She/Her | I’m a 24 year old with a 9 year old’s taste in food and a 90 year old’s taste in activities | I am now accepting requests | Feel free to send me asks or messages | Masterlist
sorry to send in two requests but if you've got the time Luke Patterson x reader where she is his tutor for English or something and he develops a crush, so even when he understands the stuff she's teaching him he pretends to be confused so that the tutoring sessions last longer. And then one day he gets a good grade and she's proud of him but that means the sessions are over so he builds up the courage to ask her out? You can put this at the bottom of the list or not even write it because I know how swamped your requests get, but ily.
do not apologize for two requests!! my blog exists for you!! and jatp s2 may be dead but my feelings for that show are not. xoxo
masterlist
Luke Patterson is currently fighting a one-man war against his English class, and he is losing. Badly. This was not supposed to be his problem class, he was thinking the biggest struggle would be math or science, but surprise surprise, there’s no such thing as a class you can just skate through. He tried to skate through English. He tried really, really hard, but instead of Spark Notes-ing his way through whatever classic book they threw his way, Luke’s staring at a bright red D on his latest essay.
This would happen to be the most recent essay they were assigned, the one Luke pushed off until the last minute because he was too invested in getting some good songs down on paper. He hadn’t meant to procrastinate, he never does, it’s just that whenever Luke had a spare hour or two, it’s always far more tempting to head out to the studio and mess around with some chord progressions than to do homework.
This essay had gone just like all the other ones so far this year. The book had been assigned, the essay followed not soon after, and Luke told himself that he was going to start it on time for a change. The only problem was that he came home late that day after a shift at his job, so he couldn’t start it that day, and then he was studying for a test the next day, and after that he was working on songs. Before he knew it, it was the night before and he was speed writing to get everything down in time. Luke doesn’t even think he had time to proofread before turning in that mess.
So yeah, he shouldn’t really be surprised about this grade in particular. Still, he isn’t pleased about it. He doesn’t want to see the look on his parents’ face when he dodges another question about his grades, nor listen to all the other kids in his class talk about how easy that essay prompt was. Everything just makes him feel worse.
And, if Luke’s day couldn’t get any better, his English teacher pulls him aside after class to talk about it.
“I noticed your last few assignments haven’t been going as expected,” she says sympathetically, “is there anything you want to tell me about that?”
There’s a lot Luke wants to tell her, such as the fact that this class is dry as a saltine and twice as bland. They’ve spent the last few classes just going over social hierarchies around the time when the book was written, talk about boring. If Luke wanted to study history, he’d read a textbook.
He can’t say all that without damaging his final grade even more, though, so Luke plasters on a grin and does his best impression of an earnest student who’s just had a bad string of luck. “Not really, I’ve just been so busy recently that I didn’t have enough time to really ponder the prompt, you know?”
Usually, this is Luke’s best strategy for getting out of these kinds of nonsense conferences. He’ll whip out a few key words like ‘time commitments’ and whatnot and his teachers will fall for it every time.
He might have done this too often, though, because his teacher just nods and refuses to let him go. “That makes sense to me. Do you think it would help to spend a little more time exploring the prompt or connecting the book to the essay topics?”
“Sure,” Luke says vaguely. He’s only half paying attention; he just saw Reggie outside the door mouthing the words what did you do?? as dramatically as he could.
The teacher looks pleased by this. “That’s what I thought. I’ve gone ahead and signed you up for some tutoring sessions, you’ll start this afternoon after school.”
Luke blinks. “Wait, what?” Clearly, he hasn’t been paying attention nearly enough. Since when was tutoring on the table?
The teacher spreads her hands. “You need a little more help and organization to stay on track. Tutoring is the perfect answer to this.”
“Is it?” Luke asks feebly.
“Absolutely,” the teacher decides, and that’s that. Luke tries to wheedle his way out of it through repetition of how busy he is, like, all the time, but it doesn’t matter. She’s caught him in a half-lie and there’s nothing he can do to avoid it.
Reggie’s waiting for Luke outside the door when he finally leaves. “What happened in there?”
“Pure misery,” Luke groans, and contemplates giving himself a concussion by ‘accidentally’ falling down the stairs so he can go home without having to go to tutoring.
Unfortunately, Reggie enlists Alex in keeping Luke free of head trauma, and so he finds himself in an empty classroom later that afternoon, mournfully watching all of the other students leave the school with no doubt wonderful plans awaiting them.
Luke’s just starting to wonder if his tutor isn’t going to show up after all (after fifteen minutes, he’s legally allowed to leave, right) when someone slides into the seat in front of him.
“Sorry about being late,” they gasp, “I just found out I was doing this like ten minutes ago.”
Luke breaks his desolate stare out the window to glance at his tutor and instantly, he feels the crushing weight of shame bear down on him tenfold. It would have been one thing to have a total stranger be his tutor, someone Luke could avoid looking at in the hallways and never speak to again, but he knows this girl. More importantly, he’s thought she was cute for at least the last four years.
This is the worst case scenario, then. Y/N L/N is smart, she’s pretty, and judging by the fact that Luke always sees her in a group of friends laughing at her jokes, she’s funny, too. Definitely someone Luke would want to impress through gigs or shows instead of, say, his crumbling English grades.
“I’m Y/N,” she says, and Luke realizes that she’s probably been waiting for him to say something. Great, he can’t even introduce himself properly.
“Luke,” he answers, “but you probably knew that already.”
Y/N laughs, and judging by the slightly manic tone behind it, she’s just about as composed about the whole thing as he is. That makes him settle slightly in his chair, lowering his guard. “I was told that I would be tutoring you when I was trying to leave class. Ms. Brown pulled me aside when the bell rang and told me about it.”
“That makes two of us,” Luke grumbles.
The corners of Y/N’s lips quirk up before she manages to tamp them down again, and if Luke weren’t totally out of his mind, he might even say that Y/N has the same attitude towards their English teacher as he does. That would certainly make this whole tutoring experience a lot more interesting.
“So,” she says, clearing her throat in an attempt to sound official, “you wanted to talk about essay pointers, right?”
Luke starts to say something about how he didn’t want any of this, actually, but Y/N arches a brow and he relents. “Yeah, essay stuff. The last one didn’t go over too hot.”
Y/N tilts her head to the side, contemplating this. “Did you agree with her grading?”
“Yeah,” Luke admits, “she wasn’t wrong to mark me down, I kind of did it the night before in one sitting.”
Y/N frowns. “Really? Why’d you put it off so long? I thought you liked writing. Whenever I see you, you’re always jotting something down in that notebook of yours.”
Luke grins. “You’ve been watching me? That’s creepy, you know.” He’s obviously holding back a laugh, though, so the comment has no trace of a barb.
Y/N rolls her eyes, although her face looks a little hot at the moment. “Just answer the question.”
“Alright,” he says, hands raised in mock surrender, “you’re right, I do like writing.”
“Then why wait until the last minute to do the essay? I mean, I get not having a ton of time to work on assignments, but if you really do enjoy writing, it shouldn’t be all that bad, right?”
Luke groans. “ This is different. It’s not fun writing,” he tries to excuse himself.
It sounds bad even to him. Already, Luke can see how this is going to play out– she’ll laugh at him, maybe, say that someone who just got a grade like him can’t possibly be thinking about writing and fun in any way at all. She doesn’t, though. Instead, she nods and smiles at him. A real smile. Not mocking in any way.
“What is fun writing, then?” She asks.
Luke blinks in surprise. “Well, writing songs is fun, I guess,” he stammers, “stuff that actually matters, you know? All these essays are the exact same, but songs are all different. That’s why I care about them and not some pointless paper.”
Y/N nods. “That makes sense to me. So you release music, right?”
Luke isn’t sure where she’s going with this, but he’s perfectly happy to talk about music instead of that offensive red scribble all over his paper, so he plays along. “Yeah, me and my band. We try to, at least.”
“Have you ever gotten a review that bothered you? Not because they didn’t like it, but because they disliked your songs for the wrong reason? Like you had a whole story in mind for your album but the critics just ignored it?” She prompts him.
“Yeah,” Luke says, eyes widening with irritation, “Man, it’s so annoying. You go to all the trouble of writing out these ideas, and you make them have a really good meaning, too, and then it’s like they never read it at all. It makes me so mad sometimes, I want to write a column or something in response about how they totally missed my point.”
“Like, say, an argumentative essay about the real strengths of your chosen piece of writing?” Y/N says as casually as she can.
Luke’s about to argue and say that’s not like this at all, but on second thought, it is. It totally is. “Wait, you’re right. I never thought about it like that, but you’re right. Y/N L/N,” he decides on the spot, “I really like you.”
She grins back at him. “Luke Patterson, I like you too.”
That settles it for him. Luke had been annoyed at the thought of having to suffer through tutoring beforehand, but maybe he’ll be alright with it now. Y/N isn’t a part of the oppressive legion of teachers all conniving to make his life a living hell because he wants to be a musician instead of a doctor or a banker, she’s on his side. That makes it all better somehow.
And, unsurprisingly, it is better. Luke actually ends up having a really good time in his tutoring sessions with Y/N. They don’t feel like tutoring at all, more like a chance to hang out with a friend. They talk about Jane Austen and tell awesome jokes, read Shakespeare and spend more and more time together. Luke knows this is only a temporary thing until his grades get back up, but it’s too easy to forget that.
Until, one day, it isn’t. His English teacher hands back an essay with a bright red ‘A’ marked on the front, and tells him that she’s proud of all the progress he’s made so quickly. Instead of a sigh of relief, the only thing escaping Luke’s lips is a desolate sigh. After all, if Luke’s improved to this point, that kind of means his tutoring sessions will be over, right?
Y/N doesn’t know that, though. Y/N doesn’t have access to his grades. All she knows is what Luke tells her, and if informing her of his latest essay win means she’ll stop seeing him after school, why should Luke let slip a single syllable?
So, later that day, when Y/N asks him how the latest essay went, Luke shrugs and pretends to be disappointed. “I’d hoped for more,” he says, “she, uh, didn’t like my commentary.”
“Really?” Y/N questions, frowning slightly, “I thought you were really good at that.”
Luke’s eyes widen, caught in a lie. “Who knows with teachers, right?” He laughs weakly.
Y/N pretends to shudder. “I know, right? I feel like half of your grade is literally just how much she likes you. English classes are always so subjective.”
“Subjective?” Luke asks, grinning and propping his chin up on his hand, “Tell me about that.”
Y/N laughs. “Only if you promise we’ll talk Jane Eyre immediately afterwards. Immediately.”
“I so swear,” Luke intones, holding up his right hand with all the solemnity of a president being sworn into office.
Y/N swats him on the shoulder with her notebook, but she obliges, and maybe they don’t talk about Jane immediately. Maybe they laugh a little longer than usual. And maybe, just maybe, Luke thinks that he’s perfectly fine with obscuring the truth if it means he can have more of this when he needs it the most.
The truth, unfortunately, has a habit of making itself heard regardless of who is inclined to hide it. Luke comes into their usual study spot in the library one day to see Y/N waiting for him, not already in her seat like normal but standing tentatively at the side.
He frowns, slinging his backpack down on the ground and pulling up a chair. “Everything alright? You look like you’re about to run. If you’ve got something planned, we can do this another day.”
Y/N shakes her head slightly. “No, I’m free all day.”
Luke gestures towards the table. “Then sit down, my legs are getting tired just looking at you. We’ve got stuff to study, don’t we?”
“Well, that’s what I was going to ask about,” Y/N says, “Ms. Brown stopped me after class today, said she had someone else she wanted me to tutor. I said I was already booked with you and she was confused. Apparently you’ve been doing just fine for quite some time.”
Luke feels his breath catch in his throat. This is not how he’d wanted Y/N to find out. For what must be the hundredth time this year, Luke sends out a silent curse to all meddlesome English teachers.
“Yeah,” he says as carefully as he can, “I have, but only because of your expert tutoring. It’s like antibiotics, you know? You don’t stop taking ‘em when you start feeling better, only when the prescription is over.”
Y/N blinks at him in surprise. “What are you talking about?”
He runs a hand through his hair, trying not to feel like everything is slipping out of control in an instant. “It was a simile, sorry. A bad one. All I mean is that we don’t have to stop this just because I got a good grade or two.”
Y/N almost looks like she’s smiling, but that could just be Luke being delusional. “I thought you didn’t want to do tutoring.”
“I didn’t at the start, but you’re different. We’re cool. We are cool, right?” Luke starts rambling more and more with each passing second, but he can’t help it. He’s overthinking everything. What if he’s literally just been a tutee this whole time, and she doesn’t think they’re friends at all?
Y/N stares at him a second longer, then takes a seat at last. “Luke Patterson, are you telling me that you like my company so much that you’re willing to keep going to extra English practice just to see me?”
Luke can feel his face heating up, but he does his best to ignore it. “Well, when you put it that way, it sounds–” He still has a little bit of self control left, so he cuts himself off before he can make a truly terrible mistake.
Y/N catches him, though. “It sounds like what?”
“It sounds like I like you,” he admits, and Y/N’s smiling at him, so he decides to take the leap of faith and just do what he’s been wanting to do for quite some time. Since the start of this, actually. “And I do like you. I like you a lot. I might not need the tutoring anymore, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop seeing you. So what if we met up sometime soon? Not for English, for us.”
Luke decides that he likes Y/N’s smile more than anything. “Are you asking me out?” She says.
“I am,” he affirms. “Are you saying yes?”
“I am,” she repeats.
