Daryl Dixon X Reader - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

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Y/N: Good morning. As you begin your day, remember that violence is always an option and often the answer.

Daryl: …

Daryl: Please, go back to bed.

i read In Silence again the other day and i just had to hop in and tell you how good it is & how much i love it

you write daryl & angst together so well. i thank you for it !!!

Aww! You're so sweet to send me this little note! I'm so glad you enjoyed it again! Early seasons Daryl lends very well to a particular kind of angst. <3 And thanks for your continued activity on the blog. I appreciate it so much! Linking below for anyone else who may want to indulge... In Silence Y/N is quiet and doesn’t seem to fit in much with the group. When Shane becomes convinced she’s dangerous, Daryl finds himself standing up for her and learning about her past. Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The Greene Farm Part 1 - 1048 Part 2 - The Copperheads Part 3 - Blood & Theatre Part 4 - Light - The Conclusion

OMG NO NO NO NOOO 😪😪

TWD Incorrect Quotes #44

Daryl: Why is Y/N cryin’? Aaron: She saw a leaf on the sidewalk and- Y/N: IT LOOKED SO CRUNCHY! Daryl: Please don’ say what I think yur gonna say- Y/N: AND WHEN I STEPPED ON IT THERE WAS NO CRUNCH! Daryl: NO, NOT THAT!

Requests!!

I do smut(🔥) angst (☁️) and fluff (💐)

Leave requests in the comments

Fandoms I write for and characters:

Marvel-

Bucky Barnes

Natasha romanoff

Wanda Maximoff

Steve rogers

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The Walking Dead-

Daryl Dixon

Rick Grimes

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Supernatural-

Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester

Castiel

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The Vampire Diaries-

Damon Salvatore

Stefan Salvatore

Elijah mikaelson

Kol mikaelson

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The last of us-

Joel Miller

Ellie Williams

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OBX-

JJ maybank

I LOVE AI!!!!

Like look at him!!

Daryl's three favorite memories

3-

—You should take advantage of the fact that there's a long barrier and a roof over our heads to rest at least a bit— Kat's voice pulled me out of my thoughts as I stared out the window.

—Normally it's me telling you that you should sleep, like now that you should be with your eyes closed taking care of Carl— I said crossing my arms over my chest.

—I can't if you're not beside me to hold me.

—You're a spoiled brat, Kat— I shook my head as I looked down at my chest.

—Maybe— she rested her head on my shoulder.

We both stood in silence, gazing at the starry sky, listening to our breathing and occasionally the breathing of others.

—The sky will look better outside, come with me— she took my hand and pulled it with a slight smile.

We left the house being careful not to wake anyone. She was very poorly dressed, only wearing her red plaid shirt buttoned up to her chest and bare feet, so I gave her my vest as if that would help.

She leaned her forearms against the railing of the white porch while the moon and I stood behind her with my arms beside hers, gazing at her while we both sighed.

—It reminds me of my previous home, before everything started.

—Go wake everyone up, we're leaving now— I said as I stepped away, and she grabbed my hand.

We stared into each other's eyes again as I approached the railing, now her elbows resting against the cold wood and her eyes on mine, my hands on her waist without breaking eye contact.

—Not the aspect of a racist neighborhood full of multimillionaires but in the sense of a private place full of houses, artificial air, and the superficiality with which reality is painted outside of this place— she said as she touched my chin, analyzing the small hairs I had.— These people don't know what's really out there, and it shows from the plasticity of the environment.

—I never thought I would say it, but now I miss being outside.

She let out a small laugh, wrapping her arms behind my neck and pulling me towards her.

—It's only been hours, give this dollhouse a chance— she said with laughter in her voice, and I just gave her a dirty look.— Or until I take over the place, whichever comes first.

I laughed with her then, knowing her, she would be the new leader in a sort of coup d'état if she found more flaws than what she already had on a list in that stupid notebook she always carried around.

—My girlfriend is always going to be the next dictator of every place we go to, ¿right?— I asked, burying my face in her neck and smelling the cleaning products she forced me to use.

—Not a dictator, I like to think of myself as a kind of savior superior to the previous leaders.

—And then the narcissist is me, obviously.

She laughed, grabbing my face and pulling me away from her neck to be inches apart.

—I know you feel uncomfortable, really, I know, it's just like you looked around with disgust but believe me, for once in our lives, ignoring the harsh reality is going to come to us to relax at least our shoulders a bit— her voice was sweet, her gaze hopeful.

She always comforted Carl, saying that everything would be fine because somewhere near or far there was a place where we could all be together as a family and give him and Judith a "normal" life. Since Terminus, that hope began to bother me, but now she seemed so happy within what she was accustomed to before that I couldn't help but smile.

—I don't want anything to happen, I want to protect everyone— I said, playing with the fabric of her waist.

—I know, Daryl, really, I know, but in this world, I think we should already know that something is always going to happen, and we should also learn that there will be few places or moments where we could breathe safely, at least for a while, this is one of those times, I know everything seems so Barbie-like but for once, you should be able to lie down and live the heterosexual and vanilla fantasy of the American dream.

—We said we wouldn't have children— I looked at her confused.

—Not with ours, but with Carl and Judith or whoever happens to be the cool guys with dogs and cats, Deanna said we could have a house as a "young" couple to have new population, I think she wanted us to have children. and no pets, but never specified— She swayed his hips from side to side with a teasing smile on his face.

—I highly doubt she meant having children after asking in front of the whole group if he was your father— I looked at her with a sour face seeing her amused smile.

—It was funny, actually.

—For you, not for me, it's the first time they've told us that, and I'm not even that old— I said with indignation but with some fun in my face; this conversation could be taken too seriously.

—There are a couple of years difference between you and me, we know that, I think we were so used to everyone in our world being people who knew we were from the beginning that it caught you by surprise but not me.

—Yes, because you're the sweet and young girlfriend of this old and grumpy man who could be your father, of course, you won't mind being called my daughter.

—A little, I didn't really mind, but it was still weird, I didn't feel very comfortable with how natural it was for him to say it.

We both fell silent for a while, looking at each other in the eyes, but in my head, I could only think about how lucky I was to find a woman like Kat, things like these situations that I knew were going to happen since 16 years of difference is too much.

I could see the rest of the people in that plastic place and I realized how things were.

I noticed the looks that were directed at Kat; I never forgot how beautiful my girlfriend was. It never crossed my mind to not give her at least one compliment a day, as in my eyes, she was the most beautiful woman on earth. But I also noticed that now more unfamiliar and shallow people around us looked at her with eyes beyond doubt or fear. It struck me to the core to have been so accustomed to being the only one who could see her in that way, as everyone else was family, which now left me banging my head against the wall.

Our age difference had always been marked, but after so much time together, it was hardly noticeable, neither to us nor to the group, so it became something normal. Now, with many more people her age and the same youth, I had some doubt that she might see that she was with an old, bitter, tired, and fed-up man, and might leave for someone with her same energy and positivity.

—¿What are you thinking about?— she asked, running her fingers through my long hair.

—That I don't deserve you, but you're still with me— I said as I looked at her.

She straightened up, leaving her relaxed posture behind and looked at me with concern, grabbing my hands and leaving them in the middle of both of us.

—¿Is this because of what Deanna said or because I laughed? Because I swear my intention wasn't to make you doubt our relationship; it was just something funny— she said, worried, and I wanted to kick myself.

—It's not because of that, darling, but it's related a bit. There are so many people your age that I'm afraid you'll realize you're with an old man like me, knowing that there are many more possibilities with someone like them.

She relaxed as she looked at me teasingly.

—Daryl, I don't want anyone my age; I don't want anyone else but you, the one who has been with me all the way. Even though we didn't get along at first, we managed to iron out our differences, and look where we are. I want the man who held my hand and supported me all the time, and believe me, the age of both of us isn't a very important factor for me because you could be my age, or I could be yours, and the situation would be the same, ¿right?— her hands framing my face with a smile that melted my heart.

I just nodded.

—I love you, ¿okay?— she said as she looked at me with a small smile.

We had agreed a long time ago that "I love you" between us would only be in very serious moments because it was a true show of love for us. I could still remember our first "I love you" when the prison was attacked.

—I love you— I said as I kissed her lips forcefully, pressing her hips against the railing.

Daryl could see the house where they had spent their first night in Alexandria, while everyone was gathered with him except Kat, who was in the house they shared with their little cat Luna. He wanted to run to her after escaping from the Saviors and reunite with the group, but according to Maggie, she had fallen into a deep depression, so things had to be taken very calmly.

Hello everyone, I wanted to clarify that I'm not a native English speaker, so if there are any errors, please let me know with utmost respect. Don't forget to give a like if you enjoyed it or reblog to reach more people. Sending greetings and kisses to all <3

PART TWO

⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST

This chapter is part of a two-part fic entitled 'Chivalry is Dead.' Click the link to view the series masterlist!

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader WORDS: 6.1k SUMMARY: Accepting that your persuasion of Daryl is going nowhere and deciding that you’re better off as friends, you begin to welcome the idea of a sure thing with Spencer. So if Daryl has turned you down multiple times, what gives him the right to be frustrated? WARNINGS: fluff + angst! plot twist HSHJHSJASA SETTING: pre-negan alexandria A/N: kinda felt like the ending turned out weak, but i'm confident this is a fun read still :) reblogs and comments are appreciated!

IV. A CHANGE OF SCENERY…AGAIN - ALEXANDRIA

When you were introduced to the prospect of a change of scenery, you didn’t expect it to be like home. Alexandria was huge. It wasn’t simply a ‘change of scenery,’ it felt like a different world from the one you’ve been living in just a few hours ago.

No blood-stained fences, no corpses stabbed to the head thrown away haphazardly across the streets… 

You were damned convinced it was a new world altogether. From a couple of steps away, Daryl observed your eyes darting from one neat detail to the next, fascinated by this neighborhood before you.

He stepped forward to say something nice, maybe something along the lines of, “How—”

You look up at him, curious as to what he has to say. But he stands there frozen, looking as if he was about to say something he’d been debating on saying. He settles for a nod your way, shrinking back to where he stood. You gave him a tight-lipped smile in response.

Daryl sighed to himself, shifting his attention to his crossbow, not knowing what to do with either. Great job, dumbass. 

Back in Terminus, Daryl’s only concern was you. Once upon a time, Daryl thought that the worst thing in the world was being liked by you. He was proven otherwise. 

The worst thing in the world was having you be mad at him. He couldn’t look out for you, couldn’t keep you safe. You wouldn’t let him. 

The entire walk to Alexandria, you spent it with everyone but Daryl. You mostly hung around with Tara, happy to provide her company seeing that she didn’t know what to do with herself either. 

“[Y/N],” Rick called as he stepped out of the door to Deanna’s home. “You’re up.”

Daryl spared a glance your way, hoping you would at least look his way so he could assure you with something as minimal as a smile. You didn’t. 

After all, you had every right not to.

He recalls the last time you snapped at him. It was in Gabriel’s church, when you decided that you wanted to come along with Abraham’s group. 

“You’re out of your mind,” he had said just as you’re about to get on the bus, your hands keeping the door from closing. “There’s no guarantee that Washington’s safe. You should stay here.”

“For what?” you hissed, challenging him to say something. Daryl had thought of what Beth told him. But now wasn’t the time. So he let you go that time. Glenn looked away as you took your seat just to look out the window where you wouldn’t be watched by Daryl as the bus drove off.

No one said a thing as you cried yourself to sleep during the trip.

That’s why up to this day, Daryl still couldn’t find the right words to say and the right way to say them. First, he had to find the right timing.

Except that the right timing was tricky to find. You were always speaking to someone, getting all friendly with everyone. The way you fit right in should’ve been enough to make him doubt his intentions again, but he wouldn’t let that same mistake get to him.

Once the Alexandrians finally left you alone, Daryl made his way to you, trying not to attract any of the people to him as he did.

It was the first time he saw you in a dress, the first time he’d ever seen you neatly groomed. 

Daryl didn’t prefer any version of you, he just wanted you. He didn’t care if you were in a dress or blood-stained cargo pants. He found you beautiful nonetheless. He’d always felt that way, he just didn’t want to unload any of his feelings.

He should’ve.

Alas, the right timing was a bust again when a fine looking gentleman came in to talk you out of boredom. Daryl halted in his tracks, a sinking feeling in his stomach coming in when he noticed something about the guy.

“Prim and proper, clean-shaven, wears an authentic watch, bothers to use cufflinks, gets a neat haircut often, works in corporate…”

Daryl eyed his hair. Neat haircut? Check. 

“I like them worthy of an introduction to the fam, y’know?. The kind of guy who I could brag about to them shamelessly! The guy who would do well in the role of a sweet, loving husband and father and all that crap in a suburban home.”

He wondered if you could recall how you described it to him. He should be leaving now, running away, accepting that this is what you wanted. 

Daryl kept thinking of his conversation with Beth back when they were the ones left together, how he feared he’d lost you forever. How he told Beth that he wishes he’d told you how he really felt about you. How he should’ve never let you go when he kissed you, and that the only regret he had was that he even thought of pulling away.

“Tell her,” Beth had urged him back then. 

It was easier said than done. 

Daryl couldn’t seem to bring himself to function when he finds you about to look his way. Everything happened in slow motion. 

He caught sight of Carol and Tara approaching his way, heading for the doorway he was stationed right next to. Just in time, he gets a hold of them and he asks them about what they think of Alexandria.

You had seen him in your peripheral vision, and you hated that you felt disappointed that he wasn’t walking over to talk to you. You stared at the archer for about two seconds while the man spoke.

Daryl appeared to be deep in conversation with two of your group members—Carol and Tara. 

You’d been waiting for him to reach out to you, talk to you. You were waiting for an apology, hoping he’d eventually find the words he wanted to say so you could finally move on.

But it looks like he’s just as nonchalant as you knew him. Maybe it was for the better. And you didn’t mind talking to a charming guy like Spencer, unaware that three of your friends were listening in.

“You know, I’m surprised.” He leaned against the wall, a bottle of beer in hand as he gave you a kind smile. “I didn’t think you’d be easy to talk to.”

You rolled your eyes at the guy. “Why, ‘cause I’ve been with the dead for too long?”

“No, it’s not that,” he said, feigning thinking to himself by tapping his finger on his chin. “I got it.”

You laughed. “Oh, yeah? Then what?”

“Because I thought a pretty girl like you would have another guy tied to your waist by now.” Spencer was a devious flirt, and you were in for it. “I mean, there isn’t anyone, is there? I’d hate to be that guy.”

Daryl’s thoughts froze even while he pretended to be nodding at whatever it is that Carol and Tara were pretending to be saying. 

They were just as busy listening into your conversation, only making feign chatter so as to not have you on their trail.

Carol and Tara watched Daryl, preparing themselves for how he would take whatever it is you were about to say. 

“Nope,” you confessed. “There’s no one. Plus, I’m not interested in anything at the moment.”

“Why not?” 

“Because chivalry is dead.” You shrugged.

He chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Mhm, and so is romance. It died along with everyone else.”

“So, it’s still alive.”

“Right!” you chuckled.

“You must be fun at parties,” he quipped, an effortless stance in his gait.

“Well, you think I’m hilarious.” There was doubt that he was a smooth talker, but you did not know yet.

“Spencer!” he delightfully said, extending his hand to you. To Daryl’s badly disguised dismay, you shake it. “Spencer Monroe.”

“Monroe? Why do I—you’re related to Deanna Monroe?”

“I see you’ve met my son!” On cue, Deanna stops by in front of you and Spencer, delighted at the sight. 

The three of your friends noted how well you fit into this life, and that same onslaught of self-doubt crept up to Daryl.

Maybe you suited this life better. . .

But he knew Spencer was a bust, that this was only his facade, exactly like the guys you said you used to date.

“Hi! Yeah, I was just about to introduce myself to him, actually.”

The older woman smiled. “There’s no need for that, he’s watched your introduction one too many times already!”

“Has he now?”

“I might have,” he confessed.

A couple of steps away stood Daryl, who was now dead silent. Daryl wondered if you had told Tara something, but she looked just as confused as to why they were bothering listening into the conversation.

It goes on like that for a while, ending with Deanna inviting you over for dinner sometime within the week. Almost as if you were her son’s girlfriend already. 

As soon as Deanna left to entertain the rest of the guests, Carol and Tara could only watch in confusion as Daryl absentmindedly slipped away from them to approach you, not a single thought or plan in his head on how he would even start the conversation.

He grabbed you by the arm with no warning. You yelp in response, confused and slightly furious. The fuck does he want now?

“Daryl!” you exclaimed. You turned to Spencer as you tried to minimize your temper. “Sorry, he’s had too much to drink.”

He hasn’t. He’d never been thinking more clearly than ever before. “Nah, I didn’t. In fact, this is the first time I’m thinkin’ clearly.”

“Is everything alright?” Spencer asked, his eyes on the man he also assumed was intoxicated. Daryl hadn’t even sipped any drink. “There’s more food, if you need some.”

He shook his head. “Nah, m’good. Just needa talk to my friend ‘bout the mattress we gotta bring down from the upper bedrooms to downstairs.”

“Sounds like matters best talked about after a party rather than during one,” said Spencer politely, but there was a threat in it somewhere. 

“It’s urgent.”

“Well, this is the time for your group to talk to everyone else other than yourselves! And I think she wants to stay.”

You couldn’t butt in, busy racking your mind on why the fuck Daryl Dixon decided to bother you during this specific moment.

Daryl glared at Spencer. “Why don’t we let her decide?”

“What?” you blurt out, returning from your dazed state. “Decide what?”

“Daryl here—Did I get that right? Daryl here wants your help with moving bed cushions from upstairs to the living room. I, on the other hand, think everybody will be happier just enjoying the gathering as of present.”

“I…”

You felt Daryl’s eyes on you this time, almost pleading. It was so quick, you thought you’d imagined it. But it was there. But if he had no issues denying your pleas, then denying his this time shouldn’t be a problem, either.

“Actually, I think we can talk about the… Mattresses later.” A couple of months ago, you wouldn’t have been able to imagine saying ‘No’ to Daryl, much less outright reject him for any reason. “You should just go do whatever you want for a while.”

Ouch.

Spencer was a master at holding a friendly atmosphere around him, but Daryl could recognize the sinister intentions in his eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but it was there. He looked at you again, hoping you could see through the guy in front of you.

He wanted to ask you if this is what you really wanted, but his reasoning returned. 

“Alrigh’ then,” was all he said before leaving the house. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about not saying anything else, but you were also satisfied to get back at him. He deserved it.

He did though, right? You’ve been waiting for him to talk to you, to apologize or to confess, anything. So many times when you were left alone, it was easy for him to approach. And yet he never did!

It’s over, just like it should be. 

Carol followed Daryl outside, looking for answers. 

She watched as he hoisted himself on his bike, ready to leave again. “You like her, don’t you?”

“What does it matter?” he said, getting off just to catch a cigarette break while speaking with his friend. “She made it pretty clear it’s over, whatever it is.”

“No, she didn’t,” Carol argued, her arms crossed. “The problem with you is that you take maybes for final answers and final answers for maybes.”

He looked up after lighting his cig. “Whaddya mean?”

“[Y/N] tells you many times she likes you, she stops when she realizes it’s going nowhere, you give her motive so she pursues you again, it’s… You have to understand why she’s frustrated, where she’s coming from. She’s a woman after all, she knows her worth. Which is why it’s disappointing having it worn out.”

“She tell you anythin’?”

“No, never,” Carol said honestly. “Although, she used to be vocal about how she felt about you. That’s probably just what she’s been waiting for for a long time. She’s just waiting for you to change, but you’re taking so long and you’re so inconsistent that she eventually got tired.”

“Huh,” Daryl said thoughtfully. “Thanks, Carol.”

It wasn’t just Carol he seeked advice from. He traipsed from one person to the next, hoping to find an answer he wasn’t seeing. An easier solution. The next person who was lucky enough to run into him in the morning was Glenn, just getting out of the second house provided for their group.

“Heya, Glenn, whaddya think of that Spencer guy?”

“Who’s that again?” he asked.

“Deanna’s son. The one—er—[Y/N] was talkin’ to.”

“Oh! I dunno, I never really got to meet him properly. Saw him kind of flirting with Sasha, though.”

“You did?” he asked excitedly, thrilled to have intel. Glenn had to laugh. 

“Are you jealous?” Glenn asked.

Daryl ignored the question. He wasn’t. He thinks. He wasn’t sure. Maybe…? “She ever told you anythin’ when yer group was supposedly on the way to Washington?”

Glenn thought back to that day, trying to find ways he could help out. “No, but she was cryin’ during the first few minutes. Then she was… Okay? I guess? Like nothing happened, y’know. Why?”

Daryl was already walking back home. “Nothin’, thanks.”

The next one was Tara, whom Daryl caught just getting out of the same house Glenn came out from. It was still around six in the morning. The poor girl had puffy eyes, having just woken up, and the curious little archer just had to bombard her with questions as he walked with her.

“So you and [Y/N] were with each other on the way,” Daryl started. “Did she… Maybe say anythin’ at all?”

Tara’s face scrunched up, thinking. “About you?”

“Well, I—it ain’t like that, I just—”

“She didn’t, bro.” Tara shrugged, yawning while she scratched at her neck. She halted. “Look, if this is about last night’s party, I didn’t even know the two of you were” — Tara made a kissing gesture with her two hands” — “you know? I mean, I sensed you guys had some history, but she never told me anything. She just kept me company.”

Though Daryl decided just the night before that your anger towards him was the worst thing he could ever live to experience, he felt worse knowing you didn’t care enough to feel anything towards him. He could settle for anger.

“What am I gonna do now?” he asked himself quietly, but Tara still managed to hear it.

“I dunno, man. Maybe you need to change? Most of the time, in relationships, the reason one person starts to lose interest is because there’s something that the other guy’s doing they’re not happy about, so…”

Daryl waited. “So…?”

Tara groaned, rubbing at her eyes. “Sorry, I’m not really the best person to ask these kinds of things. Maybe try Aaron? Seems like a wise dude.”

“He ain’t around, he’s out. I need advice, as in for somethin’ I could do as soon as possible.”

“Erm, talk to her?”

Daryl shook his head, carefully considering his options. “Nah, nah, that’s not it. Thanks, though.”

He pats Tara on the back and prepares to leave, but he halts in his tracks. “Also, what’s that ‘ya said ‘bout suspecting that we uh…”

Tara made the same kissing gesture with her hands, but this time with a question on her face. 

“Yeah, yeah, that.”

“I dunno, I didn’t think too much of it before because I was new to the group. But now that I think of it, you guys were pretty obvious with how you felt about each other. Maybe it’s just me.”

“Obvious how?” Daryl interrogated.

“The way you guys stared at each other when the other wasn’t looking? Like, back at that barn?”

He felt heat rush to his cheeks at the thought of you watching him whenever he wasn’t looking at you. “She—?”

“I don’t know. Listen, you’re a cool guy. I like you, you’re strong, crossbow, cool, strong, and all that but I just need to take a walk right now.”

“Oh, right, m’sorry, thanks for the talk.”

One would think that was the end of it. That is, until he got home and caught poor Rick just coming out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Hey, Rick, say, I like a girl, righ’?” Daryl started. Rick stood in front of the bathroom door, dripping wet on the floor. Daryl was blind to hints now thanks to you. “What if, say, the girl I like, and the guy I don’t like, got together? And it was all ‘cause of me, I guess, but it’s ‘cause I didn’t think I deserved the same girl—”

“[Y/N]?” asked Rick, to which Daryl pressed his finger to his mouth, signaling Rick to keep it quiet in fear that you’d wake up next door.

Rick Grimes counted with his fingers at Daryl, who listened concerningly well. “Number one, I know you like her. We all do. Don’t give me that look. Number two, we all know she likes you, she’s made that clear. You never make anything clear. And number three, I need you to go downstairs and have some breakfast and that I’d appreciate an ounce of my privacy and maybe even my dignity. I need to change.”

“Oh, righ’,” Daryl said, bewildered to realize he’d just interrupted Rick who had just gotten out of the shower. He then hurriedly ran downstairs to get himself a glass of water.

Carl was sitting on the couch, reading a comic book.

“Hey, Carl?” Daryl asked.

Carl turned around from his comfortable position on the couch, his brows raised in question. 

It was there that Daryl realized how crazy he’d gotten, even about to ask a child for love advice. What’s gotten into him? “Y’know what? Nevermind.”

After drinking a glass of water, Daryl stepped out of the house to feel the breeze of the morning air. Daryl didn’t realize he misheard the last sentence Rick told him. He thought Rick told him to change, opening this whole door of realization—there was a pattern, he thought.

Carol, Glenn, Tara, and Rick have all urged him to change. And he was gonna. Daryl Dixon finally understood, finally knew what he had to do. It all made sense, really. You said it yourself—what you wanted. And you were gonna get it tonight.

“Hey, Rick!” he called from the bottom of the stairs. “"I needa borrow something from ya later! I just gotta run some errands out.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You awoke after sleeping for around three hours, feeling the need to visit the restroom. Half asleep, you got out of your bed to use the restroom. You’re surprised to find that it was locked. You try again.

“Rick?” a voice called. Pressing your ear against the door, you could hear water rushing. It was the shower. “I ain’t done yet!”

“Daryl?” you called.

“[Y/N]? S’that you?” he asked. The shower stopped abruptly. 

“Are you taking a shower?” you asked, a smile forming on your face.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Really?”

“Fuck you,” he said in response. “Also, you can, uh, use the toilet if ya need to go.”

“What?” you asked with a laugh. You really needed to go, though. “Would that be fine?”

“Erm—yeah, sure. Hearin’ you piss is a walk in the park compared to when ya puked all over me, anyway.”

You laughed. That already feels way too long ago. . .

“I’ll unlock it, then I’ll tell you when you can come in.”

You scoffed. “You better not be flaunting your nether regions when I get in, Dixon.”

“Fucker.” You heard shuffling from behind the door, then a click from behind the doorknob. “Come on in. I’ll turn the shower on so I can’t hear your…”

“Piss?” you added as you came inside. He turned the shower on as he continued on with his bath. “Please, it’d be music to your ears. Walk in the park, right?”

“Shuddup.”

While you answered nature’s call, you looked at the mirror. Then your eyes fell to the sink, finding some wet crumpled tissues. You stifle your laugh, resisting the urge to tease him about the wet tissues. You did your business, flushing afterwards.

“I’m gonna go now,” you said. Daryl merely grunted in response.

Just as you left the bathroom, you caught sight of a razor with cream by the edge of the sink. 

Once you were back in bed, you told yourself you were going to sleep, unaware that you were waiting for Daryl to finish just to hear his footsteps go down the stairs. You think of that time in the Greene farm again. Then the time in CDC. Then… everything. 

No. You didn’t want to think about it anymore. Spencer was good. To you and for you. But you felt as if he was only showing you a fabricated facade. But you wanted to like him so bad. You liked talking to him, but that was it. What you felt for Spencer was what you thought was what you felt for Daryl back at the Quarry.

Now, you knew what you felt for Daryl was more than just that. And it pained you that he didn’t feel the same. As your memories together flashed in your mind, you shook it off to will yourself to sleep.

The following morning, you looked for Daryl, disheartened to not find him anywhere. More so when you checked the garage to find that he’d brought along with him the bike Aaron had given him. 

He’s avoiding you again, you thought to yourself. After all, that’s what he always did. So running into Daryl today was out of the question.

The one you did run into, though, was Spencer Monroe.

You had to hit yourself internally when you found yourself disappointed at the prospect of spending another moment with him. 

You don’t know why it was so difficult to attach yourself to him, really. He was practically perfect in so many ways and yet… He wasn’t Daryl. Nobody was Daryl. You could try to hide these feelings of yours in all the drawers and compartments back at home, but it’ll always manage to find you and haunt you.

Today, in every single second you spent with Spencer, you always found your mind lingering on being with Daryl. It was a disease at this point, consuming you wholeheartedly. And by the time Spencer walked you back to your home come nighttime, you’d made up your mind.

When you turned around to face him after taking one step on the porch, he knew too.

“It’s not happening, isn’t it?” he asked with a friendly smile. He probably saw the apology in your face, as well as the way you spoke with him throughout the entire day. “I get it. It’s because of that guy, isn’t it?”

