#Daryl Dixon X OC

[d1xonss]

Desert Rose

Chapter 71 ~ Spaghetti Tuesdays

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 5

✧ Word Count : 7.9k

In this chapter ~ Things begin to turn up after a small, intimate moment is shared between Daryl and Rose; a much needed one at that. And after making a few new friends over a shared meal, the night only grew more blissful as the two finally adjust to the idea of building a life in Alexandria. Together.

As much as I wanted to be home, safe, and asleep, I had to get these fucking shoes off my feet. I didn't make it very far front the front door before I sat down on the porch steps and slowly pulled the heels off, but not without muttering an "ow" a few times with each foot. Though it was worth it in the end as soon as they were off, opting to sit there for a moment to collect myself, sighing quietly as I ran a hand through my hair.

The windows behind me were open just a crack, allowing the music from inside to drift out of the small space, along with the chatter that never seemed to die down. I almost felt guilty for leaving so fast, not saying goodbye to anyone as I was in too much of a rush. Although a part of me blamed it on being overwhelmed by the whole thing. Mainly because it was, well...overwhelming. But at least I could say that I tried. I tried, I hated it, I left. At the end of the day, I had to do what was best for me.

The sound of gravel crunching and footsteps approaching caused me to glance up, only to see none other than Daryl Dixon hesitantly walking down the street towards Deanna's, playing with something in his hands that I couldn't quite see from where I was.

I smirked, "Hey, handsome."

His head snapped up at the sound of my voice, a smile breaking out onto his face when he saw me sitting on the steps, "Hey."

I noticed his pace picked up the smallest bit as he now approached the house, though stopped dead in his tracks when he finally noticed what I was wearing. His eye began to trail down my body, causing me to smile sheepishly as I fought against the fluttery feeling in my stomach upon his gaze.

But he didn't stop there, as the next thing I heard was a long, loud wolf whistle coming from him while he slowly approached me once again, "Stop it." I laughed.

He grinned widely as he finally came to stand in front of me, "Come on now, gimmie a spin." he gestured, helping me up to my feet.

I couldn't help but smile as he raised one of my arms above my head, helping me twirl around to show him the entire outfit while he continued to scan me head to toe. I heard his small hum in approval and I turned fully to face him again, a faint redness dusting the apples of his cheeks.

"Ain't you a dime, sweet girl." he complimented.

"Thank you." I muttered a bit shyly.

I felt him give my hand a small squeeze, "What're ya doin out here by yerself?"

"Well," I sighed, "I was having a terrible time, so I figured I'd escape while I had the chance." I spoke dramatically before stepping back to take a seat on the porch, patting the space next to me as an invitation.

He chuckled at my reasoning, lowering himself down beside me with a huff, "That mean I don't gotta go in there?" he asked, trying to hide the hopefulness in his voice.

I rolled my eyes playfully, "Yeah, you got out of it...you lucky bastard."

A hum of amusement left him before he revealed his other hand out from behind his back for me to see. In his grasp was a single yellow dandelion he had picked and brought all the way back from the woods it seemed like. The stem was a bit smushed and the head itself looked a little sad, yet I couldn't help but smile at the simple gesture.

"Couldn't find any real flowers, so I settled for this one." he said, "Figured I'd bring ya some kinda peace offerin for being so late."

I twirled it in between my fingers before lifting it up and placing it behind my ear, "For me?"

"Yeah, baby. Just for you." he confirmed.

I leaned forward to steal a quick kiss from him, the action alone expressing how sweet I found it to be. "Thanks, love. So, how did the hunt go anyway?"

"Not exactly how I planned," he sighed, "Aaron followed me out there before I could get too far."

My eyes widened, "What?"

"Said he was lookin for some horse he wanted ta track down and bring back here, asked me to help him. And we found it, but kept scarin it off every time we got too close. Eventually the thing took off into a field with too many walkers, and they..." he trailed off with a gesture of his hand.

I sighed, "Damn."

He huffed lightly, "Yeah...damn is right."

I leaned in to rest my head against his shoulder, gently taking his hand again, "I'm sorry, hon. That sucks."

He shrugged, "Nah, it's alright. My guess is ya didn't have the best night either."

"Yeah, you can say that again," I scoffed, "But...you'll be happy to hear I drenched some asshole in beer."

"No way, I missed that?" he said with a shocked grin, "Who?"

"Deanna's son, Spencer. Picture this," I gestured with my hand, "I'm minding my own business in the kitchen and suddenly he comes in and strikes up a conversation."

"No." he said in faux disbelief.

"Oh, yes." I continued, "He starts the most boring small talk you can imagine, asking if I'm having fun, and how we're settling. But then it took a turn when he started to obviously hit on me, the whole charming guy bullshit that almost made me puke. And even after telling him I was married, he still kept pushing it. So, I eventually I dumped my beer on his head, insulted him, and now here I am."

By the time I was done talking, all of the amusement had suddenly left his eyes, and I was now left with looking at a man who was clearly about to burst into flames. Shit. Maybe I didn't fully think this through.

I cleared my throat awkwardly, shifting a bit to look away from him, "I also accepted the job from Deanna...I start tomorrow I think." I said quietly, trying to change to subject.

"He didn't leave ya alone?" he asked a bit sharply.

I sighed, "Love, I took care of it. Did you not hear the part where I humiliated him in front of everyone? I think it's safe to say he got the message."

"Nah, I heard it loud and clear." he said, his tone grumbling, "M' just thinkin I should go in there and have a word with him."

"Hm, and what exactly would you say in this delightful conversation?"

"Wouldn't do a whole lotta talkin." he muttered bitterly.

I laughed a little, "Daryl...it's okay."

He still looked a little uneasy, "Ya sure? Cause I can go in there right now and knock some sense into him."

I placed my hand on the side of his face, getting him to actually look me in the eye, "I'm sure. But hey, if it ever happens again, you're the first person I'll call to kick his ass. Okay?"

He smirked a little, "Alright..."

My knuckles gently ran across his cheek, feeling the slight prickle of his beard as I brought him in for another kiss, feeling his hand slip around me to squeeze my hip. He pecked my lips a few more times before pulling back to look at me, seeing his clear shift in emotion as he took in every inch of my face, his smile returning.

"Well, what do you think? You ready to get out of here?" I asked softly.

He nodded with a small hum, gently patting the small of my back as we stood up to walk down the steps hand in hand, my shoes dangling from the other. Though we didn't make it very far before he tugged me to a stop, clearly noticing I was barefoot.

"Why didn't ya put yer shoes on?"

A quiet groan left my lips, "Because high heels want to murder your feet, it's just science." I insisted, gesturing down to them. The back of my heels alone were killing me.

He huffed lightly, "Well, ya ain't walkin home barefoot. Ya could step on somethin sharp."

"But...they hurt."

He looked down at me for a moment in contemplation before sighing softly, letting go of my hand to stand in front of me instead. He lowered his arms and bent down into a squat, leaving me eyeing him in confusion as I tried my best not to laugh.

"What're you doing?" I asked, amused at my view.

"Hop on." he said simply, wiggling his fingers for emphasis.

My eyebrows raised in surprise, "A piggyback ride?"

"Yeah, why not?"

This time I did laugh, finding the situation much more humorous than he probably did. But I partially blamed it on the number of drinks I had tonight. I adjusted the shoes in my grasp before attempting to steady my hands on his shoulders, jumping up on his back to which he easily caught me with a grunt.

I felt him shift slightly to get a better grip on my legs so I wouldn't fall, turning his head to look at me, "Ya good?"

"Yep." I nodded, "Giddyap."

He scoffed in amusement, his hand smacking my thigh playfully before he began to walk, carrying me back toward the house.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, the heels dangling from my fingertips as I rested my chin on his shoulder, practically hugging him from behind as I savored the closeness. It wasn't like I was deprived by any means, but it was safe to say I had missed him. And after a long day like this one, he was the one person that somehow made it all go away within seconds. My comfort.

Gazing around at the houses that were lined up the street, I noticed how almost all of them were completely empty with the lights off, most likely still at Deanna's gathering. Hell, nearly the entire community showed up tonight to meet us properly, yet it still managed to surprise me how much an event like that mattered around here. Though they also might've gone for the drinks, and I couldn't say I blamed them for that. Leaving everything around was practically dead.

But there was a certain house in particular that seemed to quickly catch my attention as we were heading its direction. The lights were off just like all the rest, but a small radio was sitting just in the window, playing some kind of soft and melodic song. It was beautiful to say the least, the quiet sound only growing louder as he walked toward it, my legs instinctively swinging gently to the beat. Daryl seemed to notice almost immediately how I was drawn to the tune, his head turning again to get a look at my face. But he surprised me slightly when I felt him slow to a stop in the middle of the street.

My brows furrowed a little as I snapped out of my trance, inching a bit closer to see his expression, "What's wrong?"

He looked back at me with a somewhat anxious glint in his eye, "Yer feet still hurt pretty bad?"

"Only when I'm wearing the shoes. Why?"

He nodded slowly before loosening his grip on me so I would slide off his back. I landed gently on my feet, growing even more confused to what he was doing as he did a quick scan of the pavement to make sure there was nothing harmful that I could step on.

I tilted my head, "Daryl...?"

He wordlessly turned back toward me, his brows furrowed with a hint of nerves, before taking the shoes from my grasp and tossing them aside on the grass to the left of us. My eyes followed to see where they had landed, glancing back at him with a completely lost look, hearing him chuckle at my obvious skepticism.

His hand then extended itself toward me, "Wanna dance?" he asked softly.

My eyes widened a little, my face breaking out in a smile, "I thought you said it was pushing it if I asked you to dance."

"Well...m' askin you ta dance. Loophole." he shrugged.

I narrowed my eyes at him playfully, slowly taking his outstretched hand to silently answer his question. He smiled at my acceptance, kissing my knuckles lightly before holding our intertwined hands outward, his other coming up to grasp my waist. I followed his lead as I raised my free hand to his shoulder, and together we started to sway to the gentle music that followed. He was looking down at me with such admiration it made my heart flutter, giving my waist a small squeeze while he attempted to guide me.

Every now and then he would glance down quickly at our feet, making sure he wasn't about to step on me like he did the last time, but in all honesty, his movements were great. He looked more sure of himself, more confident with dancing than he did with asking me. As if I would ever say no.

I then felt his hand leave my waist while he lifted our hands up to get me to spin around, my dress lightly flowing around me before we came back together. As close as we could possibly get. His head came down to rest his forehead against mine, our eyes closed in content, soaking up this moment as much as I possibly could. The closeness bringing me a certain peace. I squeezed his hand lightly and a small smile stayed on my lips while he slowly spun us in a little circle, remembering what I had briefly taught him from last time.

The music was perfect, the atmosphere was perfect, and he was perfect. I couldn't have asked for a better way to end the seemingly endless evening. And I think it was safe to say he agreed.

As the piano started to die down, our shared movements slowed, feeling him lift his head from mine ever so slightly to press a lingering kiss on my skin. I ravished in the moment for as long as I could, savoring every last second as if I couldn't get enough, the memory this would turn into would always be special to me now. Proof that there could still be love in a world so unforgiving.

My eyes fluttered open when I felt him pull back, a goofy grin on his face as he gazed down at me. "Have you been practicing?"

He scoffed, "Nah. Guess it just comes naturally."

"Yeah, well either way...it was great. Thanks for dancing with me, honey."

"Course." he said genuinely, pulling me in to leave another kiss on my temple, "Ya happy?"

I nodded slowly, "You always make me happy." I stated, and I meant it. He always found a way to make me smile even if I felt there was nothing to smile about, constantly jumping through hoops to uplift my mood in any way he could. Tonight was truly the best example of that.

"Good," he hummed before turning back around, "Alright, hop back on, woman."

I obliged and stepped up to place my hands on his shoulders again to climb onto his back once more. He carried me effortlessly away from the house we were once stopped in front of, purposely leaning a little back and forth so I felt like I was about to fall. I clung onto him tighter which is probably exactly what he wanted, smacking his chest lightly in attempts to get him to stop, our laughs echoing around the silent streets like a couple of fools. But I didn't really care how ridiculous we potentially looked. I hadn't felt this carefree in a very long time, and seeing him like that as well made me feel even more content.

Though right as we were approaching the familiar block. I suddenly remembered something. The fucking shoes.

"Wait, my heels." I mumbled with a defeated sigh.

At this point we were already almost back, seeing the house in the distance which only caused him to look back at me in disbelief. "Are ya ever gonna wear the damn things again?"

"Hell no." I said immediately.

"Then fuck 'em." he insisted before moving forward once again.

I let out a breath of air as I leaned my head against his, "Yeah, alright. I just hope I make whoever lives there very happy with their brand-new fancy shoes." I joked.

He chuckled, "Ya sure are generous."

I wordlessly rolled my eyes at his sarcasm, tightening my grip around him as he walked. But then we both seemed to freeze.

"Hey, guys!" came a voice to our right, both of us looking over with semi-wide eyes to see Aaron standing on his porch, waving toward us with a large smile.

I waved back awkwardly while Daryl just gave him a nod, both of us now realizing just how uncomfortable this interaction was with the position we were in.

"You guys coming back from the party?" he asked.

"Yeah. It sucked." I said bluntly.

He laughed a little with a shake of his head, "Well, then I'm glad I steered clear from that." he spoke in amusement, pausing momentarily as his eyes lingered on us. "Why don't you two come in, have some dinner?"

My first instinct was to decline as politely as I could, wanting nothing more than to just get home and go to sleep. But I would be blatantly lying if I said some food didn't sound nice. I glanced down to Daryl to silently ask what he wanted, watching him only shrug in response.

When neither of us responded, he insisted, "Come on, it'll be fun. It's some pretty serious spaghetti." he said before turning around and making his way inside.

The two of us watched him disappear behind the door, leaving it open a crack like he silently knew we would follow. We glanced back at each other again, sharing a certain look. Surely it would be rude to turn down free food.

The room was almost completely silent as the four of us ate in the dimly lit dining room, the only sound that filled the space were the forks lightly scraping on the plate and the clinking of the glasses. No one really knew how to start the conversation, especially since Daryl's slurping of the spaghetti was all the filler noise we needed for it to not be uncomfortable.

I took my time twirling the noodles around my fork, occasionally glancing at my husband to my left with amused eyes as the noodles continued to slap him in the face with every bite. My gaze eventually looked up to the other two men across from me and caught them as they shared a look all while trying to hold in their laughs, before their eyes panned toward me to which I only gave a knowing smile.

When Daryl finally took a breather to look up, our eyes were already on him, causing his cheeks to redden with slight embarrassment at all the sudden attention.

I glanced back to Aaron and Eric, "Don't worry, I keep him in a leash." I joked.

Daryl scoffed from beside me and nudged my side, while the other couple shared a laugh, getting some of the awkwardness out of the way. Thank God.

I tapped my fork anxiously, "Thank you so much for dinner, it's really great."

Daryl grunted in agreement from beside me, "Yeah, thanks." he muttered, wiping the remaining sauce that was on his face with the back of his sleeve.

"And I'm sorry again for not...having any shoes, I seemed to have misplaced them." I glanced at Daryl knowingly, hearing him snort.

"Oh, of course, and for the last time don't worry about it." Eric reassured with a wave of his hand, "You can borrow some sandals for the walk home if you'd like?"

I nodded, "That would be great, thank you."

He nodded back at me, another brief silence passing as we all continued to eat before Aaron was the one to speak, "So," he started, cleaning his face with a napkin, "How long have the two of you been together?"

"Oh, uh...about two years." I answered.

He raised his eyebrows, "Wow, I would've guessed longer, you just seem so...in sync. You guys met in this?"

"Yeah...it's been quite the experience." I confirmed, a part of my mind drifting to how life would've been if we had met before the world went to hell. How different it would be.

"Oh, I bet." Eric replied, as if he was speaking from experience.

Aaron hummed, "And you guys are married right? How long has that been?"

"Six months." Daryl said almost immediately.

My head turned to him in slight surprise at how fast he responded, but he on the other had seemed the least bit phased as he shoveled another bite in his mouth, subtly reaching out to squeeze my leg under the table. It warmed my heart that not only he knew for a fact how long we had been married, but said it as if the answer was constantly on his mind.

I looked back up at the two to see they had the softest smiles on their faces as they looked at us, Eric even placing a hand over his heart in awe. I smiled meekly at them, feeling myself get a bit flustered which caused me to take a drink of the red wine they offered in attempts to hide my embarrassment.

I cleared my throat, "I feel like you guys are my only voice of reason for this place, since you're the ones who brought us here." I huffed softly, "So, how long have you lived in Alexandria?"

Eric tilted his head, "Well, I think it's been about a year, wouldn't you say?" he asked Aaron who nodded in response, "We got here around the same time...and I guess it was only a matter of time before we got together ourselves."

"That's sweet." I smiled, watching them intertwine their hands. A part of me asked because I was curious. But another part of me wanted to be reassured that I could settle here just like everyone else.

Aaron looked at me for a beat longer than necessary, "You're still weary?" he assumed.

I shared a look with Daryl before shaking my head assuredly, "No...just curious, I guess."

He smiled a little, "I've actually been meaning to ask if you've accepted that job from Deanna yet? I know she's probably bugging you for some kind of answer."

"Yeah," I nodded, "I actually told her tonight that I was going to take it."

"Oh, that's great." he said genuinely, "Hopefully the job fits you perfectly."

"Fingers crossed." I muttered as I picked my fork back up, picking at the food to take another small bite. I felt Daryl squeeze my leg lightly in reassurance, knowing just how uneasy I was about the whole thing in the first place. I was nervous, but I was just glad I had his support through it.

"Mm," Eric hummed like he suddenly remembered something, "Speaking of. When you're out there, if you happen to be in a store or something, Mrs. Neudermyer is really looking for a pasta maker. And we're all really trying to get her to shut up about it." he directed toward Daryl, "I mean we have crates of dry pasta in here, but she wants to make her own or something."

I looked back towards him to see if he knew what the man was talking about, but he seemed to have the same blank expression as I did, swallowing the wine quickly to try and catch up with what Eric was saying.

"If you see one on your travels, it would go a long way to..." he suddenly trailed off, seeing the look on Aaron's face. There was just silence once again, and clearly we were the only ones in the dark about what was going on.

Suddenly Eric felt quite embarrassed as he stared back down at his plate, "I thought it was done...you didn't ask him already?"

"Ask me what?" Daryl voiced.

Aaron smiled a little before getting up from his seat, "Follow me."

He headed off towards the garage and Daryl was hesitant to push out his chair and trail behind, but he did nonetheless. Though not without looking back at me about five different times to see if I would follow him out there so he wouldn't be alone. I swear he was acting like a child having to go to their first day of school. Shaking my head, I silently waved him on, watching him sigh heavily once he realized he was on his own for this.

Once Eric heard the door squeak shut, knowing the two men were gone, he looked back towards me with a bright smile, "Well, you two are adorable, are you kidding?"

I just laughed, "Thank you. I could say the same about you two."

"Oh, stop." he waved me off, "I can't believe how much that man melts when he's around you. It's precious."

"So I've been told." I agreed with a small nod. "So, what did you do before all of this?" I found myself asking.

He wiped his mouth quickly with a hum, "Well, I was in between jobs, but technically the last one I had was a receptionist at an office company that sold paper." he deadpanned. My face scrunched up just as much as his was as he let out a chuckle, "Thrilling I know." he said sarcastically, "But what about you?"

"I was an undercover cop."

His eyes widened, "Oh, really? Well, no wonder they want you to be our constable, you'll kill it out there."

I shrugged, "I hope so."

"Well, have a little faith." he joked.

I laughed softly, "I just mean...I haven't been a cop in two years and all of a sudden, I'm jumping back into it at full force. It's going to be weird at first, but hopefully I'll get used to it."

"You will." he reassured, "If Deanna believes you're a good fit for the job, then you're a good fit for the job."

"That easy, huh?" I asked with a raised brow.

He simply nodded his head as if he knew best, before going back to finishing the food that remained in front of him. And for some reason, even after barely knowing the man, I somewhat trusted his judgement as he seemed confident in his words. Maybe everything would be alright.

Ignoring Eric's protests, I ended up cleaning everyone's plates from the table and taking them to the kitchen, helping the man out considering he still couldn't move around too well with his ankle. I rinsed the dishes off a bit before filling up one side of the sink with warm, soapy water, letting them soak for the time being. I was even tempted to help put away the leftovers they had still sitting on the stove, but I knew he'd just yell at me for that too, so I decided to take the highroad.

Drying my hands off with a nearby towel, I stepped out of the kitchen right as Aaron and Daryl came back from the garage. I smiled briefly at them, watching Daryl shift uncomfortably as he clearly didn't want to overstay his welcome.

"M' gonna take a piss, then ya ready to go?" he asked.

I scoffed lightly at his bluntness before nodding, "Yeah, sure."

He dipped his head before heading down the hall to find the bathroom, while I trailed back toward the dining area where Aaron was now hovering, cleaning up the wine glasses.

"Oh, I can do that." I offered.

He shot me a look, "You're our guest, you shouldn't be taking any dishes."

"I tried to tell her." Eric said with raised hands, "She's stubborn."

"I could've told you that." Aaron added teasingly.

"Hey," I said in faux offense, "I'm standing right here."

They both laughed lightly at my comment before Aaron followed me back into the kitchen, setting the glasses in the sink while I folded the towel back onto the counter neatly. "I'll let Daryl be the one to tell you the news, all good things I swear."

I nodded slowly, "Okay."

"Oh...but can I ask you something really quick?" he asked, lowering his voice a little, "He said something to me about bringing me some rabbits...is that a good thing? Or...?" he trailed off.

My eyes widened a little, "Oh, he likes you."

"Really?" he asked somewhat shocked.

"Yeah, you think he offers to get rabbits just for anybody? Whatever you said, you definitely won him over."

He nodded with a content smile, "Alright, well...good."

Before we could say anything else, Daryl emerged from the hall from which he disappeared, nodding back toward the front door as he locked eyes with me, "Ya ready?"

"Mhm." I nodded, following him out while Aaron trailed behind us to see us out.

We said our many thank you's and goodbyes to show our gratitude for dinner before we both left the house side by side, Daryl chewing on his lip nervously all the while. He looked a little unsure and I silently knew he wouldn't tell me anything until I asked. Simply because he was lost in his own little world, thinking about anything and everything that went on in that conversation I could only assume. Sometimes he just needed a little push.

"Well, are you gonna tell me about it or what?" I asked, nudging his elbow lightly.

He glanced over at me and tried to give me the best smile that he could muster, but I could tell he was nervous for a reason that was unknown to me. Aaron assured me that it wasn't anything bad and seemed almost excited about whatever the news could be, though Daryl's expression said otherwise.

"He brought me into the garage ta show me this old bike he found a while back, said I could have it. Tune it up, take it out whenever I want." he mumbled.

A few beats of silence passed which caused me to assume that was all, "Well...that's great. I mean you haven't ridden one in so long, and honestly I'm starting to miss it too."

He shook his head, "That ain't it. He said he wants me to go out with him to bring new people in. Said he wasn't comfortable doin it with Eric anymore, thinks I'll be good for it. I dunno why he offered it to me in the first place, but...the job's mine if I want it." he blurted out seemingly all at once.

"Okay..." I nodded slowly, still not seeing the problem.

He cleared his throat, "Well, what do you think?"

I blinked, "What do you mean, what do I think?"

"M' askin what ya think bout the job."

I shook my head with a smile, "Honey, it doesn't matter what I think, you're the one who's going to have to do it."

He shrugged, "Just...want yer opinion."

"Well...I think it would be good for you, getting outside these walls more often instead of being stuck here all the time. It's a nice chance to get to know Aaron, make a new friend." I paused for a moment, "But I think the most important thing is that it makes you happy, and it's something you actually want to do."

He stopped walking then, gently taking my hand in his to turn me to face him, "So, ya wouldn't be mad if I took it?"

My eyes widened, quickly shaking my head, "No, no. Why would I ever be mad?"

"Cause I ain't gonna see ya as often...I'll be gone for who knows how long while yer here just waitin on me to get back."

I tilted my head a little, "Yeah, I know...but that's okay. I mean you won't be gone all the time, you'll come back for a little then leave for a little, we'll get a good routine down. But I think it's a good opportunity to get out there; do something you'll actually like. I want that for you."

Relief was brought back to his expression as he lifted my hand up to his mouth to place a gentle kiss there, "Yeah, I want that too. Which is why...I told him I'd do it."

I smiled happily at him before wrapping my arms around his waist in a tight hug, burying my face in his chest. I will admit, this whole thing will probably take some getting used to, but I didn't mind one bit as long as he was doing that brought him some kind of joy. And at the end of the day, this seemed perfect for him.

"I'm very proud of you." I admitted quietly.

He hummed, "Could say the same thing bout you, officer." he said, his tone turning a bit teasing.

I rolled my eyes, "Quit."

But he only chuckled softly, running his hands across my back while leaning down to kiss my cheek a few times until my faux annoyance disappeared.

As we finally made it back, it surprised me to see that both of the houses they gave us were still empty, signaling that no one had made it back yet as there wasn't a single light on through the windows. Apparently, they were far more polite than us when it came to staying at the event. Though as I began to turn and walk up the steps, I noticed that Daryl's arm fell from my waist as instead he began walking away from me. My brows furrowed, watching him cross the street.

A small smirk grew on my face, seeing him move further and further away without looking back once, "You forget which one is ours already?" I joked.

Finally, he glanced over his shoulder. "Oh..." he muttered, "I thought when we agreed ta head to the house, ya meant our house."

"I did." I said, jutting my thumb back toward the structure behind me, "This is the house."

He shook his head, "Nah, it's not. According ta Aaron, that one over there is ours."

I squinted my eyes, panning back and forth between the small home and him a few times before finally confessing, "I'm lost."

A small chuckle escaped him while he slowly walked back over to where I was rooted in place, "I really gotta spell it out for ya?"

"Hey, easy. I've had a few drinks tonight, be nice."

"Yeah, alright." he smiled, "Well, I talked ta Aaron bout settin up a little surprise for ya. And that surprise just so happens to be...our house." he said, taking my hand to place something small in my palm.

