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scudslut · 20 days

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too sweet

daryl x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni

a/n: okay, is this like the song? IDK i listened to it on repeat tryna decipher shit and come up with a good plot but i think i got a little lost in the sauce, or maybe im just being mean to myself🫢 ANYWAY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON BYEEE🤍

you two never got along, never saw eye to eye.

years you’d known each other and all it ever did was reveal those differences all the more. highlighting them in bold letters for you to gaze at thoughtfully, but did that stop you?

it was a game you played, back and forth for so long that it became a routine. bicker and disagree till you were blue in the face and at each other's mercy for only the moon to bear witness too.

how many times had you dug into him for his habits. he smoked, kept to himself, he fought, but where had that ever gotten him? it was against your nature. a way of being that you genuinely could not understand.

and he’d be right there with you, matching each dig with his own. you were sweet, too soft. you pleased and walked among ice like you weighed as much as a feather, so predictable it was almost humorous. if you didn’t understand him, he was absolutely riddled by you.

“how do ya sleep at night? huh? don’ya ever get tired of keeping everyone so fuckin happy?” he’d mutter, all the while tearing articles of clothing off of your supple skin, one by one. skin that was pristine by default and worn as if only heaven itself had touched it.

“believe it or not, i actually want people to like me daryl. i like when i can make people happy. it’s not a fucking act,” you sneer back.

who was he to talk? he lived inside his own head. could go days… no, months by himself, not muttering a single word to a breathing soul. and you’d tried to reason, guide, and help, but if anyone knew daryl dixon, they knew he didn’t budge easily. he had to want it for himself and he simply didn’t see the glory in your people-pleasing nature, as he’d like to call it.

sure he saw the value in it, somewhat. but he liked things the way they were, as they were meant to be. if he disagreed with something he sure as shit wasn’t gonna prance around trying not to hurt no feelings.

“alright, you keep tellin’ yerself that, princess.”

so what was it that kept you two coming back for more? why was the tension and aversion between your minds so magnetic between your bodies? he wanted to snap those annoying, pretty lips shut with his. maybe if he kissed you hard enough something would click in that head of yours. maybe he could fuck some clarity into you.

his fingers would rub fast circles over your clit, watching you keen and moan into the pillow beneath you, “how’s that princess? good enough for ya? hm?” he’d mock, “faster? slower?”

“god, would you shut up already?” you tried to sneer only for it to come out as a breathy whine, adding fuel to his pride and smirk across his face. your lips crashed into his in an attempt to diminish it but it was right there, now pressed up against your face, and fuck, why was that so hot? why was his rugged stubble, his long hair kissing your shoulders, and his broad, strong body so infuriatingly sexy to you? muscles built from years of fights, kills, and hunting. you didn’t like it… but you did.

“fuck, i’m gonna-“ you cried to him softy.

“nuh, uh. not yet pretty girl.”

his belt was loud throughout the quiet room. your eyes were squeezed shut in pleasure but you heard the familiar clanks and zips, and then you felt his weight above you — warm and spicy. it pulled you so far and close that you sucked him in before he even got his pants all the way off.

“fuckin’ christ girl,” he groaned, snapping down to meet your hips flush. it was rapid and hot, both of you pouring all your frustrations into each push and pull. frustrations with each other, frustrations with yourselves that you liked this so fucking much.

he fucked you deep and hard like his body hated you, but somehow kissed you so tenderly through it all. his tongue massaging and tangling with yours as if you created his oxygen for him.

“so fucking sweet, princess, y’know that?” he whispered against you, “no good fer me.”

he was telling himself that; convincing himself and you knew it. your body rolled to meet his quickly, feeling every gooey, warm muscle against your skin and drooling over it, “more.”

as if to prove a point he slowed down, pulling out till just his tip was caught at your entrance, and then would thrust in, hard. over, and over, and over until you were singing his name and muffling it with his neck. warm and spicy.

“ya like that? thought ya wanted faster?”

he knew he was walking a line, but what had you guys ever been but a definitive line? a clear distinction of night and day, the only time ever seeing eye to eye being these moments. as one.

you were sent over the edge instantly, spasms of pleasure rolling languidly through your body. the tight swelling of your cunt causing daryl to finish with you and fuck if he didn’t cum the prettiest, sexiest way you had ever seen. straight out of your dirty, teenage fantasies and above you to soak in while you wreathed along with him.

he groaned and cursed into your chest, riding out each wave until he was shaking above you and so sensitive he couldn’t help but hiss as he pulled away, flopping down beside you.

a cigarette was quickly fished from his strewn jeans pockets and placed between his lips, lighting up and rolling back into the pillows lazily. every ounce of mending and merging you had just done was palpably tossed out the window, your scoff loudly filling the silence.

“that will kill you one day, hope you know that,” you muttered whilst gathering your clothes and slipping them on.

he didn’t bat an eye, nothing he hadn’t heard before from you and honestly, he didn’t really care. plenty of things in the world that’ll kill you, your naivety being one of them.

“lemme guess, gotta be up bright n’ early? tendin’ ta all yer charity cases?” he mused as he watched you head for the door. there had never been a night you’d spent together, probably would end up ripping each others faces off alone in room together for that long.

he didn’t get an answer, just an amused eye roll as you opened his bedroom door, “bye daryl.”

and then you were gone, quiet stomps heard as you floated up the stairs and he knew it would only be a matter of days before you were right back here, glued to his body and singing his name like you needed him to survive.

“figures,” he mumbled, taking a long drag from his smoke and smirking softly to himself.

what’s that saying? opposites always attract?

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celtic-crossbow · 2 days

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gif by @jaaryl

Y/N, trying to put out the kitchen fire: Shit! We need an adult!

Daryl, trying to help: We are adults!

Y/N: We need an adultier adult! Go get Carol!

Daryl: An’ let her see the kitchen on fire?!

Daryl: Hell nah! I’ll get Rick!

#murda writes #daryl dixon #generated + original #daryl dixon incorrect quotes #daryl incorrect quotes #twd incorrect quotes #the walking dead incorrect quotes #daryl dixon humor #daryl humor #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead

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mymanreedus · 11 months

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#The Walking Dead #daryl dixon #Rick Grimes #these dorks that i love #i made a thing #twd humor

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writella · 7 months

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hi! s10 is so fun so enjoy it when you start it! can i request a daryl smut of any kind?

Before We Leave

Synopsis: Here’s one about you sitting all sweet on Daryl’s lap because I have not stopped thinking about him holding you in his arms and giving you all the kisses after reading this headcanon! ♡

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, set during the period between seasons 8-9, kissing, smut—grinding, thigh riding, fingering, making a mess when you have places to go (such sillies). Mostly proofread. Feel free to give feedback!