“What?” you asked, still burying your feelings within you. “No, it’s…”

“[Y/N], it’s fine. This was fun while it lasted.” He extended his hand to you again in surrender. For the second time, you shook it. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him. “It’s… It goes way back.”

Spencer gave you a warm smile, already coming to terms with the end of your time together. “I’ll see you around, [Y/N]. Though, you’re really gonna break my poor old pa’s heart once he finds out.”

“Oh, damn, really?” you asked with a laugh. “Tell him I love him.”

“Will do, will do.” And then Spencer was gone, leaving you alone on the porch of the house. You made your way back upstairs to take a shower. It felt monotonous. You understood where Daryl was coming from, why he was always outside.

You missed the thrill of being outside, not knowing what would come next. It just annoyed you to the bone that the universe gave you the supposed thrill of not knowing to you and Daryl. 

The minute you sat in your bed after getting dressed, you felt an all too overwhelming feeling of doom closing in on you. You settled for spending your time on the couch, reading all the old magazines to pass time. A loud rumbling in the sky shook you awake while you were about to doze off to sleep. 

It was raining. Daryl still wasn’t home yet, and you found your mind racing with all the possible troubles he could have gotten himself into. You still haven’t moved on from him and that one instance in the ravine… 

No, no. He was fine. You had to believe he was—

A knock. Then thunder.

You yelled in shock, dropping the magazine you were holding. You hoped you didn’t wake the house up. You rushed to the door, hurriedly swinging it open.

Nothing, and as in nothing could have prepared you for what stood in front of you.

“Prim ‘n proper,” the figure started, “clean-shaven, wears a… Well, it’s a watch for sure. Couldn’t find any cufflinks. Got a neat haircut, at least the best I can do. I hope the corporate part of yer criteria is up for reconsideration because… Ya get it.”

Mr. Daryl Dixon.

In front of your door, wearing a clean button-down shirt tucked into a neat pair of black slacks completed with a leather belt. Under a neat vest, he wore a necktie, albeit a little cluttered, but a necktie nonetheless. He wore black dress shoes and in his hands, he carried a small brown suitcase.

“Good thing we share the same family now, ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t the kind you’d—”

“Holy shit,” you blurt out, in disbelief. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or… Well, you definitely wanted to laugh. And you did, so did he. “Are you my attorney or something?”

But it wasn’t his attire that threw you off. It was his hair and his face. It was the first time you saw Daryl’s face clearly. The first time that his mole stood out as a mole and not just as part of whatever gunk he had all over his face. 

His jaw was neatly shaven, too. And you thought of the razor in the bathroom the night before. That’s what it was about. You were relieved to say the least, but you’d tell that to him some other time.

“Whaddya think?”

His hair, on the other hand, was trimmed enough for his face to be the center of attraction. He definitely had the most captivating eyes, but you already knew that long before this. Daryl was a little wet from the rain, but it didn’t destroy the new look he’d fabricated for himself.

“I—The fuck did you do?” you asked, eyes bewildered in shock.

From behind you, Rick came down the stairs while brandishing his gun. “Hands—Daryl? Is that you?”

The archer froze. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes glued on him, still adjusting to his new look. Rick Grimes seemed to be just as dumbfounded as you, dropping his gun to his side.  

“Rick, I—!” You watched as the archer, who now looked like a total stranger, panickedly stepped closer to let you step out so he could close the door shut as soon as possible. “Alright, [Y/N], let’s talk outside. Just here on the porch.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just obliged. Rick just stood there at the stairs, still in shock. Almost as if he was literally frozen.

By the time it was just the two of you out on the porch, you laughed out loud.

“Some look you got there,” you teased.

“I try my best,” he said. “Ya like it?”

You shake your head in disbelief, looking him up and down. “Seriously, what… What’s up with you?”

“See, I… I talked to our friends. And I thought ‘bout what ya said and I put two and two together and I realized that I should’ve been what ya wanted me to be and—”

“Hold up, what I wanted you to be?” you clarified. “Daryl, you still don’t get it. Why can’t you get it? Just—why?”

You wanted to be mad at him—you were! It was just hard to stay that way when you feel like you’re at the precipice of laughing everytime you look at him. You take a deep sigh.

“I never needed you to be anyone else, alright? The thing I told you that was my type long ago, that was just it. A type. And it was all because I wanted to impress my parents.” You started to feel the anger return, bubbling inside you. “Fuck, Daryl! I’ve been nothing but clear with you what I wanted! All I ever wanted was you, and all you did was just confuse me! You didn’t need to do all this.”

“[Y/N] —”

“No! You’re gonna let me finish! I hated that you kissed me and then you took it back. I hated that you never even tried to talk to me before we got here. I hated that you never let me move on.”

“It’s ‘cause I never moved on from ya. And I hated seein’ you with that prick.”

“Fuck you!” you yelled, walking away from him. Furious, you feel your feet moving of their own accord, leaving the house to face the unforgiving rain.

“[Y/N], stop! I ain’t lettin’ ya catch a cold. Are ya nuts?” he yelled after you, leaving behind the suitcase he’d brought along with him.

“Am I nuts?” You faced the now properly groomed archer. “I’m not the one who changed who I am for someone I say I care about when really all they ever wanted was assurance!” 

If you were stubborn, Daryl was obstinate. “So, what, yer gonna marry him or somethin’?”

“For your information, I cut it off with him! Because of you!”

“‘Cause of me?”

“Yes, because of you.” The one thing to thank the rain for was that it was hard to tell which drop on your face was from the sky and which one was from your eyes. Unfortunately, Daryl was a master of telling them apart. “Everything I did was for you, and you just keep missing the point!”

“M’sorry,” he said, pulling you into that same damned embrace you’ve always been craving. He held you against his body, his arms wrapping around you. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

You wept against his chest, beating your fists against his chest, trying to get away. But he held you like that for a while. And the next second, your lips were on each other’s once more. The rain soaked your clothes and his. 

This time, you pulled away. “Daryl, I never needed you to be someone else. Can’t you see? I’ve only ever wanted you. Your long, untamed hair, your stubble, your—just all of you. I’m sorry you ever felt like you had to change. You never had to. I just needed you to be—”

“To be sure ‘bout ‘ya,” he finished your sentence, nodding. For the first time, Daryl’s mind was clearer than how the skies would be once the rain comes to pass.

You nodded. 

The rain poured down on the two of you, but it made the scene worth the wait, worth the back and forth. 

“Ya did nothin’ wrong, alrigh’? I… I’s just an idiot, I—”

You pressed a finger against his lips and asked him, “If I let you kiss me again, do you promise to not take it back?”

“I just caught ma hair off for ‘ya, sunshine. S’look like I plan on takin’ anythin’ back?” Daryl smiled as he leaned forward, but you resisted. Confusion took over his face, his shoulders slumping, dejected. “S’matter?”

“Actually,” you said, reeling yourself for the confession, “I kinda had the hots for the hair. And the, uh, the stubble. And… Everything?”

“Oh,” he uttered. You were on the verge of apologizing. “Thank God. I ‘dun really know where I’m gonna get any more of these shirts, I—”

This time, you were the one who pressed your lips against his, hoping it was enough.

Enough to tell him you loved him just as Daryl Dixon.

Rugged and unconventional, sports a stubble jaw, wears a crossbow instead of a watch, favors a leather vest over unnecessary cufflinks, grows his hair out, loves to hunt…

You liked your men— No. You loved Daryl Dixon as Daryl Dixon, never not worthy of being bragged about to anyone and everyone. Daryl Dixon who’d do well in whatever path you decide to choose together, as long it was with each other.

The rain eventually came to a stop once you pulled away from each other, and you couldn’t help but laugh once more.

“What did I tell you, Dixon?” you jab at him. “Never say never.”

“C’mon, let’s get ‘ya washed up, yer gonna get sick if ‘ya let that sit.” He pressed a kiss against your cheek, and when he returned to face you, you were met by the sweetest smile that has ever graced his face. Somehow, you knew you’d be seeing more of that smile from that moment on.

On the way back to the house, you asked him to wait while he stood on the porch. You bent down to scoop a little bit of soiled dirt with your hands. “Wait, I need to see something.”

Grinning, you wiped a little bit of mud on his face. Daryl was scowling, acting all tough, but that’s just Daryl—routinely accustomed to holding a tougher front. You saw through it, and you were willing to wait until he was able to take it off for good.

“Now that’s Daryl.”

“Should I be flattered or offended?” Daryl asked. 

“I still need to spell things out for you?” you jokingly asked him. You took it back the moment you saw him getting flustered. “I’m kiddin’, idiot. Flattered. You should be flattered.”

“I knew that,” he answered. Before you could get to the door, he made sure he got there first, his hand on the handle already.  “I got this for ‘ya.”

“Wait, before you open it.”

“Mhm?”

You pointed towards the suitcase he’d dropped on the floor moments before. “What’s in that?”

“Oh!” With his memory refreshed, Daryl jogged over to the suitcase to pick it up. Daryl opened the suitcase to reveal two packs of chocolates. “Couldn’t find any more, just found this in the minifridge of a car parked a couple of miles from here.”

You didn’t know what to say. You were sure you didn’t need the shower anymore, you were already warmed up by everything he’s done already, but you knew he’d pester you to clean up so you wouldn’t get sick.

You stepped forward, no longer resisting the ever present urge to kiss him. You press a soft kiss against his cheek in gratitude. “Thank you.”

Smiling, Daryl clasped the suitcase shut for now and returned to his position by the door, his hand ready to open it for you. 

“You really have to do this?” you asked him.

“Every door ya gotta open, I’m openin’ all of ‘em for ya.” At that moment, he swung it open.

“And here I thought chivalry was dead.” To your surprise, Rick was still there at the stairs, sitting on one of the steps, staring blankly at nothing.

“Hey, man,” Daryl called. The same look of confusion flashed in Rick’s eyes upon getting a good look at Daryl again. “Ya should go to bed now.”

“No, yeah, right…”

And Rick was off walking back upstairs to bed, and you waited until the door shut upstairs before you and Daryl laughed.

“Just you wait until Glenn and Tara get to see your new look,” you told him. “You’re gonna be the hot topic for the next three weeks.”

You were right.

And just like that, Daryl Dixon was yours, just as you were his.

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ok rockstar!daryl has my heart 😭

For You

rockstar!daryl au

word count: 1.4k

a/n: finally wrote another fic! my motivation was absolutely crushed by outside circumstances, but this au was too good to pass up. so sorry again for the unexpected hiatus, glad to be writing again 🥳

Your margarita sat empty on the counter before you, beads of condensation dripping down onto the stone below. 

Your friend had told you about this “cool bar downtown,” and, to their credit, it was pretty cool. The lighting was low, with only a few hanging lights illuminating the small space. The color scheme was dark and monotoned, but still tasteful and rugged, with splashes of red accenting the stools and tables. The atmosphere and energy were dark but still inviting to customers and passersby. The tiny bar was filled with the deep sounds of a Creed cover band that was currently playing on the small stage near the back half of the building.

You and the aforementioned friend had only been sat down at the bar for about 20 minutes until a woman came up and started flirting with them. One thing led to another and they both excused themselves to go to the family bathroom to “freshen up.” You and them both knew that wasn't what was happening in there.

Although you were certainly very happy for them, it left you sitting at the bar alone, and not really in a drinking mood anymore. 

The sound of applause snapped you out of your thoughts. The cover band had just gotten done playing their last song. They said their goodbyes and thank you's to the crowd, and even threw one of their guitar picks into the small but loud gathering of onlookers, and a scream rang out, presumably from the woman that had just caught it.

Concerts had always been a staple in your life, and you would go to one every week if you had the money for it. You always just felt at home in the loud and chaotic atmosphere, singing along to your favorite songs with thousands of other people. While, obviously this is not nearly on the same scale, you wanted to check it out anyway. One of the main things that sold you on coming to this bar in the first place was the Deftones cover band that was coincidentally coming up next after the brief intermission. So, you slid off of your stool and sauntered over to the stage area.

You stood at the back of the crowd and leaned on a nearby wooden support beam. Everyone was talking amongst themselves, eagerly waiting for the next band. A small projector was set up on one of the support beams that projected the Deftones logo onto the black curtains that covered the main stage, giving the members access to freely move and switch out their equipment. 

After a couple more minutes of leaning against the support beam and letting your eyes wander around the bar, your eyes snapped back to the stage, as the guitar riff for Shove It started playing behind the curtain. This got a lot of people's attention, some of them yelling and shouting a mixture of excited “yeah's!” The band drew the riff out for another minute until the curtain was abruptly pulled to the side, revealing the guitarist, bassist, drummer, and the lead singer. 

You immediately started lightly banging your head to the beat while scanning your eyes over the rugged group. Each of them had sort of the same look; The body and wardrobe of a divorced dad that didn't have custody of their kids. However, the contrasting guitarist certainly did halt your gaze.

Wavy, long, brunette hair drifted from side to side as his fingers danced across the fretboard. His broad shoulders could be seen tensing up, even through the faded Slayer shirt he had on. You only caught glimpses of his face with how often his hair was in the way, but you could clearly see his scruffy goatee and piercing blue eyes.

You stepped away from the support beam and wedged yourself into the small crowd. Yes, obviously, you wanted to hear the music better and enjoy the experience more thoroughly, but the way that the veins popped out on the guitarist's hands had you begging to get a closer look. 

You managed to squeeze your way into the front of the crowd as Mascara started to play, and your eyes were glued to the rugged guitarist's hands as he played the famous six note riff. But what you didn't realize is that he had started to notice your staring, considering that it was a small crowd. When you managed to rip your eyes away from his hands to his face, he was staring directly at you. Your eyes went wide as you were met with his slight smirk from the stage, followed by the man mouthing the words ‘You're staring, sweetheart.’ Your ears immediately felt hot as you ducked your gaze away and covered your mouth. Did that really just happen? The man was amused by your reaction, chuckling under his breath. 

After a minute of staring at the ground to keep your composure, you looked back up to the stage, only to see the man had moved closer to the front of the stage, biceps now fully in view. You stood stunned, barely bobbing your head to the music, eyes flicking back and forth from his face to his arms. He took a side glance to gauge your reaction, raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Through the next several songs, you two had the occasional interaction. From glances, to mouthing ‘You're so hot!’ which made the man roll his eyes in amusement.

It unfortunately had come to the final song of the set list, and the riff for Risk started playing. You screamed louder than you did for any of the other songs, because Risk was one of your favorites. The man took note of this, and hatched a plan. 

For most of the song, he played as normal, whipping the long hair out of his eyes to occasionally take glances at you.

But on the final chorus of the song, he walked to the front of the stage and began to sing into the microphone along with the lead singer, looking you in the eyes the entire time the verse was leaving his lips.

I know what to say to take you 

Higher, higher

No one else can take you higher

But I will try

I'll find a way

I'll confuse them

But I think I can try

I will save your life

I will save your life

I'll try

I'll find a way

I'll confuse them

But I think I can try

I will save your life

I will save your life

I'll try

For you

For you

You were so overwhelmed with shock and the warmth radiating off your face that you didn't register that the show was over and people were now yelling and applauding. You physically shook your head to break your trance that you were in and joined in on the applause, looking at one man on the stage. He spared you a side glance with his signature smirk, recognizing your high-pitched applause from the rest of the crowd. 

When the applause had died down to just chatter and people had begun to go back to the bar or their tables, he glanced at you again and held up his pointer finger, signaling you to wait. He went over to the opposite side of the stage and grabbed a fine print Sharpie.

Of course, you were still standing near the stage, definitely not still admiring the anonymous guitarist. You had let your gaze wander to the rest of the bar when you heard a raspy “Hey! Sweetheart!” It was him. He motioned with his pointer finger to come closer to the stage, and you moved without a second thought. 

“Hold out yer arm.” He said nonchalantly, with an unexpected southern drawl. You did what you were told, and he gently turned it palm side up, and you blushed even more at the sudden contact. He then took the cap of the pen off with his teeth and wrote his number on your forearm, keeping his hand loosely wrapped around your wrist.

Snapping the cap back on, he smirked once again.

“Yer hearts beatin’ pretty fast there, darlin’. Bet I know why.”

Still having a loose hold on your wrist, it brought it up to his mouth and gave it a deliberately slow kiss, eyes not leaving yours.

Finally letting go, he moved a stray hair out of his face and remarked, “Name’s Daryl, by the way. Glad ya enjoyed the show.” Followed by a wink.

You watched in flustered shock as he casually went back to his band members to chat and put away their gear. 

Emily was never going to believe this.

this is so sweet hskdhdjs I LOVE IT

“Missin’ somethin’?” Daryl’s sweet southern drawl came from behind you and you spun to see him holding your lost knife. It had tremendous sentimental value and you’d been searching everywhere for it, almost sick with anger at yourself for somehow losing your most important possession. A gasp left you and your face lit up with a shocked smile.

“Oh my God! Where did you find it?!” you asked, taking the proffered handle and hurriedly slipping it back into the previously empty sheath on your hip. You smiled down at it back in its place, tears welling a bit in your eyes. You felt whole again.

“It was just layin’ there outside the walls, half under some leaves. You musta dropped it during the perimeter check the other night.

"Daryl, I don’t even know what to say! Thank you!” you bubbled. “I could kiss you!” you laughed, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

Daryl gulped, feeling his chest and face flushing with heat at the mere thought. He dared to loop his arms around the small of your back and hold you briefly. “’M just glad I could find it for ya,” he drawled bashfully, ducking his head.

You drew slightly back from hugging him and marked the pink hue in his face. You bit your bottom lip and hesitated only a moment before you leaned in and pressed your lips to his cheek. He looked slightly stunned, but you only smiled warmly at him as you drew back.

Prompt: “I could kiss you!”

A/N: Daryl blushing is top tier content. No one can change my mind. <3

so. damn. cute. I LOVED EVERY PART OF THIS STORY OMG 😭😭😭

Heaven's Gate

Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral Reader

If there were any more left of me - I'd give it to you.

Summary:

Hope. Not the fragile, delicate thing that everyone mistakes it to be.

Hope is stubborn, and grows inside of you long before you ever realize its purpose there.

Hope can't be crushed by a thousand pound tank or torn apart as easily as concrete walls can. Hope is balanced on the backs of songbirds, it whistles quietly in the wind, and it brings you right where you need to be (even if you don't know it).

Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader. Strangers to Lovers/Lovers Reunited. Emotional Angst, Hurt and Comfort, Fluff. Set during Seasons 1-5.

Word Count: 24,200

The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

...

Warnings: the reader character in this fic is completely gender neutral - there is no mentions of the reader's genitals, their clothing style, or their general appearance, and I did not use any gendered terms to refer to the reader whatsoever; a few times the term 'they' is used in conversation, but I tried to be clever and make it so that it could be referring to just the reader or the whole group, interpret it how you want; it is possibly implied that the reader is younger than Daryl, but it's never explicitly stated (when I was writing, this I had in mind that they do have an age gap but I didn't want to state so to leave it more open-ended) - the main focus is the reader being less experienced with survival skills and more 'citified', which is the case for a lot of the characters at the beginning of the apocalypse; there is a lot of TWD themes in the fic - death; canon typical violence, hunting and killing animals for food, killing other humans in order to survive, killing walkers, gun violence, mentions of food scarcity, the general emotional depression that comes with being surrounded by death and being on the brink of survival, mentions of Merle being racist and sexist (the fic does not contain him saying any slurs or performing any actions in alignment with this, it is a background element); there is mentions of canon plot points and this fic will spoil Seasons 2 through 5 if you are watching the show for the first time and haven't seen those episodes yet (I am looking at you, Star), mentions of 'fate' and 'good luck' as concepts; bird symbolism (that may not be accurate to the general recordings of these symbols and are just things I have learned from my personal life), mentions of religion - mentions of the reader praying to 'any god that will listen' (the reader is not religious to one specific religion, but believes in prayer) (yes all of the spiritual concepts in this fic come from my personal life lmao); mentions of canon injuries - Daryl being shot with his own crossbow and then being shot in the ear by Andrea; mentions of stitches for medical purposes; use of the term Y/N (I am nothing if not a traditionalist); mentions of alcohol/characters drinking (Beth and Daryl at the moonshine shack) - implications of genetic alcoholism and how it plays into Beth and Daryl's interactions with alcohol; passing mentions of Daryl smoking cigarettes; mentions of Daryl's abusive past (non-detailed); Daryl describes the reader as 'beautiful' in his personal narration; mention of reader having an abusive father (a father who is 'similar to Ed') (this is not described in detail); mentions of suicide (performed by a non-named character not during the time of the story) (also mentions of Daryl having suicidal ideations due to hopelessness when the prison falls); mentions of taking things off of dead bodies because those things are useful for survival; I think that's it.

A/N: I re-wrote the summary like four times cause I actually have no clue how to summarize the essence of the fic. But I hope this fits well. This is way more about the emotions than it is about what's actually happening in the fic. I am really proud of this fic and I hope that you guys like it.

...

Daryl Dixon was someone who came into your life quietly. 

When that original group first made camp at the quarry around Dale’s old RV outside of Atlanta, trying to escape the epic traffic jam and the chilling after effects of the hellish bombs that had been dropped on the city, everyone thought that it would only be temporary. Everyone thought that it would last a few days, at most. Everyone held onto the comforting delusion that it wouldn’t be long until the world got back up on its feet again. 

You certainly never thought that all of the people within that camp would become a second family to you - people you would die for, kill for if needed. 

When you first saw Daryl, he was trying to hold back his drunken brother Merle from getting into a fight with Shane. You didn’t think much of him then - perhaps you wondered why he stood up for someone so sour and surly, but you knew that the loyalty of blood related family meant too much to some people. That he was likely willing to do far too much for someone who would never return the same favors for him. (And you turned out to be right.) 

These days, you thought of Daryl Dixon with increasing frequency and a mixed bag of emotions that you struggled to carry. Bitter nostalgia being at the top of that list. 

When you woke up on this particular morning, you thought of him as you gathered your hunting gear. You heard his quiet, gravelly voice in your ear telling you to travel light, but reminding you that the items you should take would each be important and serve a planned purpose. The knife on your belt was heavy with memories of him, ached with the ghost of his touch. 

You thought of him as you tracked a buck’s steps through the dirt. You thought of him as you crept through the woods, feeling equal parts peaceful and dangerously pensive. You thought of him that night as you sat beside a gently crackling fire, the flames warming you only beside he had taught you how to start one. You thought of him as you eventually took down the deer - as you skinned it, gutted it, and portioned  exactly how he had taught you. 

Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood rinsing off your skin (from when you had cleaned the deer), and the general dirt you had gathered on you from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have. 

But you missed Daryl so damn much. 

It was strange to think that things had been so different not that long ago. 

… 

The quarry was an oddly beautiful place to be during one of the darkest times in your life. 

It was the definition of breathtaking - crystal blue waters, bright green grass, nothing but open space to let the sun shine down on you. None of that city stink from the piled-up, rotting corpses. This far away from Atlanta, it was easy to forget why you were all gathered here, camping out night after night. It was easy to forget that this was about survival and it wasn’t a simple summer vacation. 

Well, it was easy to forget when you weren’t actively staring down that city full of corpses. Which is something that you tried your best to do - forget. You tried to focus on the task in front of you, tried not to let yourself get too bogged down with dread at the idea of the end of the world. 

You knew that the others likely would have called you foolish because of it. But you had to keep your head up in order to keep going. It was how you survived. 

Currently, you were playing a game with the kids - a makeshift game of kickball with an inflatable beach ball that you had gotten for them during your last trip into the city. You were one of the only people that Glenn trusted to go with him. Mainly because you had lived in the city before everything had ‘gone to shit’ - before the bombs. So you knew it well, and you could have his back. 

When Carl accidentally kicked the ball past you, you rushed to get it, and you became slightly hesitant when you saw that it had landed at the feet of Daryl Dixon. He was in deep concentration, gutting and cleaning one of the many squirrels that he had recently caught, his fingers stained red with blood. You had never seen animal butchery in person before, and it did make you slightly squeamish. You had only spoken to him a handful of times, most of those conversations less than four words each, and he was one of the only people in the camp that you were still slightly weary of. 

His generally stoic nature and his brother - his mouthy, racist, sexist asshole of a brother - didn’t exactly make him approachable or friendly. Though you weren’t exactly sure if Daryl agreed with everything that his brother did and said, or if he just stood by the man because he was family. You still took caution, approaching him like you would approach a supposedly tame bear. Very carefully. 

“Sorry,” You quickly apologized for possibly disturbing him as you rushed to grab the ball, and he spared you only a harsh sideways glance as you picked it up. 

“Ain’t nothin’.” He shrugged, his words coming out as they always did, in a quiet grunt. 

Feeling an awkward lull come over you as his intrusive gaze continued to stare you down, you felt more words form in your mouth and spew out your lips before you could stop them. 

“I was just playing kickball with the kids,” You quickly explained, gesturing to the small grassy area about ten feet behind you where Carl and Sophia were standing, waiting for you. 

Daryl’s eyes strayed curiously there, clearly listening, and you continued. 

“I got them this ball when I went on that run with Glenn. And some other things, too. Coloring books, stickers, fake tattoos. Sophia insisted that I needed one,” You chuckled awkwardly, sticking out your hand to show Daryl the glittery blue tattoo of a butterfly that Sophia had put on you. 

He grunted, nodding in reply. 

You weren’t expecting him to speak any further, and it surprised you when he did. 

“‘s good.” He mumbled. “Makes ‘em happy.” 

In the back of his mind, he considered adding on some sentiment about ‘kids being kids’, getting to have fun during such a dark time - but he stopped short. He didn’t want to annoy you with the conversation that you were clearly only partaking in out of social nicety. Politeness that a world falling apart no longer needed. 

You nodded, flashing him a smile. “Yeah.” 

“Come on! Bring the ball back!” Carl shouted, distracting you from the interaction, causing you to walk away without another word. 

Daryl watched you playing with the kids for a few moments - laughing and running around with them, somehow so carefree in a world that was determined to fall apart. He wondered if you had always been like this, or if being around kids just brought that out in you. He wasn’t sure which reason made you better in his eyes - and he certainly wasn’t sure why he thought about it for so long. 

Why he thought about you for so long. 

He had to shake himself back to reality and go back to cleaning his kills. 

…

“Daryl!” 

You called out his name as you jogged up toward the stables, and he stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to catch up with him. 

“Daryl, hey.” You greeted him with a small smile. “Rick told me you’d be up here.” 

He grunted in reply. “Yeah. ‘m gonna take a horse out. Make better ground t’ look for the girl.” 

Your stomach clenched at him mentioning Sophia. 

The group was supposed to be headed out towards Fort Benning - supposed to be finding refuge at the hopefully safe military base. Instead, you were all setting up camp at the very reluctant Hershel Greene’s farm, not straying too far from where you had lost one of your own in the hopes of finding her. 

But that was why you had come to talk to Daryl in the first place. 

Sophia had become like a sister to you in the few short months that you had known her. And though everyone else kept telling you it was deeply unlikely, you were hopeful that she was alive - that she would be found. And you did believe that Daryl would be the one to find her. 

“How’s the trail?” You asked. “Do you think you know which way she headed? You - you can be honest with me.” 

You hesitated on the last part. But you did want his honesty more than anything. You knew that he was never one to sugar-coat things. Even if you hadn’t told him that, he would give you the truth. 

“Trail’s a little muddy.” He said, doling out that honesty. “‘m gon follow the river. It’s her biggest landmark out there, so she’ll probably be somewhere round it.” 

You smiled at him. And then, you remembered - 

“I brought you something.” You noted, reaching for the back pocket of your jeans. 

Daryl watched with quiet curiosity as you pulled out a piece of paper - when you showed it to him, he quickly realized that it was a half-used set of stickers. 

“These are some of the stickers that I got for Sophia,” You explained. “My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.” 

You peeled off a sticker of a bright red bird with a pointed head and a black pattern that resembled an eye mask - as much of a nature man as he was, Daryl was never one for bird watching. He didn’t care about identifying certain species of birds unless he could shoot and eat them. But he quickly reasoned that this must be the cardinal that you spoke of. 

