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Summary: The world went to shit when 28-year-old, Antonia De La Cruz, was on vacation in Atlanta, Georgia. Far away from her life in Portland, Oregon she has to learn how to survive after the hotel she was staying in got overrun. Alone or with the group she found scavenging for supplies.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Original Character
A/N: This is a series! Updates on Ao3 and wattpad. User is bloomedaster across all platforms. Wrote this while running a fever.
Word Count: 3.9k
Contains: Mentions of blood. NO USE OF A.I. Flashbacks. Bad dreams. Daryl being rude. Oc being underestimated.
I open my eyes as soon as the truck stops. I had fallen asleep after leaving the city. The anxiety and the running drained the energy from my body. Andrea nudged me awake.
“We’re here”
I nod and rub my eyes before joining everybody else. Small cheers come from the campers that fill my view. There are more than a dozen of them waiting around to see who made it back. Everyone seems to have someone to come back to. My heart stings just a little at the realization. What does it feel like to have someone be relieved that you made it back?
“You guys were able to get out!”
Some lady nearby exclaims. Morales turns to the truck where Rick was still sitting.
“New guy helped us out.”
“New guy?”
All eyes turn to Rick. Even mine. He walks up, but his eyes stray to a mother and her child. He stumbles in shock. A minute after, the little boy I’m assuming is the son he was searching for runs up into his arms.
My eyes water looking at the scene beside me. Rick seems to be one of the lucky ones. He found his family safe and sound. Not many people get that chance anymore. I blink the tears away before anyone gets the opportunity to see them.
“C’mon lets introduce you to everybody.”
Glenn says while he walks towards me. I nod and follow him further into camp. By now, Rick, his son, and his wife are joining us.
“Guys, this is Antonia.”
Glenn introduces me, and the camp’s eyes all turn to me. I feel slightly overwhelmed with all the newfound attention. I raise my hand and throw a small wave towards everybody.
“Hello…”
‘Hi’ and ‘Welcome’ are thrown my way before a few families go about their business. I breathe out as the attention falls away and I’m left with Glenn by my side.
“Hey Antonia! Come on, I want you to meet some people.”
Andrea waves me over. She stands near an RV with a girl in her arms. They look pretty much alike. Same blond hair and bright blue eyes. They must be sisters. Glenn says he’ll catch up with me later and walks off, leaving me to head over to Andrea.
“This is Antonia; we found her- well, she found us while we were picking over what was left of a pharmacy in the city.”
Andrea mentions. I give them a small smile and extend my hand out to her sister and the older man with a bucket hat and binoculars in one hand. They shake my hand and introduce themselves as Amy and Dale.
“We have an extra tent you can have. Me and Amy sleep in Dale’s RV.”
“Thank you. It’ll be an upgrade from the emergency blankets I’ve been using to sleep.”
I let out a small laugh. Andrea is the only one who reciprocates the same laugh. Dale, on the other hand, looks confused. Or is it disbelief? I’m not entirely sure, and I don’t get to figure it out because I get pulled away before I can.
The rest of the evening is spent setting up my tent. Shane, the leader of the camp, came by while I was setting up and taught me how to actually put one up. Growing up in Los Angeles hadn’t given me much experience in camping, and when I moved to Portland I was focused on paying bills and saving up enough money to travel.
While putting up the tent, Shane gave me tips on what to do in case I didn’t have stakes to hold the tent down or how to take it down and pack it when I’m done. I made sure to file the information away for later. After I thanked him, he went on his way.
The inside of the tent was pretty bare. My backpack was the only thing in there. I huffed before stepping back out into the fresh air. Figured I should get acquainted with the people here if I plan to stay.
Now, I sit around the fire under the dark night sky. I try not to look up a suspicious number of times, but without all the light pollution from the city, the stars are visible. Seeing so many stars in the sky isn’t something I’m used to. I don’t realize I’m not paying attention to Rick until he’s done with his story.
“How about you, Antonia?”
Dale asks from the other side of the fire.
“Sorry?”
“Where are you from?”
“Oh… Um, I’m from California.”
I respond while I play with the unzipped slider on my sweater.
“California? Which part?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Ah! Hollywood.”
A smile comes to my lips. If I had a penny for every time I heard that, I’d be able to live in Hollywood.
“Unfortunately, no. I lived on the ‘poor side’ of Los Angeles.”
Grinning, I pull my sweater close. I wait for someone to take over the conversation, but they’re all waiting on me to continue.
“I grew up in South L.A. Far away from Hollywood. Only time I was close to that side of town was while I worked as a waitress at a rooftop restaurant.”
Dale nods, satisfied with the information I give up. T-dog questions me next.
“So how’d you end up in Georgia?”
“That’s a longer story.”
“Good thing we got time.”
Laughter is heard around the campfire. My own joining theirs.
“Alright... erm, well I wanted to celebrate my birthday with a vacation-”
I start before Glenn interrupts me.
“And you chose Georgia?”
I snort and nod.
“Yes. You guys have the biggest aquarium in the world.”
“You wanted to spend your birthday vacation watching fish?”
There’s judgment in Glenn’s voice as he asks. The people around the campfire are trying to hide their laugh.
“What’s wrong with that? I like museums and aquariums. Besides, that wasn’t the only thing on my itinerary.”
“Nothing wrong with it. Just think, for a vacation you’d go to the best restaurants. Anything but an aquarium.”
I shrug and stare into the fire.
“To each their own. But I would pick that over the best restaurants.”
Glenn shakes his head and scoffs with disapproval. He can’t believe I would seriously choose something so simple.
“Did you get stuck here?”
Rick asks. He’s holding on to Lori, his wife, and his son Carl is lying in his lap. I nod.
“Yep. My flight was for the 29th of August. When I tried to move it up to go back to my family, there weren’t any flights available.”
I explain. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, staying was probably the best option. If I had actually gotten on a plane earlier, I don’t know if I would’ve made it halfway home before the plane went down.
“So I stayed in my hotel with the people and the staff who hadn’t been infected yet.”
“You said you were alone when we found you.”
Andrea says. It’s more of a question, but it comes off as a statement. I nod, Gary’s face popping into my head.
“I was. The hotel didn’t last long. It got overrun by demons a few weeks in after some of us went out for food.”
The growls of the demons are clear in my head. If I focus hard enough, it’s like they’re right in my ear.
“Demons?”
Amy, Andrea’s little sister, asks.
“You call them geeks. A guy I was close with back at the hotel called them demons… kinda stuck.”
She nods as if she understands what I mean. She then asks me what happened to him. Andrea gives her a look. She knows there is a good chance something happened to him based on the fact he wasn’t with me when I found them.
“He got bit-”
I’m interrupted by the sound of wood crackling in the nearby campfire. A guy named Ed had dropped a piece of firewood into the fire, which apparently is a big no-no because Shane tells him off for it. My eyes peel open when Ed talks back to Shane, who decides to stand up and head over. I watch Shane and Ed go back and forth before Ed’s wife, Carol, takes it out. She apologizes. Shane says it ain’t her fault and the night continues. They all sit back down, but I can’t take my eyes off Ed and Carol. There’s a different kind of look in her eyes. One I’ve seen too many times in my own family.
“What are we gonna do about Daryl?”
Dale asks the group. People immediately stiffen at the mention of this Daryl guy.
“Who’s Daryl?”
I silently ask Glenn beside me.
“Merle’s younger brother.”
He informs me. My eyes widen an inch. Based on what I experienced within 5 seconds of meeting Merle, I have the feeling Daryl won’t be any different than his older, bigoted, and prejudiced brother.
“Is he as well-mannered as Merle?”
Sarcasm coats my sentence. The pure lack of silence from the people around the campfire gives me my answer.
“Okay, so what are we gonna do?”
The group goes into a full-blown discussion. Andrea says what is on everyone’s minds. Merle Dixon was a liability. He seemed like he could fend for himself, but he’s the type of guy you walk on eggshells around. Not to mention the racist bullshit he spews. Still, saying that to his little brother won’t help any of us if he’s the same way.
T-dog believes he should be the one to tell him, but Glenn stops him right in his tracks. Says it would be better coming from Rick, given he is a white guy. Jesus. The more I find out about these brothers, the less I like them.
“Before I left, I made sure the geeks weren’t able to get him…”
He pauses and looks around the campfire before starting again.
“They won’t be able to break through. He’s still up here, alive.”
He walks off to his corner of the camp and leaves us all to the warmth of the fire. Sighing, I announce that I’m turning in for the night.
“Thank you… for everything.”
I tell the group. They all helped me today in their own way, and for that I am grateful. A few reply as I make my way to my tent.
It’s spacious, but I can’t tell if it’s because it’s a big tent or because the only thing I own is my backpack and a wooden bat. A blanket is at the corner of the tent. Seems someone has left me a little gift. I’ll make sure to thank whoever left it in here, but all I can do right now is toss my shoes off and unfold the blanket to pull it over me. I bring my backpack under my head and use it as a makeshift pillow. When I close my eyes, it doesn’t take long for me to knock out.
“I’ll go out for food in the morning, don’t worry.”
I’m sitting in an office. I’ve been here before. I’ve eaten this food before. I’ve said this exact same sentence before. I look up.
“No, you won’t. This is my last meal. Food'll last you more than a few days.”
Gary. What the hell? Am I dead?
“What do you mean this is your last meal?”
He doesn’t answer. I’ve lived this before. What is happening to me?
“Gary?”
He won’t give me an answer. He’s looking down at his own open can of food.
“Why won’t you answer me?”
Gary puts down his can and gives me a knowing look. His brown eyes look tired. Defeated might be a better word to describe them. I feel my eyes fill with tears. No. No. No. This isn’t happening again. Gary lifts up his shirt. A bright red bite mark stands out on his dark brown skin. I break down in sobs as I move closer to the bite mark. I wrap my arms around him and cry into his shoulder. He brings his arms around me and tries to calm me down.
There are tears in my eyes when I open them. They just keep coming, and they won’t stop. I dreamed about him again. It’s not the first time I’ve woken up in tears because I relived the night I lost Gary, but it still hurts all the same. Using the sleeve of my sweater, I wipe the fresh tears on my cheek.
“Get it together.”
My tears slow just enough for my vision to clear. I fold the blanket I tossed off of me when I sat up. It goes in the corner with my backpack and my bat before I step out of my tent. It’s still early in the morning, so there’s only one or two campers walking around. I walk back into the tent to grab my knife and sweater before heading back out and into the woods.
It’s peaceful the farther I go into the treeline. There’s no one around to see or hear me cry. Not even demons geeks are out this far. Shane had said as much while putting up my tent.
The trees go on as far as my eyes can see. Gary would’ve liked this place. He talked about his family every chance he got. One night he told me all about his camping trips with his wife and kids over a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
The tears begin again. I walk over to a tree and slide down the bark. My head goes into my hands. During the short time I knew Gary, we became close. We both got stuck in the hotel while the world fell apart. He worked there as one of the bellhops. That was his job for the past 20 years. We had similar circumstances. Neither of us knew if our families were safe or not. The streets were full of the geeks before he could get home or I could get on a plane.
The hotel was our home for weeks until geeks got in after some folks had gone on a run to grab supplies. I had thought we’d gotten out clean. Unharmed. It looked that way up until Gary showed me his bite. Choking sobs leave my body when I remember the sight.
I lift my head when I hear a branch snap. My hand goes directly to my knife. A man appears from behind a tree. He’s holding a black crossbow in his hands, and it’s pointed straight at me.
“Who are ya?”
He asks. I can’t see his face clearly. The crossbow does its job of hiding it. Panic sets into my chest. If I scream for help, will people in camp be able to get here in time?
“Nobody- I mean I- my name’s Antonia.”
“What’re you doing out here? You bit?”
My brows furrow. I wipe my eyes for stray tears before shaking my head.
“No, I just- Who are you?”
“None of your damn business. You seen a deer come ‘round here?”
“No, and I would appreciate it if you would put the damn crossbow down. I’m not looking to hurt you.”
I use the tree to stand up. The man puts his crossbow down, but I don’t miss the scoff he lets out as he does so.
“Even if you tried, you wouldn’t get within-”
He gets interrupted by a scream. Our heads whip towards the noise. It’s coming from the direction of the camp. I turn to meet his eyes already on mine. He’s just as confused as I am. I don’t stick around to chat more than I already have. More screams come from camp. It’s a kid calling for their mother. I break into a sprint towards the screams, but I hear footsteps behind me.
“Quit following me.”
There is a noticeable amount of irritation in my voice when I look back at the man who had his crossbow aimed at me 5 minutes ago. His brows furrow in confusion.
“I ain’t.”
He says simply before getting ahead of me. I scoff before picking up my pace. The trees turn into bushes the closer we get to where the screams came from. The archer slows down before walking into a clearing on the outskirts of camp.
We find Rick and a few other men from camp with weapons in their hands, ready to attack us. Judging by the deer and the decapitated geek, followed by the blood around them, they thought we were geeks.
“What’s going on?”
I ask. Relief washes over the men’s faces when it’s just the stranger and me popping out of the woods. Behind them stand Andrea and Amy, who look horrified, and farther back Lori and Carol are comforting their kids.
“The geek was eating the deer and the kids got scared.”
Glenn answers. The man on my right isn’t too pleased by the looks of it. He’s pissed that the geek got to the deer before he did, and even gets a bit of his frustration out by kicking the immobile decapitated corpse. Dale tries to talk him down from it, but it only makes it worse. I’ve known him for all of fifteen minutes, and the only thing he’s done is be rude. I scoff at the scene and make my way towards the camp.
A hand wraps around my forearm and pulls me back gently. I look at the owner of the hand, and it’s Andrea’s hand.
“Are you okay?”
She asks. There is worry written all over her face. I’m confused for a moment before I remember the puffy and—what I’m presuming are—the red eyes she’s concerned about.
“Oh… yeah. I just needed to clear my head and think.”
She nods, but the concern doesn’t wash away.
“Did Daryl do anything to you?”
I furrow my brows before turning back to the guy who was still trying to save his deer. So he’s the one everyone is worried about. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t say he’s exactly like his brother, but I did just meet him, so the jury is still out.
“No… well, he did aim his crossbow at my face, but he thought I was bit so…”
Andrea and her sister looked even more perplexed than before, so I assured them that he didn’t try anything before I started making my way back to camp with the others.
When we get back to camp, everyone is on edge. Behind me, Daryl’s calling out for his brother Merle. Everyone turns to look at him. Shane is the one to speak up first. It feels as though everyone in camp holds their breath. Shane tells him there’s been a problem. Daryl immediately asks if he’s dead. The uncertain answer Shane gives Daryl doesn’t help in the slightest. Rick finally intervenes in the conversation and explains exactly what happened in the city.
Daryl begins pacing around, and it’s not long before he’s throwing the squirrels around his neck at Rick and swinging. Fortunately for Rick, Shane is quick to make sure Daryl doesn’t hurt him.
At some point, Shane has him in a chokehold, and Rick is trying to calm him down. There is no way Daryl is going to get over his brother being left behind, but he does calm down enough for Shane to let him go.
“It’s my fault that he’s up there.”
T-dog finally joins the conversation. He explains that it’s his fault Merle’s on a rooftop and that he is still alive, given that he secured the door to keep out any of the geeks. Rationality not being Daryl’s top priority, he decides he’ll go on a suicide mission for his brother.
“He’ll show you.”
Lori, who’s beside me, speaks up. She doesn’t look pleased by the idea of him going back into the city, but she knows the type of man her husband is. Just like Lori says, Rick tells Daryl he’s going back into the city.
I shake my head. It’s a truly idiotic decision. Willingly going back into the city is begging for one of the geeks to rip you to shreds. I choose to stay out of it, and like the rest of the camp, I go back to doing my own thing.
The Georgia sun came through the cloudy morning sky and was now shining straight on the camp. Sweat clings to my forehead. The sweater I have on is not helping my case at all. I unzip the sweater and throw it into my tent. The light breeze on my skin feels a thousand times better.
I look around the camp, Daryl getting ready to leave. The kids go back to playing. Carol is folding clothes and fabrics on the ironing board. My eyes land on a pillowcase with the same design as the blanket that’s folded in my tent. I make my way over to her, and I’m greeted with her small smile.
“Hey.”
I give her a smile big enough to show I’m friendly but small enough to not seem crazy.
“Hello.”
Her smile is polite. Her hands don’t stop reaching for clothes in front of her.
“Thank you.”
It’s a simple word, but she seems thrown off by it all the same.
“It was nice to have something as normal as a blanket again.”
My words are sincere. I’ve been using those emergency blankets for a while. They were smaller and easier to pack while I was out there, so they had to do.
“No need to thank me. I had an extra.”
Her eyes don’t stay on me; they dart around the camp. She seems very alert about the people around her, but I don’t mention it so as not to break the rapport we’ve built in the last five minutes.
“Your bandage needs to be changed.”
Her eyes were now on the gauze taped to my arm. In all the drama of this morning, I forgot about the cut on my arm. Carol finishes folding before she comes over and tells me to sit down so she can help. I don’t question it; I just sit down where she tells me.
She takes off the used gauze and places it aside before grabbing one of the first aids and using a bit of water to clean the cut again.
“How’d you get it?”
She asks as she cleans around the wound.
“Fell on a shard of glass at a convenience store when a geek got too close to me.”
I explain. She nods and starts applying some of that antibiotic cream that’s helping the cut remain uninfected. When she finishes that up, I thank her. She says it’s no problem while putting gauze and a bit of tape to keep it in place.
“You a nurse?”
“No. Not at all… I just have my daughter, Sofia. You learn how to take care of cuts and bruises.”
She offers a simple smile to throw me off whatever foul scent I could possibly pick up on. I don’t miss it, but it’s pretty obvious she doesn’t want to draw attention to it, so I don’t press for more details. Instead, I thank her one last time before heading over to the small group that’s formed.
I catch on to the end of Lori’s sentence. She is skeptical about only Rick and Daryl going out. Rick turns to Glenn. The unspoken question hangs in the air. Rick wants Glenn to accompany them into the city.
“I’ll go.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Warnings!!: slow burn, reader is an adult!!, gore, murder, injury detail, amnesia, mentions of vomit, mentions of blood, angst, hurt/no comfort, themes of self sabotage, strong language, mature themes.
Summary:
(After those assholes shoved you into a train car and stripped you of all your belongings, the only thing you could think about was getting that damn lighter back.)
A/N: enjoyyyy!!
“Hey, wake up.”
“I think she’s dead.”
“She’s not.”
A hand pushed forcefully at your shoulder.
At this point, you’d been conscious for a while, and you’d been ignoring the attempts of people trying to wake you up.
You knew it wasn’t anybody you were familiar with, so what was even the point in responding?
Was that selfish of you? Yes.
Did you care? No.
You didn’t even want to open your eyes anyway—not after what you’d seen in that damn room.
The bodies.
The blood.
You wished your brain would wipe that away from your conscious like it had done with most things, but it hadn’t; guess it was picking and choosing what you could and couldn’t remember.
The hand shook you again, even harsher this time.
You would’ve ignored it like you had been doing for the past hour or so, but you were starting to get pissed off with people prying and poking at you.
“Take your fucking hands off me!” you scolded, smacking the hand away from your arm, your eyes flickering open at once.
There were four people gathered around you like you were somebody's newborn baby that they wanted to see.
“Woah,” one of the men protested, holding his hands up.
“Can you all back up?” You adjusted your position, your face twisting into one of complete annoyance. “Seriously.”
They all exchanged a glance with one another before they shuffled back, giving you your space.
Your eyes narrowed on each face, finally getting a good glance at them all.
Then you looked away with a scoff, your hand instinctively reaching for your pocket.
Searching for the photograph.
The lighter.
Only to be met with nothingness.
Empty.
“No, no, no,” you whispered to yourself, pulling yourself to your feet immediately to make sure that you hadn’t put them elsewhere on your person.
You hadn’t.
“Fuck!”
Daryl had given you that lighter in hopes that you’d remember something.
Anything.
The photograph was personal to you and now—
It was all gone like it had never been there in the first place.
Was it ever there?
Was it something your brain had made up?
No, you knew it was real.
You knew.
“She’s goddamn crazy!” A voice rang out from the corner of the train car.
“Don’t you ever call me crazy!” You shouted, your voice cracking. “Don’t ever—”
You couldn’t even finish your sentence; your breathing was completely out of control.
Sharp enough to sting your lungs and knock the words straight from you.
“I didn’t mean—” The man who’d called you crazy stepped forward.
You didn’t say anything back to him; you couldn’t.
The whole train car spun around you, and before you could stop yourself, you were throwing up whatever was remaining in your stomach.
Even if so little.
You wretched three more times before your back hit the wall.
The feeling of defeat succumbing to your chest.
Unwavering.
The tears poured from your eyes.
“We’re all gonna die,” you sobbed, your shoulder shaking. “We’re all gonna fucking die,”
Nobody spoke.
“I’m gonna die before I can even remember anything,” you cried out again, you were more or less talking to yourself now. “I’m gonna die before I even see if anyone else is alive.”
Nobody reassured you.
Nobody comforted you.
A blonde-haired woman crouched down before you, her face blurred beneath the fortitude of your tears as they streamed mercilessly down your face.
“You came with people?” She asked, her eyes tracking over your face.
You didn’t answer immediately, still half recovering. It was only when her hand hesitantly contacted your shoulder that you broke down yet again.
The words wouldn’t form.
Nothing formed.
“An Archer? A Samurai?” She questioned you again. “Ringleader and a Kid? Any of those…nicknames ring a bell to you?”
Your breath stilled.
Your brows furrowed together.
It took you a minute to realise what she was talking about and then—
It clicked.
“How do you—” You asked abruptly, yet you couldn’t get the question out properly.
She held a hand up, stopping your attempts.
“I’m positive they caused the chaos out there,” she started, her head lowering slightly. “That asshole Gareth put em in a train car.”
You should’ve guessed it.
Every last thought in your head halted, and all you wanted to do now was crawl into a ball and beg a higher power for safety.
For respite from the uncertainty.
Your eyes dragged towards the floor—patterns casting through your retinas; you couldn’t tell if they were real or not.
What was real anymore?
“And they’re alive?” You asked finally, adjusting yourself against the wall again.
“They’re alive,” she started, her eyes flickering away from yours. “I don’t know for how long though.”
You didn’t speak.
The silence filtered through the train car again.
Thick.
Suffocating.
