toastnotonfire

[toastnotonfire]

Fallout After Fallout

"'cause it's a half-life, it's a fallout."

Summary: Set shortly after the explosion on the bridge which took out Rick, You and Daryl comfort one another while still reeling from the catastrophic loss of your leader, and friend. (lottssss of hurt/comfort)

word count: 1,616

pairing: Daryl Dixon x (fem!)Reader

Daryl had been gone for a good few days, along with Michonne, to look for Rick. Your head was killing you slowly, the unrelenting pounding and throbbing behind your eyes was unbearable. Maybe it was lack of sleep, or perhaps it was the gnawing guilt that grew in your stomach. The replay of the last thing you said to Rick in your head, over and over like a broken record. The words you spewed like venom from your mouth, out of anger or hurt now seemed futile.

"Your fault."

was now all that could be heard, like an endless screen of static in your brain. Your last conversation with Rick was your lost blame falling on his shoulders.

"This is all your fault."

You had hissed it through clenched teeth, crossing a line, a boundary of no return. Now he is gone and your anger can only point inwards. It was destroying you. Your own grief ripped at your stomach with its sharpened claws, rotten teeth tearing at you from the inside out.

What you really needed was for Daryl to come back home, for him to reassure you even though you knew it wouldn't fill the dark pit forming in your gut. You wanted his hands to stroke your hair like he always does when your mind races ahead of what your heart can handle. For him to hold you close, rock you sweetly, even if you don't deserve his love.

But Daryl was doing what you should be doing, what you wish you had the strength to do. Looking for him, and you're alone with your thoughts. Wandering through the empty house.

You climb the steps up to the bedrooms, making sure your footsteps are soft enough not to wake little Judith whom you had put to bed just a few hours ago.

She had asked if her Daddy would tuck her in.

You slip past Judith's room into your and Daryl's room, toeing off your boots and shrugging off your old and worn jacket. Throwing yourself into the bed as the pillows surround you in a warmth you are certain you do not deserve. Still, you sink deeper into the pillows and deeper into despair.

It hits you like a freight train, the sudden and instantaneous wave of nausea grief, and guilt. You're drowning in it, the overwhelming feeling that you're alone.

You are alone, it hits you.

All you can do is cry, stifling the sounds into your pillow as you do, because the last thing you want to do is wake up the sleeping baby, the sleeping baby girl who doesn't really know her brother and her dad won't ever come back home.

Before you even acknowledge it you shuffle over to Daryl's side, his scent immediately filling the emptiness in your heart, your trembling, tired hands grip the sheets that smell like him for comfort, clinging to them desperately, holding the covers close to your chest until you finally pass out from exhaustion.

Daryl returns home that night, his eyes somehow darker, more deep set than before it happened. He wanders upstairs slowly, taking his time as the overpowering guilt he feels for everyone who's ever been in this house comes back to him in waves, everyone who will never come back to this stupid house.

He finally reaches the door of your shared room, hesitating slightly before opening it. His heart drops to see you on his side, and your eyebrows are drawn together in a pained expression as you grip the sheets tightly. He can tell from here you're in a fitful, restless sleep.

His heart aches in that moment, an indescribable pain he feels. He knows you share it.

He slowly lowers himself down onto the bed, trying not to wake you but it's no use, your eyes flicker open, broken voice, thick with sleep and tears whispering out to him.

"Daryl?"

"m'here" he replies as he moves towards you with unspoken urgency, and it's so short and simple and still too much. A broken sob escapes your lips, and once it starts it won't stop, painful cries that you stifle into his shirt rip their way out your chest. He just holds you through it, like always, stroking your hair. The very gentleness you told yourself you definitely did not and still don't deserve, yet your selfish selfish self can't seem to push him away.

"It's not your fault" he whispers slowly, rubbing your back in small circles, kissing where your hairline meets your forehead gently as you cling to him.

