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Daryl's into shibari but let me explain:

It's not even so much so in the kinky way for physical restraint and all that, but more in a sort of artistic or therapeutic way. Given his background in hunting, tracking and survival skills n whatnot, he already had talent in tying all sorts of knots – so it'd only make sense.

He played around with it when he was younger, and would sit with some yarn or other thin string, alone at whatever random shack he was currently crashing at, just practicing winding it around one of his hands, weaving over his wrist for a cuff, or incorporating his fingers and back of his hand into it – and as he grew more understanding of it, up his forearm, and maybe his thighs at some point too.

It's a sort of fidget for him. He's able to let his mind go and just focus on tying the knots in specific spots and creating intricate patterns and designs. It's relaxing, draws his thoughts into a craft and pushes back against all the intrusive ones. It quickly became something he could do subconsciously, so he uses it to help him think; clears his mind of everything else by keeping his hands busy so he can put attention to more important things.

Obviously he couldn't really do this once the apocalypse happened (he'd rather a walker bite him than someone catch him doing something viewed as taboo, plus you need to be able to up and move very suddenly) – so he swapped to tying and braiding large blades of grass & the young bark from trees.

He'd do a little at the prison during the timeskip, but wouldn't settle back into it till the post-Savior era. It took some readjusting because of all the times being tied up had been used against him in malicious manners post-apocalypse, but he worked to reclaim it and have it be something he could seek solace in again.

You'd learn about it eventually, once your friendship stretched to a relationship and was very deep and sturdy. He'd be so nervous and embarrassed to tell you since, again, it's a generally sexual thing, but it's not inherently like that for him and he didn't want you to think he was weird for it.

But when it came to involving you in it; that took even longer. He wouldn't be open to it at least until long after the Savior war – once things had kinda settled down: you had a secure place to live, a good network of people, and there wasn't a sense of an impending threat every day. You had some peace, and more importantly time.

Maybe it'd start with you two on a run together; you're in a hardware or outdoor supplies store, gathering bundles of rope and you'd make a joke about him tying you up, just to see how he gets flustered after picturing it.

But not long after, you two'd have a genuine conversation about it that'd end in sitting quietly on the edge of the bed together, Daryl loosely doing simple ties with some yarn around one of your hands. He felt very vulnerable, given he's essentially not only letting you into his therapy sessions, but incorporating you into it. Shibari became his scapegoat from his life and trauma-scarred psyche for years; it's something he treasures – and he treasures you the same way. It would always be very intimate.

So once you were both comfortable with it, he'd love it; just sitting together in the evenings and letting him create his little artistic nets of rope on your body, starting with just your hands then arms and simple knots that could be easily undone. Then as time passed, and a period of peace became more prevalent, he did more complex ones and covered more of your body.

Once you expanded, he went out on solo runs to find specific ropes he wanted, maybe swinging by adult stores if needed. The first time he did your torso, he was so utterly transfixed by it: kept breaking the silence every now and again to remark how beautiful you looked.

And then when you did your torso and all without a layer of clothes blocking your skin it pretty much broke him. He was instantly addicted to the way the color of the rope he chose complimented your skin tone, how it so perfectly curled around every curve of your body. Once he was done he just sat back and stared at you. With all the meaning behind it, it was one of the most gorgeous things he'd ever seen.

For the first long while, it was only designs on you, and they weren't physically retraining. He wanted both of you to have experience in it before coming to that. And then when you did, he bound your wrists together, constantly checking if you were okay with it, then undid it pretty quickly.

That's where it started to branch into more sexual territory. Some of it was the control aspect, but it was more so how trusting you were of him; letting him be in control like that – and again just how perfect you looked woven into his masterpieces. First he'd do it, drag eyes over your body, then undo them, toss it aside and kiss you to push you back to lay in the bed.

But then he started keeping them on – but not the more physically restraining ones at first, just the pretty decor ones. This is all a process of progression, so when you did get to more restraining, it was usually just binding your wrists, tying your limbs to the bed frame, or arms to your chest, once and a while a little more than that.

Shibari with him would never be like the more intense stuff you see in BDSM spaces n allat – he will not super roughly tie you up in some weird ass position where rope is digging into your skin and leaving burns behind. He is never one to completely immobilize you. You being super restrained would make him nervous even if you were okay with it. And he's not at all into suspension: he has the skills to set it up right but he doesn't trust it, and that's veering too much into deeper kinky territory for his taste. He doesn't want to ruin this for himself by making it so explicitly sexual.

