AN: Autism fic. A bit rushed. I’ll rewrite this & make it better 🫶🏻
The prison was quiet for once. Not silent but quiet enough that the distant hum of crickets & praying mantis’ beyond the fences could be heard through the open cell windows.
Daryl usually woke before dawn. Years of sleeping rough trained his body to wake at every little sound, every shift in the dark. Usually he'd roll over, check the room, and drift back off..
This morning though, something caught his eye. You were asleep beside him. The thin prison blanket had twisted around your legs during the night, one arm tucked beneath your cheek. The other hand was curled against your chest.
Daryl frowned. Your fingers weren't relaxed like most sleeping people. They were folded in on themselves, wrists bent slightly in ward, hands tucked close. Almost like...
A small smile crossed his lips "Dinosaur hands.” His words merely a whisper.
He'd seen people do it before. Seen you do it once or twice when you got excited too. He never thought much of it.
Now that you were under his gaze, he thought about the other quirks you had. The way you always sat with one foot tucked underneath yourself. The way you'd cover your ears when noises got too loud. How crowded meals in the prison yard seemed to drain you, faster than any supply runs ever did. How you'd memorise things nobody else paid attention to.
You could tell him exactly how many cells were on each floor. Exactly how many cans of peaches remained in storage. Exactly which floorboards squeaked in every hallway.
At first he'd thought you were just observant. Then he'd realised you weren't simply noticing things. You needed to notice things. Needed the predictbility. The routine. The certainty.
His gaze softened. The pieces slotted together. Not all at once but just ust enough. Enough to understand. Enough to stop wondering why some days were harder for you than others.
You stirred slightly in your sleep. Your hand curled tighter against your chest.
Still Dinosaur hands. His smile grew. Cute he thought. He'd never tell you that though. Afew minutes later you woke slowly, blinking at the pale morning light. The moment you noticed him looking, confusion crossed your face.
"What?"
"Nothin'."
"You were staring."
"I wasn't."
"You definitely were."
Daryl snorted.
You sat up, rubbing your eyes. The movement disrupting the blanket and you immediately reached to straighten it.
Another thing. Everything had a place. Everything had an order. You sigh softly, seeming calmer once it was fixed.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
You nodded “mhm, why?”
Shrugging “ jus’ makin' sure."
The concern in his voice reaching you, your expression softened.
A beat passed, your body feeling a familiar unease. You narrow your eyes “you’re being weird”
"I'm always weird."
"True”
Daryl huffed a laugh.
You smile leepily. After a moment you leaned sideways until your shoulder nuzzled his.
Daryl resting his arm against yours. His gaze drifted down briefly again.
Your hand had curled up again into tiny dinosaur claws.
he didn't know every name for every little thing you did. Maybe he didn't need to. Daryl understood enough though. You were you and that’s all that mattered.
The rest? He figured he’d figure it out.
Sleeping peacefully, he relished in everything that made you you.
You felt him glance over at you. His blue eyes were worried and intense, but you avoided meeting them.
"I don't care what they're saying about me," you said suddenly.
Daryl nodded.
"They weren't there," you murmured. "I did everything I could."
"I know ya did."
"It's not my fault," you whispered. "I almost didn't come back alive either. And they're all acting like I'm the one who pulled the trigger." You voice was constricted as your throat tightened with emotion. "They're all acting like they'd deal with it better if I'd died too."
"Hey," Daryl interrupted. "Fuck 'em. We dun need 'em," he growled. He sighed heavily and looked back out into the night. The bruising on half your face was still obvious even in the low light. "Ya got me. Fuck the rest of 'em. They're clueless."
You sighed again and finally glanced over at the archer. "You're all I need, Daryl. I'll be alright."
Prompt: "I don't care what they're saying about me."
Summary: After years of infertility, you finally get pregnant and get to tell your husband.
Warnings/Tags: husband!daryl, wife!reader, pregnancy, mentions of infertility, established relationship, female reader (she/her), season 11, no use of y/n
Word count: 696 words
A/N: This is a continuation of my fic “Begin Again” where the reader and Daryl are trying to get pregnant. As the title of this fic implies, their attempts were successful and she is now pregnant. I included this in the first piece, but there is a content warning for mentions of fertility issues. Please skip this if you find that to be triggering. I’m trying to combat a writing slump, so this is a shorter one. Anyway, enjoy this fun fluffy fic!!
Masterlist | D.D. fluff masterlist
The tears hit the moment you saw those two little pink lines. You and Daryl had been trying for a baby for years, now. After multiple negative tests, you’d accepted the fact that it might just not be in the cards for you two. Your husband had even suggested taking a step back from family planning. You hadn’t even planned on taking a test, but your “stomach flu” just wasn’t passing.