Upon hearing this your tears only fall harder, you don't have the energy to disagree with him, you don't have the energy to tell him that it actually is your fault. Everything is the result of your twisted mind-numbing grief.

Daryl knows you both feel it now, the blame, the guilt. He knows both your hearts are aching in sync, for the people lost and missing, for the baby girl across the hall, oblivious and asleep.

Michonne.

A sharp pain runs through his heart, the hair on his arms standing to attention as he selfishly pulls you closer, burying his face into your hair. Losing his brother, Michonne losing Rick, threw him hurtling back into reality, like he had fallen through a frozen lake, plunging into icy water and sinking. Shock and disbelief kept attacking him anytime he tried to break out from under the ice. Rick, the constant, was gone. You could just as easily vanish from his grasp.

He still has you. It makes him feel sick. He can't stop the feeling. The inadequacy of his attempts to help everyone "for the better good" nearly caused bile to rise in his sorry throat.

He still has you. He doesn't deserve this.

Your voice breaks him from his own terrifying thoughts, your breaths coming sharply between words, interrupting your sentences with gasps and huffs as you fail miserably to calm your emotions enough to speak.

"I told him it was all his fault." You manage to whimper through the tears. "Now he's -"

Daryl cuts you off sharply with a grunt, staring at you with piercing eyes. They still hold a softness in them, but they are tired and weary. They've seen too much.

"He ain't dead," Daryl replies. His voice is low, his tone a warning, yet the way his hand shakes to a stop in its path through your hair makes you certain he doesn't believe the words.

"Okay." You murmur back in response, the bluntness of his reaction numbing your emotions for that moment, shocking you out of your stupor.

"Okay," You repeat softly, watching him carefully in the dim light, awaiting his next move. It was his turn to break now.

He broke eye contact, staring past you, anywhere. His tears fall silently as he starts to sob next to you. Your arms snake around his neck, pulling him close, so close he is practically on top of you, fully tangled in one another's arms. Sobbing in tandem with him and pressing kisses to him wherever you can reach if it had even the possibility to heal his pain, you would do it forever. 

After many hours, the two of you were still wrapped in one another's arms. Intertwined so tightly that if anyone were to walk into the room they might mistake you for one large mound under the covers, rather than two people.

You stirred slightly from inside his arms, turning to stare out the window across the room, the sun is slowly and steadily rising now. Rays of orange gold crept over the horizon and spilled out onto the streets of Alexandria.

A new day is beginning out there, yet inside, here with you two of you, time has frozen, preserving you both.

Rain starts to steadily fall outside, tiny droplets falling together to create an almost misty effect, a morning shower beginning, cleansing the world for this new day. The sound roused Daryl from his light sleep, and his blue eyes flickered open to look at you, then to the slightly open window.

He says nothing, and neither do you, for what feels like an eternity.

"She'll be awake soon" You eventually whisper, your face turning back to look at him.

"soon" He echos, staring out the window still, watching the raindrops fall, the sounds filling the room, mingling with both of your soft, shallow breaths. He is distant, distracted, and detached.

"we will be okay" You breathe, putting a soft hand on his cheek and forcing him to look at you finally. His blue eyes are so devoid of the spark, and the snarky, fiery archer from the farm is slowly fading with every person lost.

"we will" You repeat, maybe this time you'll believe it.

"Yeah." He whispers back, his eyes closing as he leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours and inhaling deeply.

Just then, Judith cries softly from across the hall, the noise carrying through the room, drowning out the soft rain.

You sit up, Daryl following after you, mirroring your movements in a way that suggests both your soul and body are in sync, as they always have been.

You look at him, then to the direction of the cries.

"c'mon," You nod, reaching out to gently graze his hand with yours, pulling him to the surface, anchoring him to you. "day by day."

"day by day" He echoes while nodding, a lock of dark brown, unruly hair falling in front of his eyes. While reaching forward to tuck it back instinctively, in that moment, you believe yourself, even for a second.

