The Waking Dead - Blog Posts

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch. 6

(Hes sitting next to you in this pic :D)

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, slowburn, angst, SMUT Summary: You search for Daryl after Negan's lineup. You didn't understand the trauma he went through, and eventually you decide enough is enough, and you leave. Notes: The last chapter! Somewhat proofread. Filled with tensions overflowing and then some sex. I had a lot of fun writing this and want to thank @louifaith again for allowing me to write out her idea. It's also pretty long because I didn't want to break it into two chapters, it didn't really make sense that way. Longish read, but longish smut at the end if you're just here for sex and want to skip ahead.

When you found out he left on some halfcocked revenge mission, you were pissed. And then you learned nearly everyone else had gone too, you were pissed and confused. 

The rare presence of the others had become more common than the familiar presence of Daryl. He was gone more often than not now, either out with Aaron or off with Rick. Even when he was home, he was never really there. He didn't laugh at your crude insults about others anymore, he didn't want to spend all day with you out hunting in the woods. It looked like was also making an effort to smoke less, often declining your outstretched cigarette. He was the one who got you to smoke once. You used to hate it, but eventually associated the smell of tobacco with him, and you grew to love it.

You couldn't read him like a book like you once did. He'd become overly serious, distant, and uncharacteristically concerned with the well-being of others. 

You had half a mind to just leave. The only reason you hadn't left months ago was Daryl, but the way he was treating you felt like a slap in the face. It hurt. For the first time in so long you hurt. You felt utterly and completely alone, leading you to once again close yourself off from the others, spending all your time hunting or scavenging for substances in the city that could make you feel better. You scored an unopened bottle of painkillers, something you once hated, and drowned your sorrows with a stuffed nose and a foul post nasal drip. 

The savior issue never really seemed like a big deal to you when it first arose. Some asshole raiders trying to make a point, you didn't give a shit. Rick and Daryl would handle it like they always did. 

You took a deep drag from your cigarette as you watched the front gates being opened, two heavy duffle bags over each of your shoulders. You’d come to terms with it, you were leaving, and that was it. You weren't some obedient housewife that didn’t mind the absence of Daryl, you were his best friend and you couldn’t put up with the dramatic emotions anymore. You were fully prepared for the conversations that would ensue, a list of reasons you should stay, maybe some light pleading, so when you saw what came from those gates you froze. 

The muscles in your jaw throbbed as you listened to Rick's pitiful attempt at retelling you what happened, his eyes red and puffy, his hair wet and matted to his forehead. He couldn't, so he gave up, and drug his feet into the house, moving in a way that closely resembled the dead. Carl followed, and you realized Maggie was missing too. Your heart dropped. 

“What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened?” You gaped, looking from face to face, searching desperately for an answer, only to be met with the ghosts of their former selves. You spotted Aaron and realized he was almost never out without Daryl, and your confusion snapped violently to panic. Michonne was really the only one who wasn't too shocked to speak. She told you everything in great detail, her words cold and harsh as she made her anger towards your insensitive behavior well known. Each word she spoke felt like a curse, spitting at you with such venom you'd never had directed towards you before. You deserved it. 

You weren't a good person like them. The deaths of Glenn and Abraham didn't make you cry, go through all the stages of grief and have a mental crisis, in the moment she told you they just felt like problems you’d deal with later, you didn’t have the time. Not when you still had no idea where Daryl was. 

Despite not being a good person, you reacted to the news in a way that was very impressive by your standards. You didn't scream at anyone, or punch Gabriel in the face, you just threw your already packed bags in the car and set off. 

You chain-smoked an entire pack of cigarettes the first hour of searching. You never did find the saviors home, even though you didn't stop searching to sleep the first few days. You found the location of the massacre, a few shredded pieces of clothing and blood stained dirt. You were brought to furious tears at the thought of the scenario where you were in Daryl's position, and him yours. Your first assumption was that he would've already tracked you down by then, him and his one man army breaking you out and taking you far away from the entire state. Then the second, and more daunting assumption, would he even look? Would he be too busy taking care of Rick and the others, the task of rescuing you put on a back burner? 

You told yourself maybe you were just impulsive and stupid, maybe Daryl in that scenario was just being smart and careful, you were just a guns blazing idiot who didn't think far into the future. 

It felt like you'd been out there for weeks, living off a diet of cigarettes and various illegal substances. You nearly stuck a knife in the face of  a woman who was unlucky enough to walk into the same store you were in. 

“No, please, don't.” She sniveled pathetically, her hands raised to the sides of her head in surrender. “I don't have anything. Please. I can take you to my camp, we've got food and water and medicine-”

“Dude, shut up. Just thought you were a walker. Goddamn.” You sheathed your knife and stood back, the tip of your tongue held between your teeth in thought. “But I'm hungry as fuck!”

She took you back to her camp, which was extremely impressive. And just in time, too, your stomach growled noisily and you felt the small waves of hunger nausea begin. 

“Put your gun away, please.” She pleaded in a hush whisper as you stood in front of the wooden gates. 

You looked to her with furrowed eyebrows, your cheeks hollowed out as you pulled on your twentieth cigarette that day. You really needed to cut back. “No.” You muttered around the cigarette, eventually sighing and slinging your rifle over your shoulder with a dramatic eye roll. 

The sight of Rick and Maggie chatting outside with a small group of others felt like you'd been slapped in the face. They looked just as stunned as you were, pausing their conversation. You stood there for about ten solid seconds before the silence finally broke. 

Rick opened his mouth to speak but you raised your hand, stopping him. “Don't have time. Just gonna eat and leave.” 

“Daryl's here.” The sound of Maggie's harsh voice halted your route to the front of the mansion. You couldn't hide the look on your face, an intense ‘this better not be a lie’ mix of anger and disbelief. She pointed up to your previous destination with raised eyebrows and you took off. 

He almost punched you in the face when you jumped him. He was still wet from a shower, littered in various sized bandages and bruises, wearing a fresh set of clothes. He smelled like laundry detergent and cheap flowery shampoos. 

“Holy shit I thought they killed you. Holy shit. Mother fucker.” You babbled into his chest as he squeezed you so hard your back cracked. 

It felt indescribable being in his arms again. It also felt incredibly different. You'd hugged him hundreds of times but something about this particular hug stood out. It was desperate and deep, you didn’t worry about coming off as soft or being too much. Your fingers dug into the sleeves of his shirt around his biceps, your face buried into his chest, and his hands were all over you. He couldn't decide where to touch you, your arms, your face, your hair, your back, they would move from place to place as he cemented into his mind that you were really there, there in his arms, holding and petting him like you'd always done before. His mind flashed with images of him back in that cell and his throat tightened, the slightest whisper of a whimper sounding in the back of his mouth. He held you tighter and kissed the top of your head, rocking you in his arms for a few silent moments as you pulled yourself together. 

“Where the hell you been? Rick said ya left with all your shit.” His voice was tight, the way it would get when he would try not to cry, along with raising in pitch a little. 

You looked up and smiled softly, seeing him through a sheen of wet tears. “Doesn't matter.” You hummed as you stroked his cheek. “Really. It doesn’t. I've been looking for you, only reason I'm here is because some bitch thought I was robbing her and told me about this place. Couldn't keep looking if I was starving.” You buried your face back in the fabric of his shirt and sighed deeply. 

“Told ya, I ain't leavin'. I ain't dyin’ neither.” His warm words in that deep rumble resulted in your racing heart finally slowing its pace. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” You pulled back from his chest to look up at his face. He looked miserable, it broke your heart. He looked away from your gaze, unable to keep eye contact, which was something he never struggled with before when it came to you. “Daryl?”

His head immediately dropped and his forehead collided with your shoulder. Your heart banged against your ribcage and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, stroking the back of his neck and kissing the side of his head while he stifled his soft sobs.

“Let's leave. C'mon.” You parted from him, only to be pulled back by his grip on your wrist. 

“Y’jus’ got here.” Daryl furrowed his brows, his eyes wet with tears that he quickly blinked away.

“Yeah, to eat so I could keep looking for you. I've found you, so let's go.”

“Go where?” 

You gritted your teeth as his grip on you loosened. “Anywhere else, I don't care.” You said through clenched teeth, your gaze intensifying. “We're done with this shit. Not our problem anymore. Let's go. I'm not letting these people get you hurt again. Never, Daryl.”

Daryl had never been the reason you cried, at least, that's what he thought. So when you started cracking at his rejection, his heart shattered. Every bone in his body yearned for him to hold you, bring you back into his arms and make the pain stop. It hurt even more to see that you weren't just upset, you were pissed, disgusted at the fact that you were showing such weakness in front of the same person who made you cry. 

“I gotta. ‘Jus need to do this.” He attempted to comfort you after your rage at your perceived betrayal faded into tears of defeat. “M’doin’ it for us. Ya gotta trust me on this.” 

There was a small glimmer of hope then, and you allowed yourself to feel it. You were desperate to believe him, and desperate to believe everything would turn out alright. Rick and everyone else would deal with Negan, you'd scratch that burning itch for revenge, and everything would be okay. 

Rick did deal with it, that much came true. At the cost of his son's life, he defeated the saviors.

You were more than willing to fight. You’d been dying for a purpose, and being a soldier in the war against Negan was exactly what you needed. You looked like a cheesy action movie protagonist with two long arm guns on your back and two pistols in each hand. You used more ammo that day than you had in your entire life. God. You wished Merle had been there to see you and Daryl. 

You didn't get the revenge you so desperately craved. You absolutely lost it when Negan was defeated. After Daryl decided against killing Dwight, you lunged at the man like a rabid fox, fully prepared to end his life with just your teeth and hands, only to end up clawing and wriggling in Daryl's grasp. You could've gotten over that eventually, it would take a really long time, sure, Dwight was a brainwashed cult member and did what he did because he was told to. And he'd get his, even if you had to restrain yourself. Fine. It’s fine.

But Rick sparing Negan? 

No. Your reaction to that earned you the reputation of the group's feral animal. You shared the same reaction as Maggie, but unlike her giving up after a while of being held back, you ended up earning a matching set of rope bracelets and anklets.

“You'll have to kill me.” Your throat burned as Daryl tossed you in the back of a blue Toyota camry. He nearly had to force Dwight into the passenger seat at gunpoint, the terror in the backseat scaring him more than the thought of death. 

Your spit was red and thick as it smacked onto Dwight's battered face, blending with the blood that made him unrecognizable. He was barely able to get to his feet after Daryl's threat of death if he was to return, blindly picking up the car keys in the mess of blood spattered leaves. 

The relationship between you and Maggie quickly became a deep friendship as you plotted to kill Negan. Neither of you were allowed to see him in his cell without someone to stand guard, but Maggie even moreso. With enough time you were able to get down there alone, gun in hand, only to be stopped by Michonne, who had apparently come for the same reason. 

“I haven't seen you much before. What's your name.” Negan's eyes followed you as you paced back and forth in front of his cell, seething from the fact that Michonne wouldn't let you kill him yet. She had her own unknown motives, which didn't really matter to you, but all this talking was driving you insane. 

“You don't need to know my name.” You muttered, cutting your eyes at the man. “You look so much smaller than I remembered you looking in that field.”

He winced at your words, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Oh, sweetheart. That hurts. Actually, I've been told I'm pretty impressive.”

He watched you as you continued pacing, your hands sweaty and your eyes wild with rage, confusion, and confliction. A smirk spread on his face. “Look at you. Like a lion in a cage. Well, I’m the one in the cage, but. Coulda used a psycho bitch like you. If you were on my side that day, phew!”

You pulled your gun from your waistband and pulled the trigger. Negan raised hands and jumped. Your heart dropped when you were met with an empty click. You inhaled sharply through your nose and pulled out the clip, which was completely empty. 

Daryl. He dragged you out of the basement, thankful he’d unloaded your guns the night before. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were planning. He didn't care that you were pissed, Rick wanted Negan alive, so that's what he was going to stay, even if he did want the prick dead.

It didn't take long for you to pick up on Daryl's trauma. He was good at hiding it from others, nothing much had changed aside from him being quieter. But once your selfish rage had settled you noticed small differences. He slept closer to you at night, no longer on the other side of the mattress, and his nightmares became more violent. He'd thrash in his sleep, tossing and turning and sweating, you found yourself waking him up more times than you could count. Each time he'd get real quiet, maybe from shame, and walk outside to smoke a cigarette. You'd follow him each time and sit quietly on the porch steps, not caring that he didn't offer you a hit. He looked like he needed all he could get. 

You saw him crying with Carol once. His head dipped down and his forehead pressed against her shoulder. If it had been long ago you would've felt hot at the sight, assuming he obviously must've felt closer to her since he hadn't cried like that with you since his capture, but you weren't as shallow and selfish as you once were. Your heart ached for him, wishing he would open up and tell you what happened, you could comfort him too, you wished you could tell him that. 

“Wanna go hunting?” You asked one day, picking up your new hunting rifle, a Savage model 99 that you'd replaced your broken bow with. Daryl shrugged from his spot on the chair beside your bedroom table, not looking up from his work. He was almost always making new bolts in his free time then. He had a pile of twenty-two sitting next to him. 

“Come on, I'm craving venison.” 

He inhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging. 

“Seriously, we haven't hung out in forever man.”

“Hang out?” He said it like you asked him for a ‘playdate’. “What're ya, twelve?”

“No, I'm an adult who misses you, jackass.” You muttered, kicking one of his boots across the floor closer to him. “You've made two hundred arrows in the past week man. I think you can take a break. Yeah, don't look at me like that. I've counted.”

It was when you were alone in the woods that he broke down. You hadn't even asked, he just told you after you took down a buck. He didn't cry at first, he gave a vague retelling, it was only when he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders from behind that he cried. His head hung low as his chest shook with quiet sobs, his hands laying idle and nervous in his lap, his eyes looking down at the stump he sat on. You rested your head in the crook of his neck and held him for a while, your fingers occasionally giving his biceps a reassuring squeeze if his breathing grew too ragged. 

“I'll kill him. I promise. I'll find a way.”

When you were fifteen you skipped school for the first time. Your freshman year, Daryl's too. It was one of the only times you hung out that wasn't just the right time, right place. He was the one who talked you into it, since the two of you shared a history class. He brought cigarettes and a wild assortment of drugs, no doubt nabbed from Merle. 

“We should do this more.” Daryl had said as you walked the power line trails in the woods behind the school. He shrugged when you looked at him, his gaze falling to the grass in front of him. “Hang out, I mean.” 

“Yeah, we should.” You flashed a rare smile, earning one from him as well, the purple skin around his eye wrinkling. 

You never did. You were too busy with school work and getting beat on by your withdrawing mother. Daryl wasn't really busy, in fact, he was alone most of his teenage years. Always alone out in the woods. Sometimes he'd miss school for a week, living in his father's tent deep in the forest, spending his time learning to live on his own. His father never noticed, not until the school called and he got one of the worst beatings he'd ever gotten. You saw him at school a few days after that, one of his last days before he dropped out. 

He looked awful. Busted lips, bruises all over his arms, light purple handprints on his neck, and deep purple blotches around his eyes and jaw. The school called the police, but nothing ever happened. Daryl told them it was from a fight with some kid, and they happily accepted that answer, eager to miss out on the paperwork. 

“We should just leave.” You said after he pulled the cigarette back away from your lips to take a drag of his own. 

“I would.” He muttered as he held the smoke in his lungs, watching the kids in the far off soccer field chasing the ball. His legs dangled off the edge of the school roof, occasionally swinging a bit. 

“I would too.” You wouldn't. Not until you got your brother back. You looked at him, feeling an unfamiliar twist in your heart when you saw the way he flinched under your sudden gaze. “I'd kill him if I could.” 

You truly meant it. Even though Daryl was barely an acquaintance at that point, you would have killed his father if you got the chance. Daryl didn't mean much to you to be brutally honest, you didn't care to form a deep friendship with anyone, but you shared the bond of trauma from parental abuse and that was deeper than any normal friendship. He could leave, never see you again, and you wouldn't be upset, but if you ever had to witness his father touch him it would shatter your soul. 

You promised yourself you'd kill anyone who ever hurt him after that. You almost murdered Andrea when you found out she shot him. You risked being eaten alive by walkers just to make sure the Governor was really dead. You beat Dwight until Daryl dragged you off, if he hadn't done that you would've killed him. 

Things got a lot worse after the day of your failed assassination attempt. Daryl was never home anymore, either at Hilltop or Ezekiel's kingdom. You had reached the point of considering leaving again. The emotional rollercoaster you were going through was taking a heavy toll on your already fucked mental health.

He could see the effect his absence had on you, and it made him feel like shit. There wasn’t much he could do, he had so many responsibilities and he would never ask you to come with him and Rick every time they packed up and went on long trips every five seconds. It felt selfish to him, he didn’t know that you’d be more than happy to accompany him. 

His hands on your tense shoulders as you sat on the edge of your bed did wonders to loosen you up. You set your gun down beside you and looked up to him, forcing a smile. 

“C'mon sweetheart. Wanna show you somethin’.”

He took you on a long walk in the woods to a secluded pond that once belonged to a fisherman, obvious by the raggedy dock and small wooden shack filled with all sorts of fishing tools. There was still homemade canned fish in his cupboards. 

“Gonna stay here for a few days. Jus’ you an’ me.” 

You watched him over your can of trout, chewing slowly. “Really?”

Daryl shrugged and stabbed his fork into his own can. “Yeah. Ya need it.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “We need it.”

Your heart swelled with warm joy, a smile spread on your face and you tried your best to contain the satisfaction his gift had given you. You missed your best friend more than anyone you’d ever missed before after your baby brother. You’d come to terms with the more than likely possibility that he was dead, and so were your parents. It took a long time and many different weeks spent searching when you were back in Georgia. 

You had a fantastic time with him. You fished all morning, talked all afternoon, and ate your fill of fresh and canned fish. It wasn't long before you set up your bedrolls in the middle of the shack and blew out your candles. It felt amazing to sleep next to him again, you couldn't properly put into words how much you missed him. The feeling of his large warm body next to yours as you fell asleep had you thinking that it was all worth it. He was making an effort to spend time with you again, and with that effort came the sparks of hope, hope that you were getting your best friend back.

You woke up the first night spent with him in the fishing shack to see moonlight seeping through the holes in the tin roof. You rubbed your blurry eyes and sat up, propping yourself up with an elbow on the floor. 

“Daryl?” You murmured sleepily as your eyes came to focus in the dim light. His bedroll was still beside yours, albeit empty. You waited a few minutes before walking outside, assuming he just had to go piss or something. 

Ten minutes passed before you walked back into the shack, now carrying a small candle to light the room, cursing when the wax dripped down your knuckles. The amber glow illuminated his bedroll, bringing attention to a small white square. You leaned down and picked up the piece of paper, squinting in effort to read his handwriting. 

The pain in your chest was deep and dark. Growing up you had grown used to being disappointed by your parents and people around you. It never surprised you. Even now you didn’t expect much from people, but Daryl was that exception. So when you read his little apology, claiming Rick called on him through his walkie to request his help in the Kingdom, you decided you’d had enough.

He had been in the Kingdom for about two weeks until you heard from Rick that they were back.

“We're leaving.” You seethed the moment you stepped into your new shared bedroom with Daryl. It was upstairs in one of the apartments in Alexandria, no longer the basement in Rick's house. You had a nice king sized bed, lots of dressers and shelves, a big ass tv, and even a gaming console that once belonged to Carl. Daryl had only slept in that bed three times since you moved in months ago.

He sighed your name and stood from his seat at the table, setting down the disassembled gun he'd been cleaning. “No we ain't. Cut that shit out.” 

“I can't be here anymore. I can't. I can't.” You began hyperventilating as you ripped the dresser drawer fully out, falling to your knees and quickly grabbing the clothes that spilled out. 

“Stop.” When you didn't comply he made you stop, grabbing your wrists and forcing you to look at him. He spoke in that serious tone that felt like a stab to the chest, his eyes burning holes into yours. “I'm not leavin'.” 

You froze at his words. Your mouth opened and your lips trembled, your breath catching in your throat. The words never came to you. You just stared at him with wide eyes and a horrified look of disbelief.

Daryl didn't speak either. He stood his ground, maintaining a firm gaze, his grip on your wrists slowly loosening. 

It hurt. And that made you angry. 

“Who even are you anymore?” You hissed, tearing your hands away from him and shooting up on your feet. “I never see you anymore, you're cold, distant.” He got to his feet, accepting each blow of your words with this calm face that turned your anger into lividness. 

“You promised me you'd never leave me. You promised you'd always be the one thing Daryl, the one thing that wouldn't change, wouldn't leave, wouldn't hurt me, I kept my promise!” Your finger hammered against your own chest in reference. “You say you're never leaving but you already left! I can see it in your eyes, don't look at me like you have no idea what I'm talking about.” Your face burned. “I can see it. The pity, the disdain. The only reason you haven't just kicked me out is cause you feel like you're obligated to me now, or maybe you're scared I'm some loose canon and I'll burn this fucking house down-”

Daryl had heard enough, he lurched forward until he was inches away from you, his nostrils flared due to his increasingly heavy breathing. “You're fuckin’ delusional!” He spat. “You don't think this is hard on me too? Don't think I'd rather be out there livin’ in some cabin with you? That shit ain't happenin’, these people are family. I ain't leavin' ‘em neither. Shit don't mean I don't care ‘bout ya anymore. We ain't in Atlanta, ‘ts not like that anymore. Ain't just me you ‘n Merle.”

“We should've just left. We should've just left.” You repeated in a breathy whisper, your glazed over eyes locked on his chest. 

“Yeah? Well, we didn't, now we can't. Now I won't.” The purposeful enunciation of the last word was the straw that broke the camel's back, and he immediately regretted it as soon as your eyes squeezed shut. “G’damnit.” 

“Fine.” Your breath was shaky, and you resumed packing. 

He found it impossible to stop you, impossible to move. In reality all it would take from him was a simple request for you to stay, but he couldn't even manage that. It felt like watching a fire you started get out of control, he knew he still had the power to stop it, but he was too stunned to move. 

You zipped up the same second duffle bag you'd packed with the same intention on leaving, just as you'd done before. This time though, it wasn't the same. It felt too final. You knew it would be the last time. Daryl did too, and he still didn’t stop you.

You’d set up camp deep in the woods down a dirt road that led to a pond. You slept in your car with your campfire a few feet away, a pot of wild carrots and rabbit simmering over the coals. It smelt amazing due to your stolen beef bouillon cubes, but you didn’t really have the motivation to eat. You flicked away the first cigarette of your last pack and stared into the red hot coals, watching them ebb and glow until the flash of something large and dark caught your eye. 

You stared in disbelief as you watched his figure move through the thick trees, making his way over to your little camp beside the car you'd stolen from Alexandria. He had a heavy bag with him. 

He plopped his bag down next to your fire and sat down, helping himself to a bowl of your stew. He said nothing, not even looking up at you as he finished your supper.

“The hell are you doing here?” 

He looked up at you and sucked the grease from his fingertips, the empty bowl now discarded at his side. You had no idea how he’d managed to get his fingers coated in rabbit fat, it was fucking soup and he used a spoon. “Ts’it look like?”

You couldn't move, your feet glued to the debris of the forest floor. Your mind spun with questions. If he was actually willing to leave with you, leave all those people behind, why had he shut you out? Why had he changed? What changed? 

“I don't want you here. It's an obvious act of charity.” You finally spoke, watching as he lit a wrinkled cigarette. “You told me yourself-”

“Will ya shut up?” He squinted up at you through the burn of smoke. “Jus’ walked six  damn days to find ya. M’not leavin'.” 

You sat on the opposite side of the fire in silence. He scooted around to sit next to you, and held his cigarette up to your lips. You took a weak pull and sighed. After a while of not speaking, you broke the silence. 

“You're so different. Changed so much”

He nodded at your words, his head tilted down to stare at the leaves between his legs. “Had to.”

“Why?” The question burst from your lips so quickly that it surprised you. 

“You.” He took a deep pull off his cigarette and blew it out the opposite side of his mouth to avoid blowing it directly in your face. “This ain't the kind of life you deserve. Tryin’ to get that for ya. That little house ya dreamed of living in, one with a screened in porch for plants ‘n shit. Life that ya ain't spendin’ hungry, cold, scared.”

He paused for a moment, taking another long drag. “Wanted me to be better too. The kinda man to pick ya flowers, take ya on dates, all that stupid shit.” He flicked the spent cigarette into the fire and leaned back against your car door. 

If it was possible, you were feeling every emotion all at once, in such a rapid and disorienting fashion that it looped back around and made you too shocked to feel. 

He delved deeper, explaining that he felt you deserved better than who he once was, Merle’s echo, a loud and angry asshole, then turned into a cold and traumatized shell, never allowing himself to feel vulnerable with you again. When he finally broke out of it and realized exactly what he wanted, he worked on himself in a determined attempt to be the man you dreamed of marrying as a kid.He worked on your surroundings as well, making sure to eliminate any possible threat in every colony that had even the slightest chance of risking your livelihood. But more importantly, he wanted to be yours. The type of husband you described when you were thirteen years old, cleaning the blood from his swollen ear one of the nights he slept on your back porch. 

“I'm not gonna be like my mom.” You had said firmly, tossing away the bloody tissue paper. “I'm gonna get a good husband and I'm not gonna mess it all up like she did.”

“A good husband?” He questioned curiously, wincing as you dabbed his ear with rubbing alcohol. 

“Yeah, like…. He'll take me on dates, open doors for me, buy me cool stuff, uh….” You trailed off in thought. “He's gonna build me a house too. With a screen porch that I can put a hundred plants in, and he won't be allowed to smoke in it. Oh, he won't smoke, actually. Or drink, or do drugs. He'll never hit me or yell at me like my mom did to my dad, and to me. He'll be handsome too. And smart.”

You were brought to the present with a jolt as Daryl’s hand touched your knee, making you jump. You didn't notice your eyes had started watering and you quickly went to discreetly dab them dry. 

“Guess I fucked up. M’sorry. Was a real piece of shit.”

“No,” your voice broke as you stopped him, grabbing his hand on your knee and giving it a squeeze. “Complete opposite of a piece of shit. I had the wrong idea, I should be the one apologizing.”

“Tsh. Nah.” Daryl waved you off and shook his head. “Should’a told ya. Wasn't thinkin' right.” 

The two of you sat in thoughtful silence until the embers began to grow dim. The forest was thick, so even though the sun was visible as it sank lower and lower, it soon became too dark to see properly. 

“My…” you broke the silence, searching for the right word. “Aspirations have changed since then.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Several seconds of silence.

“How'so?”

“Well, I don't care if he smokes, or does drugs, or curses or can't take me out on a date. He doesn't have to build me a house, but that's still an option.” Daryl snorted, and you went on. “But he does have to own a crossbow, ride a motorcycle without a helmet even though I tell him to, and he definitely needs this,” your finger tapped on the skull tattoo on the back of his hand before sliding up his arm to stroke a line down his back, “and these tattoos. And this.” You touched the mole over his upper lip. “And he definitely has to slur all his words together because of his accent.” 

“That's all, huh?” He joked softly, watching you draw your hand away from his face. “Y’got some low standards for a husband.”

“Oh, right, I forgot. He also has to go back to his family, because that's where he belongs.” There was a quick flash of hurt on his face, his lips parting and his eyes narrowing, so you continued. “And because that's where my dream house is going to be built.” 

