the group is settling into alexandria. well...most are. daryl is still trying. the community holds a welcome party for you all, including bonfires, live music, drinks, and nice clothes. clothes that no one in the group thought they'd be wearing ever again.
daryl's sitting a good few yards away from the crowd of alexandrians, chewing on a toothpick to avoid talking to anybody. he's thinking to himself this is some bullshit, everyone dressed in suits and dresses acting like the world ain't over outside these walls. just moaning and groaning under his breath like always.
but then you walk into the crowd. you're wearing a flowery strappy sundress that falls mid-thigh on you. you're no longer in your disgusting, bloodied up clothes and your hair is no longer matted and gross. you're clean, glowing, and beautiful. daryl's mind goes silent for the first time in a long time.
he watches you make your way through people, before taking a seat beside maggie as she hands you a drink with a smile on her face.
carol interrupts daryl's wandering eyes.
"not complaining anymore, huh?" the small smile on her face grows into a knowing smirk.
daryl sits up immediately, swatting her away with his arm in the air.
"man shut up. dunno the hell you talkin' about" he mutters under his breath.
carol walks away cackling. daryl pretends to not look at you the rest of the night.
you definitely notice. the blush creeping on your cheeks gives it away.
â Daryl never takes your hand firstâhe just silently intercepts your palm when you walk side by side. Always. In the store, in the woods, down a dirt roadâhis fingers find yours on their own, like he loses his bearings without it. If you pull away (to fix your hair or grab keys), he freezes for a second, then reaches for your fingers againâmore insistent this time, with a light squeeze. "Don't wander off," that gesture says. He doesn't comment, just holds on, like something fragile and completely his. And when you get on the bike, his hand on your waist is the same thing continued.
Eileen had been walking around for what felt like hours, though the clock on the wall that hadn't kept proper time in years claimed it had only been about an hour or a little more. Back and forth did she walk over the dirty, stained carpet, back and forth, back and forth, from the slightly cracked window to the sagging couch and back again.
She wasn't even high right now. Not as much as she wished to be.
That was the worst part. The clarity. The awful clarity that made every part she could see in this godforsaken house look uglier than it was, every shadow more scary, and every memory more painful.
Her fingers twitched at her sides as she walked in the same circles over and over. She'd already looked through the kitchen drawersâthe ones that weren't stuck shut with old greaseâsearching through four years of expired coupons, bent silverware, and a dead roach across the counter. Nothing. Not a single pill. Not even a half-smoked joint, some of her clients had left behind. The bar had been stupid; Merle had been an asshole again, and the man whose dick she'd sucked had given her cash, but not what she needed so desperately. Cash she'd already spent on nothing, because there was no one to buy from at this hour.
Merle Dixon.
That young bastard, with his wide, dumb grin and dirty hands, made her shiver. He'd watched her crawl on the floor for a pill like a dog, and he'd also snorted the coke himself right in front of her. Then he'd left, walking out like she wasn't even there, like she was nothing but a piece of shit on the floor he'd gotten tired of looking at.
Eileen stopped walking in front of the window, her reflection staring back at her from the glass. Those hollow eyes, her tangled, strawberry blonde hair, and the exhaustion that was written all over her face. She barely recognized herself anymore. When had she stopped being the woman her daughter adored? The one with the pinned-up hair and the white apartment walls? The one who'd had pancakes on weekends and a husband who loved her more than anything and cut the crusts off sandwiches for their daughter?
Their daughter.
Eileen wanted to throw up.
She'd seen them. Ilyana and Daryl. In the tree. Curled up together, Ilyana's legs were tangled with the Dixon boy's, and with her head against his shoulder, as if she belonged there. It looked as if she'd found something Eileen couldn't give her. Like she'd found something Eileen had never been able to give her. The boy had looked at Ilyana the way men used to look at Eileen. Before. When she was still worth looking at.
She shook her head hard, trying to push the thought away, and went back to walking around.
The bedrooms were next. She pushed open the doorâIlyana's door, though she never thought of it that wayâand stood in the doorway for a moment. The sheets were still rumpled from the last man who'd used this bed, condom wrappers were on the floor, and a spoon crusted with whatever was left on it was on the nightstand. She'd have to clean that before Ilyana came back, wherever she was now. Not that it mattered. The girl had seen worse.
Eileen dropped to her knees beside the bed, lifting the edge of the mattress, shoving her hand into the gap where the box springs met the frame. Nothing. She checked under the pillow, inside the pillowcase, and between the headboard and the wall. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Was there blood on the mattress? No, no, that couldn't be blood. Ilyana was fine.
Her hands were shaking now. Reality was becoming unbearable, and every thought was too loud. She needed something to take the edge off. Just a little something. Just enough to stop seeing Ilyana's face when she'd dragged her out of that treeâthe way her daughter's eyes had gone empty, the way she hadn't fought and hadn't screamed.
No, she hadn't done anything.
Like mother, like daughter.
There was nothing in Ilyana's room, and she knew that looking through her own bedroom would be meaningless and to no avail.
There was nothing there.
Back in the living room, just when she was about to simply scream, she remembered the one place where she hadn't looked. The closet, the one that was standing far away in the corner of the living room. Eileen moved to the closet fast, pulling the door open so hard it came off its top hinge.
She pulled out something that felt like a few boxes, not knowing what it was at first. The bigger one looked old and dusty, and she didn't remember putting it here. For a moment, she almost shoved it back, too focused on her search for a new high to care about some forgotten bullshit. But something made her stop.
Sitting back on her heels, she opened the bigger box.
The smell of it, oh, the smell⊠She remembered. There was the smell of old paper, dust, and, underneath it all? Cologne. His cologne. The one he'd worn on special occasions, the one she'd bought him for their first anniversary, which was the one that still lived in her memory even though she'd pushed away every other memory of him a few years ago.
Her hands trembled as she reached inside.
Photographs. Dozens of them, held together with a rubber band that had long since turned to look as if it might snap at any moment. She pulled them out, and the first one made her gasp in pain.
It was Dominic. Her Dominic. Standing by the lake, the one with the peach trees where they always went and where he promised to love her forever, his arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her pregnant belly. She was laughing in the photo with her head thrown back against his chest and her hand resting on his, where it lay across her stomach.
Eileen remembered that day. It had been hot, their first real Georgia summer. He'd insisted on driving there, even though she'd complained about the bumpy roads. "Worth it," he'd said, kissing her temple. "Always worth it."
Eileen's vision turned blurry, and she blinked hard, feeling angry at the tears that were about to fall down. She wasn't going to cry. Not over him. Not over any of it.
But the next photo was worse.
Him holding Ilyana in the hospital. The baby was wrapped in a blanket, one tiny fist pressed against his chest, with her face scrunched up and eyes closed. He was looking down at her like she was the most precious thing he'd ever seen.
"She's perfect," he'd whispered. "Just like you."
Eileen set the photo down, her hand shaking so badly she nearly dropped it. She reached into the box again, pulling out letters this time. The paper was creased from being folded and refolded; some of the ink was smearedâwhether from tears or age, she couldn't tell.
The first one she opened was short. Just a few lines in his familiar handwriting.
'My dearest love, I can't stop thinking about you. About us. About our little girl. She's perfect, you know? Absolutely perfect. I never knew I could love someone so much, but she's changed everything. She's my sunshine, my everything. And you? You're my world. I can't wait to see what the future holds for us. For our family. I love you both. Always.'
Eileen started sobbing before she could even stop it. She pressed her fist to her mouth, trying to hold back the sounds, but it was too late. The tears were coming now, rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto the paper.
She'd read these letters a hundred times. A thousand. Back when he was still with her, one of them wasn't home because of work, when she'd put them under her pillow and pull them out in the middle of the night, she'd convince herself that the distance was temporary, that the construction job would end and that she'd get her promotion, and that they'd go back to Atlanta and everything would be fine.
It wasn't fine.
None of it was fine.
She looked through more photosâhim at the lake with Ilyana, holding her tiny hands to help her balance on a tree stump; the three of them at Christmas, her in a red dress she'd bought on sale and him in the sweater she'd knitted that came out too big in the shoulders; and Ilyana's first birthday with cake smeared across her face, him laughing so hard she'd nearly dropped the camera.
The letters were words of love, promises of forever, and plans for a future that never came. And then she found it. The long one in the other box, the smaller one. The letter that hurt the most.
She didn't need to read it. She remembered every word.
'This weekend, while you're away to finally earn your promotion, I'm going to take her on a little trip. Just the two of us. I know you told me not to use my remaining sick days, but I want to show her the world, even if it's just another small piece of Georgia. And I've packed a picnicâher favorite sandwiches, the ones with the crusts cut off, and those little cookies she loves so much.'
Eileen couldn't hold herself up on her heels anymore and sat down on the floor, turning her back against the closet door, holding the letter in both hands. She could see it. She could see him in the kitchen, carefully slicing the brown edges off white bread and arranging the sandwiches in the old wicker basket they'd bought at a flea market. She could see him packing the butterfly netâthe one he'd found at the thrift store, the one he'd been so excited about because Ilyana had been fascinated by the monarchs that gathered in the backyard.
'We're going to the lake. You remember the one, don't you? Where we used to go before she was born? Where I promised to love you forevermore, among all the peach trees? It's still quiet there, at our favorite place, our own personal paradise, peaceful.'
Eileen was breathing raggedly now. She hadn't cried like this in years. Hadn't let herself. Crying was a luxury, and she'd long since traded luxury for numbness.
But here, alone in the living room, surrounded by the memories of a life she didn't want to remember, she couldn't stop.
'Once we're at the lake, I'll take pictures for you, for us. Lots of them. I know you'll want to see her smiling face when you get back home to us. She's been babbling about her pretty Mommy nonstop, you know? She misses you so much when you're gone. Your cuddles, your kisses, and when you tickle her.'
Her daughter's pretty mommy.
When had she stopped being that? When had the woman in the photographs turned into this hollow-eyed no one, walking in circles inside a house that smelled like piss and regret, selling her body for enough cash to buy the next fix?
'I love you so much, my darling beauty. More than anything I ever loved. And I love her. More than life itself.'
The tears came faster now and dripped onto the paper, smearing the already smudged ink. Eileen moved forward until her forehead touched her knees, and the letter was crushed between her hands.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorryâŠ"
She didn't know who she was apologizing to. Him? Ilyana? Herself? The woman she used to be, the one who'd believed in picnics by the lake and butterfly nets and forever?
"I couldn't do it," she choked out. "I couldn't⊠Not like you thought⊠I'm notâŠ"
The letter crumpled in her fist, and she let out a ragged scream that was muffled by one of her arms, so no neighbor could hear. Not that they'd care. Not that anyone would come.
When the tears finally slowed down, and her breathing turned slightly normal again, she sat there for a long time, staring at the photograph on top of the pile. He and Ilyana. The lake. The tree stump. His hands holding hers, keeping her steady.
She reached out with a trembling finger and traced the outline of his face.
"I should have gone with you," Eileen whispered. "That weekend. I should have called in sick. I should haveâŠ"
She knew there was another picture like the one she'd looked at, showing the first day of Dominic and their daughter together at the same lake. However, she had no strength left to reach out and look at it. Not now, anyway. Now she remembered how she'd been too focused on the promotion and on the career; she'd spent years proving that she could be more than just a wife and a mother. And he'd taken Ilyana to the lake without her.
The letters were scattered around her on the floor now, and next Eileen picked up the shortest one. A note that had been tucked inside the pocket of the old plushieâthe one she'd hidden from her daughter because she couldn't bear to see her holding something he'd touched.
'For my little Ilyana, my beautiful sunshine. With love, your Daddy.'
Eileen let herself remember. The way he'd looked at Ilyana and her as if they were his whole world. The way he'd sing lullabies in the nursery, making up Italian words when he forgot the real ones. The way he'd hold Eileen's hand in the car, even when she was too tired from work.
The way he'd loved them. Both of them.
Eileen opened her eyes and looked at the wall. Through it, somewhere in the other half of this miserable duplex house, she could hear footsteps stomping aroundâmaybe Will Dixon had just woken up.