Suddenly, Luke feels like the luckiest kid of all. Maybe he does have to throw in a good word or two for meddlesome English teachers after all. Sometimes they have a way of connecting you with the best people in the world.
requested by @thatfangirl42, i hope you enjoy!
jatp tag list: @rogueanschel, @retvenkos, @callsign-scully, @lovesanimals0000, @amortensie
Part Fourteen | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist
Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader
Warnings: Shane Walsh & Merle Dixon are the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, story follows the show but dialogue and events are paraphrased, abusive behavior, a very slow burn
Word Count: 1.8k
Author’s Note: Alright. I'm back after a work induced hiatus. I have missed this story deeply and even though this isn't the most eventful chapter, I'm excited for what it's setting up. I've also updated the playlist on Spotify if any of you want to give it a listen — I think it encapsulates our two favorite apocalypse idiots very well. As always, let me know what you all think and if you want to be added to the taglist.
attack seems to have shaken everyone; however, for Daryl, it’s different. He’s dealt with plenty of walkers during his various hunts after the world’s end, but this wasn’t just one or two stragglers in the woods that he could sneak up on before they noticed him. No, this time they were too close to home, and they managed to get the jump on him. He almost died. The realization almost made him sick to his stomach. It’s not that Daryl fears death. He’d come to terms with his own demise long before the dead started walking. Hell, he always assumed he’d die young anyway. The fear that settled deep into Daryl’s bones last night was not for himself, but for the woman softly snoring into his shoulder: you.
You saved his life. And the terror in your eyes afterwards, as you stared at the bloody knife in your hands, will haunt him for the rest of his days. Because it’s his fault. You killed to save him. And maybe it’s not his place, but Daryl was hoping to shield you from the horrors of this world for as long as possible. He knows the toll that taking another life does to a person — the guilt and pain that lingers in the back of his mind every day. He knows that it doesn’t matter that they’re technically already dead — that walker was still a human being once. He didn’t want that burden on your shoulders, but now it’s too late.
The sun is just cresting over the horizon when Rick’s voice slices through the thick silence that settled over the quarry camp, officially ending the longest night that Daryl has ever experienced.
“I know we’re all running on fumes, but we need to bury our dead.”
Rick’s voice is quiet, but there’s an urgency to his tone as his eyes shift from Daryl to T-Dog and Glenn. The two men had hunkered down near the RV once the chaos had settled and exhaustion consumed the camp for just a few hours. Even though he hasn’t spoken to either of them since you’ve all gotten back from Atlanta, Daryl’s grateful that they stuck close to both of you. Now, more than ever, Daryl believes that there is safety in numbers. Still, he couldn’t sleep. Even though his shoulders sag due to the weight of the last twenty-four hours, the warmth of your body keeps him up. A constant reminder of what he has to protect — of what he could have lost last night amidst the devastation. So, even though every single fiber of Daryl’s being yearns to stay by your side, he nods at Rick’s words.
“Not you, Daryl.”
Daryl’s brow furrows, and he's not the only one confused by his words. Both Glenn and T-Dog look skeptically at Rick until they follow his gaze. Rick Grimes is watching you peacefully sleep against the camp’s, so-called, notorious brute. Daryl suddenly feels uncomfortable and shifts slightly under the weight of their attention. The movement causes you to stir in your sleep and he fights off a smile at the content sigh that escapes your lips as you press your face further into his shoulder. Rick raises a brow at you both before continuing.
“You’re busy. I haven’t seen her get a good night’s sleep since I’ve gotten back.”
He’s right. Daryl’s not sure if you’ve truly rested at all since he’s met you. And a part of him believes that has more to do with Shane Walsh than the end of the world. After all, it’s probably hard to relax when the most dangerous threat to your well-being is lurking in your tent. So, Daryl simply gives Rick a firm nod.
“Man, why does Dixon always get to play bodyguard?”
Glenn’s eyes immediately widen, and he elbows T-Dog in the side. T-Dog’s eyes land on Glenn before following his gaze to Daryl. He raises his hands up in defeat as the archer glares daggers at them both.
“I’m just kidding, man.”
“You better be.”
Rick huffs out a laugh before placing himself between the men. He gives Daryl a momentary, warning glance before turning to T-Dog.
“You best get to work or else you might need a bodyguard.”
T-Dog’s eyes shift from Rick to Daryl. Daryl juts his chin up at the man. He doesn’t want to fight — not when you look so peaceful right now — but he’s not one to back down. Luckily, T-Dog sighs defeatedly before walking off with Glenn in tow. Rick watches them walk away for several moments before turning back to Daryl. He raises a brow at the youngest Dixon brother before collapsing into the lawn chair T-Dog had been lounging in. Daryl watches as Rick roughly runs his hands over his face — it looks like he got about as much sleep as Daryl did last night.
“Listen, I feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot.”
Daryl scoffs at Rick’s words. Off on the wrong foot seems like an understatement. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Rick had a gun pointed at him in Atlanta. But he’s important to you, so Daryl bites his tongue and lets him continue.
“But I know her.”
Rick’s gaze drops down to you, and Daryl’s eyes follow.
“And she trusts you.”
Daryl tears his eyes away from you at that admission. He expects to find confusion or judgment on Rick’s face, but instead, he’s looking at you with the tenderness of a loving brother. And when Rick looks back up at him, there’s a sadness in his eyes that he cannot place.
“I don’t know what happened while I was gone, but I know you looked out for her. Thank you.”
The earnestness in his tone surprises Daryl, but he gives the man a firm nod. In all honesty, he doesn’t need his thanks. It has never been a burden to look out for you, and he’s certainly not trying to pass off the responsibility onto someone else. No, Daryl Dixon has begrudgingly come to terms with the fact that he cares about you. The two men sit in comfortable silence together until another muffled sob escapes Andrea, who is still clutching Amy’s limp hand in hers.
“What are we gonna do about that?”
Daryl motions towards the sisters with his free arm, and Rick glances towards them before letting out a deep sigh. He rakes a hand through his hair, and Daryl almost feels bad for asking. After all, Rick never asked to become the de facto leader of this group. But someone has to call the shots, and Daryl sure as hell doesn’t want it to be Shane.
“I already talked to her. She said she’ll take the shot — but only after she turns.”
A sudden rage courses through Daryl’s veins. Waiting for Amy to turn into one of those monsters endangers everyone in this camp. Rick knows the risk, and yet he’s still allowing it to happen. Daryl isn’t in charge — he doesn’t want to be — but he will not risk your life for the convenience of others. Maybe it’s selfish, but he really doesn’t give a shit.
“You can’t be serious. That girl’s a time bomb and you know it.”
Rick’s face hardens, and his jaw clenches.
“What do you suggest?”
“Take the shot. Clean, in the brain from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
You mumble the words into Daryl’s shoulder, just loud enough for both men to hear. Your face scrunches up immediately once you open your eyes. A groan escapes your lips as you try to adjust to the morning sunlight.
“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
Rick snorts, which causes you to peel yourself away from Daryl so you can shoot the sheriff a playful glare. For a moment, Daryl is disappointed by the loss of contact, but then he spots the blush that’s creeping across your cheeks due to the nickname he’s given you. It tumbled off Daryl’s lips before he could think twice about it. He meant it as a lighthearted jab — understanding the way your eyes meet the rising sun with nothing but disdain. After all, he didn’t become a morning person until the world fell apart. He recalls the nickname rolling off his mother’s lips on the mornings she remembered to wake him up for elementary school. And the groan that escaped you reminds him of the ones he’d let out as Merle would exclaim that nickname in the kitchen when Daryl finally stumbled out of his room late in the afternoon with an intense headache due to the hangover he had from the eventful night before. But honestly, in Daryl’s heart, it’s less of a nickname and more a term of endearment — one he could find himself using more as long as you keep letting him.
“What’s so funny, Grimes?”
“Nothin’. It’s good, sunshine. Fitting, even. Just wish I’d thought of it myself.”
You roll your eyes at the sheriff before shifting your eyes back to Daryl. Your playful expression suddenly turns serious as you regard him.
“I’m serious, Daryl. Let her be. She needs to do this her way.”
Daryl studies you for a moment. And Rick watches as you both seem to have an entire conversation without speaking. The interaction confuses him deeply, and he desperately needs to sit down with you to catch up on everything he’s seemingly missed. To his surprise, Daryl shifts on his feet slightly before giving you a nod.
“‘Lright.”
You give him a small smile — a silent thank you to him for trusting your intuition. Daryl’s eyes shift from you to where T-Dog and Glenn are burying the dead. Even though he knows it’s not his responsibility, he suddenly feels guilty that he’s not helping. You follow his gaze and put the pieces together. You know how hard it is for Daryl to stay still, especially when he knows there’s something else he can be doing. You reach out, grabbing his forearm to get his attention. His focus is immediately on you — his expression brimming with concern as his eyes check you over.
“Go.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ve got Rick. Go.”
Daryl’s eyes shift to the sheriff before finding their way back to you once more. You understand how he feels. After last night — after watching that walker almost tear into his flesh — you don’t want Daryl out of your sight right now. But you’ve both got things to do and there will always be responsibilities that will pull you away from one another. Finally, Daryl seems to relent.
“You need anything, you come get me. ‘Lright?”
You nod at his request and watch as he slings his crossbow over his shoulder after getting up. He looks down at you one last time before walking off towards Glenn and T-Dog. Your eyes follow Daryl for longer than you care to admit, and once you finally peel your gaze away from him, you’re met with an incredibly perplexed Rick Grimes. He looks like your protective older brother — arms crossed tightly across his chest and brow raised in confusion.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader / Daryl Dixon x Y/N
Era: Commonwealth
Description: I was watching Four Christmases and when Jon Favreau and Katy Mixon play Taboo, I just felt like that would be Daryl and his wife. Just a little drabble featuring that scene here!
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You leaned against the closet door frame, watching in the mirror as Daryl tugged a black shirt on, admiring the hard muscles in his back tensing. You could have a hundred years with this man and it would still never be enough, every single thing he did drove you crazy. Slinking up behind him, you snuck your hands over his shoulders and turned him around to face you. It was clear he was trying to hide his annoyance but you had always been able to see right through him. Batting his hands away, you started doing up the buttons for him.
“You still mad at me?” You stuck your lip out in a pout.
Rolling his eyes, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “Could never be mad at you, babe. I just can’t believe you’re making me go to this thing.”
“This thing was a very kind invitation by our friends and we should appreciate that they invited us.”
“They invited you, they don’t care if I come or not.” He grumbled.
“I care. I want us to do fun things like game nights with our friends. Eugene and Max planned this whole thing so we could pretend things are normal for a night.” Reaching the top button, you rested your hands against his chest and grinned up at him. “You may not believe this, but I used to be a lot of fun. I used to throw parties all the time and I miss it.”
Daryl huffed and looked away, “for the record, I think you’re lots of fun.”
A laugh threatened to escape you. “Well now I’m going to be fun in a group of people, and you’re going to be there to witness it. And if it helps, Carol and Zeke are going to be there so at least you’ll have your bestie.”
You gave him a teasing wink and took a step back, Daryl’s eyes trailed down your body and his lips parted in shock. You’d decided on the red dress that had lived in the back of your closet since you’d bought it your first week in the Commonwealth. It had been a pure impulse to buy the tiny, impractical dress when it was clear that a taste of the old world was in reach but you’d decided it finally deserved to see some action.
“You plannin’ on wearing that tonight?” His voice lowered.
Straightening the hem nervously, you said, “uh, yes? Does it look bad?”
Daryl tugged you into him by the waist, pressing his hips to yours and you could tell exactly how it was affecting him. “Hell no, ya look fuckin’ gorgeous. I don’t want to go even more now. Let’s just stay home and I’ll show you a real fun time.”
In an instant, he lifted you up and your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and a fierce ache throbbed in your core. He turned and knocked you against the dresser, his lips leaving yours to kiss down your neck and to the swells of your breasts, pushing his body closer until you groaned at the feeling of his dick rubbing between your legs. You scrambled for grip on his shoulders, digging your fingertips into his shoulders at the pleasure shooting through your nerves.
The sound of the doorbell ringing was like a bucket of cold water over you and you snapped away from him. You wiggled around until he dropped your legs and you rushed to pull your dress back down, running your hands over your hair to tame any flyaways that had cropped up from the impromptu makeout session.
You slapped the back of your hand against his chest, scoldingly, “you are such a bad influence!”
“Ya seemed to be enjoying it from where I was standing’” He chuckled darkly and your cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “Don’t answer the door and I can finish what I started.”
You batted his hands away and moved out of his reach. “Finish getting ready now, Daryl Dixon. We’re gonna go and we’re gonna have fun, dammit.”
Before he could even finish the grumbling in response, you narrowed your glare at him and he snapped his lips closed. Slipping on your heels, you rushed to the door and threw it open to find Carol and Zeke both with raised, assuming eyebrows.
With a cheeky shrug, you waved them in, “hello lovelies! Who else is excited for game night?”
Zeke clapped his hands together and beamed from ear to ear, “I”m excited for an enjoyable evening, and an opportunity to beat some of our companions in competition.”
Carol grimaced at his words and you rolled your eyes playfully, “I swear you and Daryl are the same person. He’s bound and determined to have a bad time at this thing too.”
“Honey, we just don’t play well with others. Don’t take it personally.”
