minnie ʚɞ

[thewalkingfawn]

MINNIE aka thewalkingfawn eighteen. english. long time fan , new writer. ukyt acc (main blog) : @buttlesbunnie

MASTERLIST

thewalkingfawn© please don’t steal my writing and claim it as your own on ANY platforms, i write for fun and that would just take the fun out of it :( 🦌🦌

[thewalkingfawn]

WHAT FOLLOWS

summary: daryl tries to comfort you as you come to terms with the things that happened (2.2k)

content: flashbacks to sexual assault , self blame , angst w/ comfort , follows the events after s4 ep16 , typical TWD gore & injury

notes: second fic on this account. this ones a lil heavy, i tried not to make the flashbacks too descriptive. please all look after yourselves and if u do read this, i hope you enjoy :)

HUMANS WERE THE worst thing to walk the planet. They were before, and they were now, and they would continue to be forever and always. It didn’t matter that walkers could tear you apart limb by limb and strip your bones of flesh. None of that matters, because humans had the ability to take hopes and dreams and wishes and innocence, and leave your body alive and trembling on the side of the road.

You hadn’t slept, not a wink. Your breathing was laboured, and your blinks even more so, but you still hadn’t reclined and let yourself drift off. You couldn’t.

Carl had, and you were grateful for that. Maybe slightly jealous too.

The kid needed rest, you all did really, but him especially.

Michonne’s fingers were dragging through his hair, his head perched on her thighs as his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.

The bags beneath your eyes were heavy, weighing down on your face just as much as this unfamiliar feeling was on your shoulders.

“Hey.” Michonne muttered, reaching across with a gentle hand and grazing your shoulder.

The touch made you jump, flinch even, and she retracted.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You replied, mustering up the softest smile you could offer her.

“You need to sleep.”

You shook your head.

“Reader—“

“No.” Your voice broke, bottom lip trembling so violently that the edges of it were blurring, “No, I can’t.”

“You need to try—“

“I don’t wanna close my eyes.” You whimpered, picking at the skin around your fingernails until it was splitting and blood was prickling, pooling and dripping.

With a shaky sigh, you reached for the door handle, cracking it open.

“Reader—“

“I’m fine.” You sniffled, “I’m fine.”

Whether you were trying to convince her or yourself, you were unsure, but you stepped out of the truck, ignoring the fallen bodies of disgusting men discarded on the road side. You rounded the vehicle, your feet stepping from cement to leaf litter.

“Hey.” Daryl’s gruff voice called out.

It startled you at first, but the low rumble in his voice wasn’t intimidating to you anymore. It was soft, and it filled you with the warmth of safety and comfort.

You turned around slowly.

On the floor, he and Rick were sitting side-by-side, their backs pressed up against the truck doors. Rick was an image of ruthlessness. Blood stained his maw, clinging to the wiry curls of his beard.

You looked at him, and the world went dark again.

It was night time, and your cheek was pressed into the harsh ground, forced to watch pitiless people pummel the life out of the man you’d learned to care so deeply about. The sight was awful, but looking over to see a man's flesh between Rick’s teeth made you want to vomit.

“You okay?”

You blinked, and you were back.

The sun was out again, and the two men were waiting expectantly for a response.

You nodded.

“Where you goin’?” Daryl asked.

“For a walk.” You croaked.

“Want me to come—“

“No.” You shook your head, swallowing thickly, “No, thank you.”

He nodded in understanding, though it was reluctant.

“When you come back, we’ll get going again. There’ll be a town nearby, we can get you a new shirt.” Rick spoke, making his voice as gentle as he possibly could, “New everything, if you really want.”

At his words, you glanced down, taking in the sight of your shirt.

You’d known it had been torn, you’d heard it happen under the grip of the strangers hands. Now, it was baggy and loose, barely covering what it used to. It sagged in the middle, revealing far too much skin.

“Thank you.” You nodded, before turning on your heels again and trekking further through the woods.

The leaves crunched beneath your feet. Shades of browns, oranges, yellows, reds, all mixed together on the ground, dry and crispy. The crunching blended into something harrowing, your ears ringing and hearing turning to fuzz as your mind replayed the sound of bones snapping under pressure, and the visual of Daryl fighting back.

But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter how many bones he broke, or how much he made the men bleed, the hands didn’t stop.

They weren’t frightened by the sounds of their friends being beaten, they were too focused on you.

Focused on stopping your writhing by pinning you down, forcing your limbs into uncomfortable positions.

Focused on silencing your cries and shrieks by flattening a hand over your mouth.

You knew that by making so much noise, you were attracting walkers, but the only thing you thought in response to that in that moment, was ‘Good’. You would’ve rather been shredded into the undead’s next meal than endure what they did to you. Still, you couldn’t win, both choices meant dirty hands on your unwilling body.

They hadn’t stopped until Daryl had forced them to. Until he’d shoved an arrow deep into their skull and kicked their heavy bodies to the side. But even then, it didn’t feel like they were really gone.

You still felt it all.

You felt the helplessness, the fear, and the defeat as your body gave out and stopped fighting back.

It wasn’t until Daryl’s hands found your shoulders that you kicked back into gear, legs jerking out and arms flailing as you screamed, scratching your palms along the tarmac as you travelled backwards until your back hit the truck.

“Hey, it’s me! It’s me! You’re okay, you’re alright now!”

But you weren’t.

You weren’t alright then, and you certainly weren’t alright now.

Your body sagged, lowering yourself to the forest floor.

Your knees dug into the Earth, the patterns of leaves staining themselves into your skin, but you didn’t care. Your chest wracked with heavy, silent sobs, your face a screwed up look of distress and grief.

Grief for whatever the hell you’d lost last night.

A piece of yourself.

A piece of yourself that you hadn’t been willing to have ripped away from you like that.

A twig snapped behind you, and your head whipped around, immediately alert.

Thankfully, all you saw was Daryl.

He stood out amongst the muted, warm colours of the forest, his fully black outfit being quite the contrast.

Swiftly, you wiped at your cheeks, trying to scrub away the tear tracks that were left in your face, disturbing the dirt smudged across your cheeks.

“What you doin’?” Daryl asked, stepping closer.

Your shoulders raised and then dropped with a dramatic huff, “Crying, I guess.”

He grunted in response, dropping himself down beside you.

“Michonne told me to come see ya.”

“She’s worried I didn’t sleep.”

“Did you?”

“No.” You scoffed. “I can’t—“ You sucked a deep breath in, feeling the tears coming all over again, “I can’t close my eyes without reliving last night. Seeing those people hurting you in front of me—“

“What?” He physically recoiled in shock.

“What, Daryl?” You snapped, “What don’t you understand?”

“Out of everything that happened last night, you’re seeing me gettin’ my ass beat?”

“Everything else is more of a feeling.” You sniffled, interlocking your fingers in your lap and flexing your hands inwards, “I could see what was happening to you, but I could feel what was happening to me. It’s a bit different.”

He paused, pursing his lips as if trying to think of what was an appropriate response, “… D’you wanna talk ‘bout it? The feeling?”

Ever so slowly, your head rotated to the side, finally taking in the sight of him. Really taking in the sight of him.

His right eye was encircled with a bright purple bruise that looked raw to the touch, and his lip was split with a deep cut. There was blood staining his cracked knuckles. Everything about him looked like it hurt, though you would bet money on the possibility of you looking the same.

You could feel the tingling sting of a scrape on your cheek, and there were undoubtedly bruises scattered across your neck and collarbones.

“I … I don’t really know what to say or …” Tears dribbled down your cheeks all over again, “It just seemed like it was never going to stop. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I kicked or how loud I screamed … they just kept going and I don’t know why I couldn’t stop them—“

He was quick to interrupt you, “That ain’t your fault.”

“I just feel weak. Violated. I don’t know why, it’s not like they did anything. Not really.” You scoffed with dry laughter.

It wasn’t funny, nothing about this situation at all was funny, but you were trying your damndest not to break down into a fresh wave of sobs and collapse into his arms.

“Don’t.” His tone was stern. Strong. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You spat.

“Belittle what they did t’you.”

Your body went rigid at his words, feet sliding up the ground, pulling your knees to your chest like you were five years old and had just been scolded by your mom.

You leant forwards, resting your cheek on your arms so you were turned away from him and your skin was soaking up your tears as they fell.

“I’m sorry.” He grumbled.

“What are you sorry for?” You whispered, “You didn’t pin me down.”

“I was with ‘em.” He clarified, “I didn’t try hard enough to stop ‘em.”

You picked your head up again, turning to look at him.

He had this guilty expression on his face, like a child who had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, but you could’ve sworn through the gaps in his hair, you got a glimpse of water shining in his eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault, Daryl.”

“It weren’t yours, either.” He replied, giving a wet sniffle before meeting your eyes, “Y’gotta know that.”

“I just … I feel them all the time.” Your voice broke again, giving way to heavy sobs that jolted your whole body, “Their hands, and they just wouldn’t stop. That’s all I wanted, I wanted them to stop, I wanted them to let me go. I didn’t want them to die, I just wanted them to stop touching me, and they wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know.” His voice softened, arms encompassing you and holding you tight the moment your body collapsed forwards into his, seeking solace.

He’d stopped your panicked rambling with his arm. Your face was buried into the bend of his elbow, hands grasping desperately at his forearm.

Daryl couldn’t see your face, but he didn’t need to to know that you were the pinnacle of traumatised and vulnerable.

“I got you, sweetheart.” He whispered into your hair, not wanting to move his hands in fear of startling you further, “I got you now. You’re safe.”

The volume of your wails were loud, but he couldn’t find it within himself to shush you, so he only hoped and prayed that any walkers were too far out to be able to hear you. You needed this. You needed to just break down without the fear of judgement or punishment, and Daryl was more than willing to be there for you while you did that.

If anyone dared interrupt, he might just shoot an arrow right between their eyes.

“Ain’t no one gon’ hurt you again, ya hear me?” He promised, hoping you could hear him over the sound of your own sobs.

He didn’t know how long it had taken you to calm down (timing wasn’t exactly his biggest priority) but once your cries had stopped, once glance at your face told him all he needed to know.

You were asleep.

You’d exhausted yourself to the point of slumber.

But it was deserved.

You’d spent the whole night reliving a nightmare, and you were finally getting the rest you so blatantly deserved.

Something in Daryl’s chest swelled at the thought of his arms being the comfort you needed to finally drift off. He didn’t dwell on that now. It was obvious you both had feelings for each other, you’d admitted it back at the prison, albeit his confession was a grumbled sentence something along the lines of ‘I like ya, and I don’t want nothin’ bad happening t’you’.

Romance wasn’t important right now. What was, was your well-being.

Cautiously, he shifted you further into his arms, one wrapped around your back, the other under your knees as he hauled you up.

When he emerged from the treeline with you dramatically draped across his arms, Rick had immediately thought the worst, but he took a moment to observe the calm expression on Daryl’s face and gave a gentle nod.

“She’s sleepin’.”

“Good.” Rick said, “You okay to carry her—“

“‘Do anything f’her.”

“Okay.” He nodded, “Okay, if you need a break, let us know, and we can stop.”

“I’ve got her.”

“Did she say anything?” Michonne asked, watching you with a concerned frown.

“A lot of the same stuff over and over. Cried mostly. She’s okay. Like I said, I got her.”

“Yes you do, brother.” Rick clapped him on the shoulder supportively.

And then they were on their way.

Following along the road until they met with the train tracks again.

The entire time, Daryl made sure his movements were all soft, not wanting to jostle you too much and end up waking you. Thankfully, you seemed pretty deep into your sleep that he could drop you and the most you would do is stir.

Not that he was complaining.

You needed to be okay.

He needed you to be okay.

[luvnarra]

—.✦ ݁˖ Quiet hours.

Pairing; Daryl x fem!reader

Summary; You woke up in the middle of the night only to find the spot beside you, Daryls spot, empty.

Tw; just pure fluff, reader comforting Daryl after a run gone wrong.

Era; Prison era

The prison block was dead silent, unusually so. It was one of those rare nights when everybody seemed to be long asleep, leaving only the cold, damp air and the stillness of the halls around you. For once, the place felt entirely peaceful.

Just like everyone else, you were fast asleep in your cell, completely at peace as there was nothing to worry about, nothing demanding your attention.

With a soft hum, you shifted under the rough, scratchy blanket, your sleep slowly breaking as your body automatically reached out beside you for Daryl. Your palm dragged across the coarse, cold fabric of the mattress, searching for the familiar, heavy warmth of his body—Only to be met with nothing but empty space.

You blinked through the thick shadows of the cell, raised a tired hand to rub the lingering sleep from your face, and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. You squinted into the gloom toward his side of the narrow bed. It was completely bare, his blanket left tossed in a loose, tangled heap near the foot of the frame.

You sat there in the quiet room for a long beat, your brow furrowing as you scanned the small cell.

He wasn't in the corner, he wasn't sitting on his crate, and his heavy boots were gone from the floor. He was nowhere in sight—Maybe it was his shift on watch duty tonight? But no, that couldn’t be the case. Tonight Rick and Glenn had taken the night rotations for the yard and the guard towers. Daryl wasn't supposed to be out there. He was supposed to be right here, sleeping beside you.

A quiet knot of confusion and worry began to settle in your chest. Swinging your legs over the edge of the frame, you stood up on the cold concrete floor. You slipped out of the cell, keeping your movements slow and deliberate so you wouldn't break anyone else from their sleep.

You padded through the dark, quiet corridors, your eyes darting everywhere as you searched the shadows. You hoped to find him sitting in one of his usual spots—maybe leaning against a wall in the common area, methodically sharpening his hunting knives, or sitting on an overturned bucket fine-tuning the limbs of his crossbow like he did most late nights when his mind wouldn't quiet down. But as you moved from room to room, those familiar spots were completely empty. He was nowhere to be found.

Continuing down the lower tier toward the back of the block, a faint, echoing hiss of running water suddenly cut through the heavy silence, carrying softly down the dark hallway.

You followed the sound into the shadowed shower area, peeking around the partition just enough to check whose it was without invading anyone’s privacy—And your eyes widened. Your frown deepening instantly.

There he was. Daryl.

He was standing completely naked under a stream of lukewarm water. Both of his large, scarred hands pressed flat against the damp concrete wall, his broad shoulders hunched forward and his head dropped low between his arms. The water beat down continuously over his thick, muscular back, sending dark streaks down his skin.

Something sharp twisted in your chest at the sight. Daryl was absolutely not someone who showered regularly, let alone willingly in the middle, dead of night. To be blunt, the man would happily go days—weeks, even—without touching a bar of soap, completely fine living in his own dirt and sweat until you literally had to threaten him.

You'd lost count of the times you'd flat-out told him he wasn't getting anywhere near your bed or you unless he cleaned up because he blatantly stank—You still remembered this one time when you’d finally had enough of him coming back covered in dirt and grime. You’d looked him straight in the eyes and told him there’d be no sex for a whole week unless he, finally, took a damn shower. Daryl had only scoffed at first, wearing that familiar grumpy look like he couldn’t believe you were serious. But, thirty minutes later, he came back looking cleaner than ever—with even the dirt under his fingernails scrubbed away.

So seeing him here, seeking out the water on his own at two in the morning? Yeah… it was a massive, glaring red flag.

Without a second thought, you quietly slipped out of your clothes, letting them drop to the floor. You stepped into the humid, misty stall, walking slowly up behind him—And the fact that he didn't snap around the second your bare feet hit the wet floor proved just how deeply trapped he was inside his own head; normally, Daryl could hear the sound of a leaf falling a mile away.

Gently, you slid your arms around his thick waist from behind, stepping close and pressing your front against his wet skin, resting your cheek right against his muscular, rain-slicked back.

Daryl's entire body went rigid at the sudden touch, a defensive jolt passing through his spine, but the tension vanished the exact second he recognized the familiar, comforting warmth of your grip. He let out a low, ragged breath. Slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder, his blue eyes glancing down at you through his damp, dark bangs.

You looked up at him, your eyes soft and heavy with concern. You gave him a small, reassuring but worried smile. "What's wrong?" Daryl's brows frowned in an instant. He dropped his hands from the wall, turning his head back around to face the front. "How'd ya know somethin’s wrong?"

You shook your head against his back, letting out a soft, teasing murmur to try and crack his armor. "Daryl... you taking a shower by choice is a very concerning piece of evidence on its own”

The joke was light, and it earned a faint, rough huff from his chest—the ghost of a laugh—but the air in the room remained far too heavy. You disconnected your cheek from his back, but you didn't pull away. Slowly, you leaned in, pressing soft, lingering kisses directly against his wet skin. You kissed the dark ink of his tattoo, the hard line of his spine, the space between his shoulder blades, and the faint, jagged ridges of his old scars.

"Daryl..." You mumbled against his skin, your breath warm against the water. "C’mon. Talk to me”

Daryl let out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it. "It's nothin'" He muttered, his voice gravelly and stubborn, still trying to push the world away. You pressed one more firm kiss into his back, your hands sliding up his sides. "Is this about what happened on the run today?”

You already knew the answer. Rumors traveled fast in the prison, but you needed the words to come from him.

Daryl went quiet for a long moment, the water hissing around you. Until, finally, he gave a slow, reluctant nod. You carefully stepped around to his front, taking his wet hands and gently forcing him to look at you. You didn't push him or barrage him with questions; you just stood there in the quiet steam, holding his gaze and silently giving him all the time he needed to find the words himself.

He tried to cut his eyes away, his jaw clenching tightly. "Things got messed up" He rasped out slowly, the silence stretching long before he continued. "Walkers caught us off guard” He paused again, staring down at the wet concrete, struggling against his own stubborn pride. You squeezed his hands softly, staying quiet and letting him breathe through it.

"Glenn almost got bit” He muttered, his voice dropping low. "I made a bad call... Walkers cornered him” His jaw tightened even more, the self-directed anger raw in his eyes as he shook his head. "Should've seen it. He trusted me t’ watch his back out there. If he died, that’s on me—”

"No, it's not” You countered gently, your tone absolute and steady against his mounting panic. "Even if things went sideways, even if you felt like you made a bad call—Who was the one who reacted? The one who put himself between Glenn and those teeth?—You did, Daryl” You paused for just a moment, just enough for your words to linger. “You dragged him out of there. You saved his life. And you brought him back home, back to Maggie in one piece”

You lifted your right hand, your palm cupping the side of his rugged face. Your fingers gently pushed his wet, messy hair out of his eyes, forcing him to look directly into your eyes. His gaze was incredibly blue in the dim, steamy light, brimming with a fierce, self-destructive guilt.

"You carry everyone's safety on your shoulders like it's your personal job to guarantee nobody ever gets a scratch…” You murmured softly, your thumb tracing the ridge of his stubbled cheekbone. “But you can’t be everywhere at once, Daryl—You can’t see every damn thing before it happens” You paused once again, letting your words settle between you.

“Sometimes…” You shook your head softly, shrugging just slightly. “Shit just happens”

Daryl’s gaze dropped between you, his jaw working as he chewed briefly on the inside of his cheek. He avoided your eyes for a moment, staring down at the space between you as if he needed somewhere else to look. But the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly, and you knew your words had landed, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

“But what matters is what you do after” Your thumb brushed slowly along his cheek. “You always find a way through it, Daryl. Somehow, you always manage to put things right, and…” You let out a soft scoff. “And half the time, I don’t think you even realize you’re doing it. You just… do”

A small breath left you as you looked at him, titling your head just slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “Stop punishing yourself for what could have happened when what did happen is that everyone came home alive because of you”

As your palm stayed settled against his cheek, Daryl's defensive posture finally melted. He leaned heavily into your hand, closing his eyes as if your touch was the only anchor keeping him rooted to the earth. Slowly, he tilted his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right into the center of your wet palm.

"If anything, you're one of the biggest reasons we're all still standing” You whispered, resting your forehead gently against his chin. "If it wasn't for you out there—tracking, hunting, keeping watch... most of us would've been dead a long time ago”

Daryl opened his eyes, staring down at you. He gave a slow, deep nod, the raw tension draining out of his shoulders as he kissed your palm one more time, his lips resting warmly against your skin.

"You need to start recognizing the good parts of yourself” You murmured, a playful glint finally returning to your eyes. You smirked a little, tilting your head. "Besides... if something actually happened to Glenn, Maggie would absolutely murder you, and I really don't feel like cleaning up your blood from the courtyard”

Daryl stared at you for a beat, the dark cloud over his head lifting just an inch. A genuine, half-suppressed laugh broke through his lips, a small, beautiful sound in the damp room.

