"What's wrong with you? What'd you do?" Carol asked, watching you rubbing your neck and shoulder.
"I think I tweaked something moving all that gear yesterday. Those boxes were heavy as fuck..."
"You moved all that by yourself? I told you to ask for help!" Carol replied.
You shrugged. "Eh... asking for help was never written into my programming," you joked. She shot you a look.
"You won't be any good to anybody if you put yourself out of commission," she scolded you. "You know Daryl would drop everything to help you anytime," she added with a smile.
You felt your cheeks flush. "Shush... Daryl has more important things to be doing than—"
Suddenly, his drawl sounded from right behind you. "Than what?"
"She didn't want to ask for help and now she's maimed herself moving heavy boxes," Carol replied cheekily.
"I didn't maim myself! I just pulled something slightly..." you murmured.
He shook his head. "We can't have ya hurtin' yerself. Just ask me next time. It dun make ya less of a badass to need help from time to time. Otherwise I'mma start thinkin' I need to follow ya around to prevent this shit."
Carol grinned. "That's a GREAT idea. I love it!"
"Carol... shut. up."
Prompt: "I told you to ask for help." / "Asking for help was never written into my programming."
PAIRING: daryl dixon x fem!reader
WARNINGS: misunderstandings, no use of y/n
GENRE: angst, comfort (at end)
SONG INSPIRATION: lovers - anna of the north
WORD COUNT: 1.2k
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daryl had been an enigma from the moment he set foot in alexandria. he wasn’t like the others. he was rough around the edges, always carrying himself as if he was waiting for something to go wrong. and maybe he was.
the world now didn’t allow for true safety, and he knew that better than most.
but that didn’t stop you from watching him.
you had liked him from the beginning, from the moment you saw him peering in through the window at deanna’s party. you’d cornered him that night, half amused, half intrigued.
“you know, you could just come inside,” you had teased, leaning against the doorway. “or are you afraid you’ll turn into a respectable member of society if you step over the threshold?”
daryl had huffed out a short, reluctant laugh, his eyes flicking toward you before darting away. “ain’t really my kinda thing.”
“oh, i never would’ve guessed,” you shot back, smirking. “you’re blending in so well.”
that made him snort, shaking his head. he had started to turn away, but something about the way he lingered told you that he wasn’t entirely opposed to the conversation.
so, you pushed a little more.
“well, if you change your mind, i’ll be inside,” you had said, tapping the doorframe lightly. “near the bar. you know, just in case you suddenly develop a taste for civilization.”
daryl had glanced at you again, something unreadable in his expression. then, with a small shake of his head, he walked off.
and that was where it started.
you started finding excuses to see him.
at first, it was small things. bringing him something from the pantry after a run, offering to patch up scrapes from the road.
daryl wasn’t easy to get close to, but you were nothing if not persistent.
and eventually, it worked.
it started with short conversations, nothing deep, just little things. you’d tease him about how he always disappears whenever a group gathering got too lively.
“you know, i’m starting to think you might be allergic to fun.”
daryl would just roll his eyes, scoffing. “ain’t got time for all that.”
“oh, come on,” you’d prod, smirking. “not even a little?”
“i’m here, ain’t i?” he’d grumble.
you never pushed him too much, never asked for more than he was willing to give. and slowly, bit by bit, he let his guard down.
somewhere along the way, things shifted.
late nights spent sitting together on porches turned into nights in your bed.
at first, it was just a stolen moment, a hesitant kiss that he didn’t pull away from. then another. and another. before long, he was in your bed more often than not, hands roaming over your skin, lips pressing bruises into your neck, giving you everything he had in the dark.
but in the morning, he’d always leave.
you tried to ignore it. tried to convince yourself that this was enough, that you could deal with him slipping out before the sun came up, that you could pretend this was casual.
one night, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.
you lay beside him, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. it was late, the world outside quiet, but you could feel the tension in him. the way his muscles had started to coil again, like he was already preparing to go.
and suddenly, you couldn’t stop yourself.
“why do you always leave?”
the question came out softer than you intended, but it made daryl tense beneath you. his hand, which had been resting lightly against your back, withdrew.
you lifted your head, searching his face. “daryl?”
he let out a quiet breath, staring up at the ceiling. “ain’t about leavin’.”