Now, this was the confirmation that you’d been waiting for. You were pregnant. Just as fast as the excitement had hit, you were flooded with anxiety. How the hell were you supposed to raise a child? What if this changed your relationship with your husband? While you silently panicked, Daryl made his way into the bathroom. He’d been on patrol, and you’d taken the test on your own because you’d expected it to be negative.
Caught off guard by your crying, Daryl rushed over to you and cupped your face in his rough hands. He assumed that you’d gotten a negative result again, and he immediately began reassuring you. His voice was soft in a way that it only got around you.
“Oh, honey. It’s okay. We weren’t even tryin’.”
You could tell that he’d misinterpreted the situation, and you quickly shook your head. Leaning into his touch, you laughed softly and pressed a kiss to his palm.
“Daryl, it’s positive. That’s why I’m crying.”
Momentarily in shock, Daryl froze and didn’t say anything. The man looked like a deer in headlights, and it took all your strength to not erupt into another fit of giggles. You leaned forward and kissed the underside of his jaw, which was comically hanging open. Your smile widened and you teased him lightly.
“Are you gonna say anythin’, my love? Or are you just gonna stare?”
Having collected himself, Daryl nodded and felt a little cocky. He’d finally succeeded in getting you pregnant. He was going to be a father. The idea was simultaneously terrifying and beyond exciting. Your husband just had to make a comment about his methods.
“It was totally the pillow thing, wasn’t it? I told you it works.”
You rolled your eyes and laughed even harder. Last time the two of you intentionally tried for a baby, Daryl made you lie on the bed with your hips propped up for an hour afterward. It was something that Merle had told him about when they were younger, and he was convinced it would make it stick. You had gotten pregnant though, so maybe he was right. Deciding to give him that, you nodded and brushed his hair from his face.
“Yeah, baby. You, your magic dick, and the “pillow method” got me pregnant.”
Seeing Daryl all relaxed and playful like this would never fail to feel rewarding. You silenced his joking with a deep kiss, and he instantly melted into it. Your husband’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer. He couldn’t stop smiling, so your lips would momentarily unlock. Your hands were tangled in his hair, and you pulled back to take a breath. He’d never admit it, but you could see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and the way he blinked a bit too quickly. In true Dixon fashion, he brushed off the way he’d gotten choked up.
“This bathroom is kinda dusty. Someone’s oughta fix that.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s just the dust.”
Daryl wiped at his face and distracted you from his emotional display by redirecting your attention to the pregnancy test sitting on the counter.
“So, I guess we should start makin’ some plans, huh? Like, how we’re gonna tell Judith and RJ. They’re gonna be real excited.”
“Very true. Let’s discuss this in bed.”
First trimester fatigue was already kicking your ass. Daryl wasted no time picking you up and carrying you back into the bedroom. If you thought that he was protective before, you were in for a whole new level. Once the two of you were settled, the planning could begin.
If Renee Waller had her druthers, she'd be weathering the end of the world from the comfort of her family home back in North Carolina. Instead she's three hundred miles and a world away in Atlanta stuck towing her unreliable, addict brother and a lost six year old through hell. If she's going to make it -- if she's going to keep that little girl alive -- she's going to have learn to lean on the other survivors....and perhaps one grumpy redneck in particular.
Starts pre-season one near the beginning of the outbreak.
𝓭𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 doesn’t like to talk during sex. it makes him feel awkward. he’s all grunts and moans as he likes to put all his focus in touching you. in feeling your skin beneath his hands. the way you’re so soft compared to his calloused and worn palms. the way you curve and arch against him as he envelopes you in his arms. he buries his head in the crook of your neck and breathes in your scent. he loves being close with you. loves finally having someone he can be close with. and he’s wrecked the second he presses inside you. his breaths shaky and low, growing deeper and deeper as he too gets deeper and deeper.
reader pronouns: she/her
"Goddamn," Daryl sighed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "This is the best meal I've had in a long ass time. Is there a damn thing ya can't do?" he asked, settling back in his chair.
You smiled and felt the apples of your cheeks warm. Daryl seemed to have no idea of the effect his words had on you.
Rick and Michonne exchanged a knowing look. "Yes, is there?" Rick said, a twinkle in his eyes. "She can fight, she can kill walkers, she's the best damn sniper we've got after Sasha, and she cooks up a mean rabbit."
"All true. But you know what they say; 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach,'" Michonne added with a small smile. You shot her a dirty look and the smile widened.
"Michonne," you murmured in a low warning voice, wishing you were close enough to kick her under the table. The heat in your face increased.
"Mmm," Daryl hummed in agreement. "Ya'll act like yer surprised or somethin'."
Amusement still colored Rick's face. "What do you mean?"
