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celtic-crossbow · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023

No. 1: “How Many Fingers am I Holding Up?” | No. 5: Debris

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)

Setting: Prison era

Warnings: Head injury

‘Please, don’t be dead. Please, don’t be dead!’ The railing on the stairs wobbled— a testament to the poor solidity of the building— as you hurried down the two floors separating you from the archer. The both of you agreed to tread carefully when entering the old hospital, the look of it not inspiring confidence but the probability of what it could contain overpowering any hesitance. Medical supplies were scarce in this world. Two Tylenol tablets and a pack of gauze would mean everything in what used to be the simplest of situations.

“Daryl?” You called as loudly as you dared after shoving open the heavy metal door to the ground level. The hole in the flooring was easy to spot with the beam of your flashlight, several feet wide with dust still rising from the collapse. Your stomach twisted when there was no immediate reply, but another call was not necessary when you saw a piece of debris shift. A low groan followed the movement. You would swear that the moisture in your eyes was from the dust in the air.

You had to hold the light in your mouth to help move the rubble covering him, but there he was. A little worse for wear but in one piece and blinking up at you with a dazed expression. The flashlight was propped against some of the wreckage so that your hands were free to help him sit up.

“Are you okay?” He blinked a few more times and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. He didn’t answer, minutely swaying where he sat. “Dixon, are you with me?”

Daryl finally seemed to realize you were speaking to him and met your eyes, more than a little disoriented. “Huh?”

Worry gnawed at your heart. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”

“Like I jus’ fell through the floor fer a half full bottle’a meds.” His speech was a bit slurred, his movements slow and jerky. He held up the aforementioned antibiotics and shook the bottle lightly. “Still got ‘em though.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me look you over and then we’ll get out of here.” You left no room for argument. The archer quickly squeezed his eyes shut when the flashlight was pointed toward his face, swatting at your hand lazily. “Stop it, I need to look at your eyes, you big baby.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He slowly peeled open one and then the other, keeping his hand in front of them while they adjusted to the light. After a few seconds, he dropped his arm so you could see two evenly sized, reactive pupils.

“Good. That’s good.” Lowering the light, you reached for the back of his head before he could think to stop the unwanted touch. Your fingers quickly probed at a wet, raised area.

“Hey! Tha’ hurts, woman!”

“You’ve got a decent sized bump on your noggin, Dixon. How many fingers am I holding up?” You had perfected the art of ignoring his griping over the span of months you’d spent with him, a feat that the others in your little apocalypse family wished they all could achieve. Or maybe he just wasn’t as grumpy with you to begin with. Your hand hovered between you, three fingers wiggling to get his attention.

Daryl scoffed and began preparing himself to stand, nonchalantly flipping up his middle finger. “How many m’ I holdin’ up?”

You sighed with a fond smile, dropping your hand to his arm to help him get to his feet. “Yeah, you’re okay enough to get back to Hershel.” It was a bit of a struggle getting him upright, and he swayed a little before you settled his arm over your shoulders. “I’m driving.”

“Hell no, ‘ve been through ‘nough today.” His tone was gruff but not angry.

“And I’d like to make it in one piece. I bet you see two of me right now, don’t you?”

“Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, don’ reckon.”

You could feel your cheeks burn. You ducked your head when you felt him staring at you and pinched his side playfully.

“You must’ve really hit your head, Dixon.”

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darylsdelts · 1 month

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This is a bit of a dark topic so I don't know if you feel comfortable writing about it (I completely understand if you don't). I was thinking about Daryl comforting his partner after the war against the Saviors. Maybe she was taken to the sanctuary with him and had to go through all that, she's tired of fighting and losing people, and she's seriously thinking about giving up, maybe she even hurts herself and Daryl notices it and talks to her and It helps her have a little hope again. It can be completely angst or a little suggestive-angst lol, whatever seems best to you❤️

Tysm for sending this!!

Darylxfemale!reader

Warnings: self harm, implied SA, implied depression

You were home now… well, at hilltop. Home was gone but you were here, not there, not in that cell and you thought you’d feel relieved but you just didn’t really feel anything. You still felt just as trapped in your mind.

You got out with Daryl, both high on adrenaline as you ran half the way back to hilltop and trudged the rest of the way.

Right after you had both gotten out and far enough away, Daryl cupped your face and checked you over then gave you a bone crushing hug, as if just to check you were really real but after that you two hadn’t spoken.

Even now, back at safety, sharing a room once again, neither of you had really, truly acknowledged each other’s presence, still dealing with the minefields in your heads.

Maggie hadn’t let Daryl go out hunting for a while since she was wary of him being captured again and that only served to heighten Daryl’s anger and frustration and you could feel it at night when he’d lay awake but didn’t talk.

You were both hurting and both not talking about it.

It felt like your brain was on an endless loop, replaying everything that happened, everything Negan had done and said to you and it left you with a nauseating pit of anxiety in your stomach that wouldn’t leave.

You knew you were supposed to be happy now, supposed to be happy now you were with Daryl and you should be grateful to be alive but you weren’t.

You felt nothing.

