Fictions Blog Part 2

I made this account because I lost my password for my old one and couldn’t retrieve it through the app I am still trying to get into my old account Age 24 My old accounts were Fictions-Blog and Nerd-Chronicles

[duskydestra]

Happy birthday to AO3 🎂🎉

[capan-deveraux2]

Happy birthday!!

[serenelotus]

Matching Bracelets

(Daryl x Fem!Reader)

tags/warnings: fluff, grumpy x sunshine, established relationship, shy daryl, prison era, swearing, typical twd stuff

word count: 1.4k

summary: You risk your life for some stupid bracelets and Daryl risks losing his mind over your stupid smile.

A/N: I was giggling and kicking my feet writing this btw. Daryl is absolutely head over heels here. (he literally sat down and braided you a bracelet HELLO??)

》 masterlist

___

It’s another beautiful day at the prison. You get up early and spend the morning hovering around Daryl, rambling in that easy, half-joking way you always do whenever you’re with him. It’s become a habit now, almost routine. Where Daryl is, you’re never far behind, and sometimes it’s the other way around.

He’s crouched by his motorcycle, hands working over parts he’s probably done with already. Truth is, he’s been finished for a while, but he keeps up the act. Just to let you talk longer. Just to stay in your company a little more.

“You’re not done fixing it?” you ask, not for the first time today.

“Nah,” he says, same answer as always. You don’t call him out.

Leaning against the bike, you grin at some sudden thought. He looks up at you, squinting against the morning sun. “What?” he asks.

“Did I ever tell you how much I loved jewelry?” Your voice softens, edged with nostalgia, and that grin widens. Daryl just grunts, which you take as a no. “I used to be obsessed with it. Rings, necklaces, bracelets…” Your smile falters for only a second at the thought of a world that doesn’t exist anymore but it’s back almost instantly, your eyes glowing again. “Especially bracelets. I had this whole drawer full of em.”

Daryl studies you in the way he always does, soaking up your energy, drowning in your enthusiasm. He can’t explain it. He just likes watching you light up, like the world hasn’t managed to take that part of you away yet. “Yeah?” he mutters, forcing his gaze back to the motorcycle so you don’t notice how intently he’s listening.

“Mmhm. I had this dumb idea once. Matching bracelets with a boyfriend. Thought it’d be romantic.” You give him a sly grin. “Maybe I should’ve saved the idea for you.”

Daryl’s hands freeze. Heat crawls up the back of his neck, his ears burning. Matching bracelets? With you? Hell no. He can’t even look at you now, not when his brain’s already painting the damn picture of your hand slipping that thing onto his wrist, smiling all soft like it means something. He shakes the thought off fast. Stuff like that just isn’t for him. Not bracelets, not cute matching crap. He’s not the kind of man who gets to have that. “Ain’t wearin’ no damn bracelet.” He scoffs, muttering something about it being childish.

“Relax, Dixon. I’m kidding… mostly.” Your laugh rings out, light and genuine, and it knocks something loose in his chest.

___

A week passes, and you’re up on the watchtower when something catches your eye. A glint in the sun, just beyond the fence. Curiosity nags at you until you finally spot it: one of the walkers shuffling near the fence has something on its wrist. You squint, leaning forward, and your stomach flips. 

“No fucking way,” you mutter, a grin tugging at your lips. Bracelets. Two of them. Your mind is already racing ahead, imagining yourself handing one to Daryl, imagining the look on his face. Anticipation surges, and before you can think twice, your feet are already moving. You make quick work of the rope that ties the fence closed, sliding through the gap, heart racing with both excitement and the kind of recklessness you’ve always carried around like a second skin.

The herd presses against the barrier, their groans echoing. You circle around them quietly, knife in hand. A couple of stragglers notice you, and you take them down cleanly, steel blade sliding through their rotting skulls. Your eyes stay fixed on your target. “Come on, ugly,” you taunt, waving your arm. “This way.”

The walker staggers toward you, snarling. You dart forward, driving your knife into its skull. For a second, relief floods through you, until the dead weight collapses against you, slamming you hard into the dirt.

“Fuck.” You groan, squirming beneath it, shoving the body aside until you’re free.

“Y/N!” a voice calls out, sharp with panic. You twist your head and see Glenn sprinting from the prison yard, eyes wide.

Instead of panicking, a laugh bursts out of you, breathless. Your hands fumble at the corpse’s arms, tugging at the bracelets. The first one slips free easily but when you yank at the second, it snaps, beads scattering across the grass. “Dammit!” you whine as you clutch the intact bracelet to your chest, still grinning despite yourself.

Glenn finally reaches you, chest heaving as he takes in the scene. His expression is halfway between horror and disbelief. “What the hell were you doing?”

You finally look up at him, sheepish but not all that sorry. “Sorry. I had to.”

His eyes flick to the bracelet clutched in your hand, and you can see it hit him, what you almost died for. He scrubs a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. “You’re insane,” he says as he helps you to your feet. Then his gaze drops to your arm. “Shit, Y/N. You’re bleeding.”

You follow his gaze and only then notice the cut on your forearm, blood sliding down in a thin line. You sigh and roll your eyes at yourself. “Great.”

___

By evening, word has reached Daryl. He storms into your cell, seeing you on the bunk with gauze wrapped around your arm. “Yer outta ya damn mind.” His sigh is heavy.

“Hey,” you smile up at him, sitting up. “I missed you too.”

“The hell were ya thinkin’ runnin’ out like that?” He kneels in front of you, eyes scanning the cut on your arm.

You hold up the bracelet, grinning like it’s no big deal. “I got this.”

Daryl stares at it, dumbfounded, then finally puts it together. “Ya didn’t-” He stops, looks at your unfazed smile, and sighs. “Ya nearly got yerself killed for some damn bracelet?”

You blink at him. “It wasn’t just any bracelet. It’s pretty. And it was fun. Besides,” you wave your wrist in front of him, “I got it, didn’t I?”

Daryl stares at the little loop of beads on your wrist  like it is the stupidest thing in the world, but he can't ignore how happy you look, your eyes shining with pride. Still, what you did almost got yourself killed and he’s not letting it slide. He glares at you again. “Ain’t funny. Ya coulda got bit.”

“I didn’t.”

“Coulda.” 

You soften, smile fading just enough. “Daryl… I just wanted something to remind me of before. Something normal.” He remembers the way you’d talked about bracelets, how much they’d meant to you. His brows relax slightly. He can’t stay mad. He never could when it comes to you.

___

The next morning, you wake to the faint press of something around your wrist. You lift your hand and freeze, blinking in the dim light. You scramble to your feet, flick on the lamp, and finally see it. A bracelet. Not the shiny one you risked your life for yesterday. This one is clumsy-looking, handmade, knotted strips of leather. Your breath catches. “What the…” You pull on your boots and hurry outside, finding him on the steps sharpening his knife. “Daryl.”

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up.

You march to stand in front of him, holding up your wrist. “What’s this?”

His ears turn red as he ducks his head.

“Daryl.” 

He sighs and finally glances at you, that cornered, reluctant look he always wears when he does something vulnerable. Without a word, he lifts his own sleeve. On his wrist sits another bracelet, nearly identical to yours. Your eyes go wide, mouth hanging. “You…”

“Ain’t nothin’,” he mutters, looking away. “Just… figured ya wouldn’t be runnin’ after no damn walkers if ya had one already.”

You can’t stop smiling. You reach for his hand, tugging him to stand, dropping whatever he’s been holding onto the steps. You give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

His face reddens instantly. He’s never used to your affection and suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “So… matching bracelets, huh?” you tease, trying to distract yourself from the warmth rising in your chest.

He groans, scrubbing a hand down his face as if it’ll erase the embarrassment. “Don’t start.” His eyes flick from the bracelets on your wrists to his, then back to your smile. He swallows hard, wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

You laugh, imagining him staying up in his cell, carefully making bracelets for you. Knowing he knows what you like, and that he values it… it gives you butterflies. “I’m never taking it off. You’re not either.”

Daryl scoffs, shaking his head, but the corner of his mouth betrays him, tugging up slightly. He finds himself thinking maybe, just maybe, he’ll make you a hundred more, a hundred lifetimes even, as long as it keeps you smiling like this. 

___

if you enjoyed my writing pls leave a like to show me some love! feedbacks are always welcomed♡

》 masterlist

[cryingduringsexwyou-deactivated]

for a moment // daryl dixon

summary: daryl being needy & tired just because i think its cute :)

contains: fluff, cuddling, f!reader, daryl’s mommy issues

word count: not a lot

A/N: written while half asleep, just warning you

Daryl sighs like a tired dog as he firmly wraps his arms around you, burying his face into your chest as casually as he would if you were his mattress. He’s heavy, but not heavy enough to crush you. His hold on you is tight, but he’s not squeezing you.

You smile a little, gently combing your fingers through his hair which earns a small hum of acknowledgement from him. He nuzzles his face closer into your chest as his shoulders relax. His breathing steadies and becomes more calm, his ribs flaring in and out slowly with each breath.

“Keep pettin’ me.” He grumbles into your shirt. You huff out a small laugh.

“Petting? Are you a dog?” You tease. He scoffs and picks up his head to rest it on your shoulder, his hold on you tightening.

“Maybe.” He replies in almost a whisper. You oblige his request nonetheless, continuing to play with his hair and gently scratch at his scalp. The poor man needs it after the long, exhausting day he’s had. You’re his escape from everything ugly and cruel, the only thing that saves him from having to endure it all. His warm breath tickles your neck, his touch soft but needy.

“Need a little therapy after today?” You joke, your voice as soft as a lullaby when you speak to him.

“Fuck off.” He huffs, but there’s no real anger behind it. He’s just trying to cover up the fact that he so badly wants to say yes. You giggle quietly at his response before pressing a little kiss to the top of his head, the gesture almost nurturing.

“I got you.” You whisper sweetly. You were always such a safe space for him, which was something he needed so badly. Daryl finds himself soaking up all of your affection whenever he gets the chance. He needs it like oxygen.

Daryl’s mind gradually starts to get fuzzy as he gets more and more tired, his voice lower and his words more vulnerable. He’s not entirely there, and his usual tough facade is replaced by the needy and loving part of him that he always suppresses. His fingers gently grab at the fabric of your shirt, bunching it up in his palms a little, like he’s trying to get closer when he’s already lying in your arms. His eyelids are heavy and he’s never felt more at peace.

“Stay like this.” He murmurs, his voice barely audible.

“I wasn’t planning on moving.”

“Good. I wanna sleep like this.” The loving words feel like a dangerous confession to him, his face going slightly pink as he speaks.”