"Yeah, there he is” You smiled, looking up at him.

You stood up on your tiptoes, and Daryl instinctively leaned down to meet you, his large hands settling on your waist to steady you. Your lips met in a deep, burning kiss. A slow, heavy release of all the day's tension, the water pouring over both of your bodies.

Slowly, Daryl pulled back, just enough to catch his breath, his forehead coming to rest gently against yours. For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes lingering on yours as though he were trying to find the right words. But the thought had been sitting too heavily in his chest, and before he could stop himself, the words just slipped out in a quiet, raw murmur—

“I can’t lose ya”

His voice was barely above a whisper, stripped of the usual gruffness and guardedness. He swallowed, his hands tightening slightly around your waist as if simply holding you closer could keep that fear from ever becoming real. You smiled softly, your fingers tightening in his damp hair as you looked straight into his eyes. "Me neither…”

You took a moment then— Between the two of you, saying those three words out loud wasn't a common thing. Daryl had never been good with words, rarely ever expressing his feelings through speech, and you never demanded it from him—his actions always spoke loud enough.

But tonight, with his guard down and his heart so painfully vulnerable, he needed to hear it. He needed to be reminded not just through your touch, but in plain, undeniable words. “I love you, Daryl” You mumbled softly against his lips, your thumbs lightly brushing his cheeks.

A subtle tremor passed through him at your words, his expression softening completely. His eyes softened, searching your face as the words settled over him before licking his lips slightly, a subtle nod breaking through his initial stillness.

"I love ya too" He rasped out softly against your mouth, the confession rough, quiet, and completely genuine.

You reached your arms up, resting your hands comfortably at the back of his neck and soothingly threading your fingers through his wet, heavy hair. Daryl sank into the touch, leaning forward and dropping his heavy head right onto your shoulder before burying his face deep into the crook of your neck, his rough beard scratching lightly against your slick skin as he let out a long, shuddering breath.

You wrapped your arms fully around him, holding him tight against you while the warm water continued to fall over the two of you in the dark.

And as you held him, a quiet realization settled deep into his bones—He genuinely, literally, could not lose you—You were the only person in this brutal, decaying world who understood him so completely. You saw right through him—even when he was trying to hide, even when he pulled his walls up and pretended to be cold, you looked right past the armor and saw exactly what he needed.

He didn't feel like this with anyone else. With the others, he was a protector, a soldier, a tracker. But with you, he felt light. He felt complete, understood, and entirely seen. When you were around him, he wasn't just surviving—he felt like you brought him a piece of a whole other world, a world where he was actually allowed to be live.

And there was no doubt that, throughout this whole mess the world had became, at least he found you—And there was not denying that Daryl Dixon had fallen, face-first, in love with you.

[luvnarra]

—.✦ ݁˖ No more fucking on runs.

Pairing; Daryl x fem!reader

Summary; You and Daryl were out on a run, clearing a house when you realized you finally have all the time and privacy you need.

Tw; 18+ mdni, smut, oral (r!receiving), p in v, praising, mirror sex, headlock, biting, kinda rough sex, violence, blood, killing, just porn with some plot.

Era; Prison era

The clearing of the old, two-story house went far smoother than either of you anticipated. The last house on the sweep, and the most intact one you’d found all week.

Between the two of you, clearing a place like this was practically second nature—But, actually, finding the supplies you needed was what mattered.

You handled the perimeter with the easy, synchronized rhythm you and Daryl had perfected over months of supply runs.

Up on the second floor, a lone walker bumped uselessly against a locked bedroom door, its faint, dry groans muffled by the wooden walls. Yet neither of you bothered with it; the door was solid, and the rest of the ground floor was completely clear.

You were both standing at the entryway now, you fixing your shirt while Daryl was setting his heavy duffel on a side table to organize the dry goods and medicine bottles you'd gathered. His hands working methodically, tightening straps and sealing canvas pockets.

You leaned back against the closed front door, quietly watching Daryl shove the last box of pills into his bag. And before you even realized it, your gaze had wandered to his bare arms, lingering on the way his biceps flexed with each movement. Even something as simple as tightening his grip around the strap made the muscles shift and bunch beneath the surface. He slung the bag over his shoulder and straightened, the broad muscles across his back rolling beneath his shirt—

It didn’t take long before a very different idea took root.

"We finished early" You said softly, the words lingering on your tongue as you pushed yourself off the door with a slight shrug, letting the silence sit for a beat afterward.

Daryl offered a low, familiar hum in response, giving a brief nod without looking up from his pack. "Yeah. Still better head back ’fore it gets dark tho” He said, pulling the strap closed and adjusting it over his shoulder. "Nahh… We're good” You countered smoothly, taking a step closer. "I think we have some time”

But Daryl just nodded again, totally unaware, his mind still entirely focused on the work. "Mhm" He grunted, adjusting his crossbow, completely oblivious to your tone or the way your gaze had shifted.

"The house is nice, too…” You continued, stepping even closer.

He spared the place a quick, indifferent glance, clearly not caring about the decor. "’S nice" He mumbled gruffly, totally missing the hint before dropping his gaze back down to fix the hunting knife at his hip.

But you didn't back down—You took another step, right into his personal space, until the heat radiating off his body was impossible to ignore. You leaned in, placing your palm flat against the center of his chest before slowly, deliberately, trailing your fingers down the rough fabric of his shirt, moving lower toward his belt.

"Lucky us, we have it all to ourselves” You murmured, biting your bottom lip slightly.

Daryl finally paused, his blue eyes snapping up to meet yours as a small, confused frown tugged at his brows. But before he could process that, your fingers hooked on his waistband, tugging closer as you tilted your head up.

"And no one's gonna walk in…” You added softly, catching his eyes, while intentionally slowing your breathing, letting your gaze linger on his lips.

Back at the prison, especially after the crowd from Woodbury had moved in, privacy had become an absolute myth. The cells didn't have doors—just thin, fraying sheets slung over wire that did nothing to stop boots echoing down the catwalks or people constantly popping in to ask questions. With the crowded cellblock and the constant chores, it was impossible for the two of you to have a single, quiet, uninterrupted moment entirely to yourselves.

Daryl scanned you up and down, taking in that unmistakable look you had in your eyes and the sudden, heavy tension in the room—The realization hit him like a physical spark and you watched the exact second it finally clicked. His eyes widening just a little as the sharp line of his frown melted away instantly, his gaze locking onto your lips.

Fucking finally.

Without a word, Daryl shrugged his heavy supply bag off his shoulder, letting it thud carelessly to the floor. His large hand swept out, his broad arm wrapping tightly around your waist to yank you flush against his chest, while your own bag clattered on the wood.

He leaned down, his mouth crashing onto yours in a deep, bruising kiss that immediately turned into a heated, passionate, breathless make out—It was desperate and demanding from the first second. He tasted like rain and salt, his tongue tangling with yours with an urgency that made your knees weak.

With a low groan, his arm hooked securely under your thighs and hoisted you off your feet, his strength taking your weight without a second of hesitation. You wrapped your legs around his waist in an instant, clinging to his shoulders as he held you effortlessly with one powerful arm. Your hands buried in his hair as the kiss deepened, your tongues brushing together in a frantic, unhurried rhythm that had been building up for days.

Without breaking the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours, Daryl turned and carried you toward the staircase, holding you tightly against him while still carrying his crossbow in one hand, his fingers remaining curled around the grip. He walked up the steps smoothly, his heavy boots thudding against the wood as he carried you up to the second floor as if you weighed nothing at all.

At the top of the landing, Daryl didn’t miss a beat, kicking the door of the bedroom wide open. The door swung inward with a hard slam, the force knocking back the locked-in walker behind it and sending the snarling corpse stumbling backward a few feet onto the bedroom rug.

But Daryl didn't even drop you. Still holding you tightly against him, he raised the crossbow with his free hand, aiming toward the shadow. He let the bolt fly, the heavy snap of the string echoing in the room as the arrow buried itself deep into the walker's chest.

The corpse staggered but kept creeping forward, its jaws snapping air.

Daryl started to turn his head just slightly, breaking his focus from you so he could get a clear line of sight to finish it—But before he could pull away entirely, your hand reached out, cupping his jaw hard to turn his face back to you, pulling him right back into the kiss.

With your legs still locked around his waist, you reached down, your hand slipping his hunting knife straight out of the sheath on his belt and without even breaking contact with his lips—You whipped your arm back and threw the blade across the room. It flew straight and true, sinking with a heavy, wet thud right into the walker's forehead. The corpse collapsed instantly to the floor, dead before it hit the rug.

Daryl pulled back an inch, a rough, breathy rumble escaping him against your mouth. "Jesus, woman”

He carried you the remaining few steps to the mattress, finally letting his crossbow go and clatter to the floor. He laid you down on the dusty sheets, his heavy body immediately shifting his body over yours and pinning you down.

And the second your back hit the mattress, you didn't waste a single moment. Your hands immediately darted down to his waist, your fingers almost trembling with urgency as you worked fast to unbuckle his heavy leather belt. But before you could get the thing off—Daryl’s hand came down over yours, catching your wrist and stopping your fingers right mid-motion.

"Nah, uh" He grunted out softly as he pulled back just enough for your lips to part, his gaze locking on yours. "Ya said it yarself...” The corner of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly, his thumb brushing lightly along your side. “We got time”

A soft, impatient whine escaped you, a small pout tugging at your lips as your fingers twitched restlessly against the metal of his buckle, still trying to push past his grip. "Daryl..."

He just let out a quiet huff, gently catching your hands and pushing them back up, pinning your wrists loosely above your head. He leaned down, capturing your lips once more in a deep, lingering kiss before his mouth slowly began to travel downward.

His rough jaw dragged along your cheek, his hot breath brushing against your skin as he pressed a slow, heavy trail of kisses down the side of your neck. Every press of his lips was deliberate and unhurried, making your skin tingle as he moved lower over your collarbone, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your flesh.

"Wanna taste ya first" He mumbled lowly against your bare skin, his hands releasing your wrists to slide down your sides.

His mouth glided over the hem of your top, trailing warm, breathless kisses down your stomach, sending a sudden shiver straight through your core.

He dropped on his knees, quickly working your boots off one by one and letting them hit the floorboards with heavy thuds. Slowly, deliberately, his hands moved up to unbutton your shorts, easing the denim down your thighs before tugging them completely off, leaving you in just your top and your lacy panties.

But instead of rushing, Daryl stayed right there between your legs. His dark head dipped down, and he began pressing soft, warm kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, right near the hem of your lace. He lingered there, his stubble grazing your skin as he took his sweet time.

"Mm, Daryl—Stop teasing” You breathed out, your hips twitching restlessly against the sheets.

He ignored you completely. With a quiet, dark huff against your skin, he shifted his focus, moving over to press more slow, lingering kisses along your other thigh, avoiding what you actually wanted.

“Please…” A quiet, desperate whine escaped you as you looked down at him with pleading eyes.

Finally, Daryl slid his hands up your hips, taking the waistband of your panties between his thumbs before slowly, unhurriedly, he dragged the soft fabric down your legs and tossed it aside.

But even then, as you lay completely bare to him, he didn't dive right in. He rested his hands firmly on your thighs, pressing another warm, slow kiss just inches away from your core, pulling another sharp gasp from your lungs. "Daryl, I swear—"

But before you could even finish your sentence… he dipped down, burying his face between your legs.

A loud, sharp gasp ripped from your lungs, your lips parting as a helpless, breathy moan echoed through the quiet room. “Fuck—!”

His hands parted your thighs widely, his tongue sliding through your folds, tasting you with a fierce, driving hunger that made you grip onto the worn sheets helplessly. He didn't hold back—his mouth working over you like a starved man, like a man who hadn't eaten in days and was finally getting his favorite meal, taking you in with a fierce, relentless devotion.

He didn't give you a rhythm either.

He edged you on purposely long, filthy licks that had you panting, then sudden hard sucks that had your eyes rolling back. His tongue circled your clit in tight, precise strokes, then dragged lower, pushing inside you just enough for you to feel it before retreating again.

Your back arched up off the bed just slightly before collapsing back down, every muscle in your body locking up as your fingers frantically curled tighter around the rough bedding, knuckles turning white. His tongue circled your clit again, then flattened against it, applying just enough pressure to make your entire body convulse.

“Mmhg—right there” You moaned out, your hips unconsciously bucking up against his face, trying to chase his mouth in a desperate attempt to tip yourself over the edge. Daryl groaned against your core, the vibration sending another shock of sensation through your nerves.

"Quit movin’" He mumbled gruffly against you, his voice thick and deep as his hands clamped down tightly on your thighs. His broad, calloused palms locking you in place with an unyielding grip, holding you still as your body tried to squirm.

You whined again, your hips shaking and twitching involuntarily against the sheets as his tongue pressed harder around the small ball of nerves. You were shaking, thighs trembling under his grip, every breath a broken sound.

“Ya taste s’ good” Daryl mumbled quietly—though it sounded more like a thought spoken aloud than anything else— and his tongue was back on you in a second, persistently lapping at your now very swollen clit.

You could only whimper softly in response, your hands scrambling blindly across the mattress for leverage until your fingers tangled tightly into his dark hair, gripping him close. "Mm, Daryl—" You gasped out, your voice breaking into desperate, breathy whimpers as the sensation overwhelmed you. "God, don't stop”

He didn't.

His hands squeezed your thighs before trailing up to your waist and pulled—No, yanked you more firmly against his face, his rhythm now growing entirely unhinged.

You were just a panting and whining mess, completely helpless under his grip. And as if that wasn’t enough—Daryl brought one hand up, pressing his palm down firmly over your lower stomach. The sudden pressure hit the exact knot of tension building inside you.

Your body reacted before your mind could, the intensity almost too much and your knees instinctively squeezing shut around his head, but Daryl didn't hesitate—without saying a word, he forced your thighs apart again, holding you open, even wider than before.

"Daryl, please—" You whimpered, your fingers gripping his hair even harder—so hard you were sure it had to hurt, yet Daryl? He didn't even react. Didn’t pull back an inch. "'M close—Fuck! So, so close"

The moans you were letting out were downright sinful. The pleasure almost blinding. You threw your head back in sheer pleasure, gasping frantically for air—only to be met with your reflection staring right back at you through a mirror standing right in the corner of the room.

How had neither of you noticed this earlier?

From that angle, the reflection was flawless, capturing the entire bed in vivid detail. Through the blur of your own heavy breathing, you locked eyes with your own image, your mouth parted wide, your chest heaving, rising up and down rapidly as you took in the sight of Daryl’s dark hair buried firmly between your thighs, holding you pinned through the rush.

Your breathing grew faster and faster. The combination of the visual and the way Daryl’s mouth sealed over your clit and sucked hard, drove you straight over the edge.

Your back arched high off the sheets as the built up tension finally snapped. Your eyes shut for just a moment, a breathless moan escaping you as you came undone with a cry of his name, your thighs trembling as he rode out your orgasm.

The slick, wet noises continued as he worked you through your high, his tongue savoring every last drop of your release and your body slowly sank back into the mattress, your eyes fluttering open to the same reflection staring back at you.

Slowly, Daryl lifted his head. His breath hot and heavy against your inner thigh as he wiped a thumb across his lip, his blue eyes tracking yours up to where you were staring. He paused for just a second, staring at the reflection of your wet, parted skin and your legs wrapped over his broad shoulders before his gaze caught yours in the glass

"Well, look at that" He mumbled against your inner thigh, a rough, possessive smirk pulling at his lips

You looked down at him, chest heaving as you caught your breath. Daryl gradually leaned in, pressing a small kiss right on your mound before trailing upward, his lips brushing over your stomach, then between your breasts, and along your shoulder to your neck, drawing a soft sigh from you.

When he was finally close enough—He paused. His lips lingering just above yours, his warm breath brushing against your skin.

Without thinking, you instinctively leaned up, desperate to close the small gap between you, but just before your lips could make contact—With a swift, smooth movement, he flipped you over onto your stomach.

A small gasp escaped you as your face planted briefly into the mattress. But before you could even gather your thoughts, his hands clamped around your waist, yanking you roughly back toward the edge of the bed, another sound slipping out.

Without a word, you watched him through the mirror as he shifted his weight, the metallic snap of his belt buckle echoed in the room before he frantically shoved his jeans and boxers down his thighs at the same time, letting them pool at his ankles. His cock already hard and pulsing, pre-cum leaking from his tip as it slapped against his stomach.

Then, suddenly, without so much as a warning, his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you upright until you were kneeling on the bed, your back pressing flush against his broad chest. A small whimper escaped you as you hit the solid warmth behind you, your eyes never leaving the glass, watching as he leaned closer. His mouth pressed a slow, heavy trail of lingering kisses all along your shoulder and up the sensitive line of your neck.

“Couldn’t even wait t’ get back to the prison, could ya?” He rumbled quietly, his stubble scraping against your skin, sending shivers right through your whole body.

A soft, desperate whine slipped from your lips, your breath coming in shuddering hitches and before your mind could even catch up—your hips instinctively pushed backward against him with an impatient, almost pathetic need.

Daryl let out a low grunt against your shoulder, his teeth grazing lightly against your neck as his hands tightened on your waist to keep you grounded. "Always s’ damn needy..." He rasped out.

"Daryl, please..." You whimpered, biting your lower lip slightly as you locked eyes with him through the mirror, your gaze filled with raw need. Yet, he stayed right there against you, taking his time to press another slow kiss to your shoulder, keeping the tension coiled agonizingly tight.

"Please..." You breathed out again, completely unable to hold back any longer.

Slowly, his hand left your waist to grab at his slick cock before moving it to your entrance. His tip slid against you up and down teasing before steadily pushing into you. Your walls tightened helplessly around him, small, pitiful whimpers escaping you at the slightest stretch. Though it didn't seem like he cared. He continued to slowly push himself all the way into you, your mouth dropping open as you gasped again, attempting to hold in the loud moans you desperately wanted to let out.

“Fuck…” You breathed, the word barely more than a whisper as you adjusted to the feeling of him stretching you, your breath faltering for a moment.

He nearly withdrew completely, leaving only the very tip before one sharp thrust drove him back into you. Your body jolted from the force, the air punched clean from your lungs as his hands clamped tighter around your hips, holding you firmly against him. “Fuck—!” You cried out, your hands trying to find something to hold onto.

But before you even had the chance to recover, he set a punishing pace, each thrust following the last without warning. His grip never loosened, keeping you steady against him as each movement forced your body to follow the relentless rhythm he’d set. In the mirror, you could see every movement-the slick sheen of sweat on his neck, the dark focus in his eyes as he looked up into the glass, watching the way your body reacted to every hit.

"Look at ya" Daryl rasped out, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that sent shivers straight down your spine. His hand reached around your front to grip your waist, anchoring you tight against his thighs as he set a faster pace. "Can't even take yar eyes off, can ya?"

“Daryl…” You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut, your head falling back against his shoulder as the intense image completely overwhelmed you.

“Nah, uh, uh—” His hand quickly reached up, his fingers cupping your jaw firmly to tilt your head back up toward the glass. "Keep 'em open” He ordered roughly, his grip tightening just slightly as he thrusted deeper. "Wanna see ya watchin'” He rumbled low, his voice thick against your ear.

You obeyed immediately with another whine, staring straight into the mirror at the reflection of him holding you. "Look at yar pretty face” Daryl mumbled against your skin, his grip on your jaw easing back down to your waist.

But as his thrusts turned even harder, reached even deeper—He kept knocking your body forward with each sharp rock of his hips. And no matter how much he tightened his arm around your waist, no matter how hard he tried to keep you steady, keep you pinned against him—Your body was, still, jostling too much. Seeing that you, too, struggled to stay upright, small, clearly frustrated whines escaping every time your body got jerked away—He shifted his grip.

His free hand left from your hip, his arm coming around your neck in one smooth movement and settling into a firm, but loose enough headlock, pressing you tighter, steadier against his chest, locking you in place.

You couldn’t stop the loud moan that left you. The sudden feel of his thick bicep squeezing your face, his arm solid around your neck—not tight enough to hurt or restrict your breathing, but hard enough to keep you trapped—made you instinctively lean into him, your walls spasming violently, humiliatingly around him, swallowing him in like a damn vice.

