Daryl Dixon X F!Reader Smut: Matchmaker Merle

vacancy (between your legs)

pairing: chris x reader (imagining this with re6 or re8 chris)

cw: hate sex (they actually don't hate each other tho), oral, p in v, some degradation, incredible confidence in the pull-out method lmao

summary: you are on chris' squad and he's the captain, but you have the hots for him, so you push his buttons on purpose. when you bicker in your motel room, one thing leads to another and...

a/n: idk? i wasn't gonna post this bc i posted hate sex w/ leon, but what am i gonna do? leave it in the drafts? no

wc: 1.8k

It’s a dingy motel, but it looks like paradise when you’ve spent the last two weeks in a tent. At least they have running water. You get your own room because you’re the girl in the group, which everyone bemoans. You’re just one of the guys to them, at least, when it comes down to choosing how to delegate the beds. Chris lets you have your own room. He’s still the Captain, though, so when he asks if he can use your shower, you agree, avoiding the argument. When he exits the shower - just a towel wrapped around his waist, something you’re trying hard to ignore - he’s grumbling about how you used up all the hot water, and it doesn't really matter if that’s true or not because you’re both on edge and likely to explode at each other at any opportunity.  

“Wow, can’t believe you have the audacity to ask me to use my shower in my room and then complain that I used the hot water?” You’re only somewhat irritated with him, but your words are laced with bitterness. 

“Are you serious right now? I’m the boss here, and I could just as well kick you out of this room and have it to myself.”

He’s right, but it’s not fair. More importantly, you’re agitated. Exhaustion? Hunger? Pent-up sexual frustration that threatens to break now that the man you’ve been drooling over for years is almost naked in front of you?

“So what? You want me to say thank you, Chris, sorry, I mean, Captain, for being so, so nice to me.”

You know how much he hates being called by his first name out in the field, so you taunt him with it on purpose.

“Why do you insist on pushing my buttons?”

“You started it!”

“Are you a fucking child? Because you’re acting like one.” 

Chris would rarely fight a woman, but you’re not any woman. You’re constantly bitching at him, going against his orders, and you’re sexy as hell when you’re mad. Plus, he’s seen you fight - verbally and physically - and metaphorically, you’re entirely within his weight class. 

“You’re the one who started complaining, that’s all I’m saying. Can you just leave me alone? I’m stressed enough as it is.” “You think you’re the only one? I’m trying to keep my cool because one of us has to, and you don’t know how to hold your tongue.”

“Don’t keep your cool, then. Hit me with it.”

You’re not even into degradation. You just like the way his voice gets deeper, more gravely when he’s pissed off. 

“You’re a bitch, you’re a brat, you’re self-entitled, too stubborn to admit when you’re wrong, and you’re a goddamn pain in my ass.”

“Is that all? I thought you could be nastier than that.”

“Nasty? You want me to play nasty, huh? I would say that since you can’t do field work and you can’t do desk work, then maybe you’d be more useful on your knees under the desk, but you know what? More than anything, you’re disobedient, so I doubt you’d even be able to take cock like a good girl.”

“Sorry that I don’t fulfill your perfect submissive fantasies. Doesn’t mean I’m not any good on my knees.”

“Really? Then prove it.”

“That’s what you want?” 

Both of you are running on auto-pilot, completely enraptured by the thrill of anger and arousal. He wants to sink his teeth into your skin and you want to drag your nails down his. Flesh on flesh, hot and sweaty. The closest you’d ever been to sex was sparring. He had you pinned to the mat. You needed to pick a different partner because you couldn’t learn when you got dizzy every time you tried to train with Chris. 

“Yeah, I’ll give it a trial run, see if it’s worth it, and maybe if you can satisfy me, you can still have a job working for me.”

You stand there for a moment, stunned into silence, working on forming a sentence, but no words come out. Chris raises an eyebrow, looking you up and down. He isn’t backing down from your proposition. If it were any other man, you would walk out the door - not before spitting in his face or kneeing him in the balls, but this is Chris, this is different. 

You’ve wanted to sleep with him since the day you met him. You butted heads constantly because you were both stubborn and happened to be on different sides of every issue. Also, you learned early on that you got more attention for being obnoxious, so as long as you weren’t out in the field, in a life-threatening scenario, you intentionally pushed his buttons. He almost caught onto your little charade once. 

“How are you able to cooperate out in the field, but in the office, you have to argue with every word that comes out of my mouth?”

He’d gotten real in your face with that one. Hand on the desk next to him, cornering you so you couldn’t scurry away (not like you ever would). Most girls would’ve apologized to scary Captain Redfield, but not you. You went home and immediately grabbed your vibrator from your bedside table and replayed the conversation. 

