The Walking Dead // Imagines (Complete)

Daryl // Stuck // The Walking Dead

Daryl

Your pov:

"Out of all the vehicles we have, you choose to ride a loud ass motorcycle!" you shouted, clinging onto Daryl's vest. "Might as well run down the street with a boom box strapped to your back playing Run-D.M.C.!" Daryl revved the bike, a louder sound ringing in your ears. "Oh please, attract all the walkers you can!"

"The only thing that's gonna attract the walkers is your loud mouth!" Daryl replied.

"Now shut it before I kick your ass off and leave you here!" You rolled your eyes and yelped as the bike turned a corner, almost sending you falling off and to the ground. Of all the people to go on a run with, it had to be the guy who rode a motorcycle.

"What's gonna happen if we find a bunch of supplies, huh? In case you haven't noticed, we can't exactly fix a box on here!"

"Do you ever shut up?" You rolled your eyes as the bike came to a stop in a small town, hopping off of what you considered to be a death trap. Daryl climbed off after you, tossing you a bag. "Here, you check over there and I'll check across the street. Try and keep quiet unless you're in trouble." Scoffing, you turned on your heels and walked up to the house you'd stopped in front of, climbing the steps.

You looked over your shoulder to see the sun going down, cursing silently.
We have to hurry, you thought to yourself. You looked back, your hand going to your hip, and you drew your gun, grabbing the doorknob.
Slowly, you turned it, raising the gun and pushing the door open. Thankfully there was no greeting party waiting inside for you. Instead there was a tipped over desk, a broken lamp, shattered vases, torn paintings, and blood on the walls, claw marks on what looked like a closet door. This was all in the hallway.

You hesitantly made your way further into the house, checking all the rooms downstairs before beginning your search for supplies. Entering the kitchen, you checked the cupboards. As expected, there was nothing there; well, except for some moldy bread that looked like it was forming new life inside of the packaging.

Sighing, you shut the cupboards and walked to the fridge, opening it. There were a few bottles of water shoved to the back. You placed them in your bag and closed the refrigerator, making your way into the living room. The room looked like a tornado had blown through it; couches and chairs flipped over and the wooden table broken into pieces. The walls looked like buckets of blood had been splattered on them, and you couldn't help but cringe at the thought of what had went on here. Stepping over the books and shattered trinkets littered across the floor, you made your way over to the fireplace. Pictures lined the shelf above the hearth; pictures of what looked like a happy family.

A man and woman embracing, one of a child chasing a dog in a backyard, another of the small family, and one of two elderly people with the child. It made your heart hurt to think of what happened to the family; if the blood on the walls was theirs or not. Turning away, you hurried out of the room, not wanting to think about it.
You finished checking the house thoroughly and made your way out, the sun now gone and stars scattered across the dark sky.

You'd found nothing else in the house besides the water bottles, but that was more than you'd expected honestly. When you exited the house you could barely make out the shape of Daryl making his way back across the street. As he got closer you noticed his bag looked fuller than yours. Of course he'd luck out, you thought, heading back over to the motorcycle.

"Find anything good?" he asked. You shrugged and then shook your head.
"Only a few water bottles. You?"
"Some cans of food, water, and a bottle of whiskey." You nodded and sighed, placing your hands on your hips.

"So should we keep going or head back?" you asked, looking around. Daryl started to reply when you cursed, grabbing your gun. A small herd of walkers appeared from behind the house next to the one you had searched, heading straight towards the two of you. Daryl lifted his crossbow, easily sending a bolt through the eye of one of them.
"Get on the bike," he shouted.

You obeyed and tried to start the motorcycle, the engine sputtering.
"Ah hell!" You climbed off of it and placed your hand on Daryl's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "The damn thing's not working! C'mon!" He cursed under his breath and turned, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the house you'd just been in.

"What are you doing?!"
"Is there a back door to this place?" He closed the door and locked it, taking a few steps back.

"No! You just trapped us in here, dumbass!"

"Shut up," he snapped, backing up. A loud bang rang through the house, the door cracking a little. You opened the door with the scratch marks on it and tugged Daryl inside, pulling the door shut and locking it. Taking a step back, you bumped into the redneck, jumping.

"Move," you whispered, elbowing him lightly.

"I can't," he replied quietly. "This fuckin' closet's too small!" A louder crack, muffled by the closet door, drew your attention. The groans and shuffling of walkers caused the both of you to curse, now unable to find a new hiding place. "If they find us I'm gonna kill ya." You rolled your eyes and shifted a little, leaning against the wall and trying to crouch.

"I think I might be able to sit down... You just need to move a little."
"I ain't movin'."
"Daryl, we're gonna be in here for a while so you might as well get comfortable," you angrily whispered.

"Why'd I have ta get stuck in here with you," he muttered, shifting. You felt his body sink down and looked at the floor, trying to see where Daryl's legs were so you didn't step on them. "There, I'm sittin'." You awkwardly lowered yourself down, straddling one of his legs. He moved a little and you leaned back, trying to get into a semi-comfortable position without making too much noise.

Daryl grabbed your waist as you moved your legs, holding you up. You were thankful that there was no light in the closet; otherwise he'd see the deep red color on your face.

Finally you were able to sit in his lap, one leg tossed over his and the other pulled up awkwardly, pushing against your chest. You had Daryl's crossbow in your hands while his arms were wrapped around you, your head on his chest. To say the situation was uncomfortable was an understatement.

You felt weight on your head and realized that his head was on yours, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"I never expected you to be a cuddle bug," you teased quietly, holding back the laugh you desperately wanted to release. Daryl scoffed, his arms tightening around you slightly.

"Ya tell anyone 'bout this," he warned. "I'll cut your tongue out." You rolled your eyes at his halfhearted threat and smiled, relaxing against him, your eyes falling shut. You inhaled a little and your lip curled.

"You really need a bath."
"You really need a muzzle." You let out a laugh and your hand flew to your mouth, slapping over Daryl's hand that had beaten you. You waited for a few moments, listening for walkers on the other side of the door, and slowly both of your hands dropped.

"Sorry," you whispered, biting your lip to keep from smiling. "I still think you need a bath though."
"And I still think you need a muzzle."
"I'm gonna get a bucket of soapy water and pour it on you when you're sleeping," you warned.
"You try 'n give me a bath and I'll drown ya," he replied. "Got it?" You reached up and smacked his head lightly with the back of your hand.

"I doubt you'll hurt me. You're too nice for it." Daryl scoffed and you closed your eyes again, yawning softly. "How long do you think we'll be stuck in here for?"
"Dunno; we'll just have to wait 'n see. Though I think we're in here overnight." You sighed quietly and shifted your position a little.
"Fantastic..." you murmured, fatigue starting to set in. "Wake me up when we're in the clear..." Daryl chuckled and nodded, holding you closer.
"Yes ma'am."