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You kept your relationship heartfelt over the years. Neither of you had ever mastered the art of indifference. You asked about his life because you genuinely wanted to know how he was sleeping, whether his shoulder was still bothering him, whether he had finally fixed that leak in the trailer roof he'd been complaining about since Benjamin turned six. And Daryl, for all his awkwardness, never forgot to ask how your job were going, whether you'd finally gotten that promotion, whether your mother was still driving you crazy in that special way only mothers could. There was never any bitterness between the two of you, only the quiet ache of two people who had loved each other too deeply to allow resentment to survive the separation.
People often remarked on how unusually well you coparanted. Your friends admired it. Therapists applauded it. Other divorced couples in your circle envied it. Nobody ever seemed to realize that kindness had never been difficult for the two of you. The difficult part had been learning how to love each other less, and neither of you had ever really succeeded.
Daryl never missed a birthday, never missed Christmas, never missed a single baseball game, a school recital or one of Ben's painfully awkward middle-school performances where half the audience spent more time filming than watching. Somewhere between fishing trips and teaching him how to ride a bike, between helping with science projects and attending parent-teacher conferences, Daryl had become the sort of father men twice as wealthy and twice as educated often failed to be. And you had watched all of it with a pride you never quite knew what to do with.
Benjamin inherited his father's eyes and your smile. At thirteen, he had already grown tall enough to tower over you when he remembered to stand straight, though he slouched with the same unconscious stubbornness Daryl had carried. Watching them together sometimes felt surreal. There were moments when your son laughed exactly like his father, or furrowed his brow in concentration while tying a fishing hook, and you would have to blink away tears because life was cruel enough to separate you from the man you loved, yet kind enough to leave pieces of him scattered all over your child.
Every year without fail, by the end of Ben's birthday parties, you followed the same ritual. Friends and relatives would leave, Benjamin would disappear upstairs to unwrap and play with his gifts. You and Daryl would find yourselves sitting together with the remains of cake and half-empty beer bottles, catching up in that comfortable, familiar way that had somehow survived everything life had thrown at you.
Eventually, after enough alcohol had softened the sharper edges of caution, one of you would ask.
"So..." you'd say, pretending not to care. "Are you seeing anybody?"
And Daryl would always huff softly into his bottle.
"Nah."
Then, after a beat "You?"
And the answer was always the same. "No." Of course it was no. You tried to date once or twice, so did he. But nobody lasted or stuck, no once fited like he did.
Neither of you commented on the absurdity of it. You simply let the conversation move on, discussing work, Benjamin, or whatever movie he'd recently forced the two of you to sit through. Yet somewhere deep down, you kept expecting things to change. Surely one day Daryl would meet somebody. Surely one day you'd wake up and discover that all those years of loving him had finally faded into something manageable. But it never did.
And perhaps that should have told you something. Benjamin's thirteenth birthday had ended like every birthday before it. His friends had gone home. The house had quieted.
There was something weirdly comforting in the routine of cleaning together. It felt like playing house. Daryl washed while you dried. You moved around each other with the ease of people who had spent years sharing kitchens and bathrooms and sleepless nights. Every now and then your hands brushed, and neither of you seemed particularly eager to pull away.
While you kept drying dishes, Daryl had taken another trash bag to gather the paper plates with excessive frosting left. Somewhere in between that task, he simply stopped to watch you, you felt his gaze burn to your back and turned to look, his eyes softened immediately when he realized you'd caught him, his ears adorably turning pink.
And instead of looking away, he smiled. In that moment, you didn't see your ex boyfriend, or your son's father. It was the smile of the twenty-year-old mechanic who had stopped his motorcycle beside your broken-down car because you'd looked miserable.
And, perhaps because alcohol had loosened the restraints adulthood had taught you so well, perhaps because Benjamin was fully grown, your parents were old and life suddenly felt too short, or perhaps simply because you were tired of pretending, you found yourself smiling back in a way you hadn't in years.
Neither if you intended it, it was the lie you'd told yourselves. But none of you mattered when the distance between you grew shorter every second that passed, until you were getting pinned to the balcony with Daryl's tongue slipping into your mouth, getting betrayed by your own desire when a small moan escaped your mouth.
"You wanna go upstairs?" you whispered to his ear, you were already a mess. Daryl only stared at you, quietly asking "Are you sure?" before he captured you wanted this as much as he did, then nodded.
He carried you bride-style up to your room, making you giggle childishly, feeling like the honeymoon you'd never had. He locked the door of your room, crawling on top of you, and stopped for a second to glare at your face before he captured your lips again.
Daryl cherished your body in a way he never had before, he was always the type to worship you during sex, but this one was nothing like the times before, it was teeming with pulled back desires, years of yearning and the fact that he was knowing your figure all over again, after nearly a decade only dreaming to touch you like that again.
His hands were rougher now, calloused by the hard nature of his job, but every touch seemed stupidly gentle at the same time. You let him do whatever his mind came up with, sharing the moment until the black sky outside started to fade into different shades of orange. When you finally woke up, unsure of when you went to sleep, Daryl was still there.
You got up carefully not to wake him, and made breakfast for the three of you. When Benjamin came down the stairs, you and Daryl were having breakfast together, giggling like teenagers, and he avoided asking questions as to why was his dad there so early – and wearing the same clothes he had yesterday – contented by his presence, he simply stated a "Good morning, dad!" and you smiled at the scene, feeling a piercing pain to your heart you didn't allow yourself to have that for so long.
"Ben, do you have your bags packed, honey?" you asked as he stuffed a spoonfull on pancake to his mouth, and the boy only nodded.
"Bags?" Daryl asked confused
"Yeah, we're enjoying his summer vacation to take a little trip to my aunt Deanna's place in Virginia, Benjamin had never met this part of my family yet, my folks thought it was about time."
"Mhm" he nodded, trying to hide the disappointment, part from being set aside on a family plan, part from the fact you still listened to your parents.
"I'm sorry, I was going to tell you yesterday but- we uh- got distracted." you blush a little, remembering what exactly got you distracted from conversation. "You're welcome to come with us, though. If you want" you added. "My parents aren't going."
"I'm stuffed at the shop." he seemed genuinely upset.
"I figured. We won't be long tho, maybe just a week or two and then we'll be right back."
You sent Ben to pick up his bags as you packed your own. On his way out, Daryl stole a kiss from you, leaving you flushed as he whispered something along the lines of "I'll be waiting for you."
And that was the last conversation you remembered having with Daryl. When the world caved and you couldn't leave Alexandria safely with a 13 year old to care for, you settled right there for the next two years, raising your child and mourning once again what your relationship could've been, but this time fearing you would actually never have a chance in love again.
You had a bitter feeling in your gut that what you've had was it. That when you finally had to balls to do what you wanted, to give you and Daryl the chance you deserved, the world itself wouldn't let it happen. You felt guilty at times, that your ex crossed your mind far more than your own parents did. But then again, you were grateful for the life they gave you, but no money in the world lived up to how much Daryl made you feel loved, in ways your family never did.
So much that you'd spend your nights awake wondering if he was alive. If he was looking for you. If he assumed you were dead and moved on. You had nightmares constantly, your brain betraying you with gut wrenching scenes of his end, dying while he waited for you to get back.
Daryl Dixon x Female Reader • Prison Era • Fluff • Hurt Comfort • No smut but sexual innuendo • Established relationship • short fic •
Summary: Daryl gets hurt during gate duty, and is too stubborn to get checked. Reader offers to kiss it better.
Hershel sat on one of the cell block benches, carefully dabbing antiseptic over the scrapes on Carl's knees after the boy had taken a tumble in the yard.
Nearby, Daryl lingered against the railing, favoring his left arm as he watched the scene with growing indecisiveness, unsure if to go get his arm checked or just man it up and let it be.
Hershel was still recovering from the loss of his leg so Daryl believed that he didn't need another patient crowding him while he was tending someone already.
Out of habit, he reached for his cantee with his injured arm and winced, before giving up and grabbing it with his left hand.
That noise of discomfort was enough for her to drop her book and stand from her spot at the bottom of the metal steps to the top cells.
Before Daryl could leave the room, she stepped into his path. "You've been avoiding using that arm all day. I've noticed," she said, matter-of-factly.
He narrowed his eyes. "You spyin' on me, woman?"
She folded her arms. "When am I not?"
He scoffed, weirdly flattered. "It ain't worth botherin' him over it," he muttered, pointing his chin towards the cell where Hershel worked.
"So let me take a look intead."
"Ain't broke."
"No," she agreed, "but if you keep pretending it isn't injured, you might make it worse."
"An' since when're ya a doctor, sweetheart?"
"Since when are you this stubborn, Daryl? Just sit down."
He looked ready to argue, but instead he lowered his gaze, grumbled something under his breath, then took a seat at the nearest empty bench.
She gently turned his arm, careful not to jostle it, but still, he hissed. "Easy, yer handlin' a livin' person not a walker."
"Shh, just want to see how bad it is..."
Daryl huffed, feigning annoyance even as he let her fuss over him. He had to admit, he didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. Having her so close, tending to him with gentle hands, made something warm settle in his chest.
Her brows were knitted together in concentration, as though scowling at the bruising hard enough might shame it into healing faster, and, who knows, maybe it would.
He hissed through his teeth as she gently eased his arm into a folded position against his chest. Once it was settled, she tied the ends of the wrap into a secure knot over his shoulder, keeping his arm comfortably supported.
"There," she murmured. "It's just for a few days so don't take it off, unless you plan on showering, but that's just hope talking."
"Funny."
Daryl then immediately reached for the wrap.
She swatted him. "What did I just say?"
He lifted his free hand in surrender. "Alright, alright."
She inspected the arm sling one last time before tilting her head. "Does it hurt?"
"Nah."
"Oh?" She nodded thoughtfully. "Guess I don't have to kiss it better, then." She hummed to herself as she slowly turned on her heel, as if about to leave.
But then—
"...It does hurt."
She paused mid-step and glanced back over her shoulder, doing her best to keep her expression neutral. "Hmm?"
Daryl rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand, cheeks warming beneath dirt. "Got confused with the heat an' all... Didn't hear ya right the first time."
A grin spread across her face. "So it does hurt? Awww."
His eyes widened at that patronizing sound. "Never mind, dammit!"
"Too damn late," she teased, reaching into her back pocket. She pulled out something that looked like a black bullet. After removing the cap and twisting the bottom, it revealed itself as red lipstick.
"This right here has healing properties," she said, twisting the lipstick up, "but only with multiple applications…so I will have to keep checking on you. Yep, Doctor's orders."
"Ya makin' fun of me?"
She applied her lipstick with practiced ease, a skill all on its own without a mirror, then pressed her lips together. "Never," she whispered. "Now hold still for me."
She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder right below the edge of his leather vest, lingering a moment longer than necessary.
His whole body went rigid, ears burning red as he fixed his gaze on the opposite wall, refusing to look at her. She continued her descent down his arm, unhurried, each kiss warm and soft, leaving behind a trail of lipstick marks that only made him more flustered.
When she reached his bicep, just above the edge of the wrap, she settled there, feeling the strength beneath her lips. She didn't move on right away this time, letting the moment stretch.
Then she looked up at him, and he finally flicked his gaze toward her from the corner of his eye, cautious, almost shy.
She gave his bicep one last kiss before resting her hand gently on the wrap. "Poor baby," she cooed. "You won't be able to use this arm for a while..."
Daryl forgot how to breathe, his face somehow turned even redder. Damn her
"...But I'll lend you a hand whenever you need it."
He groaned at the suggestion—because there was no way in hell she could look at him with those hooded eyes, like she wanted to be dragged back to their cell in the middle of the day, and not mean it any other way.
"Y/N—"
She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "You should let others take care of you more often," she whispered, her voice now gentle intead of teasing. "So don't hide when you're hurt, okay? Not from me."
He turned his head away. "Don' wanna be weak, is all..."
"You're not weak, Daryl." She cupped his cheek so he'd look at her. "But you are made of skin and bones and that has its disadvantages... You take care of me, and you don't think I'm weak, do you?"
He sighed, then kissed her palm. "Nah... Real pain in the ass, though." He muttered, pulling her in by the waist with his good hand until she was settled between his legs.
She giggled leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. Noses brushing, his eyes fluttering shut.
"Come on, let's take a nap."
His grip on her waist tightened. "Yes, ma'am."
Quick fic I wanted to write after I saw this silly picture on my feed:
Rules: go on pinterest, type in the prompts down below, and whatever image pops up first is your image: color, quote, character, hobby, accessory, song lyrics, & flower.
I’m so obsessed with your writing your so so talented the way you write is so beautiful i was wondering if you could do a fluffy fic were it’s Daryl x reader in Alexandria and they’re both still adapting especially Daryl but Readers pregnant (she was before they arrived there) and seeing reader feeling safe and so much less exhausted due to finally able to rest and relax properly, plus getting more food. Daryl slowly eases to the idea of the place especially when Carol tells him that one of the residents is a midwife. Daryl decides that he needs to adapt not only for the safety of reader but for their baby to. 🦢
hi 🦢 anon!! this was such a lovely idea, i had a lot of fun writing it. i hope this has the vibe you imagined & that you like it of course! writing pregnant!reader was a challenge since it comes with an amount of established feelings that i haven't ever written before. thank you so much for requesting and reading my stories, i'm so happy you enjoy them (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
He wasn’t happy when his mother burned alive. Not when his father’s alcohol habit got worse and they had to move to the trailerpark to support themselves. Not whenever he regained consciousness somewhere on the dirty floor at night, sporting a new black eye and a split lip. Not when his brother dragged him along into trouble. Not when Merle left for the military, not even when he came back. Not when he was high, not when he was drunk, and most certainly not when he was sober.
Actually, you couldn’t really say that Daryl had ever been truly happy and at ease with himself and his life. It was like — something went wrong somewhere at the start and he just couldn’t manage to repair it. Like everything from that point on was tainted, and nothing he touched stayed intact for very long.
It’s okay. He has accepted it long ago. Being Daryl Dixon, useless redneck lowlife, drifting around the world without anything to hold onto, and nothing more than that.
Didn’t think it would ever change. Most of the time, he didn’t know if he wanted it to. There was this… this rage curling inside him, anger, at what, or whom, he didn’t know. He was just convinced that the world had given up on him, so he gave up on the world.
But then, there was you.
You came into his life so suddenly, so unprompted and without reason that he didn’t even pay any attention at first. Too dazed and caught up in his self pity to realize that this was different. That maybe, there was something for him in this life after all, something good that wasn’t drugs or riding.
And he wouldn’t have, that he knows, if it hadn’t been for you showing him. Forcing him to see what this could become, almost violently, with a power he didn’t think you possessed. Not that gentle soul, way too innocent to even get caught up in those circles you navigated with ease. A ray of light inmidst fistfights and black eyes.
Too caught off guard, Daryl didn’t even get a chance to fight it. To grab something to hold onto to stop him from falling, hard. He was slipping, hands reaching out desperately, but they caught nothing. Then — your hand.
Again, he only blinked in disbelief, because he hadn’t fallen into the dark abyss he feared, but it didn’t make a difference. He was still down bad, and that in spite of standing in the same place. Holding your hand, too.
You just had this way about you, he began to learn as time passed. This way of taking all his fears away somehow. It was… strange, really. He didn’t think there were people like you. Didn’t think that there was anyone capable of making him feel like this, either.
… Happy. Yeah, that’s what it was. And you were the reason for it. Huh.
With you by his side, it was like nothing could stop him. Not even the apocalypse. No, quite the opposite, it was like with the dead walking, he finally had something to offer to you in return. Protection, his survival skills earned with scars and sweat. Not that you had ever complained about what he gave you. Being beneath you was only something he worried about, never you; for in Daryl Dixon’s arms, you were right where you wanted to be.
Yeah, this was good. This was a type of love neither of you ever expected to experience. It was breathtaking in the best way, that one where you didn’t even feel you needed air to live if you had his kisses instead.
Daryl was content with the way things were, more than that.
Yet, that day at the prison, everything changed and you managed to surprise him once again.
Pregnant. You were pregnant. He wasn’t sure he heard you right at first. But surely, that was what you had said. Repeated it when he stayed silent, at a loss for words.
A million thoughts raced trough his head at once.
Ah, so that’s why you were acting so strange the last couple of days. It explained a lot. For a minute there, you had him worried. Thought you’d led him here to that secret spot behind the cellblock for something else. If he didn’t know any better, and if it wasn’t for the years of whispered promises and forevers, he’d think you were going to break up with him.
He felt glad at first, but the relief was immediately overshadowed with reality catching up. You were going to have a baby. He couldn’t believe it.
Lori was still fresh on his mind. The way they had taken care of her, done everything in their power to keep her healthy all winter, under the worst possible circumstances. The way Rick had looked at her, the way they had been prepared as best as possible, with prenatal vitamins and Hershel and — and the way it hadn’t made any difference. How this was still the end of the world, and they had dug another grave that day.
Daryl stared at you. Into your eyes, pictures and memories of that time flashing trough his head. But you brought him back to the present, without even saying anything. No, it was that hesistance shimmering behind the colors in your iris. That… holding back. You looked insecure in a way he hadn’t ever seen on you before. And it hurt, god, it hurt, because it made him realize that you had been cautious on purpose. Scared of his reaction, possibly.
He couldn’t take it. You had every right to be, you knew him, and that’s why you brought him here, to a place away from everything else. Why you had waited until this very moment to tell him.
Daryl knew you were right, but suddenly he felt the strong wish you had told him as soon as you had found out yourself. Because with one glance into your eyes, your own worries were laid bare. And he hadn’t spent all those years living beside you to fail to understand that you where thinking about Lori, too.
So, without saying a word, he pulled you into his arms. Something broke, the tension, and finally, you sobbed, face buried in his shirt. And Daryl? He just tightened his grip around you, one hand coming up to hold your head, as if trying to shield you from the whole outside world. He was shaking. There you were, just beside the fences where walkers snarled and it reeked of decay, desperately holding onto each other, hoping it would keep you from being pulled down into the abyss after all, rotten hands clawing at your feet, but you stood upright, steadied by each other’s presence.
It did.
It really did. Time continued to go by as if nothing had changed at all. And yet, between you, something had shifted.
Nobody knew at first. There was still the thought of an abortion looming in the air, it was just too early to tell them. Neither of you had made up their mind.
Yeah, you thought of Lori… but then again, there was also that image of Daryl, eyes glowing as he held baby Judith for the first time. And Daryl remembered the way it had felt, her tiny fingers wrapping around his, and he just couldn’t help that warm sensation blooming in his heart.
Ultimately, he wanted you to decide. It was your body, after all, even though the risk would be lasting heavily on his shoulders, as well.
Daryl knew you had wanted children before the outbreak. It made sense, you were that kind of person. It would suit you perfectly, any kid would be lucky to be raised by you.
And yeah… he would be lying if he hadn’t thought about it himself back then. Of course, it was mere fleeting thoughts, what-ifs, nothing more. The memory of his dad still too present; those scars on his back began to burn whenever he thought about it for too long.
He was terrified of being a father. Before you, it had never been part of the equation. Hell, there was no fucking equation, he was alone and convinced it would stay that way.
But then again… after only one month of knowing you, Daryl was sure that he could never deny you anything. That conviction only settled with every single one that followed.
And it was still the same, even now that the world had gone to shit. He realized it only a few days after you had told him. Spoke to you about it. And his eyes softened when you confessed that you just… just couldn’t bear to lose another person. If it had been someone else, he’d have had half a heart to remind them that there was no person. Just a clump of cells, a mistake if you would. A moment of thoughtlessness.
But he would have been lying. Because right there in your stomach, something was growing. Not a person… more than that. A whole damn future.
So he told you that instead.
Still, nothing had been officially decided. It just… became a point of understanding between you that you would have it. And the pair of you remained convinced of that, even when the prison fell and with it, the idea of a life as the group had previously entertained it.
It didn’t matter, because your and Daryl’s future was right there inside of you.
With how protective he became, it wasn’t long until the others found out. He’d been possessive before, glued to your side to take out every walker that dared take a step towards you. If that hadn’t been bad, it was most definitely worse now. There was this almost manic glint in his eyes, burning like fire. You were to only one capable of bringing him back, calming him down a bit in his paranoia.
All in all, you knew Daryl well enough to understand that he was very much in his right mind, even though his actions may have proven otherwise. He was just focused. Dead focused on keeping not only you, but the baby alive as well. No time to even think about whether this was the right decision after all.
Which was a good thing, because you knew about his fears. About his own childhood and the way he had looked at Carl after the boy had lost his mother.
It was all good. He was right to become your protector like that, it wasn't excessive, no exaggeration in the world you were living in. With the way you had morning sickness now from time to time or how you got weak if you went without food for too long. It almost never happened, though: Daryl was there after all, and he always managed to get you more than enough. You almost had to force him to take his half of the squirrel, because you truly couldn’t eat another bite and he needed the energy just as much as you.
“But you’re the one eatin’ fer two.”
“And you’re the one providing for three!”
That shut him up alright, though he grumbled something along the lines of you doing just as much as him.
In a way, keeping you and that child alive was a way to cope for Daryl. He had something to do — it mattered. The world may be crumbling all around you, but something pure and healing was growing inside of you, and it was a little bit because of him, too. There was more to reality than death, rotting and decay.
It felt good to know that. And sometimes, he allowed himself to dream for just a minute, of the future. He wasn’t in those daydreams, mostly. It was only… you. You and your daughter, or son. He liked both ideas equally. How you would hold them in your arms, coo at them and that cute giggle he was sure you’d make. He wondered if it would do those too, crawling just like Judith was learning to right now.
