world-weary. It was difficult to see clearly, given the shadows created by the long wavy locks of hair shrouding his visage, but he appeared to have a reddened scar trailing from his brow to his cheek, crossing over his left eye.

From what you could see, he looked nothing like any man you’d seen before. He was weather-worn and hardened by the world, at least, that’s how he looked. He must’ve seen such terrible things, you thought. In the fine lines of his face, you could begin to make out an image of the world outside. Here was a man who must’ve known its ins and outs like the back of his hand, must’ve been so brave to have survived this long outside the walls, fighting the Dead.

Though your face was softened by curiosity, the knight’s was stoic and cold. He seemed somehow both distant and alert, aware of his surroundings despite his reluctance to be surrounded by them. The duke’s kind face was much more welcoming, but, for a moment, you were held hostage by the knight’s narrowed, serious gaze.

“Your highness,” said the duke. “I am Duke Richard of House Grimes.” He turned to gesture towards the knight. “And this is my knight, Sir Daryl.”

A curious name for a curious face, you thought. Still, you tried to maintain your focus on the nobleman.

“It is an honor to meet you, milord,” you replied. “The court has been anticipating your arrival.” Though I haven’t. “Oh, these are my ladies-in-waiting, Lady Margaret and Lady Michonne.”

You brought the ladies forth, each of them curtseying before the duke. It gave you a moment to look upon the knight again.

“Pleasure,” the duke said to your ladies. “And… may I say, princess, you’re just as radiant as they say.”

You looked wide-eyed at the king, who smiled bigger than he had in years. The blush that blossomed upon your cheeks was not one of flattery, necessarily, but slight embarrassment. “Oh… They speak of me?”

“Yes. Common people often praise your beauty. Many would sell their land or their livestock for the chance just to get a glimpse of you. I must admit, it would be worth it.”

A whirlpool of emotions formed in your belly, mostly confusion. You’d never been complimented quite like this before. “Well… Thank you, milord. That’s very kind of you to say.” Swallowing hard, you turned to your father, who seemingly expected you to return with an equal compliment. “Father, I’m going to retire to my chambers for the evening.” You turned back to face the duke. “Goodnight, Richard. I hope your stay in court is pleasant.”

Your father’s smile faded with your announcement, but he nodded as he tried to offset his disappointment. “Of course, my dear. Goodnight.”

At length, you sat before your vanity to remove your jewels while Elizabeth prepared your bed as usual. She hummed to herself the same little tune the musicians had played earlier for your grand entrance to meet the duke. Removing your translucent veil, you got to work undoing the circles of elaborate braids and removing the genuine pearls laced throughout when a rapping came at the door of your chamber.

“My dear, it’s me,” said your father. “May I come in?”

Oh, for pity's sake.

You turned on your stool to gesture towards Elizabeth. “Let him in,” you said. “I can undress myself tonight. Goodnight, Beth.”

The young girl nodded before opening the door for the king. He thanked her as she left, while you straightened up to no doubt receive a tongue lashing for your less than friendly reception of the newcomers.

“(Y/N),” he sighed, sitting at the foot of your bed as he adjusted his gold trimmed velvet robe. “My dear… I must say I am a bit disappointed that you didn’t sit and speak with the duke tonight.”

“Well, father, I… It’s hard to be excited about these new guests when I myself haven’t been outside the castle since I was a girl. And now, all of a sudden, you’re letting in some nobleman and his knight? Why?”

To the king, it was obvious, but to you, it was totally unclear. There was much about the world you still didn’t know, and though you were knowledgeable, on account of your royal tutoring, you were still naïve in many ways.

Your father stood as he sighed, piecing a long, gray-black dread lock behind his ear. “Well, I was hoping…” He shook his head, then crossed over to you, taking your hands in his as he looked at you with that adventurous sparkle in his eyes. “You liked Richard, didn’t you? He was charming?”

You were caught off guard by the question, but you shrugged and nodded with a half-smile. “Why, yes. He’s charming.”

“And handsome?”

“Well… Of course. He’s very handsome, any woman would think so.”

“So…”

“Father, are you… trying to ask me if I want to court the duke?”

“Yes,” he laughed in relief that you caught on without him having to explain. “Richard is a good man, one of the best nobles left. He’s wealthy, too. Though I was always hoping for a political marriage for you, as long as the man is at least a noble and a suitable husband, I think this kind of match would be good for you. In fact, we could move Richard here, that way you never have to leave the castle, and—”

“Father!” you exclaimed, shocked by how excited he was at this idea without even hearing your thoughts, of which you had many. “I’m not ready to marry!”

“But you’re twenty-six, my dear.”

Standing to your feet, you shook your head and pulled out the remaining braids in your hair. “I’m just not ready. The duke is… He’s perfect, but I’m not interested. I can’t explain it, it’s just not a match.”

“But you’ve hardly spoken to him!”

You didn’t need to speak to him to know, you just knew. It was impossible to explain. All you knew was that it wouldn’t work, and that marriage was simply not in your near future. You had other priorities, other… curiosities. Love was not one of them, except in your fairytales and love poems. You had a hard time believing love could be any better than that.

“Father, please. I’ve told you how I felt, and I’m sorry if you brought this man here just for me, but I can’t force myself to try with someone who doesn’t interest me in that way.”

He crossed the room with a soft step, his face morphing into an understanding smile. “I know, darling. I’m sorry to have upset you. I would never force you into a marriage that didn’t please you, I just… I just want you to marry a good man. Well, so long as he’s a noble, at least.”

Your father was never a traditional king, but he still insisted on some things, and one of them was that you would marry well. Well meaning high status. Some things were sacred.

“But if the duke isn’t to your liking,” he continued, “I won’t force it.”

“Thank you, father. That means a great deal to me.”

“Good.” His hand cradled the back of your head to bring you forward, allowing him to bestow a fatherly kiss upon your forehead. “Someday, you will make a great queen. A better ruler than me, I am sure.”

“Father,” you laughed. “You are a great ruler. The people love you. Everyone loves you. That’s what matters.”

“My sweet girl,” he said, now holding your cheeks to admire your pretty, delicate features. You were truly a princess through and through. “You’re the most precious jewel in my crown.” An old phrase he’d said to you since you were a little girl. The man was so sentimental, a trait you admired greatly. “I bid you goodnight.”

As he headed back towards the door, you began to think freely, with your mind returning to the knight beside Richard. Daryl, you recalled his name. You’d never heard a name like that, nor seen a face like that.

“Father?” you called out to him just before he could leave.

“Yes, my dear?”

Looking down, you toyed with the fine silk fabric of your surcote, prefering to study the rich champagne color than to face your father as you asked, “Tell me about Richard’s knight.”

The king’s brows furrowed, his head tilting to the side in a display of curiosity and confusion. “The knight? Sir… Daryl, I believe?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, still nervously rubbing the garment between your fingers. To clarify, you lifted your gaze to your father. “Well, I mean… I was just curious. You know how I have a fascination with knights and things of that sort.”

The king shook his head with a warm, deep chuckle. “Oh, daughter. Well, I don’t know much of him, other than that he is brave, loyal… He was knighted by your grandfather, you know. Just a few years before he passed.”

“And he is of noble birth, like Richard?”

“No, no,” he replied. “Not at all. His parents were lower gentry. He earned his title in battle, a rare feat for a knight, as you know.”

Indeed, most knights were born to nobility, becoming pageboys before the age of ten, then promoting to squire in their youth. After years of studying under an established knight, the squire would then undergo the dubbing ceremony. He’d learn the code of chivalry, and he’d pledge allegiance to a lord, offering military services in exchange for a fief, or land. It seemed that Sir Daryl must’ve met many of these requirements, but he certainly wasn’t a noble.

“That’s quite interesting,” you said. “I knew he seemed different. Well, goodnight, father.”

“Goodnight, my sweet.”

When the candlelight was extinguished, and the only sound left in the dead of night was that of the crickets chirping and the toads ribbeting, you were left in solitude with your thoughts. These thoughts were not new, of course. They were visions of the outside world, beyond the castle walls and the walls of the kingdom. They hung somewhere between consciousness and dream, but your thoughts were intentional, purposeful. You thought of the trees, the flowers, the little streams. You thought of the deer and the birds and the butterflies, every beautiful thing you hadn’t seen since the Scourge began. That plague had taken everything from you, your mother, your freedom, your peace of mind.

Others had it much worse, of course, and you knew that, but that didn’t ease your heartache. There were many nights you cried yourself to sleep, hoping your father couldn’t hear, for he did what he did for good reason—he was terrified of losing you, his only child.

But tonight, you didn’t cry at all. In fact, there was a strange sense of hope nestled in your heart, something you hadn’t felt in so many years. At first, you couldn’t put your finger on it, but as your head and your heart began to work together, you realized—it was the knight.

Not only was the knight a new addition to the court, but he was brave, a fighter. He would surely help you escape.

Escape was something you’d thought of before, but now, it seemed within reach. Of course, you wouldn’t leave forever, just a day. Just a day outside the walls, breathing in the fresh air, feeling the soft grass underfoot. There wasn’t anyone else. The guards all pledged such strong allegiance to the king, they would surely inform him of your plans if you asked. The others weren’t skilled in combat, couldn’t keep you safe. No, the only solution was the knight. He would help you. Surely, he would help you.

In your alone time, you often walked the corridors of the keep, as there wasn’t much else to do when you weren’t occupied by your books or your needlepoint. Today was no different, though the court was still excitable over the arrival of the duke last night.

You tried to ignore that, instead keeping yourself in your thoughts as you wandered aimlessly, until your father’s panicked voice resounded from inside his cabinet, adjacent to his bedchamber. What you made out were the words, “How could this happen?!”

Curiosity overcame you, your boredom having been relentless. You looked around the corridor for a moment, ensuring no passersby would see you. The guards were at the other end of the hall, facing away from you. If you were quiet, no one would see you pressing your ear to the ornate wooden door.

“Constable,” your father huffed, “are you quite sure?”

“Yes, your majesty,” spoke Lord Constable Aaron. “There have been reports of mysterious cloaked knights extorting citizens throughout the kingdom. They demand crops, livestock, women… They threaten murder if they don’t get their way, my liege. We had some isolated incidents in the past, but this past month, they’ve been happening more frequently.”

“And you didn’t think it of import to tell the king?” questioned Lord Chancellor Gerald. “There hasn’t been crime like this in Alexandria since we closed our gates.”

“I didn’t want to worry his majesty with incidents of petty crime,” responded the constable. “But now… Well, a boy has been killed.”

“What?!” your father exclaimed. “Who?”

“Thomas Webb, son of the innkeeper, James. He was only sixteen… I’ve been told it was…”

The constable trailed off, his voice becoming shaky as he spoke.

“Speak, Aaron,” demanded the king.

The constable cleared his throat, then lowered his voice. You pressed your ear harder against the wood of the door, so much so that you feared a splinter.

“Apologies, milord… It—it was a gruesome death, the likes of which we haven’t seen in Alexandria since the Dead breached our walls. But this wasn’t a dead man, it was a knight in black armor, their leader. We could hardly identify the boy, his head was… Well, your majesty, his head was obliterated.”

A small gasp escaped your lips, your hand quickly reaching up to catch it before it alerted the guards.

“By God,” uttered the chancellor. “What kind of knight are we dealing with?”

“A knight wouldn’t commit a crime like that,” spoke an at first unfamiliar voice, but you quickly identified it as that of the duke. “No, not any kind of true knight. A dishonored one, maybe.”

“It’s of no concern to me what this man’s status is,” said the king. “All I care about is protecting my people. Constable, I need strengthened security across the kingdom, especially in the merchant district. Something tells me these marauders are targeting the middle and lower classes. I also want tighter security at the outer curtain. No one should be entering or leaving the kingdom without my permission, and if they’re entering clandestinely, there must be a blind spot or a chink in our armor. If the living can get in, the Dead can, too. Get it sorted. There will be no more of this… obliterating in my kingdom, understand?”

“Absolutely, your majesty. We’ll double up our defenses. This won’t happen again… Oh, and… There is one more thing.”

“What is it?” asked the king. “I have very little time for idle conversation today, constable.”

“Yes, yes, of course, your majesty, but… Well, this is quite important. The knight in black armor left a message with one of our guards, just before he… chopped off his arm.”

Your lips trembled with fear. How could a man do such a thing? And this man was in your kingdom, hurting your people. It was horrifying. That poor guard, you thought. That poor boy… Oh, that poor, poor boy.

“Good lord!” huffed the king. “All right, what is it?”

The constable cleared his throat as you heard a crinkling of paper. “Your majesty,” the constable read from the letter, “let this be a first warning, an introduction of sorts. My name is Sir Negan of House Smith, my people are the Saviors. If you cooperate with me, there will be no more bloodshed, but if you go against me, I will plunder and pillage this pretty kingdom until the streets are soaked red. I ask, or demand, rather, for one thing: your daughter.”

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday - April 17th, 2024.

Preview of Heaven's Gate (Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader)

A/N: Despite the awful messages I have been getting lately, berating me for 'not finishing things' - I want to start doing WIP Wednesday regularly. Sometimes the things I post will not be completed and posted on my other blog. That is normal. Sometimes ideas are abandoned in favour of other ideas. Sometimes things go unfinished for any number of reasons. I have a really good feeling about this fic - it's an idea that I have had in my head since I saw Season 5 of TWD for the first time, and I have been wanting to write this fic for years. Fics like this are usually bound to be finished by me purely out of dedication to an idea I have had for years.

If you want to see the full fic when it comes out, you can follow my writing blog @sundrop-writes where it will be posted.

Warnings: I don't think there's really any warnings for this small section? The term they/them is used, but I didn't want it to be used specifically for the reader, I wanted it to be ambiguous that it could be talking about the larger group or the reader (so that people with she/her or he/him pronouns can also apply themselves to this dialogue). There are typical TWD warnings - mentions of death, spoilers for the show up through Season 4 if you're watching it for the first time. Use of Y/N because I am an old school girl, and idk - I think that's it for this section?

...

When the prison was attacked, Daryl got out with Beth.

He almost couldn’t stand her bright eyes, big eyes staring at him, waiting for answers - her chirpy little voice, prodding at him, demanding that they ‘follow the trail’ and go look for everyone else. Telling him that he was a tracker, that he could find them. As if it was his damn responsibility just because he had the skills to get it done.

It was all too reminiscent of you, telling him that he could find Sophia. That it wasn’t an ‘if’ - it was a ‘when’.

Perhaps that was what got him off his ass and doing what he did best - reading the dirt.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, staring at the girl curiously as she went to one of the bushes and rushed to pick berries from branches. Had she not gotten enough to eat that morning?

“They’ll be hungry when we find them.” Beth told him confidently.

Of course. That undefeatable streak of optimism.

Daryl knew that blueberries weren’t your favorite - but he should have something to give you. He would be too busy tracking the footprints to properly hunt for squirrels or rabbits and clean them for you. So, he found himself pulling a large bandana from his back pocket and offering it to Beth - something to hold the berries in to keep them safe as an offering for you.

“Here.” He grunted at her.

Beth smiled at him.

It was one of the last smiles she gave him for a long time.

When they came across those bodies splayed out beside the tracks - any sense of hope was crushed inside of him. The picture you had gifted him was heavy inside his breast pocket, and he hated that tears threatened his eyes - even if he knew that none of those bodies belonged to you. There was no trace of you there.

The days started to blur into each other, and Daryl couldn’t get you off his mind.

One hazy evening, as they both stared into the fire with dead looks on their faces, he took the drawing out of his pocket and unfolded it.

For good luck.

He didn’t believe in luck - because it didn’t exist. The world was fucked. Nobody was lucky. You and your good luck were dead.

He tossed the drawing into the fire, and it was only a moment, when the corner of it had barely caught, when Beth snatched it out. She stomped on it with her boot, successfully saving it.

“Don’t do that.” She hissed at him.

Daryl snatched it from her, and crumbled it up, tossing it aside. He let out a grunt, but refused to look at her.

“That was from Y/N, wasn’t it?” She posed.

He could feel her imposing stare as she waited for an answer.

He didn’t give her one.

“You can’t burn them just because you think they’re dead.” Beth sighed. “You can’t burn up memories. We’re gonna find them. Y/N, and Maggie, and Michonne, and - and everyone.”

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah. Cause that’s gon’ happen.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but didn’t speak any further on the subject.

After she had fallen asleep - when the fire was dull, Daryl picked up the crumbled ball and smoothed it out again. The charred corner hadn’t even touched your bird. He felt like a fool doing it, just as much of a fool as he accused you of being, but he folded it neatly - well, as neatly as he could - and then put it back into his breast pocket again.

But that was the thing - Daryl wished that he could. He wished he could burn up those memories.

That you would stop haunting him. Then he wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore.

