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minervadashwood · 1 year

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Daryl Dixon x PlusSize!Reader - oneshot

Lucky Charm

Summary: Some people in your group get the flu. Winter is coming on strong, and Daryl does his best to keep the group safe and you warm. Reader is: plus-size, good at first aid, and in love with Daryl (aren't we all?). Tropes: Bed-sharing, first kiss, confessions, unfounded jealousy, fluff Warnings: Sickness (flu), walkers, dead turkey, hunger, Glenn with really bad timing. Notes: This was originally part of Scars and Stitches, but it didn't fit the timeline for that. I think this works well as a standalone story. So I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4,600

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Carl was the first one to get sick. You didn’t think much of it; kids get sick easily. But then Rick started sniffling and running a fever. Still, your group kept going.

Next day, Lori was coughing almost nonstop, and you all had to find some place to settle for a few days. Glenn and Daryl managed to locate a small house down a dirt road, some cheaply made thing with only a few windows, and most of them so tiny it’d be hard to fit through. You picked the lock, then Glenn and Maggie cleared the house.

Once everyone was inside, the sick ones were quarantined in the two bedrooms: Lori in one, with Rick and Carl in the other. Hershel explained the quarantine rules, and then everyone got to work. With Maggie, you nailed whatever you could find over the windows, leaving small lookout points on each side of the house. Meanwhile, Glenn and Daryl set up jury rigged walker alarms in the form of cans and fishing line. Hershel saw to his patients, and Beth began boiling water over the fire Daryl had made in the small fireplace of the main room. Then, she managed to find 3 cans of green beans in the cabinets. Among the ten of you that was all you had to eat that day.

When Carol’s nose started running that night, she was put to bed with Lori.

Daryl was out the next day, from dawn to dusk. When he got back, you helped him make a couple of broths from roots and pine needles, all the food he was able to find. The sick got fed first, and what was left was shared among the rest of you.

On the bright side, you had plenty of water from a stream behind the house, and Daryl said there were no signs of walkers within half a mile radius.

You, Glenn, Maggie, and Daryl were the only ones who weren’t sick and could also take down walkers, so watch shifts were established among the four of you. Rick kept insisting on helping out, but Hershel was strict with the quarantine.

Days went by in a haze of routine. You kept watch when it was your turn and did your best to ignore how hungry you were. There was no use talking about it; all of you were going through the same thing.

On the morning of the fourth day, you sat on your sleeping bag daydreaming of spaghetti piled high with meatballs when Daryl started putting on his jacket and vest.

“Heading out?” you said.

Daryl gave you a small nod and put his crossbow over his shoulder.

“Wait up.” You got to your feet, but as you stood, the room spun. You threw a hand behind you, steadied yourself against the wall, and took a few deep breaths.

Daryl grabbed you by the bicep of your free arm. “You sick?” He blinked at you through his shaggy hair, grip tight but not painful. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was scared. But nothing scared Daryl Dixon.

“Not sick. Hungry. Like everyone else.”

He narrowed his eyes and took a step closer.

“Just stood up too fast,” you explained. “Not the first time I’ve gone hungry. I’m fine.”

He stared at you doubtfully for another moment before releasing you. “I’ll be back soon. May be something out there I ain’t found yet.”

“I figured. I’m going with you.”

“No you ain—”

“What if you get sick, too?” you interrupted. “You’ve been running yourself ragged. Going out most of the day foraging then back here to keep watch half the night.”

He stared at you.

You gazed past him to keep from meeting his eyes. “Don’t know what I’d–-what we’d do if something happened to you.” You took a deep breath and forced yourself to look at him. “I can be as quiet as you, so stop this loner bullshit and teach me. That way I can look for food in case something happens to you.”

“Must be my good luck charm,” Daryl murmured, pulling the crossbow bolt out of the turkey’s skull.

You never thought you’d salivate over feathers and wrinkled turkey feet, but every single part of that bird had your mouth watering..

“Just saw it out of the corner of my eye,” you explained. “Women have better peripheral vision than men. But men have better depth perception.”

Daryl held the turkey up by the neck. “Must have been eatin’ good. Got to be more somewhere we ain’t looked.”

“Tomorrow?” you asked, thoughts going to gravy and bone soup and chunks of juicy, dark meat.

He nodded and lowered the bird. “Got your knife?”

You pulled your knife from its holster and held it out to him.

He shook his head. “Still want to learn, don’t ya?”

Revulsion was nothing compared to your hunger and need to be useful. You nodded, taking the knife in hand, its familiar handle giving you a sudden burst of determination.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Daryl said, and he taught you to clean a turkey.

That night, everyone was the happiest they’d been in a while. Carefully rationed, the turkey would last you a few days more, and there was the hope of more beyond that now that Daryl knew a better place to hunt.

Maggie and Glenn insisted on sharing the night watch, so after supper, you were snuggled in your sleeping bag, content and hopeful and proud that everyone in your group had eaten that day.

Some time later, Daryl crawled into his own bed a couple of feet from yours. You couldn’t help turning to face him, your joy and excitement keeping you from sleep.

“Today was a good day,” you told him.

He gave you the briefest of nods as he settled, laying on his back, arms under his head, eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“Thanks for taking me with you. It felt good. Being useful for a change.”

“Who said you ain’t useful?”

“I’m not strong like you or Maggie, and Hershel actually knows what he’s doing. Just wanted to help, is all. So thanks.”

He didn’t say anything else–not that you expected him to–so you snuggled deeper into your bed, ready for sleep.