It stayed like that until the light faded out from the gap and returned, signaling for the morning.
You were dragged from the car. A gag was shoved in your mouth and a cloth wrapped around your wrists.
Binding you to your fate.
A pig walking to its slaughter because, after all, that was all this was.
Humanity stripped to benefit the rumbling stomachs of those who viewed you as meat.
Meat and nothing more.
The gag snagged on the stitching in your cheek, pulling one of the wires loose from your flesh.
They didn’t care for the whine that followed; they just shoved you harder.
Why bother stitching you up if they were just going to kill you anyway?
A butcher-looking man lined you up over a sink, pushing your head towards the steel.
The bat struck before you could even process that he’d moved to another woman, the air exploding from a jugular as red spilled before your eyes.
You yelped through the material of the gag, scrambling backwards.
You didn’t get far.
How could you?
The butcher just shoved you straight back into place.
The bat swung again.
The crack of a skull.
More blood.
Rinse and repeat.
Then, you were next—the bat lined up in the centre of your skull.
You closed your eyes tightly, bracing for the blow, but it never came.
Gareth’s voice cut it off completely.
“Shot count?” Gareth questioned the butcher.
“24.”
Gareth’s figure became clear to you as your eyes snapped open; tears were watering at your eyes at this point.
Gareth nodded, noting the number down on a notepad.
“That asshole Rick in the other warehouse?” The butcher questioned.
Gareth nodded.
“Yeah. And the archer.”
His eyes crossed over towards yours after the words left his mouth, like he was rubbing it in your face that he’d caught Daryl.
This had been planned since the start, and that’s why he wouldn’t let Daryl come with you to the infirmary.
That’s why he separated you from the rest of the group and—
That’s why you had to come up with a plan.
You’d told yourself you weren’t dying before getting your memory completely back.
You couldn’t.
“Hey,” you spoke, your voice completely muffled under the material in your mouth. “Hey!”
Gareth rolled his eyes with a huff, making his way towards you and pulling the gag from your mouth.
“What?”
“I was bitten before I got here, y’know.”
A lie.
“I think that’s the amnesia talking.” Gareth mocked, his hand looping around the gag again to pull it back up.
You cut him off with your words before he could even do it properly.
“You really gonna risk serving up an infected person to your people?”
Gareth tilted his head, his eyes flickering up towards the butcher behind you.
Skeptical.
“We checked you.” He started, his eyes flickering back down towards yours. “No signs of being bitten.”
“Well…I don’t think you’ve checked hard enough.” You hissed.
You knew he wouldn’t risk serving up an infected person to his people. He wasn’t stupid enough to do that.
Gareth had gone dead silent, as had the butcher.
The panicked breaths of the other women were the only noise that filtered through the warehouse now.
A beat.
“Check her.” Gareth addressed the butcher, stepping back from you. “I’m going to go and check shot counts in the other warehouse.”
The other warehouse…
God, you hoped Rick or Daryl had formed a plan because if it was just you getting out of this…
You’d never live with yourself.
Then—
Gareth was gone, his footsteps echoing slightly until they filtered out.
The butcher pulled you back from the sink, turning you around to face him. He crouched before you, checking over you, pulling your shirt up and checking over your stomach.
His hands were rough, so much so that you nearly flinched.
What kind of butcher wasn’t delicate with their meat?
He moved back slightly, looking at you properly, almost as if he knew you were lying.
“It’s on my thigh.” You uttered quickly, trying to gain more time to figure out what you’d do next.
He didn’t say anything, still studying you.
“You might want to cut through the material of my jeans,” you added through the silence. “It’s on the outer side on the right.”
Another lie.
Deceit.
A beat.
“You better not be lying, girl,” he muttered, pulling his knife from its pouch and shuffling closer towards you; he was mere inches from you, his exposed arm resting just at the side of your head against the steel.
You knew what you had to do, and you weren’t going to wait for another chance.
You let out a shaky breath and then—
Your teeth sunk into the flesh of his forearm so hard that you could’ve sworn you met bone.
Blood spewed from the opening, spewing straight on to your face.
The butcher fell to the floor, the seven stages of panic washing over his face before the tears began falling from his eyes.
You didn’t feel an inch of empathy.
How could you?
You spat the flesh from your mouth, pieces of it still clinging between your teeth almost as if it were a trophy.
“You bitch!” The butcher cried out, clutching onto his forearm for dear life.
You didn’t take any notice of his insults; instead, you maneuvered closer, pushing yourself into a sitting position rather than a kneeling one.
Your boot immediately found its way to his crotch area, applying pressure.
“Throw the knife over to me now,” you firmed.
He didn’t move for a minute, like he was testing just how far you’d go with this.
“Do it now or I swear I’ll stomp down on your balls so fucking hard that—”
“Alright!” he panted, chucking the knife over to you. “Alright!”
Coward.
It was almost amusing having a man jump to following your orders when you threatened to crush the one thing they admired most.
Pathetic.
You shuffled over, struggling to get a good grasp on the handle due to the restraints around your wrists.
When you finally managed—
The cloth met the silver and surrendered immediately, splitting into two halves.
You picked yourself up, angling the knife out towards the butcher.
“Don’t you dare move.”
He nodded quickly.
Now you had the upper hand.
You moved again, cutting through the material that bound the two other women.
Their gratitude came in bursts, and before you could even reply—
An explosion shook through the room, knocking you off your balance completely.
“What the hell was that?!” The butcher cried, still clutching his arm, the blood seeping through his fingers.
You didn’t respond but you were thinking the exact same thing.
What was that?
Your eyes dragged towards the pair of women at your side.
“You all need to get—”
Another explosion rattled through the warehouse again, louder this time.
Fuck.
The sound of gunfire followed, and it was then you knew that something bad was going on outside.
Or good.
It just depended on whether it was their people or your people who had the upper hand in it.
You just hoped deep down that the others had managed to get out because you felt like doing something…
Reckless.
Maybe that guy who’d called you crazy was right.
Maybe this head injury was creating a new side to you.
“You all need to get out.” You panted, finally able to get your words out though disturbed by the firing outside.
“What about you?” A blonde-haired woman enquired, her voice shaking with every word that left her mouth.
You needed that lighter back.
“I’m going to go and look for something.” You answered.
“But—”
“Just go.” You finalised, your tone harsher than you’d meant it to be.
The two women looked at you with a sense of hesitation in their eyes.
“Please…” you spoke quieter this time.
They took another glance over you before they darted immediately.
You turned the knife back on the butcher as soon as it was just you and him in the room.
“Where do you keep the things you steal?”
“It’s—” he sighed, clearly embarrassed with himself that he’d gotten in this position. “It’s just out of that door on your left...”
You nodded.
“Great.”
Then—
You crouched down and pressed the knife hard into his chest.
You’d rather he turn than kill him; he didn’t deserve such high treatment.
Not when he would’ve killed you in the blink of an eye and had you for his supper.
The door creaked open, the smell of tar hitting you instantly before the dead bodies made themselves known to your eyes.
Dozens of walkers pushed through the lot that’d been clear beforehand.
This wasn’t coincidental; you knew that now.
A sharp throbbing pain washed through your head again before it fluttered towards the open stitching on your cheek.
Maybe you needed to slow down.
No.
What a stupid thought.
How could you slow down?
You continued through the building, as the butcher had said, your eyes falling on the array of different weapons on both sides of the room.
You found yourself searching for Daryl’s crossbow first even though you’d originally come in here for the lighter.
It was almost as if it were second nature to seek him out in everything.
Through inanimate objects and presence that didn’t belong to you.
To make sure he was safe.
You didn’t know if that was new territory to you or if it was something you’d always done before.
You wished you could’ve remembered.
The crossbow sat idle on one of the tables, Your engraved knife sat just by it. The blade just touched the metal framing of the bow, gaining contact, gaining something, even if so little.
You trailed your hands once over the engraving before they crossed over to the crossbow; the cool metal felt grounding against your touch, almost making you forget everything outside.
And when a glimpse of a memory
pricked its way through, the sharp bang from gunfire outside cut it off as though it weren't allowed.
Your jaw clenched.
Your throat closed up.
“Please…” you begged to your own mind, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just remember.”
Nothing.
The tears threatened to spill, yet nothing came out. You’d already cried enough.
There were no tears left to fall.
You had to keep searching.
You moved towards the personal belongings now, eyes flickering over everything.
Teddy bears.
Beaten-up wallets.
Then—
Bingo.
The lighter.
The photograph.
Both sat slightly obscured behind the mass of belongings like they were dying for refuge and—
You didn’t waste a single second giving them that refuge, shoving both items back into the pocket that they had been in before.
Still holding onto that hope through and through.
Even if it put you in danger.
Even if it resulted in nothing.
Because—
Remembering meant more than anything else to you right now.
More than the fighting.
More than surviving.
And that’s why you’d become a liability to the others if you went back.
You couldn’t go back.
Not to Rick nor Michonne nor Carl.
Not to…Daryl.
Because…
What was a girl to them if she’d already been dammed from the start?
Rick said there was nothing wrong with you, trying to save you from that turmoil of your loss of identity.
Save you from your loss of everything.
You couldn’t be…
Saved.
This world had already decided that.
You were a liability to them, and you wouldn’t risk their lives in an attempt to receive comfort.
You couldn’t go back.
Your hands trembled slightly as they skimmed over the piles of belongings again, searching for something in particular, and just as if the world were pushing this initiative to you—
You found it.
Paper and pen.
Gunfire sparked again from outside.
The pen found its way to your shaking hand before it met the paper; you knew who you’d write to despite not knowing the rest.
————
Daryl,
If you're reading this, then it means you’ve made it out of this place, and I hope you’ve got the others with you. I figure I’m writing this to you directly because you’re the one that I can remember most.
I want to be on my own whilst I figure myself out again. I hope you can understand that or at least try to understand it.
I’ve still got the lighter, and I'm taking it with me. I think it’s the only thing that might lead me back to remembering. I know it meant something or you wouldn’t have given it to me.
If I remember, then I’ll come and find you. I promise.
Tell the others I’m sorry even though I know they will all be reading this from this piece of paper.
Thank you for everything I’m sure you’ve done for me.
Please don’t come looking for me.
————
A tear splashed onto the paper, smudging your name as you signed it off. This felt like a goodbye, and you weren’t sure if it was yet.
Was the letter even enough? It sure didn’t feel like it as you looked down at it now.
Was this the right thing to do? Was this selfish?
Your boots moved before you could even decide; you folded the letter up twice before you eased it through a gap in the metal of Daryl’s crossbow.
Half secure.
Half not.
Your hand lingered over the metal for a moment before more gunfire pulled you back.
You couldn’t waste time dwelling on your decision, not when the hoard outside was growing larger with every second.
Not when every second you stood still made you doubt everything you’d just done.
Your fingers slipped away from the crossbow, crossing over towards a rogue AK-47 that lay just beside it.
You threw the strap over your shoulder.
Then—
You hesitated slightly when your fingers fell over your knife once again; you probably should’ve taken it with you but…
You didn't.
You left it lingering in the same spot by the crossbow—you’d rather it be a parting gift.
Then you were out of that room, firing a line into walkers that dared to come too close.
Your boots thudded against the floor as you ran for a gap in the fencing round the back of Terminus.
You didn’t stop.
You just ran like you always did.
Running to face your problems face-first, yet this time…
Alone.
A/N: No Daryl this chapter😥 BUT, DARYL POV NEXT CHAPTER HEHEHE. I’m so excited omg😩
Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist!🖤
daryl dixon who lets you put your feet right up against his shoulder as you lie back on the couch, basically counting sheep. His big hands tug at the muddy crossbow, thick thighs cladded with dirty jeans sprawled out across the soft cushion of the sofa. He grunts and rolls his eyes at the fact you had anywhere to put your feet and you choose him yet he doesn’t shove you off or get up.
daryl dixon who sits over the tub, a stool as his placement of choice, hands for once scrubbed clean, as your back is to him in the cold bath. Goosebumps pile up your arms as his hands oil fistfuls of way to much shampoo into your scalp, nails working their way into the skin beneath your hair. Your side still sung from the gunshot wound that bared itself deep , daryl yet again grumbled how stupid you were but yet again he sat and stayed.
daryl dixon who will whine like a baby but always stay and look, after all he’s better with actions then words.
Summary: Daryl Dixon never expected to find comfort in Alexandria, let alone fall for someone who treated him with kindness from the very beginning.
The first time you saw Daryl, he looked ready to disappear. While the others stood inside Alexandria’s gates looking exhausted and wary, Daryl lingered slightly behind them all, crossbow hanging low at his side, shoulders tense. His eyes moved constantly, watching the walls, the houses, the people.
Like he expected it all to vanish or worse, turn on him.
You remembered Deanna talking about the new arrivals, how hardened they were, how dangerous the world outside had made them. Most of Alexandria whispered about Rick and the others with uncertainty after their arrival.
You understood the caution. Still, when your eyes landed on Daryl, all you saw was someone tired. Someone carrying too much.
“You alright there?” you asked softly.
His head snapped towards you immediately, blue eyes narrowing slightly.
You smiled gently. “You look like you could freeze.”
“I’m fine.”
His voice was rough, cautious. You nodded towards the pantry building nearby.
“There’s hot water and tea inside if you want some.”
For a moment, he simply stared at you. People usually flinched when Daryl looked at them too long. You didn’t. Then, awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Uh… thanks.”
You smiled again before walking away, leaving him standing there confused and strangely warm despite the cold November air. Behind him, Carol smirked.
“Oh, she’s pretty,” she said casually.
Daryl frowned. “Shut up.”
“You’re blushing.”
“Ain’t.”
“You absolutely are.”
Daryl grumbled something under his breath and stalked away while Carol laughed quietly to herself. From that moment on, he noticed you everywhere. Watering the community gardens. Helping Olivia organise supplies. Laughing with the children in the street. Sitting beside an elderly Alexandrian woman on her porch for nearly an hour just because she looked lonely.
You never treated Daryl differently, that was what got him.
Everyone else in Alexandria either feared him or tried too hard to make him fit inside their polished little world. You simply spoke to him like he already belonged there. It terrified him.
Weeks passed.
Daryl found reasons to linger near your street more often than necessary. If Aaron noticed, he never said anything.
One cold afternoon, Daryl returned from a run carrying a dead rabbit over one shoulder when he heard your voice coming from an open door nearby.
“I swear that thing hates me,” you laughed.
Another voice answered.
Michonne.
“You could ask someone for help.”
“I have. Tobin looked at it and somehow made it worse.”
Daryl slowed quietly near the porch steps.
“It won’t close properly. There’s a gap at the bottom now, and winter’s getting closer. I shoved towels under it upstairs for now.”
Michonne hummed thoughtfully.
“Rick could probably fix it.”
“Nah, he’s busy enough already.”
Before Daryl could think better of it, he stepped closer.
“I can fix it.”
Both women looked towards him. Daryl instantly regretted opening his mouth. You blinked in surprise before smiling warmly.
“You would?”
His ears burned.
“Yeah. Ain’t hard.”
Michonne’s lips twitched knowingly.
“Well,” she said, already stepping backwards, “looks like you’ve got help.”
“Michonne,” you warned with narrowed eyes.
“What?” she asked innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”
Daryl looked between the two of you in confusion while Michonne walked away, smirking to herself. You turned back towards Daryl.
“You really don’t have to if you’re busy.”
“Nah, can come by tomorrow.”
Your smile widened slightly.
“Alright then. Tomorrow.”
Daryl spent the entire night unable to sleep properly. By morning, he had somehow convinced himself this was a terrible idea. You were kind because that was simply who you were. It didn’t mean anything. Meanwhile, he’d spent the entire evening thinking about your smile like an idiot.
Still, the next morning he showed up outside your house carrying tools, spare wood, and a small box of nails he’d scavenged months ago.
You opened the door wearing thick socks and an oversized jumper.
Daryl nearly forgot how words worked.
“Oh,” you said brightly. “You actually came.”
“Said I would.”
“I know.” You stepped aside with a smile. “Come in.”
Your house felt warm.
Not because of the fireplace crackling in the corner, but because it actually looked lived in. Books were stacked unevenly beside the sofa. Blankets folded over chairs. Dried herbs hanging in the kitchen.
Daryl stood awkwardly near the doorway while you closed the door behind him.
“The window’s upstairs, I can make coffee first if you want.”
“I’m alright.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
You tilted your head slightly.
“You’re not very good at letting people do nice things for you, are you?”
Daryl stared at you for a second before looking away.
“Don’t know what you mean.”
You smiled knowingly but let it go. Upstairs, the problem became immediately obvious. Cold air slipped through the bottom of the window frame, making the curtains sway slightly. Daryl crouched near it, inspecting the warped wood carefully.
“Hinge is bent, frame too.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank God.”
He glanced up at you.
“Thought ya said it hated you.”
“It does. We’ve been enemies for weeks.”
A surprised laugh escaped him before he could stop it. The sound made you smile immediately.
There it is, you thought.
You handed him nails while he worked. Conversation came slowly at first. Daryl wasn’t used to easy silence with other people. Yet somehow, with you sitting cross-legged beside him on the dusty wooden floor, it never felt awkward.
“You’ve lived here the whole time?” he asked eventually.
“Almost two years now.”
“You like it?”
You considered the question carefully.
“Some days.” You tucked loose hair behind your ear. “It’s safe, which matters. But sometimes it feels strange being safe when so many people aren’t.”
Daryl nodded slowly. He understood that feeling. You looked at him carefully then.
“You hate it here, don’t you?”
“Nah.”
“You absolutely do.”
He sighed quietly, tightening another screw into place.
“Just ain’t used to it.”
“Being safe?”
“People.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”
Daryl’s hands paused completely. He swallowed hard before ducking his head again.
The repair took hours. Mostly because Daryl kept finding more things to fix.
Loose boards.
A damaged latch.
Cold air leaking through cracks in the wall.
You caught on eventually.
“You know, I think you’re inventing problems now.”
“Ain’t.”
“You’ve fixed the same hinge three times.”
He grunted quietly. You laughed softly, and the sound settled warmly underneath his ribs. By evening, snow had begun drifting gently outside. The repaired window shut perfectly.
“No more freezing to death,” Daryl said, wiping his hands on his trousers.
“You’re amazing.” You beamed at him.
“Nah.” His face turned pink instantly.
“You are.” You leaned against the wall with a smile. “Dinner’s the least I owe you.”
“You don’t gotta do that.”
“I know.”
“I should go.”
“You’re staying.”
Daryl blinked, you pointed firmly downstairs.
“Sit. I’m making stew.”
He obeyed before he even realised he was doing it. The smell hit him first.
Rich broth, herbs, warm bread.
It had been so long since someone cooked for him simply because they wanted to. You placed a bowl in front of him before sitting across the table Daryl stared down at the food.
“You alright?” you asked.
“Yeah.”
But his voice sounded rough.
Slowly, he took a bite. The noise he made made you grin instantly.
“Shut up,” he muttered, already taking another bite.
“You like it.”
“Ain’t said that.”
“You nearly moaned.”
“I did not.”
You laughed so hard you had to cover your mouth. Daryl shook his head, embarrassed but smiling despite himself.
It happened slowly after that.
The conversation.
The comfort.
The way Daryl stopped sitting so stiffly.
The way his eyes softened whenever you smiled at him.
Candles flickered warmly around the room while snow gathered outside. At some point, you realised Daryl had been staring at you for several seconds.
“What?” you asked softly.
He looked away immediately. “Nothin’.”
Your heart hammered painfully.
Now or never.
You set your spoon down carefully.
“I like you.”
Daryl froze. Completely froze.
You immediately regretted everything.
“I’m sorry, you don’t have to say anything, I just thought maybe if I didn’t tell you I’d regret it and I know this is probably awkward now and-”
“Nah.”
Your stomach dropped.
“Oh.”
Daryl looked horrified instantly.
“No, I mean…” He rubbed a hand over his face roughly. “Ain’t just you.”
You blinked.
“What?”
His ears were bright red now.
“I like ya too.”
The words came out rough and uneven, like he wasn’t used to saying things like that aloud. Your entire face softened.
“Yeah?”
He nodded once.
You smiled so beautifully, Daryl thought it might actually kill him.
Slowly, you stood from the table and walked towards him. Daryl looked up at you nervously.
“You sure?” you whispered.
Instead of answering, he reached for your hand.
His fingers were rough and warm against yours.
Then you leaned down and kissed him.
Soft.
Slow.
Daryl melted instantly.
One hand came up shakily to your waist while he kissed you back like he’d wanted to for weeks and never believed he actually could. When you finally pulled away, both of you were smiling.
“You know,” you murmured against his forehead, “you can stay tonight if you want.”
Daryl looked at you carefully, warmth spread painfully through his chest.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he whispered.
For the first time in a very long while, Daryl finally felt like he was home.
~Masterlist~
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A/N: I started rewatching The Walking Dead and my Daryl fever is back! I hope you like this one! If I get inspired I might write some more.
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Prompt: The former savior Justin makes a fatal mistake by pushing his luck with you.
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: Violence, cursing, suggestive comments, misogyny, typical TWD gore
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The day started off like most others. You were on watch this morning, having gotten up barely a couple of hours after Daryl came to bed. Your shift began at dawn, relieving the night crew. You remembered that Daryl was supposed to go out to the bridge today to help with construction, and to keep an eye on everyone in Rick’s absence. He had to go down to the Sanctuary today, so Daryl was covering for him overseeing the bridge.
You hated when he went to the Sanctuary, given all the horror that happened to him there, so you were glad that Rick was going today. However, the bridge construction wasn't a whole lot better. He'd still be surrounded by numerous former saviors, something you found very unsettling. So you typically tagged along, for your own peace of mind, to watch his back.
You left an apple on the bedside table and wrote a quick note beside it telling Daryl that you were on watch and that you’d see him in the afternoon. You hated not being able to see him much anymore - especially waking up together - but you each had a lot of responsibilities to manage.
Standing in the dim light, you lean over the bed to brush the hair out of Daryl’s face. You keep meaning to give him a little hair cut, just so that he could see better, but whenever you were able to see him it would completely slip your mind - too concerned with soaking up as much time with him as possible.
Your fingers brushed against his stubbly cheek ever so lightly, appreciating how peaceful he looked sleeping. He stirs a little, so you quickly try to retract your hand before you accidentally wake him up, but it’s too late - he catches your hand and places it back on his cheek. “Mmm?” He groans, one eye peeking open as his other hand comes up to snatch your free wrist, placing a tired openmouthed kiss on it.