“then what is it about?”
he didn’t answer right away. instead, he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his hair. he didn’t look at you.
something inside you twisted painfully.
“daryl,” you tried again, voice quieter now. “what are we doing?”
still, he said nothing.
the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. you waited, giving him time to find the words, but when too much time passed, you realised, he wasn’t going to.
and that hurt more than anything.
you swallowed hard, forcing back the lump rising in your throat. “you know what?” you let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “forget it.”
daryl glanced at you then, something like regret flickering in his eyes, but he still didn’t speak.
you turned over, pulling the blanket up, facing away from him. you didn’t want him to see the tears that had started to fall. you didn’t want him to see how much this was breaking you.
because that meant it mattered. and if it mattered to you, but not to him…
you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe.
behind you, you heard him stand. the soft shuffle of his boots, the creak of the door. and then he was gone.
you tried to move on after that.
you told yourself it didn’t matter, that you should’ve expected it. that you should’ve known better than to hope for something real.
but daryl didn’t let you move on.
he kept coming back around, showing up at your door like he had something to say but always talking around it.
finally, after days of this, you’d had enough.
you met him at the door, arms crossed, your heart aching with every beat. “what do you want, daryl?”
he shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. “i–” he cut himself off, running a hand over the back of his neck. “i dunno.”
you huffed a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “you don’t know?”
“i ain’t good at this,” he muttered. “ain’t never been.”
“yeah,” you said, voice tight. “i noticed.”
the silence between you was suffocating. you didn’t know what he wanted from you, why he kept showing up when he had made it so clear that you weren’t worth staying for.
“i just…” he trailed off, exhaling sharply, frustrated with himself. “ain’t never felt like this before.”
that stopped you cold.
your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. “what?”
“i–” he sighed, rubbing at his face. “i ain’t never had somethin’ like this. like you.”
you opened your mouth, then closed it.
daryl shifted on his feet, looking more vulnerable than you had ever seen him. “ain’t that i don’t want it,” he admitted. “just… don’t know how.”
your heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice.
for so long, you had convinced yourself that you weren’t enough for him, that he didn’t care the way you did. but now, looking at him, hearing him struggle through the words…
it wasn’t that he didn’t care. it was that he cared too much.
you swallowed hard, taking a step closer. “you could’ve just told me that.”
he let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, shaking his head. “ain’t that easy.”
you searched his face, saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.
“maybe it could be,” you murmured.
daryl hesitated. then, after a beat, he nodded. “yeah.”
it was quiet between you, the weight of the moment pressing down. and then, slowly, hesitantly, he took that last step forward,
closing the space between you.
reblogs and comments are appreciated ᯓ★
2025 IALREADYMADEYOUAPROMISE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED !
PAIRING: daryl dixon x gn!reader
WARNINGS: no use of y/n
GENRE: fluff
PLAYLIST: here
WORD COUNT: 695
NOTE: daryl writers, please put out full fics and my life is yours!
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you didn’t know exactly when you started feeling this way about daryl. but you know it wasn’t one big thing that made you fall for him, it was the hundred little ones.
it was in the way he always walked a step behind you on runs, covering your back without a word. it was in the way he’d grunt and shove a can of your favourite food into your hands after a supply run, pretending he just ‘happened to find it.’
the way he noticed, always noticed, when you needed help, even when you didn’t ask for it.
even with all that, you thought maybe you were imagining it. projecting your own feelings onto him, reading too much into every sideways glance, every mumbled word.
until today.
you were sitting by the fire, cleaning your knife, when daryl came up behind you. you didn’t look up right away, you'd learnt that daryl didn’t like being stared at, especially not when he was trying to say something.
when you finally glanced up, he was holding something out to you, almost awkwardly. it was a little bunch of wildflowers, still damp from the morning dew.
not the fancy kind, nothing like the ones from old world bouquets. they were simple.
a soft purple and yellow.
you blinked up at him, heart thudding.