Beside you, Daryl shifted, getting comfortable. “You did,” he said, his voice low. “Help, I mean.”

Eyes opening slightly, you realized he was facing you, his crossbow and knife the only things separating your two beds.

“Thanks,” you said.

“It was nice. Havin’ you out there today. You can come next time, too.”

You couldn’t suppress your joy. “Really!?”

Daryl chuckled at you, “Yeah.”

“Thanks, Daryl.”

He flashed you the smallest of smiles. “Welcome. Now get some sleep.”

You woke up in the middle of the night, shivering from the cold. It was freezing in here.

Through bleary eyes, you looked across the room and saw Beth, with a handkerchief covering her mouth and nose, carrying a few blankets to the bedrooms. Hershel came out a moment later, headed in your direction.

Sitting up, you rubbed the tiredness from your eyes. “Beth sick?”

“No,” Hershel said. “But we’ve got a cold snap, and Rick and them need the extra blankets. Time for us to snuggle up and share.”

Nodding in understanding and ignoring your painfully cold toes and fingertips, you pulled out the extra blanket you had lining your sleeping bag and handed it to him.

Hershel took it, as well as two more from Daryl. “Beth and I will put our two sleeping bags together. Might be a good idea for you two to do the same.” Hershel adjusted the handkerchief over his mouth and went to check on his patients.

Wouldn’t it have made more sense for Hershel and Daryl to share?

Weary, you sighed. You didn’t have it in you to debate with the stubbornness of Hershel Greene, no matter the butterflies in your belly or anxiety in your chest.

Next to you, Daryl was already unzipping his sleeping bag all the way, huffing and grunting as he spread it face-up on the floor.

You stood, scurrying out of his way and gave your own bed a few small kicks to move it over. Still half asleep, you tried to accept this was really happening. Picking up your knife from under your pillow, you went to your pack for an extra pair of socks. By the time you returned, your sleeping bag was spread out, facedown on Daryl’s. He zipped up the far side, the bottom, and half of the near side. Then he started pulling jackets, flannel shirts and sweatshirts from his pack and laying them on top of the new bed.

Your new bed. That you would share. With Daryl.

Of course this made sense. Beth was still a kid, after all, and probably would want to stay close to her dad. Although never in the same bed or sleeping bag, you and Daryl usually slept beside each other. In fact, ever since your group had left the farm, sleeping next to Daryl felt as natural as waking up in the morning. It was part of your day like anything else.

For a month now, maybe more, you’d been trying not to think what that meant. That at the end of the world you’d met someone who made you feel the way Lizzie did for Darcy or Min felt for Cal. That it was for someone who was as loyal, dependable, and perfect as Daryl.

Forcing yourself to look away from him, you found your coat, jacket, and a couple of button downs, then helped Daryl pile them on top of the other clothes.

While you couldn’t imagine a world without Daryl, you also couldn’t imagine one in which he felt the same about you. Any affection he had for you was surely born out of his innate protectiveness and growing loyalty to the group.

You shook the fantasy of loving Daryl from your mind and moved your pillow to rest beside his, placing your knife under it.

Your knife. You remembered that afternoon on the farm, the laughter and teasing looks everyone gave you the next day. That time Maggie asked if you had any condoms left, having assumed Daryl was sleeping with you. Because of the way he was always staring.

Impossible.

You studied him, broad shoulders and strong back, muscular arms and dexterous hands.

He was too good for you in every way imaginable. You wouldn’t fool yourself into hoping for what would never happen. Best to keep a clear head.

“Good thinking with the coats and stuff,” you told him.

He glanced at you, but continued to study the bed. “I’ll take over watch from Maggie. You don’t gotta share with me.”

Without thinking, you took his forearm, wrapping your hand gently around it. “Daryl, you haven’t slept one night through in almost a week. It’s fine.” You paused, realization like a punch in the gut. “Unless you don’t want to share with me?”

He squinted at you, the muscle of his forearm suddenly tense. You let go.

“Why wouldn’t I want to share with you?” he asked

You gestured at your general existence, hoping he understood.

Without indicating one way or the other, he held up the open corner of the bed. “Get in.”

You crawled in between the sleeping bags, situating yourself as close to the far side as possible.

A moment later, the solid, comforting presence of Daryl was next to you, his broad shoulders taking up more room than you expected, his legs almost touching yours under the heavy weight of the sleeping bag and clothes.

“Ya alright?” He asked.

You exhaled a shaky breath. So close. Any resolve of not wanting him shattered with him so near. How easy it would be to touch him, to put your hand on his chest, to trace the line of his jaw, to let him kiss you.

“I’m good,” you lied.

Both of you were silent when Beth and Hershel returned, and you closed your eyes against the yearning threatening to claw its way out of you. Listening to the two of them settle in, you realized Daryl was motionless beside you, probably already asleep.

You turned to face away from him, dipping your nose under the covers to keep it warm.

Just when you’d resolved to start counting sheep, Daryl moved beside you.

“Thought you knew how I felt about ya,” he said, his voice a near inaudible rumble. “Carol said you didn’t, but yer smart. Figured you had me pegged.”

You rolled over, a mixture of hope and disbelief warring within you. Were you hearing him right?

“The way you feel about me?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

“Daryl,” you said, desperate for him to explain. “Say something. Please.”

The silence stretched on, oppressive and suffocating, until he finally whispered, “Thought you knew and just didn’t want me.”

The brokenness in his voice touched something deep within. “You were wrong,” you said, your heart in your throat. “Daryl, you were so wrong.”

