The Way to a Man’s Heart Is Through His Stomach
Your are a great cook and he's and excelent hunter. It that's not a match made in heaven, then what is? Profesionally, of course. Only profesionally, because there's no way in the world Daryl Dixon would admit that he brings you a dead animal every other day just to have an excuse to look at you.
╰⪼ Daryl Dixon x fem!reader / season 5, Alexandria ╰⪼ Word Count: 3 k ╰⪼ Warnings: none, it's a fluff ╰⪼ Masterlist
The idea for this one came to me randomly. It's short and sweet, I hope you'll like it. Also, it's a small devider in the whole Kinkmas series.
You glanced over the raw meat lying on the counter and smiled broadly at the man standing awkwardly in the doorway, as if he wasn't sure what he was even doing there. As if he was preparing to retreat and flee at any second, in case the room wants to suck him in and swallow. To some extent, you had already gotten used to his unusual behaviour and the peculiar expression he made when you thanked him for something—as if he couldn't believe you could thank him for anything; as if he thought you were making fun of him. He never looked you straight in the eye, always trying to look anywhere but at you, but he still showed up quite often. At least twice a week to be exact, and always during your shift. He brought meat and always stayed for a few minutes, as if, despite his scepticism, he needed to hear that someone was grateful to him for it.
“That's a large piece,” you said with appreciation in your voice, wiping your hands on a clean towel as you turned to face him. “It’ll feed a lot of people. Thank you, Daryl.”
He grunted, nodding his head in a “you're welcome” gesture, and looked around the kitchen where you worked. It was a large room, filled with supplies and kitchen utensils—literally everything a professional chef would need. Except there was no professional chef there. You were the closest thing the residents of Alexandria had to one, so you always tried your best to prepare meals for everyone. It wasn't that they couldn't do it themselves in their homes, but they worked hard all day, and you wanted to feel needed. Besides, you liked cooking for them, and they liked your food. It was a win-win situation.
“Would you like something to eat?” you asked, tilting your head to one side, but before you could suggest anything specific, he muttered:
“Nah, gotta go.”
And so, it was like that every single time. He would show up without a word, bringing with him the scent of the woods and cigarettes, dragging some dead animal on his shoulder, never wanting anything, and leaving before his silence could weigh down the air. One moment he was there, and the next, his heavy boots were thudding on the wooden floor in the hallway. You sighed but didn't say a word. When he did it for the first time, you tried to stop him, but it quickly became obvious that he wasn't the type of person who liked small talk. He did his job well, bringing his hunts to the kitchen, but that was it. He never said anything about himself, never tried to strike up a casual conversation, but as long as he was nice, you didn't mind. Besides, he didn't have to hunt. It was just his thing, and you had only mentioned once that you could make a great use out of a deer. You didn't think much of it until three days later when he came into the kitchen with a skinned deer and asked where to put it. From that day on, he always brought something back from his runs, even if it was just a small rabbit.
This time it was a deer again.
“I think Caveman has a serious crush on you, girl,” you heard and burst out laughing. It wasn't the first time the girls you worked with had mentioned it to you, but your reaction was always the same.
“Can you guys stop that already?”
“He brings you dead animals and acts like a lovesick teenager when you talk to him.”
You sighed, looking at her with amusement written all over your face. What a strange thing to say, really.
“He brings me dead animals, and you're saying he's got a crush on me?”
She shrugged, looking between you and the meat, you planned to turn into stew later, and smirked.
“There's a reason we call him Caveman. He behaves like one.”
“By the way,” you said, pointing at her with a spoon. “You really need to stop with this whole Caveman shit. It's offensive.”
“It's not offensive. Come on, tell me he doesn't act like that.”
You sighed and closed your eyes for a moment. If you were being honest, he did act that way, but that didn't give the girls the right to call him that. He was just a little quirky, even shy, but he was a good person. You saw how he helped people, how he protected them. He didn't deserve to be called “Caveman.”
“Stop it, I'm serious,” you said, reaching for your sharpest knife and waving it in the air. “And I mean everything.”
“You mean that he has a crush on you and you show it by bringing you his hunts every time he comes back into the town?”
The look on your face when you heard those words made her shut her mouth for the rest of the day, but you knew it was only temporary. They giggled and whispered every time Daryl walked into the kitchen, but you always tried to brush it off. There was no need to make the man feel more uncomfortable than he already did.
