tangerenebootleg

21, they/them, mdni! in love with fictional old men

[tangerinebootleg]

˖ ݁𖥔⌖Hunting Guide⌖𖥔 ݁˖

Tangerine, 21, they/them, bi, INFP-T

Likes: Orange and green, nature, cats, reading, sewing, woodworking, guitar, music (except pop or modern country), political activism, board games, video games

Fandoms: TWD, Yellowjackets, Always Sunny, LOTR, TPB, GOT, Twin Peaks, Berserk

Games: RE2, RE3, RE8, Silent Hill (original), Minecraft

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⊹˚♪₊‧𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨‧₊ ♪˚⊹

˙⋆✮𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕✮⋆˙

[tangerinebootleg]

#1 Crush

Part 6

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

Summary: You and Daryl reunite with the group and make your way to Alexandria. As the dust settles, quiet conversations, awkward apologies, and small acts of kindness begin to rebuild the trust between you.

Words: 4,573

Warnings: Mature themes, minors DNI, mentions of blood and violence, angst, enemies to (eventual) lovers, romance

A/N: The Alexandria timeline, pre Negan. Mostly relationship building. A lot of healing, and some awkward daryl. I think the fic is changing tbh. The lore stays the same but it's gonna develop closer to a slow burn with some added smut. Also long as hell, I had to cut some stuff for the next part.

You walk, bag light on your back. Daryl moves slightly ahead of you. 

The silence is heavy. 

Dew clings to the plants underfoot, soaking into your pants. The sky is dark, about to burst with rain again. 

Daryl breaks the silence. 

“I wasn’t followin’ ya.” He kicks a branch out of his way. “It was rainin’.. I found that house…”

You swallow. “I could tell by your face.” 

“I didn’t think I’d…” The words crackle in his throat.

“I know.” 

Daryl sighs. 

“I’m not upset with you anymore.” You keep your eyes on the ground. “That doesn’t mean I’m okay with what happened…” 

He walks forward still. 

“...It’s just… I don’t know how to be angry at someone I thought I lost.” 

The sound of the wind rushing through the trees cuts through the silence. Then the patter of raindrops falling lightly on the leaves. 

You don’t move.

Daryl stops and turns to look at you. 

The rain gets heavier, drenching you both. 

Daryl watches you, rain dripping from his hair onto his face. His chest rises and falls quickly. He looks thinner, more exhausted.

You wonder if you look different. 

Rain soaks through your shirt until it clings to your skin. The thinness of it lets in a slight cool, your arms prickling with goosebumps. 

Daryl glances away, the movement almost imperceptible. Like he’s making sure he doesn’t stare.  Heat creeps up your neck anyways. You hate that you notice. 

A beat passes, you watch him. His eyes stay fixed on something just past you. The rain drips down his hair, blending into the already wet leather of his jacket. 

Three weeks ago, you would have given anything for him to stop watching you. 

Now… The distance feels wrong. 

Before you can think better of it, you take a step toward him. Then another. Thunder cracks around you, reverberating in your chest.  Your face is blushed slightly, breath falling short. 

You only stop when you're close enough to see the raindrops caught in his eyelashes. 

Finally, he looks at you, just for a heartbeat his eyes meet yours.

They falter.

Drop, only for an instant.

Then he forces them to the muddy ground between your boots. His throat bobs as he swallows. Neither of you say a word.

You can feel the heat of his skin in the air around you. You want to move, step away, say something, anything to break the tension. 

Instead, you stay exactly where you are. 

The silence stretches too long. 

Then, Daryl moves. Not towards you but away. He turns his head and steps. 

With his back to you, he walks away. 

“'M supposed to be back by now, they’ll come lookin’ for me.” 

You fall back into the rhythm of walking, a few steps behind him. 

Your chest tightens. You were the one who asked for distance. 

It feels different now that he’s giving it to you. 

The walk feels endless.

Rain falls without mercy, soaking through everything until there's no difference between the water and your own sweat.

Eventually, the barn comes into view. Someone spots Daryl first, then you.

Everything happens at once, the barn erupts with movement, questions, names, arms wrapping around shoulders. 

Tears. Relief. Grief. You learn who made it out. You learn who didn't.

Beth is gone.

Hershel...

The words barely register.

They hang in the air, impossible to fit inside your head. Without thinking, you look for him. He's already across the barn, answering Glenn's questions.

For just a second, his eyes find yours.

Then they're gone again.

Night passes, then a day. You find comfort in the group, focusing on survival. You scout, try to find water, and repair Maggie’s ripped jeans. Anything to keep your mind on what's important. 

Then Aaron finds you.

Then Alexandria.

When the gates open, and you see just how safe it is, how comfortable, you feel relief. 

Then comes something else. Unease.

Safety feels... unfamiliar. The walls are too clean. The silence is too quiet. While everyone begins settling into borrowed lives, you can't bring yourself to unpack. Carol offers you a couch. You take it. Every night you tell yourself you'll move into one of the empty houses tomorrow.

Finally, after some pushing from Sasha, Tara and Aaron, you move into a townhouse block with a few apartments. The apartment feels too big for just one person. You unpack your bag. Wash clothes that spent weeks smelling of smoke and rain. Lay beneath clean sheets at night. 

None of it feels real. 

Daryl ends up in the apartment next to yours.

Sometimes he's outside on the porch, a cigarette tucked between his lips while he skins a rabbit or cleans his crossbow. Other days, he disappears before sunrise and doesn't come back until dark.

Mostly...

You hear him. 

The walls are thin.

Boots crossing hardwood, cabinets opening, the quiet scrape of a chair across the floor.

Late at night, when sleep refuses to come, you hear the springs of his mattress creak through the wall. Restless, turning over, then silence. Then another turn.

You stare at your own ceiling, listening, wondering if he is listening to you too. 

Morning comes anyway. 

You sit on the porch with a mug of black coffee warming your hands, legs tucked beneath you. The neighborhood is still, and the sun hasn't quite cleared the rooftops.

Daryl's apartment door creaks open. He steps onto the porch, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His hair sticks up in every direction. Dark circles sit beneath his eyes.

He fishes a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. It's only when he strikes the lighter that he notices you.

He pauses.

“Hey.” You shift in your chair.  

“Hey.” He takes a long drag. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

He nods. “You?” 

“Not really.” 

 He pulls another cigarette out and points it towards you. 

You reach for it, fingers brushing his for a moment. Neither of you pulls away particularly fast. 

“Coffee?” You lift your cup. “It's terrible. No cream. No sugar.” You let out a short laugh.

One corner of his mouth twitches. 

“‘S fine.” 

You disappear inside to pour him a cup. When you come back, he's already sitting on the steps instead of his own chair. Not close enough to share your porch.

You hand him the cup. He takes it with both hands, wrapping them around the warm ceramic. Then you settle back into your chair. 

For a long while you both just stare into the street. 

It’s quiet, besides the birds chattering.

“Feels weird.” Daryl blurts out. 

You roll the unlit cigarette between your fingers. For a second, you consider asking for a light. Before you can, he reaches into his pocket and flicks his lighter open.

You lean over the fence just enough to catch the flame.

"Thanks."

He gives a small nod. You take a slow drag before answering. "Yeah." Smoke drifts into the cool morning air. "Like something bad's waiting."

 "...Ain't used t'quiet." Daryl watches the empty street. 

"I keep waiting for someone to start yelling.” You let the cigarette rest between your lips comfortably. “For someone to come banging at my door. Some big thing.” 

You let out a quiet laugh that isn’t really a laugh. Daryl sips his coffee slowly. 

“Like the second I get comfortable…” You shrug. “... that's when everything falls apart.”

Daryl nods once. “Usually does.” 

You take another drag, looking at your cup. You let out another laugh, this time more real. It turns from one laugh into a couple, into you laughing louder than you should. 

“What’s funny?” Daryl turns to look at you. 

“Nothing..” You shake your head, trying not to laugh. 

Another one slips out anyways. 

“It’s just…” 

You gesture vaguely at the row of houses. 

“Two months ago, I was sleeping in a prison.” 

You laugh again. 

Daryl’s expression slips for just a moment, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk before it goes neutral again. 

“Two weeks ago I was sleeping in a shitty house, hoping walkers wouldn’t crash through the walls.” 

You look down at the mug in your hands. 

“Now I’m sitting on a front porch, drinking coffee before sunrise.” 

You look over at him. 

He lets out a small, rough laugh. 

“T’be fair…” He lifts the mug, “Yers tastes like shit.” 

You laugh again, standing up to grab the mug. 

“Don’t go complaining now, you’ve had half the cup!”  

Daryl looks at the coffee, swirling it around. “...Been through worse.” 

You laugh again, harder this time. Your cheeks ache. 

You reach for the mug, but he tilts it just out of your reach.

“Hey!” 

One corner of his mouth twitches. “Ain’t done sufferin’ yet.” 

You roll your eyes, nearly giggling at this point.  “I wish I knew you were this funny before you st-” The word catches in your throat. 

Your smile fades, still leaning over the railing. 

“...Before.” You slide back, sitting down in your chair with a thump. 

The silence settles between you. 

“...Yeah.” 

He sets the mug on the step and stands up. 

“Sorry.” 

You blink. He looks at you, hands in his pockets. 

“What?” 

He shrugs. “...Shouldn’t’ve happened.” 

You swallow, the cigarette leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“I’m sorry, too.” 

His eyes narrow slightly. “For what?” 

“For bringing it up like that.” 

“Don’t.” He shifts uncomfortably, shaking his head. “Ain’t wrong.” 

You chew at your lip. 

He turns to walk away. 

“Wait.” 

He stops, not turning around yet. 

“Can we….” You tighten your grip on the mug. “Can we start over?” 

He turns slightly. 

“Whaddya mean?” 

Your eyes drop to the coffee grounds clinging to the bottom of the mug. "I don't..." You let out a slow breath. "I don't want to act like none of it happened." You shake your head.

"Because it did."

Another pause.

"But..." Your fingers trace the rim of the mug. "...I don't think that's all you are anymore."

His expression doesn't change. You aren't even sure he's breathing. The wind moves through the trees. 

"I want..." You laugh nervously at yourself. “Fuck..” 

Daryl waits. 

“I just want to know you.” 

He looks at you for a long moment. His thumb hooks at the edge of his pocket, worrying at the fabric. His jaw shifts once. Then he gives a short nod. 

“...Alright.” 

Relief settles over you so suddenly it almost makes you dizzy. You look back down at your cup before he can see it. 

Standing, you steady yourself against the porch railing. "I'll see you later." You turn toward the door.

"Hey."

You glance back. Daryl is standing at the bottom of the steps, cup in hand. He clears his throat, not quite looking at you. 

"...Need any help?"

You blink. "With what?"

He lifts the mug a little, like it'll explain itself. "...Laundry. Unpackin'. Whatever." He shrugs, suddenly interested in the porch boards beneath his boots. "Ain't got nothin' else t'do."

You let out a tiny noise, almost a laugh.

“Sure.” 

Your apartment isn't messy, just lived in. Your backpack rests beneath the wall hooks, half unzipped, boots lie kicked off near the door. The couch has been dragged in front of the window instead of the television. A pot and two pans still sit drying beside the sink.

