#and the real daryl back

[my-mt-heart]

A Comprehensive Guide...

This is how you know who is behind different promo strategies...

AMC:

^Wants us to see that Melissa is shooting, that Carol is involved in the story, and that she and Daryl will have scenes together. It would probably make a bigger impact if we didn't know the shoot was for 301.

Male EPs (Zabel, Nicotero, Norman, Gimple):

^Wants Melissa, everyone on set, and the whole world to know that Carol is less significant than Daryl.

Norman's Camp:

^Wants to shit on his co-star because he thinks it makes him look better. Counterproductive if you ask me.

[marvelstarwarshero]

COME ON EVEN RICK KNEW!!!!!! I'm sorry, but you don't say that about someone losing a person they had platonic feelings about and NOT say that to all the other people who loved her platonically as well. Otherwise where was your conversation with Maggie, Richard???

He was tough… He was. …So was she…She didn’t know it, but she was.

[mystic-writings]

we’re just fine | daryl dixon

PAIRING — Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

SUMMARY — after the fall of the prison, you find yourself in alexandria, alone. two months later, your family finds their way back to you. 

WARNINGS — angst, canon-typical violence/situations, pregnancy, fluff 

WORD COUNT — 5,000

NOTES — idk what happened to me all i know is i blacked out and then this was made. enjoy i guess

masterlist | navigation | requests are open!

Despite the pure monotonous routine you’d gotten used to during your two months in Alexandria, you couldn’t say that it wasn’t sometimes extremely boring. Your only saving grace was the mealtimes you had with Aaron and Eric at the end of the day. At least they had the sense and experience outside the walls to be able to carry out a conversation that wasn’t about what food you were eating or how the weather was. 

It was why you hated when they went out on recruitment runs. As their roommate, you felt awkward being in the home by yourself when they left the walls; as though you were intruding. You felt that way in a lot of aspects. An intruder on a perfect life that these people had grown used to in the wake of the apocalypse. A life where their only worry was whether or not Aiden and Nicholas would find the right ingredients for the food they’d planned on cooking during their supply runs. 

But there was nothing to be done aside from making a meal for one, eating alone with only a soft classical music CD to fill the silence, and to wait for the couple to come back home so you would have normal people to talk to. 

You were glad for them and the runs they went on, though. Or they never would’ve found you, and you’d likely be dead in a ditch by now. 

Your hand shook as you gripped the handle of your blade, wide eyes searching the pharmacy for any signs of walkers, or people. Being on the road alone for as long as you had been was making you feel like you’d gone crazy. Maybe you had already. 

Sweeping the small aisles, you found no signs of life. Most of the shelves were already empty, likely having been raided during the early days. Still, you grabbed whatever was available to you, shoving it into your bag before ducking into a corner, knees pressed to your chest as you rooted around for one of the final few cans of food you had left. 

You’d been rationing out what used to be a plentiful supply for a few weeks now. One can of food per day, nothing more. A lot of what you had was thanks to the traffic blockages on the highways and interstates you’d wandered along on your way out of Georgia. What used to be two cans a day for almost three weeks turned into one for the past week and a half, bordering on two. 

The lack of food wasn’t your only issue anymore. With no signs of life from your former group, you had every reason to believe that they were all dead. Logically, you knew they weren’t. You’d seen some of them escape in the firefight, yourself included. But without any real way of tracking them down, they were as good as dead. Not to mention the sudden and constant fatigue that the southern sun seemed to give to you, making traveling more difficult than you had originally planned. 

Even with no end in sight, no real indicator that the man you called your husband was still alive, and no true hope for your future, you still persisted. You found places to sleep for the night, whether in abandoned cars or gas stations off of turnpikes. You found just enough food to supply you for a few more days if you managed to stretch it thin enough, and you kept going. 

Just as you were about to crack open a can of corn, the crunching of glass and shuffling of footsteps alerted you to the body that had just entered the pharmacy. Its footfalls sounded too heavy and spaced out to be anything but a human. 

Gripping onto your knife, you held your breath and gently placed the can on the floor. With your bag still on your shoulders, you kept your body crouched and your ears peeled, moving around the person — no, people — moving around the pharmacy. 

“I’m telling you, we’ve already been here. There’s nothing left to take,” a voice reasoned. 

The footsteps ceased for a moment, and you paused, praying they hadn’t heard you. “I know. Doesn’t hurt to check, though, right? I mean, we can’t exactly go back empty handed. Aiden’ll have something to say about it.”

“But we aren’t out here for supplies,” the other stressed, “we’re out here for people, remember? New members?”

“I know,” their partner chuckled, footsteps resuming as they rounded the last aisle. You ducked between the shelves closest to the door, hoping to just outrun them and not have to fight them. There was a pause, a palpable beat, before he spoke again. “But I think we might not be coming back alone.”

A cold chill ran through your veins at the former’s words. He knew you were in here. He’d seen your can of food, or heard your shuffling around the pharmacy. In an instant, you were at your full height, eyes wide as your fingers clutched your knife tighter and you ran, against your better judgment, toward the pair. The blond was the one closest to you, his back facing your front. With as much energy as you could muster, you hooked your arm over his shoulder, dragging him to your chest as you pressed your knife to his throat. It wasn’t hard enough to do any real damage, but you knew that if you absolutely had to, you’d apply pressure. 

“Who are you?” You spat, hand shaking as it gripped the knife. “What do you want?”

“Woah, woah, calm down. It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.” The brunet immediately jumped into negotiation mode, putting his hands in front of him. The position reminded you of Rick, oddly enough, and your heart twinged as you adjusted your grip on the knife. 

“Then what are you here for?” You spat. “Like you said, there’s nothing worth taking here.”

The faintest of whimpers escaped the lips of the man you held hostage, dragging both yours and the brunet’s attention to him. “We’re just—” the blond gulped. “We’re recruiters. We have a camp not too far from here. A safe one. We’re looking for people to join us. People who have— have experience, out here.” 

His words, as stuttery and fearful as they were, confused you. 

“I’m Aaron,” the brunet said, keeping his arms up in surrender as he slowly slid the backpack from his shoulders. “That man you have is my partner, Eric. Everything he’s saying is right, and I can show you. I have pictures and a brochure in my bag, if you’ll let me get it.” 

Hesitantly, you nodded. Even if he had a weapon, most of your body was blocked by his partner — Eric. There was a highly likely chance that he wouldn’t try to harm you while you kept his friend in your grip, however weak it was becoming. 

Slowly, Aaron reached into his bag, pulling out exactly what he said he would. With Eric still in your grip, he showed you pictures of the place he and his friend called home — Alexandria. “Look,” Aaron sighed, stepping back a bit. “You seem like someone we could use. You have experience that we lack. Plus, it seems like you’ve been out here by yourself a while. We have walls, food, running water, and proper shelter. And if you decide to come with us, our leader, Deanna, will interview you. If she allows you in and you don’t like it, you can leave any time you want. We won’t keep you there if you don’t want to be, okay?”

With a shaking nod, you let go of Eric, nudging him toward Aaron, who enveloped the other man in a tight hug. “I— I can leave if I want to, right?”

“Of course, you can. No one will stop you, and that’s a promise.” 

It took a bit of getting used to, but you were glad that Aaron and Eric had found you that day. You’d been skeptical of things in Alexandria for the first few days, but you warmed to the entire situation a lot easier than you thought you would. You supposed it was because of how things were at the prison, but even then you weren’t alone.

Aaron and Eric, while not pushing the topic often, had managed to get to know enough about you and where you came from before they’d found you that they considered you a close friend. 

You’d only told them the briefest of answers. That you were with a large group in Georgia from the beginning, that you’d been with one of them for most of that time — even, at some point, considering yourselves to be married, though the symbol you’d had to show it had been lost months ago — and then another group came along and took everything away from you, simply because they could. 

The safety and privacy that the couple provided was something you were more than grateful for, even if you were sure you wouldn’t be able to have it forever. 

Because while Aaron and Eric, along with the rest of Alexandria, provided a structure and a sense of normalcy for you, you couldn’t shake the grief that fell upon you every time you were alone. 

The thought of Daryl being out there, combing every inch of Georgia for you while you were so far away, was enough to bring you to tears. It was another thing to think about the possibility of his rotting corpse roaming the woods in search of something living to eat. The thought that you’d never see him again, dead or alive. That you’d just push through life — however much longer that would be for you — without him, even though he promised you’d never have to go through something like that. 

The thought of your baby never knowing who their father was, and their father never knowing who they were, either. 

You could go an entire lifetime without ever seeing Daryl again, and the idea of it nearly killed you when he was still around. It hurt a hundred times worse now that it was practically a reality. 

The night passed without word from or the arrival of Aaron and Eric. It was common for them to be gone a while at a time — this particular trip lasting almost a week — but you hated sleeping in the house by yourself now. You were so used to waking up to Eric clattering dishes in the kitchen that waking up midday when they were gone only proved how fatigued you seemed to feel nowadays. 

Waking up to a knock on the door wasn’t unusual as of late, but it was certainly unpleasant. You were, however, grateful for the fact that when you were given a room at Aaron and Eric’s, it was on the first floor. 

Rolling out of bed got harder and harder with each passing week, but you managed it anyway. The knocking persisted, and you sighed as you made your way into the living room, shouting out, “I’m coming!”

The knocking ceased, and you pulled on the fabric of your shirt before answering the door, only to find Jessie. “Oh, hey,”

“Hi, hon,” she smiled, and you felt bad for being upset at her moments before. “Pete sent me over, said you were supposed to see him this morning?” 

“Oh, shit, Jessie I’m so sorry,” you said, brushing some stray hair from your face. “I overslept, normally Aaron—” 

Jessie smiled warmly, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on your arm. “I understand, Y/n, no need to worry. Just get dressed and head over to the infirmary. It’s not like Pete’s in any real rush.” 

“Alright,” you nodded, bidding Jessie goodbye and closing the door as she headed down the porch steps. 

Padding your way through the home, you went back to your room, pulling on some fresh clothes before freshening up in the bathroom. Routines like these were simple, but they kept you sane. You’d had something a little closer to it at the prison, but it was nowhere near as nice as it was in Alexandria. 

After eating a small breakfast, you were out of the house and on your way to the infirmary. The streets were quiet, as always, and the sun was anything but forgiving. People smiled and waved, and you did the same, even if you didn’t know half of the people in this place. Even after being here for two months, it was hard to remember such trivial things about so many people. Plus, putting names to faces was never one of your strong suits. 

Stepping into the infirmary, you were grateful for the burst of air conditioning that fell over your body. Smiling, you greeted Denise and Pete, the former of the two sitting on one of the beds as she pored over the book in her lap. 

“Alright, let’s take a look at you. Sound good?” Pete smiled, and you nodded back. 

While you hauled yourself onto the bed, Pete readied the ultrasound equipment. Pulling back the loose shirt you wore, your eyes glued themselves to the obvious, albeit still small, bump you were sporting. 

“Hey, I’m about four months along now, right?” You asked, eyes darting up to Pete, who confirmed with a nod. “That means you can see the baby’s gender, doesn’t it? I remember hearing that somewhere,” 

Pete chuckled, powering on the machine and taking the gel from its holster. “Most of the time, yes. If you want me to look around for it, I can do that. After I make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I really wanna know,” you said, wincing at the cold gel making contact with your skin. “It’d mean a lot. Then I can go full nesting mode. And so can Aaron and Eric, really.” 

The ultrasound went off without a hitch. According to Pete, your margins were clear, and everything looked healthy with the baby. It was always a relief to hear. There was little room for error with these things now that you had scarcely little supplies to work with. Finding the ultrasound machine early on in the apocalypse was a miracle in itself. 

“Okay…” Pete hummed, the wand moving and pressing over your skin. “The kid’s giving me a hard time with this one. And…” he pressed a few buttons, eyes focused on the screen before him. You watched his features intensely, as though his expression would give the answer away before he could say it. Pete’s eyes broke from the screen as he smiled, lifting the wand. “You’re having a little girl. Congratulations.” 

Your heart swelled, a wide smile overtaking your features as Pete handed you a towel. “A girl,” you whispered, eyes locked onto your belly. 

Before you were able to stop yourself, you were once more reminded of the likelihood that you’d never be able to share this with Daryl. Tears welled along your waterline as you sat up, swiping the scratchy cloth across your belly. Whether Pete noticed or not, he made no indications. You were thankful for it, and for him leaving the room to put the ultrasound equipment away. 

When he came back inside, he pulled Denise from her books and into the kitchen to talk, but you paid no mind to them. They were talking too low for you to listen in, anyway, and you were too busy trying to quell your emotions on the makeshift examination table to want to eavesdrop. 

By the time you were ready to leave, Olivia entered the infirmary, eyes scanning the room before landing on your frame. 

“Y/n, they’re on their way back,” she smiled, and you nodded gratefully. 

“They’re okay?”

The woman nodded. “Eric’s a bit banged up, hurt his leg I think, but otherwise they’re fine. And they brought a group. They should be getting here soon.” 

Exhaling a relieved breath, you slid from the bed, bidding goodbye to Denise and Pete as you followed Olivia onto the street. You walked side by side in silence, mulling over what she’d said. 

“You said they brought a group?” You asked, following Olivia up the steps to the house that held all of your inventory. “How many?”

Olivia huffed, brows cinching. “Deanna said it was a big one. That they had a lot of weapons, been on the road a while.” 

Your eyes widened. “A while as in the entire time, or?”

“Not sure,” Olivia shook her head. “All I know is I gotta get the weapons cart to the gate, if you wanna help?” 

“Sure. Should probably be there to get Eric to the infirmary, anyway,” you decided. 

And, sure enough, Aaron helping a limping, sweating Eric through the gate was the first — and for now, only — glimpses of the new group you would get. Aaron smiled apologetically as he spotted you, tucked out of view from the newcomers. 

“What the hell happened to you?” You said, looking pointedly at Eric, who grimaced as you took his arm from Aaron. 

“Roamers,” he sighed. “It’s broken, I think.” 

“You think?” You asked, eyeing the bruising flesh. “I can tell it’s broken. Come on, let’s get you to Pete.” 

Aaron thanked you as you wrapped an arm around Eric’s waist, helping him up the road and back into the infirmary. 

As Pete worked to wrap Eric’s ankle, you couldn’t help but ask questions about the trip. 

“It was a disaster,” Eric groaned. “There were roamers everywhere. Plus, this group, they’re headstrong. Been out there a while.” 

“How many of them are there?” You asked. “Olivia didn’t tell me.” 

“Fifteen,” Eric hissed, squirming as Pete positioned his ankle properly. 

Your eyes widened, throat going dry. “Jesus,” you huffed. “That many of them and they’re still going?”

“With a baby,” 

“Oh my God,” you gasped. Your mind flashed with images of baby Judith, heart clenching. The fall of the prison meant that you never found out exactly who made it out alive, and you never dared to venture the thought of whether or not she did. “They must be some lucky sons of bitches.” 

Eric laughed. “Not only are they lucky, but they’re tough. And really close. I think, once you get used to them, you’ll like them. They remind me of you when we found you.” 

“So, scrappy, hungry, and tired?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Eric laughed, and you couldn’t help but do the same. 

“If you need me, I’m four houses down.” Aaron pointed, Rick and Carl following his line of sight. “If I’m not there, Eric or Y/n probably will be.” 

Carl’s eyes snapped back to the brunet, a mixture of confusion and skepticism floating within them. “Y/n?”

Aaron’s brows furrowed at the boy. “Yeah. She’s a friend of ours, came here a few months back. Why?”

“We, uh…” Rick stepped in, a hand scratching at his beard. “We used to know someone named Y/n. that’s all.”

“Oh,” Aaron nodded, stepping away and heading back home, where you and Eric were sitting at the table, sandwiches in hand as you giggled about something he wasn’t aware of. 

Upon his entrance into the kitchen, you stood excitedly and hugged the man. “Glad you’re back okay,” you said, heading back to your chair. “I heard the group you brought was tough.”

“Yeah, they are.” Aaron chuckled, still mulling over the puzzle pieces in his head. “You said you were with a big group before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Aaron huffed, glancing at his shoes. “I brought up your name to one of the new members — just a name, nothing else — he said they used to know someone with the same name.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, limbs freezing as you were bringing the sandwich to your mouth. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to put the food back down, looking up at Aaron with shining eyes. “This man, what’d you say his name was?”

“Rick. Rick Grimes.” 

If your heart had been fluttering before, it was banging like a drum in your chest now. Your stomach fluttered, your hand coming to rest on the swell of your belly, hoping to quell the anxiousness. 

“Where are they?” You asked, and Aaron’s mouth only remained agape. “Aaron, where are they?”

“Down the street,” he finally said, voice cracking. “The house on the curb, the one you said you liked.” 

Within moments, your food and friends were abandoned as you practically ran from the home, shooting down the porch steps and down the street. You were thankful that no one was out and about right now, or you were sure they’d think you looked crazy. You didn’t even register a person in your path until you’d already bumped into them. 

“Oh! Y/n, are you alright?” Jessie asked, her hands on your shoulders as her eyes searched your wild ones. 

“‘M fine, Jessie.” You muttered. “I’ve gotta go.”

You gave the woman no time to respond before you were wriggling out of her grip and hurrying down the street. Up more steps, you were greeted by the charming yellow door of the home you’d wished you lived in, knuckles rapping frantically and unyielding on the wood. 

The door finally, after what felt like decades, creaked open. Your heart stopped in your chest as you took in the sight of your husband’s best friend, clean shaven and hair dripping from a recent shower. 

Rick’s eyes flooded with tears as they met your own. In seconds, you were pulling him into your arms, grateful that you weren’t the only survivor of the Governor’s wrath. 

You sobbed into his shoulder, gripping tightly to the clean white shirt he wore. “Rick,” you croaked, “is he—” 

“He’s fine,” Rick whispered, heart breaking when your sobs worsened out of pure relief. “He’s just fine.” 

When you finally found the strength to let go, Rick led you inside. “We thought you were dead,”

“There were times I wished I was,” you said, taking a seat at the edge of the couch. “I was by myself for just over a month. Found some train tracks, lost ‘em, then stuck to interstates, mostly. Got lost in the woods, found a small town, and from there, Aaron and Eric found me. I’ve been here for two months.” 

Rick huffed a laugh, disbelief filling the sound. “Sounds like you had one hell of a trek.”

“I had a car, for a bit.” You shrugged. “Walkers ruined that part. I crashed it into a tree. Stuck to walking after that.” 

“When did you…” Rick glanced down at your swelling belly, forcing a laugh from you. 

