Summary: After getting attacked by a Saviour that hurt you, Daryl was visibly shaken up, enraged by what happened. You needed to talk him down and try and help him relax, not realizing that your injuries were worse than you thought.
A/N: I don’t really know what this is, but I felt bad for the lack of writing and need to post something, so here’s this lol. It’s not my best work at all, but hope you all like this nonetheless!
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Daryl was visibly shaken up, his appearance one of disarray. His hair was a mess, mud and splatters of blood coating the brown strands. His clothes were dirty and torn, and his face had blood dripping from it, both his own and from the now-dead prick that lay in front of him, the perp’s face unrecognizable from the sheer force of Daryl’s punches. Daryl’s knuckles were split open and clearly needed medical attention, although that was the least of his concern.
His mind was racing at the speed of light, his eyes resting solely on the corpse at his feet. Daryl was furious, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, his breaths deep and heavy. He was barely aware of his surroundings, too caught up in his own rage-driven thoughts.
“Daryl?”
The soft, quiet sound of your voice reached the huntsman’s ears. However, he did not react to it. It sounded like you were far away, like he was submerged in water and your voice was muffled to him. He knew he had to snap out of it. He knew the two of you needed to get out of there. Other Saviours could show up at any given moment and then this would all have been for nothing. However, it was like he was paralyzed, unable to move, speak, or do anything.
Slowly and carefully, your frame appeared in front of him, your own appearance similar to his, and that made Daryl’s jaw clench. If the guy wasn’t already dead, Daryl would murder him again. He hurt you. He put his hands on you. That bastard deserved to burn in the fiery depths of hell for all eternity.
“Daryl,” you called to him softly, hoping to calm him down enough to make him realize that you both needed to get the hell out of there.
You raised your hand slowly, it being shaky and trembling, and gently cupped his cheek. The archer flinched a little but didn’t pull away, finally snapping out of the daze he was in. His cerulean eyes flickered over your face, taking in the cuts and bruises that were forming, his heart aching for the state you were in. The state his actions got you in. He felt absolutely terrible.
As if reading his mind, your gaze softened and you subtly shook your head. “Don’t.” When you saw the frown tug at Daryl’s eyebrows, you continued, “Don’t blame yourself for this. It’s not your fault.”
Daryl inhaled a shaky breath, not sure if he wanted to start crying or punch a wall. He was enraged at the whole situation. He was mad at himself for letting you get hurt. He was mad at the Saviour for daring to lay a finger on you. He was mad at everything. Everything except you.
“I’m okay, Dar. I promise.”
Daryl shook his head. “Y’ain’t. You’re hurt.”
You knew there was no use in trying to deny it. You were hurt. You ached all over, and you felt really dizzy. However, you couldn’t let that slow you down.
“I am,” you admitted, “but I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” When Daryl went to protest, you cut him off. “I promise I’ll be okay, Dar.”
Daryl wanted to protest. However, low groans filled the air, and he saw the guy he had killed start to twitch. He had changed. Some part of Daryl wanted to leave the bastard like that. To let him walk like that for his whole miserable undead existence. However, he didn’t. Daryl forced himself to get it together and stepped away from your touch to get the walker in the brain, effectively killing the Saviour for the second time.
When he turned back to you, you were already adjusting your bag on your shoulders, grimacing at the pain that shot through your body at the added weight and stumbling a little bit. However, you chose to ignore it, knowing that there were more pressing concerns at hand.
“Let’s go,” you said quietly.
Daryl exhaled and strode over to you, holding his trusted crossbow up in front of him as you both began making your way out of the room. He snuck glances at you every few seconds, trying not to let the guilt of letting you get hurt consume him. There would be time to process and deal with everything later when you were back at Alexandria, safe and taken care of.
Daryl opened his mouth to say something, but before a sound could even leave him, you suddenly collapsed in front of him, no warning whatsoever. His heart stopped, before he rushed over to you, dropping his crossbow in the process. He dropped to his knees next to you, taking your face in his hands.
“Y/N?!” he exclaimed, scanning you to see what made you collapse. “Y/N!”
You weren’t fully unconscious, but Daryl knew you would be soon. Gingerly tilting your head to the side, he tried to see what caused this, his heart hammering against his ribcage when he saw blood pooling from a wound on the back of your head, one neither of you had noticed. As you slipped from consciousness, Daryl had only one thing on his mind:
He needed to get you back to Alexandria, and soon. And any Saviour that dared get in his way would suffer.
summary. a collection of instances and examples of the petnames that daryl has for you and when he uses them (1.8k)
warnings. includes smut 18+ mdni, penetrative sex, death and violence, angst, fluff, petnames, swearing
MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻
divider credits. @cafekitsune
‘Sunshine’
it was a term that he used often, the most often in fact. it was a reminder to both you and him that you were light that brightened his life, without having to state it into an annotative statement. it always reminded him of how ethereal you could be any moment, even during some of your silliest times. he spoke it often with a smile on his face, although he referred to you as such even during serious exchanges of words, when times were hard; a constant reminder that the two of you had each other to lean on and be there for each other
Covered in walker blood and guts, you trudged through the prison courtyard, limbs burning from the slaughter of the undead. You’d endured a hard winter, and you had finally found shelter, albeit in a prison, but it was better than striving through the woods, setting fires of a night and being susceptible to stray walkers stumbling upon you. With a sigh you leant against the grey wall, wiping your forehead, leaving a streak of tainted red behind, the gruel transferred from your hands that were slick with it.
“Could’ve been worse.” The statement left your lips as you huffed, catching your breath. Daryl too was smothered in the death of the dead, though he appreciated the optimism you shared with him. At times it was desperately needed, and he gave you a gruff smile, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve the crimson rag, leaning closer to swipe the material across your head, removing as much grime as he could with that singular thing. You’d all need to bathe in whatever water you could get your hands on, and you prayed that when you fought to get to them, that the showers past the cells worked.
“Coulda been sunshine.” Daryl agreed with you, silently grateful that you were fine and hadn’t been injured with a bite through the turmoil path that you were forced to create in order to earn walls that would provide some inherent, secure safety. At the term he used, a smile broke out upon your face, it reminded him of the rising sun, setting high in the sky, bright and lighting up his entire world.
“And we’re all okay.” For now, he thought, though Daryl refrained from attaching that dreadful suspense onto your words, afraid that it would dim the brightness and relief that had overtaken your expression. You deserved to feel some happiness, knowing that you each had been derived from it for some time, that the end of the fucking world had taken a toll on all of you. A moment of success had uplifted you, and he would not trample on such a parade. Instead he continued to cleanse your face to the extent of his capability, the blood spatters lessening in intensity upon your skin with each motion that he made.