On the table, a small glass vase holds a single flower that's begun to wilt, its petals scattered across the wood.

You catch yourself looking at the room through his eyes.

"Sorry." You reach for the mugs. "I haven't really..." You gesture vaguely around the apartment. "...settled." 

Daryl steps inside, his gaze wandering over the room without lingering on anything.

Your jacket hangs over the back of the couch, a lone sock has somehow found its way beneath the coffee table.

"'S not that bad." He sets his mug beside the sink.

You snort. "Yeah, right." You bend to pick up the sock.

"You should see Carol's place." You toss it toward the couch. "It's like an ad for Better Homes and Gardens."

Daryl glances around again.

"...Needs more dead squirrels."

For half a second, you're not sure you heard him right. A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. Daryl huffs one of his own, shaking his head as if he can't believe he just said it.

“What about a deer carcass?” You turn the faucet. “A dining table centerpiece?" 

Daryl glances towards the table. “Gets flies.” 

“Oh, and squirrels don't?” 

“Good point.” 

He stands awkwardly between the kitchen and the living room, looking like he isn't quite sure what helping is supposed to look like. After a moment, he wanders toward the couch, scooping up your jacket and the lonely sock from the floor.

"Oh." You glance over your shoulder, hands buried in soapy water. "Thanks." You nod toward the hallway. "You can throw those in the laundry basket."

He pauses. "...Where's that?"

The question catches you off guard. Your eyes flick toward the bedroom. Your stomach tightens.

For a second, all you can picture is him standing in that doorway months ago. Watching. Going through your things.

The memory comes as quickly as it goes. You dry your hands against your jeans. He's waiting.

Not moving.

Not assuming.

Just waiting for you to answer.

You let out a slow breath. "...Second door on the left."

He nods once.

"A'right." 

He doesn’t head for it immediately, he waits for a moment. His teeth work the inside of his cheek. “...You sure?” 

You meet his eyes. “.. Yeah.” 

Only then does he walk down the hall. You let out a slow breath and turn back to the dishes, scrubbing your mug longer than necessary. 

He returns quickly, carrying the full laundry basket. He sets it down on the couch with a soft thud and moves to the table. 

His eyes land on the wilting flower. 

“Someone gave ya this?” The question comes out flat, but there's something beneath it. 

You glance over. “Why?” 

“Just askin’.” He shrugs, sweeping up the petals with his hand. “Did they?” He keeps his head down as he tosses the petals in the garbage. 

You turn your head back to the sink, rinsing the last dish. 

“Yeah…” You grab a dish towel to dry your hands. "Spencer brought it over. Him and Aaron dropped off a basket with towels, food... stuff like that."

Daryl looks at the flower again."...Spencer." You nod. "He's been pretty nice." Daryl grunts.

You hide a smile before turning toward the laundry basket.

"C'mon." You bump his shoulder with yours as you pass. "You said you wanted to help." You point toward the broom in the corner. "Sweep."

He gives you an exaggerated look like you've handed him the worst job in Alexandria.

"...Bossy."

"You're free to leave."

He snorts, grabbing the broom anyway. By the time you're loading the washer in the laundry room, you can hear the soft scrape of bristles across the floor. Every so often, it stops, then starts again. Underneath it, you catch him humming quietly to himself.

Once your laundry is started, you go back out. Daryl has started putting away your dishes. 

“Were you singing?” You slide next to him. 

“No.” He answers shortly, keeping his head away from you. 

“Really?” You tease, stacking mugs on a shelf. 

 “Yup.” Red creeps at his neck, his hair falling behind his shoulder.

“Huh.” You smile to yourself. “Could’ve sworn I heard somebody.” 

“”S the birds outside.” 

You bite back another laugh. “The birds were humming?” 

“Yep…” He keeps his eyes on the cabinet. “...Humming birds prolly.” 

You lose it, a laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you clap a hand over your mouth.

Daryl finally glances over, one eyebrow lifts. "...What?"

"Nothing." You shake your head, still laughing.

He squints at you. "...Yer makin' fun'a me." He closes the cabinet. 

He shuts the cabinet with a little more force than necessary.

"No..." You try to straighten your face.

It lasts all of two seconds.

"Quit laughin'." He shakes his head, turning away. You catch sight of the back of it, tiny bits of dust, a strand of cobweb, and a tuft of hair stuck to his damp curls from sweeping.

Another giggle escapes you. "I can't."

He sighs.

"...What now?"

You step closer, reaching toward his shoulder. He instinctively stiffens.

"...Hold still." Carefully, you pluck the little clump of hair from the back of his head. You hold it up between two fingers.

"You missed a spot."

Daryl stares at it, then reaches back, patting the back of his head like there might be more.

"...Hell."

You toss the bit of lint into the garbage can, still giggling slightly. 

“Ya can stop now.” 

“I’m trying!” You wipe at the corners of your eyes.

Daryl gives you a playful glare. 

"I just..." Another laugh escapes. "It's hard to take you seriously."

Daryl raises an eyebrow.

"You spend all day looking terrifying..." You gesture toward him. "...then you walk around with half the house stuck in your hair."

He instinctively reaches back again. "Ain't no more back there."

"Not anymore." You grin. "Carol would've had a field day."

Daryl groans."...Don't."

"She would've marched you straight into the shower."

"'M aware'a how showers work."

"Debatable." 

He rolls his eyes. 

“Was that an eye roll?” 

He shakes his head immediately. “...No.” 

“Daryl Dixon.” You take a step towards him, hands on your hips. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?” 

A faint blush creeps across the bridge of his nose. “...Didn’t.” 

“Oh, you absolutely did.” 

He scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you."...We should go out."

You blink.

"What?"

"'M sure the group's gotta need somethin'. Hunt. Scoutin'."

You narrow your eyes, smiling. "And you're volunteering to go with me?"

"...Yeah."

"You know..." You lean against the counter.

"Spencer's been asking if I need help with things."

Daryl's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

"...Has he."

You try—and fail—not to smile.

"Maybe I'll ask him instead."

Daryl opens his mouth.

"...Well..."

Nothing comes out.

He exhales sharply through his nose.

"...Do what ya want.” 

You both turn toward the door. As you step out, Daryl's eyes drift back to the flower on the table. Just for a second.

You slide on your boots and grab your bag, hoping that you'll catch a group before they go out. 

He opens the door and lets you pass before following behind, shutting it softly. Outside, Alexandria is waking up.

People move through the streets, calling to each other, carrying supplies, children laughing somewhere in the distance.

Daryl slows as you reach the intersection. "Gonna find Rick." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "Probably needs help with somethin'."

You smile slightly. "Of course he does."

His mouth twitches, almost a smile.

"Yeah."

A beat passes.

 "Alright." You nod. "See ya later, Daryl."

He pauses. "Yeah." Then he turns and walks away.

You find Maggie and Sasha, sitting on the curb. 

“Hey.” You wave, walking over. 

“Hey!” Sasha stands up, “You look refreshed! Ready to go out?” 

You let out a laugh. “Yea, I’m ready.” 

Sasha walks over, giving you a pat on the shoulder. 

“You finally warmed up to Daryl the Grouch?” Sasha raises an eyebrow, noticing Daryl walking in the opposite direction. Maggie lets out a laugh, “Sasha, don’t call him that, he’d hate it.” 

“All the more reason to call him that.” 

You laugh along Maggie as you all walk towards the gate. “He’s not so grumpy after all.” 

“Oh?” Sasha keeps her eyebrow raised, “Do tell.” 

“Well, we didn’t get along very well at the prison….” 

“Everybody knew that.” Maggie says matter-of-factly. “You punched him square in the nose. I’m surprised he didn’t dish it back.” 

“Not to mention the very public, and dramatic conversation you guys had in the laundry area.” Sasha gives you another playful push. “Most of it went unheard, but man, your face said enough.” 

You cover your face “God you guys knew? And didn’t say anything about it? Fuck me.” 

“Drama!” Sasha laughs again, “Girl we’ve both been through it. Don’t worry, it’s not like there was much gossiping.” 

Maggie nods, “Really only myself and Sasha talked about it. Carol gave her piece a few times, but nothing bad.” 

“Please, it's embarrassing enough knowing you guys noticed it, let alone talked about it later.” You shake your head, letting out a shameful laugh. 

“We just want to know what he did to make you punch him.” 

“He pisses off a lot of people, he definitely did something to deserve it.” Maggie chimes in again. 

Sasha starts again, “Carol thought he had a crush on you for a while, said you guys would make a cute couple.” She looks at you, rolling her eyes, “My money was on him trying to make a move and you beating him senseless for it.” 

Maggie turns to you. “I said he probably just said something stupid.” 

Sasha nods enthusiastically. 

“Of course he did.” 

Maggie lowers her voice into an awful impression of Daryl. 

“‘Yer holdin’ the b’noculars wrong.” 

You let out a cackle. Sasha snorts. 

“Nah…” Sasha starts an equally bad impression. “‘Yer breathin’ wrong.” 

Maggie laughs. 

“‘Yer too loud.” 

“‘Yer blinkin’ too much.” 

You double over laughing. “Stop! Stop!” 

Maggie wipes a tear from her face. “Seriously though, what did he say?” 

“Yeah, we gotta put this to rest.” Sasha grins wide. 

You shake your head. “Honestly?....” 

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” You nod slightly. 

You all reach the gate, finding Rosita, Eugene and Abraham. They talk amongst themselves, bags on their backs.

"Now if you want to talk about drama..." You glance between Maggie and Sasha. "...Let's talk about Rosita and Eugene."

Both of them perk up immediately. "Oh, Lord." Maggie laughs. You straighten your posture, clasping your hands behind your back, and start a nearly spot-on Eugene impression. 

"'Rosita, statistically speakin', if we were the last two fertile humans on Earth, reproduction would be the logical course of action.'"

Sasha immediately doubles over.

"He would never!"

You don't break character.

"'Now, I ain't sayin' I got feelings. Merely observin' that your bone structure is objectively... exceptional.'"

Maggie has to grab Sasha's arm to keep from falling over. "That's disturbingly good." Maggie laughs.

"I've been practicing."

Sasha wipes tears from her eyes. "You're awful."

The laughter dies down. Ahead of you, Rosita, Abraham, and Eugene have all gone strangely quiet. Three pairs of eyes are staring back at you.

Maggie leans in just enough to whisper, "...I think they heard that."

You wince. Eugene clears his throat.

"...For the record..."

He adjusts the strap of his backpack.

"...Her bone structure is objectively symmetrical."

Silence. Abraham pinches the bridge of his nose. Rosita closes her eyes for a second.

"...Jesus Christ, Eugene."

Sasha folds in on herself laughing all over again. You cover your face.

"I am so sorry."

Eugene looks genuinely confused. "...Why?"

Abraham sighs. 

"Let's just go."

You all return just after sunset. The run had been worth it, Denise all but lit up at the sight of the antibiotics and bandages you'd found.

Pete hauled away the rest of the medical supplies while Eugene proudly unloaded a shotgun, a pistol, enough ammunition for both, and three bottles of surprisingly decent wine…and an entire rack of hunting knives he'd somehow managed to carry home without stabbing himself.