“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.” Your words are gentle. You’re always gentle with him. He feels as fragile as glass in your arms. There’s a few seconds of silence that feels generations longer than it actually is, before Daryl speaks one more time.

“You’d be a real good mom.”

You furrow your eyebrows at that, pausing for a second.

“Why’d you say that?” You ask curiously.

“No reason.”

[weirdness-is-good]

[whunt]

me on days when i’m in the lab doing gruesome medical experiments on human subjects

[jacob-the-gun]

Today is the only day you can reblog this.

[ominous-signs]

Official ominous sign

[ensignsimp]

Could you do headcanons for Andorian courting/mating practices? Maybe specifically something for Tholos or Shran trying to court a reader who’s completely oblivious to Andorian courting traditions and so is painfully oblivious to his attempts to woo her?

"Miscommunication" ENT Thy'lek Shran x Fem! Reader (1/2)

A/N: I had to do a lot of research for this character because I have not watched Star Trek Enterprise. Thankfully, a friend let me borrow their box set.

A/N+: *Usha-shan is a made-up term for mating display/duel. I also posted a Weird Kinky HC for this as well to help give some context.

TW: Mature Themes

You had strange things been happening to you for weeks. The Andorians would constantly "run into" the Enterprise on more than one occasion. This was becoming more of an issue due to the frequency. However, Archer couldn't pass up an opportunity for diplomacy.

The only problem for you really was Shran. He always seemed insistent on having you join him and the other senior officers for meetings. Other times he would have you come aboard his ship for some long menial chore. At one point he invited you to a late-night briefing only to find a diner for two.

It was getting on your nerves at some points, but like Archer you wanted to be accommodating and diplomatic. You were unsure if Shran was trying to do the same. After your latest run-ins with Shran, you would return to your quarters to find a variety of strange gifts.

The first time it happened Shran presented you with a beautiful Andorian gemstone necklace. The second time you were gifted with a large container of fresh vegetables, fruits, and meat, that you promptly gifted to Cook. Then on the most recent visit, you returned to a room filled with furs and silks.

You would try to talk to him about it on his next visit. It usually didn't take long for him to come back around. However, this visit seemed different. He would try to avoid you as much as possible. He would speak with Captain Archer in whispers. He would try not to look at you in corridors. He would sometimes go in the opposite direction when he saw you. It made you believe that whatever he was trying to do was over. You just hoped you didn't insult him.

Shran felt nervous asking Archer for such a favor but he didn't know who else to trust. He had gained affection for one of his crew so it was only fair he asked him for assistance. He had tried everything to win you over, but it seemed as if you had no idea what he was trying to tell you. This made his blood boil when you ignored him, but it made him want you even more.

He walked into Archer's office, slammed his hands down on his desk, and looked him squarely in the eyes. "I need your help."

Archer looked confused, "Now what?" He sounded a little too sarcastic for his liking.

"I need to impress one of your crewmen. I wish to take them as a mate." Shran loudly whispered, afraid that any passers-by might hear him.

Archer raised his eyebrows shocked that he, Commander Shran of the Imperial Guard, would fall in love with a human being. He had several questions running through his mind, "Who?"

Shran let out a sigh, "It's Ensign (L/N)." He straightened up and put his hands behind his back, "I have tried to win their affection, however, they don't seem to notice."

"I have gifted them rare jewels, and silks, and provided them a vast array of resources yet they elect to ignore me." He said his antenna leaning back. "That is why I must show them that I am worthy of their attention."

He reached into his uniform jacket and pulled out a pad. "This is a detailed record of the *Usha-shan, a display of one's strength and vitality."

"I'm not going to have to try and kill you again am I?" Archer groaned a little taking the pad.

"That is not required." Shran laughed, "Though I think presenting them your head would be as appealing."

After explaining *Usha-shan to Archer, he agreed as long as no one would get killed. Shran was hopeful, he had not been in a duel like this for a while but he was hopeful about his prospects. Archer had no interest in winning you over so if that meant he would have the upper hand. For him, nothing could go wrong.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Yelling at Bashir but in my Jenna Marbles voice

“Juliiaannaaa!”

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Hello!!! Hope you’re doing well!

How about prompt 1 with worf??

Trouble At Work- Worf x Reader

Summary: Worf comforts you after an incident at work

Word count: 528

✨Want to be tagged in my next Worf fic? Click here✨

The ridges on Worfs stern forehead deepen as he sees you make a hasty retreat from Quarks. You’d both planned to meet there on his break, as Quark had been ‘encouraged’ to let you have your break at the same time as your boyfriend.

His eyes flicker from your retreating for, to Quark, as he marches over to the already wide-eyed Ferengi.

Stomping into the bar, Worf grabbed the smaller man by the lapel, raising him from the ground.

“What happened to her, Ferengi?” Worf loudly growled at the man in his grasp.

“He-hey, I don’t know, I can’t see everything at once!”

Suddenly Worf brings Quark closer to his rage-filled face.

“If she was harmed in anyway, I will not think twice about killing you.”

Abruptly dropping Quark to the ground, Worf storms off in search of you.

Standing outside of your quarters, he can already hear muffled cries on the other side of the door. Storming inside the room, his warrior stance is softened as he sees your shaking form sitting on your bed.

With your back facing him, he is unable to see your face, but as he gently moves to sit beside you, his face returns to its previous fierce look. With a hand on your shoulder, he turns you to have a better look at the blossoming bruise on your cheek.

“Who did this to you?”

His voice filled with fury and malice causes you to flinch.

“No-nobody,” you respond timidly.

Worf knew growling at you for information would get him nowhere. Swallowing his anger, Worf gently takes your face in his hand, being mindful of the bruise.

“Parmaqqay, what happened? Please tell me.”

As your teary eyes slowly lift to Worfs, he tries not to break or kill someone in that moment. You couldn’t resist Worf when he was so soft with you like this.

“I-it was just some Cardassians, th-they got a bit too rough was all, I-I’m sure they didn’t mean it.”

You tried your best to calm Worfs already heated temper that you knew was bubbling under the surface. Though he kept a cool appearance, you could tell he was seething.

“Go take a nice warm shower, and put on your most comfortable clothes. I will return shortly to care for you.”

Worf had gotten a lot better at keeping his rage under control, but you knew his words were not as innocent as they seem. Unfortunately you also knew there was no fighting him when he got like this.

With a big sigh, you accepted he’d be doing something to defend you.

“Okay, love, but please, don’t do anything too stupid.”

Worf smirked at your words, knowing that you accepted the way he showed his love, but also that you cared for him.

You never did fully learn what Worf did for you that day, but every shift you had going forward there was always a security officer, Klingon or even Dax and/or Jadzia not far from you.

Worf knew he couldn’t be there to protect you at all times, so it warmed your heart that he’d most likely managed to get you your own private security team.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Imagine Quark unknowingly buying you, a fairy, from some shady deal. He doesn’t know what to do and isn’t sure he can make profit from you, so Garak takes care of you

Odo: “Quark, what have you done this time?”

Quark: “I don’t know! I don’t know what she is or what to do with her”

Miles: “Looks like a fairy to me”

Garak: “Right you are, chief”

Quark: “A fairy huh? Ow! She bit me!”

Garak: “Serves you right. She’s unclothed and afraid. Constable, call Dr Bashir and keep her safe, I’ll be back”

*15 minutes later*

Julian: “Garak, she won’t let me examine her”

Garak: “Of course she won’t! Like I said before, she’s undressed and afraid! Here, I got you your own changing room and a dress to try on” *gently places box and gown on the bar top*

Quark: “Did you make that in less then 15 minutes?”

Garak: “I’m a very skilled man”

[lunajay33]

Our Secret

•🪽🌑🏹•

Summary: Daryl thought it best to keep the relationship a secret so no one could use it against you, especially now in a world with no rules

Pairing: Dary Dixon x f!reader

Includes: Shane being Shane, soft side Daryl but only for you, age gap

•Masterlist•

This camp was different from everything we knew, sure we could pretend we were all out camping but with the lack of food and the looming fear of walkers it changed everything

Especially when I could go to Daryl everytime I wanted to be near him which was often now, we got split up at the start but something above led us back to each other

•Flashback•

I searched everywhere for Daryl in our small town but he was gone, I checked our place and all his stuff was still here, maybe he had to leave in a hurry and had no choice

Holding back the tears I took out a bag and packed clothes for me and him and the little trinkets that held special memories, packing some food and starting my journey through the woods that surrounded the town, thinking it be better to leave on foot than get caught on the road by the walkers

After days of walking I came to a clearing leading down to a body of water, sighing in relief I drop my bag at the shore and splash the water on my face cooling from the hot Georgia heat

“Where is everyone” I whisper to myself starting to feel lost like I’ll never see a living person again

After a while I hear someone walking towards me, thinking it’s a walker I hit behind a boulder, but when they neared closer and I got a good look I realized it wasn’t a walker but the man I’ve been searching for this whole time

I stand up feeling the tears run down my face, he’s quick to hold up his trusty crossbow and point at me but when he takes me in he drops it, I run over jumping into his arms crying into his shoulder

“I found you” I sigh breathing in his scent, feeling his strong arms hold me

“I looked everywhere fer ya angel” he groans pulling back as he wipes my tears tracing his thumb over my bottom lip

“I’m here now” I couldn’t believe I was really with him right now

“Listen we’ve got a group up at a camp here , don’t know where things will lead but I don’t want no shade types using ya or me against eachother, think it’s best we pretend we don’t know eachother until we know it’s safe”

“But I just got you back, I want you to hold me again, I’ve thought about you the whole time while I was out there, praying for the day I’d feel you again” he runs his hand through my hair gently, only this side of him was reserved for me

“I know but I ain’t risking losing ya again, gotta scope things out” I sigh understanding him, walkers aren’t the only thing now we have to be worried about

“Okay I get it, just kiss me already”

•

He brings me back to the camp introducing me to the group like I was a stranger he found on his hunt and left back to his camp area and started skinning the squirrels he caught, it hurt a bit but I understood, I turn back to the group feeling nervous with all these eyes on me

“Ummm hi, do you guys have room for one more, I’ve been walking for days”

“I think we can figure something out for you dear” a lady says with long brown hair with a young boy at her side

“Thank you so much” I sit down around some of the others, she told me her name was Lori, and her son Carl, introducing me to Carol, Sophia, and Jackie

“How did you get here?” Jackie asks

“I’m from a small town a ways away, I’ve just been walking hoping to find anyone really”

“Well you’ve got us now sweet heart how old are you?” Lori asks

“I’m 24”

“You’ve survived well by yourself for being alone and young” Shane says as he comes and sits next to Lori

“Thanks” I say feeling a little uncomfortable vibes from him

“So where can I stay?”