"The rest of us figured out on day 1 what she's capable of," Daryl said, pushing back from the table. "If it took ya this long to put it together ya'll must be a bunch of dumbasses," he growled, collecting his empty plate as well as yours and putting them into the sink before he disappeared downstairs.
You pressed a hand to your cheek, trying to hide your face.
"Yes, we must be," Rick agreed loudly. "A bunch of dumbasses." He grinned at you.
♡ He always watches you intently, while fidgeting with his lips or fingers but feels like he can't even manage to look at you when you're talking to him
♡ There is no real confession just a moment when he's got no explaination left on why he always goes out of his way for you, when the only thing he can do is avoid your gaze and (not so secretly) check for your reaction - that's when you realize
♡ Slow burn, it takes a long time until you're finally together but the wait is definitely worth it
♡ You kiss him first
♡ Lots of mutual pining because the both of you are too scared to make the first move
♡ There is not a single bone in his body that even considers that you could feel the same for him
pale gold ribbons of sunlight flood the room like warm honey, turning floating dust motes into drifting stars. everything feels blurred around the edges, suspended in that hazy space right between a dream and waking up. daryl is buried under blankets on the mattress, but when his arm sweeps across the sheets and finds your side cold, his eyes blink open, slow and weighted, tracing the quiet until he hears the faint rustle of fabric.
through heavy eyelids, he finds you standing beside the dresser, holding a portable cd player in one hand while the wire from your headphones disappears beneath the collar of his vest. your own clothes are hanging on the clothesline outside, leaving you to steal the first thing you could find. his vest hangs loose on your frame, the worn, cracked leather nearly swallowing you whole against your bare skin and thin cotton underwear. completely oblivious, you fold laundry to a silent melody only you can hear, carrying the cd player with you every time you move across the sun-warmed floorboards, swaying lazily as the leather brushes your thighs. daryl doesn’t move, too content to break the spell, watching through tired squinted eyes.
then, you turn toward the window.
the sunlight catches the back of the vest dead-on, exploding into a bright halo around you. the faded angel wings stitched into the fabric look almost luminous, stretching wide across your bare shoulders. he watches, too tired to move, until the floorboard beneath your foot creaks.
you glance over your shoulder and freeze, suspended in the sunbeam with the cd player loose in your hand. there he is, stretched out beneath the blankets with his dark hair sticking up, squinting with an expression somewhere between amused and completely smitten. heat creeps into your cheeks as you pull one side of the headphones away from your ear.
“what?”
his gaze drops briefly to the vest, to the wings on your shoulders, and then back to you. his morning voice is a low, velvety rasp when it finally cuts through the quiet.
“c’mere, angel.”
you blink. “angel?”
the ghost of a smirk touches his lips, lazy and soft, completely melting the usual tension in his face as he looks at you like you’re the only thing left real in the world.
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.
📍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.
You're shy. Really shy. Daryl think's its adorable.
Daryl is awkward. Emotionally constipated. A wreck really.
Match made in.. heaven ??
Nobody expected Daryl Dixon to fall first.
Mostly because nobody expected Daryl Dixon to fall at all.
The man barely spoke in full sentences half the time.
He communicated through grunts, prolonged eye contact, and occasionally wandering off into the woods for six hours.
Romance did not exactly seem likely.
And yet.
The first thing Daryl noticed about you was how quiet you were.
Not weak quiet.
Not nervous chatter filling silence quiet.
Just…
Soft.
You moved through camp gently.
Spoke carefully.
Always seemed like you were trying not to take up too much space.
The prison was loud most days.
People arguing.
Carl running around.
Generators humming.
Walkers snarling beyond the fences.
Then there was you.
Calm in the middle of all of it.
The first real conversation Daryl had with you lasted maybe thirty seconds.
Carol introduced you after a supply run.
“She helped drag your stubborn ass back here,” Carol informed him while Daryl sat on the edge of a cot getting stitches.
You immediately looked horrified at the attention.
“Oh— no, I didn’t really—”
“She absolutely did,” Glenn cut in. “You were bleeding everywhere.”
Daryl grunted.
You looked at him briefly before quickly looking away again.
“…Sorry.”
His brow furrowed instantly.
“For what?”
Your fingers twisted together awkwardly.
“I don’t know.”
That made absolutely no sense.
Daryl stared at you.
You stared determinedly at the floor.
Then after a long pause, Daryl muttered:
“…Thanks.”
Your face lit up like he’d handed you the moon.
“Okay.”
And for some reason—
That tiny smile hit Daryl directly in the chest.
Hard enough to hurt.
You were painfully shy.
Everybody noticed it eventually.
You spoke quietly during group discussions.
Apologized constantly.
Nearly jumped out of your skin anytime too many people looked at you at once.
The first time Rick asked your opinion during a meeting, you physically startled.
Daryl noticed that too.