Like I said, it's much more intimate and remedial. It's about appreciating your figure and including you in something so important to him. You with geometric shapes and knots of rope that he made delicately mapped around your body will always be one of his favoritest things.

And if you wanted to learn, he'd teach you. Knowing knots in general was important in the apocalypse, plus everything else about it. He'd let you restrain him to a further extent than he would you.

And him knelt in bed, rope around his upper thighs that circled his hips and waist, up his chest and around his torso, binding his arms behind his back with his red rag tied around his eyes like a blindfold quickly became one of your favoritest things too <3

And bunny would skyrocket as a petname for both of you cuz rope bunny, duh

Like c'mon that's my rope bunny rigger

I’m literally frothing at the mouth I can’t think of anything else but Daryl Dixon anymore

Vec: Jesus, can I braid your hair sometime?

Jesus: Uh, yeah sure. If you really want to.

Vec: Daryl won’t let me braid his.

Daryl: Woman…

Whumptober 2024 No. 1

Prompt: Panic Attack

Warnings: Mentions of torture; anxiety attack

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

It happened so fast. 

One moment, you were in the kitchen, preparing dinner—a stew of venison and vegetables. The next, you were crouched in front of Daryl, whispering words of encouragement while he tried to catch his breath. 

Tara hadn’t meant any harm. Over for dinner, she had been rummaging through a box of records—a bonus from a recent run that had gone smoothly. The record player and vinyls had been the reward you had bestowed upon yourselves when you had extra time due to the lack of walkers to dispatch. 

First, to Daryl’s utter joy—expressed by a grunt and appreciative nod—she had chosen Johnny Cash, allowing the record to play through in its entirety before deciding to try her luck with a random choice. The moment the song began, you knew—even before the sound of Daryl’s knife and whetstone clattering on the floor—what would come of it. 

We’re on easy street

“Tara, no!” The spoon you had been using to stir was abandoned somewhere in the kitchen to be found later. Your steps were hurried, finding Daryl with his back pressed against the wall, eyes wide and shining, unseeing. “Daryl. Baby.”

“What’s—I didn’t—” Tara stammered from across the room, her hands flailing uselessly. You waved her off, somewhat urgently. 

“Just turn it off.” Your focus was centered on the man in front of you, his face pale, breaths quick and shallow. “Hey. Hey, you’re okay.”

“Can’t—can’t breathe.” He gasped, a hand coming up to lay against his throat, the other palm flat against his chest. “Don’t—I can’t—”

“You’re not there, Daryl. You’re here. With me.” You yearned to touch him, to ground and comfort him, but knew that he would only flinch away, lost in the torment of those days trapped and tortured at the Sanctuary. “You’re safe.”

“Ain’t—” His breaths were sobbing rushes of air that he thought he couldn’t capture. He was pale, his skin glistening with perspiration. “Y/N—”

“I’m right here.” You followed him as he slid down the wall, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Breathe, Daryl.”

“Can’t—I can’t—”

“You can.” You replied, encouragement outlining each syllable. “Do it like me.” Your gaze honed in on the flutter of his pulse beneath the skin of his neck, too fast. If you didn’t help him gain control, he would pass out. He would be mortified by the display of weakness, an entirely new issue but not a surprising one. Still, if it could be avoided, that would be ideal. “Like me, Daryl.”

He finally dropped his hands, swaying where he sat as his gaze locked onto yours. He blinked hard, attempting to focus. You drew in a deep breath and held it before exhaling, slowly for but a few seconds more. Daryl gasped and hiccuped, trying to imitate your efforts with intense struggle. 

“I’m going to touch you, okay?” You said, simultaneously reaching for him. With a gentle but firm hold on his wrist, you placed his palm against your chest and continued your breathing techniques. “There we go.” You whispered. The redness coloring his skin was receding, the strained tendons in his neck beginning to relax. He was wheezing but each hiccuping breath appeared to come easier than the one that preceded it. 

While you continued your gentle coaxing, you glanced at Tara from the corner of your eye and thanked every deity you could possibly recall that she noticed and grabbed her coat on her way out. You didn’t want her to dwell on guilt. You would talk to her later. 

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” You could have cried when Daryl finally dragged in a deep breath, the fog that had clouded his eyes mercifully receding. He said nothing while all but collapsing toward you, his forehead meeting your shoulder roughly. “You’re okay.” His willingness to lean against you was all the permission you needed to fold your arms around him. One hand cradled the back of his head while the other rubbed circles over his back. 

“M’sorry.” It was barely a whisper around breaths that still seemed too fast but came without struggle. 

