Norman Reedus X Reader - Blog Posts

Little one

Summary: teen reader! Daryl finds you lost in a shopping center, he decides to take you back to Alexandria. You find Daryl to be a potential father figure!!

Word count: 2216

warnings: slight cursing, mentions of blood

A/n: this isn’t cg Daryl but more of father figure Daryl? I’m thinking of making a second part cus it feels unfinished… anyway this is my second fic umm I still don’t know everything abt writing so it might be bad ?!?!? Ok enjoy ❤️

Daryl was riding his motorcycle to an abandoned shopping center, desperate to find medical supplies. He parks his bike near a tree a short distance away from the shopping center, getting leaves and fallen tree branches to cover and hide it. He takes his crossbow off his shoulder, double checking it to make sure its loaded with a bolt. Upon entering the building, he immediately heads towards the pharmacy. He makes sure to be quiet in order to not attract any of the undead that may be wandering around. As he arrives, he rummaged through cabinets, drawers, and boxes.

"Dammit, already raided." He grumbles to himself in a low, hushed voice. He turns around with a quiet sigh, getting ready to leave. Just as he heads towards the exit of the pharmacy he hears a small crunch. Quickly turning around, he heads towards the sound to investigate, his crossbow at the ready.

"In the corner of the pharmacy, there you are. Covered in what might be a mix of walker blood and your blood. Dirt covers your worn and torn clothing, and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Daryl senses your fear and his eyes soften a bit.

"Hey... who are ya? Are ya alright?" He speaks in a calmer tone, his voice still having his gruff charm. He lowers his crossbow slightly, but still keeps it ready. You don't respond, you just continue to look up at him in fear. Daryl sighs and lowers his crossbow completely. He feels bad for pointing it at you, a lost teenager who's probably scared out of your mind. You likely mean no harm.

"Are ya... lost? Do ya need any help?" He continues. "Look, I uh, I got a group... they can help ya. They're good people." He's always been weary when revealing something like that to someone he just met, but come on, you're just a kid who probably needs help.

You fidget with your hands out of nervousness, fingers twiddling around. You take a deep breath and speak with a shaking voice.

"I'm lost.. I-I lost everyone.. I'm so scared..."

Poor kid.

"I don't know where I am, I just want my parents back!”

You start to cry, tears running down your dirty and blood stained cheeks. Daryl feels terrible. Shifting from one foot to the other, he thinks about taking you back to Alexandria to meet the rest of the group and probably live there. He thinks a little while longer, then makes his decision.

"I'll take ya back with me. I got a real nice place I stay at... there's food, clean water," He gets down to one knee to get to your level. "There's uh, nice housing, nice people. There's also other kiddos yer age too, Ya could make some friends." He looks up at you, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You stare right back at him, a look on your face as if you're considering it. You then nod your head as you wipe your nose on your sleeve, sniffling. "I wanna go with you..."

Daryl's slightly taken aback, but he recomposes himself.

"Are ya sure?" He asks, and you nod. "I'm sure... I wanna go with you."

After a few moments of silence, Daryl nods and stands up. He reaches out a hand to you which you take, and he helps you up. "Alright then," he sighs. "Let's go." You two begin to walk outside the pharmacy and to the exit of the shopping center. The dirt and debris crunch under your feet and the setting sun shines brightly. It’s almost nighttime, and the night chill is already slowly starting to settle in.

You follow him to where he had parked his motorcycle, standing behind him as he moves aside all the leaves and branches he hid it with. Daryl stands up the bike and gets on it, kicking back the stand. You get on behind him, wrapping your eyes around him. After he makes sure you're ready, Daryl revs the engine and the bike begins to move, gradually getting faster.

You both ride through the streets surrounded by woods, the wind whipping through your hair. You rest your head on Daryl's back, finding the wind and high speeds oddly soothing.

Time flies by fast and before you know it, you're at the gates of 'Alexandria Safe-Zone'. The guard at the gates lets Daryl in, and he can feel all the eyes on himself and you. Daryl ignores it, not wanting to deal with anything at the moment. He slowly rides the bike to the house he stays at. He knows he'll be questioned sooner or later about who he brought back with him, but he'll do it with it eventually.

He parks the motorcycle in front of the house and kicks the stand into place, getting off. He helps you get off the bike as well.