He’s winning, but he was always going to win. You’re playing a long game that he isn’t privy to, one that you’d always lose. 

You sink to your knees. You’re a little sad that he doesn’t make you beg for it, but you go ahead with undoing his belt and getting his pants down his thighs. You presumed that he would be big - you thought you’d caught a glimpse of the bulge in his pants once, but you couldn’t be sure, and what were you gonna do? Ask him? 

Once he’s down to only his underwear, your suspicions are confirmed. It’s a little intimidating, actually. Do or die. You take his dick out, only to find out that it barely fits in your hand. Sure, your hands are small, but you can hold a handgun. You struggle with bigger guns (and bigger dicks as it turns out). You lazily stroke him, looking up into his eyes, and he looks pleased - smug, really. For once, it feels like you’re on the same team. You’re both winning when his cock is down your throat. The only courtesy he gives you is a makeshift ponytail so you don’t get hair in your mouth. He doesn’t give you an ounce of sympathy when you choke. You look prettiest with tears in your eyes. He knows you’ll smack him on the thigh if you want him to stop - and you hit hard. 

Not today. You suppress your gag reflex and breathe through your nose. It isn’t the hardest thing you’ve done today. You fought off a horde of zombies that morning - sucking dick is nothing. You’re not new to either. 

You’re about to break Chris’ composure. You feel him throb in your mouth. But he pulls away in time. You won’t win that easily. Maybe you are still fighting.

You stand up, still in a haze. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or are gonna strip?”

You walk backwards to the bed and let him follow you. You rid yourself of your shirt and pants on the way there. You sit down and take off your bra without breaking eye contact. You spread your legs before taking off your panties and start to touch yourself while he watches. He tries to hide how much the show you’re giving him affects him. 

You can tell he’s flustered when he pushes you onto the bed and says “Save the theatrics.” You think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he bites your bottom lip. Two can play the teasing game. You grab his face and pull him into a kiss and he lets you. 

He rubs his cock along your folds and says, “Are you always this wet?”

Around him? Yes, actually. You’re too wet for words now, so you’re lucky it’s rhetorical. 

He hesitates. Neither of you thought to bring condoms on a mission. 

“Just pull out,” you say, “if you can.”

“Trust me, I’ve been in this game longer than you’ve been alive-”

“Slut,” you say under your breath. 

“Me? You’re the one who’s spent the past year trying to get me to fuck you.”

You go slack-jawed. One, because the cocktail of pleasure and pain you feel when he slips inside you is heavenly and two because you realize he’s known you wanted this the whole time. 

“How’d you know?” you try to ask, but it comes out less than inteligible, covered by a strangled moan. 

“Like I said, I’ve been doing this a long time. Your little act was obvious.”

Seems like it worked out in your favor. Too bad you’re getting pounded into the mattress and can’t get out a clever retort. Your brain is useless, you’ve lost all words besides his name. 

“I would’ve fucked you a long time ago if I’d known you feel this fucking good.” 

He lifts your legs up, and puts them over his shoulders. Your moans are almost screams. The pleasure is overwhelming. 

“Do you ever shut up? What’s everyone else gonna think when they hear you?”

They’re definitely going to hear you. It’s a good thing you don’t care. 

Chris’ hand wraps around your throat, but he waits until you nod - immediately, enthusiastically - to press his fingers down. You feel oddly safe knowing that he knows how to choke you out - you assume it means he also knows how to avoid choking you out. The pressure restricts your airways just enough to make you feel lightheaded. 

You’re finally a little quieter. For once, he liked you loud. Your constant complaints are a nuisance to his eardrums, but your moans are gorgeous. Chris’ other hand plays with your clit, bringing you closer to your peak. 

You have to cum first. There’s a split second where he worries you won’t and you’ll drag him over the edge first, forcing him to cum inside you. The disobedient bratty side of you takes over and you do try to hold out, you clench your inner walls just to watch his self-restraint falter. But the sight of him above you, his heavy breathing, swears muttered through gritted teeth, the feeling of him buried to the hilt inside you - it’s too much. 

Your back arches off the bed, your legs tremble and you soak the sheets as your orgasm takes you by surprise. Chris barely pulls out in time, cumming on your stomach as you try to catch your breath. You’re still shaking when he falls on the bed next to you. 

“Goddammit,” he sighs, “you’re great in the field and in the bedroom.”

“Roger that, Captain.”

He laughs. “I never thought I’d say this, but please, just call me ‘Chris’.”

