Twd Fic - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

nothing else matters

rockstar!daryl x leadguitarist!reader (rivals to lovers)

first part.

summary: you’re the lead guitarist in a band, and daryl dixon is the biggest singer of your generation. you were born to be rivals, but but you’re made to love each other.

warnings: rockstar!daryl x leadguitarist!reader, m!reader, rivals to lovers, abuse of drugs and alcohol, sassy!daryl, rock & roll, rough kiss.

words count: 2K+.

based on my headcanons and this ask. (thanks bro you’ve given me an incredible idea)

very proud of this work, i hope you all like it.

There’s a reason why the sun leaves the sky every night. Light isn’t meant for the darkness.

Daryl was smoking a cigarette, leaning against his motorcycle. The smoke filled his lungs and drifted out through his nose. His sharp eyes seemed to take in everything and yet focus on nothing.

Your world, on the other hand, was upside down. Nerves made your fingers tingle. You had a guitar slung over your back and a bottle of rum in your hand. Your heart was pounding so hard that you almost told it to calm down, or you’d both be stuck on the edge of success. Today was your first day with your new band.

When you got to the venue door, it was locked. You knocked a few times with your knuckles. Nothing. Not a sound inside. Frustrated, you turned around and saw a guy leaning on a bike, puffing on a cigarette. The smoke clung to his lips, and your body tensed. He brushed his hair out of his face and gave you a lazy, half-asleep look.

“They open in ‘bout an hour,” he murmured in a raspy voice. Suddenly, you heard something more—the tune that wouldn’t stop playing in your head. The one you couldn’t help but hum, even unconsciously. Whether you were showering or cooking, those lyrics and that addictive melody followed you everywhere.

That guy was Daryl Dixon. The lead singer of Arrows, the city’s hottest new band.

Your first instinct was to show your admiration, but you took a deep breath instead. You were in the same game now and had to make your own space. You took a swig from the bottle to get into character.

“So, what you doin’ here, then?” you asked, your voice a little rough from the strong alcohol. Daryl’s eyes flicked over you from head to toe and back up again. “You lookin’ to grab a seat at the bar?”

You laughed, but he didn’t. He just ran his tongue over his bottom lip, his mouth dry from the smoke.

“I’m playin’ tonight,” he said bluntly, cheeks hollowing as he took a deep drag. He looked at your guitar and nodded at it with his ring-covered fingers. You could’ve sworn you saw one with a skull and another with some kind of monster. "Ya even know how to play that thing, or is it just for looks?"

An immature thought flashed through your mind, and you stuffed one hand into your pocket. You knew how to play it all right; you’d practiced a bunch of his songs.

“I’m pretty good,” you said, holding his gaze. Daryl nodded, but his eyes stayed blank. Not even a hint of curiosity. It was a void you could either float in or drown in.

“I’m playin’ tonight too,” you said, gripping the neck of the bottle as you looked at him. It was impossible to look away from this guy, no matter how hard you tried.

He tossed the cigarette to the ground and ran a hand through his beard. He was wearing a leather jacket you’d seen at his shows.

“When?” he asked, stepping closer, his presence so intense it made you tighten your grip on the bottle.

“Nine,” you answered, and a smirk crept onto Daryl’s lips, making your jaw clench.

He was just inches away when he tapped you twice on the shoulder.

“Well, looks like you’re my openin’ act,” he said, licking his lips before unlocking the door with a key you hadn’t noticed. Standing in the doorway, he gave you a cocky smile. “Don’t put ‘em to sleep; I don’t wanna have to wake ‘em up.”

Before you could respond, Daryl stepped inside and shut the door right in your face.

Asshole.

A few more years and you were quite a celebrity. You enjoyed doing concerts in cities you had only seen on TV before, and women were crazy about you. You couldn’t take two steps without being stopped for an autograph; you were the sensation of the moment. And it was just as well that you couldn’t sing, or the spotlight would have been all yours.

That night, you were in Chicago, backstage at a festival. You were practicing some chords on your guitar while Glenn (your best friend) was arguing with the sound guy for not paying attention to something. You were murmuring a Nirvana song until you saw the guys from Arrows approaching you. It had been many years since you last saw them.

The drummer of the band walked up to you and offered his hand. He told you he liked the way you played a particular chord.

Daryl was wearing a vest with wings on the back, sunglasses that covered his eyes, and he had the same rings on his fingers. You remembered what he had said to you the day you met, and you couldn’t help but move closer to him.