“Sorry,” you whisper with a soft smile, rubbing your thumb over the back of his warm, rough hand.
“Where’re ya goin’?” Daryl questions, his deep voice so raspy that anyone else may have a hard time understanding what he said. You loved his sleepy voice, you found it adorable, sexy.
“I have first watch. Relieving the night shift," you remind him, leaning down so that you are squatting beside him at the bed. He rolls over onto his side, his hand still enveloping yours, and opens his other eye to get a good look at you.
“M’kay,” he mumbles. “Be careful,” Daryl says, his piercing blue eyes meeting your own. A shy smile crawls up your face and you nod in the darkness, moving closer and placing a kiss on his stubble covered cheek.
“I’ll see you at the bridge, hun,” you promise, moving to stand up, but he doesn’t release your hand, keeping you down at his level. He sleepily lifts his head and brings his other hand up to the back of your head. You instinctively meet him halfway, capturing his soft lips in a slow kiss.
His body heat radiates onto you, warming you up in a way only Daryl can. You pull away slowly, a frustrated whimper escaping your mouth as you lean your forehead on his. You miss him so much, you want to lay here beside him forever - but the sunlight beginning to creep through the window reminds you that duty calls.
You loved how Daryl would let his guard down and be more open when he was tired like this. He could be very affectionate in the mornings and nights, which was one of the only times that you go to see him anymore. You stand up from your spot and head out of the room, but not without one last glance at the love of your life.
~
Daryl’s morning was not off to a great start. He was exhausted from the night before, grumpy because he didn’t get to spend any time with you, and it was a cloudy and cold day. Everyone was getting on his nerves and he was practically counting down the minutes until he would be able to go back to Alexandria.
You hadn't arrived yet, and he was antsy about you being on the road without him. He knew you were with Carol and some of the others, coming to relieve some of the people working on the bridge, but he hated being apart from you inside of the walls, let alone outside of their safety.
One person in particular was seriously testing Daryl’s patience today - a savior, Justin. He had been giving everyone attitude from the moment they began working, and Daryl has just about had it.
Daryl was in the process of nailing down a board as Aaron talked to him about Gracie, just as he spotted you. He felt a weight literally lift off of his shoulders as you appeared in his vision. You hadn't spotted him yet, and he momentarily got distracted just watching you.
"-And the diaper just explodes, all over me." Aaron finishes his story.
"Good times," Daryl responds, taking a nail out of his mouth and getting back to hammering.
"You'll see," Aaron remarks.
Daryl shoots him a weird look, before glancing back to where you stood a handful of yards away, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and helping to lift a large board. You were wearing black khakis and a dark tank top, looking absolutely amazing in such a simple outfit. The thought of having a baby with you briefly crossed Daryl's mind, but he shut down the idea almost as quickly as it popped into his head.
"What? You'd be a great dad. Especially with Y/N..." Aaron trails off, teasing the archer.
"Yeah," he retorts sarcastically, dipping his head behind his hair and returning to hammering so that Aaron couldn't see the heat rising to his cheeks.
Aaron dropped it and they got back to focusing, which lasted all of a couple minutes until Daryl heard something stand out to him. Your name. In Justin’s mouth.
Daryl knew that Justin had tried hitting on you once before when you came to the bridge to help out, and he had given him a stern warning to stay away from you. Normally Daryl would have trusted you to handle the guy yourself, but seeing as he was a savior, and he was being very pushy toward you, Daryl had stepped in.
He stands up from where he was crouched, brushing the dirt off of his gloves and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, listening in on the conversation Justin was having with some other savior.
“She’s a hot piece of ass. The things I’d do to her if that redneck asshole would let her out of his sight, I swear.” Justin remarks as he hammers at a nail unsuccessfully. The man beside him just scoffs.
“She’d never go for you, man," he responds.
“Sure she would. Just gotta get her alone.” Justin continues, a gross smirk on his face.
By this point, Aaron had taken notice and knew that shit was about to go down. The look on Daryl’s face was enough to warn the younger man that he needed to intervene, now.
"Hey! Back t' work! Stop chattin so damn much!" he growls as he shoves his way past Justin, abandoning Aaron to approach you.
You heard Daryl shout and immediately got distracted, almost wacking someone in the head with the board you were helping to carry. As soon as you and Rosita place it down, you search for Daryl, only to find him heading right over to you.
"Hey, you okay?" you ask, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.
"Yeah, that prick over there pissin me off again," he grumbles, wiping some dirt off of your shirt for you. You smile softly, appreciating the gesture.
"Don't let him bother you, babe," you start. "Your only giving him the attention he wants."
Daryl grumbles in response. "Hi Y/N, hi Daryl," Henry greets you guys as he approaches with the large jug of water. "Need a drink?" he asks. Daryl motions to you and you open your mouth to fight him, but he shoots you a look, so you accept and take a very small cup of water from the boy.
"Thank you, Henry." You hand the cup to Daryl and give him the same look. He knows better than to argue with you and he was very thirsty anyway, so he pours himself a small cup too.
Henry then moves on and you let Daryl head off to grab another large plank with Gabriel. All is well for approximately three minutes, until...
You hear commotion and turn around to see that Justin has shoved Henry onto the ground and is now downing a bunch of water straight from the jug directly into his mouth. You immediately abandon your work and make your way toward Henry, but before you can get to the prick to handle business yourself, Henry has stood back up and knocks him clean off his feet with his staff.
You finally reached the two and just as the asshole is scrambling back onto his feet and some other former saviors are laughing at him, you place yourself between the man and the child.
"You better fucking not," you warn as he looks over your shoulder toward the boy who was hurrying to gather the water jug and get back to work.
"You see that shit?" Justin shouts, shuffling his body like he wants to go after Henry.
"Yeah I saw you bullying a child and him stand up for himself, just like he should," you retort.
Justin's eyes squint at you in shock and disbelief.
"Whatever! I let him do that. Better not get a big damn ego now!" he shouts dramatically.
"Yeah okay why don't ya get back to work," you roll your eyes and turn to walk away.
"Hey, hold up now. I finally gotcha away from the redneck," he grabs your shoulder and positions himself in your way.
"'scuse me?" you all but growl.
"Oh come on now, you know how long it's been since I seen a pretty face like yours?" he attempts to flirt with a gross smirk. "Take it as a compliment, sweetheart. Like you don't walk around in those tight little pants hoping every guy here is looking at you," he continues, and you move to walk away from him, but he follows you.
"I mean why else would you be here anyway? Not like a woman can be much help buildin a bridge," he blabbers on. You spot Daryl and instantly start walking toward him. The dumbass hasn't spotted Daryl and continues trailing you. "Hey, hold up! You think you're too good for me bitch?!" he grabs onto your shoulder, and before he has the chance to do anything else, Daryl literally tackles him to the ground like a football player, knocking the wind out of him and banging his skull against the ground.
Daryl gets two good swings in before you grab his shoulder to pull him off. He resists until you call out his name, wrapping your hand tightly around his raised fist. "Daryl!" you shout again, and he finally takes pause. Justin lies limp on the ground underneath Daryl. He grabs him harshly by the collar before saying: "Ya come near her again.. I'll beat yer ass into the ground," Daryl growls viciously before slamming him down as Rick shows up and gets an arm around him before he is able to decides to continue beating the prick to death.
He tries to scramble up as fast as he can as Rick and Aaron struggle to keep between him and Daryl. "Hey! Ya hear that shit! Huh?" Justin shouts and points over Rick's shoulder, trying to rile Daryl up some more.
"Enough!" Rick shouts, but Daryl doesn't stop pacing and stalking back and forth as he glares. Justin stupidly starts talking smack again.
"Unbelievable! Tried to kill me over nothin!" Justin tries to get people on his side. "Fuckin redneck asshole!" he shouts around Rick's shoulder. Before he can get any other insults out at Daryl, you reach up and punch him in the nose. Your hand immediately aches and you grab it instinctually, cursing out in pain. In your distraction, Justin grabs a hold of your shirt and suddenly you are in the middle of no less than four grown men pulling at you. Justin holds onto your shirt for dear life, as if keeping a grip on you will somehow prevent him from getting his ass kicked anymore.
Daryl is literally jumping over Rick to get to you as Rick tries to peel Justin off of you while keeping himself positioned between the two men, and Aaron tries to help hold Daryl back. By now a huge crowd has formed and everyone is egging each other on. "Enough!" Rick shouts again as he finally releases you from Justin's grip. "I said enough!" He hollers viciously as Daryl continues shoving his way through the men.
"Daryl!" you shout, finally halting him. He takes pause and notices your stretched out shirt hanging down low on your chest. He grabs your wrist, glancing at your knuckles and then peels his vest off of his back and swiftly pulls it over your shoulders, buttoning it in the front for you to cover you up a little better.
"Everyone get back to work! Now!" Rick hollers, guiding you and Daryl away from the crowd. "What the hell was that?!" he growls under his breath once you guys are far enough away.
"That asshole had it coming! This was neva gonna work Rick! Ya hear the shit he was sayin? He put his fuckin hands on 'er!" Daryl begins shouting again.
"Hey, hey!" Rick puts his hand up and you take Daryl's bicep. "You trying to kill the guy in front of everyone solves nothing, Daryl. You just stirred everything up!" He scolds.
"I'on care! He had it comin!" Daryl huffs.
"And you," Rick turns to you. "Not any better. Are you guys trying to make sure this doesn't work?" he scolds you guys like children.
"Hey," Daryl glares at Rick, pointing at him. "Leave 'er outta it. That prick should die for touchin 'er." Daryl warns Rick, who raises a brow at his friend. Rick puts his left hand up and his right on his hip, tilting his head and huffing.
"Daryl," he starts, trying to deescalate. "Alright, why don't you two go work on the logs, huh? Go cool off..." Rick sighs like a disappointed parent. Daryl wastes no time in grabbing your arm and quickly but gently leading you away to grab your stuff and head off to work on the logs.
Once you're out of earshot, outside of the cabin, Daryl stops and turns to face you. "Ya okay?" he asks, looking you up and down. You chuckle at his worry.
"I'm fine. Just stretched out my shirt," you respond, glancing down at your chest, which is covered by Daryl's vest.
"I'll getcha some new shirts. Go on a run tomorrow," Daryl mutters, grabbing your hand and inspecting your knuckles. "Shouldn't have hit him, don't want ya gettin' hurt," he continues, rubbing your knuckles with his calloused thumb.
"Asshole had it coming," you respond with a shrug. Daryl chuckles lightly and grins proudly.
"That's m' girl," he touches your chin. "Ya should head back for the day."
"Hell no. I just got here. I'm not leaving 'cuz of him," you state firmly. Daryl looks at you for a long moment, nibbling on his bottom lip before nodding in agreement.
"A'right, but stay with me," he starts leading the way toward the area of the woods where they are taking down trees for the bridge.
~
The rest of the day is pretty uneventful. You and Daryl spent a few hours helping with the logs, loading them up onto the trucks and whatnot. By the time the sun had gone down, your whole body was on fire. You'd definitely be feeling it in the morning.
You hadn't seen Justin since the incident in the afternoon, and you kept near Daryl for the most part, like he asked. The two of you were heading back through the woods, past the cabin and campsite, right when he happened to come out. Rick and Carol were right there talking to one another, and Rick made stern eye contact with Daryl from where he stood a few yards away. Daryl stood on your left as you continued to walk, his body shielding you from Justin.
The two men made intense eye contact as they passed one another, but neither spoke. Just when you thought you were in the clear... You hear: "Better keep your dog on a tighter leash!" Both you and Daryl whip around and spot Justin shouting at Rick as he is slowly walking away. "Damn near killed me for nothin," he continues stupidly.
You grab onto Daryl's bicep and Rick is instantly approaching Justin, his glare on Daryl, anticipating another fight - which seems to be exactly what the savior wants.
"Daryl don't," you try to stop him but he shrugs out of your grasp and strides over.
"Daryl," Rick warns, and Justin puffs his chest, anticipating his attack. Instead, Daryl stops two yards away from where Rick was standing near Justin.
"Listen up. Real good." Daryl points a finger at Justin. "Ya come near her again. Touch her. Talk to her. Hell. Ya look at her sideways," Daryl continues in a calm but dangerous tone. "Stitches won't fix what I do t' ya." It's not a threat, it's a promise. You cautiously take Daryl's bicep again, tugging him lightly to get him to back off, and when neither Justin nor Rick say anything, Daryl allows you to guide him away.
"I love you," you mutter up at Daryl once you are plenty out of earshot, taking his hand and interlocking your fingers as he leads the way toward the awaiting horses and other members of Alexandria to head home for the night. He squeezes your hand and smiles softly in return, silently saying it back.
Waking up with Daryl crushing you is a great way to wake up.
Warnings: FLUFF! set in any season where Dog is with Daryl, cuddling, established relationship, no use of Y/N, some suggestive comments, and I think that's it <3
Word Count: 901
Divider by chrissiren
It was still early in the morning. Around 7:24 to be exact. The sun was peeking through the blinds of your shared house with Daryl in Alexandria. The soft sun rays landed on your face, causing you to blink awake. You groaned quietly, eyes looking around the room before landing on the man on top of you. No other than Daryl Dixon was crushing you as he slept soundly, like a giant baby. Your eyes soften and you smile. You looked down at the end of the bed when you heard a small huff, watching Dog sit up and look up at you both.
"Morning, boy" you whisper. Dog made a small sound before laying back down, resting his head on his paws.
You looked back at Daryl. His face was more calm, not scowling like he usually is. His features always softened out when he slept, which is a reason you always admired him whenever you woke up first. You quietly reach up, brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes. You were careful not to wake him, wanting to make this moment last as long as possible.
You traced your fingers down to his shoulders, massaging little circles into his scarred skin. His shoulder blades peaked out from the blanket, and you admired the deep scars that adorned his back. His scars always mesmerised you - you were sad and horrified for him about the causes of them, but they told a story. His story. That made them beautiful to you.
After a few moments, he finally stirred. He let out a soft grunt, burying his face into the crook of your neck when the sun assaulted his eyes. You chuckle softly, running your fingers through his hair.
"Well good morning to you too," You whisper.
Daryl hummed a little. "Mornin', " he mumbled, voice still raspy from sleep.
"How did you sleep?" You ask softly. After a moment when he didn't respond, you run a hand down his arm. "Dar?"
He finally looked up, eyes squinting a little. " m'slept fine," he mumbled. He stared into your eyes, his own softening after a second. You always felt fuzzy on the inside when he looked at you like that, like you were the most important thing in the world. You turned red a little, looking away. Daryl smiled a little and kissed your shoulder. "How'd ya sleep?" He murmured against your skin.
"Like a baby," You said with a small smile. "Got my own weighted blanket."
Daryl let out a scoff, shaking his head. You laugh a little before cupping his face, swiping your thumb over his cheek. At first he tried to move away, but after a moment he settled into your hands. He watched you intently as you admire his face, tracing your finger over the scar that crossed over his eye and brow.
"Wha' are y'doing?" He mumbled.
"Admiring the view," You grin a little. Daryl rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up a little despite his attempt to control it. After a few moments you grab both sides of his face and squish his cheeks. He grunts, eyes squeezing shut and trying to move from your grasp.
"Get offa me, woman." Daryl grumbled, voice muffled slightly, throwing you a glare with no real heat behind it. You grin, squishing his cheeks together more.
"God, who told you that you can be so cute hmm?" You tease lightly.
He flushed red, trying to duck his head in embarrassment. You kept his face up, giggling. "Yer makin' me look stupid.." He grumbled.
"That doesn't take much, does it?" You whisper with a teasing tone, but you don't really mean it - he knows that.
Daryl narrowed his eyes at you, reaching up and taking your wrists in his big hands, bringing your hands away from his cheeks. "Watch it, woman," He warned with a small smirk.
"Or what?" You smirk back, running your fingers up his arms. "You gonna punish me?"
He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Perv.. barely 8 a.m, woman." He smiled up at you a little. "Gonna be the death of me one day."
You chuckle. "What a way to go, huh?"
" 'Least it'd be a good way..." Daryl muttered, kissing your palm.
Your eyes soften and you smile. God, you loved this man. He was so rough around the edges, but underneath it all - underneath all that tough act - was just a man with a soft heart. You had no idea how lucky you had been to be with him. You didn't know how you deserved his unconditional love. Well, you weren't one to deny it, were you? You'd soak it up for as long as you stood this earth.
"Glad you admit that," You tease softly, kissing his forehead. He hummed contently, eyes fluttering shut. Daryl buried his face back into your neck, and you could tell he wasn't ready to get up yet. You stroke the nape of his neck, fingers raking through some of the knots. "Go back to sleep for a bit, hun." You whisper. He made a small sound of agreement, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before finally completely relaxing against you.
Daryl may have been crushing you, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Just as long as he was with you, safe and in your arms, that's all that mattered to you.
daryl dixon keeps his distance, not because he doesn’t want her—but because he wants her too much. his inexperience eats at him, turning desire into avoidance, until she finally corners him and refuses to let insecurity win. hhat follows is raw, heated, and inevitable: a first time fueled by frustration, want, and the kind of hunger that’s been building for far too long.
c.w : sub! virgindaryl dixon (season 3). established relationship. female reader. oral sex. a gf with experience. crying during sex. raw sex. nsfw.
The supply container smelled of rusted metal and damp fabric. Daryl had come here to check the ammunition reserves, or at least that's what he told himself. But the truth was, he needed a moment away from her. Because every time their eyes met, something inside him twisted, something he didn't understand and that terrified him more than any walker. Daryl Dixon had never been afraid of anything. Not walkers, not bullets, not loneliness. But she was different.
Because she made him feel things he didn't understand. Things that shamed him.
Since they had started stealing kisses in secret—behind the watchtower, in the dark tunnels of the prison—something inside him had twisted. It wasn't just desire, although that was enough to keep him awake at night. It was the fact that, every time she touched him, every time their lips met, he knew he wanted more. And that "more" terrified him.
Every time he saw her, something inside him ignited, a fire he couldn't control. She was so fucking pretty that sometimes it hurt to look at her. Her hair, always a little messy, as if she had just woken up from a nap in the sun. Her eyes, dark and bright, that seemed to see through all his lies. That smile of hers, the one she only gave him when they thought no one was watching, the one that made him forget for a second that the world had gone to shit. And the best part? Daryl knew he was the only one who got that kind of smile, and god, he felt so damn lucky.
And when she kissed him... God, when she kissed him.
It was as if time stopped. Her lips were soft, but not timid. Daryl was much clumsier, almost feral, he kissed her with hunger, as if something or someone was rushing him, while she took all the time in the world to savor each kiss. Her lips knew exactly how to move against his, how to bite his lower lip just enough to drive him crazy, sometimes she even bit him so hard that she left small, open, bleeding wounds on them. Every time their bodies brushed against each other, even for just a second, he felt like he was drowning. Because yes, Daryl wasn't an idiot, he knew it had happened more than once: she was testing the waters, pushing her hips against him between kisses, taking his hands and guiding them to her crotch, she even sometimes tried to get inside his pants. Daryl would pull away the moment he felt overwhelmed. And it wasn't that he didn't want to, on the contrary.
He wanted more. He wanted it all. He wanted her hands on his skin, her breath against his neck, that low moan she made when he pushed her against the wall and kissed her as if the world were about to end (and maybe it was, but in that moment, only she existed).
But then the fear would come.
Because Daryl was a virgin.
He had never told anyone. Not Merle, who would have laughed in his face. Not Rick, who would have looked at him with that mix of pity and disappointment that Daryl couldn't stand. Not even Carol, who seemed to guess all his secrets just by looking at him. It was something he carried like a millstone, a weight that made him feel weak. A man like him, who had survived everything, who killed walkers without flinching, who wasn't afraid of anything... couldn't admit he didn't know how to make love. That he didn't know how to touch her without looking like an idiot. That he was afraid that, when it finally happened, she would notice his clumsiness and look at him with pity. Or worse: that she would laugh. So he avoided it. Not because he didn't desire her—fuck, how he desired her, Daryl desired her in every little gesture, in every touch that seemed casual but drove him mad. He wanted her more when she came up behind him in the kitchen and her ass brushed against his "by accident" as she reached for something on the shelf. It drove him crazy when she wore his t-shirt to sleep, with his smell mixed with hers, the worn fabric clinging to her body like a second skin. His mouth went dry every time she snuck into the showers after him, letting the steam and slippery soap be an excuse to brush against him, as if she didn't know the effect it had on him. It tortured him when she straddled him to clean his crossbow, her thighs pressed against his hips, pretending not to notice how his body reacted. He couldn't breathe when she leaned over him to look at a map, and her hair brushed his arm, or when her fingers tangled with his as he passed her a tool. He stiffened when she took off her boots by the fire, stretching her legs toward him, her bare feet touching his under the excuse of the cold. Every time she fastened her bra in front of him, without shame, as if she didn't know what it did to him to see that fabric tighten against her skin. His pulse raced when she rested her head on his lap to rest, her head against his chest, feeling her every breath, her every movement. He choked when she bit her lip while concentrating, or when she licked her fingers after eating, as if she knew exactly what it did to him. He felt like he was burning when she stood on her tiptoes to reach something, her body stretching against his, and he could feel the heat of her skin through their clothes. His mind clouded when she tied her hair up with a hair tie, raising her arms and revealing that strip of skin between her t-shirt and her jeans. And he almost lost control when she fell asleep next to him, and in her sleep, she cuddled against him, as if she couldn't help but seek his warmth. Every little touch, every brush, every glance brought him closer to the limit, until he could no longer escape what he felt.
The first kiss had been an accident.
Or at least, that's what he told himself.
It had been in the watchtower, one night when, by coincidence, they were both on patrol. She had approached, her body brushing against his, and before he could think, his lips were on hers. And it was like striking a match in the dark. Since then, they couldn't stop. They kissed where no one could see them: behind the containers, in the dark tunnels of the prison, once even in the woods, with the risk of a walker surprising them. Each time was more intense. Each time, their hands explored a little more, their breathing became more urgent, and Daryl felt he was going to lose control.
He wanted to undress her. He wanted to feel her skin against his, he wanted to know what she sounded like when she moaned just for him. He wanted to sink into her and forget everything else. But every time things got too hot, he would pull back.
His girlfriend's insistence on a hint of intimacy with Daryl seemed to never cease. Daryl sometimes thought she was too much for him, at least in that area. She always looked for the slightest excuse to get close, and that night was no exception.