“Don’t you dare apologize, Daryl Dixon.” He tensed beneath your touch but for a mere heartbeat. “What you went through was not just cruel. It was barbaric.” You held him tighter and felt his right arm encircle your lower back. “But you survived. You came back to me. You’re here and you’re safe.” Nuzzling your cheek against his hair, you pressed a kiss against the spot right above his ear. He had yet to pull away and buried his face against the junction of your shoulder. 

“Ain’t none’a us safe.” He mumbled, the words muted. He was right, of course. The world that existed didn’t offer safety or security. All you had known since the turn had been running, surviving. Still—

“We have each other, Daryl.” You pulled back, willing him to meet your eyes. It was a struggle for him. He loathed any display of what he thought was weakness, of what was truly just humanity. His gaze was searching, a hint of sadness outlined with something akin to hope. “Isn’t that enough?” You offered. You brought a hand to his cheek, your thumb wiping away moisture there. Sweat or tears, who knew? 

After a moment, he sniffed and cleared his throat, his hand coming up to cover yours. 

“Yeah.” He said. “Yeah. S’more than enough.”

My Wife

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

a heart that knows — daryl dixon

a/n: sorry to the nonnie that requested this bcos i took forever 😭 it had been sitting in my drafts since i received it but i’ve been so focused on writing the first few chapters of dotd but here you go my sweet !

if you enjoy my writing, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment ! and give me a follow if you want to see more ! i really appreciate the support 🫶🏻

summary: daryl and reader were arguing when he moves too quickly and scares reader.

requested: anon requested ‘I would love to see something where tp!daryl and reader are arguing about something and he’s being expressive with his hands and she flinches out of instinct, and he realizes that things have gotten worse at home for her. He feels awful and ashamed so he makes it up to her by planning a special date and asks her to stay with him for a while and he promises her he won’t ever let anyone hurt her ever again. Just like super mega fluffy.’

warnings: mentions of abuse

word count: 1,056

resources: divider by @adornedwithlight

➵ mega masterlist

the sun was starting to set, casting a golden hue over the run down trailer park, and daryl’s voice echoed through the air as he paced in front of you. his hands waved in the air dramatically as he ranted about something—what, you couldn’t exactly remember. the heat of the argument had long since taken the actual topic of discussion and it had been twisted into something far deeper, emotions raw and rising between the two of you.

“ya just don’ get it, do ya?” daryl’s voice cracked with frustration, his hands slicing through the air. “i don’ understand why you gotta push me away all the time!”

the moment his hand moved to close, a reflex buried deep within you took over. you didn’t mean to flinch, but you did— just a little. the quick jerk of your body was instinctive, a reaction you’d honed after years of dodging your dad’s drunken outbursts. daryl’s hands froze mid air, his expression dropping immediately.

he saw it. he knew.

the silence between you both felt like a heavy weight. your eyes dropped to the gravel, cheeks burning with embarassment.

“i’m sorry,” you mumbled, trying to shake it off, but daryl was already moving closer, his earlier anger completely forgotten about. he reached out slowly, carefully, as if he didn’t want to startle you again. his calloused fingers brushed the side of your arm, and you glanced up to meet his worried blue eyes.

“hey…” his voice was soft now, barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to scare ya, i’m sorry.”

you nodded your head, but daryl wasn’t convinced. he could see it in the way you wouldn’t look at him directly, the way your body was still a little sense, like you were ready to flee if things went south. he swallowed hard, guilt clawing at him. he knew how you felt— life was the same for him.

“how’s… how’s your dad?” he asked, his voice rougher now, but not from anger. it was the kind of roughness that came from knowing too much, from understanding what he couldn’t fix on his own.

you shrugged, trying to keep it casual, but the walls you built up around yourself were thinner now, cracking under his concern. “he’s the same.”

daryl’s jaw tightened. he hated hearing that— how you tried to brush it off so casually. he knew “the same” meant worse, meant you were still walking on eggshells at home, trying not to provoke a man who had no right treating you— his own daughter the way he did. daryl knew about your situation from the day he had met you, but it still made his blood boil to think of anyone hurting you.

without another word, daryl pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively. you melted into him, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. his embrace was warm, solid, and safe— everything your home wasn’t.

“i hate that you gotta go through this,” he whispered into your hair. he knew it wasn’t easy, getting away from a home life like that. hell, he barely made it out alive himself. “i hate that ya flinch like that, like you’re expectin’ me to hurt ya. i’d never…”

you leaned your forehead against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your skin. “i know,” you whispered back. “i’m sorry.”

“don’ be,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “don’ you dare apologise for somethin’ that ain’t yer fault.”

you didn’t argue. there was no point. daryl could be stubborn, but when it came to you, he was also fiercely protective.