A low, heavy grunt escaped his throat right against your neck, feeling the sudden tension in your body. "That do it for ya?" He rasped out against your skin, his voice thick and rough.

You just nodded helplessly against his arm with another breathless, broken whine as your hands came up to grasp his forearm. Not trying to push him away, no— Clung to him, your nails digging into his skin for dear life as his hips snapped forward again, burying himself to the hilt.

Daryl let out a quiet chuckle against your cheek, his lips dragging closer to your ear before softly biting at your earlobe. "Little freak..." He whispered roughly, feeling you tighten around him again. "Ya like tha’?" He let out a another breathy laugh, holding you in place as he dragged himself all the way back, stopping just before his tip slipped out.

"Daryl, please—!" Your words barely had time to linger before he slammed back into you with one hard thrust, his groan breaking into a whimper as the motion sent a wave of electricity through both your bodies. "Fu—uh—ck! " You whimpered, the intensity too much to bear.

His eyes never left you as his large hand traveled slowly from your waist, catching the hem of your shirt and pushing it upward. His palm settled over your breast, giving the soft weight a single, deliberate squeeze—just to tease—before his touch wandered downward again. His fingers skimmed over your stomach, lingering for only a moment before continuing lower, his hand finally settling between your thighs and cupping your, soaked, heat.

“Mmhg, Dar—” Your breath hitched as his fingers slid between your drenched folds, moving with practiced certainty and instantly finding your sensitive clit.

His fingers worked in firm, deliberate circles, the rhythm of his hand matching the relentless pace of his hips almost perfectly, not giving you a single moment to catch your breath. A broken cry ripped from your throat, raw and desperate enough to sound almost obscene.

“’S too much—God don’t stop” You barely even knew what you were saying anymore. The combination overwhelming, leaving you struggling to put together any kind of coherent thought, your back arching once before colliding with his chest again. “C’mon. Let go f’me” He mumbled lowly, his own breathing becoming erratic.

Your lips fell open, unable to quite close again as your breathing grew increasingly uneven. Every shaky inhale seemed to dissolve into another breathless moan, another soft, broken whimper slipping freely from your throat before you could catch it— Yet your body still moved instinctively with his, meeting every movement instead of retreating. You took everything he gave you, only to find yourself wanting more, your hands gripping onto him as though you couldn’t get close enough.

He thrusted into you again, his tip hitting against your g-spot, forcing the air out of your lungs. The stretch burned in the best way—thick, relentless, filling you completely as his hips slammed flush against your ass. He stayed buried for a second, breathing hard through his nose before pulling almost all the way out, only to drove back in harder once again.

“Fuck—'M close” Another loud moan slipped from you, your eyes struggling to stay open as you fought through the haze, forcing yourself to keep your gaze on your reflection—just like he’d ordered you to. “Yeah?” He teased, his mouth going back to trailing wet kisses across your shoulder. “Mmm”

But before you could catch your breath—He repeated the action. The wet sound of it filling the room, filthy and loud, echoing off the walls. It was impossible to ignore, mixing with your ragged breathing and the low sounds coming from him.

A loud cry tore from you, so loud you were almost certain it could’ve been heard from two blocks away. “Ya have t' keep it down, sunshine” He mumbled, though he, too, struggled to hold back his own sounds. “Gon’ attract a whole damn herd”

And so, to muffle your resounding, echoing cries, you leaned forward, sinking your teeth straight into his thick bicep. “Christ—!” Daryl let out a low, guttural groan at the bite, his pace quickening as he drove deeper, his breath hot against your ear as his cock pulsed uncontrollably.

“Bitin’ like a damn walker, ain’t ya?”

The teasing words only made you arch into him harder, sink your teeth deeper, so deep you swore you could almost taste blood. Yet your eyes remained locked, watching yourselves in the mirror as the friction built to a fever pitch, your pussy clenching desperately around him and causing him to release an involuntarily, loud moan.

His hips stilled just a moment, enough to let you register the pause, then slammed into you with punishing depth and precision. “I know yar close, angel. Just let go f’me” Every drive, every roll of his hips dragged along every swollen nerve inside you, the muscles of his arm tensing under your teeth as he pushed into you over and over again.

“That’s righ'” He felt it, your walls weakly tightening around him and still, he didn't ease, pushing deeper, chasing every last spasm of sensation while drawing out his own edge. “That’s it”

Slowly, your teeth released his flesh, and through the glass, you instantly caught sight of the unmistakable mark you had left behind—a deep, imprint of your teeth framed by red, broken blood vessels beneath his skin. A thin trail of your drool running freely down his arm, but Daryl didn’t seem to give a single damn about it, keeping his grip entirely firm around you as his hips snapped against yours once again.

“Daryl—!” Your mouth fell open. A loud, broken moan tore from your throat, his name barely recognizable between your ragged breaths, your walls tightening and releasing around him, spilling your release down his cock.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, your chest heaving rapidly as you struggled to catch your breath, every inhale coming shaky and uneven. Your thighs trembled beneath you, your legs shaking so badly that you could barely keep yourself upright, clinging to him helplessly just to steady yourself.

Your mind completely turned off, utterly blank and lost in the haze, barely registering anything around you except the sound of Daryl’s ragged breathing against your ear. “Fuck—” His pants grew louder, his control slipping, unable to hold his sounds back as your walls squeezed him tighter.

Then, suddenly, while still completely dazed and lost in the aftermath, his arm unwrapped from around your neck. And before you could even process what’s happening, his heavy palm pressed hard into your upper back, shoving you straight down against the mattress. You gasped as your chest hit the worn sheets, left bent over the edge of the bed as he kept control, maintaining the same overwhelming pace.

“So good f’me” His voice was broken now, his chest colliding against your skin with every harsh movement, dragging you back onto him to meet his thrusts. You didn't answer, just kept whining, moaning with every deep shove of his cock inside you.

You cried out as he buried himself all the way in again. Your stomach caved, your back arching helplessly. Every nerve was on fire. Your pussy dripping, twitching around him, every stroke pushing more of your release down your thighs, and still—He dragged his cock out slow, just to slam back in harder, your whole body jolting.

“C’mon, baby…” You whispered softly between whines, urging him, and his hands dug painfully tight into your hips as his composure completely broke. His pace turned desperate and sloppy, the smooth control he usually kept shattering as he chased his own high.

He leaned over your back, his forehead falling heavily onto your shoulder, eyes dropping to watch you take his whole length. He was the loud one now—raw, breathy groans and ragged whimpers escaping his throat right into your neck as he buried his face in your skin.

“Inside—Please, Daryl, I need it” You mewled, titling your head slightly, gasping shakily as you pressed your cheek against the mattress. “Mm, I need it, please” You pleaded with another soft whine, purposely tightening around him just to push him over the edge.

And that did it.

With one final, heavy thrust, Daryl buried himself deep, a low, strained whimper breaking from his chest as he held you pinned tightly under him, his broad chest rising and falling heavily against your back as the intense quiet of the empty house settled over you both once more.

For a long, breathless minute, the only sound in the abandoned room was the slow rhythm of your shared panting, his warm breath puffing in slow, damp bursts over the sensitive skin of your shoulder. The full, comforting weight of his body pressed flush against your back before, slowly, Daryl let out a low, breathy exhale, shifting his weight to roll onto his back, crashing heavily onto the mattress beside you.

"Fuck” You rasped out, your voice low and muffled against the sheets as you tried to catch your breath. "I needed that” Daryl grunted in response, staring up at the cracked, faded ceiling plaster as his chest rose and fell in heavy lulls. "Yeah… Figured” He let out a low, rough huff.

You rolled your eyes playfully at him, shaking your head as a quiet scoff escaped you. “I think we should stay here for a little longer” You said quietly, letting out another heavy breath before settling more comfortably against the bed.

“Yeah, right” Daryl let out a quiet half-scoff, turning his head just enough to glance over at you. “Way you were moanin’, coulda sworn ya were tryin’ to call every damn walker in the area over” His brow hitched, his rough voice still husky with exertion. “Probably got a line of ’em waitin’ outside by now”

You scoffed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to look at him. “As if I was the only one being loud” You fired back, rolling your eyes playfully once again before shifting your weight. "Plus—From what I recall, it wasn’t exactly my fault" You added, looking down into his dark eyes with a knowing look.

Daryl didn't chuckle; he just scoffed again, a low, dry sound in his chest. “Oh, yeah?” He lifted his arm slightly, turning his arm so the light hit the deep bite mark on his bicep, the imprint of your teeth still clearly visible against his skin. "Tha’ ain't yar fault either, I suppose?" He gestured toward it with a mocking little tilt of his head.

You leaned in a little closer, tilting your head with a dry, teasing smirk. "Mm, pretend like you didn't like it” You mumbled, your eyes, purposely, lingering on his lips for a second longer than necessary before slowly returning to his.

Daryl huffed, turning his face away for a second with a quiet twitch of his jaw. "Didn't say that” He muttered back, his voice dropping into a low, gruff grumble, like he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of hearing him admit it.

Yet you simply ignored him, rolling your eyes once again before leaning in to meet his lips. And for all his grumbling, Daryl kissed you back without hesitation.

Your lips moved gently against each other, falling into a natural, unhurried, open-mouthed rhythm. His hand came up, his broad, calloused palm gently cupping the side of your face, his fingers threading into your hair as his thumb dragged over your cheekbone. He pulled you in closer, deepening the kiss into a slow, heavy slide of lips and tongue that tasted like sweat and raw relief, taking his time as you sighed against his mouth.

When, suddenly, the heavy sound of the front door downstairs creaking open filled the empty house—

Both of you froze instantly.

The warmth in the room vanished in a fraction of a second. The kiss broke as you pulled back, your breathing instantly halting as your eyes locked onto Daryl's. He stayed completely still, his hand dropping from your face as his eyes narrowed toward the bedroom threshold.

Downstairs, heavy boots scuffed against the worn entryway floorboards.

"Ya sure you heard somethin' in here?” A coarse, skeptical voice muttered, the sound echoing up the stairwell. “Yeah, man, I told you!” A second voice joined in, followed by a sleazy, low chuckle that made your skin crawl. "Bitch was moaning like a fucking animal in heat—Heard 'em clear from the treeline”

The voices echoed through the house—And you and Daryl didn’t waste a second, moving in dead, silent instinct, sliding off the bed without letting the mattress spring—You quickly grabbed your panties off the floor, stepping into them and pulling them up before pulling your shirt back down over your ribs. Beside you, Daryl reached for his boxers, yanking his jeans up his legs right after but leaving the fly completely unbuttoned and undone in his hurry.

"Shit... look at this!" A third voice chimed in from the doorway downstairs, the distinct sound of heavy canvas straps rustling hitting your ears. "These packs are fucking loaded!"

Daryl stepped around the bed, his movements fluid and frantic as he snagged his crossbow off the floorboards, pulling a bolt back to lock it into the groove with a quiet click. You reached right for his waist, slipping his heavy hunting knife straight out from the sheath attached to his still unzipped jeans.

"Let’s go upstairs!” The second guy snickered downstairs and you heard the creak of leather boots shifting toward the base of the staircase. "Those idiots are probably passed out by now”

"What, just like that?" The first guy asked, his footsteps scuffling near the bottom step.

"Yeah. Put a blade through the guy's throat real quiet" The second voice replied smoothly, his tone sickeningly casual as the heavy thud of his boots hit the first wooden step. "Then we take turns on the bitch. Hear how good that pussy sounded from the street?—Least she can do is share”

Daryl’s body paused for the briefest moment at the words. His jaw tightened, shoulders tensing as his pulse kicked hard beneath his skin. His brows drew together, his fingers curling slowly into his palm as a hot rush of anger shot through him. His mind already running through exactly what he was going to do to that fucking prick.

"Hell yeah!" The third guy chuckled from down near the door, staying behind. "Go on up. I'll guard the gear”

With the knife in hand, you stepped lightly over the floorboards, taking position right beside the doorframe in the dark shadow of the wall. Daryl stepped up right behind you near the threshold, his knuckles white around the frame of his crossbow, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck stood out like wires.

The boots came up the stairs slowly—step by step, creak by creak—accompanied by quiet, arrogant chuckles.

The second the lead guy cleared the top landing, his shadow breaking over the doorway, Daryl exploded out of the bedroom.

"Fuck, he's awake—!" The guy gasped, but he didn't even have time to raise a weapon before Daryl slammed straight into his chest, tackling him hard against the hallway wall.

The second intruder—holding your hunting knife that he’d stolen straight out of your supply bag downstairs—rushed you immediately. "Fucking dumb bitch!" He hissed, his face twisted as he brandished the stolen blade. “Hey!” You narrowed your eyes, backing up a fraction as you raised your chin with a sharp smirk. "That's my knife!”

"Oh, you want it, bitch?" The guy spat, lunging forward with a nasty grin. "Then take it!"

He tried to slice wild straight at your throat, but you dodged clean back, the blade missing you by an inch. However, the space was too tight. His heavy free fist swung around and caught you hard straight in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of you instantly, pain flaring hot as you staggered back against the wall with a gasp. But the adrenaline surged through your blood before the pain could sink in. You bit through it, driving Daryl’s knife forward with a hard, brutal swing, slicing a deep, jagged line clean across the man's forearm.

The guy screamed out a filthy curse, dropping your blade from his hands as blood sprayed onto the floorboards, and he lunged at you again with absolute murder in his eyes.

Right as you dodged his arms, your gaze flicked back to Daryl—who had his problem pinned against the wall. He was raining heavy, brutal fists into the man's face. And in just a second, the idea clicked— Mid-fight, as your guy reached for you again, you darted sideways, your hand snatching Daryl’s heavy leather belt right out of his belt loops.

Daryl caught the sudden tug at his waist and threw you a quick, bewildered glance, but he didn't have time to pay attention as his own guy started swinging back.

Meanwhile, you went straight back to fighting your dude, the heavy leather strap taut in your hands. Taking advantage of the opening while he reeled, you whipped the belt over his head and locked it tight around his neck. Turning on your heel, you pulled with everything you had, walking backward and dragging him with you step by step. He thrashed wildly, hands clawing at his throat for air, until your back slammed hard against the wall, pinning him in a ruthless chokehold.

The guy swung again, but this time his fist caught Daryl across the cheek. His head snapped to the side, but he barely reacted before swinging back, his fist connecting hard with the man’s jaw. The guy stumbled, only to lunge at him again, throwing another punch, but Daryl caught his arm, shoving him back, and droving another quick hit into his face before the two of them stumbled into the wall. "I'm gonna gut you, bastard!” The intruder snarled frantically, spitting blood on the floorboards. “Then I'm gonna fuck your bitch really nice—!"

Daryl’s eyes went pure, lethal red. Adrenaline surging through his veins so fast he didn't wait to load another bolt—he drove the sharp wooden tip of his crossbow bolt straight through the guy's jaw, pinning his head to the wall and ending him instantly.

"Daryl!" You gritted out through your teeth, straining to hold the choke firm against the guy's desperate kicks.

Daryl spun around in an instant at the sound of your voice, his breathing wild as he saw you struggling to keep the guy still. His body reacted on pure instinct, and without a single hesitation, he instantly raised his crossbow, took aim in a split second, and fired point blank—The bolt sank straight into the guy’s forehead.

The man went dead weight instantly, collapsing onto the floorboards in a limp heap as you let go of the belt.

You stumbled just slightly as you pushed yourself off the wall, bending down to snatch your knife from the bloody floor. “My knife” You muttered, throwing the now dead asshole a kick straight to his ribs before moving along with Daryl out of the room and at top of the stairwell landing.

When, the third guy—whose stupid ass had just started scrambling up the steps to check on the noise—froze at the top step, his eyes widening in absolute horror. "Wait—fuck, don't—!"

But before he could pull a gun or turn to run, you lunged forward and buried the knife deep into his chest. And in the exact same breath, Daryl charged up from behind you, kicking the man brutally straight in the gut and sending him tumbling backward down the entire flight of stairs.

His body crashed off every step until his skull hit the hardwood floor at the bottom with a loud, sickening crunch. Blood spilled out over the entryway floorboards as he lay still.

A heavy, ringing silence fell back over the house.

You both just stood at the top landing—you still wearing just your shirt and panties while Daryls undone jeans ride low enough to reveal the waistband of his boxers— trying to catch your breath while simply watching the dead body right down the stairs.

Your hands rest flat on your knees as you bent forward, panting heavily. Between the brutal adrenaline rush of the fight and the intense, exhausting session against the mattress just minutes prior, your legs felt completely weak, trembling so badly under your weight that it felt like a total miracle you were even standing at all. You were overwhelmingly thankful for the adrenaline keeping you upright.

Without taking his eyes off the stairwell, Daryl reached out and tapped you slightly, gently with the back of his hand against your thigh. "Ya alrigh'?" Breathing deeply, you gave just a small nod. "Yeah”

You straightened up slowly, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "Are you?" You asked, your gaze still fixed down at the corpse before as Daryl grunted, giving back another single nod. "Yeah…”

After what felt like a very long second— "You think this is our sign to stop fucking on runs?" You asked breathlessly, a tiny, adrenaline-laced smirk tugging at your lips through the sweat as you slowly turned your head to look at Daryl beside you.

Daryl’s chest heaved as he stared at the body below, his hands still shaking slightly from the rush. "Yeah…” He gave a single, quiet nod before slowly, raising his head to look at back you, his dark eyes locking onto yours instantly.

You both just looked at each other in the quiet hallway, breathing hard, everything passing between your eyes— And in a split second, Daryl closed the distance between you.

His mouth crashed hard against yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. Without a second thought, you dropped the knife to the floorboards, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck as his broad hands clamped around your waist, pushing you backward straight into the bedroom once again.

“Guess we’ll stick to that next time" You murmured against his lips with a breathless, dry smirk as he backed you up to the bed. He grunted out softly against your mouth, titling his head just slightly as a low raspy hum vibrated in his chest, his dark eyes flashing with pure heat. "Yeah…"

.✦ ݁˖ ———

The engine of the heavy motorcycle sputtered to a stop, the low, deep rumble fading into the hot afternoon air as Daryl kicked down the kickstand in the main prison yard. Dust swirled around your boots as the two of you get off, the heavy metal gates grinding shut behind you. Rick and Carol were already walking down the gravel path toward the yard to meet you, both of them eyeing the long delay.

“What took you guys so long?” Rick asked, resting a hand flat on his hip as his eyes darted between the two of you, taking in the dust, the sweat, and the sheer length of time you’d been gone. "You were supposed to be back hours ago”

"About that…" You sighed out, swinging your leg off the back of the bike before popping your back, and rolling your stiff shoulders. "We got into a bit of a trouble”

Carol raised her eyebrows, her sharp eyes taking in the way you were moving before she reached over to take one of the overflowing supply bags from the back rack. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"Three assholes tried t’ jump us in one of the houses down the road" Daryl grunted out, swinging his leg over the seat, his boots hit the gravel with a heavy thud as he pulled his crossbow strap off his shoulder.

Rick’s brow furrowed, his posture instantly tense with concern. "Are you two okay?"

"Yeah" You nodded casually, running a hand through your hair before pulling it forward over your shoulders, letting the strands fall around your neck to hide the fresh, reddish marks as best you could. "We took care of them” You explained, giving Rick a small nod before turning toward Maggie and wasting little time before falling into step beside her.

The two of you padded down the corridor, heading toward the upper cells—not quite rushing, but really having no intention of lingering around the others long enough for anyone to notice the marks on your neck and realize the assholes you’d been fighting weren’t the only reason you and Daryl had been late.

Meanwhile, Daryl took the heavier crates of canned rations down the main hallway toward the armory with Carol.

As you walked with Maggie, your hand kept periodically coming up to adjust the hem of your shirt, trying to pull the fabric higher around your neck to hide the stubborn hickeys. But near the entrance of the cell block, Carol crossed paths with you two and her keen gaze dropped straight to the dark, fresh red bruises blooming along your collarbone and the side of your neck, peeking out just beneath the hem of your shirt.

She pursed her lips tightly, fighting back a knowing smirk as her eyes twinkled with silent amusement before she turned to follow Daryl toward the supply tables.

In the storage room, Daryl was busy stacking the haul, his worn leather vest leaving his arms exposed as he reached down into his canvas bag and pulled out a few cans of beans to stack nearby. But then—as he lifted another heavy bundle, the light hit his upper arm, exposing the obviously fresh, deep bite mark standing out red on his bicep.