Shrugging, you smoothed your hand over your belly. “Four-ish months ago. Didn’t find out until I got here. Been terrified ever since, really. Not knowing if Daryl was out there, if I’d see him again.” 

“You’ll see him soon,” Rick assured you. “He’s talking to Deanna now.”

“And the others?” You asked. “Beth? Judith?”

“Judith is just fine,” Rick said, eyes leaving yours as he sighed. “Beth got caught out in Atlanta. A woman in a hospital killed her.”

Your stomach churned at Rick’s words, guilt crushing your lungs and bile rising in your throat. “Oh, my God,” you whispered, pressing your fingers to your mouth to try and stop yourself from throwing up. 

Rick nodded, resting a hand on your knee. He watched you stand, your arm resting over your belly, beginning to pace the floor before him. 

“I have to… I need to go see the others. Daryl.” And without another word, you were leaving Rick behind in an unfamiliar home, nearly running down the familiar path to where Deanna and her husband lived. 

The group milled about in the small courtyard in front of Deanna’s house, hidden behind the brick walls that fenced it in. Everyone was either sitting or leaning against something, sticking to a tight group, and completely blocking your path to the inside of the home. 

With your mind so set on seeing Daryl, on simply getting close to him again, you failed to register Carol saying your name. Once again, you were pulled from your thoughts only when someone was right in front of you. 

This time, Carol was pulling you into her arms, her grip on your body tight. You hugged her back, despite the sweat and grime that covered her. Soon enough, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, and Sasha had joined her. You were surrounded by your family, all overwhelmed at your presence, but happy nonetheless. 

When you finally requested to be let go, they obliged, and you finally spotted Judith in the arms of someone you didn’t know. Relief flooded you, seeing the baby healthy and happy as she could be. 

“What happened to you?”

“We thought you were dead!”

“Are you okay?”

“Guys, I’m fine, I promise.” You chuckled through tears. “I’ve been here almost the whole time, and I’m perfectly healthy. The doctor said so this morning.” 

You smiled as Carol’s eyes drifted from your face to your belly, shock overcoming her features, before her smile matched yours. She said nothing, but you were sure everyone else was either figuring it out or partially aware, just based on the interaction alone. 

A loud scoff echoed from the porch door, followed by low, gravelly muttering. Your heart stopped at the familiar voice, before thrumming in your heart like a rapid drumbeat. There, walking with careless ease, picking at his thumbs, was your husband, covered head to toe in layers of dirt and grime. You choked a sob as the group seemed to part around you. 

“Daryl,” you croaked, just loud enough for him to hear it. 

Daryl paused at the top of the steps, his eyes locked onto yours through the hair he’d let grow too long. In a flash, he was down the stairs entirely, rushing to pull you into his arms. You met him in the middle, colliding with his body and bringing you both to the ground. With one hand cupping the back of your head and the other splayed between your shoulder blades, Daryl cradled you close to him, rocking you as you clutched to the leather vest on his back tighter, sobbing in his embrace. 

“I thought ya were dead,” he whispered, fingers digging into your back. “I thought I lost ya,”

A choked sound escaped you as you shook your head. “Never,” you promised. “You could never lose me.” 

“Yer necklace,” Daryl croaked, tucking his face into the side of your head. “I found it, on the tracks in Georgia. Thought ya were gone…” 

“It fell.” You said, words hushed and shaking, as though they were a desperate plea. “Walkers were coming for me, too many for me to take on myself. It snapped off in the fight, I couldn’t go back for it.” 

By the time you felt okay enough to stand on your own, everyone had departed from the courtyard, likely into Deanna’s home. With a vice grip on his arms, Daryl helped you stand. His eyes raked over your face, tear-stricken and flushed with emotion. No matter the state you were in, Daryl could never see you as anything other than utterly beautiful. 

“You’re okay?” You asked, hands gently brushing the hair from his dirt-caked face. “You’re not hurt?” 

Daryl shook his head, leaning into your delicate touch. Hands smoothed over cloth, over skin, dedicating the feeling of your body beneath his touch to memory. He watched your eyes flutter closed as he did so, relishing in the slight pressure of his palms against your skin. They slid down your hips, your waist, and Daryl’s brow furrowed. He’d committed your body to memory long ago — every curve, every bump, every scar. Slowly, and with a hand that was less steady than it had been a moment ago, Daryl’s fingers drifted delicately over your front, eliciting a small gasp when he found what he’d suspected. 

The sound forced your eyes to open, meeting the bright blue of his own, widened in shock. Immediately, your stomach churned and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, a habit you’d been unable to shake since high school. 

“Daryl?” Your voice shook. 

“Yer…” he breathed, eyes darting down to where the backs of his fingers rested, the slight swell of your stomach confirming what he’d been about to ask. “When’d you… did you know?”

“No, no…” you whispered gently, shaking your head. “I had no clue when… I didn’t know until I got here. I suspected it on the road, but… no, I didn’t.” 

A shaking breath fell from his lips. “And yer okay? Yer both— both okay?”

“We’re just fine,” you smiled, resting your palm on his cheek. “I promise. Your girls are just fine.” 

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat, a new wave of pure emotion rolling through his body. It seized his muscles, freezing him in place as he struggled for breath and blinked away tears. Girls. He was going to be a dad. He was going to have a daughter. 

“Ya have no idea how much I love ya,” Daryl muttered, his head dipping low, forehead resting on your shoulder. 

“I think I have a clue or two,” you joked, voice as soft as you could make it.

Daryl scoffed, lifting his head and pressing his lips to yours. It was short, shorter than you would’ve liked, but it carried as much love as all the other kisses you’d shared and stolen with the archer over the years. Still, he was here, and he was safe, and so were you. Nothing else mattered except that. 

The horrifying reality you’d thought yourself to be in was nothing but that — a mere thought. For now, you and Daryl were safe. Together. As a family. 

And you knew that, as he slipped the necklace back onto your skin, this time on a leather rope tied tight, there was nothing either of you wouldn’t do to stay that way. 

forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

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[formylovetodaryldixon]

"His only one." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

You are his only one, Daryl told you that the day you got married, that's why you don't mind the neighbors' blatant flirting with your husband, but the third time's the charm, and at that moment, you make clear to that woman that his ass belongs to you (literally)

A/N: Someone here asks for someone to write about Daryl and the flirty neighbors making him feel uncomfortable haha ​​so this is my failed attempt, although it made me smile a little so I hope you like it at least a little, too. Thanks!

The first time it happens, you let it go.

It's not that you don’t care, but you know that a relationship is built on trust, and if there is one person you trust even after someone had put a blindfold on you, that’s Daryl. Daryl was quiet most of the time, but his personality was actually very funny after you saw who he really was when you two were alone, when you saw his true self behind his crossbow and the way he used to push others away for fear of getting too attached. But when Daryl became open about showing his own vulnerabilities, only with you, it was so easy to fall for him, plus, the love and shyness in his gaze every time he saw you coming was sweet—a love only reserved for you.

After Daryl let you in, you realized he had a lot to offer as a person with a good and brave heart, so willing to protect others even if it put his own life at risk. Daryl was always a good company: he spoke little but paid attention, remembering even the smallest detail that you swore was unimportant, just because to him, everything related to you was important. But when he asked you to marry him along the way, that was a big surprise. However, you found a shelter in his arms, a real home with him: and maybe because his gaze always made you trust that there would be no one else, you never doubted him even after you saw how the neighbors turned to look at him. Maybe it was also because everyone was focused on his exterior, on that almost pornographic image that Daryl was, (with his broad shoulders, his arms in that sassy sleeveless shirt, and that face that seemed carved by God when HE was in a VERY good mood) but no one paid attention beyond the obvious, so you never felt threatened.

Now, slowly, like a pretty moving photograph, the sun starts to hide away in the infinite horizon, painting the calm sky of that new world with beautiful shades of orange. The end of the day is quiet on your home, with your husband sitting on the porch steps, carving an arrow because several are never enough, Carol on the wooden floor close to you while she solves another crossword puzzle, and you, rocking lazily in the rocking chair, eyes and mind on the book you managed to find in the last search for supplies.

A comfortable silence abounds in the air, until Miss Ellie walks by on her way to her own home.

"Hi, neighbor." She practically purrs, with a bright smile and the way the corner of her lip curls like a kitten's.

Like meerkats when danger is latent, the three of you raise your heads (almost in a comical way) to see her walking away, watching her lowering the hand with which she had just greeted Daryl, and only Daryl: although his first reaction is to look in your direction, like he’s asking for help to understand what the hell was that. You know Daryl has a tough exterior, but his personality, when it came to accepting flirtations, almost reached the point of stuttering.

“Wait a sec, weren't there three of us here?” Carol asks, frowning playfully.

“Yeah… did we suddenly become Casper the damn Friendly Ghost or what?” You chuckle, turning your attention back to the book. “Not to state the obvious, but I think the neighbor has a crush on you, love.”

Carol chuckles too, but your disinterest in the matter and his best friend's mockery makes Daryl frown even harder.

“Whatcha waitin' for, woman? Go over there an' defend yer husband’s honor.” He says with a swing of his hand.

Carol shrugs, agreeing with him.

“Well, she just looked at Daryl like he was a piece of meat, (Y/N).”

You nod, but you don’t even bother to look up.

“I know. But going there would only prove Daryl has some interest in her, and since I know he doesn’t, I don’t see why I should bother.”

Daryl scoffs, but he knows you are absolutely right, so he returns his attention back to the arrow.

“I see yer not even the slightest bit afraid of losin’ me, woman.”

Carol chuckles at your silence.

"Yeah, (Y/N), I mean, Daryl's such a great catch, especially with his gruff personality."

You chuckle.

“I know. I know the neighbors have been staring at him ever since we arrived in the community, but I don't blame them because, look at him..." From top to bottom, you point at him with one hand, still paying attention to the words in the book. "Daryl is like walking porn."

Carol laughs, longer this time, but your unfiltered words make Daryl blush under the sunset as he keeps his eyes down, still carving the same arrow.

The second time it happens, you are a little far to say something.

At the end of the day, you arrive last to the community meeting after your rotating job at the infirmary, taking your place against the concrete wall in Deanna’s backyard. Alexandria’s head keeps talking, directing people and you pay attention for a moment, until your sight catches the image of Mary several steps away from you, who is probably one of the most striking neighbors, and the way her mischievous fingers try to touch the exposed skin of Daryl’s bare arm as she keeps trying to make a conversation with him, who looks like a kitten cornered in an alley by a pack of dogs, while giving her weird looks that she doesn't seem to notice.

The comparison makes you laugh, but you stifle the laughter with a gentle smile when some of the neighbors in front of you turn around. Waving back, they turn their attention to the front, and you keep your eyes ahead too even after you feel your husband’s presence next to you, after a very short while.

“What did I miss?”

Daryl shrugs.

“The same shit as always. How was work?”

“Quiet, just two people with a cold and a baby who came for his second vaccine.” You try to keep a calm expression as you speak your next words through a softer voice. “You are a grown ass man, Daryl Dixon, and yet you looked terrified of a small woman.”

Embarrassed, he grunts.

“Whatcha want me to do? Fight her? That’s yer job n' ya ain’t doin’ it.”

You chuckle.

“I don’t fight over a man, love, never did, never will.”

Daryl crosses his arms over his chest, eyes still ahead.

“I forgot ma wife is the most unbothered person in this damn world.”

You chuckle again.

“There are priorities even in this life, my dear husband, but if you want, next time we go on a supply run we can take her with us, and something mysterious can happen to her. We can make it look like an accident.”

You’re joking and Daryl knows it, so he chuckles, the corner of his lips curling adorably.

When the meeting is over and everyone returns to the safety of their homes, you and Daryl are one of the first to leave, walking side by side to your house that is almost on the other side of the community. The weather is warm during that season, and for the first time in a long time, the night doesn't grow deeper, darker or scarier. However, your gaze travels from the moon to your hand when you feel your husband's on yours.

You frown, making an amused expression.

"What are you doing?"

Daryl mimics the look on your face.

"What? I can't take ma wife's hand?"

He scoffs, making you shrug while looking ahead again, but you know that some neighbors are behind you two, with Mary between them since her house is close to yours.

You know why he's doing that like never before. Daryl is reserved with his married life, always keeping his displays of affection within four walls or while being alone with you, too shy and slightly awkward to let other people see how needy for your love he became sometimes.

"But… uh, ain’t yer job to mark yer territory or some shit like that? Like, make it clear to her that m’ yer husband?"

You frown playfully, looking back at him.

“I'm not a damn dog, Daryl. Or do you want me to pee on your leg?"

A little surprised, Daryl chuckles.

"Yer really not worried? Or slightly jealous?"

You shrug again.

“No. I mean, I trust you, but if you start bringing squirrels just for her, that’s when I will get worried. You are like those cute penguins who bring the most beautiful stone to the love of their life: believe me, the squirrels are your stones.”

Daryl chuckles again, letting go of your hand only to slide it over your shoulders and pull you into him, doing it because he wants to.

The third time it happens, you intervene.

A few minutes earlier, you walked out of your house to sit on the rocking chair with a sandwich on a plate, eager to continue with your book after a successful supply run. Daryl and Rick took the lead to leave the things found in the community warehouse, walking down the street towards your house about half an hour later. But too engrossed in old poems from the last century, you miss the way Daryl is intercepted by Ellie two houses away, until the voice of one of your family members catches your attention.

"Aren't you going to save your husband, (Y/N)?" Rick chuckles, standing near the porch steps. You follow his gaze, lingering on the way that every time the female neighbor tries to make a subtle step, Daryl takes one back. “Please, do, this went from being funny to being sad.”

You roll your eyes, leaving the book aside.

“Fine.”

“Wait... are you going to fight her?” With his gaze slightly more open, Rick stands there as you walk past him. “Because I've seen you take out walkers for less.”

“Goodnight, Rick.”

He chuckles, walking towards his own home.

Maybe it's your height, maybe it's the way your gaze turned serious, with a quiet but menacing personality when the occasion called for it, but there's something about you that makes the neighbor take a step back when you stop next to them, slapping your husband’s butt playfully but shamelessly, almost making him jump in place.

“Whatcha doing, buttercup?” You smile at him, with his surprised look on you, even after you turn your attention to Ellie. “Hi, neighbor, I didn’t see you there like you didn't notice me last week when you greeted my husband. Ellie, right?”

She nods, surprised by your calm outburst.

“Don’t be scared please, I’m not going to hurt you, although, I could, you know? But I just wanted to ask you nicely not to try to suck all the air out of my husband’s face because you make him uncomfortable, and he’s not going to do anything about it, but I will: trust me, I’ve killed people for less, so imagine what I’d do for his ass, which is mine, so… yep, I guess that’s it.” Keeping the cutest smile you can muster, you take Daryl’s hand to make him walk with you. “Say goodbye to the neighbor, sweetheart.”

As all words have left Daryl’s mind, he simply waves goodbye once. And he lets himself be guided in silence until you’re within the four walls of your home, but once the door lock has clicked and a second after you let go of his hand, he catches it again to pull you towards him, lifting you up in those strong arms of his until you have no choice but to tighten your legs around his waist.

Daryl is smiling, in the way he only does with you.

"Fuck, woman, I dunno if m’ scared of ya, impressed, or turned on."

You chuckle, holding his face in your hands.

"Your ass is mine, Dixon, why do you think I married you?"

He chuckles along with you, before pressing his lips to yours.

@fluffy-dixon

[daryltwdixon]

Could you do bicep choking 🌚🙈

Daryl Dixon x Reader Grip

Summary: You let something slip—just a thought, just a passing comment—but Daryl hasn’t been able to shake it since. A week later, the tension between you reaches a breaking point.  tags: smut MDNI 18+, awkward pining, pinv, breast play, praise kink. awkward daryl & fmc, bicep choking obvi a/n: hello my love! thank you so much for this request and for your patience. in a second ask, anon did specify that they meant Daryl bicep choking. fair warning, I did not reread this a ton / proofread much. please lmk of any mistakes/errors!

The sun hangs low over the trees, heat pressing in heavy as you weave through the abandoned gas station, boots crunching softly over broken glass. Daryl moves a few steps ahead, bow slung across his back, knife in hand, moving with that effortless quiet of his. Always aware. Always in control.

And his arms.

You tell yourself you’re just paying attention—watching his movements like he watches everything else around him, staying alert. But your gaze keeps catching on the shift of muscle beneath his skin, the way his forearms flex when he grips his knife, the lazy tension in his biceps every time he lifts his arm to wipe sweat off his brow.

You shouldn’t be looking.

But it’s hard not to.

Especially when he plants a boot on a fallen shelf, using his weight to pry open a rusted metal door. The strain makes his muscles coil tight, veins standing out just enough to make you swallow hard.

"Well?" His voice snaps you out of it.

You blink. "What?"

Daryl jerks his chin toward the darkened storage room behind the door. "You goin’ in first or what?"

Shit. You’ve been staring.

"Yeah. Right. On it."

You step past him, ears burning. The space inside smells like old rot and motor oil, a few overturned boxes scattered around. You crouch, rifling through some supplies, heart still kicking too fast. It’s stupid. You’ve been on runs with him before. But something about today—the heat, the silence between you, the way he’s been rolling his shoulders like his muscles are wound too tight—has you hyper-aware of every damn thing he does.

A tin of peaches clatters loose from a shelf, and you reach for it at the same time he does. Your fingers barely brush his, but the contact is enough to send a jolt up your arm, like static crackling under your skin. He pauses. Just for a second. And when he draws back, you swear you catch the flicker of his gaze sweeping over you before he looks away.

You can feel your pulse in your throat.

You should let it go. Should get back to work. But the words are out before you can stop them.

"You ever—" You hesitate, pulse hammering, but you push through. "You ever, I don’t know, choke somebody with your arms before?"

Daryl stops. Slowly, he turns his head toward you, eyes narrowing just slightly. His bicep shifts as he adjusts his grip on the tin in his hand. "The hell kinda question is that?"

Shiiiit. You fucked up.

But instead of retreating, you force yourself to keep looking at him, tilting your chin up just a little. "I just mean, you’re strong." A shrug, like it’s no big deal. "Bet you could hold somebody down real easy."

Silence.

Then, Daryl exhales through his nose, shaking his head. But there’s something in his expression—something flickering behind his eyes, sharp and considering.

He tosses the tin into your hands and mutters, "You’re weird." and walks away.