In all your years knowing Daryl Dixon, you'd never been sexually intimate. You'd never had sex, flirtation only being reserved for playful teasing banter, you'd never really kissed, aside from that one night at the Greene farm. You'd laid with each other multiple times, more often than not sleeping curled up together in the woods or on the floor of some house. Despite never being sexually intimate there was an unspoken mutual understanding of your relationship, you were together, but not in the traditional standard sense. Neither of you ever had interest in a relationship with anyone, that was simply out of the question. Why have a partner when your best friend is everything you need? 

He became your partner at some point, maybe that's why it caused so much anguish to the both of you when you left. But it was only that night that you solidified it. And the next morning, and in the back of the car on your way back, and on the hood of the car, and after your shower back home, and after dinner, on your bed, on the floor, a second time after that, right before bed, and again the moment you woke up. 

It started with a kiss, which just so happened to be his second ever kiss, the first being you in the back of Dale’s RV. You wouldn't have ever guessed, the way he kissed with so much passion and vigor felt akin to a man kissing the same pair of lips he'd kissed his entire life. And you would have never guessed he was a virgin. 

Each touch was as if he was handling precious glassware. He never took off any of your clothes, he'd just gently tug at your shirt until you got the hint and undressed yourself. 

At some point you moved to the back of the car, he laid you down and closed the door behind him. Your soft pants and gasps quickly led to the windows fogging over, and by the end of it there were beads of precipitation dribbling down the glass. 

He led graciously. His fingers were gentle but firm against your clit through your panties, working hard and with determination to give you the orgasm you deserved. He obeyed your requests for ‘circles, ah, softer, to the left, more’, and before long he was a master in the art of making you come. 

Daryl wanted to give you oral, but you quickly pulled him back up, shaking your head as you gasped for air. “N-no, please. You. Need you.” 

It was shocking that he didn't feel embarrassed when he came early. You'd reached down to stroke his cock, only getting in a few strokes before he pulled away with a strangled gasp, spilling his hot cum on your bare stomach. He didn't have time to feel embarrassed because only seconds later you were taking him in your desperate mouth, giving it your all to make him hard again. 

He didn't take long. After stiffening in your mouth he eased your head away, maneuvering you on your back in such an effortless way that it made you look like you weighed nothing. Due to your wetness and unimaginable arousal it didn't hurt at all when he finally pushed in after rubbing his cock all over your desperate slick flesh. 

You cried out anyway. Your jaw dropped and your eyes rolled back, clutching at his bare shoulders when you felt his pelvis fully connect with you. 

“F-fuck.” You groaned as your eyes rolled back, digging your fingers deeper into his skin.

He let out a moan then, a light and vulnerable sound. You could feel him shaking on top of you as he fought not to finish again. It broke your heart, knowing he wanted to have sex with you so badly, to please you like you had him. 

You stayed as still as humanly possible while you waited for him to move. 

Daryl’s breath slowed and he moved, finally. He fucked you slow at first, slow and deep thrusts that managed to bury his dick further and further inside you each time. With each thrust he let out either a shaky whimper or a deep grunt, and soon he was picking up the pace, fucking a moan out of you each time he drove his throbbing cock back inside. 

When his hand connected with the warm skin of your torso you whimpered, tossing your head back against the car seat. His hands stroked your sides, rough and dirty fingers scraping against your nipples and breasts. He gave one a firm squeeze, eliciting a sharp moan from you, one that he eagerly swallowed down with his hungry mouth, kissing you deeply and feverishly. He was breathing heavy through his nose, hot puffs of air sending waves of heat across your upper lip and cheeks.

A rough slam of his pelvis against yours sent the tip of his cock so deep it was almost painful, your gasp choked in your tight throat, your thighs squeezing the life out of his torso. He groaned at how responsive you were, his hot wet lips sliding down your face to start kissing your neck. 

Daryl was quiet in the sense that he didn't say much. He groaned and whimpered, sure, but he hadn’t said a word since entering you. Which was totally fine by you, but you were a sucker for dirty talk. It was one of your favorite parts of sex.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, hoping to get a response. He just grunted, a possible returned compliment, his head not moving from the crook of your neck. 

A noticeable increase in his pacing had all thoughts vanishing from your mind in a puff of smoke. You could feel the side of his jaw clenching against your neck, the skin hot and prickly with stubble, the friction eventually becoming uncomfortable. As if he could read your mind he raised his head and looked down at you, the tip of his tongue peeking between his teeth, looking like a man in deep, oh, deep, concentration. 

“Fu-uh-uck-” You babbled, your heavy eyelids shutting against the brutal force of his thrusts. You grabbed onto his biceps again and held on for dear life, giving them a squeeze each time he gave a really deep thrust. 

“That’s it.” Your heart jumped in your chest at the sound of his voice, it was gravely and sounded from the base of his throat. You felt your lower stomach do that delicious flip sensation, your clit throbbing in response to his voice. 

“Mmm’god.”

“I know. I know.” He breathed, taking a second to readjust himself between your legs before going back to his artistic thrusting. He was grinding against you then, barely pulling out, using the full weight of his hips to force himself as deep as possible while he ground into you. You couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, it was a miracle that a virgin could fuck like that. He was a savant at something he’d never done before. You came hard around his throbbing dick, your walls clenching down so hard that it ripped his orgasm straight out of his body. 

You gasped, your fingers tightening around his flexed biceps as your orgasm shook through you in violent waves. You moved your hips on your own, grinding up and against his pelvis to draw your pleasure  out for  as long as possible. 

Daryl wasn't expecting it, he just came. His jaw dropped and he held onto the nearest body part, which just so happened to be your neck. He didn’t choke you, which came as a slight dismissible disappointment, he just held onto you with his large hands as he finished. It was so sudden and unexpected that he couldn’t control the sounds he made, better for you, he let out this beautiful high moan that sent flashes of Daryl in Atlanta behind your closed eyes. His body shuttered and jerked as every single rope of his cum flooded your insides, coating your vice like walls like spilled paint. 

You didn’t give him time to recuperate. You squirmed under him, swapping your positions, and took his softening cock in your mouth. He groaned under you, grabbing you by your hair to pull you away, only to shudder when he felt his cock growing hard again. You smirked against the tip as he gently pulled you back down.

Halfway through he tugged you off of him, the two of you switching spots once again. You whined when you felt his lips connect with your puffy clit, your mind swirling as he used the flexed tip of his tongue to drift between your slick folds. 

“Oh god, daryl.” You panted and ran your fingers through your sweaty hair to push it back over your head. You were either extremely sensitive due to the two orgasms, or he was an extremely skilled pussy eater. Either way you came fast, clenching your thighs around his head to clamp his mouth tight against you. He didn’t ease up as you came, his tongue and lips pulling tricks you didn’t think possible, drawing out your orgasm longer than any time previously. 

He slid up between your legs, planting kisses from your wet mess up your stomach to your chest. He suddenly bit down on one of your nipples, gentle at first, but the moan that came from your lips had him tightening his teeth.

You were under the impression that he would ease you down from your high with light kisses and soft touches, but apparently, he had other plans. His cock plunged back into you before you had any idea what was happening, and he quickly set a fast and intense pace. His hands slipped around both of your wrists and pulled, using the leverage to both fuck you deeper and keep you firmly in place.

If you could’ve seen the state you were in, you’d be a red hot embarrassed bitch. Your mouth was hanging open, your eyes fluttering between open and closed, sounds coming from your throat that envied any moan and whine to ever come out of a woman's mouth. Your hair kept falling back in your face each time his hips slammed into yours, no matter how many times you hastily pushed it away or tucked it behind your ears. You looked at him for as long as you could, but you were too stimulated, it was too hot, he was too beautiful, you had to let them fall shut as you came again.

As cliche as it sounds, your final orgasm, for that night at least, was world shattering. You didn’t care how loud you were or what types of faces you were making. Your body was completely out of your control, your brain on pause as it struggled to deal with the flood of dopamine and oxytocin. 

Daryl wasn’t looking any better, he’d ran miles before and came out looking more put together. He huffed as he came inside you yet again, his dick twitching with each spurt of cum. He braced himself on his elbows on either side of your body, his head drooping down as he managed a few sloppy thrusts. He muttered something then, something you were too fucked up to make out through his thick and slurred accent.

When he finally drew his red and tender dick out of you his heart seemed to skip a beat. The two loads spilled out the second he withdrew, trickling down your folds and over the swollen head of his dick. That was a sight he’d remember till the day he died.  

You fought to catch your breath after he all but collapsed on top of you. It was pure bliss for a few moments, and then it was too hot and too close. Before you could say anything he lifted himself off of you, still waging his own war against his lungs. 

“Getting old there, huh?” You teased, sliding up into a sitting position after grabbing your panties. Yeah, he's old, it's not the fact you just did the same amount of exercise as swimming across the atlantic ocean.

“Shut up.” He breathed as he wiped his damp hair from his face. 

After a few moments of silence, apart from the sounds of your breathing, you dressed yourselves and began loading all your shit into your car. 

“You really walked six days? No bike, no car?” You questioned as he plopped down into the driver's seat, the flame of his lighter illuminating his face. The smell of cigarette smoke had you leaning over and he pressed the filter against your lips. 

“No bike.”

“That’s kind of stupid.”

“Huh. Rich.” He smirked around the cigarette at you before glancing over his shoulder to watch the dirt road as he reversed.

“Yeah, true.”

Your life wasn’t magically fixed after that night, and neither was Daryls, but it did get a lot easier. You zipped up your coat but your shoes were still full of snow, that kind of better. A lot of shit happened, you had your arguments, but no fights. After RIck died you ran off together looking for his body, for Daryl’s closure, living off in the woods somewhere with a dog that liked to growl at you. He was over possessive of Daryl, and so were you, so the two of you were butting heads often.

He never did build you that house, but you moved into one of the newly built homes in Alexandria. He did build you a back porch, which looked great for someone who’d never built an entire screened in porch before, even if it did look a little raggedy in some spots. He even brought home pots for you to plant ‘shit’ in, as he said. 

Daryl wasn’t home often, which didn't bother you anymore, because you were out there with him. 

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

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch. 6

(Hes sitting next to you in this pic :D)

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, slowburn, angst, SMUT Summary: You search for Daryl after Negan's lineup. You didn't understand the trauma he went through, and eventually you decide enough is enough, and you leave. Notes: The last chapter! Somewhat proofread. Filled with tensions overflowing and then some sex. I had a lot of fun writing this and want to thank @louifaith again for allowing me to write out her idea. It's also pretty long because I didn't want to break it into two chapters, it didn't really make sense that way. Longish read, but longish smut at the end if you're just here for sex and want to skip ahead.

When you found out he left on some halfcocked revenge mission, you were pissed. And then you learned nearly everyone else had gone too, you were pissed and confused. 

The rare presence of the others had become more common than the familiar presence of Daryl. He was gone more often than not now, either out with Aaron or off with Rick. Even when he was home, he was never really there. He didn't laugh at your crude insults about others anymore, he didn't want to spend all day with you out hunting in the woods. It looked like was also making an effort to smoke less, often declining your outstretched cigarette. He was the one who got you to smoke once. You used to hate it, but eventually associated the smell of tobacco with him, and you grew to love it.

You couldn't read him like a book like you once did. He'd become overly serious, distant, and uncharacteristically concerned with the well-being of others. 

You had half a mind to just leave. The only reason you hadn't left months ago was Daryl, but the way he was treating you felt like a slap in the face. It hurt. For the first time in so long you hurt. You felt utterly and completely alone, leading you to once again close yourself off from the others, spending all your time hunting or scavenging for substances in the city that could make you feel better. You scored an unopened bottle of painkillers, something you once hated, and drowned your sorrows with a stuffed nose and a foul post nasal drip. 

The savior issue never really seemed like a big deal to you when it first arose. Some asshole raiders trying to make a point, you didn't give a shit. Rick and Daryl would handle it like they always did. 

You took a deep drag from your cigarette as you watched the front gates being opened, two heavy duffle bags over each of your shoulders. You’d come to terms with it, you were leaving, and that was it. You weren't some obedient housewife that didn’t mind the absence of Daryl, you were his best friend and you couldn’t put up with the dramatic emotions anymore. You were fully prepared for the conversations that would ensue, a list of reasons you should stay, maybe some light pleading, so when you saw what came from those gates you froze. 

The muscles in your jaw throbbed as you listened to Rick's pitiful attempt at retelling you what happened, his eyes red and puffy, his hair wet and matted to his forehead. He couldn't, so he gave up, and drug his feet into the house, moving in a way that closely resembled the dead. Carl followed, and you realized Maggie was missing too. Your heart dropped. 

“What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened?” You gaped, looking from face to face, searching desperately for an answer, only to be met with the ghosts of their former selves. You spotted Aaron and realized he was almost never out without Daryl, and your confusion snapped violently to panic. Michonne was really the only one who wasn't too shocked to speak. She told you everything in great detail, her words cold and harsh as she made her anger towards your insensitive behavior well known. Each word she spoke felt like a curse, spitting at you with such venom you'd never had directed towards you before. You deserved it. 

You weren't a good person like them. The deaths of Glenn and Abraham didn't make you cry, go through all the stages of grief and have a mental crisis, in the moment she told you they just felt like problems you’d deal with later, you didn’t have the time. Not when you still had no idea where Daryl was. 

Despite not being a good person, you reacted to the news in a way that was very impressive by your standards. You didn't scream at anyone, or punch Gabriel in the face, you just threw your already packed bags in the car and set off. 

You chain-smoked an entire pack of cigarettes the first hour of searching. You never did find the saviors home, even though you didn't stop searching to sleep the first few days. You found the location of the massacre, a few shredded pieces of clothing and blood stained dirt. You were brought to furious tears at the thought of the scenario where you were in Daryl's position, and him yours. Your first assumption was that he would've already tracked you down by then, him and his one man army breaking you out and taking you far away from the entire state. Then the second, and more daunting assumption, would he even look? Would he be too busy taking care of Rick and the others, the task of rescuing you put on a back burner? 

You told yourself maybe you were just impulsive and stupid, maybe Daryl in that scenario was just being smart and careful, you were just a guns blazing idiot who didn't think far into the future. 

It felt like you'd been out there for weeks, living off a diet of cigarettes and various illegal substances. You nearly stuck a knife in the face of  a woman who was unlucky enough to walk into the same store you were in. 

“No, please, don't.” She sniveled pathetically, her hands raised to the sides of her head in surrender. “I don't have anything. Please. I can take you to my camp, we've got food and water and medicine-”

“Dude, shut up. Just thought you were a walker. Goddamn.” You sheathed your knife and stood back, the tip of your tongue held between your teeth in thought. “But I'm hungry as fuck!”

She took you back to her camp, which was extremely impressive. And just in time, too, your stomach growled noisily and you felt the small waves of hunger nausea begin. 

“Put your gun away, please.” She pleaded in a hush whisper as you stood in front of the wooden gates. 

You looked to her with furrowed eyebrows, your cheeks hollowed out as you pulled on your twentieth cigarette that day. You really needed to cut back. “No.” You muttered around the cigarette, eventually sighing and slinging your rifle over your shoulder with a dramatic eye roll. 

The sight of Rick and Maggie chatting outside with a small group of others felt like you'd been slapped in the face. They looked just as stunned as you were, pausing their conversation. You stood there for about ten solid seconds before the silence finally broke. 

Rick opened his mouth to speak but you raised your hand, stopping him. “Don't have time. Just gonna eat and leave.” 

“Daryl's here.” The sound of Maggie's harsh voice halted your route to the front of the mansion. You couldn't hide the look on your face, an intense ‘this better not be a lie’ mix of anger and disbelief. She pointed up to your previous destination with raised eyebrows and you took off. 

He almost punched you in the face when you jumped him. He was still wet from a shower, littered in various sized bandages and bruises, wearing a fresh set of clothes. He smelled like laundry detergent and cheap flowery shampoos. 

“Holy shit I thought they killed you. Holy shit. Mother fucker.” You babbled into his chest as he squeezed you so hard your back cracked. 

It felt indescribable being in his arms again. It also felt incredibly different. You'd hugged him hundreds of times but something about this particular hug stood out. It was desperate and deep, you didn’t worry about coming off as soft or being too much. Your fingers dug into the sleeves of his shirt around his biceps, your face buried into his chest, and his hands were all over you. He couldn't decide where to touch you, your arms, your face, your hair, your back, they would move from place to place as he cemented into his mind that you were really there, there in his arms, holding and petting him like you'd always done before. His mind flashed with images of him back in that cell and his throat tightened, the slightest whisper of a whimper sounding in the back of his mouth. He held you tighter and kissed the top of your head, rocking you in his arms for a few silent moments as you pulled yourself together. 

“Where the hell you been? Rick said ya left with all your shit.” His voice was tight, the way it would get when he would try not to cry, along with raising in pitch a little. 

You looked up and smiled softly, seeing him through a sheen of wet tears. “Doesn't matter.” You hummed as you stroked his cheek. “Really. It doesn’t. I've been looking for you, only reason I'm here is because some bitch thought I was robbing her and told me about this place. Couldn't keep looking if I was starving.” You buried your face back in the fabric of his shirt and sighed deeply. 

“Told ya, I ain't leavin'. I ain't dyin’ neither.” His warm words in that deep rumble resulted in your racing heart finally slowing its pace. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” You pulled back from his chest to look up at his face. He looked miserable, it broke your heart. He looked away from your gaze, unable to keep eye contact, which was something he never struggled with before when it came to you. “Daryl?”

His head immediately dropped and his forehead collided with your shoulder. Your heart banged against your ribcage and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, stroking the back of his neck and kissing the side of his head while he stifled his soft sobs.

“Let's leave. C'mon.” You parted from him, only to be pulled back by his grip on your wrist. 

“Y’jus’ got here.” Daryl furrowed his brows, his eyes wet with tears that he quickly blinked away.

“Yeah, to eat so I could keep looking for you. I've found you, so let's go.”

“Go where?” 

You gritted your teeth as his grip on you loosened. “Anywhere else, I don't care.” You said through clenched teeth, your gaze intensifying. “We're done with this shit. Not our problem anymore. Let's go. I'm not letting these people get you hurt again. Never, Daryl.”

Daryl had never been the reason you cried, at least, that's what he thought. So when you started cracking at his rejection, his heart shattered. Every bone in his body yearned for him to hold you, bring you back into his arms and make the pain stop. It hurt even more to see that you weren't just upset, you were pissed, disgusted at the fact that you were showing such weakness in front of the same person who made you cry. 

“I gotta. ‘Jus need to do this.” He attempted to comfort you after your rage at your perceived betrayal faded into tears of defeat. “M’doin’ it for us. Ya gotta trust me on this.” 

There was a small glimmer of hope then, and you allowed yourself to feel it. You were desperate to believe him, and desperate to believe everything would turn out alright. Rick and everyone else would deal with Negan, you'd scratch that burning itch for revenge, and everything would be okay. 

Rick did deal with it, that much came true. At the cost of his son's life, he defeated the saviors.

You were more than willing to fight. You’d been dying for a purpose, and being a soldier in the war against Negan was exactly what you needed. You looked like a cheesy action movie protagonist with two long arm guns on your back and two pistols in each hand. You used more ammo that day than you had in your entire life. God. You wished Merle had been there to see you and Daryl. 

You didn't get the revenge you so desperately craved. You absolutely lost it when Negan was defeated. After Daryl decided against killing Dwight, you lunged at the man like a rabid fox, fully prepared to end his life with just your teeth and hands, only to end up clawing and wriggling in Daryl's grasp. You could've gotten over that eventually, it would take a really long time, sure, Dwight was a brainwashed cult member and did what he did because he was told to. And he'd get his, even if you had to restrain yourself. Fine. It’s fine.

But Rick sparing Negan? 

No. Your reaction to that earned you the reputation of the group's feral animal. You shared the same reaction as Maggie, but unlike her giving up after a while of being held back, you ended up earning a matching set of rope bracelets and anklets.

“You'll have to kill me.” Your throat burned as Daryl tossed you in the back of a blue Toyota camry. He nearly had to force Dwight into the passenger seat at gunpoint, the terror in the backseat scaring him more than the thought of death. 

Your spit was red and thick as it smacked onto Dwight's battered face, blending with the blood that made him unrecognizable. He was barely able to get to his feet after Daryl's threat of death if he was to return, blindly picking up the car keys in the mess of blood spattered leaves. 

The relationship between you and Maggie quickly became a deep friendship as you plotted to kill Negan. Neither of you were allowed to see him in his cell without someone to stand guard, but Maggie even moreso. With enough time you were able to get down there alone, gun in hand, only to be stopped by Michonne, who had apparently come for the same reason. 

“I haven't seen you much before. What's your name.” Negan's eyes followed you as you paced back and forth in front of his cell, seething from the fact that Michonne wouldn't let you kill him yet. She had her own unknown motives, which didn't really matter to you, but all this talking was driving you insane. 

“You don't need to know my name.” You muttered, cutting your eyes at the man. “You look so much smaller than I remembered you looking in that field.”

He winced at your words, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Oh, sweetheart. That hurts. Actually, I've been told I'm pretty impressive.”

He watched you as you continued pacing, your hands sweaty and your eyes wild with rage, confusion, and confliction. A smirk spread on his face. “Look at you. Like a lion in a cage. Well, I’m the one in the cage, but. Coulda used a psycho bitch like you. If you were on my side that day, phew!”

You pulled your gun from your waistband and pulled the trigger. Negan raised hands and jumped. Your heart dropped when you were met with an empty click. You inhaled sharply through your nose and pulled out the clip, which was completely empty. 

Daryl. He dragged you out of the basement, thankful he’d unloaded your guns the night before. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were planning. He didn't care that you were pissed, Rick wanted Negan alive, so that's what he was going to stay, even if he did want the prick dead.

It didn't take long for you to pick up on Daryl's trauma. He was good at hiding it from others, nothing much had changed aside from him being quieter. But once your selfish rage had settled you noticed small differences. He slept closer to you at night, no longer on the other side of the mattress, and his nightmares became more violent. He'd thrash in his sleep, tossing and turning and sweating, you found yourself waking him up more times than you could count. Each time he'd get real quiet, maybe from shame, and walk outside to smoke a cigarette. You'd follow him each time and sit quietly on the porch steps, not caring that he didn't offer you a hit. He looked like he needed all he could get. 

You saw him crying with Carol once. His head dipped down and his forehead pressed against her shoulder. If it had been long ago you would've felt hot at the sight, assuming he obviously must've felt closer to her since he hadn't cried like that with you since his capture, but you weren't as shallow and selfish as you once were. Your heart ached for him, wishing he would open up and tell you what happened, you could comfort him too, you wished you could tell him that. 

“Wanna go hunting?” You asked one day, picking up your new hunting rifle, a Savage model 99 that you'd replaced your broken bow with. Daryl shrugged from his spot on the chair beside your bedroom table, not looking up from his work. He was almost always making new bolts in his free time then. He had a pile of twenty-two sitting next to him. 

“Come on, I'm craving venison.” 

He inhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging. 

“Seriously, we haven't hung out in forever man.”

“Hang out?” He said it like you asked him for a ‘playdate’. “What're ya, twelve?”

“No, I'm an adult who misses you, jackass.” You muttered, kicking one of his boots across the floor closer to him. “You've made two hundred arrows in the past week man. I think you can take a break. Yeah, don't look at me like that. I've counted.”

It was when you were alone in the woods that he broke down. You hadn't even asked, he just told you after you took down a buck. He didn't cry at first, he gave a vague retelling, it was only when he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders from behind that he cried. His head hung low as his chest shook with quiet sobs, his hands laying idle and nervous in his lap, his eyes looking down at the stump he sat on. You rested your head in the crook of his neck and held him for a while, your fingers occasionally giving his biceps a reassuring squeeze if his breathing grew too ragged. 

“I'll kill him. I promise. I'll find a way.”

When you were fifteen you skipped school for the first time. Your freshman year, Daryl's too. It was one of the only times you hung out that wasn't just the right time, right place. He was the one who talked you into it, since the two of you shared a history class. He brought cigarettes and a wild assortment of drugs, no doubt nabbed from Merle. 

“We should do this more.” Daryl had said as you walked the power line trails in the woods behind the school. He shrugged when you looked at him, his gaze falling to the grass in front of him. “Hang out, I mean.” 

“Yeah, we should.” You flashed a rare smile, earning one from him as well, the purple skin around his eye wrinkling. 

You never did. You were too busy with school work and getting beat on by your withdrawing mother. Daryl wasn't really busy, in fact, he was alone most of his teenage years. Always alone out in the woods. Sometimes he'd miss school for a week, living in his father's tent deep in the forest, spending his time learning to live on his own. His father never noticed, not until the school called and he got one of the worst beatings he'd ever gotten. You saw him at school a few days after that, one of his last days before he dropped out. 

He looked awful. Busted lips, bruises all over his arms, light purple handprints on his neck, and deep purple blotches around his eyes and jaw. The school called the police, but nothing ever happened. Daryl told them it was from a fight with some kid, and they happily accepted that answer, eager to miss out on the paperwork. 

“We should just leave.” You said after he pulled the cigarette back away from your lips to take a drag of his own. 

“I would.” He muttered as he held the smoke in his lungs, watching the kids in the far off soccer field chasing the ball. His legs dangled off the edge of the school roof, occasionally swinging a bit. 

“I would too.” You wouldn't. Not until you got your brother back. You looked at him, feeling an unfamiliar twist in your heart when you saw the way he flinched under your sudden gaze. “I'd kill him if I could.” 

You truly meant it. Even though Daryl was barely an acquaintance at that point, you would have killed his father if you got the chance. Daryl didn't mean much to you to be brutally honest, you didn't care to form a deep friendship with anyone, but you shared the bond of trauma from parental abuse and that was deeper than any normal friendship. He could leave, never see you again, and you wouldn't be upset, but if you ever had to witness his father touch him it would shatter your soul. 

You promised yourself you'd kill anyone who ever hurt him after that. You almost murdered Andrea when you found out she shot him. You risked being eaten alive by walkers just to make sure the Governor was really dead. You beat Dwight until Daryl dragged you off, if he hadn't done that you would've killed him. 

Things got a lot worse after the day of your failed assassination attempt. Daryl was never home anymore, either at Hilltop or Ezekiel's kingdom. You had reached the point of considering leaving again. The emotional rollercoaster you were going through was taking a heavy toll on your already fucked mental health.

He could see the effect his absence had on you, and it made him feel like shit. There wasn’t much he could do, he had so many responsibilities and he would never ask you to come with him and Rick every time they packed up and went on long trips every five seconds. It felt selfish to him, he didn’t know that you’d be more than happy to accompany him. 

His hands on your tense shoulders as you sat on the edge of your bed did wonders to loosen you up. You set your gun down beside you and looked up to him, forcing a smile. 

“C'mon sweetheart. Wanna show you somethin’.”

He took you on a long walk in the woods to a secluded pond that once belonged to a fisherman, obvious by the raggedy dock and small wooden shack filled with all sorts of fishing tools. There was still homemade canned fish in his cupboards. 

“Gonna stay here for a few days. Jus’ you an’ me.” 

You watched him over your can of trout, chewing slowly. “Really?”

Daryl shrugged and stabbed his fork into his own can. “Yeah. Ya need it.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “We need it.”

Your heart swelled with warm joy, a smile spread on your face and you tried your best to contain the satisfaction his gift had given you. You missed your best friend more than anyone you’d ever missed before after your baby brother. You’d come to terms with the more than likely possibility that he was dead, and so were your parents. It took a long time and many different weeks spent searching when you were back in Georgia. 