You felt the lightest of touches on your jaw, first a trembling fingertip, then the full roughness of his calloused palm was cupping your cheek.

Eyes fluttering closed, you melted at his touch. Cold extremities forgotten, all you felt was his hand on you.

Daryl’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his hold on you firm and steady.

You reached for him, bold and needful. You threaded your fingers in his hair and cradled his head, wanting to hold him like the treasure he was.

Daryl pulled you to him; the softness of your body met the hardness of his. He kissed you, slow at first, and then he was demanding, clutching at you with his hands, drinking from you with his mouth. You held on for dear life, fingertips searching for any bit of exposed skin: his neck, the small of his back beneath his vest and shirt.

It felt so good to kiss him, like you’d been waiting all your life to breathe him in and lap at the fountain of his lips. He slid a leg between yours, pulling you impossibly nearer to him.

And there it was, the spark all the poets had written about, that Arthurian knights had died for. Your core shook with a desperate longing you’d never felt for another person, and as Daryl worked hard at your mouth, you found yourself wanting him to kiss you everywhere else, too.

The front door slammed open.

“DARYL!”

Glenn stood panicked in the doorway. In less than a few seconds, Daryl had extricated himself from your legs and arms, had pulled on his boots and crossbow, and was now on his way to the door.

“Where? How many?” he demanded.

“Not walkers,” Glenn explained, panting heavily. “People. Four or five, I don’t know. They took Maggie.”

Beth burst into tears.

“On foot?” Daryl asked.

Glenn nodded. “I can show you where they went.”

Daryl was almost out the door before suddenly turning around.

You were putting your knife on your belt, grabbing the nearest handgun, and scrambling to find your hiking boots.

“You ain’t goin’,” he said.

“But I–”

He grabbed your wrist and grunted at you. “You need to stay here and protect the others.”

Stunned that he trusted you to protect anyone, you nodded. And with one last look at you, he disappeared out the door.

Pressing a palm to the closed door, you willed yourself to focus on taking care of everyone and not letting yourself imagine the people you loved being murdered by strangers.

You took a quick inventory of the available weapons and ammo while Hershel consoled Beth. You decided the handgun was all you needed. If things got worse than that, you didn’t stand a chance, anyway.

Before your mind could travel farther down that dark path, you carefully loaded a shotgun, and set it next to Hershel. He had to be worried about Maggie, but he was doing his best to stay calm for Beth. You put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Daryl will get her back. Don’t worry.”

To your surprise, Hershel covered your hand with his own. “Thank you,” he said, with a small smile. “Dixon acts like a crazed wolf, but he’s good people. You both are.”

Unable to accept Hershel’s praise–-he gave it out so rarely-–you bowed your head in acknowledgement, touched by his words.

“I’ll keep close to the house and run back in if I see anything.”

“Good girl,” Hershel said, and turned his attention back to Beth.

On the walk back to the house, Daryl trailed behind Glenn and Maggie, remembering your taste and touch. First time in his life that it felt good to be wrong.

The stupid fucks who had taken Maggie were only after a woman to help some man’s wife give birth.

But it was over now, dawn was breaking, and he thought of you in bed next to him, soft and lush and so very warm.

Maggie squealed. “They were doin’ what?” She was full of giggles, smiling at Glenn, who cast a nervous glance back at Daryl.

“Mag-gie,” Glenn said.

Maggie stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face Daryl. “You mean, first good thing to happen in three months and I miss it? You couldn’t have waited until I got back, Daryl Dixon? You’ve been waitin’ so long already.”

He wanted to tell Maggie to fuck off, but he knew you wouldn’t like that. “You wanna double date?” he said. “Ain’t happenin’.”

Glenn took Maggie’s hand and urged her to keep walking, mouthing “sorry” over his shoulder.

The moment Glenn faced forward again, Daryl allowed himself a small smile.

When Daryl got back to the house, you weren’t where he left you, but Carl was. The kid opened the door, revolver in hand, stupid hat sitting crooked on his head. Once inside, Daryl saw Hershel and Beth by each of the windows, keeping careful watch out of the peepholes.

Fuck.

Beth leaped up from her post and ran into her sister, wrapping her arms around Maggie in a big hug.

“Where is she?” Daryl demanded.

Beth looked at him from the corner of her eye. “It was walkers. Just a couple, she said, but she went out to check if any more were nearby.” Beth offered him a sad smile. “She was really brave.”

Panic hit him, hard and fast, and Daryl found it suddenly hard to breathe. He ran outside to the fresh air and away from Beth’s pitying gaze.

Next thing he knew, the door swung open and Rick was beside him. Rick slapped a hand on his back.

“Good. Now that you’re back we can go after her and get on the road.”

Daryl scowled at him. “She ain’t dead?”

Rick furrowed his brow in confusion. “She went to see where those first two came from. Left about half an hour ago. Figured we could catch up and give her a hand.”

Daryl almost sank to his knees in relief, but he just nodded and went to find you.

He found you about an hour later, hands and jacket speckled with walker blood as you squatted on the forest floor, studying the dirt. Before Daryl could run to you and pull you tightly against him, you stood and gave Rick a big, warm smile.

Despite the sharp sting of rejection, Daryl instantly noticed something was off. Your eyes were a bit sunken and there was a sallow look to your cheeks.

“You look like you’re doing better,” you said to Rick.

Rick nodded, “But doesn’t look like you are.”

You shook your head. “Little under the weather, but I don’t think I’m bit. You can check to make sure.”

With a small nod, Rick holstered his revolver and began checking you for bites. His hands were going under your coat, up your sleeves, and around your legs.