And Carol’s eyes caught it in an instant.

She tilted her head, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips as she huffed quietly. “Huh… those assholes did that to you too?” She asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly, her hands never stopping as she continued stacking the food onto the shelves.

Daryl froze for a split second, his grip tightening around the metal rim of a can. “Mm” He gave a single, stiff nod, deliberately avoiding her gaze as his hands moved straight back to stacking the beans onto the metal shelves with aggressive speed. "Fucker got a good pair of teeth”

He lied straight through his teeth, keeping his head shoved down, focusing entirely too hard on organizing the food.

Carol nodded in pure amusement, continuing to move around the selves as she shot him another knowing look, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. "Oh... was he the one who gave [name] those hickeys too?"

Daryl stopped completely mid-reach, turning into a literal statue. The tin can in his hand hovered an inch off the shelf as he slowly turned his head, his dark eyes narrowing into a stone-cold glare that could melt iron.

Yet Carol didn't back down for a second.

“Hey, hey I'm not judging! I don't blame you—Good for you two!” She said with a small shake of her head, holding her hands up in mocking defense. "Lord knows it’s damn near impossible to find a quiet place to get fucked properly ‘round here” She mumbled, nudging Daryl teasingly with her elbow. “—Not with all these people breathing down your neck” She added with a small playful grimace, a low laugh bubbling up in her throat.

Daryl's jaw clenched so tight the muscle twitched beneath his beard. "Stop”

"No, no, I'm serious! I get it!" Carol chuckled, her tone entirely too bold and shameless as she turned on her heel to head back toward the common area. "Just do me a favor—next time tell her to ease up a bit. She bites any harder, she's gonna give you rabies”

Daryl just glared hard, his ears burning bright red under his greasy hair as grunted out. "Shut up”

Carol just smiled proudly as she leaned against the frame for one last moment. "Was it worth the trouble, at least?" She spoke again, tilting her head just slightly, watching him carefully.

Daryl immediately shot her a sharp, stern warning look, warning her to drop it—But, of course, Carol didn't budge. She just held his gaze, giving him a patient, knowing look in return, standing her ground and silently waiting for an actual answer.

Daryl held her eyes for a long beat before he finally cracked, shifting his stance. He looked back at the food, staring down at the metal shelves lined with tin cans in front of him and for a moment, the room was dead quiet. Then, slowly, hesitantly and so quietly it barely carried across the concrete room—

“Fuck yeah…”

[rreaperes]

✫.*༄ DEATH PARADE!

synopsis! You were trained to run towards the fire. The apocalypse only changed what was burning. After a supply run through Atlanta tears your found family apart, you’re left wounded, desperate, and searching for the people you couldn’t save.When your path crosses with a certain Southerner , an uneasy alliance is forged as you fight to reclaim the ones you’ve lost. Sometimes surviving is the easiest part.

content! mdni!, angst, hurt ans comfort, fluff, slow burn, complicated feelings, pinning, blood and violence, daryl is bad at feelings, eventual smut, ptsd, trauma, and death, oh and minor oc’s added to the story

set in! season 5 onwards

pairing! daryl dixon x reader

001, LEFT BEHIND.

002, BITTER DIVIDE.

003, THE HEAVENS CRIED.

004, IN THE STORM.

005, A PLACE TO CALL HOME.

006, PORCHLIGHT.

007, SECOND HAND SMOKE.

008, A SET BACK.

009, TO SMITHEREENS.

more tba…

[thewalkingfawn]

MINNIE’S MASTERLIST

daryl dixon 𝜗ৎ

daryl and his over affectionate … something

what follows

rick grimes 𝜗ৎ

( coming soon ! )

[thewalkingfawn]

DARYL AND HIS OVER AFFECTIONATE … SOMETHING

summary: numerous times where daryl accepted you for you, PDA and all (3.8k)

content: prison era (specifically season four) , fluff , soft daryl , PDA , jealous/ possessive behaviour , fear of nonsexual intimacy (avoidant behaviour) , reader’s age isn’t specified but she’s an adult (duh lol) , typical twd mentions of family loss/ grief , grumpy x sunshine

notes: first daryl fic !!! had this idea for a while and wasn’t sure whether i wanted to write for another fandom, but here i am ! hope it’s okay x

IT WAS PRETTY common knowledge that PDA typically made Daryl Dixon curl in on himself and want to vomit. It was in the way he reacted to it in other people: the physical discomfort, the slight creasing of his eyes as he cringed and looked away, pretending like he hadn’t witnessed anything.

You on the other hand? You couldn’t be any more different. You showered those you loved in affection, whether that be a squeezing hug, or a polite kiss on the cheek. It was something you prided yourself in, your ability to make people smile with a gentle squeeze of your hand against their arm, or a brief embrace if someone was looking particularly glum.

So, when people (Carol and Rick in particular) began seeing the pair of you spending quite a lot of time together, more so than what could be considered ‘friendly’, eyebrows were raised and prodding questions were asked.

Daryl, of course, got defensive every time, either passively grunting in response or pulling a face that any passerby would’ve read off as feeling offended.

Carol knew otherwise. She knew he was just deflecting, trying to protect his heart from being hurt. She knew that he thought avoiding a label, or avoiding confrontation, would save him from emotional pain, but, she also knew that he was already in too deep. It was evident in the way he let you hang off of him, let you touch him, let you push his boundaries.

one

Daryl loved picking at food bowls rather than committing to a full meal. Even when it was dinner time, he spent it at the sidelines, eyeing you while you ate, and waiting for whatever you’d left over.

At first, you’d thought it was sad, even a little pathetic, but you soon learned that that’s just the way he was. It wasn’t like he didn’t think he deserved to eat alongside you, or he didn't think he had the right to fill himself right up, he just wasn’t a man with much of an appetite.

You figured it had something to do with survival, never wanting to get too comfortable with a constant supply of food. You understood to a point, but you also thought that when given the chance, any human should indulge as much as they could. Still, you never pried. You just started leaving more of your own meal leftover.

He started to notice it sometimes, but he also wasn’t a man of many words, so he kept quiet.

Something else that came with a man who much preferred small snacks to big meals, was lingering.

Job responsibilities worked on a weekly rotor, and every time it was your turn at the buffet station during the day, he always seemed to hover.

He’d sneak his grubby fingers into the bowls and take things when he thought you weren’t watching. Either that, or he knew and just didn’t care.

There were times where you would tut at him and slap his hand away, but he’d just grunt at you and wave you off.

This time, you were handling the food with Patrick.

He was your stereotypical nervous teenaged boy, always rambling far too much, eyes flickering all over the place, and hands a fidgety mess in front of his stomach. You found it endearing, that adolescent behaviour got to continue even throughout the mess of the world you were in.

As always, Daryl came sauntering over.

“Mr Dixon.” Patrick’s face practically shone at the sight of the man.

He gave him an awkward nod before letting his line of sight drift to you.

You offered him a polite smile, to which he tilted his head upwards in response.

To him, that was basically a full sentence.

“What’s this?” He gestured to the woven bowls.

“Grilled mushrooms in this one, carrot slices here, and some grapes here.” You gestured.

“Mr Dixon?” Patrick tried again.

“Mm?”

“Where did you find your crossbow?”

“Had it before.”

“Oh.” The teenager nodded.

You shot Daryl a slightly scolding look through your lashes.

“How did you get so good?”

“He had nothing else to do.” You commented teasingly.

“Oh!” Patrick gasped, “But, I thought Zack was guessing—“

“Ignore her.” Daryl grumbled, reaching for a handful of grapes, “You didn’t even know me before all this—“

“Will you stop?” You hissed, swatting at his hand.

When he made another attempt, this time for the carrots, you grabbed his wrist before sliding your fingers against his skin, interlocking them with his and holding them tightly against the counter.

You hadn’t known it, but you’d just short-circuited his brain. His lips became parted, breathing shallow while his heart thundered from within his ribcage.

The air had suddenly become a lot hotter, almost unbearable, and his skin became slick with sweat.

It made him all the more nervous. He didn’t want to make you wriggle away from him in the case that his hands were too sweaty. He wouldn’t admit it, but your touch brought him a sense of satisfaction that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It shocked him how casual you were about this, how you continued to look at Patrick as he spoke, while mindlessly dancing the pad of your thumb over his knuckles. Like it was nothing. Like it was natural for the two of you to be like this.

Though he supposed for you, it was.

You were one of the most bubbly personalities within the prison, and no one shied away from a hug from you. Physical touch was your thing, romantic or not.

“You two look awfully cozy.” Maggie commented as she glided past the food station with a smirk and an apron over her clothes as she readied for fence duty.

“Shut up.” Daryl grumbled, wrangling his hand off of yours and swiping up the bowl of grapes.

“Daryl! I need those!” You complained as he started to walk away.

“You ain’t eatin’em.” He shrugged.

You grumbled under your breath, something about him being annoying.

“That was cute.” Maggie continued as she walked alongside the man.

“Ain’t nothin’.”

“Sure, Daryl.”

two

On another occasion, his motorbike rolled forwards along the gravel, kicking up dust before he came to a stop at the gates.

Daryl had been out on a run on his own.

Alone time, he said, and needed time to gather his thoughts. Whatever that meant.

You waited for him to approach, settling on a gentle wave with your free hand, as your other was currently wrist-deep in the Earth as you crouched alongside Carol, planting some new seeds.

Your gloves were caked in dirt, and there were brown stains on the khaki fabric of your skin-tight capris. Your black tank top was clinging to your skin in a way that made you want to tear it off and throw yourself into a cooling lake.

The Georgian sun was unrelenting on your skin, beating down until beads of sweat formed and slid across the surface, collecting in a crevice somewhere, only adding to the grimey feeling you knew wouldn’t disappear until you got yourself under a showerhead.

“Hey.” Daryl’s gruff voice sounded from above.

You picked your head up, digging your hand out to shield your eyes from the light.

Subtly, he shuffled to be the blockage, allowing you to give your arm a rest at your sides.

“Hi.”

“Went out.”

“I know.” You nodded and smiled, “Find anything good?”

“Yeah, uh, got you something.”

Your face lit up, and you slid your gloves off, leaving them amongst the dirt before rising to full height. Still, he had height on you.

He shrugged his shoulders backwards, sliding his backpack off and swinging it around to his front to unzip it. He shuffled through a few containers of baby formula, old comics, some clothes and a box of ammo before finding what he was looking for right at the bottom.

“Did you get me anything?” Carol teased, knowing exactly what she was insinuating.

“Yeah, baby formula.” He retorted snappily, making her scoff at his audacity while you barked out laughter.

The sound of your amusement reached his ears, and the corners of his lips twinged up ever so slightly.

The box he had in his grasp was a dark maroon colour, hardened cardboard with the name of some old jeweller inscribed on the front of it.

He let the backpack hit the ground, leaving his hands free once he’d pushed the box your way.

You shuffled the lid off, lips pursed in concentration as it was a pretty snug fit.

The moment the gold glistened under the sunlight, you let out a loud gasp, a hand coming up to cup your mouth.

“Daryl!”

“Looks like the one you said you had before all this.” He gestured with his finger, movements a little stiff.

“Thank you so much!”

The necklace was gorgeous, and it did indeed look like the one you’d lost a long time ago, but still cherished deeply. It was a golden deer, curled up like it was resting amongst grass. The original necklace you had, the deer was standing, and painted accurately. On the one Daryl had retrieved for you, there wasn’t much detail to it, just a gold silhouette, but it was still gorgeous nonetheless.

Catching him violently off guard, you threw your arms around his neck, squealing like a little girl. Instinctively, his arms came around your waist, resting his hands on your lower back. His chin hooked over your shoulder, a soft, barely-there smile on his face, that disappeared humorously fast at the sight of Carol’s amused grin.

He knew what she was thinking, what she was trying to communicate with him.

You pulled back from the embrace just a little, pecking numerous kisses to his cheek before stepping away completely, your cheeks starting to ache from the beaming smile on your face.

“Alright, alright.” Daryl patted your hip lightly.

“Daryl?” Rick’s voice called out.

He turned to see his friend making his way towards them. Obviously, he’d come to enquire about something, but ended up witnessing the romantic affair from afar. The ex-sheriff had a grin on his face.

“Hi, Rick.” You greeted, still clutching the box tightly as if it could disappear at any minute.

He nodded at you before turning to Daryl.

“Hey, Reader, why don’t you go on inside, I can finish up here.” Carol spoke.

“Are you sure?” You frowned, looking down at her.

“Yeah. Go put that necklace on. I wanna see it at dinner.” She patted your leg.

“Okay.” You chuckled, turning back to Daryl and embracing him again, giving him one last kiss on the cheek before strutting off towards the prison.

“What’s that about?” Rick’s eyebrow twitched up.

“What?” Daryl grumbled.

“You gettin’ her gifts now?” His laughter rumbled between the three of them.

“Jus’ noticed it while I was out. Thought she’d like it.”

“Mmm.”

“Next thing you know he’s gonna be leaving dead squirrels at her cell door as a courting gift.” Carol added, and Rick laughed heartily.

“Shut up.” Daryl scoffed, shuffling uncomfortably.

“Hey, I’m just saying!” She snorted, standing and prodding his cheek, “It’s cute, you’re blushing.”

“No I ain’t.”

“You are.”

Daryl shoved her hand off lightly, rubbing his cheek on the sleeve of his leather jacket as if that would get rid of the rush of pigment to it.

“She your girlfriend yet?” Rick jokingly poked fun.

“She’s … something.”

“She’s perfect for you, is what.” Carol added.

“Whatever.”

three

For dinner once, Daryl had managed to drag back an entire deer. It was safe to say everyone ate well that evening.

You’d spent the entire day gardening again, and you flat out refused to eat in a communal area knowing that you smelt of Earth and sweat.

Footsteps echoed throughout the eating quarters as you stepped in.

“Hi Reader.” Carl smiled.

“Hey Carl.” You smiled back, ruffling his hair before moving along behind Daryl.

You slid your hands over his shoulders, and round the front of his chest.

He froze at the touch, meanwhile Glenn, Beth, Maggie and Rick couldn’t hold back the amusement on their faces. Michonne cleared her throat, kicking their leader under the table, for he was the most obvious with his smirk.

You pecked his cheek as a distraction before slipping a strip of venison off of his plate and taking a bite out of it.

“Hey, woman, get your own lot.” He tutted, nudging you away from him at that.

“I’m not eating yet.” You hummed, patting his shoulders before carrying on the rest of the way through the room to the door at the other end.

“Where you goin’?”

“Shower, then eat. Don’t miss me too much.”

“Whatever.” He scowled, turning away from you and keeping his head tucked down, trying to avoid the looks everyone else was giving him.

There was no hiding from the truth.

He fancied you. No matter how much he denied it, or told everyone who said to do one, the fact of the matter was, that Daryl Dixon had a classic schoolboy crush on you.

When you stepped out of the shower and slipped on some clothes that would’ve been equivalent to pyjamas, you skipped back to your sleeping block, humming a little tune as you went.

On your makeshift bedside table (an old crate that everyone had in their cells) was a plate with three venison slices on it, and a portion of salad. It made you smile joyously, lips being pursed to suppress what was about to be a grin.

You kicked your feet up once you were in bed, resting the plate on your lap and picking at the meal with your fingers, while the fingers on your other hand toyed with the necklace Daryl had acquired for you just a week ago.

Looking back on it, smothering the side of his face in kisses was probably not the best way of showing your gratitude to him, but in the moment, it had just felt so right, and you were overcome by this overwhelming feeling of adoration and the need for him to know just how much you appreciated him.

You hoped you hadn’t frightened him too much amidst your energetic, passionate outburst, because you really did treasure his companionship, whether that be romantically, or strictly platonic. Though, you figured you probably hadn’t, considering he’d still taken the time to hand-deliver your dinner to your cell.

Assuming it was him, of course

four

The contrast between day and night at the prison was stark.

At night, there was not a peep to be heard from anyone. Even the walkers outside seemed to calm. The air was still, peaceful, and the only occasional disturbances were the sounds of people in neighbouring cells exchanging their last, sleepy conversations before heading off to bed.

During the day? The whole place was bustling with life.

Children ran inside and out, their knees being tickled by the blades of grass, bumping their hips into protruding corners and injuring themselves the way kids do. The way they should.

You loved watching it. Whether it be from afar while you were doing your chores, or up close while you were managing their play time. You didn’t mind as much as some of the other adults probably would’ve. If anything, it gave you a sense of normalcy, something to busy yourself with rather than fretting over the collecting horde of walkers on the other side of the prison's fence.

William was new.

He’d come along with his sister just a week ago, and they’d settled in pretty fast. She seemed to be a whole lot more reserved and traumatised than he was, but you didn’t expect any less considering her age.

You’d helped her adjust, introducing her to the girls her age, and let them roll around in the dirt together.

“Okay, guys, not too close to the fence!” You called out as they all scattered off and you took a step back.

Once again, you found the heat to be relentless.

Your wrist wiped at the top of your head, swiping across your hairline as you let out a heavy breath.

“Hey.”

The voice startled you, sending you spinning around.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

You let out a breathy laugh, “Hi, Will.”

“Hi. Um, how are you?”

“I’m good!” You beamed, “You?”

“Yeah, just … y’know, still trying to get used to … being at ease again.” He laughed.

“Oh, I know, it can take a while.” You hummed, “Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon, and so will Jodie. She fits in real well.”

“Yeah, I wanted to say actually, um … Thank you.” He exhaled like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, “Really, you’ve helped so much with making her feel better. After mom died, she really … fell into herself.”

You frowned as he began to talk about how disheartening it was watching his little sister lose her spark to things that were never, and would never be, her fault. You nodded in understanding, reaching a hand out and resting it on his shoulder.

“But, yeah, I just really wanted to thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all. Jodie is lovely, and I’m so glad the two of you made it here. Whatever you need, I’m always here.”

You brought him into a hug, resting your cheek on his shoulder as he held it there for a while. You felt the tension leave his body, and it was clear that he’d needed some sort of physical comfort from someone else.

Across the courtyard, Daryl was fixing a car, eyes paying more attention to the sight of you embracing another man more than the task at hand.

A cigarette wavered between his lips, smoke billowing as he wrenched particularly hard on one cog, making it loose.

“You are unbelievable.” Michonne scoffed, leaning back on the wall as she observed.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“She not allowed to hug other people now?”

“I never said anything.”

“You’re glaring.”

“Nah.”

She chuckled, mocking his tone, “Yeah. Seriously, Daryl, it’s a hug.”

“‘M just being cautious. He came in a week ago, you never know.”

“You should tell her how you feel.”

His head twitched to the side, “Don’t feel nothin’ ‘bout no one.”

“Yeah right.” She rolled her eyes, “Seriously.”

“Like you said,” He grunted, jaw clenching as you laughed particularly hard at something Will had said, “‘S just a hug.”

“Tell that to your face.” She teased, “Oh, she’s coming.”

Daryl’s head shot up and over his shoulder, watching you approach with your usual sunshine smile.

“Aw, c’mon! I wanted to scare him!” You whined at Michonne.

“Sorry!” She sniggered.

“Hi.” You slung your arms over his shoulders and around his neck casually.

“Hey.” He nodded, giving you nothing more than a pat on the elbow before returning to fixing the car.

“What’s wrong with it?” You hummed, unwhinding your arms from his body.

“The car or Daryl?” Michonne joked cheekily.

“Somethin’ wrong?” You pouted, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Nah, she’s jus’ bein’ stupid.”

“Right.” You nodded, though unconvinced.

“See you both later.” Michonne said before walking away.

You leaned your back against the car door, admiring the gorgeous sight of Daryl’s biceps flexing as he put them to work. You had not a clue in the world as to what he was doing to the car, but if this was going to be your view, you hoped it never got fixed.

“So, what’s up?” You tried again.

“Nothin’.”

“Run go wrong?”

“Nah.”

“… Lose a kill of an animal?”

“Nah.”

“Lose a shoe?”

“Do I look like I lost my damn shoe?” He scoffed, looking down at his covered feet.

It made your shoulders jostle as you laughed, “Okay, I’m out of guesses.”

He seemed hesitant to say anything, focusing his attention back on the numerous mechanical configurations under the bonnet and muttering something unintelligible.

“What?” You frowned.

He said it again, still too muffled for you to make anything out.

