#i literally fold in half when i see edits and gifs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

Photo

Words: 6,597 hahahahahahaaaaaahhhhhh man... Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Requested by: Anonymous! Hope you like! Warnings: TAKE THESE SERIOUSLY. THIS ONE SHOT CONTAINS SOME HEAVY SHIT. violence, sexual violence, attempted rape, language, frightening scenarios, blood and injury Summary: Y/N is assigned to work alongside the surgeon Pete in Alexandria, but something about the guy isn't sitting right. A/N: UHHHHHHHHHH I CAN'T WRITE SHORT THINGS AND THIS GOT PRETTY INTENSE but I promise there is also good stuff in here... Soft, sweet Daryl AND Protective!Daryl. I literally wrote this entire thing today and it definitely needs to be edited again but I really wanted to get it posted for ya'll tonight, so please forgive any typos/mistakes! I'll be re-reading tomorrow haha

Your name: submit What is this?

You finally sat up in bed after lying awake for some time and swung your legs over the edge. Your feet brushed the cold floor of the basement room and you pulled the comforter back over your legs. Behind you, you heard the soft stirring of fabric and soon felt Daryl’s rough hand and fingertips lightly trailing down your back.

He sighed and moved closer to you, half-awake. You smiled as you looked at him over your shoulder. You loved everything about this sight; his tousled hair, the peaceful expression on his face, the sight of his bare chest under the sheet. His blue eyes finally opened.

“Ya alright? What is it?” There was even more gravel in his voice than usual, remnants of sleep.

“Just couldn’t sleep anymore,” you said softly.

His brow furrowed a little, carving a small vertical line between his eyebrows. “Nervous about today?”

You nodded.

His fingers traced over your bare skin again. “C’mere,” he said softly.

You laid back down beside him and he folded you into his broad chest, his arm curling around you. He held you tightly and you could hear the steady beating of his heart and the quiet rushing sound of air moving in and out of his lungs.

“S’gonna be good,” he murmured.

“It just feels like a lifetime since I practiced in any normal setting,” you mused. “It’s been desperate triage, like a medic in war, pretty much since the turn. What if I’ve forgotten how to just… be a doctor?”

“Ya kiddin’ me? Ya doctor me all the time.” You could hear the smile in his voice and it eased your anxiety some. “Even when I don’t want ya to,” he added with a laugh.

You leaned up on an elbow and looked down at him, cocking a half-smile as he met your eyes. “You need doctoring all the time, Daryl,” you said. You clasped his face gently and he watched as your eyelashes fluttered closed. He met your lips softly and his fingertips tickled down your spine. You could feel the callouses on your bare skin. It was a sensation you liked, it grounded you. “I better get up,” you said. “I think I’ll take a walk before I have to go in and the last thing I need is to be late and make a bad first impression on the surgeon.”

Daryl wanted to ask you to stay in bed with him, but he knew you needed the morning amble to soothe your nerves, so he begrudgingly relinquished his hold around you and watched as you slipped out of the covers and began pulling on some clothes. He mourned the shape of you disappearing beneath the fabric. “What’s that guy’s name again?” he drawled.

“Pete, I think,” you said, sinking down onto the edge of the bed again to lace up your boots.

“Right. Pete,” he repeated. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“What are you up to today?” you asked him, standing and turning back to look at him in the bed, wavy hair ruffled against the pillow.

“Mmm. Dunno. Probably go up and work on the bike,” he drawled.

“Okay. Well, if you’re bored you can come visit me at the clinic later,” you said. You sighed, wishing you were still in bed asleep beside him. “I better go. I’ll see you later today, alright?” You turned away to head upstairs but Daryl stopped you.

“Hey.” You turned back with a question on your brow. “Ya ain’t got nothin’ to worry ‘bout. Yer gonna be great.” You smiled at him and rushed back to steal another kiss, this one more heated and leaving both of you wanting.

“Bye,” you said softly through a smile. You climbed the stairs and blushed when you realized Rick was already up and in the kitchen with Judith. You and Daryl had been together for a while now, but you didn’t exactly advertise it. It felt precious still, and neither of you had any interest in letting others into that intimacy.

Rick’s eyes met yours as you came into the kitchen. “Morning,” he said. “I didn’t see anything,” he joked, referring to you coming up from Daryl’s space. He looked back down at the small bowl of oatmeal he was trying to convince Judith to eat.

“Shut up,” you murmured, your cheeks still flushed with heat. Rick definitely knew the two of you were together, and you suspected a few of the others did too, but you still felt a little shy about the whole thing. Rick laughed lightly at your response.

“First day,” he said.

“Yep,” you sighed, leaning on your forearms on the kitchen island. “Feels a little surreal to be heading to an actual… job.”

Rick nodded. “Yeah. This whole place feels a little surreal. But Deanna knows what she’s talking about. Having one doctor these days is huge, let alone two. Everyone will be grateful.”

You gave him a small smile and straightened up. “Well, I’m off. Gonna take a walk before I head in. Try and get my head clear.”

“Good luck,” Rick said with a nod. “We’ll all want to hear all about it later.”