“I’ll remember that for round two.”

the new aphrodisiac fic is lovely 🙂‍↕️ makes me wonder how much self control rick would try to display under the same situation, but ohhh my lord daryl being both whiny and animalistic is muah chefs kiss ♥️♥️♥️

That's actually a great question cause my immediate thought is "yeah he'd have great restraint" but he's also very fond of the ladies and is real quick to start flirting lmfao so I'm not really sure 🤔 I'll think on that 😏😏

I miss the short hair era of Norman/Daryl so much 😔 it's not fair I was born too late to ever see this in person 😔😔😔

His breathy grunts holy shit I can literally hear every molecule of carbon dioxide leaving his lungs

THANK you for taking the effort to not only FIND the download, but watch the entire movie and cut this clip for tumblr, you're the best

So my dear fandom. After going on a mission to the depth of internet and DHT exchange. Here I am presenting to you premium HD quality of Norman saying "you dirty little whore"

@heathermason6060 it wouldn't be here without you 😉

MNDI (18+ sexual content)

For others, dim your screens and pop in the earbuds

Today was my birthday and I got the rare stew and some banging slippers. All that's missing is Daryl or Frank Castle penis. Either will work I am not picky

Daryl Dixion x f!Reader Nsfw: Fingers in your Mouth

Warnings/Mentions: Oral, Daryl gets you off with his boot, gagging, throat fucking, he forces your mouth open

Summary: Your attitude and snarky remarks earns you a red face and watery eyes after Daryl accepts your challenge.

Notes: I love rough Daryl I love rough Daryl

Your attitude was going to get you killed, or worse. Or better. 

Yeah, this was a lot better. 

You weren't really a ‘brat’ per se, but there were times when people were acting so dramatic and over the top that it drove you to catching an attitude. 

Like back at the farm where Shane, Lori and Rick were having their melodramatic soap opera. You called them out on it, and got a lot of shitty looks. 

Or when Daryl would get overly grumpy and start pulling away from everyone. You called him out on that too. What you didn't know was that he was looking for a reason to go off, and you calling him a cliche lone wolf that needed to get laid was the perfect reason. 

“Need to get laid, huh? S'that what you think?” He laughed in your face, throwing his hands up for emphasis. 

You mocked him, tossing your arm like you were throwing a basketball in a hoop. “Nah, I know it. I know your type. Sleezy redneck who'd fuck any bitch that would give him the honor. Shit ain't so easy out here, and that's why you're treating me like a goddamn mosquito buzzin’ all up in your face.”

He watched you, his eyes following your hands as if he expected you to pull out a gun and start waving it around. He hung his crossbow over his shoulder and folded his arms as you spoke, nodding like he was actually paying attention.

“Ya' done?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Go get your dick sucked. Better yet, go fuck that redhead that lives across the street.” You referred to the Alexandrian resident, the one who had been drooling over Rick, Daryl, and Abraham the day you all arrived. 

“I got a better idea.” 

He snickered at that, and started unbuckling his belt.

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head, your hands immediately going to rest on your hips. “What? Gonna go on a week-long hunting trip and come back even more of an asshole? Speak to the trees?”

Your eyes widened. 

“Woah, dude.” The laugh that came from your mouth was dry and anxious. You held your hands in front of you, palms out in surrender. “Wasn't serious.”

“Nah, I think you were.” He slipped the leather through the buckle, and began walking towards you. “Melissa's at home. Don't feel like walkin’ all that much for a shitty blow job from that dumb bitch.”

“So you'll walk three feet for a shitty blow job from a not dumb bitch?” You swallowed hard, glancing over your shoulder at the outer walls behind you.

Maybe you shouldn't have followed Daryl out of Alexandria to bitch at him for leaving the shower a muddy mess. 

Now he was in front of you, working on the button of his jeans. 

You didn't want to seem like some desperate whore, but fuck, it had been a real long time for you too. Last time you saw a dick was when you caught Merle pissing on the side of the prison while you were on watchtower duty. That was... what, seven months ago? You had no fucking idea. 

“C'mon then. Make me feel better.” His voice was low then, the same tone he'd use when challenging someone. Daring someone. 

You shifted your feet, watching as he didn't go any further than unzipping his jeans. 

Oh.

Your heart sped up when you came to the realization that he was fucking with you, he didn't actually expect you to suck his dick. He was trying to make you uncomfortable, get you off his back so he could go back to brooding in the woods. 

Your lips spread into a smile, and you took one last glance over your shoulder before bending your knees and kneeling in front of him. 

You grabbed onto the hem of his boxers and pulled them down, watching as his dick, semi hard, rolled out. 

Above you he grunted, obviously taken aback by your actions. He was stiff, almost paralyzed in shock as you grabbed onto his dick and gave him a few long strokes. 

You looked up at him, a shit eating grin on your lips. “Look at that.” His dick was already hard as a rock. All it took was a few lazy strokes. “Didn't think you'd be so easy.”

You wiped the grin from his face the second you got your tongue on him. He choked on his own breath, grabbing your hair as he fought to keep standing. 