You had a fantastic time with him. You fished all morning, talked all afternoon, and ate your fill of fresh and canned fish. It wasn't long before you set up your bedrolls in the middle of the shack and blew out your candles. It felt amazing to sleep next to him again, you couldn't properly put into words how much you missed him. The feeling of his large warm body next to yours as you fell asleep had you thinking that it was all worth it. He was making an effort to spend time with you again, and with that effort came the sparks of hope, hope that you were getting your best friend back.

You woke up the first night spent with him in the fishing shack to see moonlight seeping through the holes in the tin roof. You rubbed your blurry eyes and sat up, propping yourself up with an elbow on the floor. 

“Daryl?” You murmured sleepily as your eyes came to focus in the dim light. His bedroll was still beside yours, albeit empty. You waited a few minutes before walking outside, assuming he just had to go piss or something. 

Ten minutes passed before you walked back into the shack, now carrying a small candle to light the room, cursing when the wax dripped down your knuckles. The amber glow illuminated his bedroll, bringing attention to a small white square. You leaned down and picked up the piece of paper, squinting in effort to read his handwriting. 

The pain in your chest was deep and dark. Growing up you had grown used to being disappointed by your parents and people around you. It never surprised you. Even now you didn’t expect much from people, but Daryl was that exception. So when you read his little apology, claiming Rick called on him through his walkie to request his help in the Kingdom, you decided you’d had enough.

He had been in the Kingdom for about two weeks until you heard from Rick that they were back.

“We're leaving.” You seethed the moment you stepped into your new shared bedroom with Daryl. It was upstairs in one of the apartments in Alexandria, no longer the basement in Rick's house. You had a nice king sized bed, lots of dressers and shelves, a big ass tv, and even a gaming console that once belonged to Carl. Daryl had only slept in that bed three times since you moved in months ago.

He sighed your name and stood from his seat at the table, setting down the disassembled gun he'd been cleaning. “No we ain't. Cut that shit out.” 

“I can't be here anymore. I can't. I can't.” You began hyperventilating as you ripped the dresser drawer fully out, falling to your knees and quickly grabbing the clothes that spilled out. 

“Stop.” When you didn't comply he made you stop, grabbing your wrists and forcing you to look at him. He spoke in that serious tone that felt like a stab to the chest, his eyes burning holes into yours. “I'm not leavin'.” 

You froze at his words. Your mouth opened and your lips trembled, your breath catching in your throat. The words never came to you. You just stared at him with wide eyes and a horrified look of disbelief.

Daryl didn't speak either. He stood his ground, maintaining a firm gaze, his grip on your wrists slowly loosening. 

It hurt. And that made you angry. 

“Who even are you anymore?” You hissed, tearing your hands away from him and shooting up on your feet. “I never see you anymore, you're cold, distant.” He got to his feet, accepting each blow of your words with this calm face that turned your anger into lividness. 

“You promised me you'd never leave me. You promised you'd always be the one thing Daryl, the one thing that wouldn't change, wouldn't leave, wouldn't hurt me, I kept my promise!” Your finger hammered against your own chest in reference. “You say you're never leaving but you already left! I can see it in your eyes, don't look at me like you have no idea what I'm talking about.” Your face burned. “I can see it. The pity, the disdain. The only reason you haven't just kicked me out is cause you feel like you're obligated to me now, or maybe you're scared I'm some loose canon and I'll burn this fucking house down-”

Daryl had heard enough, he lurched forward until he was inches away from you, his nostrils flared due to his increasingly heavy breathing. “You're fuckin’ delusional!” He spat. “You don't think this is hard on me too? Don't think I'd rather be out there livin’ in some cabin with you? That shit ain't happenin’, these people are family. I ain't leavin' ‘em neither. Shit don't mean I don't care ‘bout ya anymore. We ain't in Atlanta, ‘ts not like that anymore. Ain't just me you ‘n Merle.”

“We should've just left. We should've just left.” You repeated in a breathy whisper, your glazed over eyes locked on his chest. 

“Yeah? Well, we didn't, now we can't. Now I won't.” The purposeful enunciation of the last word was the straw that broke the camel's back, and he immediately regretted it as soon as your eyes squeezed shut. “G’damnit.” 

“Fine.” Your breath was shaky, and you resumed packing. 

He found it impossible to stop you, impossible to move. In reality all it would take from him was a simple request for you to stay, but he couldn't even manage that. It felt like watching a fire you started get out of control, he knew he still had the power to stop it, but he was too stunned to move. 

You zipped up the same second duffle bag you'd packed with the same intention on leaving, just as you'd done before. This time though, it wasn't the same. It felt too final. You knew it would be the last time. Daryl did too, and he still didn’t stop you.

You’d set up camp deep in the woods down a dirt road that led to a pond. You slept in your car with your campfire a few feet away, a pot of wild carrots and rabbit simmering over the coals. It smelt amazing due to your stolen beef bouillon cubes, but you didn’t really have the motivation to eat. You flicked away the first cigarette of your last pack and stared into the red hot coals, watching them ebb and glow until the flash of something large and dark caught your eye. 

You stared in disbelief as you watched his figure move through the thick trees, making his way over to your little camp beside the car you'd stolen from Alexandria. He had a heavy bag with him. 

He plopped his bag down next to your fire and sat down, helping himself to a bowl of your stew. He said nothing, not even looking up at you as he finished your supper.

“The hell are you doing here?” 

He looked up at you and sucked the grease from his fingertips, the empty bowl now discarded at his side. You had no idea how he’d managed to get his fingers coated in rabbit fat, it was fucking soup and he used a spoon. “Ts’it look like?”

You couldn't move, your feet glued to the debris of the forest floor. Your mind spun with questions. If he was actually willing to leave with you, leave all those people behind, why had he shut you out? Why had he changed? What changed? 

“I don't want you here. It's an obvious act of charity.” You finally spoke, watching as he lit a wrinkled cigarette. “You told me yourself-”

“Will ya shut up?” He squinted up at you through the burn of smoke. “Jus’ walked six  damn days to find ya. M’not leavin'.” 

You sat on the opposite side of the fire in silence. He scooted around to sit next to you, and held his cigarette up to your lips. You took a weak pull and sighed. After a while of not speaking, you broke the silence. 

“You're so different. Changed so much”

He nodded at your words, his head tilted down to stare at the leaves between his legs. “Had to.”

“Why?” The question burst from your lips so quickly that it surprised you. 

“You.” He took a deep pull off his cigarette and blew it out the opposite side of his mouth to avoid blowing it directly in your face. “This ain't the kind of life you deserve. Tryin’ to get that for ya. That little house ya dreamed of living in, one with a screened in porch for plants ‘n shit. Life that ya ain't spendin’ hungry, cold, scared.”

He paused for a moment, taking another long drag. “Wanted me to be better too. The kinda man to pick ya flowers, take ya on dates, all that stupid shit.” He flicked the spent cigarette into the fire and leaned back against your car door. 

If it was possible, you were feeling every emotion all at once, in such a rapid and disorienting fashion that it looped back around and made you too shocked to feel. 

He delved deeper, explaining that he felt you deserved better than who he once was, Merle’s echo, a loud and angry asshole, then turned into a cold and traumatized shell, never allowing himself to feel vulnerable with you again. When he finally broke out of it and realized exactly what he wanted, he worked on himself in a determined attempt to be the man you dreamed of marrying as a kid.He worked on your surroundings as well, making sure to eliminate any possible threat in every colony that had even the slightest chance of risking your livelihood. But more importantly, he wanted to be yours. The type of husband you described when you were thirteen years old, cleaning the blood from his swollen ear one of the nights he slept on your back porch. 

“I'm not gonna be like my mom.” You had said firmly, tossing away the bloody tissue paper. “I'm gonna get a good husband and I'm not gonna mess it all up like she did.”

“A good husband?” He questioned curiously, wincing as you dabbed his ear with rubbing alcohol. 

“Yeah, like…. He'll take me on dates, open doors for me, buy me cool stuff, uh….” You trailed off in thought. “He's gonna build me a house too. With a screen porch that I can put a hundred plants in, and he won't be allowed to smoke in it. Oh, he won't smoke, actually. Or drink, or do drugs. He'll never hit me or yell at me like my mom did to my dad, and to me. He'll be handsome too. And smart.”

You were brought to the present with a jolt as Daryl’s hand touched your knee, making you jump. You didn't notice your eyes had started watering and you quickly went to discreetly dab them dry. 

“Guess I fucked up. M’sorry. Was a real piece of shit.”

“No,” your voice broke as you stopped him, grabbing his hand on your knee and giving it a squeeze. “Complete opposite of a piece of shit. I had the wrong idea, I should be the one apologizing.”

“Tsh. Nah.” Daryl waved you off and shook his head. “Should’a told ya. Wasn't thinkin' right.” 

The two of you sat in thoughtful silence until the embers began to grow dim. The forest was thick, so even though the sun was visible as it sank lower and lower, it soon became too dark to see properly. 

“My…” you broke the silence, searching for the right word. “Aspirations have changed since then.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Several seconds of silence.

“How'so?”

“Well, I don't care if he smokes, or does drugs, or curses or can't take me out on a date. He doesn't have to build me a house, but that's still an option.” Daryl snorted, and you went on. “But he does have to own a crossbow, ride a motorcycle without a helmet even though I tell him to, and he definitely needs this,” your finger tapped on the skull tattoo on the back of his hand before sliding up his arm to stroke a line down his back, “and these tattoos. And this.” You touched the mole over his upper lip. “And he definitely has to slur all his words together because of his accent.” 

“That's all, huh?” He joked softly, watching you draw your hand away from his face. “Y’got some low standards for a husband.”

“Oh, right, I forgot. He also has to go back to his family, because that's where he belongs.” There was a quick flash of hurt on his face, his lips parting and his eyes narrowing, so you continued. “And because that's where my dream house is going to be built.” 

In all your years knowing Daryl Dixon, you'd never been sexually intimate. You'd never had sex, flirtation only being reserved for playful teasing banter, you'd never really kissed, aside from that one night at the Greene farm. You'd laid with each other multiple times, more often than not sleeping curled up together in the woods or on the floor of some house. Despite never being sexually intimate there was an unspoken mutual understanding of your relationship, you were together, but not in the traditional standard sense. Neither of you ever had interest in a relationship with anyone, that was simply out of the question. Why have a partner when your best friend is everything you need? 

He became your partner at some point, maybe that's why it caused so much anguish to the both of you when you left. But it was only that night that you solidified it. And the next morning, and in the back of the car on your way back, and on the hood of the car, and after your shower back home, and after dinner, on your bed, on the floor, a second time after that, right before bed, and again the moment you woke up. 

It started with a kiss, which just so happened to be his second ever kiss, the first being you in the back of Dale’s RV. You wouldn't have ever guessed, the way he kissed with so much passion and vigor felt akin to a man kissing the same pair of lips he'd kissed his entire life. And you would have never guessed he was a virgin. 

Each touch was as if he was handling precious glassware. He never took off any of your clothes, he'd just gently tug at your shirt until you got the hint and undressed yourself. 

At some point you moved to the back of the car, he laid you down and closed the door behind him. Your soft pants and gasps quickly led to the windows fogging over, and by the end of it there were beads of precipitation dribbling down the glass. 

He led graciously. His fingers were gentle but firm against your clit through your panties, working hard and with determination to give you the orgasm you deserved. He obeyed your requests for ‘circles, ah, softer, to the left, more’, and before long he was a master in the art of making you come. 

Daryl wanted to give you oral, but you quickly pulled him back up, shaking your head as you gasped for air. “N-no, please. You. Need you.” 

It was shocking that he didn't feel embarrassed when he came early. You'd reached down to stroke his cock, only getting in a few strokes before he pulled away with a strangled gasp, spilling his hot cum on your bare stomach. He didn't have time to feel embarrassed because only seconds later you were taking him in your desperate mouth, giving it your all to make him hard again. 

He didn't take long. After stiffening in your mouth he eased your head away, maneuvering you on your back in such an effortless way that it made you look like you weighed nothing. Due to your wetness and unimaginable arousal it didn't hurt at all when he finally pushed in after rubbing his cock all over your desperate slick flesh. 

You cried out anyway. Your jaw dropped and your eyes rolled back, clutching at his bare shoulders when you felt his pelvis fully connect with you. 

“F-fuck.” You groaned as your eyes rolled back, digging your fingers deeper into his skin.

He let out a moan then, a light and vulnerable sound. You could feel him shaking on top of you as he fought not to finish again. It broke your heart, knowing he wanted to have sex with you so badly, to please you like you had him. 

You stayed as still as humanly possible while you waited for him to move. 

Daryl’s breath slowed and he moved, finally. He fucked you slow at first, slow and deep thrusts that managed to bury his dick further and further inside you each time. With each thrust he let out either a shaky whimper or a deep grunt, and soon he was picking up the pace, fucking a moan out of you each time he drove his throbbing cock back inside. 

When his hand connected with the warm skin of your torso you whimpered, tossing your head back against the car seat. His hands stroked your sides, rough and dirty fingers scraping against your nipples and breasts. He gave one a firm squeeze, eliciting a sharp moan from you, one that he eagerly swallowed down with his hungry mouth, kissing you deeply and feverishly. He was breathing heavy through his nose, hot puffs of air sending waves of heat across your upper lip and cheeks.

A rough slam of his pelvis against yours sent the tip of his cock so deep it was almost painful, your gasp choked in your tight throat, your thighs squeezing the life out of his torso. He groaned at how responsive you were, his hot wet lips sliding down your face to start kissing your neck. 

Daryl was quiet in the sense that he didn't say much. He groaned and whimpered, sure, but he hadn’t said a word since entering you. Which was totally fine by you, but you were a sucker for dirty talk. It was one of your favorite parts of sex.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, hoping to get a response. He just grunted, a possible returned compliment, his head not moving from the crook of your neck. 

A noticeable increase in his pacing had all thoughts vanishing from your mind in a puff of smoke. You could feel the side of his jaw clenching against your neck, the skin hot and prickly with stubble, the friction eventually becoming uncomfortable. As if he could read your mind he raised his head and looked down at you, the tip of his tongue peeking between his teeth, looking like a man in deep, oh, deep, concentration. 

“Fu-uh-uck-” You babbled, your heavy eyelids shutting against the brutal force of his thrusts. You grabbed onto his biceps again and held on for dear life, giving them a squeeze each time he gave a really deep thrust. 

“That’s it.” Your heart jumped in your chest at the sound of his voice, it was gravely and sounded from the base of his throat. You felt your lower stomach do that delicious flip sensation, your clit throbbing in response to his voice. 

“Mmm’god.”

“I know. I know.” He breathed, taking a second to readjust himself between your legs before going back to his artistic thrusting. He was grinding against you then, barely pulling out, using the full weight of his hips to force himself as deep as possible while he ground into you. You couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, it was a miracle that a virgin could fuck like that. He was a savant at something he’d never done before. You came hard around his throbbing dick, your walls clenching down so hard that it ripped his orgasm straight out of his body. 

You gasped, your fingers tightening around his flexed biceps as your orgasm shook through you in violent waves. You moved your hips on your own, grinding up and against his pelvis to draw your pleasure  out for  as long as possible. 

Daryl wasn't expecting it, he just came. His jaw dropped and he held onto the nearest body part, which just so happened to be your neck. He didn’t choke you, which came as a slight dismissible disappointment, he just held onto you with his large hands as he finished. It was so sudden and unexpected that he couldn’t control the sounds he made, better for you, he let out this beautiful high moan that sent flashes of Daryl in Atlanta behind your closed eyes. His body shuttered and jerked as every single rope of his cum flooded your insides, coating your vice like walls like spilled paint. 

You didn’t give him time to recuperate. You squirmed under him, swapping your positions, and took his softening cock in your mouth. He groaned under you, grabbing you by your hair to pull you away, only to shudder when he felt his cock growing hard again. You smirked against the tip as he gently pulled you back down.

Halfway through he tugged you off of him, the two of you switching spots once again. You whined when you felt his lips connect with your puffy clit, your mind swirling as he used the flexed tip of his tongue to drift between your slick folds. 

“Oh god, daryl.” You panted and ran your fingers through your sweaty hair to push it back over your head. You were either extremely sensitive due to the two orgasms, or he was an extremely skilled pussy eater. Either way you came fast, clenching your thighs around his head to clamp his mouth tight against you. He didn’t ease up as you came, his tongue and lips pulling tricks you didn’t think possible, drawing out your orgasm longer than any time previously. 

He slid up between your legs, planting kisses from your wet mess up your stomach to your chest. He suddenly bit down on one of your nipples, gentle at first, but the moan that came from your lips had him tightening his teeth.

You were under the impression that he would ease you down from your high with light kisses and soft touches, but apparently, he had other plans. His cock plunged back into you before you had any idea what was happening, and he quickly set a fast and intense pace. His hands slipped around both of your wrists and pulled, using the leverage to both fuck you deeper and keep you firmly in place.

If you could’ve seen the state you were in, you’d be a red hot embarrassed bitch. Your mouth was hanging open, your eyes fluttering between open and closed, sounds coming from your throat that envied any moan and whine to ever come out of a woman's mouth. Your hair kept falling back in your face each time his hips slammed into yours, no matter how many times you hastily pushed it away or tucked it behind your ears. You looked at him for as long as you could, but you were too stimulated, it was too hot, he was too beautiful, you had to let them fall shut as you came again.

As cliche as it sounds, your final orgasm, for that night at least, was world shattering. You didn’t care how loud you were or what types of faces you were making. Your body was completely out of your control, your brain on pause as it struggled to deal with the flood of dopamine and oxytocin. 

Daryl wasn’t looking any better, he’d ran miles before and came out looking more put together. He huffed as he came inside you yet again, his dick twitching with each spurt of cum. He braced himself on his elbows on either side of your body, his head drooping down as he managed a few sloppy thrusts. He muttered something then, something you were too fucked up to make out through his thick and slurred accent.

When he finally drew his red and tender dick out of you his heart seemed to skip a beat. The two loads spilled out the second he withdrew, trickling down your folds and over the swollen head of his dick. That was a sight he’d remember till the day he died.  

You fought to catch your breath after he all but collapsed on top of you. It was pure bliss for a few moments, and then it was too hot and too close. Before you could say anything he lifted himself off of you, still waging his own war against his lungs. 

“Getting old there, huh?” You teased, sliding up into a sitting position after grabbing your panties. Yeah, he's old, it's not the fact you just did the same amount of exercise as swimming across the atlantic ocean.

“Shut up.” He breathed as he wiped his damp hair from his face. 

After a few moments of silence, apart from the sounds of your breathing, you dressed yourselves and began loading all your shit into your car. 

“You really walked six days? No bike, no car?” You questioned as he plopped down into the driver's seat, the flame of his lighter illuminating his face. The smell of cigarette smoke had you leaning over and he pressed the filter against your lips. 

“No bike.”

“That’s kind of stupid.”

“Huh. Rich.” He smirked around the cigarette at you before glancing over his shoulder to watch the dirt road as he reversed.

“Yeah, true.”

Your life wasn’t magically fixed after that night, and neither was Daryls, but it did get a lot easier. You zipped up your coat but your shoes were still full of snow, that kind of better. A lot of shit happened, you had your arguments, but no fights. After RIck died you ran off together looking for his body, for Daryl’s closure, living off in the woods somewhere with a dog that liked to growl at you. He was over possessive of Daryl, and so were you, so the two of you were butting heads often.

He never did build you that house, but you moved into one of the newly built homes in Alexandria. He did build you a back porch, which looked great for someone who’d never built an entire screened in porch before, even if it did look a little raggedy in some spots. He even brought home pots for you to plant ‘shit’ in, as he said. 

Daryl wasn’t home often, which didn't bother you anymore, because you were out there with him. 

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

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.5

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, slowburn, angst

Summary: You and Daryl grow closer due to feeling out of place in Alexandria. Just when you think you have the old Daryl back, he leaves.

Notes: I think the chapter after this one will be the last chapter, and finally have some cheesy old fashion love making :D Sorry Daryl vanishes at the end tho ):

It never seemed to end for him. In front of everyone else he was silent, emotionless, an empty body on autopilot. But when you'd walk off into the trees to search for water, it always hit him, no matter how many times he'd thought he'd cried out all out and was done with it. 

He clung to you after her death like never before, constantly walking in your shadow and wordlessly begging for some sort of comfort, reassurance, anything. You did the best you could, which ended up being more than either of you expected. You seamlessly morphed into the familiar elder sister role, mirroring the ways you would comfort your bruised baby brother. 

He put a cigarette out on his hand the one time he went off by himself, and not following him was something you came to regret. 

“Daryl,” the whisper of your voice had him cringing, the sound too empathetic and full of concern, he had to fight to keep himself from cracking when your comfort washed over him. 

“I know… I'm not good with words, or shit like this.” You sighed, maintaining a quiet tone, low enough for the sound of rain and the crackle of fire to cover. 

Daryl remained silent as you spoke. He picked at the skin around his fingers, looking down at his hands in his lap, and the sight of your smaller hand lightly touching his wrist makes him jerk. 

“I can't take away your pain, God knows I'd kill every goddamn piece of shit alive to make you feel better.” Your voice turned shaky, and the urge to cry was becoming overwhelming for the both of you. “But... I can promise you, you'll never have to worry about losing me. I just want you to know, I'm that one thing you don't need to worry about. I always will be.” 

Daryl slowly inhaled through his stuffy nose and nodded, the noise dry and shaky, his eyes burning and unblinking from their gaze on your hand. 

“I know.” He finally spoke and nodded again, as if that would magically set it in stone. “Me too.”

Slipping back into your place in the group dynamic was unpleasant after being alone with Gabriel for that long. It wasn't just one person you had to make an effort for anymore, and deep down you despised it. It was almost comparable to going back to school after summer break. You had to play by the rules again, fit into their perfect perception or risk repercussions. 

The discovery of Eugenes lies was all but a surprise to you. You didn't have some wild sense of intuition, you were just a pessimistic person. Although you kept your opinions to yourself, you didn't predict the extent of how deep his lies had been. The cure was a given, obviously, but the fact he lied about being a scientist as well? Lied about the safe place in Washington too? It took everything you had in you not to cave his face in when you saw the look of disappointment on Daryl's face. That's another reason why you hated being in a group. People didn't deserve to be able to let you down, and sure as hell not the one person you gave a shit about. 

People love to parrot that same ‘it has to get worse before it can get better’ bullshit you'd been told by concerned and empathetic authority figures all throughout your childhood. Safe to say it had lost its meaning to you, even when Daryl tried to lift your spirits. 

Well, it sure got better for everyone else. 

You weren't alone in your suspicions about Aaron. For once Rick and you agreed on something, it was a bad idea to go to Alexandria. But the group convinced him to take a chance, that the rewards greatly outweigh the risks, and you watched with a disapproving glare as Aaron led you all past the gates. 

“I'm just going to ask you a few simple questions, get to know you. You don't mind if I record this, do you?” 

You had a feeling your answer wouldn't make any difference, no matter what you said. You shook your head as you watched Deanna turn her video camera on, the big black lens feeling like an intimidating pit waiting to swallow you up if you gave an answer she didn't like. She rounded the couch and sat down, a tight and professional smile on her lips. 

“Let's start with your name.”

You told her your name, trying to behave despite your stomach growling and the sudden awareness that you smelled and looked awful. 

“Where are you from,” She repeated your name. 

“Georgia. Up North.” 

“Did you work?”

“No.”

“What were you before the outbreak?” When you didn't answer, she elaborated. “Were you a student in school, staying at home, traveling…?”

“After high school I stayed home for a couple years. Took care of my mom.” 

“I understand you're close with Daryl, is that right?” 

You must've visibly reacted to that question, because even after you answered, she pressed for more information.

“Did you grow up together?”

“Kind of, we weren't really friends or anything. He lived nearby and I'd see him around.”

Deanna nodded as if she was your therapist listening to some deep-seated trauma. 

“Did you ask anyone else these questions?” You scratched the back of your arm, beginning to feel uncomfortable. 

“I ask everyone all kinds of questions. I want to get to know you all, it's not an interrogation. You don't need to answer any that you don't want to.”

She finally changed the subject to your relationship with Rick's group. Not that you were eager to talk about it, but at least she wasn't grilling you on Daryl anymore. 

“I've been here since before Rick came and took over. Back in Atlanta. Daryl and his brother Merle came to get me when it happened. I thought maybe they were having some bad trip or somethin'. Ran into my house yelling about dead folks coming back to life and eating people. If it wasn't for them, I'd probably be dead too, but, I think they mainly came to get me because they knew my mom had a stash of cigarettes and drugs.” You were chuckling as you spoke, not realizing you had given up so much information without her even asking. You instantly shut up, the amused smile leaving your face. 

“How do you get along with other members of your group?”

You cringed at the phrasing. They weren't your group, they were Daryl's people, you were just a temporary guest without a set time to leave. 

“Fine. Haven't heard any complaints. Have you?”

“No. But I have heard you don't work well with others.” 

You shrugged. 

“Do you want to be here?” The way she would use your name at the end of every few sentences was starting to get under your skin. 

“I'm kinda stuck with wherever Daryl wants to be.” 

Deanna ended the interview after a handful of other unimportant questions and you were allowed to leave, led to your new house by one of her son's. 

You took the longest and hottest shower of your life, only getting out when Abraham started pounding on the door. It brought back that same feeling of anxiety you'd get when your mother would bang on your locked door in a fit of anger. You nearly ran him over when you burst out of the bathroom, making him drop his change of clothes and call out a disgruntled complaint. 

“Who the hell is this?” 

Daryl looked up from his bag to see you looking down at him, a teasing grin on your fresh face. The image of you being all cleaned up had him momentarily stunned. It had been a while since either of you had seen each other clean like that. 

“Daryl? No way, where's your grease?” You toyed with his damp hair before sitting next to him on the floor near the fireplace, where he'd decided to sleep for the night. 

“Nah, I don't know you. Ya don't smell like bloody rabbits.” He retorted, leaning in to dramatically sniff at you. “The hell is that? Shampoo?”

“Uh, it's shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion, and toothpaste.” You replied, giving an exaggerated smile to show your clean teeth. 

You shared a few chuckles and jokes as the rest of the group cleaned up and prepared for bed. Even though you couldn't stand the place or the new people in it, the prospect of having your own room with an actual bed had you buzzing with excitement. 

Sleeping next to Daryl wasn't anything out of the ordinary for you. It was an arrangement that happened more nights than not. But sleeping next to Daryl in a safe house, wrapped in clean clothes, soft blankets, and not even the slightest whiff of the outdoors? It was overwhelming. 

You turned on your side to face him, watching as he stared up at the ceiling, the dark room filled with the familiar ambiance of gentle snoring and breathing. Daryl always slept after everyone else, and that night was no exception. 

Despite your instincts telling you not to, you wiggled on the blanket to move closer to him, nuzzling your face in his nearly dry hair, closing your eyes as you inhaled his clean scent. 

He stiffened at first, an automatic reaction which soon faded and he relaxed, tilting his head until his cheek rested against your forehead. He could barely feel the warm tickle of your breath under his jaw, the feeling soliciting a subliminal relaxation. His eyes closed then, and he listened to the barely audible whistle of your nose. He listened as the whistle got softer, slower, and nearly disappeared altogether as you fell asleep. 

Daryl made sure to untangle himself from you the next morning, before anyone else had the chance to wake up and witness your private bond. No one deserved to see that part of him or you, it was intended for the two of you alone, something deeper and more personal than anyone would understand. 

Adjusting to being around people was a challenge that went all the way back to school. Even in Atlanta you struggled with it, going from being a hermit with your sick mother to an adult in a large group of people, it felt like your first day of school all over again. 