Noticed everything, actually.
How you stood slightly behind people in groups.
How your voice got softer around strangers.
How you smiled with your whole face once you got comfortable enough.
Most people overlooked shy people.
Daryl didn’t.
Maybe because he understood what it felt like to live like your existence was an inconvenience.
He started paying attention without meaning to.
Started gravitating toward you.
At first, it was small things.
Saving you a seat at dinner by silently kicking a chair out beside him.
Waiting for you during runs when the others walked too fast.
Wordlessly handing you things he noticed you needed before you asked.
You thanked him every single time.
Every.
Single.
Time.
Like nobody had ever done nice things for you consistently before.
It did weird things to his chest.
The first time Daryl realized he was completely fucked was because you laughed at him.
Not mean.
God, never mean.
He’d been repairing part of the outer fence while you handed him tools.
At one point he dropped the wrench directly onto his own foot.
“Son of a bitch—”
You laughed.
Tiny.
Bright.
Completely unrestrained.
Daryl froze.
Because he’d spent months slowly learning your smiles.
The polite ones.
The nervous ones.
The shy little hidden ones.
But this?
This was different.
This was you forgetting to be self-conscious.
Your hand flew over your mouth immediately afterward.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry.”
Daryl blinked.
Then slowly:
“…Do it again.”
Your eyes widened.
“What?”
“That laugh.”
Heat crawled instantly across your cheeks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
You looked horrified.
“Because you’ll stare at me like that again.”
Daryl frowned.
“Like what?”
“…Like you just got hit in the head.”
Well.
That was unfortunately accurate.
Daryl looked away first.
Ears pink.
You noticed.
And suddenly you smiled shyly to yourself for the rest of the day.
The problem was that Daryl had absolutely no idea how to flirt like a normal human being.
None.
Zero.
His version of romance looked deeply confusing from the outside.
Following you around silently.
Fixing things before you realized they were broken.
Giving you the last piece of jerky without mentioning it.
Staring.
A lot of staring.
“You know she ain’t gonna evaporate if ya talk to her,” Michonne informed him one afternoon after catching him watching you from across the yard.
Daryl scowled instantly.
“Ain’t starin’.”
Michonne raised one eyebrow.
“You’ve been holding the same bolt for ten minutes.”
Daryl looked down.
Shit.
Meanwhile, you were not doing much better.
Because Daryl Dixon was terrifyingly attractive.
Not in a polished way.
In a rough dangerous devastating kind of way.
The kind that snuck up on you.
Strong hands.
Quiet loyalty.
Eyes that softened only around people he trusted.
And somehow—
Those eyes softened around you most.
Which made functioning difficult.
Very difficult.
You became incapable of making eye contact for longer than three seconds.
Daryl noticed that too.
He noticed everything.
One evening, you nearly walked directly into a fence because he smiled at you unexpectedly.
Carol laughed so hard she had to sit down.
“Oh, honey,” she wheezed. “You’ve got it bad.”
You covered your face immediately.
Daryl looked deeply confused.
“Got what bad?”
Carol just laughed harder.
Everybody knew before either of you did.
Or maybe before either of you admitted it.
Beth caught Daryl carrying your favorite snacks back from runs.
Glenn noticed you unconsciously searching for Daryl first anytime he returned from hunting.
Carol caught you wearing Daryl’s poncho one cold morning.
That one nearly killed him.
Because he stepped into the courtyard and saw you wrapped in his clothes looking warm and sleepy.
Then you smiled shyly at him.
Daryl forgot how words worked for approximately thirty seconds.
Probably thought I forgot about this. Nope I’ve been slowly working on it. My brain has just been consumed by the stripper reader x Daryl fanfic I’m making which hopefully will be out soon!
Part 1, Daryl’s POV
Smut ♥︎ MDNI 18+
TW: dry humping, masterbation. P in v smut, riding, praise.
🦷“Here put him in my room!” Your offer is automatic. Hershel shoots you a look but you ignore it as you slip by rushing up the stairs showing Rick to your room.
🦷Daryl, covered in dirt and bleeding from all parts of his body looks out of place in the soft colors, fluffy fabrics, and general coziness of your bedroom.
🦷You tend to Daryl every day. At first under the watchful eye of Hershel but eventually by yourself. Sit with him longer than most people. Watching with wide curious eyes because for the first time he isn’t filthy and he actually looks peaceful.
🦷Daryl who gets his wish. Waking up to your pretty face and soft touches. For a second he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. He stares at you like a newborn blinking stupidly. He watches as you continue to peel the bandage off of his side too engrossed with your task to notice that he’s conscious.
🦷 “How’d you die?” His voice is raspy from not using it, his head feels like cotton, Every part of his fucking body and head hurt like hell and yet all he can focus on is you.