"Hey, uh, kid," he starts, scratching the back of his head as you two walk up his porch steps. "Ya can stay with me if ya want, for as long as ya want. I have a spare room ya can stay in. It's got a nice bed and everythin'." He unlocks the door and pushes it open. The house has a warm and cozy atmosphere. It's nicely furnished, but he didn't furnish it himself. All of the houses in Alexandria are pre-furnished as it was originally a quarantine safe zone for politicians when the outbreak first started.

Daryl puts down his crossbow and slips off his boots, leaving them by the front door. You copy him, not wanting to break any unspoken 'no shoes' rule that he may have. Daryl walks over to the couch, plopping down on it and sighing. You do the same, sitting at the corner of it. You bring your legs to your chest, making yourself feel small.

It's a new environment for you, you've pretty much gotten used to being in the woods all alone, having to be stealthy and dodge walkers left to right. But the change is nice, feels a little like how the world was before. It'll just take a bit to get used to.

You can finally get a good look at the man who rescued you. He has a rugged appearance, but for some of reason you don't find him very intimidating. You feel safe around him, like he has a calming fatherly presence.

Then, you break the silence, speaking in a shy voice. "Um, what's your name? I don't think you ever told me."

Daryl looks over to you, eyes softening once more. "Daryl." he responds. "Daryl Dixon." You nod and go back to looking around the house from where you are. You stare into space for a little while before another thought comes up.

"Could you show me where the spare room that you mentioned earlier is?"

Daryl turns his head to you once again and nods. He gets off the couch with a slight grunt. You stand up as well, following him as he leads you up the stairs. He stops in front of a door and opens it, holding it open for you. You walk in and take a look around the room. It's nothing super fancy, but it's well furnished and simple. The moon shines through the window at a perfect angle, dimly lighting up the room in a soft and dreamy glow.

You walk over to the bed that's placed beside the window and sit on the edge of it. "I'm tired..." you murmur sleepily, laying down on the bed. You untuck the blanket and pull it up to your chest. You snuggle into the covers, curling into an almost fetal position. Daryl chuckles to himself, watching you get comfortable. Daryl feels this weird, fatherly urge to protect you, to make sure you're cared for and loved. He has a feeling you two will get along pretty well.

You soon fall asleep, and he walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He goes over to his own room, getting ready for bed himself. It's been a long day, riding out to an abandoned shopping center for medical supplies and instead coming back with a lost, orphaned teenager in need of care. He settles into bed, pulling the blankets over himself and falling asleep.

.

.

.

In the morning, Daryl goes downstairs to make his breakfast. You've beaten him to it, already eating orange slices on the couch. You hear his steps and turn your head around, looking up at him.

"Hey..." You mutter, then going back to eating your orange. "Hey." Daryl responds, brushing his hair back a bit and going over to the kitchen. He grabs a glass of water and makes himself some oatmeal that he found during his last supply run. Once its ready, he pours half of it into a separate bowl to share with you. Daryl walks over to the couch and sits beside you, placing the bowl on the coffee table in front of you.

"Ya should eat some more," he starts, grabbing a spoonful of oatmeal and eating it. He waits to finish until continuing. "Getting some oatmeal in ya is good, especially if ya haven't eaten in a while."

You look over at him and then to the bowl in front of you. You set down your orange slices on a napkin and grab the bowl.

"Thanks..." you responded, eating a spoonful. You finish it up pretty quickly, which makes sense. You haven't eaten a proper meal in who knows how long. You eventually finish eating both the oatmeal and orange slices, and you settle back onto the couch. Suddenly, you remember that you're still dirty and need to clean up. Your face flushes out of embarrassment. Have you really been looking like that this whole time?

"Do you have a shower that I could, uh, use?" You asked Daryl in a timid voice, now feeling hyper aware of your dirty appearance.

"Yeah, to the right of yer room." He replied, nodding his head towards the stairs. You nod your head in gratitude, getting up from the couch and going to the bathroom.

.

.

.

That shower was possibly the most refreshing one you've had in a while. There was warm water, soaps, and possibly the fluffiest towels you’ve ever seen. But now you have another problem, clothes. The only ones you have were the torn, dirt covered ones you've been living in for the past few months or maybe even over a year. You wrap a towel around yourself and crack open the bathroom door just enough to peek your head out. "Daryl?" You call out, face flushing from embarrassment once again. "Could I borrow some clothes?" There's a moment of silence before you hear him shout back a "yeah", and you close the door, waiting. You wait for a few minutes until you hear the sound of his heavy footsteps, cloth falling on the floor, and then a knock. After that, he walks away. You wait a few seconds before cracking open the door and taking the clothes he left for you. It's a black shirt with a faded metal band logo printed in white, the pants are dark blue and denim. They're definitely going to be too big and baggy for you, but you wear it anyway.