"Now we're headlining," you said, making him turn around and take off his glasses. His blue eyes burned you.

"Congrats," he said, looking into your eyes and then at your lips. It was so subtle you didn’t know if it was just in your head or if he really did it.

"Daryl!" the guitarist of his band called out to him, and he turned his back on you again. His indifference hit you like an arrow.

"I'm havin’ problems with my wife, man," he confessed loudly enough for everyone to hear. “She saw some pics of me with another girl, and she's freakin' out. I gotta get home and sort it out.”

You shared a laugh with your best friend, who had grown tired of tormenting the sound guy.

"Don’t fuck with me, man," Daryl said, clearly frustrated, as he fixed his clear gaze on him. "We gotta perform in front of over fifty thousand people."

Glenn took a few steps forward and approached Daryl, placing his hand on his shoulder. You didn’t understand why he did it until he opened his impertinent mouth.

“My guitarist can help y’all out,” he said with conviction, and you felt your blood rush to your face. You kept your cool, lifted your chin, and crossed your arms.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, feeling Daryl's gaze slide over your body—your tense neck, your muscular arms crossed against each other, and your makeup that only deepened your features.

Your best friend didn’t expect your answer; he knew you were always there to lend a hand. He frowned and let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“You know their songs,” he pitched, making your heart start to pound. Daryl was surprised by this revelation; he didn’t expect you to know his songs. He placed a cigarette between his lips and looked at you.

“Ya don’t gotta do it, it’s no big deal,” Daryl murmured without giving it much importance.

You clenched your teeth and nodded.

“I’ll do it,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “There’s a whole mess of folks waitin' on us.”

Daryl smiled, and you felt something deep in your heart. He was still your rival, but he burned you as much as a lover.

You let your bony fingers caress the strings of your guitar with expert technique as you played the opening chords of Metallica’s “Until It Sleeps.” Nothing else existed in this world but you and your instrument. You allowed the melody to seduce you and transport you to a new realm. You knew the lyrics so well that your lips moved almost instinctively. You lifted your smoky-eyed gaze and saw Daryl drinking a beer while watching you.

You continued playing, and Daryl took the opportunity to lose himself in the way your fingers moved, the grace with which you strummed the strings, and your feet keeping the beat. He found himself staring at the blackness that clouded your eyelids and the way you parted your lips every time the chorus came around.

He hated with all his soul that he couldn’t admit how amazing you were.

He hated with all his heart how you made it even more perfect.

He wanted to move closer to you and sing along.

He wanted so many things that he just stayed there, finishing his beer.

An up-and-coming band finished their set, and it was Arrows’ turn. You shot Glenn a death glare, and he just winked at you. You had no idea what that was about. You sighed and stepped onto the stage. The applause was so deafening it almost left you without hearing. Your anxiety turned into something almost surreal. Daryl kept his eyes locked on you and the guitar hanging from your shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded.

You were in sync with the band; you started right on cue and ended almost perfectly. Everyone supported you and trusted your technique, which made you shine on stage. But everything began to unravel when you heard his voice. His voice sank into your bones and made you feel so many things you couldn’t even name. You watched his hair, the way his body moved while he added his voice to your music, and your whole world seemed to tremble. Sometimes you had to play the strings harder just to remind yourself that you were there. Playing with him.

Daryl’s grayish eyes were locked on you during the solos. He parted his lips and smiled. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or genuinely impressed.

When you thought the show was over, you took a moment to look at the thousands of people. They were pumped up, going wild for Dixon. Everything was going just as you expected until Daryl signaled his bassist and started playing a song. You gripped your instrument and swallowed hard. That song wasn’t on the setlist you’d been given.

That song was your favorite, but you’d buried it in the “forced forgetfulness” drawer after what happened with Daryl at the bar.

The idiot had released it a few months after you met. The song was about a night with a girl in a nightclub. She’d done her eyes up with dark makeup and had a tough attitude. The lyrics described how her hands touched him like guitar strings and how she straddled him, moving as if she were the star of a movie. It was about a girl he wanted but couldn’t truly have, because after their one night together, he knew they both belonged to the same sky, but at different points.

Click.

You looked at your hands on the guitar and remembered your own face. You heard every lyric, how it described her shining. You thought you were dreaming until he gave you a look that made you forget how to breathe.

You’re such an idiot, Daryl Dixon.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded as you barged into Dixon’s dressing room. You had a few minutes before it was your band’s turn.