“You can stay with me I have enough room in my tent!” A guy around my age says beaming as he comes over to us

“This is Glenn you’ll be safe staying with him” Lori smiles easing my worries, he seemed nice anyways so I follow him to his tent and drop my stuff down on the right side as he lays out a sleeping bag for me

•

It’s been a week and it’s been killing me having to pretend I don’t know Daryl, I watch seeing him leave for a hunt looking around to see if anyone was paying attention and thankfully they weren’t, I took my knife and followed him through the trees, following his tracks through the dirt

After a while of tracking I catch up to him and he’s standing there with a knowing look on his face

“Couldn’t stay away could ya” I scoff as I march over to him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, his hand grip my waist

“You know how hard it’s been? Seeing you work in the heat getting at sweaty, and showing your arms you know that’s my kryptonite”

“I know, I’ve caught ya lookin angel”

“It’s been too long D, can’t we just find a spot out here and I don’t know, have some fun?” I wiggle my eyebrows watching him smirk

“Too risky, don’t want a walker creeping up on us while I’m screwing yer brains out” I groan again resting my head on his chest

“You’re killing me D”

“I know but we’ll find a way” he pulls me into a rough kiss taking my breath away making feel all fuzzy

“Now get back to the camp I’ll be back soon” I nod at a lose for words and make my way back

When I break through the trees Glenn is at our camp smiling, I sit across from him

“What’s that look for?”

“Your hairs a bit messy” I blush as I try to flatten my hair

“I tripped”

“Yeah sure, tripped into Dixon” I shush him quickly dragging him into our tent

“Listen you can’t tell anyone please”

“I won’t, why is it so important to keep it a secret?”

“He wants to keep me safe, so no one uses me against him”

“He really cares for you for only knowing you for a week” I blush rubbing my arm

“Well…..we’ve actually been together for a few years, it’s a miracle I found him again”

“Wow, the grumpy Daryl Dixon has a soft spot”

“That’s exactly why you need to keep it a secret Glenn”

“I will you’re my friend it’ll be our secret, me you and Daryl, I never thought I’d say that” we both laugh and go on with our usual day chores

I walk down to the water and clean some of mine and Daryl’s clothes, sneaking them in as mine, while the others girls are down the beach doing theirs

“Shouldn’t be all alone down here sweet cheeks” I turn around seeing Ed looming over me

“It’s really none of your business what I do Ed” I turn going back to ringing out the water of the clothes and putting them in my basket but he’s quick to kick it over

I stand glaring at him

“What the hell is your problem” I groan bending to kick everything back up but before my fingers even graze the first item of clothing I feel his knee to my face

I fall over holding my eye wailing in pain

“Watch yer tongue lil girl, you ain’t better than me” he flicks his cigarette at me as he walks off

I sit up trying to keep the tears at bay even if my face was throbbing, I chuck everything back into the basket and run back up to camp

“Hey sweetie what’s the rush….hey what happened to your eye?” Lori asks stopping me from getting to the tent, she gently grazes my cheekbone and I whine and pull back

“Who did this to you?”

“It’s nothing, I don’t wanna make problem at the camp” I say looking down

“You’re one of us now, if you change your mind you know where to find me” she smiles like a mom and lets me walk off, I pin up mine and Daryl’s clothes, finishing and walking out just into the tree line and sit against a tree waiting for Daryl to come back and get some much needed shade

I wanna go back to my old life, I wanna curl up on the couch while Daryl runs his hand over my arm and I rest my head on his chest with no worry in the world

I hear a branch snap and I quickly look, relaxing when I realize it’s just Daryl, I quickly make my way to him wrapping my arms around his sides

“Miss me that much Angel?” I pull back and his smirk drops replaced with a look of rage

He cups my face and turns it to get a clear look at the darkening bruise adorning my cheek and eye

“What the hell happened?”

“I was doing the laundry…..Ed wouldn’t leave me alone….he kneed me in the face” I sigh feeling his fingers gently trace down my neck

“I’m gonna kill him” he grunts and strides with purpose back to the camp, with me quickly on his tail

I feel anxious but seeing him want to protect me makes me feel loved, once we get to the camp everyone looks at us noticing the fire in Daryl’s walk and expression

He spots Ed by the rv and goes right for him, taking him by the collar and laying a punch straight to his mouth, pushing him down to the ground and hovering his fist above him

“Ya ever touch a woman in this camp again, it’ll be the last damn thing ya do Ed” with one final punch he gets up and walks back to me, the camp didn’t do much seeing they could put the pieces together with my ever blackening eye but what they wondered was why would Daryl Dixon, the man who seemed to only keep to himself wanna stick up for you?

Part.2 coming soon

[peechyyybb-deactivated20260128]

𝒟𝒶𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓁𝒾ℴ𝓃| Greg House + James Wilson

Warnings: heavy medical discussion, (Name) is a doctor, suspected neurological issues, miscommunication, House stressing (Name) out, Wilson confused about half the situation.

Summary : When House page you for your ‘professional’ input, he instead finds out that you actually have some health issues but as the wonderful doctor and boyfriend he is, he found out what happened, with of course the moral support of your other boyfriend James Wilson.

(Note : it’s not mentioned that they are in poly but they actually are dating. They just keep it lowkey and don’t want to share it, especially in the hospital.)

⸻

“Dr. (Last Name), room four.” The intercom crackled.

You sighed. “Couldn’t they just page me? Would’ve been easier.”

House looked you up and down. “And miss the chance to see you looking like a caffeinated zombie? No way.”

“What do you want, House?” you asked, stepping into the room.

He gestured toward a patient on the bed—a woman with her legs in stirrups. “I need your female opinion on this.”

You raised a brow. “You seriously couldn’t handle this? Anyways it seems like a gynecological case. Yeast infection? Maybe an STD?”

“Exactly. Can you check for an STD?”

You glared. “You could’ve just said you didn’t want to do this consult. I was in the middle of a meeting.”

House smirked. “I mean I could but I feel like it’s cheating on you, looking at another woman’s- you get the point- feels wrong. And Cuddy forces me to log at least six hours of consult for a day. So what’s your professional input?”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the chart. “Fine. Ma’am, have you been with more than one partner in the past month? Week? Year?”

The woman fidgeted. “Um… three weeks ago, after my boyfriend dumped me, I went out with friends. Had too many drinks. Honestly… I can’t remember what happened after that.”

“Alright. I’ll refer you to someone who actually specializes in this. We’ll do tests for STDs, maybe rule out infection, better safe than sorry.”

You reached for House’s notepad—but your arm jerked unexpectedly, just as your fingers brushed the pen. You frowned, wrote the referral, and handed it to the patient. She thanked you and left.

House’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Your arm. It spasmed.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Yeah, it did.”

Before you could argue, he grabbed your arm and marched you into his office. He pulled out his pager and summoned the team. Within minutes, Foreman, Chase, Cameron, and Wilson walked in.

Wilson frowned. “What’s going on?”

You threw up your hands. “Apparently House saw something and now I’m a medical mystery.”

House ignored you. “Foreman, what does it mean if someone spasms and doesn’t notice?”

Foreman hesitated. “Depends. Could be a lot of things. Worst case? Spinal or neurological.”

You scoffed. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine.”

Your shoulder twitched violently, your neck following suit.

House pointed triumphantly. “See? Told you!”

Wilson stepped closer. “He’s right. But House, calm down—she needs a neuro eval, maybe a CBC. Start simple.”

House cut him off. “Blood tests, NCS, EMG, and an MRI if you can get one. Now.”

Foreman blinked. “For who?”

“For Dr. (Last Name). Those spasms aren’t normal.”

You stood, intending to leave—only to collapse. Your entire body convulsed, eyes rolling back, foam bubbling at your lips.

“Seizure!” Chase yelled.

While Wilson dropped to his knees, holding your shoulders steady. Cameron shoved something between your teeth while Foreman bolted for meds. House sprinted for a gurney.

⸻

By the time you were stabilized, House was at the nurse’s station demanding a room.

Cuddy intercepted him. “House, you have a consult.”

“Not now. (Last Name) just had a seizure. I need a bed.”

Her eyes widened. “Is she okay?”

“She’s with Wilson and the team.”

Cuddy’s voice softened. “Take the day. Make sure she’s alright. I know you won’t focus otherwise.” She squeezed his shoulder and walked away.

⸻

Ten minutes later, you lay unconscious, IV in your arm. Wilson looked up as House entered.

“Bloodwork’s back—low magnesium, hypoglycemia, and… thyroid issues. Already diagnosed, apparently.”

House muttered, “So, sleep, supplements, and food. What caused the low sugar?”

“She skipped breakfast. Came in at four, had three meetings since then. Just coffee.”

A groan interrupted them. You stirred. “Ugh… my head. Where am I?”

House smirked. “Morning, sunshine. You seized because you can’t keep your magnesium up. Did you or didn’t you eat today?”

“Four a.m.? No. Had three coffees, though.”

“Congratulations. You’re an idiot. Skip another meal and I’m hitting you with my cane.”

You glared. “Had a patient at four, then three meetings. Budget cuts for radiology, coroners can’t operate before nine, and we’re supposed to finish by six. Guess who had to fix it?”

“Guess who doesn’t care? You’re resting. Cuddy’s off my back thanks to you, and Wilson’s babysitting too.”

Wilson threw up his hands. “I was on break when you called me!”

You groaned. “Fine. Can someone drive me home later? Took a taxi, my car’s dead.”

Wilson nodded. “Sure. Did you know about the magnesium deficiency?”

“No. Thyroid, yes. Since I was twenty. Runs in the family—mother, aunts, grandmother…”

House raised a brow. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What was I supposed to do? Announce it on the first date? ‘Hi, I have thyroid issues, and if we have a daughter she might too’?”

House smirked. “Not the first date. But maybe before you started seizing on my floor.”

“And ruin your leg monologue? Never.”

“So thoughtful. But guess who noticed before everyone else? Me.”

You shot back, “Want a cookie?”

“Day off would be better.”

“Fine. I’ll cover your hours later.”

“Wasn’t what I was angling for, but I’ll take it.”

House grabbed a wheelchair. “Come on. I’m driving you home.”

You eyed him. “Wheelchair for me or so Cuddy doesn’t kill you for skipping consults?”

“Both.”

Wilson called after you. “I’ll bring your supplements later.”

You quipped, “Could you also bring that Chinese takeout too? Apparently coffee isn’t food.”

“It’s really not.”

House wheeled you out, muttering, “Idiot.”

[kittenlittle24]

Boundaries

Masterlist

You’d known Gregory House for years, long before you were his colleague. Back then, you were still “James’s kid sister,” the med student tagging along to lunch when your brother wanted to show off his best friend. House had looked you up and down, deadpan, and told James you looked like you still needed a hall pass. James had sputtered; you’d laughed. House noticed.

