ℒ𝓊𝓋𝓃𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒶 ⋆‧°𓏲ּ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There he was. Daryl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t lose ya”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn't give you a rhythm either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

How had neither of you noticed this earlier?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that did it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both of you froze instantly.

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

Downstairs, heavy boots scuffed against the worn entryway floorboards.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A heavy, ringing silence fell back over the house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.✦ ݁˖ ———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Carol’s eyes caught it in an instant.

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

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

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

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

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

Yet Carol didn't back down for a second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't that Daryl didn't trust you; it was them he didn't trust. If anything, he knew for a damn fact you could handle yourself. He’d watched you smash walkers' skulls in with a blunt tool harder than any of these weak, pussy-men in Alexandria could probably ever dream of doing. You weren't some delicate helpless damsel. But that didn't mean he had to like them crowding around you all the time, taking up your space.

Your relationship with Daryl had never been a loud, official production. You both valued your privacy. It wasn't a secret—if someone asked, neither of you would deny it—but you never made it a show or built your personalities around it. It was just a quiet truth between the two of you.

Daryl used to think the situation was bad enough back at the prison.

Whenever a new survivor arrived, or when the Woodbury crowd moved into the cellblocks, there were always guys—even teenage boys with their hopes set way higher than their standing—attempting to flirt or tease you.

You were never one to flirt back; you were just naturally kind, social, and… normal. But at the prison, those guys knew their limits. They eventually stepped back, not just because Daryl was always around watching with that deadly, quiet scowl of his, but because they knew better than to cross that line. They could tell you weren't interested in playing games, and between your sharp, playful rejections and the shadow Daryl cast over the courtyard, every single one of them eventually took the hint and backed off.

He thought the prison had already tested his patience, but then… then Alexandria happened.

And things got infinitely worse.

Here, there were new men everywhere—clean, comfortable men who hadn't been starved on the road. Guys were literally falling over themselves crushing on you, finding any excuse to come around whenever you were working or resting.

Your age gap of maybe eleven to twelve years—not big enough to feel disturbing but big enough to make a difference—was already one of the reasons his frustration ran so deep. In the quiet, dark corners of his mind, a sharp, nagging insecurity told him you could easily find someone better than him—someone closer to your own age, someone who hadn't been shaped by the brutal, ragged life he'd lived. But if you asked him? He’d swear up and down that he was fine.

He wasn't jealous. No. He just didn't like these soft Alexandrians getting comfortable.

It had all started with Eugene.

Daryl had watched it build up slowly—Eugene leaning a little closer to you, lingering around a little longer than necessary simply because you were kinder to him than most. You still teased him, mocked his long-winded rants, and called him out whenever he said something stupid or showed a streak of cowardice, but Eugene still felt safe around you.

Daryl could handle him hovering, but the absolute cherry on top?— Was back on a supply run just a few weeks ago.

࣪ ˖✮⋆˙———

You, Daryl, Michonne, Eugene, and Abraham had ducked into a dark, dusty warehouse to escape a herd of walkers pressing in from the streets. With the front doors barred, the only way forward was a narrow vent set high up near the ceiling, leading into the storage room to unlock the heavy door from the inside.

"Nah, ya ain't doin’ that" Daryl had immediately grunted, stepping squarely between you and the wall, his hands twitching near his belt as his jaw set in a tight, stubborn lock. "We don' know what's on the other side”

"We don't have another choice, Daryl” You reasoned, tilting your head up at the opening and adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

Daryl shifted his stance, his shoulders hunching defensively as he gestured toward Michonne. "Michonne can do it. See? Ya ain't that different in build” Michonne paused, her eyes scanning the tight square frame of the duct before giving a simple, willing nod. "Yeah, I can do it. I don't mind”

"Negative" Abraham chimed in, crossing his thick arms, his sharp eyes measuring the space. "Michonne got a few more inches on her, and in a space that tight, those inches matter. She's the leanest option we've got”

Daryl wanted to punch Abraham straight on his face right then and there. His jaw tightened as he shot him a shut the fuck up look.

"Daryl, it’s fine" You said, turning to him with a reassuring smile, your voice calm against the tense air of the warehouse. "I'm just going to slip through, unlock the door, and let you guys in. Easy-peasy”

Before Daryl could push back again, Eugene stepped forward, clearing his throat awkwardly and adjusting the collar of his shirt, fidgeting with his hands. "I concur with the assessment. I have every confidence in your abilities, and I believe you’re more than capable of making it through the passage safely—provided you remain vigilant for any potential danger”

Daryl shook his head, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he let out an annoyed huff, his blue eyes narrowing darkly at Eugene. "This ain' about damn skills!—It's ‘bout safety”

Eugene, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot but getting slightly carried away, pushed further. "Well, I simply believe we ought to extend a degree of faith in her self-preservation capabilities..."

You turned to Eugene, a genuine, warm smile breaking across your face at his gesture. "Thank you, Eugene!" Then you turned back to Daryl, playfully nudging your fist against his broad chest, feeling the rigid tension under his shirt. "See? It's nice when people have a little faith in you”

Daryl let out a rough cough, his chest heaving slightly as he threw a sharp, lethal glare right over your head into Eugene's eyes—making him immediately duck his head— though Daryl's posture finally slackened. "Fine" Daryl grumbled, his voice dropping into a low, protective rumble as he looked back down at you again. "But anythin’ goes wrong—a noise, a scrape, anythin’—you scream, and 'm kickin’ that door off its hinges”

"Deal!" You grinned, turning toward the high wall and wiping your hands on your pants. "Okay y'all, give me a boost”

Daryl shifted his weight to step forward, his hands already rising to lift you, but Eugene hastily jumped in first, stepping right into your space behind you. "Allow me to assist with the vertical elevation. I have your back"

Michonne pursed her lips, her eyes darting between Daryl and Eugene before she exchanged a knowing, amused glance with Abraham, who let out a quiet snort.

You turned around, looking at Eugene in slight confusion, your brows frowning. But before you could say a word, Daryl surged forward. He reached out, his rough fingers snagging Eugene by the back of his shirt collar like an unruly pup, yanking him backward so hard Eugene nearly lost his footing.

"No chance" Daryl muttered darkly, his face shadowed with quiet irritation as he shoved Eugene off to the side.

Stepping directly into Eugene's spot, Daryl gripped your waist securely with his large hands and with an easy, effortless haul, he lifted you straight up until your hands caught the ledge and you slid your upper body into the narrow shaft. Only your legs were dangling down as you squirmed, trying to find leverage against the smooth concrete wall.

You slipped slightly, your boot scraping air, and Daryl reflexively moved to catch you, but Eugene quickly stepped under you, placing both hands against the soles of your boots and shoving you upward.

"There you go, maximum leverage!" Eugene puffed, straining under the weight and wiping sweat from his forehead. "Got it, thanks!" Your muffled voice echoed softly from deep inside the vent.

Daryl’s jaw clenched so hard an audible pop sounded in the quiet room. A spike of hot irritation shot through him as he spun on his heel, grabbing Eugene tightly by the arm and spinning him back around. "I had it!" Daryl said, his voice laced with a cold, low edge and Eugene instantly held his hands up in surrender, blinking rapidly, nervously under Daryl's gaze. "I was merely expediting the process—"

"Guys, we don't have time for this" Michonne warned, stepping firmly between them while Abraham kept his eyes trained on the entry.

A few minutes passed in heavy silence, Daryl waiting impatiently near the wall. Then, the metal handle of the locked door began to rattle loudly from the inside.

"Guys, this thing is stuck!" You called out, your voice muffled behind the heavy wood. "I can't get this shit open”

They all walked closer to the door, gathering tightly against the frame. "Are you sure?" Michonne called through the crack, her brow knitting. "Yes, I'm sure! It's stuck!"

"Use enough strength!" Abraham barked, leaning his ear near the wood. Even through the solid wood, Daryl could practically picture the aggressive, exasperated roll of your eyes. "I am using enough strength, you idiot!" You yelled back, your voice sharp with annoyance. "It won't budge!"

Suddenly, a loud, heavy thud echoed from inside the room, followed by the wet, dragging scrape of boots on concrete. Daryl’s head snapped up, all color draining from his face as his body went deathly still. "What was that?"

"I don't know..." Your voice dropped to a tense, breathy whisper. "What's goin’ on in there?" Daryl demanded, pressing his hands flat against the rough wood, his heart hammering against his ribs.

A sharp click echoed through the wood as you flipped on your flashlight. "Shit..."

"What?!” Daryl yelled from the other side. "There's a few walkers in here. They're stuck under some fallen shelving, they're trying crawl out” You explained, your voice way too clam for what you just described. "Then get the fuck out of there!" Daryl yelled at the door, his throat raw, panic lacing through his rage. "What are you waiting for?!" He added, slamming his palm against the door.

"Do not yell at her! Emotional distress won't help her focus—" Eugene began, stepping up, but Daryl cut him off with a look so terrifyingly murderous that Eugene's words died instantly in his throat. He swallowed his tongue instantly and backed away two full steps.

"I'm fine, they're slow—" You cut yourself off mid-sentence as your flashlight flickered violently twice, buzzed, and completely died, plunging you into absolute, pitch blackness. "No, no, no... shit!"

"What?!" Daryl slammed his heavy boot against the wood, desperation taking over. "My light died! I can't see shit!"

From inside, the sickening sounds of shuffling feet and guttural snarls grew louder. You used the rasping breath of the walkers to measure their distance. You lunged forward, swinging your knife with fierce, deliberate force. You felt the heavy shockwave travel up your arm as blade met skull and bone, dropping one instantly, but without light, your second and third strikes caught rotting chests and shoulders, sending spray back onto your clothes. You let out a groan in pure frustration, gritting your teeth as you dodged a blind grab in the dark.

"I need a little help here! I can't see where they are!" You shouted over the snarls, driving your knee into a walker's gut to push it back.

On the other side, Daryl lost his mind. Hearing the wet thuds of flesh and your breathy grunts through the wood without being able to reach you was torture. Every instinct screamed at him to tear the wall down. He threw his entire weight and shoulder against the door frame, hammering it with his boots over and over again while Abraham grabbed an iron crowbar from his pack, wedging it frantically into the seam. Even Eugene began picking at the deadbolt mechanism with trembling hands—entirely uselessly, since the door wasn't locked, but jammed.

"Get out of the damn way!" Abraham screamed, jamming the bar deeper. Together, he and Daryl hit the wood with everything they had, muscles straining until the jammed frame gave out with a deafening splintering crash.

The door flew open. The room was pitch black.

"Ay! Where are ya?!" Daryl yelled, clicking his tactical light on. The beam cut through the thick dust, sweeping over three completely motionless walkers slumped on the floor, their heads caved in. Standing over them was you, covered in dark blood, chest heaving as you panted heavily with your finger still gripping the knife tightly.

"Shit..." Daryl breathed, relief washing over him so fast it made his knees weak as he stepped forward to reach for you, his hand already stretching out to grab you.

But before he could lay a single hand on you, Eugene barged right past him, stumbling into the room and throwing his arms around you in a frantic, tight, desperate hug. "Oh, thank heaven! I am immensely relieved you survived!"

You froze instantly, your arms hanging awkwardly in the air as your eyes widened slightly, completely taken aback by Eugene’s dramatic display. Slowly, you tapped his back with your, somewhat, clean hand, still catching your breath. "Yeah... sure. I'm fine, Eugene”

Daryl’s eyes turned pitch black with pure rage, a surge of raw, possessive anger blinding him. He reached out, grabbed Eugene by his shirt, and violently shoved him backward out of the way, sending him stumbling into the wall. "What the fuck are ya doin, man?"

Eugene stammered, sweating profusely under Daryl's terrifying glare, his hands raised in panic. "I was merely ensuring her physical well being—"

"Ain't yar fuckin’ job!" Daryl stepped right into Eugene's space, his hands curling into tight fists, his breathing heavy and ragged. "Daryl, it's fine” You said softly, placing a blood stained palm flat against his chest to hold him back from getting any closer to the already trembling Eugene.

Daryl stopped instantly at your touch. Slowly, his rigid shoulders dropped, his harsh breathing leveling out as he turned his entire focus onto you.

The lethal edge in his eyes melted away, replaced by a quiet, fierce concern. His hand reached up, and he gently cupped your cheek, his thumb softly wiping away a streak of walker blood while his eyes searched your face for any hidden cuts or scratches. "Ya okay?"

You nodded quickly, looking up into his worried eyes and gave him a small reassuring smile. "Yeah. I'm fine”

Abraham walked deeper into the room, wiping sweat from his forehead as he shined his light down at the dead walkers on the floor before looking up and giving you an appreciative, impressed nod. "You're one tough motherfucker, girl” You let out a small, breathy laugh, your shoulders finally relaxing. "Thanks, red”

Michonne came up beside you, tapping your shoulder gently with a soft smile. "Glad you're okay, princesa. But now I think we need to keep moving”

You nodded, your eyes locking with Daryl’s one last time—a silent, intense moment passing between you—before you turned around. Daryl gave Eugene one final, lingering threat glare, his posture stiffening, before turning on his heel to fall in right behind you.

And for the rest of that day, as you kept searching the building, Daryl stayed practically glued to your side, making sure he was always there and ensuring Eugene would never get the chance to be faster than him again.

࣪ ˖✮⋆˙———

After that Eugene had backed off, or more like cooled down just enough for Daryl not to ever need to make a scene about him—though, still, every time he saw him waddling over to talk to you, something inside his chest twitched. But at the end of the day, it was just Eugene. How much of a… threat could an awkward, clumsy, nerd be?

But then came the rest of them—

Guys Daryl didn't know from a hole in the ground. At least with the prison folks, he knew what they were capable of, knew what kind of men they were, and knew he could put them in their place with a single glare. But these Alexandrians? Daryl didn't know them, and that lack of familiarity drove him crazy.

It wasn't jealousy. Just… irritation.

But now, sitting on the porch in Alexandria, watching those three local guys leaning over your table, that same suffocating irritation was crawling right back up his throat—

You were sitting alone at a wooden bench table, helping Deanna organize and sketch some local plant life she wanted cataloged—When a small group of three local guys had slowly approached you. One sat across from you, another leaned over the edge of the wood, and a third stood nearby, casually striking up a conversation. You were just doing your thing; tilting your head, smiling warmly, and laughing softly at whatever joke the guy next to you had made, completely oblivious to the war brewing across the street.

Meanwhile, on the porch of one of the residential houses, Daryl sat on the wooden steps, aggressively restringing his crossbow. His dark blue eyes practically burning holes through the back of the guy sitting a little too close to you.

Carol was leaning against the railing right beside him, taking a slow drag from her cigarette before flicking the ash into the bushes. Her gaze kept shifting back and forth between Daryl’s rigid, white-knuckled grip on his bow and the crowd surrounding you at the table.

"You're staring again” She said quietly, the corner of her mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. Daryl let out a rough, dismissive grunt, refusing to break his contract with your table . "Ain't starin’. Mind yar own business”

"Mhm" Carol hummed softly. She blew out a thin plume of smoke. "Y’know, you could just walk over there, right? Tell 'em to fuck off and stop flirting with your girl— Offer to shoot 'em with a bolt if they don't get the hint” She teased, an amused smile already tugging at her lips.