Daryl was checking himself out in the mirror, and you were right behind him. You were wound up, your heart racing, and you couldn’t believe what had just happened—even if half of it was probably just in your head. He was your rival; you’d spent half your careers making each other’s lives miserable, trying to one-up each other. It wasn’t fair that, when you finally shared the stage with him, he sang that song.

“What?” he asked calmly, fiddling with his rings.

“Uh…” You swallowed and hesitated. No, it didn’t make sense to say what you wanted. ““You sang a song without tellin’ me. Y’all should’ve—”

Daryl unbuttoned his vest because it was sweltering in the room. You noticed his chest and a new tattoo on his abdomen. He scratched the back of his neck with a fake hint of embarrassment and gave a small laugh.

“Yeah, we shoulda told ya ‘bout that song,” he said, moving closer to you as if drawn by some invisible force. “What’s the deal? You don’t like it? If it makes ya feel any better, you played it real good.”

His condescension got under your skin, and you closed the gap until you were almost touching. You were fuming and couldn’t figure out why. Maybe you were still mad because Glenn had pushed you onto that stage with him. His eyes locked onto yours, and he raised his chin, challenging you to keep eye contact. His body was close, almost naturally dominating. In this game, no one was going to win.

“Who’s the song about?” you whispered near his lips. “Who is she?”

You pressed your lips to his, lingering to steal his breath. He tasted like alcohol and weed. Daryl froze. Maybe you’d made a huge mistake. You cleared your throat, shook your head, and started for the door.

Before you could leave, Daryl pushed you against the wall. The shove was unexpected, rough, and bold. You locked eyes, and before you knew what was happening, his lips were on yours. The kiss was fierce and hungry. His hand, covered in metal, wrapped around your neck and you let out a moan. His tongue danced with yours, and you both nearly lost your breath.

All your heat gathered in one part of your body, and you pressed your hips against him, making sure he felt you.

“Since I’ve known ya, all my songs’ve been ‘bout you,” he admitted, pulling away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still wet from you.

Your chest heaved as you looked at him.

Glenn knocked on the door and said it was almost time.

“I didn't like your song,” you confessed, holding his gaze.

Daryl turned around. You saw him laughing thanks to his reflection in the mirror.

“Maybe I’ll like it when you write about something real,” you said, making his mood shift completely.

He sat down on the couch, spreading his legs slightly, and you felt a rush of heat. He softly touched his thigh with his hand.

“Give me a reason then,” he murmured, drawing out the words.

“I’m sorry, but I have to keep being a star, Daryl Dixon,” you said firmly, walking away.

There’s a reason why there are stars in the sky. They’re meant for someone to look at in the dark.

high school sweethearts (iris)

young!daryl x fem!reader

second part. first part is here.

summary: you’re starring in a theater production of the phantom of the opera. just when you think everything’s going to fall apart because your co-star gets hurt, daryl steps up and decides to perform with you.

warnings: blood, evidence of violence, angst/comfort, fluff, sappy, dance, first kiss.

words count: 2019.

taglist: @negansbestie & @vaniniweenie / if you want me to add you, just let me know!

divider by @/phaea

Small drops of blood fell onto the wooden floor, staining it little by little. The darkness of the theater made everything feel more intimate and delicate. Your vulnerable eyes traveled to his sensitive ones, and you smiled sadly as you saw him bleeding out of his sleeve. You were sitting beside him, so you turned on your Walkman and shared a Radiohead song.

His blonde hair was so soft, and even more so were his eyes. You had never seen eyes with such a unique shape. Besides, there was something about him that pulled you in more than gravity. Your shy fingers traveled to his chin to make him look at you; he smiled, and you felt your heart skip one beat after another. You moved so quickly that you hid in his shoulder. He smelled like cigarettes, vodka, wood, and dreams shattered into a thousand pieces. His sweater could hold all of this.

"I want you to do it," you whispered as you lifted your head. The song had already ended, and you were just sitting in silence

You saw his lower lip tremble and wished your thumb could trace it.

"I want you to be the ghost tomorrow," you asked, and the boy blinked several times.

You left your Walkman in his lap, even though it was the only gift your father gave you before he died, and you saw he wanted to return it.

“Listen to the song; you can give it back to me later,” you said, and before getting up, you left a kiss on his bloodstained hand.

You saw him press his lips together, holding back tears that seemed impossible to stop.

"You’re the one," you confirmed, feeling your own heart in your words.

Daryl put on both earbuds from your Walkman and looked at you intently. He nodded, and you smiled.