By the time you make it back to your apartment, every muscle aches. Walker blood has dried stiff against your sleeves. Your boots feel twice as heavy as they did that morning. You climb the porch steps, reaching for the doorknob.

Your boot nudges something resting against the doorframe. You frown. Bending down, you pick it up.

An old beer bottle,the label has almost completely peeled away. Stuffed into the neck is a handful of fresh wildflowers.

Yellow.

Purple.

Tiny white blossoms you don't recognize.

You turn it over in your hand, no note, just flowers. Your thumb brushes one of the stems. A smile creeps across your face before you can stop it.

"...Idiot."

You look over at Daryl’s apartment. The lights are off, curtains drawn. 

You shake your head, opening the door. Your bag drops with a thud, your boots follow, one, then the other. 

Flicking on the kitchen light, you lean against the counter, letting the silence settle around you. 

Your apartment feels different. Warmer. Or maybe you're just in a better mood. Your eyes drift to the little vase on the table. Spencer's flower has nearly given up. Its stem has gone soft, petals scattered across the tabletop.

You pick up the vase, then the beer bottle. You hesitate. Just for a second. The vase tips into the trash with a dull clink, the wilted flower disappearing with it. You fill the bottle instead, carefully,  beneath the tap before setting it in the center of the table. The wildflowers fan out in every direction. Uneven, a little crooked, somehow perfect.

You stand there for a while, looking at them. They make you smile.

You don't really know why.

Your steps are quiet down the hall as you head to the laundry room. You pull your clothes out of the dryer, into the basket, and head to your room.  You carry the basket into your bedroom, the glow of the bedside lamp washing the room in soft amber light.

One shirt, a pair of jeans, socks, another shirt.

Your thoughts drift through the day.

The run, Maggie and Sasha, coffee on the porch.

The flowers waiting outside your door.

For just a second, you catch yourself thinking, home. The thought startles you. You fold another shirt. Near the bottom of the basket, something gray catches your eye. You stop. Nestled between two black shirts is a pair of gray underwear, yours. You stare at them for a long moment before picking them up.

The cotton is soft between your fingers.

He must've slipped them into the laundry basket while you were in the other room, without saying a word. You let out a slow breath. It doesn't erase what happened. It doesn't make it okay. But somehow, it feels like an apology.

You fold them, nestling them into the drawer with the other pairs. The last shirt follows. Then the basket is empty. By the time you climb into bed, the apartment is quiet. The walls are thin, you can hear the familiar sounds from next door. 

Floorboards creaking, a mattress shifting beneath someone's weight.

Then silence. You close your eyes. Minutes stretch into an hour as you wait for sleep to come.

Finally you drift toward sleep.

A muffled thump comes from the apartment beside yours. Then another. Springs creak against the wall.

"...No..." The word is barely audible.

You open your eyes. 

Silence.

 "...Didn't..."  Another restless shift.

"...’M sorry..." His voice is small, smaller than you've ever heard it.

You stare at the wall between your apartments.

"...ain't cryin'..."  The words crack.

The rustle of blankets, rougher than before. "...Please…” His voice is so quiet it barely passes through the wall. 

You scoot up to it, pressing an ear up to the cool wallpaper.

“…Don't..." A sharp inhale, then a sound that catches in his throat, like he’s trying to swallow a sob before it escapes.

And then nothing. The silence that follows somehow feels heavier than the noise. You stare at the wall between your apartments, wondering how many nights he's spent fighting ghosts no one else could see.

Eventually, exhaustion pulls you under.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading!!! This is becoming a real passion for me!!

⊹ Part 7 ⊹

[tangerinebootleg]

Trying to get better at writing lore/canon accurate Daryl, while still keeping him a little freak.

I feel like it's so much harder than making him just a total creep. Like he still thinks that way, but he definitely listens when you tell him to stop doing that.

And then when he does listen, it feels almost weaponized.

Idk :/ I just wanna write a good fic that follows the story I want.

[tangerinebootleg]

#1 Crush

Part 5

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

Summary: You leave the prison to escape Daryl, but come home to nothing. Weeks later, a storm, an abandoned house, and an unexpected reunion force you back together.

Words: 1,689

Warnings: Mature themes, minors DNI, mentions of blood and violence, angst, enemies to (eventual) lovers

A/N: Again no freak behavior. I'm really enjoying flushing out their relationship rn. This is pre and post the prison falling, with a near three week time skip.

The days after are a blur. 

At first you avoid Daryl whenever you can. You take different stairwells, different meal times. Every morning, he's on that damn catwalk, eyes fixed on the window. He never turns to look at you, doesn’t follow when you go downstairs. 

Just like you asked. 

It should make you feel better, but it doesn’t. On the fourth morning, the walls feel too small. You find Rick before sunrise. 

“I need to get out.” 

He studies your pack, already prepared. 

“For how long?”

“A few days.” 

He nods once. “Bring back what you can. Meds, canned food and baby formula are the priorities.” 

“I will.” You smile, “I’ll make sure to look for stuff for Judith.” 

“You takin’ anybody?” 

“No.” You shake your head, “I just…. need to clear my head.” 

Rick watches you for a moment before stepping aside.

“Don’t be gone too long.” 

You walk, past the house covered in ivy, past the shed, past what you are sure is the back end of Woodbury.

Across a river, you find a set of railroad tracks.

Then days, blurring together. House after house. Drawer after drawer. Walker after walker. 

Your pack grows heavier, weighing like your mind. 

You replay the tower so many times it stops feeling like something that happened to you. It becomes a story, one that somebody else told. 

Eventually, exhaustion wins. You head back toward the prison. The hike home takes another two days. By then grime clings permanently to your skin, sweat never fully dries. The smell of walkers follows you through the woods. 

The familiar tree line finally appears. Relief loosens something in your chest. 

Home. 

You push through the last stretch of forest-

-and stop. 

Silence, not the peaceful kind. The fence sags inward, concrete collapsed where the watchtower once stood.Smoke curls lazily into the evening sky. Walkers drag themselves through the rubble, over bodies scattered across the yard. 

Your backpack slips from your shoulder. 

The Governor. Woodbury. The Prison. 

You’d been so consumed trying to outrun one disaster, you forgot there were others still coming. 

A walker turns in your direction, arms slack at its side. Then another, and another, heading towards you with a lazy gait. 

You drag your bag back onto your shoulders. The weight shifts uncomfortably on your body. 

There’s no time to look for anyone, no time to grab your things. You can’t rest, can’t fill your water, or eat. You can’t grieve what you lost. Only move forward. 

The sun dips below the horizon as you work through the forest, searching for somewhere safe to hole up. Eventually you find a small shack, dilapidated and leaning, but safe. 

Morning turns into another day, then another. You stop looking for roads, for people, and start looking for water. Your pack gets lighter. 

You find a small house, tucked away from a main road. It takes most of the afternoon to clear the walkers. You hammer plywood over the windows, set out buckets and bowls to collect what little rainwater you get from a storm. 

You sleep in a real bed for the first time in months, telling yourself it’s only for a night. 

One night becomes three. Three becomes a week. Then another. 

Slowly, three weeks slip by. 

The prison haunts your mind. Faces find you in the middle of the night, Michonne, Carl, Sasha…Daryl. Imagined screams wake you from your sleep. 

You stop sleeping, laying awake on the bed, thumbing the soft comforter. You can hear the shuffle of walkers outside, the claps of thunder echoing around you.  One thumps against the wall behind your head. You flinch.

The rain patters against the roof. 

A thud against the door. A horde must be passing through. Then it hits the door again, harder. 

The wood splinters on the third hit, the door swinging open. You shoot up, gripping your knife. 

A worn, slumped shape shuffles through the open door, grumbling. You slip behind the side of the door, waiting for it to come closer. Heavy, dragging steps rattle through the house. 

It runs into the wall, the door nearly slamming behind it. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. 

It slides against the wall, groans becoming louder. 

Something collides with a table in the hallway. A low grunt. Wood scrapes, something shatters. 

The footsteps stop. 

Then, “-Shit.”

You freeze. 

Another crash, lightning flashing through the window. 

A vase shatters. 

“Fuckin’ thing…”

Your pulse jumps in your throat. You tighten your grip on the knife. 

One breath. 

Two. 

You round the corner. 

The man is crouched in the hallway, rubbing his shin where he’d slammed it into the table. 

A well timed flash of lightning reveals his form. Crossbow. Leather vest. Dark hair  covering his face. 

Thunder booms so loud it shakes the windows. You can’t breathe. 

Your knife clatters against the floor. 

The room glows white. You can feel the crackle of electricity in the air. 

His face turns up to catch yours at the last second. 

His mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out. 

You cross the hallway before you can think. He catches you awkwardly, like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. Your arms clamp tight around him, head crooked in his neck. 

His arms tighten around your back.

You can smell the rain on his vest, damp pine. Smoke and sweat. The familiar scent of the woods stuck firmly to him. 

You don’t move for a long time. 

Outside, rain pounds on the roof. Inside the world narrows to the steady rise and fall of his breathing. 

When you finally pull away, neither of you lets go completely. His hands linger at your elbows. Yours are still curled in the front of his vest.

"I..." Your voice catches.

You shake your head. "I thought you were dead."

Something shifts in his expression. Relief. Exhaustion. Maybe grief.

"Thought you were too."

Your breath comes out in heaves, moving Daryl’s hair across his shoulders. He stays still, not wanting to leave the moment. 

You pull away fully and put your hands on your face. 

“Fuck.” You mutter.

Daryl's hands linger in the air where you once were. He tilts his head slightly. “What?” 

“I think…. I need sleep.” You rub your face, exhaustion pulling at your eyes. 

“I can stay up.” 

“No, you've been out…” 

“I can stay up.” 

You sigh, “The rest of the group?” 

“Holed up in a barn.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “‘Bout a quarter of a mile east.”

“Safe?” 

He nods, “Yea.” 

“Ok…” You yawn, “Wake me up if anything happens.” 

“Ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen.” 

You close the door until only a narrow crack remains, the old mattress sinks beneath your weight. A moment later, you hear boots scrape against the floor outside.The soft thud of someone sliding down the wall. Through the gap in the door, you can just make out the back of Daryl's head, damp curls hanging against his shoulders. Your eyes linger, focusing on it.

Now, with him only a few feet away, it crashes back into you. 

The watchtower, the argument, the last time you spoke.

 You felt so detached from it, and now, seeing him here, makes it too real again.

Your chest tightens, nothing about it feels distant anymore. You turn onto your side, facing the crack in the door. Daryl doesn't move. He just sits there in the hallway, keeping watch.

Somehow...

That hurts almost as much as it comforts you. Your eyes grow heavy, outside the rain keeps falling.

Eventually, sleep finds you.

You dream for the first time in months. 

A field stretches endlessly beneath a cloudless blue sky, wildflowers ripple in the wind, reaching almost to your knees.

Behind you, a forest waits.

Dark. Dense. Something waits inside, patient. 

Its branches knot together like reaching hands.

Time Goes impossibly slow. 

The air is warm against your skin, sweat dampening the hair at your temples.

You run, feet digging into the dirt.

Everything moves strangely.