Finally he reacted, his eyebrows raising and a grin of disbelief on his face. You knew what he was thinking. ‘Says you’. Says the one about to suck his dick five seconds after he jokingly told you to. 

When you started taking his dick in your mouth, he lost the fight. He pulled away and walked a few steps backwards until he bumped into a tree, and only then did he finally slump towards the ground. 

He raised a shaky hand and beckoned you forward with a curled finger. 

Your heart leapt up into your throat and you had to force yourself to walk forward calmly, and not trip over the numerous branches and twigs littering the forest floor. 

It was hard to act calm seeing Daryl slumped against the base of a tree with his cock out. And he had this look on his face, rather, his eyes. Slightly narrowed with his head tilted back, watching you through his lashes as you approached him. 

They were the sexiest bedroom eyes you'd seen in your entire life. 

You crouched in front of him between his spread knees and reached out to grab his cock again. All the confidence you had a few moments earlier was completely gone, drained from your body the second he looked at you with that darkened expression. 

His knee jerked ever so slightly when you hunched over to take him in your mouth. It was cute, the way he was so responsive to you. If you weren't so turned on (and intimidated) you'd find it endearing. 

You did your best to make him squirm and moan, sucking the tip of his dick with as much pressure as you could manage, swirling your tongue around the head, using your other hand to massage his balls, and it worked.

Confidence was slowly building back up inside you the more you heard him sigh and gasp. That was until you saw his right leg slide up, and felt the tip of his boot between your thighs. 

You gasped through your nose, your jaw quivering around him. 

“Easy, hmm?” He breathed, a hand reaching down to push your hair from his face. The boot thing was unintentional, just an accident. But now that he'd seen you react to it, it was his top priority before cumming down your throat. 

Making you squirm and moan.

You tried to clench your thighs shut, maybe slide down onto your stomach, but that was foolish. A stupid idea. He was wearing steel toed boots and he simply nudged your knees apart, the tip once again sliding against your jean covered cunt. 

The moan that vibrated around his length was filthy, you couldn't help it. You also couldn't help pushing your hips down, and the second moan that came after the feeling of pressure against your clit. 

Suddenly, his boot applied a little too much pressure. You gasped through your nose again, and without even meaning to, grazed your teeth along the head of his dick. 

He cursed, his body jerking up and his hands balling up fistfuls of your hair. 

You popped your mouth off of him, shooting him a glare. “I didn't mean to. You were being too rough.”

“Don't, don't fuckin’ do that.” He hissed, using the grip he had on your hair to give you a rough yank. His version of punishment. 

His eyebrows raised, and his thumb gathered the bit of drool you had on your bottom lip. “You never stop bitchin’, even with a dick in your mouth.”

You scoffed, and did something you shouldn't have. 

You lowered your head back down, and grazed your teeth along his shaft, pulling your lips back in a playful sneer.

He didn't like that, and he sat up straighter. 

His thumb went from your bottom lip to your mouth, shoving all the way back to your molars. He shifted it sideways and slanted, forcing your mouth to stay open, and slipped his dick back in your mouth. 

With his other hand he tightened his grip on your hair and began moving your entire head up and down his length.

You wanted to pull off of him, call him a fucking asshole and tell him to jerk himself off, but his boot was rubbing against you again and much more gently than before. 

The grip he had on your hair wasn't something you could get out of, even if you really wanted to. 

He was considerate at first, moving your head slow and not too low. Just enough to tease the back of your tongue. You'd gotten used to it, finding ways to make it more comfortable, even with his fingers prying your mouth open. 

Just as you'd worked up a routine, he snatched it away from you with a thrust of his pelvis. His tip hit the back of your throat and you gagged, your hands flying up to grab onto his hips to steady yourself. 

He allowed you a moment to breathe, and accept your fate, make any adjustments you might need to before he carried on.

“Like the sound of that.” He grunted, thrusting up and down your throat again. Spit dribbled out the sides of your mouth, bubbles bursting and tears forming in your eyes. “Lot better than your goddamn yappin'.”

You gagged again, feeling his dick slip dangerously deep down your throat. You inhaled deeply through your nose, trying to steady yourself, but his thrusts were relentless. 

“Wha’? Got nothin' to say? Not gonna bite me again? Go on, make my day.”

You weren't sure where this persona came from. It was extremely uncharacteristic of him, but truthfully, you didn't really know Daryl. And no one knew what he was like in bed. No one besides you, now. 

Maybe he was just on edge with all the drama happening in Alexandria. All the deaths and constant fighting. Maybe you were right and he did need his dick sucked, and maybe he already knew that. 