A/N: It’s been a minute, guys, I know :( and to ava, so sorry for the wait ♡ I hope you like this and I can’t wait to get to season 10 too!! And know that I definitely still have your initial request in mind for later on!!

First, you noticed his hair: ever so endearingly disheveled, the waves falling so effortlessly as they did in their shaggy way; and then you noticed his skin— it shined. Normally, this would have been because of work and sweat from the late spring heat, but he was clean, he had showered today. He even changed his clothes, and surprisingly, his light beard was trimmed, his face was washed too– it illuminated with his small lazy smile that appeared as you came through the door. He looked so nice and ready to go. Your handsome man. He was waiting for you.

He wore a dark blue long-sleeve, the buttons at the start undone, exposing the top of his chest as he always preferred. And his sleeves, only just big enough to be slightly loose around his arms; they were rolled up at the forearms. It looked good. Though the better fit was his equally loose vest that was layered on top. Seeing it reminded you of how much you missed it. It took him so long to get it back from Dwight. It’s only now that you’re realizing how it fits again, how well it suits him. It’s not that he needed it of course, but you did love how it completed every outfit he wore, making it just so him.

In fact, everything about him was so, so—

“Hey,” he calls to you, his voice itself a finger snap to your attention, “you alright there?”

“Yeah,” you respond, meeting his eyes as you pathetically try to joke, “Just can’t think of the last time I actually saw you sit. We’re always… fighting or doing something aren’t we?”

“Mmhm.” He smiles inwardly. Your staring was nothing short of obvious, and you both know it: You were leaning against the door frame, eyes wide and lingering, trailing over him as he sat on your desk chair. But to him it was sweet, honestly. Almost humorous to see. It was nice to see you smile over nothing other than looking at dumb old him, or at least that's what he assumes of himself. He should know better by now than to think like that, but it's still just his way sometimes. You were in love with him though, and he loved you; and you liked looking at his dumb old face, and he knew that. That's why he doesn’t mind your gazing. That’s why he says, “C’mon,” patting his lap, knowing you wanted to come closer; his eyes catching how much yours went lower and lower, changing from innocent peerings to just a little something else, something more.

You’re hesitant at his invitation, but smiling like a kid. It's true you couldn’t help how good his thighs looked and how good the fingers that splayed over them were— rough and thick— their feeling on your skin taking you back to the past— but his noticing… Well, it just makes you blush. It makes you take slow footsteps, one in front of the other as you come closer to him, bashful and snickering. Once you’re near enough he holds you by the hips and you skip to meet his movements towards him. He turns your backside to him on the right side of the chair and sits you down, horizontal from his forward figure.

“Silly,” he calls you, flicking your nose as he taunts. It’s gentle and harmless even in his typical, slightly grumbled tone.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your wrists and hands curling at his neck, your side pressed into him. He feels bigger when you’re in his arms like this. As if he can comfort you or sheild you from anyone or anything— and you know he could. So safe is what you feel with him; the sigh you let out proves it. The fighting may have finished almost a year ago now, but moments like this are truly what feels like peace. And with that, your mind drifts backwards again. Realizing how you don’t remember the last time you’ve sat like this. With him. Just holding you.

One of his hands holds your thigh while the other grounds you by the lower waist, nearing your hip. You turn your face to his, raising a hand, parting some of the hair in front of his forehead, holding his jaw and you kiss him. You put your tongue between his lips. It’s quick but tender. There is a tiny trail of spit between you two as you let go. Tilting your head, you look at him with an already happy and dazed little smile. You don’t remember the last time you got a good look at him either. And you’re not talking about any of the times you’ve looked at him while simply talking or standing by him, that was almost all the time; but for so long standing next to each other was to cover one another in a fight, kill a walker, but this— this was simply because you wanted to, because he was yours, and you loved him, and you could.

He goes in to meet your lips first this time, holding you by the neck and jaw with one hand, and the other is at your back making you lean in closer. You give in to him, let him take the lead. Your feet curl under the chair and you smile into his indefinite kisses. It makes you accidentally nip at his lower lip which turns into him intentionally biting your lip thereafter. It’s just a bit harder, but he might have done it a tad more sharply than he intended.

“Ow,” you hiss, hushed and soft between breaths, but he’s already soothing the area at the corner there, giving you a lick and little pecks before returning to what he was doing before: kissing you and kissing you.

“You’re fine,” he tells you dryly in between.

Your hands lowers to his chest, feeling his collarbones, then down to his heart. Your fingers rest on the exposed skin there, then trailing lower, ghosting over the closed buttons. You want to, but maybe you shouldn’t. It wasn’t exactly the time.

Originally, you had come home to shower and change: Everyone was having dinner together at Rick and Michonne’s tonight, the first time in a long time. In fact, it was Judith who requested it; she said specifically how much she wanted all of her friends to be there. And you couldn’t disappoint the sweet girl who gave you a construction paper and crayon written invitation, asking you to promise Uncle Daryl would come. The ticket was for both of you, a little picture of you two holding hands at the bottom. ‘Pretty smile you,’ and ‘grumpy pants him,’ she explained.

It was hilariously perfect and it made your heart leap. You and Micchone laughed for a whole minute about it and you hugged Judith immediately after.

Though you couldn’t believe that she could possibly think Daryl wouldn’t come. Of course he’d do anything for her, and you would too, so just as much, ‘Of course,’ you told her, ‘We’ll even be there 10 minutes early so we can pick seats next to you,’ you had said.

But now you’re here, in such a cliche you’d roll your eyes at if you weren’t so in the moment, with Daryl touching up your leg and you allowing it. For once, you’re the one all dirty in your work clothes. And the longer you kiss him, and the longer he holds you on his lap, the more you feel it; the want, the need. You’re getting restless and you’re struggling to weigh the options in your mind.

You lived in Alexandria, helping Rick, Micchone, Rosita… And Daryl, he was sent off to head reconstruction at the Sanctuary: you two don't get to see each other as often as you’d like.

And the Sanctuary wasn’t a place you particularly liked visiting anyways, especially not at first, and he didn’t blame you. But you had still talked to him about trying it, staying there. Maybe a week, maybe longer, maybe seeing if someone else can take over your Alexandria responsibilities, but honestly, he didn’t want you there either. He didn’t even want to be there. Every week that went by was another step closer to talking to Rick about leaving.

Still, moments like this are when you wonder about asking again, if you should be the one to finally move instead… The thought fades as Daryl now groans slightly into your mouth, you had pushed yourself down on his groin which elicited the dark sound, and you moan into him in response. Your hand gripping tightly to his bicep and his digs into your side, holding you tight— you’re losing the ability to think.