#wips #current wips #wip wednesday #sundrop writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x gender neutral reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine

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biggerbetterbat · 7 months

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WITH YOU| HIS REDEMPTION

Dary Dixon x OC!Charlie Reed

A/N: Hey! It’s a fast “special” chapter. With this occasion I would like to thank you so much for reading, liking, commenting, and reposting my work! <3

After Daryl saved Beth when the prison got overrun, their dynamic shifted from survival partners to a somewhat strained coexistence. Daryl, accustomed to solitude and self-reliance, found it challenging to adjust to Beth's presence. He was annoyed by her optimism and innocence, which seemed out of place in the harsh post-apocalyptic world. Beth's desire to maintain hope and find meaning grated against Daryl's more cynical outlook on life. Their differences often led to clashes and tension, as Daryl struggled to reconcile his rough exterior with Beth's more tender-hearted nature. Despite his annoyance, Daryl also found himself protective of Beth, recognizing her vulnerability in their dangerous surroundings. This internal conflict added another layer to their relationship as they navigated the complexities of survival together.

He wished he was in that situation with Charlie as it would make it all easier. She was already skilled with a bow, knew something about hunting, and was really good at killing Walkers. He wouldn't have to worry so much for two persons just like he had to do it right now.

Nights were the worst. Just like right now...

As Daryl huddled in the car with Beth, seeking shelter from the storm and the relentless threat of walkers being lurked by the noise, his thoughts drifted to Charlie. The memory of her lingered in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of the bond they had shared before the chaos of the world tore them apart. He tried to distract himself from the situation with remembering her bright smile and sense of humor.

Despite the danger surrounding them, Daryl couldn't shake the worry that gnawed at his heart, wondering if Charlie was out there somewhere, fighting to survive like they were. His feelings for her, once kept hidden beneath layers of gruff exterior, now surfaced with a painful intensity as he grappled with the uncertainty of her fate. As much as he wanted to see her one more time, he wished she was dead already instead of walking this Earth struggling.

As the storm raged on outside, Daryl found solace in Beth's presence, her quiet strength a source of comfort in the midst of chaos. But even as they sought refuge together, his thoughts kept drifting back to Charlie, his heart heavy with the ache of longing for her companionship once more. In the darkness of the car, surrounded by the howling wind and the distant moans of the walkers, Daryl silently prayed for Charlie's safety, hoping against hope that they would find each other again in this cruel and unforgiving world.

Life with Beth wasn't easy. She was a good girl and he started to like her; however, she still was Beth. Here he was, relying on a young girl like Beth for safety and support, a stark contrast to the image of strength and self-reliance he prided himself on. As they faced the dangers of the world together, Daryl couldn't help but feel a twinge of self-doubt, questioning his ability to protect them both. Beth's unwavering optimism and resilience only served to highlight his own insecurities, leaving him feeling out of place and, at times, downright pathetic.

For example now, they were searching for a drink. As in alcohol. Because Miss Goodie Two Shoes had never been drunk. They were risking their lives to find an alcohol...Merle was probably laughing at him from wherever he was.

"Found this place with Charlie during winter," he said stopping in front of the place. His heart swallowed once again in his chest.

Daryl and Charlie stumbled upon an old, weather-beaten shed nestled deep in the woods. Its wooden panels, once vibrant with paint, were now faded and worn, hinting at years of neglect. Vines crept up the sides, weaving through cracks and crevices, adding to its air of abandonment.

"I was expecting a liquor store."

"No, this is better."

The walls inside had patches of peeling paint revealing the raw wood beneath. Light filters through the cracks between the planks, casting uneven patterns on the dirt floor below. It was a mess inside. The only furniture that was somewhat usable was a big armchair and a table with only one chair.

After searching the place, Daryl poured some moonshine to the jar and placed in front of Beth. "That's a real first drink right there," he said, but saw the hesitation in her eyes. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's just...my dad always said bad moonshine can make you go blind."

"Ain't nothing worth seeing out there anymore anyway," he mumbled.

Beth took a deep breath and drank from a glass and grimaced her face. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted," then she reached over a jar with liquor. "Second round's better."

"Slow down," Daryl warned her.

"That's one for you."

"No, I'm good."

"Why?" Beth asked surprised.

"Someone's got to keep watch."

"So, what, you're like my chaperone now?"

"Just drink lots of water," he said and started working on covering the windows and locking the doors.

The life of many was strange after the turn as everything had changed. However, Daryl for the second time found himself in a room with a drunk girl that insist on playing some stupid drinking game. Did women couldn't just sit and drink?

"So first, I say something I've never done, and if you have done it, you drink," she said. "And if you haven't I drink. Then we switch."

"How do you know this game?"

"My friends played," Beth shrugged. "Okay, I'll start. I've never shot a crossbow. So now you drink."

"Ain't much of a game."

"That was a warm up," she whined. "Your turn."

He started biting his thumb nervously, feeling the pressure of her blue piercing eyes. "I've never been out of Georgia."

"Good one," she nodded her head. "I've never been drunk and done something I regreted."

"I've done a lot of things," he snorted humorlessly and drank from his cup. "I've never been on vacation."

"What about camping?"

"No, that was just something I had to learn...to hunt." he answered and the question threw him into a nostalgic mood.

"I've never been in jail," Beth happily chirped. "I mean, as a prisoner."

Daryl's face contorted with frustration as Beth's question pierced the air. He shot her a steely glare, his jaw clenching. "Is that what you think of me?" he growled, his tone laced with hurt and anger. Daryl felt his anger grew. Charlie would never ask him a question like that.

Beth recoiled, realizing her mistake too late. "I didn't mean anything serious. A drunk tank. Even mu dad got locked up for that back in the day."

"Mmm."

"Wait...prison guard. Were you a prison guard before?"

"No."

"It's your turn again," Beth said quietly, feeling that something was off.

"I'm gonna take a piss," he said and got up from the dirty floor.

"Don't be so loud," Beth said as she flinched from the man's actions. He was kicking whatever was lying on the ground, making hell of a noise.

"What, are you my chaperone now?!" he yelled as he turned, zipping the pants. "Oh, wait. It's my turn now!" he said ironically. "I've never, uh...never eaten frozen yogurt. Never had a pet pony! Never got nothing from Santa Claus! Never relied on anyone for protection before! Hell, I don't think I've relied on anyone for anything!"

"Daryl..."

"Never sung out in front of a big group! Like everything was fun! Like everything was a big game! I sure as hell never cut my wrists looking for attention!"

Snarling.

"Oh, sounds like our friend out there is trying to call all of his buddies!"

"Daryl, shut up!"

"You've never shot a crossbow before? I'm going to teach you right now!" he said and took Beth harshly by her arm, leading her out of the shed.

He walked out and started shooting at the walker, but not in his head. Daryl made out of the corpses breathing throwing dartboard. "Stop it!" Beth yelled and approached the dead and killed it with a swift movement of the knife.

"What the hell you do that for? I was having fun!" Daryl screamed in annoyance.

"No, you were being a jackass!" Beth started screaming, too. "If anyone found my dad..."

"Don't! That ain't remotely the same!"

"What would Charlie say if she was here?!" she asked, but her question was like a red cloth for a bull. It only made Dixon even angrier.

"But she's not! Cause she's dead!"

"Killing them is not supposed to be fun!"

"What do you want from me girl, huh?" Daryl asked.

"I want you to stop acting like you don't give a crap about anything! Like nothing we went through matters! Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you!"

"Because they didn't!" he pointed at her.

"It's bullshit!"

"Is that what you think?"

"That's what I know," she said. "I know that you love Charlie and you're being hurt right now."

"You know nothing!"

"I know you look at me and you see her," Beth almost whispered, knowing that she would once again tickle the nerve. "So stop treating me differently because I'm not like Michonne, or Maggie, or Carol. Because I survived! So don't treat me like crap because you're afraid!"

"I'm afraid of nothing..." he said. And it was the truth now as he lost every person he cared for.

I remember," she said. "On the highway. After the farm? When you thought Charlie was left there? You were like me. And now God forbid you ever let anybody get too close."

"Too close, huh?" he gasped, feeling the anger racing one more time. "You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends, you can't even shed a tear."

"But at least, I had someone!" she attacked him. "You were too scared to confess!"

"Maybe I would have!" he yelled. "But the Governor rolled right up to our gates! Maybe if I had followed her then...Maybe cause I let her go. That's on me. She died because of me! They all could have lived if I did something..."

Daryl and Beth sat in front of each other on utside the shed, the dim light casting shadows on their faces. The silence between them spoke volumes as they both wrestled with their demons, the weight of their experiences heavy in the air. Despite the darkness surrounding them, there was a glimmer of hope as they supported each other on the difficult journey toward sobriety.

"I'm a dick when I'm drunk," he said and smiled lightly, feeling guilty of his outburst before. "Why did you even wanted a drink so bad?"

"I know I shouldn't have ask you to risk your life for something so stupid. But I wanted to drink it. I wanted to know what it felt like. And..."

"Mmm?"

"I wanted this first drink because..." Beth said quietly. "Because back on the farm...Charlie said to me then..."

"What did she say?" Daryl asked curiously.

"She told me that I should do it before... before death," she said. "That I should experience everything I can while I still can."

"That's something she would definitely say," he nodded with a small smile, imagining how Charlie says it.

"Yeah," Beth smiled. "I've done everything but this. Just like she said. I wanted to drink, and I just felt like I needed to."

Daryl's expression softens, his eyes betraying a mixture of sorrow and longing. He misses Charlie deeply and struggles to contain his emotions, his throat tightening with unspoken grief. In that moment, Beth's revelation serves as a painful reminder of the people they've lost along the way, and Daryl's silent tears speak volumes about the weight of their shared losses.

"How did you guys find this place?" Beth asked.

"I was teaching her how to use a bow. How to hunt and...all," he shrugged.

"You miss her, don't you," Beth said rather asked. He said nothing. "I miss her too."

"Mm."

"Could you teach me? Just like you did to Charlie?" Beth asked.

"We will see," he answered, but something told Beth that he already made up his mind. So she smiled as bright as she could.

That night they burned the shed....

After days of wandering around, teaching Beth and just surviving, they found a place. During one of their teaching lessons , she got hurt by the hunter trap. That's why Daryl decided it was a right moment to find a quiet and safe place.

It was a house near the cemetery. It was an almost picturesque appearance despite the world's chaos around them. The front porch boasted a swing, weathered but sturdy, inviting weary travelers to take a moment's respite. The windows, though slightly dusty, hinted at the warmth and comfort within. Inside, the house was a time capsule of a bygone era, with vintage furniture and décor that seemed frozen in time. It was untouched.

Down in the basement was a mortgage and in one of the rooms stood a tomb with a body - the body was disposing; however, nothing suspicious was happening to it, so the man must have died before this madness began.

"I'm gonna leave a thank-you note," Beth said.

"Why?" he asked with furrowed eyebrows, turning his attention from the jar.

"For when they come back," she answered as it was the most obvious thing. "If they come back. Oh, whatever."

"Maybe you don't need to leave that," he said. "Maybe we stick around here for a while. They come back, we'll just make it work."

"So you do think there are still good people around. What changed your mind?"

"You know," he shrugged.

As Daryl and Beth heard the dog whining, Daryl's instincts kicked in, and he cautiously approached the source of the sound. With a heavy heart, he realized that the walkers had attacked and devoured the poor animal. Before he could react, the hungry undead turned their attention towards him, their rotten faces contorted into grotesque grimaces.

Thinking quickly, Daryl instructed Beth to run for safety as he drew his crossbow and engaged the approaching walkers. With precision honed from years of survival, he dispatched them one by one, the sound of the bowstring cutting through the air echoing in the eerie silence.

Despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Daryl couldn't shake the sense of loss for the innocent creature and the grim reminder of the dangers lurking in their world. As he fought off the walkers, his determination to protect Beth and himself burned ever stronger, fueling his resolve to survive another day in this unforgiving landscape.

As Daryl frantically ran from the approaching walkers, his heart pounding in his chest, his only purpose was to find Beth and leave the place behind. Panic ser in as he saw her belongings scattered on the ground, a chilling indication of her sudden disappearance.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Daryl's instinct was to find Beth at all costs. Hearing the distant rumble of an engine, he raced towards the sound, shouting her name into the emptiness of the desolate landscape. His cries were drowned out by the roar of the car as it sped away, leaving him behind in a cloud of dust and uncertainty.

Alone and desperate again. Daryl was consumed by a sense of helplessness and fear as he once more lost someone who became close to him. He obviously couldn't safe his family, his brother, Charlie, so Beth was supposed to be his redemption. With every fiber of his being, he vowed to track her down and bring her back, no matter the obstacles that lie ahead in his path.

But he didn't know where he should start. He was exhausted from the night, so with a grunt he dropped his crossbow and sat down. He started crying out of desperation and all emotions that accumulated in his body.

As Daryl's mind raced with thoughts of Beth's disappearance and the sense of helplessness that grope him, he found himself haunted by memories of Charlie, the loyal dog (I hate this line…) he once had by his side. In the midst of the chaos and uncertainty, the absence of his faithful companion weighted heavily on him, adding to his feelings of loneliness and vulnerability.

With a heavy heart, Daryl longed for the simple companionship and unwavering loyalty that Charlie provided, a reminder of the bond they shared in a world filled with turmoil. As he navigated the harsh realities of survival, the memory of Charlie served as a bittersweet reminder of the connections that sustain him in the darkest of times. Despite the pain of her absence, Daryl found solace in the memories of their time together, drawing strength from the enduring bond they forged amidst the chaos of their world.

Daryl Dixon was giving up.

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#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon series #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl the walking dead #daryl twd #daryl x reader

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mrowsaysthecat · 6 months

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This is all about a fictional character that I'm still emotional over. In the end, it's all fiction and I'm aware of that - but there's also a reflection in how certain characters are treated in comparison with real life outlooks and experiences of actual humans who aren't fictional...

I also believe that there's room for dark shit, messed up shit, evil characters and that these aspects of fiction don't always reflect the author's true self. We're story tellers. I like my dark, fucked up shit the same as many other people - but in the end, I don't like cruelty in real life. I don't like a lot of shit that I'd happily write about, because it causes a story to be told - and something to think about, or things to hold up to society and say 'hey, lookit'.... And sometimes, it just for shits and giggles, if we're being real about things. However, I will forever be pissed off over how certain shit played out where one fictional character is concerned, and here's just a small bit of why. It involves both fiction and reality, and the reality that sometimes, some characters are treated in ways that reflect how some people are seen in real, every day life...

They did Glenn Rhee wrong in TWD main series.

They took meaning from his character outside of being Mr. Maggie for a good portion of the show. They didn't allow much back story either; what do we actually know of Glenn from the show's history? Not the comics or games or anything but the show? Really, what do we know? When they were in the prison and he was very angry, that was probably one of the highlights of him not being a ray of sunshine somehow, or a positive aspect ready to overcome the darkness. Steven Yeun has spoken on how flat he felt the character was served when it came to emotional reactions beyond a certain point. Goodness isn't a bad characteristic at all, neither is optimism, but there is a sense of lacking within Glenn's stories that don't show the layers of personality and worries and struggles behind those aspects of self. The only real time we saw was the showdown with Nicholas in the woods, and even that felt rushed and hushed in a sense. They made a sacrificial lamb of a person, and writers even admitted to not knowing what to do with him. So what if his character died in the comics? Do you realize how much they changed for so many different characters before that point? For instance, Carol's survival and Sophia's demise. Not to mention Daryl's whole existence as a character. Why couldn't they do the same for Glenn, defy the 'logic' of 'it happened in the comics', and why couldn't they give him more back story while they were at it?

And now, all these people wanting to ship Maggie and Negan, like Glenn doesn't matter at all. It rips at his humanity in ways I don't even want to talk about, but I'm sure people aren't thinking of that when they want those two to kiss. Who cares, right? Glenn's just a dead Asian man that y'all never cared about while he was alive anyway... And it runs deeper than that for some of you, but we won't get into that because I don't have the energy right now. After all, people who are racist in that way won't change because they either don't have the ability to see themselves for their true shit (and try to think about why and how to change that outlook) or they just don't give a fuck about it because they're unapologetically and proudly against either a certain set of humans with certain features or whatever it is they're stupid over, or they don't like interracial couples and don't give a shit to realize that we're all fucking humans and we're all connected in some way or another.... :x

But yeah. I'll always be salty about this, and the fact that Glenn's character could have been so much more than they let him be in the end. Then again, I think he and Daryl should have hooked up instead, but that's just me? But you know, so much of the TWD fandom would have shit itself over that pairing....