As if he thought you'd actually try to bite him again, he crammed in his index finger, sliding it beside his thumb to force your mouth open even wider. Your jaw ached, and so did your tongue, but there wasn't much you could do. You made your bed. 

The gagging got worse and more frequent the longer it went on. His grip on your hair was brutal, holding your head up in the air, hovering over his pelvis so he could fuck up into your mouth like it was his own fist, and not an actual human. The thought had your stomach flipping, and a muffled moan vibrated around his dick again. 

He groaned long and deep at the feeling. His boot snapped back to life, rubbing up and down against your jeans until your hips took over, grinding down on him to the point he didn't have to move it anymore. 

You were embarrassingly close already. It was mostly due to the fact that you were getting off on Daryl's fucking shoe, but also due to how rough and filthy he was being. 

You'd always thought he'd be the shy stoic kind of man when it came to sex, the same way he was normally. Not whatever sinful monster he was now. 

When you came, you gripped the belt loops of his pants and held on for dear life. Your orgasm was brutal, bulldozing out of your core and sending shockwaves up your torso, buzzing down to your sore clit. You groaned around his dick, grinding your hips down like an animal in heat, not even noticing the way Daryl had stopped moving completely. 

You took a moment to gasp, nearly choking on your spot, and once your shivers stopped, Daryl pulled your head back down, cramming his entire dick down your throat. 

You gagged around him, your throat spasming and clenching when you felt his cum dribble down it. You were both thankful you'd missed lunch, because that exact moment would've had the contents of your stomach on display all over his pants. 

The noises that came from his mouth made up for it. Good lord, they were beautiful. Breathy moans on the way up, and then a drawn out whine that caught in his throat, and he had to swallow hard, panting heavily before letting out that last trembling whimper. 

He drug his fingers out from between your teeth, leaving a thick drizzle of spit slapping against your chin and falling onto the crotch of his jeans. You practically yanked your head away from him, gasping for air and whimpering at the exhaustion shaking through your body. You were fucking shivering from the constant gagging, your abdomen having spasms of their own from fighting the urge to vomit bile. 

You'd never forget the sound of that. 

He looked almost guilty, looking at your poor face. Wet swollen lips, tears running down your red cheeks, your hair a complete mess and your mouth turned into an unintentional frown. 

“Shit.” He breathed, stuffing his dick back in his pants before taking a handkerchief from the pocket of his shirt to wipe your tears, and then the drool. “M'sorry, christ.”

“No, s’okay.” You slurred, your lips twitching into a lazy and satisfied grin. “Was hot. Really hot.”

“Yeah?” He raised his brows, his eyes narrowed in cautious hesitance. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, turning your head to the side as he wiped your jawline. 

He was silent as he took care of you, fixing your hair and offering you water. You could tell he still felt bad, which tugged at your heart. He'd done a complete one eighty after coming, it was sort of sweet. 

Your suggestion worked, that was for sure. 

You glanced down the end of the hall before looking at her, fighting away a smirk. You raised your hand, made a circle with your fingers and moved it towards your mouth in the unmistakable ‘blowjob’ movement. 

He didn't sulk so much the next few days. He actually had dinner with you and the others, which wasn't unusual, but the way he contributed to small talk was. He stayed in Alexandria for a week straight, not even going out to hunt. He was satisfied sticking around and helping out within the walls. 

“What'd you do?” Maggie whispered, her hand still on your wrist from pulling you aside after seeing Daryl laugh. Like, a genuine Daryl laugh. 

Her eyes widened and a laugh burst from her lips. Then her smile faded. “You're serious?”

“Yes.”

The two of you erupted into giggles, and she punched your shoulder playfully. You had to pretend that it didn't hurt. Heavy handed farmer's daughter. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx @iloverocks @jinx-nanami

Ur writing is crazy hot

thank you so goddamn much anon it means a lot I'm glad people like it

WAIT WAIT WAIT.... You might be onto somethin here...

PLEASEEE consider doing more dark daryl and rick (heavy on daryl) im obsessed with your writing, its SOOO GOOD

I have one in the works right now 😈 where Daryl gets fed up with readers teasing :D

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.1

Warnings/Mentions: History of abuse, neglect, strong language, mentions of character death, alcohol and drug abuse, ptsd, shared trauma, reader is cold, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Summary: The little boy you patched up in the trailer park grows up, your paths finally aligning to bring you together. The man who was once only a rare source of comfort becomes your other half, only to pull back when you need him the most.

Notes: Based off of this post. Basically an angsty story detailing your relationship with Daryl and the group over the years, and when Daryl starts to grow distant from you.

Growing up was hard. Growing up without your loving father was even harder. 

You accepted the cigarette pressed in front of your lips from his hand and took a deep pull, holding it in your lungs until you felt your heart finally slow from its painful pace. He took his hand away from your face and took an equally long drag. 