“i ain’t lettin’ you go back there tonight,” he added, his tone final. “yer stayin’ with me tonight, okay? merle’s out for the weekend. it’ll just be us.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his offer. “daryl, i can’t—“

“ya can,” he interrupted, his hands resting on your shoulders as he gazed down at you with such intensity that it made your heart race. “i don’ want ya goin’ back there. not tonight. not any night. hell, ya can stay here as long as ya want. we got room.” he was right. he and merle had finally gotten their own little trailer in the park— simply to try and avoid their own father. sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

your eyes welled up with emotion, the weight of everything hitting you all at once. “you really mean that?”

“‘course i do,” he cupped your cheeks gently, brushing a thumb over your skin. “i ain’t ever lettin’ anyone hurt you again.”

his words were more than a promise— they were a cow. you could see it in the way he looked at you, the way his rough exterior softened when he was with you. he meant every word.

a tear slipped down your cheek, but daryl wiped it away with a tender smile. “don’ cry, baby. you deserve better than all this crap.”

“i know, but—“ you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to pull yourself together. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” you admitted, your voice trembling with gratitude.

“you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that,” he said, his tone gentle but full of resolve. “i ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

he gave you a small smile, and the tension between you both finally began to dissolve. daryl wasn’t much of a planner, but the next words out of his mouth were proof that he’d been thinking about this for a while.

“tell ya what,” he said, nudging you playfully. “how ‘bout tomorrow, i take you out? just us. get away from this place for a while. i’ll take ya to that diner ya like, and we’ll watch that stupid movie yer been goin’ on about.”

you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears. “you hate that movie.”

“yeah, but i like ya, so i’ll suffer through it,” he teased, and just like that, the heavy mood lifted a little more.

you reached up, standing on your toes to press a soft kiss to his lips, and daryl’s arms tightened around you, holding you close. “thank you,” you whispered.

“for wha’?”

“for making me feel safe.”

daryl kissed the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair. “always, darlin’. always.”

Real footage of me trying to dodge book of Carol spoilers

tell me why he is ALWAYS sitting like this (pretty pretty princess core)

I'm constantly daydreaming about doing this

AAAH I LIKE THIS ONE 😖😖😍

Rip daryl dixon you would've loved radiohead ✊️

Requested by: @slaybitch42 😎

Daryl: I ever told ya that your cookin’s good?

Y/N: Awww, no, you haven't!

Daryl: So why d’ya keep cookin’?

Y/N: You are, of course, wondering why it is I have brought you here tonight.

Daryl: Nah. Not really. After all’a these years, I just sorta go with it.

Same, Jimmy.

ew look at that duo

Realest thing on pinterest

And if someone has the photo pls send it to me pls

(Not my photo)

I Won’t Tell if You Don’t

Summary: Daryl comes across you smoking in the gazebo.

Era: Alexandria

Pair: Daryl x Reader (I don’t believe readers pronouns are used)

Genre: Casual, stoner vibes

Note: I actually have two versions of this but the other one is spicy 🥵 should I post it?

Warnings: TWD typical stuff, marijuana

      While the other Alexandrians were excited for Deanna’s party for the newcomers, you were just excited to have some time alone while everyone else was gathered in one place. You wandered around the street, searching for a comfortable place to unwind. You eventually settled on the gazebo.

         You held the tip of the thin paper cylinder over the flame of your lighter, spinning it delicately until it was well lit. Finally, you were able to bring it to your lips and taking a puff. The familiar taste brought you joy. You relaxed back into the bench and took another puff. Soon, your eyes felt heavy and the buzz of internal monologue hushed into nothing. At last, you felt some semblance of peace.

        Daryl was going to try to go to the party. Really, he was, but as he stood on Deanna’s front lawn and watched the crowd of bodies through the window, he couldn’t bring himself up the steps. 

         So, he found himself wandering through the streets until a familiar skunky stench wafted into his nostrils. He stopped and turned, scanning his surroundings until his eyes landed on a silhouette in the gazebo. 

        Curiosity took hold of his legs and carried him toward the stranger, masked in darkness, only lit up by the red cherry at the tip of their joint. When you, the young Alexandrian of whom he’d only caught a few quick glances, became clearer in the shroud of darkness and haze of smoke, he tilted his head. You weren’t the type he could easily read, unlike most. The few times he had caught your eyes since he’d arrived, he could never quite make out what it was you were thinking or feeling. 