Your legs strain, but the world crawls, each step takes forever.

In the middle of the field stands a single tree, ancient.

Its trunk twists with age, thick roots disappearing beneath blankets of moss.

Its branches spread wide enough to cast a circle of cool shade over the grass.

You run toward it.

Closer. Closer.

But every step forward is matched by the forest behind you.

The shadows spill out across the flowers, swallowing patches of sunlight one by one.

The field grows smaller.

The forest grows larger.

You finally meet the tree, crashing into it like an ocean against cliffs. 

The forest swallows you whole, taking the sunlight with it. 

Blood. 

Dripping from your nose. 

It spatters against the roots of the tree, bright red against the pale green of the moss. The forest groans in response, vibrating. 

Whatever was waiting for you finally appears, a dark shape stepping out from behind the tree. 

The world shakes. You look down at your hands, coated with dirt and blood, cut and bruised. They shake with the world. The tree disappears. 

Darkness rushes in. 

Suddenly your eyes snap open. 

Your heart slams against your ribs. 

For one panicked second the forest is still there, just at the edges of your vision. 

Then the room comes back into focus.

Rain against the roof. The smell of damp wood. A warm hand resting lightly on your knee.

Daryl's voice cuts through the haze.

"Y/N."

"What—what?"

You scramble upright, breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your eyes dart around the room before landing on him.

His hand leaves your knee the second he realizes you're awake, hovering in the air for only a second before it rests at his side. 

“Ya ok?”

You scrub a hand over your face, still full of adrenaline. “Yea, yea…” You nod, “Just having a weird dream.” 

Daryl studies you for a beat, like he's deciding whether to ask more.

He doesn't.

Instead, he takes a step back toward the doorway.

You catch the dim light starting to settle outside the window. 

“We should head out.” You swing your legs over the side of the bed. 

[tangerinebootleg]

#1 Crush

Part 4

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

Summary: In the aftermath of the watchtower, guilt and anger collide as you confront Daryl about everything he's done. Though he finally admits he was wrong, you decide the only way forward is apart—for now.

Words: 1,735

Warnings: Mature themes, minors DNI, fem!reader/female anatomy, creep!daryl, mentions of blood and violence, angst, enemies to (eventual) lovers

A/N: No freak behavior in this one. Just good old fashioned mutual pining and frustration lol. Hope y'all enjoy!

You wake to voices bouncing across the concrete halls. Someone laughs. The metal thunk of a cell door sliding. For a few blissful seconds, you don’t remember. 

Then your stomach drops. 

The tower. 

His face between your legs.

Your shirt pressed against his nose, blood soaking through.

You squeeze your eyes shut again. 

“Fuck.” You rub your face.

Your clothes from yesterday lie in a heap beside your bed, shirt crusted over with dried blood and snot. You eye them until the nausea settles deep behind your ribs. 

Someone walks past your cell. 

“... looks like he got hit by a damn truck.” 

Another voice answers. 

“Nah. Dumbass says he tripped.” 

A snort. 

“Have you ever known him to be clumsy?” 

Your hand throbs. Purple has already settled into your knuckles, a reminder of how hard you hit him. 

Morning light cuts through the darkness of the prison through barred windows. The cellblock is already alive. Half the group is gearing up for another supply run, backpacks laid open across tables as weapons are checked and magazines counted.

You make your way to the main hall, find a table to sit at, and make yourself busy with a basket of laundry. As you work, your eyes drift up to that familiar spot on the catwalk, Daryl nowhere in sight. 

Your chest sinks slightly, the nausea returning.

Someone pulls out the chair beside you.

"Y/N."

You look up.

Rick settles into the seat, resting his forearms on the table.

"Heard you wanted to talk."

"Yeah." You smooth a shirt that doesn't need smoothing. "I wanted to volunteer for another run. When Daryl and I were out... I spotted a couple places that looked like they might still have supplies."

"I'd appreciate that."

He nods once.

"After today's run gets back, we'll put something together." His eyes drop to your hands.

"...Take somebody with you."

“Buddy system, right. I can definitely do that.” You nod. 

Rick takes a breath. “Hear about Daryl?” 

"Yeah…” Your fingers tighten around the shirt. "I was there."

"Hope he's alright." Your voice comes out quieter than you intended. "That looked like it hurt."

Rick chuckles.

"I was hopin' you two would get along when I sent you after him."

You let out a laugh that doesn't quite sound real. "I'd say we're... acquainted."

Rick studies you for a second. "Acquainted, huh?"

"He talks a little more than everyone says." You shrug, folding another shirt into a neat square.

Rick laughs.

"Guess that's progress."

You smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"I suppose."

A beat of silence settles between you.

"You let me know when you've picked someone for that run." Rick gives you a short pat on the shoulder.

"I will."

He disappears back toward the door where Glenn and Maggie are loading supplies into their bags. 

You watch him go until he blends into the crowd. Only then do you let out the breath you’d been holding. 

You smooth another shirt across the table, focusing on the wrinkles. Carol takes a seat across from you, another basket of laundry in hand. 

“You missed one.” She slides a sock across the steel table. 

“Oh…” You let out a quiet laugh. “Thanks.” 

She begins folding her own basket, sitting across from you in uncomfortable silence. For a while, only the soft rustle of fabric echoes in the room. 

“You headed out today?” Carol asks

“Tomorrow, hopefully.” 

“Mmh.”

You fold another shirt. 

“Daryl’s been sulking all morning.” 

Your stomach tightens. 

“Is he?” 

Carol glances up, one eyebrow lifting. “Been snapping at Glenn. Ignored Maggie when she offered him breakfast. Stomping around outside.” She folds a towel into neat thirds. “Even growled at me.” 

You huff out a small laugh. “He’s usually like that.”

“But he usually gets over himself in an hour or two.” Carol’s smile fades as she studies the shirt in her hands. “Not today, though.” 

“I’m sure he’ll be alright.” Your fingers pull the fabric beneath them. 

Carol hums, unconvinced, “He probably will.” 

A beat. 

“Usually…” Carol focuses on the shirt. “ If there’s something bothering him, he disappears.” 

You glance up. 

“Goes hunting. Fixes fences. Finds something that needs doing.” 

She smooths a shirt flat. You swallow. 

“Today he’s been working the same stretch of fence since breakfast.” She connects eyes with you. “Hasn’t fixed a thing.” 

“Oh.” You nod, looking down again. 

Your laundry basket is full now, everything in neat, careful squares. 

“I’m going to put these away.” You stand, lifting the basket. “Thanks for talking Carol.” 

Carol just nods and watches you go.  

Through the afternoon, you keep yourself moving. Laundry. Bathrooms. Sweeping the walkway outside the cells. Wiping down tables that were already clean. 

Anything to keep your hands occupied. Anything to keep you from going outside.

By the time you get back to your cell, the sun has begun to sink, throwing bars of orange light across the floor. Your eyes fall to the pile of clothes again, hands hesitant to touch the blood soaked shirt. 

With a frustrated sigh you snatch it off the floor and head for the stairs before you can think twice about it. You head outside to the laundry area and get to work. 

Your hands scrub soap into the shirt, suds foaming up your arms. You rinse it and inspect, scrubbing it again and again, but the stain won't leave. 

“Fuck.” You whisper, scrubbing harder. 

Your throat tightens. 

You remember the sound more than anything. Not the punch. The spatter of blood hitting the floor afterwards. 

“Stupid shirt.” 

The rough edge of the washbin scrapes against your bruised knuckles until they burn.

You're angry at him. 

You're angry at yourself.

Mostly, you're angry that neither feeling cancels out the other.

You rinse the shirt again, seeing the stain has faded slightly. You go to work again, more aggressively. 

The crunch of boots near you. 

“Hey.” Daryl’s voice comes soft next to you. 

You stop for a moment, before you continue, keeping your head down. 

“Hey.”

He doesn’t say anything else. You can feel him standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Yer gonna scrub a hole through it.” 

You let out a humorless laugh. “Maybe.” 

Another silence. 

“Ain’t worth it.” 

You wring the shirt out, twisting it tighter than necessary. 

“‘S just a shirt.” 

“It’s my shirt.” You watch it drip. 

“Still.” 

“It was covered in your blood.” 

His jaw tightens. 

“Yeah.”

“I can’t get it clean.” 

“Looks clean ‘nough.”

“Not really.” 

“Y/N.”

You finally look at him. 

His nose is swollen, shades of purple spreading beneath both eyes. Seeing it up close makes your stomach twist all over again. You drop the shirt back into the water weakly. 

He catches where your eyes land and gives a small shrug. 

“Looks worse’n it feels.” 

You feel sick. Your mind bounces through everything again, too many things to say at once. 

“Don’t do that.” You shake your head, dropping it back to the washbin. 

Daryl takes a step. “Do what?” 

“That.” You let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your face with wet hands. “Like you don’t care. Like it's not affecting you.” 

“”S nothin’.” He shrugs 

“Stop.” You stand up, wringing out the shirt again. “We…You..Ugh..”

A frustrated breath escapes you. “I can’t pretend none of it happened. I can’t push down the fact that you basically stalked me.” 

A beat. 

“I can’t pretend what happened in that tower didn’t happen.”

He takes a half step, not away, just back.

You can feel heat clawing at your face and neck. You swallow. “It's not fair.” 

“What ain’t?” 

You turn around, hanging the shirt on the line, making sure to smooth it out. “Any of this.” 

Your voice is barely a whisper. 

“You scare the hell out of me.”  You swallow. “And then you make me feel safe.” Tears sting at the corners of your eyes. 

“You make me so angry I could scream…” 

Your hand lingers on the shirt. 

“...and then you look at me like that.” 

You suck in a breath. “How am I supposed to make sense of that?” 

For a long moment, the only sound is the background noise of the prison. Then boots crunching slowly across the gravel.

You don’t turn to face him, but you can feel him standing behind you. His hand hesitates above your arm. 

“...Can I?” 

The question is so quiet you almost miss it. 

You shut your eyes and give the smallest nod. 

His fingers settle around your arm, warm and callused against your skin. 

“I shouldn’t have followed ya.” 

The words are rough, like they hurt coming out. You stare ahead at the clothes blowing on the line. 

“Shouldn’t’ve kept watchin’ ya, either…” 

He swallows. 

“I know. I scared ya.” 

You don’t know what to say. His hand falls from your arm as though the confession burns. 

“When ya punched me…” He lets out a dry laugh, “...first thing I thought was, ‘Bout damn time.”

Your brows knit together. 

“Daryl…”

“I deserve worse.” 

“No.”

“I did.” 

Your voice comes out firmer this time. “You deserved to get hit.” 

The silence cuts. 

“You didn’t deserve…” Your voice wavers. “That.” You turn your head just enough to see him. “I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“Ain’t what hurts.” 

Your eyes drift over where the bruises mark his face. 

His eyes track yours. “Thought I was protectin’ ya.” He lets out a slow breath. 

You shift on your feet, facing him now. “Protecting me from what?” 

His jaw works. 

“Everythin’...” 

You cut in, “Daryl.” 

“Walkers. People. Hell…” He shakes his head. “ Kept tellin’ myself…if I knew where ya were…then I’d know ya were alright….”

“So you watched me.” 