“Daryl, I can’t hear you—“

“Saw you and Will.”

You paused, expression blank as you tried to wrap your head around what he was saying.

“Huh?”

“You and Will.” Daryl nodded in the direction of where you had been standing previously with the man.

“… That’s what you’re upset about? Me and Will?”

“Not upset.” He shook his head, “Jus’ watchin’.”

A smirk gradually grew across your lips as his words properly registered in your head, “Daryl Dixon, are you jealous?”

“Shut up.”

“You are!” You exclaimed, teeth bearing in what might’ve been your brightest grin yet.

“Seriously, shut up.”

It was then that you decided to be just the smallest bit petty with him.

You crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head, “How are you jealous?”

“I ain’t.”

“Okay.” You barked laughter like you didn't believe him, “You don’t get to be jealous when you act like you can’t stand me half the time.”

“I don’t.”

“You do!”

“Nah.”

“Daryl, the first time I tried to hug you, you stepped back like I was bitten.”

“It was different back then.” He shrugged.

“Even now!”

“What about now?”

“You begrudgingly let me hug you.”

“Still let ya. Don’t let no one else.”

That had you momentarily stunned, because it was true.

The snarky remark you had planned died on your tongue, because he hadn’t exactly followed the typical Daryl Dixon script of grunt and deflect.

Your tone suddenly became a little more serious, “I’m not yours, Daryl.”

Again, he shrugged, “Y’Should be.”

Mirth replaced your somberness, “That right?”

He gave a displeased grunt, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

“No, I wanna hear you say it.” You smiled smugly.

“Say what?”

“That you want me to be yours.”

He grumbled under his breath, slamming the bonnet down on the car and turned his back on you, trudging off.

Breathy laughter came from you as you watched the attitude in his stride.

Him being told what to do, especially when it came to feelings, had to be at the bottom of his to-do list every single day, and you knew that. Still, it was funny trying to watch him avoid the obvious, as if he hadn’t just admitted it himself.

Had it been any other man, you likely would’ve been offended, but because it was Daryl, you weren’t.

You knew his lack of action didn’t come from stubborn ignorance, but from a place of deep rooted fear of being hurt, whether that be by you, or by the world at the expense of you.

It was that that you understood, but that fear wouldn’t make his emotions any less severe.

It wouldn’t make his care meaningless.

[pencil-n-pen]

—couldn’t make it harder

masterlist | buy me a coffee!

rick grimes x fawn! reader summary: rick grimes vs. the care and keeping of a fawn like, doe-eyed girl. (Spoiler alert: He wins.) tags/tropes: girl who has very obviously sculpted her entire life around avoiding conflict and being yelled at and a man who dives headfirst into trouble, so yeah it’s just gooey and fluffy a/n: you all begged, cried, pleaded, asked politely, and shouted in my inbox, comment sections, AND reblogs for several months, and i feel bad for being on such a long hiatus, so this is my treat to ya’ll <33 if you see inaccuracies/plot holes no you don't title taken from Couldn't Make It Harder by Sabrina Carpenter, aka this fic (and blog's) anthem!

۫ ꣑ৎ

You have a target on your forehead. Rick’s pretty sure you know it’s there. 

You've always had the special and particular talent of being aware of every single possible and present danger all the time. On high alert— always ready to bolt.

It makes you shy. Makes you quiet, prone to self-isolation. But you're different; special in a way that sets you apart from everyone else who's developed hyper-vigilance after the shitty hand life's dealt them.

You're soft. Sweet. Fucking kind.

And he isn't really sure how he managed to lure you under his arm, but he did. And he's determined to keep you there.

Which, at times, honestly seems too easy. He thinks it should be harder. That you should give him a harder time. That you should ask for more, maybe give him shit every now and then.

The first time he tells you, you look at him strangely. Like he'd just suggested you run naked into a hoard instead of (what he believes) to be a pretty reasonable request. Then you'd given him awkward smile (that had no right to look as cute and pretty as it did) and said 'sure.'

Like you were placating him. 'Sure, Rick. I'll get right on that.'

The second time isn't as direct, but it does end in another awkward smile. You'd both been fairly busy all day. You, on a supply run —He doesn't want to toot his own horn when he says that he made a good decision making you a runner, but damn, you're good— and him doing day-to-day problem solving, scouting, decision making, and all the other exhausting shit he wishes he didn't have to do.

So you'd both been lying on the couch, just kind of taking each other in, and he asked you:

"What do you want to do tonight?"

You'd lifted your head from where it was pillowed against his shoulder, eyes a little wider than usual. You'd stared at him for a beat too long to be considered normal, like you were looking for something in his face. An answer.

And then you'd asked him: "What do you want to do?"

And it wasn't really the answer he was looking for, but it did make something kind of click, in his head. He didn't remark on it out loud or make any sort of indication that something relatively important regarding you and your relationship has just occurred to him.

Instead, he said: "I'm pretty content right here."

And you'd smiled, but it wasn't quite right. It was just a little off. Like you were waiting for something.

He files it away for later.

—

Later happens to be much sooner than he thinks, because now he can't really stop himself from noticing all the myriads of ways that you just... don't ever state your opinion. There's a part of him that preens when you automatically defer to his judgement, especially when it involves giving you a command or order, and he gets to see that glassy look in your eyes, but the other part of him, that part that twinges uncomfortably when he can't manage to wrangle a clear answer from you about what you wan't for breakfast, kind of thinks that there might be layers to the whole fawn thing you've got going on.

It's honestly kind of confusing. On one hand, he knows that if he were to ever really cross a line, you wouldn't hesitate to stab him in his sleep. Or poison his food, or maybe just slap the shit out of him, plain and simple. You're not harmless or defenseless. You wouldn't have survived this long by yourself if you were. So it doesn't really make sense when you simply just... never interject or say "I don't want to do that."

He honestly doesn't think he's ever heard you say no to him before. Which makes him feel extremely slimy and gross, and he vows immediately the moment the thought occurs to him that he has to put a stop to this.

"Sweetheart," He says one morning, having finally worked the courage up, "I got a little something."

You rush over to him immediately, eyes sparking and your body practically vibrating with excitement.

"Is it a new water bottle? Cause I know mine is gross—"

"Slow down," He chuckles, though makes a mental note to add a water bottle to the list of things to do for you, "It's not that exciting I'm afraid. Just... a little treat."

From behind his back, conveniently hidden on the counter behind him, he pulls out a box of your favorite tea. Nothing crazy- he'd happen to spot it on a run-slash-get-away with Daryl, and he knew he could use it to enact a certain plan of his.

It feels so cruel, but he needs to test it. To make sure. And to see the severity of what he's dealing with.

Sure enough- you gasp, hands immediately reaching out for it.

So he interrupts you before you can speak. "It's Maggie's favorite. I know you and her have started to get closer, so I thought you could give to her as a gift."

Watching you falter and retreat into yourself is physically painful. This was a terrible idea. Rick feels awful.

"Oh. Yeah, I think she'd like that."

Rick sighs, full-bodied, and leans back against the counter and gently grabs you by the arms, pulling you forward.

"Baby," He says, voice pitched low and a little soft, just for you, "I did not get that for Maggie. I got that for you."

"Oh," You say again, voice too quiet for his liking, "Then why did you say you got it for her?"

"Because I wanted to see if you'd tell me no."

He waits for you to respond, maybe defend yourself, or something like that, but you don't. You just look at him, eyes a smidgen wet, expression carefully blank.

He raises his hands slow, slow, slowly, because he knows you, and if you're quiet that means two things: Content or scared. And you're definitely not content right now, and he doesn't want to give you a reason to bolt.

You don't though. Run, that is. You freeze in place instead, which almost feels worse, and close your eyes when his hand grows close to your face. He watches your whole body tense, he watches you suppress a small flinch when he finally touches your jaw, your cheek.

"Angel," He brings his other hand up, and your eyes flutter open, "I want you to say no to me. I want you to ask for things and I want you to give me shit. Can you do that for me, baby?"

You scrunch your face up, hesitant, and take your bottom lip between your teeth and nod.

"Uh-uh," He presses on your lip, tugging it free from your merciless bite, "None of that. Come on, use your words."

"I'm... not good at that," You admit, tone hushed, "And... I don't want to. I like it when you decide things, because then I don't have to think about decisions and it's not as stressful. I don't want to go back to stressing all the time."

"Can you honestly say you haven't been stressing this whole time? About what you thought I would do or say if you spoke up about something?"

Your silence is telling.

"If I ever, and I mean ever, raise my voice to you when it's not an emergency, or if I get mad at you for disagreeing with me or voicing your opinion, you have my full permission to slap the shit out of me. Or ask Daryl to do it."

You giggle a little. "That's not fair. Daryl would do that if I asked right now."

"He'd do it for free," Rick amends, a smile tugging at his lips. "But I'm serious. Ain't nothing bad gonna happen to you if you tell me what you want for breakfast."

"I dunno," You shrug, "I might spontaneously explode."

He snorts, then opens his arms and beckons you forward. You collapse against him without a second thought, a little whine expelled from your lungs and muffled by his chest.

"I know, I know," He coos at you, half-mocking half-serious. "But you were so brave, and brave girls get treats."

"Like tea?"

"Yes, like tea."

You hum against him, easily placated, and he thinks that you really aren't difficult at all.

—

A few weeks go by, and you really do make a concerted effort to speak up. For him only, of course. You still have the habit of keeping to yourself, and you seem to just be quiet by nature. Which is fine, because he's taken an awful liking to having such a cute and quiet little thing around him. And your effort is adorable.

Still, though, it's not without it's hiccups.

You got home from a supply run a little bit ago, and you've been avoiding him. Not so glaringly obvious that he feels like he has to say something, but. You definitely are. You just seem on edge. Skittish. Like you were when you first got here.

So he goes about making dinner, cause he's not the kind of man to expect his girl to do everything for him. Especially you, because he knows you would if he asked. You would do anything if he asked. Which really only makes him want to make you do less. Sweet little thing like you shouldn't worry about things like that.

Except here you are, in the kitchen, hovering, and very obviously worrying.

"Sweetheart," He says, absentmindedly flipping a pancake —you've never said it out loud, but he knows breakfast for dinner is one of your favorite meals, "Sit down."

You comply- and quickly at that. But in the absence of hovering near him, you begin bouncing your knee and staring at him, so he dishes up a single pancake and slides it to you.

"Eat that. And when you're done, I want you to tell me why you're upset."

"I"m not—"

"Didn't I tell you to eat first?"

You do actually grumble under your breath a little, much to his satisfaction.

Once you've finished wolfing down the pancake, you tap your fork on your plate, staring at the silverware and clearly avoiding his gaze.

"I've been trying harder to speak up."

"Mhm. You have. I've noticed."

You start chewing on your lip.

"Am I... Am I not trying hard enough?"

Rick's eyebrows furrow. "Why would you think that?"

He quickly flips the last pancake, plops it on the stack with the others, and carries it to the table where you're nervously fidgeting.

"You haven't- um. Usually, you..." He watches you clench and unclench your hands, body tense like you're two seconds away from skittering right out the door, and when you speak, it's hushed and mumbled. "You usually tell me I'm doing good."

Oh. Oh you poor thing.

"Oh baby," He murmurs, sitting down on the chair next to and patting his lap, "Come here,"

You rise from your chair slowly, your eyes briefly flickering from him to the door, and then back to him. Weighing your options. A prey animal weighing comfort over safety.

In the end, comfort wins out, cause you gingerly shuffle forward and plop yourself into his lap, burrowing your face in his shoulder. It doesn't seem like a comfortable position, with you all scrunched up like that, but he's not going to fight that battle right now. Not when your hands are shaking with their grip on his shirt.

"My poor baby," He coos, rubbing up and down your back, "Have you been stressing this whole time? You been worrying? Thinkin' you ain't good?"

"Mhm." You mumble, voice dejected.

"Oh, sweetheart, that ain't true, not one little bit, alright? You've been doing so good, haven't you? Yeah you have. Working so hard to be good on top of being the best runner here, ain't that right?"

You nod into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you think you weren't doing good. I'm so proud of you, you know that?"

You make a little wounded noise, kinda soft, kinda whiny.

"It's true. I am. I don't like that you were stressin' this whole time. Defeats the whole purpose, don't it? You know why I wanted you to start speaking up for yourself in the first place?"

Your breath hitches a little before you speak.

"Why?"

"Cause I could tell it was making you worry. And if you have anything to worry about, then I'm not doin' my job properly."

"It's your job to make sure I'm not worried?"

"Yes ma'am," Rick lets his hand come up to rest on the back of your neck. "Sweet things like you shouldn't have anything to worry about. You're too kind for that."

"You think I'm kind?"

"Course I do." He says, readjusting his grip, one hand squeezing your hip, just a tad possessive, It's too hard to resist, when you're clingy like this.

You pull back, bottom lip jutted out and the perfect shade of bitten-pink, entirely irresistible. He doesn't even try to stop himself from kissing you, soft and deep. You've earned it.

"Now," He says, a touch breathless, "I reckon you've worked up a bit of an appetite with all that worrying. And it looks like someone made your favorite dinner."

You give him a quick kiss on the nose. God, you're adorable.

"You're too good to me."

"No," Rick mouths at the side of your neck, lazy and slow. "M' just giving you exactly what you deserve. My pretty girl."

—

After that, he makes sure to praise you each and every day. Honestly, it's as much for him as it is for you. On several occasions, he has to pull you aside from your daily chores just to kiss you, to hold you, because you're just too enticing, all sweet and kind and so happy when he tells you 'good job' or calls you 'good girl'. You're a menace to his blood pressure.

Watching you slowly bloom is a special treat, though. Kind of intoxicating, if he's being honest. Because now he knows with absolute certainty that when he gives you an order, a command, you comply because you want to. You want to listen to him.

It's a miracle he manages to leave the bedroom every day.

You'd confided him one night, curled up into his side that you'd been worried that you'd be difficult to handle. That he'd get tired of putting up with you and your skittish nature.

"Sweetheart, I fuckin' love handling you."

He spent the rest of the night putting your fears to rest. You both sleep through your alarms the next morning.

He's pretty sure it was worth it.

۫ ꣑ৎ

[morutelolita]

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Tired of silence, safety, and being Hershel Greene's innocent middle daughter, you traded prayer for provocation on a watchtower shift with Daryl Dixon. You pushed him, taunted him, and tried to force him to see the survivor you'd become—but what you got was more than acknowledgment...

A secret he made sure you'd carry back inside the prison.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Feral Daryl Dixon ⋮ Smut ⋮ Dub-Con ⋮ Minor Violence ⋮ Creampie ⋮ Cunnilingus ⋮ Fingering ⋮ Cumplay ⋮ Choking ⋮ Marking ⋮ Manhandling ⋮ Minor Blasphemous Humiliation ⋮ Unconventional Pussy Plug

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10K ⋮ 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: Season 3 ⋮ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: This oneshot was inspired by a post from thewalkingdilf. Credit to the original idea; LINK.

𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋮ 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨 ⋮ 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋮ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The Georgia heat didn't give a damn that the sun had gone down hours ago. It just made your shirt stick to your lower back and your hair curl slightly at the ends. You were up in the watchtower—the one overlooking the field where the walkers tended to herd up like cattle waiting for a slaughter that never really came.

Usually, this was Maggie and Glenn's shift. You'd see them heading up here with that look in their eyes, the one that said they weren't planning on doing much… watching. But Glenn was on a run, and Maggie was helping Beth with Judith, so the usual shift had changed.

Tonight, it was yours and Daryl's.

There wasn't even a chair up here, just the cold concrete and a scratchy blanket you'd thrown into the corner. You were sitting on it now, knees pulled up slightly to your chest, fumbling with the rifle Rick had given you earlier. It felt heavy in your hands, even though you'd been carrying weapons for months now.

Your thumbs traced the scratches on the stock, a nervous habit you always had when you were feeling uncomfortable, though somewhere between the fall of the farm and the discovery of the prison, it got worse.

Shifting the rifle again, you stole another glance at Daryl.

He wasn't looking at you. At least, not openly. But every few minutes, he moved his gaze sideways, and while pretending to adjust your bootlace, he looked again.

Not obvious. Not even enough that anyone but you would notice. But you'd spent enough time watching him since the fall of the farm to recognize his tells: the slow blinking, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his fingers gripped the crossbow stock. Measuring distance, threats… and you.

"What?" You asked under your breath, though you knew he wouldn't answer.

And he didn't.

It should've irritated you, but you were a little too tired already to care right now. Blinking slowly, you tried to fight the urge to just let your head fall back against the wall and drift off to sleep. However, your main problem was that, in the silence, your brain began to wander to places it shouldn't. Back to the farm.

Back to home.

God, it felt like a lifetime ago… A different universe entirely.

Trying to distract yourself, you looked up, watching the silhouette of the man standing at the window. Daryl hadn't moved in almost thirty minutes. He was just as still as a statue, his shoulders tight under that leather vest he seemingly never took off. He even held his crossbow like it was an extension of his arm, not a weapon he could just set down if he wanted to.

It was quiet up here. Too quiet. And again… it gave your brain too much space to wander back to places it shouldn't go.

It went back to the barn. Back to the porch, the smell of tea, and the sound of your dad's voice reading scripture in the living room. You were so different then. You remembered that girl as if she were a stranger—Hershel's middle daughter. The innocent one. The one who wore sundresses and braided Beth's hair and prayed for forgiveness if she even thought a curse word. You were obedient. And you were terrified.

Looking down at your hands, you noticed that there was dirt under your fingernails that no amount of scrubbing could get out and even calluses on your palms from knife handles.

You hadn't prayed in months. Maybe God had stopped listening when the barn burned down, or maybe you just stopped talking when the world started eating itself alive, and you realized there would be no cure.

The time on the road had beaten the obedience out of you, ripped it away bit by bit, until all that was left was this exhausted, tired girl in a new world that was never meant to be.

Shifting on the blanket, you felt it itching against parts of your skin, making you snap out of your thoughts, and you let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, trying to adjust the rifle so the barrel wasn't digging into your hip.

Daryl still hadn't moved an inch.

He didn't look tired like you, and it was almost annoying, honestly. How could he stand there, perfectly alert, while you felt like you were too tired to even stand up, fumbling with your weapon like a child playing soldier?

To keep your eyes from sliding shut, you focused on him again. It was the only thing to do, really. There were not a lot of walkers at the fences right now, and there was no wind rustling the trees, but only the silence and the shape of Daryl Dixon standing guard.

You watched the way his weight shifted from one foot to the other, some kind of restless movement that gave him away.

Everyone else in the group treated the prison like it was the promised land. They had the bunk beds that didn't smell like mildew and the walls that kept the dangers out, as well as a quite regular food supply. You were all settling in, just not Daryl. You'd think he'd finally unclench that jaw of his, but if anything, the prison seemed to make him worse.

Out on the road, he had a purpose—hunt, track, kill, protect. In here? Between the concrete walls, the schedules, and the Council meetings? Well, he looked like he was itching to crawl out of his own skin.

The walls didn't make him feel safe; they made him feel trapped. You'd seen him pacing the cell block at three in the morning when he thought everyone was asleep, checking the locks, checking the perimeter, looking for the threat that his gut told him was always coming.

He couldn't settle and didn't know how to just be without looking over his shoulder.

Now he checked his crossbow again. Probably the fifth time in ten minutes.

It was almost funny, watching him be so careful. Especially in the way he was now with you.

Since you'd arrived here, since you'd survived the time on the road, he'd started treating you like you were made of glass. Like one wrong move, one loud noise, and you'd shatter into a million pieces right there on the concrete.

And he was always near you, or at least close by. Opening doors. Checking corners twice before he lets you walk down a hallway. Checking out your weapons after you cleaned them. And he always made sure you were in the middle of the formation on runs, shielded on all sides.

It was pissing you off. Because it just wasn't how it used to be.

Thinking again, he had been such an asshole back then. Loud and angry white trash. But looking back, with everything you know now, maybe that was just... him.

You swallowed hard, and your eyes looked back at him.

"Daryl?" You said his name softly, but he still didn't move.

"Daryl!" This time, your voice was louder.

His head twitched—but it was not enough to count as acknowledgment or an answer.

"You used to talk to me," you continued. "Even if it was just to annoy me."

Silence.