Through the years you were in and out — rotations, residencies, your own career. You saw him often enough to get used to the sharp tongue and the limp, but he never turned his bite on you. He was merciless with James, but with you, he drew a line. Out of respect. For House, that meant something.

When you finally returned as an attending, you weren’t James’s little sister anymore. You were a physician in your own right, and sooner or later your paths crossed with House’s cases. He gave you the same razored sarcasm he gave everyone else — at first. But there was an undercurrent of familiarity in the way he needled you, the kind that said he remembered the girl who laughed instead of flinched.

You weren’t blind. You knew the line he’d drawn. And you were the one who broke it.

One late night, after a case was closed and the team had gone, you lingered in the conference room while House wiped the whiteboard clean. He moved slower than usual, stalling.

“You know,” you said, breaking the quiet, “for someone who lives to torment people, you’ve never really gone after me.”

He didn’t look over. “You’re Wilson’s sister.”

“So?”

“So even I have rules.” He finally glanced at you, eyes sharp. “Why bring it up?”

You closed your folder. “Because I’m going to kiss you.”

His hand tightened on the cane. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Probably.” You stepped closer. “But so are most of yours.”

You kissed him, deliberate, steady. For a second, he froze. Then he kissed you back, muttering when you pulled away, “Your brother is going to kill me.”

“That’s your problem,” you said, and left him there staring at the whiteboard.

James noticed, of course. He noticed the way House leaned against your office door a little too often, the way your arguments had the cadence of people who knew exactly where the other’s weak points were. He didn’t explode. He simmered.

It didn’t explode right away. It curdled.

For a week, James stopped doing the easy things with House: no cafeteria detours, no reflexive “you coming?” text at the end of clinic, no swing-by with takeout and a tired shrug. Lunch became “I’ve got a consult.” Poker night became “not tonight.” When House needled, the comebacks were automatic and efficient, stripped of warmth, like he’d switched to economy settings.

House noticed—of course he noticed—and chose not to notice. He got louder with everyone else and quieter with James, the way he does when he’s waiting for a scalpel that hasn’t fallen yet.

It fell on a Tuesday, after a discharge summary and before the elevators.

James cut him off in the corridor. “My office.”

House stared at the cane tip for a beat as if considering whether it could teleport him elsewhere, then followed.

Door shut. Blinds half-closed. The old battlefield.

“My sister?” James said. No sputtering, no fluster. Just tired anger honed to a point. “You couldn’t pick literally anyone else?”

House leaned on the glass. “Statistically, ‘literally anyone else’ is a field contaminated by your divorces.”

“This isn’t a joke, House.”

“I didn’t make it one.” He kept his voice flat. “She’s an adult. She knows what I am. She walked in with her eyes open.”

“That’s not the point.” James’s jaw tightened. “You crossed a line.”

House’s eyes flicked up, finally meeting his. “No. I respected it for years.” A beat. “She crossed it.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“There are two things you hate more than my honesty,” House said. “My timing and my method. I spared you both.”

James exhaled through his nose, furious at the logic because it was… not wrong. “You should’ve told me first.”

“Why? So you could give me a speech about boundaries and I could give you a speech about autonomy and then we both pretend the speeches changed anything?” House’s mouth twitched, humorless. “Congratulations. We’ve just had the hypothetical version.”

A long silence. Then, quieter:

“If you hurt her—”

House cut him off, but his voice wasn’t sharp, just stripped. “I know.”

James looked at him, really looked, and whatever he saw made the next words come out flatter, smaller. “I don’t know if I’m more angry at you for not telling me, or at myself for knowing you wouldn’t.”

House didn’t answer. He didn’t apologize either. He just shifted his weight off the cane and left, which—between them—counted as a retreat.

House told you that night with the same economy he uses for a diagnosis he’s already certain of. “Your brother is angry,” he said, sitting on the edge of your desk like a cat that pretends it hasn’t been shooed. “You should go let him be angry at you, too. He likes to distribute his emotions evenly.”

So you did.

You found him in his office, tie loosened, staring at a file he clearly wasn’t reading.

“You’re mad at the wrong person,” you said.

“Am I?” His voice was sharp, but tired.

“You’re mad at him because you’re scared for me. And you’re mad at me because you’re scared for him.”

His mouth twitched. You’d landed the argument before he could mount it. He tried anyway. “He will test you. He’ll push you away just to prove you won’t stay.”

“I know.”

“He’ll use pain as an alibi.”

“I know.”

“He’ll pretend to be worse than he is because it’s easier than admitting he can be better.”

You smiled faintly. “I’ve known that since he insulted my shoes and then handed me his umbrella.”

That cracked him. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. You want the truth?”

You waited.

“I’m going to give him hell. Because he’s given it to me for a decade, and because he needs friction to believe anybody means what they say. I’m going to push him, and I’m going to pretend I’m against this when he’s unbearable. But I’m not. I’m not against it.”

Relief warmed your chest.

“You’re the first variable he hasn’t tried to game,” James said. “You see him without trying to fix him. Somehow that makes him want to be better.”

You crossed the desk and hugged him. He let you, awkward and sincere. When you pulled back, his smile was wry. “But I reserve the right to tell him he crossed a line at least once a week.”

“Deal,” you said.

Cuddy was next.

She didn’t hear it from gossip; she saw it herself. House leaning against your office doorway in that too-comfortable way, your smile lingering a fraction too long. She’d been around him too long not to recognize the signs.

That afternoon she called you in.

“Is there something going on between you and House?”

There was no point lying. “Yes.”

Her mouth tightened. She leaned back, folding her arms. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting into? He’s unbearable. Brilliant, yes. But impossible. He pushes everyone away, and if you think you’re going to be the exception—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “You’re too young for him.”

It stung, but you kept your voice even. “It’s not about age. And I don’t need you to like it. I just need you to let us do our jobs.”

Her eyes narrowed, something flickering there — not just protectiveness, but something closer to jealousy, an old history she’d never admit out loud. She smoothed it away quickly, speaking as the administrator again.

“Fine. Then here are the rules: no covering for him, no expecting him to cover for you. If I see blurred lines in patient care, it’s over. For both of you.”

“Understood.”

She studied you a moment longer, then shook her head, almost to herself. “You’ll see. He’ll make you miserable.”

You didn’t argue. You just met her gaze until she looked away.

House didn’t change overnight. He was still sarcastic, reckless, infuriating. You fought, sometimes bitterly. But he also showed up for dinners when you asked, bit back cruelties he once would’ve fired without thinking, let you sit with him in silence when the pain was bad instead of pushing you out.

James ribbed him in public — “my sister, Greg?” — but more often than not you caught the flicker of relief in his eyes. He gave House friction, but not obstruction.

Cuddy enforced boundaries with clipped efficiency, but she, too, noticed the subtle edges House sanded down around you. She wouldn’t call it approval, but she didn’t intervene.

For House, that was as much as anyone was going to give him. And for you, it was enough.

[hereliesangelicbambii]

Abapical Amnesia 4. House

𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 « 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 » 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

You get a memory of a sweaty drunk encounter with an infamous doctor..

The buzzing aura of colleagues drunk enough to act as friends, yet sober enough to still be both joyful and coherent, lay light on your spirit, the setting of the bar simply an after thought to how the night had progressed. It was mid-February, the core of depression season, and you had successfully taken Foreman, Cameron, Chase and even House (surprisingly) out to a dive bar near your apartment. Cameron was shocked when you told her House was coming by CHOICE, as much as you tried to calm and assure her, you knew that if he did in fact not get cold feet on the idea last minute, he was coming with a self-serving ulterior motive.

His eyes swirled with an emotion deep, drawing your attention across the table through the vibrancy that surrounded you- his coldness, his absence of anything simple or free. Your heart raced, what was he doing, what did he want- he had never given you this.. look. You excused yourself from the table and hurried to the bar, his shadow followed you, the chill of it casting goosebumps upon your back. Looking keen to order a drink, yet performing no such action, you wrapped your hands across the edge of the bar like it was anchoring you from floating into your dangerous curiosity.

“Are you waiting for me to buy you a drink.” His voice sounded unusually low and subtle, stripped of its usual showy chirp.

The secret hope of his presence was instantly satiated, as you turned with starry eyes, the breath was pulled harshly from your lungs, observing his tall frame hanging over you, encapsulating you territorially.

“Why did you come tonight?” You managed to contain the slurring and force out a single clear question.

“I’ve been hoping to tick ‘public bathroom sex’ off my bucket list for a while now and you, drunk, would make the perfect candidate to help me.” His sneakiness returned to him as he began to move to your left, staring away avoidantly, until you pressed a hand against his chest, making him freeze.

“I wouldn’t mind that, at all.”

You watched his expression grow misty once more before it fell completely.

“Not here.” He muttered, shuffling away.

As the anticipation in your stomach died, his indicative look back before disappearing into the bar’s only single room toilet revived it.

His breath was hot and heavy, it trapped you in the chaotic miasma of unchained emotion that both rooted and radiated from House, his hands moved about your torso, firm and purposeful in their action. You were pressed against the magenta wall tiles, the rise and fall of your chest synchronised with his. Chains of restraint falling, you let your mouth find House’s, warmth shared from tounge to tounge, more intoxicating than any drink. There was an illuminated yellow triangle of danger exclaiming in your mind, making out with your boss was a terrible, detrimental decision to your career without a doubt, but god, he was just so hot. The bristles of his beard scratched against you, a sensation that should have been irritating but fuelled the arousing concept of your forbidden fornication, the veins in the side of his neck pulsed beneath your hand, the hanging musk of manhood left you drunk with desire.

His left hand crept up your thigh, your breath hitched-

It came to your realisation that you were alone. Your mother was no longer by your bedside, the scratchy white blanket over your legs brought you back down to your miserable condition, the browning, badly-kept flowers at your bedside table reflected it.

As if he was diving out of your captivating daydream, THE Dr House emerged into your once desolate room. He looked at you with complete indifference, while you felt a rich blush coat your cheeks. When he said your name, you fixed your eyes down towards your legs, to maintain some shred of composure.

“Do you know who I am.”

“Dr House?” You answered rather meekly, still trying to push the impure thoughts from your mind.

“Well yes, you’ve probably been told that. What I meant was, who was I to you?” He settled himself down on the armchair your mother had previously moved when she visited.

“Did we… have sex or something?”

He didn’t seem as taken aback as he should’ve been, despite the pathetic cover-up act that followed.

“God, I was your boss, get your head out of the gutter woman.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

His eyes lit up with mischief, keen to accept your challenge.