Daryl cut his eyes up at her, his expression tight and defensive. "Ain't got time for that immature teen bullshit"

Carol scoffed, shaking her head as she took another drag. "Oh, yeah, right. Cause sitting here staring at all of them like you're calculating how to skin 'em alive and feed 'em to the fence walkers is clearly the peak of maturity”

"Ain't said a word" Daryl muttered bitterly, turning his attention back to his bow, though his gaze immediately bounced back to you as you let out another bright, genuine laugh.

"You don't have to—It's written all over your face, Daryl” Carol sighed, stepping off the railing and coming down to sit on the step beside him. "So, what? You don't have time to say two words to those guys, but you've got all day to sit here in your own misery and boil over”

"Don' bother me none" He lied badly, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Right. And I'm the Queen of England" Carol countered, her tone dropping into a gentler, more earnest register. "Look... she’s a very pretty girl, Daryl. Men are going to look at her, talk to her, and approach her—especially here, where these people still think they're living in the old world” Carol explained casually, shrugging just slightly.

“Unless… you actually go and do somethin’ about it” She added, but Daryl remained stubbornly silent, pulling the string taut with a harsh thwack.

Carol let out a defeated sigh, tossing her cigarette butt to the dirt and crushing it under her boot. "I'm not telling you to walk around with a neon sign that says 'She's taken' for Christ’s sake. But setting a boundary? Letting these soft Alexandrias know where things actually stand? It's better than whatever this brooding routine is”

Daryl gave her a sharp, dismissive glare, shaking his head. "Don' care what they do” Carol rolled her eyes with an exhausted groan before standing up and brushing dust off her pants. "Okay, fine. Stay here and rot in jealousy. I'm going inside” And as she walked into the house—

"Ain't jealous” Daryl muttered under his breath, stubbornly rejecting the word even as Carol vanished behind the door.

He was left sitting alone on the porch again, his already eyes locking back onto you.

He tried to focus on his crossbow, but Carol’s words kept vibrating against the inside of his skull. Setting a boundary. Letting 'em know where things stand. He watched the way one of the guys leaned a little further over your table, gesturing with his hands, making you laugh again—Daryl’s thumb dug hard into the aluminum of his bow stock.

He didn't want to play mind games. He hated drama, hated making scenes, and hated people staring at him. But watching those guys act like they had all the time in the world to linger around you was making his blood run hot. He sat there for another long, agonizing minute, fighting with himself, his chest feeling tight. He stared at the back of the guy's head, then down at his own dirty boots, and finally back at you.

Fuck it—His patience finally snapped.

He didn't even know what the hell got into him, but before his brain could talk him out of it, he set his crossbow down on the step, wiped his palms down the front of his jeans, and stood up.

He started a slow, deliberate march across the grass straight toward your table—But the guys talking to you were clearly far too distracted to notice him coming up the path. They didn't see him approach at all until his tall, broad frame physically blocked the afternoon sun, casting a heavy shadow directly over your sketchbook.

You felt the shadow fall over your sketchbook and looked up, blinking against the bright afternoon sun. "Hey” You said softly, a bright, fond smile immediately breaking across your face. Daryl just stood over you, his hands resting on his sides as he muttered a low, rough. "Hey”

"What's up?" You asked, leaning back against the bench, your smile softening as you looked up at him.

Daryl didn't answer right away. Instead, he completely ignored your question and slowly turned his head, casting a deadly, razor-sharp death stare over the three guys sitting around your table. His blue eyes narrowed into cold slits, his jaw clenching hard enough to crack bone as he towered over the bench, his presence radiating an unmistakable, suffocating danger.

The mood at the table completely died in a single second.

The guy leaning closest to you froze mid-sentence, the air completely sucked out of his lungs. He swallowed hard, a visible pulse jumping in his throat as the other two guys cleared their throats nervously, shifting uncomfortably under Daryl’s unblinking, lethal glare. The heavy, threatening silence stretched out until the three of them practically scrambled to their feet. They muttered a few rushed, intensely awkward goodbyes to you, avoiding Daryl's eyes completely as they backed away and practically sprinted down the street before Daryl even shifted his stance.

You watched them practically trip over their own feet to get away, letting out a small, confused chuckle as you shook your head, before turning back to face Daryl. "Um..." You trailed, tilting your head up at him again. "Is something wrong?" You asked, setting your pencil down as you noticed the dark, tense look on his face.

Daryl shrugged, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, his hands twitching near his pockets. "No”

You didn’t buy it. You frowned slightly, narrowing your eyes at him in confusion yet suspicion at the same time. "Right… You sure you're okay? You're being kinda weird” You scanned him up and down, noticing the tension on his shoulders.

"’M fine" He grunted, playing it entirely nonchalant, though his blue eyes darted anywhere but directly into yours. "Just... goin’ out on a run. Leavin’ in ’bout ten minutes with Glenn and a few of the others”

"Oh, okay…” You said, the soft, familiar smile returning to your face, your shoulders relaxing as you glanced back down at your sketch. "Well, be safe. Pack extra water, and try not to get bitten, please” You joked, a small playful scoff slipping from your lips, but when you looked up at him again, you noticed a strange, fierce battle happening behind his eyes.

He looked like he was intensely arguing with his own brain.

"You, uh… you wan’ me to bring ya back anythin'?" Daryl asked, his voice suddenly sounding a bit rougher, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

You shrugged, thoroughly confused by his untypical hesitation, leaning your arms on the table. "Nah, I don't think so. Just bring yourself back in one piece" You teased, shifting your body on the wooden bench to face him fully, watching his jaw work as he bit his bottom lip.

"Daryl, seriously, are you okay?"

Yet Daryl didn't answer right away. Inside his head, an absolute mess was raging—Doing something like this was so far out of his comfort zone it made his skin crawl with a mix of shyness and deep seated awkwardness. But his eyes flicked past you, catching the other men who had just cleared out still lingering a few feet away, nervously avoiding his gaze and looking like they were simply waiting for him to leave...

He hated the public tension. He hated the spotlight. But a quiet, protective part of him felt a wave of relief knowing that after this, those guys would finally understand the boundaries and back the fuck off.

Decision made.

Daryl stepped closer, straight into your personal space. And before your brain could process the sudden movement—his large, calloused, grease stained hand reached out and gently cupped the back of your head. His rough fingers tangled slightly in your hair, tilting your face upward. And then—he leaned down. His warm, dry lips pressed firmly against your forehead.

He held the kiss there for a long, heavy second, the heat of his skin seeping into yours, leaving a possessive, grounding pressure against your forehead.

Your eyes went wide, your whole body freezing in absolute, staggering shock. A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard it felt like it might pop out— In all the time you had been together, Daryl had never touched you like in public. Not where anyone could see. It was completely, entirely... new

When he finally pulled away, his ears were already turning a vibrant, furious shade of red. His eyes stayed ducked low, actively avoiding the gazes of the other men standing around the yard, his heart pounding from the sheer vulnerability of the moment.

"So... uh—See ya when I get back" Daryl muttered thickly, completely desperate to retreat from the awkwardness he’d just created.

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and half-marched, half-shuffled away toward the front gates where Glenn was waiting by the supply truck. His head stayed high but inside he was totally overwhelmed and embarrassed by his own action, yet still, absolutely glad he’d drawn that line.

You sat frozen at the bench for a moment, staring at Daryl's retreating back as he disappeared past the main gate. Slowly, your hand rose from the table, your fingers sliding up to run through your hair as you tried to process what had just happened.

You let out a long, quiet breath, a faint exhale breaking through the stillness of the courtyard. Turning back toward your notebook, you picked up your pencil again, resting your cheek in your hand as you stared at the unfinished sketch. But you couldn't help the small, fond smile that pulled at the corners of your lips, still thinking about what Daryl had just done in front of all those people.

You let out a small sigh, forcing your attention back to your work even though it seemed impossible right now.

࣪ ˖✮⋆˙———

After that day, Daryl genuinely thought he’d made things as clear as they could possibly get.

In his mind, standing over those guys, staring them down, and kissing your forehead right out in the open was drawing a massive line in the dirt. It was his subtle, quiet way of telling every man in Alexandria that you weren't there to be messed with, flirted with, or entertained by anyone else.

And for a little while, he let those new habits take over entirely.

If you were standing near the armory or sitting on a bench talking to one of the local guys, Daryl would appear right beside you out of nowhere, grunt a quick reason to call you over, or just make sure he didn't leave your side in the first place. His daily routines shifted right along with it. Instead of sitting off on the porch steps alone to fix his crossbow or sharpen his hunting knives, he brought his tools wherever you were. You could be reading on the grass, organizing rations, or sitting with a sketchpad, and Daryl would just settle down a few feet away, working in comfortable silence—a constant, broad shouldered guard keeping watch.

For the most part, the men in town caught on pretty fast. They’d take one look at Daryl’s dark scowl, notice the way he shadowed your every move, and wisely choose to keep their distance.

Except for one person—Spencer.

The thing with Spencer was that he was nothing like Eugene or the other skittish guys in the safe zone. No. Spencer was a good looking guy, handsome, and effortlessly charming, possessing that clean-cut, old-world attractiveness. And on top of that? He was right around your age.

Unlike the rest of the town, who practically scattered whenever Daryl threw a glare their way, Spencer either completely missed the hints or chose to ignore them altogether. Even with Daryl hovering nearby, Spencer would still stroll right up to your table, flashing that smooth smile, leaning into your space, and making jokes that crossed into obvious flirting.

To be honest, it indeed made you uncomfortable some times.

You were never one to fall for slick lines or arrogant demeanor, usually just replying with a smart response. But Spencer obviously mistook your sarcasm for flirting. He was an insufferably persuasive and pushy guy, the kind who didn't take no for an answer if he thought he still had a shot. He’d changed the community schedule to make sure you were assigned to the same chore shifts, or pull strings so that your night watches at the lookout tower conveniently matched up with his.

And to make matters worse, Daryl was barely in Alexandria during those weeks. Between scouting nearby towns, setting up trade routes, and running constant supply errands for Rick, he was on his motorcycle and out the gates more than he was inside the walls.

He hated leaving you behind. It ate away at him every single mile he rode. Every time the heavy steel gates slammed shut behind his bike, his brain would spiral into the exact same maddening loop— What’s she doing right now? Is Spencer hanging all over her again?

That insecurity quickly twisted into a hot, toxic irritation that simmered in his blood every hour he was away. In his own head, Daryl couldn't stop comparing himself to Spencer—a guy who was younger, better looking, and actually fit into the clean, normal world Alexandria was trying to build. The quiet, nagging thought that you might eventually look at Spencer and realize you could do better than a scarred, rough redneck from the woods kept Daryl up for hours at night, staring at the dark ceiling.

And as the days passed, the situation only became worse

It reached a point where almost every single time Daryl pulled back into Alexandria from a long run and went looking for you, Spencer was already there, leaning against a post or sitting nearby, chatting you up—God, it pissed him off to his absolute core. And without even fully realizing he was doing it, Daryl started picking up more possessive, claiming habits around you.

He stepped way out of his comfort zone to make his presence undeniable. He began pressing firm kisses to your temple or cheek in full view of people before riding out through the gates. Whenever he passed you in a crowd, his large hand would sweep out to snag your waist, pulling you against his side for a brief, heavy second. He became noticeably more touchy, keeping a hand resting against the small of your back whenever you walked together.

Even during sex, that overwhelming urge to leave his mark all over your body took over. His lips and teeth worked over your skin a little harder, leaving faint, bruised marks across your hips, shoulders, stomach, ribs—anywhere. It didn’t matter. But to your luck, always somewhere your clothes would cover during the day.

࣪ ˖✮⋆˙———

The heat in the room was suffocating, the sheets tangled around your legs as Daryl hovered over you. His hands roamed restlessly all over your body, sliding from your waist to your hips and then lower to your thighs as he pounded into you, increasing the pace until it was fast and dirty enough to hear the wet, sucking slide of your pussy devouring him inch by inch.

"Mmhg—Fuck!”

His mouth was working feverishly up your chest and over your shoulder, kissing and sucking at your skin, leaving a trail of hot pressure along your collarbone. When, caught up in the intensity, his teeth suddenly sank in just a little too hard against the sensitive curve of your shoulder.

A sharp gasp ripped from your throat, your hand clutching at his upper arm as you whined out. "Oh fuck, Daryl—"

Daryl’s head snapped up instantly. The darkness of the room hid most of his face, but his breathing was ragged, his chest heaving heavily against yours. The raw tension in his jaw slackened into immediate worry. "Shit..." He rasped out, his voice thick and rough, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. "Did I hurt ya?"

You were panting, your heart hammering against your ribs, chest rising and falling as you looked up into his tense, anxious face. "No, no, I’m fine. It’s just…" You breathed out softly, smoothing a hand over his warm shoulder before resting your palm against his neck. “Not that I’m complainin’, of course, but—” You let out a quiet, breathless laugh, searching desperately into his eyes. "What's gotten into you lately?"

But Daryl didn't answer.

He just let out a low, rough grunt, dodging the question entirely. Instead of speaking, he slid his body upward, capturing your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss to quiet any more questions before they could leave your lips. And at the exact same time, his hips drove forward again, rocking hard against yours as he thrusted deeper, burying himself completely inside you and swallowing every little sound that escaped you.

࣪ ˖✮⋆˙———

Yet, despite everything, Spencer still didn't back off. He kept finding ways to hover every time Daryl turned his back.

It was becoming unbearable for Daryl to carry around. He was distracted on runs, snapping at people for no reason, and unable to sleep even if you curled right beside him. He wanted Spencer—and every other guy—to just back the hell away, but he didn't know what else to do without going to extreme measures or admitting out loud how deeply insecure and jealous he actually felt.

And then as if things weren’t bad enough, the nightmare of the herd came.

Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham were miles away on the main road trying to lead a massive walker herd away from the borders when the Wolves launched a sudden, brutal attack on Alexandria. Absolute chaos tore through the streets. Fires were set, people were slaughtered, and a massive truck crashed straight into the front gate, its horn blaring endlessly—acting like an alarm that threatened to draw every dead thing for miles straight to their doorstep—until Spencer managed to kill the driver and finally shut the noise off.

By the time Daryl finally rode back through the broken gates of Alexandria, night had already fallen over the community. The air was thick with the lingering scent of smoke, and his chest was heaving, his lungs burning, his heart hammering against his ribs in pure, absolute terror. He didn't care about the darkness or the mess on the streets. His blue eyes frantically scanned the shadowy yard of surviving Alexandrians, terrified of what he might see.

And then he caught sight of you.

You were standing in the dim light near the middle of the road, wiping soot and dark blood off your forearms, exhausted and disheveled, but whole—But then he saw him—Spencer hovering right beside you, standing entirely too close as if trying to check on you.

His blood run hot all over again and in his head, the bazooka was already in his hands, aiming straight at Mr. Can’t-take-a-fucking-hint and ready to blow his damn balls off—Then you suddenly turned your head and your eyes locked onto Daryl's in a second.

Spencer was forgotten instantly. Daryl didn't even hesitate—he didn't wait for you to walk over. The breath left his chest, and in the next heartbeat he was already moving, running straight toward you, while you were already closing the distance from the other end of the street.