You remembered one afternoon by one of the wells, the summer heat beating down. You'd been trying to carry a bucket of water, struggling with the weight because you were much weaker then. Daryl had walked past, with a string of dead squirrels hanging over his shoulder. He didn't offer to help. Instead, he'd stopped, spat on the ground near your boots, and smirked.

"Need a hand there, sugar?" He'd drawled, his voice sounding more than just sarcastic. "Careful, 'cause ya don't wanna break a nail. Bet yer daddy won't like it."

He'd stood there and watched you struggle, smirking at you, until you'd gotten so mad you hauled that bucket up out of pure spite, splashing water all over your dress. And Daryl had just huffed a quick laugh—dry and mean.

He used to mock your prayers, leaning against the porch railing while you tried to read your Bible outside, something you always liked to do in the early morning sun, making comments about Jesus and God just to see your face turn red in anger. He'd even make fun of your clean clothes and your quiet voice. If you tripped over a root, he wouldn't help you up; he'd just snort about how girls didn't know how to walk on dirt. He'd even toss gross parts of whatever he was skinning in your direction just to hear you squeal when you were walking to the chicken coop.

Daryl Dixon was mean. He was rough. But he looked at you, and he saw you. He didn't treat you like a porcelain doll that needed to be put on a high shelf; he treated you like a human being and not as if you needed any protection from the world that was about to drag your beliefs down to hell with it.

Now? Now Daryl wouldn't even look you in the eye for more than a few seconds.

It was like he was terrified that if he talked with you, if he acknowledged that you'd toughened up, that you were harder now, he'd lose the only version of you he knew how to handle. Maybe he wanted to keep you innocent. Maybe he wanted to keep you as the farmer's daughter, because that girl might need him sooner or later. This new version of you—the one fumbling with a rifle in the dark, the one who didn't flinch at the sound of a skull cracking—confused him. Scared him, maybe…

But right then and there, you decided that the silence was enough. If Daryl wasn't going to look at you or talk to you anymore, if he wasn't going to acknowledge that you were now a living, breathing person capable of killing a walker just as fast as he could, then you were going to force him to.

You were bored. You were annoyed. And honestly, looking at his back while your own brain replayed the burning barn, the walkers, and everything else you'd lost back then was driving you crazy.

"You know," you started, your voice sounding too loud in the small space. You didn't bother to soften it. "For a guy who acts like such a loner, you sure do stand there like decoration whenever Rick isn't around to give you orders."

Smirking to yourself, you realized that Daryl still didn't turn around. He didn't even tense up. He just tilted his head a bit of an inch to the side, a small movement, and his eyes still looked down on the dark yard below, completely dismissing you.

"Ignore me all you want," you grumbled, feeling a little irritated again. You shifted your legs, letting your boot kick the concrete wall on purpose. "Doesn't change the fact that you look ridiculous. You're trying so hard to look dangerous, but honestly? You just look like a dog."

Still nothing. Just the rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath he took.

It was making you angry. It was like talking to a brick wall that breathed. And Daryl not even trying to react stung more than an insult would have. Standing up, you let the rifle fall away completely to the floor, not wanting to pick it up as you finally walked over to him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to be even more annoying. You could smell him from here—the dirt, the sweat, and his own personal scent that clung to his vest.

"Is this really it?" You then asked, leaning your hip against the window frame, turning your back to the danger outside just to watch his face. You stared right at his profile, searching for any hint of rage. "Is this Daryl Dixon now? Just… standing? Staring? Acting like the group's favorite guard dog?"

You saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Gotcha.

"I remember when you weren't," you continued. "Back home, at the farm. You were such an ass. Always spitting on the ground and looking at us Greenes like we were religious little idiots who would've tried to go to church with a walker if we found a prayer that sounded as if it might've helped! But at least you were… I don't know. Alive."

Nothing… Daryl was doing a good job of pretending you weren't there.

"Now look at you," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's pathetic. You are pathetic. I bet you don't even remember how to be anything else but a babysitter for Judith."

Pretending to check the perimeter, you turned and leaned forward so your arm brushed right against his vest. It wasn't an accident, and you both knew it. You even felt the muscles in his back stiffen, which was quite a hard, involuntary flinch, but he didn't step away.

"And it's not just with Rick's daughter," you continued, right near his shoulder. "I see the way you trail after Carol. It's sweet, really. Like a little lost puppy that finally found someone to care about. Does she scratch behind your ears, Daryl? Does she tell you you're a good boy?"

He let out a sharp breath through his nose, a sound like a bull getting ready to charge, but you pressed on.

"You used to walk around with that crossbow like you're some kind of dangerous animal," you laughed. "Scowling at everyone. Only grunting instead of speaking. And then I saw you with Judith. 'Little Asskicker…' God, you were practically so happy to hold her! But the vest, the anger, the attitude... Yeah, you're just some white trash redneck playing pretend."

You moved again, stepping around him slightly so you were in his vision, blocking his view of the treeline, and looked at him with pity, though not real pity.

That—somehow—hit. His head jerked to the side, and it wasn't a full turn but a clear sign that was meant to send you a message.

"Ya gotta lot t'say, Greene," he finally spat out, and it sounded like a full, genuine threat, but he still didn't move his body. "Maybe ya shoulda go back t'readin' that damn bible of yers."

You felt a thrill of victory but also a genuine bit of fear. The old Daryl was finally showing up. At least you hoped so.

"Why?" You asked him, refusing to back down. "So I can pray for you? I'm all out of prayers, Daryl. And frankly, the prison is boring. You're boring."

Moving your hand on his back, lower this time, you let your fingers trace part of his belt.

"Honestly, it's embarrassing," you continued, letting your fingers play with the edges of it. "I bet you wouldn't even know what to do anymore! You've probably forgotten how to touch anything that isn't a crossbow or a baby bottle."

You heard his breath hitch, only a little, but enough.

When you stepped an inch closer, blocking his view further, his body reacted before he could think. One hand moved off the crossbow stock, and his fingers flexed like he was about to reach for your arm—to grip you or push you back, you couldn't tell.

But he stopped himself.

"Embarrassin'," he repeated, and he finally, finally turned his head to look at you. Not a glance, but a full-on look. "That what ya think?"

"Looks like it from where I'm standing," you shot back, your heart pounding in your chest.

"A'right. Let's talk 'bout embarrassin'." He turned his body fully towards you now, crowding you without even taking a step. "Let's talk 'bout yer ass. Followin' me 'round since the farm... Think I ain't seein' that shit? Yer hoverin' when I'm cleanin' my kill. Lurkin' 'round me all damn day."

Your face turned red, proving how ashamed you actually felt now. "I never—"

"Yer a bad fuckin' liar," Daryl cut you off, his voice dropping to a growl. "Worse than ya are with that rifle. Ya been waitin' for a fight for weeks. But ya don't wanna fight, do ya? Yer just fuckin' bored. Daddy's little girl ain't got no fences to mend and no dumbass porch t'pray on, so she's gotta find somethin' else to feel useful for once."

Every word was a slap in your face. He saw right through you, past the pretending act and the rifle, straight down to the girl underneath. It was humiliating.

"You don't know anything about me," you hissed back at him, your voice trembling with a bit of shame.

"The hell I don't," he snarled in response, leaning in so close you could feel a few strands of his hair against your forehead. "I know ya still flinch when a damn twig snaps too loud. I know ya can't look at the walkers near the fence for t'long 'fore yer hands start shakin'. Yer ain't shit."

That was what pushed you over the edge somehow, even though you knew Daryl was right. With a choked cry, you swung your hand, aiming to knock that sudden smirk right off his face.

But you never stood a chance.

His hand moved faster than yours, and his fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping the slap an inch from his cheek and making you gasp at the sheer force of his grip.

"Thought so," he grunted. "All talk."

Daryl yanked you forward, using your confusion against you. You stumbled into him, your free hand flying up to brace yourself against his chest and to push back.

"Ya wanna fight, Greene?" He asked, his face only inches from yours. "Fine! Let's fight."

He shoved you back then, not hard enough to make you fall, but enough to make you stumble. Your boot caught on the edge of the scratchy blanket, and you went down, your ass hitting the cold concrete with the rifle sliding away and toward the wall.

Scrambling back to your knees as fast as you could, you launched yourself at him. But you didn't aim for a slap this time; you went low, trying to tackle him down by his waist.

A grunt of surprise was forced out of him as you pushed him back a step, and for a second, you had him off-balance. Then his arms closed around you.

Daryl didn't even need to try to throw you off; he just squeezed, lifting you off your feet. You kicked and thrashed, your elbows digging into his sides, but it was still like trying to fight a brick wall.

Not being able to do anything to stop him, he dropped down, taking you with him. You both landed on the tangled blanket, the impact knocking the wind out of you. He was on top of you in an instant, his knees pinning your thighs, his weight keeping you from moving, but you still bucked around, trying to throw him off, your hands clawing at his arms, his vest, anything you could reach.

One of Daryl's hands caught not only one but both of your wrists, slamming them down onto the concrete above your head. The hold was rough, painful even, and you were trapped.

"Done?" Daryl growled, his chest heaving, but you yelled at him in response.

"Go to hell, Daryl!"

At your answer, he leaned down, his mouth close to your ear. "Been there m'whole goddamn life..."

You then tried to headbutt him, but he jerked his face back, avoiding it easily, now genuinely annoyed. Adjusting his grip, his hips were pressing yours harder into the floor, stopping your thrashing, and the hard edges of his belt buckle dug into your stomach. You were panting, your chest rising and falling ever so fast against his, but Daryl was breathing just as hard.

He was staring down at you, his eyes searching yours in the near-darkness before he finally felt your body go still beneath his.

​"I ain't pretendin' nothin'," he grumbled. "'M just seein' what's gotta be done. And what's gotta be done is for ya t'shut yer fuckin' mouth and watch that damn fence."

​"No!" You challenged him back, pushing against the weight of him with a tiny movement of your hips. "What's gotta be done is that you stop treating me like I'm still that innocent girl from the farm! I can handle this new life! And I can handle you!"

​The lie was out, but Daryl's reaction was immediate. The hard pressure of his body intensified, pressing you down against the floor with a slow, grinding buck that wasn't intentional but was enough to make you gasp.

​"Yeah? Ya can handle me?" He scoffed, though the sound was a little shaky. His gaze dropped, moving across your face, down your throat, where your pulse was jumping, and stayed near your tits still trapped beneath his chest. "Ya wanna prove that, Greene? Ya got a real stupid way of goin' 'bout it."

​He didn't loosen his grip on your wrists even once. Instead, he twisted your hands just slightly, enough to make you wince, forcing your arms to stretch higher and making your back arch slightly into his weight. You were pinned down, completely under his mercy, completely pissed off, but also terrifyingly captivated by him.

You wanted this. You wanted him. Now. But what you didn't want was to give him the satisfaction of knowing. Of Daryl really knowing how much you desired him. No… You just wanted him to take you. Right there. Right now.And without any hesitation.

​"What's wrong, Daryl?" You then taunted, trying to get your feet back on the ground. To win. "What? Is this more excitement than your little Carol-and-Judith daycare duties allow?"

​His knuckles went white again, and he moved his head back, giving you a snarl of pure frustration, but he ignored your baiting question.

​"When I tell ya to shut up, ya shut up. I ain't havin' ya annoy my ass 'cause yer bored and lookin' for trouble."

​"And if I'm not looking for trouble?" You whispered, your heart now pounding so hard it felt like your ribs might crack. "What if I'm looking for you?"

Daryl froze. Every bit of anger left his eyes, replaced by a sudden confusion and then a shocking realization.

For a long, uncomfortable moment, he just stared down at you, his chest heaving against yours, his breath hot on your face. You could see it in his eyes, how the words you'd just said made him think too much and yet not enough all at once.

The realization didn't come gently; it literally crashed into him. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your mouth, then back up, and the look there was no longer about winning a fight when his free hand suddenly moved to your face, cupping your jaw, his fingers roughly stroking the skin of your cheek. His touch felt dirty, without any gentleness, but it felt overwhelming at the same time.

​"Shoulda shut that fuckin' mouth now, Greene," he breathed, his eyes seeing you not as the innocent farmer's daughter, but as the complicated, annoying woman who had just brought him to the edge.

​Without giving you any time to answer, Daryl closed the final distance. His lips were on yours—slightly dry, rough, and tasting like cigarettes. He moved his head, grinding his lips against yours, wanting a response that you instantly and violently gave.

Freeing one hand of yours, it shot up, grabbing the back of his neck, holding him to your body as hard as you could, and Daryl finally let go of your remaining wrist, only to move one hand and grab the fabric of your pants, tugging at it.

"Off," he grunted against your mouth, his fingers fumbling with the button.

How could you deny a voice so deep and demanding that it made you shiver?

You didn't hesitate. While Daryl fumbled with your pants, your hands went to the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one quick move, along with your bra, throwing it aside into the darkness of the watchtower.

The cold concrete hit your skin, giving you goosebumps, but you couldn't care less.

Daryl broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, just to look at you with eyes wandering over the naked skin of your stomach and your tits. It felt as if for the first time he'd truly look at you—the new you, the actual survivor—and his gaze felt more intense than any touch so far.

"See?" You panted, your voice trembling a little, even though you still wanted to prove yourself. "Not so innocent now, huh?"

Daryl didn't answer with words. He just shoved your pants and panties down your hips in one rough, fast movement, dragging them down your legs and off, throwing them somewhere near the rifle. You tried to kick your clothes away, your movements just as desperate as his.

While you were freeing yourself from your clothes, Daryl worked on his own, his fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. He never took his eyes off you, watching you beneath him, naked and waiting, until you heard his belt opening, followed by the sound of his zipper. He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, his cock springing out, hard, thick, and leaking already.

Leaning himself slowly back over you, his mouth found yours again in another rough kiss as he moved and positioned himself between your thighs.

You could already feel the head of his cock nudging against your pussy, which only made you wetter—if that was even possible. A choked gasp escaped you, your hips bucking off the blanket, desperately wanting more.

But Daryl pulled his lips away from yours again, his forehead resting against your own. "Look at that," he growled, pushing his face a little bit more toward yours, wanting to make sure you were listening to him. "Fuckin' soaked for me. After all that bitchin'…"

Rocking his hips, he was letting the head of his cock slide through your pussy folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing you with what was about to come. The feeling was maddening—so close to what you needed, but not enough.

"Please, Daryl..."

That's when his hand came up again. Not to hold your face like before, but to wrap it around your throat.

Your eyes flew open wide, but there was no fear—only excitement. And Daryl's grip wasn't painful now; it was just right, his thumb pressing against the pulse pounding in your neck. He squeezed, just enough to make the blood flow louder in your ears, to make the world shrink to just his expression above you, his eyes looking into yours, and the slight pressure of his hand.

"This what ya wanted?" Daryl growled, his grip tightening a bit more, stealing your breath away while he stilled his hips, holding himself right at your pussy. "This what ya been followin' me 'round for? T'get yerself fucked by some white trash dick?"

You couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but nod frantically in response, your own hands coming up to grab at his wrist, not to pull him away, but to hold him still again.

Shit… His hands… They were so big and rough… And that one hand was feeling more than perfect around your throat.

Daryl released the pressure just as your vision started to blur ever so slightly, allowing you to gasp and breathe in air again. He watched you quietly now, seeing the effect he had on you, only to do it again—a slow squeeze, holding you on the edge, his thumb stroking almost gently over your pulse on your throat. And each time he tightened his hand, your body would twitch, your hips bucking up to finally get him to take you.

"Ya really ain't that innocent girl no more, are ya?" He smirked down at you, but you knew it wasn't really a question. Then he finally, finally, notched the head of his cock against your pussy properly, applying the slightest, most torturous pressure.

You shook your head, sobbing a little out of frustration that he wasn't fucking you already. "No... Guess I'm not."

Daryl leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as his hand then relaxed around your throat. "Good..."

That was a promise and a threat all in one. And then Daryl began to push inside.

It wasn't the fast, punishing thrust you'd expected, no… hoped for. It was slow. The thick head of his cock pressed into you, stretching you open inch by inch. Your back arched off the cold concrete, with a broken, whimpering moan torn from your throat, and your nails dug into the bare skin of his forearm, but he didn't speed up. He didn't even flinch.

Daryl just watched you.

His eyes were still fixed on your face, studying every twitch, every flutter of your eyelids, and every helpless gasp. He was buried to the hilt now, so deep you were panting, your body waiting and begging for his movement—for more.

But Daryl didn't move.

He stayed perfectly still, with his weight holding you down and his forearms right beside your head next. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant, indifferent moan of a few walkers outside.

"Fuck… Daryl… please," you begged, your voice a choked whisper. You tried to roll your hips to get some kind of movement, but he pressed down harder, pinning you completely.

"'Please' what?" He grunted in amusement, giving you a tiny, circular grind with his hips that made you see stars already. "Thought ya could handle me. This it? This all it takes?"

He pulled out just as slowly as he'd pushed inside, the drag of his cock inside your pussy a different kind of torture, and you whimpered in response, a sound of pure desperation.

"Just—" You whimpered again, trying to adjust, trying to move once more.

But his response was a hissed inhale of breath through his teeth. "Did I say move?"

"P-please…"

All of a sudden, he pushed back in with that same torturously slow pace, filling you up all over again. "Yeah, 'please what,' huh? Use yer damn words, Greene. Y'had so many of 'em 'fore!"

"Please... fuck me," you begged, your voice cracking with need. "Just... move."

"'M movin'," he huffed, pulling back slowly again. His eyes were devouring you, watching the pure frustration in your eyes and the way your mouth fell open, only to close with every dry swallow of air.

One of Daryl's hands moved away from the side of your head, trailing slowly down your trembling side, along your ribs. He watched his own hand as it moved, his calloused fingers scraping a little over your skin, making you shiver. He slid up along one tit next, his finger brushing over your nipple, and you arched into the touch with another gasp.

"Ain't even doin' nothin'. Just bein' inside ya. Y'like that? Like havin' my dick in yer cunt?"

The words from his mouth, so… honest, should have made you feel ashamed. But you could only nod, your ability to form words completely gone by now.

"I asked ya a question."

"Yes! Fuck!" You sobbed in return. "Yes, God, Daryl, please! I'm sorry! Just—"

He rewarded you by pushing deep again, a single, hard thrust that would make you beg for every single inch of what he was about to give you.

And you were. Oh God, you were.

"Daryl... please," you begged again, your voice trembling. "More... shit, just... do it."

He stopped again, his whole body tensing above you. "What was that?" He asked, wanting your words, wanting to hear them louder, once and for all. "Didn't quite hear ya."

"I said, 'Fuck me!'" You cried out, the words tearing themselves from your throat, making your mouth feel dry. "Just fuck me, Daryl, please! I—"

A low, deep growl was his answer—a sound of his satisfaction. It was the sound of him winning and you surrendering, and both of you knowing this was exactly how it was supposed to be in the first place.

Then his hand clamped over your mouth, silencing any other plea you might have had. And the way he thrust back into you with a force that stole the air back from your lungs, the wet sound against the silence of the night, despite the few walkers outside still clawing at the fences, made your choked scream sound muffled against his palm.

Each thrust was moving your entire body, pushing you up the blanket with every buck of his hips.

Daryl's mouth left your ear, moving down your throat next. But he didn't kiss. He bit. A sharp, quick bite on the skin where your neck met your shoulder that made you twitch and cry out against his palm. It was going to leave a mark, a blue and purple bruise you'd have to hide soon, and the thought alone made you shiver.

Daryl was everywhere—his smell, his taste, the weight of him, and the sound of his own ragged grunts in your ear.

"Y'know why I was nice to ya?" Daryl suddenly said, not even stopping his movements. He was teasing you. "Huh? Ya wanna know why I stopped spittin' at yer feet, Greene?"

Wanting you to answer him right away, he gave you a deep, grinding thrust that almost made you go crazy. You nodded, desperate for any piece of him he'd give you, even if it was just words.

"'Cause I saw ya," he answered, his hips never slowing their pace. "Saw ya that day we cleared C-Block. Walker had ya cornered. Ya didn't scream. Didn't cry. Just stuck yer knife right through its eye." He smirked, nipping at your jaw. "Wasn't yer daddy's little girl no more."

He shifted his weight, angling his thrusts differently, hitting a spot deep inside you that made your legs tremble and your eyes roll back.

"Started thinkin'... 'bout what Hershel'd say," he breathed. "Seein' his good, church-goin' daughter... takin' a redneck's dick. Bet he'd pray for yer damn soul."