"you, uh... said you liked 'em last spring," he muttered, not quite meeting your eyes. his fingers shifted. "saw 'em growin' by the woods. figured..." he cut himself off with a shrug.
but it was.
you remembered, clear as day. walking past those same flowers, smiling at them, maybe mentioning how nice they looked. you hadn't thought anyone was really listening.
but he had been.
in a way he always had been.
you took the flowers carefully from his hand, brushing his calloused knuckles. "they're beautiful," you whisper softly.
your chest felt too tight all of a sudden. "thank you, daryl."
he gave a half shrug, half nod, shoving his hands into his pockets.
that was when it really clicked, everything before this.
the time he came back from a run with that weird, faded paperback you mentioned liking before the apocalypse hit years ago, even though it must’ve been a hard find.
the way he always handed you his canteen when you sat down after training.
how he'd sharpen your knives without asking, muttering that he was "just sittin' around anyway," when you knew he could be doing a hundred other things.
he hadn’t said it out loud. of course he hadn’t. that wasn’t daryl.
but he’d been showing you all along.
your throat tightened. you looked back down at the flowers so he wouldn’t see the way your eyes burned.
"you alright?"
you smiled, a real one, though it trembled a little. "yeah. just... guess i didn't realise."
"realise what?"
you shook your head, heart hammering.
"i didn’t realise you..." you trailed off, then tried again. "that you’ve been looking out for me. i mean… really looking out for me all this time."
he scratched the back of his neck, "ain't nothin'. just... wanted to."
you stood slowly, flowers still cradled in your hand. daryl shifted like he might step back, but didn’t.
"you always do," you smiled. and then, quieter, "you always have."
for a second, you thought maybe you'd said too much. maybe you'd crossed some line.
but daryl just looked at you.
"yeah," so soft you almost missed it. "so have you."
you stepped closer now, heart in your throat. daryl didn’t move, he just watched you a little weary.
you reached out, hesitated just a second, before touching his hand.
he let you. his fingers twitched, then curled carefully around yours. it was so simple. so small.
neither of you said anything else. you didn’t need to.
daryl wasn’t a man of many words, never had been.
without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. you lingered for a moment longer before turning and walking back to your cell, flowers in hand.
a smile still tugging at the corners of your lips.
summary: Ron’s never let anyone help. You’ve known about the bruises for a while, but this is the first time he lets you see them up close. The first time he talks about it. The first time he doesn’t pretend he’s fine.
warnings: mentions of abuse, injury descriptions, blood, wound kissing, hinting parental abuse, emotional distress, cursing, bad writing, long backstory
words: 1.2k
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Pete was already temperamental. Leaving bruises was rare, but yelling wasn't. Ron learned to be quiet and channel the anger. Sam cried. Jessie pretended. After the breakout, things became worse. Pete was angrier. Ron was cracking. Sam cried louder. Jessie smiled harder.
Every night, Ron would sneak out. It didn't matter to him where. Anywhere was better than being around his dad. He liked the comforting silence the night brung. Feeling the cold breeze tingle his wounds. He didn't tell anyone. He didn't plan on it. Until, he met her.
He had seen you before helping in medical center or helping unload after runs. Something about you left him curious. The way he'd see you and if he'd look away for a second he'd be gone. The way you seem to know exactly what to say or do in stressful situations. It always left him wondering and sometimes even wanting.
The first time you guys talked was at a welcoming party. You had stuck behind Carl the whole night, scanning the room as if walkers were going to break in at any moment and you HAD to be the one to jump in the action. When no one was looking, or at least when you thought no one was, you snuck out the front door. Ron followed.
He opened the door and saw you sitting on the porch stairs. He hesitated before slowly approaching. He cleared his throat, "Not much of a party person I'm assuming?" you rolled your eyes, not looking up. "No," You said dryly, "so go away." But he didn't. He sat next to you and talked to you for the rest of the party. Turns out you guys got along pretty well. You guys shared trauma, experiences with the outbreak, and a couple sarcastic jokes. You weren't as tough and mean as you looked.
As you're friendship grew, the more you'd find out about his home life. Often going up to his house with comics, only to leave because you heard thumps and crashes from inside. Seeing him wear long sleeves or hoodies when it's a million degrees outside. Then one day you wander into his room uninvited and find him shirtless with bruises all along his arms and stomach. He used the usual excuses, he fell down the stairs, got a little too rough when play-fighting Carl or Mikey, and the list goes on.
Until, one night he comes through your window scared, hurt, and sad.