“If what you allege happened, did in fact happen, where did we have sex?”

“Uhh, in some sort of bathroom. It was red.. dark.”

“What were you wearing?”

“A.. black dress?”

“What position?”

You paused. He raised from the slightly crouched, focused position he had been in during your questionnaire, his knit brow loosening as your silence made him loose interest and make for the door.

“You’re not even going to tell me what happened?” You yelled out after him.

“The good news is you’re regaining your memory, meaning that you’re going to recover.. if you even cared.” He tutted and you could almost hear the exaggerated eye roll as he shuffled away.

Author’s notes:

Heyy guyss 🥲 (delivered like a child coming to their parents bedroom to tell them they threw up) Sorry about the lightly announced hiatus, Kinktober bounce-back is gunna be fire tho I promise 🤞🤞 Thank you in advance if anyone still remembers this series.. Also a large volume of you have changed your usernames, if you’re reading and don’t see yourself in the taglist below, drop me a comment on my series masterlist post <3

@malpracticeemd @kittenlittle24 @nebulavintage @mysizzlingsteak @call-me-doll8811 @canine-main @mosstheshoeshoethemoss @cuddsheebi @princeintheshadow @crimin4llyins4ne @crowdedbatcave-alt @yey56 @qardasngan @just-about-rio @bitchy-bi-trash

[sc3ptre]

Hi! I've seen your lastest work with Daryl, I just wanna say I love your writting so much already!

So, if you're feeling like it (idk i'm kinda shy hehe), could you write Daryl with someone that's carrying a child around (not hers, just found lost) that loves her like a mom? Oh, also, he finds out she's immune? Pretty please? I'd love that 🥺

Thanks and kisses from brazil

What remains in our blood

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: You're so sweet! Thank you for requesting!!

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: talks of cancer

Era: End of season 5

Word count: 2.4k

The hospital smelled like rot and ghosts. Daryl moved with careful steps, boots pressing broken glass into soft crunches against linoleum floors littered with overturned gurneys and blood-stained paperwork.

The place had been abandoned in a rush. He could feel it in the stale air, that faint scent of antiseptic battling with death.

It was supposed to be a quick run, in and out. Some gauze, antibiotics if he got lucky and maybe painkillers. Alexandria needed supplies and Aaron had come down with a stomach bug, so Daryl took the route alone. He didn’t mind, really preferred the silence, except the silence was interrupted by something unexpected.

A faint hum echoed down the corridor, not mechanical or walker groans either, something human, a low whimper. He followed it past shattered windows and long-dead monitors, until the sound sharpened into soft rhythmic breathing and a muffled sniffle. A room at the far end still had power flickering dimly through what he thought might have been a backup battery.

When he stepped inside, he found you.

You were standing near an IV pole, one hand trembling with a transfusion line in place and the other clutching a pistol aimed squarely at him. Your eyes were wide with panic, but there was something else behind them, desperation worn raw and tired.

Daryl’s crossbow was up in an instant but he didn’t fire. His eyes flicked between you and the small bundle resting against your body, a child not older than 2 years old. The little boy was tucked against your chest in one of those soft, faded baby carriers, his small cheek pressed to your collarbone like it was home.

You didn’t say anything. Just tightened your jaw, your pistol shaking slightly making Daryl’s brows knit together.

He lowered his weapon slowly, a hand up in surrender. "Ain’t here to hurt ya."

Your knees wobbled beneath you but you didn’t move, still anchoring the blood bag that connected your arm to the child’s. The sight made Daryl blink, you were giving him your blood and he didn’t have time to ask why, because the doors behind him blew open, letting in a wave of groaning, snarling walkers into the large space. Former patients in hospital gowns and IV lines tangled around their limbs with broken bones that snapped loudly with every twisted step. 

Daryl spun and aimed instinctively, already backing up but it was too fast and too many. Some had already slammed into the room’s side entrance, cracking the frame.

You didn’t scream. You just let out a breath and sagged to your knees, then further, carefully lowering your body over the child’s small frame like a shield. You must’ve known you didn’t have long since your limbs already shook from blood loss but you still managed to shield him with everything you had left. 

The pistol dropped with a dull clatter beside you as your body went limp, unconsciousness swallowing you whole.

Daryl swore under his breath and looked for an exit, no chance of holding the door to keep the herd at bay. He didn’t want to leave you but if he stayed, all three of you would be dead and he had a semblance of a family to get back to.

He spotted a storage closet, barely cracked open and lunged inside just as walkers burst into the room from every door. They flooded in, knocking over equipment and groaning louder now, agitated and hungry. He held his breath, heart pounding and crossbow raised in the dark when through a sliver of the door, he saw one walker stumble just inches from your body... then veer off, before another passed so close its gown brushed your leg, yet it never turned toward you. 

He realized then that their arms didn’t reach for you like they did every living, breathing thing.

Daryl stayed hidden, frozen, for what felt like forever, which it probably was. Eventually, the groaning died down and the shuffling footsteps grew quieter, until only the silence remained.

When he finally slipped out, the room looked untouched. You hadn’t moved, your body still draped over the kid and for one horrible moment he thought he’d waited too long, but then your chest rose, it was faint, slow.

He crouched beside you, scanning your skin for bite marks, same for the kid and there were none, not even a scratch, just exhaustion and too much blood loss. 

He muttered something half in disbelief, half in awe, then gently dragged the both of you somewhere safer.

He found a room down the hall that still locked, a former maternity ward, quiet and cleaner than most. He carefully unfastened the straps of the baby carrier and lifted the child from your chest, then laid you both down on a narrow bed, the kid curled against your side automatically, like muscle memory.

Daryl sat nearby with his crossbow on his lap, watching closely although you didn’t stir for another two hours but when you did, your first instinct was to reach for the child, your arms cradling him protectively before your eyes even opened. You looked around in a panic, until you saw him sleeping soundly, fingers tangled in the hem of your shirt.

The walls were whitewashed with dust, and the mattress under you felt like stone. The faintest breeze slipped through the cracked hospital window, but it wasn’t what woke you, it was the feeling of being watched.

Your gaze met Daryl’s then, quiet and confused, still heavy with sleep. He was still seated in the corner but with his crossbow on the floor now, arms resting over his knees, watching you like you were some kind of puzzle he couldn’t crack.

"Y’ain't bit," he said finally, voice low, rough like gravel but not unkind. More amazed than anything. "Neither of you."

You blinked at him, throat too dry to respond. Everything ached, your limbs were heavy from the blood loss and your muscles trembled when you tried to sit up. You barely managed it, leaning against the headboard.

“I’m Daryl.”

"I– thank you," you rasped, swallowing. "For moving us" 

"Didn’t do much," he muttered, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "You did the crazy part."

You tried to get to your feet but your legs gave out halfway and before you could hit the ground, he was already there, one arm catching you with quiet ease. You flinched out of instinct but he only helped ease you back to sitting.

"Slow down. Ain’t a race," he muttered, pulling something from his pocket. A vacuum-sealed protein bar. "Eat."

You eyed it warily, then your gaze flicked up to his face. He was clean, cleaner than anyone had any right to be in this world. His beard was trimmed and clothes dusty from the road but laundered, not freshly but recently enough.

"You from a community?" you asked, taking the bar slowly. "One that still has… soap?"

He gave a short nod. “S’about half a day’s walk east, give or take.”

You didn’t respond, just peeled the wrapper with trembling fingers, took a single bite and chewed, before putting it in your pocket for the kid when he woke. It tasted like cardboard but you weren’t in a position to complain.

He stood across from you, leaning against the wall with a sigh, watching you like he couldn’t stop himself. His blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Ya gonna tell me how tha’ happened?”

You didn’t need clarification, immediately knowing what he meant. Your gaze dropped to the floor and you reached for the kid absentmindedly. One hand brushed gently across the mop of soft curls. He didn’t stir and you didn’t speak for a long while.

Then you said, softly, “I had cancer.”

His brow ticked up slightly but he stayed quiet.

“Stage four…ovarian. I was in a long-term quarantine for experimental treatments I volunteered for. Spent nearly two years underground before the world went to hell…kept me sealed off in a hospital wing with no one but nurses and hazmat suits with no exposure to the virus. None.” You shook your head. “They let me go when things got bad even when I still had a month left of my treatment.”

"And now?"

"Gone. Remission." You swallowed. "It should’ve killed me. Instead, I walked out and found this–" you gestured around, meaning the ruins of the world. "The start of it."

Daryl didn’t speak, he just let you talk.

"It didn’t take me very long to realize," you continued, voice quieter now, “They didn’t see me, the dead… they just walked around me, so I moved on and kept to myself.” You nodded toward the child, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Until I found him in a train car about 3 weeks ago, crying. Everyone else was gone and I was alone so…” You took a deep breath, “He calls me mama and I don’t even know his real name.”

The words hung in the air for a moment like dust motes in sunlight.

“Wha’ were ya doin’...when I found ya?”

“He got sick a few days after I found him, with a very high fever and without proper medication, I was scared it would kill him. I thought… maybe…maybe, it would make him like me. Immune. Maybe I could keep him from whatever’s out there, from what’s inevitably coming.”

You paused. “I’ve been doing transfusions ever since, hoping it would work but it’s not. I’ve torn many hospitals apart looking for anything, equipment, supplies, even scraps of old data that could help me figure out a better method. I’ve done the math a hundred different ways, run every test I could manage with what little I had and following those results, the only thing I’ve given him is the same old antibodies from the vaccines I got before everything fell apart. If that’s all I’ve got to offer him, then I’ve already run out of options. ”

“Ya thought yer blood could be the cure.” Daryl said eventually, glancing at the red-stained tubing coiled in your bag.

You nodded. 

"Ya were staff? Sounds like ya know wha’ t you were doin'."

“Researcher for oncology trials, before it got me.”

You sighed deeply, the weight of that truth sinking into your shoulders again. “All of those years of research and knowledge for nothing…I don’t have the labs nor the team or half the knowledge needed to figure something, anything, out.”

He looked at the child, his expression unreadable, then at you. “Ya mean this was the last transfusion?”

You nodded. “I can’t keep doing it, I’m running on fumes and if I die because of it, he’s got no one. Like I said, I’ve already done all I could to make his life a little easier.”

There was something in Daryl’s face that softened then, just barely, enough to crease the lines beside his eyes and to warm the ice in his voice.

“Ya tryin’ to keep him alive,” he said slowly, “Sounds like the only thing in this world tha’ still makes some damn sense.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes after that. You just stared at the wall and whispered, “Then why does it feel like I’m still failing?”

The silence that followed your whisper was heavy, not uncomfortable, just thick with all the things neither of you could fix.