He nods. 

“In my room, at night.” 

He nods again.

“You went through my things.” 

Another nod. 

“And took my underwear.” 

His shoulders sink. 

“Do you hear how that sounds?” You let out a breath, rubbing your face again. 

Daryl nods, “I do now.”

“Knowing that now doesn’t change what happened.” Your voice is harsher, “We can’t do this.” 

He blinks. 

“I told you to stay away from me.” You suck in a breath, pinching your brow. “If you’re really sorry…” 

You shake your head. 

“... then listen to me.” 

His mouth parts, like he’s about to argue. He doesn’t. 

Behind you, the damp shirt sways gently on the line. You step away from him, towards the prison. 

Daryl doesn’t move.

⊹ Part 5 ⊹

[tangerinebootleg]

Sorry I've been mad absent for a few days :(

My mom had surgery and I've been taking care of her while also working so it's been busy lol

I'm working on #1 crush pt 4 and a one shot, just taking me more time <333

#tired #wageslave

[mcschnuggles]

[baynton]

[tangerinebootleg]

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨.˚♬˚₊♪｡⋆♫

Key: Organized by Fandom-Character-Genre/Era (when applicable)

♪⋆.˚ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒅 ˚.⋆♪

♪ 𝑻𝑾𝑫- The show in general, mostly grunge/rock, 90's-2010s

[tangerinebootleg]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

⋆˙⟡Key⟡˙⋆

Fluff- ★ Smut- ‪‪❤︎‬ Angst- ✦ Extreme/Heavy Topics- ꩜

.°˖✧𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧✧˖°.

𖦏₊ ⊹One Shots⊹₊ 𖦏

⊹ Moss and Wool ‪‪❤︎ ꩜

⋆˙⟡Series⟡˙⋆

⊹ #1 Crush ★ ‪‪❤︎ ✦

⊹ Part 1 ⊹ Part 2 ⊹ Part 3 ⊹ Part 4 ⊹ Part 5

[tangerinebootleg]

⌖Moss and Wool⌖

One Shot

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

Summary: After years of buried attraction, one quiet scouting trip forces you and Daryl to confront the desire you've both been pretending doesn't exist. Somewhere between the trees and a horde of walkers, flat on your back, Daryl shows you how he really feels.

Words: 3,399

Warnings: Mature themes, minors DNI, dom!daryl, sub!reader, fem!reader/female anatomy, dead dove do not eat, oral sex (male receiving), gagging, face fucking, boot grinding, p in v sex, choking, mouth covering, spitting, rough sex, slapping, explicit language, violence, smoking, daryl is a freak in this one.

A/N: A one shot I wrote in a day, I definitely won't always write like this. But for my freaky little friends, this one is a treat!

Loosely based on Risk by Deftones.

When the group entered the gates to Alexandria, everyone heaved a sigh of relief. There were walls, food, warm water, and real beds. Tears of joy nearly sprung from your cheeks. Days turned into a blur for a while, people getting settled, the two groups getting closer. After a few bumps, Alexandria accepted you, and the rest of the group. 

Your apartment was next to Daryl’s, walls touching. Sometimes you would sit on your porch and you could hear him, shuffling inside, probably packing a bag. 

You bit your lip, thinking about him. You met him before the prison, somewhere when the group was wandering after the farm. He was rougher then, angry, full of loss. 

That's what first drew you to him. He could react in a second, to anything. It sent blooms across your skin. Once you watched him fight off a walker with his bare hands, knife somewhere on the forest floor below you. You could have helped him, but you stood there, eyes wide. He was so primal at points it made you ache. 

Now, he was..different. Still strong, still rough. But gentleness tugged at his eyes, when he saw someone hurt, when he felt conflict in the air. And it still made you want him. 

You’ve carried a crush on him, through the prison, through Woodbury, through the fall, all the way here. Miles upon miles of ache against your skin. 

You were coming back from hunting, a few rabbits and squirrels hanging in your hand as you came through the gates. You lugged them to your house and went to work on the porch. Daryl came out, cigarette hanging at his lips. 

“Need help?” He squinted at you. 

“Need is a strong word, but you can help if you like.” You gestured to the other chair.

He took a seat, leaning towards you for a brief second. You could smell him through the animals, ash and pine, sweat, and something just him. Your eyes wavered over his arms as he gripped a squirrel, hands working the flesh. He grunted quietly. 

“You can have half, for helping me.” You go back to your own work.

“Nah. ‘M good. Thank ya though.” He kept his head low. 

God. The way his muscles move in his arm as he works is unbearable. Flashes cross your mind, his hand against your neck, voice rough in your ear. Your hands tense around the animal, something snapping. 

“Y’allright?” Daryl looks up at you, eyes flicking with concern.

“Mmmmhmmm.” You lower your head, hands working faster. 

You can’t think about this, not with him right next to you. You’ll save it for later. 

He’s not convinced. “Ya don’t seem it.” He looks at you intently. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m fine, just thinking.” You can barely meet his eyes, a slight flush spreading across your cheeks. 

He drops the animal on the table. His hips lift in a lewd fashion as he slips his fingers into his front pocket. “Here.” He points the pack at you. 

You wipe your hand off on your pants and take a cigarette. He draws another into his mouth and lights it, passing you the lighter. 

You suck in intently, hoping it'll cure the ache in your bones. You watch him puff, letting the smoke rise around his face. He resumes his work. 

You rub your face, letting the smoke fill your lungs and settle. 

“Sorry. Long day.” You half smile at him. “Thanks.” 

“Any time.” He gives you a short wink, which is enough to send you reeling again. 

This time he catches it, eyes flicking over your face as the blush settles in your cheeks, light and fresh. 

You try to brush it off again. “So…” You click your tongue, fingers rolling the cigarette. “Find anywhere new to scout?” 

Daryl’s mouth twitches, then settles again. “Yea, some buildings to the west I could check out.”

“Nice.” You nod, putting the cigarette out. “When are you going?” 

“Tomorrow. Ya could join…” He grunts as he pulls skin from meat, “If ya want.” 

The vulgarness of him, his hands ripping something apart, sends heat to your core. 

You stand up, gathering the corpses. “Sure.” You rush hurriedly, “Thanks for the help. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Daryl sits on the porch for a second longer before he goes inside his own apartment, watching you shut the door. 

You move quickly inside, putting the animals in the fridge, washing your hands. You slink down the hallway to your room. 

Your hands are finding your buckle before you even look down, body sinking into the mattress. 

You can see his hands, roaming across you, fondling a breast before it snaps to your neck. 

You press soft moans into the pillow next to you. You're so desperate for touch that it only takes a few minutes to get close to climax. You shudder out, a string of curses, his name, something that sounds like you’re choking and his name again. Sweat beads on your face as you lay there, feeling unsatisfied. 

Two years of the apocalypse. Enough time for Lori to get pregnant, for Glenn and Maggie to get married. And you were still alone, touch starved and hungry. 

You hopped in the shower, water running over your face. 

You wanted him so bad it hurt. Sure he was nicer now, so making a move carried less weight, he’d probably let you down gently. But you didn’t even want to cross into flirting, it was too much for you, rejection would sting.

As you slept, your breath turned to words in the night, over and over again, “Daryl.” 

Someone jabbed your side, sharp but not painful. 

“Get up. Time to go.” The shadow stood above you for a moment before leaving the room. “I’m not watin’.”

You shot up. He was in your apartment, poking you. 

You threw on clothes, not caring to shut the door. You grabbed your bag and your bow, running out the door and onto the street. He was gone. You looked left, then right, trying to find him.

“Nice sleep?” He was sitting in the chair on your porch, smoking, feet up on the railing. 

You chuckled, “Sorry, forgot my alarm.” 

He got up, walking next to you as you started towards the gate.

“Thought so.” He grinned. 

You both walked for a long time without talking. Leaves and gravel under your feet. 

Finally you broke the silence. 

“Ever had a girlfriend?” You kept your head to the ground. 

He glanced at you before replying, “Kinda. Once.” He scratched the back of his neck.  “Why?” 

“I was…” You pause. “I was thinking about my ex before all of this.” 

“Didn’t know ya had one.” 

“Never came up.”

Over the months, the two of you had talked plenty, during supply runs, over dinner, on long watches when sleep wouldn't come. About the lives you'd left behind. The people you'd lost.

But you never mentioned an ex. 

Truthfully, Daryl had assumed there wasn't one. He'd never really considered that someone else had known you like that. 

He’d thought about you when you first met, quiet, seemingly innocent. And as your relationship grew to a friendship, he had to force back thoughts of you, too dirty to admit, reminding himself of what he thought. 

That you didn't feel that way too.

“Yea. He was an asshole.” You nod, eyes scanning the road. 

Daryl snorted.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“What'd he do?”

You shrugged. “Nothing dramatic at first. Just... always had to be right. If I disagreed, somehow I ended up apologizing.” You kicked a pebble into the weeds. “He'd disappear for days, then show back up acting like nothing happened.”

Daryl frowned.

“And I let him.”

“You were young?”

“I was stupid.”

“Nah.”

You looked over.

“Ain't the same thing.”

His answer came so quickly it caught you off guard.

You let out a quiet laugh through your nose. “You sound like you've thought about that before.”

Daryl's expression tightened for just a second before he looked back down the road. You wrung your hands, hoping to release the pressure. 

“What does ‘kinda’ mean?” 

Daryl kept his eyes on the road. He stays quiet for a few minutes before he says anything. 

“Wasn’t… serious.” His voice was low. 

You waited. 

He took a breath. 

“Dunno…” He shrugged. “Didn’t mean much to her.” 

“I’m sorry.” You let out a sigh. “I know how that feels.”

Daryl nodded, and pointed a finger left, towards the woods. 

“Cut through here.” He started and you followed. 

The woods were quiet, still damp with morning dew. Moss softened your footsteps, mud clinging to your boots. Your thin shirt wasn’t enough for the cool air. You shivered slightly, nipples hardening against the fabric. 

“Shit its chilly.” You whisper low, mostly to yourself. 

Daryl stops, pulling his wool poncho off. He extends it to you. “Here.” 

His eyes catch you through your shirt, two small peaks sticking up. It makes his gut jump slightly, but he'd never let it show.

You stare at it for a second, taken by the way his shirt rose up to reveal toned muscle and scarred skin underneath. You snap back, grabbing it. 

“Thanks.”

“Ya gotta give it back though.” He turns and continues.

Your mind runs in the silence, going over his body in your mind, ache growing slightly in your core. 

You stumble into him. He stood still, eyes squinted. 

“Ach! Shit!” You let out a cry, the cold metal of his bow hitting you in the face. 

He turns, dropping low, bringing you with him. His hand covers your mouth, finger over his lips. 

“Shh.” 

You complain, trying to get away. 

“Shut up.” He presses harder, pushing your body down against the ground with just a hand. The pressure sends ripples up your spine. 

“Walkers.” His face is away from you, watching something in the distance. You can hear crashes now, a horde too big to fight, too close to run. 

He leans into you, still watching. His hand smells of sweat, dirt, blood. You can feel yourself tightening, breath getting quicker. You don’t want to react this way, but you can’t help it. 