Daryl stomped down the hall, shoving a wallet in his back pocket, and grabbed his leather jacket off the hook. His hair still looked like you’d had your hands in it, clearly he hadn’t thought it was necessary to undo your handy work. You caught Carol covering a smirk and knew she’d noticed the smear of lipstick on the side of his mouth at the same time you did. Hurriedly, you wiped it away with a thumb, ignoring his smug smile.
“Let’s get this party started, I guess.” He muttered less than enthusiastically.
Standing up on your tiptoes, you leaned in and whispered into his ear, “I’ll buy you some wings before we go if you don’t complain for the rest of the night.”
He eyed you doubtfully and you nodded reassuringly. “Alright baby, lead the way.”
~~~~
One hour and an order of hot wings later, the two couples were knocking on Euguene’s apartment door. Max opened the door with a flourish and a wall of noise hit you. At a first glance, you could see Yumiko, Magna, and Connie sitting on the couch all laughing and chattering happily with Lydia, who was sitting on Elijah’s lap, and Maggie and Aaron were talking by a table of food.
“Hi you guys! I’m so glad you were able to come!”
You led the group into the apartment and gave Max a tight squeeze, “thank you so much for inviting us. A game night was the exact thing I’ve needed after the week I’ve had.”
Daryl squeezed your hip at that and you knocked an elbow back into his gut, forcing a comically big smile on your face.
“Well you’ve come to the right place then! Some of us were just talking about starting a game of Taboo, would you three want to join in?”
“Yes!” You answered for Daryl before he could comment and Max gestured for you to follow to the dining room table. As he passed the coffee table, Daryl grabbed a beer out of a cooler and you could hear the pop top within seconds.
Linking your fingers with Daryl’s, you sat down across from Eugene and Max, leaving two open spots for Carol and Zeke on the other side of you. Eugene gave you a small smile and glanced over at Daryl.
At your side, Daryl tossed his box of wings on the table and opened it, digging in as if there was no one else around you. You weren’t oblivious to the fact he was doing this as a way to feel less awkward in the group, even if it truthfully made him stick out more.
Max pulled out the game pieces and started setting up the cards with the divider and the buzzer. “Okay so the basics of the game - you try to get your teammate to say the word at the top of the card, but you can’t say any of the words below this line, and if you say a taboo word, then you get buzzed. It seems pretty straight forward but it can get really tricky.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eugene whisper something in Max’s ear, side-eyeing you and Daryl.
“What’s wrong?” You asked bluntly.
“Oh,” Eugene jumped slightly at the tone, not realizing you’d seen him looking at you, “I was just informing Max that it might be better to pick a different game that would suit everyone’s level of gameplay.”
“The hell does that mean?” Daryl barked beside you.
“Well this can be a game of intelligence and smarts-”
“I’ve played Taboo before, Eugene, it’s pretty straight forward.” You looked at him baffled.
You could feel Daryl’s body tense beside you, and he cleared his throat, “You sayin’ we’re too dumb for your stupid ass game?”
You placed a hand on his knee and squeezed, sending him a silent lifeline to remember that Eugene could be a giant ass without even realizing he was doing it. It was clear he was underestimating how good of a team you and Daryl could be, and you didn’t have any problem proving him wrong.
Daryl picked up another chicken wing and ripped into it, glaring daggers at Eugene until the man’s hands were shaking nervously. Grabbing a stack of the cards, you pulled it close and shot him a tight lipped smirk. “Flip the tube.”
“I-I beg your pardon?” Eugene stuttered, looking back over at you.
“Flip. The. Tube.” Daryl repeated your statement, enunciating each word.
Max raised her eyebrows eagerly and flipped the tiny tube over.
“Capital of China.”
“Hong Kong.” Daryl dropped a wing and picked up another one. Eugene sputtered at the incorrect statement but you ignored him and kept going. He just had to get the right answer.
“Yes! Thing next to your bed on the nightstand.”
“A sock.” He said, giving a look to Eugene.
“Yes!” You flipped the next card, “I helped you come up with this, when you were drunk, last year in Alexandria.”
“Alibi.” Next to you, Carol and Zeke gave each other astonished looks.
“Yes! The thing I’m not allowed to wear to the wrestling tournaments.”
“Mini skirt.” He guessed immediately.
“Yes! Me and you dry humpin’ on the beach.”
Daryl dropped a wing and glanced over at you, “a screensaver.”
“Yes, baby! This game is so easy.” You bragged, tossing your hair back a bit. “The only man that I’m allowed to cheat on you with.”
He swallowed a gulp of beer, “John Grisham.”
“Yes! Mexican dude.” You said plainly.
He quirked an eyebrow in thought, “Ricardo Montelban.”
“Yes!”
“Time.” Max interrupted meekly.
Daryl twisted to face you, giving you a high five and pulling you in, “Right here!”
Without hesitation, you pitched forward and gave him a charged kiss. Instantly, he cupped your jaw and tilted your head to deepen the connection. You faintly could hear Zeke clear his throat noisily.
“Okay, this is like an animals attack video, guys, there’s other people-”
Panting heavily, you separated and he tapped your cheek softly, making you giggle nervously. You’d gotten carried away at how in sync you were and how hot he looked tonight.
Zeke clapped a hand on your shoulder, “you guys got a lot, how many was that?”
At the same time, you both said, “seven.”
Across the table, Eugene coughed and you both turned to him and Max. He was smart enough to look a bit humbled by yours and Daryl’s victory. The rest of the table looked impressed. Carol gave Daryl a pat on the back in encouragement and you watched his cheeks redden at the attention.
~~~~
Three hours later, you stumbled into your apartment with Daryl right on your trail. You kept giggling as his trailed his hands over your body, trying to get you to turn around and kiss him. You’d lost count of how many beers you’d both drank over the course of the night but you were definitely feeling the effects.
“Admit it!” You shouted, louder than you’d meant. Daryl shushed you a bit and turned you around in his arms.
“Admit what, babe?” He murmured, still more focused on trying to get your dress off than what you were saying.
“You had fun! It was fun!” Attempting to be sexy, you slipped his leather jacket off his shoulders and let it plop onto the floor. “And did you see the look on Eugene’s face when he realized we’d beat him at that stupid game?!”
“Yes, babe, it was a fun night. But,” Daryl growled, sending goosebumps along your skin, “I don’t want to hear you saying another man’s name while I’m trying to take you to bed.”
“Oh.” You said breathlessly.
“Yeah, oh.” Slowly, his hands made their way to the top of the zipper and tugged it down, exposing your back to the cool air conditioned air. The dress slid down your body and pooled at your feet.
You both looked down at the same time - your almost naked body contrasting against his full black attire made you clench your thighs in eagerness. You knew that your good night was about to turn into a great one just from the feral look in Daryl’s eyes.
“I’m gonna give you a head start.” Your head snapped back up to look at him and he gave you a wild grin. “One-”
You jumped into action, kicking the dress of your feet and sprinting around the kitchen island. Your heart was pounding with excitement.
“Two-” His voice was low with lust. A squeal escaped your lips as you dashed down the hallway, his boots thudding in your direction.
“Three-” You barely crossed the threshold of your bedroom when an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you off your feet as you collided with Daryl’s brick wall of a chest. His lips brushed the shell of your ear and he growled, “got you.”
The fabric of his shirt rubbed against your skin in a delicious way and you let yourself melt into his touch. “I’m yours, D. Forever.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your neck, his way of letting you know that he heard you and appreciated what you said. Then he launched you onto the bed, making you giggle even more in surprise.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Era: Prison Era
Details: Inspired by I Won't Say I'm In Love from Hercules soundtrack
(This is my first Daryl fic so be gentle sweet reader haha)
You stared at the small cloth bag filled with strawberries that had appeared on the tiny stand you used as a shelf in your cell. It hadn’t been there this morning when you left to help Carl in the garden, but there it sat - a pile of juicy, red strawberries that made your mouth water in anticipation. And you had no doubt of where they had come from. The modest archer that had become a solid fixture in your life in the last year.
Slowly, you moved across the small space and reached out, your fingers gently tracing over the berries. It had been longer than you could remember since you’d had them. You’d mentioned to Daryl how much you used to love them the last time you’d been on watch with him, when he’d let you yap as long as you wanted and he hadn’t acted annoyed once. You’d spent so many watch shifts with him, yet it still amazed you every time he proved that he’d been listening to you - regardless of his quiet nature. Those watch shifts had turned into shared meals, supply runs, and subconsciously looking for him any time you entered a room. Heat rose to your cheeks at the thought that he’d gone out of his way to do this sweet gesture for you.
Before you could stop it, a dazed smile started to grow on your face, the image of Daryl’s hesitant smile and curious eyes clouding your mind. Something that you loathe to admit was happening more and more often.
Carol’s head peeked around the edge of your cell, a knowing smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “Penny for your thoughts?”
You startled at her voice and whipped your head around to the woman, your thoughts jumbled at the intrusion. “H-huh?” You stammered dumbly.
“I said, penny for your thoughts? Although, I’m pretty sure I don’t need to spend the money.” She smirked, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe.
Rolling your eyes, you turned back around to sit on your bunk, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You sure you’re not dehydrated from being out in the sun too long?”
“Oh, I’m not dehydrated. But I do know a lovestruck look when I see one.”
Heat rose to your cheeks but you lifted your chin defiantly. “I am not lovestruck. I’m not the kind of girl to get lovestruck. There’s nothing special about him picking me up something on the run.”
A sly grin spread across her face, “I never said who I was talking about. Do you happen to have a certain man in mind? Possibly one who drives a motorcycle and carries a crossbow? The one I saw sneaking out of here a few minutes ago?”
Pursing your lips slightly, you wanted to growl in frustration. You hadn’t meant to slip up like that. You hadn’t meant to even have a clue who she was talking about. You weren’t looking for love in this apocalyptic crapstorm of a world. You hadn’t even been looking for love before the demise of normalcy. Been there, done that, have the scars to remember and the memories to be haunted by.
“Honey, it’s alright to admit that you’ve started to care about someone. Daryl is a good man and you deserve some good in your life.” Carol sat next to you and grabbed your hand, holding tight when you tried to pull away. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other when you think the other isn’t looking.”
“And how do we look at each other?” You asked through gritted teeth.
“You look at him like he’s the earth and heaven. Like he hung the moon for you.”
You scoffed and looked away. “That’s not even remotely true.”
“It is true. And I’ve seen how much you’ve changed Daryl too. He is more open to you, he trusts you. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him smile as much as he does when you walk in a room.” Her voice was soft but it felt like it echoed in the cell. Suddenly you were all too aware of the busy prison around you and that anyone could overhear this discussion. Beth and Maggie had commented on conversations you’d thought were private one too many times in the past.
With a jolt, you stood abruptly and looked down at her, hardening your glare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t some teenage girl romance movie where everyone falls in love and has some cliche happy ending. This is the real world where the people we know can die any day. No one, no man, is worth that aggravation.”
Carol stood up, an annoyingly understanding look on her face, and wrapped you into a hug. You let yourself melt for a moment into her motherly touch. You weren’t blind to how hard it was for her to let anyone in, the same as you, and you weren’t going to just forget that.
She patted your back once and broke away. “Well, I’ll let you rest before dinner,” she hesitated then said, “the last thing I’ll say is, don’t let yourself deny happiness just because of the past. You’re right that we only get so much time in this world, but it’s better to spend that time happy than miserable.”
Before you could utter another word, she disappeared past the flower sheet you had hung for the illusion of privacy. The one that Daryl had brought back for you a couple months ago after you’d told him you loved wildflowers.
~~~~
You watched the sun dip below the treeline, letting the soft breeze kiss your skin as you enjoyed the last few remnants of summer. The muted growl of the walkers in the distance mixed with the clucks of the chickens and the grunts of the pigs, lulling you into a serene sense of calm. The days were warm but the nights were getting chillier and soon everyone in the prison would be in full preparation for the rough winter. Who knew what the walkers would be like this year when you were safely behind the tall gates instead of running from house to house, foraging for tiny rodents to eat to survive.
A clang of a tray hitting the wooden picnic table pulled you out of your thoughts and you looked over to see Daryl swinging his leg over to straddle the bench, an apprehensive smile on his face. At the sight of him, a grin broke free before you could stop it.
“Di’nt see ya at dinner. It was yer favorite - venison. Had to fight the boys off to grab ya a plate.”
You snorted at that. “It’s only my favorite because it’s the most normal thing we can get around here nowadays, but thanks.”
“Was prob’ly the weirdest thing ya ever ate before...all this.” He countered.
“Don’t be too sure!” He gave you a skeptical look at that, “I had alligator meat on a girls trip to New Orleans one time and it was pretty good. Think you could find me an alligator?” You teased, knocking his knee with yours.
“Ya might hafta give me a day or two, see what I could do.” He patted your knee in return, ducking his head to hide his smile, his hand lingering for a moment. At his touch, a tingle ran through you like a shiver and you wrapped your arms around yourself, doing everything you could do to hold yourself together. “Ya cold?”
Quicker than you could respond, he was peeling his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders, exposing his delicious muscles to the night air. On instinct, you slipped your arms through the sleeves and casually sniffed it. His unique scent of cigarette smoke, musk, and a faint trace of cologne from another life overwhelmed your senses and you shivered again, despite the warmth of safety and adoration that was sinking into your bones. Your eyes darted up to see if he’d noticed and connected with his, a blush blooming across yours and his cheeks.
Breaking his eye contact, you looked back out to the dusky sky. How could you be letting these feelings creep back over you, after all the shit you’d escaped from, everything you’d promised yourself not to feel again. If you let him in, even as skilled as he was, he could be gone in the blink of an eye and you would be left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart alone. But it was so hard to remember that fact when he was so close to you and looking at you with those gorgeous blue eyes of his. It always felt so good when it was starting out.
