Angel (Daryl Dixion x Reader)

~77~ (Lemon)

After Rick left you and Daryl alone in the kitchen, your eyes glance up at him. Finding him already staring at you. He nods at your side, "Lemme stitch that up." He says lowly. Obviously not really asking. You sigh heavily, "I can do it." You tell him. "Nah, go sit on the couch." He tells you as he tips his chin toward the living room. You just nod a bit in agreement and head into the living room. Once your sat down on the couch you lean into the corner of it. Mainly leaning against the arm as to not aggravate the wound your felt scrape against the damp gauze beneath your shirt. Daryl follows a minute later, suture and more gauze in one hand, the bottle of whiskey in the other. You huff a slight laugh of pure relief as he holds the bottle down to you. "Thank you, baby." You say softly as you grab it and down a good many gulps of it. Also swallowing down the habit of his nickname you'd called him so religiously, so easily snapping back into place. "Mhm." He hums lowly flicks the lamp on by you before he kneels down. Setting the gauze and suture kit down on the next couch cushion next to your thigh. He waits for you to come up for air after chugging good amount of the stout amber liquid and meet his gaze. Then he glances at the hole in your damp black compression shirt. You lean up a bit, and pull it up enough to reveal the rain soaked gauze. Daryl's jaw ticks at the blood that already stains the middle because you'd already bled through it.

He grabs your wrist when you went to pull the gauze off your side. "Let me do it." He tells you and you nod a bit more in agreement as you drop your hand. Letting him gingerly pull off the gauze. It didn't take much effort to pull the sticky adhesive edges off, considering the rain had already dissolved most of it. He huffs an irritated sigh when your deep wound immediately starts to bleed. You also sigh in annoyance as you take in more of the whiskey. Just to hide the fact you were fighting flinching when he slides a fresh, smaller gauze pad up your sides new blood trial. Then puts light pressure on it as he grabs the suture needle. Slowly, he pulls back the small gauze pad. Staring at the hole in your flesh. Taking in the ring of dark bruising already encircling it. Assessing it cautiously. "It ain't as bad as it looks." You tell him seriously. He rolls those gorgeous eyes at that as he eyes the wound. "It is. M' trying to figure out if it hit your liver." He tells you. Then he eyes the whiskey bottle in your hand and swiftly takes it from you in a slight panic. You snicker at him and snatch it back, "It didn't." You inform him. He shoots you a dangerous look as he reaches for the glass bottle again. "Hey-" you state as you hold it out of his reach, "It didn't." You tell him softly. He obviously wasn't convinced though and was extremely concerned about what would happen if he let you drink any more of it. "I'd of bled to death by now if it had." You add seriously. He sighs heavily and glances back down at the bullet hole. "Been shot enough times to know, baby. Just stitch it up, or let me do it." You tell him softly. "Don't remind me, n I'll do it." He says back as he still stares at your side. You take another good gulp of the whiskey before you set it down on the table next to the couch. "Ya gonna start some point this century or-" you start to half heartedly tease but he cuts you off. Leveling you with a slight glare, "M' waitin' for the jack to hit. Shits gonna hurt, Darlin'." He tells you seriously. "It ain't jack." You argue in slight amusement. "Still gonna hurt." He retorts back lowly. "Yeah, I know... Just get it over with." You tell him softly. Starting to feel the alcohol numb the bite in your arm, and the hole in your side. Already knowing you'd have to be completely shit faced to not feel the stitches you knew you needed.

He knew that too, because he just takes in a deep breath himself. Then lets it out as he steadily, and as gently as possible starts to stitch up the hole. You didn't your best not to tense up too much, but that was impossible. Every stitch felt like a tiny stabbing pinch of pure uncomfortable hell. "M' almost done. Just breathe, Angel. Ya got it." He reassures you softly as he threads the last stitch. You just nod against your propped up hand that now held your forehead with tightly gritted teeth. Having to remind yourself to take deep, slow breathes so you didn't get more light headed than you already were. "There. All done- M' done." He tells you softly as he glances up to you and your paler complexion. "Breathe, Angel." He tells you as he grabs your thigh gently while he watches you closely. Ready to catch your head if you lose consciousness and your propped arm falls. Not wanting you to add a cracked forehead to the list of shit you've been through tonight. "M' alright." You quietly reassure him as you glance over at him with exhausted eyes. Your other hand sliding over his, thumb gently rubbing over his scarred knuckles. "Thank you." You add softly. "Mhm." He hums lightly as he stands. "Stick a bandage to it. Stay sittin' for a minute. I'll get ya some dry cloths to sleep in." He tells you as he pulls his hand off your thigh and from beneath your hand. You nod a bit in agreement and thanks while he grabs the rest of the shit he had and hadn't used. Leaving you one gauze pad to stick over the stitched, barely beading up wound. He heads around the corner, and down the hall. You heard him go down the stairs to your shared apartment. So you slowly sit up and very carefully take off your damp shirt. Which took more effort than you'd of liked with your now sore ass side. The damp, tight black fabric just didn't wanna cooperate, but you eventually get free of it. Leaving you in your black sports bra. You sigh in relief and grab the gauze, only to unwrap it and stick it carefully over the freshly stitched wound.