Ok! Check this out! Here’s a little grump/sunshine, enemies to eventual lovers Daryl Dixon fanfic. Quickly written and not proofread but if you like it (and lemme know!) I’ll fix it up real nice. Enjoy!
DarylxFem!Reader, language I think. Some mutual pining. A little sexy. Hell I can’t remember. Minors beware.
“Daryl!”
Daryl’s shoulders tensed under the sweat-dampened shirt that clung to his broad back. Not because he didn’t like the sound of your voice.
Because he craved it.
It slid over his skin like warm honey, sweet and bright, wrapping around him in ways that pissed him off more than it should. It drifted across the quarry, calling to parts of him he didn’t even know existed until the first time you spoke to him.
He kept his head down, jaw locked tight. Maybe if he just ignored you you’d go back to where you belong—far the fuck away from him.
“Daryl!”
Your voice was closer now, dropping lower, a little breathless from jogging after his stubborn ass. He stopped and spun around with a mean scowl already twisting his mouth, eyes narrowing.
“What?”
You were still coming down the slope toward him, balancing a paper plate in both hands like a peace offering. The setting sun caught on the curve of your neck, the swell of your chest rising with each breath. That damn smile lit up your whole face—tired eyes turning warm, lips soft and inviting.
He hated that smile.
Hated how it made heat pool low in his gut every single time he saw it. Most people looked at him like he wasn’t worth the trouble—you looked at him like he was everything you’d ever wanted in this fucked up world.
“You missed dinner again.”
“Ain’t hungry.”
The lie was barely out before his stomach growled, loud and traitorous. The smell of fried fish hit him first, but quickly faded into your sun-warmed skin, faint soap, and something so damn sweet underneath it made his mouth water.
Your smile widened knowingly—and a little teasing. You loved catching the cute archer off guard, watching the flush of embarrassment light up the tips of his ears bright pink.
“Shut up.”
A laugh escaped you, the kind that made his eyes fall to the ground between you before coming back to focus on the sweat glistening at the hollow of your throat.
“I didn’t say anything.”
You held the plate out, stepping close enough he could see your pulse fluttering under the delicate skin just below your ear.
“Here.” Your voice dropped lower as Daryl glanced at the fish and beans on the plate. Probably one of the last decent meals anyone would have for a while.
“Give it to one of the kids.” He grumbled, taking a step away from you.
“They’ve already ate.”
His blue eyes narrowed as they lifted to yours while you nudged the plate closer like you were trying to convince some stray dog not to bite.
“Give it to somebody else then,” He growled. “I ain’t your damn charity case.”
“Daryl—“
He snatched the plate out of your hands hard enough that the beans slid to the dirt, causing you to startle as you stepped back from him quickly. Then that stupid smile was back.
Like he hadn’t just been rude as hell.
Somehow that made him even madder because he didn’t have any business being an asshole toward you. You were the only person in this fucked up camp that didn’t look at him and his brother like they were trash.
He didn’t want to snap at you every time you braved the tree line to show him an ounce of kindness—but he had no idea how to talk to you like a decent human being.
Not when you made his blood run hot every time you looked at him.
So he did what he did best.
“Tastes like shit.” He growled around a bite of over cooked fish, eyes still glaring despite your smile only spreading across your pretty face.
“I didn’t cook it.” You assured him, searching his eyes as he took another bite.
Daryl chewed harder than he needed to, jaw working fast. The fish was actually decent—better than the crap him and Merle usually scavenged—but admitting that felt too much like letting you in. Instead his gaze dragged down your body against his will, memorizing the way your thin tank top clung to your waist from the humidity as you stood there like you had all the patience in the world for his bullshit.
He shoved another bite in his mouth, eyes still locked with yours as he forced the plate back into your hands. You watched him lick at his fingertips, letting your eyes fall to his lips as they smacked against the digits aggressively—waiting for him to say something.
Thank you.
Fuck off.
“Go back to camp,” He finally muttered, wiping his hands on his jeans as he turned away like you weren’t even worth the breath it took to say the words. “Ain’t nothin’ out here for you.”