It kept him going. That, and the way you kissed him thanks everytime he killed a walker before it could get to you. The way you squealed when the baby kicked for the first time, and how you immediately led his hand to your stomach to show him. The way he had something to protect, and you let him.
Even though you both know that you could have gotten that walker easily.
It did keep him going, yeah. Daryl wouldn’t have minded continuing on like this, even though ultimately, he knew it wouldn’t work out. On the run constantly, without home and safety. He didn’t want you to give birth right there on the roadside. Good thing that there were still some months to go.
Still… it was a harsh blow having this taken from him.
Alexandria. He should have been filled with relief at the sight of the gates, the houses, the steady roads and well-kept front yards.
Still. To Daryl, it was a painful confrontation.
With white picket fences and a life he never got to live.
Alexandria is, yeah, pretty safe. It’s what they always wanted to find, what Rick dreamed of and Hershel was so sure they would build someday. It’s good, real good.
He should be happy about it. Hell, he is. Or at least, he felt immense relief the day they stepped behind those walls. And yet… it’s not the whole truth.
Daryl feels terribly guilty about it, but a big part of him wishes Aaron had never led them to the safe zone.
It’s stupid, really. The town is perfect, actually. There’s enough food to last years, and guns, even though most of the people here don’t even know how to use them.
Canned spaghetti and what, chocolate chip cookies? Wine… you’re not drinking any, of course, but that’s only a small part of the generous buffet laid out at this pretentious welcoming party.
Now, Daryl doesn’t mind cookies. Not like he loves eating raw meat, anyway. But… you hadn't even looked at the squirrels he brought back from outside, yesterday.
And that’s what gets him. It doesn’t even make sense, but… Well, obviously, Alexandria takes better care of you than he ever could. He hates himself for even thinking that, but it’s frustrating.
It’s like… all these past months he has lived for you. To protect, to hunt, to provide — that had been his first goal everyday, hell, that was his expectation of the future. And he was really good at it, too. It wasn’t easy, no. But he made it work. Brought back enough food to keep up your health. Even managed to scavenge a fucking jar of pickles once, when you craved them, from some cabin in the woods cupboard. Always gave you half of his portion, even though you insisted he should finish it. It was alright. He knew his limits. ‘Cause there was really only one — you, keeping you alive. He’d starve if that meant you would live, but he was also aware of the fact that you kinda needed him right now and forever, so death wasn’t an option.
Of course not. You were too damn good a team.
Daryl noticed how it got more difficult right before they met Aaron. How quiet you got suddenly… Jaw clenched tight, he saw that the situation was hard on you. It physically hurt him to see you like this. Dragging yourself along the road, determined but exhausted. The morning sickness had really set in now, too, and you got dizzy more often.
He did everything he could to lift your spirits, despite the worry gnawing at his heart. Walked next to you, one arm slung around your waist, supporting your body. Gave you piggy back rides even though you protested, and that got a smile out of you. But he felt it fall against his shoulder, felt the effort it took you to hold on.
You were fine now.
Daryl knew that, though his heart hadn’t fully caught on yet. His instinct was still to hover around you, ready to save you if something happened — but nothing happened. This wasn’t the dark woods with snarling corpses all around, this was Deanna’s house.
This was a party, even though his flight instinct could have fooled him.
Nevertheless, he was watching. Observing, from the corner, making sure you really were as fine as your glowing eyes and the laughing suggested. Surrounded by a couple of Alexandria women, happily chatting away.
You looked pretty. As always. Stunning, as if you were made for cocktail dresses and social gatherings. Everything suited you.
Daryl felt uncomfortable. Like… he didn’t belong here, in his muddy boots and the scruffy leather jacket. Frustrated, he took a sip of his beer. The only good thing at this party, except for your smiles.
“You’re staring again.”
His eyes shot up. Hadn’t even seen Carol approach, too caught up in his own thoughts.
Carol. She, too, seemed to fit right in. Hell, it was her who brought the damn cookies. Strange, truly. It was like everyone had become a different person overnight.
Slowly, his gaze drifted to you again. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. Carol probably saw right into his head, anyway. And there really wasn’t any denying just what — who — he spent this whole evening looking at, either.
He felt the sofa dip as she sat down next to him. “Having fun, pookie?”
A huff. Very funny. He probably radiated frustration. Would hope the Alexandrians knew you were together, otherwise this would look kinda creepy. Woud, if he cared about impressions.
He felt Carol’s eyes on him, didn’t like it. How she assessed him with one glance, always looking right through him. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt uncomfortable.
“… She is.”
Daryl turned away from you across the room then, instead focusing on the woman next to him. “S’pose.”
And then Carol tilted her head, in that way that always made him yield and drop the act.
His voice was gruff, barely above a grumble. “Ain’t blamin’ her. Got all these new friends ‘n shit.”
“You jealous?” Her eyes bore right into his, so he looked at his knees instead, picking at a loose thread in his jeans.
“Nah.” It was the truth. Why would he be, when he knew you were happy? You deserved to have some fun. Last weeks had been exhausting for everbody, but they were straight up hell for you.
“But you miss her.”
Daryl bit the inside of his cheek. Contemplating. Did he? You were right over there, after all. “Ain’t missin’ anyone. Just… making sure she’s alrigh’.”
“Why don’t you go over and ask her?”
He looked up, then. Shot Carol a meaningful look. “… She’s busy.”
Carol just chuckled, and right now, he didn’t like that sound. It was like she knew something about him he didn’t. “Oh, Daryl… I’m sure she’ll make time for you.”
He scoffed. “Don’t need ‘er ta.”
She raised a brow. “Why haven’t you spoken to her all evening?”
A shrug. He was looking at the floor again.
“Well even if you don’t miss her, I’m sure she misses you. You were glued together for months. Didn’t leave her side. She must feel lonely, now.”
Daryl jerked his head into your direction, “That don’t look lonely to me.”
You were still smiling, sitting there with a glass of cranberry juice in your hands, nodding and smiling at something one of the ladies said.
“Pookie… You really want to believe that, don’t you?” Carol shook her head, a sympathetic glint in her eyes.
His head snapped back, frowing at her. “Ain’t just making that shit up. She’s happy, she deserves a break from everythin’ else.”
A pause. “You mean from you?”
That silenced him for a moment. He meant… the world out there. Not himself in particular, but now that he thought about it… Yeah, sure.
“Maybe, I dunno.” He averted his eyes, didn’t want to face her now. Too vulnerable.
Carol’s voice grew more quiet, then, gentle. She leaned in a bit, forcing him to look at her. “Daryl, she’s gonna have a baby.”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah, I know.” As if he didn’t think about that constantly. He was scared shitless, even more so now that his coping mechanism — keeping you alive out there — was taken from him. No routes, scavenging, plans to take his mind off of things. No, he was just… thinking. Imagining the future.
He was really excited to hold it in his arms. Maybe it’d be like Judith. So small… Tiny enough to lay stretched out on only his forearm, reaching from elbow to palm. And he’d cradle it, he’d never want to let go. Cause it would be his, not someone else’s.
Though secretly, he hopes it’ll be just like you. With that glowing smile he loves… Nothing like him, hopefully. What he likes even more is imagining you holding it. He can see it clearly… And as soon as that day comes, he might just look away lest his heart explode.
… If that day comes.
Lori never got to hold Judith in her arms.
If he never got to hold you again, he isn’t sure the baby could make up for that. He already loves it more than anything else, but if he lost you… Daryl isn’t sure he could do that to the child. Maybe he’d have to ask someone else to raise it, then. Because seeing you in the baby everday… It would be so painful. His heart is already breaking just imagining it. He’s not sure he could bear it… And he wouldn’t have the kid suffer from that. No… he’s probably not gonna be a very good father anyway. If he didn’t have you to help him, he’d fail for sure.
“Daryl.” Carol’s voice pulls him out of the darkness his thought were spiraling into with a rapid pace. She’s gripping his shoulders, looking into his eyes. Smiling, genuinely, not fake like she did when greeting Deanna earlier. “You two are gonna have a baby. That’s a good thing!”
He suddenly feels tears burning behind his eyes, but he blinks them away, confused at his own reaction. His voice cracks slightly as he speaks. “Wasn’t a good thing for Lori…”
Carol’s eyes soften. “It’s not gonna be like that.”
He exhales. “How d’you know that?”
She pats his shoulders comfortingly, then pulls back. Motions to one of the women surrounding you. “See that lady? Green dress.”
He grunts, “Yeah.”
“Well,” She glances at him from the side, triumpanthly. “She’s a midwife.”
“A midwife.” Daryl’s speechless. He knew that there was a doctor, surgeon or something, but that guy seemed a little off somehow. Father of two boys, and still so… cold.
“You know what that is?”
He shook his head, voice low. “Yeah… ‘Course I do. Just didn’t…” He trails off.
Carol smiles knowingly. There’s a teasing glimmer in her eyes. “Well, what did you think they were talking about?”
Daryl just shrugs, but for the first time in months, he feels confident. Or at least — not as scared. Like maybe, he likes Alexandria way better than he thought he did.
He sinks back into the cushions, shoulder bumping against Carol’s. The beer can rests on his knee, long forgotten. Instead, his eyes find you over the crowd again. Their favorite place to rest.
Warmth floods his heart, as he watches how animatedly you talk to that woman in the green dress. About what, he isn’t sure. Doesn’t matter, though.
You’re happy. That’s all he cares about.
“It’s gonna be different, Daryl. It is.”
The get together stretches way into the night, becoming, well… A full blown party, actually. There’s liquor being poured, music, dancing even. Maggie and Rosita seem to be having the time of their life, dragging other people onto the “dance floor” which is actually just the middle of the living room, now empty since Abraham has pushed the furniture to the side.
He doesn’t care for parties, never did, though this is unlike any he’s ever been at. A grown-up party, one could say. For rich people. Very different from the ones Merle used to drag him to when he was younger. There was beer at those too, just, well, it wasn’t as popular as other drugs being offered.
Today, Daryl has only had one beer and a few cookies, but he feels intoxicated anyway. Gets like that just from looking at you. You’re not dancing, maybe because you’re not drunk, you only had juice the whole time. Instead, you’ve been talking to Tara for a while now. Standing a bit on the side, apart from the others.
He feels relieved somehow, knowing you’re not completely been claimed by those Alexandria women. It’s — incredibly reassuring to know there’s a midwife in their midst, but still, he’s glad to see that you’re still with your old friends, too. Makes him feel confident he’ll be able to drag you away, soon.
He loves seeing you happy, but you should get some sleep! Rest, for both your and the baby’s sake. And yeah, okay — maybe for his, too, cause he’d rather have you curled up against his side in bed right now than spend his time here with all the other people.
Daryl’s been quietly waiting until what he thinks is an okay time to ask you to leave. But to his surprise, you make your way over to his corner a good half hour before that.
As soon as he realizes you’re walking towards him, his legs begin to move. He doesn’t even think about it, just makes his way through the crowd and meets you halfway.
Wordlessly, right in the middle of the dimmed, noisy room, he slings his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. You bury your face in his shirt, simply breathe for a moment. He physically feels the tension in your shoulders melt away. Just holds you like that for a while, grounding, until you pull away slightly.
And finally, he sees you smile again. For the hundredth time this night, and still, it has his heart beating out of his chest just like the first time all those years ago.
Your voice is soft, and you lean up to whisper into his ear so he hears it inmidst the loud thumping of the music. “Take me home?”
Home. Warmth floods his heart at the word, the word you use to refer to the house you’ve been assigned. He didn’t believe he’d ever think of Alexandria as a home.
He was a fool. A complete and utter idiot.
Lacing his fingers through yours, he nods. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and he starts walking, pulling you through the crowd. There’s people left and right saying goodnight, see you tomorrow, so nice getting to know you, and you wave at every one of them, kindly return their greetings, but he just keeps on walking until the door finally falls shut behind the two of you.
The sky is dark, the calm, cool breeze a stark contrast to the stuffy air inside. And it’s so, so quiet.
You exhale. Step a little closer so you’re leaning into his side, then. “Way better, huh?”
Daryl nods. Yes, infinitely better. Having you close again, and the noise far away. This is how he likes it best, and suddenly the thought occurs to him that even if it weren’t for Alexandria, he’d be fine if you were standing next to him like this.
His arm comes up and slides around your waist. You take his free hand and lead it to your stomach, so it’s resting right against the faint bump.
Quietly, “I think it’s gonna be a girl.”
His eyes, formerly mesmerized by the sight of his fingers splayed across your tummy, come up to meet yours. “Why?”
You smile. “I don’t know. I just feel it.”
His eyes soften. “Mhm. I’d like that.” He rubs gentle circles across your skin, so careful, so terribly tender your heart warms.
“Let’s get going?”
He hums, hand coming up to take yours again like it’s second nature. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
The town is quiet, only your footsteps echoing through the empty streets. It still feels safe. And Daryl lets his guard down for the first time in a long time. Relishing solely in the feeling of your skin against his, and the way you hold his hand tightly like you don’t want to let go.
“She kicked again today.“ Your soft voice breaks the silence.
Daryl looks so excited, it’s really cute. Who would have thought the tough hunter could get so excited about small things! Except for you, of course. You’ve known him for years, and seen him giddy about many silly things.
“You hurtin’?” His brows furrow as he looks at you, squeezing your hand.
You giggle like it’s cute that he’s worried. “Aww… no. It’s not painful kicking, more like… I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. Julie told me that’s a good sign. Babies get excited about stuff that happens in the outside world, as well… She must’ve liked the cranberry juice!”
Daryl nods, listening attentively. As if filing away all that information for later and like he’s already plotting to bring you bottles full of that juice for breakfast tomorrow. Even if it’s not something he’ll find outside, hunting.
“She that midwife in the green dress?”
You look up, surprised. “You heard?”
He shrugs. Bites the inside of his cheek, footsteps heavy on the gravel. “Carol told me.”
And then, a big smile stretches across your face. “Isn’t that totally amazing? I was so glad they had a surgeon, but now a midwife, too! Alexandria is really the best thing that could’ve happened to us.”
“’m glad too.” Daryl’s eyes soften as he looks at you. And for the first time in the couple of days you’ve been here, he feels like it’s true.
Like you’re right.
Like Alexandria is really the best fucking thing that’s happened to you in a long while.
And like there’s gonna be a future.
Daryl hasn’t quite adjusted to everything, no. Not to the sheltered people who haven’t seen the horros of the new world. Not to the fact that spaghetti is something he can have everyday now. Not to the squeaking door leading to the porch that he still has troubles opening, while you figured it out on first try.
But you just laugh when he fumbles with the lock, before motioning for him to step aside and demonstrating the trick with the handle again.
That... that's what makes him so confident that things are gonna work out, Daryl thinks as you playfully bow in a gentleman like manner to lead him inside. He scoffs and shakes his head at your antics, but he knows you saw that small smile on his lips.
You, not the fact that there's a midwife. Or a surgeon. Or cranberry juice and chocolate chip cookies. Just... you. The way you believe not only that everything's gonna be alright, but how you believe in him, too.
Like he isn't useless all of a sudden, now that you're not fighting for your life anymore.
Like it doesn't matter that you've got everything you need to survive right here— Or, better even, like you never stayed with him for the mere sake of survival at all.
He knew that, of course he did. And still! His heart is overflowing when you pull him inside and close the door behind you. When you flick on the switch and the hallway is illuminated, and it's all clean and he places his boots next to your shoes on the floor.
When you shimmy out of your dress in front of the bedroom dresser, putting on one of his tattered sleeveless shirt instead. He tells you you looked beautiful tonight, you smile and say this is way more comfy. He raises a brow at that, cause he doesn't even know why he still carries that thing around in his bag at all. It’s torn on the side and there's holes in it, but you insist that it reminds you of the time at the quarry. Back when he was still a grump with a temper and poorly concealed, overwhelming devotion to you, and you were just as perfect as now.
He tells you that you look beautiful in that, too, that you always do, be it in a fancy dress or in his old shirt that's just scraps at this point. Crosses the room in two strides and kisses you, all while realizing with amazement how far you've come. That his past self, when he first met you all this time ago would've never thought he'd ever get to taste your lips, and that he'd probably have ran if he knew that he was gonna get you pregnant someday.
... And that he'd have come back the next day, a little sheepish but ultimately surrendering to the sheer happiness that idea brought to him. Apparently, he wasn’t all that different now, Daryl thinks as he lies down next to you, pulling the covers up and making sure you're tucked in well and warm as you shut the lights.
He's still a little scared. But maybe... maybe that's a good thing. He bets his father wasn't all that worried about becoming a good dad. If he was, he would've had to be so disappointed in himself that he might've been motivated to change up his way of parenting.
Daryl is anxious to do better than that.
Staring at the dark ceiling, the fear is just beginning to set in — but then you move. Let out a sleepy sound, mumbling something incoherent before you turn around and snuggle into his side, one arm splayed over his waist. His breath hitches, heart beating before he carefully, so as not to wake you, reaches out to slide his own arm around your shoulder, one hand behind your head to pull you even closer, resting comfortably against his chest.
You begin to snore softly, and he smiles into your hair. All worries forgotten in an instant... Because you're here, and he's not gonna lose you. And what can go wrong if he's got you right by his side?
Gently, his other hand comes up between your bodies... Resting on your stomach. Maybe she'll kick again tonight, he tells himself and tries to keep his excitement at bay. He'd like to feel it.
Really, he's just looking forward to the day he gets to meet her in person. To holding her, and seeing you cradle her in your arms. It's that simple. It's gonna be the happiest day of his life — if it weren't for every other equally blissful day he's got to spend with both you and her.
He won't mind if he doesn't feel her kick, Daryl thinks as he drifts into slumber. His hand stays right in place, though. No... He just wants the baby to know that he'll be there, and he's not ever gonna leave.
Tag game 🩶 got tagged by @velvetdevastation thank you. Your pictures are lovely! You being a teacher is fitting. Very Miss honey coded 🫶🏻
Tagging @holdmytesseract @lavandine @carnivorousbites (no pressure to do so, though, pookies)
It was a challenge to find 6 pictures as someone doesn't use their camera. Here we have things I've baked, tomatoes from my garden, a book, and...bingo night.
• Young Daryl Dixon x Young Female Reader • legal age of consent • second person • inner monologue • Merle being charming as ever • no apocalypse or pre apocalypse a/u • trailer trash • underwear fetishism • inexperienced smut • oral f receiving •
Summary: It all started with your panties...
Daryl sat on the steps of his trailer with his elbows on his knees, a forgotten beer by his dusty boots. A bee had done laps around the rim before dipping its fluffy body inside sometime during those minutes he left it unattended, choosing to watch you instead.
His new neighbor.
The previous tenant was an old prick with a gambling problem—if winning a third of the time still counts as a problem—who couldn't put weight on his right foot because of the missing toes, and he fought relentlessly to keep his grass tall enough to function as a fence. It never did work as one. All it managed to be was an eyesore that attracted mosquitoes.
Up to the heart attack, he fit right into this place, unlike you—his estranged grandchild.
Pretty
Quiet
Naive
Before you'd even spread his ashes, you had started making the place your own. Potted flowers and herbs, lace curtains, fairy lights, and even a radio by a foldable lounge chair outside.
It only took a couple of hours for the radio to get stolen from your little piece of trash heaven, though it only took Daryl a couple of minutes to get it back. It wasn't even a nice radio, but the fact that it was so easy to take it from you was a good enough reason to do it.
Yet god forbid some bastard steal the view from his window: You turning red as a tomato, mouthing the words to songs that were older than you both combined.
You were across from him, laundry basket propped against your hip, hauling sun-dried items from the clothingline. You never bothered removing the clothespins properly; the tugging sent little plastic clips flying into the grass, where they'd stay forgotten until your next laundry day or until you had to retrieve them before his mower turned them into confetti.
He had warned you not to whine if and when his ol' reliable shredded whatever shit you left outside, and so far, that was the longest string of words he'd said to you.
Your sandals were his first victims
Your gnomes were a close second
Last time, though, he almost mowed over your underwear.
Daryl was ready to keep his word and run over that item of clothing that fell from the basket on your way back inside—but he didn't. Instead, he found himself bending down, balling them in his hand, and stuffing them into his pocket.
Those panties with a blue bow were still in his bedside drawer, waiting for their next date with his fist and cock. If he kept watching you sweat through your tank top, a rosy blush spreading across your nose and bare shoulders, he'd be doomed to indulge every perverted movie running through his head tonight, assuming Merle didn't drag him off somewhere first.
He wondered if you missed those panties, if their absence would have you retrace your steps, leading you to him. If you saw him taking them, saw him bringing your radio back. Saw the scrapes across his knuckles, because that's the only way people kept their belongings off limits around here.
He wondered why he cared at all.
You pulled the last shirt from the line, tossed it into the basket, then glanced over your shoulder to send him a nod. It was a I've felt your eyes on me for fifteen minutes straight and I'm not making this a thing type of nod. Not that you owed him more than that, but still, it bothered him. You'd been neighborly before: small talk, weather, the usual. He'd gotten used to it, even though his dry attitude gave you the opposite impression. Guess it was a matter of time before you'd stop being friendly. That bothered him even more.
So he cleared his throat.
"I was thinkin'..." he began, his southern drawl cutting through the lulling sounds of late summer surrounding you both. The humming of cicadas, and the wind chimes hanging from your awning became background noise to whatever he was making an effort to vomit out. "Since I'm mowin' yer side, it's only fair ya do my laundry." Could've jus' talked about the heat, dumbass.