His tongue is twisting with yours, and his hand goes lower on your hip, the other deeper into your hair. You’re starting to have a heat pool at your center and you're squeezing your thighs together.

Daryl can sense it and feel all of it: the indecision, the squirming– your feet shuffling and curling against each other, your legs slowly swinging up and under the chair as you do so, as your continue to melt into his lips.

And he does feel it too, though he’s better at not showing it, but you do start to feel him shifting underneath you. An erection starts to harden as your hand goes lower on his chest and the little sounds of you humming into his mouth become more sexy, more desiring, than simply sweet as you continue.

He lets go, slipping his fingers between your knees, “We don’t gotta do too much.”

This makes you laugh. You’re still looking at him all dopey eyed, and more than slightly needy despite your words terribly trying to fight it, “What’s just enough then?”

His hand moves up along your inner thighs as an answer. His fingers trail up until they reach the center, and press into you at the inseam of your jeans. You start to buck up to his movements just as they begin. You even put your own hand over his, pressing into yourself more, your head tilting back. You bite your lip, whining lightly.

“Like that?” He asks, your neediness surprising the both of you.

“Last time I saw you was last week— for a day,” you’re speaking between light, out of breath pants, “outside- scavenging- no time.” Leaning forward into his touch, pretty sounds trail out, “-uh, mmm.”

You continue to grind against his hand harder, adding your other hand on top of his for more pressure until he says, “Get up.”

You stand, starting to undo your jeans and Daryl pushes the back of your chair further against your desk and starts to unbuckle his belt, but right before he finishes, you stop him. You grab his hands, “Wait,” you tell him, slipping off your shoes, and discarding your pants until you sit down again, straddling his lap.

There was something about the way you could see the outline of his bulge by how his pants laid on him, and the nice friction you knew the jeans would cause underneath you that felt so enticing. And more importantly, his bulge looked huge, fat even, you wanted to sit yourself perfectly right on top of it, making sure you could feel it all squish deliciously into your pussy lips with only your thin underwear covering you.

You begin to rock, pushing down against him. Your tiptoes reach the ground, helping you dig in and your hands go to grab onto his shoulders. Daryl holds your hips, thumbs pressing into your back, helping to roll your body into his.

His legs shift beneath you and it makes you think about his thighs again. How yummy they would feel just like his bulge…You have a little bit of time, right? Never mind- you’ll do it fast.

You get up once more, now placing yourself on his left thigh and you start rocking against him again.

Daryl quietly lets you, his hands go under your shirt and you let him take it off, leaving you in only your underwear while he’s fully clothed. He doesn’t mind letting you do what you want right now, he’s enjoying it. Grunting lowly, loving how he can watch you in your blissed out state: your open mouth, your sloppy humping and riding, how you're whining and panting as he touches up your stomach, how you’re so needy that you take one of his hands higher to caress your breast. He licks his teeth, “Need it bad, huh?” He tenses his quad, applying pressure so perfectly, just as you’d been thinking about for days. “Huh, sweetheart?”

“Think about you everyday, Daryl.” You sound just a bit too pathetic, but he eats it up, a small wicked grin coming to his face just looking at how much you wanted him. Not only thinking about his cock stuffed in you, but even how you wanted his thighs too? Just him in general? His poor girl, so deprived of him. He hated being apart, but fuck did he love how desperate it made you when he visited, desperate for him, desperate for him to give it to you or let you have it in any way. It gave him ideas of what he would do to you after you got back from dinner.

Your knee is centered in the middle of his thighs, pushing against his groin with each roll of your pelvis and the rock of Daryl’s hands as he pushes your hips forward, both helping you reach that point of pure bliss, going hard and deep, while giving him just a bit a release from the tension he feels because of you.

You close your eyes, head tilting up to the side lightly, mouth agape. “Ah, mm-” Your frustrated sounds then turn into you sighing so light, so sweetly, “I missed you.”

His hand reaches the side of your face briefly, rolling over your hair and cheek, “Missed you too.”

You knew your underwear was more than damp at this point, but you hoped the dark denim of his pants would mean it wouldn’t be that bad. You were lying to yourself honestly, but you did have wipes anyway, and… Was it bad to say you wanted to soak his jeans? For him to see the mess you made? Remember how big of a spot you created for later? There was no mistake, he had to spend the night. Having dinner in Alexandria made it so that it was too late for him to go back to the Sancutary afterwards. You wondered what he’d do to you later, what you’d let him do. He did miss you, he said it himself after all. And you feel his stare on your lower stomach as you continue to roll yourself on him, as he watches your clothed pussy make a mess of his jeans. And he sees the way his unintentional grunts and slight growls to the sight of you make your head tilt back, mouth opened so wide like you were already preparing to suck him off.

Your eyes are closed, your open mouth allowing a string of “ahs,” to come out as you continue to rub yourself against his muscle, wiggling a little, back and forth, going in a circle for a second to get more attention onto your clit, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter from your boyfriend’s big, and thick thigh. Your knee digs into him harder and he uses one hand to push it against him more.

After he lets go, one of his hands slips into your underwear, placing his middle finger over your clit, rubbing fast circles into it as much as he can as you continue to rock down on both thigh and fingers now. The extra friction feels so good. You’re whining, your panting, holding onto his shoulder with one hand, the other hand grabbing onto your desk, trying to stabilize yourself as you attempt to go faster, your movements becoming more erratic. “Daryl, please,” you whine, “help me.”

He places his free hand on your ass, kneading it forward and his other hand tries its best to circle into your pussy as much as it can.

As his middle finger continues to circle your clit, his two other fingers push into either side of your labia. “Go on,” he encourages, “Already made a mess. Make it bigger.” He moves his hand to your hip again, pushing you down. “You got it.”

Then he starts bouncing his leg, you bounce along with him, trying to rock as hard as you can. You start moaning louder, it’s continuous, you’re getting closer, you see yellow white light behind your eyes as a release takes over you, it’s hot and you can barely breathe, you almost wail as you coat his hands, ruining your panties, soaking his jeans. It felt amazing.

You huff out heavily now, finally opening your eyes to see Daryl take his hand from beneath you, licking his fingers clean. Wet popping sounds come out after he sucks each one, looking you directly in the eye. “Mmm.”

You blush gingerly at him. Getting up you see the large wer spot on his pant leg. It wasn’t a circle, it was ovular, taking up half the area of his thigh. Your teeth clench, you thought it would be big, but… you didn’t know it would be that big. This wasn’t something you could quickly clean off. “I guess it’s a good thing you keep your extra clothes here?”