Daryl growled low in his chest. Despite your doubts, he knew you weren’t bit. You’d never put anyone at risk, especially Carol and the kids. There was no need for Rick to touch you like that, to put his hands places only Daryl’s should be.

When Rick finished checking you over, he put an arm around your waist. “Let’s go back and get you cleaned up.”

You nodded at him, and Daryl resisted pulling you away from Rick’s possessive hold. As the two of you walked past him, you flashed him a quick smile, but said nothing as you let Rick be the one to lead you back to safety.

At the house, Daryl paced around the perimeter a few times, trying to calm down. The fourth lap had him even more heated, so he went inside, needing to keep an eye on you even if you wouldn’t speak to him.

Inside, Carol and Lori were up, too, making the main room crowded and stifling with activity. Everyone was packing up; Rick was eager to get on the road.

Daryl didn’t like the look of you as you put away the extra food and started folding his clothes. Unable to control himself any longer, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the nearest bedroom.

Once there, he held tight to your arm and looked you up and down. “You’re sick,” he said.

With your free hand, you touched your forehead. “I probably am.”

Daryl’s nostrils flared in frustration. “Then why is everybody actin’ like you ain’t?”

You wrested your arm away from him. “Because more walkers will find this place soon, and that other group already knows we’re here. Because this isn’t a safe place for Lori to have her baby. Rick thinks it’s best if we move on.”

Daryl had begun to trust Rick more and more in the past few months, but now jealousy and rage were calling all of that into question.

Daryl wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you, but he kept his distance. He wouldn’t let you play him for a fool.

“You doin’ all this for Rick, then?” he asked. “He gets up and about and suddenly you don’t want me no more?”

You took a step back, gawking at Daryl like he’d lost his mind.

“Answer me!” he demanded, images of Rick touching you plaguing him from one second and into the next.

“Rick is like my brother. I love him, but what I feel for him is nothing like what I feel for you.”

That was all Daryl needed to hear. He grabbed you by the shoulders, hauled you to him, and kissed you hard.

After a few seconds of his mouth on yours, you pulled away, and Daryl had to let you go.

“Daryl, you’re going to get sick, too if you keep doing that,” you said, clutching at his vest and resting your head on his chest. “Don’t make me worry about getting you sick.”

Worry? About him? No one in his life had worried about him, and he couldn’t see why anyone ever would. But you were sincere, with your touch and your words and the way you looked up at him. A tiny flicker of hope flared deep within. If you cared a fraction of what he cared for you, then maybe you did worry about him. Just a little.

You took a step back. “I didn’t want to make a big show when I saw you out there. I don’t know how you feel about everyone knowing, so I wasn’t going to tell them without talking it over with you.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “Besides, I don’t know what you want from this. From me.”

Everything. He wanted everything.

There were footsteps in the hall, and Daryl turned to find Rick standing in the doorway.

“Everything okay in here? We heard some yelling.”

Yelling? Daryl hadn’t been yelling, had he?

You jumped away from Daryl and turned to Rick. “We’re good. Little misunderstanding is all,” you said.

Daryl faced Rick, but kept his gaze on the floor. “Hershel say it was safe for her to keep goin’?” He grabbed you by the hand. “‘Cause if it ain’t, we’re stayin’. Y’all go on if ya want. I’ll look after her.”

Rick smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “I know you would, buddy. But Hershel said she looks worse than she is. Probably from not eating enough. He got a good sense of the virus from looking after all of us. If she keeps taking the acetaphil—atta-metacin---”

“Acetaminophen,” you supplied. “Tylenol.”

Rick nodded, “Yep. So long as she keeps taking that and gets enough to eat, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Right. Soon as you two are ready,” Rick said and left the room.

Without looking at you, Daryl said, “Glenn saw us. He told Maggie. ‘m sure everyone else knows by now.” He glanced at you, taking in your soft eyes and parted lips. He wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

Forcing himself to look away, Daryl whispered. “Don’t care about them knowin’ or not knowin’.” He had to stop and strengthen himself against the insecurity ripping him apart. “I’m not askin’ for more than you already give me. But if you’re goin’ to let me kiss you and hold you, I don’t want nobody else touchin’ you like that.”

Too scared to look at you, he stared at the floor.

Daryl’s hand was trembling slightly in yours, and it infuriated you that he wouldn’t meet your gaze. This was Daryl, after all. Who’d looked men right in the eyes and shot them dead, who’d launched himself at a group of walkers armed with nothing but a hunting knife. One time not even that.

There was so much about him you still didn’t know or understand. Even now you only had a small glimpse of the man he was, and, despite his recent openness, you sensed more happening in that head of his than he would ever let on.

You leaned against him once more, breathing in the scent of the earth and leather, relishing it while you still could.

You took his chin in hand and forced him to look at you. “If you think I want anyone else kissing me, you have lost your damn mind. I have been pining after you—and only you—since what feels like the dawn of time.”

He blinked at you. After taking a moment to process what you said, he nodded.

Relieved, you let go and took a few steps away from him. “Now, I need something from you. Until I’m better, I want you to stay away from me. You are the best of us at finding food, and you’ll be healthier if I stay with Carol and Rick’s family.”

Daryl squinted. “What’s that goin’ to change? I already kissed ya last night and again today. I’m goin’ to get what you got anyway.”

“Viral load is still a variable,” you tried to explain. “It’s like walkers. One or two, not a big deal. Three, four, five? A bit dangerous. More than that? It just gets worse and worse. Viruses are the same way. The less exposure you have, the easier for your immune system to fight it off. I won’t have you risking more than you need to just for me. Okay?”