═════════════════════════

Back at the prison, dinner is quiet, the usual hum of conversation mixed with the occasional scrape of utensils against tin plates. Most people are too tired to talk much, a day of tending to the gardens, cleaning out cell blocks and keeping walkers at bay making everyone look forward to the slower evenings. The air in the hall feels thick with the kind of exhaustion that settles deep, making everything feel slow, heavy.

You should be eating, but your stomach isn’t interested.

Because Daryl’s staring at you.

You haven’t looked at him, not really since you got back, but you can feel it. That steady weight from across the room, the burning of your ears, it makes it almost impossible to keep your stomach from doing somersaults. 

You should’ve kept your mouth shut on the run. Should’ve swallowed the words down, let them die in your throat. But no—you had to go and say it. Maybe it was your stupid hormones, the way he seemed to speak to some primal part of you that evolution put in your dna, maybe it was just some stupid impulse you couldn’t control. Either way, it’s too late now.

Not like it meant anything.

Except, if it didn’t, why was he still looking at you?

Your fingers tighten around your fork, but you don’t move to take another bite. Instead, you stare at the food on your plate, willing yourself to focus on anything other than the way your face feels too warm, the way your pulse is pressing a little harder than it should.

Maggie shifts in her seat, nudging Beth’s arm. “You good?”

You blink, glance up. Beth tilts her head, studying you, while Maggie smirks like she already knows something you don’t.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost today or somethin’,” Maggie says, “The run go that bad?”

“N-no,” you stammer, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, “It went fine. Got a lotta good stuff, actually.”

Maggie hums, unconvinced, and you watch as her eyes flicker behind you when she says, looking back at her plate, “Looks like someone’s got a little crush.”

The fork slips from your fingers, clattering against the plate, “I do not!”

But your reaction is what does it– it’s too sharp, too defensive. Beth startles a little, but Maggie just stares, slow realization spreading across her face as you lock eyes with her.

“I was only kiddin’." she says incredulously, "I meant the grouchy archer sittin' across the room, he keeps starin’ atcha.” she shakes her head, eyes lighting up. “But I see I’ve been mistaken.” She leans in. “You like Daryl?”

Your stomach drops.

Beth gasps, slapping Maggie’s arm. “Oh my god.”

Your face is on fire. “I don’t—”

Maggie grins. “Holy shit, you totally do.”

Beth’s trying to stifle a giggle. You shake your head fast, like that’ll help, like it’ll undo the last five seconds, but it only makes Maggie look even more certain. You can feel the walls closing in, feel their eyes on you, but worse—you can still feel his.

It’s too much. You push your plate away and mutter a quiet, “Not hungry anymore,” before standing and heading for the stairs, their laughter echoing behind you.

You don’t look back, because if you were to turn around and find those ocean blue eyes still on you, it would be your undoing.

═════════════════════════

The book in your hands is old, pages yellowed and brittle at the edges, the spine cracked so deep you have to be careful when you turn the pages. You’re not even sure what it’s about. Something about a man lost at sea. Maybe.

You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for the last ten minutes.

It’s not that it’s boring. It’s just that your mind refuses to focus.

You shift on your cot, tugging the blanket over your lap, trying again, but it’s useless. Your brain keeps circling back, over and over, to dinner. To Maggie’s knowing grin, Beth’s giggles, and—worst of all—Daryl.

You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling sharply. You should’ve never said anything. Should’ve kept that stupid thought locked away where it belonged.

A quiet scuff of boots outside your cell makes your stomach jolt. There’s a pause, then a hesitant knock against the frame of your open door. Not loud or rushed, more like a question.

You look up.

Daryl stands in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, head slightly ducked. His shoulders are hunched, like he’s already thinking about leaving before he’s even fully stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

Then, he clears his throat. “Didn’t know ya read.”

You blink. It’s such a small thing to say, but something about the way he says it, like he’s searching for an easy way in, trying to settle into the conversation, makes your stomach tighten.

You glance at the book in your lap. “Yeah. Helps pass the time.”

Daryl nods, his eyes flicking around the small space of your cell, like he’s looking for something else to comment on, something to delay whatever it is he actually came here for. Between your haphazardly taped posters and handmade streamers, he doesn’t find anything, so instead, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, exhales through his nose, then finally says:

“That thing you asked me.”

Your stomach drops. Of course. You should’ve known that was why he was here.

Your fingers tighten around the book, but you shake your head quickly. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry if I made you–”

“You think I can?” he asks, huffing.

You frown. “Think you can what?”

His jaw tenses, and when he speaks again, it’s lower. Almost cautious. “Forget it.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He shrugs, but it’s not casual. It’s forced. “Ain’t exactly somethin’ you just let go of.”

Your chest feels too tight all of a sudden. You can’t quite place the look on his face—something careful, something guarded, like he’s trying not to let on that it’s been sitting in the back of his head since you said it. What went through his mind when you asked him?

You shift on your cot, swallowing. “Daryl, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

His gaze flickers, just barely. “Yeah?”

You nod, but something in the way he’s looking at you makes your throat dry out. He still doesn’t seem convinced.

“You think that’s what I am?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge there, frustration starting to rise in his voice. “Some kinda animal? The kind of man who would kill someone with–” he shakes his head slightly, jaw clenching. “You think I’m like that?”

The realization hits you hard. Your stomach twists. “Daryl, no,” you say quickly, sitting up straighter. “That’s not—”

He shakes his head again, looking at the floor. “Wouldn’t blame ya.”

Your heart kicks against your ribs. “That’s not what I meant.”

Daryl exhales, folding his arms over his chest, still avoiding your eyes. “Then what did you mean?”

You hesitate. Because now he’s looking at you. Not guarded, not distant—just waiting.

Your fingers press into the book in your lap. This is your chance to brush it off. Laugh it away. But you can already feel the heat creeping up your face, and Daryl is still standing there, still waiting, and if you don’t say it now, he’s just going to keep thinking the worst.

You shift slightly. “I meant…” Your throat feels tight. “I meant in bed.”

Daryl blinks.

His whole body stiffens, like his brain short-circuited, like the words hit him sideways and he can’t quite recover. His face is already turning red, slow at first, then creeping all the way up to his ears.

Your own face burns, and you clear your throat, pushing through the embarrassment. “I meant—if you’d ever choked someone in bed. With your arms.”

A silence falls over the room. A long, unbearable silence.

Daryl shifts, dragging a hand over his mouth. He scratches the back of his head, looks anywhere but at you.

Finally, he exhales, mutters, “Jesus,” under his breath, then huffs out a quiet, almost nervous laugh.

Your stomach clenches. “I know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s—uh. That’s what ya meant?”

You nod quickly, still burning. “Yeah.”

Daryl looks at you for a second. His fingers flex slightly at his sides, like he’s thinking too hard about where to put them.

Then, after a long pause—his voice comes out quieter.

“You’d want me to?”

Your stomach drops.

Your eyes snap to his. “What?”

Daryl shrugs, but it’s forced, like he’s trying to play off how red his face still is. “I dunno. Just—” His mouth twitches slightly, like he can’t believe he’s even saying this. “Sounded like somethin’ you were real curious about.”

Your breath catches.

He’s not teasing, not quite—but there’s something in the way he says it, something light, something almost amused. Like he’s surprised at himself, surprised at you, but now that he’s said it, he’s not taking it back.

Your mouth opens, then closes again. Your hands are way too warm.

“I wouldn’t—” you swallow. “I wouldn’t not want you to.”

Daryl huffs out another soft laugh, shaking his head, glancing toward the hall like he’s wondering how the hell this conversation ended up here.

Then he looks back at you, eyes a little sharper now, lips twitching.

The heat in your face flares as he just chuckles under his breath, rubbing at his jaw before he steps back toward the door.

“Get some sleep,” he says, still smirking.

He turns, but not before you catch it—just the slightest flicker of something in his expression.

Something knowing. Something interested.

And when he finally walks away, you can’t do anything except stare at the empty doorway and try to remember how to breathe.

═════════════════════════

The past week has been unbearable.

It’s not like anything has happened, not really. No one has said anything, no lines have been crossed, but the air between you and Daryl hasn’t been the same since that night in your cell.

It’s in the way his eyes catch on you more often now. The way he lingers a little too long before walking away. The way your skin prickles when he’s nearby, too aware of the space he takes up, too aware of how small you feel in comparison.

And now, you’re on another run together.

“Last one went well,” Rick had said, shoving packs toward both of you. “Might as well stick with what works.”

The drive into town is quiet. Neither of you talk much, just like last time, but it’s not the same. There’s a different kind of weight, and you’re grateful that the open road on the motorcycle leaves little conversation to be said over its echoing roar.

When you finally reach an old pharmacy on the outskirts, the sun is starting to climb higher in the sky, heat burning your neck and the pavement glimmering.

Inside, dust clings to everything, thick in the air. It smells stale, like old paper and time left to rot. Shelves are overturned, bottles and boxes scattered across the floor.

You do your job, scanning for anything useful, but your focus keeps slipping.

Because every time you glance up, Daryl is there.

He’s not doing anything different. Not saying anything. Just moving through the space like he always does—quiet, efficient. But somehow, it feels like every single movement is deliberate. Like every shift of muscle under his skin is something you shouldn’t be watching, but you are.

The dust-covered counter at the back of the building gives you something to focus on, something to do besides thinking about the weight of Daryl’s gaze. You hop over the counter and crouch down, scanning the lowest shelf, rifling through half-empty boxes of medication, checking for anything still worth taking back.

A prickle of awareness crawls up the back of your neck.

It’s not the usual kind of awareness you get on a run, not the instinct that tells you someone—or something— dangerous is lurking nearby. It’s different. Warmer. Closer.

When you stand, a bottle of pills in your hand, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Daryl is right there, barely a foot away, standing between you and the only way out.

Your breath stutters. He doesn’t usually get this close without reason.

He’s blocking the exit, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trapping you—it feels like he’s stopping himself from walking away. His weight shifts between his feet, his arms twitch like they want to cross, but he doesn’t move, just watches you with something unreadable in his eyes.

Your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hand. “Wha—what’s up?”

Daryl doesn’t answer at first. He just looks at you, quiet and considering, something simmering beneath the surface. His teeth catch against the corner of his lip for a second, his fingers flex at his sides, but it’s like he still hasn’t worked out how to say whatever it is that’s sitting heavy on his chest.

Then he exhales through his nose and mutters, “Can’t stop thinkin’.”

His voice is rough, like the words have been stuck in his throat all day.

Your pulse jumps. “Thinking... about what?”

He shifts again on uneven footing, glancing toward the counter before dragging his gaze back to you. The moment stretches, thick enough to smother, before he finally speaks again.

“Since last time,” he mutters, voice quieter now. Your stomach flips. He shakes his head, almost to himself. “You got me all fucked up, girl.”

It’s not frustration, not really—it’s more like exhaustion, like he’s tired of pretending that something between you hasn’t changed. And when he steps forward, closing the last bit of space between you, your body reacts before your brain catches up.

Your back hits the wall behind you.

The old metal shelving is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him. He’s so close now, close enough that you catch the faint scent of pine and sweat clinging to him, close enough that every nerve in your body locks up, unsure whether to tense or melt.

His arms come up, hands bracing against the metal on either side of you, and suddenly you can’t look anywhere but at him.

Your breath feels too shallow.

Daryl dips his head slightly, breath warm against your cheek, and you hear the way he inhales, slow and deep, smelling the remnants of the apple shampoo you used days ago. 

“S’not like I haven’t thought of ya before.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and your lips part, but you don’t know what to say. You can barely think straight with him this close, his voice this low. He smells of musk and leather and summer sunshine, something distinctly masculine and Daryl all at once. His words sink in, heavy and real, and before you can even process them, he huffs a quiet breath, shaking his head against the side of yours.

“Thought of ya a lot, actually.”

Your stomach twists, heat flaring under your skin.

Daryl pulls back just enough to look at you, and that’s when you see it—the way his pupils are blown, the way his breath comes slow and measured like he’s still holding something back. His jaw is tight, his fingers flex slightly against the metal, and you don’t know whether he’s waiting for permission or for you to push him away.

“Say somethin’,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel in your ears. “Please.”

You reach up then, your hand trembling slightly as your fingers brush along his jaw, skimming over the uneven scruff growing in patches on his face. He exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you trace up along his cheekbone, down the side of his neck, feeling the tension there, the way his pulse beats strong beneath your fingertips.

“I think of you a lot too,” you finally manage to say, and it’s barely louder than a whisper.

His eyes open, still blown wide as they flicker between yours, then drop to your lips. His breath is slow, measured, like he’s forcing himself to hold back.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s more than just a response—it’s permission, it’s consent, letting him know that whatever he’s thinking, whatever’s been running through his mind, you want it too.

And like you’ve just cut the cord that’s been wound too tight between you, he pushes forward, his lips crashing into yours with urgency.

You’re surprised just how soft his lips are, how gentle he tries to be, but the way he moves is anything but hesitant. There’s no testing, no waiting—he’s done holding back, done second-guessing. He kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like it’s something he’s wanted for too damn long, and you can’t help but act in equal fervor.

Your fingers tighten against his jaw, then slide up into his hair, gripping, pulling. He groans into your mouth, the sound low, wrecked, sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through you. His hands move without restraint now, gripping at your waist, fingers pressing into your hips, pulling you closer like the space between you is unbearable.

You barely register the sharp clatter of bottles knocked from the shelves as your back presses harder against the metal. Daryl doesn’t seem to care. If anything, the mess spurs him on, makes him more reckless, more desperate.

He kisses you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your legs weak, makes your stomach tighten. He’s breathing hard, fingers digging into your sides, body pressing fully into you now, until there’s nothing between you but heat and friction.

His lips drag from your mouth down to your jaw, then lower, his breath hot as he murmurs against your skin. “Been losin’ my mind over you all damn week.” His teeth catch on the pulse in your neck, not biting, just grazing, making you shudder. “Longer than that, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Your nails bite into his shoulders as he kisses lower, pressing into the spot just beneath your jaw, the one that makes your breath hitch. His hands are everywhere—roaming, gripping, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips brush against bare skin, warm and rough, and you arch into his touch without thinking.

“Daryl…”

He groans at the way you say his name, a quiet, broken sound that sends a deep shudder through his body. He presses his forehead against yours for a second, breath ragged, like he’s trying to steady himself but failing. Then his hands tighten on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter of the pharmacy.

You gasp softly, but he’s already between your legs, already pulling you flush against him, the heat between your bodies unbearable. His lips are on yours again, claiming, devouring, his hands moving up your thighs, squeezing, gripping like he can’t get enough.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you kiss him harder, the urgency between you growing into something more frantic, more consuming. His hands slide beneath your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, and you shiver as his palms drag over your ribs, rough and warm.

His mouth leaves yours just long enough to mutter against your skin, voice thick with something wild, something unraveling. “You sure about this?”

Your only answer is to pull him back in, crashing your lips to his, fingers fisting in his shirt as you tug him closer, needing him, needing more.

That’s all he needs. His shirt is gone in the next instant with yours following suit, and the moment the fabric is over your head, his lips are on you again, everywhere. You arch into his touch, heat rolling through you as his mouth works down your neck, trailing over your collarbone, then lower. Each kiss leaves behind something electric, something you feel everywhere, and when he drags lower still, down onto your bare chest, his lips and teeth and tongue worship everywhere but where you want him most.

Your breath hitches, your hands restless, gripping at his arms, his shoulders, his hair—anywhere you can reach, anywhere you can pull him closer. He’s between your legs now, his body solid, burning against yours, his hands gripping your thighs, fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back.

You look down at him, ready to beg, but the sight of him wrecks you.

Daryl between your legs, his lips on your skin, mouth open, breath warm as he stares at you like he’s never seen anything like you before.

Any coherent thought vanishes the moment his lips close around your nipple.

A breathless moan leaves your lips as his tongue flicks over it, hot and slow, sending a deep ache curling low in your stomach. His rough fingers knead your other breast, rolling and pinching your sensitive skin in just the right way, his touch deliberate, like he’s learning you, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

You arch into him, pressing closer, needing more, but he keeps the pace slow, like he’s savoring every second, like he wants to soak in every feel of your body against his. 

His tongue swirls over the sensitive bud, lips tugging gently before he soothes it with another slow flick, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His other hand stays firm on your breast, rolling, kneading, fingers rough with callouses as he works you over with slow, steady intent. It’s almost too much, yet not enough, and you feel yourself tilting between the two sensations, every nerve in your body locked onto the way he’s touching you, kissing you, like he never wants to stop.

You’re barely aware of your own sounds, the quiet gasps, the soft moans, the way your hands dig into his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing him closer. His mouth moves lower, lips dragging down your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, gripping your waist like he’s grounding himself.

Then, just when you think he’s going to keep going, he stops.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling, lips slick and parted. His hands squeeze at your waist, thumbs brushing slow over your skin, and he swallows, throat bobbing as he exhales through his nose.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, thick with something dark, something unfiltered.

Your breath catches.

You do as he says, shifting, dropping your feet to the floor and gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself as you twist in his hold. The air feels even thicker now, hotter, your pulse hammering as his hands slide over your hips, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

His palms press firm against your lower back, tracing down to your waist before his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. There’s no rush in the way he tugs them down, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every new inch of skin he reveals. The scrape of fabric against your thighs sends a shiver rolling through you, and when they finally pool at your ankles, his hands smooth back up, gripping, kneading, pulling you back into him.

A sharp inhale leaves your lips when you feel him press against you, his breath warm at the curve of your neck. His fingers flex at your hips, gripping tight, like he’s still trying to hold himself back, like he’s at war with the need running through him.

“Goddamn,” he mutters under his breath.

You don’t have time to respond before his lips are on your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, hands gripping you tighter, pulling you flush against him. The heat of him seeps through you, burning into your skin, your body molding against his like you were always meant to fit there.

Then, slowly, his hand slides up.

You barely register the shift before the weight of his arm is curling around your neck, firm but careful, forearm bracing across your throat, holding you in place. The solid strength of his muscles—it’s everything you imagined, everything you tried so hard to ignore when the thought first crossed your mind.

A low, rough chuckle rumbles against your ear.

“This what you wanted, ain’t it?” His voice is gravel, wrecked, thick with something primal as his breath ghosts along your jaw. His hold tightens just slightly, just enough to make you shudder. “My arm around this pretty neck?”

His words send a shudder through you, pooling heat low in your stomach as your hands grip the counter harder. His arm is thick around your neck, a steady weight that makes you dizzy with want, and when he tightens it just slightly, enough to make you feel it, a whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Yes,” you breathe, voice barely there.