‘Peach’
‘peach’ started off and remained as a way that he teased you, a name that often brought irritation into your face, and he loved the expression that you bore whenever he said it. secretly you adored it, and daryl was of course perceptive of it. it was something that his father had called his mother before she died, and he had been off put in using it, until one particular day, when the sun was beating down upon you, and he knew then why his father had used that nickname
You were tired, exhausted as you tensed your jaw, huffing to yourself as you stalked out of the room, the air vividly tense as you walked out of the main building of Hilltop, petulantly offended by Gregory’s presence and words. It was hard to believe how he had survived the world as it was, but you supposed that he had only managed to do so due to the people that swiftly battled against the undead and gathered supplies; the people like Jesus. If this was to be a committed place of alliance, you would allow Maggie and Rick to continue to do the talking, knowing that surely your temper would loosen and then explode.
The inside of the walls and outside of the grand building was busy, bustling with working men and women who were farming and blacksmithing. Daryl followed you, noticing your interest in their way of life and your obvious dislike for the man in charge. “Ya alrigh’ peach?” His words had earned him the reply of your crossed arms and a quirk of the brow, your face contorting into a soft frown, though he knew that your dispute of frustration was not because of him in the slightest.
“Don’t call me that.” The tone that you used was soft, quiet. This unnerving dispute that the Hilltop residents had with the unmasked Negan was troubling you, stopping them only gratified you with fear that the rolling affect of cutting the ties between these people and those who took from them would only come back to bite you in the ass. All of you. “I’m scared D.” It wasn’t often you admitted it, being weak in this new world was the equivalent of laying down like a dog and submitting to possible death. Yet you said it anyways, trusting Daryl above all others.
He stepped closer to you, wrapping his burly arms around your frame, your head instinctively resting upon his strong forearm as you pressed a kiss to the flesh there. “It’s okay fer ya to be scared peach.” Daryl murmured into your hairline, and rather than retorting about your dislike for the thing that he called you, you closed your eyes, leaning into him. He brought you comfort, and so did the silly little nicknames that he reserved for you and only you.
‘Baby Girl’
there were two instances in which he would use this term of endearment; when things were calm and you were sharing an intimate, loving moment, or during sex. it was certainly not the first pet name he had for you, it had taken him time to think of, thinking it to be foolish as it had become common between couples before the world went to shit. but one time it had just slipped, without even noticing, and since then it had stuck
Daryl clung to you, inhaling the oxygen that was in your lungs through your mouth, his naked body pressed against your own, pleasure soaring through the air around the two of you. He adored the little gasps and stutterings of his name that tumbled past your lips, the sounds contorting him into a mess of a man. His hands were positioned on either side of your head, denting the pillows that the back of your skull was submerged in with his large palms. His thrusts drove into you, making sparks ignite throughout your forms like internal fireworks.
“Daryl- I-I-“ You needn’t have said anything else, Daryl knew the tripping over your words - your moans - was an obvious tell of your looming orgasm. There was a stirring in his gut that prompted him to make you fall apart in his hands, there was no greater, more subduing sight than witnessing you cumming for him. He could feel your walls squeezing him, which only made Daryl thrust harder into you, although he didn’t pick up his pace as not to scare your impending bliss from steering away.
“Ya gettin’ close baby girl?” The question left his lips huskily, as his eyes looked into your soul that was hanging over the edge. You just needed a little more, and he was benevolent to give it to you. He retracted one of his hands from its previous position, puffs of his own satisfied air leaving his lips, moving it towards your core, rolling your clit beneath the pad of his thumb. ‘There we go’, he thought to himself as he watched your eyelids flutter from the ecstasy that encapsulated you against him, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist to pull him closer. “Fuck baby girl.”
You moaned from the entangled curse and endearing term, which only spurred the man onwards, as he felt your orgasm overtake any control you had, leaving him to chase his own end. It didn’t take long, just the sight of you uncoiling, going slack beneath him, made weak by the pleasure that he gave you, it all caused his brain to short circuit, his thrusts becoming disoriented in their rhythm. There was adoration in your fucked out gaze as you reached up to pull his face to your own, rejoining your lips in a loved filled union.
‘Woman’
he would use it when referencing the impulsive streak that was within your nature, or when he was particularly impatient. Instantly you would know that he was riled up, though he also uses it when he is amazed by you, too shocked to think of anything else to call you
You had sprang into the wave of walkers, weapon held high ready to exert bloodshed so that you could escape from the Governor’s attack, although the very last thing you wanted was to leave the prison. It had become a home, one that you had made with other survivors, taking in lost souls that wandered alone in the world, giving them a chance to live. You would not let it be taken from you without resilience, but as you seared forwards, an arm shot out and grabbed you, hauling you back.
It was Daryl, his grip was gentle yet firm, seriousness imbedded within his eyes. There was carnage all around, the sound of death caused tearful bile to rise in your throat; people that you had saved from a fate trundling across the roads that lead to nowhere were going to die, no doubt gruesomely, and you’d be damned if you willingly allowed that to happen. The Governor had already taken so many lives, and the image of Hershel that would forever be engrained in your mind… the bloody scene replayed within your imagination.
He too, was dead. Killed. Murdered in ice cold blood. His life stolen by the man who had made it as clear as glass that he was the enemy. You wanted him dead, needed him to be so, otherwise this would never venture to an end. Though you grappled with Daryl, attempting to twist out of his grasp, but your attempts were fruitless, his hand hauling you back with determination. “Let me go.” The words gritted out from between your teeth, as only bloodlust and vengeance clouded your vision.
“We gotta get outta here.” His tone was perilous, understanding that if you remained within the scene of carnage that you would die, and he was stubborn on not allowing your life to end. It would kill him so to speak, the urgency in his southern tone growing greater as the surrounding noise increased with the reverberation of death. “Come on woman.” He needed to haul your ass out of there, his eyes bore desperately into your own, pleading with you to follow him in retreating away, and relief consumed him when you finally stood down despite the perilous desire that burdened you to fight until the end.
Summary: Daryl comes home stressed, there's too much pressure on him. Being a good girlfried, you tell him to fuck your throat.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader
Tags/TW: age gap; throat fucking; face fucking; submission; fem!dom; oral sex; no use of y/n; alexandria era;
Word count: 1.4k
MINORS DNI!!!
Daryl is a tough man, everyone who knows him knows that. He is the definition of tough, at least on the outside.
But inside the four walls of your shared home, his armor came off and a different man showed. When surrounded by your embrace, Daryl was not the warrior, not the hunter, but the prey, the one who surrendered. He had rough hands with gentle touches, a foul mouth with sweet words, and a deep need to please that often translated into quiet submission. His control was fierce outside, but in bed, it was yours.