The worst part is that it wasn’t alarming to you.

One night, after a long day of avoiding Daryl around hilltop, you’d decided to take a cigarette from the box in his bedside drawer.

You weren’t a smoker but you’d trued once or twice on the road with Daryl.

Your stomach clenched at the memories of being on the road. At that time you were sure you’d never miss it but now you do but you suppose it’s like everything. When you look back on life, anything could be nostalgic because you only remember the good feelings.

Feeling anything would be better than feeling nothing, emotionally.

You walk out into the balcony and sit in the chair that Daryl usually sits in in the mornings.

You slouch back and light the cigarette with the metal lighter which you also took from the draw.

You take the first drag, nothing.

another drag, still nothing.

Still feeling nothing in your head.

Are you capable of feeling again? You’re not sure if you want the answer.

You can still feel physically right?

You ponder over it for a while. Obviously you can still feel things, physically, but there’s a nagging noise in your head.

An overwhelming urge for you to test your theory.

You hold the little cigarette between your pointer and thumb.

You knew Daryl had done this before, you remember the feeling when you noticed it and realised he had hurt himself on purpose. You hated that he’d done that. You knew he’d hate the fact that you’re about to do it,

But you do.

You press the lit cigarette onto the back of your hand, pushing it until it goes out, black ashes in a small circle covering a red spot, soon to blister.

You felt it, it hurt, it made your eyes sting a little which is close to crying so maybe you’re not entirely gone.

You’re not exactly sure what to think about what you’ve just done so you try not to.

But god, it’s stinging, it’s so hot even after you’ve already smudged the thing into the ground with your boot.

You gently brush the ash off the back of your hand when you hear the door behind you open.

You hear two foot steps, meaning the person had now stepped through the door way and is stood directly behind you, looking down on you.

It’s him, you know it’s him, no one else would be here.

Daryl leans forward and take your hand off the arm rest and looks at it.

You feel a spark of electricity when his skin touches yours.

“Why?” He asks out right, your heart missed his southern drawl.

He skirts round so he’s beside you and he crouched down to your level, trying to look in your eyes.

When he can’t get a glimpse of your pupils, he moves your chin with his pointer.

“Y/n…” he almost asks again, but he knows why, he’s been there.

“Cmon inside now”

He straightens up and waits for you to get up too, he takes the lighter off of you and leads you into the bedroom where he has you lay down on top of the covers and he lays behind you, pulling you close to his chest.

Hi voice is soft and low when he talks.

“Don’t do that anymore… I know why, baby but… ya can’t. Ya don’t gotta hurt yerself to see if ya still feel, it’s gon’ be alright”

He knows his words won’t fix everything straight away but he means every syllable.

He kisses the back of your head and that nauseating pit in your stomach feels a little less deep.

Idk about this guys… I hope it’s not too shitty

#daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #Daryl Dixon whump #sad

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darylssunshine · 6 days

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my favorite brand of daryl fics is when he doesn't feel important enough to drink/eat because he doesn't wanna waste resources so he refuses them until he's basically slurring and passing out so y/n has to nurse him back to health (@celtic-crossbow write more of this please I'm begging you) ((I'm addicted to whump))

#daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #sweet delicious whump

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letthewhumpbegin · 2 months

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The Walking Dead, s2e5

#the walking dead #walking dead #twd #daryl dixon #norman reedus #whump #whump gifs #wound care #ltwbtwd

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thegeorgiahuntsman · 8 months

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Daryl Dixon in Every Episode - Chupacabra (S02E05)

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #norman reedus #rick grimes #dale horvath #merle dixon #chupacabra #whump #dear lord those arms #caps by me

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bananafire11 · 4 months

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There For You

Summary: Carol finds Daryl after his fight with Alpha.

Tw: description of injury, lotta blood, some angst

The woods were too quiet for her taste.

The trees usually vibrated with the snarls of walkers, driven by the influence of the Whisperers, but there was none of that. The silence, which she’d usually welcome, did not sit well in her gut. The trail she’d been following for hours now had been littered with the bodies of dead walkers, and better yet, dead Whisperers. The arrows that killed them had been stripped cleanly from their softened skulls, the only remaining evidence of them being the tear in their skin and fresh flow of blackened blood stricken across the leaves below her boots.

Daryl had been here, and that is what worried her most.

Along the divots and ditches, she could already see how he’d been able to stalk the group. The ditches were certainly big enough to cover him. And so she kept on until she came across the creek bed.

Long, spindly branches rooted themselves in the ground of the opening, trees surrounding the area. Finally, a few walkers stumbled along the murky mud, caught in the claws of the driftwood and so they proved no real threat to her. The only one’s she would have to take care of would be the several huddled over the crumpled body of a dead whisperer.

A dead whisperer.

So he’d been here. Alright, she was still on his trail.

She pulled her bow from her back, piercing the skulls of the feeding dead, watching them drop dead for good one by one. Carol crept forward until she reached the bodies. There were more dead whisperers, gnawed on by the dead but not discernable. Only this time, the familiar black and green of his arrows stuck out of the corpse. He hadn’t had the opportunity to collect it.