Daryl didn’t wait for your reply, boots digging into the dirt as he stalked through the trees, shoulders rigid, crossbow strap cutting into the tense muscle along his back. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal—fear licking its way up his spine. He was terrified you’d actually believe him this time—that the light in those beautiful eyes would finally dim and you’d stop looking at him like he was worth the trouble.
~~~
His brother went missing two days later.
Except Merle wasn’t really missing—this new guy—Rick, knew exactly where the fuck he’d left him.
Handcuffed to a roof in the blazing Atlanta heat, surrounded by walkers. Merle’d cut off his own hand to escape certain death and now Daryl didn’t know if the only family he had left was dead or dying—or out there roaming the city as one of these dead fucks.
He couldn’t leave him like that.
A pop of a thin branch under heavy boots lifted his eyes slowly, back pressed hard against a thick oak a little ways from camp, knees drawn up, crossbow resting beside him like a sleeping dog. His arms rested on his knees, hands dangling between them, fingers stained with dirt and someone else’s blood.
He watched you step into the quiet clearing without a word, unable to deliver his usual scowl as you took a seat beside him—careful not to get too close. The group was scattered, licking their wounds and pretending they weren’t waiting for the next horror.
Shane was strutting around with I told you so on his lips while they buried Ed and Amy. The silence stretched, heavy and oddly comfortable. You watched the last light bleed out of the sky while he picked at the dirt under his nails, jaw tight.
“I’m sorry about Merle.” You murmured, mostly to yourself—knowing he wouldn’t welcome the concern but unable to sit there and pretend your heart wasn’t hurting for him anyway. Merle was… an acquired taste to say the least… but that didn’t mean you thought what Rick and the others did was right.
You watched Daryl spit into the dirt between his feet before his voice came, low and gravel-rough.
“Tough bastard cut his own damn hand off just to get free.” He muttered to the dirt with the shake of his head. “That’s my brother thought, too stubborn to die easy—too mean to live quiet.” His shoulders slumped a fraction, the fight draining out of him for once. “I ain’t got nobody else left. Just me. It’s always just me.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy with everything he’d never said to anyone. You didn’t push. You just sat there beside him, close enough that your knee brushed his, letting him feel seen without demanding anything back.
After another loaded moment Daryl pushed himself up with a grunt, watching you rise with him—slower, like you were afraid any sudden move might spook him.
The last of the sun had bled away, leaving everything in cool shadows and the distant crackle of the camp’s fire. Tomorrow the group was headed back to the city—to the CDC in hopes they could find some help for Jim, who’d been bit during the struggle last night—but tonight… you stepped closer.
Your hand lifted slowly, giving him time to pull away. Surprising you when he didn’t. Your palm settled against his chest first—right over the worn fabric of his shirt, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palm. The touch was gentle but the way your fingers spread, pressing just enough to feel the solid wall of him, sent a spark straight through his chest. Your other hand rose to his jaw, thumb brushing the scruff there, tracing the tense line like you wanted to memorize every sharp edge.
You looked at him like you could see straight through his facade to the man underneath all that hurt.
“Daryl…” You breathed, eyes locked on his. Your body leaned in, chest nearly brushing his as your fingers slid up into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. The scent of you—warm and sweet—wrapped around him as your thumb stroked along his jaw again, slower this time, while your palm stayed pressed to his racing heart like you were trying to calm the wild thing inside him.
It was too much.
Too good.
Heat flooded through every cell in his body, stealing his breath as his hands fisted at his sides to keep from touching you. He had no right to touch you. For one second, he let himself lean into it, eyes dropping to your mouth.
Then the switch flipped.
The vulnerability cracked open something ugly and terrified inside him. His hand shot up, grabbing your wrist hard enough to make you gasp then he shoved you away from him roughly, forcing your back into the biting bark of the tree behind you. In the same motion he jabbed his finger right in front of your face, eyes narrowing as something ugly and familiar bubbled in his throat.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” He snarled, blue eyes blazing with self-loathing. “You hear me? I don’t need your pity. Don’t need your soft little touches or your fuckin’ smiles. You think you can fix me? Save the poor redneck? Fuck that. You’re just another dumb bitch who’s gonna get herself killed sticking her nose where it don’t belong.”