You slammed into each other in the center of the road. Daryl threw his broad arms around you, lifting you slightly off your feet as he pulled you flush against his chest, crushing you to him as if to make sure you were real. He buried his face deep into the warm curve of your neck, taking a ragged, shaky breath, smelling the coppery tang of walker blood mixed with the familiar scent of your skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his large, calloused hands remaining firmly planted on your cheeks, his fingers tangling into your hair as his thumbs gently tilted your face up to his.

And then, right there in the middle of the crowded road—with Rick, Michonne, Carol, the rest of the Alexandrians, and Spencer himself standing just yards away—Daryl broke every single rule of privacy he had ever kept.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply. His lips intense, raw, and possessive against yours.

For a second, your breath hitched in pure surprise, caught completely off guard by his action. You had never experienced him being so completely unreserved in front of a crowd before. But the shock faded away instantly, and you melted into it. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, sinking right into the kiss, matching his intensity and kissing him back with the same urgency.

A loud, sudden whistle broke through the quiet from Michonne, followed by Rick letting out a soft, low chuckle with a small shake of his head While standing a few yards away in the crowd, Spencer looked like he’d been hit with a bucket of ice water. The slick, easy confidence he usually wore now drained from his face, replaced by a stunned, awkward silence as he quietly shifted his footing and looked away. The guys standing near him suddenly found the dirt at their boots very interesting, avoiding looking in your direction altogether.

When Daryl finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours for a brief, breathless second, his chest rising and falling heavily as he tried to center himself—And when he finally lifted his head, his ears were instantly burning a bright, furious red, betraying just how far out of his comfort zone he’d just stepped.

Around the two of you, the atmosphere in the street had shifted— A quiet, stunned hush fell over the crowd.

People had always seen Daryl shadowing you, hovering in your space, and keeping watch over you, but no one had ever actually seen him kiss you like that. It took whatever unsaid rumors had been floating around Alexandria and shattered them in an instant. It wasn't just Daryl keeping an eye on you anymore—it made it undeniable to everyone watching that the two of you were together, completely and officially.

Daryl shifted his stance, keeping one arm wrapped securely around your waist, resting his hand against your hip to keep you pressed against his side as the silence around you only grew. And you felt a sudden wave of self-conscious heat hit your cheeks as people kept staring.

Looking back up at Daryl's tense face, you tilted your head slightly, nodding toward your house—the one Deanna had assigned to your group. "How about we go inside?" You whispered softly, your voice carrying a soothing, grounding quiet and a desperate excuse for an escape. "Patch you up”

Daryl gave a single, tight nod, his jaw setting as he trailed his hand to your lower back, leading you through the lingering smoke and silent audience.

Leaving the crowd behind, you walked together into the house and straight into the dimly lit kitchen. The sudden quiet of the indoor air felt almost unreal after the day's madness. You pulled out a medical kit from the overhead cabinet, setting it down with a soft click on the counter. It was mostly just grime, dirt, and shallow scrapes marking his skin, but your hands moved with practiced care as you reached for the antiseptic wipes.

Daryl stood rigid in front of you, his gaze locked intensely on your face, watching every blink, every breath you took as if verifying you were truly standing there.

"Are ya okay?" He asked suddenly, his voice low, raspy, and strained with a raw edge. His hands twitched at his sides before rising to hover near your hips. "Did ya get hurt? What the hell happened here?"

"I'm okay, Daryl" You explained quietly, your voice gentle as you gently dabbed a damp cloth over a scrape on his cheek. "It was those people... the Wolves. I don't know how they found the place, but they broke through the fence and just started attacking everyone. It was chaos”

But then, as you worked, Daryl’s sharp eyes tracked down your body, immediately catching a dark, crusty cut on your forearm. The bleeding had already stopped, but his hand shot out anyway, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist to pull your arm closer into the light. His eyebrows pulled together in a fierce, protective scowl as his thumb lightly traced the border of the wound.

"I'm fine, trust me” You said gently, offering him a soft, reassuring smile as you eased your arm back slightly. "It's already patched up. Spencer took care of it earlier”

At the sound of Spencer's name, Daryl’s entire body went deathly still. The soft, vulnerable concern in his expression instantly vanished, replaced by a dark, toxic wall of raw irritation. His jaw clenched so hard you feared it might break. He let out a harsh, bitter grunt, dropping your arm abruptly as if the touch had burned him, and snapped his head away to stare bitterly at the dark window.

You paused mid reach, frowning as you observed the tense posture of his back. "Okay..." You started, setting the wipe down and crossing your arms over your chest as you searched his profile. "What's up? What's wrong with you?"

Daryl kept his eyes fixed firmly on the wall, his shoulders hunched up near his ears defensively. "Ain't nothin' wrong with me” He grunted out, his tone thick, clipped, and deeply stubborn. "’m fine”

"Yeah, right” You pushed, stepping around the counter to block his line of sight, refusing to let him retreat into his shell. You looked right into his eyes, your voice firm yet laced with genuine concern. "You're not fine. You've been acting weird for weeks, Daryl. Come on, just spit it out”

Daryl shifted his weight heavily, his chest heaving as he fought a losing battle with his own pride. He spat out a breath through his nose, his eyes darting to yours for a second before flickering away again. "Just tired of seein' that prick always hoverin’ ‘round ya" He muttered bitterly, the words dragged out of his throat against his will. "He don' know where the fuck to stop”

As the harsh words left his lips, the tension in your face completely melted away. Your eyes softened, a sudden, warm wave of realization washing over you as all the pieces of his strange behavior—the hovering, the touchiness, the sudden public displays—finally clicked together into one clear picture.

"Are you jealous?" You asked softly, a light, teasing tilt entering your voice as a playful smirk pulled at the corner of your lips. "Daryl Dixon... is that what this is?"

Daryl let out a loud, defensive scoff at your tone, his ears turning a bright, furious shade of red as he turned his face away even further. "Ain' jealous" He lied badly, his voice grruff and tight with deep self-consciousness.

"You're so fucking jealous" you murmured softly, a light, genuine laugh slipping past your lips. You stepped closer, placing your palm flat against the center of his broad chest, feeling the heavy, rapid thumping of his heart beneath his shirt. "Aw, that's sweet, baby”

Daryl shook his head, letting out another annoyed scoff in a mix of irritation, frustration, and complete embarrassment. He didn't know how to handle you teasing him like this, his rough hand coming up to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck as he grumbled under his breath.

Your hand didn't pull away. Instead, your fingers slowly traveled upward from his chest, gliding over his firm shoulder. You reached up gently, pushing a few stray, dark strands of hair out of his face before settling your hand against his nape, your thumb lightly tracing the sensitive skin right below his hairline.

"So that's why you've been all… touchy" You murmured softly, looking up at his flustered face as you pieced it together out loud. "Cleaning your bow right next to me all this time... making sure you're always right there”

Daryl’s blue eyes darted back to yours, holding your gaze for a fleeting, heavy second before flickering down to your shoes, his voice dropping into a low, defensive mumble. "Didn't want that asshole gettin' any wrong ideas”

You closed the remaining inch of space between your bodies, your other hand resting against his chest, your fingertips lightly trailing down over the fabric toward his waist as you looked up at his rugged features. You gave a slow, understanding nod.

"Don’ like people tryna take what's mine" Daryl grumbled even lower, his voice dropping an octave, turning dark and possessive as his eyes finally locked onto yours with unyielding intensity. "Bein’ ’round what's mine”

You tilted your head, your heart giving a pleasant flutter as you leaned in until your lips were inches away from his. "Yours?"

Daryl nodded slowly, his eyes flickering down to track the slight movement of your parted lips before rising back to meet your gaze. "Yeah. Mine”

He didn't wait another second. He leaned down and captured your mouth again, starting with a slow, heavy pressure that instantly escalated into a deeply passionate, hungry kiss. Your hands slid up to wrap tightly around his neck, pulling him flush against you. Daryl abandoned the medical supplies entirely, his broad arm sweeping out to wrap around your waist, hauling your body tightly against his chest. His tongue grazed your bottom lip, and as your mouth parted for him, a soft, breathy sigh escaped your throat, swallowed instantly by his deep rhythm.

Driven by the overwhelming surge of need crashing over both of you, Daryl hooked his hands under your thighs and effortlessly lifted you right onto the edge of the kitchen counter, carelessly shoving the first-aid box to the floor.

He stepped directly between your parted legs, his body pressing firmly against yours. You pulled him closer by his collar, a quiet, needy whine leaving your mouth as his hands moved urgently over your hips, his lips trailing down from your mouth to trace hot, breathless kisses along your jawline and down the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Daryl... I need you” You panted softly into the dim quiet, your hands tugging desperately at his waistband, fingers already working on his belt, completely past the point of caring that you were standing right in the middle of the open kitchen instead of the privacy of the bedroom.

Undone by the raw, pleading look in your eyes, Daryl quickly worked to undo your shorts, tugging the denim down desperately, his hands frantic as you helped push his own pants down his hips.

He didn’t wait. Impatiently pushing your panties to the side before aligning himself against your entrance. And with one torturously slow roll of his hips, pushed inside you, both of you letting out a shared, shuddering sigh as he buried himself completely to the hilt.

He placed a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm, his forehead resting against yours as his hips rocked steadily against you. His lips mapped every inch of your cheek and neck, giving you sloppy, needy kisses as your hands gripped his back, holding him tight against you.

Your hands curled tight into the fabric of his vest, fingers tangling in the leather and his shirt as you rolled your hips back against his, meeting every deep, heavy thrust. A quiet, breathless moan slipped from your lips into the quiet room, your head tilting back as his mouth dragged down along your jaw, his lips hot against your skin.

"Fuck… right there" You gasped softly, your hands sliding up from his vest to tangle into the hair, holding his face flush against your collarbone.

Daryl let out a low, rough rumble deep in his throat, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter, thumbs digging in slightly to ground you closer to the edge of the counter and against him as he pushed in deep again, both of you completely lost in the slow heat rolling through you.

"Daryl, please..." You gasped out softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of him, not even sure if you were pleading for him to go faster or just expressing that you couldn't get enough.

Daryl lifted his head from your neck then, his blue eyes locking right into yours, watching every change in your expression as his hips rolled against yours once again. Your faces were now inches apart, your breathing so closely intertwined that every hot pant and shuddered sigh you let out was swallowed directly by him.

He pulled almost all the way out, before snapping his hips forward again, his tip reaching deep inside you, hitting your cervix with enough force to make your walls tighten violently, drawing a low grunt out of him in return.

Every movements were deliberate and consuming, his rhythm building with each thrust as he pressed in deep, holding you tight against him for a lingering second before drawing back just to push back in. You swallowed down another moan, your fingers tightening in his dark hair before pulling his mouth back to yours just to share the warm, ragged air leaving his chest.

Daryl pressed all the way in once more, burying himself deep inside you, and you let out another soft whine against his mouth—a sound he instantly swallowed down as he rocked his hips against yours.

Suddenly, a loud, sharp knock echoed from the front door down the hall— "Hey! [name] You in there?" Spencer's voice called out clearly from outside on the porch. "I just wanted to check up on you!"

Both of you froze instantly. Daryl pulled away from the kiss, his body freezing yet still remaining plugged inside you, his chest heaving as his eyes snapped toward the front hallway in immediate, dark irritation. But you didn't let him pull back. You tightened your grip on his shoulders, grinding your hips firmly back against his and whispering urgently against his lips. "Don't stop..."

Daryl looked down at you in brief confusion, taken aback by your demand. If Spencer decided to turn the handle of the unlocked door, he'd see everything right here on the counter.

"Show him” You breathed out against his cheek, your voice thick with desire and absolute certainty. "Show him who I belong to. Make him realize it”

Hearing those exact words leave your mouth made Daryl lost whatever thread of restraint he had left in a second. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss as his hands firmly pressed your back flat against the cold surface of the counter—If the prick wanted to watch, fuck it, he could watch. Watch and hear the sound of pleasure only Daryl could pull out of you.

He picked up his pace, the first snap of his hips punching the air right out of your lungs. His thrusts turned fast, hard, and completely relentless, drowning you in pure, undeniable pleasure.

You couldn't hold back even if you tried; your legs locked tightly around his waist, your voice crying out his name in loud, breathless moans that echoed clearly through the quiet house. Daryl buried his face into the crook of your neck, his teeth lightly grazing your skin as his hands anchored your hips, hitting your sweet spot repeatedly until you were an absolute writhing, panting mess beneath him.

Outside on the porch, Spencer paused, waiting for a response. He leaned his ear a little closer to the wood—only to be met with the crystal-clear, undeniable sound of your breathless moans calling out Daryl's name over and over from the kitchen. “Fuck—Daryl!”

The realization hit Spencer like a physical blow. He stood on the porch for a long, heavy second, swallowing hard as his face flushed pale, before slowly nodding to himself in total, humiliating defeat. He quietly turned on his heel and backed away down the steps, leaving the house behind for good—The message was, finally, received.

Inside, you were completely oblivious to his departure, entirely consumed by Daryl and the intense rhythm he set. "Fuck... Daryl, please. ‘M so close” You whimpered out, your fingers digging tightly into the muscles of his back.

"M’ too" Daryl rasped thickly against your skin, his voice broken and heavy with emotion. “Yar’ mine”

"I'm yours... only yours, baby” You cried out softly, your back arching off the counter as you clenched intensely around him, triggering your climax and cumming all around his cock. And Daryl worked you right through it— "Yar’ mine, yar’ mine” He kept pressing deep inside you, his head still buried in the warm crook of your neck, mumbling feverishly against your skin. “Mine, mine, mine”

His rhythm turned messy, frantic, like he couldn't pace himself even if he wanted to. Your oversensitive walls spasming around him tightly, and the feeling sent Daryl right over the edge. A low, trembling whimper tore from his throat—a sound raw and entirely undoing. His whole frame shuddered heavily above you as he buried himself as deep as he could go, pouring himself inside you while holding you crushed against his chest.

For several long minutes, the only sound in the kitchen was the heavy, shared rhythm of your breathing cooling down on the counter.

Daryl remained pressed tight against you, resting his weight over you as his forehead rested against yours, completely consumed by the moment.

"Ya okay?" He panted softly, his voice returning to its quiet, grounded murmur, his thumb lightly stroking your hip. "More than okay” you breathed back, a faint smile forming across your face.

Daryl scoffed lightly before slowly straightening back up and carefully pulling himself out of you, giving you a little space while still staying right between your legs. Looking down at him, you couldn't help the teasing grin that pulled at your lips. "If I knew making you jealous would end up like this, I’d do it a lot more often”

Daryl rolled his eyes at that, letting out a small, amused huff that sounded half like a groan and half like a genuine chuckle as he looked down at you. “Shut up” He mumbled, lightly smacking the inside of your thigh.

You chuckled softly at that, shifting and pushing yourself to sit up on the edge of the counter, the cool tile resting beneath you. Your hands moved to the front of his vest, your fingers carefully smoothing out the rumpled fabric of his shirt beneath it to tidy him up a little.