-----
You lay in your bed reading some book you found collecting dust in one of the basements. It was boring you to death. Until..
knock...knock....knock..
You wake up from your bored-like trance and sit up. You look around.
knock...knock..
You stand up and head to the window. What you can make up was a silhouette of a boy. Brown hair, bushy brows, a slouchy set of shoulders, Ron? You open the window, "Ron? What did you get a nightmare and wet the bed or something?" you tease with a slight smirk. He look's up at you. Your smile drops as you step aside and he slowly drops in. Blood was gushing out his nose and dribbling off his lip, he had a bruise on the side of his face, and you had a gut-feeling that wasn't all.
He limps toward your bed and sits down. You grab your chair and place it in front of him. "What happened...?" you ask softly. He hesitates, responses calculating in his head, but each answer seems odd to say aloud. "I-I'm sorry." he finally whimpers, keeping his head down, shoulders shaking slightly. "I’m sorry," he repeats, voice cracking. "I shouldn’t have come here. I just—" He swallows hard. "I didn’t know where else to go."
Your heart drops. "Ron… what happened?"
He shakes his head, wiping his nose with trembling hands. "He-he just lost it. He had too much to-" he lets out bitter laugh, "You know my mom- it's like she can't even accept or talk about it. She walks around with some stupid smile all the fucking time." His voice got slightly angry, words forced through his gritted teeth. "Then Sam-" he continues, "my mom just locks him in his closet all night, so all he knows is just to do what mom says or run away. Then my dad-" he paused and his head voice drops, sniffling and shaking. He shakes his head, "I hate him. I hate him so, so, much." Tears start to well his eyes.
You watch him silently, thinking of anything to say.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, "I didn't know where else to go." You hugged him. He fell into your shoulder and just cried. It felt like forever and your shirt was soaked with a mix of nose-blood and tears.
He finally calmed down a bit and lifted his head. "Can...can you help me?" he asks. You nod immediately and get a first aid kit from your desk drawer. You quickly clean off face.
"Is that all?" you ask hesitantly. He nods slowly then takes off his sweater, then his shirt. Bruises were traveled among his left arm, hand, and on the sides of his stomach. "Oh Ron..." you whisper sadly as you softly trail, your fingers among the bruises. Although he let out small winces at each touch, he let you continue. "It's nothing. It's just a scratch." he mutters. You grab his hand and run your thumb along his wounded knuckles.
You slowly lift his hand higher, brushing your thumb across his knuckles again. Without thinking too hard about it, you lean down and press a soft kiss against the bruised skin. Ron stiffens, startled, but doesn’t pull away.
Your lips linger for just a second before you whisper, “It's more than just a scratch.”
His breath catches, and he looks at you like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. You move carefully, kissing the inside of his wrist, then the bruise on his forearm. Each time, you’re gentle, as if the bruises might break under your touch.
When your eyes meet his, he’s trembling slightly, cheeks flushed, eyes glossy. It’s vulnerability, raw and unguarded, the kind of look he rarely lets anyone see. His chest rises and falls, fast and uneven. Then, almost without thinking, as if the words he can’t say are spilling out through his body instead, he leans forward.
Your lips meet his in a brief, hesitant kiss. It's soft, desperate, and trembling with everything he’s been holding in. You pull back slowly and meet his eyes once again. They have a sense of fear, he's asking for any sort of sign of reassurance. You grin softly and he follows. After, you quickly bandage his knuckles, then run some ointment on his bruises and cuts. Theres a silence during this, but not an awkward one. It's relieving. Calm. A break for Ron.
"Thank you." he whispers. You nod before getting up and tossing him a maroon knit crewneck and extra pjs.
"You're staying here tonight."
"B-but..my dad- when I'm not-"
"I'll wake you up before sunrise."
You give him a reassuring grin. He doesn't say anything and nods. You hand him the clothes, and he takes them with shaky hands. For the first time tonight, his shoulders drop, just a little.
“Thanks,” he says again, softer this time, like the word doesn’t even cover it.
You nod, sliding back into bed while he changes. When he finally crawls under the blanket beside you, there’s a beat of silence, only the sound of his breathing evening out. You let your eyes drift shut, but not before you feel him shift closer, just enough that your shoulders brush.