Those words, the sheer blasphemy of it, with the image of your father, only made your pussy clench around him tighter.

Daryl groaned at the feeling, his rhythm breaking for a second. "Shit... feel that? Y'like me talkin' 'bout yer daddy while I'm fuckin' his little girl's cunt?"

The leather of his vest scraped against your hard nipples with every one of his thrusts; it was almost painful, but you loved it. You loved every moment of it. This was him—all of him that you'd wanted—the dirt and the sweat and the anger, and it was terrifying, but everything.

"'N I had t'be nice, didn't I? Wantin' t'fuck Hershel's daughter. As if ya were a damn preacher's kid. Gotta be a gentleman... Opened doors for ya. Checked yer goddamn weapons. Even made sure ya ate." He said, and suddenly fucked into you faster as if it was nothing. "All I was thinkin' 'bout was this. 'Bout how yer cunt would feel. 'Bout how fuckin' pretty ya'd look with my cum drippin' outta ya."

Daryl had cared, in his own way, while he'd been protecting you because he wanted you for himself, and the thought of anything else touching what he'd already decided was his was unacceptable. This was the man you'd been trying to provoke. And he was fucking you like he was trying to exorcise his own demons right into you.

You could still only moan in response, your body arching and bucking beneath his, desperately meeting his thrusts as best you could.

"Got so damn hard always watchin' ya…"

He finally ripped his hand away from your mouth, needing both hands to grip your hips, his fingers digging in hard as he yanked you toward him with every deep thrust.

"Yer damn daddy," he panted further. "Shit… if he ever looked at me? Would kill my fuckin' ass."

"God, Daryl," you gasped, your head moving from side to side, completely lost in him.

"Shut up," he growled in response. "Needa make sure tomorrow, when yer walkin' past me, all ya can think 'bout is how I feel inside ya."

You were beyond words, beyond any reasonable thought. And it only pushed you closer to the edge. Embarrassingly fast.

"Y'close?" He growled, and it wasn't really a question. He could sense it, the way your body was feeling around his, tightening, ready to shatter like glass. "Yeah, y'are… Gonna come all over my dick, ain'tcha? After all that..."

You swallowed in air, your voice wrecked as you tried to confirm his suspicion. "Daryl... Yes! I'm about to—"

"Yeah," he growled, panting louder as he got closer to the point of no return himself, losing his control. "C'mon. Let me feel it."

And you did.

Your back arched off the blanket, a silent scream stuck in your throat as you came around him, with your fingers gripping uselessly against his vest, your pussy clenching down around his cock in quick pulses. It felt like dying and being reborn all at once, and the only thing holding you back from crying out too loud was the weight of Daryl on top of you.

He was fucking hard into you now, his rhythm completely gone. There was no way he would stop.

"W-wait… Daryl…" You whimpered anyway, your hands pushing weakly at his chest. The reality of what was happening—where you were, what he was about to do—crashed down on you. "Don't… don't, please…"

It was too late.

His body was already tensing up above you. With a final, deep thrust inside of you, he let out a broken groan against your neck. You felt the sudden twitches of his cock and the pulses of his cum shooting into you, making his whole body shudder violently, with his hips giving a few last, helpless jerks as he came inside you.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing. And as a tear you didn't even know you'd cried escaped, Daryl, still buried deep inside you, went still. He felt the tiny, wet tear against his cheek where his face was pressed against yours now and pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face and noticing the tear.

"Hey," he started, his voice still rough but quieter now. Still, he didn't try to wipe the tear away with his hand. Instead, he lowered his head and swiped his tongue over your skin. He was tasting your emotion, taking that too for himself.

"Shut up," he growled against your skin, his lips moving to your jaw, then to the corner of your mouth. They weren't kisses, not really. They were more like bites—soft, nibbling bites meant to calm you down and mark you at the same time. "Yer okay… Promise."

You could feel his heart hammering against your own, but it was beginning to calm down when you nodded. A tiny, shaky movement, and your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now came up to grab at his shoulders, holding him there.

He growled in approval, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing starting to even out completely. The distant moans of the walkers outside were louder now, making you realize that the new world was still there, waiting. Only then did Daryl's hips give a tiny, involuntary buck, a reminder that he was still inside of you.

"S'alright," he then said, staying like that for a while longer until your trembling finally began to go away too.

But the reality of what he'd done—filling up Hershel's daughter with his cum right there on the watchtower floor—seemed to hit him the second his head cleared.

He pulled out of you slowly, and the feeling of him leaving, followed by the warm dripping of his cum, made you gasp. Your eyes, wide and a little shocked, went right away to his face.

Daryl saw it again. He saw the farm girl in your eyes, the girl who'd cared for him after Andrea had shot him, the girl who was always so kind and nice, but also the one who'd probably never had a man finish inside her, let alone without a second thought. Right now, he looked quite guilty and ashamed. But that was gone fast, leaving only a somewhat defensive scowl on his face.

"Shit," he scoffed, looking down at where his cum was already starting to leak out of you, unable to look you in the eye. He wiped his softening cock with one hand on the edge of the blanket, standing up just as fast. "Hell are ya lookin' at?"

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, your body still trembling a little. "You… you just came inside me!"

"Ya got a problem with that?" He shot back, challenging you as he tucked himself away and started fastening his belt. "Ain't like yer damn daddy's gonna find out. 'Less ya run and tell him his good girl got herself filled up by—"

That was it. The mention of your dad again, the sheer audacity of him throwing it in your face now, made you lose control.

With a cry of pure rage, you launched yourself at him, still naked, but furious. You didn't care that you felt his cum slowly slide down your thighs or that your legs were shaking. You just moved.

One of your fists found his shoulder, but it was a weak, pathetic punch that didn't even make him flinch. It just pissed him off.

"Goddammit, woman!" He snarled, and his arm shot out, his hand catching you easily.

The fight was over before it even started. Daryl spun you around, your back slamming against his chest. One of his arms slid across your upper body, pinning your arms to your sides, while his other hand moved across your lower belly, holding you against him.

"Let me go, you bastard!" You yelled, thrashing in his grip, your bare ass grinding against the hard edges of his belt buckle.

But Daryl moved his head, his mouth finding your ear, growling and whispering into it. "Fuckin' stop it," he said, but his voice was not full of anger. The hand on your belly slid lower, his fingers digging into the skin just above your pussy. "Y'want 'nother fight? This how ya wanna get it?"

You went still, panting, and he took full advantage of it. His head moved lower, his teeth finding the same spot he'd bitten into earlier on your shoulder. You cried out, and your head fell back against his shoulder, your eyes closed, and your lips parted on command.

"That's it," he growled against your skin, keeping his lips pressed against it. "Just like that. Fight me all ya want. Just gets me all hard again."

Daryl's hand on your lower belly moved, his fingers sliding through the wetness between your legs, through the mess he'd made that was dripping out of you, and he groaned deeply. "Fuck… Yer daddy's gonna kill my ass."

"Stop… stop talking about him," you begged, but your words sounded way too weak. Your body was betraying you, arching back into him, seeking the feeling of his fingers.

"Why?" He breathed out with a smirk, his middle finger finding your clit, rubbing ever so softly over it, until you jerked in his arms, moaning. "Ya still wanna go prayin' in a church, just t'be spreadin' yer legs for a damn redneck who pisses you off next?"

Daryl's words stung a little, but you knew he was right. He was right in a way that made you want more of this—of him.

"Bet he's sleepin' right now," Daryl whispered, his other arm tightening around your chest, holding you up as your knees began to tremble again. "Dreamin' 'bout his sweet, innocent daughters. Never woulda dream 'bout how I got my cum drippin' outta one of 'em."

You were sobbing now with little broken whimpers, your hands gripping his forearm as the lust was building again.

"Y'gonna come again?" He grunted, his finger moving slightly faster and pressing a little harder.

You couldn't speak. You could only nod frantically, your body twitching in his arms.

"Damn right y'are," he snarled, and that was all it took. Your orgasm came fast, silent, and violent this time, your body tensing in his grip as you shook against him, a long, broken moan finally escaping you. Daryl held you through it with his face buried in your neck, his lips sucking and kissing your skin, bruising it further.

Once it was over and done, your legs gave out completely, and you both sank down to your knees on the scratchy blanket, his arms still locked around you, holding you against him.

"Yeah…" He then said, with his face still nuzzled against the back of your neck. "Ya can handle me."

"And you couldn't just—" You laughed with an exhausted tone in your voice. "You couldn't just... let it be. You had to... had to prove a point, huh?"

Daryl huffed against your back, but what you didn't see was his smirk when he held you tighter. "Point was proved when ya came on my dick the first time."

"I'm—" You answered, trying to squirm, but his arms kept you from moving. "I'm just saying! You didn't have to be such an asshole..."

"Y'started it," he shot back before he shifted behind you, and suddenly, he moved you both once more, back down on the scratchy blanket, your naked skin scraping against it. Daryl then leaned down over you again, trapping you with his body, but that made you angry again.

"Y'shoulda've just asked for it from the start. Woulda saved us both the helluva trouble that ya are."

You tried to kick him somehow, but your leg flopped back uselessly onto the floor. "Go to hell already, Daryl."

"Told ya. 'M already there." He didn't even try to deny it.

You opened your mouth to respond, to call him every name you could think of, but he was faster. His head dropped, and his teeth were finding the already bruised skin of your neck again. Gasping, that sharp bite of his was silencing you instantly while he was kneeling between your legs, and when he pulled back, his eyes were still focused only on you—the bite marks on your shoulder, the sweat on your stomach, and the trail of his cum on your inner thighs.

That's when you saw it. Daryl's one hand was moving past your face, searching for your discarded panties from the tangle of clothes on the floor. He held them up, letting you look at them, before bringing them to his mouth, putting the fabric between his teeth, his blue eyes locked on yours.

"What are you doing?" You asked, trying to sound defiant but only managing to sound confused but ever so curious.

He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned back down lower over you.

What the hell was he doing now? And what exactly was he about to do next?

You found out a second later. Daryl's other hand, the fingers still wet from playing with your clit, moved down your throat next. You thought he was going to touch you there again, to tease you further. But he didn't. His hand slid slowly down your body, right to the sticky wetness on your inner thighs. You felt his fingers, two of them, press against your pussy.

And they didn't tease. They pushed inside you in one move, burying themselves deep.

It was an overwhelming feeling. Daryl's fingers inside you, pushing his own cum deeper, stretching you open all over.

"Feel that?" Daryl growled, the words muffled around the fabric in his mouth as his fingers pumped into you once, twice… several times, making you moan and squirm. "Makin' sure it takes... That it stays in ya."

"Stop—" you begged, but it was a lie, and he knew it. Your body was arching into his touch, your hips making tiny, helpless circles. "Stop… talking like that."

Before you could even form another reasonable thought, his fingers slid out of you, dripping and wet. Your mouth fell open, but he didn't give you the chance. His hand moved to your face, and those same two wet fingers pressed against your lips, making you stare up at him in shock until he tilted his head ever so slightly.

For a second, you resisted with wide eyes, your lips pressed shut in a rather pathetic attempt, thinking you could escape this. Him.

Hesitantly, your tongue darted out, tasting yourself and his cum on his fingers. Then, driven by the shiver that went through your whole body, you opened your mouth and took his fingers in, sucking them clean.

Leaning in closer to you, not to kiss you, but to bury his face against your chest, his nose was brushing along your tits, watching as your nipples hardened again, so close to his lips where he still held your panties between them. But Daryl continued to only watch, though his own breathing was already growing heavier again.

When he was truly satisfied, he slowly pulled his fingers away from your mouth with a soft, wet pop. Still holding your gaze, he dragged those now-clean fingers down your chin until he finally leaned back, pulling the panties from his teeth with his other hand.

"Told ya t'shut yer mouth," he said, his voice rough but still amused. "Now y'know how. And y'ain't bored no more, are ya?"

Daryl's eyes immediately dropped from your face to between your legs. He still held your panties in one hand, looking at them, then back at your pussy, so wet and only his.

With a grunt, he shifted down your body, and you thought he was going to fuck you again, making you tense up in anticipation. But he didn't. He only moved lower until his head was between your thighs, his strong shoulders pushing your legs apart.

"What are you—" You started, but the words died in your throat when he buried his face in your pussy, his mouth letting go of your panties.

It was a rough press of his lips and tongue against it, making you cry out when his tongue licked through the mess as it still leaked out of you. The feeling was so shocking that your hands flew to his hair, not knowing whether to push him away or hold him there forever.

"Fuck, Daryl," you groaned, your hips bucking slightly off the blanket. "God…"

He growled against you, the sound a clear command for you to be still. His hands came up to grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you open for him before his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it, trying to clean you out, or at least you thought so.

Then you felt it. The fabric of your panties. Daryl had balled them up in one of his fists and was now pressing them against your pussy with his thumb. His mouth then worked your clit, his tongue circling it, but his thumb was there, trying to push the fabric into you.

The shock of it—the feeling of the fabric—made your body seize up. Your legs, acting on pure instinct, clamped shut around Daryl's head, trapping him there and making him curse against your clit. He struggled for a moment, his shoulders bunching, but you held him tight between your thighs. For you, it was a stupid and powerless attempt to stop whatever was happening, an embarrassing move to get back some tiny bit of control.

To no avail, it all just lasted a few seconds.

With a snarl, Daryl ripped his head free, coming up over you fast. His face was wet and his eyes wild. Before you could even take a breath, one hand was around your throat again, not to choke but to hold you still, to force you to look at him.

"Tryna suffocate me, huh?" He asked, his breath hot against your face. "That what ya wanna try now?"

You shook your head, the tone of your voice only a desperate whisper. "No… I just… Look—"

The next thing you knew was that his mouth was on yours again.

This kiss was different. You could taste yourself on Daryl's lips, on his tongue—it was the taste of what he'd just done to you, and he was forcing you to share it. Moaning into his mouth, your hands, which had been in his hair only moments before, now clawed at his back, pulling him closer.

He kissed you like he was trying to win a fight all over again, his tongue moving against yours, stealing your breath and your sanity. All the while, his other hand—the one not holding your throat—was still busy.

It was almost embarrassing when you felt the fabric of your panties again, pressed against your pussy. Daryl broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged.

"Gonna plug ya up," he whispered with a smirk. "Keep my cum inside ya where it belongs. 'Til we get back inside. Ain't gonna waste a drop."

Your eyes widened. "Daryl, you can't—"

His hand tightened on your throat, just a little, cutting off your response. "Can… 'M doin' it already."

And then he pushed.

The feeling of your panties was a strange pressure, not like his cock or his fingers. It was dry against your wetness, feeling so unnatural, but Daryl worked only a tiny part of it into you with two fingers, shoving the fabric not too deep but still stuffing you with your own underwear.

It felt wrong.

It felt insane.

It felt so fucking good, you thought you might come again from the sheer wrongness of it.

Daryl pushed until a small part of your panties was deep enough inside you, and he held his fingers there for a moment, feeling your pussy clench around it, watching your reaction closely.

"There," he smirked as he slowly pulled his fingers away, leaving the plug of fabric behind. "Now y'ain't leakin' all over the damn place. 'N yer gonna keep that in 'til we get back."

He finally released your throat, his hand coming down to move along your waist, almost tenderly if you ignored the fact that he'd just stuffed your pussy with your own panties.

Every tiny shift of your hips, every clench of your pussy, reminded you it was there. Reminded you of Daryl. His cum that he'd left behind.

Then he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear one last time.

"Shift's almost over," he whispered. "Get yer ass dressed."

That was all he said when he stood back up, adjusting himself once more, only to grab his crossbow in silence. And of course, a nasty little voice whispered in your head…

What did you expect? He got what he wanted. You were just a distraction from the boredom.

The Daryl who had just owned every inch of your body, who had whispered into your skin, and who came inside you earlier was gone. In his place was the grunting hunter, already turning his back to you. There was the quiet statue again, the brick wall.

The feeling of shame came back. Daryl had gotten what he wanted, and now he was done. You were just… Hershel Greene's middle daughter again. The one he'd fucked on a dirty blanket.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pushed yourself up as well. Your body felt used, sore in places you didn't know could be sore. But every movement sure was a reminder. The scrape of the blanket on your bare skin, the bite marks on your shoulder, and most of all, the strange pressure deep inside you. Your panties.

Moving quietly, with your legs buckling as you reached for your clothes, every step you took as you gathered your bra and shirt, as well as the discarded rifle, felt awkward. But pulling your pants on was the actual, and new, kind of torture. The fabric rubbed against the panties sticking out of you, creating a feeling that was anything but comfortable. It made you walk with a slight, awkward hitch in your step, making you squirm in a way you couldn't control, almost making you let go of the rifle.

Daryl heard you dressing up, but he didn't turn, though you saw the way his head tilted a bit, listening to your unsteady movements and fumbling with the weapon.

A while later, you both went down the watchtower in silence, and the second your boots hit the ground of the prison yard, he was moving, not waiting for you, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

You followed, trying to walk normally, but the panties shifted now and then with the motion, a maddening friction that made it impossible to forget what he'd done. You still felt part of his cum, warm and trapped, the fabric holding it all in.

Suddenly, Daryl stopped. He must have heard the frustrated sigh you let out, but he didn't turn around and just stood there, waiting for you to catch up. When you were a step behind him, his hand shot back, not to grab yours, but to shove you forward a little.

It made you let out a cry of shock, with you jumping a foot in the air at the sudden contact.

"Quit squirmin'," he growled at your reaction and kept walking as if nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, with your pussy slightly pulsing around the fabric inside you.

Hurrying to get inside, to clean yourself up and to pretend nothing ever happened, you were quickly falling into step beside him this time, forcing your legs to move as normally as you could manage. Just as you reached the threshold of the main door to the C-Block, putting the rifle down, his hand shot out again. But this time, it wasn't him grabbing your arm. His fingers hooked into the back belt loop of your pants, yanking you to a stop just outside the circle of light from the inside of the prison. You stumbled back against his chest with another small, surprised gasp.

"Yer walkin' funny, Greene," he growled quietly into your ear. "Like ya got a damn stick up yer ass."

Your face turned red, and you didn't really know how to answer. "I told you, just go to hell!"

"And I—" He started, but you cut him off with a glare.

"I swear to God… If you say that 'you're already there,' I will—" You didn't even try to finish your sentence, shaking your head in annoyance.

Before you could react, Daryl's other hand came around your front, his hand moving down flat and low on your belly as he pulled you back against him. He held you there for one endless, heart-stopping second. And his hand moved. It was so fast, so casual, how he reached down and touched you between the legs, his palm pressing against the seam of your pants, right over your pussy.

Your eyes opened wide, looking around the empty yard, terrified someone might be watching anyway, somehow.

But Daryl just held his hand there, feeling the slight bulge of the fabric inside you.

"Still there… Still mine."

The words were simple, but they made you shiver.

Suddenly, his body shifted again. His hips pressed against your ass, grinding and pushing you against the cold door in front of you. He held you there, not caring if someone might come out, letting you feel his belt buckle just like he did in the watchtower, as well as the undeniable strength of him.

Letting you feel that he was, unmistakably, already hard again for you.

Then, as suddenly as he'd pinned you, he pulled back, one hand grabbing his crossbow while his other hand moved from your body to the handle of the door, pulling it open for you, like all the times he'd done it before.

Quickly taking the rifle back off the ground, you walked inside, your legs shaking and your face still burning. You didn't even dare look back at him anymore. But as you headed towards your cell, the strange, full feeling between your legs felt like a secret only the two of you shared, and you knew one thing for certain now...

Daryl Dixon was nowhere near done with you. And despite everything, a terrified but also excited part of you hoped he never would be.

[poemsforparker]

can i request for daryl dixon finding out his ex gf is alive living in alexandria with their teenage son (they got pregnant in early 20s and have been coparenting since until before the apocalypse)? i've seen so many daryl fics with kids but i wanna see him with a teenage son. and everyone in the group was just so surprised daryl has a whole teenager because he's so private with his life.

Back to you - Daryl Dixon

gifs made by @caraleedixon and @taiturner | dividers by @chrisssiren

pairing: ex-bf!Daryl × uptown girl!reader

warnings: mentions of pregnancy

word count: 2.1k

a/n: thank you for requesting, I really enjoyed writing thiss🫶🏼. to anyone who's a Daryl simp ou there, would you guys maybe be interested if I formed a taglist? please lmk bc I think I really need to make one.

y'all I did turn this into a series! first chapter is already up right here!