Daryl nodded, then said, “Alright.”

You exhaled, relieved.

“But,” he said, brushing hair out of his face and looking you in the eyes. “Once you’re better, nothing else is goin’ to keep me from bein’ with you. Wasted enough time already.”

Daryl left the room, and you had to take a moment to catch your breath.

How long had Daryl been feeling this way about you? Mind clouded by your mild fever and Daryl’s parting words, you left the room and got ready to hit the road.

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minervadashwood · 1 year

Text

daryl dixon x fem!reader

Note: This is part 2, read part one here.

Warnings: Blood, violence, sexual themes. Dividers: @firefly-graphics Here and here. Notes: There's still pining, but I promise you it's worth it.

Part 2: The Art of Love

Daryl sat bolt upright on the couch, convinced he’d just heard a gunshot. For a second he forgot where he was and tried to figure out the best way to get away from his old man. He reached for a flashlight, but his hand landed on a coffee table, and Daryl realized he wasn’t home but at John’s. He switched on a table lamp the exact same moment that the bathroom light flicked on.

Daryl thought maybe John had come home early, but it wasn’t John he saw by the bathroom sink. It was you. You clutched a bloody rag in your hand and practically sank to the floor, shaking with sobs. He leapt off the couch, not caring that he was only in his boxers, and ran over to you.

“D-D-Dare?” you choked out, your wet eyes staring up at him.

His heart stopped. That blood was yours, dripping from your swollen nose, mixing with your tears. Your cheek was cut, too, a jagged wound about two inches long.

He saw red. “Who did this? Who fuckin’ did this to you?” He put his hands on either side of your face, to make you look at him. Your lip trembled and you sobbed, the sound breaking his heart into a thousand pieces. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, not caring that his voice cracked. He moved hair away from your face, a few strands already caked with blood.

“Daryl,” you cried, falling into his arms and hanging onto him for dear life. “I’m so scared.”

“Shh,” he whispered. “I got ya, sweetheart. Yer alrigh’ now. It’s alrigh’. I’ll protec’ ya.” From who, he wasn’t sure yet, but once he found out, there would be hell to pay.

He held you against his chest and kissed the top of your head, his primal need to comfort you washing away all his inhibitions. Ugly sobs wracked your precious body, and he tried to absorb each one, wishing he could take the pain away from you and put it on himself. He started rocking you, and gradually your sobs slowed to sniffles until you eventually cried yourself out. You stayed in his arms, hiccupping and holding onto him. Daryl told himself that he should tend to your wounds, get you clean and patched up, but he couldn’t bear to let go of you, not yet.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

“John! You and that sister of yours better get out here!”

You practically jumped out of your skin with a cry of fear. You put your hand on Daryl’s bare chest and looked at him. “Don’t let him in, Dare. Just ignore him. Please.”

“He ain’t settin’ foot near ya again. I promise ya that.” He framed your face with his hands. “You trust me doncha?”

You nodded, sniffling.”’Course I do.”

“Good girl.” Carefully, he pulled away from you and got to his feet. “You stay righ’ ‘ere. Don’ move ‘til I get back, alrigh’?”

“Okay.” You wrapped your arms around yourself and bit your bottom lip.

Daryl closed the bathroom door behind him, and quickly put his jeans on. He didn’t bother with a shirt, that way this fucker wouldn’t have something to grab onto. Merle had taught him that.

He opened the door and closed it behind him, coming face to face with Blaire Foster.

“The hell you doing here, Dixon? You tell that bitch she owes me for slashing my tire.” “She don’ owe you shit.” Daryl made a fist and punched Blaire in the gut. The other man doubled over, and Daryl kneed him in the face. That preppy fuck put up his hands in surrender, trying to back away. But Daryl wasn’t stupid. He’d keep the guy on the doorstep and kick his ass right by the door. That made it legal.

Merle had taught him that, too.

Daryl grabbed the sick fuck by the collar, yanking him so that they were eye to eye. “I could kill ya for what you’ve done to her, ya know that?”

Blaire had a hand on his chin, right where Daryl’s knee had hit him. That’s when Daryl saw the imprint of your class ring on Blaire’s cheek. The thought of you having to fight your way out of this man’s clutches filled Daryl with a rage he didn’t know he was capable of. He reared back and punched Blaire right on the nose and heard a satisfying crack. Daryl’s fist kept making contact with Blaire’s face until the men started whimpering like a baby.

Daryl let go of Blaire’s now-ruffled collar and shoved him toward the driveway. “You even look at her again, an’ I’ll kill ya.” He watched Blaire stagger his way to that obnoxiously large SUV and get inside. When he finally drove off, Daryl ran back inside, to you.

You sat on John’s bathroom floor, just like you’d promised Daryl you would. You didn’t move except to lock the door, just in case. While you had absolute faith in Daryl, even just the chance that you might come face to face with Blaire again had you shaking.

Despite listening for any signs that Blaire had made it inside, you didn’t hear anything. Before you’d come in to ruin his night, Daryl had been sleeping, that much was clear. He’d only been wearing his boxer shorts while he let you cry in his arms. Despite all your fear and dread, a part deep inside of you flickered back to life as you thought of him holding you again, his chest bare and his arms wrapped securely around you. If only it hadn’t been in these circumstances.

You sat there for what seemed like an hour, but it was truly only a few minutes. You were startled when the doorknob rattled, but Daryl’s muffled voice said, “Jus’ me.” You relaxed and opened the door for him.