“Give me your bow.” You said, shoving the rest of the sticker sheet into your back pocket again and holding out your hand expectantly. 

“I don’t need no luck.” He replied, voice full of snark. 

In a sense, he thought it was… sweet. You were trying to share some of that brightness with him that the kids got every single day. But he didn’t need you marking up his crossbow with a dumb little sticker. Especially because once Sophia was found, you wouldn’t give a shit to talk to him or be around him any more. 

“Just give it.” You replied - equally snarky, equally stubborn. 

Daryl sighed and tugged his bow’s strap over his head, presenting it to you. You placed the sticker on the bow’s handle, in one of the places where it wasn’t as worn down from him holding it. 

“There,” You said, giving it back to him with a smile. “Now you’re all set.” 

It was more for you than it was for him - a token of good faith and protection. The idea that you could do something to bring Sophia home when you felt so powerless. 

Daryl let out a harsh sound - somewhere between a laugh and a sarcastic snort as he walked away. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” You replied brightly, edging into a sarcasm of your own. 

He resisted the urge to flip you off, believing that you were too sensitive to take it as a joke. 

You watched him off for a while, seeing him disappear into the stables before you left to do your own chores. As you scrubbed at laundry, you sent a prayer to every god you could think of that your new little sister would be found alive. 

… 

Daryl felt like a dumbass. 

When Daryl was laying on the harsh, rocky ground after the horse had thrown him, with one of his own arrows digging into his side - he wanted to laugh at the fact that you had supposedly ‘blessed’ his bow with ‘good luck’. He had owned and used the bow for years previous, and not once had he ever been injured by it. You had it in your hands for all five seconds, and now - he had been thrown off a horse and shot by the damn thing. It was the definition of irony. 

While he laid on the ground, struggling for breath, bleeding from his wound, drifting in and out of consciousness - he spotted a flash of bright red above him. 

He managed to pry his eyes open long enough to properly focus on it, and - 

It was your damn bird. 

A bright red cardinal had landed in one of the trees above him, staring down at him in a seemingly taunting manner. 

‘My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.’ 

“Good… good luck… my ass.” Daryl huffed out, still spiteful even if he was exhausted and losing blood. Even if no one else was around to hear this verbal jab. 

His head lulled to the side, and before his eyes could drift closed as he truly succumbed to the blood loss, he spotted something else - a bright floral fabric, and some strings of yarn that definitely didn’t belong in the muddy creek bed. Once again, he forced himself to focus on it, pushing through the heaviness that threatened to overtake him. He realized in a heart-jolting moment that he had seen the object before. 

It was Sophia’s doll. 

He turned back to where the bird was still sitting on that branch above him. 

“Any… any chance you can lead me to the girl?” 

Perhaps it was the dizziness of his injury talking, but he could have sworn that the bird tiled its head at him - as though quizzically asking: ‘what girl?’

It was the spite that kept him conscious, the idea that he would get to laugh in your face when he got back and tell you how unlucky your ‘blessing’ had been. But it was his desire to find Sophia and bring her home that truly got him up on his feet again. 

… 

Your bird didn’t lead him to Sophia, but it did get him back to the farm before he completely collapsed from his injury - even if he was greeted by a bullet from Andrea, believing he was a Walker. 

Because of that bullet sharply colliding with his head, he didn’t remember to tell you about that bird finding him laying in the creek bed until much later. It didn’t come back to mind until the group had truly settled into the prison, after welcoming in the people from Woodbury when the ‘war’ with the Governor was seemingly over. He only thought about it that night when the two of you were up late on watch because he had seen another cardinal on one of his runs that day, and he was telling you how much the damn bird had annoyed him. 

Daryl wasn’t someone who believed in luck, but he knew that the story would entertain you nonetheless. And it did. 

In fact, it entertained you so much that it caused you to plant a confident hand on his shoulder and lean in for a kiss - sealing your mouth against his, trapping any noises of surprise in his throat as he stood frozen, pinned against the guard rail. 

He only truly had time to take in what had happened - to process that sweet, perfect kiss after you had chirped a ‘goodnight’ to him and left. You mentioned something about going on a morning run with Glenn and Sasha to scope out a place with more supplies, but his ears were still beating with blood and he barely heard you. 

He had to get used to it then - being yours. But he found that even though the hand-holding and the hugging could be a bit embarrassing at times - he liked it. He liked having someone taking care of him as much as he tried to take care of others. And though it was something he had desperately tried to deny because of your stubbornness and your sharp tongue - he liked you. He was beginning to love you in that dangerous way that was going to get him hurt. 

But he would deny that. And he would do anything to stop that from happening. 

And that was one of the most dangerous parts about it. 

… 

It wasn’t just you that he was willing to die in order to protect. Daryl had gotten dangerously attached to life at the prison. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he had a home. Family, friends. As soon as Hershel told them about the veterinary college, about a place where there might be medicine to combat this strange flu that had suddenly struck his home and the people in it - he knew he had to get a group together. 

Before he went outside to get the car ready, and make sure he had all the equipment inside it, he stopped by your cell. It would be rude not to say goodbye. 

His stomach dropped when he heard coughing. 

“Y/N-” He spoke your name in that alarming tone, concern so ripe in the single word as he pulled aside the curtain you had hung across your door for privacy. 

You cut him off before he could say anymore. 

“I know.” You said, your voice annoyed and slightly strained from the illness clearly running through your body. “I need to go into Cellblock A for quarantine. I’m - I’m on my way there now. I’m just gathering up some stuff. My sketchbook and some novels. I’m guessing it’ll be boring as shit in there,” 

Daryl nodded, and moved to step into your cell, wanting to place his hand on your forehead to check you for a fever. He wanted to know how bad it was - how much time he had to get back with the medicine. 

“Don’t come any closer.” You said abruptly, raising your hand to keep him back. “I don’t - don’t wanna get you sick too.” 

Hesitantly, he stayed where he was. 

He knew that you were right, and he knew that it was weak of him - but he found himself craving the affection that he previously found annoying. He had been hoping that you would hug him before he left. 

“‘m goin’ on a run.” He said. “Hershel told us ‘bout this old veterinary college - he said there’s medicine that could help.” 

“Medicine for dogs?” You heaved out a laugh, strained and full of crud in your lungs, collapsing to sit on the edge of your bunk. 

Daryl shrugged. 

“Apparently it’s the same as medicine for people.” Then, after a moment of you staring at him with uncertainty, he added on: “He gave us a list.” He assured you, patting his breast pocket, where that list was currently sitting. 

You nodded. Naturally, you trusted Daryl. You had to, after everything you had been through together. 

Then, you turned to the bag that you had been packing up and took out a sketchbook that looked familiar to Daryl - one that he often saw you doodling in. You flicked through a few of the pages and then ripped one out, presenting it to him with an extended arm. You covered your mouth and nose with your shirt, seemingly for the assurance that you wouldn’t breathe on him so that he could come and fetch this from you. 

He took one step closer and grabbed the paper, and you coughed into your shirt as he stepped back and inspected the drawing. He wasn’t surprised to see that it was a beautifully drawn sketch of a cardinal - shaded red with what he guessed were smudges of lipstick. He was almost sure that you had picked it up at one of the houses the group had stayed in during the long winter after they had to abandon the Greene farm. 

“For - for luck.” You told him between more coughs, letting your shirt down to smile at him. 

He knew by now not to attempt rejecting the symbol. He wouldn’t say that he believed in it - but he believed in you. And he wanted to have you with him. So he folded it up and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt, right next to the list that Hershel had given him. 

“You’re a fool.” He griped, half-winded, only half meaning it. 

You smiled brightly at him, your face clearly tired from feeling so ill. 

“You love me.” You replied with utter certainty. 

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to point out that this was a growing problem. That it would pull his focus during the run for the medicine - that he would be distracted thinking about getting home and getting that medicine to you. 

“Now go on and get,” He told you, motioning toward Cellblock A. 

You gathered your things and got up, making a wide berth around Daryl as you walked down the stairs. 

“And I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about you bein’ heroic neither.” He called after you, shouting at your back. “You’re gonna go in there n get your ass t’ bed, ya hear me?” 

You knew it was his way of caring - wanting you to rest when you were sick. 

You turned back and gave him a big smile and blew him a kiss - something he often remarked upon as being ‘childish’. He hated that it caused a flutter in his stomach, and he couldn’t help that his form of affection in return was to flip you off. You loved it just as much. 

… 

That was the last time you spoke to him before the prison fell. But it wasn’t the last time that he spoke to you. 

When he got back, you were unconscious - you had to be bagged by Hershel to help you breathe, and the medicine helped you survive. Just barely. Daryl held your hand and begged you to live, and eventually he had to be distracted away from your unconscious body by Maggie so that he wouldn’t simply sit there the whole time and mourn. She reminded him that they all had jobs to do, and he made a few rounds of the prison, busying himself with chores to help everyone else get by so that he wouldn’t drive himself insane at your bedside. 

And that’s what he had been doing when the Governor rolled up with a thousand pound tank and shot their walls down. 

He knew that his love for you would come back to bite him in the ass one day. 

…

Daryl got out with Beth. 

He almost couldn’t stand her bright, big eyes staring at him, waiting for answers - her chirpy little voice, prodding at him, demanding that they ‘follow the trail’, telling him that they needed to go look for everyone else. Telling him that he was a tracker, that he could find them. As if it was his damn responsibility just because he had the skills to get it done. 

It was all too reminiscent of you, telling him that he could find Sophia. That it was a ‘when’, not an ‘if’. All too hopeful, all too damn certain. 

Perhaps that was what got him off his ass and doing what he did best - reading the dirt. 

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, staring at the girl curiously as she went to one of the bushes and rushed to pick berries from branches. Had she not gotten enough to eat that morning? 

“They’ll be hungry when we find them.” Beth told him confidently. 

Of course. That undefeatable streak of optimism. 

Daryl knew that blueberries weren’t your favorite - but he should have something to give you. He would be too busy tracking the footprints to properly hunt for squirrels or rabbits and clean them for you. So, he found himself pulling a large bandana from his back pocket and offering it to Beth - something to hold the berries in to keep them safe as an offering for you. 

“Here.” He grunted at her. 

Beth smiled at him. 

It was one of the last smiles she gave him for a long time. 

When they came across those bodies splayed out beside the tracks - any sense of hope was crushed inside of him. The picture you had gifted him was heavy inside his breast pocket, and he hated that tears threatened his eyes - even if he carefully looked them over to confirm it, and he knew that none of those bodies belonged to you. There was no trace of you there. 

It was just a cold reminder that even if the others had gotten out of the prison, they could be dead. They likely were dead. 

The days started to blur into each other, and Daryl couldn’t get you off his mind. 

One hazy evening, as he and Beth both stared into the fire with dead looks on their faces, he took the drawing out of his pocket and unfolded it. 

For good luck. 

He didn’t believe in luck - because it didn’t exist. The world was fucked. Nobody was lucky. You and your good luck were dead. 

He tossed the drawing into the fire, ready to burn it up along with anything he had ever felt for you. Only a moment later, when the corner of it had barely caught, just barely turning black, Beth snatched it out. She stomped on it with her boot, successfully saving it. 

“Don’t do that.” She hissed at him. 

Daryl snatched it from her, and crumbled it up, tossing it aside. He let out a harsh grunt, but refused to look at her. 

“That was from Y/N, wasn’t it?” She posed. 

He could feel her imposing stare as she waited for an answer. 

He didn’t give her one. 

Just because they had an unspoken agreement to help keep each other alive didn’t mean that he had to participate in stupid conversations with her. 

“You can’t burn up the past. You can’t burn your love for people just because you think they’re dead.” Beth sighed, tired and defiant. “You can’t burn up memories. We’re gonna find them. Y/N, and Maggie, and Michonne, and - and everyone. We’re all gonna be together again.” 

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah. Cause that’s gon’ happen.” 

Beth rolled her eyes, but didn’t speak any further on the subject. 

After she had fallen asleep - when the fire was dull, Daryl picked up the crumbled ball and smoothed it out again. The charred corner hadn’t even touched your bird. He felt like a fool doing it, just as much of a fool as he accused you of being, but he folded it neatly - well, as neatly as he could. And then put it back into his breast pocket again. 

But that was the thing - Daryl wished that he could. He wished he could burn up those memories. He wished that Beth was wrong. 

He wished that you would stop haunting him. Then he wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore. 

… 

When Daryl sat up in camp that night with his back to the trunk of a tree, he did not intend to fall asleep. He honestly did not think he was capable of doing so - even with the exhaustion so deep in his bones, he was used to going without sleep. He was used to trudging on much like the Walkers shambling around them - upright, puffing shallow breaths, but barely there, barely conscious. These days, he felt as though sleep was a luxury. 

As the fire died down, Beth turned over with her back to him, curling an elbow under her head, the only thing separating her from the dirt. She no longer bothered with the mockering of grunting out ‘night’ as an acknowledgement that she was trying to go to sleep (because she stopped saying ‘goodnight’, long ago, even at the prison, because those were few and far between). 

Daryl supposed that he was staying up to keep watch. They did have the cans and spare car parts scattered around on lines to make noise if any stray Walkers wandered near their camp. He knew that he slept light, and this would be more than enough noise to wake him if he did fall asleep. 

With his eyes locked on her back, he wondered if Beth slept at all these days, or if she simply laid down to fake it. Maybe so that she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore, even for a few hours. Sometimes, he would notice the grip on her knife beside her head go a bit laxer, and believe that this was a true sign that she had actually managed to drift into unconsciousness. Still, even if she wasn’t sleeping, he should keep watch. 

Daryl hadn’t intended to fall asleep. 

Daryl’s consciousness was jolted suddenly - his entire existence shaken by the feeling of someone - something grabbing his legs. When he looked down, he saw the blur of a snarling Walker crawling up his body. He panicked, his heart thudding hard inside his chest. Naturally, he reached for his crossbow beside him - grabbing, hands shaking, grasping at air. 

It was gone. It wasn’t there. What the hell? 

One of the cold hands grabbed his shirt, forcing him to look back down the length of his own body at the beast. When its head snapped up toward him, he was filled with a colder kind of shock. 

It was you. 

Though your once beautiful features had been tainted with rot, yellowing teeth, and your laughter filled eyes had turned sour and rotted like putrid eggs - he absolutely recognized that this was you. 

He sucked more gasping breaths, and reached for the knife on his belt, but - that was gone too. 

Then, somehow - you let out a dark, harrowing laugh. A laugh that shook everything he was, that somehow managed to echo through the trees and rattled the ground underneath him. An utter mockery of his entire existence. 

“This is all your fault, Daryl.” You spewed, your rotting mouth spilling out horrible, black blood. “You did this to me!” 

Then, in an utterly horrifying moment, you reached down and tore into him - your weak, dead hands easily ripping into his abdomen, and before his very eyes, you ripped out his guts so that you could consume him like a perfect, bloody feast. Just as you had in life, you dined on parts of him that he would never get back, stole his life force with no consideration as to how he would ever get it back. 

You didn’t care how he would survive without you. 

Daryl awoke with a start - the sound of the cans clanking at the edge of their small campsite forcing him back to reality with a harsh jolt. 

His fingers wrapped around his crossbow where it was seated between his knees within seconds. Before his sleep-sticky eyes were even fully open, he had the loaded end pointed at the source of the sound - a tired, messy-haired Beth, who was wandering back into camp with her hands full of something. 

“Told you not to go wonderin’ off.” Daryl barked at her easily, hating how his heart thumped in his chest with residual ‘fight or flight’ instincts, even though he knew that she was of no true threat to him - still partially spooked from the horrible dream that he would never tell anybody about, ever. 

He slumped back against the tree, keeping a careful eye on her as she came back to her place beside him, already spouting her surly argument against him. 

“I saw some berry bushes over there.” She whined quietly. “Daddy taught me what’s safe and-” 

“Don’t matter.” Daryl grunted in return, hating that he felt a sensitive pang inside of him at the mention of Hershel. “I told you: don’t go nowhere without me.” 

Beth let out a sharp sigh. “You’re such an asshole.” 

He was. 

Nonetheless, she silently slid some of the berries his way, carefully contained on the bandana that he had given her before for such berry-picking purposes - and nonetheless, he ate them. 

Later that day, when he was prowling the woods with Beth at his back, hoping to score something a bit more substantial for dinner - his eyes landed on the faded splotch of the cardinal sticker that you had put on his crossbow during his time spent looking for Sophia. His thumb traced it idly, and he knew that Beth was dying to ask about it, but held back. 

He knew then that he would never be able to escape your ghost. 

… 

Daryl wished that he could burn up the memories. He wished that you would get the hell out of his head. That if you were dead, every last trace of you would just die. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he had seen you - back in A block, after he had brought back the medicine. 

… 

He thought it was a victory - getting the meds back to the prison. He thought that it was simple. If he got to the veterinary college, got the meds that they needed, got the run group back in one piece - he thought it would be a win. He knew you. You were a fighter. You would hold on long enough for him to get back. He had to do all the guesswork. He had to keep everyone going on the road. 

If anything, he knew that you would be doing the exact opposite of what he had told you - you would be up and about, shuffling through the makeshift ward, feeding the people the hope that you grew and doled out so well. That was your job. He just had to do his. 

Maybe it was that stupid, foolish hope infecting him like the illness had infected you - but he truly thought that getting the medication and getting back would be the only complicated part. 

“Hey, Doc, how we doin’ in here?” Daryl asked, stepping to lean against the mouth of the cell that you had taken up temporary residence in.  

Of course, he was calling Hershel ‘doc’ with a joking air. The man loved to tell everyone now that he wasn’t actually a doctor - but few actually listened. They trusted his experience and the way he spoke with wise authority more than anything. 

Hershel used a stethoscope to listen to your lungs, and then looked up at Daryl, his face firm and unreadable. Daryl didn’t like it - but he was still being strung along like a fish on a hook by that foolish, bitter hope. 

“Y/N is doing a lot better than before.” He said, placing a gentle hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. “The meds have helped to take down the fever.” 

Daryl nodded. “Tha’s good.” 

Hershel gave him a serious look. “I like you a lot, Daryl. So I don’t intend to lie to you.” 

Daryl’s stomach clenched up - grabbed by a fist of nerves. 

You were alive. You were breathing - Daryl confirmed this, locking his eyes on the gentle up and down puff of your chest. What else could possibly be wrong? 

“Our friend here is showing remarkable signs of improvement, as is everyone who received the medication that you brought back. You have done a mighty service to these people, Daryl.”

Daryl knew this wasn’t simple praise for the work he had done. This was the sunshine before the storm - it was an omen. He could feel the ‘but’ coming before Hershel spoke it. 

“But,” 

Of course. There it was. 

“-I have to warn you.” Hershel sighed. “We had to perform CPR on Y/N for an extended period of time.” 

Daryl’s eyes cast over your face, fixated on your peaceful, unconscious form. His ears became fuzzy, filled with blood, and he could hardly focus on more of the older man’s words as he explained your condition. Explained how you had been deprived of oxygen for a few minutes - how you were at risk of brain death, and Hershel had no way of knowing what the state of your brain activity was without the proper equipment. If your brain wasn’t active enough, you would never wake up again. 

All they could do now was to sit and wait for you to wake up. If you were going to wake up at all. 

Hershel left Daryl alone with you, and he perched himself on the edge of your bed, his ass shuffled in tightly by the edge of your hip, struggling to find purchase on the edge of the small bunk. It was much like you had done to him after he had been haphazardly shot by Andrea. He took your hand in his, his eyes still focused on your unconscious face - at least you looked peaceful. 

With a large knot forming in his throat, he attempted to speak. 

Even though he was unsure if you could hear him - he couldn’t contain what he had to say. 

“You’re an asshole.” He mumbled out. Part of him was expecting to get a reaction out of you. To mock you into waking up. “I went through all that damn trouble to get those meds, and you gone n croaked on me while I was gone?” 

Your face didn’t even flinch. 

You were so damn still. 

For the first time since he had met you - not laughing, not smiling, not loudly voicing your chirpy, hopeful sentiments. So still. 

“Nah, that’s bullshit.” He growled out, his voice growing louder as his frustration grew inside of him - as he became more determined to wake you. “You’re gonna wake up. Wake up!” He shouted, his words echoing painfully off the walls. 

In the next cell over, Maggie heard this and became distracted from dabbing a wet cloth against Glenn’s forehead. He was still drifting in and out of consciousness, still too sick to fully take this in. But it caused Maggie to strain her ears, listening in on what happened next. 

“You’re gonna wake up. You’re gonna-” 

Daryl was startled when he found himself choking on his own words. He sucked in a sharp breath, and despite his best efforts, a sob rattled his chest, and a hot tear rolled down his face. 

“Why do I gotta to everythin’ around here? You set me off into the woods lookin’ for Sophia like it was my damn job. Make everythin’ my damn responsibility. I had to teach you everythin’. I had to teach you how to start a damn fire - what kind of simple asshole doesn’t know that?” 

He swallowed thickly. 

Truly, he wasn’t angry at you. 

It all came down to one thing. 

“Come on. Come - o-on. You know I can’t do this on my own.” He choked out, his face shrinking into a sob. “I can’t do this on my own.” 

He turned more toward you, laying himself down gently so that his face was pressed into your chest. He turned his head - laying his ear against your chest, listening carefully for your heart beat. It was there - thumping along steadily. 

Hershel had warned him that your breathing wasn’t the problem. Brain damage would keep you from waking up because your nervous system wouldn’t be active again. 

If you didn’t wake up, would you still turn into one of them? 

According to what Jenner had told them at the CDC, maybe not. 

Maybe you just be like this forever - stuck somewhere in the middle. Some hollow thing for Daryl to scream at that would never answer back. 

“You gotta wake up.” Daryl choked out. Knowing that only you would hear, he gathered up the bravery to speak out his next words. “I - I love you.” 

In the next cell over - Maggie heard all of it. She was holding Glenn’s hand, wondering what she would do if she were in Daryl’s shoes. She now had muddy tears in her eyes, listening to Daryl plead to you to wake up. Hearing Daryl - someone who had been so stony and tough in her eyes before - cry for the first time - it hit her hard. 

So it got her up; she kissed Glenn’s hand and told him that she would be back later, and he mumbled something incoherent back. 

“Daryl.” 

Maggie felt guilty when he jumped up - clearly alarmed by her presence at the opening of the cell, breaking his bubble of alone time with you. He began to frantically wipe at his face, obviously afraid to be vulnerable in front of her by showing his tears. After all that they had been through together - he still wasn’t willing to show this weakness in front of her. 

He only grunted in acknowledgment of her, staring hard at the floor instead of looking up at her. 

“These people need water. And they could probably use a good meal after all this.” Maggie told him. “I know you wanna stay with Y/N right now, but - come on, we all got jobs to do.” 

Daryl nodded. “Right. You’re right.” 

They did have jobs to do. But of course, the main reason she reminded him of the chores was to distract him. To keep him from going insane at your bedside, waiting for you to wake up. 

And that was the last he had seen of you before the Governor blasted a hole in A Block with the tank. 

…

When Daryl and Beth got to the moonshine shack, it truly came to a head. 

Daryl didn’t want to play the stupid game - he just wanted to drink in peace. He wanted to get shitfaced and hopefully pass out, actually. He wanted to have a good, booze-induced heavy sleep so that he could spend one night not plagued with spotty sleep and nightmares of your death - seeing your face painted in his mind as a nightmarish, growling dead thing. One night where he didn’t stay awake and stare at the back of Beth’s sleeping head because he couldn’t bear to close his own eyes. 

He didn’t want to play the game, but he did anyway. 

It got out of hand. 

Instead of trying to calm down, he rode the wave, leaning into the only existence he thought he knew - he turned back into the sputtering, bitter asshole that had once protected him so well. The hard shell that had kept him from getting his feelings hurt when the world had been cruel to him before. When Beth stabbed the Walker in the head, ending his game, he grew all too worried that she had figured him out - that she would try to get him to talk about his feelings. 

“What the hell did you do that for?” Daryl howled. “We was havin’ fun!” 

He knew it wasn’t true. Nothing about this was fun. 

“No, you were being a jackass!” Beth easily corrected him. 

She was far too much like you. Too direct. Never one to dance around the point instead of saying exactly what she meant. 

“If anyone found my dad-” 

Daryl was eager to cut off her additional reasoning, not wanting to think about it - he couldn’t add the mental image of a turned, dead-alive Hershel to his nightmare rotation as well. 

“Don’t!” He barked back, making her swallow up her words. “That ain’t remotely the same!” 

He had to convince himself of that fact. This random Walker pinned to a tree wasn’t family. At least - it wasn’t the same because it wasn’t his family. 

Beth gave him a tight-jawed look, staring him down with those large, knowing eyes. In that moment, he could hear your voice in his head, telling him exactly what she wanted to say. 

‘It’s someone’s family, Daryl. That Walker used to be someone. He used to belong to someone - he used to be important to someone. You need to consider that.’ 

Instead, Beth countered with something a bit more broad. 

“Killing them is not supposed to be fun.” 

She scolded him like a child, and he felt intensely small in that moment. He hated it. 

“What do you want from me, girl?” He warbled out, barely able to find his voice. 

He barely had anything left to give. 

He was a shit protector - as he had proven, unable to stop the prison walls from collapsing on top of you. Unable to hunt down the Governor - unable to keep him from rolling up to the gates with a fucking tank and blowing your house down. 

He was a terrible tracker - unable to find any of the people they had lost from the prison. He couldn’t provide anything for Beth that she couldn’t get for herself. She was more than capable. She was likely only with him now to stop him from going off into the woods and laying down to die. It was likely out of some mental obligation towards you, because she fully believed that you were still alive. 

He didn’t have anything left to give. 

After a moment of Daryl waiting with baited breath, she gave an answer. 

“I want you to stop acting like you don’t give a crap about anythin’.” She announced firmly. 

That would be difficult for him. Because currently, that was the only way he was surviving. He gave way too much of a crap about everything - and turning it all off was the only way he got through. 

“Like nothing we went through matters.” She added on. “Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you. It’s bullshit!” 

It was bullshit. 

“Is that what you think?” Daryl countered sourly. 

He cared too much about all of them. It all mattered too much. 

If he turned that switch back on - if he let himself care again - it would break him. 

“That’s what I know.” She whispered tightly near his face, all hot drunken breath. 

“You don’t know nothin’.” He spat back bitterly, absolutely assured of this fact. 

“I know you look at me and you just see another dead person.” Beth dueled on, determined to make her own point. “I’m not Michonne, I’m not Carl, I’m not Maggie, I’m not Glenn…. I’m not Y/N.” 

She knew that mentioning your name was sensitive, but she did it anyway, as if hoping to evoke some positive emotion out of Daryl. As if hoping to wake him from his dreary hopelessness. She hoped that mentioning you among the list of people that she still concretely believed to be alive would shake him, make him believe it too. 

She noticed that Daryl refused to make eye contact when she said it. 

When he didn’t say anything about it, she continued on. 

“I survived, and you don’t get it, cause I’m not like you or them - but, I made it.” 

She spoke passionately, determined about the point. If she had made it - someone who used to be so soft, someone who still needed to be protected - then why hadn’t everyone else made it? 

“And you don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid.” 

Somehow, among all that, one singular point stood out to Daryl. 

“I ain’t afraid of nothin’.” He grumbled back. 

To him, it was a horrid accusation. 

He had already lost everything that was important to him - what could fear possibly do to him now? 

Fear was the stupid, idiotic thing that had held him back in the first place. It had kept him from going after the Governor alongside Michonne. It had kept him tethered to the prison, stuck to your side watching you to make sure that you were safe. And look what it had gotten him. 

Nothing but ruin. Nothing but ashes. 

Beth looked contemplative for a moment, and Daryl hoped that she would finally just shut up. But then, like an unstoppable, sickly bile - the words came spilling from her lips. 

“I remember.” She announced. Before he could wonder what she was talking about, she continued on. “Back when you first came to the farm. The way you were - out combing the woods like a madman, looking for a little girl that wasn’t even yours. You never gave up hope, not once.” 

Daryl swallowed down his own words. 