You tighten the waistband of the jeans to fit you better, and you come out, hair wrapped in a towel. You walk down the stairs, damp feet pattering against the wooden floor. Daryl's still sitting on the couch, but in a more lounged position. You sit close to him and take a breath.

You begin to speak. “Um... this might be a little weird, but to me, you feel like a father." You tell him, and his eyes widen. But he looks touched. "We just met yesterday, but it feels really comforting to be around you." You twiddle your fingers, looking a little embarrassed. But Daryl smiles. It’s subtle, but there’s still a smile on his face.

"Tha's awfully sweet." His voice is softer than you've ever heard before. "I've never had a little one of my own, always kind of wanted to, though. I just don't think i'd be a good dad."

You smile at him, chuckling. "I think you would. You sort of have this really fatherly presence. It was unusually easy for me to warm up to you." You shift close to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. You smile more. "Maybe I could be your little one. You can like... adopt me, or something."

Daryl chuckles again. "We'll see, kid. We'll see."

You look up at him and then go back to snuggling. You curl up beside him, getting so very comfortable. You feel safe in his embrace, you never want to leave.

“Can we see maybe… now?” You ask in a playful way, looking up at him again. Daryl looks down at you with a slightly wider smile, shaking his head.

“Well, I-… yeah,” he sighs. “Alright, yer gonna be my little one. I’m never gonna let anything happen to ya.” He holds you a little tighter. “I might not be the best daddy, but I’m sure as hell gonna try.”

I'd Rather Be Sleeping

Pairing- Daryl x GN! Medic! Reader

Summary- As tired as you are, it's still your job to help those who need it as medic. You're unsure whether to be grateful or not it's someone you're constantly bantering with, though.

TW- off-character Daryl? Mentions of blood and medical procedures

A/N~ wow I don't know how to conclude stories lol 😔 this was meant to be out like a week ago but I accidently just kept extending the story. Oh well!

The casual ruckus of being pulled around from place to place was an endless energy you were used to. Whether it be something as simple as a few scratches or having to amputate someone's arm without hesitation, you were there. With the way everybody always seemed to need you, being one of the few remaining doctors, it'd be easy to think you never got any rest. This is normally true. Not today, however.

You were, admittedly, quite proud of yourself as you sat back with a deep sigh. The plush of the couch was slightly rustic, but *so* much better than how you'd be on your feet. Moving quickly from place to place with adrenaline rushing through your system for hours at a time wasn't something you'd recommend for fun. You had, finally, for the first time in who knows how long, gotten some time to yourself. Where all other scrapes of time had been spent passed out on the nearest surface, sometimes even standing up, being able to just breath felt like watching a sunset on a Californian beach. Something beautiful that you had earned, a soft smile playing your lips as you felt your eyelids begin to weigh down.

The cool air still lingered with the heat of the day, mixing into almost a blanket-like warmth to the atmosphere. The sky faded into one of those classic pinkish-yellow pastels that you'd expect to see in those cheesy romance movies, but you couldn't complain. The soft colours were much nicer than the deep red of draining blood you saw oh-too-often. Old springs gave muffled creaks as you shifted on the faded sofa, welcoming the idea of a restful sleep you've been so deprived of for the past weeks.

Which you *would've had*, if not for the door shooting open like a stray bullet, startling you and almost toppling off the couch.

"So sorry to bug you, but, uhm- the archer guy just come back from their scavenging, and- well, he's not looking too good."

You stuff your face in the couch cushions and groan with a tired longing before forcing yourself up, rubbing your temples and brushing off the young recruit.

"Mhm, yeah," you mumble, your body fighting with the urge to just let the person go but knowing you had a job to do. Your feet moved quickly to the medical tent almost on instinct, already knowing who to expect there but holding onto that sliver of hope that maybe it was just your sleep-deprived mind playing with you.

No. Of course not. You were a doctor, it was your job to keep tabs on people who frequently visited. And Daryl Dixon was one of them.

Okay. Maybe you were overexaggerating how often he ended up in the medical tent, with the way he was so good on his own. And even if he did get injured, it was usually something small, or he patched himself up. But it only took you one time to watch him try to stitch a deep cut on his own that you decided, yeah, he needed more help than he'd let himself.