Sitting on your knees you gazed up at Daryl. “Is he gone?”

“He won’ come near ya again, sweetheart.”

There was that petname again, passing from his lips like he’d been calling you that for years. You’d never seen Daryl like this, looking at you with a softness in his eyes that pierced your very soul.

“C’mon, let’s get ya up,” he said, taking the blood-soaked towel from you and then pulling you up by your hand. He sat you on the lid of the toilet seat and squatted in front of you so that you were eyelevel with him.

His hand was still holding yours, and you turned it in your palm, seeing that his knuckles were dripping blood? realized his knuckles were bloody.

“What happened, Dare?” you gasped.

“Ain’t my blood, don’ worry.”

You bit the inside of your lip, realizing that Daryl had protected you, just like he’d promised. And he’d done what you couldn’t, punched Blaire hard enough to send him packing.

Daryl pulled his hand away, but then he took your other wrist--the hand you’d punched Blaire with. His touch was achingly gentle as he traced your ring with his finger while studying your hand. “Ya got a couple broken fingers, doncha? I’ll make ya a splint later, alrigh’?”

“Okay,” you whispered, gazing at him. His hair was a mess, dangling around his face in too-long tendrils that needed taming.However, his focus was entirely on you, his eyes flitting from your face to your hand, his frown deepening with every second.

You held your breath as he studied you, the throbbing pain of your nose and the sharp pain in your head fading into the background. Daryl’s nostrils flared as he breathed heavily, his face looking stern and impassive at the same time his hands gently touched you.

Abruptly, he turned away from you and started grabbing stuff out of John’s medicine cabinet and drawers. He lined it all up on the counter, then he grabbed a clean washcloth, wet it with water and soap, and turned to face you again.

“I’ll do my best not ta hurt ya.”

“I know.”

You’d seen glimpses of Daryl’s gentleness over the years, but this was something else altogether. He took your chin in hand, holding you still as he brushed the cloth on your face. He wiped clean the cut on your cheek first, then he started on your nose. The moment he touched it, pain radiated from the spot, hurting your cheekbones and forehead. A whimper escaped you, and Daryl froze.

“‘M sorry, honey, but I gotta get ya cleaned up.”

“It’s okay, Dare. It didn’t hurt that much. Honest.”

He tried smiling at you, but there was a sadness in his eyes that had your heart aching. “Spendin’ time with all them lawyers didn’ make ya any better at lyin’.”

You chuckled, shocking yourself with the outburst. It hurt, but you caught Daryl’s eye as one corner of his lip lifted and his eyes shone a little brighter.

Daryl took his hand from your chin and ran his fingers through your hair. “‘S good to see ya smile. Blaire didn’ do nothin’ to ya that won’t heal up in a coupla weeks. Jus’ be brave for me.”

“Anything for you, Dare.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

He went back to cleaning your face again, and though it hurt, all you could think about was how much you loved him and how much you wished he loved you back. Each of his gentle touches felt like love, like he was caring for something precious and irreplaceable.

In one way, you were so very grateful you weren’t going through this alone, but at the same time what Blaire had done to you didn’t seem to matter at all right now. What mattered was Daryl and being with him like this, both of you exposed and vulnerable, sharing soft touches and quiet words.

You started shivering, despite the warmth in your belly, but you tried to hide it.

“Yer shakin’ like a leaf,” Daryl murmured, now disinfecting your cheek and putting a bandage on it. “Goin’ into shock.”

“Am I gonna pass out or somethin’? If so, I’d rather not do it while sittin’ on the shitter.”

“Ya ain’t gonna pass out. Jus’ the fight goin’ outta ya an’ yer body calmin’ down.”

“Daryl?”

He paused and met your gaze.

“You promise Blaire didn’t hurt you?”

“He barely touched me. But I ain’t gonna say he didn’t hurt me. ‘Cause seein’ ya like this….”

“Like what?”

Daryl cleared his throat and dropped his gaze. “Yer nose ain’t broken, jus’ bruised is all.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

“Mmm.” He stood up and started putting away all the first aid supplies.

He put a hand on each of your shoulders and said, “Get up now.”

You stood, and his hands went down your arms, squeezing the soft flesh there reassuringly. Then, he ducked his head and started untying the oversized flannel shirt that was around your waist. He shook it out and set it on the counter.

“Ya best get out of that dirty top and put that on instead. Then sit yerself down on the couch an’ put the TV on. It’ll keep ya distracted.”

You nodded dumbly, not quite sure how to process this assertive side of Daryl. He acted like he was an expert on this whole thing, and his tone brooked no argument.

He left you alone in the bathroom again, and you pulled off your ruined v-neck t-shirt and stepped out of your jeans. The flannel button up was too large for you--you’d bought it for that very reason--yet it felt nice as the warm fabric swallowed you up and hung down to your knees.

Before going to the couch like you were told, you slipped into John’s bedroom.

While your brother wasn’t exactly skinny, he wasn’t curvy either. As you rummaged through his clothes, you heard Daryl doing something in the kitchen. You sank onto the edge of the bed and sighed. Your hopes of finding a pair of shorts that might fit you were dashed. Not even his joggers or stretchy athletic shorts would go up past your hips.

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt and realized you weren’t showing any more leg than you might when wearing a summer dress or one of your suit skirts to work. Like Daryl had said, the fight was going out of you, and that apparently meant your fashion sense, too. You found yourself too tired to care, so you left John’s room and found your way to his couch.