A few hours earlier.

As you were plucking petals from a daisy, you thought about how curious it was that the most beautiful things happened without you noticing. Suddenly, your life changed without warning. The person writing your story changed the ink of their pen, and suddenly everything shined.

Ever since Dixon had fixed your Walkman, the two of you had been spending a lot of time together. You sat next to each other in class and talked about whatever silly thing came to mind. You had never imagined that someone who vibrated on such a low frequency could hide so many different rhythms. He had a wonderful sense of humor, always knew what to say and when to say it. You had always wanted someone who carried the right words on their lips.

You both went to theater together, and he would give you advice about the play. Even though he didn’t like to read, he had read the play several times and even remembered the lines. You loved that, and although you showed some surprise, you weren’t exactly caught off guard by his dedication. He had confessed to you that he was good at many things, though he’d said it without even realizing it himself.

One afternoon, he told you he was really good with a bow.

You called him Cupid. He gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow, laughing.

And you kept walking to your house.

Daryl walked you home every afternoon. At first, it was unexpected, but little by little, it became a habit, one of those you can't and don't want to escape.

“What are you thinking about?” your best friend Maggie asked as she sat next to you after getting a chocolate milkshake.

“Nothing.” Your little lie made Maggie let out a small laugh; she tapped your nose, and you laughed.

“Since you met him, you always laugh like that,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Like what?” you asked, frowning a little and leaving a petal on the daisy unplucked.

“Like you mean it.” That made you rest your chin on your hand and cover your face with your fingers.

Maggie had been the only one to understand your closeness with Daryl. All your other friends thought you were making an unnecessary act of solidarity and that you’d end up worse off than you were. While you could easily ignore what they said, you stopped accepting their opinions about him because they didn’t know him at all.

They didn’t know the boy who was now tirelessly helping to make sure tomorrow's play went perfectly.

Your eyes drifted to Aaron, your co-star in the play. He was playing basketball with his friends. You had always thought he was a very nice and kind guy. You watched his movements, how he passed the ball to Glenn, Maggie’s boyfriend. However, your smile cracked when you saw him trip and fall flat because of a puddle.

Maggie got up quickly, and you saw Glenn rushing to help him.

You closed your eyes when you heard your best friend say he’d twisted his ankle. That put him out of commission, leaving the play without its ghost. You stood up, stomped on the daisy in sudden anger, and when you turned around, you saw Daryl watching what had happened from a distance.

“What happened?” he asked, arms crossed. You clicked your tongue and walked past him.

“Tomorrow's play is totally screwed,” you answered, your voice tight.

That’s when you felt fingers wrap around your wrist. You looked at him and saw it in his eyes.

“I got his lines down by heart,” he whispered, and your heart began to pound hard.

If he were the ghost, you would be his forbidden love.

You went with Daryl to his house to see if the ghost costume would fit him. It had already been discussed with the director, and she thought it was a good idea for him to play the role. She said he would bring personality to the character, even though she didn't let him say more than two words. Maybe it was putting too much faith in Daryl, but he had attended most of the rehearsals, and you were sure he’d do great. Or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe.

You entered through the back door and went straight to his room. There was no one else around, so Daryl seemed able to breathe a bit more easily. The house was tidy, but there were so many details that made your heart feel uneasy. Many broken pieces of furniture, many signs that warned that it wasn’t people who lived there, but monsters. When you reached his room, you sat on his bed, and when you realized where you were, nerves spread right down to your fingertips.

“Do you bring a lot of girls here?” The moment you asked, you knew you shouldn’t have. Daryl frowned while he casually took off his shirt. His bare chest made you wonder what it would be like to let your lips glide over every inch of him. You let out a small cough.

“Nah, not at all,” he said confidently as he finished undressing. You looked away, hearing your own thoughts calling you an idiot.

He put on the full costume, and when you were about to hand him the mask, you pulled his hand away.

“You look perfect,” you whispered, and his cheeks flushed with a special shade of red.

“Don’t be silly,” he said, reaching for the mask.

That’s when you stood up to be at his height. You gently brushed his hair back and carefully placed the mask on him. The part of his face still uncovered made you want to kiss him. There was nothing you wanted more in this world than a kiss. Than to end up on his sheets while he explored every part of you. You wanted to feel him; you were tired of these small, fleeting moments with him.

“Ya like it?” he whispered, his husky voice making you lose your grip on reality.