Though older, stronger, meaner… he was your fucktoy. And you loved getting all your frustrations out on him, sitting on his face, riding his fat cock, telling him exactly how to touch you.
But tonight, when he walked into the house, you felt something different. You could tell, just by looking at him, how frustrated he was. He was mad about something. When you asked him what it was about, he fumbled about a bunch of stuff, unrelated subjects, and then you realized it was just too much. Too much pressure on him. He needed to take it out on someone. On you.
“What ya doing, girl?” He asked when you took him to your bedroom and kneeled.
“C’mon… you know what I’m doing” You said, reaching for his belt. “I know what you need, babe.”
“You don't have to.” He pushed your hands away from his belt, but you persisted, tugging at his pants.
“Daryl!” Then his eyes locked on yours. “Fuck my throat.”
His eyebrows knitted together in a frown, but you could feel his dick twitching under your hand.
“That's messed up… I ain't hurting you.”
“You won't.” You assured him, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on it. “Do it. I know you want to.”
He pushed his thumb through your slightly parted lips, pressing it against your tongue before he withdrew it from your mouth to spread your own saliva over your bottom lip. He hummed once, and pulled your head back while pushing his pants down only enough.
You looked at the pink fat head of his dick, licking your lips in anticipation, then you looked up at him.
“Girl…” He almost snarled, torn between need and hesitance. When he stepped away, you thought he was giving up on the idea. Then he came back with a small rug and put it under your knees.
“Open your mouth.” He murmured, still unsure, but giving in each second that passed. When you separated your lips, his brows furrowed. “More.”
You didn't dare take your eyes away from his, but you could see his other hand stroking his cock.
He took his time just looking at you, angling your head better, feeling your neck, slow and careful. Then he put just the head of it on your mouth and pushed slowly, half his length inside your mouth and it was already enough for his tip to touch your throat. He groaned, and the sound made you want to press your thighs together, but you focused on your breathing.
He kept you there for a second, hands bunched on your hair, then pulled back, his breath hitched and heavy.You took a deep breath as he muttered a curse. “Dis okay, baby?” You nodded, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out, asking for more. “Fuck… ‘M sorry, girl…”
He rubbed his tip against your tongue, then thrusted inside your mouth in the same slow way he had before. Deeper. He didn’t pull all the way out before burying his cock inside your throat with a whimper. "Is that... okay, girl?" he whimpered, the sound raw but you barely heard him. His voice was husky, strained. "Tell me if I hurt you."
You didn't answer with words, a choked humming sound was the only reply you could manage with his fat cock stretching your throat, and it vibrated against his lenght. It was the only answer he needed, yet he still paused, his eyes searching yours, heavy-lidded but worried.
"You gotta breathe" he insisted, struggling with his breathing himself, pulling back just a fraction before plunging deeper. The back of his hand brushed your cheek, a featherlight, anxious touch. "God, I don't want to break you, baby. You good?"
He groaned again, the pressure building, his hips rocking forward with agonizing restraint, the tip of your nose brushed his crotch. You gagged, tears pooling on your eyes, but your panties were stupidly wet. You coughed when he pulled back, not even realizing your hands were on his thighs.
"You gotta tell me if it's too much." he repeated, his breath also heavy as you took a moment to control your breathing.
“I’m fine, Dixon.” You managed in a raspy voice, wiping the thick saliva on the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. Still, Daryl pulled you up to lay on the edge of the bed. He was getting creative and taking control, even if on his own way, and it made you smirk. Then, he pulled off your top, and squeezed one of your breasts.
“Next time, I’m fucking those tits.”
You barely managed an answer more than a snicker when his hand massaged your neck. You took that as a sign to open your mouth again, looking up at him. His face was a mix of conflicting feelings: the need and overwhelming lust, and the fear of taking too much on you. He was right on the edge, needing this release, needing you to take it, but unable to stop the instinct to protect you, even from himself. And you were loving every second of it.
He pushed inside your mouth again, then paused, pulling back an inch. "That okay, darlin'?" His voice was thick, strained with the effort of holding back. You didn’t try to answer with words, but slipped one of your hands inside your shorts. “Fuck!” He cursed, one of his hands going back to your breast.
His eyes, though glazed with desire, kept returning to yours, searching for a sign of pain, but in between the noises of gagging, coughing and moans, he could hear the wet sounds of you touching yourself.
A rough exhale escaped him, a sound between a groan and a whisper, just before he pushed his cock back deep into your throat. "Shit. Sorry, girl. You gotta tell me if I'm hurtin' you." You hummed in approval and he took the cue, plunging again, the rhythm picking up, just as your fingers worked faster on your clit. You gagged every time you moaned, but still couldn’t hold the sounds back. "Sorry, girl," he whispered, his apologies being pathetic yet so hot, but entirely consumed by lust. "Just... You gotta tell me… fuck, I'm sorry, ‘m sorry- take it, take it…"
Each apology was followed by him plowing your mouth. He was the most protective man in Alexandria, even when he was doing exactly what you asked for, even when he was fucking your throat. He couldn't help but be gentle, couldn't help but seek your approval.
You came quickly, you didn’t think you’d be so turned on by having your submissive boyfriend fucking your face. You gagged hard, but he trusted deep till your lips met the base of his dick. “I’m so fucking close” He muttered in between curses. Then he finally pulled away, breath heavy, eyes squeezed shut, his fist around his cock, working in quick strokes. You kneeled on the floor - despite your ragged breathing and the heavy coughing - to stick your tongue out and taste his cum.
Daryl sat on the bed, exhaling heavily. You took a moment to clean up before going back to your room to sit next to him. As you took his shirt off and rubbed his back, he turned to yo to gently rub his fingers along your neck, checking for tenderness, muttering, "You okay, girl? Did I hurt you?"
You shook your head, smiling at the sight of his sweet and vulnerable eyes. “I’m good.” Your voice was raspy. “This was not about me, it was about you. Felt like you needed it.” Daryl huffed, but pulled you close.
You had to spend a week or so explaining to everyone that your throat was sore and that you had no voice because you caught a flu. It was worth it.
Is there anyway you could do a pervy!daryl or stepdad!daryl x reader?? or maybe a pervy!negan or stepdad!negan x reader??
💗💗💗
Hi and thank you!!!! I’ll do some perv!daryl headcanons for now. And if you’d like me to do negan, just ask again, but also read this Negan headcanon I wrote because I think it also gives “pervy” vibes since he’s daydreaming about the reader.
Here are some perv!daryl + weird boyfriend!daryl headcanons:
- Okay, so to start, I believe Daryl is more of a freak in his mind than in reality– there are some things he’d only ever do or reveal once he felt very comfortable and accepted in his relationship.