He can hear your breathing now, heavier, and he turns his face to you for a second. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving, breath hot out of your nose. 

His eyes flick across your face, your neck. He can see your pulse thumping in your veins. One of his knees rests between your legs, close enough to feel his warmth, not enough to touch. He’s on top of you, holding you down, keeping you quiet. 

And it's too much. You shift, wiggle without thinking, back lifting off of the ground for a split second, eyes fluttering. Then you freeze, completely still, eyes meeting him. Heat floods your face, turning you a bright shade of red. 

Daryl stares down at you. Silent and unmoving as the horde shuffles behind him. Their growls bouncing off of the trees. 

Your eyes shift from his, to his lips and back, then down to his arms, trying to study every second of this, save it for later. 

As the horde passes, he keeps the same pressure, head turning back again to make sure they're long gone. The moss leaves your back moist, seeping through the wool poncho. He shifts to look more, his knee hitting you between the legs finally, just a light tap.

It comes out muffled against his hand, desperate. Your face burns as you realize just how bad this is, how it looks, how it feels.

How much you want it. 

His head doesn’t turn back. Instead he pauses for a minute before he lifts his knee, and drags it down slowly against you again, listening to you whine under him. 

You remember you have control over your body, hands shooting out to grab him, his shirt, anything. But there was no strength in it, only weak, desperate tugs as he ran against you again. 

Then his hand, sliding to the side of your face, callused thumb rubbing against your lips. You sucked in air, the moment pausing. 

Daryl turned to look at you finally. His face was darker, eyes glazed with something primal. His thumb pressed against your lips until you opened them, which earned you a grin. 

“Fuck this ain’t fair.” His voice comes out so low it barely registers. Your pulse thuds in your ears. 

You take his digit into your mouth, tasting the sweat against his skin. A hint of iron from cleaning animals the day before. He pushes it deeper into your mouth, the wetness of your saliva making sounds against it. 

He rubs his knee against you again, putting his weight into it. You buck at it, trying to get as much feeling as possible. Your moan gurgles around his thumb. His eyes flash, and he’s holding your head by your hair. 

You hiss at the tug, words finally finding you. “Ah… fuck… more.” It's more than you want to admit. 

He grins again, “More?”, before he tugs back sharply, sounds escaping you. “Slut.” 

You're shocked by the word, unfamiliar with his meanness. It makes you wiggle under him again, scooting down to move yourself against his thigh. 

You want it so bad now, you’d do anything to get it. 

He watches you grind yourself against him, writhing for an ounce of pleasure. He tugs again, forcing another moan from your throat. 

“Slut.” His voice is louder now.

He uses his free hand to unbuckle his belt, thigh still pressing into you. He eyes you up and down, watching you use him, face flushed, breathing heavily. 

“Ya want this?” He grips his dick through his pants, eyes locked on you.

A cheap ask for consent, after you were already fucking yourself on him. But he still had to ask. 

“Mmmhm…yes…yes.” It comes out rushed, your voice cracking.

He grips the back of your head harder, pulling back until your head is tilted up. He rises, placing his knees above your shoulders, slipping his dick out through the zipper of his jeans. 

It drips with precum, twitching, thick. You swallow instinctively, saliva pooling in your mouth. 

He sits over you, free hand stroking his dick, watching you whimper. He lets up on your hair enough for you to lift your head to face him fully. 

Your eyes plead for him to do something, hands running across his thighs, up under his shirt. He points his dick down and slaps it against your cheek. 

His precum strings as he pulls it away, then slaps again, harder. He grunts. Your eyes clamp shut, waiting for another hit. 

Then his tip is against your lips. He presses it in, not giving you time to open fully. Your teeth lightly graze against him for a second. He whimpers at it. You open wider, taking him in, to the hilt. 

His hand grips against your head again. Water pricks at the corners of your eyes, his tip against the back of your throat. And then he pulls, dragging you off of it, then pushes, so much force you think he might break your neck. 

The sounds are vulgar. You're moaning, humming, gagging against his cock. Spit runs down your chin, across your chest, wet squelching in your cheeks. He spits out curses, feeling your lips around him. 

“Fuckin’ whore.” He huffs, your eyes fully locked on him. “Take it….yeaaa…just like that.” 

Your hips are arched at nothing, shaking, waiting. He pushes you harder against him, your nose brushing against coarse hair. You gag again, seeing stars. Your vision is blurred slightly, either from tears or lack of air. He sees your eyes gloss over, fingers clawing at his chest so hard they leave marks. 

He pops out of your mouth, dick slapping against his jeans. You gasp, spitting.

“Breathe.” He releases his grip on your hair, sitting up off your chest. 

You take one breath. That's all you need. 

You wrap your fingers around his cock, taking it back into your mouth. He sinks two hands into your hair, using the leverage to fuck your face. 

You're covered in sweat, spit, damp from the ground. His groans reach a peak, him peeling you off of him before he cums. 

You whine, upset that he won't let you help him finish. 

And then, smack. 

His hand is hollow against your face.

And fuck, it feels good. 

You whimper into it, biting your lip. 

“Too much?” His words are dragged out

You grin at him, hands leaving marks across him. 

You find a bruise at his hip and dig your thumb in, grinding down. “Not enough.” You spit

He hisses at the pain, hand raising again to smack you, harder. 

You put your hips into it this time, jolting up at the impact. 

He groans watching you, sliding down so that he's sitting next to you. 

You take the opportunity to jump up, getting on top of him. You hold both sides of his face and kiss him. 

It's rough, tangled, mostly teeth. When he pulls away, his lips are parted, wet. He slaps you again, this time with the other hand. You rock against him, his cock grinding between his jeans and yours. 

“Fuck me already.” You yelp against him. 

He pushed you off of him by your shoulders, back hitting the cold ground. As you go, your finger catches a loop in his boot. It pulls halfways off. 

He's up now, standing over you. He tugs his boot back on. 

He claws over you with his eyes. Flat on your back, legs up, spread apart. Your face is slick with sweat, spit bubbles on your neck and chest. 

“This whatcha want?” He raises his boot, placing the heel firmly against your clit through your jeans. “Huh?”

You shudder, sucking in air. 

He grinds his heel into you. The feeling brings both pain and pleasure, mixed together until you can't tell the difference. 

“Yesyesyesyesyes.” It trails off into moans.

You relish in it, shockwaves coming up your body, hips arching into his boot until you shudder. You cover your face as you orgasm, the coldness of the shoe sending shame. 

“So easy,” He purrs above you, “Like my boot in yer cunt?” 

Then he's on his knees again, tugging off your jeans, skipping the button. Instead choosing to hook his fingers into the waistband and pull down, yanking them off of you roughly.

His pants are next, opening them enough to slide them down to his knees. 

Then he rubs his tip against your opening, once, twice, and shoves it in to the base. 

You let out a yelp, hands flinging wildly for purchase behind you. 

He grunts, both of his hands flying up to meet your neck. He squeezes, hard enough to make you see stars. 

“Shut up.” His voice grates against you. “You want it.” 

He starts drilling into you. His hands around your throat tighten with every push, sloppy wet noises coming from you. 

Your vision is dark and pinpointed, looking up at the canopy above. Your moans are choked, paired with his grunts. 

His core tightens, feeling himself move closer to his peak and he starts faster. Then his hips move jutted, uneven movements inside of you. He lets out a grunt, the pressure on your throat releasing. 

You're surprised by how quick it takes him to cum, like he's been waiting for this moment for too long.

He grunts, looking at you, before he spits on your cheek. 

“Look at you.” He slides out of you slowly, before pumping in again. Your walls clench around him, hands grip his arms. “Such a slut for me.” 

Then it's gone, he's up and buckling his pants, pulling you up by the poncho. He brushes the dirt off of his pants. 

You pull twigs out of your hair, smearing his spit across your cheek with your arm. You go to use your shirt to wipe it up. His hand stops you. 

“Leave it.” His eyes are still dark. “Wantcha to remember this later.”

You adjust, feeling his cum leaking out of you as you pull your pants up. 

“Fuck.” You finally come back to your senses fully. “We gotta go.” 

The whole ordeal took less than 20 minutes by your clock, but it felt so much longer. 

He's already ahead of you, tromping through the forest.

[tangerinebootleg]

oh i KNOW dada

The clip of him staring ughhhhh exactly how i imagine him in my current fic

Edit credit- jeckadixon on TT

[cuntiel]

[twinkhole-destroyer]

I need to press his bruises like it’s his gspot

[tangerinebootleg]

#1 Crush

Part 3

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X Fem!Reader

Summary: After catching Daryl sneaking into your room and stealing from you, you confront him in the watchtower. The argument turns into a heated encounter, but when Daryl becomes cold afterward, you punch him. He covers for you back at the prison, leaving you conflicted and emotionally drained.

Warnings: 18+, suggestive content minors dni, swearing, creep!daryl, stalking/watching, fighting, physical violence, obsessive!daryl, oral sex (reader receiving), p in v sex, dirty talking, rough sex, daryl is an eater, daryl is also an absolute asshole, angst, enemies to (eventual) lovers

Word Count: 4,524

A/N: OOOH! Did I have fun writing this one! It's long, but it's definitely worth it. It's definitely not the end btw!!! 

I've been gaining a bit of traction recently. Thank you all for the support. I'm just getting into this as a hobby, so if you have suggestions for my writing style, or things you want me to write about, please let me know!

As you drive back towards the prison, the sun starts to set, streaks of gold against the trees. 

Daryl didn’t say much. He just watched you, tongue pressed to the side of his mouth. 

“Oh shit.” You mutter. The check engine light blinks to life, a second later smoke billows from the hood. You coast to the shoulder and park. “Nice job.” Daryl snickers to himself from the passenger seat. 

You pop the hood, staring at the thin steam of smoke. “Not much point in fixing it.” You shrug, “Barely had enough gas in it to get us back.” 

Daryl climbed out, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. He tosses your pack to you. 

“Guess we’re hoofing it.” He grunts and starts out. 

The walk started in silence, your boots crunching against the rocks on the road.

“What did you do before the apocalypse?” You tilt your head at him. 

“Nothin’.” He walks next to you. “Hunted. Some odd repairs. I got into a lot of shit with my brother… Merle.” 

“I didn’t know you have a brother.” You search his face, his blue eyes sinking

“Had.” Daryl takes a quiet breath.

“Oh.” You pause. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Daryl shifts his crossbow. 

You both walk in silence for a while. 

“So…” You glance at him. “You always keep people at arm’s length?” 

He snorts, fiddling with his knife in his hand. “Most folks keep themselves there.”

“I didn’t.” You face away from him. “I tried to be your friend.” 

“Don’t need friends.” 

Your cheeks feel warm. “Then why do you watch me all the time?” It comes out before you even think about it. 

Daryl pauses, a small grumble escaping his throat. “I just….”  He rubs a hand on the back of his neck. 

“Daryl.” 

“Just kept endin’ up where you were.” He watches the ground fall under his boots. 

“Bullshit.” You can feel the frustration. 

‘How can he spend weeks pretending you don’t exist… and still know exactly where you are?’ 

Daryl clears his throat. “Almost there.” His hand is tight around the crossbow strap. 

You swallow an uncomfortable lump sitting in your throat. 