It was a pitiful attempt to distract herself, since she had these letters now. The proof that Dominic loved them. That he'd wanted them. That none of what she'd told Ilyana, the lies about him not wanting her, was true.
And she didn't know what to do with that other than push herself to finally look at the face again, which she so desperately tried to forget about. Eileen's fingers were trembling so badly she could barely hold the next photograph steady. She set it down on the floor beside her, then the next, and then the next. A life she'd tried so hard to forget.
There was Dominic, leaning against a car with a grin and eyes that looked ever so brown. His dark hair was curly, a little too long, the way Italian boys wore it back then, when they wanted to look like they didn't care but secretly spent quite some time on getting it just right. He'd always been so self-conscious about his thick hair until she'd told him it made him look like a young Massimo Girotti in La Corona di Ferro, and he'd called her 'Gioia mia' for the first time.
Gioia mia... My joy⊠Just one of the many names he'd lovingly called her.
She'd had to look it up later, hiding the dictionary under her medical textbooks so her roommate wouldn't see. Not that her roommate would have cared. But Eileen had been careful back then. She had been careful about everything and especially careful not to appear too interested in a boy who wasn't from her world. But maybe he'd been destined to become her whole world.
New York City in the year of 1975.
Eileen OâBrien was just eighteen, born in 1957, fresh out of high school, accepted to a University's pre-med program, and already planning her escape from the small apartment she shared with her mother and father in Boston, Massachusetts. She'd won a partial scholarship, enough to get her foot in the door, and she'd been working nights at a diner to cover the rest. Saving every tip and planning her future career.
Dominic Feranna had walked into the diner. Born in 1956, and only one year older than her.
She remembered it exactly. April 16th, 1975. A Wednesday afternoon. She'd been exhausted, running on three hours of sleep and too much coffee. Her hair was coming out of its ponytail, and there was a grease stain on her uniform. He'd sat in her section and ordered a cup of unsweetened Espresso, and when she'd brought it to him, he'd looked up at her with those brown eyes and said, "You look like you haven't slept in a week, bella."
"I don't know what 'bella' means," she'd lied, "but my name's Eileen, and I'll bring you the check whenever you're ready."
He'd laughed. "You're part Irish. I can always tell. It's the eyes. And the attitude⊠Slav? Maybe Russian?"
"Ukrainian. And you're Italian," she'd shot back. "It's all that Dippity-do in your hair and the too many hand gestures. Or maybe it's just grease."
"American and Sicilian!" He'd looked down at his hands, then back up at her, and grinned. "Monella mia... I don't know what to say!"
"Could've fooled me, ĐĐ°ŃŃŃĐČĐœĐžĐș."
That should have been it. That should have been the end of a forgettable interaction between a waitress and a customer who tipped okay. But Dominic had come back the next Wednesday. And the Wednesday after that. And then he'd started showing up on other days too, always ordering the same and always finding a reason to talk to her.
She'd learned that he was nineteen, born in New York City, working construction with his uncle's crew while he saved up for who knew what. He'd dropped out of community college after a semester and said it wasn't for him. Said he'd rather work with his hands than sit in a classroom. She'd told him that was a waste of his chances at a good career; he'd told her she was too pretty to be so mean, and she'd told him to stop flirting and drink his coffee.
But the flirting hadn't stopped.
Dominic brought her a bouquet of wildflowers he'd picked from the side of the road, giving them to her right inside the diner with a bow before he bent down on his knee, which made her roll her eyes so hard they nearly fell out. He'd learned her schedule, memorized her shifts, and started walking her home after her late nights, claiming it was too dangerous for a woman to walk alone in New York City, that he was just being a gentleman, and that he'd be happy to keep her company if she didn't mind.
Eileen minded. At first.
Somewhere between April and the start of September, between the endless cups of coffee and the stupid jokes, she'd stopped minding.
They'd had their first real fight at the end of September.
Eileen had told him she was going to study somewhere else to avoid years of studying in New York for nothing and the mountains of debt. And Dominic, who'd never been anything but kind and charming, had gone quiet.
"You think I'm not good enough for you."
"I think I'm not good enough for myself if I don't try," she'd answered.
He'd stared at her then, and she'd let him. After a long moment, he'd nodded. "Okay⊠Okay. Then I'll be good enough for you until you figure out you already are."
She'd cried in the bathroom after that shift at the diner, and she'd told herself it was exhaustion, nothing more. But she was thankful.
The next photograph Eileen found was from their first official date. April 16th, 1976. The same date as their first meeting. He'd planned and wanted it that way, she remembered nowâhe'd confessed it years later, grinning like a fool after she'd asked why it took him so long to officially ask her out, saying he wanted to make their first real date mean something and to let her be sure about him. "Two birds, one stone," he'd said. "Now you'll never forget either one."
He'd taken her to a little Italian restaurant, the kinda place where the owner knew his family and the music playing over the speakers was something his grandfather had probably smoked a cigar to.
She'd worn a green dress in emerald green, her mother's favorite color, the color of Ireland, and she'd let her Strawberry blonde hair down for the first time in months. She remembered how nervous she'd been and how she'd changed clothes three times. She'd denied it, of course. Denied it all the way to the restaurant, and even when she saw him waiting outside in a button-down shirt that was slightly too tight across his broad shoulders, or when he took her hand and led her to a table in the corner.
But Eileen stopped denying it when he'd reached across the table, taken her hand, and said, "My mamma's going to love you. She's been asking about the Irish girl for weeks."
"Your mother doesn't know me."
"For sure she does. I told her everything. The way you talk, the way you walk, the way you tell me to shut up all the time."
Eileen pulled her hand back in shock, but she'd been smiling. She remembered that.
But the racism had started not long after their first official date. Especially after their first official kiss.
Not from Dominic's familyâhis mother had welcomed her with open arms, a woman who'd pinched her cheeks and loved to cook with her from time to time. His father was a quiet man. who'd worked construction his whole life, had looked her up and down once, grunted, and gave them his blessing.
No, the racism came from outside. From strangers on the street, from their own neighbors, from people who saw an Irish girl holding hands with a Sicilian boy and felt the need to share their opinions.
"You know what they call those like you?" Someone had hissed at her once, waiting for the bus. "Micks and Wops. That's what you two are. Not even two damn peas in a garbage can!"
She'd ignored it. She'd been good at ignoring racist bullshit like that.
"Your kind should stick to your own," a woman had said in the grocery store, watching them shop for ingredients for dinner. "It's not natural!"
Dominic had opened his mouth to say something to defend her, but Eileen had put her hand on his arm and pulled him away. "Not worth it."
"They can't talk to you like that!"
"They can talk however they want. I don't care what they think."
But Eileen had cared. Not about their opinionsâthose were coming from ignorant people who'd never left their neighborhoods and never seen anything beyond the radius of the block they'd been born in. It was because she could see it hurting him.
Even the letters from that time were hard to read.
Eileen found them at the bottom of the box, inside an envelope with no address and a postmark from New York.
'Eileen,
I can't sleep. It's two in the morning, and I'm lying here thinking about giving you these letters soon, about how you will read them, and about how I usually love our little ritual of me writing you these. Right now, I can't sleep. My Uncle says I'm stupid, wasting my time on a girl who's gonna leave me for a doctor in another state. He says you're just with me until someone better comes along.
I broke his nose.
But I need to know. Is he right? Will you leave? Because I don't think I could take it if you left. I know I'm just a construction worker. I know I don't have a future like you do. But I love you, Eileen.
I'll wait for you. However long it takes. I'll wait.
â Dominic'
She remembered that letter and how she'd read it in her dorm room, with her roommate asleep in the bed across from her. She'd cried then, too, and she'd written him back immediately, a single sentence on a scrap of notebook paper:
'Come with me.'
He'd shown up at her dorm the next day with a dozen red roses and a ring box in his pocket. She'd said no at first. It was too soon; she was too young, and there was still so much studying ahead. But she'd kept the ring box anyway, hidden in her underwear drawer, and sometimes, when the studying got too hard, and the future looked too uncertain, she'd take it out and hold it in her hand and let herself imagineâŠ
A loud BANG made Eileen open her eyes. The memory of the ring box was gone from her mind as she tried to process the sound she'd just heard. A gunshot? No⊠A door? The backdoor? Yes, that must have been it.
She stumbled to her feet, leaving the letters and photographs behind on the floor, and walked over to the window, careful to stay behind the dirty curtain.
Will Dixon.
Stumbling across the backyard with his hunting knife in one hand and headed toward the woods. Toward his shack in the woods.
Eileen watched him disappear between the trees, waiting to see if he'd turn back. He didn't. But her hands were shaking as she stepped back from the window. Somehow, she was jealous of him, at least, right now. He probably wasn't sober. Will could just let the hours pass by now, but she could feel the minutes ticking away. Even the seconds.
Eileen looked back down at the floor. Down at the photographs and the letters. She hadn't finished looking through them, and she knew there was more in the box. More memories and more of⊠him.
Sitting back down, she pulled the box toward her. She needed to see the rest. She needed to remember everything.
can i get uhh⊠vanilla.. cream cheese frosting.. crushed oreos.. âpretty good, huh? i told you i'd make you feel goodâ.. and with peaches?
A Man of His Word
Pairing:Â Daryl Dixon x Reader
Summary:Â Your husband fulfills his promises.
Warnings/Tags:Â smut with no plot, soft dom!daryl, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, unprotected p in v sex, use of the term âgood girlâ, husband!daryl, light infantilization, season 11, established relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 441 words
A/N:Â While Iâm obsessed with sub!daryl, I also adore soft dom!daryl. Heâs pretty cocky in this, and I love it lmao. This is for my 650 followers celebration, so you can check out that post to see the context behind this request. This fic is shorter than my usual content, but I was running on a few hours of sleep while writing it. Hopefully, this fits your vision!! <33
Masterlist | D.D. smut masterlist
âBeinâ so fuckinâ good for me.â
As Daryl praised you, he was setting a steady pace with his thrusts and holding eye contact. Your husband was huge on eye contact during sex, so this was no surprise. His lips moved against the side of your neck, leaving dark marks in his wake. He gently prompted you to respond to him.
âYou want me to go faster or slow it down? Use your words, honey.â
Overstimulated with pleasure, you werenât able to respond yet, and tears streaked your cheeks. Daryl kissed them away and kept moving. The hand that wasnât supporting his weight began stroking his hair, and he spoke again.
âCâmon, sweet girl. Not gonna know what you want if you donât say nothinâ. Want me to stop?â
Your eyes widened at the idea of Daryl stopping, and you frantically shook your head. It took a few seconds for you to speak, and your voice was tinged with desperation.
âD-donât stop. Please donât stop.â
âThatâs a good girl. Answer my question?â
âOh, maybe⊠a little faster?â
The hesitation in your voice made Darylâs heart ache, and he redoubled his efforts. He wanted you to feel good, to feel heard. Your husband pressed a kiss to your forehead and quickened the rhythm of his movements. His fingers were still in your hair when he praised you again.
âThank you for usinâ your words. Youâre listeninâ so well.â
Knowing that Daryl wanted you to respond to him, you swallowed a whimper and nodded. The pleasure was overwhelming, but in the best way imaginable. Your voice trembled when you spoke between small gasps.
âTryna be good. Itâs a lot.â
âI know, baby. I know. You can take it, though.â
Darylâs breathing was ragged as he continued moving inside of you. He could feel the euphoria pulling at his lower stomach, but he was more focused on you. It was obvious that you were getting close to that edge, and he was determined to push you over it. He changed the angle of his hips, and the orgasm immediately crashed into you. You cried out his name and tried to anchor yourself by clinging to his shoulders.
His peak soon followed, and it took all of his strength to not collapse on top of you. After thrusting a few more times, he smirked and nodded in satisfaction. His tone was dripping with cockiness.
âPretty good, huh? I told you Iâd make you feel good.â
It took several seconds before you could speak again, and you laughed breathlessly. Seeing your husband act boastful was always amusing. You grinned and nodded.
Summary: A day in the life of Daryl Dixon as a father of his five-month-old daughter.
Set in Season 11!