I glanced down to see it was a set of keys, the dots immediately connecting in my head the moment I realized it was real. My eyes widened as I looked back up to him, pointing toward the house once more. "That's our house?" I asked, "Like...our house?"

He nodded with a growing smile, clearly feeling quite proud of himself, "Wanna go check it out?"

"Uh, yeah." I spoke as if it were obvious, practically dragging him along across the pavement as I couldn't have been more excited.

The outside was painted white with a plethora of flowers planted on either side of the steps, the multitude of colors really bringing the place to life. And on top of that it had a porch swing. He really outdid himself with that one.

I couldn't seem to get through the gate fast enough to make it up toward the door, anxiously anticipating what was inside. "You wanna do the honors?" I asked as I briefly looked over my shoulder at him.

"Nah, you got it baby." he reassured.

I smiled brightly before turning back around to unlock the handle, the keys jingling quietly as I did so, pushing the wooden door open to reveal the inside. And just by the very first look, I could already tell I loved it.

The layout was very simple, a staircase on the left and the living area on the right, the large glass doors being a nice added touch to open and close the entrance to the room whenever we wanted. My eyes darted around everything as I stepped inside, Daryl flicking the light on from behind me to bring the room a nice orange glow. I took note of all the beautiful decor as I slowly made my way down the hall, seeing it opened up into a kitchen with a small dining table and chairs just off to the side.

Everything blended together utterly flawless, reminding me just how much we needed normality. How much we deserved it. And I couldn't have conjured up a more perfect image of the home Daryl and I would settle into. The home that was now ours.

And it only got better once we ventured upstairs. There was a small guest bathroom and an extra bedroom, a place where maybe Carl could crash every now and then to get away from his crazy dad. And then the master bedroom just down the hall, it almost took my breath away.

The bed was huge, sitting in the middle of the room along with two large bookshelves aligning the walls to accompany the large windows. I was absolutely over the moon at the amount of books I had to read now, ones that were mine to keep and pick through whenever I wanted. The two extra doors led to the walk-in closet, and the master bathroom that was especially shiny. It had a tub, two sinks, and a shower with a glass door. The really fancy ones that I only used to see in movies that almost everyone was insanely jealous of.

With a breath, I slowly turned back around to face him, walking over to the middle of the bedroom and seeing the little grin he had on his face. "Ya like it?"

"Like it?" I questioned in disbelief, "My mouth hasn't closed since the second I walked in here." I said sarcastically, looking around the bedroom once more to take it all in.

He chuckled at my comment before I felt his arms wrap around my middle, resting his chin on my shoulder, "I'll take that as a good thing." he murmured.

"It's a very good thing," I confirmed, running my hands along his forearms, "I can't believe it's ours."

"Mhm." he hummed, his lips pressing against the skin on my neck. The same spot that made me shiver.

A slow smile was brought to my face the more I thought about not having to be quiet anymore, no one else being around to hear us in the privacy of our own home. Not only now, but for however many years to come. We had our own space to do pretty much whatever we wanted for the first time in two years, and boy was I planning on taking advantage of that.

I slowly turned to face the king-sized bed before us, eyeing it as I subtly licked my lips in suspense, "This room is really nice..."

But before he even got a chance to respond, I took his arms from around me and quickly moved him around my frame, lightly pushing him down onto the mattress. A look of surprise crossed his features, before it was replaced with a smirk upon watching me climb on top of him.

"God, it's such a shame we have to ruin it." I finished.

"Such a damn shame." he agreed before grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me down for a heated kiss.

I couldn't help but moan softly as the warmth of his tongue invaded my mouth, swirling around hungrily while his hands pulled me almost flush against him. He gripped my hips tightly, lightly guiding them back and forth against him to create the friction we had been craving, already feeling my stomach flutter with butterflies. My hands began to unbutton his shirt impatiently, needing to feel his rough skin beneath my palms. It was almost like magic with how fast I got to the bottom, causing him to instinctively flip over so he could shrug it off of his broad shoulders, tossing it behind him carelessly.

His mouth came back down to attach onto my neck, sucking and nipping every bit of skin he could reach all while hiking the skirt of my dress up, his hands running down to give my thighs a generous squeeze. I hummed, my chest rising and falling dramatically with every breath that passed through my lips, feeling his hands inching closer to where I needed him most.

"God...I need you." I whispered.

A growl erupted from him at the sound of my plea, not needing to be told twice as his thick fingers curled around my tights and the edge of my panties, pulling them completely off my legs in one go. I sighed shakily as his head dipped down to then leave a trail of open-mouth kisses down my abdomen, his tongue darting out to taste the sweetness of my flesh. He groaned quietly to himself, his back muscles flexing all while he slowly spread my legs apart for him to settle between them.

My hips shifted upward in impatience, whimpering at just the thought of him finally giving me what I needed. Considering how active we were when the prison was still intact, I felt I had been deprived of his mouth for far too long, seeing as he always wanted to spoil me every chance he got. Though he seemed to be enjoying torturing me now. Kissing teasingly along my thighs and forcing my legs to stay in place no matter how much I wanted to squirm.

But even he had his breaking point, one where he couldn't hold out any longer than he already had, pushing himself to the limit just as he was doing to me.

"Fuck, you taste so good." he muttered, his nose brushing against my mound.

A shiver of anticipation rolled through me, before I felt the tip of his tongue lick a slow strip up my slit, causing my muscles to flex and my head to roll back. "Oh...yes." I moaned softly.

He hummed affectionately, the sound alone vibrating through my body, before his mouth fully crashed down against my aching cunt. My eyelids fluttered blissfully, gasping in pleasure while his tongue lapped eagerly against my clit, burying his face into my folds. My hands traveled down to weave through his hair, gently tugging at the roots as if to keep him in place right where he was. A low sound rumbled from him at the feeling of my fingers in his soft locks, his lips sucking at my sensitive flesh. I felt his pace pick up with the growing excitement he seemed to possess, his hips grinding slightly against the bed as he ate me hungrily. Growing hard within merely moments.

His tongue flicked in and out of my entrance, tasting the pure arousal that pooled there, his thumb moving up to gently rub over my clit. That alone elicited a small cry from my mouth, my back arching from off the bed. "Oh my God." I sighed, pulling his hair tighter.

"Mm..." he murmured against my skin, his lips moving away momentarily so he could slowly insert two fingers into my entrance.

The whines and blissful sounds of ecstasy I let out only grew louder when he curled the digits to hit that sweet spot, feeling content in the privacy of our own space. Perhaps I even exaggerated a little just because I could. I wasn't worried about the others, or potentially even walkers hearing us with our minds hazy with lust. I felt I could fully let go.

I could hear his breathing grow more ragged as he solely focused on my pleasure, and I felt my stomach tighten as my orgasm built. But before I could focus on it for too long, he suddenly stopped, causing me to let out a muffled sound of protest feeling his mouth pull away from my core.

He pulled himself up to hover over me, his voice low and gravely with desire, "Open."

I didn't protest one bit at his demand, opening my mouth to stick my tongue out, watching a string of saliva fall from his lips and land directly into my own, swallowing it with a pleased hum. His eyes darkened further, leaning down to capture my lips in a sloppy kiss, his hand coming up into my hair while he gently sucked on my tongue. I giggled quietly at the feel of his mouth desperately clinging to mine, still being able to taste the lingering sweetness of myself.

But it didn't last for long as we were both growing far too impatient to wait any longer, the remains of our clothes shedding off in record speed. His bare skin felt burning hot against mine, the back of my thighs being pressed against his chest while he shifted between them once more, stroking himself a few times. I bit my lip as I watched intently, loving the sight of him like this. The sight that was only reserved for me, like he was baring his soul for my eyes alone. The passion and vulnerability he showed making it all the more precious.

When he caught me staring, he turned his head to press hot kisses against my ankle and up toward the side of my foot that rested against his shoulder, "My pretty angel..." he muttered, "So perfect."

I shuttered as he showered me with praise, feeling his tip push into me while his large hands now gripped onto my legs, slowly inserting himself. My eyes squeezed shut as I let out a choked moan at how good he always felt, so unreal, as if we were truly made for each other. Hearing the low and almost animalistic sounds from him only turned me on more, my hips wiggling ever so slightly as if to coax him to move. And he gladly obliged, easily beginning a steady rhythm as he thrusted in and out of me.

The sound of our skin slapping together and pent-up sinful sounds filled the room, our bodies connecting in the most intimate way. His movements were skilled and purposeful, my wetness almost causing him to slip out and falter with how aroused I was. But I couldn't help it. The vision of him bucking into me at a rapid pace, the hair falling over his hooded eyes as he concentrated, panting heavily and whimpering at the sensations. It only caused the heat in my stomach to grow once more.

"Shit," I cursed breathlessly, "Yes...yes- that feels so good." I moaned, the indication that I was close.

"Mhm." he groaned, his pace picking up to begin roughly pounding into me.

I cried out again as his dick hit that same sensitive spot inside of me, his hip rolling accordingly as if he had it memorized by now. Knowing exactly how I operated, which strings to pull in order to make me feel good. My legs began to tingle like a soft buzzing, my hands gripping the sheets below me while I gasped, feeling my entire body practically turning to jelly from his touch. My flesh was covered in a thin line of sweat as my hips jutted forward to meet his pace, trying to finally feel that release of pure euphoria.

"Come on, baby." I heard him mutter, the deep vibration of his voice ultimately causing me to chase my peak.

I moaned loudly while my body trembled with utter bliss, my orgasm hitting me so hard I could've sworn my vison went black for a moment. I felt his dick tremble inside of me, my walls squeezing him with every sloppy thrust he delivered before I heard him let out a deep grunt, quickly pulling out of me to spill himself onto my stomach. The two of us froze for a moment, coming down from the high we shared as I fought to catch my breath, my eyes glazing over, humming in deep satisfaction.

Daryl then slowly lowered himself to collapse on top of me, nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck all while placing a few lazy kisses there. I smiled tiredly, my hands rubbing his back in a soothing manner and I felt his body envelope me entirely, like a warm protective shield.

"I love you." his gruff voice whispered in my ear.

My smile grew as I felt his teeth grazing my lobe, gently biting down on it, "I love you too..."

~ Thanks for reading! (This took me forever to write, but I think this might be one of my favorite chapters yet:))

Taglist ~ @justareader95 @hayley1998 @ryoujoking @sipsthecoffee @winterassassin1804 @marsmallow433 @catlalice @writingstreetspirit @silentlysurffering98 @mystictf @remuslittlesister @in0320

[snowflakeanimelover]

Title: Change For The Better

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Relationship: Daryl Dixon x OC

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, child abuse, young Daryl and Merle, Flashbacks, loneliness, Katelyn’s kind of a creep, Daryl is a jerk

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Summary: The apocalypse was like a nightmare come true. No one had expected it to really come into reality, until the day the dead started walking around, feasting on human flesh. It was a sight no one could forget. And, frankly, it doesn’t seem to end.

It’s been two years since the virus took over the world, taking about half of the world's population along with it. Katelyn Davidson has been on her own practically the whole time. Due to past experiences, she is unable to bring herself into being in a survival group once more. However, that all seems to change when she runs into her childhood friend, Daryl Dixon.

Past trauma, memories, and conflict comes back to the surface between the two friends. Despite the world changing for the worse, maybe Katelyn and Daryl can change for the better.

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Note: so….i have never dealt with or met someone who has experienced abuse. I apologize if there is anything wrong related to that. No, there will not be any explicit abuse scenes…well, from her childhood anyway. Typical TWD violence will be in the story. I’m kind of just going off of things I’ve learned from movies, and might be looking things up here and there.

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Master list | …

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Chapter 1

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Katelyn stepped into the forest, the familiar crunch of leaves underfoot bringing her a sense of calm. At just ten years old, she often sought refuge among the tall trees, escaping the chaos at home. With each stride, the world's weight faded away, and the forest welcomed her like an old friend. She had wandered these trails before—sometimes as a retreat, to dream—and today, she was eager to discover the hidden wonders just beyond the next bend. This was her secret world, and adventure awaited her.

The nature around her was loud. The branches snapping under her feet, leaves crunching into pieces from her weight, birds chirping in the trees, and the branches groaning above her as the wind makes them dance. This was her peace. The home she had always wanted.

Katelyn always kept herself busy in the forest near her home. She was always by herself, making up games she could play, and running around the trees to entertain herself. It was calm and peaceful, and there was nothing to bother her.

As many times as she has been out here, she has never seen anyone else. Maybe a few animals here and there, such as squirrels or rabbits. Seeing the creatures was joyful for her. She enjoyed chasing them around, seeing if she could pet it or at least get a better look at it.

Today was a lucky day for her, she believes. While she hopped over logs with a big grin, her expression brightens when she catches sight of a white rabbit a few feet away from her. A breathy giggle leaves her lips as she hops down from the log she was standing on, trying to be as quiet as she could while approaching the small creature.

However, the rabbit perks up, noticing her coming close. In a panicked reaction, it quickly runs off, finding shelter to hide. Katelyn doesn’t let this get past her, though, and she chases right after it.

The trees are winding as she runs through them, jumping over roots and logs to not trip and avoiding branches that hang low. She hadn’t run far from the spot she noticed the rabbit. The creature was quick, but she managed to keep her eye on it, following it through the quiet forest.

As soon as she ducks a branch to follow it further, she suddenly stops. Her happy grin falls at the sight before her, a tall boy standing there. He had wild brown hair that stuck up in all sorts of directions, with cautious blue eyes staring back at her. Katelyn shifts from one foot to the other, completely forgetting about the white rabbit that most likely got away, and begins to fidget with her hands. She has never met this boy before. He’s a little taller than her, maybe a little older. His clothes consist of a brown and black flannel, unbuttoned to show a stained dark grey shirt underneath. His jeans were loose, dirty and unkempt.

She didn’t know what to do. She doesn’t talk to people much, especially ones around her age. At school, she often keeps to herself, and her classmates like to keep their distance with her. “….Hi…” she finally murmurs, trying to gather as much courage as she could to speak to the boy.

The boy, however, looks rather annoyed by her presence. She hadn’t noticed before, but he had a couple sticks and a bundle of wire in his hands. “Who the hell are you?” He grumbles, his glare full of curiosity and caution.

Katelyn instinctively blinks at the curse word, remembering how often her parents use them around her in a fit of rage. She didn’t visibly flinch, but it certainly made her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, hanging her head. Is he mad at her? Did she do anything to make him feel that way?

A scoff leaves his lips as he takes a step back, half turning away to leave. “Go home. Ain’t nothin’ ‘round here for yah.”

She doesn’t say anything as she looks up, watching him walk away, deeper into the forest. His shabby shoes shuffled through the dead leaves, causing small sticks to snap under his weight in his path.

The one thing Katelyn knew, at this very moment, is that she didn’t want to go home. Not now, anyway. She still had time before her parents would even notice she’s gone. So, she takes it upon herself to follow the boy. She kept her distance, but she was too curious not to keep him in her sights. Why was he there, in the forest? Did he live nearby? She has never seen him in this area before, nor anyone, for that matter. What was he up to?

Katelyn seemed to have gotten away with following him for a little bit longer. He never looked back to see if she was there, assuming he doesn’t even know she’s following. Soon enough, the boy stops walking, putting one knee on the ground as he looks around the area. She watches as he grabs a sapling tree near him. He begins to pull on the tree, making it bend down to where he can tie some of the wire at the end.

She was perplexed by what he was doing. She has never seen anything like it, quite curious to what he was making. When he stands back up, some sort of contraption is made. The tree is bent downwards against its will, held in that place by a wire that was attached to two carved sticks in the ground. The wire soon ends in a large loop, resting on the ground.

Katelyn doesn’t notice he has a knife until he stuffs it in his back pocket. A pocket knife, Katelyn could guess. Just as she’s ready to follow him some more, The boy turns around, his eyes meeting hers. This time, his expression holds more irritation than annoyance. “What the hell are yah doin’, huh? I said go home!” He snaps, flicking his wrist at her to point somewhere behind her, a gesture for her to leave. “Quit followin’ me ‘round…” he then murmurs under his breath, turning back around to leave.

Before he can leave, though, they hear a set of heavy footsteps coming their way. “Alright, little brother,” a raspy voice with a heavy southern accent grabs their attention. Katelyn could see a figure approaching, a taller man in about the same kind of clothing as the boy. He’s skinny and looks to be in his late teens. “Got some snares up an’ runnin’?” He asks, stopping his tracks once he’s by the boy.

The boy doesn’t respond, simply looking up at his older brother, as if that was enough to get him to notice the girl following him. His brother doesn’t seem to notice. He looks around, seeing the snare that was set up, but his eyes soon move up to the small figure behind it. *A girl*.

“Now would you look at that,” he grins, looking down at his little brother as he pats him on the shoulder. “Found yerself a little girlfriend, huh?” He snickers.

The boy visibly grimaces at that, and shakes his head. “Shut up, Merle! Ran into her earlier, an’ she’s been followin’ me ‘round since.” He practically scowls at her when he looks her way.

“Ah, don’ get yer panties in a twist,” Merle chuckles, stepping around his brother to approach the girl. “You lost there, girl?”

Katelyn cautiously steps back as he approaches, a memory of her father stepping up to her like that, angry, flashes in her mind.

“Now, now,” Merle starts, noticing her rising fear. He slows his steps, eventually kneeling down to her height about two feet away. “I ain’t gonna hurt yah.” He sits there for a moment, seeing as she hasn’t run off yet. “You from ‘round here?”

Her green orbs study him, taking a moment to answer his question. She soon nods, a little too shy to speak.

Merle nods, satisfied that she answered. “Why don’t you run on home now, huh?” A friendly grin quirks up. “An’ keep what yah saw to yerself.”

She fidgets, her fingers playing with the end of her shirt. Once again, she nods, keeping his words to heart as she turns and runs off to where she came.

“She’s gonna tell someone,” Daryl says once the girl was out of their sight, giving his older brother a worried look.

Merle huffs as he pushes himself off of the ground, turning back to the boy. “She ain’t gonna tell no one,” he reassures, patting Daryl’s back a little more roughly then he intended as he walks by. “Now come on. Got a couple more snares to put up.”

The fact of meeting a new person was intriguing to Katelyn. Maybe it’s because she’s always alone, but either way, she couldn’t help but to follow the two males she met in the forest. The day after she met them, she had returned to the cover of trees to see if they were there. She ran all over, seeing if she could see anything that wasn’t just foliage and animals. When she did run into the younger boy again, this time, she was more cautious. She stayed a distance away, simply following him around as he undid all of the snares he and his brother put up.

Katelyn told herself that following him was just wrong. It didn’t look right, and it might even make them suspicious of her. However, she couldn’t bring herself to greet the boy or speak up. She was….scared. She has always had trouble making friends.

Her constant following went on for a few weeks. She would run to the same forest whenever she could to look for them, see what they were up to. And everyday, she always wondered if she’ll get to finally speak up to them.

However…she never could. Katelyn always got too scared, too nervous to make the move to make a friend. Over the few weeks, she had heard the brothers talk. She had always wondered why the older one told her to keep quiet about what they were doing, or that they were there. It’s because they don’t live in this area, and were illegally hunting on private property. The good thing to do was to go tell her parents, but….she knew her parents wouldn’t believe a word she says. Despite that, she was intrigued by them, and didn’t want them to go.

The sun beating down on the forest gave the dense forest life. Katelyn found the sun shining through the trees to be a beautiful sight. She’d often sit on a log, hold her rabbit stuffed animal, and watch the forest before her. She’d watch it move, come to life. The wind makes the trees and grass dance and the animals pass by on their journey of survival.

Today, however, Katelyn wasn’t admiring nature. Instead, she was following the younger brother from a distance, as usual. Everytime she came out here, she’d tell herself she’d finally go up to him, which she found out his name is Daryl, And talk to him. She wanted to be friends. She wanted to learn what he’s doing.

When Katelyn started following Daryl around the forest, she noticed he was alone again. His older brother was probably off doing his own routine or something. As she followed him, she noticed he’s a pretty quiet kid. He hardly ever spoke, unless spoken to. Although, so,times, he’d speak out about his opinions to his brother when needed.

Before Katelyn could continue to scold herself for not making a move, Daryl suddenly runs off. His steps were hurried, and she practically jumped at his quick action. Why did he run? Did he see something scary? Did something spook him? The action must have been contagious, as Katelyn finds herself chasing right after him. She didn’t want to lose sight of him, scared that if there was something chasing them, she’d have him there to protect her…right?

Just as she rounds a tree, where she last saw Daryl disappear behind, her path is abruptly stopped. Katelyn hadn’t processed the impact her body received from whatever she ran into, and she yelps in pain when she falls back onto the dirty ground.

Katelyn lets out gasps of hair from her overworked lungs, craning her head back to see what she ran into. To her surprise, it was the boy she has been following for the past few weeks.

Oh no, he saw her! What kind of excuse could she make?

She doesn’t get a chance to speak, though, when she notices Daryl’s harsh snarl. “I told yah to stop followin’ me!” He yells at her, teeth bared and shoulders stiff. “Yer such a creep! You don’t think I didn’t notice?”

Katelyn’s breaths instinctively quicken, watching as he steps closer, his hand moving around as he points at her angrily. She could feel her cheeks burn in embarrassment, and her eyes beginning to burn as tears unwillingly swell up.

“Yah got nothin’ better to do? Go to yer parents! Play with them, huh? You got friends, don’tcha?” He continues, each word being spat out with such irritation and force, she could feel the spit sprinkle on her skin. “Quit botherin’ me! It ain’t any of yer business what we do here—“ Daryl’s rant comes to a stop before he could finish, suddenly noticing what the girl before her was doing. He hadn’t noticed as he was trying to scare her off, but now, he does. Her body shook, trembled, as she had her knees up to her chest and her arms covering her head.

“P-Please don’t hurt me,” she hiccups, sobbing in fear.

Daryl didn’t have to ask why the hell she was so freaked out. He knows this. He knows, just by looking at her, what this meant.

She’s been abused.

He now realizes that his harsh words and threatening movements must have been a trigger to her trauma, and she freaked out, thinking he’ll hurt her. That thought alone makes his hands clench into tight fists, feeling his nails dig into his skin.

Daryl knows exactly what she’s been through. And although he won’t say it out loud, seeing her so scared of him makes him feel…guilty. “I’m not…” He starts awkwardly, now more calm. He reminds himself to take a step back, give her space. “I’m not gonna hurt you…” he mutters. He had no idea how to comfort someone like her, how to comfort anyone in general.

When she doesn’t respond, still too in her head as she cries into her knees, Daryl huffs. He wasn’t any good at this. He knows his brother isn’t either. Daryl eventually lets out a sigh, hesitating before he moves. He cautiously steps up to her, slowly lowering himself to sit beside her. He wasn’t touching her, but he figured that sitting there, beside her, would be enough to show he wasn’t a threat.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but her cries had slowly quietened into soft sniffles. She slowly lifts up her head, her eyes puffy and red, nose runny. Daryl quickly looks away, not wanting her to catch him staring.

“You’re…not going to hurt me…?” She finally speaks, her words soft and fragile.

Daryl furrows his brows, a bit offended she’d think he would. “Nah,” he shakes his head, looking down at the ground he's sitting on. “‘Course not.”

The silence between them is stifling, almost suffocating. He hates awkward situations. The only person he’s actually comfortable with is his brother. He has no other friends. “I didn’t mean to scare yah…” Daryl says. He wasn’t necessarily apologizing, but it was good enough.

Katelyn sniffles loudly, rubbing her nose before she speaks. “I’m sorry…”

“For what?”

“For…um…” she hides her face in her arms that rested on her knees, too embarrassed to look at him. “For following you…?”

He snorts, the corner of his lips quirking up into a tiny smile of amusement. “Yeah? Why were yah doin’ it anyway?”

“I just…I was curious…”

“Curious about what?” He was starting to get a little irritated. The girl was slow, quiet, and beat around the bush.

“I don’t know,” she replies instantly in defense. “I’ve never had friends, okay? I…I wanted to ask if we could be friends…”

That was enough to make him officially look at her, giving her a raised brow in question. Be friends? Why in the world would she want to be friends with him? He’s anything but a normal kid, to say the least. Obviously she’s a little younger than him, but still…he doesn’t get it. What does she see in him?

“Friends?” He echoes incredulously. “We’re strangers. Yah know nothin’ ’bout me.” The only response she gives him is a simple shrug of her shoulders, shutting down on him. He stares at her for a moment, studying her now stoic expression.

Although the thought of being friends with her repulsed him, he felt that he couldn’t just leave her like this. She’s going through the same thing as him. He has his brother, who is hardly there half of the time. He doesn’t know who she has, but…clearly she would’ve been with them if she did have someone, instead of being out here in the forest all of the time by herself.

Daryl grunts as he pushes himself off of the ground, sticks and leaves sticking to his jeans, but he didn’t bother to brush them off. “Come on,” he huffs, walking in a certain direction.

Katelyn perks up, “where are we going?” She asks, curious. To her dismay, he doesn’t respond, continuing to walk further in the forest. She scrambles off of the ground, running to catch up to him.

For once in a long time, she’s smiling. Because, no matter how hard it is to read him, she feels that he has accepted her.

[xoxo-sarah]

A Chance

My Wife part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

↝pairing: Season1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader

↝warning: things are rough between Daryl and Reader, death, cursing, arguing, walkers, ect. The usual twd stuff, angst, reader wears Daryl's clothes ( but as a big girl myself, we can just ignore how he's a twig and that's most likely unrealistic 🫡), not proofread

↝⎙ 1.30.25

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

Daryl Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Daylight broke and Andrea hadn't moved.

Daryl grumbled about Amy turning, but you quickly shot him down each time. People grieve in different ways. Andrea knew what she had to do when the time came.

"Y'all can't be serious." Daryl huffed, watching Andrea through squinted eyes, "Let that girl hamstring us? The dead girl's a time-bomb." He seethed.

"Daryl," You glared up at him, rubbing the scratch on your upper arm. "Don't be insensitive."

"We ain't got time for this." He seethed, glaring back at you.

You stood, "She lost her sister, not her smarts. She knows what to do."

He stepped closer, putting his weight on one leg, slightly slouching to be eye level with you. Maybe he was trying to be intimidating, but it didn't work. You had seen the dark, sad parts of him. He will never be able to scare you or berate you with actions or words. "And if she don't?"