Her eyes scanned the ground, and very quickly realized it hadn’t gone very well for him here. The dirt was stirred and there were streaks of fresh, crimson blood splattered in random intervals. A piece of driftwood was covered in both black and red, and doom pooled deep in Carol’s belly. What if some of that was his? There was obviously a struggle, the sheer amount of blood was proof enough.

It was a crime scene, but without his body.

Carol took a breath, because realistically she knew panicking wouldn’t do a damn thing in this situation. Instead, she kept looking. And finally, she picked up on his trail once again. A river of dried blood, leading right into the woods. So he, or hopefully not him, had retreated for cover. Okay, that was a start then.

The blue of the sky drowned into the black of night as she followed the trail.

It all led to an old gas station, the blood smattering on the sign outside in the shape of a handprint enough proof he’d been here for her to cross the lot and follow the splattered blood until she came upon the old garage. Only now, there were two trails of blood, smearing along the concrete right outside.

And that was the unmistakable form of Alpha splayed upon the floor in front of her.

Carol’s nerves sprung alive with what could only be described as red hot.

The moonlight just barely lit the expanse of the garage, highlighting the blood trail the woman–could she even be described as a woman anymore?–had left behind. Carol stepped forward, fingers itching as she unholstered the knife strapped to her belt. The knife that she would put in this monster's brain.

Everything in her body was telling her to kill her, to plunge the knife so, so deep into her skull, but the wheezing from the corner in front of her had her hesitating, and then looking over and peering upon the shape of her friend. She couldn’t even see his face, only the patched material of his pants and the pool of blood he was soaking in.

Her jaw went slack, and she bounded over to him, over the body of the woman she was about to kill.

And fuck, it was worse than she’d thought.

Blood spilled from his hairline in twin rivers around his nose and into his mouth, which was producing the most horrible of wheezes. A head injury wasn’t good, not at all, and her mind raced. She hovered over him, afraid if she even breathed wrong he’d disappear into the dark of the shadows and be gone.

Carol moved his hair out of his face with trembling fingers and found the source of the bleeding. A nasty cut right above his eyebrow, about as large too. Carol knew head injuries bled a lot, but fuck. Her eyes flicked down his torso, running along the tussled fabric of his flannel and the dried splats of blood. His pants, however, were damp with it. Her breath caught in her chest, rattling against her ribs and her stomach lurched at the sheer amount of it.

I need to get him out of here.

She couldn’t assess the majority of his wounds in this lighting, it was a miracle she could even find him at all. Dragging his ass across the forest and to Hilltop, however, wouldn’t be easy and she figured they’d have to make frequent stops with the condition he’s in. I need to get him out of here.

It wouldn’t do any good sitting here on her ass as her friend bled out either.

I need to get him out of here.

Carol holstered the knife she’d previously dropped to her belt and oh-so carefully hoisted his torso up into a sitting position. His head lolled worryingly and his skin was much too cool to the touch for her liking, usually warm in the Virginia sun. His eyebrows scrunched up underneath his locks of greasy and matted hair. A response of any kind was good at this point.

She had no idea how much blood he’d lost, but it was clearly too much.

His scruff was scratchy under her fingers as she lifted his chin, kneeling beside him and whispering into the night air, “Daryl, hey. Daryl.” Nothing.

She swallowed, anxiety alight within her stomach and writhing like worms. Her temples began to tense with a headache. Great.

Ok, one thing at a time, she thought. One thing at a time.

The angle was awkward, but she managed to get her arms under his armpits soon enough and hoist him up, up, until she could quickly shuffle to have his arm over her shoulder. And hell, he was heavy, all his dead weight falling onto her. I need to get him out of here.

As determined as she was, this was going to be hell.

_____

The trek through the forest was hell and the sun was rising by the time they’d reached Hilltop, but damn if she’d gotten him there.

Without a current doctor at Hilltop, however, she still had Daryl under her care and under her roof. Her residence at Hilltop was bare with only the needed necessities, but it’d have to do.

She’d gotten the help of a gentleman to help her in carrying the unconscious man to the bedroom where he now lay across the bed, along with fetching her the materials she needed to properly patch him up and a fresh pair of clothes for the both of them. When he’d returned, she’d shooed him off and gotten to work stripping her friend.

His vest and flannel weren’t revealing anything she hadn’t seen before. However, the pants were certainly an invasion of his privacy, but she figured he trusted her enough and he’d figure it was sort of necessary with him passed out. She cringed at just how much blood there was, he seemed drowned in it. Even with his clothes removed (excluding his boxers) it still covered him in sticky red.

The majority, aside from his face, covered his left leg. A nasty gash, which she hated herself for not noticing earlier when she could have prevented more bleeding, was sliced deep into his thigh above his knee. Red crusted over the skin, and she was grateful the bleeding had at least slowed enough during their journey.

Carol gathered the rubbing alcohol and large wash cloth, dousing it in the liquid before she got to work cleaning his face. She revealed the paleness of his skin with each drag of the fabric, running along the softer skin of his neck and down his torso. Jumping to his leg, she doused it again and then carefully rubbed his skin of all the blood. Each swipe, and she could see a little more of him. A little less red.