She entered without a sound. She didn't say anything at first.
She just leaned against the closed door, watching him as he pretended to count bullets with a meticulousness he didn't need. His fingers, calloused and agile, trembled as he dropped a box of ammunition. The metallic sound echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
"Are you going to ignore me all night, Dixon?" she asked, her voice low but firm. Daryl closed his eyes. He was practically terrified.
He didn't answer. He couldn't. Because if he did, if he looked at her, if he breathed too deeply, everything would fall apart. Daryl could swear his lungs hurt for a few seconds, just from the way he had been holding his breath for so long. She took a step forward. Then another. She didn't touch him. She just watched him, with those dark eyes that seemed to see right through him.
“You’ve been avoiding me for weeks,” she said, crossing her arms.
Daryl clenched his jaw. His hands—always so steady on the crossbow—now didn’t know where to rest.
“I ain’t avoidin’ you.” he lied.
She simply raised an eyebrow. Daryl was a terrible liar.
“You lie badly, Dixon. You always have.”
And then, without warning, she took the final step that closed the space between them. She didn’t hug him. She didn’t kiss him. She only placed a hand on his chest, right where his heart was pounding like a cornered animal.
“Your body doesn’t lie,” she whispered. “Every time I get close, you hold your breath. Every time I look at you, your pupils dilate. Every time I breathe near you, you tremble.”
He backed away until his spine hit the shelf. The cans of food rattled.
Who the hell did she think she was, talking to him like that?
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.” he growled, but his voice cracked, like the words had been ripped straight from his throat.
She didn’t step back. If anything, she moved closer, until she could feel the heat radiating off him, the quickened rhythm of his breathing.
“Of course you do.” Her fingers brushed the button of his jeans, not undoing it. “You’re scared, Daryl.”
“I ain’t scared of nothin’" he snapped, but the tremor in his hands betrayed him.
Of course he was scared. He was terrified.
“You’re lying,” she repeated, and this time her voice was a whisper against his ear. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared of this.”
And then, with deliberate slowness, she lowered the zipper of his pants.
The sound of it sliding down felt like a sentence being passed.
Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing uneven, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the shelf. He didn’t stop her when her fingers—nimble and determined—slipped inside his jeans. He didn’t stop her when she pulled him out into the open, his cock hard and throbbing, thick and slightly curved upward, the skin taut and glossy under the dim light of the container. The head, a deep red bordering on purple, gleamed with a bead of arousal that slowly slid down the side. His pubic hair, lighter than the hair on his head but just as coarse, curled around the base, a sharp contrast against the softness of her fingers. He didn’t stop her when her hand closed around him, warm and firm, measuring his length with torturous slowness.
Because deep down, he wanted her to touch him. He wanted her to break him. He wanted her to force him to face the thing eating him alive from the inside—this desire that consumed him like a slow-burning fire. His veins, swollen and visible beneath the skin, pulsed in time with his racing heart, and when she dragged her thumb over the tip, spreading the clear fluid that had leaked out, Daryl swallowed a moan that came out more like an animal growl.
It was more than he’d imagined: the feel of her fingers, the perfect pressure, the way her hand fit around him like he’d been made for her. Shame and desire twisted together inside him, stealing his breath, but he didn’t look away. Not this time. He wanted to see everything—how her fingers explored every inch, how her thumb traced slow circles over the most sensitive spot, how his own breathing grew faster and shallower with every movement she made.
And when she tilted her head, her lips only inches from the tip, her hot breath making him shudder, Daryl knew he was lost. There was no going back. Not after this. Not after her.
“God,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “You’re shaking.”
Her tongue traced the contour of the head, exploring every fold, every swollen vein, before sinking lower, taking more of him into her mouth. Daryl growled, his fingers digging into the metal of the shelf hard enough that he felt the paint flake beneath his knuckles. The heat of her mouth was overwhelming, like she was consuming him from the inside out.
She didn’t rush. She took him with agonizing slowness, savoring every inch, her lips sealing tightly around him while her hand kept moving at the base, her fingers brushing the coarse hair at his pubis. When she reached his throat, she swallowed around him, and the sensation tore a gasp from his chest, his hips jerking forward before he could stop himself.
“Fuck...” he muttered, his voice broken, barely recognizable.
She looked up at him from below, her lips stretched around his thickness, her eyes bright and filled with a dark promise. Her tongue curled around the base of the head, applying just enough pressure to make him tremble, before pulling back to lick along the vein running down the side of his length. Every lick, every suction, every small moan vibrating from her throat pushed him closer to the edge.
“Don’t stop,” he begged, though he wasn’t sure if he’d said it out loud or only in his head.
But she had no intention of stopping. Her lips slid down again, taking more of him, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she sucked him with an intensity that left him breathless. Her teeth grazed his sensitive skin—just enough to send a sharp shiver up his spine—before her tongue soothed it with a long, slow stroke.
Daryl couldn’t think anymore. He could only feel: the wet heat of her mouth, the drag of her lips against his skin, the obscene sound of her breaths mixing with his. When she slipped one hand between her own legs, rubbing herself through the fabric of her pants, he knew she was just as aroused as he was.
Nothing came from Daryl’s mouth but ragged gasps and clumsy, muffled moans. Because when she began to move her hand—slow, relentless—something inside him cracked. Tears weren’t the first thing. It was a sound, a broken moan that tore from his throat before he could stop it. Then came the trembling, racing through his body like an electric current. And finally, the tears.
He didn’t cry like a child. There were no loud sobs, no tears spilling down his cheeks. It was worse than that. It was silence, broken only by the sound of his harsh breathing, the way his shoulders shook as if something inside him was coming apart. His blue eyes, bright and glassy, filled with water—but none of it fell. They just burned, as if the pain ran too deep to be released.
She looked at him, startled at first, then her expression softened.
“Daryl…” she whispered, but he shook his head, ashamed.
“Don’t… don’t do this,” he managed, his voice breaking. "I ain’t gonna last.”
She caught a drop with her thumb, tasting it before looking back at him.
“You’re being so loud,” she whispered against his skin. “You don’t have to be afraid with me, Daryl.”
And then, in one smooth motion, she stood and shoved him back against the wall, her legs wrapping around his hips.
“Look at me,” she demanded, gripping his face with one hand.
Daryl obeyed, his blue eyes watery and unfocused, filled with a mix of vulnerability and desire he’d never shown before. She didn’t let go of his face. Instead, her hands slid down to the waistband of her jeans, undoing them with quick, confident movements. The fabric fell to the floor with a soft whisper, revealing her pale, strong thighs, the dark, curly hair between them already damp and gleaming with arousal.
Without another word, she mounted him.
Her legs locked around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders as she lifted herself, guiding him to her entrance with a confidence that stole his breath. Daryl felt her wet heat against the tip of his cock, and for a second, fear froze him in place. What if he did it wrong? What if he wasn’t enough?
But then she sank down onto him, taking him inside her in one slow, deliberate movement, her walls tightening around his length like a hot, silken fist. He didn’t even have time to overthink it.
“God,” Daryl moaned, his fingers digging into her hips, his nails leaving red marks on her skin.
She didn’t stop. She began to move on top of him, rising and falling in a rhythm that drove him insane, every thrust pushing him deeper, every moan she let slip straight into his ear. He could feel every part of her: the softness of her skin against the roughness of his hands, the way her breasts moved with each motion, the smell of sweat and arousal filling the space between them.
Daryl turned his face to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt so exposed—he couldn’t look at her, not like this, he felt like he shouldn’t—but his gaze betrayed him, drifting back to the woman above him.
“Don’t look away,” she ordered, her nails biting into his shoulders as she picked up the pace.
Daryl couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He saw her above him, her breasts bouncing slightly with each movement, her hair plastered to her damp forehead, her lips parted in a silent moan. He could feel her body wrapping around him, feel how every thrust dragged him closer to the edge, how pleasure tangled with something deeper—something he didn’t have a name for.
“I-I can’t take it anymore,” he growled, his hips lifting to meet her, each thrust more desperate than the last.
“Come for me, Daryl,” she whispered, and her voice was the trigger.
It wasn’t just the sound of her words, but the way her inner muscles clenched around him, like a silken fist dragging him straight to the edge. Daryl felt the heat coil at the base of his spine, every nerve in his body tightening like a drawn bow. His hips surged up in one last, desperate thrust—and then—
The orgasm hit him like a crossbow bolt, precise and devastating. His entire body arched, the tendons in his neck standing out, his toes curling against the cold metal of the container. The first spurt of semen was almost painful in its intensity, followed by others that left him empty and shaking, as if she’d taken more than just his pleasure—she’d torn away the fear, the shame, everything that had kept him distant.
She didn’t let go of him. If anything, she pulled him closer, her thighs tightening around his hips as her own climax tore through her. Daryl could feel her body contracting in waves around his, her breathing turning ragged against his neck, her nails digging deeper into his skin as if she needed to anchor herself to him to keep from drifting away.
“D-Daryl!” she moaned, and hearing his name on her lips sounded like both a prayer and a curse.
The sound shattered him completely. His hands—once unsure where to rest—now gripped her with a desperation that bordered on feral. His lips crashed into hers in a messy, hungry kiss, like he could consume her, make her part of himself. Her taste—salty with sweat, sweet with something that was only hers—made him dizzy.
When their bodies finally stopped trembling, when the last aftershock of pleasure faded, they collapsed against each other. Sweat glued their skins together, their uneven breaths mingling in the stale air of the container. Daryl could feel her heart hammering against his, the rise and fall of her chest with every breath, the weight of her body on his like she never wanted to pull away.
She rested her forehead against his shoulder, her warm breath leaving a damp mark on his skin.
“Never again,” she whispered—and though she didn’t finish the sentence, Daryl knew exactly what she meant.
Never again would he run. Never again would he be afraid. Never again would he be the same.
And for the first time in years, he wasn’t afraid of what that meant.
He stayed there, his fingers tangled in her hair, his nose buried in the hollow of her neck, breathing her in—the scent of sweat, cheap soap, and something that was only hers. There were no words for what he felt. He didn’t need them.
Because in the end, she already knew.
notes: sorry for the delay—I edited this while barely functioning after the worst shift of my life. i am running on fumes, caffeine, and pure spite. working retail is hell, but I owed you this, so here we are. (I also may have made it a little longer for you because apparently I make bad decisions when I’m exhausted.)
hope you enjoy it! I’ll be back with more as soon as I recover and regain the will to live—probably following the order of the last poll… or maybe I’ll open requests. feel free to send me dms if you want! (ㅅ´ ˘ `) see you on thursday!
Summary: The girls are talking about who’d they’d sleep with, and you have your own little opinion. Part Two
Warnings: none!
Word Count: 382
A/N: I was ranting to a friend about how Daryl is the perfect lover because he’s literally everything everyone is, plus what they’re not. He’s hot, insanely loyal, kind and caring and does everything for everybody. Just wow.
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“Come on” Lori giggled, her face illuminated by the fire In front of you guys, “from everyone here and from the past- excluding Rick- which one would you pick to sleep with?” Lori’s question immediately made all the women giggle around you, your eyes locked on your plate of roasted veggies. Lori, Andrea, Maggie, Beth and carol were sitting around a campfire roasting corn and veggies with you. You stabbed a piece of carrot, bringing it to your lips and chewing. “Daryl” you spoke, then swallowed.
The group of women went silent, and when you looked up? All of them were just staring at you wide eyed. “Are you fucking insane?” Andrea whispered, her face cocked towards you and her mouth agape, “he’s like…super dirty…super red neck and super angry.” She shook her head in disgust and you only rolled your eyes. “I mean…it’s not a bad option….” Carol softly whispered, still sad over the loss of her daughter, but everyone was trying to help her feel better.
You rolled your eyes once again, placing your plate down on the ground “he’s loyal…” you started “extremely loyal, anytime somebody needs something, he’s always the first to volunteer to get it, he hunts for us, he’s not afraid of walkers or even humans, he- he got so angry at Dr Jenner on behalf of us, when all you guys could do is cry…” you swallowed your spit, “he’s gentle….his brother just makes him….mean, he doesn’t cry or complain or bitch…he just survives…” you finished, picking back up your fork, before dropping it again. “And, he has saved all of our lives- for god sake he almost died looking for soph-…” you stopped, turning your head back to the fire, “is that not a man….who makes you feel so feminine from how masculine he is?…”
Maggie pursed her lips, “she’s got a point….i mean he ain’t my type or nothing….but he’s done a lot for us…for daddy and for this farm…” the fire crackles, embers floating towards the night sky and Andrea suddenly laughs, “never realized how useless most of the men around me my entire life have been….”
“So ya….out of all the men like ever, I’d sleep with Daryl- if he’d have me of course…”
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Summary: On the road you showed the shy and reserved archer a little piece of heaven - and now he can't get enough, which results in a few risky and intimate encounters in 'public' as you and the group arrives in Alexandria...
Set in Season 5!
Warnings: MDNI! 18+! SMUT (handjob, protected sex, semi-public sex, public sex - kinda, fingering, dirty talk? sub!Daryl/inexperienced!Daryl, erections, coming too early & inside pants), suggestive things and comments, almost getting caught, Daryl is also quite a bit desperate in this, some cute moments, nicknames, unestablished relationship, friends with benefits - kinda, swear words
Word Count: 5k
a/n: You decided, I deliver. 😊
I think this is probably the smuttiest thing I've ever written. I know, I say that all thie time, but... I keep on exploring writing smut. I'm still learning and I still try to get better at it - without crossing personal borders. I think I'm getting better. Well, I hope so...
MDNI divider by @jiyascepter <3
Love In The Rearview Mirror °☆• EoH Masterlist
You had felt his eyes on you the moment you walked inside the huge living room - freshly showered and clothed. You couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Perhaps your still slightly wet hair. Or maybe because you looked like an entirely new person now that you were able to properly wash off the dirt, sweat and... guts from the past weeks - or already months? Or it was your choice of clothing. A rather too tight t-shirt and comfortable pyjama shorts, which highlighted your curves perhaps a little too well. In your defence, it was the only clothes left you found fitting for sleep. Now that you had an actual roof above your head, you didn't want to sleep in jeans, shirt and shoes. Streetwear.
Anyway, you felt heavenly after the shower and definitely agreed with Michonne... Alexandria was something good. You had a very good feeling about this place as well - unlike others who were still a bit... uncertain and maybe even sceptical. Which was more than understandable after all the shit you been through. Daryl was one of them. You could tell. But right now, the archer was distracted by something entirely else; still too busy ogling you - what only made you smirk.
Things between you and Daryl hadn't always been that... 'harmonic' and good like they were now. It had only changed about two weeks ago after a little... 'collision' in the woods. Now everything seemed to be rather intimate. Sexual tension had always been existent between the both of you. Just like a lot of pent up frustration. And you helped him find some relief. Not much more, really. And now...
You didn't know how to label what you both were, though. It was rather difficult. Best friends? Nope. Was it sexual? Absolutely. Romantic? No clue. Something between fuck buddies and dating. Perhaps.
You were just helping Rosita to get some more blankets and pillows to make sure everyone had at least something like a bed on the floor, when you saw Daryl turning his back and leaving the newfound home. Rick had decided that you'd spend the first night in Alexandria all together in one house and rather not split up. Playing it safe.
You frowned slightly at his sudden departure; wondering what was going on. For a second, you caught yourself worrying about the tough archer - and decided to follow him. Subtly, of course. Your eyes scanned the room and made sure everyone was somewhat occupied, before you snuck out the main door as well.
You found Daryl sitting on the railing of the porch; staring aimlessly but attentively at the community. As if he was taking watch - or trying to distract himself. Well, whatever this was, you were going to find out.
"Daryl," you spoke his name to get his attention - successfully. His head shortly snapped to face you, but he quickly averted his eyes again. "You okay?" He just grumbled and huffed. Your frown deepened. "Daryl?" Another huff left his lips. "Nah, 'm not," he snapped; voice filled with annoyance and something you couldn't pinpoint.
You took a step closer. "Why? What's wrong? Can I help you?" "Help me?" He scoffed. "'S yer damn fault." Now you were entirely confused - until Daryl rearranged his sitting position on the wooden railing; now facing you. "Look wha' ya do 't me, woman. You 'n yer damn looks. Ya chose 't wear this on purpose, didn't ya? Tryna get me all riled up, huh?" Your eyes followed the gesture of his hand and landed on the quite obvious bulge at the front of his rather shabby and ragged jeans. Sudden realization dawned on you. It fell like scales from your eyes. "Oh...," you stated; mouth forming into a perfect 'o'. "Yeah... Yer givin' me constant hard-on's since tha' handjob in the woods. Ain't the first time."
You listened to his words - to the sheer annoyance and yet absolute neediness in his voice. You bit your lip; trying to hide a smirk. But your body decided to compensate that with a giggle. "Tha' ain't funny." Daryl wasn't very amused - obviously. "Sorry," you apologized instantly; finding it beyond cute how one single intimate encounter lead to such an 'addiction'. He seemed to be starved - and you were more than happy to help out.
What you didn't like, though, was the rather angry scowl he casted your way. That had to change. You looked around and quickly scanned your surroundings; checking if anyone was around. Since that wasn't the case, you crossed the remaining distance between you and the archer with three strides. Before Daryl was even able to realize what was going on, were your hands already on him. Caressing the insides of his clothed thighs, to be precisely - and it didn't fail to make his breath catch in his throat.
You smiled; satisfied with the instant reaction. You loved how sensitive he was for you. One touch at the right spot was all it took to really get him going. "Y/N..." Daryl breathed; wide blue eyes locked on your hands. Watching them how they got closer and closer to where he needed your touch most. You shook your head. "Behave. Don't scowl at me. Be a good boy and I give you what you need." His gaze flickered shortly up to meet yours. He nodded eagerly. "'M good. I promise. Jus' please..."
You smiled once again and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his stubbly cheek. "That's what I wanted to hear," you praised him and finally touched him where he needed you; rubbing him over his jeans. Daryl whimpered and squirmed; visibly trying to get more. He was apparently already a mess. "Look at you, sweet boy... That desperate and needy, huh? You need me that bad?" Once again he nodded. "P-Please..." "Mhm," you hummed, "And what do you want?" and gave him a teasing squeeze. The archer growled lowly; head thrown into his neck. So sensitive. "Words, sweet boy." "A-Anything," he stammered and swallowed hard. You could see how his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "W-Wha'ever yer willin' t-to give me." You smiled again - almost proudly, "There you go." and instantly worked on getting the belt and button of his jeans undone before you were able to slip your hand inside.
Incoherent curse words tumbled past Daryl's lips as your hand finally made contact with the hot, pulsating flesh of his hardness. "Shh," you instantly 'scolded' him. "You have to keep quiet, baby. We don't want the others to hear us, right?" He nodded and bit his lip; trying his best to keep quiet. The problem was that your touch just felt so fucking heavenly. You had showed him paradise and now he didn't ever want to leave again. Daryl was an addict - and you were his drug.
Your hand worked him slowly and steadily - as best as you could inside the confines of his boxers and jeans. Nevertheless, the archer seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. His eyes were closed shut; mouth hanging open. You smiled.
"Good, baby?" All that Daryl was able to answer with was a low grunt. It was confirmation enough for you. So, you kept going; pumping him slow and steady and - hopefully, getting him closer and closer to his high.
After barely a few minutes, Daryl started to squirm again. "'M close, fuck, 'm so close," he almost whimpered and tried to rut up into your hand. "N-Need more, please, Y/N, n-need more," he begged; lower lip quivering and sweat rolling down his temple. He was so worked up and desperate - a state you didn't see him in often. Yet.
You nodded. "I know, sweet boy, I know. I want to give you more - I'd love to give you more, but I'm afraid I can't. Not here. It's too public. Too risky. Anyone could see us." Even though it sounded kinda thrilling - doing something 'risky' and knowing the possibility of getting caught any second existed, but you didn't want that for Daryl. You knew he'd probably never get over it if somebody would walk in on the both of you; of getting seen in such a vulnerable, intimate state. The archer, though, was way too far gone to care - that's why you had to do it for him.
Daryl shook his head. "Dun care, please..." Gosh, he was adorable. You wanted to give in. Really. You'd have gotten on your damn knees right in front of the man to put your mouth on him to give him more - but as a sudden voice cut through the air, you were very glad you didn't.
"Daryl, Y/N." The voice wasn't entirely familiar yet but nevertheless distinct. Deanna... You instantly stopped in your movements as you saw past Daryl's sweaty biceps how the elder woman approached the porch with a smile. "Good evening," Deanna continued and started to climb the few steps. You turned; shielding Daryl's... 'misfortunate' state from her eyes. It was a little awkward for your arm - given the fact that your hand was still shoved in his pants, but well... Anything to look 'decent'.
"Enjoying this summer evening?" The woman asked as she came to stand in front of you and Daryl. You nodded and gave her a smile; hoping the scenery didn't look too strange... Daryl, sitting on the railing with you standing between his legs - close to leaning against his body. Could be easily wrong interpreted, you caught yourself thinking. Deanna might think now we're romantically involved... But then again... Better that than her, catching me sucking him off...
"We are, yes. It's nice out here. Still very warm, though."
While you acted blazingly fast and saved the situation with casual small-talk, the archer was like frozen behind you. The sudden interruption caused at least his brain to fall from cloud nine and rather harshly come back down to earth. His cheeks were flushed. Deep red in embarrassment and arousal. The sweat was still rolling down his temples and pectorals; heart hammering in his chest. He tried so hard to act 'normal' and not let Deanna notice what was really going on here. That your hand was currently firmly wrapped around his rock hard dick and that you'd been jerking him off only a few seconds ago. And yet he was also utterly annoyed and frustrated since he was so close to reach his peak.
He didn't even register half of the conversation you had with Deanna; too lost in his own head trying to keep it together. Until he heard a door close shut and felt how your hand vanished around his throbbing erection. He whimpered. He didn't intend to, but it just happened. His eyes instantly flicked up to meet yours. You held a compassionate look. "I know, sweet boy, I'm sorry... But Deanna just almost caught us. We don't want that to happen again, do we?" Daryl swallowed and shook his head. "Nah," he whispered; voice cracking. "See?" You said and buttoned his straining jeans; not forgetting to buckle his belt as well. Daryl watched your fingers work and swallowed again. "S-So yer jus' gonna leave me like tha'? 'M still-" "Painfully hard, I know," you finished his sentence and gave his thick thigh a pat. "I won't," you shook your head, "Go inside and take a shower upstairs. I'm gonna come and visit you," and offered him with a smile and a wink.