"What do you suggest?"Rick questioned Daryl, stopping the oncoming argument.

Daryl stepped closer to Rick, bringing his fingers to his temple, "Take the shot. Clean, in the brain from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance."

"No," Lori spoke up, "For God's sake, let her be."

Dary scoffed before walking off. In turn, you eyed the back of Andrea's head. She knew what she had to do, right? You hoped so.

Pulling your eyes away from her, you looked around at all of the bodies. Most were people who you had just seen, laughing and eating. Others were the dead that had wandered from the city.

Shutting your eyes, your hand automatically went to your wrist, the tightly woven thread helping to ground you. Your fingers traveled down to your left hand, the wedding ring soothing against your fingertips, a contrast to the thick thread of the collar/ bracelet on your wrist.

Daryl looked up as he helped drag a body across the ground. He watched you, watched your movements; a desperate search for comfort.

- time skip -

Daryl stomped away, not understanding why Amy and Jim were not being taken care of. They were "ticking time bombs". They were liabilities. In the new world, there was not time to grieve. Sneering at the thought, he yanked the tent flap back, watching you jump, immediately wiping under your eyes.

His eyes trailed over you in the silence of the moment. You needed comforting. He wanted to comfort you. He really did. But he had a feeling those tears were his doing. He shouldn't have taken his frustration out on you, knowing you had witnessed something horrific.

The tent opening fell down as he walked away.

Your hands instantly went back to your face, muffling the sobs that raked your body.

-

Sweat had mixed with the dirt and grime, caking your skin as you helped bury the bodies. The bright sun beat down, causing you to squint.

Daryl kept an eye on you from a distance. Neither of you had uttered a word to each other since the morning. You were both too stubborn.

Backing his truck up, bodies in the bed of it, Daryl caught sight of you looking up through the side mirrors. Just as quickly, you looked away and got back to digging, ignoring Rick and Shane's argument to your left. Turning the truck off, Daryl jumped out, slamming the door.

He made his way to where you, Rick, and Shane were digging holes for the friends you had light the night prior. "I still think it's a mistake not burning these bodies. It's what we said we'd do, right? Burn 'em all, wasn't that the idea?"

"At first."

Daryl scoffed, "The Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, we just follow 'em along? These people need to know who the hell's in charge here- what the rules are."

"And who the hell's in charge, Daryl? It sure as hell ain't you."

Daryl scoffed again, watching as you glared at him, waiting for him to reply, from where you had jumped down in a freshly dug hole.

"There are no rules." Rick countered Daryl's statement.

"Well, that's a problem." Lori walked past Daryl's truck, children and their mothers behind her. "We haven't had one moment to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn, and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do." With that, she turned and walked away, not caring to hear what anyone thought about that.

-

Feeling disgusting, you had made your way back to the tent. Not having any clothes, you opted for something of Daryl's. His cut shirts weren't ideal, but they were cooling and non-restricting. His old work pants fit loose, but that's not anything string couldn't fix.

Buttoning the second to last button of the dingy shirt, you heard the opening of the tent begin to unzip. You moved to cover yourself, but ultimately relaxed when Daryl stepped in. He looked up, scanning your body before glancing behind himself, making sure nobody had seen you changing from over his shoulder. He zipped the flap back up, before simply standing there. He was slightly hunched over, as were you, thanks to the small tent.

It was silent.

Your fingers went back to the button, as you ignored your husband's presence.

Daryl moved closer, standing behind you. The air around you two changed. His head fell to your shoulder, his own grime mixing with yours. He stayed there, vulnerable. This was his way of apologizing.

Your body relaxed further, sinking back into him. His arms snaked around your middle, holding you close.

"It's okay." You whispered, only loud enough for him to hear, and not to disturb this newfound peaceful atmosphere. He nodded, moving his hands to your hips, turning you around. His fingers made quick work of buttoning the last button for you.

-

The next morning, everyone was getting ready to leave for the C.D.C. Rick was out in the field, talking to a man named Morgan, the guy who had saved Rick’s life. Lori, Carol, and the kids were helping to load everything into cars. You helped Daryl load up his truck. Hopping onto the tailgate, you helped pull Daryl’s bike up, gently laying it on the truck bed.

“Are ya willin’ to put your life in his hands?” Daryl helped you jump down, glancing at Rick in the distance. Daryl was looking to you for answers. You were always the more level-headed of the two. Daryl would follow you into fire, he’d follow you to the end of the world. And you just might be doing that.

“I think you have to hope there’s a safe place out there. If we don’t hope for it, then we won’t get it. Hope is all we’ve got.” You patted his chest, before walking by him. He watched you, before slamming the rusted tailgate closed.

-

The wind blew through your hair, cooling your face. Daryl drove, one hand on the steering wheel, the other near his mouth as he nipped at his fingernails. The leg that was not being used for the gas and brake pedals slightly shook, a trailer to his nerves. You rode in silence.

“”M sorry–‘bout yesterday.” He spoke up first, biting his thumb nail. You turned your head, looking at his side-profile. He didn’t dare to glance at you.

“I know. I am too. We were both on edge; said some things. It’s alright.”

He nodded, pulling his thumb from his mouth. “Ya think Merle’s alright?”

You thought about it. Daryl had told you what they found on the roof and what they had run into.

“I think he’s a tough fucker to kill.” Daryl let out an entertained huff, “He had enough energy to steal the van, so there’s a high chance he’s okay…maybe.”

Daryl let your words marinate. Letting out a deep exhale, he swapped hands on the wheel, placing his right one of your knee. You moved closer to him, placing your hand over his.

-

Guilt was eating at you.

You had all left Jim under a tree. Sure, it was per his request, but that didn’t stop the shame bubbling in your gut. Even miles from where he sat, you had a frown on your face, thinking of him. The turning was inevitable. But the thought of him having to sit there and deal with the feeling of his bones being made of glass, cutting into him with the slightest move, having to deal with that all on his own, hurt you.

Daryl felt the tension in the truck. You sat closer to the door, hands in your lap.

His hand moved toward the radio, before cursing himself. That wouldn’t work in the apocalypse

Grumbling, he leaned over, opening the glove box and blindly digging through. Pulling a cassette tape out, he plucked it into the truck, twisting the volume knob.

It’s what Jim wanted, you kept reminding yourself. But it didn’t make you feel any better about yourself. You just hoped he wasn’t in pain for much longer.

-

Daryl tapped your arm, watching you blink awake. The melody had settled you to a light slumber. Still groggy from sleep, you took in your surroundings. For a moment, you forgot that the world went to shit. The sky was turning a dark orange, sun setting in the distance. But as you sat up in the seat, you could see the bodies on the ground, bugs buzzing above them.

“Wanna get out?” Daryl stared at you as you looked at the huge building through the windshield. Even more bodies laid in front of the building, flies swarming them. Some bodies were mindlessly wandering around.

This was the C.D.C?

Without giving a response, you opened your door, jumping out. Daryl followed, grabbing his crossbow and a shotgun from the floorboard. Walking around the truck, he pressed the gun to your side, getting your attention. You grabbed it and began following everyone to the building.

The stench alone almost had you hurling.

“Alright, everybody,” Shane began whispering, “Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet. Let’s go.”

The constant buzzing of flies and the horrible smell of decay just might be your own personal hell.

Finally, you were a few feet from the building. Rick and Shane beat on the roll-up doors.

“There’s nobody here.” T-Dog swayed on his feet, turning to look over his shoulder every few seconds.

“Then why are these shutters down?” Rick was holding onto hope; he had to.

“Walkers!” Daryl pulled you by the arm, putting you behind him.

Children screamed, guns cocked, feet shuffled.

“You led us into a graveyard!” Daryl turned, making his way toward Rick. His nostrils flared. Fury behind his eyes.

You stepped in front of him, separating him and what he wanted to do out of anger and frustration.

“He made a call!” Dale interjected.

Daryl rounded you, “It was the wrong damn call!”

Shane stopped Daryl. “Just shut up. You hear me? Shut. Up. Shut up!” He pushed Daryl back, pointing at him.

You quickly walked over, grabbing Daryl’s shoulder before the whole thing could escalate.

Shane turned, walking back to Rick, who still stood at the shutters. “Rick, this is a dead end.”

“Where are we gonna go?” Carol held onto her daughter, but was ignored.

Night was blanketing the sky–fast. You could barely see where the cats were parked from where you stood.

Shane continued, “Do you hear me? No blame.”

Lori acknowledged Carol, “She’s right. We can’t be here, this close to the city after dark.”

“Fort Benning, Rick-still an option.”

“On what?” Andrea stepped forward, glowering. “No food, no fuel. That’s 100 miles.”

“125. I checked the map.” Glenn corrected.

Carl clung to Lori’s legs. She stared at her husband, “Forget Fort Benning! We need answers tonight, now.”

“We’ll think of something.” Rick tried, not meeting his wife’s eyes.

“C’mon!” “Let’s go!” “Let’s get out of here!” Everyone began to make their way back to the vehicles, “Alright, everybody back to the cars. Let’s go, move.”

“The camera– It moved!”

“You imagined it.”

“It. Moved.” Rick didn’t think anything of Dale’s words, walking closer to the camera near the doors. “It moved.”

“Rick, man. It’s an automated device. It’s gears, okay? They’re just winding down. Now come on. Man, just listen to me.” Shane grabbed Rick by his upper arm, trying to drag him away. “Look around this place. It’s dead, okay? It’s. Dead. You need to let it go, Rick!”

Rick pushed Shane off, going to the shutters and beating against them again. He stared up into the camera.

“Rick! There’s nobody here!” Lori yelled.

Rick ignored her, “I know you can hear me!”

Shane began ushering everyone back to the cars. “Everybody get back to the cars, now!”

Rick didn’t budge. “Please, we’re desperate. Please help us.” He begged, “We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left.”

Lori thrusted Carl onto you, seeing as you were the closest to her, and ran over to Rick. She grabbed him. “Rick-”

“We have nowhere else to go-”

“There’s nobody here.”

Rick continued to pound on the doors.

Carl clung tighter to you.

“Keep your eyes open.” Shane ordered.

“If you don’t let us in, you’re killing us! Please!” Rick yelled at the top of his lungs.

Shane went over, pushing Lori away and grabbing Rick by his shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go.”

Carl pushed himself closer to you, hearing his father so desperate but to no avail.

Rick fought against getting dragged back, still staring into the camera, “Please help us.”

People shouted. Carl’s tears soaked into your /Daryl’s/ pants.

“You’re killing us! YOU’RE KILLING US!”

Shane shoved Rick away, watching his face crumble.

“You’re killing us.”

Your eyes widened, holding Carl closer, as a bright light nearly blinded you. The shutters opened, rolling up slowly. A hissing echoed. Everyone gawked, not knowing what to do.

“Daryl, you cover the back.” Shane ordered. Carl let go, running to his mother.

You cocked your gun, joining Daryl. He glanced at you, a questioning gaze set on you. You simply blinked at him, in shock.

Everyone walked toward the light, looking around and gawking at the interior. It smelt clean, a contrast to the horrid, rotting smell outside.

“Hello? Hello?!”

“Close those doors.”

“Watch for walkers.”

“Hello?”

A gun cocking had the group readying themselves, wildly looking around for the source.

A man stood in the shadows, gun in hand. “Anybody infected?”

“One of our group was. He didn’t make it.” Rick answered the unknown man.

“Why are you here?” The man stepped forward, “What do you want?” He put the gun down, looking at all of your grime-covered faces.

“A chance.”

Part 4 (TBA)

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I do NOT give permission!]

[starlessea]

The Ties That Mend - Masterlist

Pinterest Board

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Era: Prison arc onwards

Summary: Three-hundred-and-ninety-six days after the outbreak, you are discovered in an abandoned community college, covered in filth and barely able to speak a word. Despite the showers (multiple) and rehabilitation attempts (also multiple), it's apparent that your mind is elsewhere. Beyond saving.

This new world is chaos, but you're lucky to find good people in it. Moreso than any is a man named Daryl, who is patient enough to let you put yourself back together—one stitch at a time.

Chapters:

Tally

Wide-eyed

Catatonia

?

A/N: Ongoing, will be looooong

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Too Far.

Summary: He's like a wounded animal when he's angry, lashing out when he feels cornered. He's gone too far this time, snapped and said something he definitely didn't mean, so now he has to fix it.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Fighting. Daryl is a dick, but not really, but also he is. Apologetic!Daryl. Alexandria Era. Sex.

A/N: Inspired by an excellent post by @love-norman which I'll link in the comments. I wasn't sure if you were okay with smut, so there's a fairly brief mention of sex but nothing overly explicit.

-

He’s a surprisingly effective communicator, once she can convince him to talk more and with enough time to work out exactly what ticks and grunts mean what. Daryl Dixon’s entire bag is self-sacrifice, so if he can assume that she needs him to tell her what’s going on in the always too busy head of his, he can do that for her without much care for how it impacts him. It’s not his most healthy coping mechanism but it certainly isn’t his worst and the reward? Oh, the reward is sweet. The reward is comfort and kindness and being held; being loved. What’s a moment of discomfort for a lifetime of her?

He's had to practice letting his walls down, slowly but surely since he met her, all the while failing to realise she was just digging her way underneath them. She didn’t ever pry, not really, not in any way that felt invasive, but she’d patiently wait him out; ask the question quietly, softly, and let him linger in the comfortable silence until he chose to answer back. Sometimes she’d work out the information without his need to speak at all; it happened the moment he realised he was fucked, that he was absolutely, irrefutably hers. She’d worked out exactly who he was as a person and he’d barely sad a word.

He’s attentive, and whilst that shocks him it comes as no surprise to anyone around him. He has spent his life fearing that he is exactly who he feared, but those who are lucky enough to consider themselves, correctly or not, close to Daryl never fear for much but his wellbeing. That he is a careful, thoughtful and tender partner surprises nobody but him. That’s not to say they don’t argue, the end of the world comes with its own set of tensions even without the usual relationship concerns, but he’s learnt not to bite first.

-

He shouldn’t have drunk anything, in hindsight, they’re both in bad shape, overwrought and under-fed and they shouldn’t have been at a fucking party, of all places. He definitely shouldn’t have had the four glasses of scotch Reg offered him on a mostly empty stomach. He can’t get used to the Alexandria walls, the houses he never could have afforded to breathe near let alone buy, the soft comforts he’d never had even before the end of the world. He’s never been to a party that hasn’t had a piss-stained couch or an overly full ashtray.

“You know that’s bullshit, Daryl, you’re being ridiculous!” She yells, firmly back in their own living room after he’d practically stormed out of Deanna’s. One minute they’re in full swing, standing talking about vacations from the old days with some new faces, the next his hand is dropping from around her waist and thudding from the front door like she’d said, ‘fuck off’ rather than the word ‘Canada’. He’d slammed the door behind them and snarled about how he would have embarrassed her and her fancy fucking vacations in ‘the real world’.

“Lil’ miss travel abroad and see th’ world cause she’s better than Daryl fuckin’ Dixon”

“What? That’s not-“

“I’m jus’ an idiot redneck with nothin’ an’ you’re this smart chick who saw the world, I get it, I ain’t dumb, th’ fuck would ya have wanted wit’ me?”

Her heart would shatter for him if she wasn’t seething quite so much, the sheer desperation in his words at odds with the tension in his body, clenched hands dragging through his finally clean hair. His eyes are stinging and he absolutely refuses to cry, has never gotten over thinking it makes him weak even when he feels weak.

“Daryl, what the fuck? Why are you being such an asshole?“

“Shut up, always yappin’ about stupid shit, fuckin’ hate ya sometimes!”

He turns quickly, wants to throw something, wants to scream, broad shoulders and harsh angles and all the wind leaves his body when he sees her flinch away from him. She’s cowers backwards, he feels like he’s going to be sick, body collapsing in on itself as he feels the anger leave his bones, replaced with ice laced panic. For a second, a horrifying second that feels ten times as long, he’s his old man. Shitfaced and angry with a glass in hand and if he had a mirror, he knows exactly whose face he’d see staring back at him.

“I would never hurt ya” he whispers, voice low and so broken, full of conviction as his breath hitches in the middle and crumbles at the end and she’d hug him if she wasn’t so shell shocked. Neither of them move for a beat, standing stock still as he trails his eyes over her, clocks the way her gaze refuses to lift to meet his. He can’t breathe. The room is too small for everything he’s feeling, like the walls are inching close and closer and the air is getting less. He tries to move like lightning but his whole body feels sluggish and slow as he inches past her and out the front door, flinching as it closes behind him and he wanders out into the street. He stares back at the house for a moment before deciding he needs a walk to clear his head.

When he comes back she’s sitting on the couch waiting for him, thumbs twiddling, head still down and worry eating her alive. He eases the door shut behind him, loud enough to tell her he’s home but soft enough to show he’s not mad. He wishes a door could convey remorse but it’s taken him long enough to be able to do it with words he doubts a block of wood would be able to in the timeframe he needs. He shucks off his boots, realising he shouldn’t have been wearing them in the house in the first place.

The fresh air has cooled his body enough that he feels less of the alcohol circulating around his system. He tries not to squeeze the flowers he’d plucked from the bush outside Aaron’s place as he stands with his back against the wood.

“’M sorry” he whispers before clearing his throat and repeating it at a higher volume. She turns her face towards him, looking at him over her shoulder. The anger is gone from her face, replaced with a dwelling worry that spikes at him, makes him replay his words over and over.

“What did I do?”

“Nothin’” he insists quickly, pauses before he realises he should say more, that she sometimes needs him to say more, they’ve talked about this “Ya didn’t, I promise”

“I’m sorry”

That does it, rips him from his safe haven by the door because he can’t stand the thought that she deserved anything he said to her, that she’d said anything wrong when he knows she hadn’t. Talking at a party, about stupid old-world stuff whilst her spare, wine glass free hand kept his back warm. She hadn’t said a damn thing wrong, and he’d scared her.

He strides over to the couch, coming round to kneel in front of her. He places the somewhat squashed flowers on the couch cushion next to her. He hovers a hand above her knee, placing it gently on the fabric of her dress when she doesn’t flinch away at the sight. He doesn’t want her to flinch ever again.

“Dun’ apologise to me when ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong”

“I’m so-“

“Dun’ ever apologise to me when i’s my fault. ‘S my shit an’ I shouldn’t take it out on ya”

She knows he loves her, has proven it time and time again, has put his body in front of hers in the face of almost certain death, would protect her with his last breath, would love her with it. But she knows she’ll never be able to unhear it, that some things you can’t take back, that she’ll always wonder, just a little bit if its true. Logic and love are very rarely intertwined.

“Okay”

He can still hear his fathers words ringing in his head, he knows, more than most, the power that words hold over people. He tries not to say anything he doesn’t mean, and he’ll admit he’s acerbic, pointed sure but never cruel, never unnecessarily unkind. He doesn’t know why tonight was different, but he takes her hands in his, locking his eyes on her so she understands.

“I dun’ get t’ speak t’ ya like that”

“No, you don’t” she agrees, voice firmer, back to her usual tone, the one he’s always loved going hand in hand with the certainty she can hold her own. She pauses, bringing his hands up to press a kiss to his knuckles, soothing because she’s terrified that after all this time, he’s still going to break them by thinking he’s not allowed to claim his hurt “You alright?”

He doesn’t answer, instead sitting back on his feet, raising a small hopeful smile at her.

“Tell me about th’ vacation”

“I don’t-“

“Please. Ya said ya still think ‘bout Canada all th’ time”

He really does want to know, he hadn’t been outside of Georgia before everything went down, and she’s mentioned travel but Canada hadn’t come up; he’s not sure if it was that, that set him off or that he felt inadequate in a room full of people with experiences he never got to have.

“I think it was my favourite trip. Packed a bag and went alone on a whim, found a lake in the forest with a little cabin. Just mountains and trees and lakes. It’s the most peaceful I’ve ever felt. I never wanted to mention it, I know you missed out on so much, but then everyone was talking and I-“

“Nah, go on, ‘S’alright”

“When Reg asked…I was going to say that’s what I picture, when I think of life outside of all of this, me and you in Canada”

“Ya think of that with me?” his voice is low, incredulous awe pulled tight at the edges, he was so busy feeling less than everyone else that he’d missed out on the fact she was thinking of him. She nods, smiling at him, working it out without him needing to say it, figuring out what drove him to snap without asking, under his walls and right in the centre of the internal world he’s built.

“We’d have a house, out near a lake with a wooden porch, and a dog, big scruffy one who likes to catch fish. We’d have coffee together overlooking the water in the morning. You’d work at the local garage, ‘cause you’re good with your hands and tools, wouldn’t have to deal with people all day, fix up all the bikes you’d secretly want...”

He’s staring her at in silence, watching her wistful face glow in the lamplight, he can barely breathe let alone find words knowing that she’s not just dreamt about a life with him, she’s thought it out in detail. He wants it, wants that life with her so badly it aches, thinks it’s the first time he’s wanted anything from life except to get through it.

“I’d work at the bar, play guitar at crappy open mic nights and you’d come for a beer after my shift to walk me home”

He hums, all the response he can manage, guilt chewing at him from the inside, clawing at his mind knowing that he’s taken his own problems out on her, told her he hates her all the while she’s dreaming of something so utterly fucking perfect.

“We’d make dinner together and dance in the living room, go camping at the weekends and make love all night long”

“In another life?” he chuckles, warm and full, knowing he’ll dream about this for the rest of his life.

“In every life…If you’d find me”

“I’d find ya”

-

He runs her a bubble bath, still amazed and confused that he can, that they’ve spent months on the road starving and struggling and here there’s a pantry that has bubble bath. The flowers from Aarons front garden are perched in a glass of water by the bed, the lamps turned off and the doors are locked up as tight as they can be. He’s insistent that he shows his apology, but he’s never had a way to do it outside these walls, nothing beyond words and affection and his experience with what women might like is limited at best.

He stands in the doorway, watching as she wraps herself in a dressing gown. He wonders idly if the amount of love he feels for her could kill him; he feels it so deeply in his bones that he physically isn’t sure it should be able to fit inside of one person. He feels it explode warmth around his body when she shuffles forward to rest her head on his chest.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this? I’m not mad”

Later, when he’s apologised again, reassured her and comforted her and she’s convinced him he’s worth loving in return, he takes them both to bed. Touches her with soft, repentant hands that have always been gentle, hands that are gentle exactly because he knows how dangerous they can be. Atonement seeping from every inch of him as he inches home inside of her, cherishes the contended sigh she lets out at the feel of him. He could never hate her, not even if he tried.

He stills when he bottoms out, rests his forehead against hers as her hips press against his firmly, dragging him as deep as he can go.

“Wha’ ya see in me, anyway?” he whispers against her lips, full of self-doubt.

She looks into him with an intensity that almost hurts, brings her hands to the sides of his face, makes sure he believes her as sincerely as she believes his apology.

“Everything”

[bambieyedoll]

⊹ ⋆ ꒰ఎﾟMOODBOARD ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

biker!daryl dixon x reader

“c’mon, hun” daryl caressed your arm as he walked passed you and towards his bike. your eyes followed him as you turned around only to see him turn on the engine. “let’s get outta here” he said waiting for you and with an excited little smile, you walked to him. his protective gaze never leaving you as the soft touch of your hand laid on his shoulder and you sat down behind him ready for the wild ride.

[wolvietxt]

𝓭aryl 𝓭ixon

… as your boyfriend !

pairing : daryl dixon x reader warnings : fluff, headcannons, slightly suggestive wc : ~700

꩜ daryl's not much for public displays of affection, but when it’s just the two of you, his guard’s down. he’s incredibly soft with you, even if he doesn’t say much. he’ll just hold you, strong arms wrapped around you while his hand rests on the back of your head, his touch warm and steady

꩜ sometimes, when you’re alone together, he’ll back you up against a wall, his hands braced on either side of you as he leans in close. he doesn’t say much, just looks at you with that intense gaze, his lips hovering near yours until you finally close the distance. he likes drawing out the anticipation, watching the way you react to him

꩜ he’s surprisingly attentive in small ways. he’ll remember exactly how you like your food, even if he’s never cared much about stuff like that before. when he’s out on runs, he brings back things just for you, little finds he thinks you’d like - a flower, an old record, or a jacket he thinks would look cute on you

꩜ his fingers tend to linger on you without him even realizing it. whether it’s resting a hand on your knee when you’re sitting next to each other or brushing your arm as he walks past, he’s just naturally drawn to you, needing to be close

꩜ when you’re around others, he keeps his distance, but if he senses you’re even the slightest bit uncomfortable, he moves closer. he doesn’t say anything, just stands next to you, solid and dependable, his quiet way of letting you know he’s got you

꩜ he’s got a habit of pulling you into his lap, especially when he’s feeling possessive. his hands slide down your sides, holding you in place as he presses slow, lingering kisses to your neck. sometimes he’ll let his lips trail along your jaw, whispering a quiet “mine” against your skin, a little rough but so full of warmth

꩜ when he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll sometimes just watch you, his hand gently brushing a stray hair from your face. he has this soft, almost vulnerable look in his eyes, like he can’t believe you’re really his. sometimes, he’ll press the gentlest kiss to your forehead, whispering things he’d be too shy to say when you’re awake

꩜ whenever he catches you looking down or upset, he’ll do these little things to make you smile - like placing wildflowers he finds in your hair, even if he acts embarrassed afterward. he’ll try to hide how happy it makes him when you smile back, but you’ll catch him stealing these quick, soft glances, his own quiet way of showing he cares

꩜ when things are quiet, he’ll sometimes pull you into his lap and rest his chin on your shoulder, his rough hands resting on your hips. he doesn’t say much, but his fingers trace small circles on your skin, like he’s memorizing the feel of you

꩜ he has a soft spot for seeing you in his clothes, especially his shirts. when he sees you wearing one, he’ll get this shy, almost proud look, glancing away with a small grin but pulling you close anyway

꩜ he’s gentle with his kisses, at first just soft brushes of his lips, like he’s savoring every second. but when things start to heat up, he’s more confident, a little rougher, his hands gripping your waist like he never wants to let go

꩜ whenever you’re curled up in bed together, he’ll run his fingers through your hair or trace lazy patterns on your back until you fall asleep. it’s his way of comforting you, making sure you’re safe, even if he’d never admit how much he likes doing it

🌀 daryl dixon : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @sunnykittyzz

@california-boys-and-sun, @cable-kenobi, @omen-keke

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[dixonsdarkelf]

Vec: *walks into their home to see Daryl shirtless in the kitchen* *sighs* I need you to put a shirt on.