- This is because he’s a late bloomer and it takes him a long time to open up— we all know this.
- But it’s also because he would always be very concerned with treating you right; trying to be very gentle and caring even though he’s extremely awkward, doesn’t know his strength, and doesn’t see himself as a gentleman type like his friends, etc, etc… so he’s always trying to be good to/for you, but here are some things he would do if he 100% acted on the weirder parts of his mind:
-If this is before you started dating, everything would be very secret, with lots of daydreaming:
- Listening in while you masturbate when you think you’re home alone, of course; Stealing panties from your drawers or laundry bag, of course; Smelling them or going in the closet to smell the center of your jeans to see if your scent is there too, of course... basic stuff.
- Moving on, the first time you’re on the back of his bike, he tells you that it’s dangerous if you don’t hold on tight and lean into him, so you’re basically squeezing his waist with your core riding up on his lower back and ass, and he always tells you to move in more from time to time so he can feel the friction of you moving against him— even if just for a moment.
- He always wondered if it made you wet, and it did, but you’d never tell him. You thought you were the freak for thinking that while he was just trying to make sure you’re safe.
- Sometimes, when you have to go on his bike again, you’d do a little prayer, hoping it wouldn’t happen this time, and sometimes it doesn’t, but most of the time, it always does.
- And while you would go to the bathroom as soon as you got home to clean yourself and try not to think about it because Daryl was just the nice man who brought you home to Alexandria just a few months ago, he was jacking off in his room trying to remember exactly how your front felt against his back as if it were still happening.
- If you were dating someone else, he’d silently hate them and just daydream of you coming to him at night and telling him that they can’t satisfy you, and he fucks the daylights out of you instead.
- He also loves daydreaming about you needing to sleep next to him one night for whatever reason and he either hears you have a sex dream he needs to alleviate, or you are asking him to hold you because it’s cold and you keep moving and it just ends with you having sex, or him waking up to you stroking his dick through his pants and that ends with you bouncing on him, or you’re cuddling while sleeping in what he imagines and calls your “girly” pajamas, and he slides his thigh in between and out of nowhere you start grinding on it. Literally, anything that has to do with you looking all clean and cute and fucking in bed is all he thinks about when he’s either going to sleep or waking up in the morning.
- He also fantasizes about eating you out on your period. He’s never done it before and wants to so bad.
- One time you wrote him a letter to say thank you for bringing you here and giving you a home, saying how “I owe everything to you and if you ever need me, I’ll always be there for you,” and of course that became one of his favorite things to read to masturbate.
- Also, if you liked women as well, I think he would just be into the fact that you like pussy or that you’ve eaten pussy before, and the thought makes him super hard.
- He imagines he’d have a threesome with you and a woman but only if you really wanted to. He’d most likely just ended up pleasing you though. That’s really all he wants, to see you satisfied, that’s the part of the fantasy that really gets him off, seeing you happy and seeing a part of your true self he hasn’t seen before.
- Now, after you two start dating:
- Daryl would ask you not to flush the toilet after you go to the bathroom just because he wants to smell it– he never tells you that part, though. He finds all your smells extremely intoxicating for some reason.
- You’re always just confused, but you’ve come to terms with the fact that you have a weird boyfriend. I mean, he showers weekly, not daily— he only does so daily when you tell him to, especially if he plans on sleeping in your bed that night— he collects random rocks and knows the names for all of them, has random animal teeth in his pocket, barley talks, is a starer, one time wore walker ears around his neck like a chain, and can shoot any animal, or person, if he needed to, straight in the head at nearly any distance. He could be quite unsettling to many people. You loved him though. And so did Rick and everyone in the group.
- But thank goodness they didn’t know some of the other things he does when alone.
- Like there was one time he just randomly sniffed your armpit, like a long ass inhale, during sex and you didn’t get why but you were too in the moment to question it. You just started laughing and then he started fucking you harder until you shut up because he got embarrassed.
- He really wants to do it again though, he just hasn’t yet. But he’s thought about it. More than once. He liked the smell. A lot.
- He also asked you to ride his arm (think of it as an alternative version of this story) because he knows a lot of people in town say he has nice arms and looks very strong so he feels confident about them and thinks you wetting his arm up with your slick is hot.
- Daryl somehow always knows when it's that time of the month. It honestly scares you how accurate he is. Again, another thing you’ve just decided to accept about your weird boyfriend.
- He’s always asking how your cramps are because if they’re bad he’s taking you to the bedroom and fucking you, and most importantly, eating you out.
- The first time it happens you’re absolutely shocked. Having sex on your period is one thing, but oral sex? You never knew someone could be into that, to desire the taste of your literal period blood, but here’s Daryl being as slobbery as ever, and even more of a mad dog honestly than when you’re not on your period.
- But there was something about him doing it, the way it happened so fast, how horny he was, that was just so fucking hot you simply couldn’t stop him when he took off your panties and dived in. You were so surprised by his forwardness and that’s another reason you could not resist him.
- You were moaning so loud; he had never heard you like that, but it just came over you and it made his confidence sky rocket. You didn’t even hear when Rick came in downstairs in the middle of it….. you were so embarrassed later, but it was one of the best heads Daryl had ever given you. That man was hungry for it.
- You told him it was very good and that you liked it, but you’ve never asked him to do it. At this point, you just always know it’s going to happen at least once when your period comes, and you just get secretly excited about it. You’ll never let him know. You want him to think he’s the weird one but in truth, you dream about any time he’s done it when he’s gone on a trip and he is just happy he finally gets to do what he always fantasized about and you didn’t think he was strange for it.
- One of the first times you had sex, Daryl pushed your panties to the side and fucked you while you were still wearing them. It was one of his favorites that he liked smelling from your drawer before you dated so he asked if he could keep them now and you were almost speechless as to why— especially because it’s hard to find good pairs in the post-apocalypse— but you just said yes because the sex was good, and because again, he was your weird boyfriend and you secretly liked that about him.
- Sometimes he’d put them back on you to fuck you the way he did the first time.
- If you think about it too hard it kind of grosses you out because you could only imagine how dirty they are— you knew he he probably never cleaned them— so you just try not to and just focus on the fact that stoic and grumpy mister Daryl is unabashedly grunting and groaning on top of you just how you like.
- Daryl hardly does his laundry— Carol is very kind, only because they’re best friends, and still helps him out with it when he actually gets around to wanting to clean it or doesn’t want to bother you that day— but one time he tells you he’s doing it and wants to help you out with yours. Once again, you are shocked, but you happily give it to him— one less chore for you so you take it.