He wasn’t some damn fool. He wouldn’t even begin to call it hope. He called it the truth - a little girl lost in the woods shouldn’t be hard to find. Like he had told Andrea at the time - it was the backwoods of Georgia, not the mountains of Tibet. It wasn’t the way that everyone else made it out to be. 

“Maggie told me that you cried when Y/N wouldn’t wake up.” 

Beth added on - to Daryl it felt like a mockery, a clever prodding at his vulnerability. But to her, it was just another observation. 

“That’s why you’re not out there, followin’ the trail. That’s why you’re not even botherin’ to look. You would spend months out there tryna find Y/N if you actually thought-” 

“Shut it.” Daryl grunted, cutting off her words. 

“You are afraid, Daryl.” Beth told him - and chills went through him as he realized that she had seen right through him. But like a prey animal staring down a predator, he kept stiff eye contact, trying his hardest not to let her know that he was weak. “You’re afraid of findin’ nothin’. And now you’re actin’ like it’s my damn fault.” 

When he didn’t speak up to make any apologies for this, she snidely added on:

“God forbid you ever let anybody get too close, right?” 

“Too close, huh?” Daryl reared back dully, gearing up for another fierce charge in the argument as things got all too personal. “You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends - you can’t even shed a tear. Your whole family’s gone, all you can do is go out lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch!” 

He knew that he was being unjustly cruel to her - that on some level, he was taking it out on her just because he could. 

But he couldn’t let her talk anymore about him and his fucking feelings. Especially not about how he acted around you. God forbid that big precious four letter word came up. He needed to pull the knife out of himself and turn it around onto her. 

“Screw you! You don’t get it.” She easily snapped back. 

“No, you don’t get it!” He roared out, quickly growing tired of the seemingly pointless back and forth. “Everyone we know’s dead!” 

Beth looked icy shocked by the statement, but quickly argued against it. 

“You don’t know that!” She screeched bitterly at him. 

“Might as well be!” He yelled back. “Cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again!” 

Finally, they had come around to his entire reasoning - the whole fact as to why he had so faithfully given up. Even if they weren’t dead, he believed that he might as well operate on the assumption that they were. 

Of course - Beth was operating on the opposite mindset. Killing time, getting by, surviving until she believed that she would inevitably be reunited with her sister, and the other members of their newfound family. 

Beth let out a whimper as the truth of it hit her - as she fought past it. Battling internally as a small voice in the back of her mind said: ‘he might be right’. 

“Rick…” Daryl hesitated to list more people. Even now, he hesitated to say your name. “You ain’t never gonna see Maggie again!” 

It was a bitter personal attack, but he was putting on that hard outer shell - hoping to get Beth to become just as cold as he was. If she gave up, then she would leave him alone. She would stop trying to inject that stupid, putrid ‘hope’ into him. 

But of course, that infallible hope could not be stomped out of her. No matter what. 

“Daryl, just stop!” She begged quietly, and then - she reached out for him. Attempting to give him some comforting touch. 

The last time he had been touched by someone was when he had held your hand without you even knowing, staring at your unconscious face, waiting for you to wake up. Aside from that - a gentle pat on the shoulder from Hershel, assuring him that everything would be okay. 

But both you and Hershel were dead now. 

Daryl’s touch was a disease that he would not let Beth catch. 

He whipped away from her quickly, and turned to face the dead Walker that was still pinned to the tree. 

He used to belong to someone. 

That was how Daryl felt now. Used up and dead. Nothing but a past tense in someone else’s life. 

“The Governor rolled right up to our gates.” Daryl’s throat clenched tightly around the words. He could barely speak about it, but it was true. “Maybe if I… I wouldn’t’ve stopped lookin’. Maybe it’s cause I gave up? That’s on me!” 

He was supposed to keep you safe. He was supposed to keep everyone safe. 

He had failed. 

“Daryl-” Beth choked out, trying again - but she didn’t have anything to follow up. She couldn’t find anything to combat this particular chasm of self blame. 

“Your dad… maybe I coulda done somethin’.” He choked on a sob, and tears clouded his eyes now. 

It was his attempt at an apology. But he hadn’t even begun to forgive himself yet - so why the hell would Beth forgive him? 

Hershel’s death had been his fault. Your death had been his fault. 

The others… even if they were alive, their home was destroyed and now they were vulnerable to a cruel world. And it was all Daryl’s fault. 

Daryl finally broke down in sobs, and he didn’t have enough energy to fight off the touch when Beth leaned into him, hugging him from behind. 

He couldn’t muster up any more breath to better apologize to her for all he had done, but he hoped that it was implied. 

… 

Things were a bit more smoothed over later that night, when Beth was drunker and Daryl had sobered up some. 

“Is it always like this?” Beth sighed, staring out at the grass with a delighted smile. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she meant. She was clutching a half-filled jar of the moonshine like it was precious, her eyes glassy - obviously no longer fearful of going blind because of the stuff. 

“You’re lucky.” Daryl remarked. “You’re a happy drunk.” 

Beth let out another contented sigh, and then after a moment, and another sip of the moonshine (which she was taking down without hesitation now), she spoke up again. 

“You’re wrong.” She told him calmly, seeming very confident in this fact. 

Daryl was tired of talking, but too curious not to reply. 

“Bout what?” He asked. 

“They’re not dead.” She told him. “They’re out there somewhere. All of them. And we’re gonna find them.” 

Daryl wanted to believe her. Some tiny part of him wanted to embrace this as truth. But at this point - it felt too much like fiction. Without his family standing in front of him, pure proof that they were alive and well - he couldn’t let himself partake in that paper thin hope. He couldn’t let himself get high on the hope only to come crashing down from that high in the worst way. He couldn’t let himself be hurt again. 

He only grunted in reply, staring at the worn floorboards of the porch, hoping the conversation would naturally frazzle out. 

Of course, Beth didn’t let that happen. 

“Come on,” She said in a nagging tone. “You don’t really believe that Y/N is dead, do you?” 

Daryl wasn’t sure what he believed. 

Before this, before the dead had risen up and walked the earth, he had spent his whole life focusing on truth. Concrete truth. 

For as long as he had been alive, that truth had been hopeless. His father had beaten him, his brother was an asshole, what little he knew of his mother was a drunken slur ultimately engulfed in flames. He had fended for himself most of his life. He never knew hope or optimism. He never spoke of luck or brightness or tipping the odds in his favor. 

Not until he met you. 

You laughed so genuinely; you sang the praises of looking on the bright side and blessing people with good luck. And he found that at times - he started to believe you. 

But having the Governor roll right up to their gates and blow apart their home wasn’t exactly conducive with everything you had been preaching. Having you sick and likely dead under a pile of concrete, unconscious and crushed without even knowing it wasn’t exactly in line with the ‘good luck’ that you supposedly had. 

Even if you didn’t know it, you had been feeding Daryl lies the whole time. And those lies had ruined him. 

Daryl couldn’t hold out hope that you or anybody else that he had known and loved from the prison were alive. 

“Don’t know.” Daryl grunted in reply. He kept his answer vague, not wanting to stir up another argument with Beth. 

“Yes, you do know.” Beth chuckled lightly in reply. 

Still ever the optimist. Still so damn certain. 

Daryl grunted again. Even if he didn’t agree with her, he wanted the day to end calmly, at the very least. 

“Can I see it again?” Beth asked, suddenly changing the subject. 

Again, this was a confusing little whip for Daryl - something that clearly only made sense to Beth in her own drunken mind. 

“What?” Daryl replied. 

“The picture.” Beth answered. “The one you tried to burn.” 

Daryl felt a pinch of guilt surge over him at the thought. Oddly enough, this was the one time he would be willing to admit that Beth was right - you can’t burn up memories. He was still glad to have a token of you with him, even if he would never get to see you again. 

“It was Y/N, wasn’t it? That drew it.” Beth added on, her words slurring slightly. She lifted the mason jar of booze to her lips again and Daryl was tempted to snatch it away from her. Something in the back of his mind reminded him that he wasn’t her chaperone - she was an adult, and if she wanted to get drunk enough to have a nasty hangover, then that was her choice to make. 

Instead, he found his hand drifting to his breast pocket and reaching to take the picture out. He presented it to Beth, who put down her drink to unfold it. She stared at the picture fondly under the brightness of the moonlight, tracing a finger over the slightly faded details. 

“You know… my daddy used to tell me that a cardinal is like an angel.” Beth said, recognizing the bird from her father’s teachings on the farm. “Someone - someone you loved who passed away, watching over you from heaven.” 

Daryl found this to be a nice thought. He could imagine Hershel’s voice in his head, saying something like this while pointing to the bird among the trees. 

“Y/N said they was good luck.” Daryl replied. 

It was the first time in a long time that he had gathered the courage to actually speak about you aloud, and he found a painful tugging in his chest because of it. 

Beth shrugged. “Same thing.” 

It was this thought that kept Daryl going for a long time. The idea that even if you were dead, you were watching over him somehow. He sure as hell didn’t believe that someone like Merle would be an angel - but you, you definitely were. And even if it was a waste of your eternal life, you would be determined to watch over Daryl - to make sure that he was safe, well-guided. 

You would make sure that he was lucky. 

That thought alone carried him through the long journey to D.C. 

It was something that lingered in his mind as the group hunkered down in a random barn - as he spotted something carved into one of the wooden beams holding the place up. Even though it wasn’t colored, he could have sworn that the long tail and pointed head of the silhouette indicated that the carving was meant to be cardinal. Of course. 

Who knows who had stayed in the barn before them - if it had been left there by a weary traveler, or even put there by someone who had used the barn before the Turn. But Daryl could have sworn that you - your ghost, your angelic hand - had led him to this very spot. 

It was a thought that gave him strength as he held the doors up - helped to keep them from caving in while the storm raged outside. 

Your luck, and your damn bird - you would keep him safe. 

When they reached Alexandria, and they were forced to give up their weapons - Daryl spotted your bird perched on the fence. Bright red, with its pointy head cocked sideways at him. All too knowing, staring at him like it wanted to say something. Just like it had been when he had fallen off the cliff out in the woods when he had been looking for Sophia. 

Oddly enough, it made him feel safe giving up his crossbow - perching his precious weapon on top of the fully loaded cart before the awkward, bespeckled woman wheeled it away. 

Rick was still weary of this new place after everything that had happened at Terminus, and Daryl understood. He followed Rick’s lead. Especially because he couldn’t tell Rick that he had a good feeling about this place because he saw a damn bird. Even if he was feeling such foolish things, he knew that he couldn’t speak them aloud. 

(He couldn’t speak them aloud to anybody but you. And well…) 

But even if it was just in spirit, he felt you there. He knew that it was the home you had chosen for them. 

So Daryl entered the strangely clean suburban home that Aaron had picked out for them and tried to imagine himself truly living there. He tried to think of Alexandria as his new home now. Because he knew that it’s what you would have wanted for him.  

… 

You were tired.  

You had just gotten back from a three day long hunting trip - three whole days out in the woods, killing small game while tracking a deer in order to shoot it and haul it home. 

For a while now, home had been a town called Alexandria. 

Well, you wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘home’. 

Alexandria was a great place to live, sure - but to you, home was a certain redneck bowman who often stank of cigarettes and dirt and had to be reminded to wash his hands before eating a meal. Home was the gentle grunt he gave you in response to a variety of questions, the scratch of his beard on your skin as he kissed you. 

You couldn’t think about him for too long - because you would get homesick. 

Since the prison had fallen, since you had escaped nothing more than debris and a crowd of Walkers - you had been moving from place to place, drifting. A lot of the time, you used the skills that Daryl had taught you during your time together in order to survive. 

When you found Alexandria, it felt like a dream. 

At first, you questioned why a shiny gee-golly boy in a blue rain jacket was trying so hard to ‘recruit’ you. You had to feel naturally suspicious of him and his stack of polaroids. But then you remembered what Daryl had said about bringing people back to the prison - bringing new people in wasn’t just about pity. There was strength in numbers. It became very clear to you very quickly that Alexandria needed fighters - they were bringing people as a tactic. 

You leaned into it. You proved to them what a good asset you were. You doubled down on using everything that Daryl had taught you in order to earn your place in the closed off community. 

You hunted and brought back game for the people there to eat, you used the skills Daryl had taught you to maintain the cars for runs and even fix-up ones that had been previously out of commission. You were widely liked by the members of the community, and Deanna often called on you for advice about dealing with Walkers. You had been on a few runs with their crews, but you preferred to stay close to town, to keep an eye on things. 

The hunt you had recently taken - three long days out in the woods. That had been for you. Something you had learned with Daryl was that hunting could be intensely peaceful. Maybe it was because it was time you spent with him - time when the two of you didn’t need words, just soaked in each other’s presence. Maybe you missed that too dearly. But you needed it to be just you and the trees, the focus on the craft that he had taught you. 

No closed-off bottle town politics. No smiling and nodding and pretending to care when the others complained about asinine things like the water from their showers going cold too quickly. Complained about being bored. To you, boredom was a blessing these days. 

No men sniffing around you, firing off increasingly poor attempts at flirting, believing that you were single even though you couldn’t tell them otherwise. It was difficult to explain to anyone in town that your heart belonged to someone that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Someone that you didn’t have the room to believe was dead. 

So after spending a few days in the woods, enjoying the peace alone, and bagging a deer and a few rabbits in the process, you came home. And currently you were in the shower, cleaning up - it was a blessing to even have a shower, to have perfectly functioning running water. A three day hunt could create a hell of a stink. 

Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood from where you had cleaned the deer, and the general dirt you had gathered on your skin from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have. 

When you got out of the shower, you felt wonderfully refreshed. You were still bone tired, and part of you did want to rush home and crash right into bed. But you had other things to do first. You had to check-in with Deanna, and go by the school before you could even think about going to bed. 

Olivia - ever kind and thinking ahead - had set out a change of clothes for you. She had seen you run upstairs to the bathroom covered up to your elbows in blood after you had asked her to stash the deer meat in the pantry’s freezer. 

You got dressed, and then went down to the pantry looking to make sure that she had taken the deer meat out of the plastic container that you had stored it in and put it into some plastic freezer bags to store it properly. She was squeamish around blood or raw meat - she had thrown up the one time that you had tried to teach her how to gut a rabbit, but you were hoping to wean her off those fears. 

Olivia was a nice girl. You knew that eventually, she would need to get her hands dirty in order to survive. It was a miracle that she had gone this long without doing so. When she told you that she still carried around a cellphone in her pocket - one that had long been dead and useless - you got stuck somewhere between paralytic shock and maniacal laughter. 

But it was just a mark of how untouched Alexandria was. How much they needed someone like you. 

“Olivia?” You called out gently when you hit the bottom stair. 

“In here!” She called back. She was in the armory rather than in the pantry - likely counting bullets to redo her inventory in order to avoid touching the bloody deer meat. 

You rolled your eyes at the thought of it and walked into the room, which was lined floor to ceiling with guns, the entire town’s supply. You were also casually pushing back against Deanna’s rule that nobody should be allowed to carry within town, but she had yet to truly hear you out on it. Your eyes fell upon a large cart that Olivia had parked in the middle, one that wasn’t usually there. It was filled to the brim with a variety of weapons. 

“What’s this?” You asked. 

“A new group came in yesterday, while you were gone.” She informed you, staring at the notebook she had in her hands - the one containing her inventory. “Deanna wanted me to make a list of their weapons. Well - the weapons they surrendered. I wouldn’t doubt if one of them is still hiding a knife in their shoe or something. They seem uber shifty and paranoid.” 

She said this with a dreary chuckle - the kind of nervous laughter that told you she was feeling weary of these people. 

A strange feeling came over you. A haze - tingling, from your head to your toes. A feeling almost as if you were about to faint - while at the same time, intense adrenaline was pumping through your whole body. You took a more careful look at the weapons gathered on the cart. 

A sword. One with the distinctive white leather sheath. A gun that you easily recognized as a Colt Python. A military knife with a knuckle guard… and perched right on top - a crossbow. The sight of which almost made your heart stop. 

“Maybe you could help me with this?” Olivia asked, motioning her pen toward the cart. “You know I don’t know the names of guns and stuff.” 

Clearly, she was trying to get out of bagging the deer meat - but that dropped off your priority list as you tried harder and harder to keep your hopes from swallowing you alive. 

“Sure.” You replied, knowing that it sounded terribly strained in your throat - joy and tears battling terribly inside of you. 

You gathered your breath, and forced your concrete legs to move. You stepped toward the cart, and timidly stroked a finger across one of the bolts that was strapped to the top of the crossbow. 

After a moment, you finally gathered the courage to ask the question. 

“So - can you tell me more about the group?” You asked, your throat clenching around the words, so damn dry all of a sudden. “Did you happen to catch any of their names?” 

“Come on,” Olivia sighed. “You know I’m no good with names.” 

Of course. 

The one time when you needed her to be paying attention, she hadn’t been. Where the hell was Aaron when you needed him? 

You could have been wrong. This could be nothing. It could be a coincidence. 

You wouldn’t let yourself get your hopes up - not until you knew. 

“Well - what were they like?” You asked. 

Olivia picked up one of the guns, inspecting it before she wrote down something in her notebook. It took her a moment too long to answer. You became dizzy with agitation, unconsciously holding your breath while you waited for something. Some proof. Something. 

“They were… strange.” She shrugged. “They reminded me of you when you first came here. But… you can tell they’ve been outside for longer.” 

That didn’t answer your question. So you moved on to another one. 

“How many of them was there?” You asked. 

“Maybe a dozen, I guess.” She answered easily. “It’s the biggest group Deanna has ever allowed in. I don’t know why, though. Aaron seems to really like them, but I didn’t get to talk to him much before he went home.” 

She wrote down something else, and then she continued - seemingly not noticing the way you were staring at her with an intense glare, hanging on her every word. 

You needed to know. 

“There was kids with them. A baby, and a young boy. A teenager, maybe? He was wearing this brown cowboy hat, that looked like a sheriff’s hat, kind of? I guess he got it off some cop.” 

‘My dad says that I get to wear the hat because I’m in the club.’ Carl’s small voice excitedly announced to you, pushing the too-big hat up over his eyes as it sagged down from how fast he had run toward you. 

‘What club?’ You countered curiously. 

‘People who have been shot and survived.’ 

‘Woah… okay. You probably shouldn’t go around saying that to people.’ You chuckled in return, trying to play off the casual morbidity. Knowing that ‘and survived’ was the important part. ‘Cool hat, though, kid.’ 

‘Thanks!’ 

As the memory from Hershel’s farm played over again in your mind - you remained frozen. Your voice was caught in your throat, seized by tears and shock - but all you could do was stand there as Olivia continued talking. 

“And their leader is this really grumpy guy. He kept… staring at me. His eyes were so cold… it was almost creepy. I could hardly see his face past his beard.” 

‘And, uh, I got this for you.’ Michonne chuckled, extending her arm out toward Rick, trying her hardest to gift him the electric shaver. ‘Your face is losing the war.’ 

The words evoked another memory from you - Michonne making jokes about Rick’s beard being overgrown, trying to get him to trim it down. Now, you couldn’t picture him without one when you tried to remember him. 

“Here, take this.” Olivia picked up the crossbow and put it in your hands. “Can you help me with the rest of these guns? I don’t know how to unload them. I need to take inventory of the ammo.” 

Your eyes were fixated on the crossbow in your hands - you ran your thumb over it. 

You had almost forgotten about it. 

Trying so hard to push down the memories, to forget - it had almost slipped your mind. The marking you had left on Daryl’s crossbow that made it so uniquely yours. The blessing of good luck you had marked him with when you had sent him to look for Sophia. 

The cardinal sticker that you had put on his bow. It was faded now, but it sure as hell was the one you had put there. 

In the back of your mind, you could still hear Daryl’s snarky voice snarling about how he didn’t need luck - but it had gotten him this far, hadn’t it? 

All at once, your nervous system shook, your body prickling up fiercely with goosebumps as the realization truly hit you. 

Daryl was here. 

Daryl was right here in Alexandria. 

He was alive. He was within arm’s reach. 

He was home. 

“Daryl.” You mumbled quietly, your voice still choking on it - it was a name you hadn’t spoken in so long. 

“What?” Olivia asked, turning around to look at you, clearly confused. 

“Daryl.” You spoke it louder. 

You looked to the door, and before you could take a moment to explain or even put down the bow - your legs were carrying you with a great urgency. 

He was close by - you were going to find him. 

“Daryl!” 

You screamed out this time, your voice echoing through the streets of Alexandria. Random people going about their day stared at you, but you didn’t care. You continued sprinting down the street, looking for that familiar face that you knew had to be close by. 

“Daryl! Rick! Michonne!” 

You screamed out the names of the people you knew would be with thim, and then your mind became fixated on him - on seeing his face again, on hearing him call you an asshole with a smile. Fueled only by joy, you pushed past your previous tiredness, determined to find him. Your cheeks began to hurt before you knew you were smiling and your legs pumped harder as you ran. 

“Daryl! Daryl!” 

You weren’t even sure where you were going, but you knew he would come to you - he would be there soon. 

You ended up at one of the last houses on the lot, rounding the corner when you finally spotted him. 

It was something you had pictured in your mind a thousand times. 

One of the quaint porches of Alexandria - so clean, so white, so picturesque - finally dirtied up by his presence. Olivia made you gut your kills in the back because she didn’t want it to disturb people, but Daryl didn’t know the rules, or just didn’t care. His hands were already covered in the blood of the possum that he was skinning - careful, meticulous, doing it right. His gaze focused downward in pure concentration - much like he had been on the day you had first properly spoken to him. 

Dressed in all black and still dirtied from the road - he was a sight for sore eyes. 

And he caused you to pull in a sharp, shattered breath as you began to cry outright now. Hot tears of relief, joy, love streaming down your face as you laid eyes on him for the first time in so long. 

His head snapped up at the sound of it, and his eyes widened beyond the splintering bangs that hung beyond his brows - hair longer than the last time you had seen him. His hands froze their movements, still hanging onto the half-skinned possum. You gripped tightly onto the crossbow, holding onto it tightly like an anchor, drifting at sea. 

You knew that look - his jaw gaped, his eyes swimming with intense emotion - shock, most of all. He was frozen. 

He was looking at you as though you were a ghost. 

In Daryl’s eyes, you might as well be. 

The last time he had seen you - you were dead. Or dying. 

It was all the same to him. 

He genuinely couldn’t believe that you were standing right there in front of him - alive, clean, beautiful as ever, holding his crossbow. It was like a dream. 

“I think I have something that belongs to you.” 

Hearing your voice again - it was oddly startlingly. You motioned toward the crossbow - his crossbow, that you were holding for some reason. 

His entire body was filled with concrete - he was frozen. 

“Daryl, is that possum so much more interesting than me, or are you gonna come on over here and give me a damn hug?” 

Yes.

That was what finally got him up - he tossed the possum aside because it would never be more important than you, and he rushed off the porch, rushing toward you. You dropped his crossbow in the grass and when he pounced on you, his arms encircling you for the first time in such a long time - you finally felt like you were home. He squeezed you in a bone-crushing way, and you squeezed him right back - feeling a strange kind of comfort from the smell of sweat and dirt and cigarette smoke coming off him. 

It was so Daryl. It was so real. 

You heard gentle sobs in your ear and you realized that he was crying too, so overwhelmed by the emotions of seeing you again and not too proud to hide his tears now. You didn’t notice and didn’t care that he was getting blood all over your clean shirt, gripping you so tightly with his possum-skinning hands. It was just another assurance that all of this was real and not another stupid daydream. 

“Goddammit.” He croaked out, his face shoved so tightly in the crook of your neck, soaking your skin with his tears. “I thought - I thought I lost you.” 

Pressed so close to his chest, you saw the yellowing corner of the paper sticking out of his breast pocket. You couldn’t help but to raise your fingers to fish it out of his pocket. 

“Why would you ever think that?” You sniffled weakly in return. “You had this for good luck.” You teased him lightly, pulling away slightly to wave the folded piece of paper in front of his face - both of you knowing exactly what it was. 

He let out a weak laugh in response. 

“You’re still a damn fool.” 

That was all he managed to reply before he put both hands on either side of your face and pulled you in for a kiss. It was unlike any other time he had kissed you before. This wasn’t chaste - it wasn’t a simple kiss signifying that he cared about you, that he was trying, but affection simply wasn’t his thing. 

This was gravity. 

This was passion, this was love. This was this kiss of a man who had nearly ended himself because he had realized in horror that his entire world had hinged on you. And now that he had you back, he wasn’t going to waste a single second treading around feelings, hung up on simple things like the fear of affection. This was a kiss from someone who needed to show you that you were his whole world, and now that he had you back, he would move mountains just to see you smile. 

It was a kiss that easily had you moaning into his mouth, made you dizzier than you already were, stole breath from your already weak lungs. 

He held you tight to his lips and he poured every single ounce of emotion into that kiss - telling you how sorry he was for all the time he had wasted, telling you how much he had missed you, and most importantly - telling you how much he loved you. 

“Daryl, please tell me that you’ve showered by-” 

The stunning moment was sorely interrupted by another voice, one you distinctly recognized as Carol. She opened the front door behind you and stuck her head out, ready to scold Daryl - but she promptly cut off her own words when she saw you. You pulled away from his lips at the sound of her voice and whipped around toward her, and instantly a smile cracked your face, broad and unbroken. 

She was staring at you with utter shock. 

“Carol.” You said her name warmly, greeting her as an old friend. 

You couldn’t help it - you jumped forward and embraced her in a hug. It was only then that she loosened from the shock and let her own arms fall around you, hugging you back, and she was able to speak again. 

“Y/N.” She said your name quietly in return. “What - what are you doing here?” 

“Um… returning Daryl’s crossbow.” You chuckled, motioning to the bow that you had dropped with numb arms before you had ascended the steps, rushing toward him. “But you know… I think I have something for you too.” 

Naturally, Carol looked confused - and you chose to show her what you meant rather than to explain. 

… 

You brought Carol and Daryl to a house in the complex that functioned as the school. They didn’t know that yet - and you asked them to wait outside as you rushed inside and boisterously disrupted the beginning of the afternoon class. 

The teacher began telling you off, but you didn’t care. 

Daryl and Carol were theorizing about what you were doing, half ready to go in after you when you stepped out the door with someone in tow. 

“What’s so important? We’re supposed to start reading King Lear today and I can’t miss-” 

Both of them looked up at the mousy voice and instantly recognized the streak of sandy blonde hair - a bit lighter now from exposure to the sun, topped on someone a bit taller than they remembered. 

“Sophia?” Carol gaped. 

A daughter she had said goodbye to in her mind, someone that she couldn’t keep hoping was alive. Somehow once again, standing right there in front of her, fully alive and well. Once again - all thanks to you. 

“Mom?” 

Sophia broke out of your grasp and ran from the door into her mother’s arms, and Carol quickly embraced the girl who was almost as tall as her now. Carol was unable to hold back her tears and you knew that it was a swelling of perfect emotion as they hugged each other so tightly. Daryl petted a gentle hand over Sophia’s hair as he looked at you fondly. 

You couldn’t imagine a more perfect day. 

Carol used a hand behind Sophia’s back to wipe some of her own tears from her cheeks, still not letting the girl go as she looked at you with a wet smile forming tightly across her face. 

“I should have known she’d be with you.” Carol choked out - her way of thanking you for taking care of her daughter. Clearly scolding herself for not keeping the faith alive that Sophia would be okay. 

“We’re BFFs.” You said, unable to hold back a smile. “Of course we’re gonna stick together.” 

… 

You thought back to the day you had first taken on the title of Sophia’s BFF. 

The two of you had been close since the group at the quarry had first formed. It was unfortunate, but Ed reminded you of your own father, and you found yourself gravitating toward Sophia because of that. A natural instinct kicking in that made you want to take care of her because you understood what she was going through. You knew that Carol had to take care of herself, had to keep her own head above water, and she said that she was always appreciative of your help. 

You knew that Sophia appreciated having you around, being treated with gentle caring and a certain kind of maturity that she needed from an older sibling that she didn’t have. You didn’t always treat her like a child - you talked to her like a person who needed to be listened to, who had her own feelings that needed to be heard. 

Especially after Ed’s death - when she was feeling conflicted about the partial relief of being freed from her father’s abuse but oddly missing him at that same time. You were more than happy to listen to her and give her honest advice. 