She tossed the dirty rag to the side, getting closer to his leg until she could see the curly hairs embedded in his skin. The smell of the alcohol burned her nostrils as she got to work stitching him up.

Thread after thread, patch after patch, and Carol had successfully covered all of the various slashes and lacerations.

The smallest of groans pulled her from her thoughts, and her eyes flicked up to his face to see his nose scrunch and his eye’s pop open. His chest heaved and his breaths rung in his lungs in short wheezes as she jolted forward and held out a hand, “hey, hey, Daryl,” she hissed, “you’re ok, it’s only me.”

Daryl’s blue eyes fell onto her and she met him with her own blue gaze, scanning his face as his breathing slowed. She sighed in relief, because he was alive.

She hadn’t lost him.

The hunter lifted his head and gazed down at his almost-naked body, and then back at her. He didn’t even look surprised, just tired. She didn’t think he had the energy to think too hard right now. Daryl brought an arm up to touch her elbow, fingers cold but not as worryingly cool as they’d been earlier.

“Th’ hell happ’ned,” he rasped, voice carrying in a slow mumble. She grasped his fingers in hers, shoulders sagging. Her muscles ached.

“I found you,” Carol exhaled, “with… with Alpha.”

He held her gaze for a moment before he dropped it, letting his head hit the pillow. His other hand ran through his scruff, a motion that she had come to recognize as his thinking face.

“Fought ‘er,” he mumbled, and she already knew that. “Thought I had ‘er, had a lapse ‘n judgem’nt.”

Carol huffed, “no shit.” She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

She stepped back and grabbed the clothing she’d saved for him, a tawny button down and a pair of cotton sweatpants. They dwarfed her as she held them out, so she figured they’d be comfortably loose on him. That was good considering how the fabric wouldn’t bother his stitches too much.

Carol turned back to him, returning to his side with the clothes. He gazed up at her, still not completely there. She rested her hand on his shoulder, “C’mon, let’s get you dressed.”

Daryl sat up with her help and she got the shirt on him, buttoning it up to his chest so it’d be loose. Getting him to lift his hips while she slid the sweatpants was a struggle, but achieved nonetheless. Once he was comfortably dressed he hit the pillow once again, looking just as exhausted as she felt.

It’d been a hell of a day.

When he closed his eyes, she gazed upon him. She was just so happy that he was there, that he wasn’t dead or undead. He was still with her, within reach. Breathing and alive.

She moved toward the door, stopping short when he huffed out a curt, “wait.” Carol leaned against the door frame, watching as he motioned with his chin for her to get closer, and so she did. “Stay ‘ere t’night.”

“Alright, ya big baby,” she teased, but she’d rather be here than anywhere else in the world at that moment.

He scooched over toward the wall, grunting from the small pressure applied to his leg. Carol crawled onto the bed, pulling the cover out from underneath them as gently as she could and draped it over the two of them after slipping her boots off. She pulled the hair tie from her silver strands and let it fall over her shoulders before she lay down next to him, soaking in the heat he finally started to expel again.

She turned toward him, and he was already looking at her, eyes half lidded and soft. Carol couldn’t help but smile at him, and his lip twitched in response. He turned away, closing his eyes and exhaling.

“Hey, Daryl?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. Her heartbeat drummed against her rips.

“Wha’ for?” He looked at her again, hair falling across his face in a cascade of brown.

Carol met his gaze, throat bobbing, “Everything. The.. the cave,” and god she meant it with her whole being. She just hoped he could realize that. He blinked slowly at her, and huffed out a laugh.

“A’ready forgave ya,” he muttered, and it was a breath of fresh air.

“Okay,” she breathed, “okay.”

Daryl moved impossibly closer and she rested her head against his chest, listening to the soothing beat of his heart. It filled her ears and eased her brain and suddenly she felt all the exhaustion hit her ten fold.

As the world around them arose for the day, sunlight spilling in the window to light a path of warmth along their bodies, they fell asleep.

Requested by @murdadixon !!! Thank you SOO much for the request, your brain is brilliant. Hope you enjoy these two!! 💛💛

#my writing #daryl dixon #carol peletier #posting at odd hours of the morning is becoming a habit #caryl #the walking dead #daryl twd #got carried away with this one #kindof a daryl whump ngl #twd #twd daryl #carol twd #not proof read #i am TIRED #worth it tho

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thewhumpyrabbit · 7 months

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youtube

Daryl Dixon has to have a wound cauterized so that the infection doesn't spread.

#the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon #whump #cauterization #mouth guard #Youtube #the walking dead

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dirtydixonsgirl · 11 months

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I’d love to see some Daryl x reader with some real Daryl whump. Serious but not too serious. They end up holed up somewhere, both with injuries but out of danger, but realize that they could have lost one another and act on their feelings then and there. Hot smut with ouchies and blood and maybe some woozy, aloof Daryl afterwards from blood loss. Happy ending, of course.