#glenn rhee #steven yeun #I'm just ranting #and if you've got an opinion about my opinion you can keep it to yourself because I'm not going to argue with people about how I legit FEEL #like seriously if you don't like this don't interact with me about it at all #just keep on keeping on

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pastanest · 2 years

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if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @iamburdened - thanks so much!! ♡

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

Keep Smilin’

You and Daryl had never exactly seen eye to eye. Blind, unshaken optimism wasnt something that went along with a harsh mixture of cynicism and logic; a world of colour versus someone who sees the world in black and white. Or at least, that’s how Daryl likes to say he sees the world. You always knew there was something in him that understood why you were the way that you were, he just didnt want to admit it.

You were always the one to lift everyone’s spirits, no matter what. You could always be relied on for that, and everyone in the group adored you for it. A smile on your face, a spring in your step, and you had the power to push the storm clouds away.

There were a few times that you crossed paths with Daryl, most of them small talk, but there was one incident in particular that stood out to the both of you in terms of clashing personalities. It was just after Shane broke into the barn and the group found out where Sophia had really been. The group was broken after that, naturally, and you did what you could. Optimism wouldnt do much for Carol, you werent stupid, but you also werent just a cheerleader to the people you loved. You were a source of comfort, and you held Carol as she cried, which was the most you could do. Very few people in the group had the strength to look Carol in the eye, feeling as though they’d let her down, but you stayed with her as much as you could, without being overbearing of course. During one particular moment when you werent helping Carol, you decided to go and check on Daryl, the next worst affected in the list of broken hearts. You knew blind optimism wasnt going to work on him either, not after something so awful, but you wanted to do what you could. Much to your surprise, Daryl barely let you get a word out before he snapped at you.

“You think sprinklin’ some of your fairy dust over shit will stop it bein’ shit!?! You aint helpin’ me, I dont need no help, ‘specially not from someone who dont see what the world really is! That fuckin’ smile o’ yours wont last out here!” He was making big gestures with his hands, raising his voice, pacing back and forth. While you stood, calm and collected with your arms crossed.

“Feel better?” You asked him, your voice so gentle it only pissed him off more.

“‘Course not!” Daryl retorted, throwing his arms in the air again

“And that right there is the difference a cynical attitude makes.”

You walked off without explaining what you meant, but Daryl knew. Your emotional outbursts brought so much joy because of how optimistic you were, you helped lift everyone up, including yourself, and you brought everyone together. While his outbursts just made him angrier, and pushed people away.

After that, understandably you and Daryl didnt talk for a while. The next time you interacted was after the farm fell, but even then, the two of you didnt talk.

When the group spent a night outside after the farm was overrun, you taught Carl a dance, just for fun. He was shivering from the cold, everyone was weighted down with the grief of the home they’d lost. So you jumped to your feet and taught Carl the cha-cha slide. It warmed him up and made everyone smile, it was the perfect idea. Beth got up and joined in, then Maggie dragged Glenn up with her, and soon enough everyone was joining in. The cha cha slide didnt last long, soon enough everyone was free-styling, dancing to no music.

The only one left not dancing, was Daryl Dixon. Your dance halted as you made eye contact with him, and when a mischievous smirk took over your face, a worried expression overtook his. Lifting your hands in the air, you spun an imaginary lasso that you threw around him, and you started pulling him to the also imaginary dance floor. You didnt know if it would work, honestly, you had no way of knowing if most of the things you did would work. Majority of the time, your optimism was needed very suddenly, there wasnt time to carefully consider a plan, you just went with what felt right. And when Daryl rolled his eyes, swung his crossbow on his back and started jumping forward in time with you pulling the invisible lasso you had wrapped around him, you knew that once again, you had done what was right.

You werent mad at him for not making the effort to apologise or fix things with you, the two of you werent exactly friends, but that night formed a silent truce.

He saw his heartbroken group smiling and laughing, enjoying themselves in the wake of a disaster that had ended lives and taken away their home. The fact they were able to forget about that, even for just a few minutes, was all thanks to you.

He didnt speak to you, he was still in the midst of processing the gift you had, but after that, you bet he was in absolute awe of you. You were an angel to him, a ray of sunshine in the endlessly stormy world.

When the group found the prison, their optimism almost matched yours. Sitting around the fire with Beth and Maggie singing, you held up a hand.

“Hold on, if there’s actual music going on, you all know what has to happen. C’mon Carl, show me what you learnt!”

So you and Carl started dancing again, gradually bringing everyone else up to dance with you.

Carol and Daryl approached from his place taking watch, and the way everyone mirrored the smile on your face showed him just how precious you really were to this group, to every single person, including him.

As Lori got up to go and talk to Rick, you followed Daryl back to his watch post.

“Hey, Dixon, wait up!” You called.

“Why you gotta be so loud for?” His voice was sharper than he intended it to be, he wasnt comfortable with how kind he wanted to be to you.

“Part of my charm, sweet cheeks.” You nudged his shoulder.

Daryl scoffed. “Whaddaya want?”

You smiled up at him. “I wanted to get an update on the last conversation we had. Still think a smile like mine wont last in a world like this?” As if to prove your point, your smile widened, practically beaming up at him.

“Naw.” He replied in his usual gruff tone, but you knew him well, despite not talking to him much, you had overheard countless of conversations among the group. Meaning the nervousness that was in his voice was loud and clear to you.

“Ahh, interesting, could you elaborate on that?” You took your eyes away from him, choosing to look up at the stars in the sky to help him feel less awkward.

“Think this world needs a smile like yours, t’ keep everyone goin’. Could you do sum’ for me?” His question was rushed, which you know was a deliberate effort to avoid you commenting on what he’d said before it.

“Of course, what’s up?” You questioned, turning to look back at him to see his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, directly in front of him.

“Keep smilin’, ‘cause I don’ like admittin’ it, but sometimes I need it, too.”

Somehow, his words sent the two of you into even deeper worldwide silence, it was comfortable, but it tugged at your heart. It was so quiet, you could hear Daryl’s shaky breaths, and then in the corner of your eye you caught sight of his shaking hand. Without thinking, you took ahold of it. Well, as much as you could, your hand being much smaller than his. You expected him to pull away, but instead he turned his palm up and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Likewise.” You told him, your voice being the only sound better than silence, Daryl thought.

“Whaddaya mean?” He asked, mostly wanting to hear you talk to him more, but also out of curiosity.

“A smile as rare as yours, one that doesnt need to be big and bold for the world to see, a quiet and reserved one. It’s the greatest gift you could give a girl, Daryl.” You smiled again, a softer smile, as you rested your head on his shoulder, the two of you staring at the same patch of nothing straight ahead.

“I’ll let cheesy shit like that slide on one condition.” Daryl replied, and you couldnt help but laugh.

“Name it.”

Daryl had that small smile playing on his face, proud of himself for making you laugh at something that he didnt think you’d find that funny.

“Im the one who’ll be callin’ you sweetcheeks from now on.” He told you, and you laughed even harder, holding his arm as well as his hand, snuggling into him in the most casual, unaddressed way.

“You got it, sweetcheeks.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #x reader #the walking dead #twd #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon

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puppypopcornpizza · 1 year

Text

Kintsugi

Warnings ➳ fluffy as heck

Pairing ➳ Daryl Dixon x F!reader

Word Count ➳ 392

"Do you ever…" her voice trailed off. Eyes squinting from the sun as the gears turned in her head.

The run was quiet. Rick and Carl walked ahead, lost in their own talk while she slowed to match Daryl. Cardboard covered windows and abandoned cars littered the once bustling shopping district, Walkers either trapped or wandering alone into the day.

"Wha'?" Daryl looked to her, gears still working hard.

She pursed her lips, eyebrows knitted as she stared ahead. Fingers fiddling with her unsheathed knife, her knuckles turned white when she gripped the handle to speak.

"There's this thing," she cleared her throat. "This Japanese art called 'Kintsugi' yeah?"

Eyes forward, he hummed for her to continue. Carl nudged his elbow into his father's side as he laughed.

"So a vase will break, and instead of trying to make it look like it's not broken, they'll use this glue-typa-laquer shit to put it back together."

"A'right," he nodded. Brows furrowed slightly as to what her point was going to be.

"And when it's all glued together, it'll get painted with like, gold or silver or something like that." He glanced at her to see a tensed jaw. "The whole bottom line is embracing all the broken parts rather than hiding them, the end being a stronger piece of pottery with a story behind it."

"Ya been thinkin' a lot," his shoulder bumped into her gently.

She gave a chuckle, soft and shy with her eyes locked to her boots.

"I dunno. It makes me think of us, you know?"

"Us?"

"This group," their eyes met. "All of us, you and me and those two dorks up front and everyone back home."

He couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips, head lowering as he let the dark curtain keep him from her view. She didn't have blind optimism - he knew her well enough by now that she was no optimist, but more the outlook she held. That beauty and flourishing could grow from the most ruined and broken, through everything she still believed that.

"Tha' one's m' favourite o' yers," he raised his head to see clouds slowly moving over the blue.

"All of my thoughts are immaculate, Mr. Dixon." She joked, leaning into him.

He gave a soft chuckle, low as he glanced at her.

"Yea', but tha's m' favourite."

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing

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tell-it-to-thefrogs · 3 years

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Okay, okay I know, Everyone under the sun has analyzed this classic Daryl Dixon scene. The first time he is ever shot on camera. His first big reveal with a string of squirrels around his neck. That redneck heart throb in the making.

But can we just take a minute and smirk, at all the energy these men put into taking down just one walker? Lets appreciate the beginnings of the bad assery to come, and the shocked looks of bewilderment, that one of those “things” Could wander so far up the mountain side right into camp. This encounter when I was watching for the first time, back in 2010 had me on the edge of my seat. Gnawed on fingernails, as they beat the thing mercilessly, and it kept getting up. Until finally, Dale, the old wise man, takes its head off with an axe.

It’s priceless. It’s a brilliant shot, as they all quietly flinch at the sound of the soft footed brother, marching his way to what he thinks is his meal. The suspense in those crunched branches, and rustles of leaves, Such a sigh of relief, when finally the younger Dixon brother rounded those leaves.

I tell ya what.

All of them, blood pumping, raring up for a fight, and here he comes through the brush not even batting and eye at the rifle pointed in his face. He’s more worried about the deer.

I knew then, that Daryl Dixon, would be one of my favorites.

I want you to take a minute to just sit with it. Sit with this scene and take it in.

Then I want you to look at the pure optimism in his face. That feeling like he is doing something for the good of these people. Strangers as they are, yet he’s happy to be of some good use. How much his nonchalance reveals about that person inside of him.

Even when he is shouting insults to Dale, they aren’t really insults are they?

“Why don’t you take that stupid hat and go back to on golden pond.“

I mean seriously. Is that not just the cutest insult you ever heard?

That line has been the source of inspiration for my writing partner and I, many a times, when writing Caryl fics to make our shipper hearts happy.

The significance it can carry in a Daryl muse, is phenomenally rich.

Can we talk about the squirrels? How he is so willing to share his only spoils with the rest of the group? That’s not something Merle would do. Daryl is just different. And it’s clear, in this precious scene just how much.

The lead up to this introduction of character. All the whispers around the fire. The planning to do the best to save their ass, and “handle him” when he got back. When he came round that corner, Crossbow slung, his innocence drew me like a moth to a flame, and I raised a brow.

On my watch list he went. Much like Carol in the previous scene I posted.

This scene is golden. More Golden than Dales Bucket hat.

Remember to give my writing partner @daryl-and-carol-oh-my a follow. And a sub to their youtube. They upload scenes from TWD just like these.

To those of you who made it to the end if this long winded drabble, thank you.

And as always, Caryl on my friends.

Caryl on <3333333333333333333

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 2 years

Text

It was a pragmatic cigarette

new chapter, who dis

When - right after White lies. Note that a slight deviation in canon was made in that I figured it was logical for everybody to take a break to mourn on the day of Otis’ funeral. That allllll that plot was supposed to happen in one day was a little much, so I gave them the day off, y’all.

Episode - S02E04 Cherokee Rose

Relationships - Daryl x reader is becoming a chill friendship. Slow burn ftw. No, really, there’s a cigarette involved, it burns slowly. He and you end up lighting up together. As for ‘you and the gang!,’ we’ve got Papa Dale and big bro Shane.

Perspective - 2nd person until Daryl takes over. You finish up the chapter when he’s done.

Genre - trail mix

Pronouns - used they/them when called for

TWs - some language including the f-bomb, smoking, and you notice some warning signs of Beth’s suicidal thoughts.

Word count - your average chapter

Referenced stories/plot points - many! Too many. Only one way to fix that problem: take the plunge, slowpoke.

Coughing, on a giant boulder, in the dark, with egg on your clothes. It’s exactly how you pictured the day ending.

While holding a cigarette, no less.

...What a day.

________________________________

You’d carefully scooted out of your tent when you woke up and your brother wasn’t there. Didn’t look like much time has passed in terms of the sunlight. Where did everybody...oh, good, at least Carol was still there.

“Carol?”

She turned her head, a cigarette in hand. She’s not a smoker, so you didn’t say anything about it. She must’ve been at the point of needing something stronger for comfort.

“How long've I been in there?”

With a polite, sheepish kind of smile, she told you “I didn’t know you were still here, to be honest,” and moved to extinguish the cigarette.

“Oh, you don’t have to put it out, you’re good,” you said before asking, “D’you, um, know where Shane is? He wouldn’t have left without you.”

“I know there’s was some kind of something going on with a well, I’m not sure what.”

“A well?” you asked, yawning. You were still foggy from the unintended nap, as short as it seemed to have been. And foggy from the past couple days. And from that memorial service this morning, ugh.

She pointed. “In the pasture out that way.”

“Alright.” You started on your way, then froze before checking a little too quickly, “Any word from Daryl?”

Her lips clamped shut. Then she turned her head and took a long drag.

That was dumb of you to ask when he’d left so recently, especially given how hopeless Carol must've been feeling.

“I suppose we should give the man time to get off his bike in the first place,” you commented in an attempt to make light. It came out very awkward.

So, still groggy and somewhat disoriented, you headed off to the pasture to see what was going on with the well.

You simply wanted to check on your brother before you went back inside the house to help monitor Carl.

__________________________________

Why was it always you who was throwing up? It’s not like you could help it, that bloated, nasty, alien-ass walker they pulled out of the well had genuinely split into two!

And this was of course after you’d more or less blown up at Shane and just about everybody else there who’d gone along with the plan to fish for that walker trapped down the well by using Glenn as bait.

Good Moses, what a day it was turning out to be. You don’t drink or smoke. Hell, you don’t do anything. But you found yourself daydreaming about chugging a beer and having a cigarette or maybe even a joint. Where all your hope and optimism from an hour ago scampered off to, you didn’t know.

You’d arrived at the well just as they were hauling poor Glenn out after something happened to make the rope slip.

When it was all over and Glenn was blessedly unscathed, your terror and panic quickly transformed into rage at everyone there, Dale, T-Dog, Lori, Andrea, Shane, even Maggie.

Andrea was the first to hold up her hand and defend their decision, outspoken about the fact that “Live bait was needed. We were being pragmatic.”

Cue you to have fumed back, “‘Pragmatic?’ Why didn’t you go down, then? Glenn’s got at least 20 pounds on you!”

She maintained a confident facade and Shane was supportive of her. He would be, he was used to making hard calls. At least he looked scared shitless when Glenn almost got gnawed. Lori, T-Dog, and Dale looked ashamed as could be, to their credit. As for poor Maggie caught in the middle, she’d turned as white as a sheet and firmly stated that she had nothing to do with it.

And damn your mouth, as you’d angrily tried to figure out from them why they would have thought a plan like that was “In the least bit ‘pragmatic?’ No other workarounds than riskin’ his neck?” you’d even inadvertently insulted Glenn when it was brought up that he ‘agreed’ to be bait when you spit back that “That’s only because he’s too good-natured and eager to please, you goddamned ingrates!”

Yeah. You very much need to work on controlling your temper and tongue. And who the hell uses the word “ingrates?”

Mercifully, everything was apologized for and forgiven on all sides when it was discovered that Glenn actually got the rope around the walker in the well.

All was going well (pun not intended, it’s been a rough day!) until the poor, bloated bastard’s legs and pelvis ripped off and flopped back into the water supply. It got worse when a frustrated and 100% done T-Dog bashed his head in, to Margaret’s horror.

Annnnnd then you got sick.

A weak stomach and a hot head, that’s you.

_______________________________

It was decided that everything that was planned for the day, other than checking the highway for Sophia, would be postponed for tomorrow.

The pharmacy run could wait, the thing that required doing was boarding up the tainted well and helping out with chores around the farm that were pushed aside after the events of yesterday and this morning.

During the panic to get Glenn out of the well alive and unbitten, T-Dog overused his arm and your brother overused his ankle. As a result, T-Dog started bleeding again and Shane was limping even worse.

It was good that after chores and checking the highway, the group would rest. They needed it.