“When's Merle getting out?” You asked as you absentmindedly scratched the dry blood off your fingernails, your nose still throbbing from your mother's fist. 

“Next week.” 

You were young then. God, way too young to be smoking cigarettes. Most kids your age stole them from their parents, bringing them into the eighth grade classrooms to sell or trade. 

Merle did come back the next week, but not for long. He eventually abandoned the two of you for the military, something his younger brother was really torn up about. After Merle left, said younger brother spent a lot of nights on your back porch couch. Your mother didn't mind, in reality she didn't give a shit at all, normally too high to care, or going through withdrawals so bad she only wanted to beat on you and blame you for your father's disappearance. 

You began to deeply miss Merle and the comfort he would bring, mostly in the form of alcohol or illegal substances. He'd always make you promise not to tell anyone, and you'd always say you weren't a fucking idiot. You were lucky you'd grown up on the same street as the Dixon brothers, it had inadvertently caused the older to view you as an estranged little sibling, sparing you from his foul advances. 

The Dixon brothers eventually became a rare sight. You all were just too busy with your own bullshit. You had a little brother to look after, and you did your best to shield him from your mother's antics, but one day the teacher saw that big bruise on his back and CPS took him away. You really missed Merle then, because at least he had the decency to sell you drugs instead of asking to trade for sexual favors. That made a substance induced escape a lot harder, forcing you to go into the city to find a decent dealer. 

You were sitting on your back porch crying with blood all over your face when you saw them again. 

They were frantic, tearing into your driveway with their dad's truck, shouting at you to get your shit and get in. Your mother was too doped up to understand what was happening, slumped on your dirty living room sofa with a bloody straw still on her lap. Merle had tried to get her to get up and come, shouting about ‘goddamn dead people eating everyone’(using a less kind word than people), but in your post-beating rage you left without her, leaving her on your couch to succumb to either an overdose, or whatever the hell the Dixons were warning her about. 

You begged Merle to go by the foster home to look for your brother. Begged, cried, and eventually screamed, and he screamed right back at you. Daryl barely managed to calm the two of you down with a hopeful explanation that the building that housed your brother was the safest place he could be. That didn't stop you from trying to steal their truck later that night though, which only ended up in another screaming match and a bloody spat with the undead. 

“Turn left here. Left, here!” 

“Well shit, give me more than a goddamn two second warning fucktard!” It was a wonder Merle hadn't lost his voice from the near constant shouting, at Daryl and you. This time it was the former, attempting at giving his brother directions to the safe zone in Atlanta, reading off a dirty crumpled map with text made for ants to read. 

You rubbed between your eyebrows and continued looking out your window as Merle turned around in the middle of the road to take the left into the highway. 

The sound of your name being called had you internally groaning. “Hey,” Merle snapped again, looking over at you in the passenger seat. “I said get my bag.”

You all but slung his plastic baggie into his lap. He took out a pill bottle with the label ripped off and fished out three pills, dropping them into his green pill grinder as he drove with his knees. 

“Just let me drive, man.” Daryl complained after having to correct the wheel for the elder brother. 

“Ay! Keep your stupid fucking hands off my wheel before you lose ‘em.” 

Most of the drive was like that. And it was even worse when after seeing Atlanta fucking napalmed. You were all close to losing it, and thankfully right before your Mexican standoff ensued, you found a group. 

You couldn't stand most of them. Most were too soft, too nice, too stupid or too weak. The strongest men were pieces of shit, and the men that weren't despicable were either weak or insane. Glenn didn't bother you too much, especially after you witnessed his weasel-like skills. He was like a roach, always surviving, even when a building fell on him. 

The majority of your time was spent hunting. 

The first day you went out with your recurve bow, which had once belonged to your father, Shane had questioned you. 

“You know how to use that thing?” He asked as he watched you flip your raggedy leather quiver over your shoulder.

You bent down to tie your boots and nodded. 

“You ever use one of those before?”

“Yes. You got a light?” 

Shane took a second before fishing out a lighter from his back pocket, moving intentionally slow as if to show you he was your superior. You snatched the green bic from his hand and lit your cigarette, shoving it back out towards him. 

“Dixons are already out hunting. Left this morning. Why don't you just stay here and help out? We could really use the hands. Women of the camp are sometimes more important-”

You walked off into the woods before he could continue. 

It was satisfying bringing your doe back to camp, even though dragging the thing back was a cruel and grueling process. You asked T-Dog and Ed to help you string it up, making sure to be as noisy as you could, a thick middle finger to Shane. You drained and gutted the carcass, making sure to ask Shane with a smug smile what he wanted to do with the intestines.