Daryl: There a problem?

Vec: I’m ovulating, I can’t do this right now.

Daryl, chuckling: Jus’ for that, I ain’t doin’ it.

Vec, playfully: Fuck you.

Daryl: Name the time ‘n place ’n I’m all yours, sunshine.

Vec: … *blushes*

Vec: I walked right into that one, didn’t I?

Daryl: Sure’s shit did.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie

Vec is my OC, she belongs to me

[darylsfavoritegirl]

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⋆˚࿔ divine 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

MASTERLIST

Daryl Dixon🪱

𓇻 headcanons

enemies to lovers

walking out with a lingerie on ꩜ nsfw content

daryl is into roleplay

would daryl fuck you in the woods?

dying on daryl's arms

daryl with a girl just like him

daryl as a kid

a toxic relationship with daryl

general headcanons sfw ꩜ nsfw content

tease

sextape

𓇻 oneshots

captured in the woods

bonding over a similar past ꩜ male reader

"get your shit together."

"i'll take care o' yea."

first encounter ꩜ 1

first encounter ꩜ 2

stuck by the pool ꩜ nsfw content

games in the cabin

the dickhead ꩜ 1

the dickhead ꩜ 2

the caretaker

the odd man out

𓇻 moodboards

dating daryl dixon

Rick Grimes 🎰

𓇻 headcanons

get it on ꩜ nsfw content

Erik Lehnsherr ⛓️

𓇻 headcanons

comrade

Logan Howlett-Wolverine •⚟

𓇻 headcanons

logan adores you ꩜ nsfw content

logan touches himself ꩜ nsfw content

𓇻 oneshots

the one in the dark

𓇻 moodboards

date nights with logan

i sometimes do fanart, here they are.

wolverine&deadpool

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.::･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

𔘓 i usually write for fem!reader since that's what i'm most comfortable with.

𔘓 we can always have a chat if you wanna! i'm not necessarily the most active person here but i ain't never dry text lol

𔘓 you can keep your weird requests to yourself :) !

"people in hell want slurpees"

D.D

[d1xonss]

so ours babys a lil insecure bc of reader and his lil age gap he vents it to rick a little and since shes such a social butterfly literally talking and befriending everyone he gets upset and starts to think lowly of himself like theres younger men men who arent busy leading the community so they can spend all their time and affection on her blah blah he gets these crazy thoughts and she comforts him eases all his worries ):

Forever

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 6

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Angst/Fluff

✧ Word Count : 3.1k

AN ~ Aww sad:(( but we love Reader comforting Daryl, it's one of my favorite things to write. And an age gap too?? I love it. Hope you enjoy!

“You’re ridiculous.” Rick spoke with a scoff.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed slightly at the man, not necessarily because of what he had claimed, but because it almost seemed like he hadn’t listened to him at all.

He already felt a little ashamed going to his friend in the first place to talk about how he was feeling, something the man rarely ever did. But that alone showed how desperate he seemed to be for any kind of advice, willing to put himself out there to express what had been going through his mind recently in hopes of some sort of reassurance.

He didn’t really know what had been going on with him recently, but ever since the group had made it to Alexandria, his insecurities slowly began to eat him alive. He started to take note of his appearance a little more, now that they actually had mirrors in the houses provided for them, seeing for himself how much older and tired he really was. It shouldn’t have bugged him as much as it did, but yet, it seemed to be all he thought about. And that constant loop of thoughts only traveled to another, thinking about how much living on the road seemed to age him, while the woman he was madly in love with stayed so young and beautiful.

She was absolutely perfect, not a single flaw, while he on the other hand had countless ones that he couldn’t seem to just get over and ignore. But that wasn’t the only aspect about her that seemed to cloud over his mind. She was quite the extrovert, making friends everywhere she turned as she was constantly radiating such a good and friendly energy. It even drew him in towards her from the start, falling victim to her charming personality. Though it wasn’t her kindness that made him a little more self conscious than before; it was the fact that a few younger men had obviously taken a liking to her natural sweetness ever since they moved here.

Now he knew that she would never cheat on him, the thought never even crossed her mind, but that still didn’t stop his jealousy from bubbling over to a point of no return. Wanting to beat the shit out of any guy who looked at her for just a little too long. He wasn’t blind by any means, and some of them had a hard time hiding the sneaky glances they were taking at his woman whilst she was just in her own little world.

Though the longer he seemed to stew over it for the months and months they had lived there, it made him start to wonder if maybe she would be better off with someone else. Someone a bit younger, more energetic, more outgoing. Someone that matched her personality better than he did. It was no secret that they were polar opposites, but he always imagined that they completed each other in a way, not even thinking twice about it. However, now that he had all the time in the world to think, it slowly started to consume him, thinking more about how he didn’t deserve her at all. But hell, maybe no one deserved her. 

The man then seemed to snap out of his thoughts, scoffing toward Rick who was looking at him with a small smile, “Man, m’ bein serious.” he grumbled.

“So am I.” Rick shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head a bit at him, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about man. You two are always attached at the hip, she loves you…I think you might just be in your own head about it.”

He sighed heavily as he thought to himself for another moment, his thumbnail in his mouth as he contemplated why he was confiding in Rick in the first place. At this point he had it in his head that the man was just telling him what he wanted to hear. “I dunno…” he eventually muttered in response.

Rick only shook his head, “You shouldn’t be so focused on this. You’ve always known how nice she is, everyone loves her-”

“Man, that ain’t the problem. I already told ya that.” Daryl interrupted with irritation in his voice.

“I know…I know.” he assured, “I guess I just don’t see the connection of how you came up with the idea that she suddenly deserves someone “better.”

The archer shook his head with a light scoff, “Seein her talkin with those guys…something kinda just clicked that she should be with someone more fit for her…” he trailed off for a moment, before pathetically shrugging his shoulders again, “I dunno.”

Rick honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Although, he could, he knew that Daryl sometimes got like this, thinking he didn’t deserve the things that he was given. But he never thought he would be standing here listening to him speak about how you would be better off with someone else. Anyone who even caught a glimpse of the two of you could easily see how in love you were with each other. He swore the sight could potentially make someone sick.

The man then cleared his throat, “Well…if you want to know what I think, I say you should talk to her.”

“Talk to her?”

Rick couldn’t help but laugh at how baffled he looked at the suggestion, “Yeah, talk to her. Besides, I think she’ll have a better chance at reassuring you about this than I will, she seems more fit for the role.” he joked.

But Daryl on the other hand scoffed, not exactly loving the idea, “This shit’s already embarrassing, why would I wanna bring it up to her? Didn’t even really wanna bring it up to you.”

“Thanks.” Rick said dryly before stepping closer to slap a hand on the man’s shoulder, “But just trust me on this, alright? You need to tell her how you’ve been feeling. Because if I know you at all, I know you want to keep this bottled up. But that’ll just make it worse and you know it.”

He was right. As much as Daryl hated to acknowledge it, he knew deep down he was right.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting to put it off every chance he got, pushing it into the back of his mind as he always seemed to do in hopes that it would just go away. Though he knew it wouldn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to want to think about it right now.

He went home later that night utterly defeated and clueless on how to even approach the topic in the first place. When the time dreadfully came around, how would he even bring it up? He was never good with words, especially when it came to something about how he was feeling. It was all just stupid and complicated in his mind, not knowing how to actually piece together the things he wanted her to know. But he knew he had to try.

The front door opened and shut with a small creak as he entered the house, kicking his dirty boots off to the side before he softly called out your name. But all was quiet, not a single sound of your voice calling back to him, to which he only assumed you were still out somewhere in the community. It wasn’t often you stayed out this late, but he silently knew that if someone needed the extra help, you would do it in a heartbeat.

The older man sighed deeply to himself before trudging up the stairs, wanting to get out of the filthy clothes he was trapped in before settling for the night, waiting for you to come home. He couldn’t ever really fall asleep without you there. He didn’t know if it was because he would always worry too much if you weren’t right beside him, or if he just physically needed your touch to relax, but it had to be somewhere in that ballpark. Perhaps both…definitely both.

He entered your shared bedroom with a tired huff, beginning to undo the buttons on his vest before folding it sloppily and setting it off to the side on the dresser. His hands then moved to peel off his dirty shirt that stuck to every part of his tanned skin, raising it over his head before throwing it in the hamper across the room to be washed. He ran his hands through his hair to get it out of his face as he crossed the space to get himself another pair of pants to sleep in, when suddenly his movements stopped short.

The tall, full length mirror that sat off in the corner quickly caught his attention as he saw just a brief glimpse of his reflection dancing behind the glass. He blinked a few times as he knew he shouldn’t look too close, knowing it was only going to add fuel to the already ongoing fire. But a part of him couldn’t help it, seeing as it was too late now that he had taken notice of a few new flaws he hadn’t spotted before. It was like some kind of sinkhole that he couldn’t escape from, looking over the things he hated the most about himself over and over again.

He slowly stepped closer toward the object even though he knew he shouldn’t, seeing himself a little more up close as the moonlight poured through the window just above him to illuminate his figure. His eyes scanned everything he could make out in the slight darkness, seeing the wrinkles that were now more prominent on his forehead. Seeing the dark circles under his eyes from the exhaustion and stress that had been weighing on him constantly. And seeing the scars that littered over his entire body.

“Daryl?”

The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your soft voice from behind him, spinning around to see you standing in the doorway. Your eyes widened a little in surprise. Never had you recalled a single time where you had been able to catch him off guard, accidently sneak up on him enough to make his heart skip. He had always been aware of his surroundings, the man had the instincts of a goddamn cat. So to say you were surprised when he hovered about five feet in the air at your presence, would be an understatement.

You raised an eyebrow at him in slight concern, “You okay?” you asked softly as you approached him with hesitance.

Daryl’s stomach had plummeted to his ass, a heat rising in his cheeks from embarrassment as you caught him staring down at himself for a bit longer than usual. He swallowed thickly as he saw you walking further into the room, nodding a bit quickly, “Yeah…m’ fine.”

Though the way he spoke was far from convincing, his voice coming out a bit higher than usual, and the reassuring smile he tried to send your way being a little too forced for you not to realize. Your eyes narrowed toward him in slight suspicion as you came to stand right in front of him, taking in his appearance. There was something that was clearly circling his mind, you had noticed for far longer than he thought you did. But you always knew when there was something off about him.

You gently reached out to grab one of his hands in your own, “Come on…don’t lie to me.” 

He sighed softly, knowing that he should just bite the bullet and tell you, but he couldn’t bring himself to just yet. “Just…just had a rough day. That’s all.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” you said with a slight shake of your head, watching as he furrowed his brows a little in question. “You’ve been acting off for weeks now, you really didn’t think I was going to notice?”

His eyes widened. Shit. 

A small smirk formed on your lips as you clearly saw that you had caught him in a little white lie. It was written all over his face. You squeezed his hand in reassurance, “I’m not upset…I just want you to talk to me.”

He knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, especially after Rick gave him that little wake up call earlier to just rip the bandage off. But he hoped he could put it off for at least a few more days, wanting a little more time to prepare the things he wanted to express to you honestly. Though he could tell just by the way you were looking up at him, that you wanted answers, and he couldn’t just ignore what was standing right before him.

He sighed softly as he looked at the ground for a moment, before slowly nodding his head, “Alright…” he started, not even knowing where to take this. “Look…maybe…maybe this ain’t workin.” he blurted without thinking.

Your eyes widened a little, “What?” 

Daryl’s eyes then grew as well realizing just how bad that sounded, quickly shaking his head, “No, no, I- I mean…that ain’t how I meant for it to sound at all.” he reassured, before taking another moment to collect his racing thoughts. “I’ve been…thinkin recently and…I ain’t gettin any younger. Hell, I feel like I aged five extra years just from bein out on the damn road for so long.”

You nodded along slowly, not really seeing where this was heading, “So?”

He sighed softly, “So…I’ve been thinkin bout how…maybe…ya deserve to be with someone a little more fit for ya. Someone younger than me…someone who can give ya what I can’t.” he spoke almost regrettably, like he dreaded even saying those words out loud in the first place.

The truth was, he never wanted to let you go, that was a knowing fact that didn’t need to be proved. But at the same time, he didn’t want to hold you back from a chance at a better life. One that you so clearly deserved.

But your expression seemed to soften drastically, now hearing his explanation out loud, it all seemed to click in your head. Why he had been acting off for the longest time, it was because he was just thinking too much about something that meant absolutely nothing. When you first noticed his odd behavior, you automatically assumed you had done something wrong without realizing. But now hearing it out loud, hearing how hurt he sounded, all you wanted to do was hold him and never let him go. Wanting to reassure him for the rest of your lives if you had to that he was truly the only man you would ever want.

A small huff passed through your lips, “Sweetie…that’s what this is about?”

Daryl shrugged a little in response, “Well…yeah. I’ve seen ya makin friends with a lot of the people round here…it just crossed my mind that…maybe-”

“Stop.” you said gently as you moved even closer to him, reaching up to give his arms a gentle squeeze, “Don’t say another word.”

His gaze softened as he stared down at you, regret filling him completely as he saw just how his words had affected you.

“I love you…so much.” you whispered as your gripped his arms a little tighter, “I’m not looking at anyone else…I don’t want anyone else. No one else on this whole damn planet would be a better fit for me than you. I don’t need some younger guy. I’m not even friends with them, they only come talk to me if they have a question about something. And most of them aren’t very bright.” you said bluntly, earning a small chuckle from him. “I just wish you had told me about this sooner.”

He bit his lip a bit shamefully, “I know…m’ sorry. I just thought…ya might be better off-”

“I won’t.” you insisted, “You’re all I will ever need…you hear me?”

A small smile grew on his face upon hearing that, knowing that you meant every word. Though there was still another thing hovering over his mind. “Even though m’ an old man?” he asked half heartedly, though a part of him was still serious.

You rolled your eyes a bit, “Just because you’re older than me doesn’t make you an old man.” you laughed softly, “But if that’s something you’re really worried about…I promise to stick around even when you’re eighty.” you winked.

His lip quirked up a bit in amusement as he reached out to place his hands on your hips, gently tugging you closer, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

You then felt his thumbs start to rub soothingly along your hip bones, still a little unsure if this was truly what you wanted. To be with someone like him. “Ya promise?” he eventually asked.

You tilted your head a bit at him, “Come on…what do I have to do to convince you that I want this forever?”

The man was silent for a long moment as he thought to himself, absentmindedly still running his thumbs along your hips as he stared down at you. The truth was he didn’t really need anymore convincing than what you had already told him. Just by the small bit of reassurance you provided, he felt as though he was lighter, a weight being lifted from his shoulders knowing you were his. But still, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect time to make it even more official.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes widened a little in surprise, not expecting him to be so blunt let alone say those words to you at all. He never really struck you as someone who would want to get married at a time like this, but it’s not like you minded. As long as you were with him, that’s all that truly mattered to you.

Only now it felt as if the wind was knocked out of you, hearing him utter those words so clearly as if he meant it with his entire being. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit nervously, “Don’t joke about that, cause you know I will.”

He smiled down at you, shaking his head softly, “M’ serious.” he assured, raising one of his hands to run his thumb along your cheek, “Marry me.”

A lump began to form in your throat as you felt yourself get a little more emotional seeing how real this was becoming. Seeing how serious he was. He really wanted this.

“Okay.” you whispered with a small nod of your head.

His smile only grew, “Okay?”

You nodded a bit more frantically as a large smile broke out onto your face, “Yes…yes I’ll marry you.”

He chuckled, pure relief and happiness filling him completely as he picked you up in his arms, spinning you around lightly as you squealed in surprise. Though he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to seal the deal as he gently set you back down on your feet, kissing you deeply as he felt you hum into his mouth. A part of him almost couldn’t believe that you had agreed, wanting to truly be with him forever. But then again, with the way you looked at him, with the way you said yes with little to no hesitation at all, he knew. You were his forever.

~ Thanks for reading!

[swangirlxoxo]

Ladybug

young daryl dixon x original female character

pre and post apocalypse

PART I : BEFORE

-

Stevie St. James was an odd girl.

She knew this.

Everyone else knew it, too.

And they liked to remind her. Often.

"You’re really weird, Stevie," Daryl said one day.

It was after church, and they were playing on the rusted playground set in the courtyard. The swings creaked, and the metal slide was chipped and worn. Daryl’s mama was nearby, chatting with Stevie’s Gran, voices a soft hum against the backdrop of their play. Daryl’s mama was always talking to Gran, ‘cause his mama was real good friends with Stevie’s mama when they were little like them. So, after church, they spent hours gossiping while the kids entertained themselves in the sun.

But why was Stevie so weird? It couldn’t have been because of the spider she was holding.

She had found it on the slide, nestled in the cracks of the old metal, its tiny legs twitching. Daryl had almost crushed it, but Stevie had yelled and scooped it up. It wasn’t a dangerous one, just a little baby Hobo Spider— Tegenaria agrestis, she’d read in one of her bug books.

She stared at the spider, her small hand cradling it carefully, a focused look in her eyes as she examined its body in the afternoon light. Daryl was still there, his face scrunched with confusion, eyes squinted. She was absorbed in the creature, trying to explain it to him in that serious tone that made adults laugh at her.

“The Hobo Spider,” she began, her voice taking on the cadence of someone reading from a book, “also known as Tegenaria agrestis, is a large spider in the Agelenidae family. In Britain, they’re called ‘funnel weavers’ or ‘cobweb spiders’ ‘cause of the way they build their webs. They—”

“Stevie, baby! Time for lunch!” Gran called.

She broke off mid-sentence. She stood up, still holding the spider delicately in her hands. Daryl just stared at her, a mix of awe and confusion on his face, but she barely noticed. The spider had to go back where it belonged.

She walked briskly to the trees, her worn Mary-Janes crunching on the leaves. She placed the little spider gently on a tree, far from the slide and the noisy church. Then, she turned and ran back toward Gran, Daryl trailing behind her in silent bewilderment.

-

They weren’t in the same class at school. Daryl was in fourth grade, and Stevie was only in third. But they still sat together at lunch and played together during recess.

It was a crisp fall day, and Stevie was eating the soup her Gran had packed her. Daryl, though, had no lunch. His mom had forgotten to pack him anything. Again. Mrs. Dixon was drunk most of the time, evenon Sundays. Gran said she was a lost soul. Sometimes Stevie wondered how Daryl got by at all.

Gran always made sure to pack extra food for him, even when money was tight. It was just how things were. Gran had taught Stevie to share, even when they barely had enough for themselves. Stevie handed over a ham sandwich, packed just for Daryl, watching him unwrap it without a word. She didn’t expect a thanks, not really. Daryl didn’t say much, ever. But neither did she.

As Stevie watched him, something caught her eye. There, on his cheek, was a big black-and-blue splotch against his pale skin. Her stomach tightened as she stared at it, her spoon frozen halfway to her mouth.

"Daryl," she said quietly, her voice faltering just a little, "What happened to your face?"

Daryl didn’t look up. He took a big bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly, eyes on the table. He didn’t answer.

Stevie bit her lip, unsure of what to say next. She knew he got hurt a lot. Daryl was a roughhouser, always fighting with his older brother Merle, who was already in high school and had no time for Daryl anymore—except when they were fighting. Then there were the hunting trips with his dad, the ones Stevie didn’t know much about. 

Stevie didn’t know much about daddies. She’d never had one herself, so she couldn’t exactly say what a good one looked like. But she knew Daryl’s daddy was no-good.

She’d heard the way Mrs. Dixon, with bruises like Daryl’s, talked about him in the few moments of clarity she had. Bastard was the word.

She reached out tentatively, touching the edge of the bruise with a soft finger. Daryl winced, pulling away.

“Was it Merle?” she asked. She didn’t like Merle, not much at all. He was loud and rude and smoked cigarettes - she hated the smell. And he always tugged at her braids, which Gran had braided just perfectly, and made fun of her for all sort of things.

Daryl’s face twisted, and his jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something, but instead, his lips pressed tight together. He pushed the sandwich aside with more force than necessary, his fists curling.

“Nah,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and sharp. “Just—just leave me alone, Stevie.”

Stevie shrank back. She hadn’t meant to make him angry. Daryl was mean sometimes. But he was her only friend.

“I just-“

He shot up, his chair scraping against the floor with a harsh noise that made the other kids in the small lunchroom glance over. Some of them giggled at the outburst, but no one dared approach. Daryl’s anger was well known.

“Stop bein’ such a nosy bitch!” he yelled at her, his face flushed. His voice cracked as he turned on his heel, his too-small shoes scuffing the ground as he stormed off.

Stevie’s eyes went wide. She hated bad words. And Daryl had started to say them a lot, just like Merle, just like their daddy.

Some of the other kids now turned their attention to Stevie. A few whispered, eyes flicking from Daryl’s retreating figure to her. Stevie shrank further into herself, pulling her shoulders up toward her ears, wishing she could disappear.

Her hands trembled as she sat there, the remnants of her lunch forgotten in front of her. Her throat tightened, her face burning with embarrassment. She wanted to call out to him, to apologize, to tell him she didn’t mean to be nosy. But she didn’t - couldn’t.

The bell rang, sharp and jarring, signaling the end of lunch, and the other kids began to scatter. Stevie remained seated, her hands folded tightly in her lap, staring down at the table, willing the earth to open up and swallow her whole.

-

Stevie was a girl who liked routines, the kind of order that made the world feel predictable.  

Gran braided her hair the same way every morning. Her dresses were always floral and ironed neatly. The ruffles of her socks stayed pure white, and the scuffs on her shoes were polished away.  

Stevie found comfort in the small things—organizing her books into neat stacks by size, keeping track of the bugs she found in the woods with Daryl, and the way the soft wool of her favorite sweater felt against her skin.  

When something disrupted that peace—her routines—it felt like the ground beneath her feet became unstable.

Daryl disrupted her routines. He didn’t mean to; it just happened. He was unpredictable, like people always were. Stevie didn’t like being around people much. It wasn’t that she disliked them exactly—she just found them difficult to understand. That was why Stevie stayed away from people as best she could. But she couldn’t seem to stay away from Daryl, even if he ruined her routines.  

Sometimes, when they were supposed to play in the woods, his daddy would keep him home. Sometimes, when he was supposed to eat lunch with her, he wouldn’t come to school. Sometimes, when he was supposed to be nice to her, he would be cruel.  

When everything felt disturbed, Stevie turned to bugs.  

When she found a new bug, her heart raced with excitement. She crouched down, her fingers gently brushing the grass or cracked sidewalk, careful not to startle her tiny subject. She would watch it for what felt like hours, her eyes locked on its every movement, her mind cataloging its size, color, and behavior.  

She had towering stacks of books on bugs from the library, which she read and reread so many times that she could recite nearly everything she had absorbed.

Gran always smiled when Stevie talked about her bugs, even if she didn’t quite understand why her granddaughter cared so much about them. "You gotta eye for the lil’ things, Stevie," Gran would say, patting her head affectionately. "The world needs more folks who pay attention to the small stuff."  

The night after Daryl yelled at her at lunch, when the sun hung low and painted the sky in streaks of pink and gold, there was a knock at the door. Stevie peeked through the lace curtains and saw Daryl standing there. He looked dirty and out of breath, like he had ran the mile all the way from his trailer to her little house. A dark bruise shadowed his cheek, deeper in color than it had been earlier in the day.  

Gran answered the door, her smile warm. 

"Hi, ma’am," Stevie heard Daryl mutter. "Uh…Stevie ‘round?"  

"She is," Gran said, stepping aside to let him in.  

When he entered, his eyes locked on Stevie’s where she sat on the couch, a mason jar in her lap. She gave him a small smile and a wave.  

"Why don’cha stay for dinner, hmm? You’re lookin’ too thin again," Gran said.  

Daryl hesitated. "I ain’t wanna be a bother—"  

"Nonsense," Gran interrupted, already heading to the kitchen. "Sit yourself down. I’ll make somethin’ you like."  

“What’s that?” Daryl asked Stevie, pointing at the jar.  

“Ladybugs,” she said, holding up the jar for him to see. He took it and brought it up to his eyes, watching the little red-and-black bugs wander around on a stick she had placed inside.  

“Are you gonna keep ’em?”  

Stevie rolled her eyes. “No. I told you already. They’re meant to live outside. They just come on vacation in my jar sometimes.”  

Gran bustled in. "How ‘bout some fried chicken? I know how you love it, Daryl."  

His ears turned red. "You ain’t gotta—"  

"I want to," Gran said firmly. "Go wash on up, the both of you."  

Dinner was a quiet affair, at least by most people’s standards. Stevie ate in her usual deliberate way, savoring each bite and watching Daryl out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t talk much, but she could tell he liked the chicken; he ate every piece Gran piled on his plate, right down to the bone.  

When the meal was done, Gran brought out a pie she had baked that morning, the scent of apples and cinnamon filling the room. "Daryl," she said, her voice softening, "you’re welcome here anytime. Don’t you be a stranger now, you hear?"  

Daryl nodded, mumbling a shy "Thank you, Mrs. St. James."  

"I been tellin’ you, call me Gran."  

Stevie watched him as he scraped the last bit of pie crust from his plate, and for once, she didn’t mind the disruption. Daryl might not have made sense to her, but he didn’t need to. He was just Daryl—unpredictable and sometimes cruel, but sometimes kind and comforting in ways no one else ever was.  

As the night settled in and the dishes were done, Gran sent Daryl home with a warm hug and a Tupperware full of leftovers. Stevie sat by the window, watching as he disappeared into the dark woods.  

“Gran?” she asked softly.  

“Yes, sweetheart?”  

“Did Daryl’s daddy hit him? Like he hits Mrs. Dixon?” She knew Gran had noticed the bruise. She had caught Gran staring at it with those puppy-dog sad eyes.  

Gran was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know, Stevie,” her voice low and sad, very un-Gran-like. “I don’t know. But I do know we gotta give that boy love, you hear?”