By the time Daryl had come out of the kitchen, you had turned on John’s TV and found an old movie playing on one of his stolen cable channels. Cary Grant ran around the screen, making wide eyes for the camera and chasing after Katherine Hepburn. But when Daryl walked in, all your attention was on him. He was carrying a tray of food over, and right away you realized he’d warmed you up your favorite soup and poured you a glass of water.

“Dare, you didn’t need to do all this for me.”

He put the food down on the coffee table, next to you, then he sat on the other end of the couch. He never looked your way, and his eyes were now staring straight at the TV.

“This the one with the tiger?” he murmured.

You picked up the bowl of soup and watched him as you blew on the hot meal. “It’s a leopard.”

“Smartass.” His gaze flickered to you, a smirk on his lips, making you smile, but he quickly looked away to stare at the TV again.

You watched as Daryl made himself comfortable on the couch, sinking deep into the cushion and spreading out his legs. “Manspreading” they called it in your HEAS group. Sometimes men on the public bus would do this, driving you bonkers when the bus was already cramped. But you didn’t mind seeing Daryl do it. It gave him an air of dominance and masculinity that set your heart beating quickly in anticipation.

Not that Daryl noticed. He sat there, legs spread wide, biting his thumb with all his attention riveted on Cary Grant.

Your stomach rumbled, so you started eating your soup and sipping on your water. When you finished, you set the tray on the coffee table and noticed a blanket on the couch. Wrapping it around yourself, you rested your head on the armrest and let your eyes drift closed.

Daryl struggled not to gape at your legs, your thick, gorgeous thighs peeking out from under your shirt. The thoughts he was having were worse than the ones from this morning, a phenomenon he didn’t know was possible until this moment.

You’d had the shit beaten out of you, and yet all he could think of was your thighs wrapped around his waist, or his face buried in their apex with his mouth sucking the life out of you.

He forced himself to look away, but the image of your thighs pressing together, moving subtly as you ate your soup had him hard in an instant. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, not with you all vulnerable like that. But he couldn’t get thoughts of you out of his mind. All he wanted was to hold you close again. He didn’t even need to kiss you or put his hands all over you, anything like that. But he did feel like he needed your soft warmth gathered up in his arms, your breath arcing across the bare skin of his chest.

But even that felt like asking too much.

He forced himself to focus on the movie, watching the two idiots chase a leopard from one place to the next. If it’d been him, Baby would’ve been already trapped and on her way back to the zoo. Did anyone on this movie even research feline predators? All you needed was some quick moving prey and the giant cat would’ve been locked up in no time.

The movie ended and another began, this one Arsenic and Old Lace, and from the corner of his eye, Daryl noticed you covering yourself up with his blanket and resting your head on the arm of the couch. It was good that you felt like sleeping. He knew you had to be tired from all that had happened, and to see you relaxed enough to close your eyes made him relieved, happy even.

The world was quiet, and your body was drifting off into oblivion when suddenly your nose was hitting the dashboard again. You jerked awake, sweating and breathless, and with no sense of your immediate surroundings.

Something--someone--grabbed your hand and started rubbing your knuckles. You looked up to find Daryl watching you as he slid closer to you on the couch.

“C’mere,” he whispered, pulling you to sit against him as he wrapped his arm around you. “I gotcha. Yer alrigh’.”

“I’m sorry,” you said in a quiet voice, but as Daryl held you close, you no longer meant that apology. His strength and warmth wrapped around you, and you felt at home nestled against him, his heartbeat thumping in your ear.

“You sure this is alright?” you whispered, worried that you might be invading his space.

“It’s more’n alrigh’,” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “‘Sides, yer bein’ too stingy with this blanket.” He rearranged the soft blanket so that it now covered both of you. Then he took your injured hand and rested it on his stomach, keeping it from being accidentally squished as he held you.

You’d dreamed and hoped of Daryl holding you like this a million times before, but to have it happen didn’t have you swooning like you’d expected. Instead, it just felt right. Complete. Like this was how it was supposed to be with him all the time.

You wanted to confess your feelings to him, to tell him you loved him and wanted to be with him always. But what if he still didn’t feel the same? What if he still wasn’t ready for that? It would be so incredibly selfish of you to take advantage of his kindness, his gentle affection. So you wouldn’t. Daryl didn’t deserve that from you, especially not after all he’d done to take care of you in the past two hours. You nestled close to him and closed your eyes. This time you fell asleep peacefully.

After you went to sleep, Daryl watched you until his own eyes drifted closed. He didn’t wake up until sometime later when he felt you stirring in his arms. You sat up a bit, and he blinked sleep from his eyes as he watched you by the light of the television.

“I should let you go,” you said. “So you can get a good night’s sleep.”

You started to pull away from him, but Daryl instinctively pulled you back against him. Tendrils of hair fell over his eyes, but he met your gaze with his own, silently begging you not to leave him. He squeezed your shoulder, but then he froze, stricken silent as you lifted your hand.

Your fingers gently moved his hair from his eyes and tucked it behind his ear. He held his breath as your gentle touch traced along the edge of his ear then toyed with the ends of his hair.

“I’ve put you out enough,” you said, voice soft. “You take the bed. I’ll stay out here.”

For a moment he was lost in your touch, still frozen in place, heart pounding in his chest. He wanted this, but he wanted so much more, not just your fingers, but your hand, your arms, your lips, every part of you. He wanted to hold you in his arms forever, protect you from Blaire, from the whole world if he had to. He wanted the rest of his life to be like this--minus your injuries--with you both falling asleep right next to each other and waking up the same way.

He only managed to say, “Don’t,” letting his voice finally convey the longing he felt.