"Now, jokes aside..." You murmured softly, looking right up into his dark blue eyes as you worked the collar straight, patting the firm muscle of his chest. "I hope you know I’d never look at Spencer—Or any other idiot around this place” You tilted your head up, your fingers reaching into the dark, coarse hair at the nape of his neck, gently stroking through the strands.

"I've only got eyes for one stubborn-old tracker” You teased, a knowing grin already tugging at your lips.

Daryl let out a quiet huff through his nose—a subtle, grumbled sound of mock agreement—though the tiny, quiet twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the satisfaction softening his guarded face.

You smiled, bringing your hand up to cup his rough jaw, gently pulling him closer. His hands, which had been resting flat on the counter on either side of you, slowly shifted, sliding up the cool skin of your thighs until his palms settled firmly over your hips.

But when your lips met his this time, it was entirely different. There was no desperate rush, no frantic heat—just a slow, sweet tenderness that stood in complete contrast to the wild intensity from just moments before. It was a soft, unhurried press of mouths, lingering deeply in the quiet of the kitchen until you finally pulled back just an inch, pressing one last playful peck to his lips before letting him go.

Daryl took a slow breath, his dark gaze lingering on yours for a quiet second before he gripped your waist and effortlessly lifted you off the counter, carefully setting you down onto your feet. Once you were standing solid, he leaned down to snag your shorts off the hardwood, and passed them over to you with a quiet hum.

A small, yet comfortable, silence fell between you then—You pulling your shorts back on while Daryl adjusted his own pants, buttoning them up and tucking his shirt back in, making sure the two of you looked presentable in case someone from the group decided to walk through the front door.

He stepped past you toward the sink, reaching for a small bottle of liquor sitting on the counter. He uncapped it and took a slow, harsh drink straight from the glass, the burn hitting his throat as he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.

And as his eyes locked back to you, watching fixing your hair carefully—He knew there was no denying that guys would still probably try their luck and flirt with you once in a while. But there was also definitely no denying that he would always be right there, shadowing your steps, glaring them down, and keeping his territory marked.

But sitting back with that drink in the quiet kitchen, Daryl felt the tight, ugly insecurity in his chest finally relax. He knew Spencer wouldn't be bothering you ever again. Not after he had heard you moaning Daryl’s name in pure pleasure with his own ears.

The message had finally gotten across… To most.

࣪ ˖✮⋆˙——— a little bonus

Daryl was pacing the small living room, his arms swinging with restless energy, his boots leaving faint traces of dirt on the floorboards. He’d been talking for ten minutes straight—a rarity for him—grunting out the chaotic narrative of his day with Rick. He’d covered the strange man in the coat, the tricks, the stolen truck, the wild goose chase through the fields, and the ultimate, disastrous climax at the riverbank.

You sat on the edge of the wooden table, your arms loosely folded over your chest, watching him with a completely flat, unreadable expression. You just blinked. Once. Twice. Before shaking your head slightly.

"So..." You started, your voice low as you narrowed your eyes in confusion. "You're telling me you found a guy named Jesus?"

Daryl stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his head to glare at you through his dark bangs, shaking his head in absolute, baffled disbelief. "Outta everythin’ I just told ya... that’s what ya get hung up on?"

You gave a firm, serious nod, not cracking a smile. "Yeah. Cause I'm trying real hard not to focus on the part where you two—three idiots let a whole truck of supplies sink to the bottom of a damn lake”

Daryl opened his mouth to snap back at that, but no sound came out.

The defensive anger completely drained from his shoulders, leaving him looking thoroughly caught. He snapped his jaw shut, his dark blue eyes darting away to stare bitterly at the corner of the rug. He let out a silent, disgruntled huff, his head shaking in a subtle motion that looked hilariously like a scolded child trying—and failing—to look tough after getting called out by their mom.

But before he could grumble out a defense, heavy running footsteps rattled the porch outside.

"Hey! He's out!" A voice yelled from the street.

Daryl’s head snapped up, all embarrassment vanishing instantly. "That mother—" He growled, both you bolting out the front door instantly, taking the porch steps two at a time and heading straight to Rick’s house.

By the time you and Daryl burst through the front door, most of the group was already gathered inside the living room, their guns drawn and trained squarely on Jesus. Rick, Michonne, Glenn, and Carl had him completely surrounded, yet Jesus was completely relaxed, looking far too comfortable for a prisoner who had just broken out of a locked cellar.

And before you even knew it— Everyone shifted toward the small dining table.

You stepped into the room right behind Daryl, keeping close to his side as Jesus calmly began to explain that he came from an another community and wanted to talk about trade.

You crossed your arms over your chest, your eyebrows pulling together in a subtle, skeptical grimace as you scanned the newcomer from head to toe, trying to figure out what his game was.

Daryl, however, wasn't buying a word of it. He took a heavy step forward toward the table, his jaw clenched tight enough to pop. "Why the fuck should we believe a damn word outta yar mouth?" He grunted, his voice a low, gravelly threat. "Ya escaped just to come ’n here 'n tell us that?"

Jesus didn't flinch. He turned those calm, observant eyes toward Daryl, a faint, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well…” Jesus replied smoothly, his tone dripping with easy confidence. "Is it my fault you don't know how to tie proper knots? Or that your security is shit?"

Daryl's face darkened instantly, a fierce growl rising in his chest as Rick held up a stern hand to warn both of them to keep it down. But Daryl didn’t seem to care, already ready to step directly into Jesus’s personal space to force the issue, completely ignoring Rick’s, Glen’s and Maggie’s—

Yet before he could take another stride, you reached out and casually placed your hand right against the center of his chest, stopping him from stepping any closer. And the second your hand made contact, Daryl’s momentum vanished. He didn't just stop—he actually took a mechanical step backward, yielding instantly to the slight pressure of your touch.

"Daryl" You said simply. You didn't yell, didn’t even raise you voice, and your eyes never left Jesus, but the tone was absolute.

For the first time, Jesus’s eyes flicked past Daryl’s broad shoulders and locked onto you. His eyebrow arched, his expression shifting from mild amusement to genuine curiosity.

"Oh... oh" Jesus murmured, the smirk on his face growing wider. His eyes darted from your face, down to your hand resting on Daryl’s chest, and back up to Daryl’s furious scowl. "Don't tell me... this is your woman?"

Daryl’s brows furrowed into a deep, dangerous frown, his breathing growing noticeably heavier. Jesus looked back at him, shaking his head with a light, playful chuckle. "Never thought a face like yours would manage to pull a pretty girl like her"

You could feel the heat radiating off Daryl’s skin against the back of your hand. Every muscle in his chest tightened like an iron band, a low, murderous rumble threatening to break from his throat. He didn't speak, but his entire posture screamed that he was one second away from tearing Jesus apart.

Meanwhile, Jesus, completely unbothered, turned his focus entirely onto you. His gaze softened into something smooth and teasing as he looked you up and down. "Lady, I know you already know this... but you're absolutely stunning. Gorgeous, really”

You didn't blink. You kept your arms crossed, tilting your head just an inch as you looked him up and down with dry disdain. "For a guy who calls himself Jesus... you sure talk too much”

Jesus let out a delighted chuckle, tossing his head back slightly before letting out a soft, low whistle. "Feisty and pretty" He murmured, casting a quick, mocking glance back at Daryl. "Big guy, I think you hit the jackpot”

That was the absolute limit.

Daryl lunged forward, completely stepping in front of you to physically block Jesus’s view, his broad shoulders shielding you completely. His hand dropped toward his hip, his knuckles white as he pointed a thick finger straight at Jesus’s chest. "Ya keep yar damn eyes off her!" He said sharply, his voice a dark, lethal rasp. "Or I'll put a hole right through ya”

But before Daryl could actually swing or maybe even pull his gun out—Your hand swept out and grabbed the firm muscle of his bicep, tugging backward smoothly. And just like before, the moment he felt your pull, Daryl complied. He let himself be dragged back to your side, though his eyes remained locked on Jesus like a predator waiting for a reason to strike.

Jesus immediately raised both hands in a dramatic show of mock surrender. "Oh, no. Don't you worry about me!" He said, his voice dripping with playful charm. "I’m not planning on stealing her from you”

Daryl didn't relax an inch. His chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged hitches, his glaring eyes promising violence.

"Just saying…” Jesus added, throwing one last mischievous wink in your direction. “You're one hell of a lucky man. Other guys would kill to have a woman like that by their side”

Daryl’s knee twitched, his boots shifting as he prepared to charge forward again, completely past the point of caring about the others standing in the room—But again— before he could shoot forward, your hand reached around and grabbed a handful of the heavy fabric at the back of his leather vest, giving it a hard, decisive yank.

"Yeah…” You announced loudly to the room, your voice cutting straight through the tension. "I think we're going to get some air” You didn't wait for Rick to object. You gave Daryl’s vest another firm tug toward the door. "Let's go"

Daryl let out a harsh scoff, shaking his head in furious protest, thoroughly hating the idea of leaving this guy alive and unpunished. But despite his rage, his boots moved. He followed right behind you, practically attached to your hip as you marched him out of Rick's house and back down the dark street toward your own porch.

The second you stepped inside your house, you let out a long, exhausted sigh, tossing your head back. "For fuck's sake" You muttered, walking toward the hallway. "That guy is just straight-up playing with—"

BANG.

The front door slammed shut behind you with a violent, rattling thud that shook the frame.

Before you could even process the noise or turn around, Daryl’s heavy hands slammed onto your shoulders. He spun you around so fast the room blurred, shoving you backward until your spine cracked sharply against the hallway wall.

A startled gasp ripped from your throat, but it was swallowed instantly as Daryl crashed his mouth over yours.

There was no gentleness in him—no hesitation, no slow build. It was a raw, suffocating wave of pure possessiveness driven by every second he’d spent watching Jesus look at you. His mouth moved against yours with a frantic, punishing pressure, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as he drank in the sound of your gasp. His large hands slammed against the wall on either side of your head for a second before plunging downward, wrapping around your waist and digging hard into your skin through your clothes.

"Daryl—" you managed to breathe out against his lips, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs.

He didn't answer with words. A low, desperate grunt vibrated deep in his throat as his hands ripped at the hem of your shirt, shoving the fabric up out of his way. His rough palms slid skin-to-skin over your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh so tightly I’d definitely leave dark, bruised marks by morning.

He didn't give you a second to think. In one fluid, surprisingly forceful motion, Daryl gripped your hips and spun you face-first back into the wall.

Your palms slammed flat against the cold drywall to brace yourself as Daryl pressed his entire heavy frame flush against your back. His chest was heaving, his body radiating a terrifying amount of heat. You heard the sharp, frantic snap of his belt buckle undoing, followed by the sound of his heavy denim being shoved down his thighs. His hands reached down, yanking your pants and panties down in one swift, rough motion, exposing your ass to the cool night air of the hallway.

"Daryl, wait—"

He didn't wait. He gripped your lower waist with one hand, anchoring you firmly against the wall, while his other hand guided himself straight to your entrance. Without a second of preparation, he drove himself straight into you—deep, fast, and completely unyielding.

A loud, helpless moan tore from your chest, echoing loudly off the narrow walls of the hallway. Your head fell forward, your forehead resting against the drywall as Daryl buried himself all the way to the hilt in one brutal press.

He didn't put a gentle pace. He set a frantic, punishing rhythm from the very first second, his hips snapping hard against yours with heavy, wet thuds that rattled your teeth. His hands were everywhere—one hand digging mercilessly into your hip, holding you locked in place, while his other hand reached around to cup your cheek, pulling your head back so he could bury his face into the crook of your neck.

His breath was scorching hot against your skin, his rough beard scratching at your collarbone as he bit down on the curve where your neck met your shoulder—hard enough to make you whine out his name, but just shy of breaking the skin.

"Mine” He rasped into your skin, his voice thick, ruined, and completely unhinged. His hips slammed forward again, driving deeper into you, making your knees buckle beneath your weight. "Yar’ fuckin’ mine... hear me?"

"Yes—god, Daryl, yes!" you moaned out, your fingers clawing at the drywall for leverage as you rolled your hips back to meet his relentless thrusts.

Hearing your desperate voice only drove him further over the edge. His grip on your hips tightened to a bruising vice, his fingers sinking deep into your flesh as he set an agonizingly fast, deep pace. Every heavy press of his body against yours was a territorial mark, an absolute demand to erase every word Jesus—or any other guy— had spoken, every look they had directed at you.

His chest was heaving wildly, his ragged, heavy pants loud right beside your ear. The friction, the overwhelming weight of him pressed against your back, and the sheer, unfiltered possessiveness of the attack sent a wave of intense heat straight to your core.

"Daryl... fuck, I'm— I’m close" You whimpered out, your forehead sliding down the cool wall as your body began to tremble.

Daryl’s rhythm turned entirely unhinged. He didn't slow down—he pushed harder, his hips slamming into you with a desperate, frantic power that drove you straight over the edge. The muscles in your thighs locked up, and a loud, breathless cry tore from your throat as your body spasmed violently around him, the intense clenching walls of your release gripping him tight.

The feeling of you shattering around him completely broke whatever restraint Daryl had left.

A low, raw grunt tore from his chest. He drove himself into you one last time, burying himself as deep as physically possible, and held himself there as his entire broad frame shuddered heavily against your back. You could feel the hot, pulsing surge of his own release flooding inside you as he buried his face deep into your hair, his hands clutching your hips so hard his knuckles were white.

For several long, silent minutes, neither of you moved.

The only sound in the narrow hallway was the harsh, ragged sound of your shared breathing echoing off the walls. Daryl remained pressed flush against your back, his heavy weight resting over you, his forehead resting lightly against the back of your shoulder as his breathing slowly, gradually began to settle.

His hands didn't let go of your hips, but the brutal, bruising grip softened into a quiet, protective hold. Slowly, his thumb began to trace light, soothing circles over the reddened skin of your hipbone, his lips pressing a single, lingering, hot kiss against the nape of your neck.

“Sorry ’bout that” He mumbled quietly against your skin, and a small, amused huff slipped past your lips and between your soft pants before you could stop it. “Nahh—I think I’ll start paying them just to make you jealous from now on”

You joked, chuckling lightly as Daryl rolled his eyes from behind you, scoffing in mock annoyance before giving your ass a light smack—an action he seemed to do every time he got flustered apparently.

“Shut up”

"Fuck, you're so tight” Daryl grunted into the back of your neck, his teeth lightly scraping against your skin as his hips bucked forward again. "Doin' so good f’ me”

You let out a soft, hitched pant, your fingers clawing at the wall as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. "Fuck—right there” You whimpered, your lips sinking into your bottom lip as a weak attempt to muffle your whines. "God, Daryl, that feels so fucking good..."

Daryl groaned in response, leaning even closer and changing the angle just enough so he could drive himself deeper into you, his chest now meeting your back.

Your hands pressed flat against the slick tile to brace yourself, a broken gasp escaping your throat as he kept up his relentless pace. "Daryl... 'm close—" You panted, your nails digging into the stone all over again as you tried desperately to keep your voice down despite the heavy curtain of falling water covering the noise. "So, so close..."