You gave him one final smile and headed out into the cool morning air. There was fog hanging heavy just past the walls, concealing what was beyond and the grass was soaked with dew. You jogged down the steps and headed to the wall, turning and following it around the settlement. A few Alexandrians were beginning to stir, sitting on porches quietly or talking with their neighbors at the corner of their lots. Their eyes followed you as you passed. A few murmured greetings. Your group was still new. You were an unknown entity, and you couldn’t blame them for their distrust, not when you didn’t trust any of them either. Just because this place appeared to be perhaps one of the last-standing remnants of civilized society didn’t mean it was completely free from flaws. People were flawed. That had always been true, and if anything, it was even truer now.

You rounded the other side of the settlement and based on how the sun was burning off the moisture in the air, it was time to head to the makeshift clinic and begin. You were anxious to hear about the day to day from the surgeon, and excited to talk to another medical professional. It felt like a long time since you’d lost Hershel back at the prison… The two of you had been a team, and you missed him dearly. Not only because you could discuss the finer points of wound care, but because he’d been another mind to commiserate with and bounce ideas off. It was a burden to have medical knowledge in these times. People treated you as if you were made of glass, because your survival meant theirs was more likely.

Daryl was protective of you, but he didn’t act as though you were just some needed resource. He didn’t treat you like a piece of museum art. He knew you were strong and although he tried to make sure you didn’t need to, he knew you could fight. The two of you had been in enough scrapes together over the years, not to mention the trials your group had borne.

You climbed the stairs to the clinic and pushed inside. A man turned from a counter across the room and called out to you. “What can I do for you?” he asked, hurriedly setting down some supplies he was restocking and coming over. “Not feeling well?”

You let out a light laugh. “Actually, I’m the doctor starting with you today. Deanna said she’d talked to you…”

“Oh. Oh! Right! Of course you are!” he said. He glanced up and down at you and you tried to ignore it, telling yourself he was just sizing you up. The wedding ring glinting on his finger would make him so blatantly checking you out extra inappropriate. “I’m Pete,” he said, extending a hand.

You grasped it firmly and gave it a good shake. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said, nodding. His eyes lingered on your face. “Well, come on in and get familiar.” He led you farther back into the clinic and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, what was your specialty back in the day?” he asked.

“Pediatrics,” you replied, glancing around at the townhouse-turned-hospital clinic. It was strange seeing granite countertops next to rolling gurneys and other medical equipment that probably had once belonged in a museum, but these days were in regular use.

“Well, we can’t all be surgeons,” he said, flashing you a toothy smile. “I was thoracic surgery, mainly cardiovascular.”

You wanted to roll your eyes. Great. He’s an arrogant ass. Fucking terrific… “Well, we’re all everything now, aren’t we? No more specialization,” you replied a little coldly.

He didn’t seem to catch your tone and laughed again. “Seems so! Well, it will be nice to have another doctor around to help out. I’m expecting a quiet day, but then again you never know what will come through those doors.”

“I was wondering what your day-to-day is like. Do you do a lot of routine visits, check-ups and things? Or if this more of a ‘come in when something is wrong’ situation?”

“Mainly the latter. For some of the older folks we’ll do check-ups just to make sure we aren’t caught off guard, but most people don’t come in unless something is wrong. They’ve had an injury or come down ill, that type of thing. I am expecting a patient today with a bad heart for a check-up, but other than that the schedule is wide open, assuming nothing goes sideways.”

“Of course.”

He gave you a long look before he held a finger up. “You know, the supply shelves could use restocking. We keep most of the supplies in boxes and bring them out as needed. Here,” he said, waving you to follow him. He led you over to a closet packed with cardboard boxes. “Go ahead and dig around in here and then restock things on the shelves over there.” He pointed to a small alcove that had shelves lining the walls. You could see they were filled with spare linens, packs of gauze, bandages, boxes of sterile needles, pretty much anything you could need.

“Sure.” You didn’t mind helping out with stocking. It wasn’t something you would have done in the old world since you were out of med school, but as you had said everyone was a jack-of-all-trades now and more than anything you wanted to make yourself useful. What you didn’t expect was that while you were hauling boxes and organizing supplies, Pete had sat himself down right across from the alcove with a mug of something and seemed to be doing nothing more than watching you. The hair on the back of your neck prickled and you glanced over your shoulder. He did have some medical text out in front of him, but he seemed to be doing very little reading and you couldn’t actually remember him turning a page... You could feel his eyes on you as you worked and became especially conscious of how you moved your body to bend down and lift the supplies.

You tried your hardest to dismiss it, but you were just finishing resupplying the gauze pads when you sensed someone close behind you. You spun around and Pete was almost right on top of you. “Oh—” You backed up and hit the shelves, the cold metal biting through your shirt. There was some look on his face that was deeply unnerving but the next moment it was gone and replaced with another smile. He leaned toward you, one hand landing on the shelf above your head. You were effectively boxed in by his body and the configuration of the small room. You gulped at the tightness in your throat, your heart pounding. You stared up at him wide-eyed.

“Thanks. For doing that,” he said softly. “It looks so much more organized in here.” His eyes weren’t leaving you.