You flinched hard, eyes wide with hurt as you watched his chest heave with it. The warmth drained from your face so fast it made his stomach twist, but the meanness poured out anyway, sharp and deliberate, because it was easier than admitting how badly he wanted you.
Daryl turned on his heels before you could respond, boots pounding into the dirt as he stormed off into the trees. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles ached—heart slamming in his chest where you’d touched him. Rage—at himself, at Merle, at this whole fucked up life—burned through him like wildfire.
He’d made sure you’d finally seen him for what he was—mean, broken—unloveable—and the worst part? He already hated himself for it.
~~~
That night, sleep wouldn’t come.
Daryl lay on his back in the cramped tent Carol had given him when they first showed up, one heavy arm slung over his eyes, the other fisted tight at his side. The Georgia heat clung to everything, turning the air inside the small space into something thick and suffocating.
Or maybe it was just the memory of you pressed against him earlier—your palm on his chest, fingers in his hair—that soft voice saying his name like a prayer. His cock was rock hard, throbbing against the rough denim of his jeans despite trying to ignore it—jaw locked, reminding himself he was just a piece of shit asshole who didn’t deserve you.
He lifted his arm as the tent flap opened, watching you slip inside without a word—the zipper’s quiet rasp cutting through the heavy silence. Your body filled the tight space carefully, knees brushing his thighs as you crawled in. The air turned thick with shared heat, warm skin, and that sweet scent that always drove him crazy.
Daryl sat up fast. “Thought I told you to stay the hell away from me, girl.” He growled, voice gravel-rough but it cracked on the last word, betraying the hunger clawing at him. His eyes dropped straight to your mouth, watching your lips part softly as you breathed him in while moving closer—swinging one leg over his until you were straddling his lap completely. The position forced your bodies flush together in the tiny tent—your thighs squeezing his hips, the heat of your core pressing right down against the thick, aching bulge in his jeans.
Your hands came up exactly like they had earlier—one palm settling firmly over his chest, fingers spreading wide to feel the frantic hammer of his heart beneath the worn fabric. The other carded into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, threading through the strands and tugging lightly.
You didn’t kiss him—just pressed so damn close that your forehead touched his, noses brushing, hot breath mingling in the sliver of space between your mouths. He could taste the sweetness of it—hands hovering at your sides, trembling with the need to grab you.
He didn’t know how to touch something this good without ruining it.
“Do you really want me to stay away, Daryl?” You finally whispered, voice breathy against his lips as your weight settled against him, hips rolling slow—grinding down as his breath caught with a groan. “You’re so hard—feels like you want me to stay right here.”
Daryl’s hands finally settled on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to feel the give of your skin through your shirt. He wanted to pull you harder against him, to slide his palms up your bare back, taste the sweat at the hollow of your throat—but he held back, breathing you in like he was drowning. Your forehead stayed pressed to his, eyes half-lidded as you looked at him through your lashes.
“You don’t have to keep pushing me away,” You breathed, lips ghosting over his again, so close he could feel their softness. “I see the good in you, Daryl Dixon. Let me take care of you.”
His grip tightened on your waist, hips jerking up once to meet your slow grind as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in the cramped, heated space—
Daryl jolted awake with a sharp gasp, bolting upright in the empty tent. His chest heaved, skin drenched in sweat, heart pounding like he’d just run through a horde. He raked both hands roughly over his face, dragging them through his damp hair as he tried to catch his breath. The dream still clung to him—the weight of you in his lap, the brush of your lips, those breathy murmurs that had him aching for everything you offered.
“Fuck.” He muttered hoarsely, eyes squeezed shut. He could still smell you. Still feel the ghost of your hands on his chest and in his hair. Morning light was already starting to creep under the tent flap, and the group would be heading out for the CDC soon.
Daryl dropped his head back against the canvas with a frustrated groan, willing the ache in his chest to fade.
~~~
The CDC felt like another world.
Hot water. Clean clothes. Full stomachs. For the first time since the dead started walking everyone’s shoulders eased just an inch.