That was all nothing compared to being in Alexandria. Not only were you surrounded by people that annoyed you, but another larger group of people you knew absolutely nothing about. 

They bestowed heavy responsibilities on you as well. It wasn't just scraping by washing clothes and hunting, it was work. Hard work. Wall building, gardening, work inside Alexandria, work outside their walls, near constant supply runs, and cooking. 

Parties. Pasta for dinner. A seemingly limitless flow of sparkling amber champagne. Some kid was walking their fucking pet dog on the sidewalk. 

It felt insulting. Their first impression on you firmly implemented your personal views towards them. Spoiled, weak, wearing faces of false persona, wives chittering like hens with warm knowing smirks. Husbands and men who always smiled like the sun, going out of their way to do things they considered nice for you, then putting on a somber and humble face if anyone had praised their hard work, dedication, and sacrifices. Sacrifices that basically ensued going to the grocery store. 

You hated it. You hated them, you hated their kids, you hated their houses that looked like mansions to you, and you hated the way Rick's group treated it like they'd walked through the bright pearly gates and not the glorified pretentious prison that it was. 

To your relief Daryl didn't quite like it either. 

“They invited us to what?” You didn't believe him when he said it to you as he stared around your new room. 

“Said it was a welcoming party.” He grunted, fingers picking at the edges of a tacky poster of a puppy on the wall. 

“A party? What do you mean a party?” 

“Dunno.” He sighed, throwing his hands up in muted exasperation. “S’jus what she said.” She being Deanna, the same woman who took away your guns, which yours had grown to be quite the impressive collection. But you being your hardened and sneaky self, you'd managed to smuggle two of your handguns into your room. Daryl got to keep his crossbow, of course, and you your own recurve bow, it was the bare minimum aside from your knives, which the others were allowed to keep as well. Sadly, you'd end up breaking that bow a few days later by slinging it at Pete's head.

“And everyone's going?” You pressed on from your seat on the bedroom dresser. 

“Dunno. Goddamn, told you what she told me, you know s’much as I do.” 

You went to the party. Of fucking course you would, they had full on meals with all the food groups, they had alcohol, they had little appetizers and finger foods you'd only ever seen on tv and in magazines, you'd be an idiot not to. The only con was the house was stuffed with people. You could barely make it two steps without bumping into a new face. 

You didn't stay long at all, leaving the second your stomach felt full, and you had a decent buzz going on. You snuck out the back door and snagged the half empty bottle of champagne on your way out. 

“Ya went?” Daryl was surprised to see you walking down the sidewalk in new clothes. The black button up hung a little loose on you, the sleeves bunched up around your elbows, the hem falling all the way past your ass. 

“I may not like those people, but they make some damn good casserole.” You snickered, popping out the metal reusable cork and taking a deep drink. 

Daryl grabbed the bottle from your outstretched hand and downed nearly the whole damn thing in three gulps. 

“Yeah yeah. Go on, help yourself.” 

He gave a weak grin at your playful scoff before handing the bottle back to you. 

“You remember what I said back in Atlanta.”

You looked to your side at Daryl as the two of you walked down the dimly lit path back to your new residence. “Gotta be more specific.” 

“Bout takin’ their shit an’ hauling ass outta there.” 

“Yeah. One of my biggest regrets is talking you out of it.” You sighed, your tone no longer playful and lighthearted. “We could be all the way across the country by now. Would still have Merle bitching out ears off and ranting about some racist conspiracy theory.” 

Daryl suddenly chuckled. “You ‘member that time he was tryin’ to come up with slurs for walkers?” His amused grin spread further when you erupted into laughter at the memory. “What was it he called ‘em? Rotters? Pus-suckers?”

“Yeah, those were some of the tamer ones.” At the time you'd been annoyed by Merle's constant need to remind you that the three of you were better and more superior than anything and anyone around you, but all this time without him and his humorous outlook on life, you missed it. You even missed when he'd belittle you, at the end of the day he still was sexist, despite the obvious care he held for you. 

“Why'd you ask though?” 

“Dunno.”

“Daryl.”

“Everyone's safe now, ain't gotta worry about ‘em anymore.” 

You kept quiet as he fought for the words to convey his thoughts. It was obvious he felt like the odd man out again, it was impossible not to, in a place as nice as Alexandria. The rest of the group had effortlessly slipped into their places in the new environment, if you were an onlooker, it would look as if time had frozen in place for the small neighborhood and its citizens. 

But Daryl, and you, it wasn't easy like that. You never had a normal life like this, so you had no default state to regress to. Daryl had only changed a little since the start, and you hadn't changed much at all. Your skin felt like it was burning with electricity at the insinuation in his words. 

“I'll go wherever you go, you know that.” You nodded firmly. “Just say the word.”

He ended up going to Carol with his vague plan, and then Rick. You don't know what they said to him, but the next morning he told you he wanted to give it a few days before he made his decision.

You should've just made the decision for him. You should have grabbed your stuff, packed your bags, and stole one of their cars and left. Because a few days turned into a hell of a lot longer. 

It wasn't all bad, the two of you grew even closer due to his feelings of being an outcast once again surfacing. It was the same for you, which caused you to cling onto him tighter than before. You slept on the same ratty mattress in your room, sometimes cuddling, but most of the time on separate ends.

You watched more people die around you, which was something you'd become bitterly accustomed to. Aiden, one of Deanna’s sons, and Noah, who you'd never spoken to before. Rick made some trouble for himself getting wrapped up in the wife of the town surgeon, and all hell broke loose after that. Pete lost his shit and accidentally killed Deanna's husband, and Rick killed Pete. As if there hadn't been enough blood shed, a hoard of walkers became an issue just as things started to calm down. 

You didn't like the role that'd been assigned to you. You were being seen and tasked as a protector, sent out by Rick with Abraham and a handful of others to build strategic walls for his master plan of relocating the hoard. 

Another thing you didn't like was the way people's views towards you changed. People who once never even spared you a second thought were speaking to you, making an effort to get to know you, and it was just as unsettling as that time Rick invited you over for dinner. 

“Too pretty to be so sad all the time.” Abraham had said once as you dug a hole for the wooden pillar. 

“I'm not sad.” You muttered, stepping back as three men lifted the wood into the hole. You poured in the instant concrete and took your gloves off to get a drink of water.

“So you just always have that sour look on your face then, huh?” 

“Only when I'm around people I don't know.” Or like, you thought to yourself. 

“I've known you for how long now? Course you know me. And Sasha, and Rosita, and-”

“You're people I'm stuck with. Doesn't mean I know you.” 

“Tsh.” He snorted, folding his massive arms across his equally massive chest. “So you're just a bitch then?” 

“Yeah.” 

One would think that conversation would've been enough to get the point across. No, sadly, it only made things worse. Rick ended up giving you jobs with more people, and you quickly caught onto the convenient way Daryl was almost never in those assigned groups. 

Rick was in charge, that was undebatable, but he wasn't in charge of your free will. You did your work as he asked, most of the time faster than expected, and spent every second of your free time with Daryl, even if it meant pulling four different jobs a day. 

It worked like that for a while, and eventually you did begin to change. Not you exactly, moreso your attitude had changed. You became less closed off, no longer baring teeth and claws as a constant warning. You actually enjoyed spending time with Abraham, as he was one of the only people that called you out for being shitty, he wasn't scared of your mean mug or the harsh bite of your words. It wasn't just Abraham you started to like. Maggie, Carol, Rosita, Michonne, and sometimes Tara, the small group shifted from strangers to acquaintances, some would call you their friend. They'd eventually worn down your hard exterior and you experimented a little with conversation and generosity. Carol was the exception, it was you who had to pursue her. Trying to become genuine friends with her was hard, it made you realize how hard everyone else had been trying with you. 

You even started decorating your room a bit. Nothing fancy, just a few homemade shelves and displays for your numerous weapons. You made a special one above your futon, the only object it held was the small gold tinted shell of a used bullet. 

All good things must come to an end. 

You sat alone in your shared room for the third night in a row, silent on your lumpy mattress, your eyes burning in effort to hold back tears. 

He hadn't even told you he was leaving. 

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

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.4

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, slowburn, angst

Summary: Daryl starts changing, and Beth brings up the embarrassing memory of your kiss with Daryl back at the farm. The Governer has his final attack, and you crash at a church.

Notes: Starts with Beth at the prison, flashback to super awkward kiss with Daryl, ends with Beth at the hospital. ):

The change was subtle at first, but that doesn't mean you didn't notice it. You just ignored it in the desperate hopes that it wouldn't get any worse.

You had quite a few months of peace. Maybe half a year? You couldn't be sure at that point, but you did know that spring had turned to fall, and with it the idea of permanently residing in the prison becoming something you were content with. You still kept to yourself and Daryl, but you did pick up some extra chores. Instead of the bare minimum you chose jobs you could do outside, or jobs Daryl had taken. If you weren't tending to the gardens, you were with him in the woods, hunting or scavenging, even foraging on the occasion when prey was scarce. 

“Are you and Daryl together?’ Beth had asked so bluntly that you didn't have the mental capability to laugh or curse her out. You stopped picking cherry tomatoes and furrowed your brows in confusion. 

“Why would you ask me that?” 

Beth had a tight and timid smile, shrugging her shoulders and placing another cucumber in her basket. “You two are always around each other, that's all.” 

You shook off the feeling of vulnerability and sucked your teeth. “No. He's just the only one around here who I can stand.”

“Can you stand me?”

You looked at her over the row of chest high plants, seeing her hesitant expression. “Yes. I wouldn't’ve let you join me if that wasn't the case.” It wasn't a lie, you didn't mind being around Beth, even if you think she was the one of the weakest and most naive. Eventually you'd come to the realization that you had her all wrong, in fact, she was stronger than you. At least in the sense of emotional capability. 

Later that week she would end up giving you unwanted advice. She claimed that building walls and keeping everyone out besides yourself would kill you one day, much like the real world, you needed to allow yourself to rely on and trust others. You'd grow angry at her then, lashing out and telling her to mind her own business, you didn't need a therapist. She soon managed to turn into the first person you would apologize to and seek forgiveness from. 

Her questioning of the relationship between you and Daryl had your mind wandering to that night back at her fathers farm.

It was late. Daryl was still recovering from his gunshot wound but he wanted out of that damn house, so he settled for the next best thing to his tent, the back of the RV. Carol insisted he stay nearby, which you agreed to silently, and he begrudgingly accepted. 

You brought him a plate of dinner and sat in the chair next to him, sliding it over before taking one of the small boiled potatoes and popping it in your mouth.

“The hell you wearin’?” 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Both pairs of pants were dirty and i didnt feel like walking around camp with my ass out.” You glanced down at the modest dress you’d been leant. You didn't mind it all that much, it was scratchy and tight, but it was kind of pretty. It was a warm yellow dress that ended below your knees with little white flowers and dots. You never really got to wear dresses growing up. 

“Huh.” Daryl muttered and raised an eyebrow at the imagery, raising his fork of chicken and carrots to his mouth. “Yeah. Don’t need another reason to knock Shane on his ass.”

“Shane? He hates me.” You snorted. “Would probably put a bullet in my skull if he could get away with it.”

“He’s still a man. Don’t matter how you feel about a woman, s’all the same seein’ her naked.”

“Ew, Daryl.” 

“S’true.”

“Yeah? What about you? You wouldn’t see me that way.”

Daryl’s eyes shot up from his plate. He was silent, and that alone had your heart racing, your lips parting, your mind swimming in hundreds of different thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak. 

“I ain’t no pillow biter.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“Means I’m not a homosexual. Course I’d… can ya jus’ shut up?”

“I wasn't even speaking.” You tried not to laugh at the way Daryl said the word homosexual, like it was some exotic foreign mystery to him. It wasn’t hateful or disgusted in the way his brother would refer to them. 

It was quiet for a moment before you noticed he was wincing when he’d chew. 

“You hurting?” You asked, already reaching in your side pouch for the small baggie of painkillers Hershel had given you to give to Daryl when needed. 

“Nah. M’fine. Quit worryin’ so much.”

You scooted around the table until you could squeeze in beside him. He grunted in annoyance and slid over to give you more room, his eyes on the hem of your dress at your knees.

“Surprised you haven't scratched that thing off already.” You snorted and reached out to gently peel the bottom of his bandage up after he gave you a nod of approval. “Lookin’ good. Another surprise.”

“Ain’t no damn dog, haven’t been touchin’ it.” He rolled his eyes, trying not to feel uncomfortable  with the way your thigh pressed against his. After all these years of knowing you, feeling perfectly comfortable snuggled all up with you in the same tent, now was the time his body chose to acknowledge the fact that you were a woman?

He begrudgingly took the two small white pills from your hand and crunched them up in his mouth. He was eager for the painkillers to hopefully kill what little libido he had in him. 

It did its job, taking away the aching and throbbing from his skull, warming his body and reminding him why Merle used to love those things. He was suddenly optimistic, relaxed, filled with a fuzzy warm feeling of euphoria. Daryl cleared his throat and drug his eyes up to your face, watching as you snuck a stolen blueberry past your lips.

He acted without thinking and kissed you. It was clumsy, weird, awkward, all the things you’d expect from a boy's first kiss. You didn't move at first, your eyes wide and your hand hanging midair. You were too stunned to move. 

Daryl pulled back as if he’d been slapped. He muttered something, his face hot and red, waving his hand to signal you to leave. You were still too stunned to move. It took him raising his voice for you to snap out of it, dozens of thoughts and emotions flooding you all at once, fear, regret, hope, a stomach full of butterflies and your heart stuck in your tight throat. You muttered an apology before leaving.

Life loves giving you the shit end of the stick. 

That was another one of your problems, due to your near constant state of being a real victim growing up. Life had groomed you into an unhealthy behavior of always thinking you were the one who had it the worst, no matter what.  In reality you had it pretty good. After the Governors final attack you weren't one of the unlucky many that went through further trauma. You found a church after a while of being by yourself and broke into it. 

It was just your luck that the only human inside of it was a cowardly priest. He was thrilled to have someone like you with him after being alone so long, even though he didn't show it, you were a skilled hunter and offered food and protection in exchange for secure shelter. He also appreciated that you didn't speak much, and never questioned the suspicious markings and scratches around the exterior of all the windows. 

He'd complained once about your use of language in the church, and you responded by a snarky middle finger. 

You could've used a good wake up call, as sick as it was to say. Maybe if you'd been in Daryl's place, growing close to a girl such as Beth and then losing her, maybe you would've changed. Or if you were in Michonne's place, forced to watch the boy you'd come to love dance a hair away from one of the worst fates possible. Shit, maybe even Maggie, maybe if you were the one who had to go through hell and back to find your husband, maybe then you'd go through the emotional torture you so desperately needed for positive character growth. 

Life didn't work that way though, and you had it easy. So easy that the boredom was quick to become your hardship. 

“You got any booze here?” You asked as you laid on your back beside him in the pews, sharpening your clip point knife on Daryl's borrowed whetstone. 

“No.” He answered quickly, not looking up from the Bible in his hands. 

“Cigarettes? I'll be out soon.”

“I don't smoke.”

“Any of your old prescriptions? I know your type, I bet your bathroom cabinet was full of valium.” You took a jab at his timid and nervous personality.

“I'm sorry, no… I don't like taking pills. I don't even take Advil for headaches-”

“Do you have anything here that'll keep me from blowing my brains out?” 

Gabriel looked up then, holding a look of surprise and distaste that he didn't even try to hide. “I… I may have some games from the children's Sunday school classes.”

To the shock of both of you, you nodded after thinking it over for a moment. Gabriel hadn't expected that answer, but he got up and led you to the room anyway.

Neither of you believed that night would be the night that you started to like each other. The boredom had grown so unbearable that those stupid little games he had seemed like playing San Andreas on your father's PlayStation 2 for the first time all over again. It wasn't just the first time Gabriel saw you laugh, it was the first time you'd actually laughed in a long time, and it wasn't at the expense of others, you genuinely had fun. 

“I could teach you.” He had said after you made a joke about going to the darkest depths of hell after smoking and swearing in church. 

“Teach me what?” You snorted, flicking ash from your cigarette.

“About the Bible. How to change.” 

You laughed then, shaking your head. “I don't know, father. Don't think so. But, if you'll let me, I can teach you how to make meth.”

His eyes widened. “W-what? You know how to do that? No, I- no, what?”

“Just a joke. I'd hate to see you on crystal. You're already so jittery and anxious.” 

He grinned sheepishly then and you had a good night. A great night. 

All it took was reuniting with Daryl to snap you back to reality. 

You'd searched for him as long as you had daylight every single day since arriving at the church. Even though the first few days most of your time outside was spent hunting, searching for signs of Daryl or his group was your main priority. Catching rabbits and squirrels was just lucky for Gabriel. 

It was off putting having Gabriel return with nearly the entire inner group on your doorstep. Your arms were covered in squirrel blood and you had twigs all in your hair, swinging open the church doors with your boot, a cigarette hanging between your lips. The skinned squirrel dropped from your grasp as you saw them, over a dozen faces all turned to you, all at once. 

Daryl hugged you with an exhausted yet relieved grin on his lips. You remained frozen, too confused and shocked by their sudden arrival. He ended up having to move your body out of the doorway so everyone could enter. 

“Was starting to think I lost you for good.” You commented as you stabbed a plastic fork into your hot can of peaches, stretching your legs in front of the campfire. 

“Nah. I told ya, I ain't leavin’.” 

“So, what happened? You all get on the bus and leave my sorry ass?” You teased, enjoying the sweet taste of fruit, even if it was canned. 

Daryl gave you the rundown, about Beth, the group he stuck with, going to Terminus, and the new members who claimed their guy was a big shot fancy scientist who had a cure.

“That's bullshit if I've ever heard it.” You tried to ignore the gnawing in your chest at the information that Beth had been taken. That was just another sick and uncomfortable reminder that Daryl was truly it for you. Everyone would leave, but not Daryl. Never Daryl.

“I dunno. Seems pretty legit.” Daryl grunted, finishing one of the squirrels you'd caught earlier that day. “So what happened?”

“What happened?”

“Yeah, after the shit show. What happened?”

You sighed, impaling your last peach slice. “I walked for a real long time looking for you. Found the church and busted in, this guy was cowering in the back with his ass half way through the floorboards.” You pointed over your shoulder at Gabriel, who was so nervous speaking to Rick you could see his fingers twitching. 

“And I never left. Used it as a place to sleep without bugs crawling up my nose or walkers nibbling my feet.”

Daryl snorted, staring off into the flames of the campfire before asking another question. “You look for me?”

“I tried.” You chose to leave out the part where you ‘tried’ twelve hours a day, seven days a week. “Couldn't find a damn thing. No human tracks besides ole boy. Needs a little less Bible preaching and a little more stealth training.” You paused then, looking at Daryl, who was still staring  off into the flames. “Did you look for me?”

“For a while, yeah. Me and Beth.” It took him a moment before he went on. “Lotta shit happened after that. But I kept lookin’. Was lucky we ran into your friend there surrounded by walkers. Made lookin' a lot easier.” He chuckled dryly and you nodded. You suddenly thought about Daryl back in Atlanta, back at the farm. The way he looked for Sophia, day and night, subconsciously using her as his redemption for not being able to find Merle. Did he look for you the same way? Or was it a more of a ‘keep an eye out’ type of search? 

Deep down you knew the answer. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. 

You didn't have Daryl back long before he was gone again. He came back a while later with yet another new human, some scrawny kid claiming he knew where Beth was. 

It was surprising to you that Rick didn't suggest you just stay back at the church. He actually insisted you accompany them on their search for Beth. That was until you realized Carl and Judith would both be left behind with Gabriel, which would have left you as one of the only adults. That pissed you off a little, giving you the impression that he thought of you as some psychotic loose cannon, or that you weren't capable of protecting them. After you cooled down you accepted the fact that you wouldn't trust someone like you either to watch your only two children, the last thing he had of his late wife. 

Rick had come to slightly regret bringing you when you tormented one of the ‘cops’ they were keeping hostage, blowing cigarette smoke in his face while he was immobile and randomly smacking a handkerchief against his face to annoy him. Rick must've said something to Daryl because instead of thinking your antics were absolutely hilarious, he discreetly pulled you aside and told you to ‘leave the damn man alone’. 

Blowing a little smoke in someone's face was nothing compared to what you wanted to do when you watched Beth get shot in front of you. 

It had only hit you that day when you finally saw your sweet pain in the ass again, you felt optimistic, relieved, her positive attitude was something you deeply needed. It was quickly replaced by feral anger, hissing, spitting, biting, clawing, the feeling of arms belonging to Tyreese wrapping around your torso to drag you away from the bloody mess you'd made of the nearest cop. 

You were grateful for your rage, it was so strong and numbing that you weren't able to cry. 

Oh, but how Daryl cried. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.3

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

Summary: You reminisce on the old days spent with Merle and Daryl.

Notes: This is mostly flashbacks to life growing up with Daryl and Merle, the good ole days :D Merle says some homophobic and probably racist stuff, cause he's Merle

“Dude, just go apologize, holy shit. You're worse than the teenage girls I went to school with.”

“Mind your own goddamn business. S’between me and Merle.” 

“He's got a point. You're acting shifty as hell. What happened to leaving? Huh? We've got Merle back, nothing's changed, these people still see us as redneck trash, can we just go already?”

“Said mind your business.”

Hindsight is a bitch.

You were five years old when you met Daryl and Merle for the first time. Unless your memory served you wrong, it was the fourth of July, and the trailer park was getting together to set off a bunch of illegal fireworks. You were sitting with your family as your neighbors got everything ready, a few of them grilling hotdogs and hamburgers. Your father had brought your mother a burger, which she split with you.

Your father was the only black sheep in your lives at that point in time. Anyone could tell just by looking at him that he didn't belong there, in a dingy trailer covered in blotches of mildew and rust. He was always clean shaven, no tattoos, perfect white teeth. He never smoked, never did drugs, never even drank. Even his name stood out among the Tammys, the Justins, Tuckers, Mandys, the Brandons and the Krystals. He was a Sebastian. He always wore clean clothes, and it was a stark contrast to your mother, who was the whole reason he was there in the first place. 

She was nothing like him. She had a beautiful face, sure, but that was about the only thing beautiful about her. Most of her teeth were yellow from cigarettes and drugs, some of them missing, and the molars in the back had eventually all turned black. She was never seen without a cigarette in her fingers, her nails a different bright color everyday. Her clothes always stank of cigarettes and BO, but despite all of that, she wasn’t all that much of a terrible human. Not until later on.

Your mother loved your father, and he loved her. She loved you too, even if she was mean most of the time, she never hit or screamed at you until he left. After that she took a dark turn, becoming a woman you grew to despise. She blamed you for him leaving, but  you knew the truth, she was the reason. She’d relapsed one too many times and he had enough, he left and he took you with him, but CPS ultimately dragged you kicking and screaming from your grandmother's house back to the prison that was your trailer.

That fourth of July was one of the last good memories you had with your parents. Your mother had been clean for seven months, and she looked stunning that night in her pink sundress and purple nail polish. She brought you a freeze pop and you ate it like it was a gourmet dessert, sitting beside her on the grass as you watched your neighbors set up the fireworks. 

When you finished eating you went to play with the group of kids, they would end up becoming your last resemblance of a friend group, a pair of girls your age and a handful of boys. One of the older boys made a rude comment about the DIxon brothers, and you decided to introduce yourself. 

Merle was about sixteen then, maybe seventeen, but he treated you and Daryl like you were the same age, something you deeply admired about him. You threw rocks at beer bottles behind their trailer, and you smoked your first cigarette there, hacking your lungs out, much to their amusement. Merle bragged and showed off his father's gun and crossbow collection, and soon after that their mother shooed you all out of the house like stray cats. 

You wished you could say the three of you became thick as thieves after that, but truthfully you didn't have many memories with them. To echo the point, you weren’t really friends. Just people with similar situations that lived near each other.

You took a deep drag of Daryl's cigarette and pulled away from him, holding it in your lungs. 

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you. You sat in silence, your legs hanging off the bridge you sat upon, sharing one of your last cigarettes. 

You turned a spent shell casing over in your fingers as Daryl flicked the butt into the river below. It was Merle's bullet casing, you knew that, the three of you had been on that bridge a few days prior when he let off a few shots into a small group of walkers. It was small, from the little .22 pistol that he’d borrowed from you. He’d never given it back, and it pained you to assume it was most likely still in his waistband, stuck to his rotting corpse until some other survivor came along and took it. 

“C’mon. Let's get back.” Daryl grunted as he hopped off the ledge and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. This was the only thing he said to you for the rest of the day, and for a while after that. 

Once you had said that your odds of survival were higher when there were more people around. World views change fast, apparently, because when the prison group took in the Woodbury citizens, you felt more at risk than when it had been a group of ten. 

Though you always despised the word ‘outcast’, it was the only word good enough to describe your place in the prison. 

It was easier when Merle had been there. It was only a few days but it was nice, you found yourself making an effort to hang out with him more, something he secretly appreciated. There wasn't anyone in his life anymore that enjoyed spending time with him, aside from Daryl. But some days it felt like not even his baby brother wanted to be around him. 

“You know how to fish?” You had asked him one evening as the two of you walked back from a supply run mostly empty handed. 

“Do you know who you're talkin' to sweetheart? Course I know how to fish.” 

You sat on the riverbank as he dumped his fourth trout into your bucket of water. You had caught one small catfish, and that seemed to do wonders for his pride, it gave him another thing to brag about doing better than anyone else in camp. 

“Little asskickers gonna have her first taste of good ole American fish tonight.” Merle laughed proudly, wiping his hands on his pants. 

“I don't think babies can eat fish. I don't think they can eat anything but formula.” You commented and stood from your spot, pulling in your makeshift fishing line. 

“A lil’ fish can't hurt.”

“No, seriously. I don't think she can have any.”

“Psh.” He muttered and picked up the bucket. “Useless fuckers. Can't eat, can't speak, can't walk, hell.”

Before the outbreak, you'd spent the most time with the eldest Dixon brother. Only to buy or trade drugs, occasionally getting high together, but it was still time spent in each other's presence. He very much enjoyed doing speed and teaching you things, normally how to shoot different types of guns, or just sitting in some random person's house listening to his rants about racism, homophobia, whatever he felt passionate about that day. 

“It just ain't natural, and I said, you couldn't pay me a cold million to touch one of you shitlickers. Yessir.” He was laughing then, amused in his retelling of some high school escapade that you weren't really paying attention to. Merle could be tasteless at times, and it was of no interest to you, you were enjoying your expensive high and there was no way in hell you were going to ruin it by getting into an argument with someone like him. 

You must've dozed off, because the long, drawn-out yell of your name had your heavy head lolling back up to see Merle a foot away from you. A grin split onto his face and he slapped your shoulder. “C'mon. Got a hot date, wouldn't look too good bringin’ your ass around. Get up. C'mon now!” 

Maybe you should've stuck around, cause he ended up getting a nasty case of gonorrhea from her. About a week later you found out from the man himself, standing in front of the coolers in your local gas station. They didn't sell gas anymore, too expensive, but they didn't lose any customers. 

“Should'a known a bitch that ugly would be crawlin’ with it.” He cursed, hiking up a six pack of beer on his shoulder as he followed you to checkout, his little shadow following behind.

“Told ya. Just didn't listen.” Daryl muttered, swiping a pack of cigarettes to slip into his back pocket. 

“Yeah, well, that's cause you don't know jack shit about women. The hell would I listen to you for?” 

“Even I could've told you that.” You spoke around the SlimJims between your lips as you handed the cashier a crumpled up ten dollar bill. She said nothing about you obviously being underaged and buying a cheap bottle of wine, everyone in town knew about your mother. “That's what you get for being a dick to that poor kid.”