Your body was telling you to run, so you took the opportunity to duck his arm and escape into the main room of the clinic. You hugged your arms over yourself and turned around in time to watch him walking back out of the supply room casually. Your heart was still racing and you jumped as the clinic door banged open and an elderly man walked in. You tried to regain control of your breathing as Pete greeted the man with a wide smile.

“Mr. Johnson, and how are we doing today?” Pete asked, striding forward. “I want you to meet our new doctor.” He gestured to you and you snapped yourself back into work mode, trying hard to suppress the urge you still had just to get the fuck out of this guy’s orbit.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson,” you said, giving him a smile. “I hear you’re in for a check-up on the ticker today?”

The rest of the appointment was routine, except that Pete seemed to think you were going to be around simply to act as some kind of glorified assistant as opposed to a fully-functional, independent physician. When the patient had left and you were again alone with the surgeon, your anxiety started to ratchet up again and you decided it was time to bail for the day. Maybe this whole thing was simply nerves and after a good night’s sleep, you’d find Pete much less… irksome?

“Well, I think that’s as good an introduction as any for today,” you said suddenly, apparently catching him somewhat off-guard. “Be sure to send someone for me if anything comes up.” It was only mid-afternoon and during the apocalypse a lot can go wrong in the span of a few hours.

Pete looked disappointed. “Why don’t you stay? We can have a welcome drink together! I keep a bottle of Scotch in the bottom desk drawer,” he said with a laugh. “No sense pretending it isn’t the apocalypse. We can bend a few rules if we want.”

“That’s okay. I should check in with my group and see how everyone is getting on without me… I’ll—I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, backing toward the door already.

“Are you sure? If you don’t like Scotch, we can—”

“I’m sure! Have a good rest of your day!” You called that over your shoulder as you rushed out the door. Your anxiety was so high that you ran most of the way home, and by the time you reached the front porch you were sweaty and out of breath. You bent over, hands on your knees and attempted to draw in deep breaths and regain control of your bounding pulse. Michonne must have heard you run up the steps because she stepped out through the front door and took in your expression.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?” she asked. “Why are you all out of breath?”

You waved her off, straightening up and fixing a smile on your lips. “Oh, too much standing around, you know? Just needed a pick-me-up. Umm—have you seen Daryl?” Seeing the handsome archer was the only thing you could think about.

Michonne didn’t look particularly convinced but she nodded. “He’s up at Aaron and Eric’s place working on his bike. Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” you said dismissively. “I’m a doctor, remember? I should know if I’m alright or not. Thanks,” you breathed, turning to jog back down the stairs and heading straight for Aaron’s house.

“You’re also stubborn!” she called after you as you bounded back down the stairs, but you only tossed another wave at her over your shoulder.

The sound of metallic tinkering reached you as you approached the end of the driveway. The garage door was thrown wide open and Daryl was hunched over some part on the workbench. You grinned as you took in his broad shoulders, the wings on the back of his vest, and the fit of his jeans. The weirdness of the day was all but forgotten. You strode up next to him and leaned back against the workbench. “Hi,” you grinned up at him.

His lips immediately quirked into a small smile and he abandoned the tools in his hands to step back and drink in the sight of you. His fingers fiddled aimlessly, yearning to feel the angles of your hips. “Hey. Yer done early,” he said.

You shrugged. “Yeah. First day only, you know?”

Daryl sensed something in your tone and his brow furrowed, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read your expression. “How was it?” he drawled.

You gulped, trying to decide what to say, not wanting him to worry. Besides, you knew if you told him you thought Pete was eyeing you that he’d probably march down to the clinic immediately and give the guy a telling off, and that certainly wouldn’t improve your working relationship… “It was fine. I think Pete just needs to adjust to the fact that there’s another doctor around now. He mostly treated me like an assistant today…”

Daryl’s expression darkened. “Tha’s bullshit.”

You shrugged and sighed. “He’s arrogant. I’m planning to have a talk with him about it tomorrow. That isn’t going to fly.” You tried to laugh lightly, but Daryl’s eyes were still searching your face.

“Tha’s it?” he prompted.

You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded. “Yeah. Hey, I’m gonna go home and lay down for a while,” you said, gently touching his arm. “Was too anxious to sleep well last night. I’ll see you there in a bit?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, nudging his nose up in a nod. “Hey. Ya sure yer alright? Ya seem a little—I dunno…” he trailed off.

Ugh, he always knows when something was up. “Really, I’m fine. Just tired. I’ll see you later.” And with that you turned and headed back to the house.

Daryl decided to wrap up not too long after you left. He couldn’t shake the sense that there was something about your first day you hadn’t mentioned and it wasn’t sitting right. Still, he trusted that if you wanted to talk about it, you would, so he didn’t ask again. It was obvious at dinner you weren’t really in the sharing mood when everyone was enthused about you starting as the new doctor and peppering you with questions. You smiled and thanked them, but didn’t offer up much extra info. Daryl finally spat out what you’d told him. “Apparently this Pete guy is an ass,” he drawled during a lull at the dinner table.

“Really? How so?” Maggie asked, looking worried.