Lingering laughter spilled down the sterile halls.
Jenner kept refilling glasses, and somehow everyone kept drinking.
Even Daryl.
You watched him from across the table, unable to look away. His cheeks were flushed, those sharp blue eyes hazy with wine. He slouched in his chair, one heavy boot hooked on the rung, actually laughing—deep, rough, unguarded—at something Glenn said. The sound rolled through you like thunder, low and warm, settling heavy between your thighs.
For once he looked… peaceful. Almost relaxed. Worn flannel shirt stretched across his broad chest, sleeves ripped off to show his corded forearms. You wanted to climb into his lap right there and feel that rare laugh vibrate against your mouth.
His gaze lifted slowly, eyes locking on yours.
The smirk on his face died instantly—something darker flickering in its place. God, he was beautiful—even when he was prickly or yelling in your face—there was good inside of him.
You looked away before Daryl could ruin the image you painted of him in your mind.
Again.
Once the wine went dry you decided to call it a night, moving through the narrow hallway to the room you’d chosen earlier. You turned another corner and walked straight into a solid wall of muscle and heat.
“Shit—” Daryl’s voice was gravel-rough, thick with wine and something else as your hands landed on his chest to steady yourself. God, he was warm. You could feel his heartbeat slamming under your palms, fast and panicked.
He didn’t step back.
Neither did you.
“Sorry,” You whispered, but it came out quick—startled. The last time you spoke to him he told you to stay the fuck away from him and here you were with your hands still on his chest. “I think I’m lost.”
Daryl’s eyes dropped to yours, then lower—tracing the way your lips parted with a soft exhale. The half-empty wine bottle hung forgotten at his side.
“Yeah,” He muttered. “Me too.”
The air between you thickened. Hot and electric. Just the distant hum of the building and the sound of your breathing.
“You’re drunk.” You whispered, pressing closer to steal away some of his warmth.
“Not hardly.” His voice had gone dangerously low, free hand coming up slow, bracing on the wall beside your head, caging you in without touching. The heat rolling off his body made you visibly shiver. You tilted your face up, close enough to smell wine and smoke and that wild, masculine scent that was pure Daryl. Close enough that your breasts brushed his chest.
“Daryl…” His name left your lips like a plea, watching his jaw clench so tight the muscle jumped. Eyes dark, pupils blown. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard.
Then he moved.
His hand slid to your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise as he walked you backward until your back hit the cool wall. A gasp slipped out of you as his hips followed, pressing in until you felt the thick, heavy line of him grinding slow and deliberate against your lower belly.
“Fuck,” He growled under his breath, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel that?”
You whimpered softly, nodding, hips rolling up to meet the slow grind of his. The friction made heat pool slick and aching between your legs, hands fisting against the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer. One of his thighs pushed between yours, pressing right against your core—the pressure dragging a broken moan from your throat.
His mouth hovered over yours—barely an inch away. You could almost taste him. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into soft flesh as he rocked against you again, harder this time, letting you feel every inch of how badly his body wanted you.
Your hand slid up, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. His other hand finally touched you—rough palm dragging up your side, thumb brushing against your waist. For one dizzy, perfect second, his lips parted like he was finally going to kiss you.
Claim you.
Ruin you right there against the CDC wall.
Then his whole body went rigid.
Reality slammed back in.
He shoved away from you violently, chest heaving—hands clenched into fists at his sides like he didn’t trust them anymore.
“You still don’t fuckin’ get it,” He snapped, voice raw and cracking. His eyes were narrowed—furious at himself more than you. “I don’t give a fuck about you—don’t need you out here fuckin’ up my head! Gettin’ me killed!”
The words sliced deep.
You stared at him, chest still rising fast, lips tingling from how close he’d been. He wouldn’t look at you now—eyes fixed on the floor.
You swallowed the burn in your throat and nodded once.
“Okay.”
This time your smile was small.
Sad.
You turned and walked away without looking back. Daryl stayed frozen in the hallway long after your footsteps faded, back pressed to the opposite wall, chest hollow.
He’d finally pushed you too far—and it felt like the worst mistake of his fucking life.