When she fled into the woods off the highway that day, Daryl had to physically hold you back to keep you from running into the tail end of the herd yourself. It would have been stupid for you to blindly run after her, especially considering that, at that point, you didn’t carry a knife or any other weapons on you regularly. You would have been running after Sophia with nothing but your bare hands and your best intentions. 

It would have ended up with you both dead, and in the end, you thanked Daryl for holding you back. 

Which was why you trusted Daryl greatly to find her. You trusted his skills and his abilities, and especially his judgment. And you silently cursed Andrea for almost shooting his head off and putting him out of commission in that search. Especially considering the fact that Shane and even Rick were clearly losing hope in ever finding Sophia alive, and it was clear that they were ready to call off any search efforts. They were ready to abandon the Greene farm and leave her out there to die. 

So after Daryl’s wounds had been treated, when he was resting in his tent, you decided that it was high time to get the search back on. Of course, you had to wait for Andrea to leave, after she had apologized to him and left him with one of Dale’s crappy books as entertainment - something you knew wouldn’t help him much, because he was far too much of a hands-on busy body to sit around and read. 

But you didn’t dwell too much on thinking about that. Instead, you stepped into the tent next without being invited, determined to get his advice so that you could pick up the search for Sophia where he had left off. 

Daryl’s eyes snapped open where he had been lightly dozing off and he glared at you - it wasn’t malice or true anger, instead, simply light annoyance. 

“Can’t get five minutes of damn peace ‘round here.” He grumbled out as you invited yourself fully into the tent and without speaking a word to him, came right in and sat down on the edge of his cot. 

He instinctively scooted away from you. He could have said that it was because you had aggravated soreness in his injured side where he was still stitched up. But truthfully, it was because he wasn’t used to having you (or anyone) this close. Though he also couldn’t deny that the simple warmth of your body - the gentle heat of your ass pressed up against his thigh from you having to sit so close on the small cot - it was nice. 

But he couldn’t think too much about that right now. 

You obviously weren’t as caught up on the simple act of closeness. You weren’t as mindful of being this close to another person. You were someone who thought nothing of hugs and other simple forms of affection - something that you did regularly with people you considered friends, like Glenn and Lori and Dale. 

Instead of thinking at all about how close you were sitting to Daryl, you dropped your bag at your feet and began rooting around inside of it, looking for something. A moment later, you pulled out a map, which you held in one hand and shoved tightly in Daryl’s face. 

“Show me where you found Sophia’s doll.” You ordered stiffly. 

Daryl grunted at you, chewing on one of his nails for a moment before he replied. 

“What good is that gon do?” He asked. 

You didn’t know how to track or follow a trail. You weren’t the outdoors type. If he sent you off looking for her, he’d probably have to go off into the woods looking for you next. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. 

“Maggie is saddling one of the horses for me right now.” You explained. “You know that Shane has already given up, and Rick is about to.” 

You cleared your throat, trying to hide the quiver of potential tears. 

Daryl knew it wasn’t the kind of grief that everyone else held when talking about Sophia - you weren’t afraid that she was already dead and you would be combing the woods looking for a Walker to put down. You weren’t looking for closure. You were more terrified at the aspect of Shane and Rick giving up when someone you viewed as a little sister was still out there. You were afraid that she might be abandoned when she was still alive and had a chance to be rescued. 

“You’re not goin’ out there by yourself.” Daryl declared firmly. 

Predictably, he then tried to sit up - as if he would somehow accompany you in his severely injured state. But he didn’t make it very far off the cot before he let out a sharp wince of pain. Something he tried his hardest to conceal out of an ingrained toughness, so you knew that his pain had to be a lot worse than he was leading on. He fell back down instinctively and gripped a hand to his side, taking in sharp breaths as he tried to ignore the pain. 

“Well, you’re not going with me.” You griped sarcastically, motioning toward his injury. 

“Screw you.” Daryl replied, tossing up a middle finger - frustrated by his circumstances more than anything else. 

“Look, I’m gonna go whether you tell me where to pick up the trail or not.” You announced, firm and finite in your conviction. 

Of course. Stubborn. 

Daryl glared at you again. 

“And I’m not gonna drag your ass around with me,” You added on. “I just wanna know where you would search because before you got hurt, you were the best man for the job.” 

Daryl wanted to hate the snide, back-handed compliment - he wanted to hate your stubbornness and your inability to take ‘no’ for an answer. But he knew that you were going to keep to your word. You were going to do this with or without his help, and his help would be invaluable to someone like you. 

So, for some stupid reason, he folded to your will. 

(It would become a pattern so utterly predictable throughout your relationship. You were so direct and so stubborn that you learned how to play him like a fiddle.) 

“Gimme that damn map.” He grumbled out, finally folding to your infallible will. 

“Here, I have a pen. You can mark it down for me.” You announced brightly, giving him a chirpy smile as you got your own way. 

You reached back down to your bag, looking for the aforementioned pen, and Daryl bit his tongue. The fact that you even needed a marking on the map to remember what he was going to point out to you was a huge red flag for him - a sign of just how naive you were when it came to the woods, tracking, finding someone lost out there. 

He was already mentally preparing himself to go looking for you later. (He just hoped that this would be a good thing - that even if you got lost yourself, you would take some supplies to Sophia and help her survive a bit longer until he could get both of you back home.) 

He took the red pen that you handed to him and stiffly held the map, trying to ignore the gentle waft of floral soap coming off you as you leaned more into his personal space. More and more into his personal space, clearly trying to better pay attention to what he was showing you as he pointed to the landmarks on the piece of paper. 

“Found the doll down ‘round here.” He said, marking a small red X on the map. “I figured that she mighta dropped it when she was crossing the creek up somewhere here, and it washed downstream.” 

“Oh, okay.” You said. “So you think she’s on this side of the water?” You asked, pointing to a heading of your own. 

“Prolly.” Daryl nodded. “She gotta be close by the water cause it’s her only real landmark. You better stay close by the creek, got it? I don’t need to go in those damn woods lookin’ for your ass too if ya get lost.” 

“I’m not gonna get lost.” You sighed, snatching the map from him. 

“Make sure you don’t spend the whole time on the horse.” 

He added on, determined to give you good advice if you were determined to go out there. In the back of his mind, he was surprised that you knew how to ride a horse, but he didn’t bother to bring it up. Instead, he continued speaking about the topic at hand. 

“She’s little. It means she could be hidin’ somewhere down low. Caves, ditches, even down in the bushes. She could be passed out somewhere from the heat and you might not see her if you’re perched up high on that damn horse the whole time.” 

You nodded, soaking up all the information, determined to take advice from someone you knew was better versed in things like this than you were. 

“Anything else?” 

Daryl looked thoughtful for a moment. 

Then he reached off to the side for his own bag, holding in another pained wince as he stretched out his injured flesh. He batted away your hands as you went to help him, and his hands came back with a large knife - his hunting knife, sheathed in the cover that he often wore on his belt. You had never seen him without it, and you were surprised when he extended it out toward you - clearly wanting you to take the knife, even if only temporarily. 

“Daryl, that’s yours, I can’t-” 

“Shut up and take it.” He growled quietly. “This is gonna be better to you out there than any gun. And not just cause you’re a piss poor shot.” 

You rolled your eyes at the paper thin insult, but still hesitated to reach for the knife. 

“The woods are damn quiet, and if you run into a Walker, you gon need somethin’ quiet to take ‘em down.” He explained. And then, with a fair amount of cheek, he added on: “Come on. It’s for good luck.” 

You let out a sharp nasal sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh, and then you reached out and grabbed the knife, tucking the holster onto your belt. 

“Maybe I don’t need luck.” You stated, getting up and making your way toward the mouth of the tent. “If I run into a bunch of Walkers, I could just make a necklace out of ears. That would be very fashionable.” 

You winked at Daryl, and he flipped you off - though you knew he didn’t mean anything harsh by it, seeing as it was paired with a small smile that he was unable to hold back at your comment. 

“Asshole.” He mumbled under his breath. 

“I heard that!” 

(For some reason, this made him smile harder.) 

… 

Despite what Daryl believed, you were comfortable in the woods. 

You had spent a lot of your childhood camping - he likely would have called it ‘glamping’ (if he knew what that word was). Your family spent a lot of weekends in an RV, driving off to remote areas to go fishing or so that your father could go hunting. You spent a lot of time off in some cabin deep in the woods with no TV reception, playing around in the trees with a stick, making mud pies for fun. 

You knew the reason that you seemed so naive in Daryl’s eyes was because you spent all those childhood experiences very hands-off. Your father was a wicked control freak of a man who never let you touch anything, despite how many times you voiced wanting to learn. 

He insisted that your family have ‘happy’ family outings - he insisted that you get your ass in the boat while he was fishing, he insisted that you eat the game that he shot while out hunting, he insisted that you get out in nature because it was what he had done as a child. But he would never let you touch a fishing rod, he would never let you hold a gun to hunt or set a snare. He always told you it was because you were ‘too stupid’ and you would inevitably mess things up. 

So before Daryl had started teaching you the basics, you didn’t know how to read a map, you didn’t know how to start a fire, and you had been learning how to fix vehicles only because of Dale. Your mother was the one who insisted that you learn how to ride a horse because it was something she had learned during her childhood. (It had spawned a wicked argument between your parents that you didn’t want to think about.) 

But nonetheless, you felt comfortable by yourself in the quiet of the woods. It was a quiet you had come to enjoy throughout your childhood. 

It was why your ears immediately picked up on something - a particular noise - standing out from that quiet. The gentle thrashing of cicadas, the quiet bustle of leaves in the breeze, but then, something else. Crying. Distinctly - the sound of someone crying. 

You hopped off the horse that Maggie had given you and tied the saddle to a nearby tree, taking Daryl’s advice to get off and having a look on foot. 

And sure enough - you soon came to a small cliff, at the base of which there was a small rocky indenture that could have been considered a small cave. It was something that you might have passed by when perched so high on the horse. 

When you crouched down and got even lower on your hands and knees- 

“Sophia?” 

You almost couldn’t believe your luck. You had been riding for less than an hour, and fuck - there she was. 

She was curled up with her back to you, likely crying out of upset from being separated from her mother for so long, being scared and alone. Even covered in dirt - you recognized that blue tee shirt that she had been wearing when she had run off. And it’s not like there would be some other little girl hiding out in these woods. 

“Sophia.” You called her name a little firmer, in case she hadn’t heard you, or she was fatigued from the whole ordeal and needed a little extra jolt to awaken her attention toward you. It was then that her head turned and she gazed at you with two large teary eyes. 

“Y/N?” She hiccuped sorrowfully. “Wh-where’s my mom?” 

“Your mom is waiting for you,” You grinned at her, extending your arms out to invite her toward you - and she began crawling out to meet you. “Everybody set up camp at a farm just off the highway so we could look for you.” 

“I thought you were gonna leave me.” She sobbed, sitting upright and jumping into your arms - you couldn’t help but embrace her in a tight hug. 

Relief flooded your system, and though you knew that she was scared, hungry, and definitely dehydrated by now, you couldn’t be happier to have her in your arms - alive. To know that Carol would feel the same relief in such a short time. 

“Nobody was gonna leave you.” You assured her. 

You hated that it was a partial lie. But of course you weren’t going to tell her about Shane’s pessimism and Rick’s liability to fall for the ramblings of his best friend. They would all feel foolish when you rode back with her on the horse. And you would be happy to prove them wrong. 

Then, something else came to mind. 

“Are you hurt?” You asked, pulling away from the hug to inspect her. A secondary terror spiked your system. If she had been bitten - you didn’t know that you would be up to the task of ‘doing what needed to be done’ as Daryl had put it. 

“My ankle.” She said, motioning to her foot. Upon further examination, it was swollen so tightly that it looked more than painful, cartoonishly bulged over the edge of her shoe. The sight of it made you wince. “I fell down.” 

“Okay, well - one of the people at the farm is a doctor. So he’ll be able to fix you right up.” You smiled at her. “But you didn’t get scratched or - you didn’t get touched by any of the Walkers?” You asked, wanting to be sure. 

“I hid from them.” She assured you. “I was running away, and - and I got lost, and I couldn’t find my way back, and that’s when it got dark, and-” She broke into more sobs, and you reached out to hug her again. 

“It’s okay.” You assured her. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take you to your mom now.” 

“Look out!” Sophia screamed this in your ear suddenly, pointing a finger to something behind your back. 

Your heart thumped in your chest, panicked, and then, with an instinct you didn’t even know you had, you reached to the handle of the knife - Daryl’s knife on your belt. You pushed Sophia away, whipping around in order to jab the knife toward the danger. 

The first time you hit the Walker somewhere in the middle of its torso, and the second time you locked onto two disgusting yellow eyes - and you jabbed the knife right between them. Within seconds, all the movement in the Walker went limp, and it fell to the ground - and you let out a huff (not even fully knowing that you had been holding your breath) as you pulled the bloody knife out of its skull. 

“I got it.” You said, feeling victorious as you looked over your shoulder toward Sophia - who was shell-shocked and very tearful once again. “Let’s just… get on the horse and go back to the house, okay?” 

“There’s a horse?” 

You gave Sophia your canteen and she drank the entirety of the water during the ride back, and by the time the sun was setting, you were emerging from the trees with her sitting on the front of the saddle. 

On top of the RV, Dale and Andrea were having a dispute about who was supposed to be on watch. One especially heated after the debacle of Andrea accidentally shooting Daryl in the head. 

“Just give me - give me those! Give me those!” Andrea snapped, taking the binoculars from Dale. 

The man acquiesced to her fierce will, and he nodded, putting his hands up in surrender as he walked toward the edge of the RV to descend the ladder. 

Andrea put the binoculars to her face and looked out upon the fields, and what she saw shocked her more than the bloodied Daryl that she had mistaken as a lone Walker. 

“Oh my god.” Andrea gasped. 

“What?” Dale whipped back around, obviously thinking that something was wrong. “What? What?!” 

Andrea took down the binoculars and turned to Dale with a look of pure shock. 

“It’s Sophia.” 

… 

A short time later, everyone was gathered in the living room, an odd air of dread and tension having fallen over the group. It seemed that nobody else shared your joyous relief, as they were all anxious to hear it from Hershel’s mouth that Sophia was going to be fine. It was a case of waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course. 

It wasn’t long before Hershel came out of the downstairs bedroom to grace everyone with the news. 

“How’s she doin’?” Lori asked, practically trampling the man before he even had a chance to close the door behind himself. “Is she gonna be okay?” 

“Well - the girl is quite dehydrated after the adventure she’s been on,” He said, pressing that word, using it quite liberally. “But - after some IV fluids and rest, I don’t see any reason why she won’t make a full recovery.” 

Lori burst into tears. The previously silent room became a muddle of relieved sighs, delighted chatter, and more tears - and the joy you had somehow been suppressing exploded inside of you tenfold. As you looked around at everyone hugging and celebrating, you realized that there was just one person missing from the scene. 

The man who had made it possible to find her in the first place. 

You knew that Daryl should be resting because of his injuries - but what he should be doing, and what he usually did weren’t two things that often coincided. You wandered out the front door while everyone was distracted by the exchange of hugs and the general relief of the whole situation, and you weren’t surprised to find Daryl sitting in front of his tent, poking at a low-flamed fire with a long stick. 

You were slightly surprised to see him sitting up - but if you weren’t mistaken, his shirt was licked with blood on the side where his stitches would be underneath. So he was aggravating the wound and simply ignoring the consequences. Very predictable for him. 

“Hey.” You greeted him casually as you walked up. 

He didn’t bother to take his eyes off the flames, and after a quiet moment, he quietly spoke. 

“She okay?” He croaked out - his typical meditative speech. No more words than he needed. You liked that about him. 

“She’s great.” You answered. “You were right. She’s gonna eat a good meal and sleep in a warm bed tonight, and she’s gonna wake up next to her mother. She is gonna be more than fine.” 

If you weren’t mistaken, the small flinch at the side of his mouth - something that could have been taken for a tic in his cheek muscle - it was a genuine smile at the idea of Sophia actually being okay. A smile at something actually turning out well for the group. 

“And it’s all thanks to you.” You added on, taking the opportunity to give him genuine praise where it was due.  

Daryl shook his head. “Nah.” 

“Come on.” You sighed, crossing your arms. “You pointed to a place on the map, I went there, I found her. That’s all you.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’re just lucky.” 

You knew he was being snarky, but you couldn’t help leaning into it. 

“I am.” You grinned at him. 

He sighed harshly, shaking his head. He resisted the urge to argue, not wanting to ruin the general air of happiness at Sophia coming home alive. 

“But the knife did help.” You had to admit it - he had been right about forcing you to take it. You took it off your belt and extended it out back toward him, and he hesitated for a moment, perhaps wanting you to keep it for your own protection - and then he took it back. 

“Told ya it would.” He grumbled quietly. 

Before you could form some clever reply, you heard the front door of the house open once again, and you were surprised when Carol came marching toward you. You thought for certain that she would be attached to Sophia’s side after such an ordeal, but soon enough, she was sweeping you into a tearful hug. 

“Thank you.” She wept into your shoulder. “Thank you, thank you so much. You found my daughter - you brought her home.” 

“Oh. I…” You weren’t really sure how to respond. “It wasn’t all me. Daryl told me where to look. He was the one who followed the trail.” 

Again - you had to give him the credit where it was due. 

“Of course.” Carol nodded, pulling away from squeezing you and moving toward Daryl. 

He jumped up from his camping chair so fast that he knocked it over, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to escape her thankful affection. A tense silence fell over the three of you as he gripped at his side, and he stared her down with wide eyes like a deer caught in a hunter’s cross-hairs. 

“I got stitches.” He mumbled out, clearly looking for an excuse as to why he couldn’t be hugged in the same way. 

“Okay.” Carol replied meekly. “I still want to thank you for everything that you’ve done for my daughter.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “Welcome.” 

…

Even if Daryl didn’t know it then, helping to bring Sophia home truly cemented his place in the group. If it wasn’t a truth in everyone’s eyes, it was you whispering it to them, hammering home the fact that he was more than worthy - not as some kind of politician, but because you truly believed in him. 

And while you spent time rooting for him, he became an iron clad wall behind you. He continued teaching you every single skill he could, imparting all of his knowledge. And while you had insisted on returning his knife to him, he realized that a bothersome nuisance was that you didn’t have a good knife of your own. 

And he needed to make sure that you got one. 

Things were always subtle with him. He never went out of his way to make it seem like he was intentionally being nice to you or giving you a gift. He always made it seem like it was a coincidence - a side effect of whatever else was happening at the time. If the two of you went hunting together, he was teaching you because it was practical, because he had to. 

If he picked a flower out of the ground and tucked it behind your ear, it was because he claimed you smelled bad and it would dampen ‘the stank comin’ off you’ - not because it was meant to be any kind of affectionate gesture. If he made sure that you got a little bit extra on your plate that night, it was because he didn’t like the particular kind of game he had picked up, or because he was giving you ‘the worst parts’. Not because he was trying to make sure that you ate more in order to stay healthy and keep from going hungry. 

So when he gifted you a hunting knife of your own, it was entirely by mistake, of course. 

You didn’t know that he had been on the lookout for one with the intention of giving it to you for weeks. He wanted you to be able to protect yourself, and to be able to gut and skin your own kills properly now that you were learning to hunt. And in order to do that, you needed a good knife of your own. 

It just so happened that he found the perfect one while the two of you were out on a formula run for Little Asskicker. The kid was only a few days old and had lungs like a professional opera singer, wailing loud enough to shake the prison walls every few hours, and she was going through enough formula to fill up a mac truck. At least, that’s what it seemed like. 

The stuff that Maggie and Daryl had gotten just after she had been born had only lasted about a week. So now, you were out with Daryl once again, raiding a small rest stop that the two of you had seen nearby while out on a hunt. 

So far, the trip had been pretty successful. 

After struggling to get through the heavily padlocked and gated front door, Daryl boosted you through a higher up back window - which left you impressed by his strength and slightly afraid to fall on the other side (and then grossed out by the state of the bathroom that you ended up in). You got the gate up from the inside and found the keys to the padlocks on the dead owner (sitting in his office chair with a bullet in his head beside a very typical scrawl on the wall about hopelessness that you tried to ignore). And soon, Daryl unlocked the chains and then the two of you were in. 

Turns out that the security had been a deterrent for other people, and the place was relatively untouched. The two of you made off like bandits. Medicine, bandages, canned food, bottled water, juice, and of course - plenty of baby formula. Daryl even found a spare car battery that would work for one of the vehicles, and a half full can of gas. 

You were celebrating your haul with a handful of jellybeans each, smiling to each other, when Daryl noticed something. The molding corpse of the owner, now nothing but dried out skin husking against the bones with tattered old clothes rotting on top - had a very nice leather knife holster on his belt. 

Some things really do withstand the test of time. 

He necked down the rest of his candy, and as he chewed, he stepped into the office and you cringed as he reached for the dead man. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. 

“Thas a nice knife.” He mumbled in return, causing an awful crunching sound as he peeled the holster off the corpse. 

You had to admire him - where everyone else saw decay, he saw possibilities. 

He took the knife out of the holster and admired it for a moment, and sure enough - it was a damn nice bowie knife. It would need to be sharpened, but things like this last a lifetime. It would be perfect for you. He took out his bandana and wiped it off a bit, getting off any of the decay or dead skin that the previous owner had gotten on it, and then, he turned to you. 

“Here.” He said, holding it out to you. “You need one.” 

You did have a knife on you - a small pocket knife that Maggie had lent you for the trip out. Though you knew it was a nice gesture in Daryl’s mind, you were slightly hesitant to take something that had come off a corpse. 

“No, I don’t-” You huffed, trying to deny it. 

Next, Daryl did something that entirely shocked you, causing any protests to easily die off in your throat. 

He stepped forward, crowding into your personal space with his tall, looming presence - hot, sweaty skin lurking on every inch of him, warm breath that lingered partially with cigarettes and the sugar he had just consumed becoming absolutely apparent under your nose. And then, he lifted up the edge of your shirt, causing sharp tingles all through your body when his knuckles brushed across the bare skin of your hip as he forcefully slatted the holster onto the edge of your pants. 

His eyes were sharply locked on your hip, refusing to look at you, busying himself with securing it and then straightening the fabric of your shirt behind it so that you would have easy access to it in case you needed it. But your gaze was hard locked on the side of his face, only inches from yours. And you knew that he could feel how thick the air had gotten between the two of you. That he hadn’t missed the tiny gasp you had let out the second his skin had brushed against yours. 

“Daryl-” You said his name quietly, a whispered prayer, and before you could wander any further into dangerous territory, he easily cut you off. 

“There.” He grunted out, stepping back, breaking off the tedious moment. “Now you got one.” 

Before things could swim any further into that murky territory, he moved back to the bags the two of you had packed full of supplies, forcefully busying himself with taking them out to secure onto his bike. 

That moment left you thinking about his hands for hours after, days after - and you still thought about that moment occasionally when you used the knife. 

Strangely enough, you didn’t work up the courage to kiss him for the first time until much later, still lingering with the belief that he might reject you, even after that heated moment. 

…

It wasn’t long before news got around to the rest of the group that you and Sophia were in Alexandria, alive and well. You were greeted with many tight hugs, excited chattering, and you were introduced to the new people who had helped the group along the way and seemed to have cemented themselves into the family now. 

Quickly the idea came about that everyone should gather for a big family dinner - much like the one that was held to celebrate Sophia coming out of the woods alive and well. 

Even though it was something that had peeved you earlier, ultimately you were glad that Olivia hadn’t put the deer meat in the freezer, because it meant that you were able to treat everyone to something fresh. On top of that, when you had first arrived in Alexandria, Aiden had gifted you a few bottles of wine with some cheeky line about ‘sharing’ them with you whenever you wanted, and they had been gathering dust in a cabinet somewhere - so you could think of no better occasion to open them. Soon, you were all sitting in the living room of the house that Rick and company had been sleeping in - sleeping bags and blankets cleaned up in favor of a jumble of mismatched tables and chairs thrown together to make a long dining table that would fit the entire group. 

Surrounding the table was the whole group - Rick, Michonne, and Carl who was holding sweet little Judith on his knee (someone you had been so excited to see again). Beth and her new friend Noah (who were not-so-subtly holding hands underneath the table). Maggie and Glenn (who had hugged you so tight upon seeing you and refused to let go for nearly a full minute), their new friends Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene. Sasha, Bob (who looked happier than ever somehow) and Tyreese. 

And to round out the table, Carol sitting close by to Sophia with an arm wrapped lovingly around her daughter. Daryl was sitting next to you with a hand so shamelessly on your thigh - something that he never would have done before that you absolutely loved. As you looked around, all you saw was family - even in the people you didn’t fully know yet. You knew from Glenn and Beth’s words that the new people were nothing but good - and that was more than good enough for you. 

Radiating through you was nothing but pure joy. You truly didn’t know how things could get any better than this. 

“Well, I would like to propose a toast to our host,” Abraham said, rising up out of his seat and raising the plastic cup that he had filled with wine toward you. 

“Technically, Rick is our host,” You reminded him, nodding toward the man who looked so odd when he was clean shaven. It felt so strange to see his naked face. 

“Hey, this has only been my house for a day.” Rick replied with a shrug. “You can take full credit for giving us the best damn welcome wagon ever. This is a pretty fine spread you managed to put together on such short notice.” 

“Well, in my book, anybody who brings such good grub and such prime booze is the host,” Abraham argued lightly, giving a grin. “Plus, you were crawling around in the woods and shot down this buck so we could eat it. That deserves a thanks.” 

“Well, you’re welcome.” You shrugged in return. 

Everyone else raised their glasses in a slightly disorganized chorus of ‘thanks’, and Abraham accepted this and sat back down. You felt almost too humble and too embarrassed to accept it. You didn’t think that providing food for your family was all too big of a deal. 

“Dude, I’m just happy to be eating something that’s not from a can.” Tara added on with a grin. 

“I’m just happy that we’re all together again,” Bob replied with a smile. 

“Cheesy.” Sasha scolded him lovingly, rolling her eyes. 

“Well, I’m not the only one deserving of thanks.” You shrugged, feeling a need to deflect some of that embarrassment. “Daryl taught me how to hunt.” You explained, giving him a pat on the thigh to affirm the credit in his direction. “I wouldn’t even know how to hold a knife properly if it wasn’t for him.” 

Carol smirked. “That’s always your story, isn’t it?” She mocked you gently. “‘Daryl showed me the map.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to build a fire without matches.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to hotwire a car.’” She said, performing a mocking imitation of your voice. 

Sophia let out a gentle laugh at this, having heard this plenty of times from you while on the road together. 

This time, you could see Daryl shrinking back into his seat slightly with embarrassment, his eyes purposefully fixated on his empty plate instead of looking at anybody else around the table. 

“Well, it’s true.” You replied. 

… 

You thought back to a time shortly after you and Sophia had escaped the prison alive. You had tried looking for the others, and found nothing but the stalled prison bus, surrounded by corpses. The two of you were tired, broken down, starving - luckily, you and Daryl kept some hunting supplies outside the fence for when the two of you went hunting, including the spare crossbow that he had fixed up to teach you with. 

So you had managed to snag a few squirrels and gut them just as night fell, and you started a fire with the flint and steel with minimal difficulty as he had taught you. 

“Daryl taught you all this stuff, huh?” Sophia wondered aloud as she watched you put the flayed squirrels, now skewered onto sticks, over the fire to be cooked. 

“Yeah.” You confirmed gently. “I’m certainly glad he did.” 

You didn’t let yourself wonder where Daryl was, if he was okay. You couldn’t imagine that someone like him would be easily taken down by Walkers, not with how you had seen him handle himself. Anybody could be blown apart by a thousand pound tank or smashed by falling concrete, even if they were as skilled and vigilant as him. 

But you refused to let yourself think about it. You refused to worry about going back to pick over ashes just to have some confirmation - because there wouldn’t be any. You had to believe he was alive, or not even think about him at all. 

You had to take care of Sophia. 

A rattle in the leaves behind you caught your attention, and you grabbed your crossbow without any hesitation. You whipped around and pointed it toward the source of the sound, and soon found yourself staring down a random man. He didn’t hesitate to walk closer to your makeshift campsite, clearly unafraid of you even with your weapon raised. 