- Little do you know he’s obviously sniffing all your panties and specifically looking for the ones that might be a little hard at the center so he can suck on them.
- God! These things are so much easier to do now that you’re a couple. He loves it. 😁
- Alt!timeline– If you were dating Rick instead of Daryl:
- Obviously, he’d like to listen in on Rick fucking you, making love to you, anything.
- And maybe he even kind of like and was turned on by the fact that it was Rick fucking you specifically. Something about it made him jealous in a way that he secretly liked. But he keeps that in the back of his mind and just focuses on your voice.
I know this is probably nothing to some of you but I’m Daryl’s good girl! I’m Lana Del Rey Ocean Blvd era! I can’t believe I thought of some of these. I feel like the girl in my last fic who felt dirty calling him daddy… excuse the crashout. :’)
Summary: Basically, it's a description of slowly getting together with Daryl.
Warnings: Blood, injuries, Merle is an asshole (XD)
Era: Prison
Word count: 2.7k
Something from me: Hello, hello. I apologize in advance for any mistakes with the appearance, layout of the post (first post on the platform). I will gladly accept any feedback. This beginning is part of the whole story I have in my head, I think there will be further parts. English is not my first language, but I think I write in it quite okay. And what.. I wish you a pleasant reading <3
It was a beautiful summer day. Or at least, it looked like one. But the moment you stepped beyond the cold prison walls, the scorching, suffocating heat hit you like a truck. The sun blazed mercilessly at its highest point in the sky, and the air had thickened, shimmering under the hellish temperature.
You stood by the entrance gate, watching as the approaching vehicle kicked up dust along the road. Since you had some free time, you figured you'd help unload whatever they had brought back. You opened the gate for them, wrestling with the locks and chains. Luckily, it didn't take you too long.
The old van rolled through the wire gate, and you quickly shut it behind them. The first person to jump out was Rick. The second the vehicle came to a stop, he was already hauling supplies out. Right behind him was Merle, a wide, shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he laughed at something—probably his own joke. Daryl was the last to get out, barely paying attention to anyone as he made his way straight to the front of the vehicle. He lifted the hood, immediately getting to work as thick, gray smoke billowed from the engine.
"Where is the Korean starboy? I have his order!" Merle yelled toward Hershel, who was making his way over.
Beth peeked out from behind her father, automatically glancing up at the watchtower. Merle caught on quickly, following her gaze with an amused smirk.
"Starboy!" he hollered, even louder this time. "Ya comin'?!"
Rick shook his head in mild exasperation but said nothing. A moment later, Glenn leaned out from the doorway of the guard tower.
"What?!"
He was still fastening his belt, his bare chest saying more than enough about what he had been up to. In the window behind him, a very flustered Maggie was visible, which only made Merle's grin widen.
"Ya cummin'?!" he shouted again, this time emphasizing a different syllable before bursting into laughter.
Glenn squinted at him, clearly confused, then turned to Maggie with a shrug, saying something to her you couldn't hear.
You exchanged an amused look with Rick and continued hauling boxes of food inside. You couldn't help but notice that Merle was in an unusually high-spirited mood today. He was always loud, always a presence impossible to ignore, but today he was practically bouncing with energy. For a fleeting moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—he'd be more of a funny asshole rather than just an asshole. That would be an improvement, at least.
"What 'bout ya, Darylina?"
Merle had somehow ended up right behind Daryl. But the younger Dixon didn't even flinch, still focused on the busted engine. Every now and then, he flicked his hand back as if he was touching something way too hot to be messing with.
"Do ya even know what I'm talkin' bout, baby brotha?" Merle prodded, leaning against the van with that ever-present smirk.
The van rocked slightly, and Daryl finally looked up at him, irritation clear in his expression.
"I am doin' somethin'. Can't ya see?" he snapped, voice edged with frustration.
"Ya can talk and still do yar thing," Merle shot back smoothly. "So?"
They stared at each other for a second. You found yourself eavesdropping more than you probably should, but curiosity had the best of you. You even slowed your pace, carrying one of the bigger boxes extra carefully just so you could keep listening.
"M' not five anymore. 'Course I know what yar talkin' bout," Daryl muttered, turning back to the engine.
For the briefest second, his eyes flicked to yours. Caught. You quickly looked away, pretending to focus on your task, but you knew he had seen you listening. And you had seen something too. A flicker of something in his gaze—something close to panic.
"But ya know it's different when ya alone n' when ya not, right?" Merle pushed.
Daryl didn't answer. He just went back to work, which only made Merle roll his eyes. The smug look on his face said he already knew the answer, anyway.
Then Daryl bent lower, reaching deep into the engine, his entire arm disappearing under the hood. From where you stood, you couldn't quite see what Merle was doing, but there was a glint of mischief on his face—a look you had come to recognize as trouble.
And then—
A loud bang.
You nearly dropped the food in your arms as you saw the hood of the van slam down, trapping Daryl between the metal and the vehicle. Worse still, something inside the engine must have been knocked loose, because the hissing sound grew louder, and more smoke poured out than before.
Merle's laughter rang through the air.
You ran over without thinking, pulling the hood up as fast as you could. Daryl immediately staggered back, coughing violently, his chest heaving as thick smoke spilled from his lungs. One side of his face was bright red—burned. And a thin trickle of blood ran down from his temple.
"Merle! Are you insane?!" you shouted, still steadying Daryl as he fought to breathe. "That's your brother!"
"Oh, come on," Merle scoffed, still chuckling. "Ya don't understand, so don't interfere, would ya?"
"This is too much, even for you, Merle," Rick cut in, his disapproval plain.
"M' tryin' to teach him a lesson 'ere," Merle said, holding his hands up like he was being accused of something unreasonable. For the first time, he actually looked somewhat serious.
"Look at him," he gestured toward Daryl. "Havin' this pretty angel face n' all that n' not usin' it? That is a true crime, baby brotha. So he gotta learn to use it by losin' it first. Simple as tha'."
Ignoring Merle's bullshit, you turned to Daryl. His hand was covering the burned side of his face, and when he tried to touch it, his fingers flinched away instantly. The skin was too raw, too hot.
"Are you okay?" you asked, immediately regretting how stupid the question sounded.
Daryl stiffened slightly, like he hadn't expected you to be this close. He looked at you—just with one eye, since the other was probably swollen. And then, predictably, he nodded.
Behind you, chaos was unfolding. Rick and Glenn were trying to talk some sense into Merle, but it was quickly turning into an actual fight. You saw something flash in Daryl's expression. His whole posture screamed exhaustion, but you already knew—he was about to jump in.
"Leave it," you said, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. "Please."
"Nah."
That was the only warning you got before he turned on his heel.