You let his hair slip through your fingers. His body practically screamed at the loss of your touch.

“Did I hurt you?” you asked

He knew what it meant to hurt, deep inside and on every part of his body. He’d bear each hurt willingly, if it meant you’d be his. You could hurt him a thousand times over, and he’d still love you. But what he could not bear was this addiction. If you touched him again--gently, lovingly, like he mattered--he knew he’d spend his whole life in turmoil, wanting--needing--your touch, again and again.

You pulled your hand away, and he grabbed your wrist, his reflexes reacting before he could tamper them. He gently pulled on your arm, bringing you back to him, but even closer now. His other arm found the small of your back, turning you slightly so that your breasts and belly pressed against his body, all those soft, wonderful curves making him yearn and need in a way he never thought possible.

His other hand still held your wrist. He brought your hand to his face, close to his lips. Taking a deep breath, he pressed a kiss to your index finger. His gaze stayed on your hand, its trembling fingers the only part of you he was brave enough to look at. He kissed your middle finger, then your ring finger, hearing little sighs escape your mouth. He grew braver with each second that passed and you didn’t pull your hand away. After kissing each fingertip, he held your hand, guided it back to the nape of his neck and placed it there.

His heartbeat did not let up, but somehow, he moved slowly, uncertainty and longing warring within him. You threaded your fingers in his hair once again, and the fingertips he’d just kissed caressed his scalp. He stifled a moan of need--that innocent touch alone setting him on fire.

He forced himself to raise his eyes, to look at you. What he found shook him to his core.

On your face was a blissful smile. Your eyes met his and they shined with happiness. The sight was so beautiful that for a moment he forgot about your bruised nose and cut cheek. Instead, he saw his whole life in your smile, all the years before and the years yet to come.

How selfish it was of him to want more than this moment.

“You best be goin',” he whispered, voice wavering.

“Then let go of me.”

He held you tighter.

“You want this, too?” you asked.

Daryl almost felt like he was floating, lost in a dream. The only thing keeping him anchored was your weight on top of him and your hand in his hair.

“Daryl?” you whispered.

His free hand reached for your nape, mirroring your touch, but going farther and angling your head toward his mouth.

“Ain’t right what I want. The way I wanna hold ya, kiss ya, make ya mine. Ain’t right.”

“What if I want that, too?”

He whispered your name, voice cracking. “Don’ say shit ya don’ mean.”

You shifted, lining your body up with his until you were almost in his lap. “You said yourself I’m no good at lyin’.”

“I don’ wanna hurt ya, sweetheart. Not after what ya been through.” His voice was shaky.

You cupped his jaw and forced him to look at you. “Daryl Dixon, I have been yours since I was in the seventh grade, and I have spent the last decade and half waiting for you to realize that. Whether it’s tonight, tomorrow night, or a year from now, however long I have to wait, I’ll always be yours. I promise.”

His heart beat so fast, he almost expected it to burst out of his chest and fly across the room. At the same time, your words soothed his soul, wrapping around the broken pieces of himself and tying them back together.

He cleared his throat, and slowly closed the distance between you to press his lips to your forehead. A gentle sigh escaped your lips, and he kissed you again, this time on your unmarred cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, Dare,” you breathed.

He was ready to let you go, but then you closed your eyes and kissed him right on the mouth.

Daryl could not hold onto you tight enough as your lips molded to his own. He kissed you back like he’d never kissed anyone before. His whole life spread out before him, and there you were in every part of it, every secret corner and every forgotten wish. He found it all in your kiss.

All too soon you pulled away, but just enough to look him in the eyes.

He took in every detail of your face, from the small crinkles in your smiling eyes to all the bruising and hurt you’d endured tonight, and he found himself gazing at you in wonderment.

You said, “Didn’t you know? All those times I watched you working on bikes and cars? All the times I followed you and John around like a lovesick puppy? Chasing after you? Asking you to the bar?”

Daryl could scarce believe your words. By the time you were old enough for him to see you for the woman you were, you’d gone off to college. When you got back, all you dated were those college boys with their creased slacks and polo shirts and BMWs. Men so unlike Daryl that they may as well be another species altogether.

And all that time you wanted him?

His thumb traced your bottom lip. “‘M sorry ‘bout what happened to ya,” he murmured. “If I’d gone with ya like ya asked…” then you would’ve never been hurt in the first place. If he’d said yes a year ago, two months ago, nothing like this would’ve happened to you.

“Oh, honey,” you sighed, “it’s not your fault. Not my fault. It’s Blaire’s fault. Besides, I’m not sorry it happened, not now. Are you?”

Daryl kissed you again, then peppered the uninjured parts of your face with soft pecks. “Can’t say that I am,” he admitted. He cupped your jaw and grazed his thumb on your cheek. “‘M still gonna knock ‘im on his sorry ass next time I see ‘im. Time after that, too. Get to be he won’ know up from down.”

“Alrigh’, Dare, you do that. “Don’t forget to thank him for me, though. ‘Cause kissing you made it all worth it.”

Daryl kissed you again, and again, and each time you met him where he was. Throughout the night, you both got lost in each other until you fell asleep, holding onto each other until morning.

The End (?)

Thank you for reading. I hope you found some joy and comfort in this story!

I have a possible epilogue in mind, but it requires me to do something that I find super difficult to do, which is to write a sex scene. I want to see what kind of response this story gets before I put myself through that struggle. If I feel like people are supporting me, my motivation and self confidence to write such a scene will make it less daunting. So please let me know your thoughts and wishes! 🙏🙏

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