Daryl stills for half a second like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. Then he makes a noise low in his throat, something rough, something wrecked, and his grip on you tightens.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice thick, warm, almost tender in contrast to how strong he feels behind you. His nose brushes against your jaw, his lips grazing over your pulse as his other hand trails lower, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your hip. “What a sweet thing you are”

The praise sends a jolt through you, your breath catching, fingers twitching against the counter as he shifts behind you. Then you hear it, a belt coming loose and buckle clattering to the floor with the jeans he was wearing and suddenly you feel him– heavy and thick as he nudges against you, the heat of it pressing right against your slick entrance.

Your whole body tenses, then melts, nails digging into his arm where it rests against your throat. 

Daryl lets out a slow, shuddering breath, nipping lightly at the edge of your ear before murmuring, “Christ, barely touched you and you’re all wet. This all for me?” His hips press forward again, slow, teasing, and you let out a quiet whimper, pushing back into him without thinking. His cock notches into you then, and you both let out a sudden gasp.

“That’s it,” he praises, lips pressing against the shell of your ear, his voice low and soothing and coaxing as his cock sinks deeper into you. “You’re so damn good. Feels good, don’t it?”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him talk like this before, soft and filthy all at once, like he’s pouring everything he has into the way he touches you, the way he holds you. You nod, swallowing hard. “So good, Daryl.”

His breath turns heavier, warmer against your skin as he pulls you back onto him, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch as he buries himself inside you. His grip tightens at your hip, steadying you, holding you exactly where he wants you, but the real weight—the one that sends a full-body shudder through you—is his arm, still firm around your neck. You back arches against him, leaning into the muscles of his forearm as he holds you into the crook of his elbow.

“There you go,” he rasps, his voice strained, wrecked. His hips rock forward again, sinking deeper, stretching you, and a ragged moan slips from your lips. His grip flexes, and he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, lips warm, tongue flicking against your pulse before he nips at it, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. “Knew you’d take me so good.”

Your nails dig harder into his arm, fingers curling around his wrist where he holds you, your breath hitching as he starts to move. Slow at first, testing, drawing himself out before pushing back in, each roll of his hips deliberate, each thrust pressing deeper, setting a rhythm that already has you unraveling.

His arm around your neck tightens, just slightly, just enough to make your next breath stutter, to make the heat between your legs coil tighter.  His breath is hot against your ear, rough and ragged, the tension in his body coiled so tight you can feel it thrumming through his chest, through the arm braced around your throat.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, his voice raw, nearly pained as he rocks into you. "You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me."

His hips move with slow precision at first, teasing, working you open, dragging out every sensation like he wants you to feel him, to know that he’s the one making you come apart like this. His fingers dig into your hip, pulling you back onto him, the blunt head of his cock pressing deep with every thrust.

"Been thinkin’ about this," he murmurs, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Bout how tight you’d feel, how fuckin’ perfect you’d take me. You feel that, baby?" He drives into you harder then, pushing you flush against the counter, stealing your breath with the sheer force of it. "Feels better than I ever imagined."

Your nails claw at his arm, breath ragged as his grip tightens just slightly around your neck, just enough to hold you there, to keep you at his mercy. His hips snap into you then, harder and faster now that you’ve adjusted to the sheer stretch of his cock. 

"Shit," he groans, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw, sucking at the delicate skin before biting down, his voice going strained. "You like this, don’t ya? Bein’ held like this? Wrapped up in me, nowhere to go."

You whimper, pushing back into him, chasing the heat, the pressure, the way he’s unraveling you piece by piece.

His free hand slides down, dipping between your legs, his fingers finding you slick and swollen, rubbing slow, purposeful circles that make your knees shake.

"Fuck, look at you," he mutters, pressing his forehead to the side of your head, his breath coming harder now. "Gettin’ all worked up, takin’ it so damn well." His fingers flick over your clit, pressing just right, and you let out a broken moan. "That’s it, baby. Let me hear you. Been dreamin’ ‘bout these sounds."

His thrusts grow rougher, deeper, and the tension in your belly coils tight, too tight, everything building.

Daryl feels it.

"Yeah," he breathes, his voice shaking now, wrecked with how good you feel around him. "I know, sweetheart. Feels like your body’s beggin’ for it, huh?" His lips drag over your jaw, his hips pounding into you now, chasing that high. "Wanna cum all over me, don’t ya?"

The coil snaps at his words, white-hot and blinding as his arm tightens, stealing the breath from you completely. Your entire body goes taut as pleasure crashes over you, so sharp and overwhelming as your lungs scream for air. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing tight, and Daryl groans deep in his chest, his rhythm going sloppy, erratic.

"Shit, you’re milkin’ me, baby," he groans, his fingers moving to grip your hips, "Goddamn, you feel like fuckin’ heaven." 

He holds you, hips pinning you against the counter as he buries himself deep, shuddering against you as he spills inside you.

His hold around your neck finally eases, his hand smoothing over your collarbone, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against the side of your neck as both of you come down together.

"You alright?" His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges, but there’s something tender in it, something real.

You exhale shakily, your body still humming from the aftershocks, a slow, blissed-out smile creeping across your lips. "Yeah. That was… that was so hot."

Daryl huffs out a small, breathless laugh, pressing a lingering kiss against the side of your neck. His hands keep roaming, slow and absentminded, smoothing over your waist, tracing lazy circles along your hips, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

"Yeah?" He nuzzles into your shoulder, his lips grazing your damp skin. "Ain’t never tried it before." His voice is warm, a little smug, but softer than before, like he’s still coming down from it too.

You hum, stretching slightly against him, still pressed chest to back. "Me neither. Somethin’ about you, Dixon."

Daryl makes a sound deep in his throat, something pleased, something almost knowing. His fingers tighten just slightly at your hip, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw before he murmurs, "Ain’t gonna be the last time, neither."

“Promise?” you chuckle, turning in his arms to snake your hands around his neck.

Daryl smirks, slow and lazy, his breath warm against your skin as he tilts his head, letting your fingers slip into his hair. His hands slide lower, resting at the curve of your back, holding you against him like he has no intention of letting go.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough but sure. "Promise."

His lips find yours again, softer this time, slower, like he’s savoring it, like he’s already thinking about the next time, about how he’ll take his time with you, about all the things he wants to do.

[daddydixonscrossbow]

It was early in the morning. You hear the door open a few second after Dog jumped down off the bed.

That meant one thing - Daryl was finally home.

He had been on a run for the last two days, and you missed him like crazy. You pulled yourself out of bed, padding over to the door and walking down the steps.

Daryl looks up at you while scratching Dog’s head, “Didn’t wake ya, did i?”

You shake your head, “No. I haven’t been sleeping well since you left.”

He quietly tells Dog to get down before walking over to you, pressing his lips to his, “M’home now, go get some sleep, baby.”

You nod, yawning as you turn back around, “C’mon, Dog.”

“Go get mom. I’ll be in in a minute, boy.” Daryl motions for Dog to follow you and he does. He stands at the top of the steps, waiting for you to reach them before running in and jumping on the bed.

A little bit later, you heard the bedroom door push open and close quietly. Daryl chuckles as he sees Dog laid up under your arm and slowly climbs into the bed behind you.

“Ya asleep?” Daryl whispers as he moves to press his body against yours, his arm laying over your waist. You let out a sigh, “No, but I will be here soon.”

He plants a kiss on the back of your head, “I love you.”

You smile, turning your head so you can get a real kiss, “I love you. M’glad you’re home safe.” He nods, reaching up to brush his hand over your hair, “Me too.”

Here’s a kiss for likin’ and rebloggin’💋

[janiehellion]

𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Daryl Dixon was a quiet but curious young man—shy, inexperienced, and way more innocent than you’d expect. It was just you, him, and... a vibrator.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Virgin!Daryl Dixon ⋮ Smut ⋮ Language ⋮ Cunnilingus ⋮ Sex Toys ⋮ Mention Of Drugs & Alcohol ⋮ Dub-Con

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 6.925 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: Pre-Apocalypse AU 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑩𝒚: @dixongrimesgirl

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

The Chattahoochee was a whole different level of disgusting, even for a bar so close to the deep woods of Georgia. Low ceilings, broken lights, and the smell of piss and beer were present in every corner. Regulars stumbled in every night and day, a lot of them already drunk or high, but most of them?

Both.

It was the kind of place that was sticky no matter how much bleach you poured on it and where you could smell the bad life decisions coming from a mile away.

You worked behind the bar, pouring shots of moonshine and avoiding the greedy touches of men like it was just another part of the job. Which, in a place like this, it practically was. Located in the heart of the most godforsaken area of Georgia, it was the perfect place for the kind of people you’d rather not run into at any time.

Safe to say, Merle Dixon had been hitting on you since day one, coming at you with even worse pickup lines while high on who knows what. He'd lean over the counter, smirking, smelling like alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. "Hey, sugar tits, gimme 'nother," he’d laugh, putting a half-torn dollar on the bar like it was supposed to impress you.

"Watch the damn language, Dixon, or that’ll be your last drink for tonight," you’d answer, not even looking up as you poured him another shot.

"Hey, c'mon now," he’d answer you, "don't be like that. Ya know ya wanna gimme a shot at somethin’ else, don't ya?" He'd grin further, which seemed more lustful than charming, his eyes staring at your tits like they belonged there at all times.

You'd roll your eyes and shove the glass across the bar with a little more force than necessary. "In your damn dreams, Dixon. And keep your damn eyes up here, or I’m gonna rip ‘em outta your damn skull," you’d warn, but not entirely without sarcasm. It wasn’t the first time he behaved like that, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Then there was Daryl, his little brother, always standing or sitting nearby, almost like a shadow, or rather, like someone who didn't belong in a place like that. He wasn’t the type to come up and throw a pickup line at you; hell, he barely spoke at all. Just stood back while Merle tried to flirt with you, as if he was embarrassed to even be there.

You’d catch Daryl looking at you with these sideways glances, his arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for whatever bullshit his brother might do next. Or maybe he was scared, and he just had no clue what to do with a girl who would throw a bottle at someone's head and talk filthier than any man in the bar.

One night, Merle was high on meth that had his pupils blown wide, and he was drunk as always. "Y'know, darlin'," he slurred, leaning far over the bar, "I could make your night real fuckin' interestin’. Got a little somethin' else with me that’ll loosen ya up for some fun." He took out a tiny baggie—powder—white and unmistakable.

"Fuck off, Merle," you said with a smirk. "Go snort that shit somewhere else, where I don’t have to watch your annoying ass. Ain't your damn babysitter." You were used to it, but he was starting to piss you off more than usual. "And don’t even think about offering it to anyone else inside this hellhole. Last thing I need is you getting the whole damn bar high. Do that outside, with those who are probably shitting all over themselves right now."

Meanwhile, Daryl was sitting on a stool nearby, again, his eyes looking from you to his brother. You couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable he looked, the way he watched Merle and every other person around. There was always something different about him—he was quieter, more... soft. The kind of guy who stood back and kept his head down.

"Leave 'er 'lone, Merle," Daryl mumbled, more to himself than to his brother. But he seemed to be sick of the whole scene. Not that Merle ever listened, or would ever listen to him.

No, Merle just rolled his eyes before shoving the baggie back into his pocket, not even looking in the direction of his brother, keeping his focus only on you... and your tits. "Don’t worry, sweetheart. Just tryin’ to show ya a good time for once." He grabbed his drink and stumbled off, probably to piss in a bush outside, and you were left with Daryl, who still just sat there.

Some time later, you grabbed a dirty rag and started wiping the bar down, side-eyeing him. "You gonna say somethin’, or just keep sittin' there?" You teased, soon throwing the rag under the counter and pouring him another drink.

He shrugged, looking away, clearly not sure what to do with himself. "Ain’t like I could stop him if he tried anythin’," he mumbled, looking down into his glass.

"If he tried, he'd go home without his dick. Not that it'd make much of a difference for him," you said back, smirking at him and trying to get him to loosen up a bit. "You come here just to watch me shut him down every night?"

It was a half-serious question, but you knew the answer. Daryl wasn’t like the other assholes—he didn’t hit on you, didn’t try to grab your ass or tits when you passed by, and never once called you some stupid nickname like sugar tits.

"I… jus' end up 'ere," he said awkwardly, his fingers tapping down on the counter. "Ain’t got much else to do."

"Well, at least you’re not tryin’ to snort coke off my tits or ass," you answered, making him go red in the face.

He opened his mouth to reply, but the words seemed to be stuck in his throat, and you couldn’t help but find it kind of adorable.

"You know, since you come here enough, Dixon 2.0," you continued, "might as well help me close up sometime and throw the rest of these assholes outta here. Would get you a drink on the house."

It was just a passing suggestion, a simple idea, but his eyes looked up, like he was considering it, and for once, he actually looked into yours. Not in that drooling, perverted way his older brother did, but with curiosity. "Maybe," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dunno."

"You know what? Just think about it."

And so, the routine went on. Merle would walk in, and Daryl would sit nearby, quietly sipping his own drink while keeping an eye on his brother. And secretly, on you.

Tonight, though? Tonight was different. Somehow, you’d gotten him here, in your home, alone, without Merle, who was probably stinking of booze and piss all over again somewhere. His brother must have gotten his hands on something strong, or whatever it was, it gave you the perfect excuse.

You’d leaned in close while Daryl was mumbling about his brother and told him he should come over; maybe help you with something, and you told him it was important. You hadn’t even needed to lie all that much—he’d just nodded, eyes wide and nervous, and here he was, following you home like a little boy.

When he got to your place, he just stood there, all tense, and moving from one foot to the other like he didn’t know where to put himself. And you—well, you liked watching him squirm and being nervous, knowing well you were the one making him feel like that.

Daryl wasn’t even in the door for five seconds before you threw your bag on the floor, walking inside without saying anything else. No pretenses, no "make yourself at home." You didn’t bother with shit like that. If he was here, he was here on your terms, and you weren’t about to treat him like a guest.

"C’mon in," you said, standing next to the door to finally close it.

You saw him gulp, eyes looking around like he was searching for a quick exit he could use just in case, but finding nothing but trouble. So he nodded, stepping in, his shoulders hunched as he stood there, awkward as hell. Every inch of him screamed that he was nervous, but he didn’t run, not yet. You liked that about him. Quiet, sure, but still stubborn.

Meanwhile, your place was kind of a mess, clothes lying around, bottles on the tables—some empty, some half-full. A few were left over from last week, but hell, you weren’t cleaning for anybody, especially not for him. Daryl didn’t seem to mind, though; if anything, he looked like he was trying hard not to stare around too much, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his face all red once more, while you kicked off those awful heels that made your feet ache.

"Go on and sit down in my room," you said over your shoulder as you turned around, smirking as you heard his quiet huff. "I'm gonna get outta these damn clothes and put on something more comfortable."

"'Kay," he muttered and nodded again, sounding like he’d swallowed his own tongue.

Once in the bathroom, you pulled off the way too tight top and short skirt in the bathroom, letting yourself breathe for once. That outfit was a real curse; your bra always felt as if it was pushing your tits all the way up to your chin, but it kept the tips flowing, so you kept wearing those clothes.

But tonight? You’d rather die than let Daryl see you in it for too long. Poor boy was already chewing the inside of his mouth and choking on his own words like he might say the wrong thing and die on the spot.

But what you didn't know was that the second you went away to change your clothes, Daryl’s hands started twitching, like his body was on alert between curiosity and unease. A few of your clothes were tossed across the bed, smelling like that bar you worked at—smoke, sweat, and alcohol. It all felt like a place he shouldn’t be at, but here he was, sitting down on your bed and touching your clothes to shove them aside.

He told himself he wasn’t snooping, just trying to figure you out as he sat there nervously. Hell, you were already a mystery to him—a tough girl working in a bar where skirts and shorts barely covered what they ought to and heels high enough to bring any man to his knees.

So here he was, and his mind started running wild, wondering if every woman’s place was like this—half-dirty, with clothes tossed around, magazines piled up, and so much more.

Then his eyes landed on a big box sitting half-shoved under your bed, an open corner poking out like it had been forgotten as his foot bumped against it. He should’ve left it alone, but there was that itch, like he couldn’t look away. Daryl crouched down, sitting down on the floor, his fingers fumbling with the top until it opened up. His eyes went wide, lips parting as he looked inside.

It was filled with... things. Smooth, soft, strange-looking things in different shapes and colors, each one making him more confused than the last.

"What's this stuff?" He whispered, eyes squinting as he picked up a small pink thing with a rounded end. It fit in his hand, smooth but with some weight to it. "This for her... work?" He mumbled, rolling it over in his hand like it might magically turn into something he recognized. Maybe it was a tool, or even one of those weird bar gadgets he didn’t know about.

Another catch of something sparkly and soft shoved down in there made his heart beat faster, and before he knew it, he was pulling out more—the things looking weirder by the second. There was a wand-looking thing, and he held it like it might explode, wondering what the hell you were doing with all this.

"Drugs? Gotta be for drugs," he muttered, frowning as he inspected the box. Could be some kind of injector, maybe? He knew about that stuff—the guys that Merle met sometimes, passing around different things for the good times. But nothing here made sense, and there wasn't any instruction manual in sight.

He looked around like you’d come back any second and catch him, heat burning inside of him as he thought about what this meant. Were you hiding something? Was it… Was it for some kind of secret thing you did when no one was around?

"Damn it, what’re ya up to?" He said, biting his lip, his hand brushing over the surface of the smooth, strange thing, feeling his pulse race at the thought that you did know exactly what these were for.

And yet he didn’t. Not a damn clue.

"Hell’s this?"

He felt a cord between his fingers, pulling it slightly, as if tugging on it might magically make it make sense. Maybe it was for listening to music? But it had no sound, and no little earbuds or anything that he could see.

Setting that one down, he picked up another—an oblong thing with ridges along one side. It looked almost like a flashlight, but there was nowhere for the light to shine from. He pressed his thumb over it, turning it this way and that, but nothing happened.

"What the hell?" It had to be for something specific. You wouldn’t just have random stuff lying around like this for no reason, would you?

Then he found another, rounder one, with a strange little button on the side. He pressed it, flinching a bit when it buzzed all of a sudden. The damn thing nearly jumped out of his hand, and he held it tight to stop the vibrations.

"Damn thing’s possessed," he nearly yelled, feeling his cheeks burn. It felt... weird. Too weird.

And you? You had barely slipped into the bathroom, taking off your work clothes and enjoying the idea of how Daryl would squirm alone for a moment in your bedroom. The way he’d stumbled his way in earlier, not wanting to make eye contact like he didn’t know what to do with his own hands? It was almost way too easy to tease him.