📍Georgia • 15 years back

You sat on the cold bathroom floor of your childhood home, blankly staring at the two pink lines very clearly displayed in front of you, thinking it had to be a mistake, even if it was the third test that had shown you the same result. Denial. First stage of grief.

You were grieving the rest of your youth, your freedom, college, so many things all at once. Grieving a future you hadn't even lost yet, but one that suddenly felt doomed by those two bright lines. You felt stupid. Reckless. You fucked up.

The test trembled between your white-knuckled fingers as you stared so hard as if you looked long enough, the lines would disappear. The house around you had gone silent in that eerie upper-class way expensive homes often did, where every room was too large and too polished to feel lived in.

Daryl stood awkwardly in the doorway, dirt on his boots and oil beneath his fingernails from the garage he'd spent the afternoon working in, looking painfully out of place beneath the warm yellow chandelier light spilling down the hallway. He had been twenty-one years old and already carried himself like someone much older, shoulders permanently braced for impact, hands roughened by work, eyes too guarded for a man that young, but the second you looked up at him with tears threatening to spill over, he hovered over you protectively.

"S’okay,” he murmured, pulling your head gently against his chest, unsure of what else he could possibly say. “We’ll figure it out.”

Despite everything people assumed about Daryl Dixon, despite the cigarettes and the silence and the rough edges that made strangers dismiss him before he even spoke, his first instinct had always been loyalty. “Ain’t runnin’ from it.” And you knew him well enough to know he meant it.

The months that followed were ugly in ways neither of you had expected. Not because of the baby, but because the world around you made it painfully clear how little faith it had in the possibility of people like you surviving together.

Your parents looked at Daryl the way people looked at storms rolling over the horizon when they'd just planned to go out: dangerous, inconvenient. Your mother cried quietly over dinner while your father spoke in measured, humiliating sentences about ruined opportunities and "so much wasted potential", about all the money spent on private schools, ballet classes, and piano lessons just to watch you throw your future away for some mechanic from the “wrong side” of town who barely spoke in complete sentences.

Daryl sat through every word with his jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack from the pressure. He never defended himself, raised his voice or begged. He simply endured it because you were pregnant, exhausted, and scared, and somewhere in that silence he had decided your comfort mattered more than his pride.

Your son was born during a thunderstorm after nine painful hours of labor. It felt like the weather itself mimicked your screams with thunder shaking the hospital windows. And against your parents’ wishes, Daryl stayed beside you the entire time.

The gentle nurse who spoke to you afterward admitted she had never seen a man more terrified in her life than when he heard you screaming in pain.

Once the baby was finally placed against your chest, Daryl felt his entire world change. He muttered something under his breath while staring down at the tiny screaming infant wrapped in blue blankets, looking stunned in the purest sense of the word. The baby had his eyes.

For a while, the two of you tried. God, you tried harder than most people ever knew. Daryl picked up extra work wherever he could find it, often coming home with grease on his hands and exhaustion dragging beneath his eyes so heavily it aged him years overnight, while you balanced college classes with motherhood and constant battles against your parents’ disappointment.

You were exhausted all the time, surviving on burnt coffee, interrupted sleep, and a stubborn love that refused to die even when life gave it every reason to.

But eventually the pressure became unbearable.

Your parents escalated from disapproval to ultimatums, threatening to cut you off completely — tuition, housing, every safety net you and your son had left.

You and Daryl had your final fight the night your son turned three, screaming at each other in the apartment kitchen while the little boy slept in the next room. You knew in that moment that you would remember the look in his eyes for the rest of your life, the exact moment Daryl realized you were drowning beneath expectations you could no longer carry.

“Ya think I wanna be the reason your whole damn life falls apart?” he snapped, voice raw with frustration and heartbreak tangled together. “Think I don’t see what this is doin’ to you?”

“It’s not you." you cried back immediately.

“But I’m in your way.”

“Daryl—”

“Yer family’ll never see me as one of ‘em, and they already said they’ll cut you out if ya stay with me.” He cupped your cheeks, taking a deep breath before continuing, calmer now. “I don’t want our son havin’ a life like mine.” a tiny pause. “He has opportunities here.” the last sentence was barely above a whisper.

You let out the most heartbreaking sob he had ever heard, simply because loving someone wasn’t always enough to survive the machinery of the world crushing down around you.

You separated six months later. There were nonstop tears, shaking hands, and promises to stay kind to each other for your son’s sake, and somehow, against all odds, you managed it. You became good coparents. Great ones, even. Better friends than lovers by the end of it, as you liked to lie to yourself.

Daryl stayed involved no matter how far life dragged him, showing up for birthdays with awkwardly wrapped gifts and scraped knuckles, teaching your son how to fish before he learned long division, how to track deer prints through mud, how to throw a punch without breaking his wrist, how to survive disappointment quietly.

Your son adored his dad with that fierce, uncomplicated love children reserved for fathers who made them feel safe, and Daryl loved the boy with a devotion so profound it terrified him.

You kept your relationship heartfelt, every time you asked him how he was doing it was genuine, and vice versa. Every year since your son turned four, you sat on the corners of his birthdays enjoying to catch up with eachother, slipping curious questions like "Are you seeing anyone?" after some alcohol kicked in and the answer was always no, of course it was no.

Truth be told, you kept expecting something change and finally get over eachother, but you weren't really willing to let go, some time after his 13th birthday party ended, you caved in, had a relapse, snuck out with Daryl like a teenager and had sex on his trailer. The next morning you came back home with the bitter taste you weren't allowing yourself to have more of him purely out of cowardice, that you should face it like an adult and allow yourself to be fully happy for once.

Then the world ended.

You had taken a trip with your son to visit your aunt Deanna miles away from where Daryl lived, the true love of your life, if you were honest enough to admit it. You were ready to be back and tell him how sorry you were that you didn't try harder, you didn't push more and you didn't face your folks for him. And then you grieved him again. So much harder this time. You spent two years believing Daryl Dixon was dead.

Alexandria smelled like fresh bread and woodsmoke the afternoon everything changed. The gates opened to receive Aaron back with another group of survivors. You'd grown fond of him in these years and he treated you and your son like his own family.

Aaron walks in first, dirt-streaked clothes and a tired look on his face. You were halfway through unloading crates with your son, he was talking about his last hunting trip when he suddenly froze mid-sentence beside you. Almost sixteen now, he towered over you already — all broad shoulders and long limbs, his sharp blue-gray eyes mirroring his father’s so painfully that sometimes you had to look away not to cry.

The abrupt tension that overtook him made you glance to where his eyes layed immediately. Then you understood why. It felt like a mirage. You had dreamed of this moment so many times before that your first instinct was to believe this was just another cruel fantasy made up by your brain, that it would disappear the second you blinked.

But it didn't. He didn't.

A group of strangers entered through the gates alongside him, people you had never seen before. They looked exhausted, starved, worn down by the world. And right in front on them, Daryl.

He stood only a few feet away near the gate. A crossbow hung oven one shoulder and he looked older now, older than you'd expect someone to age in two years. His hair was long, streaked faintly near the temples, his gaze was harsher and his face was scarred in ways visible even from a distance. Grief had settled like concrete into the lines of his face the way exhaustion settles into old soldiers.

But his eyes were exactly the same. And they locked onto you so intensely you felt it burn.

A woman with snow-white hair stood beside him saying something he clearly wasn’t listening to, because he had gone completely still. Completely, horrifyingly still.

For one suspended second, neither of you moved. The noise around you faded strangely, like the entire world had inhaled and forgotten how to exhale again.

The crate slipped from your hands and hit the pavement hard enough to crack open one corner, canned food spilling across the ground, but neither of you cared because Daryl’s expression had already begun collapsing into something raw and disbelieving and dangerously emotional. You watched his gaze move frantically over your face like he was trying to confirm you were real before running to your encounter, he hugged you tighter than he ever did "You're alive." he kept repeating hoarsely, over and over like he genuinely could not process it. “Jesus Christ, you’re alive."

When he finally opened his eyes to look behind you, he shifted his gaze to your son. The boy stared back at him in stunned silence, every feature unmistakably Dixon beneath the years neither of them had shared together, and Daryl looked like someone had physically struck him across the chest.

The woman beside him glanced between all three of you once before realization visibly dawned across her face, then spread silently through the rest of the group nearby.

Daryl Dixon had a son, a nearly grown son. And somehow none of them had ever known. He'd mentioned having lost people, they all did, but nothing ever specific.

“Holy shit,” a tall, muscular redhead muttered somewhere behind them, not even trying to lower his voice, and nobody corrected him.

Daryl broke from your hug, finally took one shaky step forward, then another.

His breathing looked uneven now, chest rising too sharply beneath the worn fabric of his vest, and you realized with sudden overwhelming clarity that this man had mourned you. Deeply mourned you. Somewhere out there in the brutality of the apocalypse, Daryl had believed you were dead all these years, and whatever walls he had built around himself afterward were cracking apart in real time right in front of everyone.

His voice broke the second he spoke your son’s name.

He blinked rapidly, clearly trying not to look emotional in front of an entire audience, but his composure failed almost instantly. “Dad?”

The sound that escaped Daryl after that barely qualified as human. He crossed the distance in seconds.

And when he wrapped his arms around his son for the first time in two years, holding him so tightly it looked almost desperate, the entire courtyard fell silent around them because nobody there had ever seen Daryl Dixon unravel before. Not with tears visibly gathering in his eyes while his son clung back just as fiercely, laughing shakily despite himself because he could barely breathe beneath the force of the embrace.

When they parted he held you again, afraid that if he let go maybe you'd vanish on thin air. And just like that, the pain of the years apart disappeared between you. There was no more space for it. You had spent years regretting letting him go after believing the two of you had been permanently separated forever.

Now, standing in his arms again, you could physically feel the love that had lingered there all this time. Quieter now. Older now. Reshaped by time and grief and survival. But still there.

Still stubborn as ever, and stronger than ever too.

[hollowhuntress]

daryl dixon would absolutely call his girl “bambi.”

not because it’s cute. because it makes sense.

he notices movement before faces, footsteps before voices. he’d clock immediately that she couldn’t make it twenty feet through the woods without catching a root, stumbling over a log, or snapping enough sticks underfoot to send every deer running.

the first time, “stumblin’ around with two left feet like bambi. gon’ get us killed.” brushing past her.

as time passes, i can just hear him shaking his head with that little half-smirk and going, “c’mere, bambi.”

it just sticks.

[belleeebelleee]

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead) x fem!reader

You find a polaroid camera on a run one day and decide to take photos of people around the Prison.

does this make any sense at all? idk man

The prison had been many things since the group arrived there.

Cold. Unsafe. Loud with ghosts.

But somehow, slowly, impossibly—

It had also become home.

Not a good home.

Not a permanent one.

Still, there were routines now. Gardens in the yard. Laundry lines strung between fences. Carl complaining about chores. Glenn stealing kisses from Maggie in corners they thought nobody noticed.

Life.

Messy, fragile life.

And maybe that was why the polaroid camera hit you so hard when you found it.

You were on a supply run with Daryl and Glann when you spotted it buried beneath dusty magazines in the back office of a pharmacy.

At first, you thought it was broken.

Then you found unopened film in a drawer nearby.

“Holy shit,” you whispered.

Daryl glanced over from where he was checking medical supplies.

“What?”

You held it up carefully.

“A camera.”

Glenn laughed softly. “A real one?”

“Polaroid.”

Daryl grunted. “Thought those things died before the dead did.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“It still works.”

You checked after shaking it gently, heart weirdly full at the mechanical click of the flash charging.

Something about it felt precious immediately.

Because photographs now?

Photographs meant proof.

Proof someone existed. Proof they smiled. Proof they lived long enough to matter to somebody.

In this world, memories disappeared too easily.

People disappeared too easily.

You tucked the camera carefully into your bag like it was something sacred.

Daryl noticed the way you handled it.

Didn’t say anything though.

He just watched you quietly for a second before muttering:

“C’mon.”

The first photo you took was accidental.

Carl had been sitting in the prison yard with Judith balanced awkwardly against his chest while Beth laughed at him from nearby.

“You hold babies like they’re grenades,” Beth teased.

Carl rolled his eyes. “I’m holding her fine.”

Judith grabbed his shirt and squealed.

And before you even thought about it—

Click.

The flash startled everyone.

Carl blinked at you.

“…Did you just take a picture?”

You smiled sheepishly as the polaroid slowly developed in your hand.

“Maybe.”

Rick walked over just as Carl stood to look at it.

The second Rick saw the image, his entire expression changed.

Because there was Carl— Older now. Tired around the eyes in ways children shouldn’t be. But smiling faintly while Judith grabbed his sleeve.

Alive.

Rick stared at the photo like it physically hurt him.

Then he looked at you.

“You got more film?”

“Not much.”

“That’s okay.”

His voice went quieter.

“…That’s okay.”

Later that night, you found the photograph tucked carefully beside his bunk.

After that, everyone wanted one.

Or pretended they didn’t before immediately asking anyway.

Maggie demanded one of Glenn while he complained dramatically about looking bad.

“You always look bad,” she informed him lovingly.

“Wow.”

Click.

The resulting photo captured Glenn mid-protest while Maggie laughed beside him.

It instantly became her favorite thing.

Glenn stole the camera later and took one of Maggie while she worked in the garden.

She looked over her shoulder at the exact moment the flash went off.

Sunlight hit her hair. Dirt smudged her cheek. Smile soft and surprised.

Glenn stared at the finished photo like he’d discovered religion.

“You’re disgusting,” you told him affectionately.

“I know.”

You took one of Carol and Beth cooking. One of Hershel sitting in the sun. One of Axel grinning proudly beside the repaired generator.

Tiny moments.

Proof.

Existence.

And the prison slowly started filling with them.

Photos taped beside bunks. Tucked into pockets. Hidden inside books.

Hope, in little white frames.

Then there was Daryl.

You should’ve known he’d be difficult about it.

He noticed the camera pointing toward him immediately while repairing part of the outer fence.

“No.”

You lowered it slightly.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“Don’t gotta.”

You smiled faintly.

“C’mon.”

Daryl kept working.

“Nah.”

“Why?”

He shrugged one shoulder.

“Ain’t important.”

The answer bothered you more than it should have.

Because Daryl never thought he was important.

Not really.

No matter how many times people depended on him. Trusted him. Loved him.

Some ugly part of him still believed he was temporary.

Replaceable.

You leaned against the fence beside him.

“I’ve taken pictures of everyone.”

“Then ya don’t need mine.”

The casualness of it hurt a little.

Like the idea of being remembered hadn’t even crossed his mind.

You looked down at the camera in your hands before quietly asking:

“What if I want it?”

Daryl’s hands stopped moving immediately.

Silence.

Then slowly, he turned toward you.

“What?”

You swallowed suddenly, nerves twisting unexpectedly hard in your stomach.

Because the truth sounded dangerously close to another truth you weren’t ready to say out loud yet.

You held the camera tighter.

“I want one of you.”

Your voice came out smaller than intended.

Earnest.

Shy.

Daryl stared at you.

Really stared.

Like he was trying to understand why.

Why him.

Why you’d want proof he existed.

The afternoon sunlight caught against the scars on his arms, the sweat dampening his hair, the tired lines around eyes that had seen too much.

He looked rough. Dangerous. Exhausted.

Beautiful.

And something in his expression shifted when he realized you meant it.

Not teasing.

Not pity.

You wanted the picture because you wanted him.

Daryl looked away first.

His ears turning faintly pink.

“That so.”

You nodded.

“Yeah.”

He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck.

Then muttered, “S’pose that’s different.”

Warmth bloomed low in your chest.

You lifted the camera carefully.

“Can I?”

Daryl sighed dramatically like you were inconveniencing him deeply.

But he leaned back against the fence anyway.

“Make it quick.”

You laughed softly.

And God—

The sound hit him straight in the chest.

Daryl watched you peer through the camera lens, concentrating slightly.

Your brows pulled together. Bottom lip caught between your teeth.

Cute.

Dangerously cute.

Then you smiled.

Soft and sudden.

Like you liked what you saw.

That feeling in Daryl’s chest—that terrifying warm thing he’d been trying very hard not to examine too closely—shifted violently.

Click.

The flash went off.

You pulled the photo out carefully while it developed.

Daryl tried not to look interested.

Failed completely.

“What’s it look like?”

You glanced down at the image slowly appearing.

Then smiled.

“Looks like you.”

“Ugly then.”

Your head snapped up immediately.

“No.”

Immediate. Certain.

Daryl blinked.

You seemed to realize how fast you answered and flushed slightly.

But you still held the photograph carefully, eyes flicking back to it like it mattered.

Like he mattered.

And Daryl suddenly had the strange dizzy sensation of standing too close to the edge of something enormous.

“So,” you asked quietly, “you want it?”

He frowned.

“Thought you did.”

“I do.”

The admission came easily somehow.

“I just meant I can make you one too eventually.”

Daryl looked at the photo in your hands again.

Then at you.

Then something almost shy crossed his face.

“…Want one’a you.”

Your heart skipped hard enough to hurt.

“Me?”

He shrugged roughly.

“Fair’s fair.”

But you knew it wasn’t about fairness.

Not really.

Because Daryl never asked for things unless they mattered deeply to him.

You tried very hard not to smile too hard.

“Okay.”

The problem was:

You apparently became painfully awkward the second the camera turned toward you.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.”

He blinked from behind the camera.

“Like what?”

“Like… that.”

Helpful.

You snorted softly.

“You know I can’t take the picture if you keep staring at me instead of the camera.”

Your expression went blank immediately.

“…Right.”

Then he looked aggressively at the camera.

You burst out laughing.

And just like before, the sound wrecked him instantly.

His shoulders loosened despite himself.

“There,” you said warmly. “That’s better.”

Click.

The photograph slowly developed between your fingers.

You stared at it for a second too long.

Because Daryl had been looking at you.

Not the camera.

Softly.

Like you were something precious he didn’t know how to hold properly.

Your chest tightened painfully.

“What?” he asked immediately, noticing your expression.

“Nothin’.”

You lied terribly.

Daryl narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Then held his hand out.

“Lemme see.”

You hesitated before giving him the photo.

He looked down at it.

And went completely still.

Because there you were.

Smiling at him.

Not at the camera.

At him.

Warm sunlight catching your face. Eyes soft. Alive.

His throat tightened unexpectedly.

“She’s pretty,” Glenn announced from somewhere nearby.

Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin.

You startled too, turning to find Glenn and Maggie walking into the yard carrying supplies.

Maggie immediately spotted the photo in Daryl’s hand and grinned.

“Oh my God.”

Daryl scowled instantly.

“Mind ya business.”

“Absolutely not,” Maggie said.

Glenn leaned over dramatically. “Aww. You guys took couple photos.”

“We did not,” Daryl snapped.

You looked suspiciously warm-faced yourself.

Maggie’s grin widened.

“Daryl’s keeping it?”

Daryl folded the photo once instinctively toward his chest before realizing what he’d done.

Everyone noticed.

His face darkened immediately.

“Shut up.”

Glenn looked delighted.

“He likes it!”

Daryl looked seconds away from violence.

You rescued him mostly out of mercy.

“Leave him alone.”

Maggie laughed. “Oh, honey. You have no idea how bad he’s got it.”

Daryl made an outraged sound.

“Got what?”

Glenn physically dragged Maggie away before she could answer.

Probably for safety reasons.

Silence settled again after they disappeared.

Daryl still held the photograph carefully in rough fingers.

Like he was afraid of damaging it.

“You really want it?” you asked quietly.

He looked at you immediately.

Like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“Yeah.”

Your chest hurt a little.

Because Daryl owned almost nothing.

Kept almost nothing.

Didn’t allow himself attachments easily.

But he looked at that tiny photograph of you like it already belonged somewhere important.

Then, after a moment, he muttered:

“Ain’t nobody got pictures’a me.”

The quiet honesty in his voice nearly broke your heart.

You softened immediately.

“Well,” you said gently, “I do now.”

Daryl stared at you for a long moment.

Something vulnerable flickered across his face so quickly you almost missed it.

Then he carefully tucked your photograph into the chest pocket of his vest.

Close to his heart.

And for some reason, that tiny action felt more intimate than a kiss.