You blinked, glancing between him and the yard like you were checking if he was talking to someone else, not expecting him to start a conversation let alone make—what you assumed was—a joke. "I said I'd pay. You didn't take the money," you reminded him, thinking back at the first time he crossed the invisible line separating his side from yours two months ago.
~~~His short hair, the color of oats, stuck to the back of his neck as the lawnmower chewed through the weeds and anything in its way. You waved a couple of bucks, yelling over the motor for him to take it and asking if he wanted something to drink too. He didn't talk. Didn't even look at you; he just waved you off like a pesky mosquito buzzing too close to his face, then kept mowing. ~~~
"I ain't want ya money, girl. Maybe I jus' want my stuff to smell like roses too."
Playing along, you tilted your head as if considering it. "So you trim my grass...and in return...I have to clean skid marks off your boxers, correct?" Youd set the basket down and moved closer with a smirk. "Not sure if that's a fair labor trade."
"Watch it," Daryl snapped, but there was no real bite to it. He pushed himself off the steps to meet you halfway because, if he planned jerk-off to you later, he might as well get a good whiff—for the sake of a vivid fantasy, of course.
It was the only motive behind the conversation, at least that is what he said to himself.
"Dirt and motor oil I can own ta that," he said. "But shit? Ya leave that to my brother, Merle."
You snorted, loud and a little apologetic, your eyes crinkling as you smiled at him. The unladylike sound made the corners of Daryl's mouth twitch, but he wiped that look off fast before it got comfortable enough to stay, though not fast enough that you missed it.
You couldn't really miss much standing so close to him.
He had eyes the color of wornout denim
Two moles on the corner of his mouth
Sweaty
Earthy
He smelled like concrete after lightning
"I'll bake you something," you said, folding your arms.
He blinked. "What?"
"I said...I would bake you something." Your eyes dropped to the ground as you rocked back and forth on your heels, suddenly feeling a little silly for suggesting it. Judging by the look on his face, it was as if you’d spoken another language. "You know...as payment for mowing my poor excuse of a garden."
He felt his ears burn. This wasn't part of the plan, though he hadn't exactly had one to begin with. "Suppose that ain't a terrible trade..." he muttered, scratching the hollow under his cheekbone; his eyes avoided yours and landing on the dumpster by his trailer instead. S'many goddamn bees 'round since you got here.
You smiled, victorious. "Good. We have a deal then, neigh—"
"Daryl."
One beat
"...Daryl," you repeated with such sweetness that he could hardly believe that was his name he was hearing. You turned to retrieve the basket before heading inside, waving goodbye as the screen door shut behind you.
By the time you had crossed the distance to your trailer, his heart sped up like it had accepted something before he had.
Ah, Fuck.
He took a step back and inhaled as if he'd been underwater. How he managed to keep a conversation with you going was one thing, but getting a cake from it all? Maybe he should've played the lottery while he was at it.
Maybe things were turning around for him.
Maybe—
He sneezed loud enough to lose his balance.
He'd been so fixed on you that he hadn't realized he felt like complete and utter dogshit. He wiped his runny nose with his forearm—the fever officially welcoming summer.
You hadn't seen or spoken to Daryl in two days. In fact, the man had not stepped out of his trailer once. You knew this because you'd gotten into the habit of watching him from behind your curtains. It had started as a way to pass the time after moving in, but somewhere along the way, curiosity had turned into something you couldn't name.
You'd learned that Daryl was a creature of habit.
He woke before the mourning doves even began to coo and vanished into the woods for hours, returning either with nothing at all or enough meat to last the week. He took on odd jobs around the trailer park, fixed cars for cheap, and spent most of his time alone rebuilding an old bike he'd salvaged. At night, he would leave with his older brother, and you wouldn't catch sight of him again until the next day.
The nights when he stayed in were the ones you preferred, because he would sit outside for hours and stargaze with such an unguarded look on his face that you felt compelled to look away, but you never did.
Perhaps, like everyone else, you were only meant to see the scowl he wore for the world—and that version of him was like nightshade blooming, something rare in nature, reserved only for the crickets and the moon.
Or maybe, with proper care and patience—and cake—he would open up to you too.
The lack of rain meant the grass was brittle and dying before it ever grew past your ankles, so his mowing wasn't in the cards yet. You could bake him something for the previous mowings, though. It seemed fair, and it was an excuse to go see him. You didn't want to dwell on why you wanted to see him, so you snatched your apron and got to baking instead.
Unsure of what he liked, you decided on something safe. He wasn't picky—you'd seen him haul roadkill enough times to support your theory that he would eat anything. Just nothing with peanuts, in case he was allergic.
An hour later, the cramped kitchen smelled of lemon citrus and powdered sugar.
The bees crawled up and down the screen door, desperately trying to get inside. They had claimed your basil and lavender as their own, but this cake was off-limits.
By the time it was cool enough to dust with powdered sugar and little daisies, the sky had turned indigo, and the streetlight had beckoned all the flying insects in a mile radius with its flickering to come closer.
You skipped the short distance between trailers with the cake in your hands.
It had been a long time since you baked something for someone else. Like your parent— wherever they were—you had a persistent itch to move around with barely any money, which meant not staying in one spot long enough for strangers to turn into acquaintances. It felt nice, though, to put time and care into a place and someone else. You still weren't sure how long you'd stay at the trailerpark. The plan had been to put your time into being your grandpa's caregiver, knowing he would changed his mind and decided he would rather be alone eventually, but death took him before he ever got the opportunity to kick you out. You thanked thanked him for his timing.
You knocked on the door
Fixed your dress
The door opened
Your smile dropped
It wasn't Daryl
Merle stood there at the top of the steps instead, leaning against the frame with the same hooded yet ready-to-bite look he always carried around like a pocket knife.
"Well, well," he drawled. "What do we have here? Ya lost, little lady? Y'trailer is that way." He pointing downward with his index finger and made a small circling motion for you to turn around.
"Not lost, just wondering," you looked past him into the empty trailer, 'if Daryl is here?"
He scratched his chin. "Depends. That cake ya holdin'—is it for him?" His eyes landed on the cake, on your face, on your knees poking underneath the short dress, like he was giving his eyes enough time to decide what looked better, because for people like him, it was a sight for sore eyes.
Finding dog shit in his mailbox? Sure. Getting a brick thrown at his window because he may or may not have slept with someone's sister? Possible. A pretty youngling like yourself bringing cake to the Dixon residence? In his wet dreams.
"It is. For being helpful with mowing my side."
"That so? Quite the oasis y'got over there." He chuckled. "How about this. I will personally give it to him, alright? He’s out. Somethin' about a headache. Dunno. Might be a while." He tilted his head toward the doorway. "Unless ya wanna wait in—"
You shook your head before he could finish asking. 'Tell him thank you," you said, handing over the cake. "And that I hope he likes it."
"Will do." He smirked, lifting the cake to his nose and taking in a loud sniff. "Don' worry, buttercup. I know my baby brother appreciates such a tender gesture."
He shut the door with his boot before you could ask about the headache.
The next day, sitting hunched on a milk crate with a screwdriver in hand, Daryl worked on replacing the clutch on his bike, muttering a deflated curse every time a stubborn screw refused to cooperate.
The flu had a tight hold on him. Every time he looked up, pressure throbbed behind his eyes, and every time he looked down, his sinuses clogged until he was forced to breathe through his mouth. His body begged for a few more hours of sleep—for a bowl of chicken noodle soup, for a cool cloth pressed to the back of his neck.
Like a sissy, he thought, too stubborn to rest. He had lived his whole life without any of those things, so why expect them now? Hell, if his old man was still kicking, he would've gotten the whooping of his life for complaining or being useless.
Daryl had been so wrapped up in his own misery to pay attention to what was going on across from him. It took a loud crash to cut through that fevered haze that dulled his senses, and when his head shot up he found you getting cornered by a stranger.
The man laughed humorlessly, swinging his leg as far back as it could go before bringing it forward—boot striking the ceramic gnome, sending it flying towards the side of the trailer, missing you by an inch, and shattering into pieces like the first one.
Daryl wasn't sure how he made it to you so fast, because one second he was by his bike, then the next he was pressing the tip of the screwdriver against the man's throat, as a string of pleas came out of their mouth.
Sharin'
Whore
Relax man
Don't!
"If I catch ya 'round here again—messin' with my neighbor, I will have yer ass breathing through a custom airhole, understood?" He pressed the tip deeper, voice low, then louder. "Understood?!"
"Y-yes, yes! Understood!" The man begged, tossing his head back in a weak attempt to make space between his throat and the rusty tool.
Daryl used his last ounce of strength to hurl the man to the ground, where he stayed for a second, before scrambling back on his feet to run off. Daryl held his ground until the man disappeared from sight, and only then did his shoulders slump. He braced a hand against the trailer, visibly struggling to stay upright.
You quickly moved towards him, offering a shoulder for him to lean on. "Daryl, what is it?"
He shook his head, trying to straighten up on his own. "M'fine, girl. Just the heat."
You frowned, pressing your hand against his damp forehead. "You're burning up! Come on, let's go inside."
Daryl resisted yet somehow ended on your couch.
He groaned, watching the ceiling fan spin on the ceiling, though it was turned off. Or was it turned on? Everything in the room was spinning, regardless.
He turned to the side to find you hovering over him, messy hair spilling from your bun—brows knit together, focused on taking care of him as if he was worth the trouble. You brushed the damp strands from his forehead before pressing an ice pack against it. He flinched at the cold shock, then sighed and melted deeper into the nest of cushions.
S'comfy... smells good...
"The hell is this?" He muttered, attempting to lift his head to look around, only for you to stop him.
"You're in my place. Now stay still. Don't be difficult."
"Difficult? I jus' saved yer ass."
You clicked your tongue, both grateful and mad at him. "Well maybe next time, don't tell other people I pay manual labor with cake, alright? Apparently, that's code for something else around here..." You tried to brush it off as a minor inconvenience, as a joke even, but it was clear you were shaken up by the situation. He could feel the unsteady grip you had on the icepack—eyes darting from him to the door as if expecting another unwelcomed visitor, sent by Dixon, to show up.
Daryl wrapped his fingers around your wrist, lowering your hand with the icepack. The kicked puppy look on your face made his chest ache more than any sickness. "Not sure if it's the fever, but yer makin' no sense. I didn't say any of that, y/n."
The gentle yet firm hold he had around your wrist—the way he called you by your name made your heart flutter. You wanted to believe that at least one person had your back around here. You wanted to believe him, especially.
So that meant—
"Oh." You let out a dry chuckle at the realization. "Guess I made the wrong impression on your brother."
"Merle? What does he have ta do with this?"
"Last night, when I dropped off your cake he—"
Daryl didn't need to hear the rest to figure it out. He abruptly got up—fever be damned—ready to beat the shit out of his own flesh and blood.
~~~He'd made his way back to his trailer late at night from a walk to the gas station for painkillers. He glanced at your trailer to see if all the lights were out before heading inside. He found Merle in front of the TV—mouth open, empty cans sprawled around his feet. Nothing out of the ordinary, but then he stopped and squinted, doing a double-take when he noticed a powdery substance around Merle's mouth. Damn pig, he thought, but he was too tired to question it, let alone care.
He would not know you'd been there a few hours ago. ---
"Merle, you son of a—" He felt a flicker of disappointment for missing the cake you made for him, but it was overrun by the anger he felt towards Merle for running his mouth like that—dragging your name through dirt before you'd even settled down. He knew how fast rumours spread around here, and how hard they clung once they did.
He wasn't sure if it was the fever that made him want to vomit on the carpet in that moment. No. It was the guilt in his stomach trying to claw its way out.
He had stolen from you.
Fantasized about you.
Like his brother, like that bastard moments ago...
He wasn't any better.
You pressed a hand to his chest, easing him back onto the couch before he could throw himself into a fight you knew he had no chance of winning in his condition. "Did you at least get to try the cake?"
Daryl just turned his head away.
You took that as a no and walked to the stove to make tea—something with ginger and honey for him. His voice was still charmingly rough, but you could tell each word scraped at his sore throat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you were the one who said those things about me," you said, grabbing two of your silliest mugs, hoping it would lighten the mood.
Daryl winced. "The hell are ya apologizing for? The only thing y'done wrong is move into this dump," he muttered, eyelids becoming too heavy to keep open.
Christ, if it was easier when the only thing I wanted was to jerk-off to yer panties.
The realization landed like a punch. He wanted you to bake for him—to fuss over him when he got sick. He wanted to stay on your couch, drink tea from that ridiculous mug with boobs on it... He wanted to know how your days went. He wanted to keep you safe, help you with your garden tomorrow, then the next day, and the day after that, for as long as you'd let him.
Daryl wanted whatever this was with you.
You sat down on the coffee table in front of him and set the mugs aside. Sometime during those minutes you were making tea, he'd stretched out, muttered something about you living here being a mistake, and then closed his eyes.
You knew better than to take anything he said in his state personally, yet you still found yourself sitting alone with your thoughts, and the possibility of staying or going.
You leaned forward to trace the slope of his nose with your fingertip, getting a twitch from him before he swatted lazily at your hand.
"You saying I should move away, Daryl?" You whispered it more to the room than to him, but still, you hoped he would wake up and tell you what you wanted to hear.
You could move away as many times as you wanted, but loneliness waited for you everywhere you went. It had become a sort of entity that, in its attempts to protect you from other people and the heartache that came with them, only made things worse.
Daryl saying that you being here was wrong felt like waking from a dream before the good part happened. Deep down, you were just a lonely girl who always kept a suitcase within reach, never stopping her dreams of the day she would turn around and find she was worth chasing after.
Maybe it was time for you to wakeup for good.
smut below the bow
You sighed, getting up to leave when a hand reached out for you.
Daryl's calloused fingers found their way to the back of your neck, pulling you in until his mouth crashed against yours, drawing a gasp out of you.
The kiss was messy. Salt from his fever mixing with the lingering sweetness from the tea on your tongue. Inexperienced. Teeth crashing. Noses in the way. Desperate. In its attempt to keep and possess something too precious to let go of.
He pulled you onto the couch, rolling on top of you, tossing cushions out of the way to make space. He wasn't sure if this was a fever-induced dream, but he couldn't stop kissing you—not when you were finally within reach, yet talking nonsense about leaving.
He felt your hands ball in his shirt, struggling to push him off. He groaned, unlatching from your mouth unwillingly, but with enough restraint left to do so.
You looked wrecked trying to catch your breath—eyes glossy, bottom lip swollen, a string of spit that could've belonged to either one of you on your chin, and sweat pooling in the hollows of your collarbone due to his fevered body heat. He cradled your face with his hand, and you melted into it—breaths evening out and eyes fluttering shut to take in what just happened.
You looked so sweet that he couldn't believe it, so he pinched your cheek hard enough to make you yelp.
"Mm! What was that for?!"
He shrugged. "Jus' Checkin' if I'm dreaming.'
"That's not how that works, idiot!" you snapped, then turned your head away when he didn't break eye contact, like you were used to. Oh, and now he kissed you? The fever must've melted something in his brain, you thought, looking for an explanation for your dreams becoming tangible.
"You're not thinking straight. We shouldn't b—"
"Not like I'm drunk, girl."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smile.
Then you noticed the hollows under his eyes and the tremors in his arms on either side of your head. Clearly, he was fighting to keep from collapsing on top of you, and you couldn't just ignore it.
"You need to rest, Daryl."
"Nah, I need..." He signed hard. "I need ya, please."
You swallowed the lump in your throat—heart racing, resolve crumbling just from a plea and from the way he looked at you, like you were the night sky. It made your hands reach for him before your brain decided otherwise. "Just go slow."
"Slow's alright."
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing the flush across his cheeks, before drawing him closer—his eyes closing. The meeting of lips was slower this time, but just as needy. He let out a whine against your mouth, and the sound made heat pull between your thighs until you felt a heartbeat there. Your hands moved across his shoulders, tracing the curve of his strong biceps before sliding down his toned back. You found the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to slip your hands underneath the fabric—fingertips mapping the line of his spine, tracing the unexpected ridged scar tissue that made your brows knit together in wonder.
He tensed.
"Don't." The word came out harsher than he intended, but the vulnerability under it didn't escape you. "Jus' keep 'em on my hair."
"O-okay."
When he felt your hands settle in his hair again, he relaxed then kissed your neck, the space between your breast, your belly. His decent continued until he settled between your thighs, hoisting them so they would rest over his broad shoulders. He pushed up your dress, exposing another exact pair of the panties he took.
He cursed under his breath or maybe it was a prayer; you couldn't hear clear enough over your own breathing.
He leaned forward and tugged at the little blue bow with his teeth, the elastic snapping back against your skin with a sting. You giggled, nervously, and ruffled his hair. He smirked, nuzzling the damp spot forming in the center of your panties.
You gasped, lifting your hips to chase the teasing friction. He gave your clit a kiss over the cotton, then another. It felt better than you could've imagined, but it wasn't enough. You didn't want him to go slow after all. "More, faster—anything," You whined, impatiently. "Please, it aches."
"Mm, that right?" He teased, hooking his finger around your panties to pull them to the side, exposing your drenched pussy. "Look at ya, S'pretty." He drawled, before he licked a stripe from your entrance to that engorged, pink button. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste and those shy little sounds you made after each kitten lick.
His poor cock was strained and leaking precum inside his boxers, so he couldn't help grind against the couch—desperate to ease his own ache. If it wasn't for the fever he would've carried you to bed and fucked you properly by now. Make every fantasy he once poored into your panties a reality.
He tried not to think about it too much for the sake of keeping his load in, but it was easier said than done.
his cock bulging in your belly, cum spilling out when he was finished, only to go at it again and again, until you got knocked up with his redneck babies—trapping you forever.
Breathe, dammit. Gotta make her finish 'fore I pass out or cum, he thought, and then the possibility of just dying while eating you out made a delirious, gravelly laugh rumble in his throat.
The never-before-heard sound made your head clear up abruptly. You knew he wasn't in his right mind, but still, you felt your face burn from whatever it was he found so funny. Without so much as a second thought, you flicked his forehead hard, just in case he was laughing at you.
Daryl sent you a glare—giving your hip a sharp smack in return, before he gave you something better to blush about. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on it until your eyes rolled back into your skull and your fingernails clawed at his scalp.
"Ohmm—fuck!" You cried, squirming under him—shyness out the window.
He groaned against your skin, his mouth relentless. That' more like it.
He swirled your clit over and over, guessing you were close by the drunk look on your face, and the way you began to fuck youself up into his mouth with short rocking motions.
"Ya like that, huh?"
"Y-yeah, baby, so good," you whimpered, the petname nearly undoing him on the spot.
Baby? Shit, I ain't gon' last.
Daryl lifted his head, replacing his tongue with his thumb, drawing tight circles around your clit, while he waited for saliva to gather under his tongue. "Fuuck—Come on, sweetheart." He spit right on your pussy, thumb speeding up and mixing all the fluids together. "Y'can do it."
That definitely did it.
You cried out as the tight knot in your belly finally snapped. Insides spasming. Vision blurring. Heat spreading from your core to your limbs, until you trembled.
He groaned against your pussy as a warm gush of juices hit his tongue. He lapped every drop, like the parched mutt he was, until his poor cock couldn't take it anymore. He dropped his head on your lower belly cursing through gritted teeth as he drove his hips against the couch hard, until thick ropes of cum shot out, leaving a pathetic mess in his jeans.
The room fell silent as you both went slack, leaving only the electric hum of the old appliances and the patter of rain against the windows fill the space was once occupied by ragged breaths and pleasure-slick skin.
Then Daryl's breathless voice cut through the silence. "You move away, sweetheart...I'll hunt ya down."
The tender threat pulled you out of your dazed state. Your opened your mouth to say something—you needed to—but then you heard it. You lowered your gaze toward the sound, expecting blue eyes to be waiting for you. Instead, you found his cheek smooshed against your belly, brows relaxed, and his lips slightly parted.
Snoring
You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh, then ran your fingers through his hair—gentle enough not to jostle him awake, though even in sleep, he frowned and tightened his hold around your middle.
He could sleep for as long as he wanted, you thought, because for the first time in a long time, staying exactly where you were didn't feel like such a bad idea.
🐝 FIN 🐝
Note:
I love old Daryl, but I had this scenario of young 20's Daryl living in a trailer park snatching panties, and yup.
This is my first time writing smut, so have mercy on me!!!
The word clit doesn't sound like a real word anymore.
Anomia will forever kick my ass. It took me 10 minutes to remember the word curtain.
Hope ya'll liked it! This was so far the longest fic in my drafts. Never again. Gon' stick to shorter ones for a while. My poor brain.
(Dividers by: @uzmacchiato and @kthice )
Some little fun facts:
• Concrete after lighting is a perfume that exists.
• The title of the fic is the song reader was listening to while tanning.
• Read an article on autism symptoms improving amid a fever. Being sick = clarity of mind, better eye contact, less anxiety. That influenced how I wrote Daryl. I just noticed.
• Merle is an ass (Gotta love him though)
Why do I get the feeling that reader will not only get sick after this, thanks to Daryl, but get knocked up embarrassingly quick, like after their first time, and become young parents?? Uncle Merle is just relieved that his baby brother isn't a fairy, like he suspected for a second there. Pfft funny.
Bonus! perfume moodboard:
This work of fiction was written while listening to...
Dialogue accurate/episode based series. (semi accurate. I’m not typing out racist shit from merle.)
About Reader: Female reader. Reader has glasses and hair long enough to grab. Reader is 29 years old. No race or other descriptive features mentioned however.
Content: Blood, Death, Gore, Horror, Swearing, Suggestive content, Slow burn, Age gap (not a gross one.)