“Take it away from camp.” He spoke with his fingers a lot, rough pointing in an aggressive manner. “That shits gonna draw those things near.”

“Makes good bait for fish.”

Andrea and her sister Amy backed you up, even though they cringed and grimaced taking their share down to the quarry. 

Merle and Daryl had finally settled down after a while in camp. Merle wasn't seconds away from murder anymore, and Daryl found peace in his hunting. Eventually Glenn got you your own tent, which you were ecstatic about, no longer having to share one with the two men. 

Merle called your name through a mouthful of stewed deer meat. “Sweetie, hand me a beer why don't ya.” 

Lori looked up over her bowl. “Would it kill you to say please?”

You tossed the warm bottle to Merle, not acknowledging her attempt at sticking up for you. He didn't bother you, his insults or disrespect never did, growing up with someone like that sort of makes you blind to it, especially when you were used to so much worse from your mother. 

“Would it kill you to suck my nuts?” 

Shane stepped in and you groaned, rolling your eyes and taking your stew back to your tent. 

After Daryl's mother passed you saw him more and more. You were about eleven when it happened, you remembered the house fire and the day they moved into the trailer closer to yours. Daryl was almost constantly covered in bruises then. Always a black eye, always a purple bicep, always dried blood under his nails. He didn't smoke with you much after that, his mother having died from a cigarette induced house fire. That was when Merle had left, but your memory of the timeline was foggy. It had been so long ago and so much was constantly happening that you might've misremembered a lot of it. 

“Sleep good?” Your groggy voice caused Daryl to look up from his task of sharpening his knife.

“Nah. You?”

You yawned and sat next to him in front of the fire, stretching your sleepy limbs and taking a sip of his water. “Now that Merle's farting and snoring aren't waking me up every ten minutes, yes. Thought he would shit himself with how bad that tent stank.”

Daryl let out a knowing chuckle and tossed his whetstone in the open flap of his tent. He slipped his blade back in its holster on his belt before grabbing a crooked cigarette from his shirt pocket. 

“Fuckin' hate this place.” He muttered around the filter as he cupped his hand around the flame of his lighter. He snapped his zippo shut and put it back in his jeans pocket. “Me and Merle been talkin’.”

“About what?” You began crunching on a handful of almonds you stole from Lori the night prior. 

“These people, they're… they're fuckin’ idiots.” He sighed as he blew out a stream of smoke, waving his hand around for enunciation. He held it to your lips for you to take a drag, watching as you pulled in a lungful before he took it away. “We should just leave 'em. They probably want us gone anyway.”

You observed him, not responding, chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

“Well? You comin’?”

“Course I am. But I don't think we should leave.”

“Why the hell not? You hear the shit they say about us?” He scoffed, his brows furrowed. “Inbred hicks with their ‘trailer trash whore’. Y’know, they think we all fuck each other when we go off huntin’. Good for nothin' bastards. Should just rob ‘em and leave.”

“I don't give a shit what they think. I give a shit about my odds of survival, which are higher with guns.”

“We got guns. N’we can jus’ take theirs.” He argued, referencing the duffle bag of stolen guns in the hidden compartment of their truck. “Besides, chances are we're safer on our own than these dumb shits, catching frogs with the kids in the damn quarry.” 

“Hey, I'll come if you leave. I couldn't care less about these people. But they keep that RV locked up real tight. It's gonna be a bitch to get into, especially with the rifleman wannabe on top and his gun slingin’ daughter, or whoever the fuck she is to him. Shane's already watching us too much. Let's just wait a while till he stops following me around like I'm some sort of violent nutcase.”

You had unknowingly sealed the fate of many lives with your argument. 

“Gonna go in the city.” Merle said as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, jumping out of his truck bed, careful to not knock over his bike in the process. “Y'all need anything? Tampons?” 

“No.”

“Was askin’ Darlene.”

“Shut the hell up man.” Daryl grumbled and finished preparing his crossbow for his hunt. “An’ no, don't need a damn thing.”

“Get some SlimJims.” Your favorite low cost snack. Growing up in a trailer park gave you a superior taste in snacks, SlimJims and Funyuns being your favorite. 

“Why you want that when I got all the meat sticks you need sugar?” Merle laughed crudely, nearly bumping you over with a sloppy kiss goodbye to your cheek. You smirked and playfully pushed him off, watching as he left with the rest of the supply group. 

“C'mon. Let's go before all the damn squirrels get eaten.” Daryl put his crossbow on his back and you picked up your weapons before following him off into the woods. 

You had good luck that day. Daryl had a rope full of squirrels and you were tracking down a deer he'd sunk a few arrows into. 

“Not gonna need SlimJims no more.” Daryl breathed as the two of you crept silently through the woods, following the trail of bubbly blood. 