“I like how it looks on you, yeah,” you said, trying to break the tension as you looked at the Phantom of the Opera standing before you.

He moved closer to your face, one of his hands resting on your hips. Your body responded to him almost immediately, but then...

Someone entered the house.

Daryl pulled away from you and rushed to the door. He opened it carefully, and when he saw it was his father, he motioned frantically towards the window.

“What?” you asked, feeling your heart leap to your throat.

“Get outta here, we’ll meet later…” he whispered loudly, and you moved toward the window.

“At the theater?” you asked, needing to be sure, and he nodded.

“At the theater.”

You could still feel him on you. Like a ghost.

The Day of the Performance.

Daryl’s father had beaten him when he saw him dressed up, calling him a “faggot.” All his injuries were hidden beneath the costume, even one on the part of his mask. You felt a rage bubbling up inside you. He didn’t deserve that—no child does. You wanted to put an end to his pain, but there was nothing you could do. All you could do was go out to the theater and give the audience an incredible show. Your parents were there. However, not even Merle had bothered to show up. Daryl was alone. Yet he never took his eyes off you. Every time your gazes met, a smile curved his lips.

The audience was reluctant to accept him until they saw his first scenes. There was something captivating about him; his performances were intense and flawless. He was sublime on stage, and you wondered why he hadn’t landed this role before.

When it was your turn, you performed exactly as you had rehearsed a thousand times before. You moved across the stage with grace, and your heart swelled with each applause from the audience. Everything was going as you had hoped. The director was thrilled, and your peers had to bite their tongues after seeing what Daryl was doing.

But the most important part was still to come.

The final scene. A solo dance by you.

The song you had was the same one you had made Daryl listen to the day before.

It was a dance where the protagonist decides whether to kiss the phantom to save her beloved.

You started moving to the rhythm, and even though everyone’s eyes were on you, you forgot that the world was still turning. Only the movement of your legs and arms mattered, the way your arms flexed and your legs danced across the stage. The music made you travel far away.

Halfway through the song, you felt someone behind you. You were startled, but you turned around gently. Daryl had decided to end it with you. You started improvising on the wooden floor; he held your waist and complemented your movements as if you had rehearsed it before. His body swayed against yours until you felt like one. It was perfect and unusual, it was… magical.

When the music stopped, Daryl was leaning over you. Your mouths were inches apart. His arm held your waist tightly, pulling you close to him. Your body melted into his, and your breaths were intertwined.

You moved his hand to his face and removed his mask. You brushed your lips against his, and the next time you did, your mouths fit perfectly together. It was an intense, intimate, and even heart-wrenching kiss. You were performing, or at least, that’s what you were supposed to be doing.

“I’ve always wanted to do this since the first time I saw you,” you whispered as you gazed into each other’s eyes.

“You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,” he said against your mouth. You felt his words in your own throat and kissed him again.

Daryl was your first kiss.

The play was over, but another story had just begun.

I'M SO EXCITED FOR THIS, I CAN'T WAIT 😭🤍

daughter of the deadlands masterlist ( grimes daughter au )

updated october 2nd. 2024

hiii ! welcome to my grimes ( eldest ) daughter au, daughter of the deadlands !

here you can find chapters, moodboards, headcanons, and anything else i post for dotd !

daughter of the deadland fic;

- intro

- prologue

moodboards;

- 01

crush — trailer park!daryl

a/n: hi guys!! so sorry it’s been a little while since i last posted something for you all to read, but i finally had a bit of time and i’ve got this for you! thank you nonnie for requesting and i hope you enjoy!!!

if you did enjoy this, please don’t forget to give me a like, reblog, and/or comment ! i always appreciate the support.

summary: making out with daryl dixon in the middle of a thunderstorm 🫶🏻

requested: anon requested — hello!!! I absolutely love you tp!daryl dixon works and I was thinking of a scenario where reader and Daryl make out in a stolen car or something, I always think about something like this when I listen to Crush by Ethel Cain for example and I would love to see how you could interpret it in your writing !!

warnings: making out

word count: 1,041

resources: divider by @/adornedwithlight

➵ masterlist

➵ ask box (currently closed for requests)

the wind howled outside as the storm rolled in. lightning lit up the sky in quick flashes, followed by cracks of thunder so loud they made your heart race. you could barely hear the rain over the pounding of your pulse as it drummed against the roof of the old abandoned car where you and daryl were hiding.

the seat was small and uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. when the first heavy drops started to fall, you and daryl had slipped out of the trailer park, sneaking into the junkyard where the beat-up car sat abandoned. now, the windows were fogged, the air thick with humidity and the charged energy of the storm.

daryl’s lips were on yours—rough, but somehow gentle in that way only he could manage. his hands were everywhere—one steadying himself on your waist, the other ghosting over your back, tugging at your shirt like he couldn’t get close enough. his breath was hot against your neck as he pulled back for a moment, eyes dark with hunger.