The one chore (other than monitoring Carl) that was deemed doable for you with your stitches and sling was: gathering eggs. You also found the almost-empty container of chicken scratch and took the liberty of tossing a few handfuls, then emptied the vermin traps you noticed nearby to feel more useful.

“Dr. Greene, do you have more rodent traps or should I add them to the list?”

“You don’t need to refer to me as ‘doctor.’ And yes, I have more traps in the storage bin in the cellar.”

“Of course, which is the door to the cella — ”

“ —Do not go down there, leave it be. This is not your home.”

That response caught you off-guard. You hadn’t intended to overstep, only to help.

The doctor—apologies, ‘Mr. Greene’—tried to soften his words by adding an almost-begrudging, “Thank you,” so you did you best to wait until exiting the room before you let a few tears spill out.

A smoke or a beer was looking pretty good right about then.

___________________________________

Lori kept Carl distracted with one of Jimmy’s comic books so effectively that he didn’t have a chance to ask about Sophia.

Then Beth entered the room with that homemade chocolate pudding she’d promised, and you assured Carl before he could say anything that some would be put aside for Sophia (which wasn’t a lie, you would). This seemed satisfactory, and soon he was passing out from the most recent dose of pain meds. Mischief managed as far as you were concerned.

“Have you heard anything about the little girl?” Beth whispered to you in the hallway after.

“There’s a guy in our group who’s a good hunter, he’s out looking for her along the creek again. Then, um, my brother is gonna go with her mama to check the mini shelter we made for her at the highway we got stuck on.”

“How long has she been missin’?”

“Been about 48 hours,” you hushed.

She chewed her bottom lip and kept walking next to you on your way to the front door. “The little girl went missing one day, then the little boy got shot the next?”

You weren’t sure where to look as you nodded and took a deep breath.

And you were content to remain silent until she suddenly uttered in a small voice that “There ain’t much point to it all, is there? Why keep on goin’ if it’s just gonna be more awful things and...”

You frowned. Those things are not a good thing to hear from anyone, never mind somebody younger who may be prone to more impulsive actions. That’s a very bad thing to hear, in fact. You'd talk with Maggie about this.

Beth noticed your frown and seemed to grow defensive. “I’m just bein’ realistic, or, or pragmatic.”

Keeping your voice down, you looked her in the eyes and tried to use the right words when you said, “It’s good to see clearly a bad situation for what it is, so long as it—so long as it ain’t only the bad parts we see. Losing all hope is neither pragmatic nor realistic.”

“What, you don’t think it’s just a matter of time ’til all of us get sick or bit or killed?”

“No.”

She kept her chin up, but eyes averted. Appeared almost angry as she stated, “False hope is cruel.”

Granted, you’ve known her only a day, but that mood shift was very different from how Beth’s been. Maybe those dark thoughts had been lurking a while, and the way things turned on a dime yesterday was the straw that broke the camel’s back?

You’re just grateful she was saying something to somebody that made it fairly clear she was in a bad place.

“There’s always hope of some kind, honey, it ain’t false.” Such a painfully lame answer, but what else could you say other than the truth? “Beth, please don’t roll your eyes, it’s just—”

“—I ain’t a child.”

“I wouldn’t think less of you if you were. Which is why I know you can think about it from, from my perspective: when life felt hopeless and not worth it anymore, we were given people like your family who put everythin’ on hold and on the line to save a child they didn’t know.” With a one-sided shrug and a one-sided smile, you softly pointed out, “And who make chocolate pudding from scratch for them.”

___________________________________

Shane, Andrea, T-Dog, and Carol came back from the highway empty-handed. No Sophia.

Carol quickly saw herself to her tent without so much as a glance at anyone, save for Dale, to whom she’d given the yellow walkie.

“Did Daryl tell us anything while I was gone?” you heard her plead quietly.

He didn’t seem to be able to stand as tall when he shook his head. “No word yet.”

______________________________________

You caught Maggie’s attention when she walked with Glenn back from his riding lesson for tomorrow’s run, a slowly trotting horse on a lead behind them.

“Dude, Y/N. Riding a horse decimates your thighs, I had no idea. Never mind other parts,” he added under his breath.

Grateful for a laugh, you cracked up with him before calling, “Hey, um, Maggie, may I check somethin’ with you real quick?”

Glenn took the lead and started walking at a faster pace alongside the horse toward the stable so you could speak privately to her. He tried, anyway. His thighs must have felt like jelly, based on his slight waddle.

After you told her of your worry regarding her little sister, she thanked you softly and continued on her way, so you went on yours.

____________________________________

Back at the tents, Mr. Greene gave his permission for a fire so the group could cook.

Lori, Andrea, and you helped Carol make the inside of their tent nice and homey for Sophia. No word from Daryl had come through, and it was getting late and overcast...hey, was that Beth?

You walked over to meet her as she nervously hovered near the group’s camp area. She was carrying a doll, a stuffed animal, and a large bowl filled with eggs.

“Here. For if the little girl comes back. These were mine when I was little. She can have—I’d like her to have ’em.” With a nod down at what she was holding, she then cleared her throat to shyly correct, “Well, not the eggs, those are for y’all.”

“Would you like to give them to Carol? That’s the missing girl’s mother, she’s the woman with the short hair. Or,” seeing her uncomfortable expression, you gently offered, “I can tell her you gave them.”

“Just, um, let her know there’s a tiny container of pudding in the fridge for her daughter, too? It ain’t giving false hope to let her know...”

“I can do that.”

She nodded, eyes downcast as she fiddled with her various leather and twine bracelets. “And, um, what’s the little girl’s name again, Y/N?”

“Sophia.”

____________________________________

The sounds of the motorcycle should have filled you with hope, but you didn’t even bother looking over for fear of confirmation that Sophia wasn’t with him.

Sure enough, she wasn’t. What did that say about you? Was that you being defeatist or pragmatic? And so soon after being so stubbornly hopeful, and 100% convinced that she would come back?

Would a cigarette or beer help?

Not really, but you sure as hell still wanted one of the two. You’re overtired.

Whatever.

You pressed your hand onto your stitches and jogged over to Daryl. The way he was looking very intently at the campsite before he’d even gotten his kickstand down meant he was hoping Sophia had been found at the highway.

You noticed Rick and Lori push aside the curtains of Carl’s room. Saw them look for a moment before letting the curtain fall back.

It was as if you could physically feel the unspoken resignation in the group’s silence, the way they averted their eyes or looked down at the ground.

Carol went walking off. Shane followed.

You kept walking towards Daryl, who looked...let’s just say you figured you might could’ve been about to get snapped at.

“What leads did you find?” you decided to phrase it, daring to give into hope or to at least fake it until you could make it.

He froze for a second. Stared at you hard again, like he had before he left. Then he straightened his posture. “Abandoned house had an empty can in the trash bin. Fresh. And there was a blanket and pillow set up in the cupboard. Still had a shit ton of food in there, too, I brought some back.”

“We’ll head out at first light, then?”

“Will ya?” A glance at your sling as he lit up a cigarette.

“Check this out.” Pulling it off, you lifted your arm up forwards, then to the side, twisting your neck, too. It really hurt. “I can do all that.”

“And the stitches?” he grunted.

“Won’t fall out, they’re sewn in.”

You didn’t expect a scoff in return at that point. “C’mon, take this serious, Y/N.” Then he turned to the saddle bag, tossed his barely smoked cigarette on the gravel, and grabbed several canned goods and a box of something from inside it before marching off to the tents without another word.

“I was serious!” you shouted after him. Asshole. And strangely, at that moment, you had the most what-the-fuck notion to pick up that cigarette off the ground, light it yourself, and see if it would calm you down.

________________________________________

“I understand.”

“We gotta be realistic about this.”

“I said I understand, Shane. We’ll keep hope but not be naïve about it.”

You two were back in your little tent discussing the search party that would be formed tomorrow, and then about (you) handling the fact that Sophia possibly won’t be found.

At least Shane was elevating his ankle, finally. The others were talking around the fire, but you still maintained lower speaking voices for privacy’s sake.

“I know shuttin’ emotions off can be difficult, for anybody,” he went on.

Your eyebrows rose as you met his stern gaze.

“Y/N, I want to stress that you gotta learn to shut that switch off when it comes down to it. Shut off the anger, the rage, the fear, the sympathy, even the doubt. When that man shot Rick, nearly killed him? I shut that shit down, aimed, and fired until I knew he wasn’t a threat to no one else, not ’til I knew that the others with me would get home that night to their families.”

“You d-did what you had to. But you still felt remorse, Shane, you called mama about it.” You were in the room when your mom picked up the phone and got the news about Rick.

“It—it wasn’t easy, don’t get me wrong. Never will be, you know it. Taking a man’s life ain’t no small thing, no matter their value.”

Gently, you requested, “Please don’t say things like ‘value.’ All life is precious.” Might as well quote your mother while she was on your and Shane’s mind.

He stared at the ceiling for a few moments. “I did what the situation called for.” His head turned to look at you. “I shut that switch off because I needed to. Made sure the one decidin’ who lived or died was me, because people were dependent on me. Moments like that require pragmatism.”

You closed your eyes. “We lose our humanity when we shut that switch off completely.”

“But we live to see another day, and keep the people who rely on us alive.”

“We’re still alive and ain’t abandoned our souls yet. When you talked about being ‘pragmatic,’ before, that don’t need to mean we chuck out morals or sympathy and things.”

“Sometimes you do gotta chuck them out for a while and pick them up after. I guess what I’m trying’ to say—” he paused. You saw him press his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. “I ain’t talking about what happened with Ed, we’ve been over that. I’m talkin’ about the...” he trailed off.

“Shane?”

He was more delicate than you thought he’d be when he asked, “Do you still count them? The walkers?”

“Sort of.” Twenty-seven was your current estimate. Killing them turned...routine faster than you’d like to admit. But you still tried (are trying) in your mind to not fully scrub away what was once their dignity as a person. “I-I ain’t been too sure since the night the camp got overrun.”

“Still no memories?”

With a deep inhale and a slow exhale, you shook your head. Other than bits and pieces, you can’t recall anything other than the parts surrounding Amy.

“Times like that are what I’m talkin’ about. When the adrenaline flows.”

“It’s strange how time gets slow and fast at the same time when that happens,” you’d mumbled.

“That’s why the switch is so important. Like when you had to ki—”

“—Shane, don’t bring him up!” you’d whispered. Your stomach dropped, pulse quickened, and you tried to push that memory back down.

Regret and shame trickled over you, and you sent up some sort of half-baked idea of prayer for whoever that guy was and whoever his family was/is, if he’d had any left. You and Shane had an idea of who he was, but nothing concrete.

Shane kept trying to get you to see that knowing wouldn’t change anything. And, over and over, to remind you that it was done in defense.

“I’m sorry.”

You could tell by the way he said it that he would continue, but to your relief, your brother stayed quiet for a time with you, kneading your bad shoulder with his knuckles.

“When that happened, you turned the switch off, and I’m alive because of it. We’re both alive for it,” he’d continued slowly. “Saving me and saving yourself now means Lori and Carl and others are still alive, too.”

“Shaney, where are you headin’ with all this? Where’s it coming from?”

“Ain’t it obvious? I’m concerned your emotions or guilt or conscience is fixing to get the better of you someday, drag you down, paralyze you. Send you ‘postal.’ Like having too much false hope in findin...” he trailed off again. “That’s why I’m trying to get you to see what I’m saying. I want you safe.”

“I know you do, and I see what you mean, I do. I’m just...” ‘Scared’ wasn’t the right word... “Dreading that broken conscience or loss of the ability to hope. It’s gonna get the better of us all some day if we ain’t wise. It’s, it’s already started to, man.”

His frustration was apparent, but he was relenting. “The world’s changed. What’s wise is to learn to work that switch.”

And so you both sat on your differing opinions. Too much gray, much too much gray. You didn’t like that.

You weren’t sure why you next muttered, “You didn’t turn no switch off when you were with Otis,” nor were you sure why it sounded like a question rather than a statement.

You trust your brother, you love him, and you’d been over this in your head that he was lying about parts of what happened simply for the sake of Otis’ loved ones.

His body tensed up. You were beside him, but you could tell even from there. And his voice came out rough and strained and higher than usual. “I don’t—w-what happened with him was different.”

You weren’t sure what to make of that.

Steeling your nerves, you offered, “Would you like me to listen?”

He pulled his hand over his face and rubbed his shaved head a few times. Kept his eyes closed.

Whatever was being left unspoken, you’d leave for now unless Shane said more. An ominous sense of foreboding unease and helplessness settled on your chest. “Shane, do you feel like yourself?”

Barely a whisper came back. “I don’t know.”

Nothing more was said. Snippets of conversation from the group outside by the fire could be sort of be heard, but not made out. You wiggled closer to your brother so that your arms touched. Continued to lay there in silence.

You ignored the pain as you sat up. You reached under your pillow for the mp3 player and placed it on his belly.

“I don’t think anyone checked the mailbox today. I’m gonna go do that, maybe they get DVD-by-mail,” was your delicate attempt to add some humor as you unzipped the flap and crawled one-armed out of the tent.

“Just,” he murmured, lifting the corners of his mouth. “Don’t forget bug spray, weirdo.”

“Have fun not usin’ your ankle, loser. Please keep it elevated for a good while longer, okay? And I’ll massage your lower calf when I get back, it’ll help.”

____________________________________

Yeah, you immediately caught Dale’s eyes and beelined straight for the top of the RV. He was just about to come down, by the looks of it, but he graciously turned around and sat by the edge instead.

Going one-handed up a ladder was a unique experience.

“Spill, kiddo.”

“What’s ‘pragmatism’ again? That word’s been tossed around all day,” you wondered, legs dangling off the side. “I know what it means, but I-I don’t really know what it means. It’s different from ‘realistic’ or a synonym?”

“They, um, the words are similar, certainly, and intertwined. I actually read a very illuminating—” he stopped to chuckle. “Yet very dull article regarding the two some years ago. ‘Realism’ is seeing things how they truly are, though it often incorporates subjective, mm, and usually a pessimistic or otherwise negative air to it,” he explained. “‘Pragmatism’ is being practical and matter-of-fact about a situation, but often falls prey to a worldview that may lack compassion, sympathy, or even morality.”

“What about ‘hope?’ Might would you consider it an antonym?”

“Well, ‘hope’ is simply...I suppose we can say ‘an optimistic desire for something,’ even despite our ideas of what’s realistic or pragmatic. So, no, I wouldn’t consider them opposed.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“You know, kiddo, us ending up here, as nightmarish as the circumstances were, it’s...” He sighed. “Quite frankly, the silver lining is that, for Sophia, it’s enabling us to act with more hope, in my opinion. The needs-of-the-many versus the needs-of-the-few discussion is being kept at bay because we’re going to be here a while yet.”

He’d pretended the RV was still broken down for Sophia’s sake. Fixed, of course, when it came time to drive to the Greene’s farm. You love him a whole lot.

“You still got hope for her, Mr. Horvath?”

Dale was slow to reply, which was something of an answer in itself. Elbows on his knees, he conceded that “For Carol’s sake, I wish I could confidently answer in the affirmative.”

Again, you nodded. No tears came up, all you felt was that empty sense of defeat and restlessness. And the desire for some kind of something to take the edge off.

“But as T-Dog was telling me earlier,” Dale went on. “If there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of finding her, we’re betting on the snowball.” As he chuckled, he relayed “He said he’d comb through the woods like Rambo if he had to.”

For some reason, him admitting to his quiet hope and T-Dog’s gung-ho attitude caused you to peer inward and find yours lacking.

It felt like shit. You felt like shit. From doubting your brother’s integrity to blowing up at the group, now you were rapidly losing hope for that little girl barely three hours after telling Beth there’s always hope? After Daryl had hugged you because you were so thoroughly convinced...

And then Shane had brought up that man.

Fuck, now you’re thinking about him again.

“Dale, do you have any liquor?”

He was surprised. You don’t blame him. That sort of thing wasn’t (isn’t) on-brand for you.

“I understand the appeal. It’s crossed my mind a few times, to be honest, and yes, I do have a bottle of scotch. But that mightn’t be the most...” He smiled, then gave you a look. “Pragmatic move, at this point. If only because we want to respect the Greenes, especially now.”

_________________________________

Still restless after dinner, you found yourself wandering around the farm as far as you could go without feeling creepy about traipsing over somebody else’s property in the dark.

You saw Lori was sitting with Patricia and Jimmy by Otis’ memorial cairn, and your restlessness grew.

“The smell from the eggs is a little much,” she’d mentioned by the fire when she stood up to excuse herself.

“Then don’t let Y/N get too close,” Glenn had snorted back in reference to your clothes.

Turns out the group had made the eggs soft-boiled. You’d thought they were hard-boiled. Got a yolk stain on the borrowed sweatpants and white t-shirt you were still wearing from yesterday. Seemed fitting, you supposed.