He keeps his face straight, he figured as much would happen, but it was fun to see you squirm. “These were my extra clothes.”

“Oh.”

You should have let him take his pants off.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader smut #daryl dixon x fem!reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x you #wonders with writella #wonders with daryl #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead smut #twd smut #twd fic #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader smut

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optimist-pine · 29 days

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Granny

Summary: You and Daryl have a secret confusing love language of insults

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,236

Era: Seasons 1-5(ish), The quarry - Alexandria

It had started shortly after your first encounter with Mr. Dixon. Simply a passing (slightly pointed) comment - nothing more - as some of you gathered around the fire that night.

Dale stands near the flames, removing a whistling pot from the heat. "Anybody want a cup of tea? Kettle's hot."

"Why dun'cha ask granny over there?" Daryl suggests, nodding towards you with a snigger. Merle's not around tonight, and so it seems he's found a way to create a bit of entertainment.

Your head snaps up when you realize you're the butt of the joke, hands stilling as you set down your work. A crochet hook or knitting needles find their way into your hands as often as that damn crossbow ends up in his; usually when it's too late in the evening to be doing anything else. "You know what? I would love a cup of tea. Thank you, Dale." You reply, taking the steaming mug that's passed to you with a smile that melts into a pointed glare the second Daryl's eyes meet yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches mischievously. "Somebody get out tha' fancy china an' the biscuits an' we'll have ourselves a real tea party." He's prodding the coals with a stick, and in the darkness, the slope of his shoulders brings to mind the image of a caveman. The thought amuses you.

You nod your head, contemplating. "Hmm... I'd be down for that. In fact, I have a feeling we might even be in the presence of a tea party expert." You say knowingly. Sophia and Carol sit cuddled up to your right, and the little girl looks curiously up at you, cradling a well-loved teddy bear. You turn to the child, lowering your voice. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about tea parties, would you?"

She curls into herself a little, shyly. But at her mother's gentle urging, she nods her head, a tiny smile appearing on her face.

You clap your hands together. "It's settled then! Tomorrow we shall have a tea party." The last part is aimed at Daryl - you feel proud of yourself, but the confused look on his face makes you question why. It's like you've taken his accusation as a challenge to prove just how grandmotherly you can be, and funnily enough, he's probably right. You're actually looking forward to hanging out with Sophia tomorrow; she's a pretty cool kid.

Carol tuts softly. "After school." She adds.

"After school." You agree, shooting Sophia a conspiratorial wink.

Every time Daryl spots you working with your yarn he can't resist the urge to tease you about it. Maybe it's because you take every jest in good humor, or maybe it's because you always have a quick, witty comeback. He's never quite figured it out, but somehow it's become a staple of your interactions. Even though so much has changed, he's oddly glad that this hasn't.

One night, in the dead of winter, as the wind howls through gaps in the window frames you get an ornery glint in your eye. Daryl's already found your behavior suspicious, whatever current yarn project you've been committed to hasn't made a single appearance the entire evening. And the way you keep glancing at him almost nervously is... unsettling.

When he looks up again you're walking towards him, hands tucked behind your back, trying so hard to look casual that it doesn't take long before all eyes are on you. You stop in front of him and promptly shove a box in his face. No, not just a box. It's a present, wrapped perfectly in polka-dotted gift wrap with a glittery bow to top it all off.

He stares back at you, wondering what punchline he's missed.

You roll your eyes. "It's a gift, Daryl."

"Why?" He asks. He'd trust you with his life any day, but right now - with that box - he absolutely does not.

"Well, why don'tcha just open it and find out?" You taunt, shaking the present just a smidge.

He takes the box, feeling awkward and clumsy as he tears away the paper. Having never opened a present before - at least nothing like this that is - feelings of stupidity and excitement and pressure blend within him.

He dumps the object into his palm. It's cool and smooth to the touch; a black mug with white writing that says "World's Crankiest Grandpa".

You're trying so hard to withhold from laughing that your face is turning pink.

"Think ya could get yer money back on this one?" He asks, spinning the cup around to critique it.

You slap his arm lightly. "Ah, Dixon, you're no fun."

"She might'a hit the nail on the head there." Rick chuckles.

You sit back down, finally pulling out your yarn like all is now right in the world. "Ah, I found it a couple days ago. Couldn't resist. S'pecially not after the dream I had where you were yellin' at the walkers to 'git offa yer damn lawn'..." You shudder. "Took me a bit to get that one outta my head."

That earns quite a few laughs from the rest of the group. Once again, you've managed to lift the mood of those around you. It seems to be a habit of yours.

He turns the mug over and over again, running his thumb across the letters. He knows it's only a gag gift, but he's not blind to the effort that went into it. And it's not an exaggeration to say that this silly mug is by far the most thoughtful gift he's ever received.

He hangs onto that mug, using it proudly every day. Of course, it garners the occasional question from the new folks, but he doesn't mind. Soon enough he's got a matching handmade hat, scarf, and gloves as proof of your continuing love for the grandmotherly hobby.

When the prison falls he misses those gifts severely.

But then, Alexandria. The day he comes across you there on the porch in a creaky rocking chair, with your cup of steaming tea and a ball of yarn, the once-familiar urge to say something a little stupid and a lot annoying takes over.

He stoops down and leans in. "Where's yer glasses at, old lady?"

You wave your hand to shoo him away. "Ah, git yer muddy boots off'a my porch ya ol' geezer." You nag, the smile you're trying to hide peeking out like a sun ray from behind storm clouds. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, clomping down the steps. But it's not like he's trying to hide his own smile or anything... Not at all.

When he returns home that evening, there, sitting on the end of his bed, is a small box. It's perfectly wrapped in paper that's covered in birds and trees, encircled with a pristinely hand-tied bow. He can't deny the flutter of excitement as he plops down to unwrap it. It's like Deja Vu, the coffee mug tumbling into his palm. This time it's white with black lettering that reads "I don't always roll a joint, but when I do, it's my ankle".

With a snort he falls back onto the bed, letting old memories wash away the burdens of the day. However he can, whatever it takes, he'll hold onto the hope that you'll both end up old and gray and worn someday - together.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 1 #twd season 2 #twd season 3 #twd season 4 #twd season 5 #optimist pine

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daryl-fucking-dixon · 2 months

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theres no better way to break in a new blog then posting NSFW ABCs that absolutely nobody asked for

listen to be honest with y'all I have a crazy sex drive and if I'm in the apocalypse with DARYL DIXON, then um! you better believe I want dick 25/8 (AND BEST BELIEVE ILL GET IT)

im really doing this because its almost like I'm decluttering my brain

CREDITS CREDITS CREDITSS!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) ☆- We all know Daryl would clean you up and comfort you after sex, he's not the type to fuck and dump.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) ☆- I just feel like Daryl is a major tit guy. He loves them all. Small, big, saggy, he does not care. If it can fit in his hand and his mouth then there's not a single complaint.