Daryl pushed himself off the wall slowly, his boots creaking against the old linoleum as he walked toward the boarded-up window, pushing a slat aside just enough to peer out. The hallway beyond the door was quiet now, hushed like the dead had never stormed through it, but the weight of it still lingered like smoke after a fire. He didn’t turn to face you when he finally spoke again.

“You said if ya die, he’s got no one.”

You didn’t answer and didn’t need to, your mind instantly wandered to the many other things that could kill you in this new world.

He turned then, leaning against the wall, arms crossed loosely, gaze fixed on you in a way that felt too sharp to be casual. His voice was softer than before, almost hesitant.

“There’s a place,” he said. “Alexandria. Real walls, clean water, got a doc, even. Not much in the way of high-tech, but more than this dump.”

You blinked at him, weary but alert. “You already said.”

“Didn’t say I wanted you to come but I am now.”

Your stomach clenched. You looked away, brushing your hand over the boy’s warm back. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Look I ain’t trynna force ya.” He stepped forward a little, voice low, measured. “I get it. People turn out worse than the walkers, but this place ain’t like tha’. Got kids there, families…It ain’t perfect but it’s… better. It’s gotta be.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. “We’ve had problems with people before.”

Daryl’s head tilted slightly. His jaw clenched then loosened. “Then I won’t tell no one ‘bout what I saw, not even the doc if ya don’t wanna’. Hell, you can lie yer way in and say ya were just lucky. Far as I’m concerned, you and the kid are just two more survivors. Ya said it yerself, yer tired and ’m sure you're doubtin’ how much longer you’ll be able t’ keep movin’ before needin’ to find a place to raise him.”

Your eyes flicked up, cautious and searching.

"And if you're lying?" you asked softly.

He didn’t flinch. “Then you can shoot me…first night, if ya feel like it.”

A huff of almost-laughter escaped you. Dry and tired but real. “Tempting.”

He stepped closer. The room was quiet except for the child’s gentle breathing. He stood eye-level with you, there was a scratch just below his jaw and you could smell the faintest trace of motor oil and campfire.

“We can leave at dawn, get ya both there before noon.” His voice dropped again, gentle. “Y’ain’t gotta decide now. Just rest.”

You studied him. His hands, his eyes and the way he didn’t fidget when you stared too long. He wasn’t doing this out of pity, not obligation either. You weren’t sure what it was but you knew when someone was telling the truth and this was it.

Your gaze fell back to the boy. His small body rising and falling, fingers curled in your sleeve.

When you looked up again, Daryl was still watching you, still waiting and for the first time in a long time, you nodded, just once. “I’m Y/n and this is…Zeke.”

He hummed, “Figured ya had more t’ ya than just shaky aim and a death wish.”

----

Likes, reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading :) 💛

[sc3ptre]

Hello!!

So I’m a glasses girly (with thiccc lenses, my eyes suck) and I haven’t come across many Daryl/Reader fics where Reader has glasses.

I was wondering if I could request a fic with a glasses girly. Maybe a little angst with her lenses breaking during a walker attack and someone being an asshole and wanting to leave her behind cos now she’s blind af and can't tell a walker from a person with a limp? And lots of fluff and protective!Daryl being her eyes and teaching her how to survive despite being criminally nearsighted? Please?

Go buck-wild with it.

In his line of sight

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1114

💌 a/n: What's funny is that i've been wearing glasses since I was 7 and never once have I imagined myself in the apocalypse with them on. Mind you I daydream a whole lot and can't see shit without em.

Classification: Fluff

Content warning: none.

Temporal setting: Season 4

Word count: 0.9k

You heard the crack before you felt the sting. Your body had slammed against the tree harder than you realized, your glasses bouncing right off your face and hitting the forest floor with a muted crunch beneath someone’s boot. You scrambled forward, hands out but it was too late. The right lens was cracked straight through and the other was just...gone.

“Shit,” you breathed, blinking hard. The world around you smeared into a watercolor painting gone wrong…shapes, shadows and motion but nothing clear, nothing safe.

The walkers were still behind you, close. You staggered sideways, trying to orient yourself, trying to find the group but everything was wrong. Every sound felt like it was coming from two directions and every branch that snapped made your heart slam into your ribs.

You turned, nearly colliding with a figure.

“Don’t move!” you cried. “I–I can’t see. Just say something!”

The figure hesitated so you raised your gun with firm hands. Whether you could see or not, it was them or you and you’d empty the whole magazine to make that choice for the both of you if needed.

“Say something if you’re not a walker!”

“You’re slowin’ us down,” someone snapped to your left. 

Rick’s voice? No. Too young, too smug. Jared, the asshole from that supply run a few weeks back. “We should’ve kept moving.”

“I just need a second.” you begged, reaching out again.

“No. You need new eyes.” And then he was walking, no, running away. Footsteps fading, leaving you alone like a coward, until suddenly, you weren’t.

A rough hand caught your arm and a low and familiar voice followed. “Easy,” 

“Daryl?” Your own voice cracked. “I–I can’t see. They stepped on my glasses and now I’m–”

“I know.” His hand wrapped around your arm, eyes taking in your distressed state. “Yer okay. We’re gonna move real slow now, alrigh’?”

You nodded, blinking rapidly, tears burning your eyes from more than just the cold air. “I can’t tell what’s a walker anymore. Everything’s…shapes. Just shapes!”

“I know, I know. I gotcha.” His hand didn’t leave your arm. “Y’ain’t gotta see, just listen t’me.”

The walk was slow, cautious and his voice became your tether.

“Root there. Step over.”

“To yer righ’. Hear it? That ain’t us, stay low.”

“Don’t swing ‘til I tell you.”

Somehow, you made it back to the safehouse. Your legs were jelly, your ribs ached and your broken glasses were clutched in your fist like a useless charm but you were alive because of him.

That night, while the others argued around the fire about whether you’d be “fit” for future runs, you sat quietly in the corner, wrapped in one of Daryl’s flannels, blinking into the blurred orange glow but you could hear every word.

“It’s too risky.”

The redhead agreed. “She’s basically blind without ‘em.”

“Look, I ain’t heartless but come on, this world needs people who can keep up.”

That same guy, scoffed and flippantly raised his pistol in your direction, more out of mockery than intent yet Daryl’s reaction was instant and his crossbow was aimed between the guy’s eyes before the idiot even registered what he’d done.

“Ya ever point tha’ thing at’er again,” Daryl said, voice low and dangerous, “I’ll rip ya apart with my own hands. You’ll be dead before you hit the ground. You understand?”

The guy froze and so did everyone else.

“Yeah,” the guy muttered quickly, lowering his weapon. “I understand.”

Daryl didn’t lower the crossbow until he’d turned his back. Then, finally, Daryl spoke again.

“She sees more than any of you sorry assholes.” He paused, making sure everyone got every word. “She stays and if ya dun like it, door’s righ’ there…hell, I’ll help ya out m’self.”

The silence after that was heavy and later, once the fire had burned down and the others drifted off, you felt someone kneel beside you.

“Ya okay?” he asked.

You sniffed, laughing bitterly. “Sure. Can’t see past my own hand, but sure.”

He was quiet for a beat. “Y’know... my brother used to say I couldn’t track for shit…Said I was dumb for watchin’ the dirt.”

“Were you?”

“Nah.” You could hear the shrug in his voice. “Just took me longer t’ learn. That’s all this is.”

You finally looked up, or at least toward the shape of him. “You’re saying I’m not useless?”

“Mhm.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. You squinted. “Found this on our way back. Ain’t much, but...”

He pressed something into your palm. A glasses case, bent and dirty. But inside? A pair of reader glasses, not your prescription, quite far from it frankly, but close enough that the world shifted into a somewhat dull focus.

You blinked fast. “Daryl…”

“I know. Ain’t perfect,” he muttered, looking away. “But it’ll help ’til we find better…’m thinkin’ retirement homes is where we’ll find our happiness…no offense.”

“None taken.” You chuckled. “I thought you didn’t believe in luck.”

“I don’t.”

You smiled, his face becoming clearer from how close he sat. “Then what was this?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I dunno. Care? Or sumthin’ like tha’.”

He stood to go but your hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve.

“Hey,” you said, your voice small but steady. “When you said I see more than them… what did you mean?”

He hesitated at first, then spoke quietly. “You saw me…since Atlanta, even when I couldn’t.”

Your breath caught and you didn’t let go of his sleeve as tears started to blur your vision further.

[zomquette]

Oh my God, you HAVE to write this! PLEASE, I'm BEGGING you! 🙌❤️ Daryl effing reader so hard against a wall that it creates a huge hole in the drywall 🥵🤣. Afterwards, they try their best to cover it up before the others notice.

I fear you're right. I don't have any other option but to write this. it is simply mandatory... enjoy 😉

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

Missed You Bad

Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT! (cunnilingus, rough sex, creampie, quickie) chaotic bit at the end. Crack.

You saw the gates open before you saw him.

The sun glinted off the tip of a crossbow just beyond the truck cab, and that was it. You didn’t wait for the rest. You were already moving, already running. Your boots hit the gravel like gunfire and someone shouted behind you—maybe Rosita, maybe Eugene—but you didn’t hear a damn thing over the pounding in your chest.

And then there he was.

Dusty, tired, sweat-slick, home.

You hit him full force, arms around his neck, laughing as he stumbled back a step with a winded grunt before catching you tight against him. His hands locked under your thighs automatically. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, eyes fluttered closed, squeezing you so hard you didn't know what breath you had left.

You grinned so hard it hurt. “Did ya miss me?”

He opened his eyes—blue, hot, focused—and said, deadpan, “Nah. Not really.”

You snorted. “Liar.”

He kissed you—quick, rough, biting at your bottom lip—and then set you down with a subtle squeeze to your ass that made your knees twitch.

People were watching. Of course they were. The front gates had turned into a stage. But Daryl just grabbed your hand like it was his to hold and started walking.

“Sup,” he grunted at Rick.

“Welcome back,” someone called. “Find anything good?”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered without stopping, looking back to you.

He didn’t slow. Just kept walking—like he knew where he was going, like he’d needed to get there for three days and every step he’d taken away from Alexandria had been one step too far.

By the time you hit the porch, his grip on your hand had turned tight. Like he was trying not to shake. You glanced at him, brows furrowed, but he didn’t look at you. He just opened the door, yanked you through it, and shut it hard.

Then it hit you.

His hands.

Everywhere.

Your spine hit the wall with a thud and you didn’t even get a full breath in before his mouth was on yours—starving, wild, all lips and teeth and heat. You gasped, and he took it like an invitation, tongue sweeping into your mouth, groaning low in his throat like the taste of you had knocked the air out of him.