Well, if only you knew that this was actually a real matter, because Daryl Dixon, although he would obviously deny it, had had a crush on you you since the day he met you. Of course, he didn't realize it at the time. You were just nice to listen to. You didn't babble nonsense like most of the girls in Alexandria, and you had strong opinions on topics that people tried not to talk about. You weren't afraid to talk about the dangers of the outside world, and you didn't act as if they didn't exist just because you were safe within the walls. You were the first person he met there who openly admitted that Deana's belief in a better future was naive. This made him look at you a little differently, and then he realized that you were also very nice to look at. Besides, your cooking was heavenly.
When he first brought you the deer, he did it because he was thinking of the other people who, like him, enjoyed your food. They would surely want to eat more of it, and since you said you knew how to make it taste good, he had to hunt one. For the people. Seeing you was just a little bonus that he didn't even focus on. He would never do something like that just to get you to notice him. Or smile at him. Or appreciate him. No, that would be silly, right? He didn't do things like that.
But he came back, even if you didn't ask him to, because somehow, whenever he was outside the walls, some animal would appear in his path, and he always ended up hunting it. Then, what else could he do with it? Well, he could cook it himself, as he always did, but you could do it much better. And you always made him feel seen, with your broad smile and eyes that never left his face when he was there. You always said nice things, always asked if he wanted something to eat. With each passing day, he melted more and more, unsure of what to do with all these new, strange feelings he felt in his chest and stomach. There was burning, there was tingling, there was jumping, clenching and shaking. Trembling. Heart beating too fast. Breath hitching in his lungs. His body was clearly shutting down for some reason he wasn't ready to accept yet, and it always made him run out of the kitchen before he could look you in the eye. He had called himself an idiot too many times in his mind. You were just a person. Another woman he didn't intend to get to know in the slightest. Another episode in his life before everything went to hell again.
So why did he regret leaving so quickly every time? Why did he feel he should turn around and come back? And then say something to you? Anything? And why, whenever you were somewhere nearby, did he feel the need to escape? His own thoughts tormented him. There were too many of them and at the same time too many unknowns. They tormented him. He didn't understand why him. Why, after so long without such nonsense in his life, his mind decided to rebel against him. He had never fallen in love with anyone. He didn't need anyone. He had himself and that was enough for him... or so he thought, because for some time he felt that something was missing. As if there was a void in his heart that desperately needed to be filled, and your presence had something to do with it.
So, three days after you cooked the most delicious stew he had ever eaten in his entire life, he brought you another deer.
“Oh my,” you sighed as you saw him walk into the kitchen with an even larger portion of raw meat on a random Wednesday afternoon. You were busy baking a cake and cookies for one of the children's birthday party when he managed to get your full attention. You put the rolling pin down on the counter and bit your lower lip, trying to keep from smiling. He didn't even say a word. He just put the dead, skinned animal on the counter and looked around as if he had never seen the kitchen before. And he saw it quite often.
“I guess you really liked that stew, huh?” you joked, moving closer—close enough to see the blush appearing on his scruffy cheeks.
“People liked it,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. Was he blushing because that's just how he was, shy and nervous around people in general, or was it because of you? Maybe he was shy and nervous only in your presence?
“Did you like it?” you asked, taking another step and stopping on the opposite side of the counter. It was just a simple question, nothing more, but it seemed to make him even more nervous.
He looked at you and quickly looked away.
“’S good,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders, and you smiled, chuckling quietly.
“Then I'll make more.”
He swallowed, glancing at your face again so quickly, like it could burn him. Yes, you were definitely very nice to look at, it was just difficult for him to look at you when you were looking at him. Especially when you had that smile on your face that made the skin at the outer corners of your eyes wrinkle and dimples appear on your cheeks. He wasn't a very talkative person, but in your presence, he forgot even the few words he usually used. He felt like a complete idiot standing there, unable to say anything to you. It wasn't that he wanted to say anything specific, he just wanted to strike up a conversation. About anything. He wanted to show you that he was… normal. That he wasn’t some freak who kept bringing you dead animals.
He noticed the flour smeared all over your sweater. Here's a topic of conversation.
“Ya bakin’?” he asked, pointing to the stain, and you smiled even wider and nodded.
“There's a birthday party tomorrow,” you said, glancing at the table where another batch of cookies was ready to go into the oven. “I think the first batch is ready. Would you like to try one?”
Without waiting for an answer, you moved, grabbing your oven mitts and you crouched in front of the oven. He wanted to refuse, he really did, but he lost himself in thought as he watched you carefully taking the baking tray out. It was his first time in the kitchen while you were busy with your own things, and he could get a better look at you. And he was terrified to discover that he liked what he saw.
“Here you go,” you said, completely unaware of the intensity of his gaze, and placed the baking sheet on the cutting board, gesturing for him to come closer. “It's hot, be careful.”