Note: I don’t know how long i want this series to last, but i’m going episode by episode. Chapters will be 1-2 episodes worth.
♡ "back to you" taglist: @leslierabbit @t0xicsl33p @moss4brainss @saintloverie @firefirefeline @babycheech @dixonangel @gglittergoddess @tuesday469 @lavandline @bbning @clussysposts
Your relationship with the cute mechanic boy had lasted far longer than either of you had expected after that night you picked up your car. What had started with whiskey and nervous smiles had somehow blossomed into something else entirely that made the two of you feel impossibly young. You went out constantly. Daryl took you on long rides on his bike with no destination in mind, simply because you loved wrapping your arms around him and he secretly loved hearing your laughter over the wind.
You loved so many things about eachother it felt like the kind of romance people wrote songs about, full of stolen afternoons, cheap diners, and kisses exchanged beneath gas station lights. Not to mention how you felt constantly on fire, which also let to beyond great sex whenever or wherever Daryl could get his hands on you, you felt alive in a way you never had before, as though all the carefully planned little pieces of your life had finally given way to something messier and infinitely more beautiful.
Which was perhaps why reality felt so cruel when it finally arrived.
You sat on the cold bathroom floor of your childhood home, blankly staring at the two pink lines very clearly displayed in front of you, thinking it had to be a mistake, even if it was the third test that had shown you the same result. Denial. First stage of grief.
You were grieving the rest of your youth, your freedom, so many things all at once. Grieving a future you hadn't even lost yet, but one that suddenly felt doomed by those two bright lines. You felt stupid. Reckless. You fucked up.
The test trembled between your white-knuckled fingers as you stared so hard as if you looked long enough, the lines would disappear. The house around you had gone silent in that eerie upper-class way expensive homes often did, where every room was too large and too polished to feel lived in.
Daryl stood awkwardly in the doorway, dirt on his boots and oil beneath his fingernails from the afternoon working in, looking painfully out of place beneath the warm yellow chandelier light spilling down the hallway. He had been twenty-one years old and already carried himself like someone much older, shoulders permanently braced for impact, hands roughened by work, eyes too guarded for a man that young, but the second you looked up at him with tears threatening to spill over, he hovered over you protectively.
"S’okay,” he murmured, pulling your head gently against his chest, unsure of what else he could possibly say. “We’ll figure it out.”
Despite everything people assumed about Daryl Dixon, despite the cigarettes and the silence and the rough edges that made strangers dismiss him before he even spoke, his first instinct had always been loyalty. “Ain’t runnin’ from it.” And you knew him well enough to know he meant it.
The worst night came over dinner, when you decided you wouldn't scape telling your parents.
The dining room had always felt more like a museum exhibit than a place where families gathered. The crystal glasses sparkled beneath the light, silverware had been arranged with military precision, and your mother had insisted on using the good china as though appearances could somehow soften the conversation you knew was coming.
Daryl showed up in a white button-down shirt you'd bought him. He looked uncomfortable from the moment he stepped through the door, tugging absentmindedly at the sleeves and clearly wishing he could disappear into the floorboards. You had squeezed his hand beneath the table when he sat beside you, and though he hadn't said anything, his fingers intertwined yours immediately.
Your mother barely touched her food.
Your father, on the other hand, seemed to have rehearsed every word.
"So," he began, carefully setting down his wine glass, "have the two of you given any thought to what exactly comes next?"
You frowned. "Dad–"
"No, sweetheart, I'm asking a reasonable question. Your finals have deadlines. Your entire life had a clean trajectory."
"Our lives still do." you replied quietly. Your father sighed heavily.
"You were supposed to travel. You were supposed to get internships abroad. You had opportunities most people would kill for." His eyes drifted toward Daryl. "And now?"
The room went silent.
Daryl lowered his gaze to his untouched plate.
"Harold..." your mother whispered softly.
"No, Mary, she deserves honesty." He turned back to you. "Do you know how much money we spent making sure you had every advantage? Private schools. Piano lessons. Ballet. Tutors. Summer programs. Years of preparation."
You sat quietly, you knew that.
"And for what?" he asked quietly, disappointment proving far crueler than anger. "To throw it all away?"
Your mother quietly dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.
"Please don't do this."
"I am doing this because I love her." His gaze moved toward Daryl again.
"We tried to warn you about your little forbidden adventure, but life had it's own way of sobering people up."
You felt Daryl's hand tense around yours.
"Sir–"
You father interrupted him sharply. "Tell me honestly, son. What exactly are you offering her? Because I fail to see how changing oil and repairing engines compensates for everything my daughter's giving up."
"Dad!" you snapped.
But Daryl simply sat there. He sat through every word with his jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack from the pressure. He never defended himself, raised his voice or begged. He simply endured it because you were pregnant, exhausted, and scared, and somewhere in that silence he had decided your comfort mattered more than his pride.
"Darling," he continued, softening his voice. "You'll have all our support raising this child. But–" he glanced at your boyfriend again, sharpening his tone once more. "don't you think, for a second that I'm being conniving of this." he pointed between you.
The months that followed were ugly in ways neither of you had expected. Not because of the baby, but because the world around you made it painfully clear how little faith it had in the possibility of people like you surviving together.
Benjamin was born during a thunderstorm after nine painful hours of labor. It felt like the weather itself mimicked your screams with thunder shaking the hospital windows. Even against your parents’ wishes, Daryl stayed beside you the entire time.
The gentle nurse who spoke to you afterward admitted she had never seen a man more terrified in her life than when he heard you screaming in pain.
Once the baby was finally placed against your chest, Daryl felt his entire world change. He muttered something under his breath while staring down at the tiny screaming infant wrapped in blue blankets, looking stunned in the purest sense of the word. Your son had his eyes.
For a while, the two of you tried. God, you tried harder than most people ever knew. Daryl picked up extra work wherever he could find it, often coming home with grease on his hands and exhaustion dragging beneath his eyes so heavily it aged him years overnight, while you balanced college classes with motherhood and constant battles against your parents’ disappointment.
You were exhausted all the time, surviving on burnt coffee, interrupted sleep, and a stubborn love that refused to die even when life gave it every reason to.
But eventually the pressure became unbearable.
Your parents escalated from disapproval to ultimatums, threatening to cut you off completely — tuition, housing, every safety net you and your son had left.
You and Daryl had your final fight the night your son turned three, screaming at each other in the apartment kitchen while the little boy slept in the next room. You knew in that moment that you would remember the look in his eyes for the rest of your life, the exact moment Daryl realized you were drowning beneath expectations you could no longer carry.
“Ya think I wanna be the reason your whole damn life falls apart?” he snapped, voice raw with frustration and heartbreak tangled together. “Think I don’t see what this is doin’ to you?”
“It’s not you." you cried back immediately.
“But I’m in your way."
“Daryl.”
“Yer family’ll never see me as one of ‘em, and they already said they’ll cut you out if ya stay with me.” He cupped your cheeks, taking a deep breath before continuing, calmer now. “I don’t want Ben to have a life like mine.”
"He won't, he has you. You're nothing like your dad."
"He deserves better than me."
The sentence shattered something inside you.
"No." you whispered fiercely. "Daryl, don't you dare." He only smiled sadly.
"He got opportunities here." the last words barely rose above a whisper.
"He got schools. College. A house. Stability."
"And you!"
His face crumpled.
"And I love him enough not to gamble with his future."
You let out the most heartbreaking sob he had ever heard. Because loving someone wasn't always enough to survive the machinery of the world crushing down around you.
And because, as you looked at the man you loved with all your heart, you realized with unbearable clarity that neither of you was trying to leave. You were trying to save each other.
Daryl pressed his forehead against yours and finally let the tears fall. "I love you." he whispered shakily. "So much."
You broke completely.
"I know."
"No." his voice cracked. "Need ya to know that. Need ya to know I ain't stoppin' because I don't love you."
"I know."
"Ain't ever gonna stop."
You separated officially a month later. There were nonstop tears, shaking hands, and promises to stay kind to each other for your son’s sake, and somehow, against all odds, you managed it. You became good coparents. Great ones, even. Better friends than lovers by the end of it, as you liked to lie to yourself.
Daryl stayed involved no matter how far life dragged him, showing up for birthdays with awkwardly wrapped gifts and scraped knuckles, teaching your son how to fish before he learned long division, how to track deer prints through mud, how to throw a punch without breaking his wrist, how to survive disappointment quietly.
Benjamin adored his dad with that fierce, uncomplicated love children reserved for fathers who made them feel safe, and Daryl loved the boy with a devotion so profound it terrified him. The same one he loved you, and forced himself to shove back for a greater good.
• Daryl's hair was fair blond when he was little, but it darkened as he grew older, though the ends remained lighter than the rest.
• His birthstone is garnet.
• His childhood was not gentle, and he didn't know it at the time, but his upbringing would keep him alive in the long run.
• He was loud, bright-eyed, and reckless as a child. He'd climb trees, go bullfrog catching, and go to his neighbors plot to use their dirt bikes.
• He was all those things until he had to start walking on eggshells. Being too loud or too quiet won him the same fate. It started with the back a hand–rough knuckles against his cheek, then a belt, then whatever tool was at his old man's disposal.
• He still remembers being in the garage and his dad reaching for a rubber hood-seal to use as a whip.
• He carried his scars both physically and emotionally.
• Whereas most people had to adapt to poor conditions, being exposed to the elements, hunger, and human depravity when the apocalypse happened, Daryl was already molded to face it from a young age.
• Hungry? Go hunt. It wasn't safe at home? Have a tent in the woods. Getting his hands dirty in a fight? It wouldn't be the first time.
• He hardened out of survival, because no one would ever dare to come close to a dog that bared its teeth.
• Preteen Daryl would tag along with Merle and his older friends. Merle would tell him to go get his jacket only for Daryl to go back and find they had left without him.
• It turned into him trying to prove himself. He'd pretend to handle bets like stealing from stores, burning himself with lighters to see how long he could last before his eyes swelled with tears, and drinking above his limits to appear grown.
• Merle would go along with the jokes—not wanting to show he actually cared about someone other than himself, but when his friends planned pranks on unconscious Daryl, like suggesting throwing him in the motel pool across the parking lot they were hanging around in, Merle would cuss them out then carry Daryl home like he were six again—Daryl's head against his shoulder.
• Daryl liked to remember his older brother that way. Like someone that would've changed for the better if the clock hadn't run out of time.
• Teenage Daryl was the kid your parents warned you about, not because he was a bad kid but because of the family name. He did dress the part, though—the bike, the permanent glare, the poorly made tattoos he did on himself.
• He's allergic to red tattoo ink, he found out.
• He started school later in life, and it showed from his social skills and reading and writing. He only liked books with pictures, and his writing was unreadable.
• Most teachers were cautious, because they had already faced the older Dixon. Though Daryl, for the most part, surprised them in a good way.
• He kept to himself, quiet; he'd fidget with his pencil, chew on the pink rubber end. Only once did he get bullied, being called "trailer trash," and it ended with a visit to the school nurse for the other kid. After that, he was cast out by his peers.
• Math was his worst subject due to his dyscalculia. To this day, he still counts with his fingers—the tip of his tongue poking out in concentration. His favorite subject was history— stories about the revolution, and extracurriculars, like carpentry. He would carve small sculptures, and found buffing and glossing wood to be just as therapeutic as working on cars with Merle.
• His carpentry teacher once put a hand on his shoulder, saying he was proud, that he saw greatness in him. It was the most positive reaction he had gotten from school, from anywhere, yet that was what made him step back and decide he wasn't cut out for it—For books, schedules, and having someone expect something from him, so he dropped out at sixteen.
• If Daryl wasn't alone in the woods or working on something with Merle, you could find him at the local theater at any given hour, watching reruns—bucket of popcorn between his thighs. Rarely did he pay for the ticket, having figured out how to open the flimsy fire exit from the outside.
• Secretly, one of his favorite movies is Hook.
• It was a regular Tuesday when the outbreak happened.
• He was an adult now but still trying to survive like his younger self. Life was hard, with or without the end of days. The only difference was there were no social norms, meaning the masks people once wore dropped. If you were a bad person, there was no law to stop you; if you were poor, it didn't matter because money was something you used as a fire starter.
• And if you stayed soft, you got eaten.
• Daryl was in his element. People who once would have changed direction to not cross his path were now depending on him to learn how to hunt, to track; they trusted him to keep them in one piece in the face of a threat—undead or living.
• He could have lived his whole life alone in the woods if he wanted. The rest of the world could burn and rebuild itself, and not much of his routine would have changed. Staying hidden would have saved him from going through so much loss and heartache, that's for certain, but it was those moments that shaped him into the person he later became.
• Still quiet, still all bark and bite when provoked, just brave enough to let people into that place he guarded with clenched fists for so long.
• With age, Daryl is even more stubborn, but he has accepted his limitations with a grumble. He knows there's no way around his hair graying and his steps slowing.
• He used to believe his value came from what he could do for others: protect them, search for them, give them the food from his plate, and the vest off his back if they shivered in his presence.
• Getting old felt more like a burden than a privilege.
• But he is reminded that love is a give-and-take deal. That means caring for others and letting others care for him back.
• Old Daryl drinks black coffee while the birds sing in the morning. He works on his truck in the shed—bike resting against a wall, since it hasn't felt the dirt road for a few summers now.
• In the afternoons, he lights a cigarette, sits in his rocking chair, and lets the buzzing of cicadas lull him into a nap. There he sees old, familiar faces and hears the laughter of his children, who are now all grown up.
• When he wakes up from his nap, he denies ever letting his guard down. He takes the mug from his lover's wrinkled hands, then drinks. He takes his time, for there's no more running, no more looking over his shoulder. Just tea on his lips and stories to tell when the grandkids visit.
• Once, a long time ago, a girl told Daryl he would be the last man standing.
• Daryl is still living up to those expectations, just not alone.
Dividers by: @kthice
Note: Share your Daryl headcanons if ya'll have any! I love reading them. I didn't touch on Daryl as a partner/dad in detail because those can be a post of their own.
Been working on some fics in the shadows...
My drafts are tired of seeing my dumbass. I have a mechanic bf a/u, trailer park a/u, period comfort, and a doll collector fic to finish editing. Gonna post this first, and tomorrow I'll post something else. Unless I get cold feet. Haven't written a full-on fic since The Boy came out. YES, my type is quiet, dirty men. Bye.
🫶🏻 tagging the talented @holdmytesseract in this short n sweet headcanon post! Ain't gonna put ya through the mess I have in store for later🤭🤣
pairing: uptown girl! reader vs pre-apocalypse! Daryl
Chapter One - Encounter
By all accounts, your day should have gone perfectly. Nothing about it had suggested otherwise when you'd left home that morning. You'd spent the morning attending to meetings on your dad's company, that he insisted you to be a part of everything even when you hadn't even finished college yet. The weather had been beautiful and your car –a sleek black Mercedes your father maintained was more reliable than most marriages– performed with the sort of effortless grace one expected from something whose monthly payment rivaled many people's rent.
You were dressed neatly, cream slacks and a silk blouse, every detail carefully considered, every strand of hair obediently in place. It wasn't vanity, exactly. You had simply grown up in a world where appearances mattered, where composure was treated as both virtue and armor, and where being caught unprepared felt like a moral failing. Which was precisely why standing on the shoulder of an isolated Georgia highway in four-inch heels while smoke rose rather alarmingly from beneath your hood felt less like a normal inconvenience and more like a personal humiliation.
"Awesome." you grunted, shoving the door with much more strength than necessary when you got out out of the car to look call out for help, and the cherry on top of your day was put right there. On the top left of your phone you read 'no signal'. "Fucking great."
After fifteen frustrating minutes spent pretending to understand anything you were looking at, you had finally accepted the uncomfortable truth that your expertise with automobiles began and ended with knowing which button started them. You had stared helplessly into the engine compartment, hoping that if you looked concerned enough, mechanical knowledge might somehow manifest itself through sheer determination.
Unfortunately, cars appeared unimpressed by wishful thinking, and the Georgia heat had begun slowly dismantling all the effort you'd put into your appearance that morning. By the time you heard the low rumble of a motorcycle approaching in the distance, you had already composed three separate speeches in your head regarding the unfairness of the universe.
The motorcycle slowed as it approached your stranded vehicle before eventually pulling a few feet ahead of you. You braced yourself for either an overeager man who would mistake basic politeness for encouragement, or a well-meaning retiree determined to explain your own car to you while addressing you exclusively as sweetheart.
You weren't ready to face the rider who removed his helmet, revealing slightly overgrown dark hair and eyes so startlingly blue that they nearly distracted you from the fact that he was, quite frankly, unfairly handsome, not like the men you were used to, there was nothing polished about him. His clothes were worn, his boots scuffed, and the leather vest hanging over a faded shirt suggested a man far more interested in practicality than fashion, yet the overall effect was annoyingly attractive in a way the carefully groomed men who attended your father's charity dinners couldn't dream to be. He looked first at the smoke escaping from your engine, then at you, then at your shoes, and though the corner of his mouth twitched faintly, his expression remained overall unreadable.
"You break down?" he asked.
You glanced pointedly at the engine.
"Nah, I like to stand beside highways in expensive shoes and contemplate my terrible decisions."
To your surprise, amusement softened his features, and the small smile that appeared transformed his entire face in a way that felt almost unfair.
"Weird pick for a hobbie."
There wasn't a trace of mockery in his voice, only quiet humor, and immediately you felt a twinge of guilt for your sarcasm. "Sorry," you sighed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "It's been a day."
He simply grunted, then, without fanfare or unnecessary questions, he stepped forward and peered beneath the hood. You watched him for several moments before raising an eyebrow.
"Shouldn't you ask before touching things?"
"If ya want I'll just take off and leave ya where you are." He grunted.
"Sorry, do your thing."
"Mhm."
After another few moments spent muttering incomprehensible mechanical phrases beneath his breath, he straightened and wiped his hands against a rag he seemed to have produced from nowhere. "Radiator's shot. You ain't drivin' this."
You stared blankly.
"Wonderful. That means absolutely nothing to me."
"Means no driving. Car bad." he repeated as if speaking to a toddler.
"Ah," you nodded solemnly. "now you're speaking my language."
To your immense satisfaction, a small grin showed. Brief and quiet, gone almost before it arrived, but unmistakably there. And suddenly you found yourself absurdly pleased with the idea that you'd managed to make this handsome stranger smile.
"I got a shop in town," he offered after a moment. "Can have it towed there. Fix it up."
You blinked. "You own a repair shop?"
"Mhm."
"Ya stop to rescue strange women on the side of the road often?"
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "You looked miserable." The simplicity of the answer caught you entirely off guard, you were expecting something along the lines of "Only the pretty ones" – you got that often. But there was something deeply refreshing about a man whose motivations appeared to begin and end with simple kindness rather than the expectation of reward. You glanced down at your ruined afternoon, your ridiculous shoes, and the expensive car currently attempting to expire, and despite everything, you smiled.
"Well," you said softly, "I appreciate your concern for miserable women, uh–" you stopped, realizing you hadn't asked for his name.
And for the first time since he'd stopped, the stranger smiled fully, the expression warm and so stupidly beautiful.
"Daryl."
You smiled back.
"Daryl" you repeated, already suspecting that your busted radiator might end up being the luckiest disaster of your life. You presented yourself too, motioning your hands to shake his. His hands were calloused and permanently stained from keeping them on engines so often, and yet the contact of his skin to yours so slightly made you shiver.
The tow truck took about an hour to arrive, by the time it did, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't feel a sting of disappointment from having to say goodbye to the redneck you'd practically just met.
During the waiting time, he sat with you on the sideway, mostly just listening to you, at least at first, then gradually revealing small details of himself. You found out he had a brother, and that overall, your lives were very different. As your car was getting towed, you handed him a small paper with your number written in tidy handwriting to which he took in suspicion.
"What's this?"
"My number?..." you answered, unsure, and suddenly embarrassed. "I don't suppose your shop operates entirely on telepathy? So you call me when it's done." you nervously added.
"Oh–" understanding dawned across his features. "right, yeah, I'll call." he lifted the small piece of paper and awkwardly scratched his neck, and to your immense delight, the tips of his ears turned pink. Suddenly that intimidating, broad-shouldered biker looked shy. The sight was so endearing you nearly smiled yourself silly.
"I hope so."
Neither of you knew then that the repair would only take three days. That you'd spend those three days thinking about a man you'd known for less than two hours, and by the third day, you had become thoroughly annoyed with yourself.
It was absurd, really. You found yourself wondering ridiculous things while sitting through meetings and answering e-mails. Had he always been so quiet, or had you simply done enough talking for both of you? Did he smile like that often? Was he thinking about you too?Most embarrassingly of all, after you picked up his call letting you know that your car was ready, you caught yourself changing outfits twice before reminding yourself, quite sternly, that you were only picking up your car. Nothing more.
The bell above the door jingled softly as you stepped in, and immediately you were struck by how perfectly the place matched its owner. It wasn't polished or modern, and it certainly lacked the sleek professionalism your father would have preferred, but it felt lived in. Tools hung neatly on pegboards, old photographs occupied the walls, and somewhere in the background, classic rock played softly enough that it blended with the hum of the ceiling fan.
When your eyes found him you automatically smiled. Daryl was bent over the hood of a truck, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged across his forearms, entirely absorbed in whatever he was doing. You doubted he had even heard the bell. Which meant you had several uninterrupted seconds to appreciate the view.
"Daryl." you greeted nervously.
He looked up, then smiled.
Not the polite little smile he'd given you on the side of the road. Not the amused smirk that seemed to appear whenever you said something ridiculous, this one happened before he could stop it, and the sight of it softened something inside you immediately.