"Have ya lost yar mind, you psychopath?!" Daryl roared, effectively shutting everyone up—except Merle, who only grinned wider at the sight of him.
"That's what I'm talkin' bout! That's ma baby brotha—!"
"Shut da hell up! Ya wanna kill me or somethin'? Then fight me like a man would!"
"Stop that," you stepped between them, ignoring their protests. "Daryl, we need to take care of your wound. This isn't helping."
"She's right," Maggie chimed in, gripping Glenn's arm instinctively as both brothers turned to look at her.
"Look at that, Darlina! A little help from yar big brotha n' girls already love ya!"
"Zip it, ya punk!"
"Come on, Daryl," you urged, stepping closer.
Meanwhile, Rick had finally managed to drag Merle a safe distance away.
Daryl still couldn't tear his furious gaze away from his brother. You grabbed his arm and tried to gently pull him along, but he didn't budge an inch. You had nothing to convince him with, so you pulled a little harder. Finally, the younger Dixon gave in. He followed you, but his eyes stayed locked on Merle, who was still arguing heatedly with Rick.
Your eyes were practically devouring the archer. Especially after what just happened, you could finally be honest with yourself. Damn, you like him. From the start, he was way more interesting to you than the others. Visually, even with that brutal burn on his face, he made your knees weak. And once again today, Daryl caught you staring a little too long. And once again, you quickly looked away.
"We unpacked all the med kits in the prison recently," you said suddenly. "I saw some burn gel bandages in there. They should help."
"A'right," he muttered, chewing on his bottom lip.
"What was that about?" you finally asked, unable to accept Merle's behavior—especially his excuses for it.
You instantly realized you shouldn't have asked when Daryl's face twisted into a scowl.
"Quit bein' nosey. You heard what it was about."
So you shut up. You scolded yourself internally for your behavior around him. Silence was probably better for both of you anyway.
In perfect quiet, you reached the small room that now served as a makeshift medical office. Everything related to medicine was in here, including the burn dressings you were looking for. First, you took care of the wound that had been bleeding earlier, but it wasn't anything serious—no stitches needed.
You could feel Daryl's blue eyes on you. He sat on the examination table, leaning back against the wall. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the first signs of pain were starting to show on his face.
You didn't even know why you were so nervous. Your hands were shaking as you rummaged through the bins. Even though you had organized them yourself not that long ago, your mind was completely blank. Finally—miraculously—you wrapped your fingers around the package you needed.
You turned around quickly, trying to shake off the nerves and get rid of the million other things in your hands. You were clumsy, unable to fully control your movements, and Daryl definitely noticed. He just watched, silent and unreadable, but not exactly subtle about it.
"It might sting a little," you warned him.
He just nodded. The first bandage only covered about half the burned area. Daryl didn't even flinch when it touched his skin. If anything, he let out a small breath of relief. You immediately started searching for another one.
"...M'sorry," he muttered suddenly. "Ya know... for earlier."
His deep voice, though quiet, seemed to bounce off the small room's walls. You froze for a second, then gave him a sad little smile.
"Don't be. I shouldn't have asked."
"S'just..." he started, then stopped, like he couldn't get the words out. "It's okay. M'used to it. To him."
"It's not okay," you shot back, maybe a little too fast, too direct. "Being used to something like that—to someone like your brother—is messed up. But yeah, do whatever you think is best. I won't interfere if you don't want me to."
"Why do ya care?" he asked.
And this—this was the moment you knew you were screwed. Because you didn't have any explanation except the truth. And neither of you were ready for that.
"Oh—" you blurted out, seizing the excuse to change the subject. You turned to him with a smile. "I found it."
You waved the bandage in front of his face, and he seemed momentarily thrown off. At least he didn't push the topic.
You unwrapped the dressing and leaned in closer. Carefully, you covered the upper part of the burn, including his eyelid, with the cool, transparent bandage, trying to be as gentle as possible.
Once it was fully in place, you looked him over. It still looked painful, but at least he didn't seem to be in unbearable agony. Thankfully, the injury wasn't as dangerous as it had appeared—but it was still unacceptable.
Then, you caught yourself staring again. This time, you were way too close, still leaning over him like when you had applied the bandage. Your fingers had absentmindedly brushed his jawline. His blue eyes locked onto yours, piercing straight through you, and suddenly, you felt a deep pull in your stomach. Your heart pounded faster than it should've, and heat rose to your face.
"Tell me," he murmured, quieter this time, calmer. "Am I readin' this wrong?"
You looked at him with something between sadness and concern, avoiding his gaze like fire avoids water. You adjusted a piece of the bandage that had slipped when he moved his mouth and stayed quiet.
"Are you pityin' me?" he asked, his tone strange, suspicious.
And just like that, your entire idea of how this conversation would go went straight to hell. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out—not even a broken one.
"I don't need that. Don't deserve it," he said, leaning back slightly. "So quit it."
"It's not—" you started quickly, then hesitated, realizing what he had just said. "...But why wouldn't you deserve it?"
"I just don't. And it's pathetic."
What scared you the most was that he said it while looking right at you, with an empty, emotionless stare. Like he truly believed it.
"I like you," you finally admitted, barely swallowing the weight of his words. "A lot."
For once, you let yourself shamelessly watch his reaction. His brows furrowed—both of them—so you reached up again to hold the bandage in place. Something flickered in his eye, but you couldn't read what it was. Then, a smile appeared on his cracked lips, but it wasn't a happy one. More crooked, almost mocking.
"Yer funny," he muttered, leaning back against the wall again.
You blinked, once, then again, confused. Daryl didn't seem to notice your frustration—didn't realize he had completely misread the situation.
"I mean it," you insisted, emotions starting to spill across your face. "I do. And I'll understand if you don't feel the same way."
The silence stretched endlessly. You knew Daryl needed time, but you also felt like you were about to explode. The smirk had disappeared from his face, so you let yourself hope—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he had actually heard you this time.
"I don't deserve that either," he finally said, completely unaware of how much those words hurt. "Why?" he asked then, carefully, like he was walking on the thinnest ice imaginable.
"That's... it's unconditional..." you began, but he didn't look convinced. "I mean, I could list things—traits—but it's just... you. In general."
"M'a mess. Ya deserve better."
You saw it. The movement. He wanted to stand up. He wanted to leave. But you weren't about to let him.
"What's your deal with this 'deserving' thing?" you fired back, stopping him in his tracks.
"S'some people dese—"
"Say something like that again, and I'm leaving," you interrupted, finally getting some kind of reaction out of him. "Do you like me back?"
"It's not about that."
"Oh, but it is."