The gates to the prison come into view, and you both go in. The moment you pass through, Daryl peels away from your side, as if the whole interaction had never happened. 

Like he didn’t want anyone seeing you two together.  

Nearly a month goes by, Daryl avoiding you completely. You saw him around, but his face was  always turned away from you. It was impressive how good he was at avoiding you. 

‘Keep ending up where you were, my ass.’ The thought lingered as you lay awake one night. 

As you lay there, eyes barely open, unable to sleep from the stifling heat in the prison, you hear a quiet shuffling, someone's light footsteps across the concrete. They get closer to your cell, until they stop right in front. 

A hand slowly pulls the makeshift door away, only slightly. You froze, making slits with your eyes, just enough to see out of. Your breath slowed, but your heart beat so fast you thought it might jump out of your chest. 

Daryl’s face slipped through. For a long moment, he stood still, watching you. Watching the way your chest rose and fell, the soft parting of your lips. Finally satisfied that you were asleep, his gaze turned to the floor. 

A pile of clothes from today and the day before, sat on your floor. He crouched, extending his arm over the pile, feeling around. His jaw tensed the moment he found it. 

He balled it up in his fist, slipping it into his pocket before he stood again. Your pulse hammered harder.

He watched you for a moment longer, tongue working the corner of his mouth, before he backed away, out of the room, eyes only leaving you once the curtain fell again. 

You waited, until you heard his footsteps stop, the light shuffling of him getting back into his sleeping bag.

Only then did you roll onto your side, curling into the corner of your cot. Your heart refused to slow.

‘What the fuck…’

He'd come into your room. He'd been watching you sleep. And he'd taken something.

‘What did he take?’

Your eyes darted to the pile of clothes on the floor, trying to remember what had been there.

‘Do I tell Rick? Do I wake somebody up? What the fuck was that?’

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Sleep didn't come for a long time.

As soon as you woke up, you reached for the pile. You tore through them. 

Shirt. Pants. Socks. Your breath caught. The underwear you wore yesterday. 

Gone.

Your stomach dropped. You stood up, dressed yourself quickly and went out, in search of Rick. 

“Hey Y/N! How was going out yesterday?” Sasha calls out to you. 

“Sorry Sasha, not now.” You keep walking towards the door. 

Sasha gives you a puzzled look, following after you. “Are you ok?” 

The lie came quickly. “I’m fine. Have you seen Rick?” You go to push open the door. 

“He left this morning, took Carol and Michonne with him. Some scouting thing.” Sasha caught up with you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Really, you don’t seem ok. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I… he…ugh.” You sigh. “If they are all gone, who’s in charge?” You try to act calm. “Daryl, he..” You pause, eyes moving past Sasha’s face to behind her, where Daryl is sitting at a table. 

Your eyes meet for a second before he turns away like he’d been caught. 

“Rick left Daryl in charge.” Sasha nods. “I saw him earlier, do you want me to help you find him?” 

You looked at Daryl but he kept his head down.

Daryl can see the upset in your face, the fear. He knows you know. 

‘Dirty girl, probably wants her panties back.’ He snickered to himself, thumbing the fabric of them on his pocket.

You snap back, acting much more calm. “No, no, it's ok. I just.. I needed to talk to Rick about going out again.” You brush it off completely. 

“I wanted to try to get an early start, but I slept in so I was upset. I’ll just go out tomorrow.” You force a slight smile. 

You made it out the front doors before you let yourself breathe. You sat down on the ground, boots digging into the dirt. 

You replayed the scene in your head. Him in your room, watching you. Taking your underwear. 

It sent shivers up your spine. 

You shut your eyes. It feels like yesterday, you were both laughing, walking together. Now it's like it never happened. 

“Hey.” Someone stood over you. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I just needed some air.” You looked up at them “What’s up?”

“Well, Tyreese is in the tower, but he’s not feeling good. Would you be willing to take over tonight?”

The thought of spending a few hours alone sounded better than going back inside. “Yeah.” You stood up, brushing the dirt from your pants. “I can do that.” 

You made your way up the tower. Tyreese thanked you and went down. You sat, binoculars pressed to your face for hours until the sun dipped in the west. Then under darkness, you watched as Sasha and a few others came out and worked at the walkers on the fence, thinning the herd. Once they were satisfied, they moved back inside. 

Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about Daryl. You had just started to like him again and then he turned around and acted that way again. It hurts worse now. You mulled over his actions in your head again and again. 

He was a creep, sure. But he was also funny. And attractive, which you hated thinking about. 

The apocalypse hadn't afforded you many opportunities for romance, or even hookups. At this point, you had forgotten what any of it felt like. Sometimes, when things got too quiet, or you got too bored, you could get off on just the thought of someone. 

You bit your lip, remembering what you did last time you were up here. 

The thoughts of him came back again too, coupled with new ones. His rough laugh, the way his eyes looked as he lit your cigarette. You missed being touched, held, wanted. And you despised that you wanted that from Daryl of all people, even if it was only a little bit. 

Below, the tower door thudded shut, footsteps up the stairs. You turned around. Daryl stood on one hip in the doorway. He held a plate with food on it. 

“Brought ya dinner.” He held it out to you. 

“How do I know it's not poisoned?” 

One corner of his mouth twitched. 

“It ain’t.” 

“You expect me to believe you?” 

He lifted a piece of the food to his mouth and took a small bite, swallowing it. 

“There.” He extended it to you again. 

“I’m not hungry.” You folded your arms. “Just go away.”

His eyes drifted over you before they settled again on your face.

‘Looking at me like she doesn’t want me, yea fuckin’ right.’ Daryl’s mind rolled in the sight of you. 

“Been up here all day. Ya need to eat.” He steps towards you. 

You step back in response

“I don’t get it.” You shake your head

He stares at you. 

“How can you be so nice…” You can feel the heat rising in your face. 

“So friendly to me…” 

Your voice cracked. 

“And then turn around and be such a fucking creep?” 

Daryl didn’t answer. 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” You continued. “One minute you're making me laugh…”  You swallow. “The next you're sneaking into my room. Stealing my shit.” 

Daryl takes another step towards you.

‘I should take her right now.’ His thoughts snap, ‘The way she’s looking at me.’ 

“I know you took them.” You shift your weight. “Just give them back. I won’t tell anyone.”

Daryl places the plate on the floor, still locked on you. 

“Can you please just give them back?” 

He didn’t answer. He just kept walking until there was nowhere for you to go. 

Your back hit the cold railing behind you. “Fucking say something Daryl.” Your voice comes out rushed. 

His body tensed. His eyes searched yours like he was looking for words he didn’t have. Instead, he reached up, his rough hands brushing your face slowly. 

You froze. 

For a long second, neither of you moved.

‘Fuck it, nows a good enough time as any.’ Finally his thoughts and body connect.

 Then, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. 

It was rough. You smelled sweat and pine on him.

You pulled away, face twisted in confusion. 

“If you… you can’t just...” Your eyes wanders across his face, heart pounding against your chest. His hand rested against your face still.

“Fuck you Daryl.” You go to move his hand away. “That’s not fair.”

He slides it down, meeting your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, instead running his thumb over your vein, feeling the rush of your pulse, before he moves it to the back of your neck.

He leans in again, pressing his lips against your ear.  You raised your hands against his chest, feeling the muscle there. You softened at the feeling of him so close to you.  

“ ‘M sorry.” His voice was gentle and rumbling. “Actin’ the way I was.” 

He paused. He slid his other hand to your waist, keeping the touch soft. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, just as quick as yours. You suck in a breath. You hated how quickly your body reacted to it, the warmth of him, the closeness. 

“You don’t get to just…” you started, but your voice didn’t come out as strong as you wanted it to. It wavered too much. 

“Was wrong.” He kept his body still. “I know that.” 

You started again, trying to steady your voice. “You don’t get to do that and then kiss me.” His thumb shifted at your waist, playing with the hem of your pants. 

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you moved your hand down slightly, letting him lean into you more. 

His eyes flicked to your lips for a brief second, thumb moving across your waistband again.

He kept his voice low, “I can make it up to ya.” 

You shivered at his words, his hands across your body. He was so… frustrating. 

Heat creeped at the edges of your face, causing you to blush slightly. You took a slow breath. 

“D’ya want that?” His face came closer to yours again. Your body reacted before you could say anything, kissing him again. The question answered without words.

‘Fuck this isn’t fair.’ You try to will yourself back, but the rush of everything, of him, is too much.

His hand snaked up into your hair, grabbing a fistfull, holding your head as you kissed. Slowly your hand fell, finding his waistband, curling your fingers into it. The kiss became more rushed, mouths mashing into each other, tongues meeting. 

He groaned into the kiss, finally pulling away. Your face was fully flushed, mouth wet. He tilted his head and placed a row of kisses down your neck, using his hand in your hair to pull your head back. He reached the hem of your shirt before he stopped, sticking his tongue out, licking back up to below your ear. 

You shuddered at the feeling, heat coursing through you now. Your fingers clawed at his waistband, sliding in. You gripped it, using it to pull him into you. He reacted to the touch, following your lead. 

His hand thumbed your hip again. You pushed your hips into his, letting out a soft moan. You slid a finger under his waistband, against his skin, still gripping it. He kissed you again, turning away from the railing.  

You moved backwards, still caught with him, towards the open room, until you caught against another wall. You can feel how bad he wants you in the way he kisses you, desperate and hungry. He slides his hand from your waist to your pussy, pressing his palm against it through your pants. The warmth and pressure of it is enough to force a low moan from your throat. 

He catches this, pressing in harder, pulling it up and down slowly. 

Your hand inched further under his waistband, feeling the toned muscle underneath. He goes back to your neck, leaving kisses, then small bites, across your skin. You moan again, hips bucking against the agonizing pace he set with his hand. 

His other hand lets go of your hair, finding your breast, palming it through your shirt. 

“Please.” You whisper. 

“Ya want this?” His voice is rough in your ear

You nod, hand finding his dick under his jeans finally. He sucks in a breath, feeling you start to stroke it before he reaches down, grabbing your wrist. He pulls your hand out of his pants, meeting your eye with his. 

“You don’t need to do a thing darlin’,” He pauses. “Not yet.” 

He steps away slightly, grabbing your shirt with both hands before he pulls it off of you. Then your bra. His eyes fall over your tits, a hand grabbing one, fingers pinching your nipple. He kisses you again, leading you down to the concrete floor. 

He makes quick work of your pants, unbuttoning them with just one hand, helping you slide them off. He presses his palm against you again, making rough circles against your clit. His mouth finds your other nipple, licking it before taking the whole thing in, sucking on it. He grazes his teeth against it lightly as he sucks. The feeling finally causes you to break, a loud moan escaping your mouth. 

His hand shoots up from your breast, covering your mouth. He lets your nipple leave his mouth with a pop, the cold air making it harden more. 

“Keep quiet.” He says, trailing kisses down your stomach. 

You moan again, hips rising to meet his palm. He pulls his hand away, hooking a finger into your panties, tugging them down. He presses his face between your thighs, stopping just before he meets your pussy. You can feel his hot breath on you, his rough beard against your inner thighs. You arch your back, begging to be touched. 