Warnings: dad!Daryl, so much FLUFF, babies/baby things, slight humour, established relationship
Word Count: 3,7k
a/n: Did someone say dad!Daryl? đ
°ââą discover more... âąâ°
Love In The Rearview Mirror °ââą EoH Masterlist
Daryl was still not entirely trusting this place. He would've lied if he said otherwise. But nevertheless had it been the right decision to move here temporarily. Without a doubt. It was better for Jude and RJ. Above all, though, it had been what was best for you. Alexandria wasn't the safest place at the moment. Especially not for birthing a baby and raising a newborn. The archer would've never forgiven himself if something happened to you or his baby girl. So, the decision had been quite an easy one to make.
Now, almost five months and a birth luckily without any complications later, Daryl was able to hold his four-month-old daughter in his arms. It was a rare day off of work for him - and he was eager to spend every spare minute of it with her, you, the other kids and Dog, of course. Family.
He actually hated that he had to be most of the times present and ready to serve as a Commonwealth soldier, but simultaneously he knew that he practically had no other choice. Daryl had to make sure to keep the food on the table for the six of you while you were on 'maternity leave' - as batshit crazy as it sounded. He had to provide, and that's what he'd do.
A small whimper redirected his attention; eyes dropping on the baby girl tucked in the crook of his arm. She was so tiny compared to him. He could easily hold her with just one hand. As if she weighed nothing. Ruby was so precious. So soft. Innocent. Pure. A miracle.
And she was his.
The archer smiled; marvelling at the even tinier fingers which clenched and unclenched to fists as she slightly wiggled around in her dad's hold. Her face scrunched up - about to let out a cry, but Daryl was on the scene; immediately tried his best to soothe her.
It was one of those nights and now days where Ruby had a rough time to sleep. She woke often; unsettled, restless. "Hey, baby girl. Wha's wrong, huh?" He spoke quietly - not wanting to risk waking you up. You had drifted off into a much needed, peaceful sleep while reading in bed two hours ago and Daryl was adamant to let it stay that way.
He gently started to rock Ruby; walking a few steps through the living room of the quiet apartment. The kids were at school and Dog with you asleep in bed. "Jus' can't seem 't find sleep, righ'?" A soft whimper left her pouty lips, before she put her fist to her mouth; starting to suckle.
By now, Daryl was kinda used to his new role as a father. Jude and RJ had helped him grow into this as well. He knew what his little girl tried to tell him. Not always, but mostly. "Ya hungry, sweetheart? Yeah?" Equally blue eyes looked up at him; filled with yet unshed tears. The archer smiled down at his baby and dipped his head to press a soft kiss on her fuzz covered head. "C'mon. Let's getcha sum'thin' 't eat. Hopefully yer mama has some milk in the fridge. Dun wanna wake 'er..." He mumbled the last few sentences more to himself while making his way over to the kitchen counter. His free hand reached for the fridge to open it; checking if you stored some breast milk there.
Luckily, you did. Daryl took one bottle out and put it into the baby bottle warmer Carol got you two. Sum real fancy shit, the archer thought when he had first seen and used it. Hell, he didn't even know something like that existed. Why should he?
It didn't take the little... device long to work its magic - which was a good thing since the baby on his arm got antsier and antsier with every minute that passed. "Jus' another minute, lil' princess. Almost there." Daryl tried his best to reassure Ruby. When the bottle was done, he squeezed a drop of milk on his wrist in order to test the temperature.
Safety first.
It was just right, so he adjusted Ruby in his arm and brought the tip of the bottle to her mouth; offering. She understood the assignment, of course, and instantly latched on. "There ya go." The archer smiled, threw a burp cloth - an item you had practically stowed away in every room somewhere in the apartment - over his shoulder for later and slowly made his way back over to the sofa where he sat down with Ruby.
He watched her suckle on the bottle; making the most adorable noises he had ever heard in his whole life. Another soft smile darted across his face; heart sloshing over with love for this miniature human. But then he noticed how fast and greedy Ruby ate. So greedy that a few droplets of milk didn't make it inside her mouth but dribbled down her chin. "Slow down, baby girl," Daryl spoke in a gentle, deep voice and pulled the rubber tip of the bottle back a little. "I know yer hungry, but ya jus' gonna choke on the milk. Tha' ain't good." He 'explained' quietly; trying to prevent this to happen. His 'tactic' worked but the archer had to repeat it a few times.
Once the bottle was empty and Ruby fed and satisfied, Daryl placed the bottle on the small coffee table in front of him. Then he took the burp cloth from his shoulder, carefully dabbing her mouth, chin and even neck to wipe away the milk she spilled. When that was done, he placed the white cloth back over his shoulder and adjusted the newborn. Wrapping both his big palms cautiously but securely around her slim torso - right underneath her little arms, he lifed her up to rest her head against his shoulder; one hand moving to cradle her bum. "A'right," he mumbled - again more to himself.
Of course, Daryl had done this a dozen times by now - but he was still highly focused on doing it right. He wanted to be everything his father never was. This precious girl deserved only the best - and hell, he'd give her the world and more.
A small burp ripped him out of his thoughts - and he smiled. Mission accomplished. "There we go. Good girl," Daryl praised the baby and lifted her off his shoulder again. But instead of laying her back down in the crook of his arm, he lifted her up higher - so that his arms where stretched. She was looking down at her dad now; arms and legs dangling freely in the air. The archer didn't know why, but Ruby loved this. Whenever he held her like that, she was the happiest little girl. It never failed to make her smile. This time either...
"Hey, baby girl," Daryl said; locking eyes with her. As soon as she realised what was going on, a big smile stretched over her face and she giggled. By god, if the laugh of his daughter wasn't one of the best things he ever heard. Music to his ears. He'd never get tired of hearing it. The archer couldn't help but smile as well. "Yer a happy little princess now, aintcha? Yeah, ya are." Ruby continued to smile, giggle and gurgle happily; little legs dangling and tiny hands trying to reach for him.
Daryl kept on smiling and lowered her a little; biceps bulging in the black sweater he wore. Ruby's little hands were instantly on his face. He let her 'explore', of course; having to squeeze an eye shut from time to time. But then she found his goatee - and was fascinated. Eyes wide; tiny fingers feeling the soft, coarse greyish hair underneath her small palms. "Been waitin' on this day, ya know. When ya gonna start findin' yer daddy's beard interestin'," he said; chuckling softly. "Da da da," the little girl babbled back. The archer nodded, "Tha's right, sweetheart. 'M yer daddy." and smiled, then lowered her further to pepper her cute chubby cheek with kisses.
It caused Ruby to giggle even more.
Daryl smiled and stood up to lay the baby on a soft blanket on the floor; giving her a toy to play with while he cleaned up the bottle and burp cloth. It was a plush rattle in the shape of a caterpillar.
Cleaning up didn't take the archer long - five minutes at the most, but when his blue eyes landed back on his daughter, she had switched positions. The four-month-old had rolled over and was now laying on her tummy. Much to his surprise. Sure, she had often tried to do that - to roll her body over but until now, Ruby had never made it. The bowman was impressed and proud of course. His lips curved yet into another soft smile as he watched her for a long moment. She's growin', he thought; getting reminded how fast time suddenly flew by.
After Daryl had cleaned up, he decided to take Ruby on a little walk. She enjoyed walks and they mostly helped lulling her to sleep. Given the situation and circumstances they were in today - a rough day for her to get sleep, this seemed like the best idea. Plus the weather was not that bad for a late morning in early March. Spring was definitely approaching, but slowly. It was cloudy and cool but not raining like yesterday. So, the decision was quickly made.
Daryl snuck quietly down the short hallway to Ruby's small nursery; passing by yours and his shared bedroom. He got some warmer clothes for her, then returned to his child. Instead of picking her up off the blanket, he knelt down on the floor and rolled the cooing, babbling baby over on her back again. Another smile darted across the tiny girl's face when she recognised her father - which in turn made Daryl's heart skip a beat.
He would've never seen it coming but hell, he loved this. He loved being a father.
"Ya gonna go with daddy on a walk, little princess?" A sweet gurgle left her tiny lips. "Yeah? Thought so," he chuckled quietly; big hands working to get the antsy infant in some warmer clothes. It took the archer a hot moment, but with a little patience, he managed to put her in the warm, white fleece overall. Now she looked like a polar bear cub. Literally. The overall had two ears attached on top. Daryl would've lied if he said it wasn't one of his favourite outfits for her.
"A'right. 'M gonna slip inside my jacket real quick, look after yer mama 'n then we get goin'." Said and done. The archer slipped inside his chosen piece of clothing - a black-ish jeans jacket, which would keep him warm outside and, of course, threw his signature angel-winged vest on as well. Then he snuck down the hallway again, but this time entering your shared bedroom - quietly, of course. He checked on you; noticing that you were still peacefully asleep. Your partner smiled and watched you for a moment, before he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear which had fallen into your face. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss against your temple.
Unlike you, Dog was awake but still laying on the bed beside you; taking in Daryl's side of the bed. He watched his master with perked ears. "Ya gonna join me, boy?" Daryl addressed his animal best friend then; whispering. "Walkies?" The Malinois was definitely less excited than he was. Dog huffed and rested his head back down on the blanket. "Nah?" The canine had made his choice; choosing you this time. The bowman shrugged his shoulders, "'Kay. 'M goin' alone with Ruby then." and quietly left the bedroom again.
Of course, the man didn't leave the house without writing you a note where he and Ruby went. He didn't want you to worry in case you woke up before he returned.
Daryl slipped in his boots, picked his baby girl up and quietly left the apartment; making his way downstairs where the stroller was parked. With one hand he got the 'vehicle' ready and carefully laid Ruby in the baby crib. "Almost ready, little princess," he kept talking to her while tucking her in; making sure the warm blanket was snugly wrapped around her. Not the easiest task, since this little lady was really wriggly today. But eventually, he made it.
No five minutes later, Daryl was casually walking down the street; pushing the stroller. Again, he had never thought that he would be the man he was today. Especially not after the world went to shit - which was actually the wrong term. For everybody else did the world end, but for him... It actually started. A new beginning. A new life. It healed him. It brought him all the close friends he called family and would've never crossed paths with if all that shit didn't happen. He would've never met you. Never got Dog, and certainly never became a father.
Daryl had found the most precious thing in the ruins of the world... Love - in several different variations. Self-love. Friendship. Brotherly love. Actual romantic love. And fatherly love.
Now he was here, and hell, he would lie if he said he didn't enjoy the domesticity of it all. For once, it was quiet. No unstable walls or missing food to worry about. No threats - be it walkers or humans. No wars. No blood shedding. Just peace.
Sure, his senses were still sharp. He was still a fighter and survivor after all, but... In this very moment? All he cared about was that miniature human inside that stroller.
"Daryl, hey!" A voice suddenly urged to his ears. A very familiar voice. He stopped, and looked around - finding himself standing opposite the little bakery his best friend worked in. He smiled as he spotted Carol; jutted his head at her in greeting and made his way across the 'street'. "Yer up for a lil' detour, sweetheart? Wanna see aunt Carol?" Ruby cooed and looked up at her dad with big eyes; still not asleep. Well, admittedly, he was only about five or ten minutes on the way, so...
Carol stepped out of the little shop and awaited him with a smile. "Hey," they said in union; greeting each other and leaning in for a short hug. "Ya good?" The woman nodded. "Work's a little busier but not bad. And you?" Her eyes landed on the stroller, which Daryl was softly pushing back and fro; trying to keep it in motion to help Ruby fall asleep. "Taking a walk with Ruby?" He nodded. "Yah. She ain't really sleepin' today. Thought the weather ain't bad 'n decided to give it a try." "I'd say put her in a car and drive for a while - it always helped Sophia, but I guess that's a difficult thing to do here." The archer huffed. "Kinda. Stroller has 't be enough."
A particularly loud coo from inside the stroller interrupted the two. Carol smiled and bent down a little to peak inside and look directly at her best friend's daughter. "Hello, Ruby. Are you complaining? Right of you to do so. Your dad and auntie Carol just speaking about your sleep schedule and not asking you. That's truly rude." Daryl scoffed with a smile, while the four-month-old continued to babble at the woman - as if she was talking to her. Carol played along, of course; nodding, "Mhm, I see, yeah." and kept talking to her.