The archer grumbled under his breath but knew he didn't have a choice and that it was better that way - even though he wanted you to finish what you started right here and now. "Fine." You smiled, "Good boy." and reached for the left side pocket of his vest in which he kept his cigarettes. You took one out, alongside the lighter and put it between your lips to light it. Then you jutted your head at the door, "Go, Daryl. I'll finish the smoke and join you." and took a drag of the cigarette; blowing the smoke right into his face. Something that managed to turn on the already riled up man even more - only God knew why. Daryl clenched his jaw to stop another needy whimper from slipping past his lips. Without another word, he adjusted his jeans and stepped back inside the house. You smiled; eyes ogling his backside.
Like promised, you finished your smoke - taking your time, and more or less snuck inside and upstairs to join Daryl in the bathroom. Scanning the hallway a last time to make sure nobody was around, you slipped inside the room, closed the door and locked it.
"Wha' the fuck took ya tha' long? Had another smoke or wha'?" Daryl snapped; standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and visibly frustrated. It looked like he had already showered, since he wore a fresh shirt with the sleeves torn off. His wild, growing curls were wet. His lower half was bare, except a very low hanging and tenting boxer shorts.
You casually shrugged your shoulders, "Had to make sure enough time passed. Wouldn't want anyone to suspect anything, right?" and started to get rid of your pyjama shorts and panties without missing a beat. When Daryl just stared at you almost speechless and didn't move a muscle, you raised an eyebrow. "What is it, handsome? We're doing this now, or not? Thought you wanted more? I'm giving you more." You gestured down yourself, then reached inside a drawer of the bathroom cabinet and threw a condom his way which Daryl caught just barely. Yeah, you came prepared. "You gonna get going now, or need an extra invitation?"
Your boldness caught the bowman a little off-guard, but it also sent a delicious spark of desire down his core. He nodded and rather awkwardly tugged at his boxers to shove them past his hips and down his legs. "Yeah, 'm- 'course..." "Good," you said with a smirk and turned to steady yourself against the lavatory; pushing your hips back. "'Cause I don't think we have much time before anyone notices that we're both gone and not on the porch either." Daryl swallowed hard; eyes stuck on the prize. The vision of you half naked in front of him was straight up overwhelming. Sure, he had a few girls in his life before. But not many. And certainly not like that. This was different. You were different.
"C'mon, handsome. Don't be shy. Take what you need. I gotcha," you almost cooed; trying to reassure the man standing like rooted to the floor behind you. He nodded - more to himself than to you. No matter how nervous Daryl was, he couldn't deny how much his body demanded this. After ripping the small quadratic wrapper open with his teeth, he took out the safety measure with slightly shaking hands. Rolling the condom over his sensitive, kinda already edged length made him suppress a moan. Instead he gritted his teeth; hoping that he was able to last at least a few minutes and give you some pleasure as well. Then he stepped closer; shy and clammy hands reaching for your hips and grabbing them gently.
Taking a deep breath, he adjusted himself and was about to connect your bodies, when he suddenly stopped with hesitation. You frowned; had been already waiting for the incoming stretch and pleasure. "What's wrong, Dar?" Daryl swallowed again. As much as he wanted to have sex with you, the least thing he wanted was to hurt you. He accidentally did that way too often when he was younger and Merle made him 'screw sum' hot bitches he knew'.
"A-Are ya, uh...? C-Can I...? D-Dun wanna hurt ya," he whispered - feeling like a young, inexperienced man who had his first time. You gazed over your shoulder to look at the archer. Face flushed, a few damp strands of hair in his face. He looked so cute being all shy and embarrassed. You gave him a nod. "Yes, sweet boy. I'm ready. Was since I started to jerk you off. Get going."
"'Kay," he mumbled almost inaudible and finally slipped inside; slow and gentle. "Oh my gosh, yesss," you giggled - already enjoying yourself very much, while Daryl tensed. He had such a hard time keeping it together and not blow his load already. It took him all his willpower to not start rutting into you like a wild animal. It had been so long and he was so damn sensitive.
"You can move, Daryl." You told him; having adjusted to his size. To hear you say that was utterly reliving. Now that you officially gave him the go, there was no holding back. Daryl was so desperate for you. He needed this. Otherwise he might as well drown and die in his own unanswered pleasure.
The archer started to move. It wasn't perfect. Rather clumsy and... wild. So, you pushed your hips back; trying to guide him a little. With success. He was a quick learner and fell into rhythm fast.
"T-Tha' okay?" Daryl asked in between thrusts; wanting to do it right. "Mhm," you hummed. "Making me feel very good, sweet boy. Don't stop." The man behind you whimpered at your praise; hips stuttering a little. "D-Dun wanna stop, b-but 'm so close. D-Dunno how long I can hold-" You unintentionally clenched around him. "O-Oh fuck," Daryl whined, and you instantly felt his rhythm falter before he entirely came to an halt. Panting hard and with satisfying pleasure running through his veins, he almost collapsed on you; forehead pressed against your back. Daryl's palms were still holding on tightly to your hips; grounding him.
You looked once more over your shoulder; watching the spent archer. Another smile darted across your face. Yes, he didn't last long and came prematurely. Yes, you didn't get to reach your peak. But right now in this moment, you couldn't care less. This had been about him. Not you. He was going to get better at this - with time and patience.
Daryl had barely caught his breath when you started to move 'beneath' him to slip away. You could've sworn he winced a little at the sudden loss of body contact. Almost dazed, the archer watched you getting dressed again - rooted once more to the ground and his lower half still entirely exposed.
When you came up to him and pressed a kiss against his cheek, he instantly blushed - as if flipping a switch. "See you, handsome." You walked to the bathroom door - which seemed to 'wake' him finally up from his trance like state. "Y-Yer goin'?" The man whispered; looking at you like a puppy in the rain. Cute.
You nodded. "Have to. Don't want our cover blown." Daryl chewed on the inside of his lower lip and nodded as well; another few wild chestnut bangs falling into his face. You gave him another smile as you unlocked the door. "Great sex, sweet boy," you added with a wink and left the still utterly dazed archer behind.
Daryl spent almost the whole night on the porch to keep watch. It felt safer that way. He and Rick still didn't trust this place entirely. Being on his own for several hours gave the archer a lot of time to think. Too much. No matter what he tried to think of, his thoughts always ended back on you and especially all the things you were able to make him feel. Your hands all over him. Your lips. Your mouth. How heavenly you felt wrapped around him - as if you were made for each other. He swallowed hard and cursed under his breath as he noticed how much he had been drifting off again. Daryl felt like a horny teenager. "Damnit," he whispered; noticing the tightness of his pants again. What was wrong with him? What had you done?
The archer desperately tried to redirect his dirty mind and think of anything - just not you. But without much success. The seed had been planted and now the plant grew.
Since it was in the middle of the night and therefore quiet and especially dark, he grabbed his junk with one big palm; trying to give himself some relief and get his 'little friend' to calm down again. The problem? His hand just wasn't yours. It was not enough - and he soon learned that he needed more. He needed you.
So, with a rather frustrated, needy growl, he made his way to you; tiptoeing around all his sleeping family members. The only good thing was that you were sleeping at the far end of the room but at the edge - so if anyone would wake up, he could easily just roll away from what he had planned to do. Hopefully.
The archer carefully laid down behind you - not to startle you awake and pressed his pelvis against your behind; hand on your hip. "Y/N," he whispered gruffly. "Y/N, c'mon." His hand squeezed your hip as he tried hard to not grind against you. He certainly wouldn't do anything before you didn't give him his go. "Wake up," he whispered a notch louder. "Please..."
That seemed to do the trick. You stirred and shifted. "Daryl?" You mumbled; voice thick with sleep as you lifted your hands to your face in order to rub the sleep out of your eyes. "What's wrong? You okay?"
He straight up whimpered at your kind and caring words; shaking his head - something you weren't able to see. "N-Need you," he whispered in a hoarse voice; "Please..." proving his point by grinding his hips against your ass and making you feel him. You gasped; certainly not having expected this. "Oh, Daryl... Got yourself worked up all over again?" He just whined - and it was all the confirmation you needed. "Okay, okay, I gotcha. What do you need, handsome?" You turned your head to look over your shoulder at him. "My hand? Mouth? Sex?" He shook his head - at all the three options you gave him. "What then, huh?" The bowman swallowed hard; Adam's apple bobbing. "W-Wanna play," he rasped out. "Lemme play. With ya." You raised your eyebrows - a little surprised. "You want to...?" He nodded. "Please. I-I know I didn't make ya come when we... I know I blew 'm load too early 'n... I wanna make it up 't ya. Please. Let me try."
His words and almost sheer desperation sent a delicious tingle straight to your core. Who were you to deny him? Especially when he asked so sweetly. "Okay, sweet boy - but as always... We have to keep quiet, yeah?" He nodded quickly against your shoulder. "'Kay," you whispered. "Give me your hand. I'll show you how you can make me feel good." Another soft whimper left the archer's lips and within seconds slid his palm from your hip into your hand. You lifted the blanket to tuck it over his arm and then guided his hand southward until his big palm was cupping your crotch. "Rub me like you'd rub yourself over your pants. Go ahead. I know you can do it. You know how that works, handsome."
You felt him nod again before he cautiously started to do as you asked. It felt... different. Jerking himself off was one thing, but jerking you - a woman off was something entirely different. It wasn't his body and so, of course, he didn't know exactly the... mechanics. He never did it before. This was a first for Daryl. That's why he asked you to teach him. He was familiar with your anatomy - but not with the buttons he had to press.
"T-Tha' good?" He asked after a few moments; keeping his voice down. "Mhm," you hummed and started to slowly grind against his hand. "Keep going." Daryl kept going - until you tapped your fingertips against the back of his hand. "Need more, handsome. You ready to learn more?" "Please," he pleaded; voice strained and husky. "So eager..." There was an audible smile in your voice as you rearranged his hand again; slipping it inside your shorts and panties this time. The moment Daryl's fingers connected with your heat, a low moan escaped both your lips. You shifted your leg a little for better access and guided his hand; letting his fingers glide through your folds.
"F-Fuck, sunshine... Y-Ya always tha' ready?" You had to suppress a giggle. "Only for you, sweet boy." He whined; hips rutting involuntarily against you. You smiled and bit your lip; his desperation turning you on even more. "Concentration, baby, c'mon. Keep your hand were I want it. You said this is about me - not you." "S-Sorry," he whispered hoarsely and kept going; rubbing you. It was delicious - especially once Daryl got the nick of it, with the calloused, rough pads of his fingers caressing your most sensitive part as well.
"You're doing so good, sweet boy. Just keep it up a little." At your praise, the archer had to suppress a moan and did his utmost best to keep doing it right. But with Daryl helping you climb the ladder higher and higher, the need for more got more urgent as well. So, you grabbed his wrist again to slow his movements down and to reposition yourself once again a little. "A-Ain't good anymore?" The man behind you mumbled; slight worry swinging in his voice. "No, baby. It is good - just not enough. Need your fingers inside. Now."
Daryl swallowed hard at your words; feeling himself blush but also twitch in his way too tight boxers. "I-I ain't ever..." He started; too shy to spell it out entirely. "That's what I thought, Dar. Don't worry, you got this. I promised I'd teach you." The man nodded and let you reposition his hand again; sliding two of his thick fingers inside - which caused you to audibly gasp. "Fuck, sweet boy, that's it," you breathed and started to guide his hand; teaching him the right movements. "Just like that. Just like that." Daryl was a fast learner. And oh, boy was he good with his fingers. To he honest, you assumed nothing less - since he just was good with his hands in general, but that... You thought you unlocked a new skill of his.
"U-Use your thumb, too, handsome." You didn't need to explicitly tell him what to do with the digit. He connected the dots and added pressure to the bundle of nerves; rubbing in tight circles. You had to slam a hand over your mouth to not moan out loud.
From time to time you had to redirect his thumb a little, since he was going a little too hard, but beside that... He treated you so good and gave you so much pleasure - especially for a man who had never done this before. So, it was no wonder that you reached your peak quite fast.
"I-I'm so close," you whimpered. "J-Just a little more, handsome ." Daryl groaned lowly into your neck and pumped his fingers a little faster; hitting that one delicious spot repeatedly. The wet, obscene sounds this intimate encounter resolved in, got luckily mostly muffled by the blanket around you. But nevertheless, you tried to keep an eye on your surroundings in case anyone of your found family woke up.
"S-Shit," you cursed; feeling yourself tipping over the edge. "G-Gonna-" Your word morphed into a breathless moan. You squirmed against Daryl as you got swallowed by pleasure; hands gripping his wrist and forearm - probably leaving marks.
To feel and watch you fall apart didn't leave the archer unbothered. His hips rutted against you, before they came to an halt - just like the hand which was pleasuring you, with an incoherent curse that tumbled from his lips.
"O-Oh my..." You breathed in the dark room; recovering from your high and feeling Daryl's hand retreating from your heat. "W-Was it... 'kay?" You turned in his 'embrace' to face him. "Okay? Dar... I think that was one of the best orgasms I ever had." You could barely see the blush creeping up on the archer's face, since the huge room was only a little illuminated by the moonlight shining through the windows. "R-Really?" "Really. You did so good, sweet boy," you praised him and brought his hand up to your lips; licking and sucking his fingers clean and tasting yourself on his roughened skin. Daryl had to suppress a load moan as he felt your hot tongue against his fingers.
You giggled quietly and were more than ready to give him some relief you know he needed as well - but when your hand slid inside his jeans, you could feel a warm, sticky wet patch at the front of his boxers. "Daryl, did you...?" He nodded - ashamed. "C-Creamed 'm pants, yeah." You shook your head and retrieved your hand to cup his stubbly cheeks again. "Don't. Don't be embarrassed or ashamed. It's okay, handsome," you whispered with a small smile. "And actually beautiful. Because you felt so much pleasure by giving it to someone else that you were able to immerse yourself in it, too. It's so selfless and actually quite sexy." Daryl blinked and chewed on the inside of his bottom lip; mulling over your words. "Yeah?" You smiled at his absolute cuteness and nodded. "Yes." To proof your point, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. His cheeks became redder - and before things could get more intimate between you two, he carefully shifted and slowly got up. You let him, of course; didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable or something. "I-I, uh, should get into a fresh pair 'a boxers..." Daryl mumbled; rubbing his neck. "Sure thing, handsome. And thank you for this." He shook his head, "Gotta thank ya." and turned to tiptoe upstairs. "Daryl?" You whisper-shouted after him. "Yah?" "We're doing this again, right?" "Please."
summary. after escaping terminus, you hold up shelter in the church, and daryl realises that abraham has interest in you. he says nothing, knowing that you can more than take care of yourself (1.7k)
warnings. mentions of death and sex, reader smoking, abraham trying to flirt with reader, amused daryl, like one swear word, established relationship
divider credits. @cafekitsune
It was a particularly warm day, leaving each person sweltering, including the priest Gabriel whom had held no choice in offering shelter in the church he had served before the outbreak and continued to maintain. The lot of you were exhausted, Terminus having exhausted much will and motivation from each of your persons, including the new survivors that had joined along the way; Rosita, Abraham and Eugene. Daryl found you seated outside, sat there lulling in the anguish that braced tension in each muscle of your body.
“That woman’s something.” Abraham told him as if he didn’t already know that fact, and Daryl grunted in reply, aware of how the redhead’s tired gaze trailed across your frame with interest - he had thought that Rosita was the last woman on earth, and he had certainly been proven incorrect on that matter. The archer did not like the way that the newcomer was ogling at you as you nursed a cigarette between your lips, one that you had found in the home of religion along with a lighter, stashed away beneath a pew, as though the sin was hidden from god himself. Someone must have really needed a breather after church.
The smoke wafted around you in relieving waves, contorting around your silhouette as a grey outline, the distinct scent imbedding itself within both your hair and the articles that you were clothed in, the strong tang despite being disliked by many others brought you a sense of comfort that seemed impossible to inhale. Yet you had found something to soothe your energised nerves, to momentarily distract you from the turmoil that contagiously followed any life that remained. You were oblivious to the men watching you by the steps, a machete resting upon the placement of your lap in the case that any walkers appeared.
It was almost peaceful, if you thought not of the forlorn past and those that hadn’t made it… those that still were missing. You held onto the cigarette tighter, pursing your lips as you exhaled a cloudy spill of smoke, watching intently as it danced in the air. Abraham heavily shifted his weight between each foot, as though he were preparing for something, and Daryl could only imagine what that would be. He squinted at the red haired man, as he sturdied a hand on his hip, the other brushing through his facial hair. “I’m gonna talk to her.” There hadn’t been much time for forming a bond with each of the new people, other than enduring the torturous confines of Terminus together, and it appeared that the large man was taking a shot.
Daryl quirked a thin brow at the motives that no doubt rested beyond Abraham’s intentions, though he chose not to get in his way, instead having faith and having witnessed it multiple times first hand that you had the ability to take care of yourself. And so Abraham moved onwards, towards you, with a confidence that you would no doubt deflate. It was what you did, you pushed those away that held no respect for your boundaries, hell, even Daryl knew when to give you time to yourself. Sometimes a moment alone was all that was needed to refresh yourself, to assert a newfound thought that drove you to keep pushing you in the direction of survival.
It took great strength for Daryl not to grab the man and make him reassess his prerogative; you were enjoying the hard to find silence that surrounded you, and the archer was not going to be the one to make a scene and disrupt the bubble of solace that you lulled in. That alone was a death wish for anyone,no matter who they were, and so he idly surveyed in your direction as you allowed your knee to jog up and down as you rested on the ground, breathing in the fumes of the cigarette without any regard.
“Hey pretty lady.” The sound of a voice made your head snap upwards, hand instantly finding the handle of your weapon that had taken many a life. It had not only been walkers that had received the sharp impact of the machete, humans had too when they had infiltrated the prison, breaking through the walls and destroying any aspect of security that had once been. With a glare in your eyes, you found the face of Abraham smiling down at you, and you had the impulse to scoff. “Those things will kill you.” He nodded towards the rolled up tobacco that was in its most popular form, the end singing as each second it grew shorter, wilting away from the flame that had touched its end.
“Better this than something or someone else.” To emphasise your point, you inhaled from it once more, squashing the lacklustre stub beneath the sole of your boot. “Did you want something?” The tone of your voice was tired, and tired it was for good reason. All of your energy had been exerted into getting this far and surviving this long. It seemed to deflate the arrogant confidence that Abraham had previously had when he stalked in your direction, and that was exactly what you wanted - for him and everyone else to leave you alone for a moment. Perhaps it was too much an ask for some people, you thought to yourself, releasing an audible sigh.
Your attitude had not been expected by Abraham, you spoke rashly and with a hardening edge, but he found himself to be fond of it. Not many people made their desires clear in the old world, but he expected that you had. “Wanted to talk to you, get to know you.” He appeared friendly, though you noticed his self serving motives as his round eyes sketched your frame with interest. The most you knew about each other was the basics, that the prison had fallen prompting him to meet Glenn, and of course your name. That was the bare minimum, and he wished to be filled with all the information that you would only share with another that you poised an intimate relation with.
“Ain’t much to it.” You nonchalantly shrugged, not understanding why you out of all others had peaked his interest, especially considering that Rosita and he seemed to be a thing, though you had not scraped for the details, caring not for the bond that others had with themselves. “So if you think that you can get in my pants, think again. I ain’t interested.” Stupidity was not a personality trait that was known to your mind, and your blunt words caught the man off guard, even though it had been blatantly obvious of his idea in disturbing you. You did not get up, you remained seated on the short grass, hugging your knees as you thought internally of where else you may find some more cigarettes, or something that could bring you a distraction that did not leave you to ponder on those that were now deceased or the whereabouts of Beth Greene.
“Why aren’t you interested?” Abraham did not mean the question to pressure you, he was genuinely curious. From his experience, sleeping with another proved to be something that lost focus to the present reality, the climate of looming death peering around every corner. “Don’t you not want to think for a while?” That was what you had been trying to do prior to his presence, but you bit back your temper, not wishing for it to explode. Even if you had not been in a relationship that Abraham clearly had no clue of, you wouldn’t sway entertainment in his direction. Things were tough enough already without pissing someone off, and whilst you did not know Rosita, doing that to another woman that had feelings for the man that she laid beside was practically traitorous.
“I don’t think your dick would satisfy me.” You jabbed as a reply, smirking as a scoff retorted from the red haired man, and he reluctantly walked back to the entrance of the church. He frowned when he saw the cocky expression on Daryl’s face, not understanding why it had appeared. It was acknowledged that the two of you had been companions for a time alongside a handful of others, yet he could not exasperatedly reason for the amused glint that shone from Daryl’s eyes. His interaction hadn’t gone as planned, and Abraham thought of the answers as to why. Maybe you were celibate, saving yourself for someone that had such morals that reflected the same, or you were not into his gender. He was going to pry at the archer until he was given an explanation.
“She wasn’t interested.” He stated to Daryl, and the archer quirked an all knowing brow,a short laugh expelling from his lips. “You know why?” Oh he did, and he could not wait for the expression that would fall upon Abraham’s face, it would no doubt be priceless. He hadn’t intervened, aware that you would send him running, possibly telling him to piss off or something else insulting. Within the prison other men had attempted to seek your company, whether that be for a one night stand or a steady relationship, and you had treated them all the same. It had taken him some time to realise that he was exactly what you wanted, even during your relationship, and he wasn’t going to argue about the matter in disbelief, knowing how lucky he was to have a partner that had his back at all times, and was strong willed and able to look after themself. You were all of those things and more.
“She’s my woman.” It may have seemed almost objectifying to others if they did not know Daryl well enough, however there was affection that underlined his words, affection that could be heard to anyone listening. “An’ I didn’t warn ya b’cause I knew she would send ya packin’. Tha’s what she does to men that wanna get in her pants.” He noticed both the surprise and the slight embarrassment that had overtaken Abraham’s face, smirking at it. It was indeed a priceless sight. As the other man that had tried to seduced you walked around the church to find Eugene, trying to act as though his pride had not been wounded, Daryl remained where he stood, watching you, allowing you the momentary silence that you wished for, knowing that the quiet peace was rare to come by and you deserved to enjoy it whilst you could.
authors note; a part of the daryl and his sunshine series
The meeting had already started to fill by the time you arrived, the low hum of conversation settling into the room like a steady current, voices overlapping in that easy, familiar way that came with people who had learned how to exist together in close quarters, how to build something like normal out of whatever pieces they had left.