And there he was, practically glowing red, sitting next to the box you kept under the bed. A simple big box—hell, he was behaving so cautiously, like he’d just discovered a bomb or a dead body. But what really caught you was the thing in his hand. A vibrator.

"Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me," you whispered, loud enough for him to hear. His head moved up, eyes wide as if he’d just been caught robbing a bank.

"Shit!" The vibrator fell out of his hand, hitting the floor, but that was only the start; the thing started buzzing further—vibrating across the floor and right toward your feet. Daryl didn’t move; he didn’t even reach for it. He just sat there, staring at the buzzing vibrator like it was going to bite him.

"Gonna tell me what you’re doin’ with my stuff?" You asked, half-amused, half-teasing, waiting to see what half-assed excuse he’d come up with, as you leaned against the door frame. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out at first.

"I… uh—" he stammered, swallowing loudly, his hands fidgeting like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. "I thought… I mean—thought it was, like, stuff for..." His voice trailed off, eyes looking to the ground, too ashamed to meet yours.

"Yeah? Stuff for what?" You pressed further, stepping forward, taking the vibrator and turning it off, stopping the noise but not the look of pure mortification on his face.

"I… thought it might be, y'know... Maybe it was, uh, y’know, things for... for bar stuff, or somethin’. Yer work." His voice was quiet, like he might get in trouble just for saying it out loud.

"For work?" You laughed and crouched down to sit next to him. "Yeah, Daryl, because every bartender needs a vibrator in her kit. So… You wanna tell me why you’re snooping, or am I just supposed to guess?"

You reached over, brushing a hand along the edge of your toy box, taking in the way his eyes tried to look at each item inside. Poor boy had no clue what half of it was for, but he looked at everything like it might burn him.

"Am sorry! I wasn’t… Jus'… waitin’ on ya an' got curious, I guess," he murmured. "Didn’t mean nothin’ by it."

You leaned in closer, enough that he could probably feel your breath on his face. "Curious, huh?" You asked, eyeing the way his shoulders tensed up. "You don't know what that stuff is?"

"Uh…" He blinked, looking between you and the vibrator like it might suddenly start buzzing again. "Not… really. No."

"Oh, you really don’t?" You pretended to be surprised. "It’s a toy, Dixon. A fun toy. For women. And men sometimes as well."

"That for real?" He asked, voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

"As real as it gets, sweetheart. And judging by that look on your face, I’d bet you don’t have much experience with this sorta things." You raised an eyebrow, daring him to admit it.

He swallowed hard, his eyes dropping back to the floor. "Ain’t never… really..." He trailed off, his whole face full of embarrassment.

"Never what?" You asked, leaning in so close you could smell the cigarettes and sweat on him, and somehow, it drove you wild. "Fucked a woman? Or even fucked yourself, huh?"

"I—" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, a sound that told you everything you needed to know. "I don’t… don’t really know… how… t'do any of that."

"Oh, honey." You leaned back a little. "You look like you’re about ready to pass out."

Daryl trembled, trying to look anywhere but at you, his whole face burning. "I—I jus'… I dunno what to do with... all that," he continued, motioning awkwardly toward the box.

You smirked, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. "Guess no one’s shown you how a woman uses one of these before, huh?" You watched his reaction, loving every little deep breath he took and every embarrassed flinch.

"N-no… But what if... maybe they could've been... for, uh, drugs?" His face somehow went even more red, and he looked ready to sink into the floor.

"Drugs? What, you think I’m hiding some kind of dealer setup in my own bedroom? And especially right under my damn bed?" You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Trust me, they’ll get you high, alright—but not the way you’re thinkin’."

The embarrassment on his face was almost painful to watch as he shifted on the ground. "Like I said, I—I don't... Ain’t never done stuff like that before, okay? I—I mean, I done that with myself... sometimes. But not really... okay?"

You smiled, letting your fingers move over his, watching as his breath stopped, his eyes looking up to meet yours for a desperate second. "Well," you murmured, "maybe I could show you a thing or two. If you’re up for it, that is."

Daryl swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he glanced between you and the box again. He indeed looked like he was about to pass out, but he seemed curious—curious in a way that he couldn’t quite hide.

"Oh, c'mon, I know you want to," you whispered, clicking your tongue, standing up, and taking off your shirt slowly. His eyes looked up fast, staring at you, and he shifted on the spot, pressing his thighs together. That’s when you noticed the growing bulge in his pants—it was more than obvious he was already hard as a rock.

"Damn, Dixon," you chuckled, "you’ve got a real problem, don’t you?" You let your shirt fall down to the floor. "Hey, don’t just sit there looking lost—c’mon, no way you're that scared of undressing a woman!"

He stammered something, some half-strangled "n-no," his hands gripping his own thighs like he had to hold himself back from reaching for you. That only spurred you on, raising your brows as you grabbed him to stand up and guiding his trembling hands to the hem of your pants.

"Well, here’s your chance," you smirked, waiting for him to open the button. You watched his fingers fumble with it, shaking as he pulled down the zipper, and then, when he managed to pull your pants down over your hips along with your panties, his eyes widened like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

"Keep goin’, don't be shy," you whispered, guiding his fingers down your thighs until your clothes hit the floor.

He just stood there, staring, mouth opening like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next. You leaned in close, eyes locked on his, before you knelt down again and took the vibrator out of the box once more, pressing the button and letting it hum.

His eyes shot to the toy, watching with pure terror and fascination, and when you pressed it into his hand again, he held it like some foreign, sacred object he was too scared to break.

"Here," you mumbled, laying down onto the bed, legs spread just enough to give him a view he couldn’t tear himself away from even if he tried, before you pulled him next to you and guided his hand between your legs, pressing the vibrator to your thigh and dragging it higher. "Just like that, Daryl. Feels interesting, doesn’t it?"

Daryl could barely breathe, staring down as if hypnotized, the muscles in his whole body tensing up. When you moved his hand to press the vibrator against your pussy, you felt him stiffen, his other hand gripping his thigh to stop himself from trembling. The toy was vibrating against you, and you let out a quiet, satisfied sigh, glancing up just in time to see the way his eyes stayed on you, watching every little twitch and shiver of your body.

"I bet you’re a quick learner," you teased, reaching down to guide his hand again, moving it with the toy so it hit just right, and damn, if it didn’t feel good. His mouth fell open a little, and he sucked in a breath when you suddenly moaned, pressing yourself harder against the vibrator. His hand moved a bit awkwardly, like he didn’t quite know if he was supposed to be touching you this way, but the look in his eyes said he wanted to keep going more than anything.

You let out another moan, a little louder this time, just to see the way he reacted. His grip on the toy tightened, and you didn’t miss the way he was fighting with himself, clearly struggling to keep himself in check as his cock pressed harder against his pants, his breath coming out faster and shorter.

"Poor thing," you whispered, pulling his hand away for a moment, just to watch him struggle. "Bet you’ve never been this hard, huh?" Daryl's eyes looked at you, wide and mortified, like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. But the look he gave you—so desperate, so needy—only made you want to push him further.

"You wanna see what this thing can do to me?" You asked, not giving him time to answer as you pressed the vibrator into his hand again and guided it back between your legs. "Just keep it steady, like that. Right there." You rocked your hips against it, letting out a shaky breath as the lust built itself up inside of you, still watching as he clung to every little sound that left your lips.

Daryl's eyes were glued to you, his mouth open, and you noticed the way he kept moving his hips, trying to get rid of his hard-on. But no matter how much he squirmed, it wasn’t enough. He was near leaking through his pants by now, his cock being so hard he couldn’t think straight, and the sight of you practically coming undone in front of him had him on the edge himself.

"Feels good, doesn’t it, Dixon? But... don't you want to feel that too?" You taunted, moving your fingers along his wrist, pushing him to press harder and the toy just a tiny bit into you, wanting to let him feel every little tremor that wracked your body. He just nodded, lost for words, breathing hard, his eyes moving between your face and the way your hips bucked against his hand.

"Keep going, just like that," you urged, and he obeyed, pressing the vibrator a little harder, his other hand softly brushing against your thigh as if he needed something to hold onto to keep himself from falling apart. His face was so close now, so flushed, eyes wide with need, lips parted as he struggled to keep his breathing steady.

"Y’know, Daryl," you moaned, "you’re doing a hell of a job for someone who’s never touched a woman before, not even with toys." His face burned, but he kept going, kept pressing that toy against your pussy, completely mesmerized by the way you reacted.

"You like watching me, don’t you?" You murmured, letting out another moan that left him swallowing hard. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed... that you can’t keep your eyes off me and how damn hard you are."

He tried to come up with a response, something about "I... I didn’t mean to..." but his words trailed off, and he was just there, helpless, utterly at your mercy, his hand tightening on the toy as you let out one last moan that left him breathless and staring, before you snatched the vibrator from him and clicked it off.

The little tremor it left in his hand was nothing compared to the way he stared at you now, still holding onto that last bit of control.

"Think you can do it without help?" You asked, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand to your pussy and to make him feel how wet you were, his fingers twitching as they moved along your folds. Daryl nodded but was holding on for dear life and trying not to slip.

"I... I dunno," he mumbled, eyes glued to your pussy.

"Oh, for the love of... here," you growled, placing your hand over his, guiding his touch lower, rougher, until you dragged his fingers exactly where you wanted them. But Daryl was a mess, barely holding himself together, his other hand still clamped over that hard bulge in his pants as he lay there beside you.

"Now, watch closely," you instructed, pressing his fingers just the way you liked it. "Doesn’t take much, does it?" You smiled, letting your free hand move down his chest, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. "Bet you’d come just feeling me touch you."

He whimpered, the outline of his cock pulsing through his pants, a wet spot already forming itself. It didn’t take much to notice the hesitation in his every move, making him so easy to toy with.

You leaned back a little, pushing your tits forward. "Go on and position yourself over me," you dared, and as soon as he did, you lifted his other hand from his bulge to your tits, watching as he sucked in a breath, his hand shaking as if he were holding something he had no right to touch. "Ever felt these before?"

Daryl shook his head, still wide-eyed, his eyes looking into yours for a second before dropping back down, like he was afraid to look too long.

"Then make the most of it." You reached down, pressing his other hand harder against you. "I want you to use that mouth of yours now," you smirked, pushing him down to press his lips against your nipples. His breath was warm and shaky, and he hesitated, his mouth just an inch away from you. You raised an eyebrow, daring him, and after a long, deep breath, he finally leaned in.

"That's a good boy," you praised, your fingers running through his hair, feeling him shiver under your touch. He was so damn easy to play with, each little whimper and moan only turning you on more, urging him to suck and lick, his tongue slow but eager, desperate for more.

"Gently," you ordered, glancing down to see him lose himself, his hands now touching you like he didn’t want to let go. The poor guy was panting, his eyes squeezed shut as he sucked and kissed your nipple, as if the sight alone would push him over the edge.

You soon moved your hand down, feeling the outline of his cock through his pants, feeling him flinch, his breath stopping as you gave him just a bit of what he wanted. "This what you want, Daryl?" You whispered, teasing him and squeezing his shaft just enough to make him groan, his hips bucking, desperate for more. "You do, don't you? But now, I want you to eat me out."

Daryl couldn’t even get out a response, his mouth still on your nipple, but the look in his eyes told you everything.

"Pathetic, but also really cute," you laughed, unzipping his pants just enough to reach inside, your fingers wrapping around his cock and making him gasp, his whole body tensing as you squeezed him. He was thick, hard, already wet from the pre-cum that leaked from his tip, and the way he moaned, quite high, only made you want to drag it out and tease him until he was begging to come.

As you quickly positioned yourself over his face, you could see how he was a nervous wreck the moment your ass hovered above him. "Oh, please, don’t just lay there. Get to work," you teased, lowering yourself down, your pussy brushing against his lips.

When he finally opened his mouth, it was like you flipped a switch. The moment your folds hit his tongue, he moaned, the sound muffled against you. It sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but grind against his face, pushing him harder against you.

"God, you’re a natural," you gasped, encouraging him with your hips. "Just like that, baby. Don’t be shy; use your tongue."

Daryl’s mouth worked hesitantly at first, but the more you ground down, the more confident he became. His face was buried in your pussy, the taste of you driving him wild as he licked and sucked, trying to figure out what made you feel good, and the way he looked up at you, eyes full of wonder and lust, only made you want to ride his face harder.

"Yeah, keep going," you panted, feeling your legs tremble as he finally got into a rhythm. "Good boy, just like that," you moaned, feeling the tension building inside you. He was so focused, so eager to please, and the way he hungrily licked and sucked made you see stars.

"Don’t stop, Daryl. I’m so close," you urged. "Yeah, that’s it," you moaned, pushing your hips down even harder. "Don’t you dare stop. Just like that—yes!"

The way he held your thighs, trying to hold you against him, and the way he whimpered against you—those sweet little sounds pushed you right over. "I’m cumming! Fuck!"

Your body tensed, and you ground down harder again, shaking and feeling him groan against your dripping pussy as you let go and came, completely lost in the moment.

You felt him drink it all in, and you knew he was just as lost as you were. The second you pushed yourself off his face and watched him, face red and lips parted, you could tell Daryl had no idea what to do with himself. Wide-eyed and panting, he lay there as if you’d just dragged him straight into some fever dream he wasn’t even ready for. He seemed so helpless as he tried to piece together the storm of feelings that’d just hit him.

"Still with me, Daryl?" You asked, letting your weight push him further into the bed. His eyes looked down between your legs, then looked away, like he didn’t have the courage to watch.

"Y-yeah…"

He shuddered, that helpless little whine slipping out as you leaned down, your mouth right over his. He was as stiff as a board beneath you, looking both horrified and desperately curious at the same time.

"Think you can handle more of this?" You whispered, one hand moving down and wrapping around his cock as you took it fully out of his pants.

"W-wait," he stammered, trying to close his legs in a last attempt to get some space, but you only held him tighter, giving his cock a slow, teasing stroke. It twitched in your hand, leaking all over your fingers like he couldn’t stop himself.

"Sweetie, look at you," you smiled, swirling a finger over the tip, just to watch him jerk, hips lifting up like he was begging. "So needy aren't we?"

Daryl let out another whimper, his face going beet-red, those shy eyes looking away once more as though if he didn’t look at you, he’d somehow be less mortified.

"Feels so good, huh?"

His whole body was practically trembling with need, and he was leaking—a lot. His cock throbbed in your hand, pre-cum dripping so much it smeared along your fingers.

"Damn, Daryl," you whispered, smirking as your fingers now teased along the underside of his cock. "Didn’t know you’d be this easy, really."

You soon leaned down, your mouth just over his cock; the slightest lick of your tongue along his tip pushed another bit of pre-cum out, and you couldn’t help but laugh, loving every bit of his need.

"Baby, look at you, leaking everywhere," you teased again, wiping the tip with your thumb before bringing it to your lips, licking off the taste. Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, you pulled back slightly before leaning up to kiss him, letting him taste himself on your lips.

It made him moan again, his hands reaching out to grip your body as if needing to ground himself. "P-please…" He whispered, but you didn’t give in just yet.

Instead, you reached down, grabbing your vibrator again. You saw the way his eyes narrowed, with pure nervousness all over his face, as you suddenly pressed the toy to his cock, starting at the lowest setting. The buzzing made him gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily against you as you dragged the vibrator along his shaft, right along that sensitive spot just under the head. Every time it brushed up and down, he leaked more against your hand, only making it messier.

"Oh s-shit…" He whimpered, sounding utterly wrecked.

With a smirk, you leaned back and held up the vibrator for him to see, his eyes following it, dazed, and lips parted. "I think that’s enough; otherwise you might explode on the spot," you said, watching his expression drop just slightly as he looked at you switching it off and tossing it back into your toy box all of a sudden.

Leaning up, you gave his lips a slow, lazy kiss, feeling him melt against you, even more needy when you pulled away and slipped back down. And damn if he didn’t start leaking more, a fresh drop of slick pre-cum glistening right there, just begging to be tasted.

"How sweet you are, Daryl," you murmured, slowly moving your tongue along the underside of his cock, not missing the way his hips jerked up instinctively, even though he didn't seem to understand why. One gentle lick. That’s all it took for him to be close again, and he was helpless against it.

"Just relax and enjoy it," you continued, letting your tongue move along the tip of his cock and the desperate little gasp of his driving you wild as he grabbed the sheets, practically sobbing as he tried to hold back.

You wrapped your lips around just the head, barely enough to count as anything. But to him? It was like fireworks going off.

"N-no, I—oh fuck, I can’t—" He breathed out as his head fell back, his body shivering under you.

And when you took him just that tiny bit deeper, that was it—he lost it. Hard. He tried to hold it, tried to push you back even, one hand weakly pressing against your head, but he was already too far gone. The orgasm tore through Daryl, overpowering him completely.

His whole body stiffened, a helpless cry coming from his throat as he finally lost it, filling your mouth with his cum as he came. Before he even had time to process it, you’d swallowed every last drop from his throbbing cock, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked back up at him.

He was still shaking, his mind clearly blown, and when he finally managed to look at you, it was with that same wide-eyed shock.

Daryl just lay there, still in shock, his body trembling as reality sank in. "D-did ya really jus'—" His voice cracked with disbelief all over his face as he tried to wrap his head around what just happened.

You smirked at him, leaning in close, your lips moving softly against his in a teasing kiss. "What’s the matter, sweet boy? Never had someone swallow your cum before?"

He quickly shook his head. "I—I thought ya might get pregnan' or somethin'!" He stammered in embarrassment, his mind racing with the wildest thoughts.

"Oh, cutie. You really think it’s that easy? I'm sorry, but that's not how it works," you laughed, nudging his arm, enjoying the way his shoulders tensed up like he was trying to hide from you. "What? Can’t even look me in the eye after that?"

He opened his mouth, but whatever words he thought he might stammer out just died right there, and his hand went up to scratch the back of his neck.

"I... I didn’ mean to..." he finally managed to say, his voice cracking in the middle, his face still as red as a tomato.

You raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t mean to what? Coming in record time?" You let out a sarcastic scoff, and he near cried, ducking his head as though it would save him.

"I-I dunno, I thought... I jus', I mean—" he stumbled over each word. "Jus' ain’t never been with... y’know, anyone... like that."

"No kidding," you replied dryly, watching him shrink even smaller, if that was possible. "Anyone coulda guessed that, by the way, you freaked the hell out." He winced at your words, but hell, it just made him look all the more adorable, laying there.

When you placed a hand on his thigh, he went stiff as a board all over. "Easy, Daryl," you murmured. "No one’s laughing at you... much."