"She ain't ever gonna sleep if ya keep entertainin' 'er," Daryl teased his best friend; trying to 'peel' her away from the infant. But Carol was Carol and he actually knew better. An answer came promptly. She straightened up again and looked at the archer. "Ruby complains about your snoring every time she naps on your chest."
Tit-for-tat.
Daryl scoffed again and shook his head. "Ain't snorin'." "Yes, you do. Sometimes at least. Ruby knows it, I know it- Shall we ask Y/N?" "Shuddup." The woman smiled and giggled; placing a hand on his arm - as if in apology. "I should get going again. My break is over in less than two minutes." Daryl nodded. "'Kay, yeah. See ya?" Carol nodded as well, "Of course." then looked at her niece again. "Bye, Ruby." She waved at the baby and got a smile in return.
The archer continued on his walk; mission still the same. Ten minutes later, Ruby's mood shifted again. She turned from a happy baby into a discontent baby. Whining, whimpering and close to crying. Daryl sighed; stopping for a moment to adjust the blanket over her. She was wriggling around constantly. "C'mon, baby girl. Get some sleep. I know yer tired. Can tell." He placed one big palm on her tummy - or well, front upper body and moved it in small slow circles; trying to somehow calm her down. This tactic wasn't quite a success either, but Daryl had one more ace up his sleeve... A pacifier.
His hand vanished in the changing bag attached to the stroller - searching and finding the object of his desire. He got the pacifier and offered it his daughter. Ruby was a bit hesitant at first, but then accepted the item; suckling on it. And this time, the archer's plan worked. The pacifier in combination with the constant movement of the stroller managed to finally lull the baby to sleep. Something Daryl was utterly glad and relieved about.
He decided to walk a few yards more - just to be on the safe side. Another ten minutes later, he turned around to walk back home.
On his way, he encountered another very familiar face - although dressed in Commonwealth soldier armor... Rosita. "Hey," she greeted him; helmet dangling from her hand. The archer stopped and greeted her back, of course. The co-worker she was with faded into the background; Daryl not giving him more than a short nod. "What brings you out here? It's not exactly great weather for a walk," Rosita remarked and he looked up; seeing the sky darkening with grey clouds. "Wasn't tha' bad half an hour ago... Had to take the little princess out. She ain't sleepin' today. Thought a walk might help." Realisation and clarity could be visibly seen on the woman's face. "Yeah, I know that problem," she said - referring to Coco, of course. Then she rounded the stroller and looked inside; smiling up at Daryl. "Looks like it worked, though." Daryl nodded with a grunt. "Yah, but jus' 'cause 'a tha' pacifier. Ain't been workin' without it. Took 'er longer than usually 't fall asleep. Dunno wha's off today."
Rosita shrugged her shoulders. "It just is sometimes. Coco's sleep schedule is all over the place sometimes, too. Despite Eugene's mathematical efforts." Daryl wanted to answer as Jacobs - the colleague of them suddenly jumped in and spoke up. "We gotta go, Rosita. Mercer waits." "Yeah I know," she answered; quickly turning to face the man before she redirected her attention again. "You'll get the hang of this all eventually." With a smile at her friend, Rosita walked on. "Let's go. Before you get your panties in a twist." Jacobs scoffed, "See you around." and jogged off to match Rosita's pace. Daryl walked on as well; not hearing what the other man said to Rosita. "Dixon's a father?" His voice was tinged in disbelief. "Obviously, yes. Why?" Jacobs shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. Just didn't think he'd be the type to have a family. Always seemed to me like a lone wolf." Rosita gave the man a crooked smile. "You don't know shit about him."
Another fifteen minutes later, the archer parked the stroller in the main entrance hallway of the apartment building he and his family lived in. Carefully and with utmost caution, he lifted Ruby out of the stroller and carried her upstairs; praying to every force above that she wouldn't wake up and actually got a few hours of desperately needed sleep. So it was no wonder that Daryl was utterly relieved when he had her safely tucked in her baby bed; still sleeping peacefully. He switched on the baby monitor and shoved the other half in the back pocket of his jeans; quietly closing the door to her cosy, little room behind him. That was the moment he heard some muffled noises alongside the distinct sound of a flushing toilet, coming undoubtedly from the bathroom. He smiled. Looked like you woke up from your nap. The archer's feet let him automatically into direction bathroom - just in time for you to leave said room. When you saw him, a sleepy smile started to stretch over your face. "Hey." Your self-declared husband couldn't help but return the smile.
"Mornin'," he spoke in that deep, raspy voice as he bridged the distance between the both of you; hands instantly coming to rest on your hips. "Woke up, sleepin' beauty?" You scoffed; a little laugh leaving your lips as well. "Sleeping beauty?" You shook your head. "Certainly not, babe. More like vampire or Frankenstein's monster - or something else. Won't say zombie gone back to life. That's... No. Not a fitting saying anymore..." Now Daryl shook his head. "Nah. None of tha'. Sleepin' beauty. Definitely." You scoffed once again but smiled, then took another step closer to wrap your arms around his middle. You snuggled against him; head on his chest. A chuckle rumbled through his upper body, and he pressed a lingering kiss against the top of your head.
"Baby asleep?" You mumbled into his sweater. "Baby asleep, yah." A relieved sigh left your lips. "Thank God. Finally." Daryl hummed in agreement. "What did you do to get her to sleep? Took a walk?" "Mhm. Walk 'n pacifier." You pulled back just enough to be able to look up into his eyes. "You're the best dad I could've wished for Ruby." Your husband shrugged his shoulders - almost nonchalantly. "Nah. 'M jus' tryin' 't do the right thing." "Stop downplaying this, Dar. You're an amazing dad, babe," you stated again and squeezed his waist. "Really."
He smiled bashfully; blushing softly. "'Kay. If ya say so." "Know so." You smiled as well, "Kiss?" and puckered your lips. Daryl huffed, but of course dipped his head to grant your wish. "Yer something else, woman." You giggled, "Pot kettle." and stood on your tiptoes to kiss Daryl again.
Summary: You want to lose your innocence to Daryl - but not the romantic way...
Warnings: MDNI! 18+! SMUT (prey x hunter - it's a agreed-upon agreement and entirely consensual, virginity loss, breeding kink, Reader is a virgin but certainly not a saint, Reader getting handcuffed and blindfolded, slight manhandling, Daryl calling Reader bunny, oral (f) - Daryl is a munch, teasing, dirty talk, handjob, unprotected sex (don't do that), missionary and mating press, no pulling out, slightly rough-ish), established relationship, Daryl being a cutie patootie, mentions of weapons and walkers, thirst? talks of pregnancy, fluff
a/n: Welp... I guess that request just lifted my smut writing skills to a whole new level... Pls be gentle. đ The amount of reaearch I had to do for this... All worth it, I'd say. It was very challenging, but I gave it my all. I truly hope it is to your liking @clussysposts ! đ«¶đ»
Huge shout-out goes to @levislolita for supporting me as I wrote this - and for kinda beta-reading it. She was the smut demon sitting on my shoulder, hehe. Thank you, babes! đ«¶đ»
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MDNI Divider by @jiyascepter <3
"Ya wanna do wha'?" Daryl asked you already the second time - still blinking and still in disbelief. "You heard me, Dar." The archer blinked, then shook his head. "Yer sum'thin' else woman. Swear 't god."
This hadn't been the first time you had come to your boyfriend with a new 'idea' or crazy suggestion. Whenever it was a run, an escape plan, pastime at home in Alexandria or even home decoration - it was never boring with you. But this... This put everything on a whole new level and admittedly changed the way Daryl saw you - at least a little. He thought he knew you well after almost six months of being your significant other, but the archer had to admit that he was wrong about this.
"'Kay..." He started, "Lemme process this real quick, sunshine..." and took a breath to sort his thoughts. "Jus' 't make sure I get this right... Ya want me 't... hunt ya down like a fuckin' deer, drag ya in a cabin or sum'thin' and..." He had to pause in order to form the right words with a blush already creeping up his face. "Take yer... yer virginity."
You nodded with a big smile and clapped your hands - like a toddler who just solved a puzzle on their own. "Exactly, babe."
Daryl just stared at you for a solid minute and chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. But then...
"Nah," he said; shaking his head. "Why not?" You sighed; already pouting. "Dun wanna hurt ya or sum'thin'. Ya never... a-and I... Nah."
You were still a virgin, yes. That much was true. It took you quite a while to come around and 'confess' to your partner since the archer was your first proper boyfriend - and sex wasn't a topic you both were super confident to talk about. Daryl, though, took it with the utmost respect and gentleness. He never forced you into anything - and never would. You promised to give him your virginity - but he never anticipated that you'd go along and ask him to take it like this.
"You're not gonna hurt me, babe. I promise. We're gonna chose a safe word and all. It's gonna be fine. And hot. And thrilling! Just imagine it!" He scoffed; still not quite convinced. "Told ya I wanted 't do this right... Proper bed 'n all. Romantic shit." "And I told you I don't want romantic shit and not lose it the normal, boring way." Daryl scoffed again. He really wanted to 'do it right' - but if that was what you preferred...
The archer sighed and nodded. "'Kay." You let out an excited squeal and tugged at his biceps; rocking up and down on your heels. "But if somethin' ain't right we're gonna stop right away." You nodded again. "Promise," you smiled and pulled him down for a kiss; saying 'Thank you'.
"Ya really sure ya wanna do it? Yer ready 'n comfortable enough?" Your partner checked in on you once more; wanting to be truly on the safe side. "Yes, babe. One hundred percent sure."
A few days later, a 'plan' was made and a safe word determined, before Daryl would go 'hunting'. The weather was nice. Not too hot, not too cold. Nothing on both your schedules. Daryl gave you a head start, of course. He was a little nervous about this all - but also excited. He couldn't deny that. You were right about this whole scenario. It was kinda hot.
An hour after you left Alexandria, Daryl followed. "Going on a hunt?" Eugene asked the man since he was on guard duty. Daryl adjusted the knives on his belt. No crossbow today, but prepared and armed nevertheless. He gave his friend something close to a nod, "Sum'thin' like that, yeah." stepped out of the gates and left a confused Eugene behind.
Once outside the safety of the walls, the archer scanned his surroundings - and instantly started to track you down.
Let the game begin.
And for Daryl, this game was very easy. He was an excellent tracker. Sure, you didn't really cover your tracks, but still. It wasn't much of a challenge for him. Within about an hour, he had almost caught up to you - and once he did, the fun really began.
You tried to hide from him, of course. Naturally. Your goal was to run from him as long as possible - and the thought was thrilling.
You were hiding behind a thick tree; trying to stay as quiet as possible with your heart beating rapidly inside your chest. Adrenaline. Excitement. Anticipation - of what was to happen.
And Daryl? Daryl was locked in. You had asked for this - and he'd make sure you got what you wanted. He could've sworn he had already smelled you from a few miles away. The sweet scent of your shampoo in combination with the detergent you used. He was like a shark in the ocean... He had smelled blood - and now he was going to bite.
Daryl wetted his lips and once more scanned his surroundings; standing absolutely still and listening to every sound that urged to his ears. The different songs of birds. Bees and gnats humming. Crickets chirping. Luckily no sounds of the undead which roamed the earth.
His senses were sharpened to the brim; waiting for you to make that one mistake. Daryl knew you were close - or well, that he was close. All he needed was a last hint - and in your 'recklessness', you freely gave it to him. Since the woods around you had started to get suspiciously quiet - too quiet, you dared to risk a gaze from behind the safety of the tree which hid you - a mistake. You knew you had fucked up the very moment your eyes met the blue ones of your hunter from a distance.
So you started to run; hoping to be faster than him and able to escape.
And Daryl started to run as well; now truly hunting you down.
You were good. Quick on your feet - but not as fast as Daryl. He picked up his pace; caught up to you within seconds - and before you could even try or react, a strong, thick arm wrapped itself around your waist from behind. "Gotcha, sunshine," Daryl panted in your ear and sent a shiver down your spine. You didn't fight him, of course. Why should you? The hunter had caught his prey successfully.