You hadn’t meant to come early.
It had just… happened.
Tara had been talking, Denise half-listening and half-correcting her on something that didn’t really matter, and you’d followed along with them without thinking too hard about it, letting yourself be pulled into the rhythm of it rather than questioning why your steps had picked up a little when you got closer to the building, why your eyes had flicked once—just once—toward the path that led from the gates.
That you weren’t looking for anyone.
And still, when you took your seat, you shifted just slightly to one side without really noticing it at first, leaving space where there didn’t need to be any, your body adjusting on instinct more than decision, like it was making room for something it expected even if your mind hadn’t caught up yet.
Tara dropped down beside you with a soft exhale, stretching her legs out in front of her like she planned on staying a while, Denise was called away by someone near the front before she could settle, leaving you with the open stretch of bench that should’ve been filled by now and somehow… wasn’t.
You didn’t think about it.
Not really.
Not until the door opened.
It wasn’t loud, not enough to draw the whole room’s attention, just the faint shift of air and movement that came with someone arriving late, but your head turned anyway before you could stop it, your gaze lifting like it had been waiting for the excuse.
And there he was.
Daryl stepped inside like he always did—unbothered by the fact that people had already gathered, by the fact that the meeting had started without him, like none of it applied in quite the same way it did to everyone else—and for a second he just stood there, eyes adjusting, taking in the room without rushing it.
Then his gaze found you.
Not searching.
Not surprised.
Just… landing there.
Like it had always been the destination.
Your shoulders dropped before you noticed they’d been tight, before you could pretend it didn’t, your mouth curved without permission, not wide, not obvious, but enough that it was there, enough that it didn’t need to be anything more.
He didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t even glance toward the back corner where he usually sat, where the shadows were thicker and the distance from everyone else gave him something closer to comfort.
Instead, he moved straight toward you.
Like it wasn’t a choice.
Like it hadn’t been for a while.
Tara noticed first.
Of course she did.
Her elbow nudged lightly into your side, subtle enough that no one else would’ve clocked it, but deliberate enough that you felt it immediately, her voice low under her breath as she leaned just slightly closer.
“Oh,” she murmured, amusement already threading through the single syllable, “well, that’s new.”
You didn’t respond.
Didn’t give her the satisfaction.
Your attention already shifting back before she could say anything else, because Daryl was closer now, close enough that the space you hadn’t meant to leave suddenly didn’t feel accidental at all.
He reached the bench and, without breaking stride, dropped into the seat beside you like it had always been his, like it had been waiting for him just as much as you hadn’t meant it to, his weight settling in a way that shifted the wood beneath you both.
His arm came up as he leaned back.
Easy.
Automatic.
Draping along the back of the bench behind you like it belonged there, like it belonged with you, and the movement should’ve been casual, should’ve been nothing, except his fingers didn’t quite stop where they should have.
They brushed.
Light.
Barely there.
Against your far shoulder.
And stayed.
Not gripping.
Not pulling.
Just resting there in that almost-touch that somehow felt more deliberate than anything else he could’ve done, the heat of it seeping through fabric in a way that made your breath catch just slightly before you could stop it.
You turned your head toward him just enough, leaning in the smallest fraction so your voice wouldn’t carry.
“You’re late,” you whispered.
It wasn’t sharp.
Wasn’t annoyed.
Just… noted.
Daryl tilted his head a fraction, his gaze shifting down toward you, and there was something different in it now—something quieter than teasing but not far off, something that had learned the shape of your reactions and wasn’t afraid to test them.
“Yeah?” he murmured back, voice low, rough in that way that always seemed to settle somewhere under your skin whether you wanted it to or not.
He leaned in.
Closer.
Close enough that his shoulder pressed lightly into yours, close enough that his breath brushed warm against the shell of your ear when he spoke again.
“You watchin’ me or somethin’, sunshine?”
It shouldn’t have done anything.
It did.
Your spine straightened before you could stop it, a subtle, involuntary reaction that you felt more than saw, your breath catching just enough to give you away, and for a second you forgot entirely what you’d been about to say in response because your body had decided to react first and think later.
Daryl noticed.
Of course he did.
You felt it in the way his fingers shifted slightly against your shoulder, not pulling away, not correcting the contact, just… lingering a little more deliberately now, like he’d clocked the effect and wasn’t about to waste it.
There was the faintest hint of something like a smirk at the corner of his mouth when he leaned back again, settling into the space like he’d just confirmed something he hadn’t been entirely sure of before.
“Thought so,” he added under his breath.
You shot him a look then, something caught between warning and something far less steady, but it didn’t land the way it should’ve, not when he was already sitting there like that, already too close, already too comfortable.
Next to you, Tara shifted slightly, Denise on her other side. The meeting carried on up front, voices blending into something steady and easy to ignore.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
Tara’s attention drifted once—brief, almost absent—before she looked forward again like it hadn’t meant anything.
Denise noticed.
A small glance. Then away.
A pause settled between them, quiet but not empty.
“…Mm,” Denise murmured under her breath.
Tara’s mouth twitched faintly. “Don’t.”
Denise didn’t look at her. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
That got the smallest reaction—a shift of Denise’s shoulder, almost a shrug.
“Was I?”
Tara huffed softly through her nose, something amused in it despite herself. “Yeah.”
A beat.
Then, quieter—like she couldn’t quite help it—
“…subtle.”
Denise’s gaze flicked sideways for half a second before returning forward. “You’re one to talk.”
Tara leaned back slightly, conceding that with a faint, crooked smile.
Neither of them looked again.
Not obviously, anyway.
The meeting carried on, filling the space before either of them could say anything else.
Up front, someone started speaking—something about supply counts, about planning ahead, about trying to organise something resembling a summer gathering to keep morale up—but the words blurred together at the edges, harder to focus on than they should’ve been when Daryl shifted beside you again.
Not away.
Closer.
His thigh pressed lightly against yours.
Firm. Unavoidable.
Like he wasn't testing anymore.
When you didn’t move, didn’t pull away, his fingers adjusted slightly where they rested behind you.
Then they moved.
Slow.
Absent-minded on the surface.
Deliberate underneath.
Tracing the faintest pattern along the curve of your shoulder, back and forth in a way that had no purpose other than the fact that he could, the motion steady enough that it became impossible to ignore after a few seconds, impossible to pretend it wasn’t happening.
Your breath hitched again, quieter this time.
You kept your eyes forward.
“You ever gonna listen,” you murmured under your breath, just enough for him to hear, “or are you just here to be a problem?”
Daryl huffed softly beside you, something low and almost amused.
“Multitaskin’,” he muttered.
Your lips pressed together, fighting something that wanted to show a little too clearly.
“Right.”
His fingers didn’t stop.
Didn’t even slow.
And when the meeting carried on around you, voices rising and falling, plans being made that you only half registered, Daryl stayed exactly where he was, close and steady and entirely unbothered by who might notice like sitting beside you—like touching you—wasn’t something new anymore.
warnings: smut, face riding, lowkey sub daryl, yeah…
⸻
It all started because Eugene can’t mind his damn business.
You weren’t even in the room when it happened, which was a blessing and a curse. Because the story reached you through Tara, who was still crying laughing when she told it, and the secondhand embarrassment alone was enough to make you want to move out of Alexandria.
“Dude,” she wheezed, barely able to speak, “Eugene walked in on Rosita. On Abraham.”
You raised a brow. “On Abraham?”
“On. Like. Riding his face. Just full blown porno energy! I swear I’m not lying!”
You stared at her, horrified and already laughing.
“And the best part,” Tara said, “is Eugene trying to explain it like it’s some kind of… military maneuver. Called it a—what did he say?—a reverse frontal oral saddle maneuver. I swear to God.”
You choked. “What the hell does that even mean?”
“Means Rosita was sitting on Abraham’s face and Eugene’s whole worldview shattered,” Tara said. “He was rambling about it to me in the kitchen when Daryl walked by and heard the tail end of it. Just stopped and stared, like he saw a ghost.”
You blinked. “Daryl?”
“Oh yeah,” she nodded. “He heard the words ‘face’ and ‘saddle’ and turned bright red. Never seen that man move so fast… just turned around and booked it.”
At the time, you brushed it off. But later that night, back in your shared room, tucked into your warm little corner of post apocalyptic domestic bliss, you started to notice something… off.
Daryl was quiet. More than usual. Sitting on the edge of the bed, picking at a tear in his jeans, jaw tight like he was thinking hard.
“You okay?” you asked, brushing your hair out in the mirror.
He grunted. “Yeah.”
A beat of silence. Then came,
“Hey… you ever… sit on someone’s face before?”
You froze. Slowly turned around.
“…What?”
Daryl’s face was serious. Practically glowing. He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the floor.
“Jus’… heard somethin’. Earlier. From Eugene. Somethin’ ‘bout Rosita. An’ Abraham. Tara said she was… y’know. On his face. Thought that was a thing women liked.”
Your jaw dropped, then you burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, Daryl—”
“I ain’t jokin’.” he huffed, crossing his arms, now fully defensive. “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that before. Sounded kinda… I dunno. Hot.”
You bit the inside of your mouth, just to keep from grinning too hard. He was so serious. Nervous like a schoolboy. But his pupils were blown, his voice just a little breathless.
“You wanna try it?” you asked, tilting your head.
He hesitated. Then nodded.
“Yeah. Wanna see what it’s like.”
You didn’t even get to the bed.
Daryl was already sprawled out on the rug by the window, shirt off, looking like he was about to be sacrificed to the gods. His hands were clenched at his sides, nervous, lips parted like he didn’t know how to breathe right.
You stood over him slowly, watching his eyes trail up your body.
“You sure?” you asked gently.
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m sure. Wanna… feel you.”
You crawled up over him, your knees on either side of his head, and his breath hitched as your thighs brushed his cheeks. He looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. His hands lifted slowly, reverently, to grip your hips.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed, eyes wide. “You’re so wet already…”
“Yeah baby,” you murmured, lowering yourself inch by inch, your slick dragging along his lips. “Been wet since you asked.”
He whimpered.
The moment your cunt settled fully on his face, Daryl groaned. Loud and desperate. His tongue shot out, licking up your folds in a long, messy stroke, hands digging into your thighs like he never wanted to let go.
“That’s it,” you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair. “Just like that.”
He was eating you like a man possessed. No hesitation now, no nervousness… just pure, hungry devotion. His tongue licked and lapped, his nose bumped your clit, and every time you rocked your hips down just a little harder, he moaned. The sounds he was making sent heat rushing straight to your core.
“Good boy,” you whispered. “My good boy.”
He whimpered into you, again. You looked down, and your stomach flipped.
He was grinding into the floor. His cock flushed and hard, untouched, smearing precum on his own stomach. The desperation in his hips made your head spin.
“Baby,” you cooed, cupping his jaw, “are you that worked up already?”
He nodded under you, lips glossy and wet. “Feels so good,” he gasped. “Could stay here forever…”
“You wanna come like this?” you teased. “Just from eating me out?”
He moaned something that sounded like please.
You couldn’t help yourself. You rode his tongue harder, grinding down, your thighs shaking as the heat built and built until—
You came with a cry, clenching around nothing, thighs trapping his face while he kept going like he needed it to live. When you finally pulled off him, his face was soaked, his eyes dazed, lips swollen and shining.
“Fuck…” he breathed.
You lied down beside him. “You okay?”
He nodded. “Fuckin’ obsessed with that,” he mumbled. “Think you broke my brain.”
You smiled and kissed him.
Daryl muttered, clearer this time,
“Wanna do that again?”
⸻
a/n i wrote this really quick PLZ ignore the rushed ending and lowkey sloppy writing okay bai
summary; daryl notices things—your routines, your lists, the little details no one else does. rick notices something else entirely.
warnings; mutual pining, rick being a menace, emotional repression (it is daryl dixon after all), slow burn, canon-typical violence (mentions of supply runs / apocalypse setting).
word count; 1,801
author’s note: i haven’t written anything in years, let alone for twd, so please be kind. i’m thinking of starting this as a series of random pieces about daryl dixon and his sunshine.
The engine idled low beneath them, a steady, rumbling presence that Daryl barely registered anymore—just another sound layered into the world like the crunch of gravel under boots or the distant groan of walkers carried on the wind. He sat slouched in the passenger seat, one arm hooked out the open window, fingers tapping absently against the door, crossbow laid careful across his lap like it belonged there more than anything else ever had.
Rick was saying something—going over the route again, probably—but Daryl wasn’t really listening, his attention snagging instead on the quick patter of footsteps coming up the road behind them.
He didn’t have to look to know it was you.
Still, he did.
You came jogging up, a little breathless, one hand clutching a folded piece of paper, the other pushing loose strands of hair back from your face. There was something about the way you moved—quick but not panicked, purposeful but still soft around the edges—that made something in his chest tighten before he even understood why.
“Hold up—wait!” you called, already bending slightly as you reached the truck.
Rick leaned back in his seat, glancing over with a small, curious tilt of his head, but it was Daryl you came to—of course it was—your steps carrying you straight to his side of the truck.
You dipped down to the open window, bracing one hand against the door as you passed him the note, your fingers brushing his knuckles for just a second longer than necessary—or maybe that was just in his head.
“Sorry,” you said, a little out of breath, offering him an apologetic smile that hit harder than it should’ve. “I meant to give you this earlier, but—well—clinic got busy.”
Daryl grunted softly, taking the paper, eyes flicking over the list without really meaning to focus—bandages, antiseptic, sutures… all the usual things. His thumb traced the edge of the page as you stayed there, leaning in just a little, close enough that he could see the faint flush still clinging to your cheeks from the run.
“Got most of this last time,” he muttered.
“Yeah, but we’re running low again,” you said, nodding quickly. “Couple bad cases came in yesterday. And, uh—” you hesitated, pointing vaguely at the page. “If you see anything extra, just grab it. Within reason.”
He huffed under his breath. “Ain’t exactly a store run.”
“I know,” you said, smiling a little wider, softer this time. “Just—if you happen to come across it.”
Daryl’s eyes drifted back down the list, slower now, more deliberate—and that’s when he saw it.
At the very bottom, separated by a clean, deliberate line, almost like you’d tried to pretend it didn’t belong there at all:
coffee.
His brow furrowed.
“…What’s this?”
You leaned in a little further to see what he was pointing at, your shoulder brushing the door, your face suddenly much closer than before—close enough that he could catch the faint scent of soap and something warmer beneath it.
“Mm?” you murmured, then froze when you realized.
“Oh—uh—” your voice faltered, dropping just slightly. “That’s not important. Just—if you see it. If not, it’s fine.”
Daryl didn’t move. Didn’t lean back. Didn’t seem to notice how close you were—how your arms were nearly touching, how your breath ghosted warm against his skin.
Rick noticed.
Rick definitely noticed.
Daryl’s eyes stayed on you, narrowing just a fraction. “Thought you had enough.”
That made Rick’s head snap just slightly in their direction, brows lifting in quiet interest.
Your expression shifted—surprise first, then something softer, more uncertain. “You—uh—” you blinked at him. “You knew that?”
Daryl shrugged, like it wasn’t anything. Like he hadn’t noticed the careful way you rationed it, or how your steps slowed just a little less on mornings after you’d had some, or how the mug always seemed to appear in your hands after the long night shifts.
“Seen it,” he muttered.
You stared at him for a second longer than necessary, clearly caught off guard, and then your composure slipped just a little.
“Oh. Right. Yeah—um—” you fumbled, words tripping over themselves as your gaze dropped briefly to the paper. “I just—night shifts and all, and the stuff I have is, uh—decaf, mostly, so I figured—if you see the real thing, then—y’know—might help me not—” you gave a small, awkward laugh, cheeks reddening deeper. “—stick someone wrong ‘cause I’m half asleep.”
For just a second, Daryl’s mouth twitched.
Not a full smile—never that—but something close, something softer than usual, barely there and gone just as quick.
He gave a small nod, voice low, almost quieter than before.
“Mh-hm. You got it.”
Rick’s eyes flicked between the two of you, the corner of his mouth pulling up into something knowing, something he made no effort to hide as he turned his gaze back to the road ahead.
You didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe you did, and chose to ignore it.
“Thanks,” you said, a little too quickly, then added, softer this time, “Both of you—be safe.”
There was a pause—just long enough to stretch thin—and then, almost like you caught yourself:
“—I mean, uh—both of you,” you repeated, a little rushed, cheeks still flushed.
Rick’s brows shot up.
Daryl just nodded once.
You stepped back after that, offering one last small, slightly embarrassed smile before turning and heading back toward the gates.
Daryl watched you go.
He didn’t mean to. Didn’t think about it. Just… did.
Rick waited until you were well out of earshot before shifting the truck into gear, the engine rumbling louder as they pulled away.
Silence settled for a moment.
Then—
“…Coffee, huh?”
Daryl didn’t look at him. “Drop it.”
Rick huffed a quiet laugh under his breath. “Just sayin’. Didn’t peg you for the observant type.”
Daryl’s jaw tightened slightly, fingers tapping once against the door again. “Ain’t observin’. Just—notice things.”
Rick let out a low, amused breath, glancing sideways at him. “Yeah? Sure. ‘Cause it only took you, what—two weeks to notice somethin’ goin’ on between me and Michonne?”
Daryl shot him a look, sharper this time. “Wasn’t my business.”
Rick grinned. “Mm-hm.”
Daryl huffed, turning his gaze back out the window—but his fingers had stilled now, resting against the door, his mind not quite as empty as he would’ve liked.
He didn’t think about you.
Not really.
Didn’t think about how you always hovered just a little closer when you talked to him than you did with others. Or how your voice softened when you said his name. Or how he’d started taking the longer route past the infirmary without ever deciding to.
Didn’t think about the way he’d started setting things aside—small things, useful things—because you might need them.
Didn’t think about it.
The pharmacy was half-collapsed on one side, shelves knocked crooked and dust settling thick over everything like the place had just… given up. Daryl moved through it quiet and efficient, crossbow raised just enough, eyes scanning corners out of habit more than concern.
Rick, on the other hand, was far too relaxed.
“Bandages,” Rick muttered, scanning a shelf before tossing a half-full box into the bag slung over his shoulder. “Antiseptic… looks like someone already hit this place.”
Daryl grunted, crouching to check a lower cabinet, pulling out a small stash of sealed supplies that had been missed.
“Always somethin’ left,” he said.
“Mm,” Rick replied—and then, just a beat later, far too casually, “Find any coffee yet?”
Daryl stilled for half a second before continuing like he hadn’t.
“Ain’t lookin’.”
Rick hummed. “Didn’t say you were. Just figured you might… notice it.”
Daryl shot him a flat look over his shoulder. “You gonna help or just run your mouth?”
Rick smiled, unbothered, stepping closer to another shelf. “Oh, I’m helpin’. Just multitaskin’.”
Daryl shook his head under his breath, standing and moving past him—but not before his eyes flicked, quick and automatic, to a nearby aisle.
Coffee aisle.
He didn’t stop.
Didn’t.
Rick saw it anyway.
“Third aisle down,” Rick said lightly, like he was talking about the weather.
Daryl kept walking. “Don’t care.”
“Uh-huh.”
They worked in relative silence for a few minutes after that—or as close to silence as it ever got with Rick clearly holding back commentary.
Daryl found more than enough of what you’d asked for. More than enough.
Still—
His steps slowed, just slightly, as he passed that aisle again.
Didn’t think.
Just turned.
Shelves were half-empty, jars knocked over, but there—tucked toward the back—were a few sealed containers, untouched.
He reached for them before he could talk himself out of it.
“Mm,” Rick’s voice came from behind him, quiet but unmistakably amused. “Ain’t lookin’, huh?”
Daryl grabbed two, then a third after a brief pause, shoving them into the bag with a bit more force than necessary.
“Shut up.”
Rick chuckled softly. “I didn’t say nothin’.”
“Yeah, you did.”
Rick stepped closer, lowering his voice just slightly. “You always grab extras for her?”
Daryl didn’t answer right away, adjusting the strap of the bag over his shoulder.
“Useful,” he muttered finally. “That’s all.”
Rick nodded slowly, like he was considering that.
“Right,” he said. “Useful.”
By the time they made it back to the car, the sun had shifted lower, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.
Daryl loaded the supplies into the back without a word, movements automatic, efficient—but there was a tightness to him now, something restless just beneath the surface.
Rick leaned against the driver’s side door for a moment, watching him.
Waiting.
Daryl slammed the back shut a little harder than necessary and moved toward the passenger side.
Rick spoke just before he could open the door.
“You know,” he said, voice easy, almost offhand, “it’s alright.”
Daryl paused, hand hovering near the handle. “What is?”
Rick tilted his head slightly, that same knowing look settling in again.
“…She likes you back.”
Daryl froze.
Not gradual. Not subtle.
Just—stopped.
Like the world had caught on something sharp and refused to move past it.
His hand stayed where it was, fingers curled slightly, his mind going quiet in a way that felt louder than anything Rick had said all day.
“…Ain’t—” he started, rough, uncertain, then stopped altogether.
Rick didn’t push.
Didn’t need to.
He just opened his door, slipping into the driver’s seat with that faint, satisfied smirk still lingering.
Daryl stood there a second longer before finally climbing in, shutting the door with a dull thud.
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𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Tired of silence, safety, and being Hershel Greene's innocent middle daughter, you traded prayer for provocation on a watchtower shift with Daryl Dixon. You pushed him, taunted him, and tried to force him to see the survivor you'd become—but what you got was more than acknowledgment...
A secret he made sure you'd carry back inside the prison.
The Georgia heat didn't give a damn that the sun had gone down hours ago. It just made your shirt stick to your lower back and your hair curl slightly at the ends. You were up in the watchtower—the one overlooking the field where the walkers tended to herd up like cattle waiting for a slaughter that never really came.
Usually, this was Maggie and Glenn's shift. You'd see them heading up here with that look in their eyes, the one that said they weren't planning on doing much… watching. But Glenn was on a run, and Maggie was helping Beth with Judith, so the usual shift had changed.
Tonight, it was yours and Daryl's.