"I-I’m... sorry," he mumbled again.

"Sorry?" You scoffed, tilting his chin up to force his eyes to look at you. "For what? That you came too soon, or that you actually loved it?"

He tried to look away, but your fingers held him in place. "Both, I reckon," he answered, his voice shaking. It was like he thought he’d done something wrong, like he needed to apologize for being human.

"Nothing wrong with it, Dixon. Means I sure as hell did it right." You laughed, running a thumb over his jawline as he stared back at you.

"Bet that head of yours is just spinning right now, ain’t it?" You said, half-mocking. "Poor, sweet Daryl, don’t know what to do with himself now."

It was easy to see what he still needed—what he wanted, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it. You didn’t have to guess, though. He was desperate for something more, desperate for you to just tell him what to do. It was obvious that he had no experience with women or anything like this, but it didn’t matter to you. If anything, it just made it better. You wanted him nervous.

"Hey," you said softly. "It’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed. Not at all." You could see that he wanted to apologize again, wanting to make up for how pathetic he felt.

"Tell you what," you said, kissing his cheek. "You’ve got a lot to learn, Daryl Dixon. But I think you’re gonna like it. You just need to stop worrying." His hands moved to your waist, but they were hesitant, unsure. "And me? Well, I’m not here to judge you."

You took his hands and placed them back on your body, guiding him again. This time, he didn’t hesitate much, but it seemed as if he was trying to copy the way you had guided him earlier, trying to find some way to make up for what had happened. But that, for now, was enough.

"Don’t worry," you said, grinning at him, "I’m going to teach you."

Because you would. And he had no choice. Maybe that was what you liked most. The way Daryl needed you now, the way he didn’t even know what he wanted, but he was willing to follow you with your help along the way.

And he was only going to fall deeper.

[ddixonsangel]

⟢ just thinking about how fucking desperate needy!daryl would be for you.

he’d be a total wreck — sweaty, breathless, already whining before he even got his pants down. his cock, flushed an angry red, would be leaking precum like a damn faucet, his slit glistening, pulsing, begging for a touch that wasn’t his own. his hand would wrap around himself in a tight, punishing grip, pumping with fast, frantic strokes, but nothing he did would ever match the heat of your skin, the softness of your thighs, the sweet little sighs you’d make. he hasn't had the opportunity to taste your delicious body, but he's damn sure it would feel like heaven on earth.

his breath would hitch, stuttered gasps falling from parted lips as his hips bucked into his fist like an animal in rut. his balls ached, heavy and tight, and every nerve in his body screamed for release, but it still wasn’t enough. not without you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” he'd mumble, voice hoarse and ruined. forehead pressed to the mattress as he fucked his own hand like it could somehow feel like your tight warmth.

you were all he could think about — the way you said his name, slow and syrupy like it tasted good on your tongue. those little sundresses you wore around the porch, your thighs peeking out just enough to make his stomach twist. your damn smile, the way it lit him up like he was worth a damn. like he wasn’t just some broken, redneck man jerking off alone in the dark.

god, you had no clue the chokehold you had on him. no clue how he’d gone back home after passing you in the street, cock already half-hard from the sound of your laugh alone. like some needy, shame-ridden teenage boy who couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty girl next door.

his strokes would get faster, rougher, as shame curdled low in his belly — but it didn’t stop him. he couldn’t stop. he wanted to drown in the filth, to let your name fall from his lips as he came like a fucking mess.

and when it hit — god, it hit hard. his body jerked as thick, hot ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles, his thighs, dripping down his wrist while he moaned your name like a damn prayer. he didn’t stop. couldn’t. even as he whimpered from overstimulation, hips jerking, cock sensitive and twitching in his sticky grip — he kept going, like he was trying to squeeze the last drop of you out of his ruined body.

only when his head finally dropped back to the pillow, chest heaving, did the guilt hit — but even then, all he could do was imagine what your cunt would feel like if you ever let him fuck you for real.

✧ a/n: writing this before going to bed. good night everyone, love y'all. ᡣ𐭩

[b1eedthefreak]

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

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

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

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Sweet Sound

⌇daryl dixon x reader

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

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

⌇word count: 1.9k

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

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

“Morning, little brother.”

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

“Merle,” Daryl muttered, already sighing.

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

Daryl rolled his eyes. “What?”

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

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

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

Daryl’s face was confused.

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

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

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

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

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

But he had to know.

“Baby?”

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

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

You tilted your head, curious.

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

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

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

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

Daryl stepped closer.

“Is it true, baby?”

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

God, that about wrecked him.

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

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

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

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

His thumb traced your jaw, breath catching.

“Show me.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked up, mouth parted, breath shaky.

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, barely able to speak.

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

“S-so bad. I needed you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all he needed to hear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cried out, overwhelmed, every nerve lit up.

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

“Mhmm—can’t—too much—”

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

That was all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

“I Love you, Daryl.”

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

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❀ ⋆｡˚ ˚｡⋆❀

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[wendichester]

๋𓂃 ⋆ᡣ𐭩 needy,

summary. dean wants to celebrate post-hunt

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. steamy

wordcount. 384

warnings. mentions of blood, wounds, dean being needy!!!

The motel room smells like sweat, whiskey, and blood.

Dean’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt peeled off, his skin streaked with dirt and dried crimson. He’s got that look—wild, pupils blown wide, adrenaline still pumping hard through his veins. You’re standing between his legs, dabbing at a gash on his shoulder with a warm washcloth, but he’s barely letting you work.

“Dean, hold still.”

He hums low in his throat, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, rough fingertips catching on the fabric of your shorts. “I am.”

“You’re not.” You press the cloth to his skin a little harder, and he hisses—but his hands don’t stop moving. They push higher, kneading, grabbing, squeezing, like he needs something solid to anchor himself.

“Damn proud of you, y’know that?” His voice is rough, rasping, words slurred just slightly with exhaustion. “You were a goddamn sight out there.”

Your lips part to respond, but suddenly his mouth is on your stomach, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your skin, tongue flicking out just to taste. You shiver, clutching his shoulder for balance. “Dean.”

“What?” His teeth scrape, just lightly. “M’just celebratin’.”

Your head tips back as his mouth travels lower, heat licking up your spine. He’s insatiable, his hands tightening around your hips, pulling you closer until your knees hit the bed. You barely manage to set down the washcloth before you’re toppling into him, his lips crashing into yours, all heat and teeth and aching need.

“You always do this after a hunt?” you murmur against his lips.

His grin is wolfish, breath hot. “Only when I come back to you.”

His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, tracing slow, deliberate patterns over your bare skin. He’s warm—too warm, like he’s burning up from the inside out, and the only thing that’ll soothe it is you.

“Dean, your stitches—”

“Later,” he growls, flipping you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. His body is solid, heavy, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s still running on the high of the fight, needing to feel something real, something alive.

And god, you let him.

Because he’s here, and he’s yours, and the battle is over—but tonight, he’s still fighting for you.

And he’s winning.

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[my-mt-heart]

AMC made a post today about all the deaths in TBOC that we wish we could shouldn't forget and it made me remember how much I hated the scene where Daryl asks Carol why they get to go so far. As in, why do they get to survive and others don't. Daryl has a toxic hero complex. He internalizes every death, assuming that they're somehow his fault. From an audience POV and certainly from Carol's, Daryl is just holding himself to impossibly high standards, but it makes sense for a character with unresolved trauma to question whether or not he deserves to keep living at some point. What doesn't make sense for Daryl, however, is pulling Carol into his cyclone of doubt. Daryl knows Carol. He knows better than she does that she's come too far to give up, that her life has purpose and gives others, including himself, purpose too. "If anyone deserves to be happy, it's [her]." He told Lydia that he never thanked her for saving Carol, which means he knows what happened on that cliff in S10. He knows that she struggles with suicidal ideation. When he's in character, Daryl would never say anything that validates Carol's darkest thoughts because he sees her for who she really is. A heroine. A beacon of light. A survivor.

The problem is that Daryl rarely is in character when Zabel and co. are writing him. It's obvious there's no awareness of or concern for what's been established on the flagship show. They don't care about what resonates with the built-in audience. The show desperately needs someone who does their homework and has a deep understanding for the characters because Zabel never will. I miss the real Daryl, and I miss Caryl's real dynamic.

[holdmytesseract]

Yours For the Night

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: The kids are away for the night, which gives you and Daryl the opportunity for some much needed private time - or does it?

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! Smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), established relationship, lots of kissing, suggestive stuff, unprotected sex - twice (don't do this, guys), y/n gets head, fluff!!! swear words, embarrassed daryl times, humor? daryl has a man bun - oops, mentions of blood and walkers

Set in Season 11!

Word Count: 4,7k

a/n: This is what happens when I listen to music ('Slow Low' by Jason Derulo - to be precise) and got S11!Daryl on my mind. 👀 I truly hope this is okay and y'all are going to like it. 🫣

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Hey, sunshine."

Daryl entered your shared apartment with the all familiar words; closing the door behind himself. You looked over at him from where you stood behind the kitchen counter. A smile grazed your lips. "Hey." He was wearing his Commonwealth soldier armor with the helmet dangling from between his fingers of his tattooed hand. "Ya cookin'?" Your partner asked and ran a hand through his chestnut curls; eyes scanning the stove and countertop. Your smile widened, "Mhm." as you took a step to the left and lifted the lid of the pot. "Wanna have a taste?"

Daryl smiled softly and let his helmet fall carelessly to the floor, before he made his way over. The archer came to stand behind you. With his hands on your hips, he looked over your shoulder and watched you work. You took a spoon and scooped a big portion of stew up; aiming for his mouth so he could try the cooked meal.

"And?" You questioned him as he chew on the spoonful. "Mhm, 's real good," he stated with his mouth full. You smiled; happy that you had your partner's approval. Daryl swallowed and let his gaze wander through the room. Only now did he notice that it was quiet.

Too quiet.

"Where 'r the kids 'n Dog?" "They're at auntie Carol's... Sleepover party." You stirred the stew and put the lid back on the pot, then tilted your head to witness Daryl raising both eyebrows. "Tha' so?" "Mhm." "Any special reason for tha'?"

Apparenty, he had seen right through you already.

"Weeell..." You started and turned in his embrace. Both your palms came to rest on the breast plate covering his chest. "I, uh, thought we could have an evening together... Just the two of us, you know... Without the kids," you started to explain and shook your head. "Don't get me wrong. I love Jude and RJ, but... It's been so long since we had some time to ourselves. Some... privacy." You gazed up into his beautiful blue-greyish eyes and let your palms travel up over his shoulder pads to the nape of his neck. Standing on your tiptoes, you tugged gently; silently asking him to lower his head. Daryl complied to your silent plea.

Your eyes slipped shut as you pressed your forehead against his; feeling him close. The warmth of his skin, his breath against your lips. "I miss you, Dar... I miss being close to you. I miss exchanging more than just a few innocent kisses. I miss... our intimacy," you whispered; your nose brushing his. "To feel your touch... Your skin on mine... Being physically connected... I miss it."

You could feel the archer's fingers flex against your clothed skin. His grip tightened as he pulled you closer against his body. "Yeah... I get whatcha mean. I miss ya too, sweet girl. More than I can say," he whispered back in that deep, low voice which never failed to get your nerve ends tingling.

You wanted to speak up and answer him, but Daryl didn't let you get that far. His lips grazed yours - as if to test the waters, before he dove in and caught your lips for a chaste kiss. It was soft and almost cautious at first, but once he felt your mouth moving in sync against his, the kiss grew quickly more passionate.

But when you felt his tongue asking yours for a dance, you pulled back; knowing that if you'd accept his offer there would be no holding back anymore. "D-Daryl..." You panted slightly out of breath. He frowned; was visibly confused by your rejection. "D-Dinner-" "Can wait," he interrupted you with a grunt and shut you up with another deep kiss.

It was intoxicating and incredibly alluring. You couldn't stop; didn't even want to. Not after such a long time without this.

You were barely able to turn off the stove, before Daryl guided you backwards around the kitchen counter and towards the sofa across the room. You knew what he had in mind - but you had other plans. So, you stopped him before he could push you down on the comfortable piece of furniture. Freeing your lips with a soft pop, you smirked up at him. "Want me to help you get out of this?" You jutted your head towards him; referring to his armor, as your fingertips glided back down to his chest. "Please," Daryl said hoarsely. "'M lookin' ridiculous in this thing." You instantly shook your head; "No, babe." biting your lip. "You look incredibly hot in this thing."

He scoffed. Daryl didn't believe you, you knew that - but you didn't care. Instead, you started to peel the sturdy pads and plates which covered his whole body off of him; starting at his shoulders.

Daryl's eyes never left you. He watched how your skilled, tender hands worked on freeing him from his burden as a soldier - at least for now.

It took you quite a few moments to remove the armor. Once he was left in nothing but his black sweatshirt, pants and socks, you pulled him into another kiss.

Your wandering hands didn't stop there, of course. They continued their journey and started to undo the belt, fly and button of his pants; ridding your partner of the unnecessary garment. Daryl eagerly helped you at the task at hand and fumbled with the hem of his sweatshirt to pull it over his head and throw it carelessly to the floor. The amount of skin which was suddenly exposed to your desiring, hungry eyes was close to overwhelming. You couldn't stop eyes from travelling up and down Daryl's bulky frame. From those broad shoulders and muscular arms, over the scars on his chest and the softness of his stomach, down his thick thighs and strong legs.

He was just so bulky and yet incredibly soft, it managed to send your brain into a frenzy. Sure, he had aged over all those years you got to know him - but in the best way possible. He had grown from a 'boy' into man.

Of course did your eyes not fail to also notice the archer's undeniable excitement which bulged his boxer shorts way more than usual.

You bit your lip; feeling your very own excitement grow like a flower.

A low chuckle from above you ripped you out of your trance-like state. "I know ya like wha' ya see, sweet girl, but..." Daryl whispered as his thumb and forefinger cupped your chin and gently lifted your head until you could stare straight into his breathtaking orbs. "Eyes up here." He gave you that cute, signature half-smile, "Tha's it." and dipped his own head to indulge you in yet another passionate kiss. You practically melted against Daryl; feeling the heat radiating off his skin.

While your lips were entangled in another dance, it was your partner's turn to let his hands wander. They worked on undressing your sweatpants and sweatshirt simultaneously. Unfortunately, needed your little makeout session to be interrupted, in order to free you of the piece of clothing. The rest was no problem and could be easily shed during the makeout session.

Once you were just as nude as Daryl, he didn't hesitate to explore every dip and curve of your gorgeous body. His work-worn and calloused, yet loving and gentle hands felt incredible against your hot and prickling skin. It was a sensation you'd never get tired of feeling - each and every time anew.

When you felt all the pent up restraint and longing desire reach its peak - to the point of borderline insufferableness, you retreated from the kiss. Much to Daryl's dismay. His swollen, chapped lips chased after yours; already missing the connection. You soothed him with your palms gliding over his chest and a small smile. He opened his mouth to say something, but you pushed Daryl back to make him sit down on the sofa - and his words failed him. Even more so, when he felt your fingertips hooking underneath the waistband of his boxers. He lifted his bottom to help you get rid of the undergarment. With lust-blown eyes, Daryl watched you climbing onto his lap. His palms instantly settled on your hips. A low grunt left his parted lips as he felt your bare core against his. Your breath got caught in your throat as well; feeling him hot and heavy and throbbing underneath you.

With your hands in his curls, you lowered your head to kiss him again. You just couldn't help yourself. And Daryl was more than delighted in getting smooched to death by you.

The both of you took some time to explore each other; romantic kisses and sinful touches with slow, deliberate grinding added into the intoxicating mix.

It already was heaven on earth. Both, you and Daryl had your eyes closed shut and simply acted blindly on instinct; guided by the love and desire you felt. But like before, you just couldn't take it anymore at some point. The built up need and want way too high to endure even a minute longer. So, you pressed a last open-mouthed kiss against your archer's lips and adjusted your position.

Daryl's eyes snapped open.

He knew what you were up to - of course. His grip on your hips tightened; heavily clouded eyes watching your hand slip between both your bodies to physically connect you in the most intimate way possible.

The man's jaw beneath you slackened as you bottomed out on top of him. A mute whine of pleasure got stuck in his throat. You threw your head back at the overwhelming feeling; exposing your neck to the archer's lustful eyes. A ragged breath paved its way past your lips and the hand which rested on Daryl's left pec for stability twitched; fingernails digging into the skin underneath. The other - now free hand slumped against his softly rounded stomach. "Y-You feel so good, Dar," you whispered and slowly started to move; setting a slow pace. The archer grunted low at your words, while he simultaneously helped you move and keeping you steady on his lap. "Ya, too, sunshine. Always feels so good," he stated as he looked deeply into your eyes.

You smiled softly with your lip tucked between your teeth and kept on moving; just wanting to feel.

The building pleasure tingling within your stomach fogged up your senses and urged you on to quicken the pace to chase your high - which you did. Daryl gasped beneath you; his ribcage rising and falling irregularly underneath your palm. Droplets of sweat rolled down his sternum and met your fingers which were splayed over his belly. "Y-Y/N..." Daryl croaked out and held your hips down with a strong grip; slowing your rhythm down again. "S-Slow down."

Your gaze met his once more.

Your Y/E/C eyes mirrored confusion. One corner of the archer's mouth twitched up into a small smile, before one hand released its hold on your waist to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "We ain't in a rush, sweet girl." and gently urged you on to rest your forehead against his. "Wanna take my time with ya..." His nose brushed yours. "Wanna love ya slow." You smiled; loving the way he thought. "Want me to hand over the reins?" "If tha's okay for ya?" You gave him a small nod and slightly readjusted your position. Now both your palms were on his chest with your torso literally laying on top of his. Daryl pecked your lips, wrapped both his arms around your middle and started to lazily thrust up - slow and sweet; bringing you both unhurriedly closer to the edge.

You were both so caught up in the moment - trapped in that beautiful bubble you had created together; floating somewhere on cloud nine.

A loud knock against your door almost managed to burst the bubble. Daryl's head snapped to his right to face the door; always on high alert - an unbreakable habit. His hips stuttered in their movements. "Wha-" "Just ignore it, babe. Don't stop, p-please," you cut him off immediately and entangled his lips in a kiss to keep his attention on you - on the wonderful lovemaking session you were currently involved in.

Your attempt was successful. Daryl redirected his attention and picked up the slow pace again; causing a low, sensual moan to slip past your lips.

Then it knocked again. You ignored it.

And again. You kept on ignoring it.