Exhausted from all the running, your body slumped down - causing the archer's biceps around your body to bulge in order to hold you and let you down gently.
Sure, he helped you live out your sexual fantasy, but that didn't mean he was going to hurt you or let you hurt yourself.
As you laid on the cool forest ground; still catching your breath, Daryl towered over you - and it was without a doubt one of the hottest views you ever had of him - of a man in general. The sun shone from above him; brightening his dark brown curls and creating a halo around his silhouette. Sweat glistened on his biceps and arms. The black shirt with the torn off sleeves tightened around his upper body with each heaving breath he took; making the worn buttons fight for their life. His rugged jeans with the patches was slightly covered in dirt and resin from the hunt; hanging lower on his hips than usual from the running. Piercing blues gazing down at you.
You had always considered Daryl to be nothing but gorgeous and attractive - but this... This was a whole new dimension of sexiness - and the man didn't even try.
You swallowed hard; feeling another wave of arousel strike your core. It was nothing new, but exciting for sure.
"A'right," Daryl started and reached in the back pocket of his jeans to get the small rope he packed. "Time 't take home wha's mine. Caught ya fair 'n square," he stated with the tiniest smirk and crouched down to tie your wrists together with the rope. Work-worn, skilled hands went to work, while you just watched and stared. Fuck.
It got even worse (in the best way) when he also blindfolded you with the red rug he always carried around. Your breath hitched.
"Where are you going to take me?" It was a question fitting for your 'role', but one you truly didn't know the answer to. Finding a fitting place to do those sinful things you both had in mind had been Daryl's task. He knew the woods better than anyone, so... You left it up to him.
"Ya'll see." His deep, gruff voice announced, before he swiftly picked you up and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A small queak of surprise left your lips as Daryl manhandled you easily to carry you through the woods to his chosen destination.
Despite the fact that all your senses were sharpened, you trusted Daryl with your life - literally. Blindfolded, handcuffed - easy prey for the dead and the living.
It didn't take Daryl that long to reach his destination - a hidden cabin he had found already months ago and often used as a sleeping accommodation when he was out on a run or hunting. The cabin was secluded and safe - the perfect place outside Alexandria for what Daryl was about to do to you.
Opening the wooden door, he carried you inside, made sure the safety measures applied again - he wouldn't want a walker to stumble in on you, and gently tossed you on the new King-sized mattress the archer had scavenged for the bed inside said cabin. The old one was ratty and quite frankly disgusting. He always preferred to sleep on the floor instead. But not today. Today, Daryl was prepared. He even spread out a freshly washed blanket from home over the bed. Sure, you said you didn't want to lose your virginity the 'romantic' way, but he wouldn't be Daryl if he didn't make sure that you were at least comfortable.
Then he went to untie the rope around your wrists again and take the blindfold off your eyes. You looked around; taking in your environment. You couldn't help it. Since the end of the world, your senses were sharpenend - always checking first if everything was safe. As if being able to read your thoughts, Daryl said: "Dun worry, bunny. Yer safe here. Gonna make sure 'a tha'." He shed all his knives and his angel-winged vest. "Now lemme unwrap my prey, eh?"
That sentence was - again, enough to sent a tingle down your spine.
Completely at his mercy, you let him get rid of all the unnecessary garments hiding your body - except your panties. No beating about the bush. His eyes screamed hunger, but they also held something soft; always making sure you were okay and comfortable.
Your partner admired your body; kissed your lips and every square inch he could reach, before he backed up to unbutton his black shirt and threw it aside. Daryl wasn't comfortable being shirtless around many people. You and Carol were the exception.
You were so entranced by the beauty of the man in front of you - scars and all, that you didn't even notice him stepping closer once more.
Until strong hands wrapped around your thighs - and swiftly pulled you to the edge of the bed with a little squeak leaving your lips.
"D-Dar? What are you up to?" The man looked up at you - darkness and hunger swallowing the blue in his eyes. "Caught 'm prey - only fair 't get a taste of wha's mine," he stated in a husky voice; gently pushing your legs open and keeping his palms splayed on your thighs to keep them open for him. Then he knelt down and bent over to bring his face on eye-level with your already electrified core. "Gonna devour tha' innocent lil' pussy," Daryl whispered in that deep timbre and flicked his tongue over the damp cotton of your panties; inhaling your scent - and you could've sworn that your brain crashed.
Error 404.
His words, that single gesture - it was enough to get your head spinning. A man was about to go down on you for the first time in your life. Daryl was about to go down on you for the first time ever. You'd experience things you never experienced before - and it was thrilling. The anticipation, excitement and arousal was a dangerous cocktail which flooded your veins.
"P-Please," was everything you were able to stammer out.
A little smirk tugged at the archer's lips before he licked over the fabric once again; softly suckling on the cotton - testing, teasing. You bit your lip; eyes not leaving him for even a second. Hell, you weren't even blinking; not wanting to miss a thing.
"Look atcha..." He whispered; gently tugging at your panties, "Barely even touched ya 'n yer already so ready fer me." and nibbling on them. He kept on teasing you for another moment which felt like an eternity and caused your hips to push further into him. "Dar, please..." You whined again - finally wanting to feel more; finally wanting to feel his mouth on you.
"Patience, bunny. Ya waited years fer the right man 't take yer innocence - now ya can wait five minutes longer." His words were firm but also sinful and made you whine again. Fuck. Of course, you were at his mercy and so he kept on teasing you. Biting, nibbling, mouthing at the piece of cotton underwear; driving you crazier with every passing minute.
Lucky for you, Daryl's patience wasn't eternal as well, so at one point his resolve broke as well; the arousal pumping through his veins begging him to finally eat you up like a piece of candy.
Thumbs hooked underneath the fabric and swiftly pulled them over your legs; carelessly throwing the garment aside. Without wasting another second, and before you were even able to comprehend what was going on now, he dove in.
"O-Oh my god," you squeaked out and gripped the blanket beneath you; legs quivering the moment you felt his hot, wet lips and tongue on you - and it was like an entire new world opened up to you. A feeling so intense, you never felt before. Daryl gave you one broad, lingering lick before he pulled away to ask: "Tha' good, bunny?"
A disbelieving, airy laugh slipped past your lips. "A-Are you kidding? D-Dar, it's something I've never felt before!" The archer smiled, "Good." and slightly adjusted his position. "Gonna make it even better for ya. Promise."
And he did keep that promise.
He lapped at you messily like you truly were his last meal; taking every drop of the sweet arousal you gave him. Not even five minutes in, he was nose-deep buried in your heat with your hand in his chestnut brown locks - a gesture that spurred him on even more as you discovered. Daryl growled against you and flicked his tongue faster, before he dipped the muscle inside you - switching between gently tongue-fucking you and suckling on that little sensitive nub.
And that was exactly what catapulted you quickly over the edge. "Fuck, Dar!" You literally cried out; fingers in his curls tightening before your whole body went numb against the bed as searing hot pleasure flooded you. Pleasure so intense you had never felt in your life. Daryl physically had to hold your hips down.
Of course, you had gotten yourself off before. You were a virgin - not a saint, but this... This was an entire new level. Mindblowing. Heart-stopping. You feared for a second that you were going to pass out from the intensity of it all. Daryl had positively catapulted you into another stratosphere - just with his mouth.
The man between your legs was very satisfied with his work and gently guided you through your high before pulling away. You needed a moment to recover; brain rebooting. "Ya good, sunshine?" Daryl's voice got through to you. You gave him a nod. "Ya still wanna keep goin'?" The archer broke his 'role' for a moment; checking in on you. Once again you nodded and added a hoarse, whispered: "Please." "A'right," Daryl said and adjusted his position once again; standing up.
Then you finally focused on your partner again - and his vision sent another delicious tingle straight downtown again. He was a mess. Drool and your sweet release everywhere. On his lips, chin, goatee - and even some on his nose. It almost looked like he had enjoyed this more than you had. Perhaps he did. Who knew?
Daryl's hands on your hips ripped you out of your thoughts again. He was gently pushing you further up the bed again to give him space to kneel on the mattress as well. Then he kissed up your pubic mound, navel and stomach until he reached your chest; shoving his still clothed thighs underneath yours. "Ya gonna lemme fuck ya now, bunny?" He mumbled against your skin and straightened up; watching you nod once again. "Yeah?" Daryl asked once more - to make sure, while letting his hand wander to the bulging front of his jeans. "Y-Yes. Please, Dar." He gave you a nod as well and watched how your gaze got stuck on the hand which rubbed himself over the fabric of his jeans.
Another smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Nah," he announced then; remembering that you had never seen a man's most intimate parts before - in a sexual way. "Gonna let ya feel me first. Ya want tha', bunny?" You absentmindedly licked your lips. The thought alone of feeling him - touching him caused your head to spin. "Y-Yes. Want that." "'Kay," the archer said and unzipped his jeans; making some room. "Gimme yer hand."
You sat up and did what he asked; gave him your hand. Daryl gently took your hand and guided it; slipped it inside his pants to let you feel and rub his hardness. An audible gasp left your lips at the new feeling against your hand. Firm, hot, pulsing flesh - and all just for you. "Feel tha'?" Of course, you could. "'S all for ya, bunny. Got me rock hard since I fuckin' left Alexandria." "Oh yeah?" You whispered and bit your lip while your hand kept on rubbing him. Daryl nodded; hips slightly bucking into your touch. "C-Can I... touch?"
A smile flickered over the archer's face. "'Course, ya can," he stated and instantly shifted to get rid of his pants and boxers. You watched him unpack his package with big, hungry eyes. Of course, you knew how a man's private parts were supposed to look - but you had never seen them in a sexual way. Until now.
And it caused you to gulp.
Daryl was a big boy - everything about him was, and so was his manhood as well. Thick, hot and pulsing; standing tall and proud between his legs. After shedding the rest of his clothes, he returned to his previous position between your legs; of course noticing your gaze on him.
"Whatcha sayin', bunny? All shy now or do ya still wanna touch?" "S-Still wanna touch," you answered right away; totally intrigued and more than excited. "'Kay. Gimme your hand again." You did what he asked and laid your hand in his.
Once again, Daryl guided your palm - but this time, he did something you hadn't seen coming. Something filthy - in the hottest way possible. He let some spit drool on your palm - for lubrication, and wrapped it around his length. You gasped at the feeling. He gently moved your closed fingers then up and down; letting you feel and explore. Once more you bit your lip; feeling him hot and heavy in your palm. You kept up the movements - even when Daryl's hand had already slackened around yours and fallen to your thigh. "Ya like tha', bunny? Rubbin' tha' dick? Givin' me a handjob?" You nodded; licking your lips.
"D-Do you like it? Am I doing this right?" Daryl softly squeezed the flesh of your thigh in return. "Yer doin' perfect. 'S real good." You smiled; satisfied and proud of yourself. After a long moment - when you gained a little more confidence, you increased the pace and even squeezed him gently from time to time, which caused the man's eyes to slip shut and a deep growl to fall from his lips.
Then your hand stopped - and Daryl reopened his eyes again to meet your gaze. "Do you... want to teach me how to... go down on you?" Daryl groaned again at your words. The mere thought of your mouth on him... Jesus Christ. But then again...
The archer shook his head, "Nah." and gently pried your hand away from his dick. "'M gonna show ya another time. This is 'bout ya. Not me," Daryl stated firmly and adjusted his position again; lining his hips up with yours.
Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt him against you. Oh my gosh... This was real - and it was about to happen. "O-Okay," you stammered; anticipation but also slight nervousness flooding your veins. You trusted Daryl. Fully. But you couldn't help but feel your nevers a little.
The man nodded, "'N now relax." and trapped his cock between your folds. "Jus' feel." He pressed it down and moved his hips to let it glide through your slit; repeatedly bumping your little bundle of nerves. Daryl wanted to just let you adjust to the feeling and also lube himself up - making things easier. You moaned; legs twitching. Yet another sensation you hadn't felt before in your life.
The archer grinned as he felt you instinctively move your hips with his; wanting and creating more friction. "Feelin' good, bunny? Yer pussy likin' this dick, eh?" You nodded vehemently; eyes closed. He smirked again, then pulled back a little further to nudge the tip against your entrance. You gasped and literally froze; hand reaching out to grip his forearm. "D-Dar..." "Ya ready, bunny?" You nodded. "Y-Yes. Just go slow, p-please."
