summary: your drink gets spiked and you text daryl to pick you up
w.c.: 2.6k
ao3
tags/warnings: no apocalypse daryl x gender netural reader, alcohol, roofies, no use of y/n or pronouns, daryl takes care of you, fluff, reader experiences head and body aches, age gap (mentioned once but does not really factor in with the story), reader has hair (yes this is worth mentioning), you two aren't together (yet?)
author's note: first ever fic, sort of edited, please be kind<3
heavy bass vibrated off the cool yet sticky washroom walls you leaned against as you tried to navigate your phone. your friends rushed in shortly after you, bombarding you with concern.
“are you ok?!”
“do you need to throw up?”
you tried to reassure them you were fine through slurring words, already typing away in the familiar text message box. your vision was blurry and fingers lazily moving across the keyboard. you tapped the screen a few times to try to send the text and a minute didn't pass when your phone dinged. you could barely make out the words but trusted this night will come to an end soon.
you rest your head back on the wall, eyes squeezed shut trying to focus on not passing out. you were grateful your friends were there by your side now, though their voices were starting to sound further away. all you wanted was for him to take you home. one of your friends pushed a water bottle to your lips, you finished the whole thing just as the washroom doors swung up. daryl locked eyes with yours immediately and made his way to you. you heard words being exchanged between him and your friends but your brain was just focused on getting out of here. daryl wrapped an arm around your waist and you slung yours around him, pressed to his side.
-
your whole body aches as you start to move yourself awake, you rub your eyes open to a white ceiling. the sunlight peering out a window across the room causes you to squint and is the beginning of a head splitting pain. your hands roam around the soft sheets underneath you as your movement becomes frantic in feeling last night's clothes still on. you panic, not remembering where you are you quickly sit up, arms flailing and knocking something over on the bedside table. you rub your eyes again trying to get rid of the pounding behind them while you agonizingly move your legs over the side of the bed. the bedroom door in front of you opens and your head shoots up. daryl. parts of last night start to come back to you and the anxiety in your chest dissipates.
“you ok?” he asks as he makes his way over to you.
you watch him through furrowed brows and hands rubbing circles on your temples. daryl bends down to pick up what you knocked over in a panic, an unopened water bottle. he sits on the back of his heels, looking up at you with his head tilted. you try to speak but your throat is so dry, you attempt to clear it. daryl uncaps the bottle in his hands and brings it up to you, you take it from him and chug. daryl stands up as you finish drinking, taking the bottle and screwing the cap back on. his free hand travels to gently hold your chin up to look at him, his thumb swiping away a water droplet at the corner of your lips.
“you're ok,” daryl reassures you, his velvety voice soothing your nerves.
you would have had fireworks exploding in your head from his soft touch and warm words in any other instance but all you can do is squeeze your eyes closed from the throbbing you feel all over your body.
“my head…” is what you manage to croak out.
daryl takes his hand away from holding your face upright and goes towards his closet and drawers.
“you needa shower, come on” he says while rummaging through drawers.
you groan as you slowly stand up, daryl peeks over his shoulder as if he’s ready to catch you if you stumble. every step you take towards the bathroom is agonizing. you grip the sink counter and you’re flooded with memories of last night. you shake your head trying to forget and wince from the sudden pain. instead, you look in the mirror. your hair is disheveled, clothing lopsided, you almost can't recognize yourself. your shoulders slump and your head drops down, making you wince again. you're snapped out of your daze when daryl calls your name. you straighten up to see him standing in the bathroom doorway holding a t-shirt, sweatpants and towel. you pad over to him, unable to look daryl in the eyes.
“thank you” you speak barely above a whisper, taking the neatly folded stack from his hands.
daryl nods, taking his leave and you close the bathroom door. it's what you appreciate most about daryl. though he comes off as a guard dog, protective yet reserved, he never hovered and knew to give you space. getting ready to shower is just as worse as you imagined in this state, your clothes felt like a second skin being peeled off. the hot water running down your back soothes you, you stay under there unmoving for a while before reaching out for whatever soap daryl has in here.
you dress in the clothes daryl gave, a worn out shirt with some motorcycle graphic and sweats that hang off your hips. you’re practically swimming in them. yet you feel miles better, reveling in the soft fabrics and laundry detergent smell. stepping out of the bathroom, the headache makes an appearance again and the aching quickly travels to the back of your eyes. you manage to walk out of daryl’s bedroom and find him in the kitchen. his back is turned to you as he stands at the stove, spatula in hand. you realize now you’ve never seen daryl cook, actually you thought he just didn't know how. as if he sensed your presence, daryl turns around, spatula in hand. before you can say anything he frowns, his eyes looking over your current state.