Day by day can be enough, It's gonna have to be.

A/N: so I actually really love the way this one turned out!! sorry it's so angsty but I do love some angst and I have yet to post some proper angst here so ENJOY! (p.s I'm very much sticking to my new years resoulution of writing more as we can see)

[toastnotonfire]

Show Me Yours.

"All the bad dreams that you hide

Show me yours, I'll show you mine"

-Phoebe Bridgers

pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

wordcount: 1453

Summary: You remember the night Daryl showed you his scars for the first time, while you were patching him up from a failed supply run.

A/N: guys i am so sleep deprived and swamped with work and coursework but i really wanted to get back into writing for the new year and revive my page, so sorry if this is absolute dogshit I honestly cant tell!! As always my asks are open and any spelling errors or critiques pls let me know! Happy New Year Lovelies!!

The archer was simply not what many people had preemptively assumed. He shouldn't be defined by his exterior or the way he lashed out when threatened, like a wild and dangerous wolf caught in a snare, because it's simply just not him. You know that better than anyone else.

You remember the night he dropped his walls to you, back at the prison, which felt like a lifetime ago; it might as well be.

It was storming badly outside; the wind howled and thrashed against the prison walls loudly, drowning out the sounds of walkers ravenous growls, yet the noise couldn't drown out your incessant worrying for the archer who had set out earlier that very day.

The rain seemed to pick up in momentum every time your brain screamed the different possibilities to itself. You couldn't sleep. You wouldn't until you knew he was safe and sound.

Some god might have been listening that night, he might have taken pity on your poor mortal soul for all that you'd lost, maybe the higher power who sent him back to you knew you'd need him yet. The sound of the large prison gates being pulled open was the sweetest music to your ears.

You remember racing out towards the gates to greet him, your joy faltering slightly as you took in his sorry state, soaked to the bone from the unrelenting rain and some gashes that decorated his cheek and arms, but alive nonetheless. Breathing is all you can ask for in this unforgiving new world. You know that now, more than ever.

That night you took him up to your room, the small cell in the furthest corner, which you claimed the first night you all fought your way into this block, although you didn't actually sleep in it for a good while. The fear overpowering your exhaustion. You can't really remember the cell walls anymore. The memory slipped from your brain slowly the more places you sought refuge in throughout the years.

You had walked him in slowly, closing the curtain behind you to conceal you both behind a screen. It almost gave the illusion of safety, being in a little room like that, secluded from prying eyes.

"Are you hurt badly?" you asked him quietly, grabbing a small towel and filling a bowl with some lukewarm water.

He shook his head from left to right, eyeing you warily as you lowered yourself to sit next to him with the now damp towel, gently dragging it up and down his bare arms to clear the grime away, your movements featherlight as you ghosted over a gash on his arm. A silence laid between you both, heavy but not exactly uncomfortable.

"Where else are you hurt?" you whispered, breaking the fragile silence, Daryl seemed to go ridgid at the question, staring straight ahead, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, a habit you had observed from him since way back at the quarry.

After a few long seconds in silence Daryl gently makes a move, removing the soaked leather vest, which fell to the ground with a wet plop, and slowly unbuttoning his dark grey shirt to reveal his back to you.

You held back a shocked gasp as you took in his back, long deep scars stretched across his back, colouring him in deep purples and reds. The scars have ragged and angry edges, and your body nearly ached at seeing them, mirroring his own pain in yourself. There was a new cluster of gashes where he must have skinned his back falling today. You gently shook yourself for pausing so long and sprung back into tending to his wounds. Thinking better than to acknowledge the blatant vulnerability in the moment for fear of scaring him off.

You reached out slowly to press the damp towel to his back, wishing desperately to somehow absorb the years of pain from his body, to take it into yourself and erase this past from him. However, as much as you wanted it to be possible, it wasn't. So you had to make do with easing the pain of his newest wounds, hoping to god you could convey the affection you held for him.