"Fuck, ’m too" Daryl grunted, his voice dropping into that thick, low growl that sent shivers straight down your spine. His hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly in place as he took complete control. "Just a little longer, yeah? Can ya’ do that f’ me?" He mumbled against your skin, the words lost between slow, lingering kisses along your shoulder and the side of your neck. His lips barely leaving your skin before finding another spot, teeth grazing gently as he marked you in the darkness.

Ever since the survivors from Woodbury arrived at the prison, finding any kind of privacy had become practically impossible. The place was more than just packed now, bustling with unfamiliar faces. And between the crowded corridors, shared meals, and constant guard rotations, moments like this—late-night showers behind the curtain of heavy steam and hidden midnight meetups—were the only moments you and Daryl could truly breathe without an audience.

Keeping your relationship a secret wasn't about a lack of trust—it was just about survival and keeping what you had sacred.

You were very careful. But of course, the core group wasn't blind. Nobody ever made a big speech about it, but—Rick, Michonne, Carol, Glenn, Maggie—Oh, they knew.

You never held hands in the courtyard, never traded soft words where anyone could hear, but the truth slipped through in the quiet spaces.

It was in the way Daryl’s posture shifted the second you stepped outside, his posture sharpening, his hand instinctively resting closer to his belt. The way he was far more protective over you on supply runs, always keeping a watchful eye and staying within arm's reach. But what gave it away the most, was the absolute, unhinged panic that had nearly torn him apart the time you got severely hurt on a run—a raw, terrifying break in his usual quiet stoicism that nobody who witnessed it could ever forget. That day, Daryl had nearly lost his damn mind under the terror of losing you.

Carol had been the first to truly know. She had seen it first, long before anyone else. She didn't need a confession; she saw it in the way Daryl looked at you when he thought no one was watching. Whenever her and Daryl sat out on the overturned crates in the yard, she’d watch him scan the perimeter carefully, his gaze flicking past the fences, past the gates, not stopping his searching until he found you. Only then would his eyes soften and the tension would leave his shoulders. It had taken weeks of Carol's sharp, knowing smiles and relentless teasing before Daryl finally grunted out a gruff, reluctant nod—his only official confirmation.

So here, tucked away in the steaming darkness of the shower block, was the only place where the weight of the world lifted, where you didn't have to act like just another survivor in the yard.

But, neither of you had any idea that your late-night meetups in the dark shower block weren't as hidden as you thought tonight.

It had been a suffocatingly hot day, and Patrick, the lanky, awkward kid with the thick glasses, simply couldn't bear the overwhelming heat of the night inside his stuffy cellblock. Unable to sleep, he had wandered into the wash area just wanting to throw a little cold water on his face to cool down.

He quietly stumbled deeper into the corridor, yawning tiredly when, suddenly, he heard the unmistakable, heavy grunts and wet slaps over the sound of the water, and then— "Daryl, don't stop..." He heard it clearly, the soft gasping voice, followed immediately by that unmistakable, gravelly rasp growling back. "Ain’t stoppin’ ”

Patrick’s breath hitched violently in his throat, his face instantly burning up in the dark— Oh shit... that was Daryl Dixon's voice. Daryl fucking Dixon's.

For a second, Patrick felt like he was dreaming, completely unable to trust his own ears.

Daryl was the man Patrick looked up to more than anyone in this world—a lone wolf in every sense of the word. Daryl was a man who barely let anyone touch him, let alone showed an ounce of romantic or intimate interest in another human being. Nobody in the prison had ever even pictured Daryl with a partner. Sure, he was a handsome guy, and Patrick had seen a couple of brave women try their hand at flirting with him in the past, but Daryl had that lethal, intense scowl that terrified most people before they could even get close. Most didn't even make it past eye contact; Daryl would instantly sidestep their gaze, grunting or shutting down conversations before they even began. He seemed entirely immune to that side of life.

So hearing the Daryl Dixon—of all people— sounding so completely raw, breathless, and consumed by someone sent a shockwave through the kid's entire chest.

It wasn't just idle curiosity that pushed Patrick forward anymore—it was pure, staggering disbelief.

Overwhelmed and desperate to see if his tired mind was playing tricks on him, Patrick took a tiny, hesitant peek around the corner of the brick divider— And when his eyes adjusted to the mist and landed on you, he almost gasped out loud in total shock, his eyes widening behind his lenses.

No… it’s couldn’t be…

Around the prison, you were untouchable in a way every guy knew better than to test. It wasn't that you were cold—no, you were warm, funny, talkative enough to keep a conversation going on and on for hours. You gave out hugs easily enough to friends or the younger guys in the group. But when it came to romantic interest, you held the highest fucking bar in the camp. Plenty of men had tried their luck, attempting to flirt or play it smooth, only to be shut down with a razor-sharp smirk, a sarcastic tease, and a bruised ego. You simply weren't the kind of woman who entertained just anyone, leaving every guy who tried walking away with his tail between his legs.

Yet here you were—completely yielding to Daryl damn Dixon. Letting him hold you, command your body, and guide every single breath you took without a single trace of protest or hesitation as he aggressively fucked you against the wall.

Shaking violently, Patrick couldn't resist taking one more subtle, terrified glance around the brick.

He didn’t meant to—but his eyes betrayed him, falling on the exact point of contact—where Daryl’s hips drove hard against the soft curve of your ass, keeping you pinned against the stone with every deep, unforgiving, thrust. Claiming every inch of your space to the point there was none left between you, each thrust pressing you harder against wet, slippery wall.

“C’mon, cum for me, angel” Daryl grunted against your neck, and Patrick instantly noticed his arm snaking around your front, his hand— the same hand he had shaken just a few hours ago this morning— traveling lower and lower till they met your core. Smoothly and naturally, with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times before.

But… what was he doing?

The poor, absurdly and unbelievably virgin, kid couldn’t make sense of it. His innocent mind, and even more innocent eyes, couldn’t quite understand what Daryl was doing to you. But judging by your reaction, whatever it was had completely unraveled you. Every shudder, every breathless sound, every helpless tremble— was all the proof he needed to understand that, whatever it was— it was driving you absolutely insane, overwhelming you with a rush of pure ecstasy that seemed to leave nothing else in the world.

“C’mon, give t’me, baby. I know yar’ close” Daryl’s fingers found your clit with unfailing accuracy, circling the small bundle of nerves with unwavering precision, his movements rough and demanding, perfectly in sync with the pistoning of his hips. And the broken, desperate cry that tore from your throat sounded utterly pornographic.

“Fuck, I c-can’t—” The dual stimulation was too much. You could barely form words anymore. All you could do was moan and whimper, yet push back against him to meet him thrust for thrust at the same time. Taking everything he was giving you and begging for more.

Patrick could’ve sworn he saw your knees buckle then, like the strength was slowly draining from your body—But Daryl didn’t let you. Didn’t let you fall, didn’t let you run from it. He kept you in place, pushed you harder against the concrete wall. Your cheek now completely pressed onto the cold tiles as his grip tightened around your waist, keeping your body upright.

“Nah, ya’ can. Ya’ will” Daryl didn’t just reply—he commanded. His fingers pressing so firmly into your skin that it almost looked painful.

Patrick blinked. Once. Then again. And again. Scrubbing a hand harshly over his eyes until bright white spots burst across his vision. God, he had to be dreaming. He just had too. Cause there was simply no way what he was seeing was real. No way that was actually you.

You—the woman who had never taken orders from anyone without a fight. The woman who could turn the simplest request into an argument if someone phrased it like a command. Even Rick himself had learned the hard way that getting you to follow one of his plans meant asking instead of telling, and asking properly, as you liked to put it

If someone had the nerve to even bark an order at you, you’d make damn sure to do the exact opposite just to prove a point. It didn’t matter who they were—Rick. Hershel. Especially Shane back then— Hell, anyone. The second someone tried to tell you what to do instead of asking, your stubborn streak came out swinging. You’d stand there with your chin tipped defiantly high while they fumed and clearly had lost their patience, never once flinching beneath their glare. And the angrier they got, shit, the more amused you seemed. Always saying something among the lines— “Yeah, well, last time I checked you’re neither my boss nor my damn father!” And then, with an infuriating little scoff— “So get a fucking grip!”

So how had you just folded so easily? So quickly. With no argument. No sarcastic comeback. Not even the slightest roll of your eyes in response to Daryl’s command. Nothing. You had simply listened. No—Whimpered.

Patrick could only stare, his brain stubbornly refusing to make sense of what he was seeing right now. What the hell had Dixon done to you? What kind of spell had he managed to put you under?

“Fuck, look at ya’ ” Daryl whispered down into your ear, his body shifting as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you with one, single, hard thrust, burying himself completely to the hilt and reaching impossibly deep inside you. “Such a mess for’ me”

Your back arched in response, another helpless sound slipping past your lips as your pussy clenched desperately around him, sucking him back in so tightly that it had him whimpering against your skin. “Shit, keep doin’ that”

But then, as Patrick kept watching Daryl basically ruin you with just his…

A sudden, heavy realization settled into his chest.

Up until, well, tonight, Patrick had thought of the men in the camp simply as adults who were better with weapons. But standing in the damp shadows, watching the raw, unyielding power Daryl carried, the truth hit him like a truck.

He looked at Daryl—a man hardened by the world, a survivor who brought in food and protected the gates. And then looked at himself. And the massive gulf between a nervous teenage boy like him and a real, full-grown man hit him with brutal clarity. Patrick realized in that moment that he wasn't just miles behind Daryl on the battlefield— he was completely outmatched in every way that mattered.

He had always looked up to Daryl as a man, as fighter and as everything he dreamed to be, but watching the effortless, confident way he commanded your body, guiding you through every wave of pleasure with raw power and deep, grounded control, hearing the soft, helpless moans echo against the concrete as he drove you over completely out of your mind— Patrick felt small, realizing what it truly meant to satisfy a woman like that and that he was looking at a level of manhood he couldn't even comprehend.

"Daryl... please" You whimpered, your back arching deeper into his chest. "I gotcha. I gotcha, baby”Daryl murmured between sloppy kisses, his voice heavy with possessive pride. "Don’t hol’ back. Cum f’me”

Patrick felt a sudden wave of sharp guilt crash over him then.

Not because he suddenly felt uncomfortable or disgusted—far from it actually. If anything, he felt like a dump teenage boy who was watching a sex-tape for the first time in his life—But still, he desperately wanted to force his eyes away, to tear his gaze from the scene, because he felt like he was trespassing. This was sacred, private ground belonging to the two people he respected most in the entire prison, and watching felt like a massive betrayal, an act of sheer disrespect. He was overstepping a line he had no business crossing, intruding on a raw, deeply personal side of Daryl and you that no one else was ever meant to see.

His mind screamed at him to pull back, to never talk about this ever again, to turn around and erase this moment from his memory. But then, as your head fell back onto Daryl’s shoulder with a breathless whine—tipping over the edge into an intense, body-racking high—Daryl shifted his stance slightly, his head turning in the general direction of the hallway.

Panic seized Patrick.

A sharp, yet luckily silent gasp leaving his mouth as he spun around quickly, his back slamming flat against the wall and his face burning a bright, furious red. He slapped both hands over his mouth in utter shock, desperate to remain quiet.

Fearing he was about to be caught red-handed, he scrambled backward into the deeper shadows behind the wall—But Patrick was a clumsy, jittery kid. In his desperate, trembling hurry to hide further into the dark, his sneaker scuffed loudly against a loose piece of gravel on the concrete floor.

Skrrrrt.

The sharp sound sliced straight through the hiss of the shower.

You froze instantly, your breath catching in your throat as your peak was suddenly cut short. Daryl stopped dead inside you, his entire body turning rigid as iron. "Daryl..." You whispered, a sudden wave of intense panic and embarrassment flooding your chest. "What the fuck was that?"

Daryl didn't answer right away. His blue eyes narrowing as he stared piercingly through the steam and toward the dark opening of the room.

"Ion’ know” He muttered, his voice low and definitely not soft.

Patrick, terrified out of his mind, tried to shift his weight to sneak away, but his elbow nudged a rusted metal pipe behind him, making a faint, hollow clink.

"Who the fuck is out there?!" Daryl yelled through the steam, his protective instincts instantly flaring into pure rage. “Ya better fuckin’ leave right now! ‘Fore I come out there and beat the livin’ shit outta ya!”

The sheer anger in his voice had you scrambling. You quickly pulled your hands to your chest, instinctively covering your very bare breasts as you reached out to slowly turn the water handle, cutting off the loud spray.

"Daryl... I think someone is actually there” You whispered, your voice shaking with anxiety and pure mortification. Daryl glanced down at you for just a second, but it was enough for him to take in the pleading and absolutely terrified look that had settled on your face as your eyes met his and then the darkness across from you.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled out of you, moving backwards and reaching over the stall to grab a rough towel before hastily wrapping it around his waist. His eyes scanned the floor until they found a heavy, jagged piece of a broken mirror near the rusted sink. He reached down at the shard, gripping it like a knife as he crept silently toward the corner of the wall.

Hearing the water stop and Daryl’s heavy footsteps approaching, Patrick didn't wait around. He scrambled backward, slipping through the dark corridor as quietly and quickly as his lanky legs could carry him, disappearing back into the cellblocks before he could get caught.

Daryl rounded the corner, his makeshift weapon raised and ready to slash. But as he scanned the empty, dark hallway— he found absolutely nothing. Just… darkness.

He lowered the glass shard, letting out a sharp, frustrated breath before turning back to look at you. You were still standing in the dry stall, shivering slightly, nervously clutching your hands over your chest, your eyes wide with a mix fear and worry.

Suddenly, a loud, frantic scratching sound echoed near the trash bins in the corner.

Daryl’s head snapped toward it instantly. His hands tightened around the glass once again only to be met with a massive, bloated prison rat scurrying out from beneath a pile of rags, sprinting across the floorboards and disappearing into a drain.

Daryl let out a rough, dry scoff, tossing the piece of glass into the sink. "Just a rat” He grunted, shaking his head. "Dirty fuckin’ animal runnin’ away”

You let out a big, explosive sigh of relief, your shoulders slumping as the panic drained from your body. "Oh, thank God—” You breathed, a breathless, nervous laugh escaping your lips as you pulled your hands away from your chest and let them drop back to your sides. "I thought it was Rick or someone. God, that would have been so fucking embarrassing”

"Yeah, well, it ain' nobody” Daryl murmured as he slowly walked back into the stall, aggressively yanking the towel off his waist and throwing it to the floor. He stepped right back into your space, the wicked, possessive glint returning to his eyes as he reached for you again. "Now... where the fuck were we?"

His hands found your waist in an instant, a giggling, happy yell escaping your mouth as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. He lifted you effortlessly against the wall again, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist as you completely forgot about the scare.

Daryl reached over, twisting the handle to turn the hot water back on, and without a single second of hesitation— His lips crashed to yours in a desperate kiss as he lined himself up and drove straight back into your wet entrance. Swallowing down every moan and whine that slipped past your lips as he restarted the fire right where it left off.

.✦ ݁˖ ———

Morning came too quickly. The prison courtyard already alive with people by the time you stepped outside, bright with warm sunlight. You and Daryl practically radiated an after-sex glow. Your skin looked flushed, and there was a lazy, relaxed rhythm to the way you both moved.