“You talkin' about that-” The noisy chime of the bells above the front door covered his derogatory choice of words. 

“Those men, yeah. Don't know why it's so hard for you to leave people alone.”

“Cause it's America sweetheart, ain't no place for that kind of degeneracy here.” 

You bit back your quip concerning the women he surrounded himself with and looked to Daryl, who was too busy flipping through an obscene magazine to notice.

You weren't the model student after your father left. Most days were spent by yourself in the surrounding woods, fucking around until the buses prepared to leave. On the rare occasion that you had company, it was usually the senior you bought drugs from. He was weird, overly gentle with a very soft voice, something about him extremely off putting. 

Maybe things would've been different if you had been friends with Daryl back in school. He had only gone for a little while, using any and every excuse to get out of that house, even if it did include going from one prison to another. You weren't sure when he dropped out (technically he didn't drop out, he just stopped showing up), but it was right around the time Merle was out of prison. 

They left their father then, moving from couch to couch, and eventually ended up staying with another dealer you were vaguely familiar with. 

“Holy shit, look at you!” Merle whistled playfully after realizing it was you that had just come through the door. 

“The fuck? Merle?” You could barely recognize him. He looked so different from the last time you saw him, hardened by the months in prison. Daryl looked different too, he'd started growing some facial hair and looked a bit larger as well. It had been about a year or two since your last encounter, so it was to be expected. They stood up from the couch they sat on to greet you, Merle offering you a hit from his glass pipe, which you declined. 

“Nah, you know I never liked that shit.”

Merle snickered and held his lighter flame under the glass orb. “Right, right. Forgot you were too classy for crystal. Only the,” he tapped the side of his nostril, “for you.”

You caught up in the dealer's living room, some guy named Jesse, and enjoyed your purchases. You were happy then, for a few reasons. Jesse's shit was a lot better than what you were used to, so you found yourself a new reliable source, but also because you got to see Daryl again. You got to see him laughing, joking, no black eyes or busted lips. You got time with them as they were, before the world changed. 

You found yourself missing that time, watching as Daryl flung dirt over his shoulder into the grass behind him. It was the present, and you were sitting beside the hole he dug, too hungry to help. You'd forgotten to eat breakfast that morning and it was too early for lunch to be ready, whatever it was Carol or Beth had fixed up for the prison members. 

“What do you think Jesse's up to?” 

Daryl squinted against the sun to focus on you, momentarily pausing his digging. “Who?”

“That dealer you guys used to stay with. Beanie guy.” 

“Oh, yeah. Shit.” He grunted and stretched his back, happy for a break from grave digging. “Hell, I don't know. Probably dead.”

“You think? He seemed pretty tough to me.”

Daryl laughed abruptly at that. “Guy was a prick, but he wasn't no ‘tough guy’. Would go straight to usin’ guns instead of fightin’ like a real man.” 

You would never discover the fate of Jesse, but the decision to bring Daryl's mind back to wander in the past did wonders for bringing the two of you closer once again. 

To everyone's surprise, including you, Daryl dealt with his brother's death far better than you had. You'd expected he'd want to leave after that, go live alone and shut out everyone else. He didn't though, he cried a few times, sure, he got distant and chose to only keep you as company, but while you were still angry and grieving, he was laughing and forming bonds with the new group members. 

You weren't too sure why Merle's death had devastated you that much, the two of you weren't exactly best friends. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was one of the only two things keeping you connected to your past life, even though it was awful, it was better than the constant looming threat of being eaten by dead people. As shitty as your mundane life was, it would have gotten better, one day you would've been stronger than your mother and you would've stood up for yourself, put an end to the physical abuse, and if you were lucky you could've been able to leave and find your father and brother. 

Now Daryl truly was the only bit that remained, not counting material possessions. 

The same went for Daryl as well. The difference between you and him though was that the loss of his brother turned into a good thing. He was no longer a shadow of another human, no longer basing his ideals and opinions on said human. While you dealt with the pain by using Daryl as a crutch, he used it to find out who the unbiased Daryl was, abandoning the ‘Merle Dixon’s kid brother' persona. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader: Together Apart Ch.2

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: Reader gives friendships a try, and the first signs of Daryl changing start showing after unexpected tragedy.

Notes: I love writing Merle and early season Daryl, I hope they're in character!

"I'm ten seconds away from blowing his goddamn brains out."

"Not worth the wasted bullets." Daryl watched as Shane stalked back up towards the Greene house. You scoffed and rolled your eyes when you saw him stopping himself from slamming the door, at least needing to respect Hershel gave him some restraint from being a complete piece of shit. You weren't sure how long that would last though.

"Can't fucking stand these people Daryl. He looked like he wanted to kill me."

"Ya called 'em a homewrecker. The hell'd you expect?"

The days would go by without pause, no matter how you all screamed and cried for just one minute, one minute to get it together and breathe. Everything was constantly changing, and it ended up making you colder. 

The Greene farm was a nice place. You enjoyed the chores you took on there, you got to work with the horses, the cows, and the old barn cat. He'd end up passing away after a while, which would have really upset you if it hadn't been such a peaceful death, he just fell asleep with a stomach full of deer stew and never woke up. 

Andrea's strange half admiration and half disturbed likeness to you strengthened at the time on the farm, which you didn't know how to handle. You'd always wanted a girlfriend, ever since your first one in 6th grade ended your friendship. Your mother had shown up to pick you up from school, so high on Percocet she could barely keep her eyes open. She rear-ended the father of your friend, he got pissed, she spit in his face, and he called the police. ‘My daddy says I can't hang out with trailer trash like you anymore.’ She'd told you the next day. 

You secretly liked the way Andrea looked up to you. It was nice having a woman think highly of you, or any adult for that matter. She would often ask for shooting practice, and you even let her try out your bow a few times. 

She kind of fucked up your budding friendship when she shot Daryl. If you hadn't been so busy helping him get up into the house you would have shot her in her foot, and that's not an exaggeration. You wanted to stay up in that room with him until he fully healed, willing to sleep on the floor just so you'd be with him at all times, but the insecure fear of being seen as weak and clingy prevented you from doing so. You were out in the woods most of those days, hunting or killing any dead you ran across.

It was almost humiliating the way people would update you on Daryl’s condition. At first it was just Rick letting you know he’d be okay, but then it was Maggie and Hershel updating you on his eating habits, how much he ate, when he ate, he was only in bed for a couple of days, but it felt like weeks. Each time someone would tell you the miniscule details of his day you’d respond the same way, ‘Why’re you telling me? I’m not his mamma’. If you could look past the embarrassment of feeling like a worried child, you would be grateful. 

Andrea unknowingly made it up to you when you heard her bitching at Lori in the kitchen once, apparently having enough of her ‘a woman's place is in the kitchen making life worth living, leave the guns to the men' spiel. You complimented her afterwards. 

“Been real sick of that shit.” You had said as you loaded your Ruger pistol. “She's lucky it was you who said it, I think I would've punched that bitch in the face if she said that bullshit to me.”

Andrea was almost too stressed over the Beth situation to fully appreciate the gravity of your praise. She nodded as she looked over the field, eyes squinting against the bright afternoon sun, her arms crossed over her chest. “All my life I've heard that kind of thinking from men. It's different when it's a woman telling you that you're not worth the same as a man. Especially when said man lied about her husband being dead and got in her pants right after.” 

You smirked, stuffing your gun into the back of your jeans as you looked her over. “Wanna go kill some dead people?” 

“Oh, god.” She groaned dramatically. “That's the best idea I've heard all week.”

After you lost the farm, you wound up at an old prison. That was one of the rare times you had allowed yourself to try and be positive, and forced yourself to make friends, although it was obvious all your relationships were strained. Andrea was the only person who had ever made an effort to get to know you, and she was gone. 

Shane’s death didn’t affect you much, truthfully you were glad Rick killed him. The constant tension and heated arguments drained you just as much as Dale’s annoying humanitarianism. You attempted being friends with Lori, Hershel, Carol and Beth, despite the young girl being your polar opposite. She was soft, pretty, sweet and bubbly, you were hard, mean, vulgar and distant. 

Which might be one of the reasons your relationship with her had started to work. Beth saw you as a challenge, like a mean feral cat, and deep down you saw her as a possible redemption. If you could become friends with Beth, the sweetest girl with the kindest heart, you could do it with anyone. 

Lori never trusted you, so you never got far with her. She would look at you with this look on her face, like you were always seconds away from cutting her baby out of her stomach or some twisted shit. You had cursed her out once for said expressions, calling her a stuck-up bitch who thinks every woman that isn't her is beneath her. She died a couple days later, and a part of you that you couldn't push away felt like shit about it, for a very long time.

The whole Governor shit was a pain in your ass. But it was a blessing in disguise, because he was the reason you were reunited with Merle. 

“I want to come.” You stood your ground, grabbing your Ruger AR-15 from its spot on your cell wall. 

“I said no, we’ve got enough concerns, we don't need to be worrying about you.” Rick tried to speak in a hushed tone, his intentions good, not wanting you to feel embarrassed if the others heard you being denied. They knew you seethed at the prospect of being told what to do. You didn't work well with others, that was glaringly obvious.

“I don’t need you to worry about me.” You hissed, tugging the heavy gun over your back so the strap dug into your shoulder. 

Rick repeated your name, using his angry father tone, and that seemed to work. Your shoulders drooped and you growled out a few insults under your breath. You missed when the group members had more say in the way things were. Rick had become more authoritarian after Lori died, and it never affected you until that day. 

When they got back you were waiting at the door, pacing like a mother in those movies whose children had stayed out too late. Your eyes brightened as they filed into the prison, you saw Maggie and Glenn were back, and Michonne had returned as well. 

Your anxious smile slowly faded as the door closed behind them, counting two missing bodies. 

“Where…?” You breathed, looking between Rick and Maggie, your heart racing. 

Rick started having a goddamn mental breakdown after that, screaming at the walls and pointing his gun at things only visible to him. Tyrese, the newcomer, and his group fled, and a part of you considered it as well. If Daryl and Merle were dead, you had no reason to stay. Especially not with Rick behaving like a fucking maniac and no one speaking to you. 

True to your nature, you abandoned the prison in search of the Dixons. You knew they couldn’t have truly left, they would never do that, they'd never leave and forget you. Especially Daryl. He had promised to you one night after you fully secured the prison, that he was the one thing in your life that would never change. He’d never die, he’d never leave, he would always be there. Not in those exact words, of course, but in his own way.

He had stayed true to his promise. You found the two of them on their way to the prison, traveling through the same trails you’d originally used to find the place. 

“Thought I’d never see you two assholes again.” The apocalypse had made you more skilled at hiding your true emotions. You came off as playfully irritated, a contrast to the way you were barely keeping tears at bay. 

“Awww,” Merle teased in a condescending tone, faking a pout, “You miss us?”

“No. Rick’s group makes you seem like a peach though.” 

“Our group.” Daryl’s voice had taken on a strange edge as he walked ahead of you down the trail. “Those are our people now.”

You glanced at Merle to see he was outwardly displaying your same reaction, rolling his eyes and silently mimicking his brother's words. 

No matter how happy you were to see the two of them, Daryl’s reply echoed in your head for a long time. He meant what he said, you could tell by the way he spoke. He was changing, you hadn’t noticed it until that day, he wasn’t the same Daryl from Atlanta, the Daryl you knew. You swallowed your retort and followed him back to the prison. 

The Governor shit was really a pain in your ass after that day, making your earlier experiences a walk in the park. Through the tense days you found yourself around Merle more, the two of you discussing the prospect of just getting the fuck out of there in hushed voices, despite you both knowing Daryl would never abandon Ricks group. It was like he had some sort of unknown obligation to them, something you couldn't decode for the life of you, no matter how hard you tried.

“You're gettin’ real close to bein’ a bonafide pussy, boy.” Merle had said one day, shoving his finger in Daryl’s face. You stayed silent as they argued, biting at the soft skin inside your cheek. 

“Why? Cause I ain't jus’ lookin’ out for myself no more? Cause I actually give a shit about these people?” Daryl standing up to Merle wasn’t a familiar sight, and it made you feel emotions you really weren’t comfortable with. 

“It’s making you weak, brother.” Merle urged, nearly slicing his own scalp when he went to put his hands on his head, the heat of the moment causing him to forget his right hand was now a weapon. “Can't you see it? I ain’t gonna let you die for these sheep.”

Daryl would soon come to regret his last interaction with his brother. You, on the other hand, were lucky enough to have had some peaceful final moments with him before he vanished. 

“Dude, that's my fucking bed!” You shoved Merle away from your mattress, groaning when you saw it shredded and ruined. You’d have to go to the other cellblock and get another, if he hadn’t already paid those cells a visit. 

Merle sat on the floor breathing heavily through his mouth, resting an arm over his propped up knee.

“The hell you do that for?” You grumbled, kicking a chunk of bedding out of your cell and into the hallway. 

“Hopin’ to find some contraband.” 

“Dude, you could’ve just asked me. Holy shit.” You grabbed one of your bags from the corner of your room and began to dig through it, finally pulling out Merle’s old stash bag. HIs eyes lit up and he practically jumped for joy, snatching it out of your hands.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” He grabbed your face with his hand and noisily kissed your cheek, making you groan and shove him off. “Oh sweetheart. Whooo! Daryl know about this?”

“No, didn’t want him to know. I’m better at making shit last than him.” You replied. Daryl didn't like drugs the way Merle did, he had his run in with meth and its consequences and he was strong enough to quit and not touch it again. Other drugs were a different story though, you suspected the speed and painkillers would be gone by now if he had known you were the one who stole it.

He fished out the group of smaller baggies he was looking for, full of various shades of white in different textures. He groaned like he just creamed his pants and leaned over, planting another dramatic smooch to your forehead.

You stayed with him on the floor of your cell as he got high, and eventually he left to go ‘clear out the walkers in the tombs’, something you were happy to sit out on. He told you to stay back and you laughed, teasing with a ‘it's all yours, tweaker’. 

Even though your last moments with him were pleasant, you never forgave yourself for not accompanying him. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @my1fx

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.” 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams (wasn't sure if you guys wanted to be tagged since its eventual smut but here u go)

@hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @10hrs26mn @adribarbie (those who asked to be tagged if someone wrote this in the original post)

Serial Killer!Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Teeth and Pearl earrings PT.2

Warnings: Serial killer Daryl, Daryl kills two men who tried to hurt you, rough smut, human hunting, hunting reader through woods, Daryl is mean cause killer (but soft after) soft dubcon but NO noncon

Summary: Part two to the killer!Daryl fic. Reader finds out about Daryl's favorite pastime, and he hunts her down after she runs off.

Notes: Sorry this took so long I didn't have my adhd meds and I couldn't focus on it for more than five minutes at a time. Again, I tried to keep him as in character as possible.

Daryl was surprised, and a little annoyed by the fact his obsession with you had only grown after that. He'd hoped that he'd just fuck you and get over it, get back to his usual self and only occasionally need to go out and hunt. But you only made it worse, he found himself needing to go out hunting multiple times a week.

No one was complaining about his frequent outings though, each time he'd always come back with fresh kills and that was more food in their stomachs. Carol did make a comment about the fact she was cooking deer for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but he just retorted with some playful insult, and she'd shoot him one right back. 

Your presence had become scarce after that night, and over time Daryl seriously grew worried. Even though you were currently the object of his obsession, he still viewed you as someone important to him, despite the way you made him go insane. 

What was once an occasional late-night dick jerking session became an every night type deal, sometimes twice a night. The way you had acted like nothing ever happened between the two of you made it so much worse. 

He'd expected you to get attached after that, constantly trying to get him to follow you off into the woods again, but you were just your old self, sweet and friendly but reserved. 

Daryl fucking hated that. 

His frustration started making him sloppy, and desperate. He picked up his old habit of stalking you, always out of sight but always right behind you. He knew you were unaware, he'd taken every single precaution to avoid giving you even the slightest suspicion you were being watched. 

There was one day he had followed you into the small town down the road. He'd stick one street over, behind buildings and in deep alleys, only keeping you in his sight long enough to see which turn you'd make. 

It turned out his annoyance at your stupidity was warranted. You'd run into trouble, two men who'd been scavenging an old department store and saw you walking by. They'd followed you, just as he did, bewildered by your obliviousness, just as he was. 

He knew they had the worst intentions. Rob you, kidnap, assault, or even all three, but thankfully he never had to find out. Because apparently, you were smarter than you looked, or just very fucking lucky, because you'd lost them between a group of small shops. 

He watched as they tried to find you, stumped at you seeming to vanish in thin air, and he began hunting them instead. 

They were more aware of their surroundings than you had been with Daryl. They could sense him, even though they hadn't seen or heard him, they knew he was there. They quickly switched from predator to prey as they felt his presence, constantly looking over their shoulders and making attempts at getting away through alleys. 

He could practically taste their fear. Their whale eyes flashed around the street, looking at every shop window, every door, every trash can, and in their disoriented fear driven state they ran right into him. 

Daryl moved quickly, his hands grabbing a fistful of greasy brown hair and slamming it against the brick wall next to him. As the man fell over the second whirled to face him, ending up falling right onto Daryl's knife, a shout bursting from his horrified mouth. 

Drawing the blade from his stomach he drove it into his throat, muting any further screams. He then used his elbow to slide the man off his knife.

He watched as the man fell into shock, his hands grasping his throat in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Daryl simply watched, his eyes never leaving his face, soaking in the sensation of his hunger being satiated.

Once his legs finally gave out and he fell to his knees, Daryl turned his attention to the first man, who was slowly regaining consciousness. 

He bent down into a squat and slapped the flat of his blade against the man's cheek, forcing him back to his senses. 

The confusion in his narrowed eyes turned to wide unbridled anger. His lips pulled away from his teeth and he tried to sit upright, only to get a heavy boot to his chest, sending him smacking against the concrete. 

He didn't say anything, which was unusual for Daryl. They'd usually start with threats, insults, rage as they denied accepting the weight of their situation. Then they'd start trying to bargain with him, offer him food, guns, weapons, sometimes cars. And when Daryl wouldn't give them any type of response, only unnerving eye contact, they'd start begging. 

This man hadn’t said a damn word. He kept trying to get up, he'd scoot back away a few feet before Daryl's boot kicked him in the chest and sent him flailing down on his back again. 

“What do you want?” He finally broke the silent struggle, submitting and remaining on the concrete. 

Daryl looked down at the man with that same expressionless look on his face. After a few seconds of this he reached for the pack of cigarettes in his front shirt pocket, making the man beneath him dramatically flinch. 

As he lit the cigarette the man sputtered, trying to speak but unable to find the words. Daryl shoved the pack back in his pocket and took a deep pull, watching as he gave another attempt at getting away. 

This time he got a kick to the face. 

The pain from that alone sent the man into fight or flight. After he scrambled to his feet Daryl decided he'd had enough, and after grabbing the back of his shirt he plunged the knife into his back, drew it out, and sunk it back in in a different spot. 

Over and over he did this.

He left the man rolling on his back on the ground, his once gray tank top soon turning a dark red. 

In the hopes of maybe holding his urges off for longer, Daryl gave a few more stabs to the chest before swiping his knife clean on the dying man's jeans. He slipped it back in his belt and wiped his face with the back of his hand, only making the blood smear worse.

Daryl left the men there and made his way back to Alexandria, taking a deep and satisfying pull from his cigarette before the sight of your red sweater caught his eye.

He stopped in his tracks when his brain processed the image of you, his hand holding his cigarette a few inches from his lips. He felt like someone just pointed a remote at him and pressed pause, the only movement being the smoke curling up and away from his face.

You looked about the same. 

You had a look of shock on your face, but not the type you'd expect someone to have after witnessing a murder like that. You'd seen your fair share of people being killed, you'd had to do it yourself a few times before, but that was always a kill or be killed scenario. 

Those two men weren't trying to kill Daryl. 

You'd caught sight of them in the reflection of a store window and knew they were sneaking up on you, so you'd darted behind an old coffee shop and climbed up the ladder. Once you were sure you'd lost them you climbed down, walked past two shops and around a corner just in time to see Daryl repeatedly kicking the man to the ground, behaving like more of a leopard playing with mice. 

You'd watched the entire thing stretch on for what felt like hours, your eyes following every plunge of the knife, stabbing everywhere but the one place that would instantly dispatch that man. 

Neither of you moved for a few moments. You only finally reacted when a chunk of ash fell from Daryl's cigarettes, watching it as it floated to the ground, looking back up to his face when it landed with a puff on the sidewalk. 

“What was that?”

The innocent tone of your voice felt like he was the one who got stabbed in the chest. 

Daryl always had a perfect way of killing. He'd play his role as some dumbass redneck who looked super easy to take advantage of, and they fell for it every time. They'd try to rob him or attack him and only then did he react, grappling them with movements he'd perfected to the point of it being an art. He'd always made sure that if there was the slightest chance of Rick, Carol, or anyone in his group somehow seeing, it could be read as necessary self defense. 

But there was no way to explain away what he'd just done right out in the open, in broad daylight. Part of him wished it was Rick who'd seen him, not you, 

Rick was no stranger to the deep satisfaction killing bad people brought. But you? He remembered once back at the prison you'd been torn up for days after having to kill someone who'd been attacking you. And that was a quick bullet to the head to a man who wanted you dead. 

Finally, he took the cigarette back to his lips and took a pull before speaking. “They were gonna do worse to you.” 

You knew he wasn't lying. But by the look on your face you didn't accept that, that wasn't the real reason why. 

You inhaled deeply through your nose and looked off into the distance somewhere, Daryl could see the wheels turning behind your furrowed brow. He tried to remember all the excuses he used to think of when he was in the shower, running down every worst case scenario. 

“How many times have you done that?” Your unspecified question had him unsure of how to respond. You blinked in frustration before elaborating. “Killed someone you didn't need to like that. All emotionless.” 

“Lost count.” The boldness of his answer made you scoff.  He stepped forward till he was inches away, maintaining steadily intense eye contact. “You gonna do somethin’ bout it?” 

You weren't expecting him to challenge you so blatantly like that. Your jaw dropped as if you were about to speak, go off on him or lose your shit, but suddenly, it just didn't matter anymore. Maybe it was your brain trying to gaslight you into just moving away from the tense situation, but you closed your mouth and nodded once before turning on your heel. 

Daryl prepared himself for some speech about morals in the apocalypse but you spoke before he had the chance.

“We should get back, Carol's making soup for dinner.”

That night you had successfully rationalized what you'd seen Daryl doing(gaslit yourself). Those men were evil, if they had the upper hand or maybe more numbers they would've done worse than what Daryl did. Even though it wasn't a quick death, it was nothing compared to what they would've done to you. 

In the back of your mind though, you knew that wasn't the main reason for what he did to them. He'd shifted into a completely different being then, it wasn't human, or animal. He had become almost soulless, his actions so mechanical it looked like a set of commands he'd been wired to do. The way every single move was so calculated, the way he knew what they'd do before they did it, down to the way he cleaned the blood from his knife on their clothes. 

Your blood ran cold when you remembered that first night in the woods with Abraham and the others. The way you felt his presence behind you even though you never heard or saw him. That must have been what those men felt, the primal instinct that they were being watched. 

You felt stupid for thinking he was following you that night because he had a thing for you. You really didn't want to believe he was capable of hurting you, but that was hard when you could vividly remember how tight he squeezed your neck and the way he looked into your eyes when he did it. 

If you didn't have a good reason to avoid him before, you sure as hell did now. 

But you really didn't want to. 

Every night you'd think about it again, the specific details becoming blurry as you imagined him doing it differently. Your heart would speed up when you'd imagine yourself in their place, walking through the woods and becoming aware that you were being watched, your fear only growing worse when you'd look around and wouldn't see anyone, but the feeling of him drawing closer persisting nonetheless-

Your stomach dropped when you realized your body had reacted differently to the idea of that then you had normally. Your heart rate was fast, like usual, but instead of anxiety spreading in your chest you felt a deep flipping sensation in your core. 

It had been a few days since you saw him. You knew he was always there, inciting a deep and unsettling paranoia in you. 

Rick invited the inner group over for dinner and drinks. 

You smiled as he handed you a glass of red wine, that same sly smirk he always had for you on his face. You were standing against the wall of his living room while the later arrivals finished their meal in the dining room. 

“You've been quiet.” Rick's voice had once been enough to soothe any anxiety that you might've had. But now it did little, akin to the background humming of indifferent frogs and crickets. 

His voice called your name and you forced yourself to look up to his face, nearly crying at the sight. You wished you could tell him everything, weep into his arms and have him shush away your worries, explain it all away and go back to the way things were. 

His expression grew serious then. “You okay?”

“Have you ever…” You glanced around to make sure there were no eyes on you. Everyone was minding their own business, chattering happily as they enjoyed Rick's spaghetti and wine. 

“Killed someone you didn't have to kill?” Your quiet voice had his posture stiffening. He shifted his feet as he nodded, mulling over your words before he spoke. 

“We've all done things we're ashamed of. If it's in the past, let it rot there. Nothin' you can do to change it.”

“Have you?”

It took him a while to answer. He inhaled deeply through his nose before leaning in closer to you, his tone darker. “Why are you asking me?”

“Someone here did that. Two men. They were bad men, but… they were trying to run away.”

“Then they did the right thing. Those men could've easily come back with more people.”

You sighed, shifting closer to him. By now you were only inches away from each other, and you could smell the cologne he'd put on before dinner. “He looked like he liked doing it. It wasn't… quick.”

Rick eyed you for a few silent moments. 

“Daryl.” It wasn't a question, he already knew the answer. You looked up to him, your eyes wide and worried now, but he settled you with a firm glare. 

“Sometimes a man does things that you don't need to worry about.” He spoke, his voice low and gravelly. “All you need to know is he protects you, and keeps your belly full. Alright?” 

You didn't know how to feel about learning that Rick knew. He didn't know the full extent, no one did, no one knew about the trophies and the hunting, or the meticulous planning that went into Daryl's killing. 

“Alright.” For some reason, it sets you at ease. If your leader said it was fine, then it had to be fine with you.

Rick's expression softened and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder to give you a comforting squeeze. You melted into his touch and closed your eyes, trying your best to ignore the burning on the side of your face from the hunter in the corner of the room.

The air was unusually cold.

You tried to steady your breathing as you walked through the familiar forest outside Alexandria. 

You couldn't feel him yet, but in your bones you could sense it, almost like he had a tracking tag on him that would make your heart race faster and faster as he drew closer. 

If you concentrated hard enough you could imagine him in real time, right about now he'd just be getting into the woods, picking up your tail-

The bolt of anxiety that went through your chest at the image had you picking up your pace, walking faster down the familiar path that eventually led to a river. 

It wasn't long before you felt it. You looked over your shoulder at the scene behind you. The forest floor, covered in dead leaves, the thin trees with gray bark that were randomly spaced out, and nothing else. Your eyes burned as you tried to see as far off into the distance as possible. Nothing. You couldn't even hear the normal wildlife, no birds, crickets, cicadas. 

You turned back around and pulled the sleeves of your black turtleneck down over your cold wrists. 

The feeling grew stronger as you walked on. The sun was setting, the normal bright yellow light fading into a gentler orange. 

It started with the hairs on the back of your neck prickling up. You'd turn around and see the same nothingness as before, only this time not being able to see as far due to the setting sun. 

The overwhelming urge to run overcame you and you looked over your shoulder again, your stomach falling ten stories when you saw nothing. That was worse than seeing him lurking behind. At least if you could see him, you'd know where he was. He could be anywhere. Your breath trembled and you resisted the screaming in your body to run, but the sound of a stick cracking had you breaking into a jog. 