There wasn't even a chair up here, just the cold concrete and a scratchy blanket you'd thrown into the corner. You were sitting on it now, knees pulled up slightly to your chest, fumbling with the rifle Rick had given you earlier. It felt heavy in your hands, even though you'd been carrying weapons for months now.
Your thumbs traced the scratches on the stock, a nervous habit you always had when you were feeling uncomfortable, though somewhere between the fall of the farm and the discovery of the prison, it got worse.
Shifting the rifle again, you stole another glance at Daryl.
He wasn't looking at you. At least, not openly. But every few minutes, he moved his gaze sideways, and while pretending to adjust your bootlace, he looked again.
Not obvious. Not even enough that anyone but you would notice. But you'd spent enough time watching him since the fall of the farm to recognize his tells: the slow blinking, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his fingers gripped the crossbow stock. Measuring distance, threats… and you.
"What?" You asked under your breath, though you knew he wouldn't answer.
And he didn't.
It should've irritated you, but you were a little too tired already to care right now. Blinking slowly, you tried to fight the urge to just let your head fall back against the wall and drift off to sleep. However, your main problem was that, in the silence, your brain began to wander to places it shouldn't. Back to the farm.
Back to home.
God, it felt like a lifetime ago… A different universe entirely.
Trying to distract yourself, you looked up, watching the silhouette of the man standing at the window. Daryl hadn't moved in almost thirty minutes. He was just as still as a statue, his shoulders tight under that leather vest he seemingly never took off. He even held his crossbow like it was an extension of his arm, not a weapon he could just set down if he wanted to.
It was quiet up here. Too quiet. And again… it gave your brain too much space to wander back to places it shouldn't go.
It went back to the barn. Back to the porch, the smell of tea, and the sound of your dad's voice reading scripture in the living room. You were so different then. You remembered that girl as if she were a stranger—Hershel's middle daughter. The innocent one. The one who wore sundresses and braided Beth's hair and prayed for forgiveness if she even thought a curse word. You were obedient. And you were terrified.
Looking down at your hands, you noticed that there was dirt under your fingernails that no amount of scrubbing could get out and even calluses on your palms from knife handles.
You hadn't prayed in months. Maybe God had stopped listening when the barn burned down, or maybe you just stopped talking when the world started eating itself alive, and you realized there would be no cure.
The time on the road had beaten the obedience out of you, ripped it away bit by bit, until all that was left was this exhausted, tired girl in a new world that was never meant to be.
Shifting on the blanket, you felt it itching against parts of your skin, making you snap out of your thoughts, and you let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, trying to adjust the rifle so the barrel wasn't digging into your hip.
Daryl still hadn't moved an inch.
He didn't look tired like you, and it was almost annoying, honestly. How could he stand there, perfectly alert, while you felt like you were too tired to even stand up, fumbling with your weapon like a child playing soldier?
To keep your eyes from sliding shut, you focused on him again. It was the only thing to do, really. There were not a lot of walkers at the fences right now, and there was no wind rustling the trees, but only the silence and the shape of Daryl Dixon standing guard.
You watched the way his weight shifted from one foot to the other, some kind of restless movement that gave him away.
Everyone else in the group treated the prison like it was the promised land. They had the bunk beds that didn't smell like mildew and the walls that kept the dangers out, as well as a quite regular food supply. You were all settling in, just not Daryl. You'd think he'd finally unclench that jaw of his, but if anything, the prison seemed to make him worse.
Out on the road, he had a purpose—hunt, track, kill, protect. In here? Between the concrete walls, the schedules, and the Council meetings? Well, he looked like he was itching to crawl out of his own skin.
The walls didn't make him feel safe; they made him feel trapped. You'd seen him pacing the cell block at three in the morning when he thought everyone was asleep, checking the locks, checking the perimeter, looking for the threat that his gut told him was always coming.
He couldn't settle and didn't know how to just be without looking over his shoulder.
Now he checked his crossbow again. Probably the fifth time in ten minutes.
It was almost funny, watching him be so careful. Especially in the way he was now with you.
Since you'd arrived here, since you'd survived the time on the road, he'd started treating you like you were made of glass. Like one wrong move, one loud noise, and you'd shatter into a million pieces right there on the concrete.
And he was always near you, or at least close by. Opening doors. Checking corners twice before he lets you walk down a hallway. Checking out your weapons after you cleaned them. And he always made sure you were in the middle of the formation on runs, shielded on all sides.
It was pissing you off. Because it just wasn't how it used to be.
Thinking again, he had been such an asshole back then. Loud and angry white trash. But looking back, with everything you know now, maybe that was just... him.
You swallowed hard, and your eyes looked back at him.
"Daryl?" You said his name softly, but he still didn't move.
"Daryl!" This time, your voice was louder.
His head twitched—but it was not enough to count as acknowledgment or an answer.
"You used to talk to me," you continued. "Even if it was just to annoy me."
Silence.
You remembered one afternoon by one of the wells, the summer heat beating down. You'd been trying to carry a bucket of water, struggling with the weight because you were much weaker then. Daryl had walked past, with a string of dead squirrels hanging over his shoulder. He didn't offer to help. Instead, he'd stopped, spat on the ground near your boots, and smirked.
"Need a hand there, sugar?" He'd drawled, his voice sounding more than just sarcastic. "Careful, 'cause ya don't wanna break a nail. Bet yer daddy won't like it."
He'd stood there and watched you struggle, smirking at you, until you'd gotten so mad you hauled that bucket up out of pure spite, splashing water all over your dress. And Daryl had just huffed a quick laugh—dry and mean.
He used to mock your prayers, leaning against the porch railing while you tried to read your Bible outside, something you always liked to do in the early morning sun, making comments about Jesus and God just to see your face turn red in anger. He'd even make fun of your clean clothes and your quiet voice. If you tripped over a root, he wouldn't help you up; he'd just snort about how girls didn't know how to walk on dirt. He'd even toss gross parts of whatever he was skinning in your direction just to hear you squeal when you were walking to the chicken coop.
Daryl Dixon was mean. He was rough. But he looked at you, and he saw you. He didn't treat you like a porcelain doll that needed to be put on a high shelf; he treated you like a human being and not as if you needed any protection from the world that was about to drag your beliefs down to hell with it.
Now? Now Daryl wouldn't even look you in the eye for more than a few seconds.
It was like he was terrified that if he talked with you, if he acknowledged that you'd toughened up, that you were harder now, he'd lose the only version of you he knew how to handle. Maybe he wanted to keep you innocent. Maybe he wanted to keep you as the farmer's daughter, because that girl might need him sooner or later. This new version of you—the one fumbling with a rifle in the dark, the one who didn't flinch at the sound of a skull cracking—confused him. Scared him, maybe…
But right then and there, you decided that the silence was enough. If Daryl wasn't going to look at you or talk to you anymore, if he wasn't going to acknowledge that you were now a living, breathing person capable of killing a walker just as fast as he could, then you were going to force him to.
You were bored. You were annoyed. And honestly, looking at his back while your own brain replayed the burning barn, the walkers, and everything else you'd lost back then was driving you crazy.
"You know," you started, your voice sounding too loud in the small space. You didn't bother to soften it. "For a guy who acts like such a loner, you sure do stand there like decoration whenever Rick isn't around to give you orders."
Smirking to yourself, you realized that Daryl still didn't turn around. He didn't even tense up. He just tilted his head a bit of an inch to the side, a small movement, and his eyes still looked down on the dark yard below, completely dismissing you.
"Ignore me all you want," you grumbled, feeling a little irritated again. You shifted your legs, letting your boot kick the concrete wall on purpose. "Doesn't change the fact that you look ridiculous. You're trying so hard to look dangerous, but honestly? You just look like a dog."
Still nothing. Just the rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath he took.
It was making you angry. It was like talking to a brick wall that breathed. And Daryl not even trying to react stung more than an insult would have. Standing up, you let the rifle fall away completely to the floor, not wanting to pick it up as you finally walked over to him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to be even more annoying. You could smell him from here—the dirt, the sweat, and his own personal scent that clung to his vest.
"Is this really it?" You then asked, leaning your hip against the window frame, turning your back to the danger outside just to watch his face. You stared right at his profile, searching for any hint of rage. "Is this Daryl Dixon now? Just… standing? Staring? Acting like the group's favorite guard dog?"
You saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Gotcha.
"I remember when you weren't," you continued. "Back home, at the farm. You were such an ass. Always spitting on the ground and looking at us Greenes like we were religious little idiots who would've tried to go to church with a walker if we found a prayer that sounded as if it might've helped! But at least you were… I don't know. Alive."
Nothing… Daryl was doing a good job of pretending you weren't there.
"Now look at you," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's pathetic. You are pathetic. I bet you don't even remember how to be anything else but a babysitter for Judith."
Pretending to check the perimeter, you turned and leaned forward so your arm brushed right against his vest. It wasn't an accident, and you both knew it. You even felt the muscles in his back stiffen, which was quite a hard, involuntary flinch, but he didn't step away.
"And it's not just with Rick's daughter," you continued, right near his shoulder. "I see the way you trail after Carol. It's sweet, really. Like a little lost puppy that finally found someone to care about. Does she scratch behind your ears, Daryl? Does she tell you you're a good boy?"
He let out a sharp breath through his nose, a sound like a bull getting ready to charge, but you pressed on.
"You used to walk around with that crossbow like you're some kind of dangerous animal," you laughed. "Scowling at everyone. Only grunting instead of speaking. And then I saw you with Judith. 'Little Asskicker…' God, you were practically so happy to hold her! But the vest, the anger, the attitude... Yeah, you're just some white trash redneck playing pretend."
You moved again, stepping around him slightly so you were in his vision, blocking his view of the treeline, and looked at him with pity, though not real pity.
That—somehow—hit. His head jerked to the side, and it wasn't a full turn but a clear sign that was meant to send you a message.
"Ya gotta lot t'say, Greene," he finally spat out, and it sounded like a full, genuine threat, but he still didn't move his body. "Maybe ya shoulda go back t'readin' that damn bible of yers."
You felt a thrill of victory but also a genuine bit of fear. The old Daryl was finally showing up. At least you hoped so.
"Why?" You asked him, refusing to back down. "So I can pray for you? I'm all out of prayers, Daryl. And frankly, the prison is boring. You're boring."
Moving your hand on his back, lower this time, you let your fingers trace part of his belt.
"Honestly, it's embarrassing," you continued, letting your fingers play with the edges of it. "I bet you wouldn't even know what to do anymore! You've probably forgotten how to touch anything that isn't a crossbow or a baby bottle."
You heard his breath hitch, only a little, but enough.
When you stepped an inch closer, blocking his view further, his body reacted before he could think. One hand moved off the crossbow stock, and his fingers flexed like he was about to reach for your arm—to grip you or push you back, you couldn't tell.
But he stopped himself.
"Embarrassin'," he repeated, and he finally, finally turned his head to look at you. Not a glance, but a full-on look. "That what ya think?"
"Looks like it from where I'm standing," you shot back, your heart pounding in your chest.
"A'right. Let's talk 'bout embarrassin'." He turned his body fully towards you now, crowding you without even taking a step. "Let's talk 'bout yer ass. Followin' me 'round since the farm... Think I ain't seein' that shit? Yer hoverin' when I'm cleanin' my kill. Lurkin' 'round me all damn day."
Your face turned red, proving how ashamed you actually felt now. "I never—"
"Yer a bad fuckin' liar," Daryl cut you off, his voice dropping to a growl. "Worse than ya are with that rifle. Ya been waitin' for a fight for weeks. But ya don't wanna fight, do ya? Yer just fuckin' bored. Daddy's little girl ain't got no fences to mend and no dumbass porch t'pray on, so she's gotta find somethin' else to feel useful for once."
Every word was a slap in your face. He saw right through you, past the pretending act and the rifle, straight down to the girl underneath. It was humiliating.
"You don't know anything about me," you hissed back at him, your voice trembling with a bit of shame.
"The hell I don't," he snarled in response, leaning in so close you could feel a few strands of his hair against your forehead. "I know ya still flinch when a damn twig snaps too loud. I know ya can't look at the walkers near the fence for t'long 'fore yer hands start shakin'. Yer ain't shit."
That was what pushed you over the edge somehow, even though you knew Daryl was right. With a choked cry, you swung your hand, aiming to knock that sudden smirk right off his face.
But you never stood a chance.
His hand moved faster than yours, and his fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping the slap an inch from his cheek and making you gasp at the sheer force of his grip.
"Thought so," he grunted. "All talk."
Daryl yanked you forward, using your confusion against you. You stumbled into him, your free hand flying up to brace yourself against his chest and to push back.
"Ya wanna fight, Greene?" He asked, his face only inches from yours. "Fine! Let's fight."
He shoved you back then, not hard enough to make you fall, but enough to make you stumble. Your boot caught on the edge of the scratchy blanket, and you went down, your ass hitting the cold concrete with the rifle sliding away and toward the wall.
Scrambling back to your knees as fast as you could, you launched yourself at him. But you didn't aim for a slap this time; you went low, trying to tackle him down by his waist.
A grunt of surprise was forced out of him as you pushed him back a step, and for a second, you had him off-balance. Then his arms closed around you.
Daryl didn't even need to try to throw you off; he just squeezed, lifting you off your feet. You kicked and thrashed, your elbows digging into his sides, but it was still like trying to fight a brick wall.
Not being able to do anything to stop him, he dropped down, taking you with him. You both landed on the tangled blanket, the impact knocking the wind out of you. He was on top of you in an instant, his knees pinning your thighs, his weight keeping you from moving, but you still bucked around, trying to throw him off, your hands clawing at his arms, his vest, anything you could reach.
One of Daryl's hands caught not only one but both of your wrists, slamming them down onto the concrete above your head. The hold was rough, painful even, and you were trapped.
"Done?" Daryl growled, his chest heaving, but you yelled at him in response.
"Go to hell, Daryl!"
At your answer, he leaned down, his mouth close to your ear. "Been there m'whole goddamn life..."
You then tried to headbutt him, but he jerked his face back, avoiding it easily, now genuinely annoyed. Adjusting his grip, his hips were pressing yours harder into the floor, stopping your thrashing, and the hard edges of his belt buckle dug into your stomach. You were panting, your chest rising and falling ever so fast against his, but Daryl was breathing just as hard.
He was staring down at you, his eyes searching yours in the near-darkness before he finally felt your body go still beneath his.
"I ain't pretendin' nothin'," he grumbled. "'M just seein' what's gotta be done. And what's gotta be done is for ya t'shut yer fuckin' mouth and watch that damn fence."
"No!" You challenged him back, pushing against the weight of him with a tiny movement of your hips. "What's gotta be done is that you stop treating me like I'm still that innocent girl from the farm! I can handle this new life! And I can handle you!"
The lie was out, but Daryl's reaction was immediate. The hard pressure of his body intensified, pressing you down against the floor with a slow, grinding buck that wasn't intentional but was enough to make you gasp.
"Yeah? Ya can handle me?" He scoffed, though the sound was a little shaky. His gaze dropped, moving across your face, down your throat, where your pulse was jumping, and stayed near your tits still trapped beneath his chest. "Ya wanna prove that, Greene? Ya got a real stupid way of goin' 'bout it."
He didn't loosen his grip on your wrists even once. Instead, he twisted your hands just slightly, enough to make you wince, forcing your arms to stretch higher and making your back arch slightly into his weight. You were pinned down, completely under his mercy, completely pissed off, but also terrifyingly captivated by him.
You wanted this. You wanted him. Now. But what you didn't want was to give him the satisfaction of knowing. Of Daryl really knowing how much you desired him. No… You just wanted him to take you. Right there. Right now.And without any hesitation.
"What's wrong, Daryl?" You then taunted, trying to get your feet back on the ground. To win. "What? Is this more excitement than your little Carol-and-Judith daycare duties allow?"
His knuckles went white again, and he moved his head back, giving you a snarl of pure frustration, but he ignored your baiting question.
"When I tell ya to shut up, ya shut up. I ain't havin' ya annoy my ass 'cause yer bored and lookin' for trouble."
"And if I'm not looking for trouble?" You whispered, your heart now pounding so hard it felt like your ribs might crack. "What if I'm looking for you?"
Daryl froze. Every bit of anger left his eyes, replaced by a sudden confusion and then a shocking realization.
For a long, uncomfortable moment, he just stared down at you, his chest heaving against yours, his breath hot on your face. You could see it in his eyes, how the words you'd just said made him think too much and yet not enough all at once.
The realization didn't come gently; it literally crashed into him. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your mouth, then back up, and the look there was no longer about winning a fight when his free hand suddenly moved to your face, cupping your jaw, his fingers roughly stroking the skin of your cheek. His touch felt dirty, without any gentleness, but it felt overwhelming at the same time.
"Shoulda shut that fuckin' mouth now, Greene," he breathed, his eyes seeing you not as the innocent farmer's daughter, but as the complicated, annoying woman who had just brought him to the edge.
Without giving you any time to answer, Daryl closed the final distance. His lips were on yours—slightly dry, rough, and tasting like cigarettes. He moved his head, grinding his lips against yours, wanting a response that you instantly and violently gave.
Freeing one hand of yours, it shot up, grabbing the back of his neck, holding him to your body as hard as you could, and Daryl finally let go of your remaining wrist, only to move one hand and grab the fabric of your pants, tugging at it.
"Off," he grunted against your mouth, his fingers fumbling with the button.
How could you deny a voice so deep and demanding that it made you shiver?
You didn't hesitate. While Daryl fumbled with your pants, your hands went to the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one quick move, along with your bra, throwing it aside into the darkness of the watchtower.
The cold concrete hit your skin, giving you goosebumps, but you couldn't care less.
Daryl broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, just to look at you with eyes wandering over the naked skin of your stomach and your tits. It felt as if for the first time he'd truly look at you—the new you, the actual survivor—and his gaze felt more intense than any touch so far.
"See?" You panted, your voice trembling a little, even though you still wanted to prove yourself. "Not so innocent now, huh?"
Daryl didn't answer with words. He just shoved your pants and panties down your hips in one rough, fast movement, dragging them down your legs and off, throwing them somewhere near the rifle. You tried to kick your clothes away, your movements just as desperate as his.
While you were freeing yourself from your clothes, Daryl worked on his own, his fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. He never took his eyes off you, watching you beneath him, naked and waiting, until you heard his belt opening, followed by the sound of his zipper. He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, his cock springing out, hard, thick, and leaking already.
Leaning himself slowly back over you, his mouth found yours again in another rough kiss as he moved and positioned himself between your thighs.
You could already feel the head of his cock nudging against your pussy, which only made you wetter—if that was even possible. A choked gasp escaped you, your hips bucking off the blanket, desperately wanting more.
But Daryl pulled his lips away from yours again, his forehead resting against your own. "Look at that," he growled, pushing his face a little bit more toward yours, wanting to make sure you were listening to him. "Fuckin' soaked for me. After all that bitchin'…"
Rocking his hips, he was letting the head of his cock slide through your pussy folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing you with what was about to come. The feeling was maddening—so close to what you needed, but not enough.
"Please, Daryl..."
That's when his hand came up again. Not to hold your face like before, but to wrap it around your throat.
Your eyes flew open wide, but there was no fear—only excitement. And Daryl's grip wasn't painful now; it was just right, his thumb pressing against the pulse pounding in your neck. He squeezed, just enough to make the blood flow louder in your ears, to make the world shrink to just his expression above you, his eyes looking into yours, and the slight pressure of his hand.
"This what ya wanted?" Daryl growled, his grip tightening a bit more, stealing your breath away while he stilled his hips, holding himself right at your pussy. "This what ya been followin' me 'round for? T'get yerself fucked by some white trash dick?"
You couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but nod frantically in response, your own hands coming up to grab at his wrist, not to pull him away, but to hold him still again.
Shit… His hands… They were so big and rough… And that one hand was feeling more than perfect around your throat.
Daryl released the pressure just as your vision started to blur ever so slightly, allowing you to gasp and breathe in air again. He watched you quietly now, seeing the effect he had on you, only to do it again—a slow squeeze, holding you on the edge, his thumb stroking almost gently over your pulse on your throat. And each time he tightened his hand, your body would twitch, your hips bucking up to finally get him to take you.
"Ya really ain't that innocent girl no more, are ya?" He smirked down at you, but you knew it wasn't really a question. Then he finally, finally, notched the head of his cock against your pussy properly, applying the slightest, most torturous pressure.
You shook your head, sobbing a little out of frustration that he wasn't fucking you already. "No... Guess I'm not."
Daryl leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as his hand then relaxed around your throat. "Good..."
That was a promise and a threat all in one. And then Daryl began to push inside.
It wasn't the fast, punishing thrust you'd expected, no… hoped for. It was slow. The thick head of his cock pressed into you, stretching you open inch by inch. Your back arched off the cold concrete, with a broken, whimpering moan torn from your throat, and your nails dug into the bare skin of his forearm, but he didn't speed up. He didn't even flinch.
Daryl just watched you.
His eyes were still fixed on your face, studying every twitch, every flutter of your eyelids, and every helpless gasp. He was buried to the hilt now, so deep you were panting, your body waiting and begging for his movement—for more.
But Daryl didn't move.
He stayed perfectly still, with his weight holding you down and his forearms right beside your head next. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant, indifferent moan of a few walkers outside.
"Fuck… Daryl… please," you begged, your voice a choked whisper. You tried to roll your hips to get some kind of movement, but he pressed down harder, pinning you completely.
"'Please' what?" He grunted in amusement, giving you a tiny, circular grind with his hips that made you see stars already. "Thought ya could handle me. This it? This all it takes?"
He pulled out just as slowly as he'd pushed inside, the drag of his cock inside your pussy a different kind of torture, and you whimpered in response, a sound of pure desperation.
"Just—" You whimpered again, trying to adjust, trying to move once more.
But his response was a hissed inhale of breath through his teeth. "Did I say move?"
"P-please…"
All of a sudden, he pushed back in with that same torturously slow pace, filling you up all over again. "Yeah, 'please what,' huh? Use yer damn words, Greene. Y'had so many of 'em 'fore!"
"Please... fuck me," you begged, your voice cracking with need. "Just... move."
"'M movin'," he huffed, pulling back slowly again. His eyes were devouring you, watching the pure frustration in your eyes and the way your mouth fell open, only to close with every dry swallow of air.
One of Daryl's hands moved away from the side of your head, trailing slowly down your trembling side, along your ribs. He watched his own hand as it moved, his calloused fingers scraping a little over your skin, making you shiver. He slid up along one tit next, his finger brushing over your nipple, and you arched into the touch with another gasp.