The things I like to read scare me sometimes.

Beautiful Bloody Mess

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

A/n: ohhhh this gonna get realllll smutty. thanks for requesting babe! keep em’ coming. i love to write for you all!!

WARNINGS: filthy filthy smut, blood, injuries, dirty talk, exhaustion, spanking etc. you know the deal babes. 18+

You and Daryl always found yourself in situations together. Whether that be going on runs, hunting or just being on guard watch together, you both sense the group did it on purpose, seeing how your friendship was, it wouldn’t surprise them if you both were secretly seeing each other, although you weren’t, the jokes they make still makes your stomach do flips while sending a deep blush over both of your faces.

You both found yourself in a new situation, one that was particularly dangerous. Very dangerous. The Governor had recently blown up the prison leaving it crumbling after him and his people attacked them, sending their group fleeing in opposite directions. They had no idea who was alive and who wasn’t, you both were trying to process the losses and truama you both had just lived, but you and Daryl on the run together, it was so much more than expected. The dangerous situations you were currently put in made you both question if someone was trying to test your sanity.

You both were pretty good at fighting together, Daryls quick aim and sharp precision while your skills with fighting, and your equally quick aim worked perfect together, knowing you both always had each others backs no matter what. You always felt safe with him.

Currently, you weren’t so sure of how safe you were. You both were running for your life, fleeing from the evading herd of walkers you had been fighting off for the last hour, restless, hungry, and exhaustion seemed to be beginning to bare on your bodies, it felt like you could never out run the herd that was closing in on you both.

Daryls back was turned towards yours, taking one side of the herd out before you both could start running again, his crossbow taking out each walker in his direction and pulling the arrow out of its skull. You on the other hand, had ran out of bullets a long time ago, making it even more difficult for the both of you, so a knife you both found at an abandoned house hours ago would had to do, but it wasn’t enough to be fast and quick with which is exactly what you had to do.

“Fuck!” You yelled out the knife blade clattering against the ground, falling right off the handle. It was done for, you didn’t even know how many walkers you’ve killed with it.

Daryls attention was immediately turned to you, searching you for mere seconds trying find a bite mark on you, something he was way too terrified to find on you. A walker walks into him pushing him down as he was caught off guard causing his foot to fall out from underneath of him, his body hitting a log.

“Daryl!” You panicked.

You instantly picked the blade off the ground clutching it hard in your hands, your own survival instincts kicking in, you could feel the blood dripping down your arm, stabbing it directly in the head. You grabbed his hand helping him up. The walkers smelling your blood instantly sending them into a wild frenzy, all their attention on you.

“I’m sorry, I-“ you started but he quickly cut you off.

“No time, Y/N, run!” He spoke quickly.

You both ran for your lives. Your chests heaving, the searing pain in you hand was slowing you down, you could still feel the blood running down your arm. But you had no time to look, no time to check on Daryl. But he was more worried about you than anything. His wrist now covered in your blood from you helping him up was worrying him as he glanced over at you for a moment before continuing to run, but he was in pain himself, his head was killing him after that fall and merely made him black out for a moment.

Bodies aching, blood dripping, dirty as hell. You both were a mess. The growls were becoming lower and lower but Daryl knew you couldn’t out run a herd, they would always catch up or you would run into another one. His protective self kicked in, not wanting you to be in danger anymore. Through blurry eyes he began searching for somewhere to hide.

“The house!” He suddenly shouted, pointing to it. “Go there.”

You didn’t hesitate but as soon as you started running in that direction, your foot was immediately caught in something sending you flying down into the leaves, the sheer panic volted through your body like an electrical shock.

“Fuck, Y/N!” Daryl growled, running right to your side to check out your injuries.

“What is it?” You panicked feeling your foot in the darkness, not being able to see. “Daryl?!”

“Fuckin’ bear trap.” He heaved out of breath.

Your heart beated furiously realizing the herd was minutes behind you, fearing this was going to be your last moments with Daryl. If he was going to do this, he had to be quick.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna die aren’t I, Daryl?” You searched his face, but he was studying the extent of your injuries.

“No you ain’t, girl.” He muttered, his hands adverting to the bear trap. “Hold still.”

He feels relief once he realizes the bear trap did in fact by some miracle not go through your boot entirely, just enough to slice you to make her bleed. They both winced pulling the shoe off, the red dots starting to stand up red around the hurt area.

“Let’s go.” He pulls you up.

The adrenaline and pain was starting to build up. All of the hunger, pain, exhaustion, blood loss was going to your head. But daryl was admittedly in his own world as well. He yanks the door open, searching the house as you came in behind him, his cross bow aimed, realizing there was nothing you sighed in relief and he pulled you to the floor harshly out of the walkers view hoping they would pass.

You winced.

“Your hand, it’s still bleedin’.” He examined it through the darkness, you looked down and sure enough your hand was still bleeding, not as much as it was a few moments ago but it still made you woozy to look at. “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” You looked up at him.

“My fuckin’ head.” He winced, placing his hand on his head. “Hurts like a bitch.”