-

As Stevie grew older, she began to look more and more like her mother.  

She had never known her mother—never even met her, except for the day she was born, she supposed—but Gran kept the photos of her daughter up. Stevie’s mama’s school pictures lined the walls, along with scattered Polaroids on the fridge.  

They shared the same shade of curly golden hair, the same smattering of freckles across their cheeks, the same wide gap between their front teeth, and the same round face. But Stevie’s eyes were brown, not green like her mama’s. She must have gotten them from her daddy, though she had no idea who he was. Gran didn’t have any pictures of him, because Gran didn’t know who he was either. Maybe he had brown eyes. Maybe.  

Mrs. Dixon used to love telling Stevie how much she looked like her mama. Mrs. Dixon and Stevie’s mama had been the best of friends once upon a time. But Stevie’s mama was gone, and now Mrs. Dixon was too—she had died in a fire a year back. A few months after that, Merle enlisted in the army. After that, Stevie saw less and less of Daryl. He started missing school, and when he did show up, he barely spoke to her. Even though she kept inviting him over for dinner, he stopped coming. She didn’t know what he was up to these days. She didn’t even know if he would show up for school.  

She hoped he would. She felt utterly alone—no friends, no one. Well, except for Gran and a few of Gran’s church and bingo friends. All old women who liked to pinch her cheeks and offer her baked goods.  

She spent the summer doing what she always did when there was no school to keep her busy. She read books about bugs, searched for them in the woods, and spent hours on the library computer bidding on taxidermy bugs with her chore money. She meticulously prepared her bug displays, knitted with Gran, went to church with Gran, attended bingo night with Gran, cooked with Gran, tended to Gran’s garden, and watched old westerns with Gran.  

Bugs and Gran. That was about it.  

On the morning of her first day of high school, Stevie stood in front of the living room wall, staring at her mama’s school pictures. It was almost like looking into a reflection. Gran found her there, silent, and didn’t say anything. She just gave Stevie that sad smile—the one she always wore when Stevie’s mama came up.  

Stevie was good at reading people. She noticed things others didn’t. She knew that Gran missed her mama terribly. She knew that Gran carried so many regrets. She also knew that in Stevie, Gran saw a second chance at raising a daughter.  

Mrs. Dixon had told Stevie so many stories about her mama. "She was a total hippy," she would say. She wore long skirts and sandals, piled on layers of jewelry, and always had music from the seventies playing—especially Fleetwood Mac. That was her thing. It wasn’t just the music, either. It was the way she carried herself, carefree and wild, with a spirit that seemed to float just above the ground.  

The one thing Stevie’s mama had done for her—the only thing that tied them together—was give her a name. Stevie Nicks, her mama’s favorite singer. That was her gift. She passed it down before handing Stevie over to Gran and skipping town, leaving without a word or a trace. Never to be seen again.  

Gran didn’t talk much about Stevie’s mama, except to tell stories of how wild she had been, how full of life. Mrs. Dixon’s stories painted a picture of a woman who was always searching for something—something bigger than herself, something that couldn’t be found in a small town like this. Stevie often wondered if her mama had ever found whatever it was she was looking for.  

As Stevie grew older, she started to understand why Gran didn’t talk about her. The absence was painful. Stevie’s mama was a ghost in their lives. For Stevie, her name was the one tangible connection to her. As soon as she could, she started playing her namesake’s songs over and over, searching for a thread of connection to the woman in the photos on the walls.

-

The first day of high school was already shaping up to be one of Stevie’s least favorite days of the year. She hated crowds, hated the noise of everyone shouting over each other in the hallways, hated the way the fluorescent lights hummed overhead and cast an unflattering glare on everything. The air smelled like cheap cologne and cafeteria food, and the sound of lockers slamming felt like tiny earthquakes rattling her nerves.

She found her first class—a cramped, stuffy room with mismatched desks and a chalkboard that still bore the faint ghost of last year’s lessons. Stevie picked a seat near the middle of the room, close enough to hear the teacher but not so close that she’d draw attention to herself. She took out her notebook and smoothed the edges of the pages, focusing on the familiar rhythm of straightening everything just so.

The bell rang, and the last few stragglers shuffled in. Stevie kept her head down, staring at her notebook, until she heard the scrape of a chair behind her. She glanced back cautiously and caught a flash of someone sitting down. When she turned slightly, she froze.

Daryl Dixon was sitting directly behind her.

Of course. It was an incredibly small school, and it seemed like Daryl had been held back, so it would make sense that he was placed in this class.

He looked about the same as the last time she’d seen him—messy brown hair that stuck out at odd angles, faint bruises that hadn’t entirely faded, and that same scowl that made him look like he’d rather be anywhere else. He didn’t seem to notice her right away, slumping into his chair and tapping a pencil on the desk.

Stevie felt her stomach flip. She wanted to say something—anything—but her tongue felt heavy, and her thoughts tangled into a knot of panic. What was she supposed to say? Hey, long time no see? How’s your summer? Why did you stop coming over?

The teacher started talking, sparing her from having to figure it out. She kept her head down for most of the class, her mind half on the lesson and half on the boy sitting behind her. When the bell finally rang, she gathered her things as quickly as possible, hoping to slip out before he noticed her.

“Stevie?”

His voice stopped her cold. She turned slowly, clutching her notebook to her chest.

“Hi,” Daryl said, his voice gruff but quieter than she remembered. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking just as awkward as she felt.

“Hi,” she mumbled, staring at a spot on the floor near his feet.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.

“You, uh…you look different,” Daryl finally said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Stevie blinked at him, unsure if that was supposed to be a compliment or just an observation. “So do you,” she said softly.

He shrugged, glancing away. “How’s Gran?”

“Good. She’s good.” She missed you. Asked about you all the time.

He nodded. “You still, uh…you still got all those bugs?”

Her heart fluttered a little at the question. “Yeah,” she said, her voice picking up a bit of enthusiasm. “I got a whole new case. I found a Harlequin beetle on ebay. Spent all summer reorganizing my collection.”

Daryl gave her a small, lopsided grin. “Sounds like you.”

Stevie wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she didn’t. The silence crept back in, and she shifted on her feet.

“Wanna hang out sometime?” Daryl blurted.

Stevie’s eyes snapped to his, wide with surprise. “Uh…I…sure. I mean, if you wanna.”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal, but she noticed the way he shifted awkwardly. “After school, maybe. We could go to the woods or somethin’.”

Stevie hesitated, her mind racing through the possibilities—what they’d do, what they’d talk about, whether it would mess up her routine. But then she nodded. “Okay. After school.”

Daryl gave her a quick nod. “Cool. See you then.”

As she watched him walk away, a strange mix of nervousness and excitement bubbled in her chest. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel quite so alone.

-

Stevie had never given much thought to kissing. She read about it in books and saw it in movies, but the idea of actually doing it herself always felt foreign, distant—like something other people did, not her.  

She was a sophomore when it happened, on a Spring evening in the woods behind her house. 

Daryl had been quiet all day, quieter than usual. Stevie noticed the way he kept stealing glances at her, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his old jacket. He hadn’t teased her about her bugs, hadn’t made any sarcastic comments about the way she was still wearing her favorite dress even though it was full of holes.  

“You’re actin’ weird,” Stevie finally said, stopping in her tracks. She turned to face him, folding her arms across her chest.  

Daryl kicked at a rock on the path, avoiding her gaze. “I ain’t actin’ weird.”  

“You are,” she insisted. “You’ve barely said anythin’ all day. Did I do somethin’?”  

“No.” His voice was quiet, and he shifted uncomfortably. “You didn’t do nothin’. I just…” He trailed off, finally looking up at her.  

Stevie tilted her head. “What?”  

Daryl scratched the back of his neck, his face flushing red. “I was just thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”  

“What?” she asked again.

Instead of answering, Daryl took a step closer. He hesitated, his hands twitching like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “Can I…Can I try somethin’?”  

Stevie’s heart thumped in her chest. She blinked at him, the weight of the moment sinking in as she realized what he was asking. “O-okay,” she stammered, unsure what else to say.  

Daryl leaned in slowly, his movements awkward and uncertain. Stevie stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. When his lips finally brushed hers, it was soft and hesitant, like he was afraid of doing it wrong.  

The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like time had stretched, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. When Daryl pulled back, his face was even redder, and he couldn’t quite meet her eyes.  

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I probably shouldn’t’ve—”  

“It’s okay,” Stevie interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. Her cheeks were burning, but she couldn’t stop the small, shy smile that tugged at her lips.  

“Yeah?” Daryl glanced at her, relief flickering across his face.  

“Yeah,” she said, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel after something like that, but her chest felt warm, like she’d just taken a deep breath on a chilly morning.  

They stood there for a moment, the woods quiet around them. Then Daryl gave her a lopsided grin and nudged her arm with his elbow. “Come on. I bet there’s still some frogs by the creek.”  

Stevie laughed, the sound soft and light. She followed him down the trail, her heart still fluttering from the kiss. For the first time, she thought maybe kissing wasn’t so strange after all.  

“Daryl?”

”Hmm?”

“Are we goin’ steady now?”

“…Guess so.”

-

“Call me when my dad ain’t home,” Daryl had said that morning while he was driving her to school. He did that almost every morning - pick Stevie up, drop her off at school, and go to work. He had dropped out, leaving her unfortunately utterly alone at school. But she didn’t mind much. “He won’t be back ‘round till late.”  

Stevie had nodded, then she pressed a kiss to his lips before hopping out of his truck.

Later, she’d dialed the Dixon’s number.

It rang twice before someone picked up.  

“What?” A gruff voice snapped on the other end of the line.  

Stevie froze. That wasn’t Daryl.  

“Uh… um…” She stammered, panic rising in her chest.  

“Who is this?” The voice barked.  

“It’s Stevie St. James, sir. Is Daryl there?”

She got no response. Only a huff, and then the cut-off slam of the phone.

That evening, she heard a knock at the door. Stevie jumped up from the couch, her heart leaping as she ran to answer it.  

Daryl stood there, slouched and battered. His right eye was swollen shut, his lip split, and there was a cut along his cheekbone that looked like it hadn’t stopped bleeding yet.  

“Daryl!” Stevie gasped, reaching for him.  

“M’fine,” he muttered, brushing past her into the house.  

“You are not fine,” Gran said firmly, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen with her hands on her hips. Her eyes softened when she saw the state of him. “Lord, child. Sit before you fall down.”  

Daryl hesitated but obeyed, collapsing onto the couch with a wince. Stevie followed him, hovering nearby, unsure what to do.  

“Go get the first aid kit,” Gran said, her voice calm but urgent.  

Stevie nodded and dashed off, returning moments later with the kit. Gran knelt beside Daryl, opening it and inspecting his injuries with the practiced care of someone who’d done this too many times.  

“This ain’t nothin’,” Daryl mumbled as Gran dabbed at his cheek with a damp cloth. He flinched but didn’t pull away.  

“Don’t you dare,” Gran scolded gently. “Now, you wanna tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?”  

Daryl looked down at his hands, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. “He was mad ‘bout the phone,” he admitted quietly.  

Stevie’s heart sank. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling.  

“Don’t,” Daryl said quickly, glancing up at her. “Ain’t your fault.”  

Gran sighed, shaking her head. “That man’s got no business puttin’ his hands on you. You hear me?”  

Daryl didn’t respond, his jaw tightening.  

“You’re stayin’ here tonight,” Gran said firmly. “No arguments.”  

Daryl looked like he wanted to protest but thought better of it. Instead, he nodded, his shoulders slumping in relief.  

Stevie sat beside him on the couch, her hands twisting together in her lap. She wanted to say something, to tell him how much she hated seeing him like this, how much she cared about him, but the words wouldn’t come.  

Instead, she reached out and took his hand. He didn’t pull away.  

Gran finished patching him up and stood, patting his shoulder gently. “I’ll make you some tea,” she said, heading back to the kitchen.  

For a moment, it was just Stevie and Daryl, the room quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator.  

“I hate him,” Stevie whispered, her voice shaking with the weight of emotions she didn’t know how to express.  

“I know,” Daryl said softly, his fingers tightening around hers. “But I’m all right.”  

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “No, you ain’t.”  

“Will be. ‘Cause I got you.”

-

Stevie’s senior year was a whirlwind of heartbreak and change.

Gran’s death in the early months hit her harder than anything ever had. One moment, Gran was bustling around the house like always, scolding Stevie for forgetting her umbrella on a rainy day, and the next, she was gone—slipping away quietly in her sleep.

Gran had left everything to Stevie: the house, the small savings account, even the old Volkswagen she’d loved so much.

Daryl was her anchor through it all. He spent every free moment at the house, fixing broken pipes, mowing the lawn, and making sure Stevie ate when she forgot. But he was struggling too. A few months after Gran’s passing, Daryl’s father died of a sudden heart attack (no doubt caused from years of alcohol abuse), leaving behind a mountain of debt and a broken trailer. Merle was nowhere to be found, not that Daryl expected him to step up.

Stevie offered what little support she could. She watched Daryl sell the trailer and everything his dad had left behind, just to make ends meet. And when he had nowhere else to go, she told him he could live at Gran’s house, with her.

One evening, long after the sun had set, they found themselves sitting together on the old couch in the living room. Stevie had been cleaning out some of Gran’s things earlier in the day and had stumbled across an old quilt. Now, it was draped over them as they watched a rerun of some black-and-white Western that Gran had loved.

Daryl was quiet, his arm stretched across the back of the couch, his fingers idly brushing against Stevie’s shoulder. She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

She nodded, her hand clutching a corner of the quilt. “I think so.”

“You’re doin’ good, Ladybug,” he said, using his nickname for her that he oh-so cleverly came up with a few years back, his hand moving to rest on her arm. “Gran would be proud of you.”

The mention of Gran made her chest tighten, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she tilted her head up to look at him. His face was lined with exhaustion, the weight of the past year visible in every angle.

“You’ve been good to me, Daryl,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve been good to me, too.”

The air between them shifted, a quiet tension settling in as their eyes met. Stevie’s heart pounded in her chest, a mix of nerves and something deeper. She didn’t know who moved first, but his lips were on hers, soft and warm and hesitant.

Stevie loved kissing Daryl. They did it often. It only went past kissing a handful of times, but never all the way.

She straddled him, grinding down, making him gasp and clutch at the back of her sweater.

“Stevie,” he murmured breathlessly against her lips,

“I want it,” she whispered back, pulling at the hem if his shirt. “I want it. I want you.”

They moved slowly, carefully, as if afraid to break the moment. Daryl’s hands traced the curve of her back, his touch reverent, while Stevie’s fingers tangled in his hair. 

“Are you sure?” Daryl asked, his forehead resting against hers, his breath warm against her skin.

Stevie nodded, her voice steady despite the rapid beat of her heart. “I’m sure.”

What followed was quiet and tender, filled with whispered reassurances and gentle touches. It wasn’t perfect—nothing ever was—but it was theirs, a moment carved out of the chaos of their lives where nothing else mattered but each other.

Afterward, they lay tangled together on the couch. Stevie rested her head on Daryl’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as his fingers ran through her hair.

“I love you,” he said quietly, almost as if he was afraid to say it too loudly.

Oh. 

He loved her.

Stevie grinned. “I love you, too.”

In the weeks that followed, Daryl moved his few belongings into the house. It was a bittersweet arrangement—born out of necessity, but filled with a quiet hope for the future. Together, they started to rebuild, turning the house into a home for both of them.

-

Stevie kept her head down as she wiped the counter. Ever since Daryl’s proposal on her nineteenth birthday, she felt like everyone who looked at her could see the ring on her finger. It wasn’t big or flashy—something small and gold from the pawnshop—but it was perfect. Just like the butterfly he’d given her, a Ulysses butterfly, encased in glass with vibrant blue wings that seemed almost alive. She’d never felt more loved in her life.

Charlotte, a fellow waitress a few years older than Stevie, leaned on the counter beside her, smile warm and easy. “So, Mrs. Dixon, when’s the big day?”

Stevie’s cheeks turned crimson. “I...don’t know. We haven’t talked ‘bout it yet,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes on the coffee pot she was refilling.

Charlotte chuckled. “Well, you better start talkin’. Weddings don’t plan themselves, Vie.”

She wanted to say that there wasn’t going to be a wedding, not in the traditional sense. Who would come? Both of them had no family around, hardly had any people they considered friends. They would mostly likely just go down to the courthouse the next day they had free.

Before she could say that, the door jingled, and Stevie stiffened, instinctively shrinking into herself as a group of men walked in, loud and boisterous. One of them, the same man who had been giving Charlotte trouble, looked around the diner and grinned.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite waitress,” he drawled, his eyes locking on Charlotte.

Charlotte’s smile didn’t falter, though her eyes hardened. “What can I get for you today?” she asked, her tone cool but professional.

The man leaned on the counter, far too close for comfort. “How ’bout a smile to go with my coffee? Black. Just how I like my women.”

Charlotte, ever the professional, kept her cool. She just smiled largely, sarcastically. “Right on it.”

Stevie wasn’t brave like Daryl, but she couldn’t let this slide. She had only been working at the diner for a few months, but already, Charlotte  became her friend. Her first friend in her whole life, besides Daryl. Charlotte didn’t mind her oddness, her quietness, the way she always seemed off in another world internally.

So, when the men finished ordering and went to sit, Stevie got started on the coffee. She fixed up a tray, and turned, facing Charlotte. Locking eyes with her friend, Stevie spit directly in the mug of black coffee, before turning back around and serving the men the drinks. She could hear Charlotte attempt to cover her laughter behind her, making Stevie smile to herself.

-

Stevie’s hands trembled as she set a coffee cup in front of a customer. The morning sickness wasn’t too bad today, but her nerves were on edge. Daryl had been quiet since she took the pregnancy test—she could tell something was eating at him.

She didn’t blame him. The idea of becoming parents scared her too, though her fear felt different—less like dread and more like a worry. She always wanted a baby, and she wanted Daryl to believe he could be a good dad.

The diner door jingled, and Stevie glanced up. A wiry man with a swagger that immediately put her on edge walked in. His eyes scanned the room before landing on her. His face broke into a wide grin.

Oh. She knew that grin.

“Well, if it ain’t lil’ Miss St. James,” he drawled, his voice too loud and too familiar.

Stevie stiffened, gripping the coffee pot tighter. “It’s Dixon now,” she said, her voice quiet, as she rounded the bar, putting a blockage between them.

Merle’s grin widened as he sauntered over to the counter and sat down. “Dixon, huh? So you actually went and hitched up with my baby brother. Always knew he had the hots for you. Why else would he follow you ‘round everywhere like a lost dog?”

Stevie forced a tight smile. It was awkwardly silent for a moment, Merle just grinning at her. “Got married a few months back,” she said, feeling uncomfortable.

“Well, congrats, Mrs. Dixon. Welcome to the fuckin’ family. Where’s my little brother, anyways? I went by that dump of a trailer, and some strangers were there. What the hell’s that ‘bout?”

Stevie hesitated. She didn’t owe him any explanations, but she also didn’t want trouble. “Daryl sold it.”

Merle’s expression darkened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “Sold it? That trailer was our dad’s. Daryl didn’t have no right to do that.”

“It was fallin’ apart. He needed the money. He couldn’t get ahold of you. He tried.”

“Excuse me, I was busy servin’ our fine country. That trailer’s got history. And you come along, and now Daryl’s sellin’ off family stuff like it don’t mean nothin’?”

“Daryl made the decision. If you’ve got a problem with it, take it up with him.”

Merle’s face twisted in anger as he leaned closer to Stevie, his voice dripping with disdain. “Take it up with him, huh? You think you’re real smart, don’t you? Bet you’ve got him doin’ whatever you say, like a damn puppet. You don’t know the first thing ‘bout family, do you? You’re just some dumb little bitch whose slut mama ran out on her the second she shot you out  her pussy.” Merle laughed harshly, his eyes narrowing. “Bet you don’t even know how to take care of yourself, let alone him. Hell, you probably got the whole town thinkin’ he’s gone soft, runnin’ around with some retard-”

“Excuse me,” Charlotte said, suddenly, appearing behind Stevie, tone sharp. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Merle snorted, leaning back slightly but still smirking. “Oh, now the cavalry’s here? Look, lady, this is between me and my sistah-in-law.”

Charlotte didn’t flinch. “Unless you’re plannin’ to order somethin’ and sit down quietly, you can get the hell out.”

Merle stared at her for a moment, his smirk faltering under her unrelenting gaze. “Whatever,” he muttered, stepping back. He turned to Stevie, pointing a finger at her. “This ain’t over, lil’ girl. Tell my brother I need to talk.”

He stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him.

“What a fuckin’ prick,” Charlotte scowled.

-

The smell of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove filled the small house. Stevie was curled up on the couch, absently running her hand over the small swell of her belly. Daryl shuffled in from the kitchen, carrying two plates piled high with spaghetti and garlic bread, handing one to her before collapsing onto the couch beside her.

"Thanks, Dar," Stevie said with a smile, already twirling a forkful of pasta.

Daryl grunted in response, though the corner of his mouth twitched up. He started eating, his knee bumping against hers on the cramped couch.

“Merle find a couch to crash on tonight?” Stevie asked between bites.

“Yeah, some guy he used to run with back in the day,” Daryl muttered. “Ain’t gonna last long if he don’t keep his mouth shut.”

Stevie rolled her eyes. “Typical.”

Daryl hesitated, swirling his fork through his spaghetti. “I got him in with that guy over at the junkyard. Said he’d give Merle a trial shift tomorrow. It’s somethin’.”

“That’s good,” Stevie said, her tone careful. She didn’t care for Merle—he’d been nothing but trouble since he’d shown up in town—but she saw how hard Daryl was trying to help his brother after he was discharged. Still, she refused to let him in her house. Daryl agreed.

They ate and talked idly about their days, Stevie scarfing down spaghetti, her feet in Daryl’s lap, the news on the TV humming in the background. She paused her recounting of seeing some Cicada’s in the backyard earlier when she hears the newscaster start to speak urgently.

“Reports are coming in of a mysterious illness spreading rapidly across parts of Europe and Asia…”

Stevie glanced at the screen, frowning. “That’s...weird,” she said, voice uneasy.

“Eh, prolly just some flu thing,” Daryl said, reaching for the remote. “Ain’t our problem.” He changed the channel to some sitcom, discarding his plate and melting into the couch, resting a hand on her ankle. “So, uh…you thinkin’ ‘bout names any?”

Stevie grinned. “Oh, yes. I have a list, actually. Up here.” She tapped her temple.

“A list?” Daryl raised an eyebrow.

“Of course.”

“Please don’t say no bug name.”

She rolled her eyes. “No Ladybug for a lil’ girl?”

“I already gotta Ladybug.”

-

PART II : AFTER

-

The diner buzzed with the comforting hum of a normal day. The smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee filled the air as Stevie wiped down the counter, her movements almost mechanical. The lunch rush had yet to hit, but the small-town chatter of a few regulars made the space feel alive. Charlotte, balancing a tray of plates, breezed past her.

“Table four needs a coffee refill,” Charlotte said, flashing Stevie a quick grin.

Stevie grabbed the coffee pot and made her way to table four, nodding politely at the older couple seated there. “Refill?” she asked, tone cheerful.

Before they could answer, a man stumbled in through the front door. His clothes were torn, and his skin was pale, almost gray. His eyes, wild and unfocused, darted around the room.

“Sir, are you okay?” Stevie asked, concern lacing her voice.

The man didn’t respond. Instead, he lurched forward, his movements jerky and unnatural. Stevie froze, the coffee pot trembling in her hand.

“Hey, buddy, you lost or somethin’?” one of the regulars called out from the counter.

The man suddenly snarled—a guttural, inhumansound—and lunged at the nearest person, sinking his teeth into their neck.

Like a damn animal.

Blood sprayed across the diner as screams erupted.

Stevie dropped the coffee pot, hot liquid splashing across her shoes. Her heart pounded as chaos unfolded around her. More figures stumbled into the diner, lifeless eyes locking onto the living.

“Stevie!” Charlotte’s voice cut through the noise. She was standing by the kitchen door, and eyes wide. “Run!”

Stevie snapped out of her daze and bolted toward Charlotte. A man with blood dripping down his chin grabbed at her arm, but she twisted away, nearly slipping on the blood-slick floor. Charlotte grabbed her wrist and yanked her into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Lock it!” Charlotte shouted.

Stevie fumbled with the lock, her hands shaking violently. She managed to secure it, and the pounding started almost immediately. People threw themselves against the door, growling and snarling.

“Oh my God,” Stevie whispered, backing away from the door. Her breathing quickened, her chest heaving. “Oh my God, what is happenin’? What’s wrong with them?”

“Must be that thing—that disease.”

“Thought it was overseas?” Stevie could hardly breathe. There was blood all over her crisp blue uniform.  Hot coffee all over her legs and pearly white sneakers. She felt dirty—so dirty.

“Stevie, breathe,” Charlotte said, grabbing her shoulders. “Look at me. Breathe.”

“I—I can’t!” Stevie gasped, clutching her chest. “Lottie, I can’t—”

“You can,” Charlotte said firmly, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “You have to. Come on, breathe. That door is solid. You’ve gotta calm down, or you’re gonna pass out. It ain’t good for the baby.”

Stevie tried to focus on Charlotte’s voice, but the noise outside was deafening. Those people—whatever was wrong with them— were relentless, their pounding like a drumbeat. Her vision blurred as tears spilled down her cheeks.

“I want Daryl,” she cried. “I can’t—I can’t—I need—“

“Okay, okay,” Charlotte said, pulling Stevie down to sit on the floor. “We’ll do this together. Look at me. Breathe in—one, two, three. Out—one, two, three. Come on, Stevie.”

Stevie tried to follow Charlotte’s lead, her breaths shaky and uneven. Slowly, the tightness in her chest began to ease, though the panic still hovered.

“That’s it,” Charlotte said softly, squeezing Stevie’s hands. “You’re doin’ good. Keep goin’.”

Stevie nodded, her eyes darting toward the door. “What if they get in?” she whispered.

“They won’t,” Charlotte said, though her voice wavered slightly. “Not right now. And if they do, we’ll figure it out. We’re not dyin’ in this damn diner, you hear me?”