You cleaned his wounds with the utmost care that night, gentle movements that ensured the sting of the antiseptic was numbed, as you contemplated breaking the long, vulnerable silence.

"Daryl?" you had whispered attentively, the end of his name lilting up into a slight question. You weren't exactly sure what you were going to say yet.

"It's fine" He replied quickly, practically cutting you off, his tone gruff and almost defensive.

"it's not... it doesn't have to be fine" You whisper back, a small correction, desperately wanting, needing him to know that you cared.

The silence afterwards was long and painful, you were scared to move in case he snapped out of it, snatched his shirt back and left. in case he never spoke to you again after this, in case you pushed too far, crossed some line, some barrier he had.

What happened next was what you had least expected at the time. His shoulders, imperceptibly, started to tremble. it was such a slight movement that you could have missed it had you not been paying such close careful attention to the man before you.

You lay your hand carefully on his shoulder, offering him the slightest physical reassurance, the movement unsure and hesitant. You gave him space and time to flinch away, to turn sharply and tell you off before leaving.

But he didn't go. He didn't snap or shout or push or shove.

You kept your hand steady on the archer's back, slowly leaning forward to wrap your arms around him carefully, slow and steady in a deliberate effort not to startle him. After nearly a year in his company you had learned that Daryl startled easily, lashed out quick, and now you were beginning to understand the root cause. You cursed yourself for not seeing the signs sooner, for resenting his attitude in those first months, for arguing when he pushed you away.

It made sense now, and it broke your heart.

He let out a broken, shaky sigh as your arms wrapped around him, his breaths coming faster and irregularly as he finally let every defense crumble. In that moment nothing could have pulled you away from him, nothing at all. You were consumed by the need to comfort him, to soothe his aches and pains, to take the unbearable weight off of his shoulders.

After what felt like an eternity, and simultaneously not nearly long enough, the archer finally spoke.

“S’a hell of an ugly sight” He mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically broken, soft.

“No. no it's not… it… you could never be.” You whispered back, your voice hushed and gentle. You pulled back, gently beckoning him to turn to face you, desperate to tell him to his face.

“You're perfect, scars and all.” you whispered, grabbing his face up in both hands, urging him to believe, to understand. He just stared back stunned, his eyes searching yours long and hard. For a fleeting moment you were worried you had once again overstepped, that he would push you away and leave, running from you and the prison walls. 

All doubt left your mind when he leaned forward, the horrific world surrounding you was suddenly forgotten as his lips met yours in a soft, gentle manner. It caught you off guard before you softened against him, giving in to the magnetic pull between you both. The world turned off around you, the horrific, awful things you'd seen, and done, together became irrelevant as he pulled you in. Your hands stayed cupped around his jaw as your other went to tangle in the hair as the back of his neck. 

When he finally broke the kiss, he leaned back to give you a long, meaningful look, his eyes taking in your facial features, your short and rapid breaths mingling with one anothers in the inches between both your faces. 

The storm raged on outside the prison walls, but the threat that night had been swiftly forgotten as you curled up in the Archers arms, so naturally it was as if you had been doing it your whole life. 

That night will never leave your mind even now, when youre looking at him from across the room in your apartment in the commonwealth, watching him chasing RJ about the house as laughter fills the air, or when you're standing in the doorway, listening to him read to Judith.

It was the night he dropped his guard, the night he was brave enough to rip down the walls he had built to keep you out. The night he became yours. 

[toastnotonfire]

[toastnotonfire]

The vibe of every angsty Joel Miller fic in my drafts...