For a moment, Daryl's entire body language and expression shifted. "'O course, sunshine. I got ya," he said in a gentle voice - slipping from his 'role' once more. He leaned forward to kiss your forehead and steady himself properly. Then he lined himself up and slowly, carefully slipped inside you - inch after inch.
You would've lied if you said it didn't feel uncomfortable at first or even hurt a little, 'cause it was. Weird, strange - again, a whole new feeling. Once more, your breath hitched in your throat as a burning sensation spread from between your legs throughout your core. "D-Dar..." "I know, I know, 'm almost in. Doin' so good fer me, bunny," your partner whispered in a raspy voice; soothing and praising you simultaneously. "'K-Kay..."
While you clearly struggled a little to take him, Daryl had a very hard time holding himself back. He would, of course, because he didn't want to hurt you - but it took all his willpower to hold his primal instincts back. You were so tight and wet and warm - absolutely unfair. And watching you trying to swallow him whole wasn't helping as well.
With a last shift of his hips, he was buried inside you; giving you a moment to adjust and himself the opportunity to get his act together again. "'M in, bunny. Ya good?" He breathed; wanting to check in on you.
"Y-Yes, just feels... strange a-and... full." Daryl felt himself twitch at the word 'full'. Yeah, that was the point, right? "Yer gonna get used 't it. Promise. Gonna take real good 'a ya - 'n this pussy. She's mine now, after all. Claimed 'er fair 'n square." "A-All yours," you confirmed; taking deep, shaky breaths.
Another small smirk darted across his face at your words. "Tha's right. All mine," he whispered darkly and gave you an experimental thrust; slowly returning into his 'predator role'. You squeaked up - more in surprise than discomfort, but still; eyes fluttering at the sudden friction. After testing the waters, Daryl picked up a proper rhythm - slow but deep; starting out with missionary. The archer figured that this was probably the best position for your introduction into the world of sex.
Daryl's eyes were stuck on you; watching you intensely as he fucked you slow. "Feels good, bunny?" You nodded; biting your lip and fisting the blanket beneath you. "Uh.Huh. S-So good." Daryl's chest swelled with pride and he picked up the pace a little before he adjusted his hands; no longer pressing them against the mattress beneath him but rather gripping your hips. He straightened up a little to be more upright and get a better look at the delicious view of where your bodies were connected.
"Look atcha, bunny," he almost growled; watching his dick repeatedly slip in and out of you. "Pussy takin' me so good. Was made fer me." You moaned at the praise - borderline obscene, which got Daryl smiling boyish in return again; satisfied and happy that he was apparently doing his job right.
"Tha's how ya imagined this, bunny?" Daryl asked after quite a few thrusts; slightly out of breath. "Y-Yes, but..." You stammered out with a whine. It was hard to concentrate on words when your boyfriend did such sinful things to you.
"But what, bunny, huh? Use yer words. C'mon," he whispered and delivered a particular deep thrust which shortly knocked the air out of your lungs and totally threw you off track for a moment.
"M-More," you mumbled then; brain foggy with pleasure. "W-Want... more." Your words caused the archer to stop dead in his movements. He blinked and looked down at you through hazy eyes. "More? Ya want more?" You nodded; biting your lip.
And that was the moment Daryl entirely lost his composure. He had tried to hold back and keep things gentle for you and here you were now, telling him to give you more. His eyes darkened, "Ya want more?" as he adjusted his position between your legs. "Fine. 'M givin' ya more."
Daryl roughly lifted your legs up and pushed them back against your shoulders; gaining more leverage and switching into the mating press position. "Gonna give ya everything, bunny. More than ya can take," he growled lowly and started to thrust again. Hard, deep, quick; literally fucking you into the mattress. "O-Oh my god," you sobbed in pleasure; gripping his sweaty biceps tightly - nails digging into the muscular skin with your mouth hanging open in pleasure.
Nothing could be heard except your airy moans, skin slapping obscenely against skin and the occasional creaking of the bed beneath you.
"Tha' better, bunny, eh?" "F-Fuck, yes!" You cried out; holding onto him for dear life. "W-Want all of you, D-Dar!"
You words sparked something deep inside him. Something primal, dark and hidden. He was already lost in you. In the feeling of you wrapped around him, but this... This cut the last cord he had been holding on to. It brought him dangerously close to his high.
"Gonna give ya all 'a me, bunny," he growled again. "Gonna get my load." Thrust. "Gonna cum so deep inside ya." Thrust. "Ain't gonna pull out." Thrust. "Dun care if I get ya pregnant." Thrust. "Gonna look good carryin' my baby- Christ!" One more powerful thrust was enough to tip Daryl over the edge. "Hng," he stilled; feeling himself twitch and contract - breath stuttering.
And like he promised, he didn't pull out.
Then he collapsed beside you - careful not to crash you; totally spent, just like you.
Once the haze had cleared a little from his brain, he swiftly turned to face you again. "Ya okay, sunshine?" Daryl asked gently, while gently rubbing your upper arm. Predator mode entirely forgotten.
All you could do was nod; staring at the ceiling. "Wow... That... That was... wow." You couldn't find the words. What you just experienced had absolutely blown your mind - in the best way possible.
A little, proud and cute smile tugged at your partner's lips. "Tha' how ya wanted yer first time 't go? Did I, uh, do it right?" You giggled and turned to face him as well before snuggling against his bare chest. "More than right, Dar. It was perfect." The archer embraced you and reached for the second blanket he had brought here to cover the both of you up.
"Ya, uh, ya think I really got ya pregnant now?" Daryl whispered after a long moment of silence. "Nah," you said; shaking your head. "Think we're good, babe. One time won't hurt."
Well...
Turned out it did.
Exactly fourteen months later, Daryl found himself sitting on the porch of your little house in Alexandria - with a small baby girl sleeping snugly on his arm; tiny cheek squashed against his biceps. Yeah. One 'slip-up' had truly been enough. Your first time with Daryl - and it instantly managed to create a little miracle.
With literal heart eyes, the archer watched his daughter sleep and drool over the muscular skin. "There are you two," you said in a gentle voice and joined your family on the porch with a smile. Daryl's eyes lifted to meet yours. "Should've told ya we'd be out here," he answered; shifting a little to make room for you. You instantly shook your head, "No, no, it's okay. I'm just glad she's asleep now." and sat down beside your partner. The archer gave you a small nod and picked up the tasked at hand again - watching over his daughter.
"We created that..." He whispered then after a long beat of silence; voice slightly strained. Your mind travelled back in time at his words - to the very day you lost your innocence to Daryl. The day you literally became entirely his. "Yeah...," you whispered back; smiling and running a finger through the tiny dark-ish curls of fuzz on the baby's head. "We did. And I don't regret anything."
đŁČâ sweet orange ; (farm era) daryl dixon x reader
âââ ê° á§à·á§ ê± âââ
the tang of citrus pricks darylâs nose, fresh and ripened with the warm air.
his fingers pause their ministrations against the arrowhead he holds in his hands. he glances up at where it seems to be coming from only to find an orange displayed right before him. his eyes circle around the skin, trailing along the fingers holding it, up to the arm, and then up to a face heâs always seen around.
yours.
the sun is stuck in vivo; a hot ball in the sky as it paints everything in its sights, you included. your skin is kissed with its light as the rays curve off the glint of your smile. your eyes squinty, one of them scrunched shut. he can see the faint sheen of dampness around your neck and around your hairline.
you shake the orange a little to grab his attention further and he snaps his eyes back to it.
slumping back against the bark of the tree, he clears his throat. âwhereâd yâget that?â he asks, though his voice feels like it hasnât been used for ages.
âpatricia,â you simply say. you wiggle the orange once more. âdo you want it?â
his eyes flicker up to you and then back down at his crossbow again, continuing to fiddle with it as heâd done earlier. ânaw,â he says.
you pause, bringing your arm back as you yourself look down at the orange. theyâre a delicacy in an apocalypse â you canât remember the last time youâve seen one as fresh as this one. actually, you canât remember the last time youâve seen anything fresh.
you try again. âdo you wanna split it?â
he squints at you. âsplit it?â
âin half.â
he clicks his tongue. âi know what splittinâ it means.â he says abruptly. you fight the urge to grin at his clipped tone, lilt like gravel or a torn piece of paper. pretty rough around the edges. (yet you feel as if you could listen to it all day, not that youâd ever say it aloud.)
you shrug and shift from one foot to another. âso do you?â
âi already said no,â he grunts. âwhatâchu wanna split for anyway?â
âitâs too much,â you say, unable to find any other excuse to get him to eat it with you. truthfully, youâre eager to get to know him. youâve seen him stalk around even at the atlanta camp, youâve seen the way he helps out. he seems nice, you conclude â if not a little abrasive.
you canât lie when you say your eyes tend to find him regardless, though. toned, golden skin with darker hues along his shoulders and nose from where the ultraviolet hits, dark & overgrown hair, beady eyes. all of itâs also very alluring, you think.
he cocks his head at you, bewildered. âtoo much?â he asks. âitâs an orange, girl. just eat it.â
âdarylââ
he ignores the way the syllables of his name rolls of your tongue so easily, like the bronze granules of sand slipping through your fingers. he huffs, âif i eat half, will you leave me alone already?â
you take a moment before cracking a grin. âyeah,â you breathed.
he nods his head with a furrowed brow, relaxing his posture despite his skeptical face. a begrudging form of acceptance, but thatâs okay. you take it upon yourself to plop down beside him, grass flattening underneath your legs as you fold them over one another and bring them to your chest.
he eyes you, turning his head ever so slightly â petting the slope of your nose and gazing into every pore now that youâre up close. his eyes flit to the sudden pinch in your brow, then follow your eyeline to the fruit in your hands that you struggle to dig into.
he watches you struggle for a couple more seconds before he tsks and shows his palm.
you look at it; you look at the ridges and wonder what a reader would tell him. whether heâd listen. theyâre a bit dirty from messing around in the dirt all day, but you hardly care. when you look into each otherâs eyes, you swear you can see every swirl and pattern that lie within them, like watercolors colliding around your iris.
you hand it to him and he manages a soft sigh, nails piercing the flesh of the orange and taking off clumsy chunks of skin to reveal the fibrous pith. âreal princess, ainât you,â he grumbles. you know thereâs no bite behind it, though. so, all you do is lean your head against the wood and watch intently as he peels away the rind.
you switch between the orange and his face occasionally. itâs quiet, save for the buzzing of cicadas filling the hollow air.
your tone is soft when you speak again. almost like youâre afraid to break the thin pane of repose. âwhy do you come all the way out here?â
he huffs. âto get away from all you people.â
you hum at that. daryl catches a glimpse at you from his peripheral. heâs about halfway done peeling considering his nails are so short. âwhyâd you come out here anyway, huh?â he mutters. âhuntinâ me down?â
âjust curious to see if you wanted some.â you shrug. âdonât see you often.â
he holds the nude orange out for you to grab, now free of its shell and glistening in all its glory. you clutch the heart of the orange as you roll it between your fingers, holding it up to the light and seeing the almost glassy look of the orange glow against the sun, juices threatening to drip down the sphere. your nose stings from the scent as you watch daryl toss the exocarp somewhere along the soil. âdonât need your charity,â he scoffs.
you split half of it without much grace, grabbing another slice that you hadnât managed to get in order to get an even half for the two of you. your hand lolls to the side after, offering it to him.
âitâs not charity,â you say.
he looks at you, quiet, before grabbing the fruit from you. rather than taking slice by slice, he eats it whole, shoving spring into his mouth without applause and chewing as the sweetness explores upon his tongue.
a deep breath escapes through his nose as he leans his head back, a soft thump against the chipped bark. you can hear the faint squelch of the way his teeth pierce the skin and mush it up. you must stay staring at him because he meets your eyes with sharp pair of his own, flickering down and then up before finally asks, muffled, âyâhappy?â
you breathe out a laugh. âwas that so bad?â
he faces forward again. âwhatever,â he mumbles. âgo on, now.â
âwas it good?â you tease.
his eyes find you once again with a look you canât name, but obviously what you said couldnât be too far off. âget outta here. quit botherinâ me,â he quickly manages.