“not gonna dry your hair? might help."
you hadn't realized your hands were back to rubbing your temples.
“‘m fine” you drop your hands and walk further into the kitchen.
daryl shakes his head, turning back to the stove to turn it off and place the spatula down. he walks towards you in quick strides, placing hands on your shoulders to turn you around. he lightly forces you back into the bathroom and you sigh, admitting defeat as your feet move on their own. you lean against the sink counter as daryl pulls out a hair dryer, the cord is wrapped around its handle and you wonder when was the last time he ever used it, your eyes travel to his flat hair that falls into his face, tickling his shoulders.
“sit,” daryl nods to the counter as he figures out the settings of the blow dryer, your thoughts were definitely right.
you push yourself on top of the counter but the sudden movement brought the throbbing in your head back. instinctively, you bring your head down in the palm hands, slumping forward. through squinted eyes, you see daryl’s torso come in view. you slowly straighten yourself up, relaxing as your eyes travel to meet his while he settles in between your legs. your headache is persistent, to ground yourself you inadvertently reach out and grab the fabric of daryl’s shirt.
“sorry” you mumble, letting go almost immediately.
“s’ok, lean on me,"
you don't think twice about pressing your head on daryl’s broad shoulder. your hands lazily hold onto his shirt again, wrapping around his ribcage. you hear the blow dryer turn on and daryl gets to work, gently tossing your hair to evenly dry. the noise would have intensified the aching in your head if it wasn't for your focus on his fingertips occasionally grazing your scalp. you find yourself burrowing in the crook of his neck, swirls of cigarettes and whiskey or bourbon fill your senses. you still couldn’t really tell the difference even when daryl had you try a sip of each that one late night. your face scrunched having the tiniest sip of whiskey, it left a burning sensation down your throat and persisted on your tastebuds even after a glass of water. daryl exhaled out of his nose in amusement and said it had something to do with you being young.
you’re now preoccupied with the thought that this moment right now wasn't quite the norm for you two, however to have daryl touch you in his own caring and sweet way does happen. there are times when you two would be out for dinner or at a crowded bar where he would place his hand gently on your lower back to guide you. it drove you crazy but you always ended up brushing it off, thinking it was his way of showing he cares. and he never lingered. those moments mostly came more from you when you could get away with it. like that time he broke a glass when washing dishes at your place. you were feeling under the weather and couldn't make it to a night out with daryl and his buddies. despite you telling him not to worry and go have fun, he showed up at your doorstep with take out. he wouldn't let you lift a finger, setting up the table and cleaning all on his own. a glass broke while he was washing up, and instead of worrying about the cut on his finger he apologized and said that he would buy you a new one. you called him stubborn when he wouldn't let you treat his cut, eventually he gave in and you found yourself really taking your time in disinfecting the cut and bandaging him up. holding his hand with both of yours, fingers delicately dancing around his. you didn't complain about the noise from the blow dryer, instead indulged in his calloused yet tender hands.
you feel daryl’s hand lightly lift the other side of your head, indicating to have you turn over so he could blow dry the rest of your hair. you make a displeased noise but oblige, moving your head to face the other way. the warmth from the blow dryer and having half your body pressed against daryl lulls you into a short snooze. a few more minutes pass when the blow dryer finally shuts off, you make no sign of moving and daryl thinks you look so peaceful like this. his mind goes back to last night, he was at a bar with rick and a few others when he got your text. it was unreadable for the most part, letters mixed up and words jumbled together but he understood the severity of the situation when you shared your location with him. he didn't hesitate for a moment, rushing out the bar with no explanation to his friends. seeing you in that state, on the floor of some dirty club’s washroom, he had half a mind tearing the place apart trying to find who caused you this pain. daryl subconsciously rubs his hand up and down your back while his thoughts continue to drift. to find comfort and being so vulnerable with him, to trust him enough that your first thought in a time of need is him…daryl could never openly admit this did something to him. but he finds himself to be part of his own demise when you stir awake and daryl internally curses. he was ready to stand here for the next hour if it meant you weren't in pain anymore.
you lifted yourself off of daryl’s shoulder and in the process your lips ever so lightly brushing his jaw, daryl’s hand on your back tightened.
“daryl?” you speak groggily, blinking your eyes open.
you met his light coloured eyes, they were filled with something you haven't recognized in him before. adoration? no, it couldn't be. but the slightest tug of his lips felt like something new when he met your hooded sleepy eyes.