Blood was running from his head right down to his shoulder, it made you freeze, dizziness coming over your body at the sight. It was bad. How was he still alert? You had no idea. But the sheering pain was enough to make him want to lay down and take a nap.

“Oh my god, your head, it’s bleeding!”

Your hands went straight to the side of his head, feeling softly over the cut. It definitely needed stitches. He grunted, moving away from your hand slightly. It broke your heart to see him in this much pain. He looked over at you with half lidded eyes.

His restless, wild gaze flickered all over your face. Soaking it in. You were bloody but damn you were a beautiful bloody mess to him. After almost losing you out there, he was starting to realize just how much he wanted you here, with him. That’s how Daryl knew he was falling in love with you. He didn’t prefer the company of anyone else, he enjoyed being alone, that was until he met you.

“You’re looking at me all crazy.” You muttered, the dizziness blurring your vision.

His eyes stayed locked on you. His hand reaching up to push back a strand of your hair, his shaky fingers tickled your cheeks bringing you back down to earth for a moment, you body was tense and in pain but the pain was starting to put you in a new world. He reaches down, pulling your chin between his fingers to bring your eyes to meet his.

“Yer jus so damn beautiful.” He mutters lazily.

There was something about Daryl that was not himself, you couldn’t put your finger on it. Your mind was equally hazed, and Daryl’s head was spinning, being so close to you.

He began to move just a fraction of a second towards you, his lips parted, his breathing hitching, you could feel his hot breath on your lips. What is going on? You wondered but you had no time to think, he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

A new found confidence surged through you as you pressed your lips against his, but with the passion neither of you were expecting due to the circumstances. He couldn’t find the energy to move his muscles to pull you closer to him, to pull the air up from his lungs. You both were trying to shake off the pain.

You placed your hands on his shoulder, your body trembling to deepen the kiss, his lips sluggishly moving against yours. You could feel the blood from you injury smearing onto his clothes and neck with every touch.

Suddenly your fingers were tangled his hair, pulling it ever so slightly making you both wince. A grunt falling from his lips letting you know he enjoyed the pain. Both of your tongues thrashed against each other. You needed to feel his adrenaline, his passion, his anxiety. You needed to feel him. Daryl feels the exact same way about you. It was an exciting thought.

He pulls back away from you, his eyes now a darker shade, his hands resting on the sides of your face.

“Damn.” He mutters.

“Damn.” You mock him.

You giggle at his expression. You want to hug him, this man who you were so afraid of and intimidated by a few years ago but now here you are, injured and holed up in a cabin waiting for a herd to pass by making out like some horny teenagers.

“I want you, Daryl.” You suddenly felt the words fall from your lips, the aching feeling getting worse by the second. “Please.”

“Gettin’ there.”

You fingers fiddle with his flannel buttons, he chuckles at your sudden desperation for him, trying hard to control himself, you curse at yourself struggling with the buttons and he reaches down offering to help you. You hands move from his shirt as he continues to unbutton it, you hands going straight to the semi-hard tent in his pants, you could feel his breathing hitch just from the small movement alone.

Daryl was never a man who wanted sex, until now. The feelings were washing over him rapidly as you began to rub him through his jeans, teasing him ever so lightly. He has had sex before but just with random drunk hookups he never remembered feeling anything, or feeling like this per-say.

You fiddle with his belt, pulling it off and unbuttoning his pants. The blood on your hands smearing onto the belt and his abdomen, leaving traces of you all over his body.

“You don’t gotta.” He suddenly reassured you.

You shook your head. “No, I want to.”

“We have to stay quiet.” He whispers.

“You should tell yourself that.”

You yank his boxers down, freeing him. His cock stood to your attention. Your eyes widened at the size, you werent expecting him to be so long and thick. He chuckled at your reaction.

“It’s hard for you, baby. Touch it.” He whispers.

His words travel straight to your aching core. Your hands intertwine with his pubic hair moving right to his aching cock. He lets out a sigh of relief when you wrap your hand around him,squeezing him softly. Your hand moves at a slow torturous rate, running your hand over the tip softly, causing him to jump. His whimpers were enough to send you into an orgasm.

“You said be quiet, baby.” You recited his own words.

A small blush formed on his cheeks. You’d never called him that before. Your hand stroking him seems to get to the right pace, his hips bucking into your hand. His sweaty hair falling into his face. His hands using all the strength they had as he pulls you onto his thigh, moving your hips against it, sending instant relief to your aching clit. You gasp at the feeling, the denim rubbing against you, you were dripping by now for sure.

“Fuck, I-I want you so bad.” He mutters.

You had never seen Daryl like this. Falling apart completely under you, it was new sight. A sight you would never forget. It turned you on even more how easily he could fall apart under your touch.

“I’m gonna uh,” he grunts, his hips bucking into your hand. “Fuck, that feels amazing just like that. I’m gonna cum.”

You could tell he was getting close, you sped up your movements with you hands and hips, his mouth falling open, you ground yourself against his thigh, a whimper falling from your mouth as he pushes his knee up against you harder. You felt the feeling deep in your stomach, your hand tightening around his throbbing cock, his hands rubbing circles on your hips so hard you were sure they were leaving marks.