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Stevie reached in her pocket, pulling out her flip phone. Charlotte did the same. Stevie tried to call Daryl, but the phone wouldn’t even ring.

“Ain’t workin’?” Charlotte asked, and Stevie shook her head. “Mine neither. Shit.”

They sat together on the cold kitchen floor, clutching each other, the horrid sounds outside continuing.

-

Every thud against the door made Stevie flinch, but she clung to Charlotte’s steady presence like a lifeline.

Then, soon, the noise began to fade.

Charlotte lifted her head, her brow furrowing. “Do you hear that?”

Stevie wiped at her tear-streaked face. “What?”

Charlotte tilted her head, listening intently. The pounding had grown sporadic, the growls quieter. After another agonizing moment, the sounds outside the door vanished altogether.

“Where did they go?” Stevie whispered, voice hoarse.

Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe they found somethin’ else to chase.” She stood cautiously, her hand gripping the nearest kitchen knife. “Stay here. I’m gonna check.”

Stevie grabbed her arm. “No! What if they’re still out there?”

“We can’t stay locked in here, Stevie. If the coast is clear, we needa get out while we can.”

Stevie hesitated but nodded, her hand going to rest protectively on her belly.

Charlotte unlocked the door slowly, the sound of the bolt sliding back deafening in the silence. She cracked the door open and peeked out.

“They’re gone,” Charlotte whispered, pushing the door open further.

Stevie followed, her heart hammering as she stepped into the dining area. The once-bustling diner was now a blood-soaked nightmare. Overturned chairs and shattered dishes littered the floor, and the air was thick with the tang of death.

“Let’s move,” Charlotte urged, her voice low.

They crept toward the front door, their footsteps careful. Just as they reached the exit, Stevie’s foot caught on something, and she stumbled. She looked down—and screamed.

It was the older couple from table four. Their bodies were crumpled on the floor, broken and torn apart. Blood pooled beneath them, dark and sticky.

“Oh God,” Stevie choked, stomach lurching.

Charlotte grabbed her under the arms and hauled her up. “Come on! Don’t look. Let’s go!”

Stevie tried to avert her gaze, but the image was burned into her mind. She let Charlotte drag her toward the parking lot, her legs wobbling beneath her.

Charlotte’s car was parked a few feet away, splattered with blood but miraculously intact. Charlotte yanked the door open and shoved Stevie inside before scrambling into the driver’s seat. She started the engine, her hands shaking, and threw the car into reverse.

“Buckle up,” Charlotte barked, glancing in the rearview mirror as she sped out of the lot.

Stevie fumbled with the seatbelt, her breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Where we goin’?”

“No fuckin’ clue,” she replied, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Your house. Then mine, I guess.”

Stevie tried her phone again, only to find it dead.

-

They had gone to Stevie’s house first.

It was silent, the front door still locked. There was no sign of Daryl, either. He’d left for work that morning, planning to come home at noon for lunch. It was nearing sundown, and he was not there.

Stevie had searched every room, calling out his name until her voice cracked. She found his hunting rifle and ammo in the closet, the sight of it hitting her like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t been here; he wouldn’t have left that behind, with everything going on out there.

Stevie went to their bedroom, breath hitching as she looked around. The walls and shelves were lined with the collection she’d spent her life creating. She couldn’t take them all, of course. There wasn’t room, and there wasn’t time.

But she could bring one, maybe. One could certainly fit in her bag. Charlotte said to get necessities. Stevie felt this was one.

On her bedside table sat the Ulysses butterfly Daryl had given her for her birthday just months earlier. She slipped the case into her backpack carefully before zipping the bag shut.

Charlotte had been quiet, standing guard and giving Stevie space as she packed what she could. Clothes, toiletries, her prenatal vitamins, whatever food was left in the pantry. She wrote a note for Daryl and left it on the kitchen counter.

“Let’s go,” Charlotte called from the doorway.

Stevie lingered for one last look at her gran’s house, the one she grew up in, before following Charlotte out.

From there, they went to Charlotte’s house. It was empty too, but not untouched. A few drawers had been pulled open, and the back door swung slightly ajar, creaking on its hinges.

“They left in a hurry,” Charlotte murmured, her brow furrowed as she looked around.

But her parents and her older brother Theodore were gone, and the heaviness in her chest was evident as Stevie watched her friend stare at the empty dinner table.

-

The search continued.

They checked the police station and the firehouse, hoping to find survivors or some kind of authority. Instead, they found chaos. The places were crawling with people—only, they weren’t people anymore. They were sick with something, their skin pale and torn, their eyes vacant and hungry.

Stevie had sobbed and sobbed that night, crying for Daryl, clutching her stomach as if holding her baby could keep her grounded. Charlotte sat beside her in the car, staring out at the darkness, holding Daryl’s rifle. She didn’t say much, but her presence alone the only thing keeping Stevie from falling apart entirely. She couldn’t do this alone.

-

For weeks, they drove through the town and its outskirts, searching for Daryl and Charlotte’s family. Every house, every store, every quiet road was the same—empty of answers, full of the sick.

They slept in Charlotte’s car, curled up under thin blankets. Nights were restless, full of the sounds of the sick shuffling outside or distant screams that neither of them dared to investigate.

One night, Stevie whispered into the darkness, her voice trembling. “What if they’re gone?”

Charlotte didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was quiet but firm. “Then we keep goin’. For you. For the baby.”

Stevie nodded, tears slipping down her face.

-

After weeks of searching, they were beginning to believe that they we’re the only living people left in Georgia. But then, one day, they heard it—a crackling message over a battery-powered radio they’d scavenged from a gas station.

“This is a message for any survivors. The CDC in Atlanta is offering refuge. Repeat, the CDC in Atlanta is offering refuge. Bring food, water, and any medical supplies you can carry. Stay safe.”

Charlotte looked at Stevie, then down at her belly, growing bigger as the days went by. “Atlanta ain’t a long drive.”

As they drove away from the town they’d once called home, neither of them looked back. Their hearts ached with the weight of what they’d lost, but the road ahead held a sliver of hope, and that was all they had left.

-

The CDC was destroyed.

Blown up—recently, based on the small active fires among the desolated building.

Charlotte stood beside Stevie, her shoulders squared but trembling slightly as they stared at what had once been their last hope. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of the wind rushing past the car and the distant groans of the sick filled the silence.

Charlotte broke first. Bowing her head, she whispered a prayer under her breath, her lips moving in words Stevie couldn’t quite make out.

Stevie glanced at her, biting back the bitter remark that rose to her lips. She’d grown up in church, mostly to make her Gran happy, but she’d never believed in any of it. Especially not now—not when the world had turned into this nightmare.

She looked back at the smoldering ruins, her heart sinking deeper. There was nothing left. No CDC. No rescue. No answers. 

“What are you doin’?” Stevie asked, voice sharper than she intended. Perhaps it was the hormones, or perhaps the dread.

Charlotte didn’t look up, her voice low and steady. “Prayin’.”

“For what?” Stevie snapped, throwing her hands out at the ruins. “For a miracle? For some answer? Because this—” she gestured wildly at the destruction—“this ain’t look like the kinda thing God’s gonna fix anytime soon!”

Charlotte slowly raised her head, her face calm but weary. “I ain’t prayin’ for answers, Stevie. I’m prayin’ for strength. For both of us. For your baby.”

-

The drive back out of the city was silent. Stevie kept her eyes on the road, knuckles white as she gripped the wheel. Beside her, Charlotte stared out the window, face gloomy.

They pulled over just before sundown, parking on the shoulder of an overgrown highway. The car was nearly out of gas, and neither of them had the energy to go any farther.

Charlotte climbed out, rifle slung over her shoulder. “I’ll check the area,” she said, her voice brisk. “Stay here.”

Stevie didn’t argue. She sat in the car, her hands resting on her swollen belly.

What were they going to do now? Where would they go? Would they ever find Daryl—or anyone?

Charlotte returned a few minutes later, her face unreadable. “It’s clear,” she said. “We’ll sleep here tonight.”

As they sat together, the silence stretched on until Stevie couldn’t take it anymore. “Do you think it’s even worth it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Charlotte looked at her sharply. “What?”

“This,” Stevie said, gesturing vaguely around them. “Survivin’. Tryin’. What’s the point if everythin’s just gonna fall apart?”

Charlotte stared at her for a long moment before answering. “The point is the baby,” she said simply. “The point is you. And me. We keep goin’ ‘cause that’s what we do. We survived, and we will survive. That’s all we can do.”

Stevie blinked back tears, her throat tight. 

Charlotte leaned back in the seat,  rifle resting across her lap. “I ain’t sayin’ it’s gonna be easy. Fuck, it ain’t been easy since day one. But if we give up now, then what’s all this been for?”

Stevie nodded slowly, wiping her eyes. “Okay,” she said softly. “We keep goin’.”

Charlotte gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. We keep goin’.”

-

More days blurred into more weeks which blurred into more months. Stevie and Charlotte stayed on the move, hopping from town to town, scavenging for supplies, and avoiding the sick as best they could.

Charlotte was the protector. Her father had been a hunter, and she’d grown up learning how to handle firearms. The rifle slung over her shoulder and the pistol at her hip had practically become extensions of her.

Stevie, on the other hand, avoided guns whenever she could. She’d grown up watching Daryl hunt, even shooting at cans for practice in the woods, but the thought of pulling the trigger on something—even something already dead—made her stomach turn. Charlotte never pressed her, instead taking it upon herself to handle the sick whenever they got too close.

“Don’t worry,” Charlotte said. “I’ve got us.”

Stevie nodded, hugging her knees to her chest. “I hate feelin’ useless, though. I’m slowin’ you down.”

Charlotte shook her head firmly. “You ain’t. You gotta sharp mind, you’re smart. The way you spot things, the supplies you find—that keeps us alive. We’re a team.”

The next morning, Stevie proved Charlotte’s point when she spotted a sick person lurking near an abandoned gas station before Charlotte did.

“Two o’clock,” Stevie whispered, pointing to the shadow moving between the pumps.

Charlotte nodded, her hand already on her pistol. She crept forward, her steps silent and deliberate. Stevie stayed back, gripping her knife tightly just in case. With one clean shot, Charlotte put the sick man down, and the area was silent once more.

“See?” Charlotte said, grinning as she holstered the gun. “A team.”

Stevie often thought about Daryl. Where was he? Was he even alive? The questions haunted her.

One evening, as they sat in a dusty motel room they’d claimed for the night, Stevie turned to Charlotte. “Do you think it’s always gonna be like this? Just us, runnin’ from place to place?”

Charlotte shrugged, cleaning her pistol. “Maybe. Maybe not. I ain’t much for thinkin’ that far ahead.” She glanced at Stevie. “But I’ll tell you this—if it’s just us, I’m good with that.”

Stevie smiled faintly, her heart aching with gratitude and guilt. “Thanks, Lottie. For everythin’.”

Charlotte gave her a small, wry grin. “Don’t get mushy on me now, Vie.”

As the months dragged on, they grew more efficient, slipping through ghost towns and taking only what they needed. They avoided other survivors when they could (upon concluding that they weren’t the people they were searching for), figuring that people could be just as dangerous as the sick—if not more so. They were two young women against a shattered world, but they’d made it this far together.

Even in the worst of times, Stevie couldn’t help but hope that somewhere out there, Daryl was alive, looking for her.

-

The house was their sanctuary. A big, two-story farmhouse surrounded by a sturdy iron gate, perched on the edge of a quiet wooded area. They’d stumbled upon it weeks ago, finding it intact and mercifully sick-free. The gate had been an old relic, likely once decorative, but it had held strong against any stragglers that wandered too close.

Charlotte had become the protector in every sense of the word, fiercely guarding their little corner of the world. She set traps around the property, patrolled the fence daily, and made frequent supply runs into nearby towns. Stevie, whose stomach had grown round and heavy in recent months, had tried to go with her at first, but Charlotte put her foot down.

“You’re stayin’ here,” Charlotte had said firmly one morning as Stevie tried to lace up her boots. “You can barely tie your shoes without gettin’ winded. I’ll be fine.”

Stevie had wanted to argue but relented, knowing Charlotte was right. Instead, she turned her focus inward, spending her days tending to the house and preparing for the baby.

The bookshelf in the living room was now packed with dog-eared books on childbirth and parenting, scavenged from libraries and abandoned houses. Stevie and Charlotte had poured over them endlessly, trying to absorb every detail, every bit of advice.

“You’re gonna be a good mama,” Charlotte said one night, her voice breaking the silence as they sat in the candle lit living room.

Stevie glanced up from the book in her lap, surprised. “You think so?”

Charlotte nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. You’ve got the heart for it. And the kid’s gonna have both of us. We’ll make it work.”

Stevie blinked back tears, her hand resting on her belly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she said softly.

Charlotte smiled. “Good thing you ain’t havta find out. We’re sisters now, ‘kay?”

-

The early hours of the morning brought a bitter chill that seeped through the farmhouse walls. Stevie sat on the couch in the living room, staring out at the darkened yard beyond the window. She’d been restless all night, her body aching with a heaviness that she couldn’t shake.

Charlotte came in from her patrol, setting her rifle down by the door. “You good?” she asked, her voice soft but alert.

Stevie nodded absently, her hand rubbing small circles on her back. “I think so. Just… uncomfortable.”

Charlotte frowned, walking over to crouch beside her. “Uncomfortable how?”

Before Stevie could answer, a sharp pain shot through her abdomen, forcing a gasp from her lips. She gripped the armrest of the couch, her knuckles white.

“Like that,” Stevie said through gritted teeth.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you to the room.” She slipped an arm around Stevie’s back and helped her to her feet, her voice calm but firm. “We knew this was comin’. You’ve got this.”

Stevie let herself be guided to the bedroom they’d prepared weeks ago—Stevie’s birthing chamber, Charlotte had dubbed it. It wasn’t much—a clean bed, a pile of blankets, and a few supplies Charlotte had scavenged—but it was all they had. Stevie lay down, the pain coming in waves now, each one stronger than the last.

“Lottie,” Stevie gasped, face slick with sweat. “I ain’t ready. I can’t do this.”

Charlotte knelt beside the bed, gripping Stevie’s hand tightly. “Yes, you can. You’re strong. Just breathe, okay? Focus on me.”

Hours passed, her water breaking and the contractions growing closer together, each one stealing Stevie’s breath and filling the room with muffled cries of pain. Charlotte stayed by her side, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth and whispering words of encouragement, as Stevie cried for Daryl and Gran, who she desperately wished for.

“Push, Stevie,” Charlotte urged when the time came, her voice steady but edged with worry.

“I can’t,” Stevie whimpered, her entire body trembling. “It hurts too much.”

“You can,” Charlotte insisted, her hands gripping Stevie’s knees, pulling her legs apart. “You can. You gotta.”

Stevie gritted her teeth and bore down, screaming through the pain. The minutes dragged on like hours, each push feeling like it might tear her apart. She felt like she was drowning, the world blurring around her. She never knew pain like this.

“Almost there,” Charlotte said. “Just one more, Stevie. One more.”

With a guttural cry, Stevie gave one final push, collapsing back against the pillows as a thin, wailing cry filled the room.

Charlotte’s face broke into a tearful grin as she held the tiny, wriggling baby in her hands. “You did it,” she said, her voice choked. “You did it, Stevie.” It was a boy. A baby boy.

Stevie sobbed with relief, her body heavy with exhaustion. “Is he okay?” she asked weakly, eyes fluttering.

Charlotte nodded, before she cut the umbilical cord and suctioned his little mouth a bit. She wrapped the baby in a clean blanket. “He’s perfect,” she said, laying him gently on Stevie’s chest.

Stevie looked down at her son, her heart swelling as his cries quieted and his tiny fingers curled against her skin. “Hi,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Hi, baby.”

Charlotte sat back, watching with a soft smile. “He’s got your stubbornness already. Took his sweet time gettin’ here.”

Stevie laughed weakly, cradling the baby close.

The room fell quiet, the weight of the moment settling over them. Outside, the world was still as dangerous as ever, but inside this little house, there was a new kind of hope.

“So…what do we call him?” Charlotte asked after a while.

They had been talking about names for a long time, going back and forth. Stevie wanted the baby to have a strong name—something solid, something that would carry them through this broken world.

She’d thought about naming the baby after Daryl or her Gran, Clara. But every time the names crossed her mind, they felt like too much—too heavy, too painful. Still, she couldn’t let them go entirely. 

Stevie smiled down at the baby, her voice trembling. “I think…I think I’ll go with Charlie.”

“Charlie? That wasn’t on the list?”

“I know. I wanted to suprise you. Charlie for Charlotte. My savior, my sister.”

“Really?” Tears poured down her cheeks.

Stevie nodded enthusiasticly. “Charlie Daryl Dixon.”

-

The storm raged outside, its winds battering the house as if trying to tear it apart. Stevie sat in the rocking chair by the fireplace, cradling Charlie against her chest. His tiny face was scrunched up, his cries soft but insistent as if he could sense her worry.

Stevie’s eyes kept flicking to the door. Charlotte had been gone too long, on a run to find food.

“She’s fine,” Stevie murmured to her crying baby, trying to convince herself. “She’s fine. She’ll walk through that door any second.” Since his birth four months ago, Stevie and Charlotte had both taken to talking to him as if he could understand their words. It made them feel a little less alone.

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the emptiness outside. No sign of Charlotte. Just wind and darkness and the gnawing silence that probably meant something terrible was waiting. Stevie hugged Charlie closer.

Another minute passed. Then another. Stevie’s chest felt like it might cave in.

Finally, the front door unlocked.

Stevie shot up, clutching Charlie to her chest. Relief surged through her, crashing over her like a wave.

“Lottie!” she cried.

But her joy was fleeting.

Charlotte stumbled into the house, soaked to the bone, face pale as death. Her hand was clutching her shoulder, blood seeping through her fingers. The door slammed shut behind her, blown shut by the wind.

Stevie froze.

“Stevie,” Charlotte croaked, her voice trembling.

“Where…Where were you?” Stevie stammered, taking a shaky step forward. Then she saw the wound. A jagged, unmistakable bite, leaking blood. 

“No,” Stevie whispered, her knees wobbling. “No, no, no! Tell me that ain’t...”

Charlotte leaned against the wall, strength failing her. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the rainwater. “I tried, Stevie. I tried to get back. But there were so many sick people, and the rain…I couldn’t see them until it was too late.”

Stevie’s legs gave out, and she sank to the floor, clutching Charlie tightly. Her tears came fast and hot, her chest heaving as the reality of the situation crushed her.

“You can’t do this to me!” she screamed, her voice raw. “You can’t leave me and Charlie! We need you, Charlotte!”

Charlotte knelt down in front of her, her own tears falling freely. She reached out, her shaking hand brushing Stevie’s cheek. “I ain’t wanna leave you,” she choked out. “God, Stevie, I ain’t wanna leave. But it’s already happenin’, I can feel it. I’m sick. You know what you gotta do.”

Stevie shook her head violently. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that! There has to be somethin’—some way—”

“There ain’t,” Charlotte sobbed. “You know that. I ain’t got much time.” She glanced town at Charlie, who was now wailing in Stevie’s arms, his tiny fists flailing. “You have to protect him, Stevie. You have to keep him safe.”

“I can’t do this without you,” Stevie cried. “You’re all we have, Lottie. I can’t do it  alone.”

Charlotte leaned her forehead against Stevie’s, her tears falling onto Charlie’s blanket. “You can do this. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You’re gonna make it through this, for him. For me.”

They stayed there, clinging to each other as the storm roared outside. Stevie’s sobs shook her entire body, her chest burning as she tried to breathe.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “I’m so scared.”

Charlotte’s hand cupped her face, her thumb brushing away a tear. “I know. But you’re gonna be okay. And Charlie’s gonna grow up knowin’ how much you love him. How much his Aunt Lottie loved him.” Her voice broke, and she pulled Stevie into a hug, the baby between them.

When Charlotte finally pulled back, her face was pale, her eyes heavy with sorrow. “It’s time.”

Stevie shook her head, trembling. “I can’t.”

“You gotta,” Charlotte whispered. “I ain’t wanna to hurt you, Stevie. I ain’t wanna hurt Charlie. Please. Do it before I lose myself. I’m sick, Vie, I’m hurtin’.”

Stevie trembled as she placed her crying baby in the playpen, before she reached for a knife on the table. Her vision blurred with tears, breath coming in ragged gasps.

Stevie crouched back down to where Charlotte now laid on the ground, practically convulsing, clutching the knife with trembling hands.

“I love you,” she sobbed, voice barely audible.

“I love you too,” Charlotte whispered. “My sister.”

She looked at Charlotte one last time, committing every detail of her face to memory—the curve of her smile, the warmth in her eyes, even now, even at the end.

Charlotte closed her eyes, her tears streaming down her cheeks. “S’okay, Vie. S’okay.”

With a sob, Stevie jammed the knife into Charlotte’s temple .

-

Stevie’s face was pale and gaunt. Her clothes hung loosely on her frame, and the dark circles under her eyes told the story of too many sleepless nights.

Charlie squirmed in her arms, his cries weak.

“I know, baby,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Mama’s tryin’.”

Her milk had nearly dried up. The food Charlotte had stalked up on was mostly gone. The sparse handfuls of nuts, fruits, and the occasional squirrel Stevie managed to catch weren’t enough to sustain her. She knew she couldn’t keep this up. If she didn’t find food soon, she wouldn’t be able to feed Charlie.

With trembling hands, she wrapped Charlie against her chest in the makeshift sling. He nuzzled into her, his tiny body warm against her own. She kissed his head, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she murmured. “I hate leavin’ here, but we ain’t gotta choice.”

Grabbing the gun and the last few bullets she had, Stevie stepped out into the cold morning.

The car groaned to life, and she winced at the noise. She hated the way it echoed, hated how it might attract the sick.

The drive to the nearby town was nerve-wracking. Every shadow seemed like it could be death lurking just out of sight.

When she arrived to the marked area on the map (which Charlotte had luckily annotated months prior), the streets were eerily quiet, save for the occasional moan of a sick person shuffling in the distance.

She parked and took a deep breath.

With Charlie strapped to her chest, Stevie stepped out, gun in hand. She hadn’t gone more than a few feet when a sick person lunged at her from behind a rusted car. She screamed, the sound startling Charlie, who began to cry. She fumbled with the gun but managed to fire a shaky shot, hitting the sick woman in the chest.

“Dammit!” she hissed, aiming again. This time, the bullet hit its head, and it crumpled to the ground.

More were coming. She could hear them. Stevie wiped sweat from her brow and forced herself to keep moving. She didn’t have the luxury of fear—not now, not with Charlie depending on her.

Inside a small grocery store, she searched frantically for anything edible. Most of the shelves were empty, picked clean long ago. Still, she managed to find a few cans tucked behind a stack of dusty boxes. Her relief was short-lived when she heard footsteps behind her.

Stevie whirled around, raising the gun with trembling hands. A woman stood in the doorway, a long sword-looking weapon in her hands.

“Stay back!” Stevie shouted, her voice cracking.

The woman raised her hands slowly, her face remaining calm. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she said evenly. Her eyes flicked down to Charlie, who was whimpering softly in his sling. “I see you’ve got a little one. I mean no harm.”

Stevie’s chest heaved as she kept the gun trained on the stranger. “What do you want?”

“My name is Michonne,” the woman replied. “Are you alone?”

“No,” Stevie snapped. Charlotte warned her how people could be in this new world. Cruel and merciless. Stevie couldn’t let her know she was alone - utterly alone.

The woman nodded. “You have a group?”

“Yes.”

The woman gave her a small, knowing smile. Stevie never was a good liar. “Well, I’m also with a group. We’ve got a community not far from here. We’ve got food, shelter…kids. Your group could come, talk to our council.”

Stevie’s heart ached at the mention of food. Her instincts screamed not to trust anyone, but when she looked into Michonne’s eyes, she saw no deceit. She was always good at reading people. With her nerves slowly calming, Stevie could sense that this woman seemed genuine.

“Actually…I am alone. ‘Sides him.” She nods at the baby strapped to her.

-

Back at the farmhouse, Stevie hurried to gather her few belongings. She packed clothes for herself and Charlie, the few belongings she’d gathered. Her hands lingered on the Ulysses butterfly on the nightstand. She wrapped it carefully in cloth and placed it in the bag.

Micchone was waiting for her outside. When she was ready to leave, Stevie looked around the farmhouse one last time. This place had been her world for over a year. This was where Charlie was born, ten long months ago. In the backyard was where she had buried Charlotte.

But she couldn’t stay. Deep down, she always knew this. She knew she couldn’t survive in her own, that she wasn’t strong enough.

Michonne waited by the truck. “You ready?” she asked when Stevie emerged.

Stevie nodded, adjusting Charlie in the sling.

The drive to the prison was tense. Michone asked her questions about herself, which Stevie responded to shyly.

When they reached the gates, Stevie nearly gasped. It was a prison, its fences lined with guards. She could see children playing in the yard, their laughter faint but real.

-

As the gates to the prison creaked open, Stevie stepped through hesitantly, clutching Charlie in his sling, Michonne having graciously taken her bag. Her eyes darted around, taking in the sight of people—men and women walking about, children playing under watchful eyes.

“This way,” Michonne said, motioning for Stevie to follow.

Stevie clutched Charlie close as she trailed behind Michonne, heart pounding. She hadn’t been around this many people in so long. It was overwhelming. It made her skin crawl. She was suddenly very conscious about her appearance. She had always prided herself in her cleanliness and upkeep. She must’ve looked terrible, insane, to these well kept people.

They entered a building, where Michonne gestured toward a small group of people.

“Rick, this is Stevie,” Michonne said to a man apporaching them. “And her son, Charlie.”

Rick stepped forward, face softening when he saw the baby. “Welcome,” he said warmly. “You’re safe here. We’ll get you settled in.”

Stevie nodded, throat too tight to speak.

She was introduced to a few others who lingering in the space. A young boy, Carl, who gave her a shy smile, eyes curious. An older woman named Carol greeted her gently, cooing at Charlie.

Michonne and Rick guided her to a prison cell. She almost let out a hysterical laugh. She never imaged she, of all people, would end up living in a prison cell, least of all with a baby, at just twenty years old.