Daryl was hunched over by the vehicles, working under the popped hood of a truck, his hands covered in grease—Patrick was standing just a few feet away, holding a toolbox.

Most days, whenever Daryl wasn't out on runs or at the fences, the kid was hovering nearby, following him like a quiet shadow just to watch and learn how he worked. Usually, Patrick talked Daryl's ear off with eager, nervous questions. But today, the kid was dead silent, staring awkwardly at the ground, his face pale as he kept swallowing hard, desperately trying to force the vivid, explicit memory of last night out of his mind.

Daryl noticed the unnatural quiet right away, but he didn't say anything, just continuing to wrench a stubborn bolt.

When, out of what felt like nowhere, you walked past the truck carrying a basket of clean laundry. As you passed Daryl, you reached out and gave his side a playful, subtle nudge with your hand—a quiet, intimate gesture you always did after a wild night.

Without even looking up from his engine work, Daryl reached a grease-stained hand behind him, his rough fingertips lightly brushing across the exposed skin of your waist as you passed. It was subtle, effortless, and blink-and-you'd-miss-it.

Patrick, however, caught it. He swallowed even harder, a visible gulp working down his throat as the image of you being pinned against the shower wall by Daryl’s whole body flashed violently back into his mind. He clutched the toolbox harder, his chest tightening.

But as the kid looked up again, you had already walked off into the yard, and Daryl leaned deeper over the engine block. "Pass me the socket wrench" Daryl grunted, not even bothering to turn around, his hand outstretched behind him. "The three-eighths one”

But Patrick didn't move. He was completely lost in his own head, frozen stiff, his eyes locked on the dirt ground while his brain replayed the breathless moans and raw power of what he'd witnessed in the steam.

Daryl waited a second, felt nothing in his open palm, and finally straightened up. He turned around, pulling his brows down into a heavy frown as he watched the kid completely zoned out, white-knuckling the metal handle of the toolbox like his life depended on it.

"Ay. Kid" Daryl snapped, his gravelly voice cutting through the quiet. "The wrench”

Patrick snapped out of it with a sharp, violent flinch. "O-Oh! Yes! I-I’m sorry!" He stammered, frantically digging into the box and pulling out the tool to hand it over.

Daryl took it without hesitation, but his intense blue eyes stayed locked directly on Patrick's pale, half trembling face, not even looking down at the wrench. His forehead creased in genuine confusion. "What the fuck is up with ya today?" Daryl grunted, his voice suspicious. "Yar’ quieter than usual. Usually ya never shut the hell up”

A cold wave of sheer panic washed over Patrick, sweat instantly breaking out along his forehead and neck. His stomach plummeted into his sneakers. He knew Daryl wasn't the type to hurt a kid for no reason, but the thought of what the Dixon would do to anyone—kid or not—who had caught and watched you in such a private, vulnerable, raw moment made Patrick's entire body shiver.

Panicking that Daryl was somehow going to connect the dots and realize he was the "rat" from the shower block, Patrick quickly shook his head, his hands flying up. "Oh—it's nothing! I'm fine, I'm fine, really!"

Daryl narrowed his eyes in confusion, thrown off by the kid's sudden meltdown. "Ya sure?"

Patrick nodded so fast his glasses almost slid off his nose. "Yeah! Yeah, yeah, I'm sure!" He stuttered, stepping backward away from the truck. "I—I actually have to go now! I think... I think Carol— Carl! Yeah! Carl called me. I got a job to do, I gotta go!"

Before Daryl could even drop another word, Patrick turned on his heel and fast-walked away as fast as his legs could carry him, practically sprinting toward the cellblocks to escape.

Daryl just stood there by the truck, holding the socket wrench and staring after the kid in absolute, utter confusion. He let out a low, almost amused huff, shaking his head. "What the fuck ‘s wrong with that kid..." He muttered to himself, before wiping his greasy forehead and leaning back into the engine block.

Barely a few minutes passed, the courtyard quiet except for the distant chatter and the clink of metal against metal. When suddenly—You slipped back around the side of the vehicle, the basket of laundry now missing no from your hands.

Quietly, you stepped up right behind Daryl, your arms slowly wrapping around his waist as you leaned your cheek against his broad, firm back.

Daryl tensed slightly at the sudden contact, but as soon as he caught your scent, his shoulders eased. He stayed hunched over the truck, turning his head back over his shoulder just enough to look at you, his blue eyes softening just a little in an instant.

"Hey" You murmured softly, teasingly against his spine.

"Hey” He mumbled back, his gravelly tone hushed and intimate but you caught the gentleness in it. Slowly, you stood on your tiptoes, leaning closer to press a series of small, lingering kisses against the warm skin of his neck. Daryl stiffened again, his head snapping instantly to the left and right to scan the open yard.

"What are ya doin', woman?" He muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a low, almost scolding tone. "People gonna see”

But you paid his warning no mind, letting out a soft hum against his pulse point. "No one comes back here except you... and that little tail of yours" You murmured playfully, teasing him about Patrick and the way the kid followed him around like a lost puppy most of the time.

Daryl swallowed hard, his breath hitching slightly as your lips continued their deliberate path up his jaw line. He tried desperately to stay focused, to keep his hands steady on the engine, but the warmth of your breath against his skin made it nearly impossible to hold onto his senses.

Abandoning the wrench, Daryl straightened up to his full height and turned around inside your arms to face you. "Someone could come askin' f’me" He warned softly, staring down at you. "Or f’ you"

You just shook your head with a quiet smile, closing the tiny distance between you until your chest pressed against his. Your fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, resting against the firm, warm skin of his lower stomach. "Well, I've got about ten minutes before Carol needs me for supply counts” You whispered, your eyes locked onto his. "And I highly doubt anyone's looking for you right now. So..."

Your hands moved lower, fingers hooking playfully into his waistband, tugging him just a little closer. You bit your bottom lip softly, fluttering your lashes up at him with a look of pure, close to desperate, need.

Daryl’s jaw clenched, a muscle working in his cheek as he looked down at you. The needy, burning look in your eyes made his blood run hot, his body reacting instantly to your touch despite every instinct telling him to stay alert.

The corner of his mouth twitched, fighting back a smile. "What? Last nigh ain’t enough for ya?"

Without a moment’s hesitation, you shook your head. Your fingers slipped lower, pressing firmly against him through his jeans, feeling how fast he was already hardening under your touch.

Daryl’s breath hitched violently, his whole frame going rigid for a second before his head snapped sideways to check the perimeter one more time. "Fuck..." He grunted low in his throat, a rough, helpless sound escaping him.

You let out a soft, teasing laugh, looking up at him with deliberate innocence. "Oh, look at that hypocrisy" You whispered, leaning in so close your lips brushed the shell of his ear. "Come on... we can be quick"

You trailed your mouth down to his neck again, leaving hot, slow, open-mouthed kisses along his pulse point. “Plus—There won’t be no rat to interrupt us this time” You joked, biting down on his skin softly.

That was it. Daryl folded completely. He had no intention of turning you down—to be honest he wanted this just as badly as you did, if not more.

Without another word, Daryl’s large hands came up, clamping firmly onto your waist. He backed you up swiftly, guiding you out of the open light and behind the tall, divider wall near the back of the shed where the shadow completely hid you both.

"Yer’ gonna be the death of me, woman" He mumbled, a small grunt escaping his lips, though there wasn't any real anger in it. You just chuckled softly, knowing you'd won—Again—and slipped your hands out from his jeans, bringing them up to wrap around his shoulders instead.

And before you could even process the win, Daryl leaned down, capturing your mouth in an intense, bruising kiss. His tongue slid smoothly past your lips, claiming you completely, swallowing any quiet sigh you tried to make. His dirty, grease-stained hands didn't hesitate—cupping your cheeks without a single care for the dirt smudging onto your skin—before one arm slid down to wrap like iron around your waist. His other hand hooked under the back of your thigh, effortlessly hoisting you up off your feet and anchoring you against his hip like he has done for, god knows, how many times.

You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your legs tightly around him as he held you pinned securely against the hidden wall, proving, once again, that neither of you could ever truly get enough.

You tried not to disturb him. You really did.

Daryl never got much sleep to begin with. A few hours here and there were usually all he managed before something dragged him back to his feet—whether it was a run, a noise outside, or his own mind refusing to settle. It had become so normal for him that you weren’t even sure he remembered what a full night’s rest felt like. Which only made the guilt settle heavier in your chest cause you knew you were stealing away the few precious hours he actually had.

But after another few minutes, you shifted again with a quiet sigh, hoping to find some position that would finally let you drift off—A sleepy grunt came from behind you. "...What're ya doin'?”

You froze. Shit. You woke him up.

Daryl blinked in the dark, letting out a low, gravelly mumble as he pulled you a little tighter against him. “Why are ya movin' so damn much?" He muttered, his voice a rough from sleep and exhaustion.

"Hm?"

"Been tossin' 'round all damn night" He muttered, burying his face against your shoulder. "What's the matter with ya?" You shook your head just slightly, shrugging gently like it was no big deal. "I don't know” You said quietly, your voice strained as another sharp cramp rippled through your abdomen. "Just… go back to sleep”

He gave a tired huff instead, tightening his arm around you again. "’S hard to when ya keep rollin' round” A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "I know”

"So, what's wrong?" He asked, his voice quieter this time. You hesitated, not answering right away as your eyes wandered back to the ceiling instead, tracing over the cracks. "I just... I can't get comfortable”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. A small silence falling between you two.

And then you shifted once more, instinctively hugging your stomach a little firmer. Daryl sighed, opening his eyes properly before propping himself up on one elbow. He scanned over your figure slowly, trying to figure out what the fuck is actually wrong with you—And then he noticed.

"...Yer stomach?" He asked softly, his hand absentmindedly rubbing your side. You nodded slowly. "Yeah. Feels kinda weird” You muttered, pressing your palm against your ribs. "Probably just my period’s about to start. I'll be fine" You waved it off again, earning another tired grunt from him. "...Mm”

Daryl reached out, his large, calloused hand sliding up to rest against the side of your neck to soothe you, but the instant his palm made contact with your skin, he went completely rigid. "Shit” He muttered, his voice instantly losing its sleepy edge. "Yar burnin’ up”

"No, I'm not" You argued, shaking your head in denial even though your breathing turned shallow. "It's just hot as fuck in here, and these blankets are too thick" With a weak, frustrated shove, you kicked the heavy wool blanket off your legs, your body trembling slightly as the cool air hit your sweaty, bare skin.

But Daryl, obviously, wasn't convinced. He watched you adjust your position again, your face twisting in obvious discomfort as you hugged your stomach tighter. "For fuck's sake” You panted, the nausea suddenly hitting the back of your throat like a wave of battery acid. "I'm gonna go get some water. Throw some on my face too”

"Ya sure you can walk?" He asked, his eyes tracking you through the dark. "Yeah, yeah. I’m fine" You muttered, forcing your weak legs to swing over the side of the bed.

You stood up, your head immediately spinning as a wave of dizziness washed over you. You forced your feet to move, stepping out of the cell and walking down the narrow concrete hallway past the other sleeping blocks. But three steps in, your stomach let out a sickening, liquid gurgle, followed by a cramp so violent it felt like a knife twisting in your intestines.

You stopped dead in front of an empty cell door, a muffled, agonizing groan tearing from your throat. You didn't want to whimper, but the pain was blinding. Suddenly, your knees buckled completely. Your body went entirely weak, and you fell forward onto your hands and knees, hitting the solid floor with a loud, echoey thud.

Back in the cell, Daryl heard the impact. He sat straight up, his heart hammering against his ribs. "[name]? What the fuck’s going on?" He whisper-yelled into the quiet block, removing the covers from over his body and moving closer to the edge of the bed.

Meanwhile—You were on all fours, panting heavily, the floor swimming beneath your vision as you tried to regain your senses. "Yeah... I'm fine!" you managed to whisper-yell back, your voice cracking.

Using every ounce of your remaining strength, you reached up and gripped the cold iron railing of the cellblock walkway. You dragged yourself up, your fingers gripping the metal for dear fucking life just to keep your body upright.

Then, it hit you.

A violent, unstoppable convulsion racked your torso. You leaned over the railing, and a horrific, wet sound echoed through the cellblock as you began violently throwing up down onto the walkway below. But it wasn't just bile or food. In the dim light, you could see the dark, unmistakable splatter of thick, heavy blood rushing out of your mouth.

Daryl heard the wet, heavy splashing and the violent coughing. "What the fuck..." He muttered, sliding off the bed and instantly fixing his pants, ready to sprint to you.

You clung to the railing, gasping for air, a trail of dark blood dripping from your chin as your vision began to fade around the edges. "Daryl..." You choked out, your voice a desperate, dying whisper. "Daryl... Carol... anyone..."

Before Daryl could even reach the halfway point of the corridor, your grip slipped from the iron bars. Your body went completely limp, and you fainted, falling straight backward with a massive, sickening crash, your head barely missing the sharp corner of the wall.

"Oh, shit! Y/n!" Daryl yelled, abandoning all caution as he sprinted down the hallway.

The loud crash and Daryl's panicked shout instantly woke up the surrounding cells. Flashlights clicked on, and confused, tired voices began to murmur in the dark.

Daryl slid onto his knees beside your limp form in a matter of seconds. He gathered you into his arms right away, his hands shaking as he patted your face. "Hey, hey! Look at me! What's going on? Are ya okay?!"

Your eyes fluttered open slightly, glazed with a terrifying, glassy fever. You twisted in his grip, clutching your stomach with both hands as a raw, agonizing cry left your lips. "My stomach... it's fucked... oh my god, Daryl, it hurts so bad..."

By now, Carol and Hershel had rushed out of their cells, their flashlights illuminating the horrific scene—specifically the pool of dark blood dripping through the grates of the upper walkway.

"Oh, Lord” Hershel breathed, immediately kneeling down and pressing his hand to your forehead. "She's burning up. It's a massive fever. Daryl, get her to the lower cell block, now! We need room to work”

Daryl didn't hesitate. He slid his strong arms under your back and knees, hoisting you up carefully. You were completely dead weight, whimpering and clinging to his shirt as he carried you into a clean, open cell.

For the next hour, it was pure chaos.

You kept drifting in and out of consciousness, your body convulsing as you threw up more blood into a metal bucket Hershel had provided. Daryl was entirely helpless, a ball of pure, toxic anxiety. He paced the small cell like a caged animal, his breathing ragged, his face twisted in a mixture of blind fury and terror.

"Daryl, talk to me" Carol said, grabbing his arm to stop his frantic pacing. "What happened? What is this?"

"I don't fuckin know!" Daryl snapped, his voice cracking with raw panic. "She couldn't sleep. Said her stomach hurt. Thought it was... hell, Ion’ know! She said maybe her period comin’ " He run a hand down his face, trying to remain as sane as he could. “Then she got up and... and I found ’er like this!"

Hershel nodded slowly, wiping your brow with a damp cloth, his expression incredibly grim. "Did she eat something? Anything unusual?"

"I don’t know!" Daryl yelled, throwing his hands up. "The usual?! Same as everybody else?!” Hershel just nodded again, turning his attention completely and utterly on you.