"Hey."
"Hello to you too." you couldn't help but to smile back.
He wiped his hands on a rag, though the effort seemed largely symbolic considering the amount of grease currently decorating him. "Car's ready."
"I had hoped so! Otherwise this would've been a very expensive social call."
That earned a quiet snort.
"Thought I would understand if you called just to see me." you half-joked, his ears turning pink again.
"Ya very convinced for someone I found basically abbandoned on the side of the road." this time, you were the one who laughed.
As Daryl disappeared into the office to retrieve your paperwork, you found yourself wondering whether he seemed disappointed, the thought appeared out of nowhere and settled itself squarely in your chest. Because suddenly it occurred to you that this was it.
You'd pay him, drive away, and if it depended on life's odds only, you'd most likely never see him again. The idea left a strange heaviness in your stomach.
Daryl returned with the keys in one hand and several forms in the other. He explained what had been wrong with the car, and you nodded along with all the enthusiasm of someone pretending to understand a foreign language.
"So she's healthy again?" you asked.
"Mhm."
"And she won't explode?"
His mouth twitched. "Shouldn't."
"Excellent. I've always hated surprises."
He smiled again.
God.
The full transaction lasted less than five minutes, still, neither of you moved, a strange reluctance hung in the air.
Daryl shifted awkwardly, and you adjusted your purse strap.
"Well–"
"I uh–"
You overlapped eachother. You both smiled awkwardly.
"Ya can go first." he motioned for you to say. The poor man looked genuinely uncomfortable, as though he wanted to say something and had absolutely no idea how, perhaps that was what gave you the courage.
"Can I ask you something?"
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"Mhm."
"You don't... happen to drink whiskey, do you?"
The question seemed to catch him entirely off guard.
"Huh?"
"As a thank-you," you clarified quickly. "For rescuing miserable women stranded on highways and saving their outrageously expensive cars." Immediately, he shook his head.
"You ain't gotta do that."
"I know."
"Really."
"I know."
"So don't."
You smiled.
"Daryl."
"Mhm?"
"I'm asking because I want to."
If he was a cartoon, his head would've shaped into a question mark, because men like Daryl Dixon didn't spend much time being pursued.
The tips of his ears burned hot again, and to your immense delight, he looked down. He was adorable.
"Just a drink?" he asked quietly.
You smiled.
"Just a drink."
It turned out that "just a drink" became one too many.
And then dinner.
Because once Daryl relaxed enough to stop worrying about saying the wrong thing, you discovered that beneath the shyness and quiet grunts lived a man with a dry sense of humor and a kindness so effortless that it almost hurt. He listened when you spoke. Really listened. He remembered things you mentioned in passing. He laughed softly at your jokes, even the terrible ones, and whenever you caught him looking at you, there was always that same expression in his eyes.
Like he couldn't quite believe you were real. By the time the bartender announced last call, neither of you had noticed the hours passing.
Outside, the air had cooled considerably, and the streetlights cast soft pools of gold onto the sidewalk.
"Thanks." Daryl murmured as the two of you lingered beside his bike.
You blinked.
"For what?"
He shrugged.
"Tonight."
It was palpable neither of you were eager to say goodbye. You stood there smiling like idiots, no one willing to leave first.
"You know," you said softly, "for a man who can rebuild an engine, you're surprisingly bad at this."
His brow furrowed.
"Bad at what?"
"Taking signs."
And with it came the most endearing blush you'd ever witnessed. "Never said I was good at it."
"No?"
"No."
You stepped closer.
"So what exactly are you waiting for?" he swallowed dry. Then, with all the caution of a man handling something precious, Daryl reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His fingers trembled slightly, and your hands traveled one to his arm and the other to the nape of his neck, pulling him in to close the distance you couldn't wait for him to do so anymore.
His lips were warm, a little dry, tasting faintly of beer and whiskey. One hand settled lightly against your waist, hesitant enough that it made your chest ache, and you found yourself smiling against his mouth because somehow, impossibly, the intimidating mechanic with the beautiful eyes seemed far more nervous than you were.
When you finally pulled away, Daryl looked slightly dazed. His cheeks were red and eyes impossibly soft.
"You got any idea what you're doin' to me?"
You smiled innocently.
"No."
His laugh was soft and helpless.
"Imma need more of this." and he leaned to kiss you again, for the second of so many times you'd loose count on that night.
"back to you" taglist: @leslierabbit @t0xicsl33p @taliapotter @moss4brainss @saintloverie @little-mops-booknook @firefirefeline @babycheech @dixonangel
Hiii! I really like your content and i was wondering if you could write something about daryl like maybe he was married before the apocalypse and had a kid but he thought they died or something and never brought it up but then he saw them in alexandria as soon as he walked in and couldn’t believe they were alive and mybe some fluff or smut with that if you want i read something like it somewhere but it didn’t feel complete
My Way of Life
pairing: Wife!Reader x Daryl
summary: After being separated from his wife and child for almost 6 years, how will Daryl react when he suddenly finds them safe in Alexandria?
warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, fluff, soft!Daryl, dad!Daryl, unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), mating press (sorry I had to), YEARNING!Daryl, kissing, mentions of drugs and alcohol, angst!!, 8.5k words.
author's note: I hope you like this because I had so much fun writing it (and cried a little, but it's okay). I made the daughter unnamed because I want this to be inclusive to everyone. In my mind, Daryl is absolutely a girl dad. I hope that this was to your liking!! :) Also sorry it took so long, I go through my requests chronologically for my own sanity because apparently I can only work on one fic at a time or I'll explode.
Daryl burst through the door, stumbling through the threshold of your apartment. The sound made you jump in your seat, eyes fluttering open.
It was 4 in the morning.
A sick, twisted feeling coursed through your stomach. Daryl moved inside, with Merle in tow. A dry laugh escaped your lips. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Hell, any idea what day it is, Daryl?" Approaching him, the smell of alcohol filled your senses.
His voice slurred as he started speaking. "S'late. Tryin' to go to sleep. Merle's gonna crash here tonight." Daryl spoke like he had any authority in this moment, like he owned the place.
Like he owned you.
"The hell he is! I don't want him here." Wordlessly, Merle collapsed onto your couch and snored into the cushions. Your jaw tightened as you listened to Daryl's excuse.
"Sweetheart, we can talk in the morning." He rubbed his face and groaned softly in annoyance.
"You've been gone for 3 fucking days, don't sweetheart me." You fought back the tears that threatened to fall down your face, stinging your eyes.
Daryl frequently went on lengthy benders, spent days drinking and smoking with his older brother Merle. You would have broken up with him, divorced him.
If not for the 5-month-old that lay sleeping in your arms.
"You're gonna kill yourself. Merle's making you do these things, making you act like your father." The mere mention of Daryl's father from your mouth made him shut down.
"You shut your damn mouth." He mumbled.
"No, because you and I both know that this shit is going to kill you. And then what, you're just gonna leave me with her?" You looked down at your daughter.
His daughter.
"Are ya' gonna step up and be there for her? She doesn't even know what you look like." You stroked her cheek gently, a sad smile on your face.
"You don't-" His voice broke, breath hitching as he watched her. The baby's sleeping frame wriggled, closed eyes flicking around. She was dreaming.
"I'm gonna go to my parents' house in Virginia for a month. Takin' her with me, she'll get plenty of love from her grandparents." You heard almost a strangled whimper from Daryl, quickly pushing it away and moving to your shared bedroom.
Where you had a suitcase packed.
"Were you planning this? Wanted to leave all this time?" Daryl followed you close behind, sifting through all the things that you had already packed away, his hands shaking.
"I want to make this work, Daryl. I do, for her." You set your daughter in her bassinet.
"But I can't be the only one raising her. She needs a father who is here." You packed the rest of your items that you'd need for the trip.
"When you can handle this. When you're sober, we'll come back and try this again. That's all I want." You stopped in your tracks when you noticed what Daryl was doing.
He stood by the bassinet, staring at his daughter with sad eyes. Reaching down, he pulled a blanket over her body, tucking her in gently.
"Daryl, you can do this. You can move past this and be in her life again. But you gotta show me you can change." You grabbed the sides of his face gently.
He didn't respond. He accepted it, without pushing back.
That morning, Daryl watched you leave. He hadn't slept that night, and couldn't look you in the eye.
The world ended shortly after.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
Phones went down within the first few days; he didn't even have a chance to call you.
Never got to see you or his daughter again.
As he moved from camp to camp with Merle, he searched the surrounding area outside of Atlanta. Looking for you, for any sign that you were here.
Any hope that you and his child were alive. His brain was frantic, coming to the worst conclusions. Realistically, how could someone raise a child in this?
When Daryl and Merle finally found Shane and his group, it was the first day that Daryl fully felt the weight of what was missing. Seeing the children in the camp, the families that were fighting through this, it made his chest tighten.
He silently cried to himself in his tent that night.
Merle caught onto his longing to see you and his baby girl right away. Watching the way Daryl would stare at Lori and Carl, like that was something he wanted.
"Bet you miss your piece of tail right about now, huh?" Merle laughed to himself. Daryl's stare shot daggers into Merle.
"Don't call her that." His stomach churned at the mention of her. She wasn't a piece of tail. She was the mother of his child, his wife.
"Just sayin', man! You oughta move on, ain't nothin' you can do about her now." Merle shrugged as he skinned a squirrel they had found, his brows furrowed as he focused on the task.
A flip switched in Daryl, and he quickly shoved Merle away. "Shut your damn mouth." His breath was rapid now, emotions heightened. "And you-" His voice cracked ever so slightly. "You're the reason she ain't here-"
Merle was the reason they had that fight that night. But Daryl knew that fight wasn't the only reason you had left.
Merle wheezed a laugh at him. "Now you know it ain't my fault, brother, that's all yours." He eyed Daryl as he was breaking into a heaving mess.
"Don't you blame me for bein' a deadbeat, did a mighty fine job of doin' that all on your own."
Deadbeat. Like his father.
The word hit Daryl like a truck, smashing his heart into pieces. Because it was true. You had spent weeks begging him to pull himself together and be there for his baby girl.
And now he'd never have the chance to see her again.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
Daryl carried that guilt with him past the farm, the prison, and the horrific events that followed the group like a plague. His silent burden that would never be shared with another soul. Each tragedy, each person they lost, made Daryl feel heavier inside.
After Judith's birth, he saw Rick as the man he could never be. He showed up for her every time and was able to be who Judith needed to survive.
It reminded Daryl of what he was missing. Would his daughter have smiled up at him with big precious eyes? Would she have looked like you, with gorgeous hair and the cutest face?
When the group had been approached by Aaron to come live in Alexandria, Daryl had a feeling that this would just be another community that would fall to the circumstances.
To the dead outside.
By the time the group had reached the gates, Daryl had accepted the fact that you were gone. That he'd never wake up to see your sleeping frame next to him. That he'd never get to press a kiss to your lips again.
And that his daughter was gone, no longer alive. Even if she was alive, what kind of life was this for a child?
The gates of Alexandria slid open wide to let the group through. Daryl eyed the men who surrounded them with narrowed eyes.
Although Aaron had already explained the 'amenities' that the community boasted, it was surreal to see it in action. People were walking by pushing wheelbarrows of flowers and crops, and children of varying ages were playing on the front lawns of their homes.
Homes. The word felt unfamiliar in itself. Deanna cautiously approached the group, accompanied by her two sons.
It was almost too good to be true, like this was some kind of front for evil actions that lay behind the clean rows of housing, behind the trees that cornered every sidewalk.
"Welcome to Alexandria. I think you'll find that we are a good group here. My name is Deanna, I am the leader here. Before we do anything, I want to make sure that everyone is safe, so I'm going to have to ask all of you to drop your weapons off."
Daryl felt an immediate surge of caution. Leave his weapon?
"Y/n!" Deanna called your name to signal that she was ready for you. You were in charge of the weapons inventory in Alexandria.
A task you took seriously from the moment you came knocking on Alexandria's door near the start of the whole thing.
Daryl swallowed at the sound of your name, remembering how your name felt leaving his lips. Like pure honey.
A small sliver of hope rose in his. He knew that you were in Virginia when everything went down.
Maybe this is where you ended up?
"That lady over there is Y/n. She's our weapons inventory. She knows all there is to know about guns, bows, you name it. We will briefly take your weapons while we interview you." Deanna pointed to you.
Daryl followed Deanna's eyes, his breath stopping.
It was you.
You were here.
Breath hitching, he felt as if time had stopped in its tracks. You were alive.
Daryl's jaw went slack; he felt like the air had just been punched out of him.
Eyeing your cart, you began your speech about weapons. "Alright, everything you got, just toss it in here. We'll make sure everything goes back to the rightful owner."
Daryl couldn't even process what you were saying. His eyes went blurry, tears welling up before his brain caught up with what he was seeing.
He watched your movements, watched you fumble with your shirt nervously.
Like you did before.
A hand on your hip, you glanced up at suspicious eyes from their leader, Rick. "And I mean everything. I don't wanna have to search-"
A shiver ran through you as you made eye contact with him.
With Daryl.
Daryl stepped out from the group, his steps unsure and shaky. He felt as if his legs could give out at any moment.
Tears broke from your eyes, a hand gently slapped across your mouth to stop the loud sob that came out of you.
Nothing else mattered. The rest of the group could come in and ransack the place for all you cared. Daryl was here. This was real.
Dropping his crossbow without a second thought, he crossed the distance between you in a few long strides. He stopped in front of you, his dirty face stained with tears now.
Glancing you over, it was as if he was making sure you were real.
Daryl practically collapsed into you, enveloping you in a tight embrace. Your arms flew around him instinctively, sobs now wrecking you and coming out without thought.
His hands were shaking as he took your face in his hands. No words were shared, just a longing look that you hadn't seen in him.
Not since the two of you first shared your vows.
In the sound of the intense emotions both of you felt, Daryl just looked at you, admiring your features. His thumb brushed over your cheek, clearing the teary mess that had accumulated. He pressed his forehead to yours, one hand coursing through your hair, the other tightly wrapped around your waist.
"You-" Your voice was hoarse and barely audible. Speech felt impossible, like all you wanted to do in this moment was feel him.
Feel his hands on you, feel that he was actually here.
Daryl didn't even care about the eyes on him; he could only think of you. He pulled away to get another look at you, like he needed to check that you were still here.
Saying nothing, he then pressed a desperate kiss to your lips. One that you returned immediately, humming into his mouth. The kiss wasn't hungry, but it was deep nonetheless.
You were convinced that the man you loved was dead. That there was no way of ever seeing him again. This whole time, you spent feeling guilty, feeling like you robbed him of something.
But he came to you.
"Here. Kept them all this time." You spoke in between gasps as you grabbed your necklace, on which sat two rings.
The ring you had secretly packed away. That you would have returned to him once he got sober.
Daryl was breathing heavily, adrenaline and emotion rushing through him as you handed him the wedding band. He slipped it on after several seconds fumbling with it, his shaky hands making it hard to do much of anything.
It was all too much. Daryl buried his head into your shoulder to just hold you.
Rick stared at Daryl in confusion. Daryl had never mentioned any woman in his life. Deanna recalled your interview when you first arrived with your 1-year-old daughter.
You mentioned your husband, a man named Daryl. A soft smile came to her face as she recognized what this was.
A reunion.
"Alright, Y/n is a little busy, so I'll take over for her. All weapons go in here, don't betray our trust, and we won't betray yours." Deanna eyed the pair of you before taking over your job temporarily.
It was like there was a bubble in which the only thing that Daryl could focus on was him and you. Nothing outside of that was important right now.
After everyone had put their weapons away, Deanna approached the two of you. "Listen, I'm going to have to be mean for a second and pull him away to do an interview to make sure he's a good fit. Is that okay?"
Daryl pressed soft kisses into your shoulder, swaying you gently as he just stood there. Allowing himself to feel, to hold you in what felt like a lifetime.
"Daryl-" You tapped him. The sound of his name from your lips almost made his knees collapse from underneath him. He'd dreamt of that sound, longed for it to ever fill his ears again.
"Honey, it'll just be a second." You managed to get him to pull away from you.
You watched while the group walked with Daryl to go to where the interviews were taking place.
Rick pulled Daryl aside. "I'm assumin' you knew her?"
Knew her? What a goddamn understatement.
"My wife." Daryl felt tears well up at the mere mention of you.
Rick's eyes widened. He ran a hand over his face in shock. Daryl hid this for years. Hid his immense grief.
"We'll talk about it after your interview. We will all be right outside. If anything goes wrong, just holler for us." Rick gave Daryl a quick nod before sending him in.
Daryl was barely focused during the interview, staring out the window at you, eager to get back and make up for missed time.
Once it was over, he was practically running to you. "See? Quick." You pressed your forehead to his as his shaky hands found yours.
Daryl asked a question that had been burning in him since he saw you. "My girl?" He prayed with bated breath that she was alive, that nothing had happened to her while he was hundreds of miles away.
"She's alive." You smiled at him as he let out a shaky breath. He let tears fall again, kicking himself for being such a mess.
But he couldn't help it. It was like somebody had sifted through his dreams and made one of them a reality.
"She's here?" Daryl knew that his daughter wouldn't remember him, but just seeing her would make all the difference.
Knowing that you've kept her safe all these years.
You nodded. "Wouldn't go anywhere without her. She's a little badass, you'll see." You laughed to yourself.
Daryl closed his eyes, absolutely melting at the sound of your laugh. Hell, he hadn't heard you laugh since he started going on his benders after his baby girl was born.
Only, his baby wasn't exactly a baby anymore. He missed everything.
Her first steps, her first words.
"She won't remember me," Daryl spoke softly, like this was a dream and he'd wake up to a walker growling above his face at any moment.
"She does. Been showin' her pictures of you and tellin' stories. She asks about you every day." Your words made him fall apart all over again.
"How old is she?" Daryl felt a sadness overcome him when he thought of what he'd missed. What he never got to see his precious baby accomplish.
"She's six. And I know what you're thinkin'." You put a hand on his chest, stopping him in his thoughts.
"You have time. Time to be in her life. I think we need to give this-" You gestured between the two of you. "Some time before you see her again. Tomorrow."
Daryl inhaled sharply. What's one more day when he thought he'd never see her again?
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
The group decided to sleep in the same house for the first night, out of fear of potential safety risks. Daryl felt torn. He wanted to be able to hold you, but he also had his group to look after.
"Stay with me tonight? These are good people." Daryl was holding your hands, his affection such a drastic change from his usual grumpy nature.
"Yeah, I'll get Olivia to babysit for me."
Babysitting. In the damn apocalypse.
Daryl let out a chuckle at the absurdity of it all and reluctantly let go of your hands to let you go talk to whoever Olivia was. In that moment, Rick approached him.
"I understand if you want to stay with her tonight." He placed a hand on Daryl's shoulder.
"Nah, don't wanna disturb her."
Rick laughed softly. "Daryl, she's been through a lot. She looks like a tough woman at that. Not much you could do to disturb her-"
"My daughter."
Rick froze in his spot, his jaw wide open. "Shit." He sighed to himself.
"You've got a wife and a kid?" Rick asked, rubbing a hand over his face. "You never told us, man."
"Wasn't proud-" Daryl cut himself off with a choked sound.
"Proud of what?"
"How I ended things. Made her leave." Daryl didn't have to explain anymore; Rick just nodded in understanding.
"I'm here for you, brother. And I'm glad you found 'em." Rick smiled. It was a little funny, seeing the archer so worked up when he was usually stone cold.
"She's staying here tonight. I-" He ran a hand through his hair. "Need her here."
Rick chuckled. "I get it, man. If you trust her, I do too."
While the sun began to set, Daryl busied himself by helping the group settle into the living room. The minute you walked through the door, Daryl dropped what he was doing with Glenn to go see you.
Glenn laughed and shook his head.
"She's okay with you bein' here?" Daryl asked about his daughter. You snicker at him.
"Are you kidding? Auntie Olivia treats her better than I do." You wrap your arms around his neck.
Daryl nodded and pressed a short kiss to your forehead.
Once everyone was settled for the night, Daryl sat in the kitchen with you. It was a little bit away from everyone else, so you were able to talk in peace.
"I can't believe you're here." You breathed out a shaky laugh, sitting on the floor with him. "Feels like a dream I'm gonna wake up from."
Daryl held your hand, now quieter than he was earlier. More reserved.
Now, you hadn't seen him for 6 years. But you knew your husband and his tells.
"What's wrong? C'mon, I'm your wife, I know when you're acting weird." His stomach flipped at you referring to yourself as 'your wife'.
He could not get you close enough in this moment. Hand-holding would not suffice. "Need you close." He mumbled.
You smiled at him before moving into his lap. It reminded you of home and how you'd sit on his lap when he'd need something to ground him.
You tried to ignore the several pairs of eyes on you from the dark living room.
"Now tell me. Get it out now so we can get some sleep." You felt him melt against your hand when you held his face.
"M'just sorry." He started, his senses burning as tears welled in his eyes.
"Oh, baby." You let out a small pout and let him continue.
"Should'a been a better husband, better father." His heart was pounding out of his chest as tears were now freely flowing.
"I let you down, didn't even come lookin' for ya'." You could tell he was beating himself up for this.
Hard.
"Stop. Nobody would blame you for not comin' hundreds of miles to check if we were alive. I'd have done the same thing." You pushed some of his hair out of his face, admiring the features that had changed since you last saw him.
The hair, for one. And then the scars that were littered across his skin.
"Messed up bad. Ya' gave me a second chance 'n I never took it." He spoke through choked sobs, intentionally quiet.