        The other Alexandrians were curious and wary, or just outright friendly and naive. You always had a knowingness about you, as if everything you saw were things you’d seen before. Nothing seemed to surprise or intrigue you.

        It wasn’t until you finally acknowledged him that he realized he was staring.

        “I won’t tell if you don’t.” You offered, outstretching your arm slowly, lazily offering him a puff. He hesitated, glancing back in the direction of Deanna’s house before he decided he had nothing to lose. He stepped up onto the gazebo and accepted your gesture. The end of the little thing fit perfectly in his lips, the taste familiar as he took a long drag and held it in. He exhaled slowly, a cloud of smoke billowing around you. 

       You studied him. He was brooding and reserved. There was a sadness about him; an unsureness. He always seemed as uncomfortable, always flicking his eyes around, guarding his peripherals. You watched as he pulled the joint back to his lips and took another long drag, his eyelids drooping some as he exhaled again. An aura of calmness settled in the space between you two as he passed your joint back to you. You hissed as you sucked in another puff, exhaling as you spoke: “So, how’s apocalyptic suburbia treating you so far?” 

        He tutted at that, finding that he found the illusion of safety quite uncomfortable. 

        “It’s weird.” He admitted. You nodded.

        “Yeah.” You agreed. “I gotta admit.. Listening to old ladies complain about pasta makers never gets any less weird. Not after living out there.” 

         “How long?” He asked as you took in another hit, blowing rings out of the smoke.

        “Got here like.. I don’t know… Two months ago, maybe? Was on my own before that.” You shrugged. If it weren’t for the slowness of your thoughts, you would have been fighting away memories and flashbacks of the horrors of the world beyond the walls. 

        “Mm.” He nodded, taking the joint back as you passed it again. “Y’all grow this shit here, or somethin’?” 

         You chuckled and shook your head. “Nah, found somebody’s stash before I got here. Running kinda low.” 

        “Any seeds in that stash? Could grow some.” He suggested. 

        “There were a few.” You nodded with a hum. “Wouldn’t know where to start, though. I don’t have much of a green thumb.”

        “I can help.” He offered, finally feeling lazed enough to take a set beside you as he took a hit. 

        “Hell yeah.” You nodded. Your mind was emptying out more and more, the longer you sat there and let the high settle in. He was a tad behind, but he was getting there too. A comfortable silence rose out of the dark, while the two of you enjoyed smoking together. Eventually the joint was running short, burning fingers as you both tried to get the last of what the sticky herb had to offer. When it was out, you tossed it, but neither of you moved. You were both glued by the ass to the bench.

        “Damn.” He finally spoke. His voice was raspy and low, more than usual. “Some good shit.” 

        You giggled.

        “Enjoy it, man.” You said with a stoner-like slowness. “It’s nice to relax sometimes .”

        “Ain’t had no time to relax.” He admitted.

        “Well ya do now.” You reasoned. 

        “Do I?” He asked, mostly to himself, not necessarily intending to say it out loud. You smiled and nudged his arm. 

          “Yeah, until Deanna stops by with work duties and all that jazz.” You retorted.

        “What’d she give you?” He wondered.

        “At first she sent me on a run with her douchebags — I mean sons— but I didn’t like how they operated. Now I give Olivia days off at the armory and the pantry or help with the cars.”

        “Cars? You some kind o’ mechanic?”

        “Nah. My dad was, and my brother after him, so.” You shrugged.

        “My dad was just an asshole. And my brother, after him.” He joked. You snickered.

        “Didn’t take you for a comedian — Uh.. What was your name?”

        “Daryl. You?”

        “(Y/N).” 

        “Huh.” He nodded before his stomach growled. He looked down at his stomach, as did you, then you both met eyes. You laughed at little, a goofy laugh that only escaped your lips when you were in the clutches of THC or alcohol. 

         “Hungry?” You asked.

         “Why, ya got some snacks?” 

        “No.” You giggled. “But Aaron’s making spaghetti tonight and he invited me over.” 

        “Lucky you.” He grumbled. 

        “Come on, Daryl. There’s always extra.” You announced, pushing yourself off the bench and extending him a hand. He eyed you for a moment, searching for an ulterior motive. Ultimately his munchies won, and he allowed you to help him to his feet. 

Masterlist // Taglist

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"he's so babygirl😍"

Babygirl in question:

~A middle aged white man who is a murderer,a sociopath,has mommy issues and is traumatized af~

daryl doodles <3

Finally finished my Daryl Dixon drawing

💖unmatched duo

Suddenly I’m a cigarette

IT GETS BETTER EVERY SEASON

calling him my pretty boy on the internet isn't enough i need to Kiss him