The two people helped her set down her belongings, and Rick even brought her a cradle. He had a daughter, he told her, only a few months old. They were stocked up on baby supplies. This fact alone made her believe she made a good choice.

They even brought her food. Real food. Which she scarfed down embarrassingly fast with red cheeks.

They tried to talk to her some more, but Stevie hardly heard their words. Her nerves were fraying, exhaustion catching up. The bide her a goodbye, sensing her tiredness.

Stevie fell alseep in a prison cell after breast-feeding her baby, her stomach full for the first time in months.

-

She woke up to someone shaking her shoulder, making her gasp awake in fear and grab onto Charlie, who slept curled into her side.

“Sorry!” A voice said. “It’s just me. Carol, from earlier.”

Stevie sighed deeply as she sat up in bed, locking eyes with the older woman. “M’so sorry, ma’am,” she whispered.

She shook her head with a small smile. “It’s okay, no need to apologize. I wanted you to eat while dinner is still hot. You need some meat on those bones.” She held up a plate stacked high with steaming food.

Stevie offered a polite smile. “Thank you, ma’am.” Tentatively, she placed Charlie, still dozing, into the cradle and took the plate, her stomach growling at the smell.

Carol pulled up a chair from the small desk, sitting across from her, as Stevie began to dig in. “You doing okay?”

Stevie hesitated, glancing over at Charlie. “I think so. It’s just…a lot.”

Carol nodded. “I get that. Coming here, being around so many people again—it’s not easy. You and your baby are safe here. I promise.”

Stevie nodded. “It’s hard to believe that after everythin’.” She paused, voice trembling. “I’ve been alone for awhile. Just me and Charlie. I didn’t think I’d ever find other people. Nice people.”

Carol leaned forward slightly. “Don’t worry. We’re nice people, I swear.” She smiled at Charlie. “How old is he?”

“‘Bout ten months, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to call me ma’am. Call me Carol.” She gave a warm smile. “You gave birth alone? All by yourself?”

“No…” Stevie trails off, looking away from Carol’s tender gaze. “I was with someone. My friend, a waitress I worked with before. She died a few months ago. She got, you know…bit by one of the sick people.”

There was a beat of silence before Carol said, “I’m so sorry. His dad—was he…?”

Stevie swallowed hard. She didn’t see the harm in opening up to this woman. She seemed very nice, and sort of reminded her of a younger Gran, warm and motherly. “My husband and I were separated right at the start. I was a few months pregnant when everything happened. I thinks he’s…gone.”

Carol tilted her head, studying her closely. “Did you try to find him?”

Stevie nodded. “Lottie and I - that was my friend- we searched and searched all through town. Couldn’t find nobody. We just…kept movin’. Kept survivin’.”

Carol’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression shifting as if something had clicked. “What was your husbands name?”

Stevie hesitated, as if saying it out loud would break something inside her. “Daryl,” she whispered.

Carol froze, her breath catching. “Daryl?”

Stevie nodded slowly, her brow furrowing at Carol’s reaction. “Yeah…why?”

Carol leaned back, her expression stunned. “What’s your full name, Stevie?”

Stevie frowned, confused. “Stevie Dixon.”

The room seemed to go silent, the weight of Stevie’s words hanging in the air. Carol’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out at first. Finally, she stood abruptly. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

Stevie’s heart began to race. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I’ll be right back,” Carol said, voice tight with urgency. Without another word, she hurried out of the cell, leaving Stevie staring after her, bewildered.

A few minutes later, Carol returned, but this time she wasn’t alone. A man was behind her.

A man she knew.

Daryl Dixon.

They locked eyes.

He stepped into the cell, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Stevie stood slowly, legs trembling beneath her. “Daryl?” she breathed, voice breaking.

He froze, his hand gripping the doorframe as if he needed it to hold himself up. “Stevie…” His voice was hoarse, barely audible.

Her hand flew to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Oh my God…I found you.”

Daryl took a step forward, then another, until he was standing right in front of her, his hand hovering near her shoulders, as if scared to touch her. As if she might fade away like a ghost if he did. “I thought…I thought you were gone. The diner…”

“I thought the same about you,” Stevie sobbed. “I looked a looked. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Daryl cupped her face with both hands, staring at her like he couldn’t believe she was real. “I looked for you. For so long.”

Then, finanly, she threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into him, his arms instinctively wrapping around her. Her feet were off the ground, as he clutched her and cried just as she was.

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie-“ He whispered, voice wet with sobs. “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re here.”

A confused cry broke the moment.

Charlie had woken, and he was standing up in the cradle, holding onto the side, looking up at them.

Daryl’s leaned back from Stevie and looked down at Charlie. “Is…is this…?”

“Our baby boy. Charlie. I listened to you — didn’t pick no bug name.”

-

[deansapplepie]

Use me as you Wish

Summary: Catherine Greene’s life was upside down and Daryl’s hopes were shattered in a million pieces. They found some solace in each other that night.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Catherine Greene (OC)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: mentions about death, mentions of putting people down, mentions of sickness, smut, sex, unprotected p in v, cum eating (?), vulnerability, Cath is 30 yo. Slightly proof read, so may contain mistakes. Minors do not interact, 18+.

A/N: there’s been years I don’t write and OC and I don’t write in first person, so I’m somehow excited about it and anxious too. I wanted to create an OC again and I had this wish of writing a Greene character different from the ones I usually see on the stories and how I actually think would be a Hershel daughter in a relationship with Daryl and also how I think Hershel would have reacted. No Hershel here, but here is my Greene OC on this first piece of story. Also, nothing against other Greene readers or OCs I saw around, I just wanted to do mine.

I didn’t want this first story to be smut, but it looks like everything I touch becomes smut. 😅

I never believed the dead people walking around were actually sick, I saw sick people before. I saw my stepmom and step brother getting sick and eventually dying. Those were not them anymore but they looked like them and because of that I didn’t do anything when my dad locked them in the old barn. What could I do? We had no information about anything anymore so I just trusted whatever my father believe, who could be wiser than him at the moment? Later I learned the dead people should be put ‘dead’ again, but I would never have it in me to do that to ‘them’. I also didn’t do anything as he continued to lock neighbors and other ones that were found wandering around the farm. I couldn’t kill a chicken, would I ever be able to kill one of those creatures? I didn’t know how to shoot, I also didn’t know how to stab. Once, my dad tried to teach me how to kill a pig, I missed the heart and just put the poor thing into more suffering.

All that being said, the mixed feelings I had, when the group that came from Atlanta opened the barn and shoot one after the other, the neighbors and my family, could be easily explained. Well, some people could understand that at the same time I felt relieved they were put to rest and we didn’t had to worry with the danger, I also felt sorrow because if there was any hope they could be cured or brought back, it didn’t exist anymore.

After that so many things happened and I didn’t know exactly how but I remember one minute I was in the kitchen and the next I was standing in the middle of his camp a recipient with dinner in my hand, offering peace, maybe? Since they arrived I couldn’t take my eyes from him and he would haunt my thoughts night and day, like a teenage girl with a crush, but the thing was… I was far from this.

The curiosity brought me closer to him, or as close as he would allow me. I tried to help as much as I could about the girl they were looking for, I brought to them the things my dad allowed us to share with them, I helped taking care of him when he got injured. So we would talk, he was witty, sassy and grumpy. He was masculine, rustic and handsome. I was bewitched by him, and he didn’t even know he could do this.

“Watcha doing here?” I was startled by his voice, lost in my thoughts in the middle of his camp which he had changed for a place farther than everyone’s.

“I brought you dinner, you didn’t join us.” I answered calmly although I sensed the bitter tone in his voice.

“What? Did ya expect me to join you after all that happened and play house?” He towered me, the moonlight iluminated his skin… he was so handsome, but also could be intimidating. I constantly felt intimidated, but there was just something to him that kept me going on.

“I… I never expected it, Daryl. Never wanted you to act as if nothing happened. I know how much effort you put on it.”

“Yeah… why did ya hid the fact the girl was there all that time? Why didn’t ya say anything about the barn?” By that time he knew none of us knew Sophia was there, but I got it. He was upset. He was upset with me, I never said anything about the barn. That was something I knew. Something I could have shared.

“I was scared, ok? My dad said to not tell a thing! Do you think I ever felt comfortable having them so close?” My voice tone got higher for the first time.

“Didn’t seem uncomfortable ta me.” His eyes burned into mine, eyes so gentle before seamed able to make a hole into my soul at any moment.

“I was! It was so difficult knowing my stepmother and stepbrother were there. I couldn’t do anything for them.” I still remembered the day we locked them there.

“Could’ve put an end on this for them.” It’s so easy to say it when you’re Daryl Dixon.

“Could I? You saw how I shoot, you saw how I hold a knife all kind of wrongs! Do you think I could have done that and survived?” Our chests were pretty much against each other and how we got this close is still a mystery to me.

I could listen to his breath, loud and raged. I felt his chest every time he breathed. His warm breath fanned over my face and his blue eyes that bored into my brown ones had something that I couldn’t read this time. Was it understanding? Defiance? There was something else in it. “Cath…” The nickname rolled easy from his tongue it was the first time he didn’t called me Catherine or any other silly nickname he decided to use.

“Yes?” I answered breathlessly, the air had been stolen from my lungs, my eyes glued to his face, descended to his lips, the same lips I had seen my name rolling from.

My lips were parted as if they seek for air, his eyes descended to them and in the next moment I understood that when my nickname left his lips, that was an alert, a warning. I wouldn’t listen to it anyways. His lips crashed against mine, fervent, urgent, a surprise I was willing to reciprocate. All those days feeling bothered, flustered… the attraction I felt for him finally having the upper hand.

When I hit my back against a tree, I noticed we had walked and now his body pressed me to it. The recipient with his food? I had no idea where I lost it. One of his hands laid on my waist while the other grabbed my thigh lifting my leg and pressing our centers together.

“Tell me ta stop… tell me…” His lips hovered mine, so close but stopping the kiss completely.

“Daryl… use me.” The words I never expected saying left my lips. “Do everything you want, use me as you wish…” I murmured feverishly, I would be lying if I said he was the only one that was going to use someone. I was also using him, at that moment I just wanted to forget. Forget everything that happened earlier, forget my dad had disappeared, forget the state Beth was in the moment and to begin with… forget how angry he was at me when that conversation began.

He crashed his lips against mine again, my back pressioned against the tree. My legs locked around his waist and his fingers burried in the flash of my thighs, his hands were warn against my skin my dress skirt rising up. I put my arms around his neck and my finger locked around his short hair.

We stopped the kiss, gasping for air, but not for too long. He walked with me on his arms taking me to his tent and laying on the cot, not very delicately I must say, but at that moment I didn’t mind. I needed him. Fast. Raw. Primal.

I kicked my boots the faster I could. He took off my dress urgently, his eyes popping when he noticed I didn’t wear a bra. I sensed he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He immediately mouthed one of my breasts, nibbling it and swirling his tongue around the erected nipple, I caressed the back of his head pressing his face more against me. “Oh, Daryl…” I moaned, as he bit my skin harshly. That would definitely leave a mark, thankfully a hidden one. He changed his attention to the other one, it was delicious.

When I said he could use me, I thought he would do it, think only about him, but here he was making me feel so good. Maybe, he needed this and I had told him to use me as he wished, hadn’t I?

I heard the noise of his belt being unbuckled and excitement rushed through me. His mouth left my skin and before I had the chance of doing anything, or taking a peak at his hard cock, he got me in a sitting position. He was on his knees, sitting on his legs, and me? Well, he lifted me to sit on him, his hand descended to my clothed pussy, the anticipation consuming me… He put my panties aside and positioned his cock with my entrance going all the way in in just one swift movement. A loud cry left my lips while he groaned, almost painfully.

“Ya okay?” He asked, talking for the first time since we started.

“Yeah, just keep going. I need this, we need this.” I was so full all at once that it felt a little overwhelming but that’s how it was supposed to be. That’s what I wanted to feel.

He helped moving me up and down on him, he trusting his hips against mine. My lips encountered his one more time, I could never get enough of it. Our kiss muffled his groans and my moans, his hand grabbed firmly on my waist and thigh, his fingers imprinting on my soul.

His mouth descended to my jaw, my neck and went back to my breasts where he got back to his earlier work. Definitely a tits man, or maybe just a man that knew how to appreciate a women’s body because the way he grabbed my thighs and ass… I continued pressing his face against my skin, my hand on his nape locked on his short hair while our hips moved frantically against each other making the most sinful sounds.

I was close, that coil was building in my lower stomach and my walls contracted around him. “Daryl… I’m close…” I felt it could be at any moment.

“Come on, kitten. Let it go… cum fer me.” He said by my ear when he raised his face.

I crumbled in one big electrifying wave, my hips moving aimlessly, my head thrown back as my body convulsed against his. His voice muffled by my excited brain that couldn’t focus on anything but pleasure. His cock twitched inside me and that moment as a device I clicked back to reality as he lifted my body and hot spurts of his spending painted our torsos. That was probably the hottest thing I ever saw.

When he seamed that be back at his senses, he looked at my body taking in the mess we had done, and as ‘mess’ it could have many different interpretations. What was he thinking about? It was so difficult to know, till he moved and his hand made it’s way up my body ‘cleaning’ the cum he had let printed on me, just shove 2 fingers inside my mouth… which I cleaned, no questioning, just savoring the salty flavor of his seed mixed with our sweats. I just accept whatever he wanted from me, I told him to use me. Didn’t I?

He took a rag from somewhere inside his tent and cleaned our bodies, silent, no words and no harshness. Very delicate if compared to the way he manhandled me to whatever he wanted. When he finished putting my dress again and dressing his pants, I started to look for my boots and was stopped by him.

“Stay.” He said, freezing me in place. Again he surprised me, I never expected he would want me to stay. I never took him for a bad person or a man that would just throw away the women he conquered, but I new he had his boundaries and I wasn’t really expecting for that. He wanted comfort.

“Ok.” I answered and stopped looking for my boots and started looking for the place where we’d lay to sleep.

Daryl Dixon never stopped to amaze me.

Wanna be added to my tag list? Let me know. (Please tell me if you want to be tagged on everything or just specific series)

Cathy Greene’s Taglist: @silentlysurffering98 @alyssaforevermore

Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325 @hayley1998 @vaniniweenie @cupidelocke @avabh12 @whore4romance @dixondystopia @dixons-sunshine @bigbaldheadname @negansbestie @gabriella-aesthetic @fluffy-dixon @lunajay33

[mawidixon]

"I will be your light in this cruel world"

Daryl x fem!reader

one-shot

Genre: fluff

Setting: Season 5 - Alexandria

Warnings: Twd violance (killing walkers and other stuff), swearing

Summary: Daryl never thought about marriage until he stumbled upon a beautiful ring in an abandoned jewelry store. From that moment, he put all his effort into making the engagement special.

A/N: I love that one-shot! I wanted to write Ink and Ashes first, but I just needed to write this!

@mawi22 I don't want my work to be modified, copied, or any of this kind of stuff without my consent!!!

It was one of those days when nothing seemed to happen and all the time was wasted. Daryl was on the run, alone because you were assisting Carol in cooking a meal for the rest of the people. To make matters worse, you had accidentally cut your leg while in the woods and you could not run in case of anything. Daryl, the hunter that he is, was now walking on a street that looked as if it had been abandoned. Attached to his belt were several rabbits that he had killed during the day.

The street was deserted; the closed shops bore testimony to what they used to be some time back. Cracked wooden panels and peeled paint spoke of a different reality that no longer existed. Daryl’s eyes shifted from one store to the other, the archer was ever vigilant. He was not only hunting for food but he was looking for anything that could be of use back in Alexandria.

He walked around each shop with purpose, looking for groceries, food tins, medicine, utensils, clothes, and other items. The rabbits followed the movements of the man, a small sign that he was successful in hunting. With every twist of the handle of a door and every crunch of his boots on the floor littered with debris, his senses were heightened. Daryl was determined; Alexandria required much more than food, and he aimed to make the people there as ready as they could be.

Soon, Daryl approached a destroyed jewelry store, its windows shattered and the door barely hanging on its hinges. With a cautious glance around, he pushed the door open, the jingle of a broken bell echoing eerily in the silence. Inside, the store was a chaotic mess, but remarkably, the displays of rings, necklaces, and other jewelry remained largely untouched. As he stepped further in, Daryl's eyes scanned the glittering pieces. Gold, silver, and other precious metals lay scattered about, some adorned with diamonds, others with various gemstones. The price tags, still attached, revealed their former value—these items had been incredibly expensive. In the old world, Daryl wouldn't have given them a second look, their opulence far removed from his everyday concerns. But now, in this new world where rules no longer applied, he could take whatever he wanted without consequence. Yet, the question lingered: what was the point?

Daryl continued his search, moving from display to display, his mind occupied with thoughts of Alexandria and the group. He checked behind counters, opened drawers, and scanned the room for anything useful. He was about to leave, dismissing the jewelry as unnecessary, when something caught his eye.

In a dusty display case near the back, a beautiful gold ring with a shiny sapphire gleamed faintly. The deep blue stone seemed to capture the dim light perfectly, drawing him closer. Daryl's thoughts immediately turned to you. He remembered the welcome party in Alexandria, how stunning you looked in that blue dress, the way it brought out the color in your eyes. The sapphire reminded him of that exact shade. He stood there for a moment, the ring in his hand, feeling an unexpected wave of sentimentality. In the chaos of their current lives, moments of normalcy and beauty were rare. This ring, this small token, could bring a bit of that back. He imagined your face lighting up when he gave it to you, a symbol of something good amidst the turmoil.

With a newfound resolve, Daryl slipped the ring into his pocket and left the store. The day, which had started as long and monotonous, had suddenly gained a new purpose. He continued his search of the abandoned street, but now with a hint of a smile, knowing he had found something special for you.

"I dun' know when to give 'er this ring," Daryl said, his rough voice barely a murmur as he twirled the sapphire ring between his fingers. The deep blue gem caught the light, casting small reflections on the walls of the dimly lit room.

Rick, leaning against the doorframe, glanced at the ring and then back at Daryl. "You've been together for a long time," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Maybe it's time to propose to her." Daryl shook his head, a mix of uncertainty and self-doubt clouding his usually stoic expression. "Nah, she gonna say no," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the ring. Rick stepped closer, his brows furrowing in concern. "Why do you think like that?" he asked. "She loves you, man. And you love her. What's the problem?"

Daryl let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It's jus'... things ain't never been normal for me, Rick. I ain't used to all this," he gestured vaguely with the ring, indicating the weight of emotions and commitments it represented. "What if I ain't good enough for 'er?" Rick's expression softened. He placed a reassuring hand on Daryl's shoulder. "Listen, we've all been through hell and back. None of us are the same as we were before all this. But what you have with her, that's real."

Daryl glanced up, meeting Rick's eyes. There was a flicker of hope in his otherwise guarded expression. "Ya really think she'd say yes?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Rick nodded firmly. "I do. She's stuck by you through everything, Daryl. That means something. She sees the good in you, even when you don't see it in yourself."

...

After that talk with Rick, Daryl began seriously thinking about how to propose. He knew it had to be perfect, something truly special. Unsure of how to go about it, he sought advice from Carol and a few others. Carol, always insightful and supportive, offered him some ideas and shared stories of heartfelt proposals she had witnessed.

With their guidance, Daryl finally crafted a plan. He remembered how much you loved daisy flowers, and he knew of a meadow not too far from Alexandria where plenty of daisies grew. It was a place you often spoke about with fondness, a reminder of simpler, happier times. He also knew the perfect spot to propose—a secluded lake nestled in the middle of the forest. This location held a special place in his heart, reminding him of your gentle touch and the soft kisses you often placed on his forehead. The tranquility and beauty of the lake made it the ideal setting for such an important moment.

Determined, Daryl set his plan into motion. He decided to tell you he had arranged a special date, something to brighten your spirits and provide a brief escape from the harsh realities of their world. On the day of the proposal, he rose early and made his way to the meadow. There, amidst the tall grass and wildflowers, he carefully picked a bouquet of the freshest, most beautiful daisies, picturing the delight on your face when you saw them.

"Y/N! You really dun' have to do make-up. Remember we're goin' to the forest," Daryl called out from behind the door, his voice carrying a mix of impatience and affectionate concern.

Inside the room, you were transforming yourself into a vision of beauty. With careful precision, you applied your makeup, enhancing your features with subtle touches. Your eyes sparkled with a hint of eyeliner, your lips a soft shade of pink. As you finished, you turned to the beautiful long white dress that Jessie had given you. The fabric was soft and flowed gracefully around you, hugging your figure perfectly and making you feel elegant and radiant.

You slipped into the dress, smoothing it down and twirling slightly to see how it moved. The dress was more than just clothing; it was a piece of the old world, a reminder of times when dressing up was a regular part of life. In this dress, you felt a connection to those memories, a sense of normalcy that was rare in these harsh times. True, you were heading into the forest where walkers could be lurking, but you felt confident. Your experiences had honed your survival skills, and you knew you could fight and run if necessary, even in a long dress. The dress might be unconventional for such an outing, but it made you feel special, and you wanted to hold onto that feeling.

You took a final look in the mirror, admiring the transformation. The long white dress accentuated your grace and poise, and the makeup highlighted your natural beauty. With a deep breath, you turned towards the door and opened it. Daryl stood there, his rugged features softening as he took in your appearance. His eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and admiration flickering across his face. He scratched the back of his head, looking a bit flustered.

"You look...amazing," he said, his voice sincere and a bit husky. "But you sure 'bout that dress? We might have to run."

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him. "I'm sure, Daryl."

Daryl chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, jus' stay close to me."

You nodded, and together you stepped outside. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over Alexandria, and the path to the forest beckoned. As you walked beside Daryl, the dress swaying with your movements, you felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. Whatever the day held, you were ready to face it, with Daryl by your side and a touch of elegance to remind you of the beauty still left in the world.

You had been walking for about ten minutes when you finally reached the place by the lake. The forest seemed to part just for you, revealing the serene expanse of water nestled among the trees. The wind gently swayed the leaves, creating a soothing rustling sound, and the lake's surface was calm, reflecting the late afternoon sky like a mirror. You and Daryl found a spot by the water's edge, where the grass was soft and inviting. As you sat down, you couldn't help but wonder if Daryl had scouted and cleaned up this area beforehand. There were no walkers in sight, save for maybe two or three in the far distance, making you feel surprisingly safe and at ease.

Settling onto the grass, you let out a contented sigh. The tranquility of the place was mesmerizing, and you felt a rare sense of peace wash over you. Daryl sat beside you, his presence warm and comforting. As you talked and laughed together, he reached out and rested his hand on your thigh, a simple gesture that always made you blush. His touch was gentle yet possessive, a silent reassurance of his affection. You glanced at him, catching the way he was looking at you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of admiration and tenderness that made your heart flutter. The intensity of his gaze left no doubt in your mind-Daryl adored you. Each look, each touch, spoke volumes of his love and devotion.

The conversation flowed easily between you, interspersed with moments of comfortable silence. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the lake and the surrounding trees. You leaned back on your hands, your dress spreading out around you like a halo, and took in the beauty of the scene. The soft hum of nature, the warmth of Daryl's hand on your thigh, and the serene ambiance of the lake combined to create a perfect moment. Daryl shifted slightly, and you turned to look at him again. He seemed a bit nervous, his usual calm demeanor tinged with something else. He took a deep breath, and you felt a sense of anticipation build.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and earnest. "There's somethin' I wanna ask" Your heart skipped a beat as you saw him reach into his pocket. The world seemed to slow down as he pulled out a small box and opened it to reveal a beautiful gold ring with a sparkling sapphire.

"Will ya marry me?" he asked, his voice filled with hope and love.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at the ring and then back at Daryl. This moment, in this beautiful place, was everything you had ever dreamed of. With a joyous smile and a heart full of love, you answered him.

"Yes!" you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and you both leaned in for a kiss, sealing the promise of a future together. The lake and the forest stood as silent witnesses to your love.

As you admired your new ring, you noticed Daryl seemed a bit uneasy. "You okay?" you asked, your voice filled with concern.

"Yeah...jus' I forgot 'bout..." he muttered, sighing heavily. You gave him a look that immediately coaxed the rest of his words out. "I wanted to give ya daisy flowers but I fuckin' forgot. 'M sorry," he admitted, his eyes dropping with a hint of regret.

Your face softened, and you laid a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You can give me them at home. There's nothing to be sorry for."

Just then, you both heard a cracking sound. Daryl immediately stood up, crossbow in hand, ready for action. Emerging from the trees were six walkers, their movements slow but menacing. Without hesitation, Daryl shot four of them with swift precision. You sprang to your feet, adrenaline coursing through you, and with swift, practiced movements, you took down the remaining two, leaving your dress and pretty face splattered with blood. Despite the gore, you smiled triumphantly. Daryl looked at your blood-stained dress and shook his head. "I could've shot them all, darlin'. No blood on your dress was needed."

You glanced at the lake and chuckled. "Maybe a quick bath?" you suggested, a mischievous glint in your eye. Looking at your future husband, you smirked and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him towards the water. "Come on!" With a playful laugh, you both stumbled into the lake, the cool water washing away the blood and grime. The sudden chill took your breath away, but the laughter and the joy of the moment kept you warm. You felt the weight of the world lift as you splashed around with Daryl, the man you loved.

The atmosphere was perfect, filled with laughter and light. You looked at Daryl, his hair wet and his eyes twinkling with happiness, and felt a surge of love and gratitude. This man, who had been through so much, was your friend, your partner, and soon, your husband.

As you floated together in the lake, the setting sun casting a golden hue over the water, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace. The feeling that you would soon be married to the man you loved filled you with joy. You knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

You are his light and hope for a better tomorrow.

[starlessea]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙙 [𝘿𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙡 𝘿𝙞𝙭𝙤𝙣 𝙓 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧]

Chapter 2: Wide-Eyed

Series Masterlist: The Ties That Mend

Summary: Three-hundred-and-ninety-six days after the outbreak, you are discovered in an abandoned community college, covered in filth and barely able to speak a word. Despite the showers (multiple) and rehabilitation attempts (also multiple), it's apparent that your mind is elsewhere. Beyond saving.

This new world is chaos, but you're lucky to find good people in it. More so than any is a man named Daryl, patient enough to let you put yourself back together—one stitch at a time.