Three days.

Three goddamn days.

His fingers clawed under your shirt, palms skating hot over sweat-slick skin, yanking fabric up without bothering to take it off. You were already kicking at your boots, fumbling like a maniac, and he was undoing your jeans frantically, breath ragged, teeth scraping your jaw.

“Daryl—fuck—”

“Missed ya,” he rasped, and it sounded like confession, like guilt. “Need ya—fuck—”

Jeans hit the floor. Your underwear went with them, ripped halfway down your thighs before you even got one leg out. He shoved your tank top higher, bunched over your chest so your rock hard nipples were exposed, and dropped to his knees so fast you nearly fell with him.

You moaned the second his mouth touched your skin—wet, hot kisses down your inner thigh, his stubble scraping your skin, hands already spreading you open. He licked through your folds, groaned against your clit, and then his fingers were in you, working you open with the kind of rhythm that didn’t waste time.

“S-soaked,” he muttered against you. “You missed me too, huh?”

“Shut up—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

The wall hums with the tremor of your body. Your fingers find his hair and sink in, not to guide, just to hang on, because he’s eating like a starving man—open-mouthed and intent, breath hot, jaw working, nose nuzzling, every drag of his tongue more desperate than the last. He chases the sound you make when he circles just there, seals his mouth and pulls until your knees try to buckle, and when they do he growls—a low, wrecked thing—presses you tighter to the plaster, shoulder under your thigh like a shelf, and keeps going.

His hand slides off your hip and down, knuckles slick from the mess he’s making of you; two fingers press in slow, sure, the push eased by your heat, the heel of his palm grinding up so you can’t find air. He sets a rhythm—curl, draw, press—mouth and hand in lockstep, reading every flinch and gasp, adjusting, relentless. You can hear yourself, helpless little sounds ricocheting off concrete, the rasp of your back against the wall, the soft knock of something on a nearby hook every time his shoulder rocks you.

“Please,” you gasp, not sure what you’re asking for, and he answers with a broken, “I know,” into you, the words a hot shiver, his fingers crooking just right like he’s tapping a code he learned by heart. Your thighs shaking on his shoulder; your free foot scrapes the floor for leverage and finds none; your whole world narrows to the pull of his mouth, the press of his hand, the way he owns your balance and won’t let you fall.

It hits fast—heat stacking, breath stuttering, that helpless lock through your belly—and when it breaks, it’s a rough, dragged-open thing that steals your voice and leaves you clinging to his hair like a lifeline. He holds you through it, doesn’t ease up, works you, milks every last twitch with slow suction and a firmer curl until you’re trembling and boneless and half-gasping his name like a confession.

He lifts his head, mouth slick, eyes dark and blown, and wipes his thumb across his lower lip like he’s tasting proof. “Ready for me?” he says, voice torn up. He presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh, stands in a rush—hands still on you, still keeping you against the wall—and the promise in the set of his hips says the bedroom can fuck off.

But your legs—god, they just gave out.

And he caught you.

Of course he did.

He picked you up like you weighed nothing, one arm braced under your ass, the other already fumbling at his belt like the world might end if he didn’t get inside you right fucking now. You barely had a second to gasp before he shoved you higher against the wall, the backs of your thighs hitched over his forearms, your bare ass pressed hard to the cool drywall.

His mouth found yours—sloppy, breathless, starved—as he kicked his jeans low enough to free himself, cock flushed and dripping against your thigh. You reached between you with shaking fingers, found him by touch alone, and guided him in.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t tease. Didn’t wait.

He just thrust up, hard—deep—and the world cracked.

Your head snapped back against the wall with a thud, your mouth falling open in a cry that sounded like it’d been torn from your chest. Your spine arched. Your thighs clenched. The stretch burned and fed you all at once, making your toes curl and your vision blur.

He groaned like he’d been holding his breath for days.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—missed ya—”

He fucked into you with a brutal rhythm, each thrust punching a moan from your throat, the slap of skin on skin echoing like something violent. You clawed at his back, legs locked tight around his waist, fingers sliding through sweat and tension and days of need.

His grip bruised. Your nails scratched. The wall groaned louder with every movement.

You didn’t care.

You couldn’t.

Not with the way he was slamming into you, teeth scraping your shoulder, panting like he couldn’t catch up with his own body.

“Three fuckin’ days,” he gritted against your skin. “Three days thinkin’ ‘bout this—‘bout you—’bout how you’d be—how tight—fuck—”

You moaned into his mouth, barely able to meet his rhythm, every thrust sending white heat shooting through your nerves.

“Daryl—I—I’m gonna cum—”

“I know, baby,” he rasped. “I feel it. You’re squeezin’—shit—”

His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit like instinct, like muscle memory. He circled hard, fast, never missing a beat, even as your walls fluttered and your whole body clenched down on him like you were trying to keep him deep inside you forever.

“Come again,” he growled, voice cracked open. “Let go f'me—do it—now.”

You shattered.

Eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a strangled moan, every muscle in your body tensed before you broke. Your body writhed in his grip, thighs spasming, nails digging so deep into his shoulders he’d be marked for days.

And that—that—pushed him over the edge.

He buried himself to the hilt, jerking once, twice, and then groaned your name pathetically as he came deep inside you, cock throbbing through every last wave as he flooded your cunt. He held you tight, face buried in your neck, heart pounding so loud you could feel it in your own chest.

The drywall behind you had cracked. You still didn’t notice.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. Just panting, flushed, skin sticking where sweat met skin. Daryl’s forehead was pressed to yours, his chest still heaving like he’d run the length of the wall outside and then some.

But when his breathing started to slow, something shifted in his expression.

His thumb brushed your jaw. “You okay?” he asked, low and rough. “Wasn’t—wasn’t too much?”

You blinked, then gave a breathless little laugh. “Are you seriously asking me that after I basically begged for it?”

His brow furrowed, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should frown or smirk.

You leaned in, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to his mouth. “’M fine. Better than fine. Can’t feel my legs, but who needs 'em?.”

He huffed, nuzzling your cheek like he was trying to hide his face there. “You were shakin’. Thought maybe I—”

Your hand slid to the back of his head, threading through the damp strands at his nape.

“Baby, I'm still in one piece. You didn’t break me.”

“…Just the drywall,” he muttered under his breath.

You snorted, and only then did you push off the wall slightly, wincing as your shoulder shifted against something that definitely wasn’t supposed to be poking it.

“Shit,” you said, blinking at the mess. “That’s—”

“Hold up,” Daryl interrupted, gently cupping your waist. “Don’t move.”

You stilled, puzzled, and let him turn you slightly.

He gave a low, “Tch,” under his breath, and you felt the tug of his fingers in your hair—not like before. This was more careful. Tactile. Focused.

“What?” you asked, suddenly wary.

He plucked something from the back of your head and held it up. A chunk of flaking white.

“Ya got drywall in your hair.”

You groaned, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. “Please tell me that’s the worst of it.”

He said nothing.

“…Daryl?”

His mouth twitched. “Also on your back. And your ass.”

You pulled away sharply. “You’re joking.”

He raised his brows, holding up both hands. “Ain’t.”

You straightened up with a newfound sense of urgency, grabbing your pants off the floor and yanking them up over your hips.

“This is bad. This is so bad.”

Daryl followed you up, still half-dressed, brushing stray flecks of dust off your back like it was funny. “Ain’t a big deal.”

“There’s a hole in the wall,” you hissed, pointing at the jagged gap behind you. “A literal hole. And everyone is supposed to be meeting here soon!”

Daryl looked at the wall.

Then back at you.

“…Shit.”

You were already hopping into your other boot, half-laced, still breathing like you were recovering from a marathon. “We have to cover it up. Move the bookshelf. Hang a blanket. Fake a drywall collapse—anything.”

He tilted his head, nonplussed. “I’ll patch it later.”

“Later? You think Deanna's not gonna notice a me-shaped crater next to the goddamn snack table?!”

You’re already mid–damage-control montage—okay, I can stall Rick, say we need more chairs, “oops I spilled a whole pot,” five minutes, ten, boom, time to MacGyver the crater—and he’s not hearing a word of it because he’s just… staring. All soft-eyed and wrecked, like he’s trying to memorize the exact way you look buttoning your jeans with drywall glitter in your hair. You swipe your mouth, tug your tank into place, snag an elastic off the floor and twist your hair up, mission face on—halfway to the door when his fingers wrap your wrist. Not rough. Just sure. And the room tips back toward him like it always does.

He reels you in that last inch and kisses you—less frantic than before, deeper, steadier—pure I’m not done wanting you stamped across his mouth. His palm is warm at your jaw; dust, sweat, and the little bite of his breath turn into something you could live on.

You try to brief him anyway, because you’re incorrigible, words muffled against his lips. “Fix—mmf—the—wall.” He huffs a laugh right into your mouth.

You slip your tongue in and your hand down, catch his half-forgotten fly, zip him up like the saint you are, then give a light, affectionate pat to his crotch—promise, not threat. He grunts, eyes dropping, then snapping right back to your face like you’ve got him on a leash made of nerve endings.

“I’ll buy you a few minutes,” you whisper, backing toward the curtain. “Try not to bring down the rest of the house, Ok?”

“Bossy,” he mutters, dazed and delighted.

“Efficient,” you shoot back, slipping out. The curtain whispers shut.

Silence settles—just his pulse in his ears and the faint crumble of plaster flirting with the floor. He drags a hand down his face, looks from the door to the jagged hole like it personally offended him, squares his shoulders with a put-upon sigh. Ahh shit.

-------------------------------------------

The meeting was already in full swing by the time you limped in, trying to act like you weren’t sitting in the memory of what Daryl had just done to you.

Rick was standing near the map table, hands gesturing wide, talking about walker migration patterns or herd shifts or whatever else he’d been going on about for the last ten minutes. You wouldn’t know. You were too busy trying not to wince every time you shifted in your chair.

Daryl had the nerve to look relaxed. Leaning back with one boot hooked over the other, arms crossed, hair still damp at the ends from earlier. He didn’t glance at you once, but the smug, subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth said everything.

You’d kill him. Right after this meeting. If your legs still worked.

“Okay,” Rick was saying, “So with the canyon backed up this bad, we gotta clear a path or it’s gonna clog worse. If we can control where the herd moves we can steer it away from Alexandria—”

Maggie moved your hair out of your face and you flinched, probably harder than you meant to.

“Sorry,” she said gently. “You’ve, uh… got something—here.”

Her fingers brushed your temple, and when she pulled away, she was holding a small flake of pale white—powdery and jagged like… drywall.

“Oh,” you said, voice cracking. “Uh. Thanks.”

