Daryl Dixon x Reader

A Damn Dog

*Author's note- Warning this chapter contains implied rape. For this chapter imagine quite a few days have gone by since you were captured. Also imagine that the car garage/mechanics(?) the group and Daryl go to is their camp/turf.

Is this making any sense at all haha? I'm tired ( 0.o).  Hope enjoy this chapter anyway haha :)*

"Beth?! Beth?!" Daryl shouts, stumbling after the car with a white cross painted on the back. How did this happen? He told her to wait. It was all that damn dog's fault. What the hell was he thinking? letting his guard down like that. Now Beth was gone. He runs after the car and disappears into the darkness. 

As he sits looking at deserted road a sense of failure and guilt consumes him. He falls to his knees, legs aching. His eyes fall to his worn down shoes as he battles the tears that try to battle their way through. He'd lost everyone and everything. What was the point? 'I can't save anyone. Not Beth, no one at the prison.... (f/n)' He thinks to himself. 'How did I let this happen?'

He could sense their presences long before they made themselves known; call it hunter's intuition. He sees one man approach from out of the foliage, he makes not effort to move. What was the point anyway?

"Well lookie here," The man says calmly. Soon Daryl finds himself surrounded by five other men all carrying weapons of their own. There was no way he could take them all by himself but he sure as hell would kill at least one, he had nothing else to lose. The leader of the group bends down and Daryl pounces up like a frightened cat, punching the older man in the nose, knocking him down and aiming his crossbow between his eyes. The other men aim their weapons at the back of Daryl's head. "Damn it hold up!" He shouts to his men holding his arms out in front of him.

"I'm claiming the vest." A lanky man behind Daryl says smugly, eyeing up Daryl's apocalypse attire. "I like them wings."

"Hold up." The grey haired man mumbles, wiping the drops of blood from his nose. He smiles and begins to laugh, looking up at Daryl through his grey matted fringe. He slowly pushes himself to his feet. "A bowman?" He continues wiping his nose. "Ah, I respect that. See a man with a rifle could have been some kind of photographer, soccer coach back in the day; but, a bowman's a bowman, through and through. What have you got there? A one hundred and fifty pound draw weight? I'll be donkey licked if that don't fire at least three hundred feet a second. I've been looking for a weapon like that. Course I'd want one with a bit more ammo and eh, minus the stains." He chuckles a little more before the lanky man speaks up again.

"Get yourself in some trouble, partner?" He smirks. 

"If you pull that trigger," The older man says with a serious tone in his voice. "these boys are going to drop you several times over. That what you want? Come on fellas who's that stupid? Why hurt yourself when you can hurt other people?" The smile was back on his face making Daryl's insides crawl. "The name's Joe." 

After a short pause Daryl lowers the crossbow and looks at Joe. "Daryl."  Slowly one by one the men drop their weapons and become more relaxed.

The ties on your wrists dig into your skin while the blind fold blocks out your vision. The sound of walkers echo from outside making you sweat nervously. They took your katana as soon as the tall man, who's name you overheard as Larry, got you back to camp. He had tossed you to the ground in front of the other men and shouted claimed. Then he had pulled you up by your hair and forced you into a dark room before binding your wrists behind your back and chaining you to the old rusty radiator in the corner of the room, like a damn dog. On the floor lay smudged newspaper articles, empty food packets and a old worn down mattress. The sinister smile that grew on his face when he caught you looking at it made you want to throw up right there and then. "You should know now that you're mine. You hear me, you little slut?" He waited for your answer patiently. You spat in his eye in an attempt to feel powerful in the helpless situation. He wiped his face and laughed  before punching you full force in the jaw. You collapsed in a heap on the floor, tears streaming down your face. He grabbed your face in his hand and forced you to look at him. "There ain't no getting away from this place, pointless trying." He spat on your face before dropping you, letting you fall back into a heap. He crossed the floor towards the door and paused. "You'll learn." He muttered over his shoulder. "Whether you like it or not." With that, he slammed the door, plunging you into darkness.