☆- Daryl favors his arms, and he feels like a big strong man when you latch onto his bicep.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) ☆- Like I said once, and will be saying for the rest of my life, Daryl Dixon would love to creampie you.

☆- Facials?? He wants to cum all over your face and then fuck you missionary so he can watch the way his release runs down in your mouth and on your cheeks.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) ☆- Daryl Dixon's dirty little secret is that he keeps a pair of your underwear to jerk off with when he goes on long runs. (The longer you wore them for the absolute better)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) ☆- Before the world ended Daryl didn't exactly have much sex, only a few hook-ups that happened in dark alleys when he was blasted on hard drugs.

☆- Season 1-4 Daryl would be completely lost. A total clutz when he's ripping your shirt off with trembling hands and very sloppily moving his lips against yours, eager yet needy.

☆- Season 5-11 Daryl wouldn't be as clueless after getting older, taking your shirt off first before pulling you closer by the waist, kissing you slowly and much more coordinated.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

☆- Cowgirl. Ride him to your hearts content. He loves loves loves being underneath you, moaning and whimpering as you bounce on his cock.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

☆- He's too gone in pleasure to be funny or sexy

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) ☆- Daryl is definitely hairy, but not too crazy. He's got a dark happy trail leading into thick pubes that rest rest above his base.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

☆- It depends on how clingy Daryl is and how stimulated he is. He likes to wrap his arms around you and bury his face into your neck so he can mark the skin.

☆- Some nights are filled with pure lovemaking, Daryl panting needily against you as he moans in your ear.

"Love ya so fuckin' much, so glad yer mine"

"Prettiest girl I ever seen, wanna make ya feel good"

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

☆- On those nights when he goes on long runs, all by himself with nothing but the song of nature around him, his head fills with all the memories of the softness of your body, inside and out.

☆- He often finds himself holding the fabric of your underwear against his face, whimpering into them as he twist his wrist and tease his tip, thinking about how badly he wanted to be buried deep inside your warm heat.

☆- Once just isn't enough for him. He'll stroke himself completely empty to the thought of you. The sounds of his very needy moans and wet drag of his cum-coated hand overrode the sound of nature.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

☆- DARYL DIXON CERTIFIED BREEDING KINK.

☆- Daryl also has a choking kink that works both ways.

☆- He loves to grip your throat from behind and watch how your face contorts with every thrust, listening to your breathless and choked-off moans.

☆- He also loves to watch the way you bounce on his cock, steadying yourself with your hands tightly around his neck, riding him desperately for your own pleasure.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

☆- Everywhere. If he can put your back against it, he can fuck you against it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

☆- You. No matter what you do, just once long glance and Daryl goes weak in his knees, biting his lips as his cock stirs.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

☆- Don't clown me but threesome. Daryl Dixon does not like to share his woman, friend or foe. He wants no other man to lay his hands, eyes, or dick on you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

☆- We all know that Daryl loves to eat pussy. Not matter how long or how many times he's done it, he will not get tired of the taste of you on his tongue and lingering in his mouth afterwards.

☆- He also loves getting head from you. The way you swirl your tongue around his tip and suck it drives his eyes into the back of his skull, a deep groan coming from his chest. Daryl is honestly an oral lover.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

☆- A pretty good combination of both. Depending on the mood, the night starts sensually with lots of eager kisses and roaming hands, Daryl's hips sloppily and lazily thrusting into you at first.

☆- When eager kisses become slow and deep, that's when lazy thrusts become quick and controlled, his cock sliding deeper into your velvety walls. Sometimes Daryl gets so wrapped up in how good he feels, he can't help how fast his hips start to snap against you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

☆- Only if it's absolutely safe. The first quickie you two ever had was horrifically cut short by a random walker almost biting the bare flesh of Daryl's neck, mid-orgasm at that!

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

☆- He'd be iffy about a few things depending on what they are. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you in bed, but he also never wants to deny you of what you want. (I have no fucking clue what this letter means guys)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

☆- On the nights where Daryl just needs to not think, he can go for as many rounds as his body can physically handle. He can last for a while during the first round, but it's after the second and third when he starts to struggle. He needily fucks the both of you completely stupid, only being done when a harsh dry orgasm rocks his entire world, gasping and sobbing against you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

☆- When Daryl finds your vibrator hidden behind your pillow, he gets a little curious and tries it on himself, sitting on the bed and taking his cock out, stroking himself a few times before clicking the button, feeling the toy buzz to life.

☆- He bites his lip rough when he presses it to his tip, a loud, choked whimper ripping from his throat.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

☆- Daryl only teases you when you tease him. The way you not so innocently bat your lashes at him and firmly grip his bicep gets him riled up for the day and gets you in a world of trouble for the night.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

☆- Daryl is typically a quiet guy, but he can get pretty loud in bed. A lot of the times he muffles any moans or whimpers into the soft skin of your shoulder.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

☆- Talked about this with one of my mutuals but I think Daryl would be a little bit into knifeplay. Nothing major, he just finds it really hot your life is quite literally in his hands.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

☆- Daryl definitely has a curved dick. It's a good solid eight inches and he's pretty thick. Circumcised as well.

☆- There's a long vein that runs along the underside, and a few more that become more prominent when he's hard.

☆- His tip is a cherry red and quite sensitive due to nerve damage. (from said circumcise)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

☆- Daryl used to barely think about sex, especially in the apocalypse. He'd still jerk off every so often, but not really that often. Only when he had nothing else to do, or really needed to stop thinking, which meant he was gonna jerk off for quite a while.

☆- His sex drive went through the roof after he met you, he simply couldn't get enough. It had only taken a few times before he was completely addicted to your body, and craved it each time he was away. he jerks off much more and much longer now

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

☆- It depends how many times he came. Sometimes he'll literally pass out right on top of you, still inside you.

☆- Most nights however he usually has enough strength to clean you up, and crawl into bed next to you, pulling you closer to his sturdy chest with his arms securely wrapped around you.

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #norman fucking reedus #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl imagines #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #daryl twd #daryl x female reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x you

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 months

Text

Pretty Eyes (2)

summary - you and daryl have reverted to your original positions, however your divide in getting along isn’t only affecting the two of you. it’s endangering the group, and so when needs must, you have to reconcile and make a truce (2.2k)

warnings - 18+ mdni, mentions of sex and slight mention of drugs, mentions of death, mentions of domestic abuse, silent treatment, swearing, slight angst, trust issues

a/n - i am aware that I said there would be smut in this part, however i liked the way this turned out. dw there will be a part 3! i’m really enjoying writing this, it’s my favourite mini series i’ve written so far

part one / daryl dixon works / main masterlist

His gaze avoided any direction that you were in, and you could tell that any soft interaction that you had shared was obsolete in his damned brain. It was possible that that the alarms instigating a departure from the CDC was a good thing, as then you didn’t make a mistake by sharing a tousled bedspread with the youngest Dixon.