🦷You freeze eyes snapping up, your breathing hitched and for a second there’s silence before you’re standing up moving faster than lightning towards your bedroom door screaming down the stairs. “DADDY COME QUICK! MAGGIE GET RICK! DARYL’S AWAKE!”
🦷You come running back to him the biggest smile on your face. Tears of joy pricking the corners of your eyes as you sink to your knees leaning against the bed. Your hand reaches out to tenderly touch his shoulder.
🦷Then he realizes he’s shirtless he immediately bristles. Shame, embarrassment, and fear fill him. Have you seen his back? He doesn’t want you to touch the raised skin. Doesn’t want to see the shocked look that turns into a sad sort of pity.
🦷 So he reacts. Reflexively pushing your hand away. “Stop fussin’ over me like a fuckin’ child.” The words are unnecessarily cruel and hit you deep. It’s ment to hurt. Ment to put you back at arms length where you’re safe. Safe from him.
🦷Daryl who watches your expression falter your hand freeze before you pull away. Before he gets the chance to explain the door bursts open and Rick, Glenn, Hershel, and Andrea all come in and you slip away.
🦷He doesn’t see you the rest of the day. Nor the next day. But he can’t escape you. He’s in your room after all. Whether he wants to or not he gets to know you.
🦷Gets to know you by the art of your walls, the trinkets on the shelves, the titles of the shitty romance books on your bedside table. At night he swears he can smell your shampoo on the pillow, hear your voice through the wind chimes, feel your skin against the cotton sheets.
🦷When you finally show up it’s with dinner. A bowl of soup and some bread. You move quickly, quietly, eyes downcast as you set down the tray. Turning to leave without so much as a glance or a word. The ache in his chest is unbearable. He can’t let you get away.
🦷Daryl who catches your wrist when you turn to leave. “Stay?” If you hadn’t held your breath you weren’t sure if you would’ve heard the plea. You swallow hard and nod.
🦷Daryl who finally works up the courage to kiss you. Soft, gentle, his hand carefully cradling the back of your head. His fingers tangle in your hair when you take control and deepen the kiss.
🦷 The kiss is anything but clean. Teeth and tongue. Whimpers and whines. Breathy moans between pants. When both finally come up for air you’re still connected by a string of saliva. Your lips are swollen bitten pink. He chews on his bottom lip nervously.
🦷 “shut the door.” You don’t have to be told twice. You nearly lose your footing as you scramble towards the door. Lifting the handle and moving it slowly in just the way that you know it won’t squeak.
🦷 “But your wounds!” You protest as one hand wraps around your wrist and the other grips your waist. You squeal as he hauls you into the bed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah wounds heal ‘n shit.” He grumbled as he hauls you up onto the bed. “Ain’t you ever heard of sexual healin’?”
🦷You hadn’t but Daryl was more than willing to teach you. His hands heavy on your waist as he helps you perch on top of him. Gently he pulls your hips forward before dragging them back. Guiding you into a clumsy rhythm.
🦷Your face flushes as you feel him harden under you. A needy whimper falling from your lips as you look down at him. Met with half lidded eyes and red tipped ears. You roll your hips experimentally. Rewarded by feeling his fingers press harder into your hips as he tries to restrain himself.
🦷Within minutes your panties are a sticky mess, Daryl is damn near whining underneath you his hips bucking up to meet the frantic little thrusts of your hips. You stead yourself on his chest desperate for more and Daryl is all too eager to comply.
🦷Both of you are out of clothes in a heart beat. Daryl’s hands trailing up your body. Quick possessive movements that cause goosebumps to rise to your skin. You sit perched slightly below his pelvis your mouth going dry when you see his cock.
🦷He can’t help but smirk watching your face flush. “Ya can touch it ya know.” He teases gently his hand wrapping around yours as he guides your trembling hand towards him.
🦷The moment he feels your fingers shyly wrap around his cock his brain short circuits. His cock twitches and you involuntarily tighten your grip. He can’t help but thrust upwards fucking into your hand.
🦷You who’s sat frozen watching mesmerized until you’re pulled back to the present by the pressure of his hand wrapping around yours. It’s a silent plea but you understand.
🦷You let Daryl teach you how to touch him. The rhythm, the slight twist of the wrist when you reach the tip, the way each stroke made his cock jump. A pearly bead of precum oozing out.
🦷The second Daryl trails his hand over your thighs. His fingers dipping down between your folds feeling how wet and warm you are he can’t help but push a finger in. The little gasp you give is so sweet.
🦷He knows he’s teasing you. With every swipe, every push, every curl of his finger your hand on his cock falters. When he slips a second finger in you abandon the rhythm all together chasing your own pleasure.