His legs were weak and trembling as he approached you uncertainly. He was only supposed to bring the deer, maybe gather his courage and say a few words, but nothing more. He wasn’t supposed to stick around and try your cookies. He wasn’t supposed to smell the scent of vanilla on you. He wasn’t supposed to feel like he was going to die just because your lips were stretched out in the brightest smile.
“I don't bite, Daryl,” you said, watching him approach you at a painfully slow pace, and if possible, he blushed even more. If he were one of your friends, you would probably joke that you don't bite unless someone asks you to, but you had a feeling that Daryl would run away if he heard that. Even if it was just a joke. And for all that matter, you were right. He would run. So, instead of chattering, you grabbed one of the cookies through the clean piece of baking paper and handed it to him before he could make up his mind to turn around and leave.
“Try it and tell me what you think.”
“’M not much of a sweets guy,” he muttered, but he took the cookie from you, raised it to his mouth, and took a bite.
Maybe you were looking at him too intently, or maybe the cookie was just too hot, but the way his face changed colour from bright red to crimson was almost poetic.
“Well?” you asked, smiling at him in a way that made him think of so many things he'd never thought of before that he almost choked. Suddenly, he wanted to reach out and wipe the flour from your forehead. He wanted to come closer and breathe in the scent of vanilla and chocolate that emanated from you. He wanted to lean in and kiss the dimple in your cheek.
“’S good,” he mumbled, swallowing. “Very good.”
The cookie melted in his mouth, and he immediately decided that he had never eaten anything so good in his life. He may not have been a sweets guy, but he could definitely be a cookies guy. Your cookies, in particular.
“I'm glad you think so,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek. Watching him closely, you noticed for the first time how intensely blue his eyes were. They sparkled in the warm light of the setting sun streaming through the open windows. His whole face seemed to soften in that scenery, his expression no longer seemed so distant, and his jaw relaxed. Even his stubble looked less scruffy. And his hair... You frowned, paying too much attention to his hair, which didn't go unnoticed, but you couldn't help yourself. It was shinier than usual, less sweaty and sticky. He had washed it.
“What?” he asked in a low voice, dangerously close to a growl. You could feel the vibrations running down your spine.
“You look good,” you blurted out before you could bite your tongue, and as soon as the words slipped out of your mouth, your cheeks grew hotter and flushed slightly. You were a very direct person, but this seemed to cross certain boundaries even for you.
His blue eyes darted toward you and almost pierced your skull, causing your breath to catch in your lungs. You almost took a step back, feeling the intensity of his gaze embracing your body, caging you in place. You had never thought about it before, but Daryl was freakishly handsome, and the realization hit you in the gut so suddenly, you couldn’t believe you haven’t seen that before.
“I… I’m sorry,” you chuckled awkwardly and raised your hand to your hair, wrapping your thick braid around your fingers—something you always did for comfort, usually completely unconsciously—and his eyes followed the movement.
“Fer what?”
Jesus, his voice tingled that soft spot in your body that you thought had died with your old life when the pandemic broke out.
“I...” You stumbled over your words, feeling more and more embarrassed with every passing second. When was the last time a man made you want the earth to open up and swallow you whole? You couldn't even remember. And the fact that you had known Daryl for some time and had never paid much attention to him caught you off guerd, because why did your heart suddenly start beating faster and your stomach start to contract and jump? You didn't know what to do with your hands.
Daryl, on the other hand, couldn't stop his lips from curling up slightly. You blushed. You stuttered. You played with your hair and avoided his gaze at all costs. He never thought this would happen, you were always so talkative, cheerful, and confident, but now... You behaved just like he did.
He took a shaky breath and swallowed, then said:
“Ya look good too.”
You looked up, and your gaze almost knocked him off his feet, but he overcame the feeling, not wanting to back away now.
“Ya always do.”
And then, before he could say something he would later regret, he smiled at you one last time and headed for the door, holding a half-eaten cookie in his hand. Only when he reached the threshold did he look back.
“Lemme know if ya need me to hunt down anythin’ else next time.”
“Could you hunt down some more baking powder?” you asked, pressing your lips together to suppress the annoyingly sweet smile that was appearing on your face. “I'm almost out.”
He nodded, a playful spark flickering through his eyes.
“I'll see what I can do.”
He left, leaving you alone with a storm of thoughts raging in your head. You leaned against the counter and giggled, shaking your head in amusement. Maybe the girls were right after all. Maybe Daryl Dixon really did have a crush on you. And maybe, just maybe, you were slowly starting to develop a crush on him too.
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