The group had never seen him so emotional, and yet nobody blamed him.
"Looked for ya' everywhere we went. Promise." Daryl was holding onto you tightly now, his head lying against your chest, longing for closeness.
"I believe you."
God, this guilt was eating him alive.
"Never forgot about ya'. Thought about ya' every night." He was such a weeping mess, absolutely torn to shreds as he bared his guilt to you.
"Still love ya'." He confessed everything he could.
"I love you too. Never stopped." You held Daryl's face in your hands and pulled him in for a soft kiss, one that he melted into.
Daryl pulled away to swipe at the tears streaking his face. "Stop makin' me cry, woman." He spoke softly, partly because the group was trying to sleep.
But the other part of him felt a little embarrassed by how many times he'd broken down crying today.
"Would be weird if ya' didn't cry. Just shows how much you love me, Mr. Dixon." You pressed a kiss to his cheek, his stubble poking your skin.
"Now, we should probably get to sleep. Got a long day tomorrow, save those tears." You teased him, a wide smile on your face, hurting your cheeks slightly.
Daryl just shoved his face into your shoulder in response, utterly spent from such an emotionally exhausting few hours.
"Gotta say though, I'm likin' your new hair. It's kinda sexy." You spoke through yawns, your eyes heavy as they fought off sleep for a few seconds.
Daryl huffed against you and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.
The two of you fell asleep in that position. With you straddling his lap, legs wrapped around his torso to be as close to him as possible.
Daryl was like a completely different person.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
Morning came quickly, and Daryl's breath hitched at the sight of you when he woke up.
Because you were still here.
It wasn't a dream.
The group stirred awake with the sun, discussing plans for the day and whether they like the community.
Your eyes flickered open, locking in on how Daryl stared at you with infatuation, pure love.
"Good morning, Daryl." You stretched out of your position on his lap. "Sleep well?"
For the first time in years, Daryl could actually say yes.
"Do you think she's ready to see me?" Daryl was practically shaking in anticipation. Because today was the day, he'd be able to see his daughter for the first time in almost 6 years.
"Oh, she's ready. I'll have to let her know you're here and let her process that, but once she does, you can meet her." You smiled at the thought of how she'd react.
"Ya' think she'll like me?" He swallowed, feeling a rising shame start to make his stomach churn.
He'd missed so much. He doesn't even know what she likes.
"She will." You knew it was his insecurity talking, but you shut it down anyway.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
Daryl was sitting on a bench outside your place, listening as you explained to your daughter. He fidgeted with the rips on his jeans, his eyes staring into the cracks in the pavement as he struggled to keep himself calm.
It was torture waiting for you, for her.
From where he was sitting, he was able to hear you clearly as you spoke to her.
"Sweeheart, I know that I've told you all about your dad." You could hardly contain the smile that grew on your face as you held your girl close to you.
"I want you to know that he found us. He's here right now." Hands wrapped around your daughter, you soothed her through her sudden excitement.
"Now, he wants to see you so bad, honey. But remember, the last time he saw you was when you were a teeny little baby. He's a little nervous, but you can help him be brave, right?" You thought back to all the stories you told her about Daryl.
"I wanna see him!" Your daughter was practically bouncing with excitement, a wide smile on her face. Daryl let out a breath of relief he hadn't known he was holding.
She wanted to see him. Wanted to know him.
"Alright, let's go!" You held your daughter's hand as you led her out to where Daryl was sitting, waiting eagerly.
Daryl hastily stood up from the bench and turned around to face the two of you. His heart was pounding, the sound echoing loudly in his ears.
There she was, walking out of the picture-perfect house. Her hair was done up nicely, as if the world outside had no real effect here.
And she looked like you. Your cute little smile, the same bouncy personality.
Daryl breathed out a laugh of disbelief. The odds of reuniting, of finding his family in a place like this.
Maybe there was a god out there listening to his prayers.
He had dreamed of meeting his daughter for years. And still, it looked nothing like this. She bounded over to him, her feet pounding against the pavement as she ran.
And once she was close enough to get a good look at him, she paused. Daryl's heart could have stopped right there as she stared up at him with a sweet smile.
With wide open arms, she wrapped around him tightly, as if she'd known him just as long as he'd known you.
A quick glance from her made him tear up. "Hi, Daddy."
That was more than he could handle. He fell to his knees and swooped her close, his large hands enveloping her as if she'd dissolve like sugar.
Daryl pulled away for a second to get another look at her. He couldn't believe that this was real. His daughter had scrapes on her knees, and her overalls were covered in what looked to be a mixture of dirt and some food mess.
She looked like her mother.
"Are you sad?" His daughter asked, her tiny hands grabbing onto his face, curiously feeling the stubble that marked his skin.
Daryl shook his head. "Just happy I found ya'." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, ignoring the tears that had streamed down his face.
He felt as if he'd cried more in the past day than he had his entire life.
Then, she pulled a picture out of her pocket. "You look different!" She showed him the picture, crinkled and slightly faded.
As if she'd kept it in her pocket all this time.
Daryl let out a laugh. It was a picture of him from high school, his lanky frame sitting on a beat-up motorcycle. And his hair was practically a buzz cut compared to what it was now.
"Yer' right. Got more hair now, don't I?" He held his daughter on his hip as he lifted her off the ground. Daryl let her play with his long hair, warmth wrapping him up entirely.
"Mama said you ride motorcycles!" She brushed the hair out of his face, examining his facial features.
"She's right." Daryl snickered at the way she pulled his hair back, almost like she'd put it in a ponytail.
"Can I ride it? Please?" She begged, her puppy eyes a new experience that he wasn't expecting.
And they worked just as intended. Daryl was a pushover.
"That's up to yer' mama. Maybe later."
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
Alexandria was holding a welcome event to ensure that Rick's group felt that they belonged in the community. It was nothing particularly large, just some food and drinks around a campfire.
The group had barely seen Daryl the whole day. He was following you and his daughter around like a lost dog.
In a way, he really was.
But the two of you had convinced him to show up for the event instead of sitting in your house and learning how you lived. With a fair amount of grumbling, Daryl agreed.
Approaching the group with his daughter on his hip, her hands braiding his hair as much as a 6-year-old could, Daryl ignored the looks of shock and awe.
"Who's this?" Carol spoke with a smile. The child was a spitting image of her mother, but she had Daryl's hair color.
"My girl, thought I'd never see her again." He was so proud, so eager to show his daughter off as his own.
"Daddy, you said I could ride yer' motorcycle. Mama said liars get grounded." His daughter didn't process the laughter that rang out from the rest of the group.
"She's stubborn like her dad." Carol took a sip of some of the wine that had been provided. "Has your dad shown you his bow yet?"
His daughter shook her head. "No, Daddy was crying too much." Daryl rubbed his face, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Carol pretended to gasp loudly. "Was he really?" She shot Daryl a teasing look, snickering at the hidden middle finger he held up to her.
"Yeah! He was crying a lot!" Daryl ignored his daughter's betrayal and kissed her forehead.
"That guy over there named Rick has a daughter, too. She's younger than you, but she's really cool. You wanna go say hi?" Daryl pointed to Rick's daughter, Judith.
"Okay, bye Daddy!" His daughter slid off his lap and ran up to Rick. She tapped his knee and then asked if she could play with Judith.
The two stayed nearby, playing with sticks and flowers on the ground.
Now that his daughter was preoccupied, Daryl turned his attention to you. "You kept her thinkin' about me. Thank you." He was so glad to hear that his daughter knew him and had heard stories about him.
"Didn't want her to feel like you didn't exist. Wanted her to know that you were a good guy."
"I wasn't." Daryl furrowed his brows. "But I've changed." Daryl hoped you could see it, that you weren't just pitying him.
"I know. You're sober, for one. But there's a difference in how much you care. About her and me." Your eyes traveled to your daughter as she played with Judith.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
Daryl carried your daughter home, her eyes barely open as she fought off sleep. "Not tired yet!" She wriggled in his grasp.
"Judith needs her sleep." Daryl walked inside with you, one hand holding yours, and the other holding your daughter close.
"And you do too, missy." You lifted her out of Daryl's arms and instructed her to get ready for bed.
"Thank you for today, Daryl. She absolutely adores you. Told me earlier that she wanted you to live with us." You wrapped Daryl into a tight hug, breathing in his scent.
Cigarettes and wood smoke.
"Would ya' want that? Me living here?" Daryl had hoped you would say yes, but he'd also understand if you needed some space from him.
A small scoff came from your lips. "Are you kidding? She'd kill me if I didn't make you stay with us. I wouldn't mind if you lived here; we'd finally be together again."
Together again. Daryl melted at the thought of that.
"Daddy?" A quiet voice came from his daughter's room. You smiled and gestured for him to go see her.
Daryl was pulled in by her voice, his heart bursting when he saw her. His daughter was in her pajamas, already in bed with her eyes hanging low as she continued to fight sleep.
To talk with him one more time before she slept.
"What do ya' need?" Daryl stood by her bed, a smile stuck on his face.
"Tuck me in?" She asked sweetly, how could he refuse?
Poor Daryl was wrapped around her little finger. He just nodded and grabbed her blanket, fluffing it up and tucking the edges to her comfort.
Just like he had when she was a baby.
"That better?" He asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She nodded and closed her eyes. For a second, it seemed as though sleep had taken her under its wings.
"I love you, Daddy." That little voice. Those four words that made Daryl's heart hurt all over again.
He practically abandoned her when she was born, and yet she loved him?
Daryl pressed his hand to hers. "I love you too. I'll see you tomorrow." He sat in a chair adjacent to where she slept.
His eyes tracked her breathing, unsure of whether he might still be trapped in a very elaborate dream.
"Honey, you've been staring at her for like five minutes." You leaned against the doorway, the sound of your voice startling him a little as he was lost in thought.
"Wanna make sure she's okay. That she's real." He stood from the chair and made his way over to you.
"C'mere." You managed to drag him away from your daughter's room, closing the door gently.
"I know you think that this is gonna fade away when you wake up, but I promise this-" You press a kiss to his cheek. "It's real. We are real."
Daryl's hands found your waist, his large hands caressing your skin the same way he had done since the two of you made it official about 10 years ago.
"Everyone called me crazy, y'know? Said that I should move on." You scoffed, your body swaying lightly against his. "Never did."
Daryl felt his cheeks heat up at your confession. "I didn't tell anyone about you. Regrettin' that now, but I didn't stop thinkin' about ya' for one second."
"I sure hope so." You laughed, your eyes falling to his lips for a moment as they tugged up into a confused smile.
"You what?"
"I sure hope you weren't thinkin' about other women while I was here speakin' so highly of you." You smirked at him.
Daryl hummed in agreement. "Never." Which was completely true, his mind never strayed from the woman he thought he'd never see again. You liked that answer, running a hand through his long hair.
The woman he could never just "get over".
"Jus' thought about you. Only you." Daryl melted into your touch, his breath hitching at the way you lightly tugged at his hair.
"Oh yeah?" Her words sent a shiver down his spine. "What were you thinking about?" Your finger traced circles on his chest, your eyes glancing up at him with a revived energy.
Daryl's mind went blank. He stuttered out anything. Anything to keep your hands on him.
"Your touch. The way you feel." His hands gently squeezed at your waist, feeling the way you rolled your hips into his instinctively.
"Yeah? You wanna feel me?" You grabbed his hands, placing them on your tits, relishing in the way his eyes were glued to you.
Daryl felt blood rush to his face and elsewhere as he gently squeezed your breasts in his hand. "Need this off." He tugged at your shirt, pulling it over your head.
You obliged his desperation, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. Daryl sucked in a quick inhale, almost as if the wind had been knocked out of him at the sight of you.
"So goddamn pretty." He pressed a kiss to your neck, humming against your soft skin. "Been thinking about you like this." He spoke between needy gasps.
"Dreaming of these-" He leaned down to press sloppy kisses against your breasts, his spit gathering as he sucked on your nipples.
"Daryl-" You pulled his face up to yours. "My bedroom. Don't want to do this here." You were still standing in the living room, gasping and rutting against each other desperately.
Daryl hummed in agreement. He didn't want his first time with you since you left to be hastily performed on a couch.
You led Daryl to your bedroom, and he had slipped his vest off somewhere in between that time, tossing the heavy garment onto the floor.
"Missed ya' so much." He spoke, his words breathy against your skin as he pressed soft kisses to your neck.
"I know, baby-" You gasped as he bit at your skin gently, leaving small, pleasurable bruises. "Missed you too."
Daryl could hardly contain himself, his brain working in overdrive to comprehend what was happening. You were here, and he had the whole night to show you just how much he thought about you on lonely nights.
And he just couldn't get enough.
His hand held the back of your head, pressing a hungry kiss onto your lips, his tongue slipping in like he had kissed you millions of times before.
Like no distance had ever been between you.
The heat between you increased, the feeling unbearable. To relieve it, you tugged at his shirt, slipping it off of his chest. Your hands found his skin, the rough scars outlining the years you had spent apart.
Before it even registered in your head, you were falling backwards onto your bed. Daryl climbed over you in an instant, his large arms landing beside your face, trapping you beneath his frame.
And then, his hands were all over you. Pressing against your skin desperately enough to leave bruises as his soft kisses made their way down your chest. Wordlessly, his hands found the button of your jeans, his rough fingers fumbling with it before releasing it.
"Daryl, please-" You whined against him, pressing your hips up against his, a desperate need for friction coursed through your veins. Acting on that impulse, Daryl pushed your hips down firmly.
"Been waitin' years to see ya' like this. Gonna need some time to look at ya'." He whispered into your ear, the sickly sweet words drawing another pathetic whine from your lips.
He silenced it this time, his mouth moving with yours, swallowing your whimpers as he yanked your jeans down your legs. The sound of the fabric slapping against the floor made you wrap your legs around his waist as he made out with you.
Daryl managed to pull away from your lips, smiling at the whine that left your mouth. "Relax, sweetheart. Not lettin' you go ever again." With that, his eyes found your body, tracing the curves that looked downright sinful against the sheets.
In your blind lust, you hadn't even seen him lower his body just off the bedframe. A hiss left your mouth as Daryl licked a stripe up your clothed cunt, his eyes lighting up at the way you reacted to him.
"Been thinkin' about how pretty this pussy is." He pressed his tongue against the cotton, humming at the taste of your arousal that had been pooling since he started kissing you out in the living room.
"Gonna let me have a taste?" Daryl knew you, knew how much you adored his mouth on you.
"Anything, fuck please!" Your hips instinctively bucked up against his lips as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your panties.
"Since ya' asked so nicely." He slid the garment down your thighs, his eyes immediately glued to you, and how wet you were for him.
Daryl couldn't hold himself back anymore; he grabbed your hips with a bruising grip. Pulling your body to him, his face was inches from your soaked cunt.
Making up for lost time, Daryl's mouth began working on you, tongue flicking against your clit. He took you in his mouth, sucking at your clit as you became undone above him.
Your moans echoed around the room, your hands shakily moving down to grasp at his hair. His eyes glanced up at you as he dragged his tongue across your folds, humming against your skin. Your sounds were addictive, sending waves of pleasure down to his cock as he fought back the urge to come at the sight of you.
"Keep makin' those sounds f'me." He was practically groaning against you now, his right hand keeping your hips firmly pressed against his face as his left hand palmed his painfully hard erection. "Fuck-" His mouth left your pussy for only a second as he bit back his own premature orgasm.
Then he kept going, his tongue wasting no time in pushing into your entrance. Your whimpers got louder as your hips thrusted against him. His nose pressed against your clit, the feeling making your legs shake as you held them beside Daryl's head.
"Holy shit-" A loud gasp escaped your lips as Daryl slipped a finger in, his mouth sucking at your clit. You couldn't control your movements anymore, your hands tugging at Daryl's hair for some kind of purchase.
Daryl smirked as he felt your legs threatening to close around him, your mind clouded by the absolute pleasure he was providing you with. "Ya' like that, baby?" He thrusted his finger into you, eyes watching for your reaction.
Your eyes rolled back into your head as your hips jerked with his every thrust into your cunt. Daryl couldn't get enough of this, of your delicious reactions.
To think that he ever let you walk out that door.
"Yes! Don't stop, please!" You were begging him to continue, to bring you over that edge that drew closer with every thrust.
Daryl felt it, the way your cunt fluttered around his finger as your moans of his name got higher. He wouldn't dare stop now, a look of pure awe on his messy, soaked face.
Then he remembered something. A move that drove you crazy every time he did it.
Daryl curled his finger, hitting your spot effortlessly as he stroked it. From your reaction, he could tell he did it right. Your back arched against the bed, your whole body shuddering from the immense pleasure.
"Fuck-" Your orgasm hit you suddenly, the pleasure making your vision go white as Daryl rode you through it. He lapped at your cunt needily, taking everything you were giving him as you came around his finger.
"Let me feel it, I got ya'." He mumbled against you as he worked you through your orgasm, his eyes on you the entire time, wishing he could have taken a picture in this moment. To always know how beautiful you looked when he went down on you like this.
Once you were a whining mess, Daryl slowly pulled his finger out. God, he was a mess. His beard was soaked with your wetness, his pupils dilated with adoration for you. His hair was tangled from your frantic hands.
"Need you-" You ignored the ache in your legs as you sat up to unbutton his jeans for him. "Need to feel you inside." You felt the imprint of Daryl's cock against your hand, bulging against his pants needily as you unzipped them.
Daryl helped you by shoving his jeans and underwear off hastily. You took in a sharp inhale of breath. You remembered Daryl was hung, but not like this.
"Bet you jerked off to me through the years, didn't you?" You were genuinely curious about this, and whether you were alone in the fact that you got off to the memory of him almost every night.
Daryl's hips jerked forward as you ran your thumb over his tip, his breath hitching. "When it was safe. Thought about ya'." He left out the part where he'd barely been able to keep you off his mind, and how he wouldn't last very long thinking about your beautiful body.
"Me too. Forgot what you felt like." His cock twitched in your hand, letting you know how worked up he was. How your words made him feel. Daryl was slack-jawed now, eyes glued to your hand and how you slowly pumped him. Small groans left his mouth, his brain struggling to keep up with your words.
"Gonna make you remember-" He mumbled as he pressed soft kisses against your neck. You shuddered at his words; the anticipation was killing you.
"Come show me then." You wrapped your arms around him, bringing him down with you as you lay back onto the soft, plush bed.
Daryl's mouth found yours. His kiss was still just as hungry as before. His breaths were ragged, like he was losing control over his own actions. He brought his cock into his hand and lined the tip up with your pussy. He hummed into your mouth as he slid the tip up and down your juices.
The warmth radiating from your core made him whine against you. "Ya' ready?" He would have stopped there if you needed him to; he would have settled for whatever you gave him. Daryl wanted you.
In any capacity he could have you.
With a nod, Daryl pushed into you slowly, eyeing your reactions as you took him in by inch. You were so tight, your warm cunt fluttering around him as you tried to adjust to his size. Daryl held back the urge to kiss you as your mouth flew open in an 'o' shape in a silent gasp.
He was thick, the stretch of his cock a painful yet thrilling reminder that all you'd ever wanted was here, standing in front of you.
"Doin' good f'me. Almost there." He held his forehead against yours. He listened to your shaky exhales as you tried to relax enough to take him. Once he was buried to the hilt, he pressed a kiss to your head.
"Take all the time you need, got all night." He was lying. He was so close to losing it and cumming inside you. Because he'd thought about this moment for so long. Many nights spent with his hand wrapped around his cock, a feverish layer of sweat covering his body as he jerked off to the thought of you.
You gave yourself a few seconds to adjust to his size before you gave him the okay to move. Daryl almost let out a groan at that, his hips slowly starting to thrust into you.
"God, I forgot how good you felt." You let the words slip from your mouth without thinking, your brain fogged by the sight of him above you.
Daryl let out a quiet groan at your words, his brows furrowed as he focused on you and not the throbbing desperation coursing through him.
He didn't want to rush. Not when he finally had you back in his arms, and you had the rest of your lives together.
His pace sped up. "Can't talk like that, sweetheart."
"Why? Thought about how you'd fill me up so good-" You were cut off by your own moans that echoed around the room as Daryl lifted your legs to throw them onto his shoulders. His cock thrusted into you deeper, hitting a better angle that had your eyes rolling back helplessly.
"M'bout to if you don't stop." His words held no venom, broken by shaky breaths as he fucked you into the sheets. The sound of skin smacking filled your ears as his hips pounded into yours, at a pace that was frustratingly not enough.
"Daryl, please-" You were a mess underneath him, your chest heaving as you moaned breathily. "Need more."
He obliged your command, his thrusts snapping faster into your cunt as he gripped you tighter. You were positive you'd have some bruises tomorrow, but it made this whole situation a lot more real.
"Fuck! Just like that!" Your back was arched off of the bed as his thrusts hit that exact spot that made you scream his name. Daryl groaned above you, his hands tightly wrapped around your legs to keep you on him.
As if he couldn't get deeper, Daryl leaned forward to press a kiss against your lips, pushing your legs further back to accommodate him. His cock pressed deeper into you, your body trembling as his thrusts were relentless.
"Oh my god-" You cried out his name, your hands grasping onto the sheets for something to hold on to while he drilled into you with no abandon.
Daryl made a mental note of what drove you crazy. He hadn't ever tried this position with you, but now it had become his favorite. He let out open-mouthed groans, now focused on hanging on to make you come before him.
"Please-" You felt tears prick at your eyes, the pleasure being almost too much to bear. "Please, baby, I'm so close!" The familiar pressure rose inside you, eyes shut tight as moans flowed out of you uncontrollably.