He was close now, you could feel it. You didn't turn around anymore, you couldn't, if you once again were met with nothing you'd start losing your sanity. 

Soon it would be too dark to see. The idea of trying to hide from him in the pitch black forest had you running, and you didn't stop until it was too dark for you to do so without tripping. 

You caught your breath behind a large oak and waited. The silence was starting to get to you. Where the hell were all the birds? The cicadas that are always screaming this time of year? 

Where the hell were the walkers?

It was dark now. You looked ahead of you and felt like you'd fallen into a deep freezing cold lake, your vision had dramatically decreased to around five yards in front of you. It was getting dark so fast, the silence only seemed to be growing louder, you began to doubt yourself, you were way in over your head, what were you thinking? You were the only person alive who saw Daryl Dixon stab a man to death, a man that was actively trying to escape, just because of what he might have done, and YOU thought it was a good idea to play hide and seek in the woods with him? 

You waited too long. By the time you heard the distinct sound of featherlight footsteps it was too dark, you couldn't see anything. When you looked up you couldn't even see the moon or any stars, were the trees too thick? You didn't see any clouds that day, your head spun and you tripped over your feet the second you tried to step forward. 

Adrenaline surged through your body at the animalistic fear of being vulnerable around an unseen danger. You scrambled to your feet and froze, your eyes as wide as they could be in hopes of being able to see better. 

To your left you could barely see the backdrop of the dark blue sky behind the trees. You turned in a circle, and tried to look back to the sky, but in your turning you'd completely disoriented yourself. The way you'd come was just as lost as what was once your left. 

You felt a coldness run deep in your bones when you realized you had no idea which way Daryl was. 

If this was some innocent game of hide and seek you'd complain about the unfair advantage he had over you, most of his life he'd spent out in woods just like these. 

In a last ditch effort of self preservation you remained still, kept your eyes open and unblinking, and listened. 

Nothing. You couldn't hear a single fucking thing. If not for the sound of your own breathing you'd wonder if you'd gone deaf without even realizing it. You raised your hand in front of your face and blinked hard a few times, trying to will your eyes to become as good as Daryl's. 

Time ticked by no matter what you did. Without anything for you to hear or see it became harder to keep your balance, and your arms slowly lifted from your side to steady yourself. 

Your fingers brushed up against something warm and soft. You felt a brief tingle of confusion before all at once your heart leapt into your throat and your stomach dropped to your feet when you came to the horrifying realization of what you just touched.

Fingers. 

You snatched your hand away like you'd been stung, and with how fast you did it, you spun and fell to your knees. Your body couldn't react quick enough, you could hear leaves from what sounded like every direction, and you froze. 

Was that even Daryl?

You hadn't even seen him for sure, you had no proof whatsoever, not even a hint to go by, those could be walkers. For all you knew, Daryl could be back in Alexandria skinning a deer for dinner, clueless to your absence. 

You felt a different kind of fear as your mind dug yourself deeper and deeper. All you had on you was a comically small machete and a pathetic little flashlight. You'd imagined this going very differently, which was your own damn fault. You should've learned by now you couldn't predict anything about Daryl. He'd shown you that time and time again. 

You were too busy thinking about how stupid you were to notice the silence was back. But once you did, you forced yourself to your feet, and pushed on. Your arms reached out blindly in front of you as you took baby steps, trying not to gasp each time your fingertips grazed a tree. 

It took everything in you not to scream when you felt it again. A hand, but instead of reaching out to meet your outstretched hand, it ghosted up the small of your back. You whirled around and reached out, desperately trying to grab a sleeve, a finger, anything to pull yourself to, like the ladder in a swimming pool. 

Being met with empty black air almost brought you to tears. You lurched forward, trying to predict his position, but just as silently as he arrived he had sunk out of reach. 

You were ready to beg. You were wrong, you didn't want this, you were so fucking scared.

Just as you began to work up the courage to speak, your feet flew out from under you as you were shoved in the chest, hard. A dull pain shot through your ass and you kicked your feet in the dirt in front of you, pushing yourself away from his direction. But he was five steps ahead, his fingers grazing the top of your scalp. 

You yelped, spinning around to get up on your knees, not even managing to get one foot on the ground before you were shoved back in the dirt again. 

Something about that final push set you into fight or flight, so you got to your feet and ran. 

Daryl was right about your ridiculous luck. You made it pretty far before you ran into a tree, smacking into it with the edge of your shoulder so hard it spun you around again. Once again you had no idea which direction he was in so you got up, and tried again. 

Apparently he'd grown tired of toying with you. You'd managed to run about twelve feet when your only information of his location was the sound of heavy footsteps running after you. 

The realization he was fucking chasing you, full on running, terrified you so badly you found yourself unable to form thoughts anymore, your brain turned off as your body did everything possible to survive. 

You managed to surprise him. Instead of continuing straight you veered to the left, which would have been a very impressive feat had you not run into another tree. This one was huge, and thankfully you had slowed down enough that you didn't hurt yourself running into it, but it did scare the fuck out of you. 

You used your hands on the trunk to guide you, shimmying around the edge until you were pressed on the other side, your back flush against it.  You held your breath and waited, not daring to make a single sound. 

That feeling happened again. He was looking at you, but you didn't know where. Your eyes were utterly useless but you still looked frantically in every direction, only being met with utter blackness. 

There was nothing you could do. A small part of you felt relieved, at least you didn't have to try so hard anymore. Slowly, you let out your lungful of air, trying to be quiet. But it wasn't getting out fast enough and your lips opened against your will, causing you to shudder out a terrified breath. 

He had been two feet in front of you for a while now. His eyes, although not superhuman, had over time adjusted enough to find his way through dark woods like these. He could see the outline of nearby trees, and the figure of your body pressed up against one. 

The silence had quickly become something the two of you were extremely used to. So when there was a sudden shift in the air followed by wind shifting the leaves of trees above you, it startled you both. 

The sound of leaves moving right in front of you sets you off again. You prepare to make a break to the left, but unbeknownst to you, Daryl could see the way you angled your body, your right leg braced behind you. 

He smirked and threw out his foot right as you bolted forward. Your legs flew out from under you and you landed hard on your stomach, the air being knocked from your lungs. 

Daryl watched as you tried unsuccessfully to breathe again, your lungs spasming before finally snapping back to normal. You greedily gulped in air and weakly attempted to roll over on your side. 

He crouched next to you and reached out, using the back of his knuckle to brush hair from your forehead. You jerked violently, your hands flying up to try and fight him away. That made him chuckle, and you felt a whole new rage of emotions after having his identity confirmed. 

It really was Daryl. If that was a good thing or a bad thing you weren't sure of yet, but at least you knew for sure it was him. 

“What'd you think was gonna happen, huh?” He muttered, his hand grabbing your wrist and yanking it from your face. “Go off in the woods alone again, start runnin’ in the dark, ain't nobody tell you runnin’ just makes things wanna chase you?”

The more he spoke the more aggressive he became, his other hand latching onto your other wrist to hold you firmly in place. It didn't stop you from struggling, which only made his prey drive even more active. 

“What are you gonna do?” Your voice and the way it trembled made his upper lip twitch. He stared down at your face, another sick grin forming when he saw you grow more and more terrified the longer the silence stretched on. 

“Daryl, please.” 

The grin fell from his face then, something about the way you sounded like you were about to cry setting his teeth on edge. He let go of your wrists and ran the back of his knuckles down the side of your face, his touch tender. He saw you relax a little at that and he leaned down, brushing his lips so lightly against yours you could've mistaken it for the wind.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." You breathed and nodded softly; the fear of dying being replaced by a delicious different kind of terror. This could easily become an addiction.

His gentle actions slowly hardened as his fingertips trailed down from your cheek to your jaw, the pressure increasing until he reached your throat, where his hand slipped into that perfect fit around your neck. 

“I think you need a little wakeup call princess, you don't get to tease me like this and change your mind cause you get scared.” He said the last word like an insult, as if it was a ridiculous fuck up on your end. 

“Shit don't work like that anymore.” His tone took this edge of meanness, something that made your lower stomach flip. 

Your chest fluttered with your shaky breathing, and you nodded, filling him with a deep satisfaction. He squeezed his hand around your neck with no warning, no slow increase in pressure, just an immediate white knuckled squeeze. 

Right as you saw little flashes of white at the edges of your vision he relaxed his hand, but he kept it there like some kind of warning. 

He released his hand and replaced it with something cold, your mouth dried instantly when you realized it was his knife. 

“Get up.” 

You slowly stood with him, making sure to let him guide where your head went, not wanting to risk getting nicked. 

Then it was like he disappeared. 

You waited a few moments, your eyes flickering around the different shades of black. 

A bright orange glow had your pupils dilating painfully. After being in pitch black darkness for so long the small flame from his lighter felt like staring into the sun. 

He looked terrifying then. His cigarette between his lips and his cheeks dipped in as he pulled in to help the tobacco light. His eyes flicked up to you for less than a second before he snapped the lighter closed and you were left with an orange dot where his face once was. 

You stood in the same spot, not daring to breathe, your eyes locked on the orange dot as it moved from his lips to down at his side. You weren't sure what he was expecting of you, so you remained standing as long as he felt like torturing you. 

A minute later the orange orb vanished with a hiss as he put it out on his boot. You heard the light tap of it falling in the dirt, where he proceeded to grind it with his shoe. You deeply missed that orange dot, it gave you something to focus on in the black void. 

His hands were rough as he grabbed your shoulders and turned you around. You gasped at the sudden roughness, your heart jumping after standing in silent nothingness for so long. The knife was back on your throat, his other hand slipping up under your turtleneck. 

“What you saw the other day,” His breath was hot against the shell of your ear as his hand groped and squeezed your sides, growing more firm as he slid it up to your breasts. “Can't have anyone knowin’ ‘bout it.” 

Your first instinct was to nod, but the blade against the side of your throat made you think twice. “Mhm. I know.” You hummed out your anxious promise, your hands clinging onto his forearm for dear life. 

“I don't think you do.” His voice was calm and steady, the opposite of the angry way he pinched your nipple. Your whine caught in your throat and you clenched your teeth, baring them in a pained grimace, much like a submissive animal.

“You're a stupid bitch,” Those words held so much fiery emotion despite how cool and collected he sounded. You swallowed a whimper as he went on, “but you ain't dumb enough to go and open your mouth.” 

He didn't appreciate your lack of response, you'd been frozen from the way his hand had dipped under the waistband of your jeans, fingers barely grazing your panties. 

“Makin’ me think I might be wrong.” He growled and pressed the knife firmer against your neck, and you immediately snapped out of it.

“You're not. I won't, I promise.” Your ass moved against the hard dick beneath his jeans, making him hiss out a curse. 

In this game the two of you played, he had a level of excitement and vigor that was previously unknown to him. He rested his forehead on the back of your head and inhaled deeply, holding the flowery scent of your shampoo in his lungs like it’d get him high.

He loved the way you played this role so perfectly. Growing up watching slasher movies through puberty wasn't the sole reason for his degeneracy, but it played a large role. Drifting around selling drugs with Merle to unsavory people added to it too. 

Daryl finally dipped his fingers under your panties, taking his sweet time rubbing circles in the skin all the way down to your slit. When he felt how wet you were he sucked in a gasp before he could stop himself. You'd been working that up for a while. By the way your panties were soaked, he'd guess you got all worked up the second you slipped out of Alexandria.

Your grip on his forearm tightened as he stroked your clit, swirling his finger around a few times before dipping down through your folds. 

Without meaning to you held your breath in anticipation, begging to any higher power to have him go easy on you. You couldn't take another night like before, especially not in the middle of the woods. You strongly believed that when he finished with you and saw the state you were in, he'd just leave you to find your own way back when you stopped being a pathetic mess. 

Your prayers were answered and he angled his hand in a way that allowed him to push his middle finger inside you, your walls greedily squeezing around him. Now that you were pretty sure he wouldn't actually kill you, you allowed yourself to enjoy every drop of pleasure he'd give you. 

You moaned shamelessly when he shocked you by not just driving it in and out, but he fucking curled his finger.

“You bring any walkers over here and I'll leave your ass in the dark.” His tone held a venomous bite, but you were fairly certain he wouldn't actually do that. You weren't taking any chances though so you pressed your lips tightly together and tried to steady your breathing through your nose.

His head bumped gently against yours as he moved his attention to the top of your ear, his lips warm against the cold skin there. You nearly crumpled in his arms at the feeling, and when his tongue traced the tip of your ear you physically shuddered against his chest. He trailed a few kisses from your ear to the back of your neck, giving into his impulsives and sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder. 

It took every ounce of concentration to remain quiet. He couldn't tease you like this, do every little trick in the foreplay handbook, and expect you to keep quiet? 

His finger curled again the second time, sending a jolt through your core and down your legs. When he felt your nails dig into his forearm he nudged your head again with his, tilting you so he could press his cheek against yours. 

If not for his hand down the front of your jeans and the knife he had on your neck, you would've passed for a sappy couple posing for pictures. 

Just as you'd relaxed against his chest, your head tilting back to rest against his collarbone, he started curling his finger at a consistent pace. You whined deep in your throat, your eyes squeezing shut against the frustration of pleasure, but not enough. 

His hand pulled out from your jeans so suddenly you actually made a genuine whiney noise, already frustrated and impatient. The knife returned to its former deep pressure, immediately setting you straight. 

He popped open the buttons on your pants and pulled down one side, bending his knees to pull them down over your ass, making you awkwardly twist and bend with him. 

Your body reacted subliminally to the sound of his buckle clinking as he unbuckled his belt, your back arching to press yourself closer against him. His breathing had ever so slightly gotten heavier while he worked to take his dick out, his mouth sending hot puffs of air against your ear. Your pussy throbbed at the feeling, and even more so when you felt his swollen tip bob between your legs after he freed it from his pants. 

You were lucky Daryl wasn't in the mood to take longer than necessary to fuck you. It was a bit selfish on his part, he no longer cared about your pleasure, instead choosing to solely make himself cum with your pussy. Made no difference to him if you came or not. The wind carried the faint smell of rain and he could hear the beginning rumble of thunder in the distance. 

He spit on his fingertips and slathered it over his tip, tugging on his dick a few times before guiding himself to your hole. Just as greedy as before, he pushed inside you, slapping his hand over your mouth to muffle your whines of discomfort.

Daryl's downstairs department was nothing to make light of, he was blessed with a heavy dick that was the perfect length to fill you completely so not a single millimeter of space was untouched. 

But Christ, the girth, he didn't have the type of dick he could just slide in you without giving you a stretch that burned. Unfortunately for you, he didn't really care that much, it went away after a minute and didn't feel like a big deal to him. 

You groaned into his palm, your eyes rolling back into your head when he immediately set a rough pace. The angle he fucked you in, standing upright with your ass stuck out for him, it had his tip slamming into that perfect spot every single thrust. 

The knife suddenly fell from his fingers, landing on your boot with a thump, but before you could react his hand quickly replaced it. His left arm wrapped around your waist, using it to keep your hips angled in towards him. With his right hand he squeezed your neck, gradually increasing pressure until he felt your hands on his arm start to loosen their grip. 

He released the pressure, the oxygen and blood returning to your brain to give you an amazing head rush. He waited until he felt your nails dig back into his skin before squeezing again, repeatedly bringing you to the brink of unconsciousness before letting you come crashing back down to earth. 

With the arm he had around your waist he moved his fingers over your lower stomach, feeling around for a moment before pressing the flat of his hand down right where he felt his dick. 

You sucked in a sharp gasp at the feeling, wondering where the hell he learned that, you knew he hadn't fucked anyone ever since you'd known him. And with the way he was when you first met him in Atlanta, you seriously doubt he was experienced enough to know how to do something like that. 

Daryl was a lot more simple than you were trying to figure out, he just liked the way he could feel his dick moving if he pressed down hard enough and fucked you deep enough.  The fact it felt amazing was just a lucky side effect for you. 

The next time he started choking you he squeezed a little tighter, the feeling of your throat shifting under his palm had him growling curses into the crook of your neck. Your back arched harder, your body desperate to feel him deeper. Him fucking you fast and hard, coupled with the way his grip on your neck kept cutting off blood to your head, suddenly became way too much and you came around his dick, your walls squeezing and holding onto his length with all its might. 

Daryl felt his eyes roll back in his head and his dick twitch at the feeling. “That's it girl.” He muttered out encouragement, knowing he needed you to hold out a few more minutes. If you got all whiney and weak like last time he'd have to stuff his shirt in your mouth. He was already lucky enough that somehow there were no walkers nearby, he couldn't take the chance to try and push his luck. 

His encouragement worked, your body melting against him as you soaked in the rare praise. 

“Yeah, that's it. Atta girl.” His voice was so low and deep you could feel it vibrate in his chest against the top of your back, sending little sparks of pleasure through your core. 

He picked up the pace, his hand falling from your neck to grab both sides of your hips. Carefully, and slowly, he guided you down to your knees, keeping his dick inside you as you both knelt in the dirt. He put his hands on your upper back and pushed, forcing your arms out from under you so the side of your face was on the ground. 

The feeling of his large rough hands pushing your back down had your stomach tightening again, and it only got worse when he shifted your ass higher up against his pelvis. He was back to his earlier pace in no time, thrusting hard and fast, one hand still pushing down on your back while the other did the same to the side of your head. 

It got harder to keep quiet the longer he went on. When he suddenly grabbed your ass and held it tight against him, forcing his dick in deeper, you came unexpectedly, breathing so hard it sent the dirt next to your face poofing away. You clenched down on him again, your back arching obscenely, and rode the dizzy waves of your orgasm, quickly forcing him to have one of his own. 

Daryl spit out a growl and slammed into you a few last times before he came, his grip on your hips keeping you immobile as he emptied himself inside you. Even after you twitched from the last bit of your orgasm and started moving to get up, he grabbed hold of your hair and smashed your head back down. Maybe it was a power move, because he held you down like that for a while, his dick buried so deep inside you his cum wasn't able to trickle out yet. 

You waited what felt like five minutes before you spoke up, your voice hoarse from all the heavy mouth breathing. “Daryl?”

He barely let you finish the L in his name before he cut you off. “Shut the hell up.” He muttered, his heavy hand still pressed against your face and the other holding your hips tightly against his. 

He would've been content to stay like that for a while, just to torture you some more, maybe keep you there under him until his dick got hard again. But the rumble of thunder was getting closer, and he didn't feel like getting caught out in a storm. 

When he finally released his grip on your hair and waist you sighed in relief, lifting your face from the ground to brush the dirt from your cheek. He pulled his softened dick from you and groaned when he felt the cool air on his sensitive skin. 

You were dreading getting up and the walk home when you heard the familiar hissing and groaning of a nearby walker. You pulled up your pants as slowly and quietly as humanly possible, your eyes still trying with all their might to see in the dark forest. 

Daryl clicked on a flashlight for a split second, just long enough to catch the location of the walker.

In a bright white flash you saw three of them about ten yards out. Your moaning must've attracted them, and your stomach twisted when you remembered Daryl threatening to leave you there if you drew any walkers over. 

A large warm hand slipped into yours and he helped you to your feet. It was so kind that you were almost more concerned with the action than the fact you were in pitch black darkness with three walkers heading your way. 

He slung his crossbow over from his back and clicked the flashlight on again, only for a split second. They weren't much closer. He took them out, clicked the light again, and saw a handful more far, far back. You could definitely outwalk them. You sighed in relief and wiped the dirt from your palms and face. 

“Can you walk?” He whispered as he slung his weapon back over his shoulder, slipping his flashlight in his front jean pocket. 

“Yeah, I'm fine.” You whispered in return and took his hand again, trying not to let silly childish emotions start clouding your mind. You weren't some teen girl with her first real boyfriend, you were a woman holding the hand of a cold man who killed for pleasure, a man that just hunted you through the woods like you were some fox or cougar. And he was freakishly good at it. 

He led you back to Alexandria in a way that harshly contrasted his normal exterior. His hand was gentle but firm and he didn't rush you, not once. Even when you snuck back through the back wall he stayed with you, albeit letting go of your hand. He took you to your house, made sure you got in safe, and did something at the door that had your heart pounding even more than when he chased you. 

Daryl looked at you for a moment, uncertainty clear on his face. You could tell he was thinking of hundreds of different things at once, and it kind of looked like he was nervous. 

He leaned in and placed his open hand at the base of your neck. Not squeezing, not grabbing or clenching, he just barely cupped your skin, his thumb tracing against the red and purple marks from his hands and teeth. You'd covered the last ones up with makeup, you could do the same with these. 

You opened your mouth to reassure him of this but he leaned in, and kissed your forehead. 

Then he pressed his forehead against yours. Your heart was racing painfully at this point. You watched as he looked into your eyes for a second before he closed them. You followed suit and closed your eyes, savoring the intense affection. It was so strange to you. You couldn't remember the last man or woman you'd been like this with. And the fact it was Daryl Dixon pressing his forehead against yours, right in the doorframe of your front door…

You decided then you didn't give a shit what he did for fun. You didn't give a shit if he felt the same way either. Maybe you could delude yourself into thinking that one day. You decided right then you'd walk through hell and back to get just a taste of this feeling again. 

The feeling of his hand unfolding yours had you opening your weary eyes. You looked down and blinked, seeing a small white dot in the palm of your hand. He drew away from you then, muttering a quick ‘found this earlier’ before fading down the stairs and up the street to his house. 

You rubbed your finger over your pearl earring and smiled. 

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial

Serial Killer!Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Teeth and Pearl earrings

Warnings: serial killer daryl, rough smut, inconsiderate smut, NO noncon, stalking, stealing, mentions of killing

Summary: Daryl can't decide if he wants to kill you, or fuck you. Switches between Daryl's and Readers POV.

Notes: SO SORRY ITS LONG This was really fun but really challenging to write, I tried to keep him as in character as possible, but that's hard when making him a serial killer lol! I'm making this a two pt, with the reader finding out in the next part.

Some days Daryl thought his luck might run out. He'd been lucky for too long. As far as he knew, no one suspected a thing. Every time he'd go out “hunting”, no matter how long he was gone for, he'd always managed to bring back something. Deer, rabbits, squirrels when prey was scarce. 

It was easier now that the world had ended to keep it a secret. No threat of cops catching on, no more cameras on every street corner, no need to try to erase every possible trace.

The only thing he found to prove difficult had been finding a place to keep his trophies. He didn't really have a preference, hair, a tooth, or a piece of clothing, it was something he didn't understand the meaning of but something he did each time. He kept it in his room in the vent above his bed, behind a few boxes of books. The week prior he took it down to put the wedding ring of a man who tried attacking Rick out on their supply run, he’d had to restrain himself and keep the stabbing to a minimum because of Rick's presence. 

He found himself growing uncomfortably interested in you. A revelation that he really, really didn't like. You were off limits, you were one of Rick's closest friends, you'd been there way too long. And you clearly hadn't done anything deserving of the things he daydreamed about doing to you, unlike the victims he’d killed before.

The more he tried to push those thoughts away, the stronger they came back. His hands around your throat, the way your eyes would tear up as you struggled against him and the fact someone you trusted so much was the one ending your life. 

His eyes followed you over the flames of the campfire as you took your plates and went inside. Aaron had hosted a little get together in his yard in Alexandria, cooking dinner for everyone in celebration of the newest addition to the town. Some nobody he found out there on their own, who jumped at the idea of joining a large group of people. 

If Daryl had to kill you, he’d keep a lock of your hair. 

He couldn't stop staring at it as you went inside. His mind flooded with flashes of pictures of it, his hand in it, stroking your soft locks before grabbing a fistful and putting a knife to your throat. The way you'd squeal and beg, squirm against him as he presses the edge firmer into your skin. 

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away after you disappeared in the house you shared with Maggie and a few others. 

It was like you were practically begging him to follow you. 

Five different times that week you'd gone out on your own to ‘clear your head’, whatever the hell that meant. 

First time he heard Glenn mention to someone that you'd just gone out beyond the walls, he wanted to follow you. The idea was far too tempting. But he didn't, he knew damn well he couldn't trust himself with you all alone, no one to hear you scream. 

The fantasies he had begun to form disgusted him. He didn't just go out and kill any random human he felt like, he had to have some sort of rules or else things would get out of hand real fast. If he were to get caught, it needed to be someone Rick wouldn't think twice about him killing. Some raider, or any kind of piece of shit who'd be a threat to their group. He needed to have a fallback, worst case scenario one of Alexandria caught him. 

Second rule, none of his people. Ever. His morals were questionable, if he had it his way he'd go out and hunt down any human he came across outside those walls.

But never his people. In a hypocritical way he did care about them, in the same way that any normal sane human being would care about their family. He could never even dream about hurting any of them, he’d rather die. But they had to earn that place in his heart. 

It was a wonder you hadn't been killed by anyone else yet. The way you walked through the woods with your light pink sweater, leaving tracks in the leaves that a blind man could follow, and that fucking humming. He could easily track you with his eyes closed for miles with the way you kept humming. 

You'd gone into an old shack in the backyard of an abandoned trailer.

A part of him felt angry then, how were you so stupid? If it had been someone else following you, and not Daryl, who knows what they'd do to you? And you'd have no idea until it was too late. 

He paused at the thought. If he wasn't careful, that's exactly what would happen. 

He followed you home about half a mile behind the entire time. When you were at the road that led to the gates he turned back, deciding it was the perfect time to go hunting. 

The crossbow on his back weighed heavier than it normally did as he slunk down into the underbrush at the forest's edge. He hadn't decided on what animal yet, but the frustration and confusion alone caused by you made it pretty easy to guess. 

He wiped the blood from the molar before he tucked it in the box in his vent, and decided to pay Maggie and Glenn a visit.

The house was completely empty, so he let his curiosity get the better of him.

Your room was pretty. 

Your bed, a whopping full size mattress, made his pull out look like a military cot. You had an array of paintings on your walls, he remembered some of them. As soon as you got your own room in Alexandria you went out on runs with Glenn and Maggie just so you could decorate it. 

His eyes went from painting to painting, then to your dresser. You kept it unexpectedly neat for someone who behaved so sloppily in the woods. Your journal, a small glass box you kept your sentimental jewelry in, a few makeup products. What drew his attention was the jewelry box, he could see the pair of pearl earrings you used to constantly wear. You never took them out back then, not even to sleep. 

Orange bled into a dark purple against his face and he blinked, coming back to himself in front of your bedroom window. A strange confusion twisted in his gut when he realized he'd just been standing there, staring out your window for so long the sun had set.

You weren't stupid, or blind. 

You'd have to be a fool to not notice the way Daryl had been taking interest in you. 

There'd been several times in Alexandria where you'd be busy doing something, turn around and see him standing off in the distance, staring at you like fuckin’ Michael Myers. 

If you'd go on runs and he came with you, you'd often glance at him to see him already looking. He'd always look away, pull out a cigarette and act like he wasn't just burning holes in the back of your head. 

You'd come to the obvious conclusion that he had a crush on you. 

What else could it be? You'd always thought he was really hot, men like that were hard to come by. Quiet, observant, strong as hell, he’d do anything for the people he loved and he wasn't an annoying pervert who'd suddenly turn into an asshole if you rejected him. Not that you'd ever reject him. 

Each time you caught him staring your heart would race and you'd try to give a friendly smile, but apparently he was too shy for that. Which sucked, because of all the men you could have the hots for, Daryl was the most unapproachable and intimidating. 

“Hey, have you guys seen an earring laying around anywhere?” You asked at dinner, glancing around the table. Carol had invited the inner group over for dinner, she'd made pasta and cookies. 