“I - uh - thank you for the strawberries. I don’t know how you managed to find the time to get them with the other things you had to get. I don’t know if I thought I’d ever eat strawberries again.” You said finally, breaking the easy silence.
“Ah it’s easy if ya know where ta look, wasn’t a big deal.” He shrugged.
“It’s a big deal to me, Dar. More than you’ll ever know. I appreciate everything you do for me.” You said quietly. He glanced back over at you and shifted a bit closer, his thick thighs brushing against you. Now his eyes were locked on yours with intensity. All it would take was the littlest move and you could press your lips against his. Maybe he would pull you close, maybe you could lose yourself in the idea of a future filled with a grumbly, kind man who made peace bloom in your soul. You were just a few breaths apart.
The sound of laughter broke the stillness of the courtyard and you both jumped apart, clearing your throats simultaneously. You looked up to watch Maggie and Glenn giggling to each other as they strolled hand-in-hand up the path from the bottom gate and into the prison, spears in tow and blood covered their fronts but somehow they were still clearly enjoying their alone time together. You envied their innocent love, never knowing the sting of betrayal.
After an awkward five minutes of avoiding looking at him, you cleared your throat again.
“Uh, it’s getting late, I should probably try to get some sleep. I promised Carl and Patrick that I’d let them practice their new fighting moves on me tomorrow.” You shimmied your way off the bench and stood awkwardly. Daryl slowly moved to stand, still straddling the bench, watching you with a guarded expression.
“Don’t forget yer dinner, don’t wanna waste good meat.” He lifted the forgotten tray up to you.
“Thanks.” You reached for the tray, stopping as the sleeve of his jacket caught your eye. “Oh, here, your jacket-”
Daryl waved you off, “keep it. Looks better on ya.”
Giving him a tight smile, you turned on a heel and hightailed it out of the yard toward the cell block bathrooms. An imperative cold shower needed to clear your mind.
You rounded the corner and bumped into Maggie coming out of the showers, both of you gripping elbows to stop from falling. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” You mumbled.
A cheshire cat grin curled along Maggie’s face, “head in the clouds huh? It looked like you were having a pleasant conversation with Daryl. I didn’t figure we’d see ya before the crickets went to sleep.”
“The crickets went - what? No, we were just having a normal conversation, like two friends.”
“I didn’t realize friends talk with their mouths inches apart.” Maggie snickered. “Or jump apart like that when they get interrupted.”
“It- We- Nothing happened.” You bit out defensively, crossing your arms as if you could shield out all her words.
Maggie’s eyes widened slightly, reaching out to touch your arm. “Hey, I’m sorry. I was just teasing a bit, we’re all grown ups here. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying your time with Daryl. You don’t have to hide it from me. I’m your friend, you know that right?”
You released a bit of the tension in your shoulders and sighed. “Yeah of course I know that, Mags. It’s not you, just, Carol got in my head earlier saying that I was in lov-ya know what, it’s not important, it’s not true anyways. We’re just friends, nothing else.”
You sidestepped her and headed into the bathroom, stopping at a tug on your wrist. Maggie gave you a soft smile, “Daryl wouldn’t be a bad guy to fall for... If you give it a chance.”
“I’m not interested in something like that, Maggie.” Tugging out of her grasp, you slipped into the closest shower and turned on the water before she could say anything else.
The water soaked into your clothes as you backed up against the concrete and slid down the wall, banging your head a couple times in frustration. What was with everyone today, bringing up things that were none of their business. Emotions you’d prefer to stay locked inside. But now it was threatening to break free from the carefully built cage you’d made and you found yourself longing to seek out Daryl and beg him to show you everything you’d been missing by holding him at arm’s length. Beg him to wrap those strong arms around you and promise that you’d both be safe and happy for the rest of your days.
No. You weren’t gonna let yourself go down that path any more today. This was something to face in the light of day.
With a strength you didn’t know you possessed, you stood up, trudged back to your cell, peeled the sopping wet clothes off and crawled into your tiny bunk. You’d figure things out in the morning.
~~~~~
The next day, with a gritted determination to figure this entire situation out, you paced nervously outside the watchtower waiting for Daryl to show up. It was surprisingly empty in the yard still at this hour of morning. After fifteen minutes of waiting, Michonne appeared, heading toward you.
“Hey, have you seen Daryl? I thought he had first shift this morning?” You asked, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket - his jacket - to hide the shaking. You hadn’t been able to leave the cell without it this morning.
Michonne’s brow furrowed, “uh he left early this morning. Told Rick and I that he wanted to go on a run, said he needed to get out of the prison for a few days. I told him I’d cover his shift for him.”
Your lips parted in surprise but you nodded, mumbling a thanks as you walked away.
He’d left. He’d left and hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. He hadn’t done that since the early days on the farm, before everything with the barn and the walkers happened. And now there was a chance you might never see him again. There was always a risk and he’d gambled on that.
A lump formed in your throat but you pushed it down. You would not cry over him. You would not let your feelings be hurt. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
Three days passed and there had been no sign of him. All of your friends had given you sympathetic smiles when they’d made eye contact with you - which had pissed you off even more. What the hell did they have to feel sorry about? It was him they should be worried about. What if he’d been caught by a group and needed help? What if he was dead? Why weren’t you good enough for a goodbye? You thought over every interaction you’d had with him - searching for signs that you made up any of his feelings for you. You’d found yourself wandering around the hallways at night, thoughts racing through your head a million miles a minute, sleep was an intangible thing.
And there you were again, pacing back and forth along the wall.
“The hell are ya doin’?” A gruff voice echoed in the silence.
You whirled to find Daryl watching you from the doorway, his crossbow dangling from his left hand and his pack hanging off his shoulder. His messy hair was damp like he’d stopped off at the showers on his way in.
In three fast steps, you’d closed the distance between you two and shoved him hard into the wall and he let out a soft grunt at the impact. His backpack dropped to the ground with a loud thud that reverberated against the walls.
“How could you just leave me like that?!” You shrieked, smacking his chest to emphasize every word. In a flash, his crossbow clattered on the floor and he gripped your shoulders to stop you from hitting him again. The stubborn tears you’d held in for the last three days started streaming down your face and struggled to pull out of his grip. “Why would you do that to me?! You could have died and I would never even know what happened to you! You know what that would do to me!”
“Nah I wouldn’t.” He snapped, anger lacing his voice, slightly pushing you away from him.
You reeled back at the harsh tone, the words stinging like you’d psychically been slapped. With a sharp nod of your head, you took another step back and turned, ready to tuck your tail and run back to your cell. If that’s how he wanted to be, then you didn’t want to be around him.
“I heard what ya said ta Maggie. That ya ain’t interested in me. I followed ya the other night because ya forgot your dinner.” You froze in place, wincing at the realization of what he was talking about. He let out a heavy sigh then said, “it’s fine, if that’s what ya want. I ain’t gonna pressure ya. I just needed to clear my head first.”
“Daryl-” You started to say, turning back to face him.
“I’m not mad, I get that ya don’t feel that way for me.” He scratched his head awkwardly, the tangles in his hair pulling on his fingers, something he did when he was nervous. You desperately wanted to grab his hand and steady him. “Ya don’t have to feel bad, really.”
“I do-”
“Ya really don’t-”
“I do feel that way for you. I lied - to Maggie.” Your voice was shaky. He raised his head to look at you, squinting his eyes questioningly.
“Why would ya do that?”
You blew out a nervous breath and moved to stand in front of him again. “I didn’t want to have feelings for you. I didn’t want to let myself trust you or let you in. Because that would mean that I had something to lose. Again. And I don’t want to lose you.”
Understanding washed over his face. He lifted a hand slowly, like trying to calm a spooked horse. With one finger, he traced the shape of your jaw with a feather touch, his gaze searching your face for any hint of pity or lies. You knew he could see the truth when his expression softened. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of his rough hands against your skin, trying to ignore the thought of those hands moving all over your body.
“I can’t promise you won’t lose me, darlin’. But I promise to do everything in my power to never hurt you.” His voice rumbled close to your ear. “Let me take care of ya. Let me love ya.”
He lifted his other hand and cupped your face, angling for better access, making your heart flutter in your chest. His lips brushed against yours, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t want to. You’d wasted enough time ignoring your feelings. You’d also spend too much time wondering how his lips felt. In a moment, you’d connected your lips to his in a timestopping kiss. It was better than you could have ever imagined.
The world around faded into nothing and it was just you and Daryl. Was this really happening?
The soft kiss turned heated in a flash, his tongue brushing against yours and he swallowed down the low moan you let out. He tasted like mint and cigarettes and the combination shot a pang of heat straight to your core.
His hands trailed down your arms and settled on your hips, rotating you so your back was against the wall and the length of his hard body was pressed against yours, never breaking your kiss. You stood on your tiptoes and wrapped your arms around his neck, trying desperately to get closer to him.
Realizing what you were trying to do, he grabbed your thighs and lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. He’d lifted you like you were nothing to him, his muscles flexing slightly and you couldn’t stop from swooning a bit. You were both panting into each other's mouths, trying like hell not to pull apart. When the lack of oxygen started to make things fuzzy, Daryl trailed his lips along your jaw and down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, and you sucked in a breath. You felt drunk with need.
Suddenly you were all too aware of how short your shorts were and how little fabric separated your bodies. His fingers dug into your flesh where he held you causing goosebumps to cover your bare legs, and you knew you’d have fingerprints on your ass tomorrow. The idea made you grind your hips against him a little harder and he groaned at the sensation.
The sound broke through your hazy mind, the reality of where you were hitting you. Pushing against his chest a bit, you stuttered, “D-dar, wait.”
His lips froze in place and he drug his nose back up neck until his forehead was resting against yours. His breath puffing against your mouth. “Yea?”
“We’re in the hallway.”
“And grass is green, sky is blue, fish swim.” He growled.
You huffed a laugh, “I mean, we should probably go somewhere more private before someone walks in on us.”
Shifting his grip to hold you with one arm, he swept a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbed his thumb across your bottom lip. “You’re prob’ly right. I might hafta kill someone if they saw your beautiful lips all swollen like this.”
Butterflies fluttered low in your stomach again and you buried your face into the crook of his shoulder and neck. God, you wanted him so badly. Why had you resisted this for so long?
Slowly, you dropped your legs to stand again, letting Daryl hold you up until they stopped shaking. When he thought you’d be able to stay up straight, he lifted your linked fingers up and kissed your knuckles.
“Let’s go, angel. Ya can stay with me tonight.” In the guard office. The private guard office.
Nodding excitedly, you watched him grab up his backpack and crossbow and let him pull you in the direction of his room.
“Ya know, Dar? You could’ve have just come and talked to me. You didn’t need to completely disappear for three days.” You peeked up at him out of the corner of your eye.
He looked down at you and smiled smugly, “Ya coulda just told me ya were in love with me. What’s your excuse?”
You rolled your eyes and tried to suppress a grin, “I’m not saying that out loud yet.” Knocking your shoulder into his, he stumbled closer and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. It was clear he knew you were full of shit but he would let you get away with it for a little while longer.
“Oh, for I forget,” he burst out and started digging around in his backpack with one hand, “told ya it might take me a day or two...”
You watched in surprise as he pulled out a small stuffed alligator toy and your heart skipped a beat. He’d seriously found you an alligator.
“Oh my gosh, it’s so cute!” You grabbed it and held it tight to your chest. “I can’t believe you found this for me. How the heck do you find these things?”
“I told ya, ya just hafta know where to look.” He pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head. “Besides, it’s easy when I’m always thinkin’ about ya.”
Summary: You let something slip—just a thought, just a passing comment—but Daryl hasn’t been able to shake it since. A week later, the tension between you reaches a breaking point.
tags: smut MDNI 18+, awkward pining, pinv, breast play, praise kink. awkward daryl & fmc, bicep choking obvi
a/n: hello my love! thank you so much for this request and for your patience. in a second ask, anon did specify that they meant Daryl bicep choking. fair warning, I did not reread this a ton / proofread much. please lmk of any mistakes/errors!
The sun hangs low over the trees, heat pressing in heavy as you weave through the abandoned gas station, boots crunching softly over broken glass. Daryl moves a few steps ahead, bow slung across his back, knife in hand, moving with that effortless quiet of his. Always aware. Always in control.
And his arms.
You tell yourself you’re just paying attention—watching his movements like he watches everything else around him, staying alert. But your gaze keeps catching on the shift of muscle beneath his skin, the way his forearms flex when he grips his knife, the lazy tension in his biceps every time he lifts his arm to wipe sweat off his brow.
You shouldn’t be looking.
But it’s hard not to.
Especially when he plants a boot on a fallen shelf, using his weight to pry open a rusted metal door. The strain makes his muscles coil tight, veins standing out just enough to make you swallow hard.
"Well?" His voice snaps you out of it.
You blink. "What?"
Daryl jerks his chin toward the darkened storage room behind the door. "You goin’ in first or what?"
Shit. You’ve been staring.
"Yeah. Right. On it."
You step past him, ears burning. The space inside smells like old rot and motor oil, a few overturned boxes scattered around. You crouch, rifling through some supplies, heart still kicking too fast. It’s stupid. You’ve been on runs with him before. But something about today—the heat, the silence between you, the way he’s been rolling his shoulders like his muscles are wound too tight—has you hyper-aware of every damn thing he does.