You shot Daryl a look and he simply peered back at you. “He’s just—a bit arrogant. Not the first surgeon I’ve run across who seems to think he’s God,” you said.

Carol rolled her eyes. “I don’t know about some of these people,” she said in an undertone.

“Look, this is a big adjustment for everybody. For them, and for us,” Rick said. “We’re all gonna need a little time to settle in and get used to this.”

You chewed your bottom lip and felt another brief wave of anxiety. Under the table out of sight, Daryl’s hand settled on your knee and gave it a light squeeze and you felt instant relief. You turned and gave him a small smile. Things would be okay. Tomorrow was a new day, and you made up your mind to stand up for yourself to this asshole surgeon...

You strode into the clinic and found Pete seated at the desk in the corner, apparently going over some inventory list, and you stopped across the desk from him. “Morning,” you said.

His eyes started at your feet and dragged up your body to land on your face. “Good morning,” he returned. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be back. You left so abruptly yesterday,” he said, standing and moving around the desk toward you.

You crossed your arms subconsciously, like armor against his stare. “Yeah, listen, about that… I’m here to be a doctor. I’m not here to be your assistant, which is what I felt like yesterday. I’m fine with stocking or doing inventory or cleaning instruments as long as we’re sharing the tasks evenly.”

Pete was silent for a long moment and seemed to be considering you. He finally cracked a smile. “Of course. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way. It was your first day, and I just thought we’d ease you into things,” he said.

It wasn’t the response you had expected. “Oh,” you said, a little struck.

He let out a wry laugh. “Don’t sound so surprised, Y/N! We’re a team. That’s how I’d like for us to be anyway.” He paused briefly. “You’re obviously a strong, beautiful, intelligent woman and quite frankly I’m thrilled to have you here to help the community.”

You eyed him a little warily, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling again a little, but you nodded and murmured an awkward thanks.

He clapped his hands together and straightened up. “How’s this? To make up for yesterday, you take the lead today and I’ll run interference for you. You can have me fetch meds or linens or whatever you’d like. We’re expecting two patients today, and one is in your area of expertise anyway. What do you say?”

You sighed and nodded. “Alright. But—I just want us to be partners. That’s all… I don’t need you to fetch linens,” you said with a wry laugh.

Pete nodded. “Partners. Partners sounds good.”

The rest of your second day was smooth and you actually felt fulfilled. Your first patient’s pneumonia was clearing up on its own and the second turned out to be a kid with a run of the mill rash. You watched happily as his mother thanked you and the two of them headed out the clinic door and you sighed contentedly for once. It felt good to do something routine. You knew you’d have triage days but for once the only thing you had to worry about was a kid with a dermatitis. Pete came to stand beside you and watch them leave and you felt his eyes on you again. When you looked over, he simply gave you a small smile. Maybe this was going to work out after all.

That night, you were all gathered around the dinner table when there was a loud knocking on the door. Glenn got up to answer it and was followed in by one of the Alexandrians who was looking a little frantic.

“Y/N, Pete asked me to get you and have you come to the clinic. He said someone fell off a ladder while doing repairs on the wall and he needs your help.” The room immediately fell silent and you felt everyone’s eyes on you.

You rose quickly, your chair scraping harshly on the floor. “Of course. I’m coming now.” You started toward the front door immediately and you heard quick boot steps behind you. Glancing back you saw Daryl trailing just behind you.

He looked worried. “Hey. Ya want me to come with ya? S’late and all…”

“No. No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s nothing too serious. We can handle it. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?” You gently grabbed his arm and gave him a reassuring glance before stepping outside into the darkness. You thanked the woman who had come to collect you and she turned off to head back to her own house. The sun wasn’t quite set yet but the shadows between the houses were growing long and deep. You jogged to the clinic, unsure of exactly how serious the injuries might be and eager to do something useful. It seemed rather dimly lit inside as you climbed the steps. You were expecting the interior to be a blaze with light and potentially other activity, friends or family waiting nearby. But it was quiet as you pushed through the door and you wondered if Pete had already taken the patient into one of the smaller rooms that served as private exam rooms.

“Hello?” you called as you entered.

Pete’s voice called from deeper inside the clinic. “In here!”

You headed for the sound, which was indeed coming from one of the private exam rooms. You knocked on the door and he told you to come in. You entered and shut the door behind you, glancing around for the injured person, but you saw only Pete inside. “What’s going on? Who’s hurt?” you asked urgently. “How bad is it?”

Pete turned around from his place at the far wall and fixed his eyes on you for a moment. “X-rays are here. He’s in the other room. Come see,” he said, nudging his head in the direction of the counter behind him.

You strode over and almost immediately realized something was extremely wrong. The plastic sheets on the counter were blank x-ray sheets. There was no image as you lifted them up to the overhead light. And Pete wasn’t beside you anymore. He’d moved around the room and was now standing in front of the door. His eyes were already on you when you next glanced at him.

You felt like the air went out of your lungs as you gave him a questioning look. “What’s going on?” you asked, trying to keep the shake out of your voice.