He was obviously someone who had been outside a long time - his clothes dirty and tattered, his teeth rotting as he gave you a filthy smile. 

“What do we have here? Hmm?” He greeted you in an oddly calm way - perhaps his attempt at mocking kindness. 

A general sense of unease caused all of your hair to stand on end. 

“Sophia,” You called her name gently, getting her attention, and in a moment, she was at your back, standing behind you while you stayed guarded. 

“Y/N-” She said your name quietly, grasping at the back of your shirt. 

“It’s okay.” You assured her, keeping the man locked in your sights as he came to fully stand in the light of the fire that you had made. 

“Oh, it is okay.” The man chuckled. “I assure you that I don’t mean any harm.” 

He gave another filthy smile - not just dirty by the color of his teeth, but something deeply unsettling that made your stomach twist with disgust. 

“I’m only looking for a kind person to share the night with. Perhaps I can share the warmth of your fire, and we can make friends.” 

He peered around you then, and eyed Sophia heavily with a look that made you all too certain your next move. 

You pulled the trigger on your bow and shot him, the arrow landing perfectly in the hollow of his neck - he sputtered on his own blood for a moment, and then fell to the ground. You felt regretful that Sophia had to witness it, but you knew that sadly, during her time at the prison, she had seen similar or even worse things. 

Once you were sure that he was dead, you walked over to his corpse and pulled out the arrow, and stabbed him in the temple with it to make sure that he stayed down. And then, almost hearing Daryl’s voice in your ear telling you what to do next, you began looking over his corpse for anything useful. His backpack held a few cans of food, and the knife on his belt wasn’t too bad. You gave it to Sophia and reminded her to tuck her shirt behind it as her mother had instructed. 

After you dragged the body far enough away so that it wouldn’t be an eyesore, the two of you enjoyed some canned spinach alongside the squirrels for dinner. 

…

“He knows a lot of very practical stuff and I’m lucky that he’s taught me so much.” You added on, not even realizing how much praise dripped through your voice as you spoke about Daryl. “It’s a huge reason that me and Sophia survived out there for so long. I was able to get us food and fix vehicles for us to get along because of what Daryl taught me. Back at the beginning of all this, I would have been so helpless and… probably dead if I had gotten stranded out there by myself.” 

You felt Daryl’s eyes on you, thoughtfully fixed on the side of your face, and he gently squeezed your thigh. It warmed him to the core to know that he had given you a gift - that he had kept you and Sophia alive with the proxy of his knowledge and skills, even if he couldn’t be there to protect you and provide for you himself. In a way, he had kept you fed and safe all that time. 

It was so sweet that you felt a devilish temptation curling up in you. 

“And you know, him being cute is just a bonus.” You added on with a grin - knowing that it would tickle him with embarrassment that you had loudly, affectionately announced this in front of the group. 

And it worked. 

“Aw, shove it.” Daryl scoffed, reaching up to shove your shoulder. 

But you didn’t get very far away, didn’t get to fall off your chair completely before he took the hand off your thigh and wrapped that arm around your neck, pulling you close and smothering your cheek in a few beard-scratchy kisses, making you cringe and smile all at the same time. 

This was a brand new, openly affectionate side of Daryl that you had never seen before. He had missed you for so long and he certainly wasn’t wasting making up for lost time. 

Fuck, you really loved him. 

“You know, Dixon, I never woulda guessed that you off all people would be saddled up.” Andraham commented. 

“Yeah, you never mentioned Y/N before,” Rosita added on, clearly curious as to why Daryl had never mentioned you. 

Beth gave Daryl a very knowing look as he reached for his glass of wine and finished it off, and Daryl felt lucky when someone else spoke up before he could. 

“We all saw it coming. Him getting ‘saddled up’, that is.” Michonne added on with a smile. “Carl owes me a Baby Ruth, though.” 

“The over-under was two years,” Carl hissed quietly in reply. 

Rick glared at them, and any further discussion about this bet was silenced. 

“You never told us how you got out.” Glenn piped up, suddenly curious about this. “The prison was utter chaos, if I had known that someone else was alive in A-Block, I would have-” 

“It’s not your fault.” You pressed. “It’s actually a really crazy story.” 

“Well please - do tell.” Sasha said. 

… 

Chaos. Noise. 

Being woken from the deepest unconsciousness of your life, still coughing up ugly yellow mucus and nearly having large chunks of the concrete ceiling fall on top of you due to an apparent explosion - definitely not one of your best days. Your vision was a clumpy haze due to the sickness you were still battling and you had to forcefully, bloodily rip out the IV that Hershel had put in you in order to try and navigate through it all. You climbed over the fallen bits of the building, stumbling around with a dizzy, weak body to climb down what was left of the stairs and partially falling down to the ground floor. 

“He - hell - o?!” Your efforts to call out for help were damped by coughing and the general chaos around you - the sounds of more explosions and a hail of gunfire that you could barely form panic over because your head was pounding and you still felt so fucking ill. 

You needed to find Daryl. You needed to find somebody. 

The prison bus. That was the plan if things ever went wrong. 

You moved toward the exit and found that the main hallway was blocked by more debris, but a splintering path that you knew led toward the library wasn’t. Even in your hazy state, you remembered the fact that Carol had a very large trunk in the library filled with emergency supplies. Water, dry rations, and knives that she had been teaching the kids with. Even if you couldn’t get to the bus, you could get those supplies and get out on foot. The others would likely be camping somewhere along the highway when the bus eventually ran out of gas, so you could catch up to them - eventually. 

It was the best plan you could come up with on such short notice, so you stumbled your way toward the library, and as soon as you opened the door - another explosion rocked the building, causing one of the tall, unsecured bookshelves to come tumbling down on top of you. You ended up flat on your back with the large shelf crushing you, leaving you as perfect bait for Walkers that were likely being lured by all that noise outside. 

Though you were already weak from illness, you did try to move your arms - and you found out that only one of them wasn’t completely pinned down by the shelf. It was a completely futile effort to try and lift the thing off yourself. Between the weight on top of your lungs and the way the illness had weakened your system - you soon passed out. 

When you drifted back into consciousness, the noise had greatly lessened. There was the faint growling of Walkers - cordoned off unintentionally in some other area of the prison - but there were no more explosions, and no more gun fire. 

The first thing that caught your eye was something bright red. You focused your eyes to focus, and you quickly realized that it was a picture of a red cardinal. A hand-drawn sketch on the front of a book titled ‘Birds of North America’ that was on one of the other shelves. It was tipped perfectly into the line of your vision, as if meant for you to see. 

Before you could futilely try to lift the shelf off yourself again, you heard a voice. 

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” 

You quickly recognized who it was. 

“So-Sophia?” You called back, barking out another cough that strained your words. Luckily, she heard you. 

You were soon greeted by the sight of her legs rushing toward you. Though you had no clue how such a waifish girl would ever be able to lift the bookcase off you, you were at least relieved that you were no longer alone. 

“What happened?” She asked, kneeling down to speak to you. 

“Stupid thing fell on me.” You wheezed quietly. “I came in here looking for your mom’s stash. I’m guessing you had the same idea?” 

“Yeah.” She confirmed. “Can you get this thing off you?” 

“Yeah. I was just having a leisurely lie down underneath a bookshelf.” 

Sophia rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. 

“Guess I’ll just leave you here then.” She remarked, battling back with her own sarcasm, clearly having no intentions of doing so. 

“Well you might have to… I have no clue how you’re gonna lift this thing off me.” You admitted quietly, hating how defeated you sounded. 

“I think I have an idea.” 

You were curious what she meant, and you couldn’t quite see what she was doing as she stepped out of your eyeline and made some noise, shuffling around to grab something. Then she came back with a long wooden beam - a shelf she had broken off of one of the other fallen bookcases. She stacked up a few of the books, making a hinging point, and then stuck the beam underneath the bookcase and somehow - using all her bodyweight, she was able to push it off you for long enough for you to crawl out from underneath it. 

“Thanks, kid.” You smiled at her as you sucked in greedy breaths. 

“Glenn taught me that.” She smiled back. “He said it’s basic physics.” 

“I’ll remember to thank him when I see him.” You said. 

… 

Sitting at the dinner table, you then turned to Glenn. 

“That reminds me,” You said. “Thanks for that.” 

Glenn chuckled. “Happy to help.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ve just one question,” Rick piped up. “Why did you have a stash of weapons in the library, Carol?” 

Carol took a long sip of wine, pointedly avoiding the question. 

“Oh shit, he never found out about storytime, did he?” Carl chuckled, obviously directing this question toward Carol. 

“Storytime?” Rick echoed, eyeing his son heavily, clearly confused. 

You cut them off, not wanting to get Carol in trouble for her proactive teaching a bit too late. 

“Okay, let’s all just be happy that we’re together and that we’ve had a nice meal.” You said. “I’m not doing dishes. You guys have fun with that. Come on, Daryl, I’ve got somethin’ to show you.” You made your exit, getting up from the table and hoping he would follow - which he did, making way to push out his chair. 

“Is it your bare ass?” Abraham joked, clearly at least a bit drunk. 

“Abraham!” Rosita chastised him with a gentle smack. 

“What? I think it’s cute that Dixon’s all shacked up.” He replied with a chuckle. 

“You’re lucky he doesn’t punch your lights out for that one.” Tara remarked. 

“Nah, you’re safer with Y/N around.” Maggie commented. “He gets all soft when he’s around Y/N. It is cute.” 

“Oh, if you think this is cute just wait til I tell you about what they were like back at the prison.” Michonne added on. “He used to bring Y/N dead squirrels like a cat dropping dead mice at someone’s doorstep. I have no clue how such an odd form of flirting actually worked.” 

“Well, some people like dead squirrels, some people like toothpaste.” Rick replied. 

And that was the last of the conversation you heard before you closed the front door behind you, going off down the street with Daryl in tow to show him your place. 

When you took him up the porch of another manicured house and opened the door, he quietly croaked out: 

“This ‘ur place?” 

“Yeah.” 

You told him, shoving your boots off, not wanting to get dirt on the clean rugs inside. Daryl felt a bit strange taking his shoes off - knowing that his overly worn socks had holes in them, but still, he followed suit. He knew you wouldn’t judge him for something as petty as his socks having holes in them, after all. 

“This is where me and Sophia have been living. But there’s always room for one more. If you’re done snuggling up next to Rick on the living room floor,” You couldn’t let another opportune joke escape you, and Daryl rolled his eyes. 

“Asshole.” He gently scoffed. 

Though the two of you had never slept in the same bed together before. And he couldn’t help but to love the idea of being curled up next to you at night. He found that he also loved the idea of waking up next to you every morning - especially after going for so long without seeing your face. You walked up the stairs and he couldn’t help but to follow you, and he was surprised when you didn’t lead him to bed - but instead, went to the back of a hallway, and pulled down a latch. 

This unleashed some stairs that led to the attic, leading the two of you up even higher. He found himself shamelessly admiring the view of your ass as he followed you up the stairs, and when he emerged into the dark attic (only lit by a few strokes of moonlight coming in through the small window) - he was surprised by what he saw. He had to crouch down on his hands and knees to be comfortable, and he quickly adjusted to sit down on his ass as you had. 

It appeared that you had built a watchtower of sorts up here. 

There was a telescope set up in the small window, and off to one side, there was a cork board with a hand-drawn map of the surrounding area, a few notebooks sitting in the corner that you likely wrote down observances in. Posted on the cork board - there were names of all the residences in town, and you had written down certain traits beside each of them. Along with a hand drawn map of the town itself and names on the houses, indicating where everyone lived. 

“So you’re gettin’ paranoid?” Daryl joked. 

“No.” You scoffed. “Besides, you should know that a healthy level of paranoia is necessary these days.” 

It was in that moment that it truly hit Daryl - you had taught him to be hopeful, even if he hadn’t fully known it at the time. And he had taught you to be less naive, to be firmer in order to survive. The two of you were only alive, only able to have the privilege of being in each other’s presence now because you had accepted those pieces of the other person that kept you alive. 

“Ain’t that right.” He replied. “Why did you wanna show me?” 

You shrugged. “I thought you might like it.” 

Daryl couldn’t hold back his grin - one of the most genuine smiles you had ever seen come from him. He did like it. He liked that he had made a little fighter out of you. But at the same time, nothing had snubbed out the perfect spark that he had fallen in love with. Your smile, your laughter, the brightness in your eyes - somehow, it was all still the same. It made him love you even more somehow. 

“I guess I also wanted to thank you.” You added on. “I meant what I said before. You taught me so much - I would have been clueless without you. I would have starved to death and been blind, and lost and stupid without everything that you taught me.” You declared passionately. “You kept me fed and sheltered and warm, and I don’t know how much I could thank you for that.” 

Daryl began to get choked up, and he hated that for the second time that day, more tears swelled in his eyes. 

He knew that in a different way, you had kept him fed, sheltered, and warm too. You had kept his soul from dying out in those woods - you had kept his spirit fed on the idea of hope that he never would have conceived as something real before he had met you.

He couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. So instead, he found himself reaching out toward you. He put a firm hand under your jaw and guided you toward him; you easily fell limp to the touch and let yourself be guided toward his mouth once again. 

This was much less of a surprise than the earlier kiss. This was much warmer, like sinking into the hot shower had been earlier that day. Only this was much, much better. You let out a gentle moan as you let yourself feel it, simply enjoying the tingling sensation throughout your body, gripping into the lapels of his vest, crawling forward to sit in his lap as your mouth embraced his. 

After a moment, you pulled away. There was only one thing on your mind, one incomplete thread that you had been thinking about since you had lost him at the prison. 

“I love you too.” 

Daryl grunted in reply and pulled your mouth back to his. 

For once in his life, he didn’t feel like a fool for letting himself hope. 

That night, Daryl went to sleep in your bed. 

For the first time in far too long, he got to wake up knowing that you were alive and well - he had the privilege of being greeted by the sound of your even, calm breaths. You slept on his chest long after he awoke, and he let you. He was greedy and starved for your touch, soaking in the feeling of your warmth half on top of him, nosing over the top of your head to enjoy your natural scent mixed lightly with the smell of soap. 

As the sun rose over the walls of Alexandria, Daryl noticed a streak of red flash by and land on the roof of a house beside yours. Through the window, he saw it there perfectly - the red cardinal that you had gifted him with for luck, the symbol that had guided him all the way here, all the way back to you.  

He couldn’t help it, then - he grinned to himself. 

The next day, he found one of those picture frames that Aaron had gifted the group with that they largely had no use for, and he put your picture of the bird, still singed on one edge, inside of it. 

A while later, when the two of you were out on a run and he had a bit of time on his hands as you fell asleep - he edged a stick n poke tattoo into the skin of his forearm, outlining the bird as best he could with his very little artistic talent. When you saw it, you giggled - and he assured you that it was because he liked the look of it, most definitely not for luck. 

He didn’t need ‘luck’ anymore - not when he had you.

...

A/N: This is a stand-alone oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. I have always intended for this to be a stand-alone story, so please do not ask for a follow up or a sequel in the comments. If you are going to comment, please comment about the material that has already been written. If you want to see more TWD fics from me, I have some posted on AO3 (which is linked in my pinned) but I don't currently have any of my other TWD fics posted on Tumblr. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this!

holy hell, this was HAWT

Breaking Through

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl’s reckless behavior on a supply run nearly gets him killed, pushing you to remind him how to stay humble. Little did you know, his attitude was hiding something much deeper that only you could break through.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: MOMMY KINK / SMUT / BODY WORSHIP / ORAL SEX / EDGING / TEASING / HURT / COMFORT / AFTERCARE / LANGUAGE

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.799

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: LATE S5 & EARLY S6

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ: @mayday2007

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I truly hope I did your request justice! I also hope that the length of it is okay and that it met your expectations. And thank you so much for your patience!

MASTERLIST

You leaned against the porch, one of the few spots in Alexandria that didn’t make you want to rip your hair out. It all felt too damn clean sometimes, too fake even. Here, it was easy to forget how the world had gone to shit, but... Daryl? He never let himself forget. He was walking around by the gate, looking like an animal waiting for a fight, and you knew why...

Rick and a few others were getting ready for a run—another trip outside the safe walls to scavenge for supplies. But more than that, it was an excuse for Daryl to escape the suffocation of Alexandria. He’d rather be out there with the walkers than in here, playing pretend.

"Daryl," you called out, and he stopped pacing and turned to face you, his eyes narrowing like he was already preparing for a lecture from you.

"What?" He grunted, sounding as defensive as ever. He was always on alert these days, and it was only getting worse since you arrived in Alexandria.

"Listen," you started, stepping down from the porch and running toward him as he prepared to leave. "I know you hate this place, and I understand; I really do, but you need to keep your head on straight out there. You’re not just out there for yourself. You’ve got Rick, Glenn, and Michonne with you today. You fuck anything up; they could get hurt too. Please, just be careful."

He looked away, scuffing his boot against the ground like a stubborn child who didn’t want to hear what you were saying. "Ain’t no damn kid. Can handle myself," he growled back at you.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. "You might be able to handle yourself, sure, and we all know that you are more than capable of doing that, but that doesn’t mean you can act reckless. You need to listen to Rick, do what he says, and stop acting like a damn brat. You keep pulling this shit, and one of these days, it’s gonna bite you in the ass. Literally."

Daryl clenched his jaw and scoffed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually argue with you. But then he just shook his head. "Yer done now?"

"No, Daryl, I’m not done," you snapped back, feeling your frustration grow and almost boil over. "I’m tired of watching you do this bullshit, okay? We’re all trying to make this work, and you’re out there acting like you’ve got a death wish. We’ve lost too many people already, and I’m not about to lose you or anyone else because you couldn’t keep your damn self in check."

For a second, you saw something like vulnerability, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He looked away again, like he was trying to block out your words, not wanting to listen to you.

"Just... think about what I said, okay?" You said, the tone in your voice softening slightly. You didn’t want to push him too hard, but you couldn’t just let this slide again all the time. "I’m not trying to piss you off, Daryl. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. We all need you to come back. I... I need you to come back."

He didn’t say anything; he just gave you a nod before finally turning away. But as you watched him walk toward Rick, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that something bad was going to happen on this run.

Rick was already waiting by the gate, his hands on his hips as he looked around Alexandria. He seemed to be tired, but when he saw you approaching as well, he gave you a small smile.

"Did you talk to him?" Rick asked, his voice whispering, so only you could hear.

"Yeah," you replied, glancing over at Daryl, who was busy playing around with his knife. "But you know how he is. Stubborn as hell."

Rick laughed a little, but there was no real humor in it. "Yeah. Isn't that the truth? Don’t worry, I'll keep an eye on him while we’re out there, alright? If he does something stupid..."

"You'll make sure he doesn’t," you interrupted, not needing him to finish the sentence.

"Alright. Got it. We’ll be back before you know it," Rick said, louder now and turning to the gate as it opened, and Glenn arrived with the car. "We’re heading out. Stay close, keep quiet, and don’t take any unnecessary risks. We get what we need, and we get back. That's it."

You watched as Daryl took his crossbow and walked with Rick and the others over to the truck. You were worried, sure, but you forced yourself to stay calm. This was Daryl Dixon, after all. He was tough, he was resourceful, and he’d been through far worse than this. But still, there was that uncomfortable feeling in the back of your mind, the one that told you things weren’t going to go smoothly today.

Rick took Daryl aside in the meantime. "Listen, Daryl. We stick to the plan, and we get back without any extra bullshit. You got that?"

Daryl glared at Rick but didn’t say anything. You knew that look; it was the one that said he was going to do what he wanted anyway.

With that, Rick and the others—Glenn and Michonne, in this case—headed out, leaving you in Alexandria with the rest of the group.

You turned away, heading back to the house, but your thoughts were still with Daryl. You just hoped he’d listen to you for once, or rather, Rick. Because if he didn’t, you weren’t sure you’d be able to forgive him—or yourself—if something went wrong.

The truck stopped at the side of a parking lot some time later. Abandoned cars were standing around all over the place, with their windows shattered and rotting corpses still sitting in some of them. It was a graveyard. Rick turned off the engine and looked over to the building, his face already showing that things were about to get rough.

"This place is full of walkers," Rick mumbled, looking around the area. "Okay… We get in, we get out. No fucking around. Got it?"

Everyone nodded, even Daryl, though the look in his eyes told a different story. Alexandria was killing him slowly, suffocating him with its safety and daily routine, and one could see he was just waiting to break free, to remind himself what it felt like to be out there again, in the real world, and not living in an illusion.

"Stick together," Rick continued, his eyes narrowing at Daryl like he could read his mind. "We’re hitting that grocery store, grabbing what we can, and getting the hell out. Nothing else, no bullshit."

Daryl grunted in response, his hand tightening around his crossbow. He wasn’t making any promises; that was clear enough, but at least he wasn’t outright showing it. That would have to be good enough. The four of them got out of the truck, their weapons ready, and slowly made their way toward the store. It looked like it had been raided a few times already, but Rick had heard from Aaron that a shipment had been left behind in the storage rooms—lots of canned food, water, and even medicine inside the small pharmacy of the store, locked up in the back, just waiting to be taken. Easy, if they played it safe.

Of course, playing it safe had not been Daryl’s way of doing it lately, not when his blood was boiling, and especially not since the prison, Terminus, and the other hell everyone went through. And especially not ever since Alexandria.

They went through the side entrance, which was once for the people that had worked there, the glass doors hanging off their hinges, and one could easily guess how most of the walkers got into the store in the first place, apart from those walkers that’ve died inside while scavenging. The inside of the store was pure chaos, with broken shelves, rotten food, and other empty products all across the floor. They moved quietly as Rick led the way, his Colt Python out and ready as always, Glenn close behind with his knife drawn, and Michonne with her sword, while Daryl was at the end, pointing his crossbow around as well. They soon made it to the back of the store, where the stockroom doors were, without drawing any attention so far.

"Alright," Rick whispered, motioning for the others to cover him. "Glenn and I will try to open the door. Michonne, watch our backs. Daryl, you—"

But before Rick could finish, Daryl was already moving. He didn’t like waiting, didn’t like standing around while others decided what to do, or having to wait for a plan. Without a word, he went off to the right, disappearing down one of the side aisles, his crossbow at the ready.

"Daryl!" Rick hissed, but there was no stopping him.

"Shit," Glenn grumbled in a bit of annoyance and panic, his eyes looking at Rick. "Where the hell is he going? What is he doing?"

Rick shook his head in frustration. "Just... just stay here," he ordered before walking after Daryl, cursing to himself with every step.

Daryl moved fast, his crossbow raised as he approached the loading dock at the back of the store from another side. He could hear the sounds of walkers moving behind the metal door, but this was exactly what he was looking for. He shoved the door open with a grunt, with the door making a noise that could be heard all throughout the whole store.

The walkers inside turned at the sound, and they immediately moved forward, their arms outstretched.

"C’mon, ya ugly bastards," Daryl mumbled, the first bolt killing the nearest walker in an instant. The walker fell to the ground, but the others kept coming.

He reloaded quickly, but just as he was about to fire again, a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him off balance. He hadn’t noticed the few other walkers, hidden in an open employee restroom nearby, their fingers grabbing his vest with their teeth only inches away from his face.

"Fuck!" Daryl growled, kicking the walker in front of him back and grabbing his knife. But he soon stumbled, falling down to the floor with the two of them on top of him. The impact knocked the knife from his hands, letting it slide across the floor, just out of reach, as he struggled to push the walkers off.

Then, just as the walkers’ teeth were about to bite into his flesh, several gunshots could be heard. Daryl gasped for breath, shoving the dead off him as he got to his feet, his heart racing while he looked over at Rick standing in the doorway with his Colt Python.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Rick said, lowering the gun. "What the hell were you even thinking?"

Daryl wiped the blood from his face, glaring at Rick but not saying a single word. He didn’t need to—he knew he’d fucked up, and Rick certainly knew it too.

But Rick didn’t wait for an explanation. "We need to hurry. Get your damn ass back to the truck. Now!"

For now, Daryl didn’t argue. He grabbed his crossbow and knife, putting it over his shoulder as he moved past Rick and over to Glenn and Michonne. He could feel Rick’s eyes on his back, judging him, and it took everything in him not to lash out. But he knew Rick was right. He’d been reckless, and it had nearly cost him his life. Not only that, but the supply run failed with the other walkers in the front of the store now moving toward the storage room.

Once outside, Daryl couldn’t ignore the thought that he’d fucked up more than just the run. He’d broken the trust, not just with Rick but with you. And he knew he’d have to face the consequences when he got back.

The sun was starting to set when you saw Rick and the others coming through the gate. You’d been waiting, walking around Alexandria, trying to distract yourself. But the deal had been clear—Rick would bring Daryl back in one piece and tell you every detail. But the moment you caught sight of Rick, you knew something had gone wrong. It was written all over his face, as was the fact that they had no supplies with them.

"Rick," you called out, running over to him.

He looked up at you, nodding and narrowing his eyes. You hated that look. It meant bad news, and you were tired of bad news.

"What happened?" You demanded as he walked next to you. "Where’s Daryl?"

"He’s fine," Rick said, holding up a hand to calm you down, though it didn’t do shit for your nerves. "I don't know where he is right now. Jumped right out of the truck. Physically, he’s okay. But, hell, it was close. Too close. Again."

Your stomach dropped at his words. This was getting out of hand. "What do you mean, 'close'?"

Rick rubbed the back of his neck, looking away for a moment. "We were in that store Aaron told us about, wanting to get the supplies. Daryl decided to go off on his own, like he always does lately. Didn’t wait for us as a backup, just did his own thing. Not even telling us that there was an easier way and that he has seen it. Next thing I know, he’s nearly got two walkers biting into his damn neck."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You asked, your hands balling into fists at your sides. "I told him—hell, we both told him so many times—not to pull that lone wolf bullshit anymore! And he still did it? I can’t fucking believe it!"

Rick nodded. "Yeah. Same old Daryl, too stubborn for his own good. I got there in time, but if I hadn’t... well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now."

You sucked in a breath, trying to calm the rage inside you. But it was hard—damn hard—when you pictured Daryl almost getting himself killed because he couldn’t follow simple instructions. "What the hell is wrong with him, Rick? Why does he keep doing this shit? Is Alexandria that bad for him? I mean, yeah, we all aren’t used to this... illusion, but hell, we’re at least trying to make the best of it! All of us!"

Rick sighed, leaning against the porch railing once you both arrived at the house. "I don’t think it’s only about Alexandria, not entirely. But yeah, it’s too controlled, too... fake. So he goes out there, trying to prove he’s still... still who he was out there. But it’s not like none of us tries the exact same thing. We all do. Or did."

You shook your head in frustration. "I get it; I do. But we can’t keep going on like this. He’s going to get himself killed—or worse, get someone else hurt. I’m fucking done sitting around, hoping he’ll pull his head out of his damn ass!"

Rick looked at you with a small smile. "By now I was thinking the same thing on the way back. We’ve tried to talk sense into him, but he isn’t listening. He’s too stubborn."

"That’s it," you finally said. "I’m handling this. If he won’t listen to you, maybe he’ll finally listen to me. But one way or another, this shit stops today, I swear."

Rick’s eyebrows moved up in surprise before he nodded slowly. "You sure? I don’t think you should push him into a corner."

You smirked, but it was more due to annoyance than amusement. "Oh, I’m sure. He’s going to learn today that there’s more than one way to get his damn ass in line. Trust me, Rick. Otherwise… Otherwise, I just don’t know what to do anymore."

Rick laughed a little and shook his head. "Alright then. Just don’t go too hard on him. And you must remember that it takes time. With… all of this."

You waved him off, already halfway down the steps of the porch. "He’ll be fine, Rick."

As you headed toward the garage, where you knew Daryl was probably working on his bike, your mind was already racing with what you were going to say. This wasn’t just about Daryl acting like a reckless asshole—this was about keeping him and the others alive, keeping him from throwing away everything you’d fought so hard for in this new world, with the rest of the group.

The moment you stepped into the garage, he barely looked your way, too focused on tightening a bolt that didn’t even need any more tightening. But you weren’t about to let him ignore you, not after what Rick had told you.