"Ain't even doin' nothin'. Just bein' inside ya. Y'like that? Like havin' my dick in yer cunt?"
The words from his mouth, so… honest, should have made you feel ashamed. But you could only nod, your ability to form words completely gone by now.
"I asked ya a question."
"Yes! Fuck!" You sobbed in return. "Yes, God, Daryl, please! I'm sorry! Just—"
He rewarded you by pushing deep again, a single, hard thrust that would make you beg for every single inch of what he was about to give you.
And you were. Oh God, you were.
"Daryl... please," you begged again, your voice trembling. "More... shit, just... do it."
He stopped again, his whole body tensing above you. "What was that?" He asked, wanting your words, wanting to hear them louder, once and for all. "Didn't quite hear ya."
"I said, 'Fuck me!'" You cried out, the words tearing themselves from your throat, making your mouth feel dry. "Just fuck me, Daryl, please! I—"
A low, deep growl was his answer—a sound of his satisfaction. It was the sound of him winning and you surrendering, and both of you knowing this was exactly how it was supposed to be in the first place.
Then his hand clamped over your mouth, silencing any other plea you might have had. And the way he thrust back into you with a force that stole the air back from your lungs, the wet sound against the silence of the night, despite the few walkers outside still clawing at the fences, made your choked scream sound muffled against his palm.
Each thrust was moving your entire body, pushing you up the blanket with every buck of his hips.
Daryl's mouth left your ear, moving down your throat next. But he didn't kiss. He bit. A sharp, quick bite on the skin where your neck met your shoulder that made you twitch and cry out against his palm. It was going to leave a mark, a blue and purple bruise you'd have to hide soon, and the thought alone made you shiver.
Daryl was everywhere—his smell, his taste, the weight of him, and the sound of his own ragged grunts in your ear.
"Y'know why I was nice to ya?" Daryl suddenly said, not even stopping his movements. He was teasing you. "Huh? Ya wanna know why I stopped spittin' at yer feet, Greene?"
Wanting you to answer him right away, he gave you a deep, grinding thrust that almost made you go crazy. You nodded, desperate for any piece of him he'd give you, even if it was just words.
"'Cause I saw ya," he answered, his hips never slowing their pace. "Saw ya that day we cleared C-Block. Walker had ya cornered. Ya didn't scream. Didn't cry. Just stuck yer knife right through its eye." He smirked, nipping at your jaw. "Wasn't yer daddy's little girl no more."
He shifted his weight, angling his thrusts differently, hitting a spot deep inside you that made your legs tremble and your eyes roll back.
"Started thinkin'... 'bout what Hershel'd say," he breathed. "Seein' his good, church-goin' daughter... takin' a redneck's dick. Bet he'd pray for yer damn soul."
Those words, the sheer blasphemy of it, with the image of your father, only made your pussy clench around him tighter.
Daryl groaned at the feeling, his rhythm breaking for a second. "Shit... feel that? Y'like me talkin' 'bout yer daddy while I'm fuckin' his little girl's cunt?"
The leather of his vest scraped against your hard nipples with every one of his thrusts; it was almost painful, but you loved it. You loved every moment of it. This was him—all of him that you'd wanted—the dirt and the sweat and the anger, and it was terrifying, but everything.
"'N I had t'be nice, didn't I? Wantin' t'fuck Hershel's daughter. As if ya were a damn preacher's kid. Gotta be a gentleman... Opened doors for ya. Checked yer goddamn weapons. Even made sure ya ate." He said, and suddenly fucked into you faster as if it was nothing. "All I was thinkin' 'bout was this. 'Bout how yer cunt would feel. 'Bout how fuckin' pretty ya'd look with my cum drippin' outta ya."
Daryl had cared, in his own way, while he'd been protecting you because he wanted you for himself, and the thought of anything else touching what he'd already decided was his was unacceptable. This was the man you'd been trying to provoke. And he was fucking you like he was trying to exorcise his own demons right into you.
You could still only moan in response, your body arching and bucking beneath his, desperately meeting his thrusts as best you could.
"Got so damn hard always watchin' ya…"
He finally ripped his hand away from your mouth, needing both hands to grip your hips, his fingers digging in hard as he yanked you toward him with every deep thrust.
"Yer damn daddy," he panted further. "Shit… if he ever looked at me? Would kill my fuckin' ass."
"God, Daryl," you gasped, your head moving from side to side, completely lost in him.
"Shut up," he growled in response. "Needa make sure tomorrow, when yer walkin' past me, all ya can think 'bout is how I feel inside ya."
You were beyond words, beyond any reasonable thought. And it only pushed you closer to the edge. Embarrassingly fast.
"Y'close?" He growled, and it wasn't really a question. He could sense it, the way your body was feeling around his, tightening, ready to shatter like glass. "Yeah, y'are… Gonna come all over my dick, ain'tcha? After all that..."
You swallowed in air, your voice wrecked as you tried to confirm his suspicion. "Daryl... Yes! I'm about to—"
"Yeah," he growled, panting louder as he got closer to the point of no return himself, losing his control. "C'mon. Let me feel it."
And you did.
Your back arched off the blanket, a silent scream stuck in your throat as you came around him, with your fingers gripping uselessly against his vest, your pussy clenching down around his cock in quick pulses. It felt like dying and being reborn all at once, and the only thing holding you back from crying out too loud was the weight of Daryl on top of you.
He was fucking hard into you now, his rhythm completely gone. There was no way he would stop.
"W-wait… Daryl…" You whimpered anyway, your hands pushing weakly at his chest. The reality of what was happening—where you were, what he was about to do—crashed down on you. "Don't… don't, please…"
It was too late.
His body was already tensing up above you. With a final, deep thrust inside of you, he let out a broken groan against your neck. You felt the sudden twitches of his cock and the pulses of his cum shooting into you, making his whole body shudder violently, with his hips giving a few last, helpless jerks as he came inside you.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing. And as a tear you didn't even know you'd cried escaped, Daryl, still buried deep inside you, went still. He felt the tiny, wet tear against his cheek where his face was pressed against yours now and pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face and noticing the tear.
"Hey," he started, his voice still rough but quieter now. Still, he didn't try to wipe the tear away with his hand. Instead, he lowered his head and swiped his tongue over your skin. He was tasting your emotion, taking that too for himself.
"Shut up," he growled against your skin, his lips moving to your jaw, then to the corner of your mouth. They weren't kisses, not really. They were more like bites—soft, nibbling bites meant to calm you down and mark you at the same time. "Yer okay… Promise."
You could feel his heart hammering against your own, but it was beginning to calm down when you nodded. A tiny, shaky movement, and your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now came up to grab at his shoulders, holding him there.
He growled in approval, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing starting to even out completely. The distant moans of the walkers outside were louder now, making you realize that the new world was still there, waiting. Only then did Daryl's hips give a tiny, involuntary buck, a reminder that he was still inside of you.
"S'alright," he then said, staying like that for a while longer until your trembling finally began to go away too.
But the reality of what he'd done—filling up Hershel's daughter with his cum right there on the watchtower floor—seemed to hit him the second his head cleared.
He pulled out of you slowly, and the feeling of him leaving, followed by the warm dripping of his cum, made you gasp. Your eyes, wide and a little shocked, went right away to his face.
Daryl saw it again. He saw the farm girl in your eyes, the girl who'd cared for him after Andrea had shot him, the girl who was always so kind and nice, but also the one who'd probably never had a man finish inside her, let alone without a second thought. Right now, he looked quite guilty and ashamed. But that was gone fast, leaving only a somewhat defensive scowl on his face.
"Shit," he scoffed, looking down at where his cum was already starting to leak out of you, unable to look you in the eye. He wiped his softening cock with one hand on the edge of the blanket, standing up just as fast. "Hell are ya lookin' at?"
You pushed yourself up on your elbows, your body still trembling a little. "You… you just came inside me!"
"Ya got a problem with that?" He shot back, challenging you as he tucked himself away and started fastening his belt. "Ain't like yer damn daddy's gonna find out. 'Less ya run and tell him his good girl got herself filled up by—"
That was it. The mention of your dad again, the sheer audacity of him throwing it in your face now, made you lose control.
With a cry of pure rage, you launched yourself at him, still naked, but furious. You didn't care that you felt his cum slowly slide down your thighs or that your legs were shaking. You just moved.
One of your fists found his shoulder, but it was a weak, pathetic punch that didn't even make him flinch. It just pissed him off.
"Goddammit, woman!" He snarled, and his arm shot out, his hand catching you easily.
The fight was over before it even started. Daryl spun you around, your back slamming against his chest. One of his arms slid across your upper body, pinning your arms to your sides, while his other hand moved across your lower belly, holding you against him.
"Let me go, you bastard!" You yelled, thrashing in his grip, your bare ass grinding against the hard edges of his belt buckle.
But Daryl moved his head, his mouth finding your ear, growling and whispering into it. "Fuckin' stop it," he said, but his voice was not full of anger. The hand on your belly slid lower, his fingers digging into the skin just above your pussy. "Y'want 'nother fight? This how ya wanna get it?"
You went still, panting, and he took full advantage of it. His head moved lower, his teeth finding the same spot he'd bitten into earlier on your shoulder. You cried out, and your head fell back against his shoulder, your eyes closed, and your lips parted on command.
"That's it," he growled against your skin, keeping his lips pressed against it. "Just like that. Fight me all ya want. Just gets me all hard again."
Daryl's hand on your lower belly moved, his fingers sliding through the wetness between your legs, through the mess he'd made that was dripping out of you, and he groaned deeply. "Fuck… Yer daddy's gonna kill my ass."
"Stop… stop talking about him," you begged, but your words sounded way too weak. Your body was betraying you, arching back into him, seeking the feeling of his fingers.
"Why?" He breathed out with a smirk, his middle finger finding your clit, rubbing ever so softly over it, until you jerked in his arms, moaning. "Ya still wanna go prayin' in a church, just t'be spreadin' yer legs for a damn redneck who pisses you off next?"
Daryl's words stung a little, but you knew he was right. He was right in a way that made you want more of this—of him.
"Bet he's sleepin' right now," Daryl whispered, his other arm tightening around your chest, holding you up as your knees began to tremble again. "Dreamin' 'bout his sweet, innocent daughters. Never woulda dream 'bout how I got my cum drippin' outta one of 'em."
You were sobbing now with little broken whimpers, your hands gripping his forearm as the lust was building again.
"Y'gonna come again?" He grunted, his finger moving slightly faster and pressing a little harder.
You couldn't speak. You could only nod frantically, your body twitching in his arms.
"Damn right y'are," he snarled, and that was all it took. Your orgasm came fast, silent, and violent this time, your body tensing in his grip as you shook against him, a long, broken moan finally escaping you. Daryl held you through it with his face buried in your neck, his lips sucking and kissing your skin, bruising it further.
Once it was over and done, your legs gave out completely, and you both sank down to your knees on the scratchy blanket, his arms still locked around you, holding you against him.
"Yeah…" He then said, with his face still nuzzled against the back of your neck. "Ya can handle me."
"And you couldn't just—" You laughed with an exhausted tone in your voice. "You couldn't just... let it be. You had to... had to prove a point, huh?"
Daryl huffed against your back, but what you didn't see was his smirk when he held you tighter. "Point was proved when ya came on my dick the first time."
"I'm—" You answered, trying to squirm, but his arms kept you from moving. "I'm just saying! You didn't have to be such an asshole..."
"Y'started it," he shot back before he shifted behind you, and suddenly, he moved you both once more, back down on the scratchy blanket, your naked skin scraping against it. Daryl then leaned down over you again, trapping you with his body, but that made you angry again.
"Y'shoulda've just asked for it from the start. Woulda saved us both the helluva trouble that ya are."
You tried to kick him somehow, but your leg flopped back uselessly onto the floor. "Go to hell already, Daryl."
"Told ya. 'M already there." He didn't even try to deny it.
You opened your mouth to respond, to call him every name you could think of, but he was faster. His head dropped, and his teeth were finding the already bruised skin of your neck again. Gasping, that sharp bite of his was silencing you instantly while he was kneeling between your legs, and when he pulled back, his eyes were still focused only on you—the bite marks on your shoulder, the sweat on your stomach, and the trail of his cum on your inner thighs.
That's when you saw it. Daryl's one hand was moving past your face, searching for your discarded panties from the tangle of clothes on the floor. He held them up, letting you look at them, before bringing them to his mouth, putting the fabric between his teeth, his blue eyes locked on yours.
"What are you doing?" You asked, trying to sound defiant but only managing to sound confused but ever so curious.
He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned back down lower over you.
What the hell was he doing now? And what exactly was he about to do next?
You found out a second later. Daryl's other hand, the fingers still wet from playing with your clit, moved down your throat next. You thought he was going to touch you there again, to tease you further. But he didn't. His hand slid slowly down your body, right to the sticky wetness on your inner thighs. You felt his fingers, two of them, press against your pussy.
And they didn't tease. They pushed inside you in one move, burying themselves deep.
It was an overwhelming feeling. Daryl's fingers inside you, pushing his own cum deeper, stretching you open all over.
"Feel that?" Daryl growled, the words muffled around the fabric in his mouth as his fingers pumped into you once, twice… several times, making you moan and squirm. "Makin' sure it takes... That it stays in ya."
"Stop—" you begged, but it was a lie, and he knew it. Your body was arching into his touch, your hips making tiny, helpless circles. "Stop… talking like that."
Before you could even form another reasonable thought, his fingers slid out of you, dripping and wet. Your mouth fell open, but he didn't give you the chance. His hand moved to your face, and those same two wet fingers pressed against your lips, making you stare up at him in shock until he tilted his head ever so slightly.
For a second, you resisted with wide eyes, your lips pressed shut in a rather pathetic attempt, thinking you could escape this. Him.
Hesitantly, your tongue darted out, tasting yourself and his cum on his fingers. Then, driven by the shiver that went through your whole body, you opened your mouth and took his fingers in, sucking them clean.
Leaning in closer to you, not to kiss you, but to bury his face against your chest, his nose was brushing along your tits, watching as your nipples hardened again, so close to his lips where he still held your panties between them. But Daryl continued to only watch, though his own breathing was already growing heavier again.
When he was truly satisfied, he slowly pulled his fingers away from your mouth with a soft, wet pop. Still holding your gaze, he dragged those now-clean fingers down your chin until he finally leaned back, pulling the panties from his teeth with his other hand.
"Told ya t'shut yer mouth," he said, his voice rough but still amused. "Now y'know how. And y'ain't bored no more, are ya?"
Daryl's eyes immediately dropped from your face to between your legs. He still held your panties in one hand, looking at them, then back at your pussy, so wet and only his.
With a grunt, he shifted down your body, and you thought he was going to fuck you again, making you tense up in anticipation. But he didn't. He only moved lower until his head was between your thighs, his strong shoulders pushing your legs apart.
"What are you—" You started, but the words died in your throat when he buried his face in your pussy, his mouth letting go of your panties.
It was a rough press of his lips and tongue against it, making you cry out when his tongue licked through the mess as it still leaked out of you. The feeling was so shocking that your hands flew to his hair, not knowing whether to push him away or hold him there forever.
"Fuck, Daryl," you groaned, your hips bucking slightly off the blanket. "God…"
He growled against you, the sound a clear command for you to be still. His hands came up to grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you open for him before his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it, trying to clean you out, or at least you thought so.
Then you felt it. The fabric of your panties. Daryl had balled them up in one of his fists and was now pressing them against your pussy with his thumb. His mouth then worked your clit, his tongue circling it, but his thumb was there, trying to push the fabric into you.
The shock of it—the feeling of the fabric—made your body seize up. Your legs, acting on pure instinct, clamped shut around Daryl's head, trapping him there and making him curse against your clit. He struggled for a moment, his shoulders bunching, but you held him tight between your thighs. For you, it was a stupid and powerless attempt to stop whatever was happening, an embarrassing move to get back some tiny bit of control.
To no avail, it all just lasted a few seconds.
With a snarl, Daryl ripped his head free, coming up over you fast. His face was wet and his eyes wild. Before you could even take a breath, one hand was around your throat again, not to choke but to hold you still, to force you to look at him.
"Tryna suffocate me, huh?" He asked, his breath hot against your face. "That what ya wanna try now?"
You shook your head, the tone of your voice only a desperate whisper. "No… I just… Look—"
The next thing you knew was that his mouth was on yours again.
This kiss was different. You could taste yourself on Daryl's lips, on his tongue—it was the taste of what he'd just done to you, and he was forcing you to share it. Moaning into his mouth, your hands, which had been in his hair only moments before, now clawed at his back, pulling him closer.
He kissed you like he was trying to win a fight all over again, his tongue moving against yours, stealing your breath and your sanity. All the while, his other hand—the one not holding your throat—was still busy.
It was almost embarrassing when you felt the fabric of your panties again, pressed against your pussy. Daryl broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged.
"Gonna plug ya up," he whispered with a smirk. "Keep my cum inside ya where it belongs. 'Til we get back inside. Ain't gonna waste a drop."
Your eyes widened. "Daryl, you can't—"
His hand tightened on your throat, just a little, cutting off your response. "Can… 'M doin' it already."
And then he pushed.
The feeling of your panties was a strange pressure, not like his cock or his fingers. It was dry against your wetness, feeling so unnatural, but Daryl worked only a tiny part of it into you with two fingers, shoving the fabric not too deep but still stuffing you with your own underwear.
It felt wrong.
It felt insane.
It felt so fucking good, you thought you might come again from the sheer wrongness of it.
Daryl pushed until a small part of your panties was deep enough inside you, and he held his fingers there for a moment, feeling your pussy clench around it, watching your reaction closely.
"There," he smirked as he slowly pulled his fingers away, leaving the plug of fabric behind. "Now y'ain't leakin' all over the damn place. 'N yer gonna keep that in 'til we get back."
He finally released your throat, his hand coming down to move along your waist, almost tenderly if you ignored the fact that he'd just stuffed your pussy with your own panties.
Every tiny shift of your hips, every clench of your pussy, reminded you it was there. Reminded you of Daryl. His cum that he'd left behind.
Then he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear one last time.
"Shift's almost over," he whispered. "Get yer ass dressed."
That was all he said when he stood back up, adjusting himself once more, only to grab his crossbow in silence. And of course, a nasty little voice whispered in your head…
What did you expect? He got what he wanted. You were just a distraction from the boredom.
The Daryl who had just owned every inch of your body, who had whispered into your skin, and who came inside you earlier was gone. In his place was the grunting hunter, already turning his back to you. There was the quiet statue again, the brick wall.
The feeling of shame came back. Daryl had gotten what he wanted, and now he was done. You were just… Hershel Greene's middle daughter again. The one he'd fucked on a dirty blanket.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pushed yourself up as well. Your body felt used, sore in places you didn't know could be sore. But every movement sure was a reminder. The scrape of the blanket on your bare skin, the bite marks on your shoulder, and most of all, the strange pressure deep inside you. Your panties.
Moving quietly, with your legs buckling as you reached for your clothes, every step you took as you gathered your bra and shirt, as well as the discarded rifle, felt awkward. But pulling your pants on was the actual, and new, kind of torture. The fabric rubbed against the panties sticking out of you, creating a feeling that was anything but comfortable. It made you walk with a slight, awkward hitch in your step, making you squirm in a way you couldn't control, almost making you let go of the rifle.
Daryl heard you dressing up, but he didn't turn, though you saw the way his head tilted a bit, listening to your unsteady movements and fumbling with the weapon.
A while later, you both went down the watchtower in silence, and the second your boots hit the ground of the prison yard, he was moving, not waiting for you, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.
You followed, trying to walk normally, but the panties shifted now and then with the motion, a maddening friction that made it impossible to forget what he'd done. You still felt part of his cum, warm and trapped, the fabric holding it all in.
Suddenly, Daryl stopped. He must have heard the frustrated sigh you let out, but he didn't turn around and just stood there, waiting for you to catch up. When you were a step behind him, his hand shot back, not to grab yours, but to shove you forward a little.
It made you let out a cry of shock, with you jumping a foot in the air at the sudden contact.
"Quit squirmin'," he growled at your reaction and kept walking as if nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, with your pussy slightly pulsing around the fabric inside you.
Hurrying to get inside, to clean yourself up and to pretend nothing ever happened, you were quickly falling into step beside him this time, forcing your legs to move as normally as you could manage. Just as you reached the threshold of the main door to the C-Block, putting the rifle down, his hand shot out again. But this time, it wasn't him grabbing your arm. His fingers hooked into the back belt loop of your pants, yanking you to a stop just outside the circle of light from the inside of the prison. You stumbled back against his chest with another small, surprised gasp.
"Yer walkin' funny, Greene," he growled quietly into your ear. "Like ya got a damn stick up yer ass."
Your face turned red, and you didn't really know how to answer. "I told you, just go to hell!"
"And I—" He started, but you cut him off with a glare.
"I swear to God… If you say that 'you're already there,' I will—" You didn't even try to finish your sentence, shaking your head in annoyance.
Before you could react, Daryl's other hand came around your front, his hand moving down flat and low on your belly as he pulled you back against him. He held you there for one endless, heart-stopping second. And his hand moved. It was so fast, so casual, how he reached down and touched you between the legs, his palm pressing against the seam of your pants, right over your pussy.
Your eyes opened wide, looking around the empty yard, terrified someone might be watching anyway, somehow.
But Daryl just held his hand there, feeling the slight bulge of the fabric inside you.
"Still there… Still mine."
The words were simple, but they made you shiver.
Suddenly, his body shifted again. His hips pressed against your ass, grinding and pushing you against the cold door in front of you. He held you there, not caring if someone might come out, letting you feel his belt buckle just like he did in the watchtower, as well as the undeniable strength of him.
Letting you feel that he was, unmistakably, already hard again for you.
Then, as suddenly as he'd pinned you, he pulled back, one hand grabbing his crossbow while his other hand moved from your body to the handle of the door, pulling it open for you, like all the times he'd done it before.
Quickly taking the rifle back off the ground, you walked inside, your legs shaking and your face still burning. You didn't even dare look back at him anymore. But as you headed towards your cell, the strange, full feeling between your legs felt like a secret only the two of you shared, and you knew one thing for certain now...
Daryl Dixon was nowhere near done with you. And despite everything, a terrified but also excited part of you hoped he never would be.
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