“Well, I had to get you here somehow. You didn’t accept my drink offer earlier. And I thought maybe you were a little put-off by my behavior your first day. Or maybe by my wedding ring…”

Fuck. This was going nowhere good. “You’re right about both,” you said, your eyes narrowing. “What are you doing? What is this?” You were cornered and you knew that he’d done all this strategically, to get you alone with no one else around.

He smiled at you vaguely. “I like you, Y/N. And when I see something that I like, I go after it.”

“Something?” you repeated, unable to keep a scoff from slipping out.

Pete took a step closer to you. “See that? That’s part of why I like you. You’re intelligent, strong, and beautiful. I thought it the moment I first saw you. But you need a man to put you in your place.” He advanced on you a couple more steps and your heart started racing. You backed up as much as you could and your back hit the counter behind you. “And I think I’m the right man to do that.”

“You’re married,” you spat out. “You have a wife. And kids.” Your chest was heaving a little with anxious breaths that were bordering on panic. “I’m sure you don’t mean this. Let’s just forget this ever happened and—”

He shook his head. “I can’t do that. Once I see something I want, I have to have it. And I want you, Y/N.”

“Well, I don’t want you! This is—I’m leaving,” you tried to get to the door but he blocked your path and it was then that you smelled the alcohol on him. “You’re drunk,” you said, the realization spilling out.

“Last time I checked it wasn’t a crime to have a few drinks.”

You backed away from him again as he moved closer, still squarely blocking the route to the door. “Just stay away from me. This is—Look, I’ve got someone already and you’re fucking married. What the hell are you doing?! I don’t want this!”

Your words seemed to have no effect on him and he continued moving closer and closer, steadily, like a lion approaching its prey. You gathered your courage and made a dash to get around him, but he grabbed hold of you forcefully and slammed your back into the counter hard enough that all the air left you in a gasp. He had hold of both of your wrists painfully tight and there was nothing in his eyes. They were dark.

You struggled against him, but he was bigger than you and his position where he had you pinned made it easy to control you. “Let go of me!” You tried to get a knee up to his groin, or to push him away but he slammed you back into the counter again, releasing one of your wrists to grab a fistful of your hair and pull you cruelly down so your back arched painfully backwards over the edge. You couldn’t even cry out and the next thing you felt was his other hand closing around your throat.

“I told you,” he growled into your ear. You could feel the heat of his breath on your skin and you felt sick. “Once I see something I want, I have to have it. So, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

You gripped his wrist, attempting to pry it from your neck and tried to suck air in despite the force he was applying. “Fuck. You.” You managed it in a rough whisper and his response was to turn your head roughly using his fistful of your hair. You stifled a pained cry and your mind was working desperately as you tried to find some goddamn way out of this. Your eyes landed on an instrument tray on the counter and you relinquished your grip on Pete’s wrist and began to reach for it, stretching your arm and fingers as far as you could, desperately.

You felt his face burying into the crook of your neck and his hot breath on your skin. Next you felt his lips… his teeth… but you shut your eyes and reached and—there cold steel of a metal instrument.

You gripped it tightly and felt a sharp blade prick your palm. A scalpel.

Without thinking, you clutched the handle and stabbed the tool into Pete’s upper arm as hard and deep as you could. Air rushed back into your lungs as his grip on your throat disappeared. You fell to the floor as he staggered away from you, looking down at the instrument protruding from his arm. You crawled and then scrambled to the door, throwing it open and letting out a scream as you ran through the clinic. Please, God, let someone hear me!

You heard the rush of footsteps behind you and toppled over anything you could behind you as you ran for the front door. At one point you felt Pete’s fingertips grip the back of your shirt, but you tugged away and they slipped off. You pushed out into the dark night, not even aware that there were terrified tears streaming down your face. You glanced back over your shoulder as you ran down the steps, your lungs on fire, and when you tore down the sidewalk you collided with something solid. Then someone was gripping your upper arms and you let out a wild yell. But the voice was familiar, and then the feel of the hands on your skin.

Daryl. It was Daryl.

You let out a sob and fell into him, clutching to him desperately. His arms wrapped around you tightly, rubbing over your back, pressing into your shoulder blades. “Y/N! Y/N, look at me!” He pulled you slightly back and saw the fear in your wide eyes and the red marks on your neck and wrists. He pressed you into him again and now your shoulders were shaking with sobs. “I gotcha. I gotcha…” He glared up at the clinic just ahead, fuming, his body temperature rising as you shook in his arms. He had no doubt about what had happened.

“How’d you—why’re you—” You couldn’t get the questions out as you clung to him.

“S’alright. M’here. I just—I had a bad feelin’. I came to check on ya.”

You buried your face against his chest. “Thank you… thank you…”

Perhaps drawn by Daryl’s obvious concern after you left dinner and his hasty departure, or maybe by the noise and commotion, Maggie and Glenn suddenly were there beside you too.

“Y/N—” Daryl pulled you back gently and clasped your chin, lifting it so you’d look up at him. “I’ll be right back. I’ll be right back, okay? Stay with Glenn an’ Maggie.”

Your hands smoothed down and landed on his sides, clinging lightly to the fabric of his shirt, your eyes still wide and glistening with fearful tears. “What’re you going to do?”