Anyway, a little while later is when you told your friend you were off for a walk to clear your head.

Your head didn’t end up clearing so much, but at least the skies did. It became a very pretty night. Every non-cloudy night was pretty nowadays; no light pollution.

Tried to get that man out of your head by praying for him more and whatever. He stayed put in your mind.

Crickets chirped.

Frogs croaked.

You listened to the soft rustle of grass as you stepped. Rubbed your aching shoulder best you could.

The farm smelled like hay and manure and wood smoke, not in a bad way. Then a breeze started blowing, and the scent of (speak of the devil) cigarettes joined in. You looked around to see from where...

“T-Dog?”

He was walking in the direction of the campsite, carefully massaging the back of his injured arm as he did.

“Hey there.” His smile was just as sheepish as Carol’s had been, only his was more free.

“I thought I smelled cigarettes when I hugged you last night.” You used your good arm to give a quick wave to Daryl sitting on top of a boulder a few yards behind T-Dog. They must’ve been smoking together? “Never realized you smoked, Teddy.”

“I don’t no more, but sometimes a good drag hits the spot. I usually prefer cigars, but,” he shrugged, “I found a pack the other day, then found myself lightin’ up almost as fast. Rough few days.” In your ear, he mentioned before he continued walking back, “Make sure that man don’t fall asleep up there, he’s been nodding off.”

Off he went, and you looked back at Daryl up on the boulder. “Comfy?”

“Not really.”

Okay. “You cool with company, man?”

Eyeing his cigarette, he grunted, “It’s up to you.”

“You can say ‘no,’ you know,” you reminded him with a tacked-on smile, then turned away, content to imagine that he was trying to be polite.

“Wait, just—hold up.”

You turned back around. He took a long inhale. Then let out a slow exhale through his nose, as the thick gray smoke coming out of his nostrils told you.

Then, he waved his hand and appeared to extinguish the cigarette with the other. “Come on, then.”

You climbed up as fast (and gracefully?) as you could with one arm. It was a pride thing. And hopefully he bought it as you sat down a ways beside him and stared down at the drop.

“Almost ready to crash, Daryl? You been out all day.”

All he did was hum in response. “How’s the boy?”

“Vitals good, slept most of the day, Lori kept him distracted otherwise.”

You thought you heard him mutter “Good.” He played with the stub of his cigarette. “How about Carol?” he asked in a softer tone of voice.

“She ain’t got much hope left.” And either you were overtired or too focused on that man, or you’d ventured too far from the balance of hope vs pragmatism, because at that moment, you felt as if your hope was just about gone, too. “Please let’s head out at first light?”

___________________________________

Daryl

Y/N looked as if they’d given up. They were usually all optimistic and shit.

“You ain’t goin’ with Glenn and the short-haired chick on that supply run? They’re after medical shit, that’s more than right up your alley.”

“Nah, Glenn has a crush on her. I’d tease him about it too much if I went.”

Okay, then. He wasn’t sure why he felt good about that sentence, but it’s been a rough few days and he was tired as fuck-all.

“Would Shane rip me a new one if ya came with me, stitches and all?” he decided to ask, mainly as a joke.

“Eh, with his ankle, you could outrun him easy,” Y/N tossed back dryly.

Okay, that was funny.

“Hey, um, m-may I have a little of that?” they asked.

But what were they looking at? Not his... his cigarette?

“You don’t smoke.”

“Rough few days, might as well see what all the fuss is about.”

That’s...different for Y/N. Pretty sure they said they ain’t gotten full-on drunk before, neither. Prolly never tried grass, neither.

Still, he took his lighter back out and re-lit the end. He felt like he was doing something wrong, though.

“You smoked ever?”

“Nah.”

“Weed?”

They made a little face. “I got sad about all that bloody and racist stuff to do with it. Plus, it smells so dang nasty. Anyways,” they added, shaking their head like people do when they realize they’ve shared too much and need to cover it up with a joke. “I’m weird enough as it is, imagine what I’d be like high.”

They did that a lot, made little teasing digs at themselves.

Unsure if he should be doing so, he handed over the cigarette.

It was kinda cute to watch as they first held it between their pointer and middle finger, then thumb and pointer, then back to pointer and middle.

“It’s gonna burn out at this rate.”

“You’re gonna burn out,” they huffed back, which made him smile. On the inside.

Then they finally put it to their lips and…

...they okay?

“You ain’t just holdin’ the smoke in your mouth, are you?”

Cue them to open their mouth and start coughing. “I thought you weren’t supposed to inhale!”

Don’t laugh, don’t laugh. “That’s cigars and pipes, Y/N.” Hey. Dixon. I said don’t laugh.

“Oh, Moses, here I was tryin’ to look like I knew what I was doing.” They winced and held their side where the stitches were as they coughed. “Okay, okay, gimme a sec, I got this—oh, hushabye with your laughing, mangy hick.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t—”

—Never mind, there they went again. Another timid, shallow inhale, then a slow exhale, complete with a suppressed cough and confused look on their face.

He did his best to not crack up more. “Good?”

They handed the cigarette back to him. Voice flat, they wondered, “Depends, when does the good feeling start?”

“Dunno. S’different for everybody, I guess.” He put it back between his lips and took a proper drag.

Y/N looked over at him briefly. “Guess now we got each other’s cooties.”

Them and their dumb jokes. “You smell like bug spray.”

“Better than egg, I reckon. May I have some more cooties, please?” they asked, voice still flat. “Unless you got nippers anywhere you feel cool with sharing?”

Now they want to drink? Yeah, nah, all this is a little too out of character. “You okay?”

“Of course, got no bites.”

“M’serious,” he answered back a little too rough. He didn’t mean to do that, force of habit.

Shit, now they were frowning and their voice got a little too quiet. “I was trying to be positive.” They stared down at the ground. “A smoke or a beer ain’t all that extreme, I just wanted to take the edge off.”

“Going postal?”

“M’good.”

“Then why do you wanna take the edge off?”

“Why is it so shocking I want a nipper or to try a cigarette?”

He tamped down on his annoyance. Y/N was his friend, after all, and he knew that they downplayed shit like they got paid for it. But why couldn’t people just be upfront, it’s so much damned simpler.

“You’re that close to white lying, you get that, yeah?” He reached over to get the cigarette from their hand, took another drag, then gave it back.

“Avoiding an answer ain’t a lie, it’s a loophole.” That was them trying to make a joke again.

He didn’t reply.

But just like that, he found himself cracking up again when after Y/N took another attempt at a drag, shivered, coughed, and handed back the almost-finished cigarette while muttering under their breath, “Ick, tastes like stale, plastic, death-dirt.”

“Give it here, troublemaker.”

“I ain’t no troublemaker, jeez.” Them they froze, as if realizing they’d grumbled that reply back and—yet again—not wanting to admit to feeling like shit or whatever, they sighed. “I’m overtired, my apologies.” A few more coughs.

“Quarter.”

“Huh?”

“New rules,” he decided to make up right on the spot. “It’s a quarter per cuss word around the kids, and a quarter per white lie around me.”

He felt their eyes on him. “You’re the troublemaker right now, tell you what, Daryl. And remember, I’m only, what is it? Six or seven years your junior.” More coughs.

“Tell me what’s wrong, you can keep that quarter,” he insisted, almost as if he was talking to a kid, despite what Y/N just mentioned.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow when we’re out lookin’ for her.”

Ah, he saw what they were doing. Still, he didn’t want them ripping their stitches or messing up their damn shoulder no more. “Why not now?”

“’Cause I don’t want to think too much before bedtime, you know how it is. And dude, that cigarette amped me up.” They ran their hand through their hair and groaned, “I can really be an idiot.”

“You and me both. By the way, nicotine is a stimulant. Says so on the box,” he deadpanned, inhaling the final dregs and savoring every second of it.

“Listen to Mr. Nicotine-is-a-Stimulant. He’s startin’ to sound like me, the poor guy.”

Then before he could blink, he heard “Eh, fuck it, I’ll just use my inhaler later,” and Y/N next asked him, “May I?”

After he made an affirmative grunt, they swiped the cigarette from his hand, their fingers brushing his.

And with that, Y/N took one final (very small) puff, and coughed before digging it into the rock and—oh, of course they next put the butt in their pocket, they have that thing against littering. Yup, then they picked up T-Dog’s, too.

He liked that about them, too. Y/N had this...he guessed it was hope. A real damn stubborn hope. It was nice.

Also, was he a dick for being really curious about whatever it was they’re hiding? How bad could it be?

________________________________

You

Yup.

Coughing up smoke, on a boulder, in the dark, with egg on your clothes and a cigarette in your hand. Well, in your pocket, now, technically, you could throw out the stubs later.

What a night. What a past 50-something hours. Tomorrow would end up marking the full 72. Not a good number in terms of Sophia...

Daryl lightly bumped your arm and jolted you out of it. “When you finally get around to sharin’ whatever it is, will we need them beers you mentioned?”

“Nobody needs beer, but...we might, um,” you cut off with an anxious little laugh you hope he’ll ignore. “I might will need to chug a little first, it’d prolly be...” Might as well use the stupid word of the day. “‘Pragmatic.’”

“Just like your ‘pragmatic’ cigarette, there?”

You know, that man can be really quick when he wants to be. Nice, dry sense of humor. It’ll be way more enjoyable when movements like laughing don’t make your stitches hurt so much.

Elbowing him gently, you found a real smile when you agreed, “That’s it, it was a pragmatic cigarette.”

“Which amped you up,” he seemed to tease. “Alright Y/N, we should get our asses back if we’re leavin’ at first light.” He got up, brushed the dirt off, and moved to climb down before stopping and offering you a hand.

He finally agreed he’d let you join him to track down Sophia tomorrow. That made you feel a little better.

But your thoughts were still racing. Especially after Shane brought up...

“I’m gonna stay here a little while longer, Daryl. It’s quiet.”

“Want me to wait?”

“Nah, you don’t have to, go get your beauty sleep.”

He’d squinted at you again when you said that, as if was about to ask you something else. You had the vaguest sensation that he could probably bore holes with his eyes if he tried, so decided to challenge it head-on by frowning back.

Just like that, his gaze softened.

And with a hum in acknowledgment, he climbed the rest of the way down and began to walk back.

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ly-canthropewrites · 5 years

Text

Trust and Security

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 3460 words (I was aiming for 1000, but let’s just say - it got away from me)

Ratings/Warnings: SFW.

Summary: “Didn’t you hear the news? It’s safer to shower in pairs” @twdeadfanfic

It’s been over a month since the prison fell, and your group was weary. After one month of being out on the road, vulnerable and exhausted, your little family finds safety behind the tall walls of the Alexandria Safe Zone. Although, the walls do nothing to cease your skittishness.

The new folk behind the walls were kind and gracious, but at the same time, naive and inexperienced to what lays behind their safe haven and that worries you. It worries your group as well; everyone picking up on the credulous attitudes and their misty-eyed optimism and it just doesn’t sit right.

The first few days were difficult, a strange adjustment period. After being used to the wilderness and the danger it includes to now having a proper house to sleep in and call home, it felt, surreal. But after a few days, some of your people begin to relax and enjoy the safety of Alexandria.

You weren’t one of them, and neither was Daryl. The pair of you refused to believe in this wonderland, a shared acceptance in the belief that this place will fall just like the prison and just like any other ‘safe place’ that stood before. Perhaps you weren’t giving this place a chance? Perhaps it is easier to set yourself up for failure rather than have your hopes high? Regardless of the reasoning behind it, you just can’t get rid of the gnawing feeling of the false safety this place eludes.

Almost daily, Rick tries to convince you of Alexandria’s potential. He exemplifies the possibility of having a future here, a safe future for Carl and Judith to grow up in, a safe place where there isn’t fear about the dead or the dangers that stalk outside the walls. And almost daily, both you and Daryl turn him down, stubborn in your ways and between the false reality constructed and the abnormal kindness from the residents, you can’t help but feel unsafe.

You can’t lie, however, that Alexandria does have its perks. You have been here for 5 days already and you have not gone hungry once in that time. It is nice to have a healthy food supply, to have a blanket and a mattress that isn’t damaged or dirty and of course, it is nice to be clean. You have taken advantage of the running water system in the town, taking more showers in the last 5 days than you have in the month and it is a luxury that you allow yourself to indulge in.

The first time you had a shower you almost cried. Not one for the emotions normally, it couldn’t be helped that day when hot, running water cascading over you, temporarily washing away the trauma and pain of the apocalyptic world. For a moment, you could forget the ones you’ve lost, the agony and anguish every time you’ve had to take a life, the suffering and torture you’ve endured. For a moment, you could just be no-one.

- - -

Day six lingers, and the house is quiet. It had been decided yesterday that it’s possible to make Alexandria home and for that, houses were given to share. Rick, Carl, Judith and Michonne moved next door, never too far away from family but it gave them enough space to breathe. A large portion of the group, consisting of Abraham, Eugene, Sasha and Rosita, moved into another house on the same street. The remaining were quick to claim rooms; Maggie and Glenn taking a room as well as Carol stealing the spare. It left you and Daryl with a little bedroom on the ground floor and the lounge room. It didn’t matter, neither of you slept much nowadays and if you did, it was never at the same time. One always had to be on watch.

It was a silent arrangement, just like how your friendship blossomed. One day you were alone, despite being with the group, lingering to one side, keeping one eye on the wilderness around you as if you were ready to jump up and run into its clutches. But then one day, with no significant event as the catalyst, Daryl grew close, being drawn to your side every time a new camp was set up. Neither of you asked for the other to join, it just always happened. It became an unspoken rule that you were to always be partners. If you were to go hunting, so would Daryl. If you chose to set up your sleeping roll in the corner, Daryl would linger close. If you missed a meal, or gave your portion to someone else, then Daryl would give you some of his. It was unspoken, but it was law. You weren’t to be separated.

- - -

Summer had followed your group to Alexandria and the pair of you sat on the porch. Daryl was fiddling with his crossbow, nimble fingers twirling and unwinding certain pieces, tightening this and that, fixing up his bolts before giving the entire weapon a wipe down. He worked methodically, quietly, as if his actions were second nature to him. You shamelessly watched him periodically, fascinated by the sleek weapon and by the rugged man. He was your best friend, your partner and companion. You would die for him and he would die for you. It was simple. It was easy. And he was the single person that never failed to bring a smile to your lips.

Satisfied with your ogling, you return to your book. It wasn’t yours to begin with. It came with the furnished house and in a moment of boredom, you plucked it from its place with every intention to fill the small gap of monotony. What you hadn’t expected was to become engrossed with the novel, completely swept up in the mythical world it held.

“Yer almost finished that thing yet?”

Daryl breaks your train of thought, startling you back into the world of reality and you shrug.

“Got a few chapters to go,” you say, flicking ahead to see that you indeed have almost completed the fiction.

“You only started yesterday arvo’“ Daryl states, crooking an eyebrow in your direction, his hands continuing to work on the crossbow without a visual guide.

“What can I say, I’m a fast reader. You finished playing with that crossbow yet? You’ve been fiddling with that thing for the past 3 days now,” You are quick to shoot back at him, a smirk dancing across your lips in victory and Daryl scoffs, shaking his head in small amusement as he turns his gaze back to the item in his lap.

You finish your book just in time for Carol to leave the house, the older woman looking well dressed and holding a container of cookies. Both you and Daryl raise an eyebrow at her, silent questions being asked, and she pointedly ignores them.

“Have you even had a shower yet?” She asks sternly, giving the quiet man a stiff side glance that he shrugs off.

“I’ll hose you down when you sleep,” she threatens, “you are filthy Daryl, just take a goddamn shower”.

You stifle a giggle, biting down on your lip to hide your growing smile but you fail miserably, and a chuckle escapes you. Daryl hears it, glancing over at you with a bored expression but when he sees you smiling, he can’t fight back a little smirk of his own.

“You enjoy watching Carol take the piss out of me, ay?” he questions gruffly, and you laugh at that openly, throwing your head back to revel in the moment.

“Hell yeah I do. Who wouldn’t?” you tease, poking your tongue out when Daryl rolls his eyes.

With your book done, you throw it onto the table beside you and stand up, stretching out your arms as you unfold from your previous position. Your shoulders pop loudly as you rotate them and you groan with satisfaction, eyes closed as you continue to move your body. You miss how Daryl’s eyes selfishly gawk at the sliver of skin that is revealed as you stretch, your shirt just riding up to show the smoothness of your skin and he wonders how soft your body would be beneath his hands.

His eyes quickly snap back to his crossbow when he hears you hum, stretching complete and body limber.

“You off then?” he questions, not looking up at you as he speaks, fear that his eyes will reveal things he refuses to say.

“Yeah, might have a lie-down or somethin’“

“Gonna take one of yer ten million showers?” he teases you and a warm flutter erupts in his chest when his words make you laugh.