Another hour passed with you still drifting in and out of consciousness, your body completely wracked by violent tremors. Every few minutes, a sharp, white-hot agony would rip through your gut, causing you to curl into a tight ball. The pain was so blinding, it felt as if your insides were being ripped apart. You sobbed openly, gasping for breath as a cold, slick sweat coated your trembling skin, your fingers desperately clawing at the rough mattress just to survive the waves of spasms.

And Daryl? He was a damn wreck.

He couldn't stay still, still pacing around the room. And every time a low cry escaped your lips, he flinched as if he’d been struck. He kept stepping closer, his heavy boots clicking against the floor, hovering over the bed with his hands twitching at his sides, completely paralyzed by his own helplessness.

"Hey, hey, look at me" Daryl muttered, his voice thick with a raw, sickening panic as he sank to his knees beside the cot. His large, trembling hand reached out, his rough palm cupping your tear-stained cheek as he tried desperately to anchor you. "Shh, 'm right here. Just breathe, alright? Just look at me”

You couldn't answer. Your jaw clenched tight as another violent cramp seized your abdomen, making your vision blur. You let out a breathless, choked sob, leaning weakly into his touch for a split second before the sheer intensity of the pain forced you to pull away, turning your face back into the pillow as more tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Why's she shakin’ like that?!” Daryl's chest heaved, his head whipping around toward the older man without even realizing what his was doing, his breathing shallow and fast. "Hershel, do somethin'!"

"Daryl, I know you’re worried but step back and give me some room” Hershel ordered firmly, his tone calm but carrying a sharp authority that left no argument. "Get that damp cloth off the table. Keep her forehead cool. Maggie, hold her up sideways so she doesn't choke if she vomits again”

Maggie moved in quickly, her face pale but determined as she supported your shoulders, while Daryl lunged for the cloth, pressing it against your burning skin with trembling, uncharacteristically gentle hands. He stared down at your pale face, his chest heaving as he watched your eyelids flutter weakly, your lips parted as you panted through the waves of pain.

As the hours dragged heavily into the deep night, the fever only climbed. Your skin turned slick with cold sweat, and your whimpers faded into weak, exhausted groans. You weren't improving; you were slipping.

“Why isn't she gettin' better?!” Daryl’s frantic pacing started up again, his toxic anxiety finally reaching a boiling point. He whipped around to face the old man, his voice cracking with pure desperation. "It's been hours, Hershel! The fever ain't droppin’!"

Hershel paused, his expression incredibly grim as he looked up from checking your pulse. "She needs medicine, Daryl. Probiotics, vitamins, fluids... her body is fighting a massive, aggressive infection, and—"

Before Hershel could even finish the sentence, your body violently convulsed. A harsh, wet cough tore from your throat, and you threw up right into the metal bucket Maggie rushed to hold beneath your chin.

Daryl froze, the breath completely trapped in his lungs as his eyes darted to the dark, thick blood and the horrifying splatter of deep fluid inside the bucket—clear evidence that whatever was inside you was tearing your gut apart.

You fell back against the pillow, coughing and panting heavily, gasping for air that wouldn't come. The agony in your stomach flared so intensely that tears blinded you, and you blindly reached a hand out into the empty air, your voice a broken, weeping wail. "Daryl... Daryl, please... it hurts, it hurts so fucking bad..."

Hearing you cry out his name in pure agony shattered whatever restraint Daryl had left. His own breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in rapid, terrified gasps as he looked from the horrific sight in the bucket back to your tear-stained face.

He felt like he was drowning.

Hershel’s face went entirely pale, the final piece of the puzzle falling into place with terrifying clarity. "She needs a stomach stabilizer! Whatever she ingested is tearing her lining apart. If we don't stop the hemorrhaging and infection in her gut immediately… she isn't going to make it through the night. Her organs will eventually start failing”

The word failing snapped the paralyzing terror right out of Daryl, replacing it with a cold, manic focus. The helpless boy from the woods vanished, and the hunter took over. He ripped his gaze away from you, grabbing his leather vest from the back of the chair and throwing it on with violent, jerking motions.

"Where?" Daryl demanded, stepping back and tightening his grip on his crossbow until his callouses dug into the wood. "Tell me where the hell I gotta go to get it!”

"There's a veterinary clinic and a small pharmacy about twenty miles out, past the infected zone near the tracks” Hershel said, his gaze sharpening as he stood up. "But Daryl... it’s pitch black out there. The rain choked the main roads with herds. Going out right now is a suicide mission”

"I don't give a shit ’bout the dark, and I don't give a shit ’bout the herds!” Daryl snapped, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles jumped beneath his stubble. He took one final, burning look at your fragile form on the cot, his voice dropping into a fierce, unshakable promise. "She ain't dyin' in this cell! Not tonight—Not ever”

His breath was coming in short, jagged bursts, his chest still heaving under his sweat-stained shirt. He didn't look back at your pale, shivering figure on the cot again; cause if he did, even for just one more second, the panic would paralyze him completely. He needed to move. He needed to kill whatever bacteria was tearing you apart from the inside out.

He tore out of the lower cellblock, his heavy boots slamming against the concrete, but he barely made it past the threshold of the main common area before a figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking the exit.

Rick.

The beam of Rick's flashlight cut through the dark, flashing the tight, worried lines of the leader's face. "Daryl, stop” Rick said, his voice dropping into that low, unyielding command tone. "Look outside. It's the middle of the night. It’s pitch black, the fog is rolling in, and the west fences are already crawling with walkers from the noise earlier. You go out there now, you’re blind. Wait until dawn. We'll form a group—”

"She ain't got ’till dawn!" Daryl barked. The sound that ripped from his throat was barely human—a raw, feral snap that echoed off the high ceiling. He took a hard, aggressive step forward, trying to shove his way past Rick’s shoulder. "Did ya hear him in there? Her gut's bleedin' out, Rick! She's dyin' right now!"

Rick shifted his weight, refusing to budge, and planted a heavy palm right against Daryl’s chest, forcing him back. "It’s too risky, Daryl! You get caught out there in the dark, you get surrounded on the road, we lose you too. I can't risk it! We wait three hours until the sun's up”

"I ain't gonna let her die!" Daryl snarled, his face twisting into something genuinely terrifying. The sheer, suffocating fear for your life mutated instantly into blind fury. He slapped Rick’s hand away with enough force to send a crack through the quiet room, his knuckles white around the grip of his crossbow as he took a hard, defiant step around the leader.

"Daryl. I can't let you leave" Rick repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet warning.

Click-clack.

The sharp, metallic sound of a holster being unclipped sliced through the heavy air. Daryl stopped dead in his tracks. The silence that followed absolute, suffocating. Slow and deliberate, Daryl turned his head over his shoulder, his greasy hair falling into his eyes.

Rick’s hand was resting firmly, heavily, on the checkered grip of his Colt Python.

Daryl turned his entire body around, his eyes narrowing into deadly, icy slits as he looked Rick up and down, taking in the defensive stance, the hand on the weapon. A bitter, dry scoff escaped Daryl's throat—a sound of pure disbelief and challenge.

"I’d like to see ya trynna stop me” Daryl muttered, his voice low and dangerous, promising violence if Rick took another step.

He didn't give Rick another second to think or pull that gun. He turned his back completely on the weapon—a total, insulting dismissal of the leader's authority—and headed toward the heavy prison doors.

Rick's jaw clenched, his muscles tensing as he prepared to sprint after him, but a gentle hand suddenly clamped firmly onto his forearm, stopping his movement. He spun around, his flashlight catching Michonne as she stepped seamlessly out of the darkness, her katana already slung securely across her back. Her expression entirely unreadable, but her eyes were steady.

"I'll go with him” She said quietly, her voice a calm anchor against the storm.

Rick hesitated, the muscles in his face twitching as he looked from Michonne to the open exterior doorway where Daryl’s broad figure was already vanishing into the pitch-black courtyard. Finally, Rick let out a defeated breath and gave a tight nod. "Keep him from getting himself killed”

Michonne didn't waste a heartbeat.

She turned and ran out into the cool night air, her boots hitting the gravel just as the roaring, throbbing rumble of Daryl’s motorcycle broke the quiet of the courtyard. She skidded up to the bike, throwing her leg over the back seat just as Daryl slammed his foot onto the gear shift. The tires tore up the dirt, and they launched out into the dangerous, walker-infested roads of the dark world.

.✦ ݁˖ ———

The two hit three different structures within a five-mile distance, bypassing the main roads to avoid the herds. The first two locations were nothing more than plain, rotting houses abandoned in the early days of the outbreak, but the lack of a pharmacy sign didn't slow Daryl down for a single second.

Inside the dark, claustrophobic hallways of the first house, Daryl didn't care about noise. The cautious, silent tracker who usually moved like a ghost was entirely gone. He kicked the front door open with a violent crash.

He moved through the rooms like a man possessed by a demon, driven entirely by the terrifying image of you coughing up thick, dark blood again and again. He tore through the kitchen and the bathrooms with a frantic, very much destructive, urgency. His large hands moving with dizzying speed—ripping cabinet doors completely off their hinges, sweeping entire rows of glass jars and pill bottles onto the floor in shattered piles, and frantically grabbing anything that looked remotely like a medical container.

"Daryl—" Michonne breathed, her sword slicing cleanly through the skull of a walker that had stumbled out of a bedroom closet. The creature dropped heavily, but Daryl didn't even flinch at the sound. He didn't even look up. He was on his knees in the dark, his hands wildly shoving random bottles of vitamins, antibiotics, and charcoal supplements into his bag.

Michonne stepped back, lowering her blade, her dark eyes tracking him through the darkness. She stayed silent, clearing the perimeter, but her gaze kept drifting back to the hunter. She had known Daryl to be loyal, tough, and very protective of the group—but she had never seen him lose his mind like this.

She watched the manic desperation in his posture, the way his hands shook as he uncapped a random bottle to check the label, his breathing ragged and shallow. She saw the raw, exposed terror in his eyes—a look of a man who was looking down the barrel of his own destruction. In that quiet, ruined house, without a word being spoken, Michonne realized— that you weren't just someone he cared about. You were his entire world. If you died in that cell, whatever piece of humanity Daryl Dixon had left was going to die right along with you.

"We got enough here" Michonne said, her voice firm as she stepped in front of a chest of drawers he was about to rip apart. "We need a pharmacy for the stabilizers Hershel talked about. There’s a clinic two miles up”

Daryl spat a curse, shoving the bag shut and slinging it over his shoulder. "Move” He growled, pushing past her.

And like said, they hit the clinic next, Daryl breaking the glass storefront without a care for the noise. They gathered every heavy-duty antibiotic, stomach stabilizer, and pediatric probiotic left on the ransacked shelves, packing the bag until the seams strained.

.✦ ݁˖ ———

The ride back to the prison was a blur of high speed and dangerous turns. The moment the motorcycle skidded into the prison courtyard, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and gravel, Michone climbed off and Daryl didn't even bother to kickstand the bike. He let it drop heavily onto its side, the engine sputtering and dying in the dirt as he scrambled off.

He sprinted through the courtyard, his boots pounding a frantic rhythm against the asphalt. He burst through the double doors of the cellblock, his lungs burning, his face covered in a layer of road sweat and dried walker blood. He didn't slow down, moving down the dark corridors until he reached the lower block.

He violently threw open the cell door where you lay and with a loud, chaotic crash, he upended his bag directly across the small wooden desk. Dozens of plastic pill bottles, boxes, and liquid supplements rattled and rolled across the surface, some clattering onto the floor.

"Take it!" Daryl panted, his wild, bloodshot eyes locking onto Hershel. He was trembling from the sheer adrenaline, his voice cracking with a desperate, breathless demand. "Take whatever the fuck she needs to stop the bleedin'!”

He rushed straight back to your side. You were still in terrible shape, your pale face twisted in pain as you whimpered in your sleep, softly calling his name. "Daryl... fuck, it hurts... I can't..."

"’M right here. 'M right here, baby” Daryl muttered, his rough voice incredibly soft as he helped Hershel guide the pills down your throat, praying that this would help you get better. That, if not stop the pain completely, then at least make it weaker.

.✦ ݁˖ ———

The heavy-duty medicine slowly fought its way through your system over the next few hours, fighting the violent toxicity in your gut. You didn't wake up fully, but the awful, strained whimpering finally faded, your body sinking into a deep, bone-weary sleep.

Daryl refused to leave your side for even a second.

He sat rigid on that upturned bucket right next to your cot, a dented bowl of cold water resting between his dirt-crusted boots. Wringing out a rag with his shaking hands, he gently laid it across your burning forehead. His bloodshot eyes never left your face, watching the shallow rise and fall of your chest like a man guarding the last fragile thing left in the world.

Then suddenly, slowly, your eyelids fluttered open. Your throat felt like sandpaper, your voice barely a ragged scratch. "Daryl..." His head snapped up instantly, his entire upper body leaning forward over the cot. "Yeah. Yeah, 'm here. What's wrong? What do ya need?"

"I’m tired..." You whispered, the lingering sting of the fever drawing a single tear that slipped down into your hair.

"I know, I know—But I need ya to think for me, okay?” He murmured, his thumb surprisingly gentle as he wiped the moisture from your temple. He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay steady. "Did ya eat somethin' while I was out on the hunt yesterday? Anything at all?"

You weakly shook your head against the thin pillow, your thoughts hazy and broken. "No... I don't know. Just the normal stuff. Carol's stew... a protein bar Glenn found..." You paused, a sudden memory piercing through the fog. "And... and that pie Lizzie made me”

Daryl's eyebrows drew together in a tight, confused frown. Carol’s stew was fine, and the protein bars hadn't gone bad. The kid's pie was the only unusual part, but before his brain could even begin to process it, your chest heaved violently. A sudden, massive wave of nausea twisted your features.

Reacting on pure instinct, Daryl grabbed the metal bucket from the floor, hoisting it up just as you rolled onto your side and violently vomit into it. This time, it wasn't the dark flood from before—mostly just bitter stomach acid mixed with faint, streaky traces of blood.

“I gotcha” He stayed right there, holding your hair back with one hand while the other stabilized your shaking shoulders. When it stopped, he gently wiped your mouth with the corner of a clean sheet, helping you sink back down into the pillow carefully. "I gotcha. It's fine, just breathe f’ me”

The moment your eyes closed and your breathing leveled out into a heavy sleep, Daryl stood up to empty the bucket. He walked toward the cell door, but as the morning light caught the fluid inside, his tracker's eyes caught something solid and dark resting at the very bottom, completely separate from the liquid bile.

He frowned, a cold, sickening sensation coiling in his chest. Ignoring the utter disgust of it, he slipped his hand into your puke, trying to catch and pull that dark… thing out. And when he held it high in front of his face to inspect it—his stomach dropped—

It was a small, gray, leathery tail. Not a whole one, just a ragged, severed section of a rat's tail.

Daryl’s breath caught hard in his throat. He swirled the bucket slightly, and the motion revealed more: tiny, crushed fragments of bone and patches of gray fur— Lizzie hadn't just baked a pie. The kid had literally stuffed pieces of a raw, definitely, diseased prison rat into the food.

A sudden, terrifying realization washed over him.