Daryl clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tensing so much that he looked like he was fighting with himself. He didn't respond right away. You could see his breath becoming shallower, his fists clenching slightly—not out of anger, but in a desperate attempt to keep his distance.
You took a step closer.
"Daryl" you said, softer now, but firmly. "Tell me."
He hesitated, then dropped his gaze.
"I like ya, alright?" he muttered finally, but almost immediately shook his head, as if trying to reject his own words. "But that don't mean nothin'."
Your heart pounded harder. There was something heartbreaking about him. This man, who could fight so brutally for others, completely refused to believe that he could be enough for someone.
"It does mean something," you didn't back down, even though you could feel his walls rising higher.
Daryl let out a quiet scoff and scratched the back of his neck, visibly tense.
"Listen, ya think ya want this, but ya don't. 'M too fucked up."
You sighed heavily and shook your head.
"You don't get to decide that for me."
He looked at you, surprised, as if no one had ever said that to him before.
"You think I'm blind?" you continued, holding his gaze. "The way you protect people, the way you care even when you act like you don't. You push people away 'cause you think they're better off without you, but that's not your choice to make."
Daryl remained silent, the tension between you thickening. Finally, he let out a deep breath and ran a hand over his face.
"I don't know how to do this."
You gave him a sad smile.
"Then let's figure it out together."
He didn't answer right away, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. It wasn't a grand confession or a sudden dramatic shift. But it was a first step. And that was enough for you.
Summary: Finally you can make it back to camp. Something you had been craving for since being reunited. At camp you make time to catch up with Daryl, but for how long would the peace and quiet last? [series]
The engine roared loud. The wheels chasing over the highway. Nothing but the sounds of engines hearable. No birds, no people. Just you and the road. Daryl’s bike was tailing the car. Going back the long way to camp. Daryl looked over his shoulder when he felt you rub your head against his back. A comforting gesture to let him know, you were still around. That he wasn’t dreaming. That he didn’t have to say goodbye to you yet. – “You really scared the shit out of me back there.” – he said over the sound of the engine.
Keeping his gaze forwards. – “Oh, I wasn’t aware you cared that much.” – you responded with a cheeky smile. Daryl turned his front mirror so he could see you instead of the road behind him. Seeing you smile so teasingly, made him scoff amusingly. – “Ha. Ha. Grimes.” – he let out, turning the front mirror right again. You kissed his shoulder to show him just how much you cared. – “No man has ever cared for me that much.” – you spoke after some silence. – “You know other men?” – Daryl called out shockingly.
It made you give him a bored scowl that he would be this annoying. Daryl cracked up, laughing loud. – “Just keep your eyes on the road, idiot.” – You told him, poking him in the cheek to push his chin forwards. – “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” – he replied, turning on the gas to go a bit faster. – “You damn right, you are.” – you mumbled under your breath. The motorbike neared the car again, tailing close by. Daryl noticed the car slowing down a bit.
Riding out of the way so that the car could join his side. Shane sat behind the wheel. He whistled loud, pointing in front of him. You looked over Daryl’s shoulder. Seeing some walkers emerge from out of the woods. The sounds of the engines luring them in. Daryl nodded. Letting the motor drift away from the car. – “Y/n reach in my pants.” – he said. You pushed your head off his back, staring in shock at him.
“I meant reach for the dagger in my pants. Jeez keep it together Y/n.” – he answered after your silence. – “Shut up.” – you gave him a playful slap, hiding the flush in your cheeks. Daryl leaned a bit forwards as you reached for his dagger. Carefully taking it out. Tightening your grip around the handle. – “You got them?” – Daryl asked, glancing over his shoulder. – “I got them.” – you answered keeping a firm hand on his shoulder.
The walkers had reached the verge of the road. Feet still in grass. A couple of three they were. – “Nice and quiet.” – Daryl warned you. You nodded readying yourself when he slowed the motor down. Almost going five per hours.
Letting the first walker get close. It started to snarl loud, hands lashing out like claws at the sound of the engine. You pushed your hand deep onto Daryl’s shoulder. Using your leg muscle, to squeeze the motorcycle between your legs. Dagger raised. Waiting for the right moment to jam it in the walker’s head.
The walker’s eyes stopped, drifted sideways before it dropped lifeless to the ground. Mudded blood staining your dagger. Daryl whistled loud to alarm you of the other two.
They had clustered, staying together. Their arms swaying down till they smelled you. Something snapped in them as they shocked away. Arms swaying up higher. Teeth clattering at you. In for a taste of flesh. Tensing your jaw, you slashed your dagger at the first one.
Slashing it across the face. The walker turned and tumbled to the ground at the loss of gravity. You then let the dagger slice the second one, right across the throat as you passed. Dirty stained blood came pouring out as it gurgled more.
It’s mouth opening and closing bewildered. Daryl sped up, moving away from the edge. You came sitting back down, moving your arm around his waist. You looked back at the walkers. Two of them still up, but clearly confused. Your smell fading as they came calming.
Pressing your face back against his back, you hoped there wouldn’t be any more encounters. You for sure had faced enough walkers for a month now. Now you simply wanted to sleep and stop thinking about the world’s ending. Just stop thinking about the damn apocalypse and detach yourself from any worries. Daryl came riding after the car turning into a more narrow road. The camp getting closer.
The car road up first. The motor surpassed them. The engine stopped, motor going silent. – “Auntie Y/n!” – you heard loud. Gasping loud, you hopped off the motor, seeing Carl run up to you. – “Carl!” – you shouted, running over to him with open arms. Letting him jump in your embrace, spinning around with him. – “And I’m his dad. Ouch.” – Rick said to Glenn with a smirk. Glenn smiled back, patting Rick on the back. – “Yeah, but you’re not auntie Y/n.” – he responded with a chuckle.
Lori walked up to Rick, hugging him in all her delight. Rick hugged her back, before keeping a palm against her cheek to kiss her. You set Carl back down, running your fingers through his hair. – “Auntie Y/n!” – Carl called out, clearly going to ask something of you. Daryl came interfering, sliding his arm around your hip. – “Auntie Y/n, needs some rest.” – he told the little one. Carl stared confused back at him. – “I’ll come and find you later, Carl.” – you told him. Daryl guiding you away.
“Since when do I need rest?” – you asked him when you were out of ears reach. – “Since you look like this.” – Daryl spoke, taking you by the chin. His eyes slightly narrowing on you. – “You’ve dark circles under your eyes and you just survived a killer wave of walkers.” – he announced. – “Wow, way to charm a woman.” – you responded throwing him a sarcastic smile. – “You must have been a real ladies man before the end.” – you laughed out. Daryl grunted soft, pulling you closer to him by your hip.