“let’s get you somethin’ to eat, darlin’,” his southern drawl and the rare use of an endearing name burned in your ears.
you broke eye contact as you nodded, daryl began to step back to give you space. his hand that rested on your back slowly slipping away, as did yours that still clung around his wide chest. internally sighing from the loss of touch, you hop off the counter and follow daryl back into the kitchen. a plate of pancakes was already set on the small dining table for two which you hadn't noticed the first time you entered the room. daryl was back at the stove, bringing over one more pancake on the spatula. you flushed at the domestic like scene. daryl pointed to the chair closest to you to sit. you watch daryl as you do, his back turned to you again as he grabbed something out of the fridge. you notice the table is laid out with forks and knives besides the plates for both of you alongside generic maple syrup and a half empty strawberry jam jar sit in the middle of the table. daryl makes his way back, orange juice pitcher in hand. your head tilts,
“is that…freshly squeezed?” confusion and shock evident in your voice.
“don't ya like orange juice?” daryl’s eyebrows furrow as he pours you a glass.
you continue staring at him with knitted brows, lips parted. your mind takes you back to when the two of you had gone out for brunch a few weeks ago. it was a little diner on the edge of town daryl had been wanting to take you to. of course you said yes, hopping on the back of his motorcycle. walking in, daryl was immediately greeted by the man and woman behind the counter and a lone patron sitting at the end of the bar. the woman sat you two in a booth by the window, she was older, greying curly hair and wrinkles graced her warm face. the whole time she was gushing to you about how sweet daryl is. she recalled a day he helped the couple unload a truck for their weekly grocery delivery. he playfully told her to knock it off and she patted his shoulder, you found yourself smiling and admiring this sweet interaction. you ordered a glass of orange juice with your meal and you swore to daryl it was the freshest, and not too sweet, glass you ever had. he relayed it to the couple, they were so flattered they made sure you didn't leave without a glass bottle of orange juice. it looks similar to the one sitting on daryl’s dining table right now. you didn't think such a small action could have your heart skip a beat.
you’re snapped out of your thoughts as a chair scrapes against the floor. daryl takes a seat across from you and watches you with careful eyes, as if he’s searching for a specific reaction. you smile at him, taking a sip of juice. he gestures to the pancakes, letting you take one into your plate first. you can't help but continue to smile and daryl looks at you again, one eyebrow raised as if to say what are you smiling about?
“thank you,” you answer his unspoken thought.
“for everything” you peek up at daryl who is already cutting into his stack of pancakes.
he looks up at you through his hair that has fallen into his eyes. he replies with a nod and a mumbled “yea.”
silence falls between you two but it's comfortable, it always is. so you continue to accept the way it is. fresh orange juice with pancakes made by the man who saved you last night. a man that plagues your thoughts, the one you think of first when you’re in trouble or just need some kind of solace. the one whose clothes you’re wearing and blow dried your hair for you. you don't know what this means for the both of you but right now, you take a bite of pancakes drenched in sickly sweet syrup and think this is enough for now.
my name is jia huan im six years old and like flying kites and learning about boluses and i love my big bros and baby sis and my friensd and using silly emojis (≧▽≦) this emoji is so cute!!!! why is it still typing
ooc hiiii irs @/incompetentcloudkingdom back on their bullshit. little huan blog for fun and also because the April fools day from this year 2026 inspired me.
this is literally just little huan from before the incident where he was still living with baoyu but if I get the right sequence of m!as I might make him survive it but that's its own thing
ok important stuff time
in interactions with other blogs from the current time in the universe just assume seeing xiaohuan is either seeing a ghost or hallucinating or mirror world bullshit
dni includes ANY AND ALL JIASHIPPERS AND L0LI/SH0. FUCK OFF DO NOT TOUCH THE CHILD
m!a are allowed as long as it doesn't get to out of hand without my want. if idk how to respond to it i most likely won't
i also take a while to answer asks so be warned
of course mun is. not 6 years old. though mun is a minor still. don't be weird to either of us in the inbox or i kill you. ok? ok
fluff centric blog. silly guy
i am TRYING to mimic the typing style of a siz year old and using old flamingo admin videos to do this. Im being dead serious about the flamingo part
tags
#🌼 ooc - (self explanatory)
#🔮 magic!! - m!as
#🥮 hi!!! - asks
#🧪 cool!!!!! - random posts
#🎨 drawin!!! - art/sprite edit posts
ill also try to tag certain things that might be triggering given some of the general themes of limbus company/project moon. They'll be tagged #cw: [___] or #tw: [___]