[toastnotonfire]

dear lorddd when i get to heaven…

[toastnotonfire]

one day he drops the "im daryl and this is my wife" bomb

do you think Daryl would propose or he will just suddenly call you his wife

[toastnotonfire]

THE WALKING DEAD (2010 - 2022) Season 2 (deleted scene)

[toastnotonfire]

i’m gonna frow up

[toastnotonfire]

dedicated to @userparamore 😇

[toastnotonfire]

Couch Crasher

pairing: Daryl Dixon x (Fem!)reader

summary: Daryl carried you to bed, because you fell asleep on the couch... again. (SLIGHT! mention of Daryl's scars nothing big just reader thinking)

You obviously don't mean to fall asleep on the couch, just whenever you come home to the warm sanctuary that is your house in Alexandria the couch seems an inviting space to rest your feet... and maybe sometimes rest your eyes too.

Daryl comes home from the hunt, toeing off his boots in the hallway and strolling into the living room where he is confronted with the sight of you.

your curled up on the edge of the couch, in your sweatpants and stained worn hoodie. Your hair is covering part of your face as you sleep peacefully in the middle of the room, soft breaths leaving your parted lips.

Daryl falters for a second in the doorway, scanning over your sleeping form, allthough you look tranquil enough he wouldn't nessacarly describe the way your lying as comfortable in the long term.

He thinks for a momment, of the last few times he's found you like this, allways too tired to make the extra trek to your bed, he thinks of the way you've never got rid of the dark circles which took up stubborn residence below your sparkling eyes a few years ago.

He shakes his head, a little frown finds its way onto his lips as he stalks closer to your side while you sleep, trying not to wake you. As carefully as he possibly can he reaches out, grabbing your legs with one arm and using the other to support your torso, carrying you bridal style, close to his chest.

A small groan leaves your lips in protest as you turn hiding your face in his chest.

"yeah I know, I know..." Daryl muses, carrying you steadily towards your room, knocking the door open with his shoulder to avoid lessening his grip on you.

He gently lays you down on your bed, pulling the blanets over you and stroking your hair back from your face as you scrunch your nose in annoyance at being disturbed.

"don't give me tha' look" Daryl tilts his head to the side, amusement flickers in his face then he turns away, rummaging through his chest of drawers. He carefully shrugs out of his treasured leather vest, hanging it over the back of a chair before unbuttoning his flannel shirt.

You watch intently, blinking heavily from your place in the warm bed as he shrugs out of yet another layer, revealing his back to you. Your eyes scan over the long scars that litter his back, some thin and some thick and suddenly your ribcage is tightening around your lungs.

You wonder how in the face of all the awfull things against him, he still turned out good... so so truly good.

You take this thought, mulling it, turning it over in your head as you watch him slide into a worn grey t-shirt.

But then he's turning around and every worry, every concern and every bit of anxiety that riddles your worn and exhausted bones is washed away, painted instead in the warm, comforting glow of his little smile. The soft one he reserves for your eyes only in these quiet moments.

You adjust a little as the mattress sinks to his weight, pushing yourself closer to him slightly and wrapping one arm tightly around him, and the other arm across yourself. He holds you closely, running one of his large hands gently through your hair, soothing you softly.

"better than the couch huh?" Daryl jokes, his voice just as soft as his soothing hands are.

"mhm..." you mumble back a tired response, smiling at Daryl, who just shakes his head in fake dissaproval then places a small peck on your forhead.

"back to sleep hun'" he murmurs back, closing his own eyes slowly.

You both lay like that, curled up in one another's embrace, without a single care for the cruel world outside the door of your bedroom. The two of you find refuge in one another's arms, like a safe harbour to a sailor who had been lost in a storm.

Your very last thought before joining Daryl in the realm of peacefull sleep is that, yeah... this is WAY better than couch crashing.

A/N: hope you guys like it! been sitting in my drafts for fucking ages so I just thought I'd post it and see what ppls thoughts are, IF U SEE ANY SPELLING MISTAKES OR GRAMMAR ERRORS OR JUST ANY CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM ID LOVE TO HEAR IT!!! and if you have any prompts or ideas for little drabbles then my requests will be open, I'll try my best ❤️

[toastnotonfire]

thinking about Daryl comforting Judith from nightmares and looking after her while she's sick because no one ever looked after him right. UNCLE DARYL MAKES ME RIP MY HAIR OUT.