🦷Neither of you can take it anymore evident by Daryl’s red leaking cock and the sticky white fluids that cling to Daryl’s fingers, webbing as he pulls them apart. He greedily shoving the fingers in his mouth sucking them clean watching with hooded eyes how you stiffen.
🦷It was agonizing for both of you. A slow descent into madness as you lowered yourself inch by inch. The walls of your pussy fluttering as you adjusted to his size. “Just like that pretty. Fuck feel so good.” He’s panting trying his best to stay still but you make it so hard. His knuckles are white from how tight he’s holding onto you. Your palms press flat against the center of his chest as you try to steady yourself.
🦷When your pussy finally takes all of him you’re a mess. Your cheeks are red, mouth open as you try to catch your breath, your thighs are already trembling on either side of him from how full you feel. It’s too much and not enough all at once. “Fuck, you’re tight. Ya need to relax pretty.”
🦷Daryl who experimentally rolls his hips. His eyes never leaving your face watching as your face scrunches trying to adjust. Finally you start to relax your own body matching the tentative thrusts. You look so beautiful like this on top of him.
🦷 “M-more. Please more.” You moan out not entirely sure what you’re asking for but Daryl understands and he picks up the pace. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix as his hands pull you down to meet him. It’s heavenly and for once Daryl lets himself get lost in something he wants. Something he needs.
🦷Your pussy drools all over him with each bounce. His gaze trailing from your parted lips that he wants to push his fingers past. To the way your nipples are pebbled so perfectly he wants to sit up and suck one, abuse the flesh between his teeth just to see what sounds you make. Finally his gaze lands on where you two are connected.
🦷Slick and fluids a ring of creamy white forming around the base of his cock nearly causing him to cum. He picks up the pace sweat starting to form on his chest, his arms, down his neck as he moves you up and down along his length.
🦷 The way your pussy clenches around him. Wet, velvet walls that suck his cock right back. He’s fucking you deeply reaching places your fingers have never felt. The way you’re looking down at him face flushed, chest heaving, a deep rooted need on your face and Daryl is nothing if not a provider.
🦷 “I’ve got ya.” His voice is wrecked as he tries to reassure you. One of his hands finally releases your hip moving down over your tummy. His thumb pressing hard against your clit as he rubs little circles watching as your whole body reacts. Fighting off the inevitable.
🦷You fall first. A wail of pleasure passing through your lips as your head falls back. Your hips stutter but Daryl is there to catch you. Fucking you through your orgasm. One hand clamped on your waist the other has the rough pad of this thumb still working frantically over your clit. He feels you gush over him, his lap becoming wet with your release and that’s all it takes before the muscles low in his abdomen coil and snap.
🦷You both fall asleep entangled in the sheets. A mess of limbs curling around each other as Daryl keeps your face tucked against his chest. The moon moves across the sky and the birds slowly start to sing as the sun climbs in the sky. Neither of you hear the floor boards groan from down the hall. Neither of you stir when your door squeaks as it’s opened. Neither of you see the shocked expression of Maggie eyes widen, body tense, jaw dropped as she stares at you.
🦷What’s worse is neither of you see Hershel behind Maggie. His face flat, brows furrowed, his expression unreadable. A few seconds pass before he turns with swift steps leaving Maggie to quietly shut the door and deal with the fall out. A desperate attempt to give the two of you a few more moments of peace before all hell brakes loose.
I have so many thoughts about ex-boyfriend!Daryl that it's not funny. Especially S1 Daryl. Like he's such a douchebag, but he cares so much. Enjoy!
Pairing: Ex-boyfirend!Daryl Dixon x Reader
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who immediately thinks of you when the world goes to shit. He knows there's no way to get to you, and even if there was, you probably wouldn't go with him, so he never tries.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who feels a crushing sense of guilt for that.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who finds himself wondering if you survived. Wondering if he should be out looking for you.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who freezes up when Rick comes back to camp with you walking cautiously behind him.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who dumps his crossbow on the ground and starts striding up to you like the fucking terminator, before he can even really figure out how he feels, making everyone nervous.
Ex-boyfirend!Daryl who doesn't give a fuck that he's your ex because you're alive. Tired, scared, and a little worse for wear, but alive.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who takes your face in his hands and just looks at you. Doesn't kiss you because he doesn't think he deserves to, but looks at you like he used to. Like you're the lady of the lake. Like you hung the goddamn moon.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who feels like he can take a breath for the first time since he realized he had to leave you behind.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who takes a shaking breath and tries to say something to you, maybe an apology, maybe something else, but can't do it. The words just stick in his throat.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who damn near takes Rick's hand off when he tries to pull you away, thinking Daryl might hurt you.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who feels such a sense of relief when you lean into him and tell him you missed him.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who's shoving down tears by sheer force of will while you say the difficult things for him. You wondered every day if he was alive. Wondered if you should look for him. That you still love him.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who can't believe he's been handed a second chance with you in this new, fucked up version of the world.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who doesn't know how to apologize for what happened before, and instead tries to atone by making sure you always eat before he does, sleep in the safest place, and never get so far away from him that he couldn't protect you.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who's suddenly not your ex-boyfriend anymore.