But then got the knocks louder - sharper. "Daryl!" Rosita's voice echoed muffled through the wooden door, "Open up!" and the bubble bursted. The moment of intimacy over.

The man beneath you grunted in frustration, his movements coming entirely to an halt, "Yeah, gimme a second!" before he gently slid you off his lap. You pouted with your arms crossed over your bare chest; watching him stand up and hastily getting dressed in his underwear, pants and sweatshirt. You were utterly pissed; left naked and unsatisfied on the sofa with that itch between your legs only Daryl was able to scratch. Not even you could. "'M sorry, sunshine," he muttered apologetically, before making his way over to the door. Your eyes followed him as you started to get dressed as well; still upset.

"Wha' is it?" Daryl grumbled as he opened the door to his friend. You weren't able to see Rosita, but you could tell by the sound of her voice that she was not amused as well. "A herd has been sighted. Mercer needs us. He couldn't reach you, so he sent me to get you." The archer huffed in annoyance. "Wha'? Now?" "Now. Come on, we gotta go." "My armor-" "Screw the armor, let's go. He's awaiting us."

Your partner turned his head to look back at you. A guilty, apologetic look was on his face; eyes filled with remorse. You sighed and pressed your lips into a thin line, but nodded; silently telling him to go. You didn't have the right to hold him back. He had a job to do now. No matter the situation. You had to get used to this - whether you liked it or not.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip and just kept looking at you for a moment, before he redirected his attention back to Rosita. "A'right, let's go."

The door closed shut behind Daryl and you were left with nothing but pent up arousal and frustration.

Daryl followed Rosita down the hallways and stairs in silence, while rather desperately trying to discreetly adjust himself in his pants. Even though his head was somewhere else now and refocused, his... nether regions hadn't received the message just yet. It was highly uncomfortable. Being in full swing and suddenly getting trapped again in such 'tight' confines.

"You good?" Rosita's voice suddenly urged to his ears as she held the door of the apartment building open for him. "You look flushed." Daryl's eyes flickered up to meet hers and his cheeks reddened even more. He merely nodded. "'M fine." "Don't look fine." The archer just shrugged his shoulders and followed his long-term friend.

The both of them went quiet for a long moment, until Rosita looked over to check in on him again.

A smirk suddenly crossed her face. Daryl blinked; was clearly a bit confused and... nervous what got her smiling. "Wha'?" The black haired beauty jutted her chin at him. "Your fly is open." Daryl looked down himself almost frantically to find out that she was absolutely right. Embarrassment flooded his veins; the tips of his ears which peeked out behind his long curls turning red as well. Hastily, he zipped it up and searched desperately for a plausible explanation in his head - but Rosita had already connected the dots. She wasn't blind, neither stupid. "I interrupted something, didn't I?" "Nah," he instantly shot back with a grunt. Rosita raised a suspicious eyebrow; that smirk still on her lips. "No? Then why's your fly undone?" "Forgot to zip it up after takin' a piss," Daryl answered gruffly; hoping this was his way out of that awkward situation.

It wasn't.

"Well, the color of your face tells me something different." And Daryl gave up. It was over. Rosita knew. "Goddamnit," the archer cursed under his breath, and earned a giggle. "Did I at least intervene before the main event, or..?" He would've never thought - not even in his wildest dreams, that he was ever going to talk about sex with Rosita one day in his life - and here he was. He just shook his head; still quite embarrassed and awkward. The woman pressed her lips into a thin line. "Mierda. That sucks. I'm sorry I kept you and Y/N from having a good time." "Dun mention it. 'S not your fault. The kids are gone til' tomorrow mornin', so..." Rosita just smirked and continued to lead Daryl to the town hall, where Mercer and other Commonwealth soldiers already waited for them. "Dixon, Espinosa. Finally."

It was late at night when Daryl returned to the small home he shared with you, Dog and the Grimes kids. The apartment was dark and quiet; indicating that you had gone to bed already - something the archer had anticipated, and yet it made him sigh. A small sliver of hope had been flickering inside him, that he'd find you exactly how he left you... Curled up on the sofa; smiling and waiting for him - perhaps dressed in nothing but one of his shirts. But his sinful vision got quickly extinguished; replaced by a feeling of emptiness and longing.

Another sigh left Daryl's lips as he passed by the kitchen counter and sofa on his way to the bathroom; noticing that everything was tidied up. You had even collected the different pads and plates of his armor and placed them neatly on the coffee table.

In the hopes of not waking you - just in case you already were asleep, he discarded his clothes for a second time that day and stepped underneath the shower to wash the sweat, grime and blood off of his body. Once finished, he used one of the fluffy towels to dry himself, before he slipped in a fresh pair of boxer shorts. Not bothering to get further dressed, he tied his still damp hair together into a bun and went to join you in bed.

You felt the mattress dip beside you. The movement caused your eyes to flutter open. Not that you've been asleep anyway. Not properly at least. Merely dozing.

"Daryl?" You whispered into the darkness; receiving an answer almost instantly. "Y/N? Yer awake?" You heard your partner move underneath the blanket. "Did I wake ya?" You shifted as well and stretched out an arm to switch on your bedside lamp. "No, you didn't," you shook your head and turned to face the archer. "I haven't been sleeping at all. You know it's hard for me to find sleep without you being close."

A soft smile darted across Daryl's lips.

"Yeah, I know," he said lowly and slipped his fingers through yours; lazily intertwining your hands. "'M sorry 'bout this. All 'a it." You shook your head a second time, "Don't be, please." and lifted your joined hands to your lips to plant small kisses on his knuckles. "It's not your fault. I just... I have to get used to this, I think. You having a job now and always needing to be on call." Daryl chewed on the inside of his bottom lip and listened to your words closely. "'S a lot to take in, yeah..." He agreed.

A moment of silence passed between you, before a sigh left your lips.

"It sucked nevertheless. I was so close and then the bubble just bursted; deflagrated into nothingness." Daryl's expression softened. "'M sorry, sweet girl." His thumb started to rub gentle circles into your blanket covered hip as an idea suddenly crossed the archer's mind. The best he had today, without a doubt.

He smiled, "But 'm gonna make it up to ya. Promise." and threw his blanket aside - what made you think he wanted to get up again. "Oh, I almost forgot... Leftovers from dinner are in the fridge, if you're craving a midnight 'snack'."

You had clearly misread the sign, and were left in confusion as Daryl's smile morphed into a smirk; hands working to move your blanket out of the way as well. "Nah, sunshine," he stated and maneuvered his bulky frame between your legs. "There's jus' one meal 'm cravin' right now..." The archer sat on his knees, "'N I ain't goin' to find it in the fridge." and dipped his head to press an open-mouthed kiss against the bare, smooth skin of your stomach - just underneath your belly button, where your sleep shirt has rode up, while simultaneously hooking his fingers underneath your panties to pull them down.

And the penny dropped. Now you knew what he had in mind.

Your breath hitched in your throat; anticipation and that well known tingling sensation returning. Even more so as you watched Daryl settling down after discarding the unwelcome piece of clothing, with your legs draped over his shoulders. A wave of arousal crashed into you at the mere sight alone - twice as high as earlier. "Nothin's gonna keep me away from ya this time, sweet girl," he whispered huskily and peppered the inside of your thighs with kisses; his goatee scratching the sensitive skin. "I ain't stoppin'. Dun care if the Commonwealth burns down 'round us or worse..." His stunning blue eyes looked up to meet yours; almost managing to take your breath away. They were filled with love and desire. "'M all yours."

You didn't find any words to say, so you just smiled down at him lovingly; letting him know silently how much you treasured him and this moment.

His eyes never left yours - not even for a second, as he finally dove in. You gasped; his name falling from your lips like a prayer. One hand grasped his wrist around your upper thigh, the other gripped the bedsheets tightly. Daryl hummed as your flavor hit his taste buds. "O-Oh..." Your eyes closed shut at the pleasuring sensation. He just smirked against you; loving how fast he was able to make you feel good - but he could do better. He was aware of that. So, he put his skills to use; knowing exactly which buttons needed to be pressed. He had learned over the years. Had studied your body several times.

When the archer said he was going to make it up to you, he really meant it. His tongue carried you from one high to the next. He merely gave you any breaks to recover; too lost in the way you felt. Too lost in you.

You enjoyed the pleasure he granted you - until it got too much...

"B-Babe..." You stammered; breathlessly and almost deliriously. "S-Stop, please... T-Too much..." Daryl's hazy, wide-blown eyes instantly looked up at you and he stopped right away; lifted his mouth off of you. "'M sorry, sweet girl. Did I go too hard on ya? Ya a'right?" He asked concerned; his thumbs starting to rub gentle circles into your thighs. You shook your head. "N-No, I love it! It's just too much now. I, uh, need a break." Knowing that you are okay, Daryl gave you that boyish half-smile. "Did I wear ya out already, sunshine?" You playfully rolled your eyes and slapped his arm as a giggle escaped your lips. "Shuddup." The archer just chuckled as well and dipped his head once more, but this time to pepper your lower abdomen with a million tiny kisses. Your hands went instinctively to his arms wrapped around your legs; caressing those strong, firm muscles.

The both of you stayed like that for quite a few minutes in silence. Your palms on his biceps and his chin resting on your stomach.

"Thanks for this, baby. You definitely made it up to me," you spoke into the quiet, dimly lit room and gently squeezed his upper arms. Daryl shook his head; tickling your skin with the greyish hairs of his goatee. "Oh, 'm not done with ya yet, sweet girl." You breathed out a laugh. "Thought so, but... Perhaps we can skip to the main event? I think it's time for you to feel good, too, huh?" Your partner pressed another kiss against your abdomen. "If ya want tha'..." You nodded. "Please..." The archer gave you a soft smile and shifted; getting up into a kneeling position.

Where his upper body had been mere seconds ago, was now the center of his body.

It looked at me first, you swore to yourself as your gaze got drawn in by the straining underwear around his hips. The dark blue fabric held a big, round unmistakable wet spot. Biting your lip, you sat up as well; your hands instantly finding their way to the waistband of his boxer shorts. You smiled, while Daryl watched with hooded eyes and parted lips how your fingers slid the way too tight and uncomfortable fabric down his thighs. Then you laid back down on the mattress; beckoning your partner to come closer with a come-hither motion.

"C'mere, big boy."

A low growl paved its way past Daryl's lips at your words; managing to turn him on even more. Only god knew why.

It wasn't a lie, though. He simply was big - in every aspect.

The archer didn't let himself tell that twice, of course. He quickly shoved his underwear the rest of the way down and kicked it off with his feet. Crawling between your legs, his lips found yours on an instant; trapping them in a sensual kiss. Your arms wound themselves around his torso, with your palms resting on his broad shoulder blades. "Daryl...," you whispered - pleading, as your hands explored his broad back; feeling his muscles and the bumps which were his scars. Daryl didn't say a word and just planted a sloppy kiss upon your lips, before he adjusted his position to connect his body with yours. A hiss escaped your mouth; followed by a stuttering gasp. You still felt the aftermath of Daryl's... groundwork. "Ya okay?" His loving, quiet voice urged to your ears and you nodded, but gripped him tighter - closer. All you wanted was to feel him.

"Good," the archer whispered and kissed your cheek. With both forearms firmly planted on the mattress beside your shoulders, Daryl started to roll his hips in gentle waves. You furrowed your brows in pleasure, while the man above you buried his head in your neck; kissing the sensitive skin.

It was so intense and filled with raw emotions, you could barely take it. All your senses were heightened, but all you could feel, taste and see was Daryl. The world had stopped to turn around you. It was just you and him.

Nevertheless, you wanted more. Feel more of your partner. So, you let your palms glide back up over his shoulders to bury them in his tied back hair; gently nudging his head up again. The archer gladly took the invitation and rested his forehead against yours. His eyes were only halfway open. Lips parted. You felt his hot, irregular breath against your face; the remains of the last cigarette he smoked lingering in the air. Daryl already looked so blissed out - a view you hadn't seen in a while. A view which caused the butterflies in your stomach to run wild.

Cupping his beardy cheeks, you freed his face from a few loose strands, which had managed to escape his man bun. "D-Dar...," you whined; feeling that knot in your belly close to snapping. He nodded meekly, "I know, sunshine. M-Me, too." and kissed you clumsily, before he delivered a few last thrusts to send the both of you together flying over the edge of the cliff. A mute cry left your throat; bottom lip still loosely trapped between his lips. Daryl whimpered and squeezed his eyes entirely shut again; biceps working hard to prevent himself from collapsing on top of you.

Once your brain was mostly cleared from the fog, your thumbs began to caress Daryl's cheeks; feeling his stubble against your skin. You lifted your gaze - just to see him reopening his eyes. You smiled. The archer did the same. "I love you," you whispered. He tilted his head to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "I love ya, too, sweet girl."

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @dixons-sunshine @dixonsdarkelf @fictive-sl0th @ffsjustletmesleep @huntedmusicgardenn @km-ffluv @whore4romance @erebus-et-eigengrau @making-the-most-0f-it @secretsicanthideanymore @stitchintimefan @sweetz1919 @0-aubrie0 @loz-3 @belitoxx @marvelcasey05 @bigbaldheadname @mikaela-granger @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @cakesandtom @mayday2007

@confusebiassbitch , you asked me to be tagged in this as well, so... 🤗

If you want to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know!

[mee30p]

Broken 🖼️

A/n: sorry this took so long to write i had a massive autistic meltdown two days ago and i have been recovering since then so yeah! (I am okay now i was just overwhelmed)

This fic is inspired by this writing inspo by @dixondisease!

☽ Summary: Even after the break out/apocalypse reader has held onto something very special to her, When Shane finds out about this he scolds her and a few days later he goes on another on of his “survival” tantrums where he breaks readers thing forcing them to watch but Daryl comes to the rescue.

☽ Warnings: swearing, Shane Walsh, physical violence, reader being held down ish?, mention of suicide, mentions of death of a younger child, vomit, pills Daryl punches Shane a few times, swearing.

☽ Word count: 1.4k

“No… i’m okay Shane” You say trying to let him down gently for seemingly the 600th time as Shane tries to get you alone, you sit on your camping chair around the fire with some of the group being Lori, Carl, T-dog, Andrea and Amy, while the others are preoccupied. Shane has been relentlessly trying to get into your pants practically since you first met him even when your boyfriend was still alive. Shane strikes you as a bit of a man-whore as you were under the impression he was interested in Lori then you thought he liked Andrea and now you are a victim of his interest. “Come on girl.. I promise ya aint gon regret it” Shane says lowly as he doesn’t want the others to overhear. You let out a louder sigh and run your hand over your face, it’s taking all your being to stay respectful and calm. “Shane.. I said i’m good i’m not lookin’ for any of that shit right now okay?” 

Your response elicits a loud pissed off scoff from Shane. “Why not? You still strung up on your little boy toy? Well i got news for you sweetheart he’s dead and there ain’t no bringin’ him back or the past back you need to learn to let go” Shane says his voice growing louder and thicker with anger you can tell this is going to lead into one of his “survival rants” again. “What?” You scoff breathlessly as you are taken back by Shane’s words, you thought you’d made it clear you weren’t holding on to the past, sure you get sad and grieve your late boyfriend sometimes but that's because you loved him. 

Shane stands up and before anyone can stop him he storms straight to your tent, ripping open the zipper and somehow like he knew where you hid her he grabs the last precious thing of yours left. The photo frame of your sister before storming back over to the fire in front of you. The whole ten seconds this took for him to grab it you are frozen, stunned and unable to think or move. “See this, this is whats holding you back woman! You need to let go of the past forget everything, it's not real anymore” Shane yells as he holds the frame out of reach. “Shane please don’t do this” You beg, you’ve never begged for anything but right now it’s all you can do to try and save the last relic from your past life.

You know it’s stupid to cling to the past. What's gone is gone, you know that but you’ve had that picture of your sister since she passed away long before the break out. Your sister was only 13 when she committed suicide, it hadn’t been her first attempt God it haden’t even been her 4th but i was her 5th and final attempt that final morning that you found her already cold and grey laying on the bathroom floor surrounded by a broken pill bottle and vomit. You remember screaming bloody murder when you found her, the sobs of your mother and father. 

No one in the group truly knew why you kept that photo, they didn’t know who the young girl not much older than Carl was in the frame. A few people had an idea, Carol had asked but when you shut it down she had already come to a conclusion. It’s not like you showed off the picture you simply had it out one time while moving some stuff around but that was enough to ruffle a few peoples feathers, particularly Daryl, Merle and most of all Shane. Daryl had questioned you plenty of times previously why you kept the photo he never asked who she was he’d just ask curiously under the mask of gruffness and survival why you kept it and why you couldn’t just let go. Every time you’d simply give him a short answer of “It helps me push through seeing her face, Daryl”. 

“NO!” You practically shriek as you watch helplessly as Shane tosses your precious picture into the fire, before you can grab it out he grabs you from behind pinning you to his chest to make you watch. “I ain’t gonna let you be consumed by the past any longer girl” Shane says lowly as he listens to your sobs and pleas. “Shane, why? Please that was all I had.. She was all I had left” Your breathing is becoming fast but laboured as you start to spiral into a panic. The others around the fire are either yelling at Shane or sitting slack jawed.

“The fuck is all this noise bout?” Daryl asks as he turns the corner from behind the RV. He’d been hiding and minding his own business making some squirrel jerky when his precious peacefulness was interrupted but yelling and Shane’s tantrum. That's when Daryl's blood runs cold, you’re being pinned back by Shane in tears and thrashing against him. Sure Daryl’s never liked you alot hell he doesn’t like anyone but you were the first one to treat him like a decent human being so when he sees you in distress being pinned down by a man he isn’t too fond of he sees red. “The fuck did you do to her?” Daryl asks after he’s already pulled you out of the grasp of Shane and swung a powerful and angry fist at him. Shane stumbles backwards but before he can get his bearings Daryl is on him, throwing punches hard and angry. That's the thing about Daryl, he punches first and asks questions later. After everyone ‘lets him’ get a few good hits in, T-dog and Dale mange to pull Daryl and Shane apart and drag Daryl away to prevent him from retaliation again. 

Andrea and Amy were already at your side as soon as you were free from Shane, comforting you and drying your tears. But nothing could fix what's been done, that was the only picture of your sister you had left, it was the only thing you cared about. Her face was the reason you kept going to try to live a life she never got to.