“Showers aren’t the enemy, Daryl” you remind him, a smile easy on your lips, but your tone is firm.

He grunts, explicitly refusing to respond and you sigh.

“Come shower with me,”

Those words catch his attention. His head whips up to look at you, eyes wide and stunned. You admire his surprised expression, noticing how his lips part ever so slightly and how he sucks in a shallow breath as he processes your words and intentions.

“Didn’t you hear the news? It’s safer to shower in pairs,” you joke, but your eyes convey understanding.

Daryl remains frozen for another moment or two, waiting for the punchline or the taunt but it never comes. Of course, it wouldn’t. He knows you. You aren’t like that, not to him. So, when it clicks that this isn’t an immoral joke and he allows himself to believe your gentleness, he nods, flustered but agreeing.

You give him a small smile, jerking your head in the direction of the front door before you turn to walk through it, not waiting for Daryl to move. You know he would follow, he has always followed you and he would follow you to the end of the earth.

By the time he reaches the bathroom, you already have the shower turned on. You have your hand beneath the stream, testing it, determined to have the perfect temperature and it is so unlike you, but at the same time, it is. He has seen you kill walkers with your bare hands, he has seen your unfiltered rage and your grief, and he has seen the special compassion you reserve for Carl and Judith. But it is rare for him to see you this gentle, this soft, this caring.

You know he is there, standing in the doorway watching you. You felt the heaviness of his gaze the moment he reached the second floor. But you don’t mention it, instead, you hum as you adjust the water before turning around to rifle through the cabinets for soap. The house is a treasure-trove of good items and the luxury of having a shower also extends to bathroom products. There are different types of soaps and shampoo to choose from and Daryl sees you fish out two items; a creamy soap bar and a green bottle. You set them both inside the shower before stepping back.

“Go on, get in” you gesture to the shower.

“Thought you were havin’ the first one?”

“And leave you with an opportunity to escape hygiene? Not a chance,” you retort

You know him too well, he thinks fondly. But an uneasiness sets in and you can see apprehension flit across his face.

“Daryl, you can shower. I won’t be leaving, I’ll be right here” you say tenderly, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid to prove your point. You weren’t going to leave him alone.

It’s reassuring, as much as Daryl hates to admit it. He isn’t used to having someone stand by him unwaveringly like you do. He hates to admit that he has come to lean on you, come to let you in. You have never pressured him, never forced his hand and for that, you unknowingly have his eternal gratitude.

“I won’t even look, so hurry up otherwise the water will run cold,” you announce, making a big show of closing your eyes and slapping a hand across your face for good measure.

Daryl cracks a smile at your theatrics, relief rolling off him in waves and slowly he begins to unbutton his shirt. Your ears strain to listen, to catch a sound so you can guess what he is doing. The rustle of a shirt confirms that he hasn’t bolted, and it makes you smile. What you don’t see is how Daryl’s fingers shake slightly as he works his belt undone as well as his jeans. He is stripping off his layers, both literally and metaphorically, and he hasn’t ever felt this bare, even with your eyes closed. He keeps his eyes trained on you as he edges towards the shower, his back never turning to reveal the ugly past that is marked into his skin and he only feels relief when he has the shower curtain drawn, letting it act as a barrier in all senses.

He has to admit; the hot water does feel heavenly. His sigh is, thankfully, masked by the sound of the shower and Daryl closes his eyes, tipping his head back and completely embraces the water. He stands there for a few moments, relishing in the luxury and the feeling of his muscles slowly unwinding, and he almost hates himself for putting this off for so long. He is so lost in heaven that he almost forgets that you are still sitting in the bathroom with him.

He pokes his head out, eyes falling on you and he smiles when he sees that you haven’t moved from your seated position, hands still covering your face but to keep you occupied, you bounce your leg.

It’s almost as if you know he is staring at you because you speak up,

“How’s the shower?” you ask

“Are ya comin’ in or what?” he ignores your question, now smugly watching your surprised reaction.

Gobsmacked, your hands fall from your face, mouth hanging open and your eyebrows raised in disbelief. This is the first time he ever hears you stutter.

“Wh- what?”

“Are ya gettin’ in or not? Ya expect me to leave you sittin’ and waitin’ for me?”

You nod, “Daryl Dixon, I didn’t expect you to invite me to shower with you”

“Sunshine, you did the invitin’ first”

“I never specified if I was to be in the same shower as you at the same time” you respond, shock fading quickly as your confidence returns and Daryl enjoys the transformation.

“Get in” he mutters and drops the curtain, standing back to leave you some room for when you come in.

You are quicker to strip than he was and although he knows you are coming, he can’t help but jump when you step into the cubicle. You notice, of course you notice, but as always, you don’t comment. Instead, you smile up at him with such a warm gaze, Daryl feels his heart clench. Silently, you grab the soap bar and lift it up, expressing your question through your look and he nods. You are gentle as you run the bar over his shoulders and down his arms, taking your time to sudd up your hands so you can run your fingers over each individual digit, cleaning them of the dirt and the grime that had accumulated. Daryl was silent during your endeavour but by the quickness of the rise and fall of his chest depicted his nervousness.

“Tell me if it gets too much” you murmur, eyes flicking to meet his and it amazes him how you don’t pressure him, letting him control his limits. It is his blind trust in you that allows you to be this close to him and you know how hard it is for the redneck to open up to you, to let you close to his turmoil.

“Nah, s’okay” he mutters breathlessly.

You continue on to his torso, rubbing the bar in circular motions and its satisfying to watch the water run dirty, revealing more of the gorgeous man in front of him. Daryl fears it will get awkward when you kneel down in front of him, eyes closed as he wills himself not to make a fool out of himself. Either or not you pick up on his anxious, you don’t say, but you avert your eyes from his lax cock, focusing on cleaning his strong legs. When you are finished Daryl offers you a hand, holding it firmly as he pulls you to your feet and once steady, he doesn’t let go.

“I can leave your back” you offer. The story of the scars isn’t new to you, but their appearance is. He hasn’t let you cast your eyes upon the monstrosities, barely able to look at them himself.

He is torn, gnawing at his lip as he tries to decide on an answer, but his silence is one you will accept. With a fond smile you shrug, reassuring him to the best of your ability.

“That’s okay, tilt your head forward, hun” you are quick to move on, distracting him from the dangerous thoughts that threaten to surface, and it works, the pet name is a pleasant sound falling from your lips.

He obeys, tilting his head forward and closing his eyes as the water runs down his cheekbones. The pop of the shampoo bottle alerts him to your intentions and a sprig of mint fills the steamy air. Your fingers massage his scalp as you clean the brown tresses and Daryl bows beneath your touch. He slumps forward, head resting upon your shoulder in full submission and you pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, fingers never ceasing their ministrations until they begin to cramp a while later. You don’t want to move him, savouring the weight of his body against yours but the suds need to be washed out, so you tap his shoulder. Daryl washes out the remaining suds himself before he looks down at you, guilt suddenly creeping upon him.

“Do yer want me... to, ya know”

Bashfully, he gestures to you, but you shake your head laughing.

“No Daryl, it’s fine, but thank you” you say sincerely, “now, let’s get you out of here and into clean clothes, hey”.

The shower gets switched off and the pair of you emerge from the stuffy cubicle. Daryl grabs the towels first, handing you one before wrapping his around his waist. There is no third towel to cover his back and he is painfully aware of that fact, tensing up as he realises that he is closest to the door and will have to turn around to walk out. Once again you amaze him, slipping by to walk out first and Daryl lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

When Daryl appears, he finds you in the small bedroom, stretched out on the bed with your eyes closed.

“Tired?”

“Warm showers make me sleepy” you confess, opening your eyes to look up at the man sheepishly.

He hums and remains standing at the end of the bed, hands tucked into the pockets of the old sweatpants that hang from his hips and takes his time to admire you. He doesn’t admire your clothes, although the sight of you in snug clothes makes the fluttering in his chest go faster; but he soaks in your comfortableness, your trust.

He doesn’t ask if you could move and make room for him, wordlessly you do it anyway when Daryl begins to climb onto the bed. He flops onto the mattress once he reaches the pillow, heaving a sigh as his body melts into the softness of the mattress. He rarely allows himself to sleep on it, leaving it for you to use while he takes the couch or the chair outside on the porch. And just like the shower, he realises how much he has been missing out on. And he is sick of it.

“Yer too good to me, Y/N” he mumbles, and you chuckle, shaking your head before you roll onto your side to face him.

“Nah, just doing what is right”. What you deserve.

You both fall silent, letting the post-shower haze settle over you and allowing your bodies to relax.

You are on the cusp of sleep when you feel Daryl’s hand slip into yours, calloused skin brushing against yours and instinctively you tighten your grip, Daryl squeezing back.

“Thank you” he murmurs.

You don’t say anything, fighting the pull of sleep and with a last-ditch effort you curl into Daryl, his arms sweeping you closer to his chest and cocooned in his security, you allow yourself to drift to sleep.

Alexandria may be weak, but it’s given you a safe haven, and maybe it isn’t all that bad.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x oc #twd #the walking dead #the walking dead imagines #daryl dixon imagines #twd imagine #daryl dixon/reader #twd imagines #daryl dixon fanfic #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead imagine #ly-canthropewrites #fluff #sfw

3K notes · View notes

walkerwords · 4 years

Text

“The Savior Sessions” Part 5 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: Jackson Lee Davis/AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: With a storm approaching, you offer to house Negan for the duration and maybe in the process deal with all the nagging thoughts that have come up during all the sessions so far.

Word Count: 2232

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Keeping Your Head Up” by Birdy

Note: This one is more like an intro to the next one, but I thought I’d post it cause I’m posting these in between some angsty stories!

---------

The constant arguing was finally getting on your nerves.

Sitting in the meeting hall, you listened to the council and other key members of Alexandria argue about the same thing as always: Negan. This week’s issue was that there was a storm coming in that would most likely bring lots of rain, at least that’s what Eugene was thinking. Whether he was right or not, there was still the question of where they were putting their prisoner so he didn’t drown in his cell.

There were those such as Aaron and Rosita who couldn’t care less about what happened to the man, but then there were people like Gabriel who were still mildly concerned. They had locked him up, kept him fed, and Gabriel didn’t think it was fair to keep him in such a vulnerable position during the potential downpour.

Nobody wanted to leave him alone in an empty house and Aaron had even suggested tying him up in the watch post, but Michonne had shot that down immediately.

You sat in the back row of the hall, waiting for them to stop hollering at each other. The last conversation you had had with Negan hadn’t ended well. You were tired, he was curious, and you were not in the mood for his...negan-ness at all. The realization that you and the former leader were similar had rocked you a bit. You weren’t sure what to do with the information.

There was a part of you that wanted to just walk out the front gate and not look back. Running away had once been a pattern for you before the world had ended, but you had fought to break that streak once you joined up with this group of survivors. However, spending a few days in the woods alone seemed not too bad right now. Daryl did seem to have the right idea at times, you thought.

The hum of arguing continued and you fought against everything you had not to yell at them. If Alexandria didn't have strong walls, you were sure the Dead would have been called from miles away with this volume.

"I'll do it," you said, more to the wall than anyone. The yelling continued so you stood up and projected your voice louder, "I'll do it!"

Everyone in the room turned to look at you, Michonne pausing mid-sentence. "What?" Aaron asked.

"I said, I'll do it. Negan can stay with me at my place for the duration of the storm." Nobody knew what to say as you offered your home to be Negan’s temporary cell.

"(Y/N)," Gabriel began, unsure how to continue.

"I have an extra room," you explained, "my fireplace works, I live alone, and I'm already his therapist, might as well be his warden too."

"It's not your job to...house him," Rosita said.

"No, it's not," you agreed. "It's probably Michonne's considering she's head of security, but she has two little ones. Now, I doubt Judith and RJ would care if Negan stayed in their living room, but this way I keep him from all of you and y'all can stop bickering like a PTA meeting."

"And if he tries to leave?" Aaron asked, but you rolled your eyes.

"He won't," you assured him, "though, if he managed to sneak past me, all the other houses, and get over the walls in the storm, then hell, he would deserve the escape."

"Let's try not to let that happen," Michonne said and you nodded. "Are you going to need extra supplies?" She asked simply. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at how easy it was to take on the responsibility. You knew it was just a matter of time before someone spoke up and you also knew that person was going to be you.

"I think we'll be okay. I'll wait until the sun goes down and then drag Alcatraz on over.”

You didn’t wait for a response before grabbing your jacket and exiting the hall. All around Alexandria, people were prepping for the storm. There wasn’t much they could do considering there was only a few hour warning. These were the days when you missed The Weather Channel the most. Since the world had ended, it was the small things that you missed about the old world rather than the big ones.

Waving to Gracie who was sitting on the steps of her house, you continued on your way to your small home near the South wall. It wasn’t much and it was smaller than the rest of the homes, but you preferred it. Rick had once called it your “crows nest” which was appropriate considering your time as a sniper.

Rosita’s house was locked up tight as you passed it and jogged up your front steps. There wasn’t much more to do as you tended to keep your house secure most of the time.

You spent the next couple of hours taping down the windows, grabbing firewood from the communal supply, and taking inventory of your food stock. The whole thing was becoming...odd. It was as if you were a kid again, making sure the house was clean for company so your parents didn’t feel embarrassed.

The thought alone made you chuckle as you finished off your chores by grabbing extra blankets from the hall closet. Glancing outside, the sun began to dip and droplets of rain were already spattering against the windows. With a sigh, you grabbed your coat and began the walk over to the cell.

There were very few people out on the streets and you had a feeling Gabriel and Michonne had spread the news that public enemy number one would be lead out on his leash tonight. Walking by the Grimes’ house, Judith looked at you through the window. You sent her a wink and she grinned back, giving you a thumbs up.

You often wondered where her constant optimism came from because it definitely didn’t come from being raised by Rick or by her biological father. Shane was never one to see the glass as half full for as long as you knew him. However, now that you were thinking about it, Lori did have that little spark deep down...very deep down. Perhaps Judith Grimes was one of a kind after all.

Pulling the keys from your belt, you shuffled down the steps and unlocked the large door. Stepping inside the cold room, you were surprised to be met with silence. You stepped closer to the bars and then you understood why.

Negan was fast asleep.

You took a moment to watch the sleeping man. There was something so innocent about the way a person slept. It was like a reset button for a night and right now he didn’t look like the monster Alexandria and others feared, he was just a man trying to get some rest in a screwed-up world. Rest that you felt bad about interrupting.

Pulling the right key, you inserted it into the cell door and pushed it open. Negan remained asleep as you crept forward. Leaning down, you gently shook his shoulder, trying to wake him. Negan’s eyes flew open and his hand tightly gripped the arm that was resting on him. “Ow,” you grunted at the pressure, trying to pull your hand back.

“What’s going on?” He muttered, blinking in the darkness.

“I’ll tell you if you let me go,” you hissed. Negan finally focused on you, his brows furrowed.

“(Y/N)?” he asked.

“Negan, hand,” you reminded him.

“Oh, right,” he said, releasing you from his grip. You stepped back, rubbing at the skin that was sure to be bruised later. He slowly sat up and glanced at the open cell door before looking back at you. “What? Has the Queen of Alexandria finally agreed to a public execution?” he asked bitterly.

With a roll of your eyes, you reached over and grabbed the thick jacket Gabriel had gotten for him a few weeks ago. You threw it at him.

“There’s a massive storm rolling through and Eugene thinks it’ll flood some areas. You’re staying with me until it passes. No more than two days,” you explained, crossing your arms. Negan was silent as his fingers played with the thick material of his jacket.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?” you asked, exasperated.

“Why would anyone care if I succumbed to the elements?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“You don’t want to come? That’s fine. I don’t mind being alone,” you said with a challenge in your eyes. Negan quickly stood, shaking his head.

“No, no, a warm house sounds very nice,” he quickly said. “I’m a great house guest.”

“Right,” you said, still feeling the awkwardness that remained between the two of you from your last conversation. Negan shrugged on the jacket and then you walked to him, producing a pair of cuffs.

“Seriously?” he asked, staring at the chains with disdain.

“Either this or learn to swim,” you said, dangling the cuffs. Negan huffed but offered you his wrists anyway. You quickly fastened them and then took hold of his arm. “Come on, it’s already started to rain.

Negan followed you out of the cell, hesitating on the threshold for a moment. You squeezed his arm briefly and he kept walking. The two of you pushed out into the damp air and you let go of him for a second to close up the room tightly, trying to reduce the amount of water damage that was sure to come.

Turning back to Negan, his attention wasn’t on you, but on the overcast sky. His head was tilted back as he breathed in the night air. A look of content was on his face and you almost thought he was smiling slightly. It was then that you realized this was the first time he had been outside in...you didn’t know how long.