"I know, sweetheart." He could feel it, the way you fluttered around him, the way you were writhing underneath his grasp. Your cunt squeezed around him, earning a string of curses from his mouth. He was so damn close to bursting.
"Give it to me, please. Wanna feel you." It was his turn to beg now, his voice broken and dry.
As if he had control over you, your second orgasm washed over you in an all-consuming, white-hot wave. "Oh fuck!" Your hips jerked against him, meeting his thrusts as he worked you through your overwhelming climax.
"So good- fuck!" Daryl let out a strained moan as his own orgasm hit him suddenly, his thrusts became sloppy and stuttered as he spilled into you. Short gasps left his lips as his body shuddered against yours.
You both came down from your orgasms, your brains foggy from the immense pleasure still rocking through you. After a minute of cooling down, you gestured that you wanted him to hold you.
Daryl pulled out slowly, both of you cringing at the feeling. "Wasn't too rough?" He looked at the marks he left on your skin. You laugh. "Please. You've been rougher." You remembered that time your friends were concerned about the amount of hickeys on your neck and chest after a romantic night with Daryl.
Daryl grabbed a towel from your bathroom, gently swiping at the mess he'd made on your sensitive skin. Then, he collapsed on the bed next to you, his face buried in the soft blanket.
"Not fair, you don't get to go to sleep without holding me, Mr. Dixon." You whined and lightly slapped his back. He wordlessly reached an arm out to wrap around your waist and dragged you across the bed to his body.
He buried his face into your neck, ignoring the way you stifled a giggle as his stubble ran across your skin. "I love you. So much." The confession made your heart soar every time you heard it.
I have a request I believe fits nicely with your other work 🩶
Female reader and Daryl are a couple. When they spend time together it's usually comfortable silence or reader doing most of the talking and Daryl listening. That turns into Reader reading to him while he works on his bike, on the porch, at the end of the day before turning the lights/candles off. Daryl isn't one for reading but enjoys listening to her narrating more than he'll admit and always keeps an eye on books during runs. Maybe they end up having a bit of a fight (Daryl being stuborn) so reader being petty says she won't share the ending of the book leaving it on a cliffhanger as payback. You see her reading the books near by, gasping dramatically knowing he's listening and pissed off being left out pretending like he doesn't care (He does) They make up eventually, all sweet. The ending of the book they share together.
hi angel! thank you so much for requesting ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა daryl and books are two of my favorite things, so i absolutely loved this idea. though i changed up some minor details, i hope this still does justice to your vision! 🤍
Settling into Alexandria hadn’t been easy for Daryl.
In fact, he had more troubles than anyone else adjusting. Makes sense, looking at him. All grimy and dirty with his worn leather jacket and the blood clinging to his skin. The group had become used to it, but it must have been a frightening display for the sheltered people of Alexandria.
Daryl didn’t care about impressions, though. He didn’t even take a shower for the first couple of days, muscles tense as if ready to run at any moment given it suddenly proved neccessary.
This sudden confrontation with civilization made him realize some things that didn’t fail to shock him. Walking trough the town, it almost seemed like the outbreak hadn’t happened at all. Most of the others seemed to actually want to forget about it, and if it weren’t for food rations and the watchtower, they just might have.
It scared him, though he wouldn’t ever admit it. How they immediately discarded the hardened shells they had worked so hard to build now, at the first possibility. It was dangerous.
Sure, it was nice to not worry about starving every other minute. But in all honesty, he would have preferred that, would have went back to it in a heartbeat.
Because now, they were shutting out the dystopian outside world behind their little iron walls without even batting an eye.
And Daryl realized that in some sick and twisted way, he had actually been thankful for the apocalypse. It’s crazy, he knows. Might be good at runs and surviving, but it’s not like he enjoyed being on the verge of death all the time. Nah. Was just already used to not being comfortable in his own life, that’s all.
It’s just that for the first time in his life, he had a purpose — and it was thanks to the undead taking over the world, believe it or not. He mattered. People relied on him for protection, they actually cared, something would have changed if he just disappeared from the face of the earth.
Now, immersed in this weird game of playing pretend, he wasn’t so sure it would anymore. The forest was his element. Not some suburban town with houses like mansions in a neighbourhood he wouldn’t have set a foot in if he’d gotten paid for it years ago. Where people would have given him disdainful looks, or, at best, pitiful glances; as if that wasn’t worse.
It made him uneasy, walking trough Alexandria with his crossbow slung across his shoulder, wearing his tattered leather jacket. Like everyone was watching and secretly condemning him for dirtying their streets with his muddy boots.
He didn’t belong, just like before.
Though it was completely different, Daryl feared that this would be the prison all over again. Because damn, these people really were more vulnerable than they actually were aware of. Prison had been the opposite, but it fell in spite of it.
Most of all, he feared that you might slowly realize that you didn’t need him anymore. No walkers in immediate proximity he had to shoot before they got to you, no rabbits to kill so you’d have something to eat.
It was questionable whether Daryl Dixon was a good boyfriend at all, but he certainly was better out there than in here. In here, the vast distance between the two of you became even more obvious. You weren’t like him, no… you fit right in. As if you had lived here all your life.
Nearly took the air out of his lungs when he saw you clean and in fresh clothes for the first time; he’d forgotten what you were like in the beginning. Of course, you kissed him like you used to. But still. He stiffened, ‘cause it felt like he was dirtying you and he really, really wanted this to work out for your sake. You deserved it. Deserved to be accepted into a community like you didn’t have a weird dirty biker boyfriend at home.
Daryl was really worried about all these things when the group first settled into Alexandria. But just like with everything else, you… you made everything seem easy again.
Hugged him tightly that very first day even though you’d just showered and he was still covered in dirt. Didn’t let go even after he grumbled something about your new clothes getting all stained again. Held him until he melted visibly into your arms, coiled muscles relaxing finally.
You had him sleep next to you after you’d been assigned one of the houses, and — even though he was still wary about that whole good-hearted civilian thing — he had to admit that it felt nice. Sleeping in a real bed, in a room bigger than the whole trailer he lived in before the outbreak. And again, you let him settle in at his pace. Curled into his side, snug against his body. He went to bed in his grimy old clothes that night, and you just — didn’t mind. Simply washed the duvet each morning until he was ready to take a shower.
Smiled at him after he emerged from the bathroom that day. Told him he was handsome when he sheepishly adjusted the collar of the slightly too small dressing shirt you’d found in the closet. You must’ve known he felt weird in those stiff, office-appropriate pinstripe slacks though, since in the afternoon he found his own clothes lying on the bed, neatly folded and still warm coming out of the dryer. The leatherjacket, his old pair of jeans with holes in them… No comment when he immediately wore them to dinner that day and put the other clothes back into the closet. Just a quick kiss on the lips, a giggled “Looking even more handsome now, Daryl!”, and that was that.
God, if he had you by his side, he could get used to anything, it seemed.
Though the thing that really did it for Daryl was this other little routine you established: reading to him. You’d begun back at the prison, when he brought you an old copy of “Pride and Prejudice” he’d came across on a run. He knew you liked reading, so he immediately thought of you when he saw it.
Thoughtful actions like this soon melted into book talk, little conversations he held cherished in his heart where you chatted on and on about literature while he worked silently, and he listened. Naturally, it would awaken his own interest in those books you liked so much. And since you already got all giddy merely about him wanting to know exactly why you loved Jane Austen, you impulsively offered to read it to him, and that’s how his favorite pasttime was born.
At first, he was mainly just listening to your pleasant voice, but soon, he grew actually invested in the story. When you got together, this little ritual only became more important to the both of you.
And now, that’s something he actually liked about Alexandria: it’s huge library. You discovered it during the second week of your stay, and boy, did your eyes glow when you excitedly told him all about it. You went back there the next day and carefully selected an array of novels you wanted to show him. Some you knew, some you didn’t. The one you started with that same night, reading the first chapter aloud to him in bed, just before going to sleep, was one you didn’t know, though you’d heard about it. Some famous murder mystery, Agatha Christie he thinks? Sherlock Holmes or whatever. Something easy to take our mind off everything else, you’d said.
It was even more endearing to read a book with you for the first time, he quickly found. It was adorable how invested you got into the story, awaiting plot twists and sharing your theories with him. You usually sat on the grass in the front yard while he fixed up the broken motorcycle Aaron had found in his garage. Stopped sometimes to admire his expert hands working on the engine, just for a little while.
“You really know what’s wrong with it just by taking it apart?”
“Guess so.”
“Wow! When did you even learn all that? I couldn’t do it if I had a guide with pictures! Were you a mechanic?”
“Nah. Jus’ picked up on some things, ‘s all.”
“Still. You must be a technology genuis or something!”
That got a huff of a laugh out of him. “Ain’t no genius.”
“Sure you are! Basically built that bike from scratch, and you look super hot while doing it too.”
He stopped answering to such comments a while ago, gave up on changing your mind. Just looks back at the machine, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. No matter how hard he tries, you’re just dead set on believing he’s a good person. It’s like that with everything, and it’s been like that from the beginning.
He doesn’t even have it in himself to argue anymore, not when your voice was so cheerful and you went back to reading the story to him all happy and carefree like you hadn’t just made him blush.
God, he loved you. And everything that came with it, like this mystery story and the reading to him. This is what made him feel a little more normal about himself. If it hadn’t been for you and fucking Agatha Christie and what not he probably wouldn’t have even tried (and to his surprise, succeeded) at settling into Alexandria.
Fucking bugs him that he lost that privilege now.
And over such a stupid thing, too!
There wasn’t really all that much different about this morning.
Really! He swears! Only, well, he got up a little earlier that day because he had an idea for the engine and he just couldn’t fall asleep again without checking if Aaron had the part he needed in his garage. And, okay, by “a little” he means four o’clock in the morning.
Yeah, that was his initial mistake. He knows you don’t sleep well when he isn’t beside you. In fact, whenever his warm body is missing, you toss and turn, plagued by nightmares.
It’s terrible, and one of the reasons why he always makes sure to cradle you to his chest so you get a good night’s rest. That and, he just has to be close to you or else he’ll go crazy. He’s pretty sure of that. Came close to it more than once, with Alexandria and this dumb job system keeping you apart for a good portion of the day. It feels weird, seperation, after being glued together for survival for months.
So, of course he wasn’t planning on staying away for a long time. Not at all, not when it already caused a painful pang in his heart that he had left at all. Daryl never wanted to be the reason why you were suffering.
Just, well, one thing led to another. And even though he felt more guilty with each passing second, there was nothing he could do about it. Turns out Aaron really did have the part he needed but Daryl also woke him up as he made his way to the garage. And ‘cause well, now Daryl was already there, Aaron politely inquired if he could maybe fix the sink while he’s at it. He’s so handy, after all. And of course, Daryl couldn’t really say no after the couple had done so much for him, so he obliged right then and there.
It took longer than he anticipated, but he managed. It’s just that, right as he was making his way back to the house, the only thought on his mind being his bed and you lying in it, stupid fucking Rick had to stop him. Damn “constable patrolling duty” or whatever led to him roaming the streets at seven o’clock when most people were only just getting up.
Daryl was already grumpy at this point, but he’d never cross Rick. Man was a little paranoid abut the whole Alexandria situation, really. Sure, Daryl didn’t trust the walls, but he wasn’t all that wary about the people. They were good men and women, he was sure of that. You’d made friends already and for most of them, it’s obvious that they won’t do no harm.
Yeah, not to Rick. And ‘cause he’s the leader, and Daryl owes him, and he has a history of going a litte, well, crazy sometimes, Daryl agrees to have a talk.
… Only he didn’t think said talk would stretch well past noon and include long discussions with Carol, too. And then that whole gun storing thing, ugh. Normally, he’d like to be involved and gladly share is opinion, but right now all he can think about is that you’re waking up without him. And that he’s not home to bring you a cup of tea to your bedside and you’re not giving him a sleepy good morning kiss to thank him. His thoughts drift off and to that excited face you made when you realized the kitchen came with a kettle. Such a simple thing compared to the other luxuries and yet, that’s what you’re still most excited about. Man, sometimes he thinks you—
Wait, now they’re adressing him again.
God, he wishes this was already over.
Next time he sees you that day is after lunch. You had cooked for him and were in the process of reheating the pasta when he stormed into the house, boots thudding on the wooden floors.
“Daryl?” You’d called out, sticking your head through the door.
He seemed to be in a bad mood, though you weren’t sure why, since you only knew that he’d been gone the whole morning.
Now he was stomping through the hallway, violently hanging his jacket onto the rack.
“Huh? What're ya starin’ at?” He was basically growling at this point. This happened sometimes.
Though confused, you knew he wasn’t angry at you. Probably just had a hard day. You’d come across Aaron earlier and he seemed really thankful, going on and on about… his sink? You inquired what exactly had happened and then, surprised you didn’t know already, he told you that Daryl had fixed his sink at five o’clock in the morning. You were stunned initially, but it explained a lot.
Not where he was the whole rest of the morning, but this became clear when somene knocked at the door. You were going to answer it, but Daryl was faster.
It was Rick. “Daryl, I forgot to ask earlier. Have you fixed that motorcycle yet? I really need you to go on a run next week, can you do that? You know I don’t trust—” You heard them whispering from the kitchen. Ah, so that's where he spent the morning then.
You heard the door slamming shut, and Daryl calling out a gruff, “M’gonna work on the bike.”
“Wait, Daryl! Aren’t you hungry? I made you some pas—” He wasn’t listening. Didn’t even answer. Trough the window, you could see him stomping towards his makeshift working space in the front yard.
Sure, you knew he must be stressed since the bike isn’t all that close to being finished yet. Still, it wasn’t nice of him to ignore you like that all day even though you just wanted to help.
Made you wanna teach him a little lesson that might just take his mind off of everything else that was going on, too. Lately, everyone seemed to want a piece of him. But you did too! Might be fun to show him just what it felt like to be ignored… Oh, you had a good idea already.
Still prepared a plate for him and brought it outside, though. You loved him, after all, even if what you’d be doing next would make it look a little different.
God, you really wanted to see his face afterwards…
Yeah, it was his fault, definitely. He knew that.
He shouldn’t have ignored you, not after wanting nothing more the whole day than to be with you. It was stupid to act like this, really. Sometimes he didn’t even know why he did the things he did if not to punish himself. You’d been so sweet too, cooking spaghetti for him. He insisted that he didn’t like it and that he would go out hunting again soon, so there’d be some real food — but that was bullshit, of course. And apparently, you knew that. Knew him way too well, actually.
It wasn’t right of him to be this dismissive, he knew that, too.
But did he really deserve this?
You knew he was sorry, even though he’d become all grumpy and didn’t want to admit that he was in the wrong.
Yeah, he was certain you knew all about it, ‘cause you must be doing this on purpose. There just isn’t any other explanation. It’s maddening.
Daryl didn’t think you could be so cruel, perched on the wooden railing, sitting pretty and seeming completely immersed in the book you were reading. The book you had been reading to him throughout all of last week. The book you had promised you’d finish together. Hot anger curled in his gut.
He didn’t think you could be this cruel… He should have known better. Because just now, as he was stepping back from the bike and wiping his hands with the oil-stained rag, he caught your gaze. Only for a second, but that glint of amusement flashing in your orbs was enough to convince him of your true intentions.
Yeah, you were definitely doing this on purpose. That concluded it, even if it weren’t for the exaggerated surprised gasps and loud laughter you let out every few pages, leaving him yearning to know what it was that you found so funny.
“No way!”
“Oh my God.”
“I knew it!”
You were taunting him, right there in the middle of Alexandria. Worst thing was, nobody passing by would have even realized. To an outsider, it might have looked like you were just enjoying your book. While he was standing in front of the porch all pouty for no reason.
Man, he was steaming. Must have looked stupid glaring daggers at you while you pointedly ignored him. It annoyed him that you were continuing without him like this wasn’t your thing, but what he hated even more was the fact that he was so worked up about it. You really had him wrapped around your finger, damn it.
And he wanted to know who the murderer was!
He was this close to wiping the mocking smile off your face. No, wait, he was already making his way over to where you were sitting, heavy boots thudding over to the front porch.
“What d’ya think yer doin’, huh?” He spat, crossing his arms over his chest as he came to a halt right in front of were you were sitting, staring you down.
He was sure you sensed how offended he was. And yet, you had the audacity to fucking smile right into his face.
“Mhm? Isn’t it obvious? I’m reading, silly.” With a tsk, you shook your head at him, like you were thoroughly amused at his expanse.
“Y’know what I mean, damn it.” He grumbled, still not making any sign of giving in.
“No, Daryl, I don’t. You’re not very vocal, you know. Starin’ at me from across the yard all afternoon. You haven’t even made any progress on the bike.” You tut, head tilting nonchalantly. You were observing his expression, which quickly changed from agitated to embarrassed.
He overplays it with a grunted, “How would’ya even know that?”
You smile again, this time almost pitiful. He’d feel bad actually if he didn’t know you were just messin’ with him. “Oh, I know. Can’t exactly work when you’re looking at me the whole time. I’d be flattered if you didn’t look so angry. Like a child who had his toy taken away.”
He caves, then. Averts his gaze, muttering something unintelligible.
Your eyes softened, “What was that?”
Daryl looked up, face contorted into something close to a pout. “… Y’were readin’ our book.”
“And that’s a problem how?”
He nearly growled, then. “Ya promised we’d finish it together!”
He glared at you, and it looked too cute. A giggle bubbled out of your lips, and you let your mask fall. Though he seemingly hadn’t realized it yet.
His face grew warm and his brows furrowed, “What’s so damn funny, woman?”
You dropped the book then, laughing softly. “I’m sorry, that was too far.” Jumped off the railing and stepped a little closer to him.
“Huh?” Poor Daryl didn’t even know what was happening. He looked taken off guard, confused even, standing there lookin’ all tough like he didn’t know what was going on.
You smiled up at him kindly, then. “Hey, I was just messing with you.”
Daryl huffed, frowning at you. “Yeah, quit actin’ like I dun know that. Ya were readin’ it out here on purpose so I’d see.”
“Not exactly.” Bashfully, you opened the book on the page with the bookmark. Turned it around to show him, and you saw his eyes scanning the first few sentences. He looked more confused by the second. Finally, he glanced at you again, a big fat question mark written across his face.
A wave of warmth washed over your heart. Cute. You smiled, putting the book down before adressing your boyfriend again. “That’s where I left off.”
Daryl scoffed, “Nah, ya didn’t. Tha’s where we left off."
And then, suddenly, it dawned on him. His blue eyes widened for a split second, before he huffed, looking visibly relieved. His voice was low when he cleared his troath to speak.
"Really?"
You giggled, taking a final step so you're standing right in front of him. "Huh?"
He shook his head, the hint of a gruff smile on his lips. "Did ya really spend the whole afternoon pretendin' to read jus' to rile me up?"
"Did it work?" You asked innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.
Daryl just grumbles, not wanting to admit just how affected he'd really been by your little charade.
"I'll take that as a yes." And then you grin up at him in that adorable way, and he almost forgets that he was angry on the spot. It's completely wiped off his mind when you wrap your arms around his waist in a gentle hug, apologetic even.
"Sorry." It's quiet, whispered against his neck.
His breaths fans over your hair, and he returns the hug, holding you close. "Nah. 's me who's gotta 'pologize. Shouldn't have ignored ya earlier."
You peek up at him then, eyes teasing. "No, you shouldn't have. Gonna do it again?"
He's flustered, wrapping his other arm around you to press you tighter against him so you won't see him blushing. "Nah."
"That's what I thought!" Your voice is muffled by his leather jacket, but he can feel you smile against his chest.
In a moment of weakness, partly because he's still baffled you spent this whole time just gauging for his reaction and partly because he loves you, he presses a featherlight kiss to the top of your head. Your grip around his waist tightens then, and he suddenly feels stupid for even thinking you'd finish that story without him in the first place. When you know how much he likes it when you read to him and that he's still feeling a little lost in front of this huge house that you've got all to yourselves.
You part from him, then, but only to give him a kiss. He returns it, silently telling you that he's not angry.
When you pull back, you smile at him. "So, wanna find out who's the killer?"
Though morning the loss of your lips against his, he gives a reconciliatory nod. "Mhm, sure."
He thinks that he's really lucky when you cheerfully walk over to the railing to grab the book, leaving him standing on the porch. You've already begun going on and on about your newest theory that you've apparently spent the afternoon constructing. You reread a couple of the latest chapters and are absolutely sure you found the vital clue.
Daryl just watches and listens attentively, mesmerized by you once again. You take his hand then and pull him inside, promising to read him the last two chapters as long as he takes a shower first.
And suddenly he doesn't even mind that at all, not when he knows you're shuffling around in the kitchen making that herbal tea you always have before bed. Especially not when he knows that you're pouring two cups as always, and that one's reserved for him.
Domestic, that's what this is. He hasn't really had it before, but he's pretty sure that's the thing. And he knows now that all this time, all his life, he missed something he didn't even know he could have.
Stupid, really. Thinkin' he might not manage to feel at home in Alexandria when in reality, he already does, 'cause it's true what they say, all that crap about "home is where the heart is".