His jaw clenched and you saw the fiery rage in his eyes. “Jus’ stay here with Glenn an’ Maggie. I’ll come right back, alrigh’?”

“Come here,” Maggie said, draping an arm around your shoulders as Daryl pulled away. He was striding straight up the walk to the clinic and up the steps, his hands clenched into fists.

You gulped and your stomach twisted as you watched his broad frame stop in front of the door and push it open. Maggie hugged you tighter and looked at Glenn.

“Glenn,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “He’s gonna kill him.”

Daryl pushed into the clinic and let the door slam into the wall. The room in front of him was dim and in complete disarray. Tables were upended and medical supplies littered the floor. He could almost see the chaotic chase that had taken place there.

That’s when he spotted fat drops of crimson on the tile. Fresh, brilliant red blood.

His right hand clenched and unclenched and he moved silently deeper into the clinic, following the blood trail. A light was on at the end of a small hallway and he headed straight for it, anger burning him up from the inside, rolling at a boil. He stepped into the doorway silently and peered inside.

Pete was standing at the counter, a bottle of liquor beside him, attempting to patch up a nasty looking wound in his upper arm.

“What happened to yer arm?” Daryl growled, his stare narrowed and intense.

Pete’s head snapped around and he took in the figure in the doorway. “I—” He didn’t have anything. He didn’t have an excuse. And in that moment, he knew he’d fucked up royally. Worse possibly than he ever had. He’d gone too far.

Daryl was on him instantly, seizing him by the front of his shirt and throwing him down onto the hard floor, raining blow after blow into his face and body. All he saw was red and black… The next thing he really remembered was Glenn and Rick pulling him off Pete’s writhing form on the floor and hauling him back out of the clinic. His hands were shaking, his knuckles bloody.

You watched, still trembling with Maggie’s arm around you, as Rick and Glenn hauled Daryl out onto the porch and finally released him. You knew Rick was trying to talk him down but you couldn’t hear his words. Daryl paced back and forth like a caged animal on the porch, focused purely on getting back to Pete to finish beating him into the fucking ground. You shrugged Maggie’s arm off and wandered forward on legs that felt like they may give out at any second. You climbed the steps and as Daryl paced back and forth again, you reached out and just gently grabbed his arm.

He spun and then froze instantly. You looked up at him with wide eyes, still glistening with tears, and he instantly forgot about Pete. His chest was still heaving as he wrapped you up into him again, not caring that there was a small crowd now gathering. His fingers smoothed your hair and pressed you tightly to him. He felt your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and grip it like a lifeline.

“I gotcha,” he murmured again, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “S’go home.” He couldn’t feel the pain in his hands anymore. He couldn’t see the others standing around. He could only feel how you were still trembling against him and wanted desperately to stop it.

He ushered you through the gawking people and ignored Michonne and Carol as they tried to question him. When you reached the house and your feet seemed to stall out, he simply scooped you up, his heart aching as you draped an arm around his neck and buried your face against him. He set you on the edge of his bed and clicked on the light, kneeling down in front of you so he could study you for previously unseen injuries. His fingertips were so light as they trailed over your skin, his eyes taking in the marks on your neck and wrists and arms, bringing another tsunami of rage. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and hung his head, wrestling again with his anger. But it was quickly tempered by the way you held onto any part of him you could and wouldn’t let go and he softened at once. Still kneeling in front of you, he smoothed his hands up and down your arms. “What can I do?” he drawled quietly, and the sound of his voice, so desperate and filled with anxious concern, almost broke you down again.

“Just—come up here and hold me,” you managed.

Daryl was beside you instantly, folding you in against him, lying back until the two of you hit the pillows. He held you tighter than he ever had, his mind swirling. After some time, when you seemed to have calmed some and rested quietly against him, you finally spoke. “I should have told you,” you said. “He made me uncomfortable since the first day… but I didn’t want you to worry. And I thought—I didn’t think he’d—”

“It dun matter,” Daryl said gently. You could hear his voice resonating in his deep chest. “Yer safe now. And that prick ain’t ever touchin’ ya again. He ain’t hurtin’ anybody again.” He smoothed your hair. “Yer safe. I gotcha.”

You settled against him more heavily. “Daryl, you’re always my safe haven. You have to know that.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead and breathed in your familiar smell. “Yer mine too.” And you were. You were his safe place to be himself, to be vulnerable, to be loved and to love, and the least he could do was wrap you up in his arms and tell you everything was going to be okay.

And the thing was, you believed him.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

867 notes · View notes

heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

The Thief

Summary: Where do all of Bucky’s shirts keep disappearing to? Pairing: Reader x Bucky A/N: 2.1k word count. Silliness, fluff. Posters from the fic LOL

Bag of Tricks One-Shots Masterlist

Bucky is missing another shirt on Saturday morning. He rifles through his closet, slapping the hangers to the left and down the pole where they clack against each other fearfully. Last week, this happened too. His favorite red Henley with the threadbare hem and black buttons— all day he had searched for it until—

Oh.

With a slightly exasperated groan and a backwards tilt of his head, he closes the closet door. Quietly, he slips out of his room and down the silent hallway until the chatter of voices from the kitchen meets his ears.