You had remembered in the state of needing to survive, that he didn’t care about you, and vice versa, and the only reason you had almost allowed him to fuck you was out of celebration for thinking that you were safe from the dawning aspects of the hungry wilderness. The booze hadn’t helped either, and that to have found yourself in those circumstances, that you had probably drank too much.

Any time you were involved in a conversation, he would talk right past you, as though you weren’t even there at all. You weren’t stupid, you could recognise regret even if wasn’t right before your eyes, and Daryl felt it, and what for? Because he almost exposed the slither of vulnerability with you?

Despite finding him to be a ridicule in his amenity of ignoring you, you didn’t see him as weak, he was one of the reasons that you had made it to the Greene farm after Carl had been shot, aiming for the same deer as the man who had held the gun. Otis, that was his name. He had felt responsible before he died, but Hershel, the eldest and father of the family, saw you as a herd of burdens on his land, but you could only see one, and it was walking straight towards you, his foot falls being wide and ebbed with integral emotion.

It wasn’t Daryl, rather it was Shane, which was unsurprising as the redneck appeared to prefer steering clear of you entirely. His face was filled with spiced annoyance, and it made you realise that he was not walking to converse with you of his own free will, Rick, the sheriff whom had shifted everything, had sent him over to you.

The two of you had held mutual respect for one another, or at least you had back at the camp that was located in Atlanta. He had appreciated that you were willing to speak out against the arrogance of the Dixons, as not many people could find the confidence in themselves to do so, other than himself of course, for which he prided himself on.

He saw himself as a man, but you could see the averted change to his person, he had become slippery with a jurisdiction to pursue everyone as an enemy, and worst of all, lie blankly to the faces of those that surrounded him. Otis died in vain, you knew that, and for what? So Shane could get a head start in recalling his stature to safety, that was why.

He was selfish, and his slope of goodness was crumbling, the world had gotten to him; not everyone was built for the end of it, it was a frame of mind that kept you going, and more importantly helped you to stay alive. His was almost gone, vanished as his brain became plagued with the mindset that he knew what was best for your people.

It was humorous to think that he still saw himself as the leader, he’d had that position swept out from beneath his feet, unknowingly at first, by none other than his best friend. It was a betrayal in his looking and dark eyes, however it had come full circle, because as much as you’d have preferred to have stay a foot away from their business, it was evident that they harboured emotions towards the same woman.

Finally, as you patiently awaited for the brute before you to speak, you could see the slither of the archer’s silhouette within the corner of your eye, returning from his search to uncover the whereabouts of Sophia, whom had ran into the woods alone, and never came out. “Spit it out, I haven’t got all day Shane.” You sighed, refocusing your attention on him rather than Daryl, who once again ignored your presence.

“Rick wants you to get along with Daryl.” He was blunt, as though he was reciting a written speech that he had prepared for him, and you wouldn’t have been surprised if that had been the case. “It’s causing problems for the group, you’re a reasonable woman, so I’m sure you can understand.” You cocked your brow at his rehearsed lines, crossing your arms expectedly as you smirked, penetrating the large man with your stone like glare.

“I can understand that you’re all too scared to pull Daryl up on this, but he’s the one that’s not speaking so much as a word to me. It’s not a problem to me that I’m getting the silent treatment, so how come it is for you lot?” It hurt your feelings a little, sure, but in all honesty it was the least of your problems, one if provoked was stood right in front of you, attempting to rationalise the childlike behaviour that you were being given by the surly archer.

Shane huffed diligently, rolling his irises around in the whites of his eyes, unamused by the ignorance that he decided you held on the situation. He didn’t like the red neck either, he never had, but against his judgement he was here, being the messenger to resolve the petty exchange, or lack of, that you and Daryl were berating one another with. This wasn’t the camp that he had founded anymore, you had all left the gory scene, and those of you that had survived had experienced worse than you had ever imagined.

People were dead, and whilst a particular man in the afterlife had deserved the horror that had unexpectedly struck him, they had lost others than just Ed. You had watched, in the midst of trying to defend yourselves those that you had found along the way were destined to be nothing short of a feast for the undead. And you were a fighter, a good one at that, Shane could tell by how you effortlessly made the walkers fall with a plummeting of a sharp object to the location of their brains.

“Because…” the man whom had once been in military trailed off, feeling thus more controlled by Rick than he was with him in command before the outbreak, “we all need to get along, there’s nothing else that’s keeping us together than simply being alive. And if push comes to shove,” which it would, Shane thought to himself, “you and Daryl are going to have to work together.” He trusted Daryl the least, but if he could get you to understand that your skills were necessary, and that you had to communicate with the handler of the crossbow, then there would be less chance of a problem aspiring from him.

Daryl had a problem, in Shane’s eyes, and that was believing that the little girl was still alive in the depths of the woods, going so far as convincing Carol that he would find her. Shane needed you to be exactly how you were back at the camp, he thought ironically it was due to the eldest Dixon’s absence as to why you were leashing yourself from calling out any bullshit, you felt bad. You pitied the man in your own way, but that wasn’t it. He was ignoring you solely not for the reason for how you had previously spoken to Merle, it was because he had missed the opportunity of getting his dick wet.

Just the thought caused you to swell with anger, it was so typical for him to blame you for the intrusion, rather than the bleating emergency that upheld you with the threat of impending slaughter. But you had gotten out, escaped the narrow destruction that would have taken you with it, and because of it, Daryl saw you as nothing more than one of the trees, stood around them, and acting as nothing other than a distraction.

“Fine. If it’ll get you to stop berating me, I’ll talk to him right now.” You weren’t ready to, you thought in solitary, however you had never been one to back down from a challenge, even if your pride was being held by a thread. There was no cause for you to feel nervous when it involved Daryl, nothing had happened. So you couldn’t understand why as you stalked in the direction of the lone wolf, the reason your heart was berating an echo within your ear drums, and the purpose as to why your hands sweltered and grew nervously clammy.

It wasn’t a big deal. None of it was, other than continuing to live another day as it came, and speaking to Daryl wouldn’t kill you, only wound your pride a little. His spectre of a physique was within your peripheral, he was sat with a vast lack of company upon an astray log, dwindling his fingers together, holding a glinting knife between them. It was understandable that he was deterred from much to do, you felt the same, you were inhabiting the indefinite peace whilst it lasted.