Your relationship was... *interesting*, to put it politely. You maybe pushed a bit too much to make sure he was alright, which resulted in pointless banter between the two of you often. But to be fair, it was for his own good! He claimed he didn't need help, you said he was gonna get himself infected. He got himself infected as you said, and you scolded him. He refused your medical knowledge for his pride and you tended to him in spite of it. The whole while throwing meaningless insults at each other. Regardless- there was still a mutual respect for the work you both did.

"Daryl," you greeted with that hint of fading tolerance you held special for him.

He only gave a quiet huff to acknowledge your presence, always hating 'wasting time' in the medical tent.

"Charming as ever, I see," you mutter under your breath, your eyes examining the man infront of you with a trained practice for any immediate signs of injury. It's not hard to notice the way he favours his right side, his lower left arm covered in blood and dirt and shrapnel and whatever else he got into in those woods.

You give a soft click of your tongue, not sure whether to ask what happened or make fun of the usually so-careful archer.

"'What, 'cha explode somethin' recently?" You give a soft scoff of amusement, moving beside him to begin taking out the shards impaling his skin. Your hands move with a careful though quick ease, noting the way Daryl tenses and takes a quiet breath in, though refuses to give any signs he's in pain.

"You'd be interested too if'ya saw a firework stand just waitin' there," He rolls his eyes as if the answer was obvious. "You can do a lot with a lighter. You certainly seem to know that," He teases, poking fun at the way you accidentally set your tent on fire last week. You could still feel the flickering hear of the flames that had grown much quicker than you had thought would've. Thankfully, there wasn't really any lasting damage beside some light burns on your hands and arms and getting scolded.

You give a light hum, a smirk playing on your lips as the air between you sparks with a playful challenge.

"Fireworks, huh? That's a shame, then. Maybe if you had stepped a bit closer-"

"Maybe if you had been in the stand when it happened-"

"Maybe if you had taken me with you, I would've-"

"Maybe if- *ow*-"

"Sorry."

You finished taking out the shrapnel, now cleaning the dirt and blood off with a rag. The sharp sting of hydrogen peroxide you used to help clean the wounds took Daryl off guard, the banter dropping from there.

Minutes passed in a comfortable silence as you worked, Daryl just watching with a faint interest as you applied some salve to the worst of the cuts and bruises.

"M'kay, well..." You hum, after a bit, taking a step back to check if you missed anything. "I'd say try to take it easy, but I doubt you'll do that."

Daryl stands up and stretches, your eyes darting away and trying to ignore the way his torn clothes and toned body is unfairly hot- what, who said that-

"'S jus'a few scratches. On'y reason I'm 'ere 's 'cause your little assistant got nervous," the archer spoke plainly, moving to stand at the entrance way of the medical tent. The sun had went from a bright, hot afternoon, to a more hazy evening. The sky dripped with pastels that faded into each other, seconds slowly dragging the sun down the horizon alike curtains closing on a performance. The bustle of the people usually constant had now lessened as daylight waned with the persistent progression of time.

"Kyle?" You chuckle softly, remembering the way the young protégé had burst into the room when you were so ready for some proper rest. He was definetly a bit jumpier than what you'd recommend for the tasks he wanted to learn, but he was so insistent and determined... who were you to deny one knowledge of healing? "He means well. Just a bit nervous," you summed up. Daryl just gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgement, silence falling onto both once more.

You leaned on a nearby tree that provided shade in the hotter days as the year grew closer to summer. The lack of talk between you two was normal- you didn't really need to to feel comfortable with the other- but today's seemed... different, in a way. The noiseless air stretched on, and you glanced at Daryl only to see him quickly look away when you caught his eye. He looked as if he wanted to say something. He had a lot recently- lingering near the medical tent, fidgeting with the hem of his torn jacket as if waiting for the right moment to approach you. But for the past week, you've been busy and tired and just looking for the next moment of rest. Looking back, you felt a bit bad you didn't pay as much attention as you usually did to the loner.

You shift in your spot, the silence evolving to be more awkward than before.

"...you alright?" You speak out of nowhere.

"What? Uh- yeah. 'Course," Daryl scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching as the sun began to dip on the edge of the sky.

"Riiiight," you hummed, though laying off on the question. Maybe another time. For now, all you could do was take in the fading daylight and finally let yourself rest.