Daryl had seen eyes like that only a few times before.

The first, he’d been seven-years-old, roaming the streets of Northern Georgia with his no-good brother. Their parents never did care a rat’s ass about where they ended up, and this time, they’d found themselves in the bad part of town. The epicentre of trouble. 

Merle had been hanging around some older boys back then, the type who got off on taunting his kid brother. Sneak up on the local kook, they’d told him. It’d be funny; he’d be a chicken if he didn’t. So Daryl—filled with a newfound sense of bravado—agreed, and dumped his can of orange Crush over some man too cracked out to notice.

Until he did.

The way the guy’s eyes popped open—bloodshot, bulging—was burned into Daryl’s memory. Even now, thirty-some years later, he could recount them in astounding detail. They were the same shell-shocked eyes as those nasty bastards his daddy used to hang about. The ones hardened by their daddies and so on. 

They were eyes Daryl saw far more often these days. Came across them in the fleeting glances of their ragtag community—from the stragglers of Woodberry to the drifters that had no place else in the world. After a few weeks of decent meals, sleep, and a safe place to shit, most of them lost that look. Replaced it with all sorts of stuff he didn’t really care for.

But most recently, Daryl had found it again, stamped onto the face of Glenn’s newest rescue. Whilst he’d pitied you at first, shaking like a newborn gazelle on Carol’s arm, that pity quickly morphed into something colder.

Catching your eyes, Daryl suddenly felt seven-years-old again. It wasn’t a passing thing, that look, nor did it mask something deeper. It was simply a fixture of your face. The result of whatever shit storm you’d endured.

Even with all the time in the world, Daryl wasn’t sure you’d ever shake it.

“Man, I’m telling you. Shit felt like The Shining—” 

A voice drags Daryl back into the room. Around him, a group had gathered in their usual corner, chairs pulled together in a circle. Bob has the floor, soaking in the attention as he recounts an abridged version of the day’s events. 

He’s new, too, and Daryl hadn’t taken to him yet. 

“—Glenn will tell you. Suddenly, she’s staring at us with those big bug eyes,” Bob goes on, bringing his pointer fingers to his face. “Kept getting wider by the second.”

Across from him, Glenn shifts uncomfortably. “It wasn’t that bad,” he retorts. “She’s not deranged just because she doesn't blink much.”

Daryl feels himself scowl. He’s got his back against the stone, arms crossed as he watches the exchange. He doesn’t usually involve himself in these little powwows, but something about this one is wearing his patience thin.

“Fifteen times,” he gruffs. Eyes turn to him as he pushes off the wall. “Tha’s how much most folks blink in a minute—fifteen.” 

Daryl moves in closer, stopping just short of the circle before shaking his head. “She blinked once in three.”

The chatter is replaced by silence, thick and uneasy.

“I’ve seen people like that,” Bob says after a moment. His voice is more subdued now, like he's been grounded back to that floor and not the pedestal he'd been put on. “Usually, it’s on their way back from war.”

The words hit hard. For once, Daryl finds himself agreeing. There was something about you, something off that made him feel like a kid again, standing in the shadow of a stranger’s unpredictability. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Wha’ever shit went down there,” he says, “ya can bet yer ass it weren’t pretty.”

“It wasn’t,” Glenn confirms.

His tone leaves no room for elaboration. 

At the other side of the room, Rick, who—like Daryl—had been doing his utmost to not get involved, straightens. “Glenn, brother,” he starts, “I know you mean well, but do you think she’s—” 

Rick doesn’t say it, but Daryl can hear it in the silence. They all can.

Beyond saving.

Carol clears her throat. “A bit of a feral cat,” she adds, after a beat. 

It’s a poor attempt to lighten the mood; no one laughs. Least amused is Glenn, who rakes a hand through his hair before letting out a hefty sigh. “What was I meant to do, just leave her there?” 

He doesn’t aim the question, but the lack of response only urges him on.

“You didn’t see it—that place was hell.” His voice tightens, the day’s frustrations bleeding through. “Not everyone’s lucky enough to have someone to pull them out of it. That could’ve been me, or you, or any one of us.”

The group slinks back as Glenn gestures around, trying not to let themselves land at the end of his pointer finger. 

Michonne—who’s been sitting quietly at the edge of the group until now—finally speaks. “Give her time,” she says simply. Her words are directed at no one in particular, but carry the kind of weight that can’t be disputed.

Daryl glances at her, and for a brief moment, their eyes meet. 

He’s come to appreciate Michonne; her short replies made life easier in the months they’d spent tracking the Governor. She never wasted breath on stuff that didn’t matter.

She has a point now, too. You hadn’t been here long—a couple hours at most. Hell, Daryl had taken longer naps. And it’s not like you were going anywhere. Not on those weak knees. 

For the time being, Cell Block D was the best place for you. It was the only one still needing repairs, a little dingy and a whole lot of space, which worked out fine. You likely wouldn’t cope well in the ones filled with people.

That’s why Daryl slept in Block D, too.

In the minutes that follow, an air of deliberation settles over the group. It’s an uncomfortable sort of quiet, with everyone seeming to retreat into their own thoughts. Daryl considers leaving; he’s got plenty to be getting on with. In truth, he’s not sure how he ended up here in the first place. But before he can make it across the room, he crosses paths with Maggie, coming in like a storm through the main entrance.

She looks dishevelled: her shoulders rounded and tiredness evident in the contours of her face. Sidestepping Daryl, she picks out Rick in the crowd. She shakes her head at him. “That pregnant lady in Block E is having trouble again,” she says, “My daddy’s gonna keep an eye on her tonight. Beth too.”

She takes a moment to flatten her hair, willing the stray strands into submission.

“They’ll come see the new girl in the morning,” she explains. Then, with a sidelong glance toward Glenn, asks, “What’d you call her again—loony bin?”

Glenn cringes. He reiterates your name, which he’d likely pried from you earlier in the truck. 

The sound of it takes Daryl by surprise. It’s a pretty name—one he’d never pin to you. He almost wonders if hearing it can give him a glimpse into your past, at the person you used to be. But then again, not everyone suits their name. Perhaps you never had.

“Well…” says Rick, more decisive now, “let’s get ‘er to eat in the meantime.” He stands to dust off his jeans. “Or clean up.”

There’s a collective murmur of agreement, and almost immediately, the group starts to disperse. Daryl’s first to move, but Carol catches his arm before he can make it out the door.

He throws an annoyed glance back at her.

There's an apron tied around her waist; Michonne had brought it back from some tacky gift shop they’d raided not long ago. The fabric was already stained—the pattern made dull from hard work. Carol was on cooking duty again; Daryl knew because he unintentionally looked forward to those days. 

“Any chance you could get something for her?” she asks, gesturing to the crossbow over his back. “Fresh?”

There’s hesitation in her voice, her lips pressed together like she’s bracing for something.

Daryl raises an eyebrow. “Sure. Ya want ribeye or sirloin?”

Carol bats him lightly across the shoulder. Then she offers him a small smile—one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Daryl dislikes it.

“She’s just so skinny,” she eventually says. That teasing tone he’d grown to expect is gone now, replaced by something more serious. “I lifted her, and—well, it was like lifting Sophia.”

The name lands like a stone. Daryl stills, his jaw setting. 

“I’ll find something,” he mutters.

Carol nods, sending him off with a small ‘thank you’. 

Daryl readies his crossbow and hunting gear before heading out into the yard. It’s bustling, as it always is these days—children weaving around him, adults trying to strike up conversation. He shuts them down with a look that says he could care less for chit-chat right now. There’s too many of them for him to handle.

Already got another damn mouth to feed.

He has half a mind to turn around, but Carol’s words propel him forward, clinging to the back of his mind like burrs.

He'll find something.

—

The cropped-haired woman comes to collect you at dinner. 

She tells you her name is Carol, and that she has something special prepared for you. Her tone is light, airing on excitement as she helps you along the metal catwalk and down the stairs. It’s an easy, practiced motion—her arm brushing against yours. But with each stroke, you feel it: that itch in your chest. 

You’ve never been fond of surprises. In fact, you hated them. The uncertainty, the lack of control, the unfamiliarity of this place… Every step tightens the grip around your lungs.

Breathe, you remind yourself. In. Out.

Carol notices the shift in your demeanor, must feel it in the stiffness of your shoulders. So she opts for distraction. As the two of you walk arm-in-arm, she attempts to fill the space between you with reassurance—even if it doesn’t quite reach you. 

She details life at the prison—everything they’ve worked towards in the last few months—and the other refugees who now called this place home. There's a semblance of stability behind her eyes as she recounts it all. “We’ve come a long way,” she says. “It’s been hard, but we’re getting there. You’ll see.” 

You want to believe it; you almost do. But talk of warm-water showers, birthday celebrations, and even tending to livestock leaves you doubtful. It’s too reminiscent of life before everything fell apart. 

There had to be a catch. There’s always a catch. 

Whatever it is, Carol doesn’t let on. But you’re not convinced she believes the narrative she’s selling, either. She won’t say it, but you can hear it in the pauses. It’s something you’ll have to decipher for yourself.

When the two of you pass a mirror at the end of the hall, your step falters. 

Who is that?

You recognise Carol, of course. Her face is familiar enough, grey hair catching the light like silver, but the one beside her���you—is someone else entirely. Your throat tightens as you take in the face staring back at you. 

That’s not you; it can’t be.

When had you become this gaunt—this filthy? 

Your cheeks are hollowed out, their colour lost entirely. The lips below are dry and cracked. Whatever was on your head, you could no longer call it hair. It was a matted thing that trailed like rope to the backs of your knees. 

Staring into the mirror, you find nothing of yourself in that reflection. Everything you’d ever thought endearing, gone. Even your voice is not as it was. You doubt it could still carry a tune. 

It’s all too much. The sight of yourself—the thing claiming to be yourself—triggers emotions you hadn’t encountered in quite some time. Before you can stop it, your eyes are burning.

You fight the sensation. Squashing it down to the depths, you stamp it dead. You can’t afford to break now. Not here. Not in front of her.

“Come on,” Carol says gently, nudging you away from the mirror. 

Could she feel it? The way your heart jumped in your chest—how your legs threatened to give way? 

You try not to think on it. Instead, you nod.

Once you reach the communal area of the cell block, you’re escorted to the same dilapidated table you’d noted earlier. People are still gathered there—some you recognise, others not. They don’t stare outright, but you feel their eyes. You begin to tremble in response, as though your body is trying to shake them off. Wordlessly, you let Carol guide you to your spot.

A plate is already set in front of you. There’s meat on it; you're told it’s rabbit. One look, and you’re reminded of the bunny you raised as a kid—a fluffy white thing, pure as snow. It was decapitated by the neighborhood fox one evening. You never did find it's head. At the thought, nausea grows within you, but like everything else, you push it down. 

No one else is eating, you notice. You’re aware that you’re likely turning their stomachs just sitting here. The word ‘shower’ had been thrown in your direction more times than you could count, but nobody had followed through with the threat—yet. Instead, you are offered a bucket of water to rinse your hands. It turns brown from just a few passes.

“Thought you could use some meat on those bones,” Carol quips, the words blunt but not unkind. “Daryl caught it fresh.” She then gestures for you to take a bite, to eat rather than stare.

You nod. Stowing your hatchet safely on a nearby seat—you had refused to leave it in the cell—you reach for the cutlery laid out on the table. There’s a knife and an odd spork-like utensil. They seem intentionally blunt, and in your hands, too, they don’t properly fit. 

It’s been far too long. How did you use these, again?

With each stroke of the knife, your anxiety mounts. You can’t seem to get a clean cut. The meat is sinewy, too alive—nothing like the canned mush you’d survived on for the last year. It takes everything in you to keep the tremors from taking over, to keep your hands steady enough to continue.

As you poke about the rabbit on your plate, a woman who introduces herself as Maggie strikes up a conversation. “The old community college, huh?” she asks, in spite of cautionary glances. “My sister used to go some weekends. Probably finger paintin’ or singing kumbaya,” she adds. 

You catch the playful hint in her tone, and when she laughs, it’s a sound you’re not sure you remember how to respond to. It’s pretty—the kind that’s easy, like it hasn’t been twisted by everything bad. 

“Did you start there, or just end up there?” she asks, casually.

“St—started,” you manage. You’re not sure she hears you, but she leans in, trying to catch the words.

“Hmm?” 

“Started,” you repeat, louder, though it feels like a strain.

Beside Maggie, a darker, leaner woman shoots her a look. “Let the girl eat,” she says. There’s something practiced about the way she carries herself. You sense she’s the type not to pry, and you’re thankful for that. Her kind are few and far between. 

"You're right, Michonne," replies Maggie, and with her answer, you learn another name.

Despite the warning, a boy, not even in his teens, lingers near the table. You’d noticed him earlier, coated in a sort of pessimism unsuited to his age. “Were there a lotta walkers?” he blurts. He’s wearing a sheriff’s hat—one he hasn’t quite grown into—and is eyeing you from under its rim. “My dad said the worst place to be is somewhere like that. Bet there were a bunch of people during the outbreak.” 

The leader of the group, Rick, flicks his hat in warning. But it’s too late—the question’s out. Your stomach twists again as you focus on the meat, trying to chew through the knot forming in your throat.

Across from you, your eyes meet Glenn's. He’s the only one here who saw it: the halls rotting with bodies, the blood-soaked floors. Even then, he still doesn’t know the full extent. 

And what would he do if he did know? If he found out what happened there—what you did? Would he have brought you back?

Your mind starts to spiral. You shove a piece of the rabbit into your mouth, hoping to distract yourself. It goes down like tar. Your hands are shaking now, clattering the mismatched cutlery against your plate. No matter how hard you try,  you can’t prevent the shudder that rips through your body.

Carol, tempered by concern, leans in. “Did you get separated from your group?” she asks gently. “Is there anyone—”

Before she can finish, Daryl speaks up. “Would y’all quit it?” he says, his eyes flicking from Carol to the others. The gruffness of his voice stands in complete opposition to their concern. “Yer givin’ me indigestion and I ain’t even eatin’.”

For a moment, all attention is directed away from you and onto him. You’re grateful for the space it grants you—no matter how small. The next breath you take is intentionally drawn.

“I—” you lock eyes with Daryl, hoping to convey your gratitude. Instead, something else makes its way to the surface. “I’m going to be sick,” you announce.

There’s no time to stop it. The first to react, Michonne dumps the bucket of water out over the floor. You can’t hold it in anymore. Your head falls into it just in time to let the bile spill out. It’s a pitiful sort of retching. There’s no vomit; your stomach is too empty to give up anything more.

Behind you, someone rubs your back. You don't know who, but their cool hands are a welcomed reprieve to the clamminess of your skin. Your body betrays your mind as you instinctively arch into them. It’s only for a split second, before you pull away.

What have you done?

Head emerging from the bucket, you force yourself to look up. There are eyes on you again, more persistent than before. And in them, you see it, the swell of emotions:

Pity. Annoyance. Indifference. Disgust—

Your chair screeches against the floor as you dart out of it. You leave the table smelling even worse than before.

—

It’s mid-evening when Daryl catches sight of you again, scurrying along the catwalk to your cell. 

You’re still a mess, though slightly improved since dinner. He takes a passing look. You haven’t bathed yet—probably still shaken by that whole interrogation—but there’s something less rabid about you now. Your hair, still a matted mess, is pushed behind your ears, and you’re wearing an odd ensemble: jeans far too big for you and a shirt likely belonging to Glenn. They were clean, at least.

Daryl crosses you without a word. Tired eyes and heavy steps, he’s hell-bent on returning to his own cell for the night. He’s halfway down the catwalk, hand on the door, when he registers it. A voice, barely above a whisper:

“D—Daryl?” 

He stops upon hearing his name. Turning, he finds you right behind him—staring up with that wide-eyed expression.

He tries not to flinch. When the hell had you gotten there? You were just… 

Daryl’s gaze drops instinctively. Bare feet. That’s why you hadn’t made a sound. 

“—m sorry about the food.” 

He tunes in to your words. They’re coming out too haltingly, too polite for the situation. 

Daryl doesn’t know how to respond. Eat the food, don’t eat the food. Normally, he wouldn’t care. But something about the way you say it—so fragile, so damn apologetic—leaves him grasping at straws. He’s not good at this, never has been.

You keep going nonetheless. “It wouldn’t stay down... I’m sorry to w—waste it.”

A nervous stammer creeps into your words, and with it, fans Daryl’s agitation. He wants to bite back. To let you know he’s got better things to do than watch you throw up food he went out of his way to catch. But something inside of him chooses restraint.

You’re teetering on the edge; everyone within a five-foot radius can see it. And when he looks at you, for some reason, his mind deciphers it as fear. He’s just unsure whether it’s the fear of breaking you, or the fear of what you’ll do if broken. 

He shrugs his shoulders. “Mm,” he mutters. “Don’ matter. Can always get s’more.”

You don’t say anything after that. The silence hangs between you, heavy and awkward. Daryl shifts on his feet, mapping out the route back to his bed, and how quick he can get there.

“Jus’ eat the next one, a’right?” he says, with finality.

You nod, your gaze not lifting from the floor. “Goodnight.” 

“Night,” Daryl mutters back. Then he watches you disappear into the darkness of your cell, waiting for the clink as you lock it shut.

But it’s not a good night. 

It starts a few hours after they all turn in. Daryl bolts upright at the curdling scream ripping through the air. His heart slams against his chest, and instinct kicks in. He’s already got his crossbow in his hands before the panic can register.

Torchlight flickers along the catwalk as the others begin to scramble awake. There’s a cacophony of voices, footsteps on metal, guns cocking, and Rick barking orders as he joins Daryl to locate the source.

The sound echoes again. It’s coming from your cell, a god-awful shrieking that has him preparing for the worst. Rick’s master key turns in the lock, and the door swings open.

Daryl steps in behind him, crossbow aimed high as he searches for walkers—hell, for anything that could warrant those screams of utter terror. His heart pounds in his ears as he sweeps the room.

There’s nothing. No threat—no you. 

A flashlight shines over your cot, but it’s empty. Daryl follows the edges of the light,into the shadows and all four corners of the room. He finds you in one of them, curled up in a ball, rocking on the soles of your feet.

He gestures to Rick, who—spotting you there—lowers his gun. “Hey,” he says, with a tone like he’s negotiating you off a high-rise building. “Hey, it’s okay.” 

There’s no response. Your head is buried in your knees, arms wrapped around your legs as you sit twisted in blankets. The shrieking has stopped now, but your silence, Daryl finds, is far more unsettling.

Rick steps aside, exchanging a glance with Daryl. It’s a subtle signal for him to take the lead. He’d rather not, but it’s Rick, so he listens.

Lowering his crossbow, he edges forward. “C’mon, snap outta it,” he growls. The cut of his voice makes him cringe; he’s never been good with words.

When you don’t react, Daryl tries again—a little closer this time. His hand reaches for your shoulder despite his better judgement. 

A switch flips the second he touches you. Without warning, your arm shoots out, a blur of motion that sends your hatchet swinging wildly. The instinct to defend yourself—to fight—is so ingrained that it comes as natural as a breath. 

Daryl barely manages to dodge the assault. He pivots back, feeling the blade against strands of his hair. Then, as quick as it started, it's over.

You're looking at him now—not through him. Sweat is beading on your face, running down your cheeks like tears. Daryl knows better than to wipe it. As he stands out of his crouch, realisation flashes behind those massive eyes of yours. 

“God—I’m sorry,” you gasp, breath ragged. “I’m so sorry... I thought you were—” You don’t finish. You don’t have to. He knows. Everyone knows exactly what you thought you were seeing.

Rick let's out a sigh: half relief, half exhaustion. He throws a backwards glance at the gathering crowd, raising one hand in a calm gesture. “Go on,” he says to them, “back to bed.”

Daryl hears their protests. It's understandable; they'd raced from their rooms only to find the source of the threat was some raging loon having a nightmare—as harsh as it sounded.

“You gave us quite the fright there,” Rick continues, turning his attention back to you. At this moment, he's demonstrating more tact than he shows his own children. “Do you need someone to stay with you?”

You shake your head, barely lifting your eyes. “No.”

Rick shifts his weight, searching for something else to say. He doesn't believe you, Daryl can tell by his stance. But that's not his problem.

By now, Daryl had already retreated to the door, watching you from a safe distance in the dim light. He’s seen this in people before—the way the world cracks them open like an egg. It’s never pretty. And it would have been less pretty if he'd been standing just a half-step closer to you.

“Well, if ya do,” Daryl says, his voice still edged with sleep, “it ain’t gonna be me. I wanna keep my head.”

The words come out harsher than he intends, but he doesn’t care enough to fix them. He’s tired, irritable, and the way you can’t meet his eye right now is getting under his skin. So Daryl steps back into the corridor, leaving Rick alone to deal with you.

His cell isn't the same as it was a-half-hour ago. It looks the same, doesn't feel it. It's quiet, but in his mind, that scream still rings like an alarm he can't shut off. On his cot, too, he fights with the covers. They're everywhere—too hot, too stifling. Too reminiscent of your emaciated body, tangled in bedsheets as you looked to Daryl for answers.

And he'd just left you there: wide-eyed and afraid.

Daryl doesn’t sleep that night.

Neither do you.

A/N Merry Christmas and happy holidays, lovers! I hope you've had a good one. I have eaten such ungodly amounts of cheese. That said, enjoy this lil gift from me. I busted my balls to get it out today - alternating between stuffing me face and putting words on the page. So do let me know if you like it! I also hope the change in POV isn't too confusing. I want to tell this story from both of their perspectives, since reader is a little bit of an unreliable narrator haha. Enjoyyyy x

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

Famous Last Words

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

Summary: She'll never let him believe he isn't loved, even when he doesn't deserve it.

TW: None.

“Be careful. I love you”

She hears the snort of derision he lets out and resists the urge to roll her eyes at him lest she makes things worse. He’s like a cornered animal when he’s upset, all consuming anger to cover the vulnerability he doesn’t want to acknowledge exists. She’s worried the wrong move will make him tell her to ‘fuck off an’ then fuck off som’ more’ like he had the night before.

“Though’ ya were mad at me” He grunts, scuffing the toe of his boot in the pebble-dashed dirt, other leg poised to keep moving further away from her and closer to the run he’s supposed to be going on.

“I am mad at you, you’re mad at me too” She raises an eyebrow before scanning her eyes down, taking note of the way he’s picking at the skin of his thumb; a nervous habit he’s had the whole time she’s known him. He’s nervous, as if one fight will make her leave him, as if she’s going to suddenly realise he isn’t worth the effort. She huffs a small, understanding smile at him “I still love you, and I’m never going to risk that not being the last thing you hear me say”

He pauses at the gate, tilts his head to the side and looks at her properly, sees the way she’s looking at him wide eyed and concerned, the way her shoulders are tense. Whenever they fight he convinces himself he’s being left, talks himself into thinking she doesn’t care and here she is, mad at him, fighting with him and still refusing to let him believe she doesn’t whilst being scared he won’t come back for different reasons.

He strides forward suddenly, twisting his body to close the gap between them and slings an arm around her shoulder, bringing her in to press his lips to the top of her head. He lingers, lips against the hair he loves so much.

“I love ya”

“Be careful. I love you” She repeats, knowing the words have sunk in when he raises one side of a lip fleetingly before opening the clanking metal chain.

-

It was a stupid fight, in hindsight, the kind they probably wouldn’t have if anyone had eaten a full meal for dinner rather than whatever percentage of rabbit there was split between twelve people. Or maybe they would, because they could have twelve rabbits and Daryl would still give his up for someone else, and it would infuriate her just the same that he sacrifices his own wellbeing for them at every opportunity. She suspects it’s only half about taking care of others, and maybe a solid thirty percent just not thinking he deserves care; the other twenty percent she is entirely unwilling to examine.

It was a fight though, one that ought to have been kinder than it was. One that she wishes she could have kept her cool in, but she’ll be fucked if Daryl is the only one who gets to be angry. She stews on it, sitting perched on the solid prison cot, playing it over and over in her mind until she hears heavy footsteps outside the makeshift door. She’d recognise them anywhere, his distinctive gait and well-worn shoes that always scrape on the second step when he’s not trying to sneak. The consideration, even in his unconscious actions, is part of the reason she loves him as fiercely as she does.

She doesn’t get up, doesn’t allow herself to follow the overwhelming urge to rush towards him when he opens the bars and lifts aside the curtain. He bites the inside of his lip.

“’M sorry”

“Me too”

She moves then, coming to a stop in front of him to run her hands over the solid muscles under his shirt, checking him for cuts and scrapes, feels him exhale underneath her palms. He’s always taken by the act, no matter how long they’ve been together or how often he goes out. He remains captured by the tenderness and care she bestows upon him. He is, still, so unused to the kindness, so out of depth when the only gentleness he’s known has been a cover for malice, false sense of security so quickly followed by pain.

“Ain’t sure what I did t’ deserve ya love” He mumbles into the same spot on the crown of her head. The spot he kisses when he fucks her, the place his chin rests when he hugs her after a long day, the spot he’d patted condescendingly when he was too embarrassed to admit he liked her but needed an excuse to make contact.

Finally, after almost twenty four hours of not making contact, at least twenty three too long, she kisses him, presses her lips firmly to his, relishing the way he instantly responds. When she pulls away it’s with a smile, an always fucking present smile he’ll never get enough of, the smile that’s his.

“You don’t have to deserve it, you don’t have to earn it, its just there”

He eats more that night, sitting by the fire running a thumb soothingly on her knee as he takes a well earned swig from a bottle of water. He wants her to see it, wants her to know he's trying; and if he has to trick himself into it by thinking it's for her, caring for himself because she needs him to, then it'll have to do for now.

[bambieyedoll]

⊹ ⋆ ꒰ఎﾟMOODBOARD ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

daryl dixon x secret!reader

“we’ve talked about this, doll” he stated while caressing your soft hair affectionately. “i’m keepin’ ya safe, the world is fucked up out there” daryl explained and you sighed in defeat, cuddling up against his chest. the candle light illuminated the bedroom in the safety of the hidden house he kept you in. the idea of going out without him terrified you so eventually, you gave up asking. after all, he wouldn’t lie to you, would he?