The air stung you as you awaited for your own dialogue to slice through and disturb the lack of bouldering tension the hunter was distributing. He was slightly tense, but that was all, which was understandable considering that his task continued to be unresolved. “I believe you, y’know.” Your mouth felt irritatingly dry as the words ushered from your vocal cords, provoking the attention of the man whom had long since previously had you pinned vulnerably beneath his aroused body. Well it hadn’t been much time since then, but it definitely felt that way. “With Sophia being out there I mean.”

It wasn’t a fleeting battle when there was a child scarcely all alone in the threatening triumphs of the unknown, more so one that had travelled so far with you. Daryl could only scoff, biting back a retort in your direction, clearly disgruntled and unmelted by your peace offering of conversation. “Makes you the only one then.” He stated, convinced with the untested fate of Sophia, his jaw clenching at the unimaginable that may have unravelled without the fruits of knowledge.

“Is that so bad, that I believe you? That I trust you?” Trust was never something you would have once conferred with the name Dixon, but the man had proven himself despite his howling arrogance towards you that he could survive this, and have your back all the same. Without leaning on one another, none of you would have made it this far, and if this was the end, that you would possibly die on the road after Hershel gave you the boot, then you felt the desire to voice your prevailing emotions, rather than act impulsively on the unquenchable nature of lust.

“Ya don’ trus’ me, yer jus’ bein’ stupid.” His accent rang thick as he relished in his frugal spite of allowing a single soul close to him, it was his greatest fear, and he was full with an appetite of pushing you further and further away. Or perhaps he didn’t keen in your direction, you were a stiletto in his foot, pressing the sharp heel into his border of preferred personal space. He wanted you gone, to be notarised by each person in your travelling camp to be left be, especially you. He stepped unwillingly closer, hoping that the decrease in distance would make you flee from his eyesight.

“You’re right I was being stupid, when I was just seconds away from letting you fuck me.” He forced himself not to meet your eyes that were speaking a different story than your mouth, yearning to be accepted within his small list of those he cared for. They were alluring, a drug that he couldn’t quite get a fix of, splicing deeper into him than the arrow had. “And to think, you said I had pretty eyes…” You teased narrowly, slyly rolling them as you glared at him, surprisingly without judgement. “We didn’t do anything, and it meant nothing, so I propose we make amends so we can both get on with the shit surrounding our lives.”

“Make amen’s, I don’t want to make anythin’, ‘cept be left alone.” He huffed sparingly, whipping around to walk away and back to his own self-induced confinement, but you didn’t let him. You couldn’t. With defiance you grabbed his wrist, enabling him to turn around, and you felt a shiver run through your veins. It was like your blood vessels were bursting with contagious sparks, adrenaline coursing through every bone in your body, as you lowly looked up at him, finally making direct eye contact. “Fuck it.”

He hissed, ignoring the hand of yours that was attached to his wrist, and within seconds his hands were harshly cradling your face, his lips pressed hungrily upon your own. It made you forget the devastation of life in which was poisoning the world, and convinced you that you were unknowingly trapped in the CDC once again, celebrating something rather than berating any figment of emotion that crossed your minds. You never wanted to stop sharing your laboured breaths as your lips refused to detach, and Daryl had no intention of doing so as his hands gravitated towards your waist, pulling the entirety of your body closer.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon fluff #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus imagine #twd x reader #twd x you #twd x y/n #the walking dead x reader

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pastanest · 11 months

Text

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

A/N: set in Alexandria, no spoilers of events, just one character who lives there

For Your Hand

From the moment Daryl strolled into Alexandria with one hand holding yours and the other holding a dead opossum, he had made a statement, and everyone in Alexandria had understood it loud and clear. In truth, Daryl had not thought much about the deeper meaning behind his statement, he simply wanted the crowd of strangers to understand that you were under his protection and he was very capable of handling pests. In his own way, the gesture was very sweet and because you knew him so well, you took it as a compliment.

Anyone that had looked at you and seen you as an easy target or - god forbid - available, had quickly been set on the right path upon seeing the large hand that held yours and the way in which you partially hid yourself behind what you had accepted to be your guardian angel while others saw an unpredictable, animalistic, territorial wild-man, and you didn’t mind that description, either. There was only one person in the crowd of strangers that had been stupid enough to misinterpret the display and, instead of taking the “back off” message and following suit, took it as a personal challenge.

Deanna’s eldest son, Spencer, was the furthest thing from your type you could have conjured up if you were to try. Clean cut, smooth talking, clearly views himself as charming; the perfect salesman, in a time where nothing would ever be sold again. But, you were never one to be impolite without good reason, which was something Daryl admired about you from day one. Being naturally standoffish, he could not understand the warmth you immediately offered every person you met, including him, until a person gave you a reason to treat them differently. As ridiculous as you thought Spencer’s attempts at wooing you were, he had not overstepped a boundary or acted inappropriately, he remained respectful and would accept your refusals at every turn, but would approach you again in no time from a different angle, trying out some new sales pitch on you. It became an inside joke within your group, everyone laughing and rolling their eyes when they saw Spencer approach you, and because you had made it clear to Daryl you had no interest in the guy and he trusted you wholeheartedly, he saw the humor in it, too.

That was, until yesterday, when you went to Daryl nervously to tell him that the previous night, after Daryl had left to check the traps he’d set beyond the walls - not wanting to rely on the community’s food just yet - and Spencer took it upon himself to knock at your door. It was very late by the time your soulmate and protector had left your home, meaning it was no coincidence that Spencer was around when he left; he had been waiting for Daryl to go before he made his move. While the conversation he approached you with was nothing out of the ordinary for Spencer, you were made uncomfortable by the way in which he had snuck around Daryl, it meant he understood that your boyfriend would not approve of his intentions and that raised alarm bells for you.

Listening intently to your explanation, Daryl nodded only once, scowl already darting around Alexandria until it landed on the idiot that had dared make you feel uncomfortable. Fixing his icy glare on him, Daryl finally answered you.

“I’ll deal with ‘im.”

He considers running over and tackling the guy to the ground then and there, but decides against it in favor of a better plan, the thought of which leaves a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth for the rest of the day.

Daryl makes the executive decision to stick to you like glue for the rest of the evening. While he is not always at your side, he is never more than a few feet away, smoking a cigarette while you chat to someone else, helping you with your daily tasks, leading you over to his bike and having you sit on it while he works on it for absolutely no reason, solely to relish in the disdainful expression he catches on Spencer’s face from the corner of his eye when he stands up and you swoon over your greased up wildman. He ensures that, for the duration of the day when the sun is up, Spencer has no opportunity whatsoever to get you alone, for your sense of safety and his own personal enjoyment.