You could never get enough of Carol's cookies. 

“What's it look like?” Maggie asked beside Glenn, the two of them looking at you thoughtfully from across the table. 

“Just a pearl earring. The one's I always used to wear.” You took a sip of your sweet tea, looking at the other faces to see if any of them had a split second look of recognition. 

“Not that I can remember.” Glenn cleared his throat and shook his head after swallowing a heavy mouthful of alfredo pasta. 

“I'll keep an eye out for it.” Rick tipped his head to you, nodding slightly before continuing eating. You smiled in return, knowing if anyone was likely to find it, it’d be him. 

He'd grown very fond of you recently, the image of you had shifted in his head from another person he was responsible for, to a dear friend he could trust with his life. Mostly due to the way you were with Carl, always doing your best to be a figure of comfort to him. Not as close as he'd grown to Michonne, but more of a young aunt who takes too much interest in art and jewelry.

“I haven't seen you wear those in a while.” Carl spoke up. 

You sighed when no one had any leads. “Yeah, I know. Just been worried about losing them, they're pretty important.” You took the last bite of your cookie, dusting your hands together before speaking again. “It's really weird, they were both in my jewelry box last time I checked, but this morning there was only one.” 

“You think someone stole one?” Carol's voice held a tight tone of suspicion, her eyes narrowing so slightly you could've missed it if you blinked. 

“No, I mean, no one goes in our house besides you all. And I know none of you care about a single earring.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek in deep thought. 

You felt that familiar sensation of warmth on your cheek, like someone had a hot iron near you. 

You turned your head to your left, met with Daryl's eyes from his spot at the end of the other side of the table. 

To your surprise he didn't look away like he usually did. He kept his gaze steady, his elbows propped on the table and his hands clasped together in front of his mouth. 

You didn't feel butterflies like usual, and your cheeks burned for a different reason. For the first time you were the one to look away. 

Rick had put together a group to scout out further into town for more resources. The usual suspects, Aaron, Sasha, Rosita, Abraham, Daryl and of course, you.

He hadn't made up his mind on if he was glad or not. He'd been stupid, feeding the sparks of his mild obsession, and that pretty little pearl earring he kept in his jeans pocket felt like twenty pounds of red-hot metal.

They'd set up camp for the night in the woods right on the outskirts of town. Abraham had set up mediocre sound traps around the small clearing, and Daryl couldn't help but snort when you walked right into one and the cans failed to clash together. 

Fire was a dumb idea too. 

Daryl had started to remember why he preferred being alone. Aaron was too used to the safety of the Alexandria walls. 

Abraham told him he'd better put it out after dark, also throwing in a passive aggressive insult, and Aaron stuttered out an agreement. 

It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes off you. He sat across the fire from you, watching you smile and laugh and joke with Rosita like you were two young girls in summer camp.

As the flames of his fixation on you grew, so did his confliction. 

He had no problems with you. He'd barely even paid attention to you before you'd arrived at Alexandria, you were just another background character in his story that wouldn't make a difference if you died or not. But you'd grown close to Rick and Maggie, two people he cared about. So by extension, he cared about you too. 

He wasn't sure when it started. It kind of just happened over time.

He was always an outside observer, keeping details of each person he knew on a list in his mind. 

But you, he couldn't think of any reason you'd be so special. It was obvious you were smoking hot, he wasn't blind. But he'd seen his share of beautiful women. Maybe it was the fact you seemed to always have luck on your side, you could go out singing in the woods and never run into any trouble. 

If the two of you weren't careful, that luck might change tonight. 

Abraham and Aaron were busy looking at a map of the town and figuring out what pathing they'd take in the morning. Sasha and Rosita were sitting on their bedrolls cleaning their guns and talking about meaningless things, he didn't care enough to listen. 

You were the odd man out. Just like him. 

Sitting in the dirt on the other side of the fire, fidgeting with a stick in front of you while you thought. 

He could tell you knew he was staring at you again. And judging by the way you were forcing yourself to keep your eyes on the stick you were drawing circles in the dirt with, you were trying your best not to look up. 

He didn't expect you to look up. He almost let the confusion show on his face, caught off guard by his incorrect prediction. He saw the way your cheeks flushed even though the light of the fire made your face glow orange. He flared his nostrils at the sight, why'd you have to make it so damn hard?

His heart dropped when you suddenly stood and walked off into the woods. 

No one had even noticed, too wrapped up in their conversations. Another thing that succeeded in his self restraint slipping away. 

Daryl followed after counting three minutes in his head. He'd really hoped you'd come back before then, praying you'd be lucky enough to slip back through the trees before he got to his feet. 

It was dark in the woods away from the campfire. 

He could hear you a few yards ahead, your boots crunching lightly on leaves despite your attempts at being quiet. 

He kept his distance, just following the sounds of your footsteps and the slight silhouette of your body, the moonlight seeping through the treetops barely grazing your hair and shoulders. 

This was way too natural to him. 

Now out here you were just like any other victim, but it brought him comfort knowing there'd be no way he could hurt you and get away with it. The two of you disappear off into the woods at night and only Daryl comes back? He might think the people around the fire made stupid decisions sometimes, but they weren't stupid enough to not be suspicious of him. 

Maybe he could say walkers got you. 

He clenched his jaw when he realized he was at such a desperate point that an idea that stupid even crossed his mind. 

“Daryl?”

The sound of your sweet voice made him physically recoil, his hand falling from the knife in his belt that he didn't realize he'd been gripping. 

He could barely make out your figure in front of him. You were facing him, maybe six feet away, standing underneath a large pine tree. 

There was no use in hiding. Your eyes would've adjusted enough by now to see the shape of him. 

Finally, he answered, his voice coming out in more of a growl than a human speaking. “Shouldn't be out here alone.” 

There was silence before you filled it with the crunching of your footsteps moving towards him. 

His body tensed as you drew closer, now able to make out the pretty features of your face. An image of you flashed in his head, blood running down your nose and lips, tears in your eyes, your fingernails raking down his wrist. 

“I just needed a minute to clear my head.” You said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you weren't out in the dead of night stomping around loud enough for any walkers within a five mile radius to hear. 

Daryl said nothing, his eyes fixed on your face as you slowly crept near. Although he hated not being able to read your expressions, he was thankful for it, because he was hanging on by a thread and if you even showed the slightest hint of fear, he'd snap. He wouldn't be able to resist if your lips trembled, or if your eyes widened and you stuttered a single apprehensive syllable. 

But as his eyes adjusted even further, his mouth ran dry and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He felt like he'd been slapped in the face. That would've been less of a stun than the look you were giving him, standing only a few inches away from him. 

Your plan had worked. You'd been plotting it ever since Rick paired you up in that group, the silent attention Daryl had been giving you ended up driving you mad. You found it absurd that all it took was a few stares to make you feel like he was some A list celebrity giving you special treatment.

Maybe it was a little stupid the way you went about it, but the curiosity eating you up inside didn't have you thinking straight. Walking off into the woods was one thing, but at night? In woods so thick you could barely see your hand outstretched in front of you? Blindly trekking through the leaves in the mere hope that he'd follow you and make a move? 

You hadn't had sex in way too long. 

Yeah, that was it.

That's why you were making the decisions of a dumb bitch in a horror movie. But at least it was Daryl you were after, you knew you'd be fine if you ran into trouble. 

You thought you'd be fine.

Emboldened by the darkness and privacy you'd secured for yourself, you approached him. Your heart hammered against your chest, and you had to bite your lip to keep from panicking, the fear of rejection or a humiliating scolding almost made you change your mind. 

Your eyes strained in the dark to make out the features of his face. 

He looked almost expressionless, but there was something in his eyes, something that had your steady breathing turning into shuddering breaths coming from your mouth. His gaze looked like a textbook example of ‘dark’. Your heart felt like it was literally about to explode, and when you saw his upper lip barely twitch, you let out an accidental sigh, too exhilarated to feel embarrassed with yourself. 

He was right in front of you then. You'd crossed every single inch of ground that separated you, and you could smell his signature scent of cigarettes, smoke, those spicy little mint leaves he'd chew on for his oral fixation. There was a hint of male musk as well, just barely there after a day walking outside in the woods. 

You could see his chest rising and falling more dramatically now. 

He was still dead silent, his eyes never leaving yours, even as you looked over every inch of him. You'd been biting your lip so hard it started to ache, and so you released it, your mouth opening to speak, you yourself unaware of what you planned to say.

The sound of Abraham’s whistle signal breaking through the thick silence had you feeling like you fell out of a plane. You sucked in a gasp and pulled your hand back from where it hung inches away from Daryl's chest. 

Daryl's posture snapped into something so different it gave you whiplash. He was Daryl Dixon again, the sight so drastic you couldn't help but feel unnerved. 

He whistled back before looking at you once more. It was still too dark to tell if he looked relieved or disappointed. “C'mon.” 

Keeping his distance from people had never been a problem for Daryl. But what you did that night had permanently altered something inside him. 

He didn't know if he wanted to fuck you or kill you. Maybe both. 

You became his new favorite pastime. 

When everyone fell asleep that night, he sat with his back against the same tree he'd been sitting under for hours, his eyes keeping their unwavering stance on your sleeping form. All the while he imagined hundreds of different things to do to you. 

His mind kept going between strangling the life out of you, watching it bleed from your eyes. Or the other one, the image where he was burying his face between your legs with his tongue and teeth sucking and nipping, licking till it became too much and you begged him to stop.

He carefully planned out his next encounter with you over the course of days. He acted it out the night of a “party” at Aaron and Eric’s house, so focused on his plan he didn't even know what they were having a party for.

Daryl didn't care if you caught him staring anymore. That night in the woods he could practically smell how bad you wanted it, it didn't matter to him anymore if he disregarded all basic manners.

The last time there was a party in Alexandria was when Rick's group joined. Daryl hadn't gone to that one, the feeling of being an outdoor cat watching indoor cats eating their fancy wet food too much for him. 

But he'd do anything to continue this little game with you. It was new, and there were no rules. 

For the most part he was his usual self, sticking to the side and keeping enough casual conversation to blend in. The perfect balance between himself, and the part of him that imagined in great detail all the sounds you'd make. 

He took a sip of the beer Aaron forced in his hands, his eyes looking back to you. 

You looked like a fresh cut of meat just waiting for him to sink his teeth into. 

The dress you wore hugged every single piece of your body, fitting you in a way that was almost poetic, but it was modest enough that it didn't draw unwanted attention. You were beside Rick most of the night, happily chatting and drinking champagne in a way that oozed confidence. 

Every now and then you'd look at him, and he'd savor all the details of the way your confidence faded into something he didn't have a word for. You looked nervous, but hungry, like someone reaching out a hesitant hand to stroke the pelt of a tamed predator. 

Daryl wanted to bite that hand, hold it in his harsh jaws while your other one stroked his fur. 

You played your part well, after most of the formal greetings and casual conversation had been taken care of you slipped out the back door. 

He counted three minutes in his head before making his exit, which was stopped by Carol.

“Leaving already, huh?” She gave him a knowing smirk, unaware that her assumption he was just bored was incorrect. He'd never been more entertained. 

“Yeah, shit ain't for me anyway.” He played along with a nonchalant shrug, pulling a lone cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Done enough already just by comin’.” 

Carol nodded, that smirk still on her face as she looked at the people standing around making friendly conversation. “Don't get into any trouble. Don't wanna help you hide bodies again.”

Daryl snorted, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. If there was anyone he'd come to for help hiding bodies it definitely would've been her. “Yeah yeah. Night Carol.” He gave her a pat on her shoulder before turning sideways to fit through the cracked door. 

He hadn't expected you to be so good at this. He'd been prepared to walk down the steps of the porch and see you standing down the sidewalk, waiting for him like he was your prom date. 

You weren't too good, though. He found you rather easily. The bottom of your heels left slight little indents in the dirt, leading between the houses, down the street, and right up to the sidewalk in front of your house. 

His heart rate sped up a little when he remembered that house was completely empty, all but you.

Or so he thought.

You weren't anywhere to be seen. He checked every room, growing increasingly irritated when each one turned up nothing. He was about to give up and just head home when he checked your room one last time. 

Something caught his eye, a blade of grass, his eyes followed the bits of grass to see those black heels sitting under your dresser, taking the place of your boots.

You tried to keep from anxiously picking at your fingernails as you stood behind the thick underbrush at the woodline, watching for any sign of movement along the outside walls. 

There was a spot at the back wall near a platform no one really watched anymore, which is where the both of you had gone to leave without being seen. 

You were beginning to think maybe you'd read him wrong. Your heart skipped a beat as you remembered that look he gave you at the party, it was impossible to describe. He was lacking any sort of expression, but in his eyes held this darkness that made swallowing your champagne hard when you'd seen it. The way he leaned against the wall near a group of people, his eyes steady and fixed on you, you could only decipher that as a look of craving for something he'd been wanting for a long time.

If you hadn't been looking at the Alexandrian walls, you would've missed it. For a split second you saw a flash of dark clothing, even darker hair, and you darted from your position behind the thickets.

Thankfully it wasn't as dark as that one night. 

The sun had dipped down below the trees and out of sight, but it left just enough light for the sky to be a dark blue. The full moon made it even brighter, and soon you were in one of the houses right outside Alexandria. 

You stood in the living room and waited. You'd already checked the house for walkers before this, not keen on the idea of a growling monstrosity of green and purple flesh ruining whatever might happen there when Daryl arrived. 

If he arrived. 

You were beginning to think maybe he wasn't coming. The heavy front door was open just a few inches, you'd wanted to be able to see him approach the house, to take him by surprise, maybe giving him the same fright he'd given you countless times.

Suddenly, the air grew heavy. You felt that feeling again, like you were in danger, the feeling you might get being stalked by a large cat. 

There was a breeze behind you, and you recognized it as a draft from the back window being opened. 

Although it was happening behind you, your mind raced as you played out the scene. His hands bracing against the walls on either side of the window, his first leg dipping over like a spider emerging from its tunnel. 

The tap of a boot meeting the wood floor under the window, so light and careful you almost didn't hear it. A second foot, he was in the house, only across the room from you. You held your breath as the footsteps drew near, slow, deliberate, you could tell just by the timing of his steps he was approaching you like a leopard closing in on a wounded deer. Confident, patient, nearly sadistic.

The feeling of his breath on your bare shoulder sent chills through your body and goosebumps down your arms. It was cold and barely there, you felt like if you turned around you'd be met with an empty house.

His fingers were just as light as his breath, tracing the thin dress strap over your shoulder, down and to the middle of your spine. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you think Daryl could be this confident in this way. He acted like every antagonist in a romance novel, dark and self-assured with every move he made. 

You felt yourself relaxing as you leaned your back against his chest, feeling the leather of his vest on your skin, as well as the buttons on his black shirt. 

The feeling of his hand snaking over your shoulder and up to your neck succeeded in sending every last drop of blood in your body down between your legs. You were fully prepared for the best slow, deep, mind-blowing sex of your life, but that quickly changed when his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed.

It wasn't a firm and sexy squeeze, it was a ‘wait that's actually way too tight’ squeeze. 

Your eyes shot back open but you tried to keep your cool, your hands instinctively reaching up to grab at his wrist.

Apparently, Daryl didn't like that. 

He suddenly had your back pressed against the wall of the living room with movements so quick and precise it made your head spin. You looked up at his face, lit with a dim blue light from the windows, searching for any signs that would be cause for panic. 

He decided to give you that reason you were looking for, and wrapped his hand around your neck again.

For once, Daryl wasn't fighting some internal battle on if he should kill you or not. 

He'd made the decision as soon as he crept in the window and saw you standing in the living room, facing the front door and biting at your nails. 

That decision wasn't final, though, you had the power in your hands to change his mind. 

Hopefully you'd be as lucky as you always were. 

He looked down at your face as he kept his one handed grip on your throat, burning the image in his mind. Your eyes were wide and full of this otherworldly beautiful fear, so much uncertainty it made his already hard cock twitch. 

Your hands were still on his wrist, as if it gave you some sort of control, something he found endearing. You still trusted him, you still thought you had a chance to regain the control you thought you had this whole time.

“This what you wanted?” He breathed, looking from your eyes to your lips. Your face had turned a shade darker from his grip, your lips turning a pretty hue of red. “Wanted me to hunt you down, and then what? Huh?”

He watched for your reaction, waiting to see how you'd play the hand you'd been dealt, and to his pleasant surprise you managed to nod. 

Daryl's hand loosened just enough to send the blood back to your head and you sucked in a deep breath, before letting out a trembling whimper. 

His lips twitched into a soft smirk, and he dipped his head down to press his lips against yours. You kissed him hungrily, swallowing the growl from his throat as your bare knee pressed against the aching bulge in his jeans. You moved it in firm circles, and he decided that earned a returned gesture.

He used his knee to roughly spread your thighs before giving you the same treatment. The whine that drew from your lips, and the way your eyes rolled back in your head, had him letting out a deep groan. He ground his knee up between your legs, long enough to feel the wetness seeping from your panties and through his jeans. 

You didn't get a chance to tell him about the bed you'd cleaned upstairs for this. Which was unfortunate, given you'd gone out of your way to do so, not that he would've cared anyway. 

He grabbed your shoulder and spun you around, fingers finding the zipper of your dress and unceremoniously pulling it down to your ass. Your heavy breathing fueled his desire and he grabbed a fistful of your hair before yanking your dress down with his other hand so fast it burned. 

With the grip he had in your hair he forcefully guided you onto the floor, releasing you only to settle between your thighs and slide his hands up your bare chest to his favorite part of you. 

You got that look on your face again. Lust blown pupils, breathing softly through your mouth. You still hadn't figured it out yet, that you could very easily be in danger. 

This time he used both hands. 

A yelp got choked from your throat as he squeezed, allowing himself a few seconds to please himself. The white of your eyes turned a light pink at the edges, a few beads of tears forming there as well, the sight making his dick throb. 

He released your neck and you gasped, sucking down lungfuls of air as your head spun. You felt like you were on a carousel the way you got so dizzy. 

While you regained your bearings he unbuckled his belt and took out his dick, his right hand wasting no time in giving himself relief. You took the opportunity to slide off your panties, and when he saw the glistening of your wet folds in the deep blue lighting he growled. The sinful sound earned a whimper from you, and he refocused on your face to see a pitiful look of impatience.

Daryl switched to stroking himself with his left hand, and guided the tip up through your slick folds. He savored the way you looked then, biting your bottom lip as you prepared yourself. 

Instead of giving the satisfaction he pulled his tip back and carried on fucking his hand. As soon as your eyes opened and you went to protest, his free hand went right back to your neck.

He loved the way you looked then, desperate and pathetic, so full of frustration it leaked out through tears in your eyes. He squeezed hard, completely cutting off blood and air to your brain, tugging his dick faster as you squirmed.

Daryl lifted up his knee to pin one of your thighs to the floor in an effort to keep you still. He took his hand away from his cock and spit in his palm, wasting no time in getting back to touching himself. 

He could've easily come right there. If he wanted to, he could keep squeezing just a few more moments, and your squirming would've stopped. He could spill his load on your stomach and effortlessly slip into his cleanup routine, but aside from the fact that part of him didn't really want to kill you, the way you orgasmed had him fucking frozen.

He hadn't even touched you, but you came. 

Your eyebrows scrunched together and the leg he didn't have pinned down wrapped around his waist, your hips rolling in a desperate attempt to get friction against your clit. He relaxed his hand from your throat and you let out this bubbly whimpering sound that made his hips instinctively jerk forward. 

Daryl watched you, holding his breath without realizing it. She just came from you chokin’ her. The words repeated over and over in his mind as you rode out the last waves of your orgasm. 

He had to snatch his hand away from his dick to keep his own orgasm at bay. Not yet, not a chance in hell, not after you just did that. You deserved something for showing him the hottest thing he never would've thought possible.

His body went on autopilot. He slid down from your body, planting kisses in a trail from your neck to your naval, down to your thighs, then back up again. He buried his face between your legs, not giving you a moment's notice or time to recover. He swirled his tongue around your clit, grazing his teeth against it before sucking it between his lips.

You bucked against him like a wild horse, the stimulation so much your body didn't know how to react. It was desperate, finally getting some stimulation, but you'd just had a world shattering orgasm only seconds before. He wrapped his arms under your thighs and pulled you down against his mouth again, his grip tight to keep you from squirming away again. 

The only control you had was your ability to choose what to do with your hands. Your fingers wrapped around clumps of his hair, winding up so tight it made his scalp burn. 

He growled in response and took your clit between his teeth, holding it there as a stern warning, only letting it go when you stopped pulling so damn hard.

If he had the power to freeze time for everything but the two of you, he would've eaten your pussy for hours. But he settled on just long enough to pull another orgasm from you, sliding the tip of his tongue from your throbbing clit to the new trail of slick cum dripping out of you. 

Daryl didn't give you time to recover from that one either. As soon as your cry faded out he flipped you on your back, ignoring the yelp of protest you made when your hip bones dug into the hard floor beneath you. 

The only warning he gave you before shoving his cock into you was a quick slide of his swollen tip between your puffy folds. Just right enough to lubricate the head, and then he drove it in.

The way you groaned in pain from the stretch almost made him cum right there. He stilled inside you, not for you to adjust but for him to fall back away from the edge. The benefit to you was just lucky. 

“Fuck.” It was the first time in a while that he'd spoken, and it was solely due to the way your hot plush walls squeezed his dick like a fist. 

He should've known you'd feel like that, he hadn't seen you with a man the entire time he'd known you. His chest shuddered with his ragged breaths, and once he was ready he put both hands flat on your upper back. He put his weight there, keeping him upright so he could lift his hips and fuck his dick into you with all his weight.

Your arms slid out in front of you, your hands grasping for something, anything, you needed something to hold onto.

He wouldn't grant you that kindness either. He rested his knees back on the floor on either side of your thighs and grabbed your arms, bending them painfully behind you. When he held your wrists together at the base of your spine he started fucking you again. 

Each rough snap of his hips drove a whiney moan from you. He liked that a lot, it sounded similar to a different type of crying, and he slowed down to keep his dick from getting friction burns. While you used the opportunity to squirm under him in an attempt to get more comfortable he spit on his fingers, letting it drip onto the base of his cock before changing positions once again.

He moved your arms up over your head and laid down on top of you, the weight of him pressing down on your back pushing all the air from your lungs. 

Your check rubbed against the floor as he started thrusting again, this time settling on a new pace, rough and fast despite the fact he barely drew his dick out. If he wasnt fucking you so roughly, the feeling of his head resting against yours would’ve given you butterflies. You became acutely aware of the closeness, there wasn't an inch of space between your bodies, and every grunt and groan he made had his lips brushing up against the side of your ear.

He used his hips to grind his dick inside you, the new motion drawing filthy gasps and whines from you from the way his tip seemed to roll and dig into each and every crevice inside you. You'd never felt anything like that before, so used to the normal thrusting. He only pulled back about an inch, rolling his hips in a way that had you shamelessly moaning. 

Daryl moved your hair from the back of your neck, pushing it up and away before leaning down to dig his teeth into the skin right at the base of your neck. He bit hard, something you didn't expect, and you cried out in pain, your body jerking under him. 

It was hard for you to breathe with his full weight on your back. The heat of his body gave you uncomfortable hot flashes, adding to the sweat you'd already made. Your hair stuck to your forehead and you made an attempt to push it off, which was made difficult when he changed paces once again.

He started drawing out further now, but he'd just drive back in harder, faster, causing your body to grind roughly against the wood floor. The skin over your hip bones started to burn as well as your nipples, something you found almost agonizing but shamefully pleasurable at the same time. 

He fucked you like that until you came for the third time, now around his dick. He pushed himself off your back and used his hands on your shoulders to keep you pinned down, watching as he breathed through his mouth at the way his cock disappeared inside you. 

You were lucky he felt like a new position. 

He waited until you stopped writhing under him from your orgasm before grabbing your thigh to turn you on your back. 

Relief washed over you as the pain in your hip bones faded, only to have that relief taken from you when he grabbed your waist and yanked you up and off the floor. 

Your feet didn't even touch the ground, your body swaying as you tried to get a sense of gravity, Daryl's hands tight on your sides as he took you to the couch. 

All you could do at that point was relax and let him move your body for you, your hands shaking against your chest as he sat you on the arm of the couch. You let him push you down on your back, your ass and legs dangling over the arm for a few dizzying seconds before he grabbed your legs and held them around his waist. 

Daryl pushed his dick back in your abused pussy and groaned, gripping your thighs tighter so he could pull you closer to him.

Your back arched almost uncomfortably, your hips angled up against his pelvis, the only part of your back that touched the cushions of the couch ended up being your shoulders. You were thankful you could at least breathe now. 

Daryl was skilled at taking small bits of relief like that away. 

He leaned down and bit your already sore nipple so hard and so suddenly you nearly shouted. Your hands instinctively went to grab his hair for support, but he leaned back and your fingers fell from his face. 

He was proud of the new angle. Your pelvis tilted up and him fucking down into you sent him as deep as possible, and soon he began fucking you rough enough that it bordered closely on too painful. 

Lucky for you, you liked it. Your walls burned pleasurably from the dragging of his dick, and he started speaking again. 

“Look at you, dirty little whore.” He teased as he looked down at your abused body with a grin. Your nipples and hips were red from him fucking you into the floor, your neck equally as red from the force of his hands. 

Your sweet, sweet pretty face, twisted up in a mix of pleasure and pain, your cheeks red, your lips swollen, streaks of black makeup running down your face. The sight made him seriously consider picking up drawing, because that look was, without a doubt, the best thing he'd seen in his entire life. 

“Daryl,” You finally plucked the courage to speak to him and he raised a brow, impressed, he'd gotten used to you taking it so well without any complaints. “Too much.” Your voice broke as you whined, another orgasm bringing you to shambles. 

He snorted as he watched you come around his dick yet again, your words asking for mercy but your body clearly asking him otherwise. 

“You can take a little more, yeah?” Even he was becoming spent, his heart banging in his chest so hard he could hear the blood in his ears. He slid his hands down your sweaty chest to your breasts, his dick twitching inside you at the way you cried when he pinched that same sore nipple. 

“I don't know,” Another wave of shivers overcame you, eliciting exhausted, long and shaky whines. Your body couldn't process going a little under two years with little to no sexual activity, and then suddenly being mind numbingly overstimulated with the most exhilarating sex you'd ever had in your life. Each time you thought you'd gotten used to it he'd pull the rug out from under you, either by causing pain or giving you more pleasure that you knew what to do with. 

As if on cue you felt his flattened hand smack the side of your face, demanding your focus. Your eyes struggled to find him, your vision fuzzy and wobbly, but when you looked up and saw him your heart fluttered. 

“Look at me. C'mon.” He didn't want you passing out on him, that took all the fun away. 

Despite the obvious fact he had a clear disregard for your comfort or discomfort, the way he was looking down at you sent butterflies through your stomach and chest. His pupils were so blown with lust that you couldn't see the pretty color of his eyes, and his eyelids were heavy with the approach of his orgasm. His lips, glistening from the way his tongue had darted out to wet them, parted as he huffed in ragged breaths. 

You could tell if he had a picture of you like this, he'd be reacting the same way with just his hand. The thought had a moan bubbling past your lips. 

“C'mon.” His hips snapped forward roughly, jerking in a break from his steady aggressive rhythm. You cried out from that, your hands finding the sides of his dangling belt to grab onto like the reins of a horse.

