Norman Reedus/Daryl Dixon stuff and thangs (Completed)

Doctors Orders

imagine: when you and daryl fight, you leave alexandria for the hilltop, sick of him making you feel like shit. the two of you are reunited in the worst way possible, with daryl on your operating table. (3850 words wtf)

note: hi! this is part 4 to my patient series, here's part 1, part 2 and part 3 if you haven't read them! this'll probably be the last one i write, so i just wanted to say that i really enjoyed writing this story so i hope you enjoyed reading it. this part is pretty long and very medically inaccurate so that's cool. also the timelines probably off and i changed events round a tiny bit for this to work. basically theres a lot of issues with this but hopefully its still okay! since some of this is set after the negan 'incident' i haven't made it clear who gets lucilled because i don't want to think about that, but obvs in this imagine its not daryl. screencap is from here - natasha :-)

Daryl's coarse hands felt like warm sunshine on my back. His palms were the sun; his thick fingers were the rays, and their touch on my skin was like a balmy summer's day. I sat on the exam table, legs apart with Daryl between them, my fingers clutching desperately at his jacket. It had been five minutes since Daryl had arrived at my office, wordlessly locked the door and pulled down the blinds, and then pushed me up on to the table. Now his hands had found their way under my shirt, and his lips littered kisses and occasional hickeys on my neck and collarbones. Both of us were still entirely clothed, apart from my lab coat, which pooled around me where Daryl had pushed it off my shoulders.

"Daryl, do something," I murmured, wrapping my legs around his thighs to draw him in closer.

Daryl's hands trembled slightly and he flushed a rosy pink. "'M already doin' somethin'."

I yanked his hands out from under my top and pulled off his jacket; as soon as it was off he reached for the hem of my shirt, and before I knew it it was balled up and thrown in the corner of the room. Daryl, the man who had been so afraid of intimacy that at one point he'd eschewed even professional comfort from me, had just done that, and I was not complaining.

"Now you're doing something," I said suggestively, already wishing I'd gotten Daryl's shirt off as well while I'd had the chance. He was leaving trails of kisses again, this time going further down to the skin above my bra.

Just as I was reaching behind me to undo the clasp, a loud knock on the door made Daryl jump back, knocking over a tray of instruments that sat precariously on the counter top. There was no pretending that there was no one in, since the clatter that Daryl made was enough to betray our presence.

"Coming," I said with a sigh, realising that my hopes of doing just that would have to be put on pause. Daryl and I hurriedly threw on our discarded clothes and I went to unlock the door, while Daryl tried to stand in the shadows inconspicuously.

To my surprise, the person behind the door was Rick, who I'd spoken to a grand total of three times. I conjured up as bright a smile as I could, and Daryl ambled closer to the door when he realised who it was that had so rudely interrupted us.

"Morning, Rick. How can I help?" I asked, knowing full well that he knew exactly what had just been happening, judging by the amused way his eyes flicked between me and Daryl.

"I was actually looking for Daryl. Aaron told me I might find him here. And he was right," Rick said, nodding at Daryl before scanning the whole room, his gaze catching on the closed blinds and the mess of instruments on the floor. He raised his eyebrows as he looked back at Daryl. "We need to go. The car's ready."

"Sure," Daryl muttered, determinedly avoiding eye contact with Rick. He shot me an apologetic glance, and against my better judgment I said "Be careful, baby," the pet name slipping out. Daryl's glance turned to horror and he glared at me in a way that he hadn't done for a long while.