He whimpered one last time, pulling you close to him, the blood from your hand was smearing across his chest at this point, making his sweat a tad bit more slippery as you dug your nails into his shoulder, he made a low sound in his throat.

“Doin’ so good baby. Feels so good.” He moans quietly.

His reassurance sent you over the edge, your hips bucking rapidly, the feeling releasing somewhere deep in your stomach, shortly followed by Daryls own release too. His white hot spurts of cum falling on your hand, you instantly took your hand to your mouth licking it clean, he groans at the sight of your tongue moving against your hand so teasingly.

“God, women. What you do to me.” He shakes his head.

“That was amazing.” You comment, your body coming down.

“Ain’t done with you yet.” He chuckle, now tugging on your pants.

He was a beautiful sight to see so close up. He looked even hotter covered in your blood. His hands trail down, tugging at the hem once more. You stand up instantly pulling off your pants discarding them somewhere in the dark house. His eyes were hungry, taking in your body as you take off your shirt, you weren’t wearing a bra. It was just too uncomfortable in the heat.

“God damn,” he almost moans at the sight. “You ain’t been wearing anything underneath that the whole night?”

“It gets too hot out here sometimes.” You shyly mutter suddenly feeling exposed in his presence.

“You’re tellin’ me.”

You sit back down but a quick swift motion Daryl flips you over, the moonlight giving him the perfect view of you dripping down your thighs.

“You want my cock, bunny? Tell me you want it.” He demands.

“I want your cock so deep inside me.” You whimper, the cold air hitting your exposed area.

“Yer so impatient, look at ya, your drippin’ down your legs and I’ve hardly even touched ya.” He chuckles, his fingers running up and down your wet slit.

You whimper, pushing your hips back to meet his fingers, but he instantly retracts them, his hand smacking down hard on your bottom, causing you to moan and jolt forward a new sensation washing over you.

“I said be quiet.” He spits, grabbing your hair and pulling you back. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” you mutter. “S-so sorry.”

“Yer about ta be in a second.”

The sentence made the achiness between your legs go wild, squeezing your thighs together harshly. The feel of him inside you, stretching you, making you whimper and cum on his cock was sending him into a mad man. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had wanted this for as long as you did but he didn’t realize how bad until now.

The quietness of the cabin was broken by both of your tangled breaths, his cock begging to be inside you. He takes the tip of himself, pushing it against your clit, a squeal falling from your lips. He continues the torture, moving delicately against you, causing your wetness to drip more, you push back against him, enjoying the feeling of him against you.

“You’re gonna kill me, darlin’.” He groans.

“P-please.” You beg.

“You sure?” He suddenly stops leaving you a squirming mess, his hips holding you back from pushing against him.

“I’m sure Daryl, ugh, just fuck me.” You say slightly aggravated.

That was all he needing to hear before pushing himself in you all the way. He slides into you again, repeatedly. The feeling was better than you have ever imagined, you’d had your fair share of boyfriends but sex has never felt like this. His hips pressing down on you, spreading your legs wider so he could push deeper into you, moving at an achingly slow pace, savoring every feeling of you.

The feeling was mind blowing. Your pace matched with his as you began to basically ride his cock from in front of him. He smacks your ass once more, you flinch a whimper falling from your lips. His pace increased, his grunts were heavier than before, his finger nails digging into your hips.

“So tight, so wet, all for me.” He hissed through clenched teeth. “All mine.”

You were speechless, the feeling in your belly starting to snap. You clench around him, his strokes skipping a beat for a moment. He thought about how vulnerable and completely exposed you were, his hands reaching under to find your clit causing you to clench around him again.

You gasp loudly, that familiar feeling washing over you again. He’s slamming into you relentlessly. You let go, clenching and throbbing around him, a string of curse words followed behind by Daryl. Pumping in and out of you slowly as you both come down from your highs, he pulls out, cuming all over your back and ass, it was the perfect view.

“Daryl!” You squealed.

“Sorry,” he laughed, pulling you to look at him again. “Think the herds gone now.”

You look at him, your chest heaving. The exhaustion washing over you even more. Your legs were sore and you were injured along with him. Your hand had stopped bleeding.

“That’s all you can say?”

“Get some rest. I’ll keep watch.” Stroking your hair behind your ear.

That was the last thing you heard before falling into your deep sleep.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #norman reedus #smut #twd #twd imagine #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x female reader #rick grimes #daryl x you #daryl x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #daryl imagines #daryldixon

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celtic-crossbow · 4 months

Text

Whumpuary Day 5-6

Prompt: “This is gonna hurt.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; description and treatment of injury; blood.

There weren’t a lot of things you could say were worse than trying to survive in a dystopian world with walking corpses that want nothing other than to eat you alive. Seeing Daryl in pain though? That ranks almost at the top of the list.

Currently, you were trapped in a warehouse, surrounded by the dead, and your partner had a piece of bone protruding from the lower part of his left leg. It would have to be set and soon. He would barely be able to walk after you handled it, but definitely not before.