He'd held back his orgasm as long as he could, but the sight of you shaking and trembling under him, exhausted and overstimulated, he couldn't last much longer. Your face twisted in discomfort as he fucked you faster again, your hips suddenly doing their best to wiggle up and away from the frenzy of his dick. 

You'd managed to get a few short moments of relief, sliding backwards until his dick nearly slid out.

His upper lip curled in disbelief, and he shook his head, scoffing at you. “Don't be a baby, you can take it.” You were yanked back down on his dick, the sensation of being forced back into overstimulation had you moaning in distress. 

You nodded your head feverishly, setting your jaw as you looked up at the ceiling, trying your best to keep it together. But each time his hips would ram into yours it made his crotch slam against your clit, and it got too much, your breathing sped up as the panic of overstimulation set in. You really tried then, actually tried to wiggle away, and to your surprise, and much needed relief, he stilled his hips. 

You were expecting him to maybe find a better way to restrain you, or put you in a position you couldn't move from, but he just used the moment to catch his breath before his demeanor changed completely.

“Hey, hey, shh.” The sweetness in his tone made you whimper, your eyes falling closed as he comforted you. It felt so fucking good, you found yourself willing to do anything and everything to feel that tenderness some more. “Yeah, that’s it. Good girl.” He cooed as your breathing slowed and your fingers stopped shaking.

Daryl released your thighs and with unexpected ease, he slipped his hands under the arch in your back, picking you up and moving so he could sit down on the couch, keeping you stuck on his cock the entire time. 

The new position of being on top sent a fresh wave of pleasure flipping in the bottom of your stomach, the tip of his dick pressed right at the end of your walls.

It wasn't painful like you'd felt before when your cervix was accidentally hit too hard, quite the opposite, the feeling of pressure was so strangely good you found yourself pushing down with all your weight, desperate to feel more. 

Daryl tossed his head back with a grunt at the feeling, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting it. His hands took their place on your hips, his fingers digging deep into the soft skin there. 

He'd only switched to this position because his legs were getting unsteady, but the way you looked above him was something he didn't expect to enjoy as much as he did. 

He took a second to catch his breath before he planted his boots firmly on the floor, pressing his back against the couch, and when he was perfectly leveraged he used his hands to keep your waist hovering above him, using the angle to fuck his dick up into you so hard you immediately came again. 

The way you came for the fourth time made his jaw drop. 

He watched you through heavy lidded eyes, taking in every second of it as he breathed through his open mouth. The way your face tensed up in twisted concentration, and then the way it dropped as you fell apart, your mouth falling open with a guttural moan that put every single goddamn porn video he'd seen to shame. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your mouth hung open in such a beautiful ‘O’, he broke. 

He let go of your waist so your full weight would slam down on his cock and he came, his head tilted back against the couch, his dark hair falling away from his face. 

You watched his face the same way he'd watched yours, rolling your hips down against him as you drew out every wave of the strongest orgasm you'd ever had. He looked fucking beautiful. You'd do everything in your power to get him like this again, but this time with your camera. 

His orgasm literally shook him. He clenched the skin over your hips in a tight grip, using it to keep you as tight as possible against him. In those few seconds his mind went blank, almost devolving him into an animal. Those instincts wanted to keep you there on top of him, so he did, rolling his pelvis to fuck his cum deeper into you. 

Daryl held you there until way after he came down from his high, only releasing his grip on your skin when he felt his dick grow soft. 

You couldn't move off him if you tried. Your legs felt like you'd lost all muscle mass, same with your arms. Your body slumped forward and you fell against his chest, your nipples burning as they rubbed against his shirt and vest. 

His arms wrapped around your torso, squeezing your body tight against his, his hips giving a few last weak rolls up against you. 

It took you both a while to catch your breath, the mouth breathing leaving the two of you uncomfortably thirsty. 

He made the first move when he realized you couldn't, and he slid your body off of his into the seat beside him. He sat there for a few more seconds before he carefully put his tender dick back in his pants. 

His belt buckle clinked noisily as he fastened it, his fingers shaky and inaccurate.  He watched as you slowly rose to your feet and grabbed your panties, the rising and falling of his chest gradually slowing. 

The sight of you struggling to climb into your dress had him feeling a smug sense of satisfaction. He chewed on the skin around his thumb, watching you slip your feet into your boots before you leaned against the wall next to the front door. 

You looked at it and faltered, realizing that the two of you had been pretty loud. When you looked back to him with a concerned expression you were just met with an uncaring smirk, the man now on his feet and wiping the sweat from his face with the top of his shirt. He grabbed his crossbow from the floor and flung it over his shoulder before leading you back home.

@ophelialaufey

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Matchmaker Merle

Warnings: slight drug use, mentions of Lori, Daryl is a virgin, Shane being Shane, No use of Y/N, unprotected sex

Summary: Merle tries to get Daryl laid with an old family friend. Apparently, Merle is a master matchmaker? Buildup to smut. 

Notes: Sorry for having the buildup so slow, I'm really bad at porn without at least a LITTLE plot lmao

You were allowed a little leeway your first day at camp. Glenn had found you, confused and lost, covered in dirt and blood after the bombs had gone off and separated you from your friends and family. You were on the highway, like everyone else, but as soon as they saw the city being lit up, all hell broke loose. They started acting like animals. Running and screaming, looting. The dead coming back to life didn't help much either. 

On your second day, you were expected to start pitching in. You didn't mind helping, it was the way Shane approached you that rubbed you the wrong way. You offered to help hunt, fish, and go out looking for supplies, but he just laughed at you. He laughed like you were a child asking for a gun. He handed you a brush and sat you down beside Carol, who was washing clothes at the bottom of the quarry. 

You found comfort in familiarity. Which came in the form of something extremely unexpected, Merle Dixon. Maybe it was because you'd seen each other a few times at the corner store back near where you lived, maybe it was the fact he had respect for your folks, but when you were taken back to camp he didn't treat you the way he treated the other women. 

He wasn't respectful or chivalrous by any means, but he didn't treat you like a piece of meat. He didn't constantly try to get in your pants or speak to you in that slimy demeaning way he had with Andrea or Amy. You were grateful for it, even if you did catch him staring at your ass more than once, because he was the one thing that made you feel a little more at home with the group.

You'd never met his brother before. You'd seen him once, at the small mechanic shop near the corner store you'd occasionally see Merle in. Rednecks were anything but rare where you grew up, but something about Daryl felt different. He was quieter, more of Merle's shadow than his own person. But you knew just by looking at him that he was anything but somebody's shadow.

He saw you on your second day, after you'd done your morning “chores” and went to sit next to the campfire. He was carving something, maybe a bolt for his crossbow, and he barely looked up when you sat down across from him. 

Daryl looked up again, a spark of recognition in his eyes. His voice, strong and firm, called your name as if it was a question. 

“Yes?” You could see the exact moment the realization clicked that he did in fact remember you.

He didn't know much about you at all. He knew Merle knew your folks, and you lived pretty close, but he'd never actually spoken to you before. 

He did like to watch you, though, you'd always go into the corner store next to the mechanic shop and buy a coke and a bag of chips at lunch. He thought you were the prettiest woman he'd ever seen. Merle had a different set of words he'd prefer to use for you, but Daryl thought they felt too nasty. You weren't white trash, you were pretty, out of place, and the words ‘hot piece of ass' just didn't fit you. 

“Shit. Didn't think it was you when they said your name yesterday.” His fingers absentmindedly rubbed the length of his stick, looking over you a few times as he tongued the inside of his cheek in thought. “Huh. You seen Merle yet?” 

“Yeah, I got here yesterday morning.” You answered, the day before Daryl had been gone most of the day hunting. By the time he got back you were already in your new tent, something that Glenn had made sure to pick up when he brought you back to his group. 

“What happened? Your folks alright?” He asked, knowing it was strange for you to be here without your family and friends. 

“I have no idea. Don't remember much. We were real close to the city when the bombs went off, all I remember is fire and screaming and I woke up in the back of a gas station.” 

He nodded again, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he listened. 

Daryl wanted to stay with you, talk for a while, having a familiar face made him feel like less of an outsider. But from the corner of his eye he saw Shane with his hands on his hips in that stupid pose he liked to do when he was about to give someone  attitude. Daryl looked back to you and gathered his crossbow and bolts, muttering a quick excuse about needing to go hunt and that he'd see you around. He couldn't stand Shane, he'd only known him for a few weeks, give or take, and he was doing everything he could to avoid the wife fucker. 

Shane gave you a talking to that evening, warning you about the “backwoods rednecks”, even though you knew it wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. It was just another way to control the people in his camp, something he got off on doing. He didn't trust either of the Dixon brothers, that was for certain, but going out of his way to ‘warn’ you? It took everything in you to just nod and say okay. 

“When you gonna tap that, baby brother?” Merle's voice and the way he said it made Daryl cringe. He needed to do a better job about not staring at you so blatantly. 

“Not my type.” Daryl lied through his teeth, picking another strip of stringy squirrel meat from the stick he'd used to roast it over the fire. 

The Dixon brothers usually had a smaller, separate fire away from the main groups. It was mostly Merle's idea, he'd tell Daryl ‘they're not like us, keep your distance, we're just redneck trash to them.’. Not that Daryl gave a shit. He mostly thought the same anyways. 

You were at the group fire, sitting beside Andrea and Amy, who were busy chattering about how they wished they could catch some fish instead of surviving off tree rats and canned peas. You didn't mind it, even though you preferred larger game, meat was meat. You ate your squirrel like it was a gourmet dinner, something Daryl took note of.

“Not your type? Hah! That's bullshit and we both know it. She's everybody's type, boy, you better get on that before someone else does.”

Daryl wasn't sure who Merle was referring to. Glenn could barely speak to women, T-Dog was far too respectful, Shane was so far up Lori’s ass he had shit in his ears. (That's so gross I'm so sorry) 

The sound of harsh sniffing had Daryl looking away from you and back to his brother. He wiped the white residue from his nose and offered Daryl his large knife, containing another line. 

“Nah. I'm good.” Daryl waved him off, not feeling like being on uppers around all these people. Made his temper even shorter than it already was. “Careful with that shit, if Shane sees-”

“He ain't gonna do shit about it. I'd like to see him say somethin’.” The fact Merle was always looking for an excuse to butt heads had Daryl on edge. “Take it, and go take her off in the woods before I do.” 

It never took too much demanding from Merle before Daryl would give in. It was a fatal flaw in his character. He looked up to him and whatever he said went, even when he didn't really want to. So he took the coke and worked up the nerves to talk to you. 

You'd just finished washing everyone's stupid dirty dishes and went into the woods to piss when you saw Daryl again. You gasped as you walked around the tree you'd used for cover and saw him walking through the treeline, worried he'd seen you. But he was too focused on his steps, and that put you at ease. 

You walked up the half-assed trail to meet him, not feeling like chatting next to your pee puddle. 

“Hey, you going hunting?” You asked, slipping your hands in your shorts pockets. 

He shook his head as he reached you, snatching a stray stick out of his hair. “Goin’ down to some of the old shops down the road. Tired of all these canned peas. You comin’?”

You eagerly nodded, happy to be away from the group. They were nice enough, but since you normally hung around Merle, they treated you as someone they didn't fully trust. Especially Lori, Shane and Dale. The amount of times you caught Lori staring daggers into you every time you were within ten feet of Carl was starting to drive you insane. 

“Been wanting to get out and do something for days. Can't fucking stand Shane's micromanaging.” You said as you walked, wishing you would've known you'd be going on an impromptu supply run. You only had your knife, you'd prefer to have your Ruger your father had given you. It was in the RV, where Shane had taken it to ‘clean’. You were more than suspicious that he just didn't want you carrying a gun around camp. 

Daryl snorted. “Yeah. Can't stand that asshole. What kinda man-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. 

“What?” You looked over at him, careful not to trip on the multiple storm blown  branches from the larger trees. 

“Nothin’. Just don't like ‘em.” 

You were silent for a few minutes as you thought of something to say. You know, in apocalypse type situations, you mainly think about securing your next meal, how to not get killed in your sleep, how to protect your friends and family. But here you were, trying to think of what to say to a man you were steadily growing attracted to. You always thought he was cute before this, but seeing how capable he was, how he was so sure of himself, it was a side to him you didn't expect. It was like he was one of those people always secretly hoping for an excuse to go live in the woods and live in anarchy. 

“How attached are you to this group?” He asked, catching you off guard. 

“Not at all. Can't stand most of them. Why?” 

“Just thinkin’ about leavin’. Don't belong here with these people. Lori screamed at a damn snake the other day and got the kids all riled up.” He had a visible look of distaste on his face. Of all things to scream your head off at in an apocalypse, wildlife wasn't on your list. 

“Are you asking me to come?” You asked, unsuccessfully attempting to hide your excitement. The idea of splitting off with the Dixon brothers seemed your best bet, even if Merle was, well, Merle. You knew you were probably one of the only women on earth that didn't have to worry about him constantly trying to get in your pants. What you didn't know though, was that he was trying his damnedest to get his little brother laid, even if you were the daughter of a family friend. 

“Yeah. You don't belong here either.” You didn't know if it was true or not, but it felt true to you. 

“Sure. As long as I'm not gonna be a burden, or anything.” You knew you'd need to rely on the two of them for protection and some food, at least until you got used to your new life. You adapted fairly quickly. 

“Wouldn't’ve asked if you were.” 

“Alright, well, if you make up your mind, let me know.”

You arrived at the first store, a small gas station much like the one the two of you used to frequent back then. It was fairly untouched, but you knew it wouldn't be that way for long. 

You broke into a bag of jerky, thankful it was Daryl with you and not anyone else. If someone gave you a speech on taking care of the group before yourself you might just take off on your own without Daryl. 

He scored a bunch of chips, some cup noodles, and a 6 pack of beer for Merle. 

Instead of going back like you'd originally planned, you talked each other into going further off down the road to an old Dollar General. You stored your stash in a hollowed out log next to the road so you wouldn't need to carry it the entire time and carried on. 

“This was a great idea.” Your tongue was stained red from sour patch kids, you went through five bags and gave Daryl the greens and yellows. 

Daryl licked the sour crystals from his fingertips and grunted in agreement, tossing the empty bag over his shoulder off the roof that the two of you had gone up to to indulge in your spoils. 

You laid on your back and sighed, surrounded by empty snack bags and wrappers. “Fuck. I needed this.” Neither of you cringed at your corny comment, because although a cliche, you really, really did need this. 

Daryl hadn't eaten much besides the gummies, thanks to being pressured into taking the coke by Merle. He cursed himself for it, wishing he had the nerve to just say no and stick with it. 

He glanced over at you, your body orange in the light of the setting sun. You still wore those cute short Bobbie Brooks shorts he'd always seen you wearing around town. His eyes drifted to your legs and he let out a soft exhale, wishing he was as silver tongued as he thought his brother was. Even if the ladies rarely appreciated Merle's filthy flirting, he had to admit his one liners were pretty impressive sometimes. 

You opened your eyes and used your hand as a shield from the sun to look at him. You'd barely caught him staring at your legs, and felt a smile tug at your lips. 

“You wanna fool around?” You half joked, prepared to laugh if he turned you down. But the look on his face told you he really, really didn't want to turn you down. 

He froze for a moment, his eyes looking anywhere but you, his heart hammering against his chest. His thoughts ran frantic, from Merle telling him to have sex with you, and to you, who he was terrified to have sex with. He was suddenly very grateful for the coke he'd taken, and it clicked in his mind why Merle had been so insistent on him taking it. He knew he wouldn't last three minutes without it. 

“You serious?” He asked, his brows knitted tightly together from the sun and in concentration as he read your face. 

“Yeah, why not?” You shrugged, sitting upright so you didn't have to keep squinting up at him. You looked cool on the outside, but on the inside you were barely holding it together. You'd never thought of Daryl this way before, given you'd only seen him once before all this, but now that you were, it felt like you were about to potentially have sex with the hottest man on earth. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” 

Awkward was an understatement. Daryl didn't know what to do with his hands. His dick had been hard off and on the whole trip with you, despite the coke. He didn't know what would feel good to you, something he found himself oddly concerned with. His only experience with women was watching them getting fucked in porn, so he tried it that way. 

Your eyes widened in surprise when he quickly turned and leaned over you, his hands slipping up your shirt. He choked out a gasp, looking down at the outline of his hands as he squeezed your tits. You were caught off guard by his sudden boldness, and the way he was roughly groping your chest wasn't helping. You grimaced, about to tell him to ease up, but he caught your mouth in an unexpected kiss before you could speak. 

You were way too horny to care about how messy his kissing was. Truthfully, it was pretty hot, filled with so much desire and lust that it didn't matter he was inexperienced. The fact he was this eager just because of you had you moaning into his mouth. 

He took that as a sign he was doing something right and rolled your nipples between his fingers, doing what felt right. He pinched them, making you gasp against his lips, and he couldn't hide the crooked grin from his face. He pulled back just long enough to start unbuttoning your shirt. 

You took over for him, not wanting him to get impatient and rip off one of your only good shirts. When his eyes landed on your chest he whimpered, he fucking whimpered! You groaned at the sound and pulled him back against you by his shoulders, sinking your head into the crook of his neck to kiss the skin there. 

He hadn't expected you to do anything to him. In the videos he watched, most of the time the dude just rips her clothes off and fucks her in different positions for half an hour while she screams and moans like she's hurt. He hated that sound, the over exaggerated noises, he much preferred the noises you made. 

You laid down on your back, grateful the sun had sunk below the tips of the trees so it wasn't so bright anymore. He was on you in a second, now kissing your neck, eager to give you the same pleasure you were making him feel. The moan that rumbled in your chest made his heart jump, knowing he was doing something right. 

“God, s’so good.” You exhaled lazily, your eyes closing as he used his knee to kick your thighs apart for his waist. He quickly ground against you, a stifled groan stuck in his throat at the feeling of friction. 

“Take ‘em off.” He demanded, tugging impatiently at your shorts before he went to unbuckle his belt. You happily obliged, unbuttoning your shorts and dragging them down your thighs. 

When Daryl saw your lacy red panties he shivered. At camp, most of the underwear he saw hanging up were more… practical? The women had quickly changed their lace panties and thongs for boy shorts, but here you were, the skin around your hips indented obscenely from the way they hugged you like magic. 

“Fuck.” He exhaled deeply, his forehead resting against yours as he looked down at your body under his. He was really, really glad Merle gave him coke. Just the sight of you mostly naked under him had his cock throbbing painfully.

He finished with his pants, only pulling them down enough to drag his leaking dick out, his jaw dropping when he saw you shimmying out of your panties. His head spun, his mouth watered, and before he could even think he was scooting down to plant his face between your legs. 

You gasped, your head falling back against the rough flooring of the roof. He was so eager., so heartbreakingly eager to please you, it had your pussy so wet it was almost unbearable. His hot tongue was sloppy, inaccurate, it couldn't decide where it wanted to be. He'd be licking broad stripes one second, and the next he was swirling it around your clit. You were beginning to think maybe he wasn't as inexperienced as you believed. 

Daryl learned all he knew about sex from porn. If there was one thing he was fascinated about, it was giving head. One of the first things he always wanted to do was eat out a woman. He never thought it would be someone as hot as you. 

He tried everything he knew that made the women in videos moan, and to his surprise, you moaned the most when he kept it simple and just sucked your clit. So he did that, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking it into his mouth to roll his tongue around. 

You were in shambles. You tried desperately to pull at his hair, but it was too short to grab so you settled on sinking your nails into his scalp as you rolled your hips against his face and tried not to be so loud. 

Your jaw dropped and your eyes squeezed shut when he dug his tongue into the side of your clit, dragging your orgasm out so unexpectedly that you gasped. 

“Fuck, oh, oh god!” You sputtered, your thighs squeezing his head to hold him there as you came, your back arching and your toes curling so hard your foot almost cramped up. 

Daryl slipped his hand under him and grabbed his cock, stroking it as he felt your body tremble and jerk under him. He was sure this was a dream, he'd wake up any second in his tent with Merle snoring beside him and you all the way across camp. He squeezed his dick, milking the precum from his tip as your thighs finally relaxed. 

“My god. You're really good at that.” You panted, your eyes blurry as you watched him slide up your body and take its place on top of you. 

He grinned, knowing you were unintentionally starting to give him an ego. “Yeah?” He racked his brain for dirty talk, but since it was fried from making you cum, all he could come up with was “I got somethin’ I'm even better at.” Complete lie. 

You, on the other hand, had no idea he was a virgin, and grinned widely at the implications, shifting your body up till you felt his heavy cock graze against your inner thigh. The feeling alone sent a bolt through your body, and your chest heaved with deep excited breaths. 

He leaned up and grabbed your shoulder, signaling for you to turn over. You didn't question it and rolled over, propping yourself on your hands and knees. 

The sight of you from behind had him falling apart. He let out a quiet whimper and bit his bottom lip before grabbing his cock and scooting forward to push it against you. 

“Jesus, so fuckin wet.” He breathed, his heart beating so loud he could hear the blood in his ears. He slid his dick between your folds, going through all the steps in his head that he'd seen countless times. He even slapped it against your pussy a few times, missing the amused expression on your face, and pushed himself into you. 

What Daryl  didn't learn from porn was that usually, you go in slow when someone hasn't had sex recently. So when he just pushed his dick inside you with no hesitation you cried out, the burn from the unprepared stretching making you jolt forward. He grabbed your hips to bring you back against him, his jaw going slack as he felt your hot wet walls squeezing the life out of him. 

“Fuck!” You spat, the burning and stabbing pain almost enough to turn you off completely. “You gotta be slower than that, Daryl.” 

He was too deep to process what you said. He finally let out the breath he'd been holding with a deep, guttural groan, still frozen inside you. “Sah-Sorry.” He sputtered, his hands squeezing your hips so hard you knew for a fact there'd be ten little light purple bruises there tomorrow. 

Before you could say or do anything else he started moving, setting the pace quickly, snapping his hips against your ass so roughly your hands almost slipped out from under you. The uncomfortable stretch quickly faded into a deep, primal pleasure, and soon you were letting out short moans with every thrust of his hips. 

You barely got used to the feeling before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it back, drawing a cry from your throat. You weren't expecting this from Daryl, he was so confident, so rough, it confused you but drove you absolutely wild at the same time. 

His other hand kept its tight grip on your hip, pulling you back to meet each of his demanding thrusts, making sure his dick went as deep as possible each time. The way you were moaning and gasping fueled him to fuck you rougher, wanting to hear every sound that you were possible of making. 

“Dirty little whore.” He grunted, his jaw aching from how hard he'd been clenching his teeth. 

His words earned a strangled whimper from you, making his lips curl up in a cocky grin. 

He fucked you for a while like that, hips pounding against your ass so hard that the noises of your skin slapping was making your cheeks burn in embarrassed arousal. So much for keeping it quiet. 

“Hey-” The words were hard to get out from his aggressive thrusts, especially now that he was hunched over your body so he could squeeze your breasts. “I- wanna turn over.” 

He raised his chest from your back and took the opportunity to catch his breath while you shifted under him to roll over on your back. The look on your face made him shudder with a quiet gasp. Your face was tinted a light red, blissed out, your pupils blown and hair all messed up around your face. He was back on you immediately, kissing you hungrily as he slipped his cock back inside you, much easier this time. 

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good.” He breathed against your lips, wet from his sloppy kisses, and he kissed down your jaw to your neck. His accent was much thicker when he was inside you, barely pronouncing any words fully anymore. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist, angling your hips up so he could drive his cock deeper into you. The new feeling made him moan pathetically into your neck, and he had to stifle the noises he didn't like with a bite to the skin where your neck met shoulder. 

The pressure of his teeth had your eyes rolling back in your head. There was so much stimulation, his dick driving relentlessly into your throbbing pussy, his fingers pinching your nipple and the other hand in your hair, pulling your head to the side to give him better access to your neck. A particularly deep thrust made you cry out, and you felt yourself nearing your second orgasm.

“Fuck!” You whined, your eyes squeezing tightly shut as you felt the tension building in your core as he fucked his dick into you. 

“That's it, y’gonna come for me?” His teeth drew away from your red neck, a string of spit connecting the two of you. 

All you could muster was an obscene “Mhmm!”, your thighs squeezing him tight around the waist. 

“C'mon girl.” His words were choppy from the force of his thrusts. He slowed for a second, readjusting himself before building back up to his former quick pace, each thrust sending your body scooting a little upwards along the floor of the roof. You were incredibly thankful it wasn't concrete. 

“Lemme hear it, c'mon.” His words alone were enough to send you falling over your edge. Your jaw dropped, your head tilting back as your back arched under his heavy body, and his arm slipped under you to hold your chest tight against his. 

The look on your face and the feeling of you cumming around his dick was all he needed. His face went slack and he let out a shameful whine, something he'd never heard himself make before, and came inside you. Neither of you noticed, too fucked out of your minds to even process it. 

You cried under him, twisting and squirming, impaled on his dick as your orgasm shook you to your core. Only when the final waves rolled off you did you relax, your eyes struggling to open as your breathing slowed.

Daryl raised his face from your chest and looked down at you, enjoying the look on your face as he regained his bearings. He ran his hands up and down your torso a few times, his eyes appreciating every little red mark on your neck and chest from his teeth.

 Only when the last jolts of pleasure left his body did he realize he came inside you. 

“Shit.” He grunted as he slowly drug his dick out of you, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the way his cum oozed out between your slick, puffy folds. 

“Hmm, ‘s fine.” You mumbled lazily, reaching up to push your hair from your face. “We're on top of a Dollar General. We'll get the morning after pill.” 

He nodded at your words, still hypnotized by the sight of his cum leaking out of you. A deep part of him wanted to stuff his dick back in you and keep it in, he didn't know why, but the idea was so hot he could've gone for a round two if you wanted. 

“We better get back.” You struggled to prop yourself up on your elbows, your weakened muscles protesting. The sun was well below the trees now, and if you got back when it was dark you knew Shane would throw a goddamn hissy fit. 

“We ain't gotta.” He half joked, a lazy grin on his face. “Can just stay here. Go back in the mornin’.”

You smiled, shaking your head, even though the idea was incredibly tempting. “Shane will kill us.”

“Fuck him.”

“I don't wanna piss him off when he's the one in possession of my gun right now.” Your words had him raising his brows and nodding in agreement. 

The two of you put your clothes back on and went through the back entrance, grabbing all your bags and making sure to pick up some morning after pills from the locked shelf behind the front desk. You caught him trying to discreetly grab some condoms, not knowing you saw, and you felt excitement bubble in your chest at the prospect of him expecting this to happen again. 

Thankfully Shane wasn't in camp when you snuck back in. He was down by the quarry, catching frogs or some shit, and you were able to share your spoils with the group before he came to ask questions. 

“Well, shit. Look at you.” Merle was smiling ear to ear, clapping Daryl on the back after he went to his brother's tent with a bag of goodies. 

It was extremely obvious what the two of you had done. Your hair was still messy despite you brushing it with your fingers on the way back, your face pink, your neck red. You were climbing into your own tent as Merle watched you from across camp. 

Daryl's neck and face were also red, and he had a few scratch marks on the back of his neck. 

And his fly was still down. 

“Shut up.” Daryl shrugged his brother's hand off him, opening a bag of Funyuns.

“My baby brothers no longer a fuckin’ loser!” He laughed, giving a wolf whistle before playfully ruffling his hair. “Atta boy. I told you.” 

“Ya’ ain't tell me shit.” Daryl grumbled, stuffing Funyuns in his mouth to hide the smile that was creeping onto his face. 

“Hey.”

“What?” Daryl groaned, exasperated already. 

“Think she’ll give me a ride?”

“Shut the hell up, man.”