His gaze falling on your lips. Yours lowering too with delight. Eager for a kiss from him. You leaned in, readying yourself for a kiss when you got turned around and shoved forwards. – “Get walking.” – he ordered with a smirk. – “You are no fun!” – you told him. – “If you keep up like this, I might have to look for a new boyfriend.” – you teased throwing him a flirtatious look. – “You better watch your mouth, sunshine!” – he responded loudly.
You simply turned around, shrugging your shoulders. You screamed loud when he came running after you. Grabbing you by the waist. Picking you up from the ground. Carrying back to your tent. He set you back down, pushing you into the tent. – “You aren’t going to leave me are you?” – you asked when he lingered in the entrance. – “Move over!” – he called out, shoving your knee aside.
You couldn’t help but smile when he came crawling in the tent with you. – “No funny thoughts, Grimes!” – he warned you, coming to lay beside you. You came hovering over him, nodding with pouty lips. Daryl moved his hand over your face, pushing it playfully away. Chuckling deep at your sour face. He opened his arm to you, inviting you over. You came laying down in his arms. Wrapping your arms around him.
He exhaled deep letting his chin rub on top of your head. You took his hand, entangling your fingers with his. Toying a bit around with it. – “What would you have done if I…” – you started. You didn’t want to think about it, but there could have been a possibility. A possibility that you didn’t make it out alive. That the overwhelming walkers tore you apart and made them one of them. That could’ve happened. – “Stop!” – Daryl’s voice was deep and firm.
You lifted your head up, staring down at him. He moved his hands up to your cheeks, cupping them. – “Just stop.” – he repeated, this time softer. – “I don’t want to hear it for it didn’t happened.” – he replied. – “But it could’ve.” – you answered. – “But it didn’t!” – he forced out, grabbing your cheeks tight.
“It didn’t, you didn’t turn into one of those f*cking walkers! So stop making me think about the possibilities.” – his voice was rough. Emotional. – “So just let me enjoy having you here. Alive.” – he begged. You nodded with teary eyes. Daryl pulled you down to kiss your lips. Lips tracing yours with demand. As if haven forgotten their shape. What they felt like on his and how f*cking much he loved kissing you.
Pulling away, you lowered your head on his chest once more. Suddenly feeling just how tired you were. His arms around you tightened. Exhaling deep, you felt at peace in his embrace.
Warm and save for the world’s ending could do you no wrong here. Sleep tugged at you almost immediately. Falling in a deepness. Daryl’s heartbeat in your ear as your head rose with his breathing. Yours having synced up with his.
Soft snoring coming from him, yet it left you unbothered. Unsure how many hours were passing. As a shadow fell over your tent. The sun having settled for the moon. Crickets chirping nearby. Peaceful. Till a scream woke you up.
The bone chilling scream made you sit upright. Daryl up as well. It took you but one glance to Daryl, to know what he was thinking. Louder screams from outside till you heard another sound amongst them. Snarling and growling. They are here.
18+ ━━━ BLACKSMITH!DARYL DIXON and reassurance / or, he wants to make sure you’re aware of how you deserve to be treated, even with his doubts
he knew of whom you were talking of when you prefaced your opening the door with an apology if there were a few items astray, dishes and porcelain or glass.
you invited him into your home, just a simple ushering in when the two of you crossed paths on your way. he noticed his work across the grounds; that was really the reason you offered him to come inside, to assess how the place was shaping up, to poke and prod at his modesty when you spoke of them as you passed: there were the paintings hung, there was the doorknob shiny and new to your room of rest. his teeth dug into his bottom lip, blood flushing a ripe red to the cartilage shaped by jagged brunette; the air was cooler than the dizzying heat a few steps prior, though not by a great degree.
he asked if you enjoyed yourself; you admitted in a short breath that you were rather nervous. you had met him a few times before, and he seemed an alright man. a part of you wondered, however, if—no, rather, when—the tips of his fingers would linger longer after an embrace, possibly trace to your hips, his eyes leading a distracted path to the skin of your sternum, no matter the clothing covering it. it seemed he was eager to do so sooner than later.
you did not tell him the latter. regardless, he was good at reading through your response, a foreword in a low clearing of his throat. “ya deserve to be treated nice.”
weeks passed by. you came into the shop with a registerable shift in your figure, later than your usual hours. you placed a few ‘nails for a new painting’ onto the countertop; his eyes watched as your own drifted aimlessly about the products, drenched in an industrial, metallic grit with the sun gone, not meeting the curiosity melded in blue that wondered what made your posture so taut, tense.
he offered to take you home.
sitting across from one another in lazy candlelight, his glass half-full and yours half-empty, he offered to help put you at ease before he could retract the words at their entendre. you didn’t mind, if your leaning closer and nod of your head was any discourse to say otherwise.
then his chest was to your back. his hands were at the opening of your legs, one merely dragging slow along the skin of your thigh. his lips brushed along the nape of your neck, words muttered under his breath onto the skin there—“feels good?”—just barely heard from his tongue as your chest began to heave up and down, up, down.
though you felt his lips against your skin and the fabric shifted slightly from it, he did not kiss you, any part of you. that would be a seal; he was never good with what came from them, couldn’t put something he deemed ‘less than’ upon you. he knew his hands were what worked best, not a doting line from his head to his mouth, so why would he possibly rely on another part of his person? and there was a part in his mind that, despite what was uttered from a place quite the contrary as his hands wandered, phrases asking if you liked what he was doing (to which he was given breathless confirmation to), he was just not what you deserved. a kiss would surely force his mind into an overwhelming whirl. he thought of it as some form of a promise, which he did not believe could fulfill a standard you suited. he made objects for purchase, a come-and-go that mirrored him.
though he didn’t pry about the man who had also stepped foot into your home, he thought he was not something you wanted, just someone of acquaintance, of mundanity.
even still, here was another thing in your home to remember him by.
Late summer night, whispered secrets, and the kind of friendship that felt unbreakable—until one night changed everything.
Daryl and you had just repaired your friendship, after all the shit you've been though because of Leah, his now ex. Bound by years of laughter, reckless adventures, and an understanding that didn’t need words. But when an evening of too many drinks led to a kiss on the porch, everything shifted. It was soft, lingering—undeniable. Yet the moment it ended, Daryl left. And they never spoke about it again.
Now, life continues as if nothing happened. They laugh almost like they always did, share playlists, rant about bad days—but the silence between them is louder than ever. Every stolen glance, every save from a near death by walkers, every wound patched up. Neither of them knows if the kiss was a mistake or something more—something terrifyingly real.
So, they pretend.
How long until pretending won't be enough?
Usage of Y/N: minimal
Contains: gore, violence, sexual themes, touches heavily on topics of abuse and torture