Taking his arm again, you pulled him away from his thoughts and tugged him after you. Negan kept pace with you as you began the walk home. The streets were completely empty now, but it didn’t stop Negan from looking around with those curious eyes of his.

You didn’t know what compelled you to do it, but you easily slowed your pace, letting the walk take twice as long as usual. Looking up at Negan who was completely focused on Alexandria, you let yourself feel a bit sorry for the man. Obviously, Michonne had her reasons for keeping him locked up. You knew them and so did Negan, but you thought that perhaps he should be let out a bit more often.

Michonne had asked you to start visiting him because she thought all the isolation was bad for him, but she also didn’t realize that it wasn’t just being alone that wasn’t good for him. He needed to be out and even if it was starting to pour, you were going to let him have this moment.

Sliding your arm off of his, you let him wander ahead of you a bit, keeping him close, but not so much him being a dog being lead on a leash. He took the paths with grass on them and ran his hands down light posts and across fences. It was like watching someone rediscover the world and it made you oddly happy.

“This way, genius,” you called when he began walking down another street. He quickly walked to your side with a grin on his face. “What?”

“I just never imagined you’d be taking me home so soon,” he joked and you rolled your eyes.

“Well, I didn’t think you would enjoy spending the night in the stables,” you explained, kicking at a loose stone on the road.

“And Michonne and Gabe probably told you that I needed a babysitter.”

“That too,” you agreed. You finished the walk in silence. There were moments when you had to steer Negan in the right direction, but overall, you let him walk on his own without a guard. Arriving at your house, you pulled him up the steps, ignoring Rosita who was glaring at him through her window. Negan didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he didn’t say anything.

“Home sweet home, huh?” Negan said as he stepped into your house. The fire was already burning as your pulled of your jacket and lay it across a chair near the flames. Negan was looking around at the warm room when you walked to him and grabbed his wrists, the key to the cuffs in your hand. “Really?” he asked, surprised.

“Did you expect me to keep them on?” you asked, removing the cuffs.

“Kind of, yeah,” he admitted.

“Well, this is not the cell, it’s my house. My house, my rules, and I say that nobody needs to wear handcuffs. So, here you go. Two days of whatever you want. The kitchen is stocked, there’s decently hot water, and the spare bedroom is the final door on the left. However, you touch my weapons and I will put the cuffs back on, deal?” Negan stared at you for a second before nodding.

“Yeah, no problem,” he said and you gave him an awkward thumbs up before leaving him be in your living room. Walking into your kitchen, you wished for whiskey, another small thing you missed from the old world.

“This is going to be a long two days.”

TAGS: @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @sophia-gwendolyn @ritajammer21

#walkerwords #savior sessions #twd fanfiction #twd #twd imagines #negan x reader #negan imagines #The Walking Dead #reader insert

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theteasetwrites · 3 years

Text

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 77: Flying on a Painted Wing

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 10 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: scary situation ❧ Word Count: 6.5k

❧ In This Chapter: With Alpha's horde on its way to storm through Hilltop, Daryl and the others prepare to evacuate, but the Whisperers have other plans. Meanwhile, you and Magna make your way back home, as part of the horde.

❧ A/N: Some nice conversations between Daryl and Aaron, as well as Daryl and Robin. I didn't put in the conversation with Carol because I thought it was kind of pointless, but there will probably be a confrontation between them at some point. Also made Robin make Daryl's vest because obviously, but Judith does help, too.

Robin Dixon had courage.

It was a strange kind of courage, one that didn’t always come naturally to the six-year-old girl, but it was courage nonetheless.

She was small, relatively helpless against walkers, and just barely knew how to hold her spear, but she had the right mindset. What attracted her to the concept of courage and bravery was that she could use whatever advantages she had to help the less fortunate, the “weak,” some would say.

If she had to manufacture the courage she needed to save her mother, trapped with Connie and Magna in the ruins of the cave, she would do just that.

“I’m going, too,” she said, approaching Kelly, Yumiko, and Luke on the steps of the Barrington House in Hilltop.

Luke’s eyes widened at the small child, and Yumiko stepped forward with a sigh. ��No, Robin,” she said, in that fancy English accent of hers that always fascinated Robin. “You should stay here with your uncle.”

She shook her head vehemently. The anxiety had been weighing down on her heavily, the horrible feeling of not knowing where either of her parents were. All the while, the others were whispering about an imminent attack on Hilltop, as rumors flew around of Alpha leading the horde towards the settlements.

“My mommy’s—” She stopped herself, remembering that the older, “tougher” kids called their parents mom and dad. “My mom is out there. She might be in trouble… So could my dad.”

Kelly stood up, then leaned down to look at Robin with a small, reassuring smile. “Hey, we got this. We’ll bring them back.”

“Robin,” said Aaron, coming up behind the girl to pull her away from the others. He rested his hand on her shoulder and came down to her height, looking her in the eyes with seriousness in his.

“I can find her,” she said. “Daddy, too. They need our help.”

“They do,” agreed Aaron, though he didn’t want the girl to get her hopes up that her mother was still alive, since he wasn’t all that sure either. “But right now, it’s not safe out there. Your mom and dad would want you—”

His words stopped short when the familiar hum of a motorcycle came within earshot, getting louder as the revving vehicle approached the gates.

Robin recognized the sound, too, and froze as she looked towards the gate, hoping with every last ounce of her young optimism that on the back of that bike were her parents.

Sure enough, as the gates opened, Daryl rode in on his old bike, on the back of which was not you, but another familiar face—Lydia.

“Daddy!” cried Robin, dropping her spear in awe and rushing to her father, who’d jumped off his bike in a rush to greet her.

He had knelt down to hold her, her feet dangling off the ground as one hand tangled in her hair and the other rubbed her back.

The weight of his child in his arms was enough to bring him to tears, and whatever composure he had in him swiftly crumbled with the sound of Robin’s tear-soaked giggles as she snuggled her head into his neck.

“Where were you?” she asked, her small voice muffled against Daryl’s shirt.

He swallowed hard and held her tighter. What was there to say? He was looking for you, and he couldn’t lie, not to Robin, not now.

“I was… lookin’ for Momma,” he said.

As Robin opened her eyes, she made eye contact with Lydia.

“Where is she?” she asked with a sniffle.

He sighed as he pulled her away to look her in the eyes. There were already tears beginning to fall, not only in her eyes but in Daryl’s, too.

It felt like something was clutching his heart at the thought, the very notion that you were still out there, your fate still unknown unless he could find your body, one way or another.

The hurt was a hundred times worse than losing Rick, but he hadn’t allowed himself to feel the entire weight of it, not until he found you. If he let himself believe with his whole being that you were really gone, he wouldn’t have any fight left in him, not the fight needed to save the world you helped build, the world you deserved to be in. With him. With your family.

“She’s still in that cave, birdie,” he said, looking up now to meet Aaron’s eyes as he looked on. “But we’re gonna find ‘er. We’ll… we’ll bring ‘er home.” He brushed back the girl’s hair, and grimaced at her strained face as she tried to hold back her tears. “But right now,” he continued, “we gotta be brave, and fight… for her.”

Robin nodded, and in one last attempt to keep her composure, she threw herself back into Daryl’s arms, letting her tears flow into the crook of his neck as he held her.

Yumiko came up behind, eager to question Daryl about Connie and Magna.

“Any sign of them?” she asked.

Daryl stood up, keeping Robin’s shoulders in his hands. “We didn’t get that far,” he said.

“What do you mean?” asked Kelly. “What happened?”

“We gotta talk,” he replied.

“D, I’m sorry,” said Luke. “We gotta find our people, man.”

Lydia stepped forward, answering for Daryl now as he walked with Robin into the Barrington House (well, limped—his leg was still in desperate need of medical attention).

“No,” she said to them. “You can’t go out there. My mother’s coming.”

The herd moved slowly, as one might expect, so it was easy to keep up with them. At least, as long as you kept holding onto each other.

The sun would be going down soon, you knew, as it got closer and closer to settling below the horizon in the west. It would be harder to find Connie, now separated from you and Magna as you trudged along with the dead, making your way out of the mouth of that terrible cave.

It would be easier, however, to pass as one of the walkers. Though you were both covered in blood and gore from the Whisperers you’d massacred the night before as you fought tooth and nail in a frenzied haze to get out, there was always the chance that the walkers could discover your treachery.

That was why you couldn’t go after Connie once she’d been separated from the two of you—any sudden movements would’ve turned you all into an all-you-can-eat buffet for the rotten corpses all around you, bumping your shoulders and stepping on your feet as you walked mindlessly.

At some point, you really did think you were dead, too, until Magna nudged you, and leaned close to whisper in your ear.

“They’re definitely pushing towards Hilltop,” she said.

You nodded as you processed what was both good news and bad news, as the horde would safely, more or less, guide you to your people, but that also meant the herd was going to destroy Hilltop.

Still, there wasn’t much only two of you could do, especially not in your weakened state.

The blast had blown the three of you away from the epicenter of the disaster in the cave, but the cuts, bruises, and likely sprains from the event had put both of you in less than stellar shape to fight, and even if you could, there was no way to fight a herd this size with only two of you.

Certainly, you couldn’t even lead them away, not with the Whisperers controlling its movement.

“We should be there after nightfall,” you whispered back, all the while silently hoping the loud groans and snarls of the dead would drown out your voices. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

You squeezed her hand, which had been in yours for hours now as you walked.

“We don’t split up,” you added. “Stay together.”

Both of your hearts weighed heavily as you walked with the dead, hand-in-hand, waiting to be delivered to the final destination, where you only hoped you could be reunited with your people, and your family.

You knew it was likely that Daryl, Robin, and Aaron were at Hilltop now, preparing to fight the incoming herd. In truth, you hadn’t stopped thinking of them since you awoke in the ruins of the mineshaft.

The only solace in your trek, with these lost souls all around you, was knowing that Daryl and Aaron made it out safely. You had seen them all escape just before the cave collapsed, and that was all you needed to keep you going.

Magna had Yumiko, whom she still had to make amends with, and you had your family. If fortune favored you, maybe you would meet Connie there, too, and all of this wouldn’t be in vain.

Still, the worst wasn’t over, not by far, and you knew there would be loss before anyone could win.

The folks at the Hilltop knew that, too, as they gathered to discuss the next plan of action. There was some disagreement, with several Hilltop residents wanting to stay and fight, while others argued that the best course of action was to flee before the horde arrived.

“We have to go,” argued Lydia. “Even if you took out half the herd in that cave, she’s got thousands left. You can’t stay here.”

“The skins could march straight to Alexandria for all we know,” replied Earl, an ardent advocate for defending Hilltop.

“Yeah,” said Daryl, “we’re right in their way.”

“Maybe she goes around us,” Earl suggested.

Lydia spoke again, “She doesn’t need to go around you. She’ll just run through you.”

“I’m not running again,” argued Jerry. “Hell no.”

“Lydia’s right,” said Diane. “We can rebuild anywhere.”

“Come on, we can’t,” said Earl, whose eyes fixed on Aaron. He’d been quiet most of the meeting, hardly able to say anything without his voice becoming shaky. The apparent loss of his baby sister had caught up with him at a rather inopportune time, and he was less hopeful than Daryl and Robin that she could ever be found. “How many scouting missions you been on, son?” Earl asked the somber man. “Hundreds? Have you ever seen a place like Hilltop?”

Aaron was silent for a while, and looked to Daryl for the strength to speak. He only scoffed, and soon gathered the ability to speak one word: “No.”

Communities like Hilltop and Alexandria were hard to find, indeed. Still, they had been built once, they could be built again.

“We have a few dozen able-bodied fighters here,” said Yumiko. “Maybe. You like those odds? ‘Cause I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” agreed Aaron, speaking louder now. “No, we don’t have to die here.”

In truth, he didn’t want to die tonight because whatever hope he had of finding his sister was hanging in the balance, and if he didn’t live through this, there was no hope of him ever seeing you again at all. Not only that, but there were children at Hilltop—Gracie, Robin, Judith, RJ… Children who were part of his family.

“We’re going to have to fight,” insisted Earl. “And if we die, we die fighting for a place that means something. Can you think of a better way to go?”

“Yeah,” Aaron scoffed. “We go with my daughter and my niece’s life intact. And Judith’s, and Ezra’s… and Adam’s.” He gestured to Earl with the mention of his own adoptive son’s name. “You want me to keep going?”

Daryl didn’t let him keep going, opting instead to go into “leader mode,” as you would’ve called it.

“All right,” he said, “let’s get the kids out first. Everybody pack up, we’re going to Oceanside. Grab weapons, food, whatever you can. We’ll regroup there.”

Daryl volunteered to lead the group to Oceanside, just after getting barely patched up in the infirmary. Despite a limp and some bad cuts still in need of stitches, he helped the children into the covered wagon, to be taken to Oceanside.

He hoisted RJ, now wearing Daryl’s one-winged vest, as he’d taken a shine to it, Judith, and the other kids one by one into the safety of the wagon, Robin looking on and pouting at her father’s noticeable limp.

“Why are you walkin’ funny?” she asked, her head slightly tilted in curiosity, reminding him a little too much of her mother. “Did you get bit?”

He huffed and crouched to her eye level, holding her hand in his and mustering a small smile. “No,” he said. “I’m all right. Don’ worry, peanut.”

He raised his hands to pinch her cheeks, scrunching up her face in the process. Usually, she would’ve broken out into giggles at the gesture, but it was hard when so much seemed so wrong in her life.

“Hey,” he said, now noticing her sadness. He couldn’t even bother to ask what was wrong, as he knew what was wrong. It was wrong for him, too. It was all so terribly, terribly wrong. “Ya know everythin’s gonna turn out just fine. Whatever happens, I love you. More than anythin’.”

She nodded, and looked between him and the wagon. “Do I have to go?”

He tilted his head knowingly. “Yeah. It’s safer at Oceanside.”

“And you’re going to fight?”

“I dunno,” he said honestly. “We’ll regroup when we get there, but for now, all that matters is gettin’ you kids out.”

Reluctantly, after some more convincing, Robin boarded the wagon, and Daryl led the caravan towards Oceanside with the remaining light left in the afternoon.

Approaching a block in the road on his bike, with the wagons close behind, Daryl lowered the kickstand to investigate the wreckage.

It appeared to be a fallen tree, deliberately cut down for the exact purpose of blocking any escape routes. What’s more, hanging in the adjacent trees were scouts from Hilltop, sent out to inform the others of any horde activity. They were left hanging to reanimate, dangling and snarling as a kind of macabre warning to travelers.

“Felix and Penny,” said Diane, recognizing the Hilltop citizens.

Daryl, on the other hand, recognized the M.O., from many years ago, when Saviors were using the exact same technique. Putting together the pieces, Daryl realized the likelihood that Negan had concocted this plan, and the probability that Negan had fallen in with the Whisperers since his escape from Alexandria, which may have even been conducted by Whisperers, was high.

“All the roads are gonna be like this now,” he said. “We ain’t gettin’ through. It’s Negan. He’s with her now.”

Upon arrival at Hilltop, Daryl sent the children inside the Barrington House, as Aaron came out to confront Daryl about their return.

“What happened?” he asked.

“She blocked the roads,” he answered. “Means they’re closin’ in on us. If we had a window to get out, we just missed it.”

Silent panic settled in amongst the other citizens who had gathered, hearing the news that there was no way in Hell anyone was getting out, not before the horde came.

“But we can’t stay here,” said Kelly, her voice breaking in fear. “You said… You all said we can’t stay here.”

“We can—we can call Alexandria, right?” suggested Luke. “Call Alexandria, and they’ll get fresh fighters here, and—and… it’s not just gonna be us. It’s not gonna be just us, right?”

“Oceanside can’t get here,” said Diane. “Alexandria either. Not in time. Not after what happened. We’re on our own.”

It seemed now that the only option was to stand and fight, and that was exactly what Daryl was prepared to do, even if his heart was broken beyond any foreseeable repair, and his body was weak and still recovering from his injuries, he’d fight to the death to protect Robin, to preserve what you and he had already fought so hard for for the past ten years, to keep your memory alive, if he couldn’t keep you alive.

“Divvy up your arsenals,” said Earl. “We got catapults up on the walls. And a damn good militia.”

Aaron nodded vehemently, suddenly facing the reality that there was no way out, that before he could ever have a chance of finding you, he’d have to keep himself and the ones you and him both loved alive.

“Come on now, people!” Earl suddenly yelled, riling up the crowd of still hesitating Hilltop citizens. “Do whatever you need to get your heads on straight! This is gonna be the fight of our lives.”

Light began to fade as darkness threatened to conquer the world around him. He sat upon the same bench he once shared with Henry, scolding him for getting himself in trouble the night before.

Just before him were the graves of those who had been lost before, including Glenn and Abraham, as well as Jesus.