thinking about how daryl would choose to show his love for you since he‘s not too big on words of affirmation
daryl would always be on the lookout for things you may like during runs. yeah, he’s making sure he’s staying alert and getting what the group needs, but any trinkets he thinks you’d like are immediately taken with him
daryl would make sure you got the hotter bowl whenever he fetches dinner for you both
daryl would always make sure your guns are clean and unlikely to jam, and make sure your knives aren’t dull
daryl, who doesn’t accept physical affection lightly, would let you run your hands through his hair when it’s not too crowded because your hands don’t make him curl in on himself
daryl who pushes himself out of his comfort zone to be present with you. you’re out gardening? not what he typically does, but he‘ll learn. you’re out teaching the kids something? he‘ll stay close by, taking note of how gentle you are with the kids and how they naturally gravitate towards you
daryl who is so enamored with you that he sometimes forgets why he was so scared to love in the first place
Could I get your headcanons on how Daryl would act while teaching you tracking/hunting (him standing behind you while showing how to use a crossbow ough) and he makes you some kind of trinket like a rabbits foot from the first animal that you get on your own
gender neutral would be appreciated ^_^
Daryl teaching you to track/hunt hcs! 🌲🐾🏹
A/n: OMG YES OFCCCC!!! Tysm for sending in a request, feel free to send in more if you wanna see more! Also sorry if daryl is out of character lol :[ Divider by saradika-graphics
𖤐Okay, first of all, he'd be honestly kind of excited to teach you
𖤐He'd be the type to teach you by giving you little bits of information, and then asking you questions.
𖤐"That a deer track? Ya sure?" "You got the right aim? Shoulders right?"
𖤐Will always answer your questions the best he can, which is what usually starts him teaching you things.
𖤐Loves to see you with his crossbow. He finds it kind of cute how you're still figuring it out.
𖤐if something was to happen, he would wait to see if you could handle the situation yourself. For example if a walker comes up, he'd wait for you to kill it.
𖤐if it gets too close for comfort, then he'll step in
𖤐But if you do manage to handle yourself? He gives you a small smirk, one that means he has a little more respect for your skills.
𖤐Will teach you all the different tracks, and how to tell what happened.
𖤐Likes to stand behind you and guide your aim with the crossbow.
𖤐His hands will find yours, slowly guiding your arms into the correct position. Or his hand will gently rest on your back, guiding your stance.
𖤐Once you start to improve, he'll let you take the lead a little bit.
𖤐Hes never too harsh on you if you make a mistake. Usually he'll just clap your shoulder and give some quick advice.
𖤐"Yer stance was off. Y'were close. C'mon, keep goin."
𖤐He'll let you use his crossbow on runs, and let you find something worth hunting.
𖤐Wether its a mouse, or a buck, he's always lowkey proud.
𖤐He will 100% make you a souvenir of some kind after your first successful hunt.
𖤐Its something small, but practical, or just a little thing to carry around.
𖤐Wether its the animals foot as a keychain, or a small bone necklace, you'll have a reminder of your first hunt.
𖤐Gets just a little competitive sometimes about the amount of animals you both find.
𖤐It relieves him a little knowing that you're more knowledgeable about hunting and tracking. God forbid something were to happen and you get seperated, it eases him a little more to know you wouldn't be completely helpless alone.
𖤐If you both go on runs together, he always lets you practice.
Summary: Daryl can't tell if he's jealous of you or Dog
A/N: this isn’t really my usual kind of imagine, but i wanted to try something a little different and see how it feels. i’ve been wanting to write for Daryl for a while, so this is me testing the waters a bit. the Joe and Steve imagines are still staying, don’t worry, i’m just letting myself branch out a little.
Daryl Dixon would never say it out loud, but it was starting to piss him off.
Not the walkers. Not the endless road. Not even the group and their constant noise. No, it was his own damn dog.
It had started small, the kind of thing he could almost ignore at first. Dog would trail after you during watches, sticking close like he’d quietly decided you needed guarding more than anyone else in camp. Daryl had brushed it off in the beginning, you had a habit of slipping the mutt scraps of jerky or whatever was left from dinner when you thought no one was looking. Dog had always been a sucker for anything edible, never one to turn down a handout.
But then it kept happening. Night after night.
Now Dog was stretched fully across your lap by the low fire, his head heavy on your thigh, eyes half-closed in pure contentment as your fingers worked slow, steady circles behind his ears. The dog looked stupidly relaxed, like he’d found a rare bit of heaven in a world that usually offered nothing but dirt, blood, and hard ground.