The sun has now set low below the horizon, the only light being the simmering fire and the silvery light of the moon. From where you are sitting the campfire is only a red and orange flicker in the distance as you sit on a rock in the clearing of the forest. You've been hiding since Shanes stunt earlier in the afternoon which left you pissed off, more depressed and embarrassed. Your peace and dwelling is interrupted by a snap of a stick and footsteps to which you whip your torso and head around your pistol following suit to see your killer but instead you are met with a shy looking Daryl. “Easy girl.. Just me” Daryl says softer than you ever imagined he was capable of. You turn your back to him again but he doesn’t go away this time instead he sits down a foot and a half away, resting on his side farthest away from you. Daryl lets the two of you sit in silence for 5 or so minutes before he clears his throat in an almost shy manner as he taps his knee before grabbing the object and handing it to you. “I uhh- I tried to fix it as best I could..” Daryl starts as you look down to see the half charred picture of your sister still mostly intact thanks to the old frame which has been replaced with some wood from god knows where and some wild flowers tucked on the gap. It makes you tear up about how thoughtful it is. “I know it aint gonna be the same but-” You cut Daryl off as you move to your knees and throw yourself at him into a hug, your arms wrapping around his neck and you sniffle into his shoulder before pulling back. “Thank you Daryl.. You don’t understand how much this means to me- this is truly so thoughtful and beautiful” You sniffle as a tear falls down your face. “S’ okay.. Was nothin” Darly mutters shyly as he forces himself to look at you and much to his surprise you lean forward and kiss him on the cheek softly.

“Really thank you”

[violettwrites]

american teenagers — i.

intro | next

your curtains were yanked open, and sunlight poured into your small bedroom, a sharp assault that had you squinting before you could fully process it. the tall, lanky silhouette of your best friend standing in front of the window made it clear who was to blame for your rude awakening. 

“daryl,” you groaned, though it came out more like a whine, pulling your pillow over your head in a futile attempt to block out the light. “what the hell? it’s like six am. go away.

“it’s actually ten,” daryl drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. you didn’t have to look to know he was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed like he hadn’t just barged into your room uninvited. “you’re wastin’ the whole day.”

“it’s not ten,” you muttered, clutching the pillow tighter. 

“it’s definitely ten,” he countered, the smirk practically audible in his voice. “c’mon, get up.” 

“no,” you said stubbornly, burrowing further into your blankets. “it’s my first day off in weeks. let me sleep.”

the silence that followed should’ve been your first warning. daryl wasn’t the type to give up easily, and quiet usually meant he was up to no good. you had barely a second to realise this before the pillow was ripped from your grasp and tossed across the room. 

“daryl dixon!” you screeched, sitting up so fast that your vision blurred for a second. if looks could kill, he’d be a pile of ashes and bone. “you’re such a jerk! why can’t you just let me sleep in?”

he shrugged his shoulders, completely unfazed, the fainted hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “you done complainin’, or do i gotta drag you outta bed?”

you glanced at the clock on your nightstand, the red numbers glaring back at you: 10:17. damn it. he was right— and that only made it worse. 

“why are you even here?” you huffed, arms crossing over your chest. “what could possibly be so important that you had to wake me up like this?”

daryl stepped back towards the window, peering out like he hadn’t already made his mind up. “figured we’d take the truck out to the creek,” he said simply, shrugging. then, as casually as if it were his own, he plucked your pack of cigarettes off the dresser and slid one between his lips. 

you rolled your eyes, but despite yourself, you felt the corners of your mouth twitch. that was daryl— gruff and infuriatingly persuasive. “and you couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour to suggest that?”

“it is a reasonable hour,” he shot back, raising an eyebrow at you. “you’re just mad i interrupted your beauty sleep.” 

“ugh,” you groaned, but swung your legs over the side of the bed anyway. “fine. but next time, maybe consider knocking instead of staging a home invasion.”

“no promises,” he replied with a smirk as he lit the cigarette and tossing the pack back onto your dresser. 

as you rummaged through your drawer for something to wear, daryl had now moved to the door frame, leaning against it as he watched you lazily. “where’s your old man, anyway?” he asked, his tone casual but curious. 

“visiting my granddad,” you replied, tugging a t-shirt over your head. “he drove out to kentucky yesterday. said he’d probably be gone for a few weeks.” 

daryl nodded, his expression unreadable. you knew he didn’t care much for your dad— probably for a good reason —but he rarely said anything outright. 

“that why you’re off today?”

“yep. first real day off in forever.” you turned to him, hands on your hips. “and i was gonna sleep in, but then you showed up.” 

“like i said,” he drawled, pushing off the doorframe, “you’re wastin’ the day.” 

the creek wasn’t far from the trailer park, just a short drive down the winding dirt roads that snaked through your small town. daryl kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting out the open window, the breeze ruddling his hair. you sat beside him, letting the warm air whip through your own as the fields blurred past in shades of beige and gold. 

once daryl had pulled the truck up under a tree, you were glad the creek was as serene as you’d hoped, the water reflecting the endless blue sky above. you kicked off your shoes and waded in up to your ankles, savouring the cool relief as the ripples lapped gently against your skin. 

daryl lingered on the bank, lighting another cigarette before settling under the shade of a tree. 

“you always pick the best spots to nap,” you called out to him teasingly, splashing a little water in his direction. 

“someone’s gotta keep an eye on you,” he shot back, smirking as smoke curled lazily from his lips. 

you rolled your eyes, but his words carried a familiar weight. daryl had always been there— steady and dependable, even when everything else in your life felt like it was constantly shifting. 

by the time the sun climbed higher in the sky, you were lying side by side on the grass, staring up at the blue sky being filtered through the leaves of the trees. the hum of summer surrounded you, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds. 

“think this summer’s gonna be different?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. 

daryl turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “different how?”

“i don’t know,” you murmured, shrugging. “just… different.” 

he didn’t answer right away, his expression thoughtful. finally, he said, “maybe.” 

for a moment, the world felt quiet and still, like it was holding its breath. daryl’s gaze lingered, and there was something unspoken in his eyes that made your chest ache in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

“c’mon,” he said eventually, standing up and offering you a hand. “let’s get back before merle gets all twisted up about us takin’ the truck.”

you took his hand, his palm rough and warm against yours. as you followed him back to the truck, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe this summer really would be different— different in was you weren’t sure you were ready for.

hi guys !! i do apologise that this chapter is so short but i promise that they will get longer as we go along ! my uploading schedule may be a bit sporadic sometimes as i am having some issues in my personal life but i hope it'll get better soon

thank you for your support! if you enjoyed, give this a like/reblog and if you'd like to be added to my tag list, comment below!

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

You set aside the cloth, now stained with red and brown, from cleaning Daryl's wounds. He was sitting on the edge of his bed in the basement and it had taken you a long time to convince him to allow you to care for him, clean and patch up his injuries. There was only a dim lantern burning and the house was quiet overhead. It was late, at least nearing midnight. You sighed as you took in Daryl's condition.

His face was downturned and you stepped into him, between his knees which were cocked out toward either side. "Daryl," you said gently, lifting his chin with a light finger underneath. His eyes were glassy and your heart ached. "What do you need?" you asked in a whisper. "Just name it."

He shook his head and gulped. "Nothin'," he said. But his blue eyes drifted up to your face and there was something pleading in them.

"Then what do you want?" you asked, your own voice a little strangled with emotion. You were barely holding back your tears at what had been done to him.

He kept looking up at you with that same look and shook his head, but you could feel what he was asking for. You. He was just asking for you.

You moved into him until his head came to rest in the middle of your chest and his arms drifted around you to hold on tightly, crossing over the small of your back. Your fingers went to his hair and combed through it. Daryl shut his eyes and nuzzled into you, breathing in your smell, focusing on the shape and weight of you against him, in his arms—solid and real. "Is this what you wanted?" you asked him quietly, still soothingly stroking his hair.

He could only nod a little against you.

"You have me, Daryl. All of me if you want. I'm right here. Okay?"

He couldn't answer, but for the first time since he'd escaped The Sanctuary, he actually believed that he would be okay.

Prompt: "Is this what you wanted?"

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Too Far.

Summary: He's like a wounded animal when he's angry, lashing out when he feels cornered. He's gone too far this time, snapped and said something he definitely didn't mean, so now he has to fix it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Fighting. Daryl is a dick, but not really, but also he is. Apologetic!Daryl. Alexandria Era. Sex.

A/N: Inspired by an excellent post by @love-norman which I'll link in the comments. I wasn't sure if you were okay with smut, so there's a fairly brief mention of sex but nothing overly explicit.

-

He’s a surprisingly effective communicator, once she can convince him to talk more and with enough time to work out exactly what ticks and grunts mean what. Daryl Dixon’s entire bag is self-sacrifice, so if he can assume that she needs him to tell her what’s going on in the always too busy head of his, he can do that for her without much care for how it impacts him. It’s not his most healthy coping mechanism but it certainly isn’t his worst and the reward? Oh, the reward is sweet. The reward is comfort and kindness and being held; being loved. What’s a moment of discomfort for a lifetime of her?

He's had to practice letting his walls down, slowly but surely since he met her, all the while failing to realise she was just digging her way underneath them. She didn’t ever pry, not really, not in any way that felt invasive, but she’d patiently wait him out; ask the question quietly, softly, and let him linger in the comfortable silence until he chose to answer back. Sometimes she’d work out the information without his need to speak at all; it happened the moment he realised he was fucked, that he was absolutely, irrefutably hers. She’d worked out exactly who he was as a person and he’d barely sad a word.

He’s attentive, and whilst that shocks him it comes as no surprise to anyone around him. He has spent his life fearing that he is exactly who he feared, but those who are lucky enough to consider themselves, correctly or not, close to Daryl never fear for much but his wellbeing. That he is a careful, thoughtful and tender partner surprises nobody but him. That’s not to say they don’t argue, the end of the world comes with its own set of tensions even without the usual relationship concerns, but he’s learnt not to bite first.

-

He shouldn’t have drunk anything, in hindsight, they’re both in bad shape, overwrought and under-fed and they shouldn’t have been at a fucking party, of all places. He definitely shouldn’t have had the four glasses of scotch Reg offered him on a mostly empty stomach. He can’t get used to the Alexandria walls, the houses he never could have afforded to breathe near let alone buy, the soft comforts he’d never had even before the end of the world. He’s never been to a party that hasn’t had a piss-stained couch or an overly full ashtray.

“You know that’s bullshit, Daryl, you’re being ridiculous!” She yells, firmly back in their own living room after he’d practically stormed out of Deanna’s. One minute they’re in full swing, standing talking about vacations from the old days with some new faces, the next his hand is dropping from around her waist and thudding from the front door like she’d said, ‘fuck off’ rather than the word ‘Canada’. He’d slammed the door behind them and snarled about how he would have embarrassed her and her fancy fucking vacations in ‘the real world’.

“Lil’ miss travel abroad and see th’ world cause she’s better than Daryl fuckin’ Dixon”

“What? That’s not-“

“I’m jus’ an idiot redneck with nothin’ an’ you’re this smart chick who saw the world, I get it, I ain’t dumb, th’ fuck would ya have wanted wit’ me?”

Her heart would shatter for him if she wasn’t seething quite so much, the sheer desperation in his words at odds with the tension in his body, clenched hands dragging through his finally clean hair. His eyes are stinging and he absolutely refuses to cry, has never gotten over thinking it makes him weak even when he feels weak.

“Daryl, what the fuck? Why are you being such an asshole?“

“Shut up, always yappin’ about stupid shit, fuckin’ hate ya sometimes!”

He turns quickly, wants to throw something, wants to scream, broad shoulders and harsh angles and all the wind leaves his body when he sees her flinch away from him. She’s cowers backwards, he feels like he’s going to be sick, body collapsing in on itself as he feels the anger leave his bones, replaced with ice laced panic. For a second, a horrifying second that feels ten times as long, he’s his old man. Shitfaced and angry with a glass in hand and if he had a mirror, he knows exactly whose face he’d see staring back at him.

“I would never hurt ya” he whispers, voice low and so broken, full of conviction as his breath hitches in the middle and crumbles at the end and she’d hug him if she wasn’t so shell shocked. Neither of them move for a beat, standing stock still as he trails his eyes over her, clocks the way her gaze refuses to lift to meet his. He can’t breathe. The room is too small for everything he’s feeling, like the walls are inching close and closer and the air is getting less. He tries to move like lightning but his whole body feels sluggish and slow as he inches past her and out the front door, flinching as it closes behind him and he wanders out into the street. He stares back at the house for a moment before deciding he needs a walk to clear his head.

When he comes back she’s sitting on the couch waiting for him, thumbs twiddling, head still down and worry eating her alive. He eases the door shut behind him, loud enough to tell her he’s home but soft enough to show he’s not mad. He wishes a door could convey remorse but it’s taken him long enough to be able to do it with words he doubts a block of wood would be able to in the timeframe he needs. He shucks off his boots, realising he shouldn’t have been wearing them in the house in the first place.

The fresh air has cooled his body enough that he feels less of the alcohol circulating around his system. He tries not to squeeze the flowers he’d plucked from the bush outside Aaron’s place as he stands with his back against the wood.

“’M sorry” he whispers before clearing his throat and repeating it at a higher volume. She turns her face towards him, looking at him over her shoulder. The anger is gone from her face, replaced with a dwelling worry that spikes at him, makes him replay his words over and over.

“What did I do?”

“Nothin’” he insists quickly, pauses before he realises he should say more, that she sometimes needs him to say more, they’ve talked about this “Ya didn’t, I promise”

“I’m sorry”

That does it, rips him from his safe haven by the door because he can’t stand the thought that she deserved anything he said to her, that she’d said anything wrong when he knows she hadn’t. Talking at a party, about stupid old-world stuff whilst her spare, wine glass free hand kept his back warm. She hadn’t said a damn thing wrong, and he’d scared her.

He strides over to the couch, coming round to kneel in front of her. He places the somewhat squashed flowers on the couch cushion next to her. He hovers a hand above her knee, placing it gently on the fabric of her dress when she doesn’t flinch away at the sight. He doesn’t want her to flinch ever again.

“Dun’ apologise to me when ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong”

“I’m so-“

“Dun’ ever apologise to me when i’s my fault. ‘S my shit an’ I shouldn’t take it out on ya”

She knows he loves her, has proven it time and time again, has put his body in front of hers in the face of almost certain death, would protect her with his last breath, would love her with it. But she knows she’ll never be able to unhear it, that some things you can’t take back, that she’ll always wonder, just a little bit if its true. Logic and love are very rarely intertwined.

“Okay”

He can still hear his fathers words ringing in his head, he knows, more than most, the power that words hold over people. He tries not to say anything he doesn’t mean, and he’ll admit he’s acerbic, pointed sure but never cruel, never unnecessarily unkind. He doesn’t know why tonight was different, but he takes her hands in his, locking his eyes on her so she understands.

“I dun’ get t’ speak t’ ya like that”

“No, you don’t” she agrees, voice firmer, back to her usual tone, the one he’s always loved going hand in hand with the certainty she can hold her own. She pauses, bringing his hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles, soothing because she’s terrified that after all this time, he’s still going to break them by thinking he’s not allowed to claim his hurt “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer, instead sitting back on his feet, raising a small hopeful smile at her.

“Tell me about th’ vacation”

“I don’t-“

“Please. Ya said ya still think ‘bout Canada all th’ time”

He really does want to know, he hadn’t been outside of Georgia before everything went down, and she’s mentioned travel but Canada hadn’t come up; he’s not sure if it was that, that set him off or that he felt inadequate in a room full of people with experiences he never got to have.

“I think it was my favourite trip. Packed a bag and went alone on a whim, found a lake in the forest with a little cabin. Just mountains and trees and lakes. It’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt. I never wanted to mention it, I know you missed out on so much, but then everyone was talking and I-“

“Nah, go on, ‘S’alright”

“When Reg asked…I was going to say that’s what I picture, when I think of life outside of all of this, me and you in Canada”

“Ya think of that with me?” his voice is low, incredulous awe pulled tight at the edges, he was so busy feeling less than everyone else that he’d missed out on the fact she was thinking of him. She nods, smiling at him, working it out without him needing to say it, figuring out what drove him to snap without asking, under his walls and right in the centre of the internal world he’s built.

“We’d have a house, out near a lake with a wooden porch, and a dog, big scruffy one who likes to catch fish. We’d have coffee together overlooking the water in the morning. You’d work at the local garage, ‘cause you’re good with your hands and tools, wouldn’t have to deal with people all day, fix up all the bikes you’d secretly want...”

He’s staring her at in silence, watching her wistful face glow in the lamplight, he can barely breathe let alone find words knowing that she’s not just dreamt about a life with him, she’s thought it out in detail. He wants it, wants that life with her so badly it aches, thinks it’s the first time he’s wanted anything from life except to get through it.

“I’d work at the bar, play guitar at crappy open mic nights and you’d come for a beer after my shift to walk me home”

He hums, all the response he can manage, guilt chewing at him from the inside, clawing at his mind knowing that he’s taken his own problems out on her, told her he hates her all the while she’s dreaming of something so utterly fucking perfect.

“We’d make dinner together and dance in the living room, go camping at the weekends and make love all night long”

“In another life?” he chuckles, warm and full, knowing he’ll dream about this for the rest of his life.

“In every life…If you’d find me”

“I’d find ya”

-

He runs her a bubble bath, still amazed and confused that he can, that they’ve spent months on the road starving and struggling and here there’s a pantry that has bubble bath. The flowers from Aarons front garden are perched in a glass of water by the bed, the lamps turned off and the doors are locked up as tight as they can be. He’s insistent that he shows his apology, but he’s never had a way to do it outside these walls, nothing beyond words and affection and his experience with what women might like is limited at best.

He stands in the doorway, watching as she wraps herself in a dressing gown. He wonders idly if the amount of love he feels for her could kill him; he feels it so deeply in his bones that he physically isn’t sure it should be able to fit inside of one person. He feels it explode warmth around his body when she shuffles forward to rest her head on his chest.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this? I’m not mad”

Later, when he’s apologised again, reassured her and comforted her and she’s convinced him he’s worth loving in return, he takes them both to bed. Touches her with soft, repentant hands that have always been gentle, hands that are gentle exactly because he knows how dangerous they can be. Atonement seeping from every inch of him as he inches home inside of her, cherishes the contended sigh she lets out at the feel of him. He could never hate her, not even if he tried.

He stills when he bottoms out, rests his forehead against hers as her hips press against his firmly, dragging him as deep as he can go.

“Wha’ ya see in me, anyway?” he whispers against her lips, full of self-doubt.

She looks into him with an intensity that almost hurts, brings her hands to the sides of his face, makes sure he believes her as sincerely as she believes his apology.

“Everything”