Wilson stands at the stove top, flipping pancakes the size of plates— heavy, thick, wheat ones, overloaded with blueberries. Steve is to his side, pouring milk and stealing fruit when Sam isn’t looking. Natasha is perched on the counter, sipping black coffee.

And then, his eyes skip over to the dining table where a pair of delicate feet are propped up on the glass, toes tapping off-beat to a tuneless song.

You.

No matter how many times Tony and Steve tell you to stop putting your feet on the table, you still do— almost out of spite and with glee. You match Steve in stubbornness and Sam in annoying-ness. You’re just a step behind Natasha when it comes to acting, too. The combination could be lethal if you weren’t such a lawless brat, squandering your talents on petty revenge.

You’re leaned back in the chair, comic book in hand with a silly lopsided smile and your hair tied in the messiest of buns. Strands loop out from the elastic, flop against your ear pathetically. There is a smudge of toothpaste on the corner of your mouth, and when you lick your dry lips, you lick it away too.

“Hey, when are those pannies ready?” You ask over the line of the glossed book.

“Don’t call them panties! And don’t rush perfection!” Sam hollers back.

“Okay…” You try again, “When are those pancakies ready?”

“Pan-cakes.” Steve sends over his shoulder, “Pancakes. One word, two syllables, no ‘y’ at the end.”

“Uh. It’s I and E, sir.” And when Steve sighs in displeasure, you tug the collar of the shirt over the bridge of your nose and hide your snickering inside. You pop a finger in your mouth and flip the page, leaving a wet round print on the edge. Tony is going to kill you when he finds out that you are desecrating his rare collection with spit.

With a snort and shake of his head, Bucky runs his hand through his bangs and walks up next to the table. “Huh.” He mumbles, finger rubbing the sleeve spilling from your shoulder, threatening to flood all the way down to your elbow. The specked brown fabric, slightly pilled is familiar beneath the pads of his thumb.

The very one he was searching for this morning. That timeworn thing, half falling apart because it’s been so many times washed.

“This looks familiar.”

“This?” You ask, eyes wide, “Is it— is it yours? Aw jeez, Barnes. I found it in the laundry room. It just looked so comfy.” One foot scratches the other and the shirt rides up your legs and folds against your stomach. Your rub the fabric against your collarbone, shifting it side to side, and the middle falls in-between your breasts, outlining the shape of you.

He has to bite down on his cheek to stop his next expression, but hums a noise of surprise anyway, “Wonder how it got in there.”

You shrug and blush, give him a fake demure smile before scooting your chair back and heading over to grab food. He follows lazily behind, watches the hem swing at the top of your thighs, a tiny inch of your athletic shorts peeks out underneath. You’re ridiculous, he thinks.

“Yummy yummy yummy, get into into my tummy.” You pull three pancakes onto your plate and Steve glares at the way you use your fingers even though there is a fork in your other hand.

“Your germs are gonna go into my tummy.”

Shocked, you press three bent fingertips to your sternum, “Captain, sir! It’s called a stomach! Two syllables. No Y!”

Steve follows your hand with a wry smile, then the slightest tilt of his head happens as he narrows his eyes on your chest.

“Captain Rogers, are you checking out my tit-tats?”

With a stutter, Steve flushes and turns around, busies himself with getting his own pancakes. Everyone else follows suit and soon enough the dining table is seated with all five, pouring syrup and cutting fluffy stacks into smaller pieces.

To his right, Bucky watches you roll up a pancake like a log and dunk it into a lake of syrup you’ve squirted on your plate. With your mouth full, you take your fork and steal a triangle from him. Syrup dribbles onto your— his shirt.

“We literally have the same food.” he complains.

“But… yours is better; Wilson put more love into yours. I think he put fingernails in mine.”

Across the table, Natasha smirks, “Arsenic, maybe.”

“Actually,” Sam corrects, “It’s rat poison.”

Behind another log dripping with syrup and melted butter, you grin and waggle your eyebrows at Sam, tongue slipping out beneath the roll to lap the dripping syrup away. Bucky kicks you under the table, a quiet reminder to stop being so obnoxious.

Instead of heeding his advice, you shove the rest of the sticky tube into your mouth and choke a little.

“Jesus Christ.” He mutters, turning away from where you are pounding on the table and coughing. “You dead?”

“Rest in damn pieces.” Sam adds.

Steve continues to stare suspiciously as you press your cheek to the glass surface and catch your breath.

You’re going to drive him crazy, he thinks.

He hides the smile behind a cut of pancake and a swig of coffee. A few more bites and he loads his plate into the dishwasher, returning to his room to take a shower, even thanking Sam for breakfast without an insult. Wilson looks after him curiously but takes the compliment where he can get it.

On his way back to his room, Bucky stops by the familiar door decorated with a single poster you printed off in the lab—a kitschy and poorly edited photograph of Sam with a rainbow-colored clown wig over his head, not even fully covering his hair. Underneath his torso are the words Sam Wilson Local Dumbass.