Eating a raw rat was like ingesting pure poison and the thought alone made his blood turn to ice. Assuming that maybe a grown-up had used the kid to hurt you, white-hot rage completely took over. He stormed out of the cellblock, his face pale and lethal as he rounded up Carol and Maggie, explaining everything and asking them to help him find the kid.

It didn’t take them long to find and corner Lizzie in a quiet, shadowed corridor near the library block. Carol took the lead on the questioning, keeping her voice leveled and calm, while Maggie stood guard by the iron door.

Daryl couldn't stand still; he paced the narrow walkway like a caged predator, his heavy boots making a dull, menacing rhythm against the floor. His hands were twitching at his sides, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches that filled the small space with an explosive, volatile energy.

Lizzie was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, her small fingers twisting and tugging the hem of her oversized shirt. She looked visibly anxious, her wide, unblinking eyes darting frantically between Carol’s gentle face and the terrifying, relentless shadow of Daryl cutting back and forth across the room.

"Lizzie” Carol said softly, crouching to match the girl’s eye level before reaching out to lightly brush her shoulder. "Did you give [name] that pie yesterday?"

"Yes” Lizzie whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she swallowed hard. "I made it for her”

"What did you put in it, sweetie?" Carol asked, her tone dripping with a quiet, heartbreaking patience. Lizzie looked genuinely, her brow furrowing as if she couldn't understand why everyone was looking at her like this. "I just... I put a friend in it. From the walkways”

Maggie let out a small gasp, her hand instantly flying to cover her mouth as the sickening confirmation washed over her.

Daryl stopped his pacing dead in his tracks. His breath hitched violently, his chest completely locking up as the absurdity and horror of those words hit him like a physical blow.

"Why would you do that, Lizzie?" Carol pressed, her voice incredibly soft, almost a whisper, though it cracked slightly as the horrific reality of what you had ingested truly dawned on her.

"I didn't mean to hurt her!" Lizzie suddenly burst out, the fragile dam breaking as heavy tears finally welled up and spilled rapidly down her cheeks. Her voice rose into a frantic, sobbing, high-pitched wail that echoed off the walls, her small frame shaking violently with genuine distress. "I didn't mean to kill her or make her sick, I promise! I just... I wanted to prove it! I wanted to show everyone that the walkers and us are the same. We can eat the same things!" She choked on a sob, burying her face in her hands, completely messed up by a reality she couldn't understand. “The walkers like the rats, so I thought if she ate it, she'd be fine too. I just wanted to show you!”

As the kid's deeply detached, twisted logic echoed through the space, Daryl looked like he was about to completely lose his mind.

He stumbled back a step, the floor slipping beneath his boots. His hands flew up to his head, his fingers clawing deep into his greasy hair before pulling down hard, dragging over his face in total desperation. "Oh my fuckin’ god” He muttered under his breath, his voice trembling violently with a mixture of pure horror and blind, helpless fury.

He was shaking from head to toe. Every cell in his body wanted to scream, to smash something to pieces, to absolutely destroy whoever had put you through that agonizing, near-deadly torture—but it was a kid. A completely broken, twisted little kid who was currently sobbing her eyes out in front of him.

He couldn't beat the shit out of a child.

Carol looked back over her shoulder at Daryl, her eyes swimming with deep, absolute sorrow. She didn't say a word, but her gaze silently begged him to leave the room before he completely exploded.

Daryl didn't give the little girl another look. He turned and stormed out of the corridor, his heavy shoulder slamming open the door. As he passed into the next block, the uncontainable rage in his veins spilled over, and he slammed his fist into the solid rough wall with enough brutal force to rattle the pipes.

.✦ ݁˖ ———

Two full days passed. Daryl barely slept a single wink, leaving your side only to get fresh water or to help Hershel give you the strong antibiotics he’d found on his run.

And on the third morning, the fever finally broke.

The quiet of the cellblock felt different now. The thick, suffocating dread that had choked the room for the last three days had finally cleared, leaving behind only the soft glow of the morning sun cutting through the iron bars. The rusted springs of the cot gave a slight, familiar creak as you shifted your weight, the tiny sound instantly drawing your eyes right to Daryl.

He was sitting exactly where he had been for days, hunched over on the upturned bucket like a guard who refused to abandon his post. A damp, wrinkled towel was loosely gripped in his fist, and his clothes were still heavily stained with the road dust and dried blood from his frantic midnight run. His head was bowed, his greasy hair falling forward to shadow his face, his broad shoulders completely carrying the absolute crushing weight of exhaustion.

But the exact second he heard the subtle rustle of your covers, his head snapped up.

Seeing your eyes clear, focused, and looking right at him, the breath completely left his lungs. He froze, his entire body locking up as he just stared, his jaw slightly slack. He looked like a man who had just stared straight into the abyss, felt the ground crumble beneath his feet, and was still trying to process how he had somehow made it out alive.

"Hey” You whispered. Your voice still a little weak, still scratching like sandpaper against your throat, but the pitch was normal. It was you.

Daryl didn't say a word at first. He just sat there, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid hitches, as if he was terrified that speaking or blinking would make the image of you waking up vanish entirely.

"Are you okay?" You asked softly, noticing the heavy, dark circles bruised deep under his lashes.

Daryl let out a rough, dry breath, his jaw tightening as he set the towel down on the edge of the desk. "I should be the one askin' you that” He muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned just a little closer. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah” You murmured, shifting your weight slowly to pull yourself a little closer to the edge of the mattress, wanting to bridge the distance between you. "Just my stomach feels… y’know. But I'm fine” Daryl just nodded, his eyes dropping slightly.

Bracing your elbows against the mattress, you slowly tried to sit up on the bed, a sharp groan of discomfort catching in your throat as your weak core muscles protested.

Instantly, Daryl shot forward. His body moved on pure, unadulterated reflex, his large hands already reaching out to steady you. "Hey, hey, be careful” He urged softly, his voice tight with sudden panic. His palms pressed gently against your shoulders to support your weight, his movements incredibly careful as he reached behind you, using one hand to fluff and adjust the flat pillows against the brick wall so you could lean back comfortably.

As his hands lingered, you weakly lifted your own, offering him a small, reassuring touch. "It's okay. I got it”

Daryl hesitated, his hands hovering in the air for a just a second. He bit his bottom lip nervously, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of lingering pain, before he slowly nodded and leaned back onto his bucket again, though his posture remained completely rigid.

A quiet silence settled between the two of you then. Till, unable to bear the weight of it hanging between you any longer, you let out a soft, half-hearted chuckle, hoping to crack the tension.

“Come on. Stop looking like you’re at a funeral”

Daryl let out a sharp, breathless sound at that. Not exactly a laugh, more like a rough, defensive scoff that tore from his throat. He looked down at his boots, his face tightening as his fingers dug into the damp cloth in his hand. "Yeah, well. Sure as hell almost fuckin’ had one”

You pursed your lips, the playful tone vanishing the moment you saw the raw, remaining terror into the sharp lines of his face. A soft, mumbled apology left your lips, your voice dropping into the quiet of the cell. "Sorry”

Daryl instantly shook his head, his brows frowning as his eyes snapped back up to yours. "Nah. You don't gotta apologize for nothin'. Just..." He took a small, heavy moment, his chest rising slowly under his shirt as he struggled to force the vulnerability past his teeth. "I just thought I lost ya”

You gave him a small, tender smile, trying to offer comfort, but he was already avoiding your gaze again, shifting his head and looking anywhere but your eyes. The tracker was trying desperately to pull his walls back up, but the cracks were too deep.

"Was ready to tear the whole damn place down if ya wouldn't open yar eyes today” He muttered, his voice dropping into a low mumble. "Set the whole place on fire”

You smiled gently at the fiercely protective words, knowing that burning the world down was just his way of saying he loved you. Reaching across the short distance between, you placed your hand over his knee. "Daryl, I'm okay. I promise. I'm fine”

Daryl lifted his eyes, but not his head. He stayed hunched forward, his gaze fixed intensely on your stomach, staring at the blankets as if he could still see the pain that had been wracking your body hours before.

"Hey” You said softly, squeezing his knee to draw him out of the dark memory. "Come on, look at me. I'm alive. Daryl, I'm here. That's what matters, okay?" The corners of his mouth twitched, the hard line of his jaw softening just a fraction as he tried to force a reassuring response. He gave you a small, strained smile and a tight nod, his voice a quiet murmur. "Yeah…”

Another brief silence stretched between you, comfortable but heavy with the weight of everything he was keeping locked inside. Then finally, Daryl cleared his throat, his shoulders tensing, his fingers curling against his thighs like he was turning the words over one last time before letting them leave his mouth.

"We found out what happened”

You blinked, your brows frowning in confusion at the sudden shift in his demeanor. "What do you mean? Hershel found out what made me sick?"

"It wasn't bad meat, or the flu, or a cold. And definitely not your, uh… period” Daryl said, his words slicing clean through the warmth of the room. He didn't blink, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours with an unyielding, almost aggressive intensity that made your breath catch.

You frowned deeper, completely losing the thread of the conversation. You shrugged, worry tightening your chest at his sudden darkness, but you let out a small, confused chuckle anyway, trying to break the tension. "What was it then?"

Daryl hesitated for a split second, his tongue darting out to lick his dry lips as he tried to find the right words to break the news without breaking you. “’Member that pie Lizzie made ya? The one ya told me ’bout?"

You nodded, your brain completely refusing to connect the dots, still unable to see any danger inside your own walls. "Yeah… What about it?"

Your gazes remained locked, the space between you growing dangerously thin. Daryl took a slow, heavy pause, the silence settling in the small cell before he finally forced the words past his teeth. "There was no damn fruit in that pie… The kid put a rat in it—Or… parts of it”

You completely froze then.

The world seemed to drop away for a second, your eyes wide and unblinking as you just stared at him, your mind stalling out entirely as it tried to process the weight of the sentence. "What?"

"She found a rat—don' know where—and just put parts of it in yar pie" Daryl explained, the raw disgust and lingering fury vibrating low in his voice, his knuckles turning white where his fingers still dig in his leg.

A disbelieving, breathy scoff broke from your lips, the sound sharp and hollow in the quiet room. You shook your head weakly, staring at him like he had just grow a second head, desperately waiting for him to tell you it was some kind of sick, twisted joke. "Why... why would she do that?"

Daryl shrugged, his face turning dark, as he looked away from you for a split second, unable to mask the horror of it "Don' know. The kid's twisted. Said somethin’ ’bout wantin' to prove how the walkers are the same as us—That we can eat the same stuff—I don't fuckin’ know”

You looked away, your gaze turning blank as you stared at the far wall of the cell. Your mind completely reeled.

You couldn't reconcile the image of Lizzie—the little girl who had run up to you in the courtyard with a giant, bright smile, holding out a small tin and begging you to try what she had made just for you—with the horrific reality of what had actually been baked inside it.

Daryl could basically hear the gears turning in your head, see the shock wash over your features as you stared blankly at the covers. He shook his head, wanting to cut off the panic and the hurt before it took root. "Don't worry ’bout it. Carol and Rick are takin' care of her. She won't come near ya again—nor will she ever make another damn pie”

You just nodded slowly, pursing your lips because the words felt stuck in your throat. Then, turning back to him, your brows still furrowed deeply with a painful lack of understanding. "I don't understand. Why would she want to hurt me?"

"She didn't want to hurt ya” Daryl said, shaking his head gently to ease your mind. "Or, at least, she says she didn't. Just wanted to prove her point. Make people understand”

You let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound shuddering through your chest as you ran a hand through your messy hair, trying desperately to clear the mental fog before looking back up at him. "I don't know what to say” You shook your head helplessly, your heart aching with a complicated, painful pity for the broken little girl.

“She’s just a kid—Like you said, she probably didn't mean to” Daryl nodded, but the small gesture was sharp, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles jumped beneath his dark stubble. "Yeah, but kid or not, she almost killed ya”

Another small silence fell around the small cell. You still trying to process a danger that came from a child inside the gates, while Daryl sat there, his body humming with protective instincts and anger he didn't know how to tame.

When suddenly, a small, involuntary whine escaped your throat as a sharp, empty pang hit your core, twisting your recovering muscles.

Daryl reacted instantly on pure, lightning-fast reflex, his hands snapping forward as his body lunged half off the bucket to hover over you, his eyes wide with renewed panic. "What?! Gonna throw up again?"

"No, no… I’m fine” You breathed, shaking your head quickly to soothe the terror in his eyes. "I just... I haven't eaten anything in days— Or drunk anything other than pills. I think I'm just starving”

Daryl let out a massive, shuddering breath, his broad shoulders visibly sagging as the tension left his body. He nodded quickly, as relief washed all over his face. "Right" He rubbed the back of his neck, a bit sheepishly, realizing it was just your body finally crying out for the basic nutrients and water it needed to survive.

You looked up at him through your lashes, taking in the utter, bone-deep exhaustion radiating from him. "Haven't you gotten any sleep?"

Daryl looked down at his hands, his rough fingers slowly tracing the thick callouses on his palms, completely unable to meet your eyes as the raw vulnerability of the moment finally caught up to him. "Nah”

"Daryl..."

"Didn't want to leave yar’ side” He muttered softly, his voice low, barely audible over the quiet, distant hum of the morning prison block "Not till you woke up” A soft, genuine smile spread across your face. Even though he wasn't looking at you, his devotion was clear in the small cell.

Daryl seriously couldn't bear the thought of losing you, and right now, he didn't even know how to look you in the eyes because the relief washing through him was so massive it terrified him. The horror of the last few days was still sitting heavily on his broad shoulders.

"I can't lose ya” He said quietly. A confession he never expected to say out loud, a truth he usually kept buried behind layers of anger and protective silence. But slowly, he lifted his head, his icy blue eyes locking directly onto yours with an unshakable intensity that made your breath catch right in your throat.

"Not you” He said, his voice cracking slightly on the weight of the admission, his gaze burning into yours, stripping away every defense he had left.

The moment the words left his lips, he reached out and took your hand from his knee, cradling it with desperate gentleness between both of his large, rough palms before slowly, he lifted it to his face and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your knuckles, his eyes never breaking contact with yours for even a second.

Your heart swelled, warmth rushing through your whole chest. You nodded softly, gently sliding your hand from his grip only to bring it to the side of his face. Your smaller palm cupped his rough, stubbled cheek perfectly, feeling the solid reality of him.

"You won't” You said softly, your voice steady and full of absolute certainty. "I promise”

Daryl closed his eyes, leaning heavily into your touch as your thumb gently stroked his cheekbone. He turned his head just a little, tilting into your palm, before pressing a quiet, tender kiss against the soft inside of your hand, holding it there as if breathing you in.

You stayed silent, just watching him, feeling the gravity of what he had just said settling deep into your soul.

Daryl had always been guarded, keeping his emotions locked away, and while you had always known how deeply he cared for you, hearing him say it out loud—hearing those exact words tear out of him—felt like nothing you have ever felt before, settling somewhere deep inside your chest.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t known. You had. Daryl had proved it in a hundred quiet ways. You’d felt his love in every silent gesture, every instinct to stand between you and danger, every hand that reached for yours without thinking— But hearing him say it, made something in you soften all over again.

Words had never come easily to Daryl. They probably never would.