A tin of peaches clatters loose from a shelf, and you reach for it at the same time he does. Your fingers barely brush his, but the contact is enough to send a jolt up your arm, like static crackling under your skin. He pauses. Just for a second. And when he draws back, you swear you catch the flicker of his gaze sweeping over you before he looks away.
You can feel your pulse in your throat.
You should let it go. Should get back to work. But the words are out before you can stop them.
"You ever—" You hesitate, pulse hammering, but you push through. "You ever, I don’t know, choke somebody with your arms before?"
Daryl stops. Slowly, he turns his head toward you, eyes narrowing just slightly. His bicep shifts as he adjusts his grip on the tin in his hand. "The hell kinda question is that?"
Shiiiit. You fucked up.
But instead of retreating, you force yourself to keep looking at him, tilting your chin up just a little. "I just mean, you’re strong." A shrug, like it’s no big deal. "Bet you could hold somebody down real easy."
Silence.
Then, Daryl exhales through his nose, shaking his head. But there’s something in his expression—something flickering behind his eyes, sharp and considering.
He tosses the tin into your hands and mutters, "You’re weird." and walks away.
═════════════════════════
Back at the prison, dinner is quiet, the usual hum of conversation mixed with the occasional scrape of utensils against tin plates. Most people are too tired to talk much, a day of tending to the gardens, cleaning out cell blocks and keeping walkers at bay making everyone look forward to the slower evenings. The air in the hall feels thick with the kind of exhaustion that settles deep, making everything feel slow, heavy.
You should be eating, but your stomach isn’t interested.
Because Daryl’s staring at you.
You haven’t looked at him, not really since you got back, but you can feel it. That steady weight from across the room, the burning of your ears, it makes it almost impossible to keep your stomach from doing somersaults.
You should’ve kept your mouth shut on the run. Should’ve swallowed the words down, let them die in your throat. But no—you had to go and say it. Maybe it was your stupid hormones, the way he seemed to speak to some primal part of you that evolution put in your dna, maybe it was just some stupid impulse you couldn’t control. Either way, it’s too late now.
Not like it meant anything.
Except, if it didn’t, why was he still looking at you?
Your fingers tighten around your fork, but you don’t move to take another bite. Instead, you stare at the food on your plate, willing yourself to focus on anything other than the way your face feels too warm, the way your pulse is pressing a little harder than it should.
Maggie shifts in her seat, nudging Beth’s arm. “You good?”
You blink, glance up. Beth tilts her head, studying you, while Maggie smirks like she already knows something you don’t.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost today or somethin’,” Maggie says, “The run go that bad?”
“N-no,” you stammer, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, “It went fine. Got a lotta good stuff, actually.”
Maggie hums, unconvinced, and you watch as her eyes flicker behind you when she says, looking back at her plate, “Looks like someone’s got a little crush.”
The fork slips from your fingers, clattering against the plate, “I do not!”
But your reaction is what does it– it’s too sharp, too defensive. Beth startles a little, but Maggie just stares, slow realization spreading across her face as you lock eyes with her.
“I was only kiddin’." she says incredulously, "I meant the grouchy archer sittin' across the room, he keeps starin’ atcha.” she shakes her head, eyes lighting up. “But I see I’ve been mistaken.” She leans in. “You like Daryl?”
Your stomach drops.
Beth gasps, slapping Maggie’s arm. “Oh my god.”
Your face is on fire. “I don’t—”
Maggie grins. “Holy shit, you totally do.”
Beth’s trying to stifle a giggle. You shake your head fast, like that’ll help, like it’ll undo the last five seconds, but it only makes Maggie look even more certain. You can feel the walls closing in, feel their eyes on you, but worse—you can still feel his.
It’s too much. You push your plate away and mutter a quiet, “Not hungry anymore,” before standing and heading for the stairs, their laughter echoing behind you.
You don’t look back, because if you were to turn around and find those ocean blue eyes still on you, it would be your undoing.
═════════════════════════
The book in your hands is old, pages yellowed and brittle at the edges, the spine cracked so deep you have to be careful when you turn the pages. You’re not even sure what it’s about. Something about a man lost at sea. Maybe.
You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for the last ten minutes.
It’s not that it’s boring. It’s just that your mind refuses to focus.
You shift on your cot, tugging the blanket over your lap, trying again, but it’s useless. Your brain keeps circling back, over and over, to dinner. To Maggie’s knowing grin, Beth’s giggles, and—worst of all—Daryl.
You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling sharply. You should’ve never said anything. Should’ve kept that stupid thought locked away where it belonged.
A quiet scuff of boots outside your cell makes your stomach jolt. There’s a pause, then a hesitant knock against the frame of your open door. Not loud or rushed, more like a question.
You look up.
Daryl stands in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, head slightly ducked. His shoulders are hunched, like he’s already thinking about leaving before he’s even fully stepped inside.
For a moment, neither of you say anything.
Then, he clears his throat. “Didn’t know ya read.”
You blink. It’s such a small thing to say, but something about the way he says it, like he’s searching for an easy way in, trying to settle into the conversation, makes your stomach tighten.
You glance at the book in your lap. “Yeah. Helps pass the time.”
Daryl nods, his eyes flicking around the small space of your cell, like he’s looking for something else to comment on, something to delay whatever it is he actually came here for. Between your haphazardly taped posters and handmade streamers, he doesn’t find anything, so instead, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, exhales through his nose, then finally says:
“That thing you asked me.”
Your stomach drops. Of course. You should’ve known that was why he was here.
Your fingers tighten around the book, but you shake your head quickly. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry if I made you–”
“You think I can?” he asks, huffing.
You frown. “Think you can what?”
His jaw tenses, and when he speaks again, it’s lower. Almost cautious. “Forget it.”
Your breath catches slightly.
He shrugs, but it’s not casual. It’s forced. “Ain’t exactly somethin’ you just let go of.”
Your chest feels too tight all of a sudden. You can’t quite place the look on his face—something careful, something guarded, like he’s trying not to let on that it’s been sitting in the back of his head since you said it. What went through his mind when you asked him?
You shift on your cot, swallowing. “Daryl, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
His gaze flickers, just barely. “Yeah?”
You nod, but something in the way he’s looking at you makes your throat dry out. He still doesn’t seem convinced.
“You think that’s what I am?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge there, frustration starting to rise in his voice. “Some kinda animal? The kind of man who would kill someone with–” he shakes his head slightly, jaw clenching. “You think I’m like that?”
The realization hits you hard. Your stomach twists. “Daryl, no,” you say quickly, sitting up straighter. “That’s not—”
He shakes his head again, looking at the floor. “Wouldn’t blame ya.”
Your heart kicks against your ribs. “That’s not what I meant.”
Daryl exhales, folding his arms over his chest, still avoiding your eyes. “Then what did you mean?”
You hesitate. Because now he’s looking at you. Not guarded, not distant—just waiting.
Your fingers press into the book in your lap. This is your chance to brush it off. Laugh it away. But you can already feel the heat creeping up your face, and Daryl is still standing there, still waiting, and if you don’t say it now, he’s just going to keep thinking the worst.
You shift slightly. “I meant…” Your throat feels tight. “I meant in bed.”
Daryl blinks.
His whole body stiffens, like his brain short-circuited, like the words hit him sideways and he can’t quite recover. His face is already turning red, slow at first, then creeping all the way up to his ears.
Your own face burns, and you clear your throat, pushing through the embarrassment. “I meant—if you’d ever choked someone in bed. With your arms.”
A silence falls over the room. A long, unbearable silence.
Daryl shifts, dragging a hand over his mouth. He scratches the back of his head, looks anywhere but at you.
Finally, he exhales, mutters, “Jesus,” under his breath, then huffs out a quiet, almost nervous laugh.
Your stomach clenches. “I know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s—uh. That’s what ya meant?”
You nod quickly, still burning. “Yeah.”
Daryl looks at you for a second. His fingers flex slightly at his sides, like he’s thinking too hard about where to put them.
Then, after a long pause—his voice comes out quieter.
“You’d want me to?”
Your stomach drops.
Your eyes snap to his. “What?”
Daryl shrugs, but it’s forced, like he’s trying to play off how red his face still is. “I dunno. Just—” His mouth twitches slightly, like he can’t believe he’s even saying this. “Sounded like somethin’ you were real curious about.”
Your breath catches.
He’s not teasing, not quite—but there’s something in the way he says it, something light, something almost amused. Like he’s surprised at himself, surprised at you, but now that he’s said it, he’s not taking it back.
Your mouth opens, then closes again. Your hands are way too warm.
“I wouldn’t—” you swallow. “I wouldn’t not want you to.”
Daryl huffs out another soft laugh, shaking his head, glancing toward the hall like he’s wondering how the hell this conversation ended up here.
Then he looks back at you, eyes a little sharper now, lips twitching.
The heat in your face flares as he just chuckles under his breath, rubbing at his jaw before he steps back toward the door.
“Get some sleep,” he says, still smirking.
He turns, but not before you catch it—just the slightest flicker of something in his expression.
Something knowing. Something interested.
And when he finally walks away, you can’t do anything except stare at the empty doorway and try to remember how to breathe.
═════════════════════════
The past week has been unbearable.
It’s not like anything has happened, not really. No one has said anything, no lines have been crossed, but the air between you and Daryl hasn’t been the same since that night in your cell.
It’s in the way his eyes catch on you more often now. The way he lingers a little too long before walking away. The way your skin prickles when he’s nearby, too aware of the space he takes up, too aware of how small you feel in comparison.
And now, you’re on another run together.
“Last one went well,” Rick had said, shoving packs toward both of you. “Might as well stick with what works.”
The drive into town is quiet. Neither of you talk much, just like last time, but it’s not the same. There’s a different kind of weight, and you’re grateful that the open road on the motorcycle leaves little conversation to be said over its echoing roar.
When you finally reach an old pharmacy on the outskirts, the sun is starting to climb higher in the sky, heat burning your neck and the pavement glimmering.
Inside, dust clings to everything, thick in the air. It smells stale, like old paper and time left to rot. Shelves are overturned, bottles and boxes scattered across the floor.
You do your job, scanning for anything useful, but your focus keeps slipping.
Because every time you glance up, Daryl is there.
He’s not doing anything different. Not saying anything. Just moving through the space like he always does—quiet, efficient. But somehow, it feels like every single movement is deliberate. Like every shift of muscle under his skin is something you shouldn’t be watching, but you are.
The dust-covered counter at the back of the building gives you something to focus on, something to do besides thinking about the weight of Daryl’s gaze. You hop over the counter and crouch down, scanning the lowest shelf, rifling through half-empty boxes of medication, checking for anything still worth taking back.
A prickle of awareness crawls up the back of your neck.
It’s not the usual kind of awareness you get on a run, not the instinct that tells you someone—or something— dangerous is lurking nearby. It’s different. Warmer. Closer.
When you stand, a bottle of pills in your hand, you nearly jump out of your skin.
Daryl is right there, barely a foot away, standing between you and the only way out.
Your breath stutters. He doesn’t usually get this close without reason.
He’s blocking the exit, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trapping you—it feels like he’s stopping himself from walking away. His weight shifts between his feet, his arms twitch like they want to cross, but he doesn’t move, just watches you with something unreadable in his eyes.
Your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hand. “Wha—what’s up?”
Daryl doesn’t answer at first. He just looks at you, quiet and considering, something simmering beneath the surface. His teeth catch against the corner of his lip for a second, his fingers flex at his sides, but it’s like he still hasn’t worked out how to say whatever it is that’s sitting heavy on his chest.
Then he exhales through his nose and mutters, “Can’t stop thinkin’.”
His voice is rough, like the words have been stuck in his throat all day.
Your pulse jumps. “Thinking... about what?”
He shifts again on uneven footing, glancing toward the counter before dragging his gaze back to you. The moment stretches, thick enough to smother, before he finally speaks again.
“Since last time,” he mutters, voice quieter now. Your stomach flips. He shakes his head, almost to himself. “You got me all fucked up, girl.”
It’s not frustration, not really—it’s more like exhaustion, like he’s tired of pretending that something between you hasn’t changed. And when he steps forward, closing the last bit of space between you, your body reacts before your brain catches up.
Your back hits the wall behind you.
The old metal shelving is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him. He’s so close now, close enough that you catch the faint scent of pine and sweat clinging to him, close enough that every nerve in your body locks up, unsure whether to tense or melt.
His arms come up, hands bracing against the metal on either side of you, and suddenly you can’t look anywhere but at him.
Your breath feels too shallow.
Daryl dips his head slightly, breath warm against your cheek, and you hear the way he inhales, slow and deep, smelling the remnants of the apple shampoo you used days ago.
“S’not like I haven’t thought of ya before.”
A shiver runs down your spine, and your lips part, but you don’t know what to say. You can barely think straight with him this close, his voice this low. He smells of musk and leather and summer sunshine, something distinctly masculine and Daryl all at once. His words sink in, heavy and real, and before you can even process them, he huffs a quiet breath, shaking his head against the side of yours.
“Thought of ya a lot, actually.”
Your stomach twists, heat flaring under your skin.
Daryl pulls back just enough to look at you, and that’s when you see it—the way his pupils are blown, the way his breath comes slow and measured like he’s still holding something back. His jaw is tight, his fingers flex slightly against the metal, and you don’t know whether he’s waiting for permission or for you to push him away.
“Say somethin’,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel in your ears. “Please.”