Still, you were hidden in a small square of pallets. All it would take was one walker wandering off and rounding the end. You had no choice but to act fast.

“Daryl.” You whispered as loudly as you dared, patting the side of his face to rouse him. His face scrunched, eyes clenching shut before fluttering open. His expression remained pinched and heavily lined with pain. You already had your finger to your lips when his eyes focused and found your face. “Your leg’s broken.”

“No shit.” He whispered sharply, immediately muttering an apology. “Gotta set it. Can’ walk on it like this.”

“I know.” Your expression radiated sympathy. “This is gonna hurt.” The moment he bit back a snarky retort did not go unnoticed. He decided to simply nod instead. You needed to be strategic but thorough. The leg was a mess, blood steadily oozing from around the bone.

“Get on with it, woman.” Daryl was panting, visibly steeling his resolve for the pain that was to come. You swallowed hard, knowing for certain that it would take little effort for him to buck you off in an automatic reflex. It was a risk you’d have to take.

Pressing a knee onto his thigh, you reached to grasp his ankle. When you forced the first move, your body lifted with the rigid tension of the muscles under your knee. To his credit, the archer didn’t make a sound, merely pulling deep breaths through clenched teeth. You couldn’t stop now. It needed to be like ripping off a bandaid. A large, shifting of bone, bloody bandaid.

Your free hand came to rest just above the protrusion. Biting your own lip, you shifted his ankle and placed gentle but firm pressure against the bone, feeling the grind beneath your palm. Daryl’s breaths were becoming harsher behind you but you persevered. Blood was spilling onto the concrete. It was only a matter of time before the walkers picked up the scent. With only the dim light of the moon through the windows far overhead, you made sure the bones were aligned and gave one last twist and push, the audible adjustment finally enough to draw a scream from your hunter.

You released his leg and twisted around to press both of your bloody palms against his mouth, your forehead against his. “I’m sorry. I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Ssh.” You soothed, looking over his shoulder and through the spaces between pallets. The dead had frozen, their heads moving robotically to try and pin down the origin of the sound.

Daryl’s eyes were wide, clouded, and frenzied. The pain being severe enough to overload the archer’s senses meant that it was bad.

“I know, ssh.” You kept one hand over his mouth and let the other pet over his hair, rising enough to press your lips to his damp forehead while you kept your eyes on the walkers. They were still on alert but beginning to shuffle along. You just needed to guide Daryl through the worst of the discomfort and get him on his feet.

Slowly and carefully, you maneuvered from the awkward position you had found yourself in while trying to silence him. Your hand still over his mouth, you now straddled his thighs, keeping your boots away from the injury on his shin. His breathing was beginning to return to normal, eyelids heavy over a dazed set of electric blue irises.

“Daryl, are you with me?”

A cool hand wrapped around your wrist and moved your palm away from his mouth. “M’here.” He whispered tiredly. Before you could rethink the urge, you pressed your mouth to his, hard and desperate, as well as apologetic. When you separated, your foreheads still touching, he thumbed away the blood on your mouth with a weak smirk. His mouth looked horrible though the blood had come from your hands. You tried and failed to smile, using your sleeve to wipe the mess from his face as best you could. “Le’s get outta here, sunshine.”

You stubbornly refused to cry, sniffing as you pulled away and rose to your feet as slowly as possible. There was a slim chance the movement could be noticed through the spaces between the pallets. “I’ll splint your leg once we get far enough away. They can handle the rest at the infirmary.” You offered your hand, the other gripping beneath his arm to help him to his feet. Daryl nodded once, leaning on you as you led the way.

The journey was slow, shifting and ducking to stay out of sight until you could reach the door. A few stragglers lingered there. Shit. The only option was to make a run for the bike.

“Daryl—”

“I know.” He knew what you were thinking. Of course he did. The two of you were a well oiled machine, becoming a force to be reckoned with over the years. You dipped your chin and mouthed a countdown. When you hit one, you moved together, his arm over your shoulders and yours around his back. His limp was pronounced but he didn’t slow down. Walker after walker reached for the two of you as you passed, signaling the others with their eager snarls and increased pace.

There was no time to argue once you reached the bike. One second would be enough for either of you to be in danger of being grabbed. Daryl knew he couldn’t drive, but that didn’t stop him from cursing a blue streak when he had to climb on behind you. Only a portion of the vulgarity was due to pain.

“Don’t worry!” You called over the rumbling engine. “I won’t tell anyone I finally got you to ride bitch for me.” Toeing up the kickstand, you urged the motorcycle into motion, decaying fingers only inches away from finding purchase.

His leg was a pulsing, painful disaster but Daryl couldn’t resist holding tighter around your waist and brushing his lips over the side of your neck to lean in close to your ear. “Guess it ain’t so bad if s’you m’ doin’ it fer.”

“Don’t distract me!” You laughed. He could just picture your beaming smile. “I’ll crash and fuck up your other leg!”

“Nah, wouldn’ wan’ all tha’.” He smirked, resting his chin on your shoulder as you handled the bike like a pro, eating up the miles toward home.

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