You could feel her eyes on you. Then, casually, she glanced past you. To Daryl. Back to you. Then again to Daryl.

Her eyebrow lifted. Just a fraction.

Your face burned.

Across the room, Daryl finally looked over. Just once. Just enough to catch Maggie’s expression. He blinked like he’d just been caught picking a lock and instantly looked away, scratching behind his ear like that’d make him vanish.

“So,” Rick continued, totally oblivious, “We could move the herd to the southeast ridge if we get some cars there—Glenn, you still got them speakers?”

“Some of them,” Glenn said. “The rest are…”

CRACK.

Everyone turned.

Rick had leaned against the wall mid-sentence—just casual, forearm pressed to the drywall behind him—and his entire arm went clean through it.

Silence.

A perfect, stunned, thick silence.

Even the map rustled softly in the sudden stillness.

You stared. Everyone stared. Daryl’s eyes went wide.

You broke first.

“It was him!” you blurted, pointing without shame. “It was Daryl! He did it—get him!”

Daryl jerked like you’d stabbed him.

“What the fuck,” he said, brows knitting in betrayal.

Maggie snorted into her hand.

Rick looked between you, the jagged hole, and Daryl, who was now slowly sliding lower in his seat like a teenager getting caught with a lighter.

Rick just exhaled, shaking his head.

“I don’t even wanna know,” he muttered.

And somehow, the meeting moved on—like nothing had happened. Like everyone wasn’t now acutely aware of the hole in the wall and how it had gotten there. Your outburst and the drywall that would probably be stuck in your hair forever made it perfectly clear what happened.

You spent the rest of the hour refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Except Daryl, who—despite everything—looked damn pleased with himself.

[sc3ptre]

hiii hope your having a good day!!!

i needddd a daryl fic where f!reader is very girly and feminine but knows how to kick ass. she comes back from a run covered in blood but in pink, nails painted kinda looks like sum out of a magazine and daryl is gets a little hot and bothered…possibly ending in a makeout…hope this makes sense

ofc change anything you wanna and have a good dayy!🩷🩷🫶🫶🫶

Post-Apocalyptic Barbie: Employee of the month

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1114

Classification: Fluff

Temporal setting: Season 4

Word count: 0.5k

Daryl knew you were tough.

He’d seen you drop a walker with a single jab of a lip liner pencil between the eyes while humming a pop song, swaying like you were just dancing through the end of the world. He’d seen you stitch up your own leg without so much as a grunt, cry over a broken nail and also once mourn a pair of ripped stockings like they were family.

So yeah…tough but never not girly.

That afternoon, when you returned from the run, Daryl was already in the yard fixing the gate hinge. He glanced up at the sound of the truck door slamming but what he saw made his hands pause mid-wrench.

You hopped out with your pink tank top soaked in blood, splattered, smeared and dripping down the front like you’d walked through a horror movie. Your matching pink scrunchie was askew on your head, long lashes still fluttering behind blood-speckled sunglasses and your nails, baby pink with glitter tips, were somehow still perfect as you wiped a smear of gore off your cheek with the back of your hand.

And you were…smiling.

“Dixon!” you called, stepping over a walker arm you must’ve dragged in behind the truck. “You should’ve seen me out there. Got five of them, one pipe and zero hesitation.”

He just stood and stared in that shameless way he always did..

You stopped short, tilting your head. “What?”

Daryl blinked, shaking his head. “Ain’t said nothin’.”

Yet he was looking, Gosh, was he looking. His jaw ticked and his eyes lingered on the blood clinging to your collarbone, on the curve of your shoulder and the way your lips were still glossed beneath the dirt.

“What?” you asked again, walking up and bumping him with your hip. “You never seen a badass Barbie before?”

He grunted, gaze dragging down to your legs, bare, scuffed and strong.

“You’re gonna give someone a damn heart attack walkin’ ‘round like that,” he muttered, voice lower now.

“By someone, you mean…you?”

He looked away, smirking under his breath. “Uh-huh”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you reached up, curled your fingers into the straps of his vest and tugged him just a little closer.

“Shouldn’t have to choose between being pretty and dangerous, right?” you asked softly.

“Nah,” Daryl said, voice rough. “I like both.”

You barely had time to grin before he kissed you. Rough hands on your waist, mouth slanting over yours like he’d been waiting a hell of a lot longer than he was willing to admit. Your fingers curled tighter in his vest, pulling him closer until the world blurred around the edges.

It was fast, hot, and a little messy with your blood-stained tank top, his calloused hands and the way he lifted you slightly off the ground like you weighed nothing at all…and when he finally pulled back, breath heavy, lips bruised, he looked down at you like he couldn’t decide if he should apologize or do it again.

You licked your lips. “Damn, Dixon.”

“Wha’?” he said with a shrug but this time he was smiling.

You bumped his nose with yours. “If this is how you react, I’m wearing pink every run.”

“You wear that pink again,” he rasped, hand still on your hip, “and I ain’t waitin’ 'til yer back behind the gates to get m’ hands on ya.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time” You giggled and Daryl Dixon, certified brooding woodsman, grinned like a man completely gone.

[meekmadmel]

Love & Soap

You & Daryl share a shower at Hilltop. You two are falling deeper in love...

Warning: Explicit

Hilltop, a lovely sunny day. The manor house is stuffy and not really to your taste. You love your tent, your blanket nest. You and Daryl have settled in some routine. This thing you have seems to have turned real.

Still, you appreciate the civility of a proper shower. Leaning up against the hallway wall next to Daryl you do feel sheepish. You each have your towels over your shoulders. You’ve got a hearty block of what looks like prison soap in your hands and Daryl has a fuckin’ loofah on a stick.

Just shockin’. Earlier, you had interrogated him.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘When I was out scavenging, a store.’

‘But why?’

He had shrugged then, ‘I don’t fuckin’ know. I thought this was like, ya’ know, somethin’ you’d like.’

‘It’s not going near my ass.’

Secretly, you think. Well, maybe. You’d try most anything once, after all.

You’re both waiting for your shower time. You’ve decided to share. This makes you smile. Your eyes close with anticipation. The thought of showering is great. The thought of naked, wet, sloppy soapy Daryl time is–

Daryl’s voice is low, friendly, “Hey, Rick–”

Your eyes snap open and Rick is standing there. He sorta’ pivots on his feet and his hands come up and rest on his hips as he eyes the two of you delinquents–Or so his eyes say. He’s still such a cop. He starts to smile. A knowing smile. The edges of his lips curl and an eyebrow arches. His eyes further sparkle. Rick’s fuckin’ readin’ the room. Well the hall, anyway.

“Daryl, ya’ gonna introduce me to your fri–”

The door opens and the previous shower-time asshole strolls out, and hell no, you’re not sticking around to have that discussion. You’re in that bathroom, ASAP!

Luckily Daryl seems to have his priorities straight, too, because all the sudden the both of you are stripping off your clothes as if they were infused with poison ivy. The sun is streaming through the window. You both stand there staring at one another, at last naked.

Daryl’s hand reaches for you, his fingers graze over your clavicle, his thumb savouring the hollow there. His lips are parted ever so slightly and you step closer. Your hands gently settle on his chest, and you lean in and kiss him.

So soft the touch of your lips. You both kiss each other like this. The first kiss is always the question. Do you still feel the same?

And Daryl answers you. His hands come up on either side of your neck and he kisses you powerfully, he draws you to him, his tongue is firm within your mouth. Yes, yes, I still feel the same.

“Let’s get the water runnin’, babe.”

You nod, eager. The water comes to a nice temperature fairly quick and then you two are hoppin’ in. At first you’re both all about business. Sharing your soap and lathering yourselves head to toe.

Daryl’s husky offer lofts over your shoulder, “Lemme wash your back.”

You nod and standing facing the shower head, you steady, as you hand him the soap.

His hands are at once coarse and tender. The callouses charm you, the earnestness of this man’s touch. His movements are enchanting as they lather over your back, his fingers are swaying over your shoulders, the muscles lining up on either side of your spine. The heels of his palms dive low, soaping your low back. Your neck extends.

Heaven.

This is what you had in mind.

You turn and face him, the shower briskly chasing the suds from your back and you both embrace. His eyes are so blue, so miraculously soft in this moment you think as you kiss him. You hold onto one another. Close, closer. You must feel everything, yeah?

Your hands saunter low and you savour the hollows on either side of his ass. You imagine pulling him into you. Deeply, deeply, beautifully deep. You feel your slickness brim, a lovely fire that spontaneously erupts.

The two of you minimally part and you reach for him, such hearty stuff. Your hand encircles and strokes, Daryl’s hands on your back flicker in response. His breath catches. You raise one foot to the side of the tub, one hand braces against the wall.

You watch as Daryl licks his fingers. There’s no need, but the devilish squint of his eyes as they pierce your own is everything. His fingers press into you, hooking high and true. Your toes on the edge of the tub curl more than you realised they could. They might break off. Christ. Yes.

Your neck is arching back as he pets you. You’re panting a mindless refrain. “Please, please–Please–”

His fingers withdraw, and there is that sense of loss, like someone made you a marvellous banana split, set it down before you and then ripped it away before you could even savour the maraschino cherry on top.

Only for a second, though. That pain is so short lived and then transmuted to glory as you are ripe and filled–

Daryl angles into you, the breadth of him stretching and arching, so far, oh so far. You are rooted in place, as he rests, pulsing within you for a time. You meet his eyes again, your lips are parted and you are a creature of desire, wholly aware of your need and your want. Everything else has been driven away.

You breathe, “Fuck me, fuck me–”

His hands are firm on your waist and he begins to rock within you, a slow dance, the water still hot on your back, your hand against the wall is trembling, your toes on the tub’s edge are still breaking. Your hips are swaying in response to his rhythm, the strength of your spine beginning to reach a snap in response to Daryl’s attentions.

Your body is simply humming. The delight burning along every nerve and this joy you feel now will always be yours, “Daryl, Daryl–”

His voice is so gentle, the sandpaper grit of his words is so incredibly fine, “I know babe, I love you–”

****************

You check your watch. Shit, you’ve overstayed your welcome. You shrug it off–Had to be done. And you giggle internally.

You and Daryl leave the confines of the steamy bathroom and feel the weight of eyes.

Rick and Michonne are leaning against the wall where you had been. Towels slumbering over their shoulders, soap grasped in Michonne’s hand. She has a lovely smirk. Her eyes flick from you to Daryl and she traces his length and observes the loofah on a stick.

Her eyebrow cocks, “Nice loofah.”

They’ve been together long enough that they ain’t sheepish, and goddamnit. You admire the hell out of that.

It’s time to be a bit brave, you think. You extend your hand to Rick, “Hi, I’m–”