You reach up then, your hand trembling slightly as your fingers brush along his jaw, skimming over the uneven scruff growing in patches on his face. He exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you trace up along his cheekbone, down the side of his neck, feeling the tension there, the way his pulse beats strong beneath your fingertips.
“I think of you a lot too,” you finally manage to say, and it’s barely louder than a whisper.
His eyes open, still blown wide as they flicker between yours, then drop to your lips. His breath is slow, measured, like he’s forcing himself to hold back.
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” you breathe. It’s more than just a response—it’s permission, it’s consent, letting him know that whatever he’s thinking, whatever’s been running through his mind, you want it too.
And like you’ve just cut the cord that’s been wound too tight between you, he pushes forward, his lips crashing into yours with urgency.
You’re surprised just how soft his lips are, how gentle he tries to be, but the way he moves is anything but hesitant. There’s no testing, no waiting—he’s done holding back, done second-guessing. He kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like it’s something he’s wanted for too damn long, and you can’t help but act in equal fervor.
Your fingers tighten against his jaw, then slide up into his hair, gripping, pulling. He groans into your mouth, the sound low, wrecked, sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through you. His hands move without restraint now, gripping at your waist, fingers pressing into your hips, pulling you closer like the space between you is unbearable.
You barely register the sharp clatter of bottles knocked from the shelves as your back presses harder against the metal. Daryl doesn’t seem to care. If anything, the mess spurs him on, makes him more reckless, more desperate.
He kisses you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your legs weak, makes your stomach tighten. He’s breathing hard, fingers digging into your sides, body pressing fully into you now, until there’s nothing between you but heat and friction.
His lips drag from your mouth down to your jaw, then lower, his breath hot as he murmurs against your skin. “Been losin’ my mind over you all damn week.” His teeth catch on the pulse in your neck, not biting, just grazing, making you shudder. “Longer than that, if I’m bein’ honest.”
Your nails bite into his shoulders as he kisses lower, pressing into the spot just beneath your jaw, the one that makes your breath hitch. His hands are everywhere—roaming, gripping, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips brush against bare skin, warm and rough, and you arch into his touch without thinking.
“Daryl…”
He groans at the way you say his name, a quiet, broken sound that sends a deep shudder through his body. He presses his forehead against yours for a second, breath ragged, like he’s trying to steady himself but failing. Then his hands tighten on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter of the pharmacy.
You gasp softly, but he’s already between your legs, already pulling you flush against him, the heat between your bodies unbearable. His lips are on yours again, claiming, devouring, his hands moving up your thighs, squeezing, gripping like he can’t get enough.
Your fingers tangle in his hair as you kiss him harder, the urgency between you growing into something more frantic, more consuming. His hands slide beneath your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, and you shiver as his palms drag over your ribs, rough and warm.
His mouth leaves yours just long enough to mutter against your skin, voice thick with something wild, something unraveling. “You sure about this?”
Your only answer is to pull him back in, crashing your lips to his, fingers fisting in his shirt as you tug him closer, needing him, needing more.
That’s all he needs. His shirt is gone in the next instant with yours following suit, and the moment the fabric is over your head, his lips are on you again, everywhere. You arch into his touch, heat rolling through you as his mouth works down your neck, trailing over your collarbone, then lower. Each kiss leaves behind something electric, something you feel everywhere, and when he drags lower still, down onto your bare chest, his lips and teeth and tongue worship everywhere but where you want him most.
Your breath hitches, your hands restless, gripping at his arms, his shoulders, his hair—anywhere you can reach, anywhere you can pull him closer. He’s between your legs now, his body solid, burning against yours, his hands gripping your thighs, fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back.
You look down at him, ready to beg, but the sight of him wrecks you.
Daryl between your legs, his lips on your skin, mouth open, breath warm as he stares at you like he’s never seen anything like you before.
Any coherent thought vanishes the moment his lips close around your nipple.
A breathless moan leaves your lips as his tongue flicks over it, hot and slow, sending a deep ache curling low in your stomach. His rough fingers knead your other breast, rolling and pinching your sensitive skin in just the right way, his touch deliberate, like he’s learning you, like he’s memorizing every reaction.
You arch into him, pressing closer, needing more, but he keeps the pace slow, like he’s savoring every second, like he wants to soak in every feel of your body against his.
His tongue swirls over the sensitive bud, lips tugging gently before he soothes it with another slow flick, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His other hand stays firm on your breast, rolling, kneading, fingers rough with callouses as he works you over with slow, steady intent. It’s almost too much, yet not enough, and you feel yourself tilting between the two sensations, every nerve in your body locked onto the way he’s touching you, kissing you, like he never wants to stop.
You’re barely aware of your own sounds, the quiet gasps, the soft moans, the way your hands dig into his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing him closer. His mouth moves lower, lips dragging down your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, gripping your waist like he’s grounding himself.
Then, just when you think he’s going to keep going, he stops.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling, lips slick and parted. His hands squeeze at your waist, thumbs brushing slow over your skin, and he swallows, throat bobbing as he exhales through his nose.
“Turn around,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, thick with something dark, something unfiltered.
Your breath catches.
You do as he says, shifting, dropping your feet to the floor and gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself as you twist in his hold. The air feels even thicker now, hotter, your pulse hammering as his hands slide over your hips, guiding you exactly where he wants you.
His palms press firm against your lower back, tracing down to your waist before his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. There’s no rush in the way he tugs them down, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every new inch of skin he reveals. The scrape of fabric against your thighs sends a shiver rolling through you, and when they finally pool at your ankles, his hands smooth back up, gripping, kneading, pulling you back into him.
A sharp inhale leaves your lips when you feel him press against you, his breath warm at the curve of your neck. His fingers flex at your hips, gripping tight, like he’s still trying to hold himself back, like he’s at war with the need running through him.
“Goddamn,” he mutters under his breath.
You don’t have time to respond before his lips are on your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, hands gripping you tighter, pulling you flush against him. The heat of him seeps through you, burning into your skin, your body molding against his like you were always meant to fit there.
Then, slowly, his hand slides up.
You barely register the shift before the weight of his arm is curling around your neck, firm but careful, forearm bracing across your throat, holding you in place. The solid strength of his muscles—it’s everything you imagined, everything you tried so hard to ignore when the thought first crossed your mind.
A low, rough chuckle rumbles against your ear.
“This what you wanted, ain’t it?” His voice is gravel, wrecked, thick with something primal as his breath ghosts along your jaw. His hold tightens just slightly, just enough to make you shudder. “My arm around this pretty neck?”
His words send a shudder through you, pooling heat low in your stomach as your hands grip the counter harder. His arm is thick around your neck, a steady weight that makes you dizzy with want, and when he tightens it just slightly, enough to make you feel it, a whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.
“Yes,” you breathe, voice barely there.
Daryl stills for half a second like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. Then he makes a noise low in his throat, something rough, something wrecked, and his grip on you tightens.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice thick, warm, almost tender in contrast to how strong he feels behind you. His nose brushes against your jaw, his lips grazing over your pulse as his other hand trails lower, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your hip. “What a sweet thing you are”
The praise sends a jolt through you, your breath catching, fingers twitching against the counter as he shifts behind you. Then you hear it, a belt coming loose and buckle clattering to the floor with the jeans he was wearing and suddenly you feel him– heavy and thick as he nudges against you, the heat of it pressing right against your slick entrance.
Your whole body tenses, then melts, nails digging into his arm where it rests against your throat.
Daryl lets out a slow, shuddering breath, nipping lightly at the edge of your ear before murmuring, “Christ, barely touched you and you’re all wet. This all for me?” His hips press forward again, slow, teasing, and you let out a quiet whimper, pushing back into him without thinking. His cock notches into you then, and you both let out a sudden gasp.
“That’s it,” he praises, lips pressing against the shell of your ear, his voice low and soothing and coaxing as his cock sinks deeper into you. “You’re so damn good. Feels good, don’t it?”
You don’t think you’ve ever heard him talk like this before, soft and filthy all at once, like he’s pouring everything he has into the way he touches you, the way he holds you. You nod, swallowing hard. “So good, Daryl.”
His breath turns heavier, warmer against your skin as he pulls you back onto him, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch as he buries himself inside you. His grip tightens at your hip, steadying you, holding you exactly where he wants you, but the real weight—the one that sends a full-body shudder through you—is his arm, still firm around your neck. You back arches against him, leaning into the muscles of his forearm as he holds you into the crook of his elbow.
“There you go,” he rasps, his voice strained, wrecked. His hips rock forward again, sinking deeper, stretching you, and a ragged moan slips from your lips. His grip flexes, and he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, lips warm, tongue flicking against your pulse before he nips at it, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. “Knew you’d take me so good.”
Your nails dig harder into his arm, fingers curling around his wrist where he holds you, your breath hitching as he starts to move. Slow at first, testing, drawing himself out before pushing back in, each roll of his hips deliberate, each thrust pressing deeper, setting a rhythm that already has you unraveling.
His arm around your neck tightens, just slightly, just enough to make your next breath stutter, to make the heat between your legs coil tighter. His breath is hot against your ear, rough and ragged, the tension in his body coiled so tight you can feel it thrumming through his chest, through the arm braced around your throat.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, his voice raw, nearly pained as he rocks into you. "You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me."
His hips move with slow precision at first, teasing, working you open, dragging out every sensation like he wants you to feel him, to know that he’s the one making you come apart like this. His fingers dig into your hip, pulling you back onto him, the blunt head of his cock pressing deep with every thrust.
"Been thinkin’ about this," he murmurs, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Bout how tight you’d feel, how fuckin’ perfect you’d take me. You feel that, baby?" He drives into you harder then, pushing you flush against the counter, stealing your breath with the sheer force of it. "Feels better than I ever imagined."
Your nails claw at his arm, breath ragged as his grip tightens just slightly around your neck, just enough to hold you there, to keep you at his mercy. His hips snap into you then, harder and faster now that you’ve adjusted to the sheer stretch of his cock.
"Shit," he groans, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw, sucking at the delicate skin before biting down, his voice going strained. "You like this, don’t ya? Bein’ held like this? Wrapped up in me, nowhere to go."
You whimper, pushing back into him, chasing the heat, the pressure, the way he’s unraveling you piece by piece.
His free hand slides down, dipping between your legs, his fingers finding you slick and swollen, rubbing slow, purposeful circles that make your knees shake.
"Fuck, look at you," he mutters, pressing his forehead to the side of your head, his breath coming harder now. "Gettin’ all worked up, takin’ it so damn well." His fingers flick over your clit, pressing just right, and you let out a broken moan. "That’s it, baby. Let me hear you. Been dreamin’ ‘bout these sounds."
His thrusts grow rougher, deeper, and the tension in your belly coils tight, too tight, everything building.
Daryl feels it.
"Yeah," he breathes, his voice shaking now, wrecked with how good you feel around him. "I know, sweetheart. Feels like your body’s beggin’ for it, huh?" His lips drag over your jaw, his hips pounding into you now, chasing that high. "Wanna cum all over me, don’t ya?"
The coil snaps at his words, white-hot and blinding as his arm tightens, stealing the breath from you completely. Your entire body goes taut as pleasure crashes over you, so sharp and overwhelming as your lungs scream for air. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing tight, and Daryl groans deep in his chest, his rhythm going sloppy, erratic.
"Shit, you’re milkin’ me, baby," he groans, his fingers moving to grip your hips, "Goddamn, you feel like fuckin’ heaven."
He holds you, hips pinning you against the counter as he buries himself deep, shuddering against you as he spills inside you.
His hold around your neck finally eases, his hand smoothing over your collarbone, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against the side of your neck as both of you come down together.
"You alright?" His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges, but there’s something tender in it, something real.
You exhale shakily, your body still humming from the aftershocks, a slow, blissed-out smile creeping across your lips. "Yeah. That was… that was so hot."
Daryl huffs out a small, breathless laugh, pressing a lingering kiss against the side of your neck. His hands keep roaming, slow and absentminded, smoothing over your waist, tracing lazy circles along your hips, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.
"Yeah?" He nuzzles into your shoulder, his lips grazing your damp skin. "Ain’t never tried it before." His voice is warm, a little smug, but softer than before, like he’s still coming down from it too.
You hum, stretching slightly against him, still pressed chest to back. "Me neither. Somethin’ about you, Dixon."
Daryl makes a sound deep in his throat, something pleased, something almost knowing. His fingers tighten just slightly at your hip, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw before he murmurs, "Ain’t gonna be the last time, neither."
“Promise?” you chuckle, turning in his arms to snake your hands around his neck.
Daryl smirks, slow and lazy, his breath warm against your skin as he tilts his head, letting your fingers slip into his hair. His hands slide lower, resting at the curve of your back, holding you against him like he has no intention of letting go.
"Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough but sure. "Promise."
His lips find yours again, softer this time, slower, like he’s savoring it, like he’s already thinking about the next time, about how he’ll take his time with you, about all the things he wants to do.
Part Ten | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist
Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader
Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, chapter follows “Tell it to the Frogs” but dialogue and events are paraphrased.
Word Count: 3K
Author’s Note: Me posting twice in a week? Unheard of. I've just been feeling very inspired for this story and this chapter just took on a life of it's own. I try to keep these chapter under 2,000 words, but this one is a tad longer. Hope you all enjoy! As always I would love to hear what y'all think.
After an eventful night around the campfire, you return to your empty tent. A part of you was thankful when Shane told the group that he was taking watch tonight, but another part of you recognizes that he’s simply trying to delay the inevitable. You’re just not sure you’re ready for that conversation right now. Not after the whiplash of emotions you experienced today: from the joy of one of your best friends returning from the dead to the devastation you felt for Daryl at the realization that Merle didn’t make it back from Atlanta.