Much like the previous night, Daryl spends the evening with you in the house you share, the two of you enjoying each other’s company, cooking up what he retrieved from his traps the night before, laughing and joking around like a married couple in the suburbs. As ironic as that description is, considering the state of the world and Daryl’s general opposition to that kind of dream, he cannot deny that, when that kind of dream involves you, it brings the softest smile to his face and the lightest dusting of pink to his cheeks.

Around the same time as the previous night, Daryl takes his leave, kissing you goodbye at the door and swinging his crossbow over his shoulder before heading for the gate. This time, though, he intends to trap a different kind of pest. Instead of going to the gate, he turns left down a different street, then left again down another, then left one final time, between some houses that bring him right back to yours. There, he finds Spencer jogging up your porch steps with some flowers clasped in his hands. Daryl scoffs, approaching silently to stand at the bottom of the steps and right as Spencer lifts his hand to knock at your door, his voice cuts into the silence of the night.

“The hell you doin’?” His voice is quiet and gruff as ever, but the way Spencer’s stance stiffens tells Daryl he has already succeeded in making the younger man shit himself where he stands.

Clearing his throat, he turns to face Daryl, trying lamely to hide the flowers behind his back. “Daryl! Hey!”

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Daryl tips his nose, gesturing to the flowers. “Those for (Y/N)?”

Accepting that he has been caught in the act, Spencer can only nod.

Daryl nods back at him. “She don’ like ‘em, she likes pink ones best.”

Spencer’s eyes widen. “O-Oh…”

Dropping his cigarette on the ground, Daryl puts it out with a single drag of his shoe. “Course, ya’d know that if ya cared enough t’ ask ‘er, but ya dont. Every time ya talk to ‘er, yer tryna persuade ‘er that yer her dream guy, but ya know nothin’ about ‘er.”

Spencer frowns at this. “Hey, man, I never meant to-”

Daryl waves him off. “Save it, I’ve known what you were doin’ since the firs’ time I saw you lookin’ at ‘er.”

Spencer’s frown intensifies. “You knew and never tried to stop me? Isn’t she supposed to be yours?”

Daryl smirks at the idiot’s poor attempt to get under his skin. “Glad ya know that, at least. Never stopped ya ‘cause (Y/N) never asked me to, she didn’t wanna be impolite an’ as long as you stayed respectful, I would’ve had no problem laughin’ at yer attempts to get ‘er. Ya crossed the line las’ night, so ‘m stoppin’ you now.”

Spencer sighs, feigning defeat as he hangs his head and walks slowly down the steps, not meeting Daryl’s scowl as he passes him. “I never meant to make her uncomfortable…You win, man.”

At that, Daryl scoffs again. “She ain’t no damn prize to be won, asshole.” Then it’s his turn to jog up the steps and stand at your door, intending to guard it until Spencer is out of sight.

Unfortunately, Spencer’s ego just won’t let him leave without taking one last jab. Looking over his shoulder from down the street, he calls out.

“I hope someday (Y/N) realizes what’s good for her and chooses someone that will actually fight for her!”

For a moment, there is silence, because Daryl allows it. He watches the silence lull Spencer into a false sense of security, waits for the victorious smirk to appear on his face, and then lets that smirk disappear at the sound of a crossbow falling against your porch.

The steps towards Spencer are silent, but he turns to face the fast approaching wildman with an expression of a deer in headlights. Once only a few feet separates them, Daryl stops.

“Ya think I won’t fight for ‘er?”

Spencer clears his throat. “W-Well, I just meant that you haven’t-”

Daryl shrugs, interrupting him. “C’mon then, gimme yer best shot.”

Spencer’s jaw drops. “Wh-What?!”

Daryl crosses his arms over his chest. “C’mon, man, you wanna fight for ‘er hand or whatever, go for it. I’ve got all night.”

The sound of your front door opening pulls Daryl from his current conversation immediately. As soon as his eyes land on the sight of you, stepping out onto your porch, his scowl softens into the loving smile that only you can bring him.

“Daryl? Is everything alright?” You call out to him, your concern for what is unfolding between the two men obvious by your tone.

“Everythin’s fine, almos’ done here!” Daryl calls back to you.

Seeing your expression relax makes his heart sing, even from afar, but it doesn’t last long. A look of alarm flashes across your face and you’re quick to point behind him.

“DARYL! LOOK OUT!”

Scowling, Daryl turns around just in time to duck out of the way of Spencer as he lunges for him, sending him stumbling. The moment Spencer is steady on his feet again, Daryl closes the space between them with a swift right hook to his jaw, Spencer landing on the ground with a thud. Standing over him, Daryl shakes his head.

“If ya wan’ed me t’ fight for ‘er, only had t’ ask.”

With that, he steps over Spencer as he sputters blood onto the gray street and rolls onto his back, staring up at the night sky in total defeat. Meanwhile, Daryl strolls over to you so casually, as though he hasn’t just made the most chivalrous and impressive display for your hand you have ever seen. Playing along, you hold your hand out to him and as he ascends the porch steps, he takes hold of it and gently kisses your knuckles, the two of you chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all, but both feeling heat rising in your faces at the intensity of your feelings towards each other, following such a gesture.

Hand still in his, you tug him as close to you as you can bring him and lean up to place a chaste kiss on his lips. You can both feel Spencer’s eyes on you as you do, bringing amused smiles to your faces, but a chaste kiss is the most PDA either of you want to give him the satisfaction of showing off. Leaning down to pick his crossbow back up, Daryl swings it over his shoulder, and you are quick to instinctively brush his hair from his face as you admire him in all his glory.

“My knight in shining armor.”

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@ruinedbythehobbit @iamburdened @evilbabyelf @of-storms-and-sadness @crossbowking @spidergirla5 @jodiereedus22 @thanossexual @captain-shannon-becker @cordialgargoyle @romanoffs-bitch @daryldixonandfrogs @just-always-tired @pillowjj @the-musical-doodle @likeablevillain @irrelevantyettopicalusername @notquitecannon @alyisdead @polkadottedpillowcase @twdeadfanfic @wishingtobeforeveryoung1994 @sigynlokiem @courtnytrash04 @thatwrestlingfan91 @buttsology @prettylittleblog13 @milariskanavasi @whatanicepanohthatsjustme @your-new-mom @daryls-angell @lilzebub @amaroho @bakedcrispss @yes-sir-hotchner @wasted-years @kpopandharry @madshelily @datidixon @dumandbass @savageneversaw

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagine #x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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