For once, he doesn’t seem afraid to fall asleep.
--
author's note: this was my first fic be nice pwease 🥹 i'm just a babeh. ok. sorry. but its probably not that accurate to real situations or anything and Ron might be out of character. apologies for anything triggering or misspells. also i lowk planned to do this like 2 months ago along with another fic with daniel matthews.
♡Pairing: Daryl Dixon × fem reader (set during Alexandria)
♤Contains: fluff, established relationship
♧Warnings: none, just tired Daryl and fluff
◇Word count:819
■Requested
Yes, I made this tonight and actually finished it instead of leaving it for another day. Hope this met your wishes and I'm open for advice <33
It was currently 10pm. You had just finished your shower a couple minutes ago and were now laying in bed waiting for Daryl. You knew he had gone on a run today with a few others but you thought he would've been back before the sunset since he left as soon as the light peeked through your bedroom curtains. You woke up to the feeling of a cold, empty bed and when you opened your eyes there was no sign of Daryl. Yes, you knew he would go on a run but you didn't know how early it would be when he'd have to pull away from your barnacle arms and leave.
The cold weather today most likely didn't help his mood or day either. It's been raining almost everyday this week which meant a lot of mud, and that meant it would all collect on Daryl's boots, which also meant that your floor would get dirtied up again.
As you flipped through the pages of a book you found not too long ago in one of the shelves in your libing room, you heard the front door creak open and shut again with a dull thud, boots scuffing and thumping against the wooden floor. You didn’t even have to guess, you knew who it was judging by the sound of his heavy feet.
You set your book aside and pulled the blanket off to go downstairs and greet your dear husband. You walked in rushed steps down the stairs and your face softened in an instant upon seeing his slouched shoulders and his expression which was laced with pure exhaustion.
Daryl just grunted and gave you a slight nod. It's not the first time it was like this, after each and every run or hard day he would just collapse into your warm arms.
"Rough day?" you asked softly.
Daryl didn’t answer right away. He just dropped his crossbow against the wall, shrugged out of his vest with fumbling hands, and then crossed the room in a few long strides. The moment he reached you, he folded forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck like he was finally letting himself rest.
You caught him without hesitation, arms looping around his broad shoulders. His weight pressed into you, all tension and weariness spilling out at once.
"'m fine..." he muttered against your skin.
You smoothed a hand over the back of his hair, letting your fingers card through the strands until you felt some of the rigidness in his muscles begin to ease.
"You sure, peach? Because you look tired and worn out to me, just slumping like a wet cloth over me." you teased.
"Also, look at what a mess you made! The floor is all dirty and muddy!"
Daryl let out a small huff that warmed your collarbone and said nothing in response. For a while, neither of you moved. He just held onto you, and you kept your arms wrapped around him, occasionally stroking his tense back.
After a long moment, you coaxed him to lift his head, brushing your thumb along his jaw. The exhaustion in his eyes tugged at your heartstrings. Your poor Daryl, all tired and worn out.
"Come on,"you said gently, tugging at his hand. "Bed'll be a lot warmer than how it is down here, I'm almost shivering!"
Daryl huffed, something between a sigh and a reluctant chuckle, but let you guide him to your shared bedroom. His fingers threaded with yours, calloused but careful, holding on like you were the only thing anchoring him.
Once upstairs, the two of you slipped into the bedroom, shadows long across the walls from the lantern light. He kicked off his boots with a tired grunt and collapsed onto the mattress, face-first.
You followed after, easing down beside him. He didn’t waste a second before pulling you close, his arm draped heavy across your waist.
"You know, If you would've told me before that the tough and hard Daryl would turn into a softie for me, collapse into my arms and snuggle up like a sick bunny I would've never believed it."
That got the smallest smirk out of him, you felt his lips curl against your shoulder before he shifted just enough to tuck his face against your chest, letting out a low hum as your hand found its way back into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp and massaging.
For a while, the only sounds were the steady rhythm of his breathing and the faint noises of crickets. Little by little, the weight in his body eased until he was nothing but a heavy and warm pile of hard muscle against you and deep breaths into your skin.
"Goodnight, Dar...I love you."
...
"...even though you made my bed all smelly." you added before kissing his forehead and letting yourself succumb to sleep next to your human heater.