His heart belongs to you now, and he doesn't even miss it.
summary: usually the dead don’t protect humans, or so we thought.
warnings: zombie!reader, angst, established relationship, intentional age!gap though not mentioned, no use of y/n, unedited., mentions of physical violence, desperate!reader, yearning!reader, innocent kissing, eventual smut as the fic goes on.
setting: alexandria (post-whisperers)
word count: 2.6k+
notes: i am so so so sorry for the delay in posting this. i’ve been working 14 hour shifts for 3 weeks 4 days at a time and i am wiped. updates are going to be very slow and i do apologize from the bottom of my heart to all of the protect fans out there.
credits: @tophollands inspired me to do this as they have a zombie!leon fic and we’ve established this theme would work well in twd. they were inspired by @quackysprouts zombie!leon art as well.
divider credit: @solitary-serendipity
ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴꜱɪʙʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴇ
the ride back to alexandria was silent— painfully so. the tension was able to be sliced in two with a knife as the only sound was the steady breathing of everyone within the vehicle, and the occasional grunt from you as you grew weary of everyone except daryl.
aaron sat diagonally across from you in the passenger seat with dried blood beneath his nose and a strip of cloth pressed against his face, looking like he was in pain and pissed off. you really did feel bad, but what were you meant to do? allow them to harm you and prevent you from seeing daryl again?
all the while carol sat beside him with her arms outstretched towards the steering wheel as her knuckles turned white with the force or her grip. you could tell by the look on her face that she was still thinking about how you looked or how you acted towards her. but despite everything, what did she expect too? she held the gun to you, making you sad and angry all at once.
and worst of all— neither of them dared to look at you for long. it was as though you were a complete stranger, something gross or something so disturbing that it made them sick to their stomachs. at this point you would rather them look at you with fear or uncertainty because what you believed they thought was something unknown to you, making you feel even more uneasy.
you lowered your head at the thoughts that were going through your mind and rested your hands limply in your lap. daryl sat beside you despite the protests he'd received from both carol and aaron in their moments of uncertainty, but he thought it was best that he be the one to be beside you. through your haze you couldn't help but be thankful for the hunter, without him here you didn't know what you'd do.
maybe you were hoping that he'd at least hold your cold hand for a small while or pull you close for a reassuring hug. anything in an attempt to soothe you— but even though he was beside you now you could tell he carried a tension on his shoulders. you knew that something had changed in him as tears began forming in your milky eyes.
the possibility of him being angry with you made you feel like you messed up.
the moment alexandria's gates opened, you could hear him sigh loudly, people already gathering to see who was entering. when they seen the state of carol and aaron the whispers started, people tried figuring out what happened. but everything got worse the minute you and daryl were seen. word spread quickly, more people gathered around the vehicle and stared— whispering about you and how you looked.
just like that, everyone knew that a walker had entered the community. a walker that apparently knew daryl and everyone else here, a walker that had been hidden beneath their noses for god knows how long in their minds. you couldn't understand, or maybe you didn't want to understand why they wouldn't just accept you how you were. you were still in there, it's not like you were going around killing people.
but the uproar caused a meeting and by the time the group reached the council building, several dozen residents had gathered nearby. you could smell their fear, could hear their hearts racing, and could see the way they backed away whenever your gaze landed on them. it made you whimper and cling to daryl like a lifeline— and he hated every second of it.
"move." his voice came out rough and protective, as if his words could shield you from the wondering eyes of everyone you called family once upon a time— but nonetheless people parted immediately, nobody argued, and nobody challenged him. however, the looks remained.
those damn looks. the same ones he'd seen aimed at prisoners, murderers, outsiders, even monsters. you noticed them too, evident in the way your shoulders curled inward slightly and how your eyes lowered. you were ashamed, embarrassed, and worst of all— emotionally ruined. you knew that people didn't trust you the way daryl so willingly did. the way michonne used to.
daryl's stomach twisted harshly as he watched your face drop even more, cowering back into him as your hands trembled. he wished he could do something, feeling as hopeless as ever and to make matters worse when the doors opened; he finally laid eyes upon michonne— who was already inside the building with her arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her solemn face.
she had sat in the infirmary while you had escaped, after someone random found her while doing their rounds with bruises blooming around her throat. a doctor examined her immediately, lucky that it was nothing life threatening. she guessed that's what she got for cornering someone as wild as you, not putting full blame on you for the situation whatsoever.
but now she was anticipating. waiting for your arrival with a heavy heart and a throb deep within her brain, injuries catching up to her as the adrenaline wore off some time ago. the second daryl walked through the door with you behind him, her eyes locked onto yours and everyone froze.
the memory of what happened between the two of you hung heavily in the room and for several seconds nobody spoke. it was just a stare down as you and michonne locked eyes, neither of you able to move. daryl could feel the tension from within your shoulders and arms, feeling as your finger curled instinctively around his bicep in order to gain stability.
he put two together very quickly and everything slowly made sense. you had been locked away, the chances of you escaping were low unless you schemed your way out. daryl was a smart man, you knew that deep down. even when his eyes drifted to you, in an instant your pale face lit up red as you realized you’d been caught.
then michonne surprised everyone, including you. "she didn't try to kill me if that’s what you all are wondering." her voice was hoarse, rough from being crushed by your own two hands. a pang of guilt rushed over you as an onslaught of fresh tears formed.
her words earned a deep frown from carol as she crossed her arms over her chest in protest, "michonne— she could've."
"if she wanted me dead, i'd be dead." michonne defended with a firm look across her face, displaying the fact that her words were true. her hand drifted unconsciously toward the bruises around her neck as a heavy and uncomfortable silence followed.
because nobody wanted to admit she was right.
you stared at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. the guilt sat heavy in your chest as you remembered it. you remembered hurting her, remembered the fear, remembered the anger, remembered her body going limp beneath your hands.
the memory made something inside you twist painfully— a low whine escaping your throat as the tears spilled. you wanted nothing but to rush to her and somehow make it known that you were sorry, that you had no other choice but to go and make sure that your lover and stability were safe.
everyone heard you, heads snapping in your direction once again. especially daryl, his gaze immediately softened.
"hey." his voice was weary, but nonetheless comforting. your eyes lifted as you cried, pale hands reaching for daryl’s face as your body shook— but you never made eye contact with him. you were too ashamed, too scared. you didn’t want to see the disappointment in his face at what you had done.
"look at me." he raised his hand to push your chin up and slowly, you listened to his command. you couldn’t help but listen like a trained puppy. he then moved his hands up to press yours gently to his cheeks, as if reassuring you that it was okay for you to touch him. even if your hands caused damage that you didn’t think you’d work your way out of.
"it's alright." it wasn't, you both knew it wasn't but he said it anyway.
"i say we have a meeting to discuss this all now, guess we couldn't hide her forever." michonne said sadly, offering you a smile despite what you did to her. she couldn't possibly hold it against you forever, though it's only been a few short hours since.
daryl's stomach twisted as nausea rose to the surface, worried of what everyone would think of you. he didn't want them to jump to killing you or expecting the worst out of you. you hadn't killed any human and he was certain that you wouldn't— that you couldn’t even bring yourself to try unless they were harming him. if only they could see through his eyes, see that you had somehow came back by whatever miracle to protect.
but nonetheless the council meeting lasted almost three hours and you weren't allowed to partake. instead, you sat in your cell while the people deciding your future argued on the other side of alexandria— causing you to go stir crazy as you pace quickly back and forth like you had officially gone mad.
every passing minute felt like torture and the old cell felt different now— smaller, colder, and lonelier. you craved daryl’s presence, craved for him to come and soothe you as you paced and paced and paced until your legs began to hurt.
the tears never stopped either, never once slowed down. even as he reassured you that he’d be back, that he’d spend the night here with you if it made you feel better. he couldn’t deny you that, couldn’t stand seeing you like this when he knew deep down that it was his fault. little did you know that he felt just as guilty as you did and he’d be damned if he ever left you alone again after this.
but somehow in the midst of your thoughts and pacing you didn’t notice that the door to the make-shift jail had opened until you could smell daryl back at your door— keys jingling as he unlocked your cell and entered. your head snapped up immediately and in an instant you were rushing as fast as you could to him.
however, when you took in his somber expression you paused cautiously. you were smart enough to know that it didn’t mean anything good. he looked exhausted, completely and utterly exhausted. for a moment neither of you moved until suddenly he closed the cell door behind him, causing you to rush forward again.
you immediately reached for him, hands cupping his face, moving down to grip his jacket, then his shirt and arms, as if checking —searching— making sure he was okay and safe, and making sure that he was really with you now because you could’ve sworn you were going crazy for a moment.
daryl let you continue your ministrations over him. he let you fuss over him until you crouched down in front of him and your hands finally found his injured leg. your expression immediately darkened, and there it was. the source of your panic. the reason you'd escaped and the reason everything had gone wrong.
you dropped to your knees from your crouched position and gently touched the bandaged injury— a soft distressed sound escaped your throat as daryl sighed.
"yeah." his fingers slid through your hair, petting your head gently. "i know."
you looked up at him wide-eyed and guilty, miserable even and suddenly he understood what the look was for. you weren't upset because you'd been caught, you weren't upset because people were angry. you were upset because you thought you'd failed to protect him, failed to stop him from getting hurt.
failed to do the one thing your broken mind had convinced itself was most important.
"this wasn't your fault." it was the truth, he had done this to himself but nonetheless his chest tightened with so much emotion that he didn’t know if he could contain himself. he had you kneeling before him with that kicked puppy expression and tears falling from your begging eyes.
"got that?" his hand moved from your hair until it settled against the side of your face. you didn't seem convinced causing the hunter to sigh once again and then his expression became serious.
"but what happened with michonne?"
your eyes dropped immediately and as if on queue there it was. the consequence to your actions and the thing that couldn’t simply be ignored.
"can't do that again." though his voice wasn't angry, but that fact didn’t soothe the way your felt.
somehow it made it worse.
"i know ya didn't mean it."
a pause.
"but ya scared her."
another pause.
"ya hurt her."
your shoulders slumped as the guilt became almost unbearable because he was right. and deep down— you knew it. he knew that you knew it, that you were aware. it was evident in the way that the tears began falling harder as sobs broke the silence on your end, followed by soft groans and the shake of your body. he watched you struggle with emotions you could no longer explain.
then he crouched down despite the pain in his leg and rested his forehead against yours.
"they ain't executin' ya." his words brought out a shaky breath from you, one of slight relief, "they ain't puttin' ya down."
nother breath.
"but things are changin'." that made you freeze almost instantly as daryl’s eyes closed instantly. you couldn’t tell what he was feeling or what he was going to say. his expression for once was so unreadable that it made you more anxious than anything.
"the council voted," your stomach dropped at all of the possibilities that could happen, "the cell stays, but they're givin' ya a chance."
just like that, hope flickered. it flickered ever so small and fragile as daryl managed a tired smile.
"this means supervised visits and they wanna see if ya can be around people." his thumb brushed your cheek.
"if ya prove 'em right, prove to them that ya aren’t a threat then maybe things will get better.”
for the first time all day, some of the fear eased from your chest. not all of it, but enough. enough that you leaned forward and buried your face against him— instinctively he wrapped both arms around you almost immediately, holding you tightly despite the aches in his body because all he wanted was his sweet girl safe and taken care of.
“i know that you can do it my sweet girl, i promise.” he pulled back ever so slightly, resting his forehead against yours as his eyes remained locked into your own. something within him was breaking slowly, something that he didn’t want breaking and that he fought so hard to build back up.
but he couldn’t resist. call it the heat of the moment, but he slowly leaned in— heart racing so fast that he swore you could hear it —and pressed his lips gently to yours. it felt cold and foreign even if he had just been kissing you a couple weeks ago now. however, all of his tension released from his shoulders as you reciprocated.
outside the cell, the future remained uncertain. michonne was injured, aaron didn't trust you, carol probably thought that daryl was blinded by hope. half of Alexandria wanted you gone and the other half didn't know what to think.
but for now, you were still here. still breathing. still fighting. and despite every mistake, every secret, and every disaster— daryl hadn't given up on you.
not yet. not ever.
T A G L I S T: @whore4fictionalmen19 @zamadness @clussysposts @magz3strikes @holdmytesseract @leslierabbit @bunbunbl0gs @bcatwinchest
A/N: The grip my Daryl Dixon fixation has on me is so strong right now. Like, I’m thinking of him 24/7 and how he’s awkwardly comforting. Don’t judge, my doctor’s appointments aren’t giving me answers and I’m turning to a fictional man lol. Anyway, I’ve finished TWD, and I’m trying to find time to watch all of the spin offs during my free time.
Warning/s: arrow removal
Setting: late season 2, when the Greene farm is overrun
Everything was a blur. You couldn’t remember the exact order of events, or even how you got to where you were. You knew Shane was dead. You remember the burning barn, and then the swarm of walkers. There had to have been hundreds, if not thousands quickly approaching. There was fear, so much fear you could hardly breathe as you began running. You were fighting as hard as you could to protect yourself, just your bow, a few arrows hanging from your belt, and your knife to keep you safe. You saw the only clearing open up, leading towards the woods and down the old gravel road. Not missing your chance, you ran.
It was so dark, the light of the burning barn quickly disappearing behind you. You were going into the forest blind, not knowing what you could run into, where you were stepping, or where you were running to. You were alone, that much you knew. You rushed into the cover of the trees, running like if you didn’t, you wouldn’t make it.
You remember stumbling a lot, over tree roots and vines and stray rocks. Eventually, there were voices. Yelling, sounded like your friends. You hoped more than anything that it was them, that they were ok, and that you would be able to find them. There was the sound of vehicles, but you could have sworn you were so far into the woods that you wouldn’t be able to hear them drive away. You saw lights flashing in the distance, only motivating you to run even faster.
All of a sudden, you were on the ground. The air was knocked out of your lungs and you tumbled down the side of a decently deep ditch. Your ankle throbbed, and you could only assume you had stumbled over a big tree root and lost your footing. Your entire body ached, however red hot pain stemmed from your thigh. You screamed out in pain, quickly rubbing your hands down your leg until you felt one of your few arrows sticking out of the side of your leg.
You were in so much pain, but you couldn’t stay here. Not like this, not right now. You tried standing, prepared to run towards the sound of vehicles, away from the walkers, but your body wouldn’t let you get far. The fall must have twisted your ankle, the arrow in your leg making it unbearable to move, and you were now drenched in creekwater. Tears streamed down your face, and you couldn’t help but whimper and cry as the pain grew worse with every passing second.
The limited vision you had in the dark woods faded in and out as you kept moving. Your hearing was fuzzy, almost as if you were under water. You were fighting to keep moving, terrified for your life. Your friends were getting away. You wanted them to save you too. Through all of the confusion, you could hear your name being called in the distance. It was hard to tell who’s voice it was, or if what you were hearing was even real, but you yelled anyway. Your words weren’t coherent, coming out as more of a wailing sound than anything.
Not more than a minute later, a bright line shone down on you. The light blinded you, making it hard to see who had found you. As your eyes adjusted, you saw two figures.
“You alright?” a voice called out. Daryl. You knew that much.
You managed a strangled, “no.”
“Daryl, she has an arrow in her leg!” Carol.
“Shit.” The light was passed to Carol, and Daryl slid down the size of the ditch to get to you. His hands hovered over you, not knowing what to do. “Can you walk?” You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. Sighing, Daryl nods just once. “Ok. That’s ok.” He grabs your arm, wrapping around the back of his neck before taking slow but urgent steps towards Carol. “Grab her hand.” Carol grabs the hand not wrapped around Daryl, as he quickly scrambles up the side of the ditch to grab your other hand. They hauled you up, but the train on your leg made you cry even harder.
“It’s ok,” Carol hushed, helping Daryl walk you to his motorcycle. There wasn’t room for 3, they knew that. Just as they were about to discuss what to do, a vehicle sped up to them, then immediately slammed on its breaks. The window rolls down, and Glenn is taking in the scene.
“Get in!” He yells, looking in the rearview mirror to see some of the herd following them. Carol and Daryl waste no time loading you into the back of the vehicle. Through your tears, you reach out to Carol as she tries to leave.
“It’s ok,” she reassures quickly. “We’re getting somewhere safe, then we’ll meet again, ok? Glenn and Maggie have you now.”
“Carol, let’s go!” Daryl yells, and just like that, she’s gone. The doors slam shut, and Glenn waits for the two to get back on the motorcycle before he speeds off again.
Every bump and hole in the road makes the pain in your leg even worse, and you can’t help but cry. Maggie reaches her hand to the back seat to hold yours. “What happened Y/N?”
Through tears you explain, “I was running. I didn’t have a vehicle, I just ran. I tripped and fell down into the ditch and landed on one of my arrows.”
Maggie’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry. It’s ok now, you’re safe. We’re meeting the others soon, I promise. Then we’ll get that arrow taken care of.”
It doesn’t take long to reach the blocked off highway where Sophia went missing. Suddenly, those memories came flooding back, and you cried harder. Glenn and Maggie quickly got out of the car and helped slide you out and down onto the pavement. Not long after, Daryl and Carol arrive. Before too long, everyone except Rick and Hershel arrive. People are crying, worried, asking around.
“We need to get this arrow out of her leg,” Carol says to the group, kneeling beside you and resting a hand on your head.
“We need to wait for daddy,” Beth cries. “He can do it.”
“We don’t know how long that’ll be.” Glenn chimes in.
“It doesn’t look that bad, I’m sure it can wait for someone who knows what they’re doing.”
You’re crying too hard to register who would say that. Carol’s hand is running through your hair, and you’re frantically searching for her other hand. She gives it to you. “Carol, I’m so sorry,” you cry.
“Why are you sorry?” Her voice is soft.
“Sophia,” you cry. “Sophia went missing here. And now I’m hurt. I’m so sorry.”
Carol shushes you softly. “It’s ok Y/N. You’re ok. Don’t worry about that now.”
“Look at her! You think she can handle this pain for much longer?!” Daryl’s voice cuts through the crowd. “I’m doing it.” The man crouches down beside you, gently placing his hands near the wound, analyzing it. Your jeans block his view. “I need scissors, and any first aid we may have.” The rest of the group is hesitant but unwilling to argue, so they scavenge their vehicles. Maggie finds a small first aid kit in the trunk of her car, and Lori somehow finds scissors. Once he’s prepared, Daryl orders them to go away, to give you space. Carol stays, however, still running one hand through your hair and letting you hold the other.
Daryl quickly looks at you and says, “You’re gonna have a killer outfit, Y/N. I have’ta cut your pants.” You only nod. It hurts, the way your leg jostles and the fabric brushes against the arrow, but Daryl does it quick and easy. Then he looks at Carol. “I’ll need your help.” She nods. “Hold her down, this is gonna hurt.” Carol’s hands move to your shoulders, pressing down to keep you laying.
The second Daryl places his hands on your leg, you’re screaming, legs involuntarily pulled up. He’s quick to lay your legs back down, then moves so he is sitting on your knees. “I know, I know,” he says gently. “I gotta do this. It’ll be over quickly, I promise.” He thinks for a moment, then pulls his bandana from his back pocket, rolling it up and handing it to you. “Here, bite this, ok? We don’t need any more walkers.” Your hands shake as you take the cloth, bringing it to your mouth. With a small nod, you let Daryl know that you’re ready.
He works fast, pulling the arrow out of your leg and immediately dousing the wound with alcohol. The wound stings, burning worse than any wound you’ve had before. The cloth muffles your screams, but nothing can hide the tears that are streaming down your face. Daryl presses dressing against the wound, then gets off of you enough to raise your leg and wrap bandaging around it.
“There, ‘m done. ‘S ok.” His voice is uncharacteristically gentle. He wipes his bloody hands on his pants, then moves to sit beside you. As he looks over you, he can see how out of it you’ve become. You must be exhausted, the pain strong enough to darken the edges of your vision. He can see it, and is quick to ask Carol to find water, anything they can give you to dull the pain and bring you back to reality.
You are able to register her leaving, and the pain throughout your body. Someone carefully removes the bandana from your mouth, and you see enough of them to see that it’s Daryl. His name is shaky as it leaves your mouth.
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he said quietly. “It’s over now, I’m done.” Your hands are trembling, shaking enough it’s concerning him. He gently takes your hands into his, warm and stable, to ground you. “It’s ok.” Your eyes begin to drift shut, and Daryl begins to panic. “Hey, hey, look at me.” Slowly, they open again. “There ya are. Hey, talk to me sweetheart. What hurts?”
You whimper. “M-my thigh.”
“I’ve gotten that taken care of, it’ll stop hurting soon. What else?”
“My an-ankle.” Daryl nods, glancing down to your foot.
“Same leg?”
“Mhm.”
He slowly lets go of your hands, moving down to your feet and removing your shoe. He sees it now, red and swollen and angry. He’s incredibly gentle as he wraps that, too, and slips your shoe back on.
Your eyes keep drifting shut, and Daryl panics again. “Hey, hey. Keep lookin’ at me kiddo.” He rests his hand on your hair. “Feel that?” You nod. “Good. Hey, look. The stars are out. Help me count them, yeah?”
Your voice is shaky, and you’re confused as to why the big scary archer is counting stars with you, but then you realize you aren’t crying as hard. It’s getting easier to breathe, and your body is beginning to settle.
“Daryl?”
“Yeah?”
“‘M tired.” His eyes drift to yours.
“Sleepy tired or passing out tired.”
“Sleepy.” He nods once, then looks towards the vehicles.
“Lemme carry ya to the car. We’ll get you settled and you can sleep, yeah?” You nod weakly. Carefully, avoiding your injured leg as best he can, Daryl slides his arms under you and lifts you to his chest. He’s warm, and somehow his heartbeat underneath your ear calms you even further. He’s gentle as he lays you back in one of the cars. Carol finally returns with water, helping you drink before settling you back down. Your body still trembles with the after effects of adrenaline and pain, and Daryl can’t help but notice. Without thinking, he slides his vest off his shoulders and lays it on top of you. It won’t do much, he knows that, but it’s the thought that counts.