âwhatever,â you laugh again, extending your legs and unfolding yourself until you finally stand up, some bones popping like soft air pistols. you stretch your arms over your head before dusting yourself off and starting off on your way.
you throw him one last glance over your shoulder before shoving your hands in your pockets and growing further into the distance. darylâs not sure why, but his eyes follow you for quite some time.
he mutters something unintelligible to himself, grabbing the forgotten arrow and messing with the head of it again. yet, as his fingers are stained with dirt and carbon, he can only smell the citrus prickling at his nose.
he wonders if youâll come bother him again, heâs not so sure heâd mind.
Summary: Daryl isn't the type to use cutesy nicknames with his partner, especially not within earshot of others. But on the rare occasion he lets one slip, the reminder of your undeniable connection hits you both like a jumpstart to the heart.
Warnings: canon-typical violence
Word Count: 750
â headcanon that Daryl calls you babe normally, sweetheart to comfort you, girl when heâs irritated, and sunshine on good days.
On a seldom quiet afternoon, Daryl finds himself kneeled over working on his bike. The solitary pastime keeps his mind and hands busy when things get unnervingly quiet.Â
His grease-covered hands are too preoccupied to wipe the sweat off his brow, let alone grab the wrench he left annoyingly out of reach. When he catches a glimpse of you passing by at the perfect time, you hear that familiar drawl call after you with surprising casualness.Â
âBabe!âÂ
You double back just to be met with sheepishly avoidant eyes. Before either of you can really process or address the slip of tongue, Daryl gives a curt nod towards the open toolbox sitting a few feet away.
"Gimme a hand, will ya?"
You hand the wrench over along with a smug look, which earns a warning glare and a begrudging grumble of thanks in return.
Frantic voices cut through the ongoing gunfire and permeate the staticky airwaves over handheld radio. While it's reassuring to have your found-family fighting at your side, the absence of your other half when the chaos begins distracts you. Steadfast directions are thrown out to maintain some semblance of order, but it's difficult to absorb details as panic begins to rise.
Like a shining beacon, the buzz of Darylâs worried voice cuts through the surrounding frenzy from the walkie glued to your hip. As soon as you respond, the ensuing exchange is a concise flurry of âwhere are you?âs and âare you okay?âs from both ends. The huff of his breath is enough to tell you that heâs rushing to you as fast as he can, but he assures you anyway.
âJusâ hang in there, sweetheart. âM almost there.â
The endearing term slips through the cracks of panic, but itâs enough to steel your nerves and remind you of what youâre fighting for.
Black blood splatters on your skin and decorates your clothes as you take down your targets one by one. When a walker nearly knocks you on your ass, Daryl is there to take it out with a swift arrow to the cranium. With a sharp thwack, the walker crumples to the ground in a limp heap. A rough yank on your arm pulls you to his side.
"What's the matter wit' chu, girl?! Ya got s'mthin' to prove?âÂ
He takes the brief moment to lay into you before setting off again, clearing a path for the both of you back to the group. Something about the way he growls out the warning prior to effortlessly parting a sea of walkers has you following along without argument.
He may loathe your reckless insistence on sticking near the frontlines and putting yourself in harmâs way, but he has your back without fail.
Solo runs with Daryl are one of the only times you get him all to yourself nowadays. Venturing away from the group may come with its fair share of unpredictable concerns, but those worries are pushed to the back of your mind today. All you care about is the afternoon sun warming your skin, your hair whipping back like ribbons in the wind, the rumble of the bike beneath the leather seat, and the man you currently have your arms wrapped around.
Itâs been so long since your last outing alone together that this feels more like a date than a supply run. The notion puts a soft smile on your face.
Those mushy thoughts are abruptly interrupted by an unanticipated lurch of the bike that sends you reeling back as it picks up speed and roars down the open road. Your resulting flinch has you clutching him tighter, palms pressed to his front as you will your racing heart to climb back out of your ass.
Daryl spares a glance over his shoulder. The glimpse you get of an amused twitch at the corner of his mouth stirs up a familiar fluttering in your stomach. He returns his attention to the road, but not without laughing at your expenseâa deep rumble that you can feel more than hear.
âWatch those hands, sunshine,â he calls back over the drone of the engine. The rare levity in his voice is unmistakable. One of his hands leaves the handlebar to firmly readjust your grip around his waist.
âAt least wait âtil we stop movinâ tâ feel me up.â
You know heâs only joking, but that doesnât stop the very tempting idea from lodging in the back of your mind for the rest of the ride.
authorâs note: you just read my first ever fic! i started stitching together this teensy collection of daydreams on a whim and have been sitting on the draft for a long while now. considering sharing more substantial fics soon. lmk what you think! anyways, hope u liked it & thnx for reading âĄ
This is my first time uploading anything I write online. Also, I'm quite new to The walking dead. I'm only on season 7, meaning all my headcanons and scenarios will be based on the events before the 7th season. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this.
Daryl wouldn't be this rough man who makes out with you in a forest. He's vanilla, he prefers to keep the PDA stuff for more private hours. There are times when you're sitting beside him on a couch and he lays his head on your lap, just so you can play with his hair.
Unlike others (Glenn & Maggie, Rick & michonne) relationship, he's the same with you like he is with others but with a dash of care and attention. He will walk beside you instead of staying at the front with Rick. After every encounter with a herd he always checks you for bites or scratches.
Daryl is a stinky ass dude and has a very limited set of clothes. Consider 3 shirts and 2 pants alot for himâ though that does change. He puts in a a little bit more effort in now that you are also in his life. A blue button up that he wears with that vest. And yes, that is his most fancy outfit
"What's wrong with you? What'd you do?" Carol asked, watching you rubbing your neck and shoulder.
"I think I tweaked something moving all that gear yesterday. Those boxes were heavy as fuck..."
"You moved all that by yourself? I told you to ask for help!" Carol replied.
You shrugged. "Eh... asking for help was never written into my programming," you joked. She shot you a look.
"You won't be any good to anybody if you put yourself out of commission," she scolded you. "You know Daryl would drop everything to help you anytime," she added with a smile.
You felt your cheeks flush. "Shush... Daryl has more important things to be doing thanâ"
Suddenly, his drawl sounded from right behind you. "Than what?"
"She didn't want to ask for help and now she's maimed herself moving heavy boxes," Carol replied cheekily.
"I didn't maim myself! I just pulled something slightly..." you murmured.
He shook his head. "We can't have ya hurtin' yerself. Just ask me next time. It dun make ya less of a badass to need help from time to time. Otherwise I'mma start thinkin' I need to follow ya around to prevent this shit."
Carol grinned. "That's a GREAT idea. I love it!"
"Carol... shut. up."
Prompt: "I told you to ask for help." / "Asking for help was never written into my programming."
I'm genuinely so happy that you guys enjoyed the first Daryl post of mine. I hope you guys enjoy this just as much as the other post of mine over him. Thank you so much and enjoy reading!!
Daryl never considered himself handsome, it never occurred to him why someone like him could be in such a category. In the prison, people would often stop just to look at him. Their eyes would follow his hair that would fall so perfectly, to his smooth jawline to his amazing build. It wasn't until one random night that you called him a "pretty boy". He just stared at you for a second before giving you a rough "whatever". But he could feel his cheeks burning, just hearing that from you had him as embarrassed as a teenage boy.
Daryl made it a habit to bring out your weapon along with his whenever it came to cleaning. He would sit there, patiently cleaning your gun and knife. Unbeknownst to you, while you were helping around the community, he was calmly sharpening your knife. You always wondered how it never went dull. Until one night when you stumbled onto him sitting on the porch, sharpening it. He didn't look up, just said "looked dull.." in his low tone. This is him showing he cared, even if it's in the most silent ways you have come to appreciate it more and more each day.
This man is like a deer caught in headlights if you suddenly pop up while he's thinking or simply mentioning you. You would go on runs with him after joining at the very last minute and suddenly his rough exterior gains a crack that he always ignores. He wouldn't be a clumsy guy in such situations, just less talkative and he would give you those plain "yes" "mhm" or a nodâ this man would mentally scold himself out of embarrassment. Afterall, it is his first time ever losing himself infront of someone.
Summary: A minuscule part of him liked that you stayed quiet in his arms, trusting him to not hurt you, to help, and not acting like a headstrong ass about him offering help. No matter how long it had been since he fell into your arms and home, the reminder that you had finally warmed up to him enough to trust made his chest ache and heart feel too big for his ribcage.
The bigger part of him felt like it was dying for liking that such trust had to be shown because of your pain.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader
Word count: 2.4k
Additional tags: hurt/comfort, non-sexual nudity, there's really not much to warn about Daryl's just sweet with the reader when the weather is shit
Author's note: I stg this series has cursed my area with dogshit weather but fuck it we ball. Mother Nature isn't stopping me from writing about Daryl !!
read on ao3 // thatw masterlist
Over the past year and a half, Daryl quickly learned that you never seemed to cry. At least, nowhere out in the open where prying eyes (him) could see. As though the simple fact of having emotions was a sin, you hid every time, and each time afterwards you would eventually wander back out into the open as though nothing had happened at all. You never acknowledged it, and afraid of pushing you away, he didnât either.
He knew you knew he knew about the crying, but it seemed as long as he didnât say a word of it, it was fine. So he just kept his mouth shut, and did other things to help; hold you, cook, finish up whatever task had been too frustrating. Words couldn't fix it and he didnât even know where to start to try, but he could do something to make it better still.
Another fact, that both endeared and terrified him, was how you acted when a storm was coming.
In fact he wasnât sure you even knew about it; the slightly wide-eyed look you would get seemingly out of nowhere, the sudden itch to do everything right now,the sudden inexplicable anxiety. You were like a deer before the first hard winter storm.
Winter was bad in Alexandria, but Manitoba? Nothing could ever have prepared him for this. But when you were afraid, when he saw that utter exhaustion in your eyes when a storm was coming, as though you were really and truly considering giving up, that was the worst sign of all.
What giving up was in your mind, he didnât know, but whatever it was, it was far from good. It didnât matter that you had done it all alone before, countless times and were far too stubborn to just lay down and be done with it all, he was here now and he had to do something to make it better.
Somehow.
The first year heâd met you, Daryl hadn't thought so much snow was possible. Now, that seemed like practically nothing. Almost overnight, it got bad; drifts piled up higher and higher, past his shoulders, and just kept piling up more and more. Any paths worn down to comfortably walk were like they never existed, and you were so far away, despite standing right beside him, he couldnât be certain you were still with him.
Like a switch had been flipped in your mind, you were gone just like that. You barely spoke â unless it was to one of the animals, and even then you were far too subdued for his liking, only really speaking enough to comfort them â and you didnât acknowledge the snow at all, besides the near constant shoveling. Your body may have been within arms reach, but you werenât anymore.
He hated it. Despised it. Wanted to burn all the snow away somehow just to bring you back from whatever dark place in your head you were stuck in. But the snow kept coming, and coming, and coming. It just wouldnât stop.
Every day was much of the same; whiteouts, winds rattling the house and more and more snow. Work that barely took ten minutes took nearly an hour on the good, clear days. The bad, he refused to count.
You didn't come back in after checking on the animals. Food was nearly done, sunlight fading, the same tired end to every single day now. Despite the relentless wind all day and blowing snow, it was slightly better than the last few. At least, until you took too long to check on everyone and send them back to bed for the night.
âWhereâd you go?â Daryl called out, stepping outside to look for you in the yard. âFood's almost done.â
The cold air nipped at his skin, but he didnât go back to grab a jacket. It hurt, but the worry for you overshadowed any care for the cold or the pain that it brought.
This winter had been terrible, even by your standards (by now, his own were thrown out the window, and he relied solely on yours), but nothing so bad that it would take this long to finish sending the animals to bed. Something happened.