"Daryl," you started, but he only grunted in response, and that was about it—just a damn grunt, like he couldn’t be bothered to reply with words. And it pissed you off how he could be so nonchalant after nearly getting himself killed.

"Look at me," you snapped, stepping closer to him. "I said... Look at me, Dixon."

He paused, his hand stilling on the wrench, before finally looking into your eyes with a scoff.

"You think you can just go off on your own and do whatever the fuck you want? Well, guess what, Daryl? You almost got your damn throat ripped out today. And for what? Because you couldn’t listen? Because you’re too stubborn to accept that you’re part of a community now, and not some lone wolf out there in the woods with a group he helps out every now and then?" You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Ain’t like that," he mumbled, but it didn’t really sound like he was trying to defend himself.

"Bullshit!" You shot back, stepping even closer until you were right in his face, close enough to see the way his eyes widened slightly. "It’s exactly like that, and you know it. And for what? To prove something? To whom? You ain’t gotta prove anything to me, Daryl. And certainly not our group. But you do owe it to us to stop acting like a fucking idiot!"

He turned away from you, but you weren’t done yet. "This isn’t just about you anymore, Dixon. Every time you pull this shit, you put everyone at risk. Everyone! You get bit, we lose a member of this group. A member of our damn family! You die, and we all suffer! Do you even get that? Or are you that stuck with your own damn head up your ass that you can’t see that?"

"Ain’t need ya shittin’ on me," he growled, his voice quiet, but you caught something like guilt in it. "Can handle my ass."

"Clearly," you snapped at him with sarcasm. "Because you handled yourself so well today that Rick had to pull your ass out of a walker’s mouth. Real smooth, Daryl! Real fucking smooth!"

He flinched at that, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to face you. "Ain’t like I needed any damn help."

You didn’t back down, though. You were way past that. "And that’s the problem, Daryl. You think that you don’t need anyone. But guess what? You do. You need us, and we need you. So stop acting like an asshole and start thinking about what you’re doing to everyone else."

For a second, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you—like he was trying to figure something out. "Why ya care s’ much?" He finally asked.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Because I give a shit, you damn idiot. Because I... care about you more than anyone else here even knows, and I’m not about to watch you throw your life away over some macho bullshit, or whatever you’re trying to act like. You think I want to lose you? You think any of us do?"

He stared at you. "Ain’t tryna make shit harder," he muttered, looking down at the ground, shrugging his shoulders. "Jus’... can’t stand it ‘ere sometimes. Ain’t me ‘round ‘ere."

"Who you are isn’t some reckless idiot who doesn’t give a damn about anyone else. Who you are is someone who’s saved more lives than you can count, someone who’s part of a family now. And yeah, maybe it’s different here and maybe it’s hard, but that doesn’t give you the right to check out whenever you feel like it, as if this community is a fucking hotel!"

He didn’t say anything; he just kept looking at you with those blue, searching eyes, like he was waiting for you to give him something—some kind of direction.

You took a deep breath. "Daryl, you need to stop this shit. You need to stop before you get yourself killed. And if you won’t listen to Rick, then you’ll damn well listen to me. Got it?"

"Yeah," he said, almost whispering. "Got it."

"Good," you said. "Because this stops now. You’re done running off, done putting yourself at risk for no damn reason. From now on, you listen, just like before. We’re all a big team, Daryl, and we still are despite everything. Understand?"

"Yeah… Do ya still lo—" He started but stopped himself from speaking any further. "Are ya mad?"

"What? No, I’m not mad," you answered, stepping back to leave, wanting to give him some space. "But I’m hurt and disappointed."

Daryl sat there for a long time after you left. He gritted his teeth, and his fists were clenched, but it wasn’t anger. It was guilt. Shame even. All he knew was that he’d fucked up.

"Stupid, stupid fuckin’ idiot," he mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair while he could still hear your voice in his head. "Fuckin’ piece o' shit. Can’t even keep yer damn head straight."

He felt like a fool, like a stubborn kid who’d just been put in his place. But it wasn’t just the anger that stuck with him—it was the look in your eyes, the pain and fear of what could’ve happened to him.

"Gotta make this right," he grumbled, now walking around the garage. "Ain’t gonna let her think I’m some reckless asshole who don’t care ‘bout nothin’." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She’s right… Been actin’ like a damn idiot. But… shit, need t’ prove I ain’t just some fuckup."

He knew you’d left him alone on purpose, letting him think about it, just like you’ve done several times before. But this time, he wasn’t going to sit here and wait for you to come back. He had a plan—a rather half-baked plan, but it was all he had. He needed to show you how much you meant to him and how much he needed you.

"Fuck, she’s gonna kill me," he sighed, shaking his head as he made his way out of the garage. And he knew exactly where and in what house he was going to find you.

You were already half asleep, lying on the floor on a mattress, when you felt someone being there—before you even opened your eyes. It was Daryl, of course, kneeling over you as he carefully pulled the sheets back.

"What the hell are you doing, Dixon?" You mumbled, still groggy. "Leave me alone."

He didn’t answer right away; he just pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another, moving down your arm, his lips barely touching your skin. It was slow on purpose, like he was trying to worship every inch of you to make up for all the stupid shit he’d done. And it was working, even if it pissed you off that he thought he could just... seduce his way out of this.

"Daryl," you warned, but your voice was weak due to the way his strong, big hands were now sliding down your sides to your waist.

"‘M sorry," he whispered, before he kissed the sensitive spot on your neck. "Fucked it up, I know that. But need ya to know... I ain’t a fool. I need ya, more than ya fuckin’ know."

You wanted to stay mad, to shove him away from you and tell him to get his shit together, but his touch—God, it was like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he was taking away your anger with every kiss and every touch of his hands. And when he put his head lower, kissing along your ribs after he pulled up your shirt, you felt almost frustrated.

"Daryl," you breathed out as a warning again, but he didn’t stop. He slid his hands further up your shirt, pulling it over your head as he kissed down your ribs, his fingers grabbing your body like he was trying to show you that he was still alive.

"Need ya," he mumbled against your skin, his voice sounding almost desperate. "Need ya t’ know I ain’t takin’ this for granted."

"Daryl, stop…" You started, but your words were cut off by a gasp as he found that spot just above your waist, his lips kissing you harder, and his teeth softly biting your skin. You felt a shiver run through you, and hell, you hated how much you wanted this, how much you wanted him to keep going.

"I’ll stop if ya want me to, I swear," he whispered, but he didn’t stop, not really. His hands slid down, undoing your pants and wanting to slide them down, which made you stop breathing for a moment.

You were looking at him, your eyes narrowing. "You think you can just—" You started, but then he shut you up—kissing you hard and long, cutting off your words. And fuck, if it didn’t make your whole body shiver with need.

"Can’t help it," he muttered against your lips, his voice a little shaky, like he was losing control. "Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, ‘bout how much I need ya."

"You think this makes up for what you did? For your reckless behavior?" You asked, shaking your head slightly.

"Nah," he admitted. "Gotta show ya somehow. Gotta show ya how much I fuckin’ care."

You grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away from your pants, even though you were already aching for him. "You don’t get to touch me like that," you said. "Not until I say so."

He swallowed hard, his breath stopping as he nodded, his eyes wide. "Please," he whispered, looking up at you and waiting for permission.

"Please what?" You demanded, tightening your grip on his wrists. "You think you can just come in here and expect me to forgive you? After everything?"

"Nah," he stammered, his eyes looking down to the floor again. "But… I need ya. I need ya t’ see that I can make it right."

"You wanna make it right, Daryl?" You asked again. "Then you’re gonna do exactly what I say, like I said."

"Yeah," he answered, his body almost trembling with the need to make you forgive him. "I’ll do whatever ya want."

You let go of his wrists, letting them fall back to his sides. "Take off your clothes," you ordered, the tone in your voice leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated for just a second, but then he started to stand up and get out of his clothes, his hands shaking as he got out of his shirt, then his pants, and the rest, until he was standing there, naked and vulnerable before you.

"Now get back on your knees," you demanded, watching as his eyes widened.

He dropped to his knees, waiting for your next command. And fuck, if that didn’t send a rush of power straight through you.

You stood over him, your hand reaching out to grab his hair, pulling his head back so he was forced to look up at you. "Look at me."

And he did. He slowly looked up in shame.

"You don’t get to play the lone wolf out there," you continued, stepping closer, your hand grabbing his chin, moving his head up further. "Not anymore. You almost got yourself killed."

"I know," he muttered. "‘M sorry..."

He wanted—no, he needed—to show you how he felt about his mistakes, and he was ready to do it on his knees if that’s what you demanded.

You let go of him, letting him fall forward, as you lay back down onto the mattress. "Show me," you simply said.

And he did—God, he did... He kissed every inch of you, his lips moving lower, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear, and he held onto you like you were the only person able to keep him safe.

He didn’t need to be told twice—he knew what he had to do to make things right.

You leaned back on the mattress, spreading your legs just enough to invite him closer, and watched his hands shake a little as they slid up your thighs.

"Yes," he whispered quietly. He was trying to be tough, but you could see through it. The man was already lost in you, in the need to make you feel good to make up for his earlier bullshit.

No, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; the way he now nearly ripped off the rest of your clothes was almost urgent.

"Goddamn," he whispered, his eyes wide and hungry as he took in the sight of you. "So fuckin’ beautiful."

His hands were trembling as he reached for your bra, fumbling with it before finally getting it off. He slid it off your shoulders, throwing it over to your pants on the floor, his eyes never leaving your breasts.

Daryl’s mouth went dry as he leaned in, his lips stopping just above one nipple. "Can’t believe yer lettin’ me touch ya like this," he whispered, more to himself than to you. Then he closed his mouth around your nipple, his tongue moving over it, making you gasp.

He sucked and licked, using his teeth just a little, sliding them lightly against it, while his other hand was pinching and rolling the other.

"Fuck, Daryl," you groaned, your hands moving through his hair, holding him close as he worshiped your breasts like they were the most important things in the world. "Don’t stop."

He growled against your skin and kept going; he kept sucking, licking, and teasing until your nipples were swollen and hard, sensitive to every little touch.

He soon pulled back, a line of spit connecting his mouth to your nipple before it broke, and he greedily licked over it once more. His eyes were full with need, his breathing heavy as he looked up at you, like he was waiting for permission to keep going.

"You’re going to be a good boy and keep worshipping me?" You asked, your voice teasing and commanding him at the same time.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Please… Need t’…"

"Then do it," you ordered, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Daryl’s hands moved lower, sliding down your sides, moving along your hips before coming to a stop between your legs. His fingers brushed against your pussy, finding you already wet and wanting, and he let out a growl.

He started slowly, almost with hesitation, like he was worshipping at some holy altar. His lips brushed over the inside of your thighs, soft at first, but when you grabbed his hair again, he got the message. His mouth found your pussy the moment he ripped off your panties, and it was as if a switch flipped.

Daryl buried his face between your legs, his tongue working desperately, like he couldn’t get enough of you. You let out a moan, your hand tightening in his hair, guiding him but also keeping him under your control.

"Fuck, Daryl," you breathed out. "Just like that."

And he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. Every part of him was focused on you—on the taste of you, the way you trembled when he hit just the right spot. He was completely at your mercy, with the need to prove himself to make you proud.

You could feel him moan against you and how he was getting lost in it, in you. You knew he was desperate for more, desperate for any sign that he was doing good and that you’d forgive him. But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Not yet, at least.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to get him away from you, and he looked up at you, his lips wet and parted, already missing the taste of you. "Please," he growled out, and you could see the need to do more, to have more of you.

"You keep listening to me. You understand?" You asked, caressing his head gently.

"Yeah," he stammered and nodded in return.

You pushed his head back down, with his tongue slipping inside your pussy almost immediately, like he was trying to eat out every bit of forgiveness he could get.

And fuck, did it feel good. The way he was eating out your pussy, every little move of his tongue, the way he sucked on your clit just hard enough to make you see stars—it was like he was made for this, made to worship you.

"Fuck, don’… don’ make me stop," he growled out in between. He was trembling now, hands still gripping your hips tightly, his eyes wide with something that seemed close to panic, like he couldn’t stand being away from you for even a second.

But you leaned down, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look at you. "You want to make this right? You wait until I’m ready."

He nodded quickly, swallowing hard, his eyes pleading without a word and barely holding it together. He was ready to do anything you asked, to wait as long as you wanted him to, just for a chance to taste you again.

"Good boy," you moaned, suddenly pulling him up to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips. He kissed you like he was starved for it, holding on for dear life.

And you could feel how hard he was—the desperate twitching of his already leaking cock against your thigh—but you weren’t done teasing him yet. "You’re doing so good, Daryl. Go on now."

"Yes, mommy," he whimpered, the word coming out of his mouth before he could even stop it.

"What did you just call me?" You asked in shock and froze.

Daryl’s eyes widened in shock and panic. "Didn’t mean t’ say that," he said, his voice trembling. "I jus’—"

"Say it again," you commanded, cutting him off. "Say it."

He swallowed hard, his eyes looking around as if searching for an escape, but he knew he couldn’t hide from you. "Yes, mommy," he whispered quietly, a shiver running through him as he said the word again.

But you didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped to the floor. "Good boy," you simply answered. "Go on…"

He didn’t hesitate, his hands following the curves of your body again, his lips following close behind. He kissed down your neck, in between your breasts, along your stomach as he moved lower, his hands soon enough sliding up your thighs and over your pussy.

"Shit," he mumbled, his eyes widening as he realized just how ready you were for him. "Yer so fuckin’ wet."

He didn’t say anything else, too focused on what he was doing. His fingers moved through your wet folds, teasing you until you were trembling with need, and he circled your clit with his thumb slowly on purpose, watching your face for every little reaction.

And one moan—that was all he needed. He leaned in, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue sliding over your clit, licking and sucking it gently all over. He didn’t rush, didn’t hurry, and took his time.

"Fuck, Daryl," you moaned, your fingers gripping his hair, holding him in place as he devoured you. "That’s it… don’t stop."

He didn’t need to be told twice. He kept going, kept licking, sucking, and teasing until you were right on the edge and close to coming.

The control he was giving you made you feel powerful, and hell, if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.

"Please, mommy," he begged. "Lemme make ya cum now."

"Keep going," you commanded, feeling yourself getting closer due to his words. "Don’t stop. Oh, fuck…"

He obeyed, and when you finally came, you gasped and moaned, your body arching and trembling under the force of it. But as soon as you began to come down from your orgasm, you noticed how he started to get more aggressive, his hands gripping your hips harder. He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into yours as he moved back up.

"Wanna fuck ya," he growled almost primal, grabbing his cock and pushing it against your pussy.

But you shoved him back. "Not so fast," you said. "You’re going to do it my way."

He looked at you with frustration and desperation. "But… I need ya," he said, his voice cracking a little bit. "Please!"

You didn’t give in. Instead, you watched as he tried to hold himself back. "If you want more, you’re going to have to do it my way, Daryl. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Yeah, ‘kay," he murmured and nodded, his voice trembling.

"Not yet," you said, wrapping your hand around his shaft. The hardness of his cock was pulsing against your hand, and you enjoyed the power it gave you. "You’re going to wait a little longer."

Daryl’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into the mattress as he tried to control himself. "Please," he begged, his voice raw and desperate. "Need it."

You only smiled, slowly stroking him, your movements maddeningly slow. "You want more?" You teased, leaning closer to him. "You want me to keep going? To make you cum already as well?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes! Please, mommy. Can’t take it no more!"

You took your time, each move up and down his shaft, making him moan and writhe.

"Fuck, don’ stop," he groaned. "Please, I can’t—"

"Hush now," you interrupted, squeezing his cock. "You’re going to wait until I say so. If you want to be a good boy, you’ll follow my instructions."

Daryl’s cock was coated in his pre-cum and throbbing in your hand, and every time you squeezed just a little harder, he would shiver, his voice breaking into pleas and whimpers.

"Please… ‘M so close," he whimpered. "Can’t hold back much longer."

You looked down at him, smirking, and then you jerked him faster and harder, bringing him right to the edge. His body was tense and almost painfully trying to hold off his orgasm.

"Daryl," you said softly, your hand driving him mad. "I want you to beg for it. Just a little bit more."

His pleas turned into desperate murmurs as he struggled with himself. "Please… Need t’… Jus’ let me... Oh fuck!"

With a final pump, you brought him right to the very edge again, feeling his cock throbbing against your palm. Then, just when you could see he was about to break, you pulled back, stopping altogether.

Daryl let out a whimper, his eyes desperate. "Fuck, please… Need it."

You leaned in close, kissing his neck. "Not yet. I want you to really feel it, to know how much you need me."

"Please," he begged again. "Please..."

"Tell me how much you need it," you smiled at him.

He swallowed hard, his voice cracking as he spoke. "Need it so bad, mommy, please... Need t’ cum for ya. Need ya..."

You gave him one final, hard stroke, and then you stopped again, making him groan and tremble over you, the muscles in his arms tensing up painfully hard. "Good boy," you whispered, finally giving him permission to slide into your pussy, just not all the way.

"No further," you said. "Just the tip. Hold it back."

He groaned, his hands gripping the sheets next to you on the mattress. "Please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Lemme fuck ya..."

You ignored his pleas, your hand still pumping up and down his shaft. "Say it," you commanded. "Say you’re my good boy, Daryl."

"‘M yer good boy," he mumbled, closing his eyes in embarrassment.

Finally, when you could see the look on his face—the way he was practically begging to come—you leaned in. "You want it now?"

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, mommy..."

His cock was pulsing, the tip pressing into you just enough to make him groan but not enough to give him what he wanted.

You watched as a sudden tear rolled down his cheek—a single, small, and tiny drop. The sight of it—so rare for someone like Daryl—made you widen your eyes. You could see the complete surrender—the way he was completely at your mercy.

Without warning, you pushed against him, taking him all the way in, and made him cry out, his body shuddering as he filled you up and feeling your pussy stretch around his cock. The look of shock and ecstasy on his face was too much, even for you. His eyes widened, his lips parting slightly, and his cock was pulsing inside you, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Fuck! Fuck…"

And the moment you took him in fully, he came hard inside of you with a loud groan, his body trying to push in as deep as possible as he reached his orgasm, while you held him close, feeling the last of his cum filling you up as he finished.

You soon lay there, your body still tingling, but Daryl, on the other hand, was a mess after he quickly pulled out of you. Now his walls were coming back up, and he was doing his best to act like he didn’t need a damn thing from you.

He was trying to play it cool, turning his face away, still shaking a little bit. "Jus’… gotta go," he mumbled, trying to shove you away. "Don’ need ya all up in m’ shit now."

"Oh, come on. You can’t be serious," you smirked, running a finger teasingly down his chest.

He glared at you, trying to push you away once more. "‘M fine. Jus’ leave me ‘lone," he grumbled.

"Look at you, all tough and cold again. But you were begging for it only a minute ago." You let your hand move over his skin, feeling his muscles twitch. "And now you’re just going to be an ass about it? Not a chance."

He froze as you touched him. "Shut up," he snapped. "Don’t need yer damn pity."

You rolled your eyes, leaning in close. "Pity? This isn’t pity, Daryl."

He tried to pull away again, but you held him close, your hands moving up to his chin. You tilted his head so he had no choice but to look at you.

"Seriously?" You said with a smile. "You’re going to act like a brat now? After everything?" You moved closer, teasing him with a kiss on his lips.

Daryl’s breath stopped for a second, and you felt him shudder under your touch. "Fuck off," he muttered, but it was sounding rather weak, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You laughed, cupping his chin more firmly. "Make me. Or... maybe you really are just a brat who needs to be put in his place all over again."

He shivered as he fought with himself. "No… Don’ need this," he mumbled, but it was clear he was losing the battle against himself. His voice was getting quieter, and he knew that he was failing miserably.

Then, you finally met his lips with yours. It was a slow, gentle kiss, with you wanting to give him reassurance. He moaned against them, the sound full of desperation.

When you pulled back, you saw how his eyes were wide, and he suddenly nuzzled up against you, his face buried in your neck, his body trembling as if he was trying to hold onto whatever was left of his defenses.

"‘M so sorry," he murmured against your skin, his voice breaking. "Didn’ mean t’... I jus’—"

You ran your fingers through his hair, cuddling him closer as he clung to you. "Quiet," you whispered, putting your lips against his forehead. "It’s okay."

He wrapped his arms around you, his grip a little rough as if he was afraid you might slip away. "I fucked up," he said. "Almos’ got m’self killed an’ hurt ya. ‘M so damn sorry."

You held him close, his body pressed against yours. "I know," you said softly. "But you’re still alive, Daryl."

But the moment of calm was ruined when Daryl’s body tensed up again, with him starting to sob violently.

"Shit," he choked out, tears rolling down his cheeks. "‘M such a fuckin’ asshole. Messed everythin’ up. Could’ve died an’—"

You shushed him, holding him even tighter, pressing kisses to his temples. You didn’t say much, letting your actions speak louder than any words even could.

He kept mumbling apologies, his sobs so intense that they shook his whole body. "Ain’t good ‘nough. ‘M worthless. Jus’ a useless piece o’ shit," he sobbed further, his voice cracking.

You gently cupped his face again, lifting it so you could look into his wet eyes. Slowly, you wiped the tears away with your thumbs, kissing his cheeks where the tears had been rolling down.

"Hush," you whispered softly. "You’re not a useless piece of shit. You’re not worthless. You made a mistake, but you’re here, and you’re alive. That’s what matters."

He needed to hear that you weren’t disappointed and that you still loved him despite everything.

Daryl looked up at you, his eyes all red and swollen, but his sobbing began to calm down. And as he finally started to relax, his grip on you softened, but he didn’t let go. He was still clinging to you, needing you to remind him that he was loved and that he was enough.

"Thanks," he whispered quietly. "For… everythin’."

You smiled to yourself, playing with his hair. "Anytime," you murmured, pressing another soft kiss to the top of his head.

You didn’t need to say anything more; your arms around him were enough to help him find his way back to feeling okay. The walls he’d built were finally down, and for now, he was just Daryl—raw and in need of someone to help him piece himself back together.

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema

idk how i'm still alive after reading this omg 😭 dad!daryl is the best thing that ever happened to me

teddy bear 🏹 daryl dixon

summary: just pure dad!daryl fluff tbh

author’s note: genuinely i was just trying to sleep when this popped into my brain and i had to get out of bed to write it otherwise it would have been lost forever. i hope you enjoy !

if you liked my work, please leave a like, reblog, and don’t forget to follow to keep up with my writing ! 🫶🏻 as always, requests are open

warnings: nada

word count: 1,555k

by the time daryl had realised he actually wanted kids, he thought it was too late. that he was too old to be a dad, and he’d be stuck with the “uncle daryl” title for the rest of his life. it hurt him, sometimes, thinking he couldn’t give you what you both wanted, and constantly kicked himself for thinking he didn’t want to raise a child in a world like this. you never blamed him either, for not wanting children. because he was right. this world wasn’t exactly made for kids.

daryl would constantly watch you with the kids in the community, the sight of you with children tugging at his heart strings, wishing they were your own children. and he’d sit and wonder what they’d look like. would they have his blue eyes? your nose? his loyalty? your loving heart? it made him regret what he had told you all those years ago, and how you simply agreed with him. because what if you didn’t want kids anymore either.

so when daryl climbed into bed with you one night, his chest pressed against your back with his arm wrapped around your waist, he had mumbled something that you didn’t quite catch.

“is it too late to ‘ave kids?” he spoke a little louder, his gravelly voice low in your ear. you felt your stomach flip at his words, turning around in his arms to face him, looking into his steel blue eyes.

“you want kids?” you questioned, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek and gently stroke your thumb across his cheekbone as he nodded his head, avoiding eye contact with you in case he had said the wrong thing. “i would love nothing more than to have your babies, dixon.” you chuckled softly, a small smile on your lips. “but only if you’re sure.”

“i’m sure.” he mumbled, his forehead pressing against yours. he may have sounded blunt, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he had never been more sure of himself.

“i guess we’re gonna have a baby then, hey?” you giggled, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips as he wrapped his arm around you tighter, pulling your body on top of his.

— — —

you had been trying for what felt like forever for a baby, but there had been no signs of any little bundle of joy showing up in your lives anytime soon. until one day you had just woken up with this… feeling. you weren’t 100% sure that it was something, but you also thought it couldn’t be nothing. so you had made your way into the bathroom, rummaging through the drawers for the pregnancy tests you had found on a run a few months ago ( because you never knew when you’d need one ) and took the test. you paced anxiously in the small bathroom, chewing on the skin around your nails as you waited for what felt like forever, but was only a couple minutes before you flipped the test back over, seeing the little positive sign on the test.

absolutely overjoyed that you had actually managed to get pregnant, you couldn’t wait for daryl to come back home and ran out into the community to find him. you had located him by the front gates, running over to him.

when daryl saw you running towards him, his first reaction was to panic. he thought something was wrong, that something bad had happened to you, but when you had said those two words that he had been waiting months to hear, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, lifting you up off the ground and swinging you around.

“y’aint lyin’?” he looked at you after he put you back down on the ground, watching as you shook youre head with a huge smile on your face. “oh my god, ‘m gonna be a dad,” he grinned, hugging you tightly once more. “yer gonna be a momma, ‘m gonna be a daddy.”

“you’re gonna be the best daddy.” you squeezed him back just as tight, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

— — —

throughout your pregnancy, daryl had been amazing. he made sure you were always comfortable, that you had eaten enough— and would even try to give you food off his own plate. even if you protested every time. “don’ care. baby’s gotta eat,” he’d huff, scraping his food onto your plate, ignoring your huffs.

he’d make sure you didn’t do anything to strenuous, and when you were further along in your pregnancy, he would try to be by your side as much as he could. and when he couldn’t, he’d send carol to look after you. you’d tell him you didn’t need to be babysat, but he’d simply ignore you. because he wanted nothing more than to keep you both safe.

when you had gone into labour, he had ran to get siddiq, leaving you back at the house with carol just until he got back. he held your hand the entire time, letting you squeeze as hard as you needed too. and you were sure you were on the verge of breaking his hand multiple times, but he didn’t wince once. because he knew what you were going through right now was ten times worse than a broken hand.

“i can’t— i can’t do this.” tears filled your eyes as you looked at him, hours of being in labour had exhausted you, but you were so close. so close to delivering that little baby that you both wanted so badly.

he wiped the sweat from your forehead, brushing away your hair that had clung to your skin and pressed kisses to your face. “you can do this, baby. yer strong, ‘kay?” he encouraged you, squeezing your hand. “plus, i don’ think there’s any backin’ out now.” he tried to joke, but you just groaned, your head falling back as siddiq instructed you to push again.

when daryl heard the little cries coming from the little baby, he squeezed your hand once more, kissing all over your face. “ya did it, sweetheart. ‘m so proud of you.” he murmured, looking at siddiq as he had announced it was a boy. “a lil boy, we have a son.”

he watched as siddiq wrapped him up, placing the tiny little baby on your chest before stepping out of the room to give the both of you some privacy. you both stared in awe at the baby in your arms, your pinkie finger tracing over his tiny, delicate features.

“he looks like you,” you whispered, looking up at daryl with an exhausted smile.

“ya think?” he asked, his large hand brushing against the baby’s cheek, in absolute awe that the both of you had created something so precious. so beautiful.

“yeah. he’s got your nose, and your lips.” you pointed out, fingers tracing over each feature as you listed them off. and when your little boy opened his eyes for the first time, you grinned. “and he’s got your eyes. i’ve literally just given birth to a mini daryl dixon.” you rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head.

when it came time for daryl to hold him, he was told to take his shirt off when he held him. you watched as there was no hesitation in him taking off his top as he sat down, his large hands gently taking the baby from your hands. you noticed how much tinier he looked in daryl’s hands, and your heart swelled with happiness.

“wha’ do we name ‘im?” daryl asked, eyes not leaving his little miracle once.

“i like theodore. teddy for short.” you looked at him for his opinion, and he had nodded his head, finally looking over to you with the proudest look on his face.

“theodore dixon. my lil teddy bear.” you heard a sniffle come from him, noticing the tears in his eyes as he looked at teddy. “thank ya, baby. don’ think ya know how much ya both mean t’ me.”