He slides his hand off your mouth. 

“Are ya goin’ to be quiet for me?” His voice vibrates into you

You nod again. 

“I need words.” He grumbles, sending electricity up your legs

“Yes, yes. I can be quiet.” You let out quickly.

He kisses one thigh, and then the other, dragging it out as long as he can. 

“Fuck,” You moan lightly, keeping a whisper, “Fuck…Please.” 

At this, he buries his face between your legs. He gives a short few licks at your sensitive spot before he wraps his lips around it, sucking hard. You buck your hips into him, feeling the roughness just right. As he sucks, he runs his tongue over your clit slowly, up and down. It sends shivers up your spine. You shoot a hand down, burying it in his hair, gripping it tightly. 

He groans at this, the feeling of pain just right, speeding up his tongue in response. He slips a hand around your leg to hold you in place. You moan again.

He releases his mouth gently, licking down your folds until he reaches your entrance, then he licks up again. 

“So wet for me already.” He grumbles into your clit as he licks. Your hand tightens on his hair, shoving his face into you. He places a finger on the outside of your entrance, rubbing it lightly. You arch your hips, whining for it. 

He slides his finger in, knuckle deep, and draws it out slowly. You whine again, before he shoves it in and pulls it out faster. His tongue keeps going, finger pushing in and out of you harder and harder. You can feel your climax starting to build. 

“I’m…unghh I’m…Fuck…” It comes out strangled. He lets go of your leg, finding your nipple again with his fingers. Pinching and rolling it between them in rhythm with his tongue. 

“Gonna cum for me?” His voice vibrates against you. 

He slips another finger in, thrusting harder. He can feel you fluttering against them, the heat rising in your core.You arch your back into him, hand pressing him against you. You dig your heels into the ground, moans escaping you louder and louder. He curls his fingers inside you, rubbing them against your spot. 

You throw your head back, seeing stars as you shut your eyes. Moans come out strangled as you orgasm on his face. He groans with you, feeling you clench and release on his hand. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” The words spill out of you, chest heaving

“You wanted it bad, didn’t ya.” He gives you short licks, letting you ride it out. 

Your breath stutters, hand gripping his hair so hard your knuckles turn white, before you go limp, knees meeting. He licks down once, thrusting his tongue into you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm against it, tasting you. You shudder against him, feeling how slick you are on his tongue. 

He pulls it out slowly, dragging upwards again. You wince at him against your sensitive clit.

He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours, half lidded, dark. 

“Up.” He pats the underside of your legs as he shifts, laying down on his back next to you. You stand up and go to sit down on his waist. 

He grabs your hips and pulls you up to his face again, using his arms to drag you down to it. 

“Not done yet.” He tugs at you as you resist, pulse still thudding in your clit. He orders, “Sit.” and pulls you down onto his face again. 

He starts slowly, tongue at your entrance, in and out gently, bringing you back into it again. His nose bumps against your clit, once, twice, sending shocks through your body. You whimper.

“Please…don’t..no…stop..nnnuh.” You cover your face with your hands. 

He pulls away just enough, “Don’t stop?” You can feel his grin through his words. Your hips buck uncontrollably, hitting your clit again which causes you to moan. 

At this he plunges into it again, licking rough, messy lines up you. You whimper again and again, fighting him to sit up.  His arms are wrapped around your thighs, pinning you to his face. 

Slowly the overstimulation fades into pleasure again, your resistance weakening. He loosens his grip as you twitch on his face. Your breath is ragged, hitching each time he licks across you again. 

“Nnngh, please…” It's too much, all at once. 

His hand slides down, pulling his thick cock from his jeans finally. You turn your face at the motion behind you, just in time to see a thick drip of precum falling onto his stomach. Your core tightens at the sight, hips grinding against his face harder. 

For a split second you imagine him sliding his dick into you, fast and rough. It's enough to make you moan again, begging for the touch. 

He responds, burying himself further into you, fucking you with his tongue. 

He uses his hand to stroke himself, fast and hard, bucking his hips with it. It bounces you slightly on his face, making you both moan. He continues like this for a while, moaning into you, switching from your clit to your opening until he can hear that you’re about to cum again. You grind against his face, trying to will your release against him again. 

He growls, feeling your desperation. “Not yet.”

He lifts you up with both hands, sliding you down. You sit instinctively, his hard cock pressed between you and his stomach. You grind on him, before tilting your hips, letting him spring up, hitting you in the ass. 

You reach behind you, sliding him into you. 

“Fuck.” He grunts, feeling you tighten around him. 

You move slowly, gauging his size as it stretches you out. You let out a moan, hands pressed against his chest. You bounce a few times, keeping an agonizing pace. 

His hands shoot up, gripping your hips before he starts thrusting inside of you. His pace is so fast you can’t keep your balance, arms pressing against him for leverage. He grunts wildly, a string of curses coming out. 

“You wanted me so bad, fuckin’ slut.” He spits, eyes glossed over with pleasure. “Watched you fuck yourself, moanin’ my name, right here.”

He sits up, hands holding you firmly against him, and rolls you over, so your back is against the floor. His thrusts are harder, more drawn out, as he holds you up by your hips and ass, legs dangling at his waist. He's on his knees, sitting up, fucking you so hard your moans come out in gurgles. 

“Take it.” He growls again.

Your back is arched off the floor, arms extended up, dragging the harsh concrete against the tops of your hands, legs limp at your sides. He pounds into you, only his thick, corded arms holding you up. His grunts become rougher, hips rolling sloppily now.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” He growls, pressing you into the concrete. 

“Mmmhp yes, yes, yes.” You can barely think enough to talk. You feel your walls tightening around him as the thrusts, each movement sending you closer to the edge. 

He senses the pleasure starting to course through you, pushing deeper with every thrust, chasing both his and your climax. You pound a fist into his arm, the feeling overtaking self control, as you orgasm around his cock. He moans, biting his lip, watching you greedily before he hits it too. His hips stutter, breath hitching. He presses his forehead into your breast and exhales. You feel his cock twitch, cum seeping out inside of you. 

His body goes limp for a moment, before he pulls himself out of you slowly. 

He grabs your nipple again, pinching hard, pulling down. You yelp and wince at it, scrabbling to scoot away from him. His grin spreads wide across his face. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice is choked, the sharpness of it still stinging. 

“Shut up.” His voice comes out mean now. He stands up, pulling his jeans into place. “Ya got whatcha wanted, don’t go bitchin’ about it now.” 

You're still sitting, clothes strewn around the tower. The air feels cold against your sweaty skin. 

“You mean you got what you wanted, asshole.” Your voice cracks. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t beg me for it.” He grumbles.

You shoot up, stepping over to him. He’s fastening his belt, head shooting up just in time. 

Your punch lands perfectly.

Blood drips from his nose, little spatter sounds against the floor. 

He raises a hand to his face, catching the blood. His eyes are wild, whites showing. 

“What the fuck?” His voice wavers slightly. 

“Shit shit, sorry.” Your anger dissipates quickly, hands raising. 

You didn’t expect to hit him so hard. 

“Really I’m sorry.” You scrabble for your shirt on the floor, balling it up. “Here.”

You press it against his nose, enough pressure to keep it from spilling, not enough to hurt him again. 

He just stares at you, eyes wide, watching. 

“Fuck, Daryl,” You pause. “I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.” 

He lets out a laugh.

“What?” 

“I got what I deserved fer sure.” His eyes squint with pain again as he takes the shirt in his own hand. 

“We should go.” You're already pulling your clothes on. 

“Your shirt.” He grunts, pain still coursing through his head. 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

You both make it down the stairs slowly, him wincing at each step. Out into the night and then into the prison. 

There's a few people still inside the common area, dim candles lighting the room as they chat or play cards. When the door flings open, to reveal you and Daryl, heads whip around. 

Daryl’s shirt and pants are dripped with blood, hands covered. Your once grey shirt is now a bright shade of red. Streaks of it are on your own hands and waist. Your chest heaves against your bra, cheeks flushed, face red. 

“Jesus Christ! What happened?” Sasha shoots up. 

Others in the group rush to grab towels, water, and first aid. 

You look at Daryl, his eyes still scrunched. 

“Did you get bit? Attacked?” Sasha’s face is twisted with worry. 

Daryl pulls the shirt hesitantly from his face, the blood finally stopped.

Your chest is tight and painful, guilt still seeping.  

He looks over at you, before turning to Sasha. 

“I ate it on the gravel.” He gives a short chuckle. “Serves me right for being a dumbass.”

Sasha looks you both up and down, before she turns back to Daryl. 

“Let's get you cleaned up.” 

As the group descends, working quickly to help him, you shrink back, into the cellblock, and into your cell. You curl up on your bed, head reeling from the day, and exhaustion sets in.

⊹ Part 4 ⊹

[tangerinebootleg]

creep daryl > daryl who you can always feel watching you> daryl who likes to watch you jerk off, and daryl who steals your panties. daryl daryl daryllll daryl whose a perv and is always looking at your body and thinking oh the things i could do. and he does do em “i could take her right here. quiet. quick” yes daryl yes yes be a slutty horny creep pls and thank u

exactly exactly exactly! Creep daryl who's obsessed with you but won't let anyone find out. Daryl who wants you so bad he'd do anything, I mean anythinggggggg to get you. Ughhhhhuuughh

Currently working on part 3!!!! Will be done probs today hehehe

[omg-imstillatotalmess]

I have so many thoughts about ex-boyfriend!Daryl that it's not funny. Especially S1 Daryl. Like he's such a douchebag, but he cares so much. Enjoy!

Pairing: Ex-boyfirend!Daryl Dixon x Reader

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who immediately thinks of you when the world goes to shit. He knows there's no way to get to you, and even if there was, you probably wouldn't go with him, so he never tries.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who feels a crushing sense of guilt for that.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who finds himself wondering if you survived. Wondering if he should be out looking for you.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who freezes up when Rick comes back to camp with you walking cautiously behind him.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who dumps his crossbow on the ground and starts striding up to you like the fucking terminator, before he can even really figure out how he feels, making everyone nervous.

Ex-boyfirend!Daryl who doesn't give a fuck that he's your ex because you're alive. Tired, scared, and a little worse for wear, but alive.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who takes your face in his hands and just looks at you. Doesn't kiss you because he doesn't think he deserves to, but looks at you like he used to. Like you're the lady of the lake. Like you hung the goddamn moon.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who feels like he can take a breath for the first time since he realized he had to leave you behind.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who takes a shaking breath and tries to say something to you, maybe an apology, maybe something else, but can't do it. The words just stick in his throat.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who damn near takes Rick's hand off when he tries to pull you away, thinking Daryl might hurt you.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who feels such a sense of relief when you lean into him and tell him you missed him.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who's shoving down tears by sheer force of will while you say the difficult things for him. You wondered every day if he was alive. Wondered if you should look for him. That you still love him.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who can't believe he's been handed a second chance with you in this new, fucked up version of the world.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who doesn't know how to apologize for what happened before, and instead tries to atone by making sure you always eat before he does, sleep in the safest place, and never get so far away from him that he couldn't protect you.

Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who's suddenly not your ex-boyfriend anymore.

[foxmovedout]