Daryl stood a few feet back from the flames, crossbow slung over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the dark tree line out of habit. He kept glancing over anyway, unable to help himself.
“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath.
You looked up from where you sat against the fallen log, a small smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “You talking to him or me?”
“Dog,” Daryl answered, walking closer with that familiar loose stride. He dropped down across the fire from you, elbows resting on his knees as he settled in. “Definitely the dog this time.”
Dog flicked one ear at the sound of his voice but didn’t bother lifting his head. His tail gave one lazy thump against your leg, like he was too comfortable to do anything more.
You chuckled quietly, still stroking the dog’s side with slow, absent movements. “He’s got good taste. Warmth and company beat sleeping alone on the cold ground any night.”
“He’s got fur,” Daryl grumbled, pulling an arrow from his quiver just to have something to do with his hands. He checked the fletching even though it was perfectly fine. The fire crackled softly between you, pushing back the evening chill that had been settling in around the edges of camp. Somewhere out in the dark, a walker groaned once, low and distant. Nothing close enough to worry about tonight.
You shrugged lightly, glancing down at Dog with a fond look. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like a little extra attention now and then. You gonna sit over there all night pretending you’re not feeling the cold too?”
Daryl eyed the narrow space beside you. Dog was hogging most of it, sprawled out like he owned the spot, but there was just enough room left. He hesitated for a second, jaw tight, then stood with a quiet sigh and moved around the fire. He lowered himself down next to you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours. Close enough to share some warmth, not so close that it felt forced or awkward.
Dog immediately shifted, stretching out lazily until half his weight rested against Daryl’s leg. The tail thumped again, slower this time, full of quiet satisfaction.
“Pushy bastard,” Daryl said, but his voice had lost most of its earlier edge. He let his hand rest on the dog’s back, fingers idly brushing through the thick fur. Not quite petting, just acknowledging the animal was there between you.
You leaned your head back against the rough bark of the fallen log, keeping your shoulder pressed comfortably to Daryl’s. “See? He’s happy now. Both of us here. Feels better than sitting alone on opposite sides of the fire, doesn’t it?”
Daryl grunted in response, staring into the dancing flames. The firelight played across his face, softening the usual hard lines around his eyes and mouth just a little. “Yeah. Suppose it does.” He paused, then added gruffly, “You’re good with him. Real patient. Most people lose interest in a dog like him pretty quick out here.”
You smiled a little, your fingers continuing their gentle path through Dog’s fur. “He’s not hard to like once you get used to him. Loyal. Quiet when it counts. Reminds me of someone else I know pretty well.”
Daryl bumped your shoulder with his own, the contact light and almost playful. “Shut up.”
But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he settled in a bit deeper, letting the comfortable quiet stretch between you for a while. The night felt calmer with the three of you like this, the steady crackle of burning wood, Dog’s even breathing, and the solid warmth of Daryl’s presence beside you. Small comforts like these were rare in a world that rarely handed them out willingly.
After a few minutes, you spoke again, keeping your voice low. “You know he still follows you every morning when you head out scouting. Looks for you first thing, every time. You’re still his favorite. I’m just… extra.”
Daryl glanced sideways at you, his expression guarded but with something warmer flickering underneath. “Didn’t ask for extra.”
“Too bad,” you teased lightly, the words carrying no real pressure. “You got it anyway.”
He snorted softly, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in that tiny, rare almost-smile he sometimes let slip. Dog sighed deeply between you, completely relaxed, like he knew exactly what he’d accomplished by nudging the two of you closer together without trying.
Daryl’s hand shifted slightly, brushing against yours where it rested on the dog’s side. Neither of you moved away. His rough fingers lingered there for a moment, tracing a slow, absent line across your knuckles before settling comfortably.
“Still a traitor,” he muttered, looking down at Dog with a hint of reluctant fondness.
“Yeah,” you whispered, leaning your head lightly against his shoulder. “But a good one. Gets us sitting like this instead of freezing separately in the dark.”
Daryl didn’t answer right away. He just stayed right there, letting you rest against him while the fire kept the worst of the chill at bay. The distant groans of walkers felt farther off than usual, almost easy to tune out. For a little while, the whole world narrowed down to this simple moment: the dog warm and heavy across both your laps, Daryl’s shoulder steady under your head, and the quiet understanding passing between you that didn’t need big words or declarations.
“Guess it ain’t so bad,” he said eventually, his voice low and rough around the edges.
You smiled against the fabric of his jacket, the expression small and content. “No. Not bad at all.”
The three of you stayed like that long into the night, sharing the small stretch of peace and warmth while the rest of the uncertain world waited just beyond the reach of the firelight.