— — —

as teddy got older, being a dad had really changed daryl. he was ( obviously ) super protective over his little teddy bear, not letting him out of his sight if you weren’t around. and when he got to that wild toddler phase, daryl was having the time of his life. he loved to chase after his son, watching as his little legs carried him as fast as he could to you, wrapping his little arms around your legs for protection from the tickle monster. or how his giggles never seemed to end when daryl was blowing raspberries on his tummy. daryl was full of pure bliss when it came to his family.

he loved to lift teddy up onto his shoulders, walking through the community with the proudest smile on his face. and he especially loved when teddy would crawl up between the two of you in bed, planting himself right in between his two favourite people. when teddy had a bad dream? daryl was there. when he fell over for the first time? daryl was there brushing his tears away and kissing his sore knees better.

it made your heart swell at how much of an amazing dad daryl was, and you wouldn’t have picked anyone else to raise a child with in this world.

high school sweethearts (iris)

young!daryl x fem!reader

second part. first part is here.

summary: you’re starring in a theater production of the phantom of the opera. just when you think everything’s going to fall apart because your co-star gets hurt, daryl steps up and decides to perform with you.

warnings: blood, evidence of violence, angst/comfort, fluff, sappy, dance, first kiss.

words count: 2019.

taglist: @negansbestie & @vaniniweenie / if you want me to add you, just let me know!

divider by @/phaea

Small drops of blood fell onto the wooden floor, staining it little by little. The darkness of the theater made everything feel more intimate and delicate. Your vulnerable eyes traveled to his sensitive ones, and you smiled sadly as you saw him bleeding out of his sleeve. You were sitting beside him, so you turned on your Walkman and shared a Radiohead song.

His blonde hair was so soft, and even more so were his eyes. You had never seen eyes with such a unique shape. Besides, there was something about him that pulled you in more than gravity. Your shy fingers traveled to his chin to make him look at you; he smiled, and you felt your heart skip one beat after another. You moved so quickly that you hid in his shoulder. He smelled like cigarettes, vodka, wood, and dreams shattered into a thousand pieces. His sweater could hold all of this.

"I want you to do it," you whispered as you lifted your head. The song had already ended, and you were just sitting in silence

You saw his lower lip tremble and wished your thumb could trace it.

"I want you to be the ghost tomorrow," you asked, and the boy blinked several times.

You left your Walkman in his lap, even though it was the only gift your father gave you before he died, and you saw he wanted to return it.

“Listen to the song; you can give it back to me later,” you said, and before getting up, you left a kiss on his bloodstained hand.

You saw him press his lips together, holding back tears that seemed impossible to stop.

"You’re the one," you confirmed, feeling your own heart in your words.

Daryl put on both earbuds from your Walkman and looked at you intently. He nodded, and you smiled.

A few hours earlier.

As you were plucking petals from a daisy, you thought about how curious it was that the most beautiful things happened without you noticing. Suddenly, your life changed without warning. The person writing your story changed the ink of their pen, and suddenly everything shined.

Ever since Dixon had fixed your Walkman, the two of you had been spending a lot of time together. You sat next to each other in class and talked about whatever silly thing came to mind. You had never imagined that someone who vibrated on such a low frequency could hide so many different rhythms. He had a wonderful sense of humor, always knew what to say and when to say it. You had always wanted someone who carried the right words on their lips.

You both went to theater together, and he would give you advice about the play. Even though he didn’t like to read, he had read the play several times and even remembered the lines. You loved that, and although you showed some surprise, you weren’t exactly caught off guard by his dedication. He had confessed to you that he was good at many things, though he’d said it without even realizing it himself.

One afternoon, he told you he was really good with a bow.

You called him Cupid. He gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow, laughing.

And you kept walking to your house.

Daryl walked you home every afternoon. At first, it was unexpected, but little by little, it became a habit, one of those you can't and don't want to escape.

“What are you thinking about?” your best friend Maggie asked as she sat next to you after getting a chocolate milkshake.

“Nothing.” Your little lie made Maggie let out a small laugh; she tapped your nose, and you laughed.

“Since you met him, you always laugh like that,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Like what?” you asked, frowning a little and leaving a petal on the daisy unplucked.

“Like you mean it.” That made you rest your chin on your hand and cover your face with your fingers.

Maggie had been the only one to understand your closeness with Daryl. All your other friends thought you were making an unnecessary act of solidarity and that you’d end up worse off than you were. While you could easily ignore what they said, you stopped accepting their opinions about him because they didn’t know him at all.

They didn’t know the boy who was now tirelessly helping to make sure tomorrow's play went perfectly.

Your eyes drifted to Aaron, your co-star in the play. He was playing basketball with his friends. You had always thought he was a very nice and kind guy. You watched his movements, how he passed the ball to Glenn, Maggie’s boyfriend. However, your smile cracked when you saw him trip and fall flat because of a puddle.

Maggie got up quickly, and you saw Glenn rushing to help him.

You closed your eyes when you heard your best friend say he’d twisted his ankle. That put him out of commission, leaving the play without its ghost. You stood up, stomped on the daisy in sudden anger, and when you turned around, you saw Daryl watching what had happened from a distance.

“What happened?” he asked, arms crossed. You clicked your tongue and walked past him.

“Tomorrow's play is totally screwed,” you answered, your voice tight.

That’s when you felt fingers wrap around your wrist. You looked at him and saw it in his eyes.

“I got his lines down by heart,” he whispered, and your heart began to pound hard.

If he were the ghost, you would be his forbidden love.

You went with Daryl to his house to see if the ghost costume would fit him. It had already been discussed with the director, and she thought it was a good idea for him to play the role. She said he would bring personality to the character, even though she didn't let him say more than two words. Maybe it was putting too much faith in Daryl, but he had attended most of the rehearsals, and you were sure he’d do great. Or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe.

You entered through the back door and went straight to his room. There was no one else around, so Daryl seemed able to breathe a bit more easily. The house was tidy, but there were so many details that made your heart feel uneasy. Many broken pieces of furniture, many signs that warned that it wasn’t people who lived there, but monsters. When you reached his room, you sat on his bed, and when you realized where you were, nerves spread right down to your fingertips.

“Do you bring a lot of girls here?” The moment you asked, you knew you shouldn’t have. Daryl frowned while he casually took off his shirt. His bare chest made you wonder what it would be like to let your lips glide over every inch of him. You let out a small cough.

“Nah, not at all,” he said confidently as he finished undressing. You looked away, hearing your own thoughts calling you an idiot.

He put on the full costume, and when you were about to hand him the mask, you pulled his hand away.

“You look perfect,” you whispered, and his cheeks flushed with a special shade of red.

“Don’t be silly,” he said, reaching for the mask.

That’s when you stood up to be at his height. You gently brushed his hair back and carefully placed the mask on him. The part of his face still uncovered made you want to kiss him. There was nothing you wanted more in this world than a kiss. Than to end up on his sheets while he explored every part of you. You wanted to feel him; you were tired of these small, fleeting moments with him.

“Ya like it?” he whispered, his husky voice making you lose your grip on reality.

“I like how it looks on you, yeah,” you said, trying to break the tension as you looked at the Phantom of the Opera standing before you.

He moved closer to your face, one of his hands resting on your hips. Your body responded to him almost immediately, but then...

Someone entered the house.

Daryl pulled away from you and rushed to the door. He opened it carefully, and when he saw it was his father, he motioned frantically towards the window.

“What?” you asked, feeling your heart leap to your throat.

“Get outta here, we’ll meet later…” he whispered loudly, and you moved toward the window.

“At the theater?” you asked, needing to be sure, and he nodded.

“At the theater.”

You could still feel him on you. Like a ghost.

The Day of the Performance.

Daryl’s father had beaten him when he saw him dressed up, calling him a “faggot.” All his injuries were hidden beneath the costume, even one on the part of his mask. You felt a rage bubbling up inside you. He didn’t deserve that—no child does. You wanted to put an end to his pain, but there was nothing you could do. All you could do was go out to the theater and give the audience an incredible show. Your parents were there. However, not even Merle had bothered to show up. Daryl was alone. Yet he never took his eyes off you. Every time your gazes met, a smile curved his lips.

The audience was reluctant to accept him until they saw his first scenes. There was something captivating about him; his performances were intense and flawless. He was sublime on stage, and you wondered why he hadn’t landed this role before.

When it was your turn, you performed exactly as you had rehearsed a thousand times before. You moved across the stage with grace, and your heart swelled with each applause from the audience. Everything was going as you had hoped. The director was thrilled, and your peers had to bite their tongues after seeing what Daryl was doing.

But the most important part was still to come.

The final scene. A solo dance by you.

The song you had was the same one you had made Daryl listen to the day before.

It was a dance where the protagonist decides whether to kiss the phantom to save her beloved.

You started moving to the rhythm, and even though everyone’s eyes were on you, you forgot that the world was still turning. Only the movement of your legs and arms mattered, the way your arms flexed and your legs danced across the stage. The music made you travel far away.

Halfway through the song, you felt someone behind you. You were startled, but you turned around gently. Daryl had decided to end it with you. You started improvising on the wooden floor; he held your waist and complemented your movements as if you had rehearsed it before. His body swayed against yours until you felt like one. It was perfect and unusual, it was… magical.

When the music stopped, Daryl was leaning over you. Your mouths were inches apart. His arm held your waist tightly, pulling you close to him. Your body melted into his, and your breaths were intertwined.

You moved his hand to his face and removed his mask. You brushed your lips against his, and the next time you did, your mouths fit perfectly together. It was an intense, intimate, and even heart-wrenching kiss. You were performing, or at least, that’s what you were supposed to be doing.

“I’ve always wanted to do this since the first time I saw you,” you whispered as you gazed into each other’s eyes.

“You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be,” he said against your mouth. You felt his words in your own throat and kissed him again.

Daryl was your first kiss.

The play was over, but another story had just begun.

every word feels like a hug, forreal. if you don't read this, you're truly missing out on a work of art.

I Knew You in Another Life, You had that Same Look in Your Eyes

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Throughout the flagship series

Warnings: Self harm; Allusions to Abuse; Poorly written smut (kinda); Allusions to canonical character death

Summary: It all started with a smile.

A/N: I have been having trouble finding time to write recently. When I do have time, I’m either too tired or just don’t have the desire. I know it’s not what people are waiting for, but here’s some fluff. Rambling, really. Anyway, here it is. I love you all and I'll update Blood Ties and other things as soon as I can.

It was his smile. 

From the moment he smiled at you for the first time, you knew you were his. Daryl didn’t just smile at anyone. No, he had a look he gave that was a near grimace to signal he was content or appreciative, and folks were lucky to get that. There was a time you could be counted among those fortunate few. 

At the quarry, you barged into his space, intent on arguing with him, but your foot got caught in the strap of his bag and you tumbled into his tent face first, muttering every colorful word in the English language. You had one hundred percent expected him to harshly admonish you for your uninvited entrance, but he didn’t. Nor did he laugh. When you looked up at him—your face red, hair askew—you found him smiling. A smile that was inches from a chuckle that had been held at bay, but still—a smile. 

You felt like even more of a fool then, for falling on your face. And for the way the fluttering of butterflies in your tummy could be seen stark naked in your expression. You had entirely forgotten what you had initially come to say to him. 

From that moment, Daryl Dixon held your heart. 

It was your smile. 

Daryl had never been a man who put much stock in love. It was a silly, pointless notion that only allowed the heart to open long enough to be crushed more easily. He had never even really found himself attracted to anyone, much less interested in them enough to entertain the idea of loving them—or the idea of them loving him. 

Then you came along. From the moment you stepped out of that truck that was meant to bring back his brother, he knew he was a goner. He tried to fight it, told himself that he was being an idiot, that Merle would call him a pussy and damnit, the man would be right. 

It didn’t take long for you to wiggle your way past his defenses. Though he had been watching you warily, keeping his distance when he could, he could have never predicted the moment you would render him undone. You were doing your laundry alone by the fencing toward the edges of the Greene farm. He had truthfully wandered into your space to scold you about being there alone. But a single wasp had a different idea. 

It landed on your hand just as you reached toward the water, garment in your soft grip. He opened his mouth to speak, flinching when you screeched and threw the clothing. Your panties hit him square in the face and, like a fool, he lifted a hand and caught them as they fell. Words fled, embarrassment raged. His mouth moved like a gaping fish but then you were smiling. You didn’t laugh at him, didn’t make fun. You apologized and approached, gently extricating the fabric from his hand, your smile steadfast. 

And from that moment, he was fucked. 

You were watching Daryl discuss a particularly dangerous run with Rick. He was standing by the gate, hands on his hips while you were perched at one of the picnic style tables with Carol at your side, a basket of laundry and a tub of water at your feet. 

You were hardly paying attention to what you were supposed to be doing, continually stealing glances. 

And then he caught you. 

Your hands froze on a pair of jeans, the fabric dripping into the tub, your eyes widening. You were unable to look away. Whether he was in the same predicament or was just simply challenging you was unclear. 

Until he smiled. 

You damn near melted and he knew it. There was a heat that started in your cheeks, spreading down your neck to your chest and all the up to the tips of your ears. You swore you could feel it on your scalp. 

When he finally chose to stop making your pulse race, switching his gaze back to the map in Rick’s grasp, you exhaled, wondering if you had breathed at all. There was a chuckle beside you, Carol’s head turned away while her shoulders bounced. You muttered a quick shut up and nudged her with your elbow, aggressively scrubbing at the jeans. 

Shaking her head, Carol also returned to the task at hand. “Oh, sweetie. You’ve got it bad for that man.”

You couldn’t disagree. 

His eyes flitted up to your approaching form, and he quickly wiped the remaining ashes from the top of his hand. Clearing his throat and wiping his eyes with his forearm, he fixed you with a weak glare. 

“Cut it out. I already know.” You slid down the side of the trunk, shoulder to shoulder with him, presenting an open palm. “Let me see.”

Daryl felt his chest tighten. You had seen the scars given to him when he was a boy, but those weren’t self inflicted. He had added to the collection on his own—a few times more than he cared to admit. But he knew you. Caring yet determined. You wouldn’t relent until you got what you wanted. Heaving a sigh, he reluctantly placed his hand where you beckoned for it. 

“Ain’t nothin’.”

“Don’t do that.” You answered without a single ounce of hesitation. “Don’t act like your pain doesn’t matter.”

“It don’t.” He rasped, feeling the sting threatening his waterline. “Not when ev’ryone else is sufferin’ too.” When he tried to retract his hand, your fingers wrapped around his wrist and tugged it back, a hell bent expression on your pretty features. 

“That’s bullshit, Daryl.” You held his gaze for longer than he was entirely comfortable with given your proximity. Grunting, he turned his head but let you hold onto his hand. “This’ll likely scar.” You finally said so sadly that he couldn’t help but look at you again. 

“Ain’t like I ain’t got a few already.” He couldn’t seem to look away. Daryl had admitted to himself long ago that he was stuck on you. He didn’t love easily, didn’t know how, but for you, he was willing to learn. And the way you were looking at him in that moment was giving him that fluttering sensation in his chest that he had grown accustomed to when you were close. 

Your eyes flickered down to his mouth and promptly back up. He was filled with such a foreign hope, wishing that he could feel the softness of your lips, even if only once. You cleared your throat. “I know this is hardly appropriate, but I really wanna kiss you right now.”

He blinked. There was no way he heard you correctly. “What?” He said after a moment that lasted altogether too long, his eyes squinted. He could have slapped himself. Wasn’t he just thinking of how badly he wanted to do the same thing? Maybe he could fix it before you changed your mind, say something to encourage you to continue. “Well? G’on then.” Daryl inwardly sighed. He would have been better off keeping his trap shut. 

But then your soft palm was on his cheek, your plump lips pressing against his. His eyes shot wide while yours fluttered closed, his fingers closing around the hand that still held his. It was so simple to ignore the burn of his self inflicted injury. He allowed himself to melt into your ministrations, his blue orbs mimicked yours, mouth following your lead. It was uncomplicated but exhilarating. When he pulled back, your thumb stroking beneath his eye, your lips remained puckered, eyes still closed. 

When the bright pool of your gaze finally reappeared, your mouth opened to reveal all your teeth in a gleaming smile. “Wow.”

But Daryl didn’t hear you, mesmerized by your expression. That smile was always his undoing.

And he found he didn’t mind in the slightest being repeatedly unraveled. 

Alexandria was never going to be safe. You both knew it. Still, it was the safest you had been since the prison, especially with your group now behind its seemingly infallible walls. Jobs assigned, routines established, and residences assigned, maybe it could be home if nothing else. 

You and Daryl had requested one of the smaller houses, all to yourselves. Everyone knew you were close, but they were all ignorant to that moment in the woods, how you had thrown caution to the wind and had been so pleasantly rewarded. There were no other kisses since then, things too busy, too new to let your guard down so quickly. Everyone was at a gathering that night, knowing full well that Daryl would never attend. They might come looking for you, though. 

You wouldn’t be answering the door.

Daryl’s lips were blazing a wet trail down your neck, across your collarbone. One large hand held yours next to your head while the other gripped your waist. You arched up into him, encouraging both his mouth and the rolling of his hips, the gentle push and pull that was grazing him across your most sensitive walls. This dance had been slow, in both anticipation and execution, a gradual joining that you could savor in tandems of breathy moans and featherlight kisses. There was no reason to rush. No reason at all.

After you had both ascended to the pinnacle of ecstasy and drifted back down, you lay with his head on your chest, your fingers whispering up and down the length of his spine. He was so relaxed, breaths deep and even, that you thought he might have drifted off.

“What are we?” His voice was raspy, quiet, but not panicked. He wasn’t tripping over any thought of emotion he might convey. That said a lot for Daryl Dixon. Still, you were taken by surprise.

“What do you want us to be?” You brushed the hair away from his forehead before your fingertips explored his jaw. He snorted, though it was weak.

“Just made that obvious, didn’t I?” 

He did. You hadn’t thought about it so deeply until then. Daryl wasn’t the type of man to strip himself bare, both literally and figuratively, for just anyone. He would never let just any woman touch his scars so intimately and not flinch. Angling your neck, you pressed a kiss into his hairline. 

“I’m yours, Daryl.”

When he lifted his head, shifting onto his elbow beside you, his free hand was already brushing away your sweat-damp hair. Watching you with a gaze so deep, seemingly bottomless, the corner of his mouth raised tentatively, one side and then the other. A smile so soft, so genuine, that your heart nearly swelled too large to beat adequately behind your ribs. 

Clearing his throat, he ducked his head, the smallest flash of teeth before that upward curve of his lips disappeared. “Ya mean that?” 

“With all my heart.”

They only made it a couple of miles before Daryl was forced to let Jesus take the wheel, so to speak. The Hilltop runner was managing the bike well enough while the archer simply tried to stay awake, the constant abuse his body and mind had suffered finally able to culminate to the surface when he was free of the Sanctuary. Everything ached, inside and out. He was exhausted, ready to go home. 

Ready to see you. 

Had you been spared Negan’s wrath? Had the tyrant discovered your ties to Daryl and used them against you? Made you pay for them? Were you safe? Were you even alive?

“You can’t go back to Alexandria.” Jesus called over his shoulder. Daryl shifted uncomfortably with a grunt. He was never one to ride on the back of the bike. 

Unless it was with you. 

“They’ll be looking for you there.” The bike slowed to a stop, Jesus calling out to someone. It was then Daryl saw Hilltop’s walls, his stomach twisting with an anxiety just below the surface. 

“Need to go back.” He rasped, nearly coughing from the scrape against his vocal chords. His voice clearly suffered from the lack of use. “Need to see—”

The gates opened to reveal Maggie and Sasha. Just behind them—was you. He should fall onto his knees in front of Maggie, beg her forgiveness. 

But forgiveness would have to wait. 

He didn’t even wait for Jesus to dismount, uncharacteristically clambering off the back and into an unsteady beeline straight for you. You were already running toward him. Your voice was crying out his name in disbelief, in hopeful relief. It was mere seconds before you reached him, just enough time for his tired legs to buckle. You willingly went down with him, both sets of knees hitting the dirt as you clung to him. 

“You’re alive. Thank god, you’re alive.”

He could feel the fine tremors vibrating your form, the jerks of your shoulders as you sobbed. You should never cry. Negan would pay for making you cry. “Yeah, m’here, Sunshine.” Daryl returned your embrace with as much strength as he could muster, given his poor condition, and held on until you pulled back, your tearful gaze roaming over his person, pausing on every bruise, every laceration. 

“What did they do to you?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

He shook his head. “Didn’t break.” He backed the words with a confidence he found buried deep within, surprised he had any left after his ordeal with the Saviors. “Didn’t let ‘em break me.”

You smiled then, through your tears, and began brushing his dirty hair away from his face. “Not even a question, Bowstrings.” He didn’t hear you. He was too focused on that smile—the smile that brought him such a feeling of peace, of love. He let you guide him upright, staggered along behind you, your hand in his. Every few seconds, you looked over your shoulder, still smiling. 

Everything would be okay. 

You watched him from across the way while sitting on the porch of your home in the Commonwealth. Daryl had taken a vital role in the community after Pamela had been removed from power. Everyone had fallen into some role, but Daryl was important. He had a hand in everything. 

Carol had taken Lance’s role, organizing trade and alliances and just simply keeping the community running from behind the scenes. While Daryl refused a seat on the council, his voice was in every ear, his opinion weighing on every heart when decisions were made. 

With Mercer stepping down as head of the guard, Daryl assisted in the training of new recruits. The process of selecting the guards was much different than it had been before, thanks in large part to the man you now called your husband. 

Watching him now—lifting RJ onto his shoulders, holding him steady with a hand on the boy’s leg while his other arm encircled Judith’s shoulders—you were whole. You were happy. 

He noticed you staring—of course he did—and he smiled, lifting his chin in a nod while he and the children walked toward home. 

Home. 

That’s where you were. It’s what you felt. It was in Daryl all along. In his eyes, in his arms, in his smile. 

Daryl was home. 

ok but this series right here? you NEED to read this, it's absolutely and completely perfect from start to finish. trailer park daryl owns my heart now 😭

tp!daryl dixon masterlist ( young!daryl — pre apoc )

updated 6th october. 2024.

here is my masterlist purely for tp!daryl 🫶🏻 because i have a feeling he’s going to completely take over my normal masterlist.

my requests are open ! send anything my way — even if you just wanna have a chat !

( the divider i use is by @adornedwithlight ! )

aesthetics.

➵ moodboards — 01 | 02

➵ headcanons — 01 |

oneshots.

➵ trailer park trash

➵ teasings

➵ your relationship with merle

➵ fourth of july

➵ a heart that knows

➵ company of misfits

➵ but daddy i love him! ( preacher’s daughter x daryl )

Hey! I saw you were taking requests. Please could you write a cute Daryl x reader where the reader is a cowgirl? Maybe she’s sassy and rough like him or really sweet and the polar opposite - whatever you want to write for the storyline is up to you … I just love the visual of Daryl and a cowgirl! Thanks :D

Love to love you

Daryl Dixon x farmersdaughter!reader

AN: The reader is an adult, none of that creepy Daryl bs round here partner

Norman always looks a bit like a little kitten when he squints so I obv had to include that

I really love the farmers daughter/cowgirl idea, it's been my dream for years to move to the US and buy a few acres of land, build a cabin and settle down with my partner and a dog, I’ve always wanted a horse aswell (even though I’m incredibly scared of the idea of riding them 😭) so I took advantage of that in this one. Love yall hope yall enjoy!

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜

You relish in the feeling of damp summer mud in your hands, smiling at the worms squirming through it, you scoop out a small portion of dirt to accommodate a small potted butterfly weed you had been caring for since you found it in a small gardening centre when the apocalypse had first dawned, but it had overgrown its pot, time for you to properly plant it.

Hoping it’s seeds would mature and spread so you could transfer them when they had grown fully, you look up when a shadow is cast over you, confused as to where the warm sunlight had gone

You look up, Daryl is stood over you, sucking in the smoke from a Marlboro, his forehead is scuffed with dirt as he kitten squints at you, you smile brightly at your friend

“Hi Dar”

He puffs the smoke out through his nose

“Wha’ ya doin’”

You look back at your muddy hands, before you shovel dirt back onto the seams where you planted the flower

“Plantin’ a flower”

“Why”

“Well, cause it’s pretty”

You go to wipe your mucky hands on your dress before he grabs your wrist and stops you

“Don’t get your nice clothes all dirty”

He helps you up before pulling a red cloth from his back pocket, the one you distinctly remember him wiping his bike down with, he wipes the dirt off of your hands, his own are rough and warm as they hold yours gently, as though he’s afraid to hurt you.

You feel your cheeks and forehead heat up as he concentrates on cleaning your hands

“Done, clean”

He squints at you again, you shake out your nerves and muster all your courage

“Thanks Daryl”

You smile at him, leaning up to press a small kiss to his cheek, before you’re trotting away, trying to hide your heated face.

When inside you peek through your lace curtains, shy with a light feeling in your belly, feeling like a teenage girl who just saw her crush.

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆

You’re panting, Dolly, your mare whinnies when you tap against her sides, trying to get her to hurry up, you belt jingles when she bounds over tree roots, you listen for grunts and gurgles, tracking the noise to where your lover must be.

Dolly slows down when you come to a clearing, you pull on her reigns, swinging her around to see a minimally wounded Daryl wrestling with a walker, you unclip your colt, a present from your father that was only meant for display, evident in the beautiful hand carved detailing running up the barrel and grip, the bullet rings out, loud, Daryl pushes the creature away, before he struggles to stand, a gash in his leg bleeding sluggishly.

You sheath the revolver, reaching a shaky hand out to the gruff man, he takes it, swinging his uninjured leg over your mares hips, she nickers, displeased, you pet a hand over her neck, turning back to smile at Daryl

“She thinks you’re heavy”

He wraps a large hand around your hip

“Shuddup’”

You cover his hand with your own before taking off with a ‘yah’ Dolly takes off, back home, You relish in the feeling of him gripping tighter

“Still scared of horses?”

You ask over the wind

“Not scared, not my fault they’re too damn jumpy”

You laugh, Before long Dolly is trotting into the stables, you hop off, smiling when Daryl grips your hand, using you to push himself off of the mares back, trailing behind you as you drag him into the cabin you call home, you settle him on your worn couch, propping his injured leg up on a pillow after managing to wrestle his jeans off.

He listens to you pat around your small home, squinting and smiling to himself everytime you stop to pull your frilled socks back up, grunting a laugh when you start to stumble from only standing on one leg.

You pad over holding a med kit and pulling out thread, a needle, disinfectant for the needle, antiseptic and bandages

“Don’t be wasting any bandages on me doll, wrap it up with the rag”

He points to the weathered red rag that hangs from his discarded jeans, your eyebrows crinkle, angrily

“No, n’ I ain’t wasting nothin’, you need em, not that gross old rag, An’ you’ll get an infection, that would be even harder to take care of”

He squints at you, displeased, but not fuming so you take that as your cue to get to work, threading the needle, you dap away at the dirt and blood that had crusted over the wound.

When you pierce the skin with the needle he tenses but remains surprisingly silent while you’re stitching him up, you swipe antiseptic cream over the closed up gash before wrapping it.

“Try not to strain it, don’t need you poppin’ the stitches”

He grunts, gingerly standing to pull his jeans back on, you smile when he notices the frayed hole in the leg of his pants

“I’ll wash and stitch the jeans up tomorrow too”

He nods, padding over to you, leaning down to press a kiss on your lips

“Thanks, babydoll”

You smile at the nickname

“No problem handsome, wanna help me with dinner?”

He grunts, following along behind you like a puppy.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜

Sorry it’s a shorter oneshot this time yall, I hope this suited the request, thank yall for reading, reblogs are greatly appreciated, much love <3

Retired non agere Masterlist

All of my works that aren’t agere related, this masterlist is retired for now

The Walking Dead-

Oneshots

Rick Grimes

Reunion

Daryl Dixon

Love to love you

Series’

Carl Grimes

•Nervous

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

the best thing about x reader fics is that you and your comfort character can fall in love a million times in millions of different universes and I think that's beautiful