You had made it after a mission where Sam’s wing clipped your shoulder and your gun went off into a gas tank, blowing out half the floor. It’s been almost half a year and you still haven’t taken the poster down—vowing not to change it until the year passes. Petty revenge, Bucky scoffs to himself.

Bucky pushes past the door and yanks open your closet, staring at the piles of shirts and shorts, mountains of pants and dresses you’ve never worn. On top of each heap are a million pairs of panties, like you just grab your laundry basket and throw it in. You probably do. The doors are always shut probably because you have the object permanence of an infant and if it’s out of sight, it’s out of mind, too.

He laughs when he sees the assorted hangers on the pole, varying sizes and some bent completely out of shape. There are precisely four, neatly aligned next to each other, out of place with the rest of the disordered space.

His hand reaches up to tug on the familiar red Henley he found last week over your torso as you sat watching a movie with Natasha. You had tied an elastic band to the bottom of it, the tiniest sliver of your hip showing beneath.

Next to the red is a gray long-sleeve. Next to that is a cream-colored shirt he hardly wears but you mentioned one night that you liked seeing him in lighter colors. Ironic that you’d steal it from him, then.

At the end of the row, folded neatly over the bar of a plastic green hanger, is a single pair of his black boxers and he nearly hisses when he yanks it off in mortification.

“What?” Your voice calls from the doorway, “They’re clean.”

“Jesus! Why do you have these?”

A wide grin stretches over your mouth, “I wear ‘em to sleep sometimes. Mostly when you’re not here.”

“Darlin’, you got your own clothes.” Bucky smiles, wishing he could genuinely find your antics annoying and not so damn cute. Walking forward, his fingers reach under your shirt where the smooth plane of your stomach starts, other hand moving over your head to push the door close. “It’s hard to keep a secret when you’re so obvious about it.”

You whine, bratty again, and he shuts up the noise with a press of his mouth over yours, “It was only fun for like, two months.” You mutter into his mouth, “But really, Buck. Everyone here is so oblivious that we could probably fuck on the conference table and they wouldn’t notice.”

A strangled breath falls out of his mouth, “We- we haven’t—f—” He can’t even bring himself to say it, because unfortunately, he is so stupidly shy when it comes to you. “D-don’t say f...” His face burns red and he attempts to look at anything else but your devious smile as you tap a finger over the band of his sweatpants.

“Fuck?” You laugh, “Fucky-fuck-fuck, Bucky-Buck-Buck.”

Then, quick as a whip, you leap up and lock your ankles around his waist, knees splayed out to his sides. Automatically, his hands catch underneath your bottom. Three months of secretly dating and all he’s done is kiss you senseless in utility closets. And now you’re saying… Jesus.

You’re going to kill him, he thinks.

Leaning back, you almost pitch out of his hold but then you stop yourself and slowly shrug the shirt—his shirt from your torso. “You wanna, right? Three months, Bucko. You’re playing a slow burn game that I am not good at.” You grin and drop the shirt onto the floor, the sight of your bare skin turning his entire body hot. “Bucky…!” You whine loudly, bouncing in his arms, “Come on!”

He groans at the way you shift against his groin and thinks fuck it. If you kill him, it’ll be a good thing. Rest in damn good pieces. Bucky sighs and tilts forward, pressing his nose to your neck, inhaling the scent of maple syrup. “Baby, you’re so—”

The door slams open and you yelp, falling out of Bucky’s hands and onto the floor on your back. “What the fuck!”

Steve is pointing, wide triumphant grin across his face, “I knew it! I knew that shirt looked familiar!” Bucky pitches forward, covers your bare chest with his body and nearly crushes you underneath.

“You fucking perv, Steve! Stop trying to look at my tit-tats!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Steve cries, turning around. Bucky kicks the door shut with his foot as you continue to curse out Steve on the other side of the door. With an amused sigh at the way your nose scrunches up as you hurl insults, he presses his nose to your collarbone again, licks away the stain of syrup you’d dropped earlier on yourself.

He wakes up in your empty bed around noon, groggy and a little confused as to why you’re suddenly gone. Disappointment and fear sparks in his chest at the thought of his lonely state. Was it bad? Maybe this is how you’re breaking up with him. Fuck—was it that bad?

Bucky slowly gets up, slips on his sweatpants from the earlier morning and scoops his clothes into his arms, mind set on clearing out his belongings from your room if the relationship is truly over, not even bothering to put a shirt on.

The hallway isn’t empty this time—down the walkway you are crouched with something in your hand in front of Natasha’s room, but you pay him no mind. Bucky tucks his clothing under his arm, turning around to close your door before his eyes catch sight of what’s been newly taped to it.

An enormous poster decorates the plain paint. Steve’s face is blown up and touches each corner. Over his eyes you’ve photoshopped two enormous breasts and under his chin are the words: Steve Rogers, Local Pervert.

Bucky sputters before a loud howling laughter tears itself from his throat as he pitches over to hold himself up on the door frame. It’s obscene—the petty revenge, it’s your worst one yet. He’s really going to fall in love with you, he thinks.

Down the hallway, you look over and grin at him, taping yet another poster to someone else’s door. Over your torso, again, as always, is his shirt.

#bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes

1K notes · View notes