“you sure about this?” his voice was low, but there was a tenderness hidden under the roughness.

the rain poured harder, drowning out everything but the sound of your breathing. you reached up, fingers brushing through his damp hair before pulling him back to you, closing the gap again. his lips crashed into yours, mirroring the storm outside—wild, consuming, reckless.

“i’m sure,” you murmured against his lips, your hands gripping the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer. the warmth of his body sent a shiver down your spine, a sharp contrast to the chill creeping through the cracks of the old car.

daryl let out a low growl, his hand sliding up your thigh, making you gasp. the kiss deepened, more urgent now, as if the storm outside only fueled the intensity. each roll of thunder seemed to echo the thudding of your heart, each flash of lightning casting his face in stark, beautiful light.

his calloused fingers tangled in your hair as he kissed you like it was the last time he ever would, like he was memorizing how you felt in his arms. every touch, every brush of his lips, felt electric.

outside, the wind rattled the car, cocooning the two of you in your own little world. maybe you were. here, in this stolen car with daryl, nothing else mattered—not the storm, not the trailer park, not whatever trouble tomorrow would bring. it was just you, him, and the raw connection neither of you could resist.

his hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned back to catch his breath. you were both panting, your chests heaving, but you couldn’t help smiling at him. the storm raged on, but in that moment, you felt safe in daryl’s arms.

“guess the storm ain’t the only wild thing tonight,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

you laughed at his dumb little joke, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingers. “no, it’s not.” you shook your head, admiring how beautiful he looked in the dark, the shadows playing across his features, making them sharper, more defined.

his smirk widened, and his breath ghosted over your skin as he leaned in for another kiss. his hand slid down your side, fingers grazing the hem of your shirt, teasing it upward, but there was no rush now. the storm might’ve been wild, but daryl’s touch was deliberate, sure.

“yer somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmured, his voice deep and gravelly. his fingers traced patterns along your waist, sending jolts of electricity through you, more potent than the lightning flashing outside.

you couldn’t help but smile as you cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks. “only with you, dixon,” you teased, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. he groaned softly, pulling you closer, his hands roaming freely.

the air in the car was thick, almost stifling, but it only added to the heat between you. you could feel every inch of him, the hard muscle of his chest rising and falling with each labored breath, the way his hands gripped your hips, grounding you even as your head spun.

his lips pressed against your neck, the scrape of his stubble making you gasp. rough around the edges, but tender when it mattered, he knew how to make you feel like the only person in the world.

you tugged gently at his hair, and he responded with a growl, his grip on your waist tightening as he nipped at the sensitive skin below your ear. “yer gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he muttered against your skin, but his voice held a smile, like he wouldn’t have it any other way.

the car creaked as you shifted, the weight of the moment heavy between you. the storm outside seemed to fuel something untamed within you both, the air charged with raw, unspoken intensity.

“daryl…” you whispered, the sound barely audible over the wind, but he heard it. his eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything stilled. his rough hand cupped your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he studied you, like he was committing every detail to memory.

“yeah?” he asked softly, the tension between you crackling like static before a lightning strike.

“i think i—” you swallowed, and he squeezed your thigh gently, urging you to continue. “i think i kinda like you,” you confessed, your voice soft but certain. this was more than just a storm, more than a stolen moment. it was him—the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel safe and wild all at once.

daryl let out a quiet laugh, his lips curving into a rare, soft smile. “’bout time you figured that out,” he teased, leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time. less frantic, but no less intense. his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he didn’t want the moment to end.

maybe it didn’t have to. in this old, stolen car with the storm raging around you, maybe you could have this—something real, something wild, something that was just yours and daryl’s.

Daryl Dixon was always messy, let’s be honest. His room was mostly messy before the apocalypse, and so was his attitude. So let’s not be shocked when we find out he’s messy when eating you out. It’s disgusting, really. Lewd noises coming from your heat and your mouth. The tongue he used less than an hour ago to cuss someone out is now doing numbers on your cunt. He’s not stopping till you’re practically dumb just on his tongue.