When he found you, still near the closed barn door, you were on your knees, head in your hands, shoulders trembling as you sobbed. Without a thought, he rushed to your side, hands on your shoulders, searching for an injury, a bite, something; it wasnât like you to do this. Fear gripped at his throat, terrified of what could have possibly hurt you. The dead didnât often wander out this far, but some still did â what if you gotâŠ
âWhat happened? Where are ya hurt?â
You shook your head, shoving his hands off as he spoke, the frozen leather sticking to his skin and making him wince.
âI'm not hurt,â your voice was shaky, but stubborn. Almost exasperated with the thought that that was his worry when there were worse things afoot. âIt's getting bad again,â you added, as though that explained everything.
Your temper stung, but he shook it off. Youâre not injured, anything else could be fixed. He would fix it. âWhat's getting bad again?â
You sighed, gesturing haphazardly around with one hand, the other wiping away frozen snot and tears from your face. âWinter,â you said quietly, your voice shaky and looking downright pitiful with snot on your skin and eyelashes frozen against your face. âLook at it,â you pointed at the growing snow drifts that never seemed to stop anywhere.
He sighed. That he couldnât fix.
âCâmon,â he got to his feet and hoisted you up to carry you bridal style, not giving you a chance to protest. The added weight of your heavy jacket and all the extra layers made his already frozen, aching muscles protest, but he ignored it. âWeâll figure it out inside.â Iâll figure it out.
You squirmed a bit in his arms, but quieted down quick. Resigned to your pitiful fate, you hid your face against his shoulder and let him take over.
A minuscule part of him liked that you stayed quiet in his arms, trusting him to not hurt you, to help, and not acting like a headstrong ass about him offering help. No matter how long it had been since he fell into your arms and home, the reminder that you had finally warmed up to him enough to trust made his chest ache and heart feel too big for his ribcage.
The bigger part of him felt like it was dying for liking that such trust had to be shown because of your pain.
He wanted to say something â Iâll fix it, it wonât be bad again, I wonât let it get bad again â anything to make you feel better⊠but it would be a lie. And he couldnât lie to you. There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop nature from doing what she did, no amount of anything would change what came next.
He brought you inside, ignoring the sharp pains in his throat as you sniffled and wiped at your nose.
âS-sorry,â you mumbled as he set you down on your feet, keeping your eyes planted on the floor. âI didnât mean to worry youââ
Daryl cut you off before you could keep going. âNah, none of that. Itâs fine.â He refused to let you beg for forgiveness you never needed in the first place. âYou got everyone to bed?â he asked, breathing heavily on his frozen fingers to warm them before grabbing the zipper on your jacket to start undressing you.
You nodded. âYeah⊠yeah, itâs all done.â
Snow falls off the heavy jacket, landing everywhere around the door, on his feet, on yours, and you winced at the coldness.
âGood.â He didnât let you help him as he pulled off all your now snow-soaked layers, unceremoniously dropping them on the ground near the door. They could get picked up later, and Dog could have fun with the snow that fell off of you before it melted. (At least someone still thought snow was fun.)
Underneath everything, now down to an old ratty shirt and pants still soaked down to your skin, you looked even smaller. Snow still clung to your face, skin likely stinging as much as his did at the sudden warmth.
You looked away, ashamed and rubbing at the ice still stuck to your face. Already youâre curling up, wanting to run despite having nowhere to go in the house. If it wasnât so dreadfully cold, and you werenât soaked down to your bones, you wouldâve ran back out. Away from him, away from being known and seen and away from everything you needed.
Somehow, he had to fix things. Make things right, whole, warm again.
Reaching down, he took your hand with a small squeeze and pulled you along into the bathroom. âStrip,â he said, though it came out sounding more like an order as he closed the door behind him so Dog doesnât come help. âIâll get dry clothes,â he added, more gently.
You looked at him like you want to argue and fight, but it died quick, and you just nodded. Silently, you turned your back and do as he asked, pulling off your soaked clothes and dropping them on the floor with a wet thud.
Daryl watched a moment, keeping his eyes above your shoulders until he was certain you werenât about to bolt out the door the second he turned his back, before going to grab clothes.
In the shared bedroom, itâs a mess; blankets tossed around, clothes hanging off the end of the bed and the dresser. Itâs lived in, warm. A mess, but a safe home. Dog's fur coats the end of the bed, with rips in the edges of the third, rattiest comforter on the bed, stains still still looking soaked from drool despite being dried days over.
He grabbed one of his shirts, and your pajama pants off the bed, and returned to find you curled up in the tub. Steam rose up from the hot water, and his skin hurts at the thought of such hot water on frozen skin.
âThanks,â you didnât look up at him as he walked back in, keeping yourself curled up tight under the water.
He already seen everything, but he didnât look down. Careful to keep his eyes above your shoulders, he drops the clothes on the edge of the sink. âDo youââ
You cut him off. âNo,â you kept your eyes downcast, shifting awkwardly. âJust⊠I need a minute.â
Everything in his gut screamed that it was a bad idea, that you needed him, that he should stay, even if only to awkwardly stand around, but he doesnât argue. Last thing you needed was him pushing for the sake of his own comfort.
âOkay. Foodâs ready when you are.â He looked over his shoulder before he closed the door, risking a quick glance. Your eyes met for a second, and you looked away just as quickly.
.
.
.
You spent longer in the tub than he expected; long enough for him to change into dry, warmer clothes, to clean up the mess at the door (made worse thanks to Dog's âhelpâ spreading snow around), and for the food to burn (still edible, but not great).
When you finally come back out, you don't look so cold, or so subdued. You don't say anything or look up at him, but you sat closer than normal as the three of you ate.
It's better than nothing.
âSorry itâs burnt,â Daryl murmured between bites.
âNot a big deal. Iâve had worse,â you picked at your plate, the unpleasant burnt tinge to it far too noticeable. By the time Darylâs done, youâre still eating, and more than a few pieces have fallen off the plate near Dogâs head for him. Only after you finished your plate, you finally spoke up again. ââŠSorry I scared you.â
âYouâre fine,â Daryl shrugged off the apology, reaching over for the plates and stood up.
It wasnât fine, but not the way you would take it. That you were hurting and that there were so few ways for it to get any better was the furthest thing from fine â but that wasnât on you.
âShouldnâtâve run out there like that,â you started, picking at your fingernail when he turned back to look at you in confusion. âFrostbite.â
He scoffed, âWasnât gonna leave you out there. What ifââ Daryl quickly cut himself off, refusing to word the countless, horrid what ifs that had ran through his mind.
âYou donât need frostbite too.â Stubbornly, you blow right past his words, fussing over the one thing he didnât care about. âBad enough I gotta deal with it.â
âDonât need to make it worse, either.â
âDarylââ
He looked back at you with a glare, and you cut yourself off and went quiet, dropping your eyes. It made his heart ache at the sight, seeing you lose all your fight so easily. Any words that he considered tossing at you, arguing over how stupid it was to worry over his skin over your own, how it wasnât him that mattered, all dissipated in his mind at your quietness.
Arguing wouldâve been the easiest thing to do, saying whatever hard words he came up with while you looked halfway to tears howeverâŠ
With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his hand over his face, tying to push away those thoughts. âCâmere,â Daryl said instead, dropping back onto the couch beside you. He wrapped his arms around you tight, pulling you up into his lap. His hands rub over your skin, callouses catching on the stray threads coming undone on the ratty old shirt draped over your frame.
He didnât say anything more â words werenât his strong suit, but he could hold you, keep you warm and bring you food when you got hungry. If he could, heâd fix everything, no matter how herculean a task it might be.
His grip on you tightened as you curled up against him, face tucked up under his jaw, freezing hands pushed up under his shirt to rest against his belly. The cold almost made him flinch, tensing under your touch before relaxing again.
Soon enough you warm up more against him, and just as he thought you were close to falling asleep, you spoke up.
âTell me about Alexandria,â you murmured. âI wanna know what itâs like.â
And so he did.
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Daryl Dixon headcanons that have zero impact except to me they do
-can instinctively recognize so many birds but couldnt give you a single name. I feel like someone would point out something like a cardinal and he would be like yeah whatever that one gets loud before it rains and likes berries.
-also doesn't know peoples names at all. Gets embarrassed when it inevitably becomes very obvious.
-great memory for places but awful with dates!!! like when someone asks him what year something happened he has no clue and rather than saying "i was twelve when this thing happened" he would say something like "it was after Merle broke his arm because we stopped going near that place"
-sits next to people rather than opposite them
-hated being called "kid" by strangers when he was young but secretly really liked it when someone older treated him like one
-multiple instances of him as a drunk teenager trying to befriend a stray dog that was already following him
Here are some things that I believe relate back to Daryl Dixon. Moments of his that are canonâ to me.
This might feel slightly rushed, but I am fighting the urge to go to bed as I write this. If you have any more of your own ideas , do write them down.
"Daryl is not very verbal when it comes to his love. He won't say "i love you" so casually. His actions are enough to show you how much you truly mean to him. He would see you crying and his mind would immediately rush with things that could've gone wrongâ wrong enough to make you sob. He would sit beside you, keeping a safe distance, gently ask what's wrong . He would let you rant or simply cry out your feelings before placing his hand over your shoulder. He won't say it'll be okay, because he knows the world both of you live in has no predictable "okay" day. Instead he would simply tell you "I'm here for you" or something like "it wasn't your fault" before letting peaceful silence consume both of you.
Daryl is not a very good singer, but times his voice becomes as soft as cotton and as smooth as ice. He would hold Judith close to his chest before reciting the only lullaby he remembers. This short and sweet lullaby his mom used to sing. He remembers it word by word because young Merle would sing it to him. The first time he sang it was in the prison when everyone was asleep and Judith couldn't sleep. He looked around before starting the recitation of the only lullaby that held his childhood in one. It made him slightly teary eyed, remember his childhood before all this.
Daryl hates summer. This man despises it as if the season cussed out his whole family. He would go out on a run during summer and 99% of the time he would complain (Mutter)about the insects during this season or how he's simply too sweaty, even for his standards. Carol would have to remind him that the last time he showered was 2 weeks ago, reminding him that it's his choice to stay smelly and sweaty. He simply wouldn't get near anyone, not even let anyone sit on the backseat of his bike.
daryl dixon would absolutely call his girl âbambi.â
not because itâs cute. because it makes sense.
he notices movement before faces, footsteps before voices. heâd clock immediately that she couldnât 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, âstumblinâ around with two left feet like bambi. gonâ get us killed.â brushing past her.
as time passes, i can just hear him shaking his head with that little half-smirk and going, âcâmere, bambi.â
Camera clicks on. Daryl is crouched in some half-collapsed building, glaring at the lens from under his brow. Crossbow lies beside him. He lets out a heavy sigh, rubs his nose bridge.
â Hey. Me. Well, you know. Daryl.
Pause. He looks away, then back at the camera.
â Just thought... screw paper. It tears, gets soaked, blows away... But this. (Jabs finger at the lens.) This stays. If the battery doesn't crap out, that is.
Crooked smirk.
â I'm not the talkin' type. You know that. Screw feelings, all that crap... But here's the thing.
He falls silent. Eyes dart around the walls like he's hunting for words in the corners.
â Dude. You right now... There. Right now. Future me? Or maybe someone who finds this a hundred years from now. I don't even know who you are anymore. Maybe you're him â that guy who's still, shit, still alive.
Here's what I gotta say.
Voice turns raspy, hard â but there's a tremor underneath.
â Never give up on this piece of crap. You hear me? People â they're... they're like these walls. Can crumble. Can betray. Can die. I know. But you gotta find 'em. Yours. The ones you'd split your last can of beans with. The ones you'd put a bolt in any bastard's skull for, no questions asked.
He grabs the crossbow and squeezes it till his knuckles go white.
â I'm Daryl Dixon. And if I left this message, means I'm still here. Still plowin' through this hell. I don't wanna be a hero. That crap ain't for me. But I want you to know: I've been lookin'. I'll always be lookin'. And if I find you â the one watchin' this right now â I'll come. Don't matter how many miles. Don't matter how many walkers.
He stares into the lens with deadly seriousness, but a flicker of warmth passes through his eyes.
â Well, you out there... hang in there. And if you find a bike â don't shit on it, 'kay?
He reaches for the camera to shut it off, but freezes.