“As much as I love your roasted squirrel, it just doesn't have the same kick to it.”

“Never heard you complainin’.”

“Yeah, it's ‘cause I'm not a bitch.”

“You? Not a bitch?”

“Only to people who deserve a good bitchin’.”

“Seems like everyone these days needs a little of that.”

“Hah, yeah. We better get that deer before the dead do, Merle's gonna be hungry as fuck when he gets back.”

You didn't react when Rick Grimes told you he'd cuffed Merle to a roof. You didn't react when it was revealed T-Dog, one of the only people you liked in Shanes group, had dropped the key and left him up there. He'd profusely apologized and you just stared at him, doing everything in your power not to punch him in the throat. 

You did react when you saw Merle's hand on that roof, his body nowhere to be seen. You cursed and shoved Rick so hard he hit the metal side of the fire escape with a bang, and Daryl, eager to jump in, ran to your side with blazing eyes. If it wasn't for the other people there and the guns they held,  you would've killed him that day. Mauled him like the animal you were and left him there just as he did Merle. 

In the absence of his brother, you found Daryl had seemed to subliminally put you in his place, a figure to follow and learn from. Not that you had too much to teach him, but knowing you were the eldest sibling in your family had you fitting into place with him perfectly. 

You guessed you could call Daryl your friend now. You never had many friends, only in elementary school, sticking to yourself most of the time. The kid going to school smelling like cigarettes with the same clothes they wore the day before was never a popular choice for companionship. You never minded it though. The abuse you suffered at the hands of your mother had turned you into a cold and calloused human. Daryl was simply an object of mutual benefit for you back then, a source of company, cigarettes, alcohol. Whatever he could get his hands on. And he was easier to relate to than Merle, who had a good ten years on you. 

But now, he was the only person you had left. Your mother was gone, your precious baby brother God knows where, and your male mentor was still missing, out there with one hand, his state of existence unknown to you. He was most likely dead. Shane's group had quickly become “Rick's group”, and you still held no fondness for any of them. Andrea had formed an odd one sided relationship with you, she craved your status. The group saw you as on level with the men, you never needed gun training like the rest of them, you got to keep your own gun, and no one ever tried to prevent you from doing something you wanted to do. 

It was clear though, none of them really liked you all that much. They treated you like more of an outsider than they had Merle. You couldn't blame them, you wouldn't like someone like you. You were a mean and cold bitch, always keeping to yourself and only viewing them as a transactional business. They provided safety in numbers and you provided fresh kill and a gun. 

One of the only times you behaved like a friendly human being was when you arrived at the CDC. It was hard to recognize you after you showered and cleaned up, washed your clothes and didn't smell like cigarettes or blood anymore. While your clothes were washing you had to borrow some from the former employees, a deep purple sweater and black slacks that somehow fit you perfectly. You caught Shane watching you walk down the hall, and you quickly responded with a snotty face of disgust. 

A stomach full of hot seasoned food and wine loosened you up a bit. You sat next to Daryl and smiled, even laughed a few times, much to the shock of the others. 

“C'mon, one more glass.” Daryl grinned as he filled your cup with more wine before you could object. “Don't be a baby.” 

“Sure thing Darlene.” You snorted as you took a sip, earning an eye roll and a scoff from Daryl. 

“Yeah, keep it up.” He feigned aggression as he downed his third glass. “Won't be so funny when you got teeth in your throat.”

“Not before I lose my boot up your ass.” 

The banter was refreshing. The trip out of the quarry had been exhausting. It felt like you were admitting to failure when you were forced to give up your search for Merle, and oftentimes you debated on stealing his bike out of the back of your truck and going back to find him. But there was always something stopping you, every single time. 

Sleeping on an actual mattress felt amazing. You'd offered to take the couch as a joke, and when Daryl made his way to the bed you dove into the sheets before he could plop down on it. 

“You really are a goddamn bitch.” He slurred and slung his bag at the foot of the couch, falling back dramatically.

“Drink some water before you get a hangover.” You tossed him a fresh bottle from the room fridge, and he begrudgingly downed it. You turned the light off and climbed into bed, groaning at the feeling of the soft and dry mattress.

“You think Merle’s alive?”

You blinked, opening your eyes and looking towards the couch. It was dark, you'd assumed he'd been asleep by then, there had been several long minutes of silence. 

“Yeah. I know he is.” You were surprised by his question. Daryl had always been the one reassuring you of Merle's status, claiming he was impossible to kill, and that he could feel in his bones that his brother was alive. It also made you a bit uncomfortable, you'd never comforted anyone before that wasn't your little brother. Let alone Daryl. The most you'd done for him was offer him sanctuary on your porch and cleaned his wounds if they were bad. 

“Go to sleep Daryl.” 

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