[toastnotonfire]

Velvet ring

pairing: Daryl dixon x (fem!) reader

summary: yes the song by big thief is what this is based off pls and thankyou it's just a little fluffy drabble of life with Daryl in the quiet moment's between constant fighting.

P.S: this is an unfinished mess written at like 3am, it's a combination of ideas for a longer oc fanfic I'm cooking up so it's rlly just my boredom rn

The rain throws itself against the windows of you and Daryl's shared room, it was a quiet night in alexandria after a much too long and strenuous day. One of the walls had caved in and it took nearly all day from dawn till dusk to fix the gap, rendering the community safe once again.

And, while the walls may make everyone else living there feel perfectly safe, it wasn't the walls for you. it was him.

You had known Daryl for long enough, considering how time sort of warps itself all together in this apocalyptic world, a year is a day and a day is an entire eternity. You and him had bonded at the start, on the Greene farm when you saw past the harsh exterior he tried to put up, you saw he was kind, and probably lonely underneath the lone wolf act. He was sweet in the way he fumbled his words almost as if he was pushing them out faster out of nervous habit.

He of course also saw into you, past what you had been through. He didn't see the scar on your cheek, or the great effort you went through to steady your constantly shaking hands. He didn't pry, dig to know the answers to your puzzles, he just understood in a way no one ever had before.

Now, after what had felt like a lifetime on the road, fighting to survive, the act of simply living together felt foreign. Not unwelcome of course, but foreign all the same.

"whatcha' readin'" Daryl asks, his voice thick with exhaustion from the long day, making his southern drawl more apparent in his voice.

"just something I picked up on the last run, some... 'the secret history' it's allright" you reply, pausing in the middle of your sentence to check the name of the book.

"ah" Daryl replies simply, as he crawls into bed beside you, letting out a huff as he makes contact with the soft mattress.

You close your book over slightly, turning your attention to the man who's currently face down in the pillows next to you, his dark brown unruly locks sticking in different directions, after a few seconds he moves his head to meet your eyes.

"quit starin'" he chuckles, laying on his side facing you.

You find yourself at a loss for witty replies, to enamoured by his face, the way a small curl of brown hair lays across his cheek, and his eyes are already starting to fall closed, his body losing the battle to sleep. You bring up a hand to push back the small curl from his cheek, and like a domesticated cat Daryl leans into the touch, making your heart twist.

You lay down next to him, bringing the blankets up under your chin to shield yourself from the cold nipping at you. curling closer to Daryl under the covers, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off the man -who is best described as a human furnace- and wrap your arms around him, just wishing too be that little bit closer to him. You place a goodnight kiss on his nose, and he returns one just on your cheekbone, his lips ghosting the scar which also sits there, a gentle reminder of his unconditional love.

These quiet content moments are the ones that you live for -litterally live for-. Moments watching the rain with him, talking about life before, life now, what you miss,your favourite foods and favourite songs. The mornings when the sun starts to filter through the white lace curtains, the suns rays dancing across your exposed skin, painting you both in a warm orange glow. The small kisses to say goodmorning, and the smell of coffee filtering through the house.

The way he notices when you leave the bed early, rolling onto his side, reaching for you only to find nothing but some warmth on your side of the bed, proof you were there not long before. He allways gets up to find you, middle of the night or crack of dawn, he will always search for you and bring you back. Back down to earth, home to him. Safe and sound.

It's the small moments with him.

[toastnotonfire]

miss her everyday ngl like actually I'm a beth person till I die

beth's death will never not be sad. and senseless. and frustrating. granted, her whole arc within that hospital was frustrating. but she was just a girl and still so young and she was right there, about to walk out those doors with her people. beth, honey, i'm sorry, you deserved better than that.

[toastnotonfire]

everyday I hope to be just a little bit more like icon rose tyler