You had asked about the older Dixon’s absence during a lull in the conversation after you’d all finished dinner. Rick explained what had happened in Atlanta, and though you understood why he chose to handcuff Merle on the roof, your heart broke for Daryl. When you asked if they planned to return to the city for him, you were met by a scoff from Shane and a mumbled good riddance under his breath. His reaction made you sick to your stomach. You may not care for Merle Dixon, but Daryl does. And for all you know, he’s the only family that Daryl has left.
The prolonged silence that ensued after your question was an answer in itself. They didn’t plan on going back for him.
You lie down on your cot, sighing as you stare into the darkness above you. Your mind is still racing at the realization of Shane’s infidelity. You hadn’t gotten a chance to process the insinuation during the constant commotion this evening, but now that you were alone, it’s all you can think about. You roll over, closing your eyes and hoping that some sleep will give you a clearer perspective on your dilemma. But even though today took pretty much everything out of you, sleep never seemed further away. The idea of holding onto all of this alone is exhausting, but who are you supposed to talk to right now? Rick and Lori just got each other back. You barely know Glenn and Dale. And even though you’re friends with Andrea and Amy, anything told to the sisters tends to spread through the camp like wildfire. You wish Daryl was here.
But then there’s your second problem. How do you explain to Daryl that the group left his brother in Atlanta? And how will he respond? Daryl’s just started opening up to you, and you’re depending on that budding friendship now more than ever. You’re afraid he will pull away from the group due to the betrayal. And you wouldn’t blame him — betrayal weighs heavy on your heart right now.
You let out another sigh as you turn onto your back. You pull your thin blanket over your head, trying to physically block out the thoughts spiraling inside of your brain. In an attempt to calm yourself down, you pull Dale’s book out of your backpack and ignite your small flashlight. You open the book to where you left off, but instead of getting further into the novel, your eyes drift to the crumpled piece of paper acting as your placeholder. Finally, you drift off rereading Daryl’s hastily written note.
When you wake, you’re met with rays of morning sunlight filtering through the flaps of your tent. You blink the grogginess out of your eyes. Even though you slept more than usual last night, your body feels like it didn’t get any rest. You gather your strength and manage to get off of your small cot, groaning as your feet connect with the ground. Hopefully, you’ll feel better once you busy yourself with something to do around camp.
Exiting your tent, you’re met with a surprisingly empty camp. Your brow furrows as you sweep the area, but a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as your eyes land on Rick talking to Carol by the RV. Having Rick Grimes back in your life still feels like a dream. You make your way up to the pair, and Rick glances over your way.
“You look as tired as I feel.”
Although his words are said in a humorous tone, his eyes hold a look of genuine concern. The small smile on your face grows a bit wider at the sight. Rick Grimes isn’t your blood, but you’ve considered him your family since you befriended Lori all those years ago.
“Just a restless night, I suppose.”
You attempt to brush off the concern nonchalantly. The last thing you want to do is worry Rick as he’s settling back in with his friends and family. But even though he lets out a warm chuckle at your response, the concern etched into his features doesn’t dissipate. Rick opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by a woman screaming. The two of you look toward where the sound is coming from, somewhere off in the surrounding woods, before looking back at each other with wide eyes.
“Lori…”
Without another word, the two of you race off into the woods with Carol not far behind. As you both get further into the forest, you begin to hear a medley of concerned voices. And finally, you find a small clearing with the entire group gathered around Sophia and Carl. Rick rushes over to his son, but your eyes are fixated on an inanimate walker lying beside a deer carcass. Your hand subconsciously lands on your hip and grabs the hilt of your hunting knife. Although it looks like some of the men handled the walker, you still have a sinking feeling in your stomach as your eyes rake over the jagged bite marks that trail down the deer’s neck.
A rustling in the woods pulls your attention away from the carnage, and suddenly, everyone is on high alert. You watch as both Shane and Rick get in front of Lori and Carl, shielding them with their bodies as they draw their guns up toward the sound. Your tense shoulders relax, and a relieved sigh escapes your lips as Daryl appears from the dense forest brush. Everyone drops their weapons as Daryl raises his hands. Shane groans as he spots a handful of squirrels that Daryl has tied onto a rope in his left hand. Daryl glares at Shane for a second before his eyes land on the mangled deer lying on the forest floor.
“Son of a bitch!”
Daryl approaches the deer, angrily muttering about how he’d been tracking it for miles. He kicks the deer in frustration and drops to a knee to assess the damage the walker has done.
“I was gonna drag it back to camp — cook us all up some venison. What do you think? Think we could cut around the chewed-up parts?”
Daryl’s proposal earns him several disgusted groans, and Shane responds.
“I wouldn’t risk it, man.”
Daryl sighs disappointedly before standing up from the deer. He wipes off his hands on the front of his jeans. His eyes harden slightly as he looks over at Shane.
“That’s a damn shame. Got some squirrel though — that’ll have to make due.”
From behind him, the walker begins groaning and Daryl rolls his eyes as multiple people cry out in horror. In one swift motion he swings his crossbow from behind his back and shoots the walker square between the eyes. Daryl’s eyes scan the small crowd that has gathered around all of the commotion. His posture relaxes ever-so-slightly as his eyes meet yours. He gives you a subtle nod — a small gesture you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead of nodding back, you drop your eyes to the ground. You’re not quite sure how to face him right now — overwhelmed by a mix of embarrassment over your current predicament with Shane and guilt that you didn’t go to Atlanta after learning about Merle. Realistically, you know that there’s no way that you could go on a lone rescue mission to the city to save Merle, but you still feel like you should have done something.
Daryl’s brow furrows, and his heart clenches at your reaction. What happened while he was gone? Daryl looks around and suddenly realizes that everyone in camp is staring at him with a disheartened expression — everyone except Merle. His eyes quickly scan the group once more before he starts making his way toward their shared tent. Everyone moves to follow him.
“Merle! Merle, where you at?”
You move to step forward. If anyone was going to break the news about his brother, it should be someone who cares about him. But before you can speak, Shane pushes you behind him and takes the lead.
“Daryl, just slow up a bit. We need to talk to you about Merle. There was a problem in Atlanta.”
Daryl chews on his bottom lip for a second before responding.
“He dead?”
Your heart breaks as you watch Daryl’s expression drop.
“We’re not sure.”
Daryl’s face hardens at Shane’s answer.
“He either is or he ain’t!”
Rick puts a hand on Shane’s shoulder before things get too heated between the two hot-headed men. As Daryl’s gaze shifts from Shane to Rick and his eyes narrow.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Rick Grimes.”
Recognition flashes in Daryl’s eyes as the name immediately reminds him of the numerous stories you’ve told him about the man you consider a brother. His gaze flickers to you briefly before shifting back to Rick. For your sake, he pushes his anger aside for a moment and chooses to listen to Rick. You watch intently as Rick explains the events that happened in Atlanta. Daryl’s nostrils flare, and his grip tightens around the squirrels he’s holding.
“You’re tellin’ me that you handcuffed my brother on top of a roof and left him there?”
“Yeah.”
And then all hell breaks loose. Daryl throws the bundle of squirrels at Rick, causing Shane to launch himself at Daryl. You rush forward as Shane tackles Daryl to the floor. You’re yelling at Shane — begging him to get off of Daryl. As you attempt to pull Shane off of him, Shane reaches back and pushes you off of him. Daryl yells as you hit the ground hard. Rick helps you up, and there’s a collective gasp as Daryl, who has managed to get out of Shane’s hold, pulls out his hunting knife.
“Stop it!”
You step in between the two men — back to Shane. Daryl’s chest heaves from the physical activity, and his eyes don’t leave the man behind you.
“Daryl.”
Finally, his eyes meet yours, and his face softens ever-so-slightly. He sighs before dropping the knife. You nod at him approvingly before turning to look at Shane. Although Daryl seems to have settled down, Shane is still fuming. His gaze is like daggers as he continues to stare at Daryl. T-Dog steps forward to diffuse the situation.
“I dropped the key, but I locked the door. Nothing should be able to get in there — we just have to go back.”
You hear Daryl grunt from behind you. As you turn to face him, he’s chewing on his bottom lip again. You can practically see the gears turning his head.
“Just tell me where he is so I can go get him.”
“I’ll go back with you.”
Lori clenches her jaw at Rick’s words, obviously upset by her husband’s decision. T-Dog nods at Rick’s words before stating he’ll join them. Shane mutters a string of expletives under his breath as Rick glances around the group. His eyes land on Glenn, and he shifts his feet nervously.
“Really, man?”
“You know the city better than anybody. It’d make me feel safer knowing you’re there with me.”
Glenn hesitates for a moment before nodding. Rick gives him a small smile, and Shane lets out an exasperated sigh.
“So that’s your big plan, man? You, T-Dog, Glenn, and Daryl?”
“And me.”
Suddenly, everyone’s eyes land on you. Shane’s expression hardens as his eyes meet yours. His gaze is ice cold, but you don’t back down.
“The hell you are!”
“I’m going, Shane.”
Shane huffs before taking several steps toward you.
“Are you outta your goddamn mind? This is Merle Dixon we’re talking about.”
You glance back over your shoulder at Daryl who is nervously shifting from one foot to the other. He’s watching the interaction attentively. Just like always, he’s prepared to step in if Shane loses his cool.
“He’s still human, Shane. He deserves better than to die handcuffed on top of a roof like a rabid animal.”
Shane’s expression tightens as his gaze briefly shifts between you and Daryl. His gaze eventually focuses back on you and his eyes narrow.
“You’re really gonna do this for him?”
He juts his chin towards Daryl, and you let out a dry laugh due to the absurdity of this conversation. Everyone’s watching the stand-off between you and Shane intently — you’d be embarrassed by the attention if you weren’t so angry.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with him, alright? It’s about doing the right thing.”
Shane takes another menacing step forward. You know what he’s doing — he’s trying to intimidate you into submission, but you’re done with this. He squares his shoulders as he towers over you, but instead of cowering, you stand your ground.
“That’s bullshit. If you leave with them, we’re done.”
His voice is seething. He’s desperately trying to regain control of the situation — the ultimatum is proof of that.
“We’ve been done, Shane.”
You turn to leave the conversation, but Shane reaches out and grabs your wrist. The grip he has on you is bone-breaking, and you let out a surprised yelp as he pulls you back towards him. Immediately, Daryl springs into action. A low, threatening growl rumbles in his throat as he moves toward you.
“Don’t fucking touch her.”
Shane’s grip tightens at Daryl’s warning. You squirm due to the pain shooting up your arm. You desperately try to wriggle out of Shane’s grasp, but it’s too tight.
“Stay out of this. She isn’t yours.”
“Are you deaf? She ain’t yours either.”
Before Shane can react, Rick grabs his shoulder. He looks at you and Shane with wide eyes, obviously confused about what has happened between you both during his absence.
“Brother, what are you doing?”
Finally, Shane releases his grip, and you immediately backstep away from him. Daryl places a gentle hand on your shoulder and moves you further away from Shane. Rick’s brow furrows in confusion as he watches Daryl precautiously step in front of you. He’s obviously missing something here. The last time he saw you both — before the accident, before the coma — you were laughing with each other during dinner at Rick and Lori’s. He remembers your joy. But now you’re looking at his best friend with nothing but discontent. And Daryl, the man that Shane warned Rick about last night, is the one protecting you from a man you shouldn’t fear. Rick shakes his head before addressing the rest of the group.
“Alright everyone, the show’s over. Let’s all cool off for a bit, okay?”
The group begins to wander off in different directions. But Daryl and Shane continue to stare each other down until Rick grabs Shane’s shoulder again.
“Shane, let’s go.”
It sounds more like a warning than a suggestion. Finally, Shane tears his eyes away from Daryl and stomps into camp. Rick gives you one last apologetic look before following after his best friend. You let out a sigh of relief and let your shoulders drop as the tense encounter finally ends. Daryl turns to face you, and his eyes immediately drop to your wrist, which is already beginning to bruise.
“You ‘lright?”
You nod wordlessly, still overwhelmed by everything that just happened. Daryl moves you back toward a fallen log to sit you down before he cautiously grabs your wrist. You’re so far away right now you don’t even respond to the touch. He drops down on one knee and gently assesses the damage that Shane caused, making sure nothing’s broken. Once Daryl is content with his assessment, he meets your eyes. His expression is brimming with worry as he searches your face.
“You sure you’re ‘lright?”
Finally, you meet his eyes, and Daryl’s heart breaks at the sight of your broken appearance. He’s overwhelmed by his need to protect you — a feeling that’s becoming increasingly common for him as he spends more time with you. This time, you simply shake your head. Honestly, you have no idea what you feel right now.
Daryl nods and takes a seat beside you. He feels like a fucking idiot. He never should have left you here for so long — not after everything you told him about Shane, everything he’s observed over the weeks you’ve spent in camp together. Before he can kick himself further, you speak again.
“It’s over, right?”
Daryl looks at you softly and nods.
“It’s over.”
“But he’s still…”
“You ain’t gotta worry about him anymore. I promise you, I ain’t gonna let him do anything to you. Not anymore.”