For a man who enjoyed his alone time, who often embraced solitude, he was starting to hate the silence. Every time he found himself alone with his thoughts, he envisioned the horrors of what you had gone through, what you might’ve still been going through down in that hellish cave.

If he could get that out of his mind, he’d start to feel the immense loneliness, the heartbreak of not having you with him, or of just knowing you were alive. As cliche as it sounds, for so many years, you really were his other half, the part of him he had always needed and had finally found, only to lose you in such a horrible way.

He found himself realizing that there was a strong possibility he’d never hold you in his arms again, he’d never feel your hair tickle his chin, or your delicate fingers trailing up and down his arms.

He’d never again wake up to your strange, muffled sleep-talking, he’d never listen in on you reading out loud to Robin, or come home to the smell of your tofu stir fry on the stove.

Gone were moments of vulnerability, in which he could break down and cry in front of you without feeling totally ashamed of himself. You were the only person in this world he trusted to see him in every delicate emotion, every nuance of his sensitivity that showed in his ever-changing moods.

There were secrets you took to that cave with you that even he didn’t know about himself, and there were still so many things he hadn’t been able to say to you before it happened.

Above all else, he lost the sole person who had shown him acceptance, forgiveness, kindness, compassion, unconditional love… Before you, his life was meaningless, in his mind. He recalled how you had always professed gratitude for how much he’d saved you, but no matter how many times he told you, your humility would never let you accept the fact that you had saved him first.

You took a chance on him, back at the quarry. You set aside your reservations to bring him and his brother, two complete strangers, to your people, all in the name of selflessness, of wanting to help people you barely knew survive.

It was selflessness that might’ve gotten you killed, and if he could turn you selfish for just one moment, when it was all happening, he would’ve, just to hold you in his arms again.

Thoughts of you were interrupted by the presence of Aaron, coming up from behind Daryl. He stopped in his tracks when he realized his brother-in-law was here, doing the same thing he came here to do—grieve.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat and preparing to turn around. “I’ll leave you alone.”

Daryl flinched and turned back to call out to him. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I, uh… actually would rather not be alone.”

Aaron’s eyes widened at the admission. Never before had Daryl made himself seem so vulnerable in front of him. In fact, Aaron always saw Daryl as the toughest, most stoic man he knew, and he still was, but it was strange to hear him say such a thing.

Daryl usually liked being left alone, with the exception of you.

“You sure?” asked Aaron, slightly afraid that Daryl was more unstable than he let on, given he’d just lost his wife. “I can—”

“Told ya,” he said, looking at Aaron with that more familiar, harsh gaze. He really didn’t want to be alone.

Aaron nodded nervously, stepping forward to sit beside Daryl. The two men sat in silence for a while, Aaron sniffling as he tried to hold back tears, until he gathered the courage to speak.

“This… This can’t be easy for you.”

Daryl chewed his lip as he continued looking away from Aaron, focusing instead upon Glenn’s grave. It was easier than facing the man whose features resembled yours in slight, but noticeable, ways.

“It ain’t,” he replied. “It’s… It’s killin’ me. Thinkin’ of her out there, hurt… Scared… Or worse… I can’t—I can’t even think about that, though. Not that, not like that.”

It occurred to Aaron then that Daryl really couldn’t even bear the thought of you being dead, gone for good. Perhaps he was even in denial, like Robin.

Still, even if you were dead, Aaron wanted to find you, too. He needed to.

“It’s hard—hard for me, too,” he replied, opting not to reveal his concerns that you were, in fact, dead.

His voice cracked as he spoke, his emotions overwhelming him when the reality settled in once again. He held his head in his hands, gently sobbing as he recalled the last image he had of you, running back into the darkness to help Magna.

Tears fell from Daryl’s eyes, too, clouding his vision and causing him to let out strangled whimpers he only hoped Aaron couldn’t hear.

He wanted to maintain strength for everyone, as he always had, but the burden of your loss was too much to bear now. He couldn’t hold it in, and he couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t lost his true love, the most precious thing in his life besides his child.

“Aw, man,” sighed Aaron, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he sniffled. “We’re two big messes, huh?”

Daryl rubbed his eyes with his fists and shook his head. “Soon as this is over,” he began, “I’m goin’ back there. I’m bringin’ her back. Can’t… risk not knowin’.”

Aaron nodded, and raised his arm to pull Daryl closer to him.

Aaron’s arm around his shoulders, Daryl had never felt more like he had a real brother than he did now.

“Me neither,” he said. “She’s my little sister… Sh-she was… always the favorite, you know. For good reason. Everybody loved (Y/N).” He chuckled behind his tears, remembering how much of a golden child you were. “No one… loved her like you did, though.”

Daryl huffed as he tried to keep himself composed again. If he started sobbing now, he wouldn’t be able to get himself to stop, not before the herd came.

“People like her,” he said, his voice still shaky and uneven, threatening to crumble if he thought too long about what he’d lost, “only come along once in a lifetime… If she hadn’t found me, if I hadn’t found her, either I’d be a dickhead or dead.”

Aaron scoffed. “That’s not true. I mean, she believed in you, but you were always a good man. You just… hid it. She saw it. She had a way of doing that, seeing the good in people.”

Daryl nodded, and nervously rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, searching for some way to stop thinking about how much he blamed himself for losing you.

“Yeah, she did… I just… I feel like it’s my fault. Coulda done more, ya know? Coulda… kept her right by me, held ‘er hand, made her climb up ‘fore me.” His voice broke, as did his ability to keep the tears from falling. “I let (Y/N) down… I let… I let our little girl down.” He mustered the strength to look Aaron in the face, letting him see the tears as they fell down his reddened cheeks. “I let you down.”

Aaron shook his head. “Daryl,” he said, “the only way you could let any of us down is if you stopped fighting. (Y/N) always told me that you were what kept her going. Now, you’ve got to keep going for her, and Robin, and everyone else here. You know that, so stop thinking you could’ve done anything different. She knew you loved her, and that was all she really ever needed.”

Finding himself on the edge of crying again, he shook his head and raised to his feet, rubbing his nose and nodding towards Aaron in understanding.

“I loved her,” he said. “I do love her… Ain’t gonna change. Not ever.”

“I know,” Aaron replied. “I love her too. Always will.”

He felt out of sorts, almost disoriented as he walked towards the Barrington House where he knew Robin was. He’d told her to stay put with Judith and RJ, as they were all three essentially his wards now. There was still so much to say to little Robin, so much she didn’t understand about her mother’s sudden disappearance.

She knew of the incident at the cave from Aaron, and she knew that her mother didn’t come back with her father, but Daryl hadn’t even talked to her much about it yet, not what the whole thing meant. He had been dreading it, especially just before the inevitability of the horde coming their way, but if he didn’t tell her before everything happened, there was no way he could live with himself, if he lived after tonight at all.

Robin sat upon a loveseat in the main room, along with RJ and Judith. Upon their laps was what seemed to be Daryl’s vest, but Robin quickly threw the leather behind her on the back of the sofa, as if in an attempt to hide it from her father. Scattered about the coffee table was an assortment of art supplies that Judith began to clean up.

“Hey,” he said, mustering a small smile as he approached with a limp. “What’re y’all up to?”

“Just going to join the other kids,” replied Judith, pulling RJ’s hand as she spoke to Daryl. “Though I’d… really like to help fight.”

Daryl huffed and patted Judith’s head. Of course she wanted to fight, she was a precocious child with a great deal of skill with her sword, but there was no way he’d let a ten-year-old child fight an army of walkers. “I know you do,” he replied. “But it’s too dangerous. You go join the other kids.”

Robin hoisted herself from her seat to follow Judith and RJ, but was swiftly stopped when Daryl gently grabbed her shoulder.

“Hold up,” he said, and sat the girl back down upon the sofa, where he joined her with a grunt as he seated his sore, tired body. “Gotta talk to ya for a minute… ‘bout Momma.”

She tucked her knees into her chest and rested her chin upon them as she looked to her father with saddened eyes. “Uncle Aaron said she’s still in the cave.”

Daryl nodded. “She is,” he said. “What else did Uncle Aaron tell you?”

“He said you were outside still, trying to help Mommy… because no one knew if she could get out or not. He said there was an accident, and Mommy might be hurt in the cave… That’s why I wanted to go out and look for her today.”

Daryl’s lip quirked softly, touched by the child’s devotion to her mother. It reminded him a little of himself, how he had to be the one to find you, to bring you back. How he couldn’t let go of you, and couldn’t believe that you were gone for good. Even if you were, he needed to find you, but he wasn’t entirely sure Robin knew the reality of the situation, just as he wasn’t sure he could fully comprehend it beyond the grief he’d already been feeling.

When the reality hit him that he’d have to be straight with her, and would have to hear the words coming out of his own mouth, he turned serious, and cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Listen, birdie,” he began. “This is… This is hard for me to say, but you gotta know somethin’, and I gotta make sure you know it, just in case.” He lifted Robin’s chin and turned her face towards him, letting her know he was serious when she registered that look in his eyes, one she’d only seen once—when you and he informed her of the deaths of Henry, Bev, and the others about a year ago.

“Momma might not be comin’ back,” he said, the words cutting his tongue as each one croaked out after the last.

Silence settled in for a moment as he let the sentence float in the heavy air between father and daughter.

“Why?”

Of course, she knew what that might’ve meant. She knew of death, and she’d been exposed to it plenty of times in the past year, but the vagueness of that sentence made her wonder.

Daryl lowered his head, taking a deep breath before facing her again. “I’m goin’ out there to look for ‘er soon as I get the chance,” he said, “but I gotta let you know right now, before we know for sure, that…” He huffed, and swallowed back the lump in his throat. “That when we find her, she… might not be alive.”

Robin furrowed her brows and strained, unable to comprehend such a thing. It wasn’t so much that she couldn’t believe it, but that she simply couldn’t imagine a world without you, the woman with whom she had such a special bond, a motherly bond.

“I—I know,” she said, and sniffled before speaking in a shakier tone. “But we haven’t found her yet, so we don’t know for sure. Maybe she’s all right, maybe she’s with Magna and Connie, looking for a way out… Maybe they already got out.”

Daryl sighed, and tried to stop himself from going along with Robin, as those were the thoughts he was automatically moving towards.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “But I just want ya to know… there’s always the possibility that we may never see her again. It ain’t a good thought, I know, and I ain’t never gonna stop lookin’ for her, but we gotta keep that in mind, all right, hon?”

She nodded solemnly, and as she tried to wipe away her tears, she unfolded her legs and threw herself into Daryl’s arms, crying gently against his shoulder.

He was startled for a moment, but quickly wrapped his arms tight around her, holding her snug against him as he rubbed her back up and down.

His own tears began to fall again, though without the girl noticing. He always tried to maintain composure in front of her.

“I don’t want Momma to be gone forever,” she said through tears. “It’s not fair.”

“Nah,” he agreed. “Nah, it ain’t fair at all.” He turned his head to kiss her hair, and pulled her away just a bit to look her in the eye. She was trying to wipe away her own tears, and he only removed her hands from her cheeks. “It’s okay to cry,” he said.

Those were the words he’d wished someone had told him when he was her age.

“Are you crying?” she asked.

Daryl sniffled, and let a few tears fall without catching them before he answered. “Yeah, yeah I am… Been cryin’ a lot.”

“Mommy said you don’t like to let people see you cry.”

Daryl smiled sadly at that, hearing the words in your own voice.

“Depends on the people,” he said. “And the situation.”

Robin nestled her head back into Daryl’s chest once more. “Mommy’s still out there,” she said after a while. “We’ll find her. I’ll help.”

Daryl shut his eyes and sighed, clutching his daughter tighter at the idea of ever letting her outside.

He only hummed in response, and soon felt the little girl squirming in his embrace, looking up curiously at her father’s face, adorned with red cuts from his fight with Alpha.

“What happened?” She traced her index finger an inch or so away from the marks.

Daryl smiled a little, her concern reminding him so much of you.

“Got in some trouble,” he said.

“A fight?”

“Yeah,” he huffed, not liking to admit that to the child who looked up to him so. “Fought a bad person.”

Her eyes moved to his leg, where a rag was wrapped on the outside of his pants, just over the wound in his thigh.

“Is that why you’re walking funny?” she asked.

“Mhm.”

A sudden thought occurred to him just then, as he noticed the child was without her companion, the family dog.

“Hey,” he said, looking around as if he might jump out at any second, “where’s that dog?”

Robin’s face turned a little paler, remembering the terrible events of the night before in Alexandria.

“Oh,” she said. “He’s at home… He got hurt last night.”

Daryl’s heart dropped and his eyes widened. His mind was so concerned with so many things at once that he had forgotten Robin was in Alexandria during the Whisperer attack last night.

His eyes scanned Robin for injuries, though he knew whatever wounds she might’ve had would’ve been taken care of by a physician.

“You okay? Are you hurt? Anything bite ya or touch you?”

Robin swallowed hard, remembering the image of that Frankenstein’s monster of a man towering over her in her darkened room as she could only cower in fear.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Dog’s the one who got hurt. His leg is sprained… This… giant came inside our house.”

Daryl’s head felt like a hot air balloon at the mention of a “giant” inside his home. He knew it was Beta, that bastard he once believed he’d killed. Knowing he set foot inside his house was enough to boil his blood.

“H-he… He killed Emily.”

His fist clenched at that, and in the pit of his stomach, he felt sadness on behalf of you, the girl’s teacher and mentor. She was young, she didn’t deserve to die like that.

“Did he touch you?” he asked seriously. “Did he hurt you?”

“He threw Dog,” she said, sending a fresh wave of sadness and rage through his veins. “He tried to get me, but Dog got his leg. We got away.”

“But you’re all right?”

She nodded, but frowned at the memory, how helpless and small she felt.

“I was scared,” she admitted.

“I’d be scared, too,” he said. In truth, he was a little scared when he initially fought the man. It had been the most intense fight of his life, and he’d been in plenty of fights, even before the end of the world (a fact he was never proud of). “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Robin shrugged. “You were trying to find Mommy… Mommy’s important.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “She is. So are you.” He brushed her hair back behind her ear, and watched in delight as her lips curled into a small, sweet smile.

She may have had his nose, his eyes, and his hair, but she had your smile, not his. In her sadness, she had his frown, his downturned eyes, his pained grimace. In her anger, she had his glare, his flared nostrils, his furrowed brow.

In her happiness, she was you, soft and sweet. More beautiful and innocent than anything he’d ever known. Seeing that face, either on you or on his daughter, he felt like a child himself.

With a sudden burst of energy, Robin let out a small, “Oh!” before turning to take the vest she’d draped over the side of the sofa before Daryl could see it.

“Judith and RJ and me fixed your vest,” she said, delicately unfolding the leather garment in her lap. She was always so precise with her crafts. “Mommy’s always talking about how you need another wing, so we made you one.”

She lifted the vest with the back facing Daryl, and he laid eyes upon the old trusty vest, admiring the now restored right wing.

It seemed to be painted on, completely blue in hue but otherwise matching the shape of the original white wing on the left side. Along the wing’s border were tiny white stars, and all over it were the tiniest details in shading to give the wing an impressive level of depth.

“No way,” he said, his lips growing into a wide smile as he analyzed every detail in the painted angel wing, which had put so much new life into his old vest. There were so many memories imbued in that thing, and now there was one more, so precious and pure. “I love it.”

He grabbed the vest eagerly, like a child opening a Christmas present, and dramatically draped the garment over his shoulders before turning around and striking a lazy pose as he stood tall.

“How do I look?” he asked, and turned his head to see Robin out of the corner of his eye, smiling and trying to hold back a giggle at her father’s modeling.

“It looks good!” she exclaimed. “Now you’re a real angel.”

“Hm,” Daryl chuckled, but his smile soon turned serious as he remembered a discussion he’d had with Ezekiel just a while earlier: if Daryl didn’t make it out of the battle alive, or if he was nowhere to be found, Ezekiel would take Robin and the other children to safety at the agreed upon rendezvous point.

“There’s one other thing,” he said, lowering himself down to Robin’s height. “If during the fight, Ezekiel comes looking for you and the other kids, you go with him… Whether you know where I am or not. Okay?”

Robin turned serious, too, and lowered her head as she thought about his words. After a few moments, she still couldn’t answer, but could only dread the possibility of losing her father.

“Hey,” he said, catching her attention. “You gotta promise me.”

She lifted her head back up and nodded dutifully. “Promise.”

With a smile, he pulled her in for one last hug. “Good,” he said. “And I want you to keep that spear on ya.” He nudged his head towards the weapon as it leaned upon the wall. “Now go catch up with the other kids.”

She kissed his cheek, and sniffled once again before taking her spear in her hands.

“Love you, Daddy.”

(Y/N) would be so proud of her, he thought.

“Love you, too. So much.”

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