You’re overwhelmed by the sincerity in his tone and the devotion in his eyes. He promises to protect you like he’s taking an oath. And for the first time since he left on his hunting trip, you feel safe. You nod, honestly believing that Daryl would put himself in harms way for your own well-being. Hell, he already did. You lean back against the fallen log and Daryl reaches into his pocket before wordlessly offering you a cigarette. A warm laugh bubbles in your chest at the gesture and Daryl wishes he could record the sound. You take the cigarette and give him a small smile.
“You’re a bad influence, Dixon.”
A smirk pulls at the corner of Daryl’s lips as he hands you a lighter. You take it graciously and Daryl watches you light the cigarette between your lips. You hand the lighter back to him before taking a long drag.
Goddamn.
He always thought those cowboy killers would kill one day — but he was wrong. You’re going to be the death of him and he’s okay with that. Because he can’t think of a more wonderful way to go.
Summary: You’re Shane’s girlfriend but when the apocalypse hits you find him changing and find yourself leaning more towards the only person who gives you the time of day, also you’re Rick’s younger sister
Pairing: Shane x f!reader, Daryl Dixon x f!reader
Warning: Shane’s a cheater obvi, harsh words, Merle
Part.1
•Masterlist•
It’s been a week since I moved into a tent at Daryl’s small camp site, he’d usually keep me company when he was hunting and just in case Shane came around, but when he had to go hunting I always got so nervous, Shane wasn’t the same anymore and without Daryl around I don’t know what he’ll try to pull with me
Daryl left me with one of his hunting knives this morning before he left hoping for a deer, some of the others had already left for a scavenging trip into the city so only a few of us were left to deal with the camps duties, I decided to head down to the quarry and clean some of mine and Daryl’s clothes, even though he groaned about it not being a big deal I know he needs these sleeveless shirts clean
Peacefully I got to work when I heard the rocks behind me crunch under heavy footsteps
“Now a pretty lil lady like you shouldn’t be out here all alone” I turned around quickly recognizing the voice is that sick man, Ed
“Do you need something Ed” I spat out with malice
“Just here for the show” I sighed with disgust as I gathered mine and Daryl’s clean clothes and threw them in a basket, hoping to avoid a scene and head back to the camp, I try to walk past him when he grabs my arm
I’m really sick of men thinking they can just grab me, shook out of his grip and pushed him back
“You think you’re better than me bitch” he yelled before smacking me hard across the cheek
I fall to the ground holding my sore cheek, breaking my fall on the basket
“You better watch yourself” he flicked his cigarette to the ground and walked off
How safe was this camp really? I feel like I’d be safer out alone against the walkers than the men here, atleast I know what I’m getting with the walkers
I try to get myself together again, I suck in a deep breath as I feel the burning in my face, I pick up the basket and head back up to the camp with my head hung low, even though no one saw I’m completely embarrassed, did I have a sign hanging over me or something that put a target on me?
I quickly went back to my tent and stayed in there for the rest of the day, folding the laundry and reading a book I had packed, just praying Daryl was making it back early today
The sun was getting lower in the sky when I hear a car siren broke me out of my thoughts, I left my tent seeing a red sports car pull up and everyone is freaking out
“The hell is going on around here?” I hear from beside me, that southern accent that always made me feel safe, I turn throwing my arms around him
“Oh thank god you’re back”
“Did somethin happen?” He asks his brows furrowed as he pulls me back to check me over, his eyes landing on the blooming bruise that’s forming on the left side of my face
“Who did this to ya?” He growls gentle tracing his thumb over my cheek
I don’t know what it was about him but I felt so safe and vulnerable with him, feeling my bottom lip tremble I look down before he leads me to look back up at him, his eyes asking me again
“It was…..” I was cut of when everyone was making a ruckus again
“Come on out helicopter boy” I took Daryl’s hand and ran over to see the commotion
My heart stops seeing who I never thought I’d see again, I drop Daryl hand and run as fast as my feet can take me crashing into Rick, my brother, his arms tight around me as we both cry
“How is this possible, Shane said you were dead” that bastard lied
“I found you” he sighed before Carl came running over screaming for his dead, I stepped aside letting them have their moment, looking over at Shane seeing him in shook, just seeing him makes my blood boil, I stomp my way over pushing his chest
“YOU LIED, WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME” I scream seeing the shook fade into that rage he’s had lately
“This ain’t the time” he groaned as I felt two arms wrap around me and lead me away from the group
“He lied” I whisper as we sit down on the logs around our camp fire
“Ya wait here, relax a bit, this is a lot ta take in, even though Shane’s an ass”
•
After everything settled and the group that came back from the city started talking it caught our attention
“Wait a damn minute where the hell is Merle” Daryl groaned as he started looking around, with me not far behind
“Your brother was a danger to us all, we had to do what he had to do” Rick stepped up always trying to take the blame
“He alive?” I can hear the emotion in his voice
“I locked the door to the roof, no walkers should get through it” t dog said
“Just tell me where he is, I’m gonna get him my self”
“Wait you can’t go by yourself Daryl” I stop him with a hand to his chest
“Rick will go won’t you Rick” Lori glared, she really drives me insane, acting like Rick trying to help would be a crime as if she isn’t hooking up with her husbands best friend
“Yes I will, we’ll get a group I won’t let a man die” they all started getting ready to go back to the city, Daryl at our tents getting together his cross bow and arrows
“Daryl please don’t leave me again, I’m not safe here alone, maybe I can come with you” he stops in his tracks and looks at me with this expression that was torn between staying and going
“I ain’t risking ya out there, I’ll come back ta ya”
I step closer
“But what if Ed or Shane come after me again”
“So it was Ed……listen I’ll deal with them when I come back, maybe stay with ol grandpa in the trailer…..I’ll come back ta ya peach, I promise” I take a deep breath nodding knowing he wouldn’t lie to me
“Please be safe” he nodded before he left to the van, starting to get everyone to go, I like how he was a redneck hot head with everyone else but how he was so gentle with me
The little group including my brother I just got back we’re gone driving off down the dirt road
I sit next to some of the other ladies that were gathering around a fire that just got started, just needing girl talk or something to get my mind off of everything, Ed hitting me, Shane just being Shane, and now my brother is back and my feelings for Daryl are growing everyday, it’s just a lot
“Honey what happened to your face looks like you fell and landed right on a rock” Jackie asks as she hands me a bottle of water
“Oh umm…it’s nothing just ran into a tree” the lie bothered me, why am I lying, it’s definitely not to protect that son of a bitch Ed
“Was it that Dixon, they’ve been nothing but trouble since day one” Lori intervened with a scowl
“NO…….daryl would never touch me, do you know how screwed you’d all be for food if he wasn’t always out hunting for this group that only sees him as a low life?” Nobody spoke after that until the others still left around the group came and circled the fire as the sun dissapeared under the horizon, Shane came and sat down next to Lori as usual and I just couldn’t handle it so I got up and left back to my own camp site and lighting my own fire
It was a nice distraction just to watch the fire and just not to think about anything that’s been going on, I can’t think about the two men that are important to me right now are out there risking their lives
As I hear the distant chatter of the group I hear a blood curdling scream followed by another until all I can hear anymore is panic and mayhem
I run back over seeing people down being ripped apart by walkers, others sticking close together, and the few left trying to protect to group, I go to grab my knife when a weight is pushed down on me and I know by the snapping of the jaws it’s a walker, I manage to turn quickly and try and hold it back, it’s rotting flesh invading my senses, my hand slips and it tackles me to the ground, I can’t help but cry out and beg for someone to help me
It’s jaws mere inches from me, so close to biting my skin until it goes limp and I see an arrow through its head before it’s pulled and thrown away from me, Daryl standing over me like a knight in shining armour, he leans down and pulls me up into his comforting arms, holding me close
“I told ya I’d come back” he whispered as he held my waist tighter
“Please don’t leave me again” I cried into his shoulder
“I ain’t going no where peach, seein ya like that…..I never wanna see again”
seeing ppl address daisy jones and the six as a ship war is really hilarious and pretty much misses the entire point of the book that there are loves that are beautiful but sometimes aren’t right for people, there are times in your love when sometimes even loving someone isn’t enough along with the timing and the circumstances of your life. both camila and daisy deserved beautiful love and a beautiful life. there isn’t “oh this ship is better than the other” there is just time and place. neither ship is inherently better than the other they just are because people are human and they are flawed.
Dean Winchester x pregnant reader ft. The originals
Hello friends! I have had this idea for a hot minute. I am excited for you guys to read it, and it will be more than one part. Lots of angst. Turned into a little Klaus x reader 😱
The reader is married to the infamous Dean Winchester. After a case that involves kids, Dean makes it very clear that he doesn’t want kids, even after discussing it with the reader. So when she finds out she’s pregnant she runs to some old friends, the Mikaelsons.
*Le Story*
You wiped your nose as you sped away from the bunker. You never thought you’d run. Never thought something would scare you so badly. Never thought you’d leave your true love and best friend. You were on a case. You’d had to make a tough call on who to save. You’d decided to save the kid. And now they were left without their mother. This has cemented Dean’s thoughts on kids. He didn’t want them. You’d discussed it many times and he said he was never sure, maybe to spare your feelings, but now he had made his wants very clear. You had remained silent, but a few days later, you found out you were pregnant. You thought about telling him, until you heard him talking to Sam.
“Look man, I know you don’t agree and you keep saying I’d make a great dad. But I just can’t see what you see Sammy. I know Y/n and I talked about kids but I just can’t. I couldn’t put a kid through what that kid went through, what we went through.” You didn’t even hear what Sam said. You were back to your old room and that night you were gone. You may have encouraged the boys to drink more than average, so they were out cold. You didn’t leave a note, only grabbed an old flip phone from an old friend. You arrived in New Orleans late at night, like it hardly mattered to Klaus. He greeted you at the door, a smug smile on his face before it vanished and he pulled you into a hug.
“Y/n love, breathe. Tell me what happened, before I go there and tear out their hearts.” He said soothingly.
You couldn’t get a word out. You stood there for a bit before he heard it. The second heartbeat. He put you at arm's length before looking you in the eye.
“Is this why you’re so upset love?”
“Yes. He doesn’t want a baby. I couldn’t stay.”
He nodded silently before giving you another hug and a kiss on the forehead. He silently led you to a spare room and helped you get set up. Elijah and Rebecca returned at some point, Rebecca squealing in excitement to have another girl in the house, and even more at having another baby around the house. You weren’t sure how long you’d stay, but Elijah, every chivalrous, offered to let you stay as long as you wanted. You were nearly in tears because of hormones and the love they showed you. Haley popped by to say hello and said if you ever needed advice you need only ask.
You spent the following few weeks settling in. You disconnected your phone and got a new one, and got used to the antics of the Mikaelsons. Marcel checked in, usually bringing snacks and letting you know you were not only under the Mikaelsons protection, but his as well. The witches of the quarter had no beef with you, and actually had you help communicate with the vampires over certain issues. You had a few hidden powers of your own, but they seemed to dwindle as you progressed in your pregnancy. And so you were currently with Davina, she was making a new hex bag to hide your location from Crowley, Cas, and anyone else who the Winchesters may ask for help.
You may have been panicking. You could have stayed and tried to explain it to Sam at least. But you were terrified. Dean sounded so sure, you were sure nothing would ever change his mind. And you wanted a baby. So badly you would do anything. Hunting was dangerous, especially if you were pregnant, so you couldn’t have continued and hid your pregnancy from them. You were emotional a lot. Klaus was often in your room in the middle of the night, comforting you and your broken heart. You missed Dean so much, you often thought about going back. But then you’d get scared again, and the endless cycle continued.
Today was a good day. You were about 5 months along at this point. You hadn’t really felt the baby move, which would concern you but Klaus said he heard a strong heartbeat. You were reading through some lore books that Elijah had found in their library. It was interesting speaking with them about the different monsters that existed out there. It seemed as though there could be different “breeds” of vampires, werewolves, and witches. All with different origins and different beliefs, powers, etc. You were currently talking to Klaus about Wendigos and how he would win in a fight with one.
You had developed a habit of having your hand on or near your baby bump, just to reassure yourself it was real. So you felt immediately when the baby kicked. Klaus was boasting his strength when you put your hand up, silencing him. Before he could say anything you stood up and grabbed his hand, placing it where you felt the baby kick. His eyes lit up, a wide grin on his face.
"Hello little warrior. I am your uncle Klaus, and I will always be here for you." He smiled up at you, pulling you into a tight hug.
"Klaus, please let go, I need to pee."
"Sorry darling, caught up in the moment."
You gave his arm a squeeze before waddling to the bathroom.
"So… when are you going to tell her, brother?" Elijah spoke softly.
"Not now brother, not when she has so much on her plate already. She mustn't know I'm in love with her. "
absolutely adore the concept that superpowers are actually super inconvenient when it comes to normal life. not the responsibilities of being a hero, just the practical considerations of the powers themselves. superman spends $20k a year on refrigerator repairs bc he keeps ripping the door off by accident
It started with a flicker. A smell left in his nose when he woke, the sounds of laughter in the wind. It started with flashes of color in his dreams, longing in his chest when he woke. Azriel couldn’t begin to describe the feeling, his shadows urging him to find them.
Who were they? The one who haunted his dreams and wake?
“Who are they?” Cassian asks during training one afternoon. There’s a chill in his bones, flickers of you resting behind his eyes. The night before was the first time he’d seen anything other than vague happenings. He nearly considered skipping today. How could he explain it? He looks out into the city, his face not betraying a thing as he inquires, “Who?” Cassian scoffed, tying his hair back with a piece of leather. “Stop playing stupid. I’ll figure it out eventually. At least tell me their name — the one that makes you happy,”
