#Dixon

[banshees-martin]

HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM HIM

( not mine from pinterest!)

[sam11115]

I just want to give him a hug 😭

[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.”

-

[e-m-christina]

Daryl Dixon's Kinks Would Include (NSFW)

Guess who is posting after a century? Anyway I thought I would give the Daryl girlie's some content! Also who has watched the new show?

WARNINGS: 🔞

Date posted: 11/11/23

MASTERLIST

Bondage - that man is skilled with ropes and knots, so you can be assured he likes to incorporate that in his intimate life. He prefers seeing you all tied up, the way the rough ropes squeeze around your tender flesh drives him wild. Though he wouldn't be against being tied up himself if he trusted you enough.

Biting / Marking - Daryl loves to leave a mark. Seeing your neck and soft skin covered in red marks from where he sunk his teeth in made his heart pump. He wanted everyone to know you belonged to him, and since he isn't one much for talking, leaving marks for everyone to see was the perfect solution. (Though he does not like spanking/whipping/hitting becuase of his past and he does not want to unintentionally hurt you).

Submissive vs Dominant - He's a switch, no doubt about it. He loves to dominate you, and feel you squirm underneath him as he ravages your body. When he's like this all he wants to do is fuck the living lights out of you, and make you know that you are his. Yet sometimes, he likes to watch you take control, and feel himself be used by you - it really depended on his mood.

Quicky's - Don't get me wrong, he loves taking the time to make you feel good, and be intimate but often on busy days there isn't the time to do that. But he he always tries to fit in a quicky in between missions - he would go insane if he would have to wait so long in-between otherwise. He loves the frantic, fast pace of quicky's. The slapping of skin-on-skin would ring through his ears for hours after, making him crave more.

----

Hey guys, it was a short one today! But you can check out my other TWD work (finished + upcoming) on my MASTERLIST

Thanks for reading!

[ihaveabuckyproblem]

My Woman | D.D.

Summary: Everyone knew that you and Daryl were together. That doesn’t stop the new group member from shooting his shot, maybe a little too aggressively, and Daryl isn’t happy about it.

Warnings: protective!Daryl, fem reader, swearing, threats, angst, unwanted touching, suggestive talk at the end, etc.

~

No one thinks that they’ll find love at the end of the world. Especially Daryl Dixon, of all people. That is… until you.

Daryl was a hard shell of a man with a heart bigger than anyone you had ever met. The day Michonne and Maggie came back from a supply run with another figure behind them, everyone was surprised. No one had been brought back to Alexandria in so long. This resulted in people concluding that they were the only people left in the area.

Daryl was the one to open the gate to allow the three women back into the gated community. Besides from Michonne and Maggie, Daryl was the first member of the community you laid your eyes on. He scared you, he scared you for a long time. There was a while after settling into your new home that you were scared to leave your home. You had lost everything and everyone- you had been alone for so long. It was almost as if you didn’t know how to be apart of a group anymore.

Looking back on those memories now still makes you laugh to this day. To say you’ve grown as a person is an understatement- you changed. You weren’t a scared woman anymore who couldn’t even make eye contact. You were better, healthier, and bolder.

You were officially introduced to Daryl through Rick. Daryl didn’t say much, simply grunted as an acknowledgement to your greeting. It pained you- you knew everyone saw you as weak. But, despite the bad first impression, something about you sparked Daryl’s interest.

So, he started coming around more. Some days he would even sit on the porch with you and talk about the past. He found himself opening up to you about things he hadn’t even told Carol, and you soon understood his rough exterior.

Now, 2 years later, that same man allows you to put his hair in a ponytail and loves to make you breakfast. No one would have expected Daryl to be this soft for a person, but he was for you. He loved you more than he ever remembered loving anyone.

“He’s starin’ again.”

Daryl’s gruff voice brought you out of your thoughts. You weren’t sure as to what he was talking about.

The small fire you and the group were sitting around illuminated the features of everyone around you. You looked up, trying to see who Daryl was talking about, only to immediately lock eyes with Tyler. You instantly regretted ever looking.

You looked away fast. Daryl’s hands tightened around your waist- he was burning holes in Tyler’s direction. The two didn’t like each other for two simple reasons: Daryl had you, and Tyler wanted you.

It was uncomfortable to be under another male gaze. It made you shiver in your skin and adjust yourself uncomfortably in Daryl’s lap.

“Leave it alone, Daryl.” You whispered softly to him, placing your hand over his. Daryl was tense, that’s for sure. Tyler had stopped looking after noticing Daryl shooting daggers in his direction.

“Nah, he’s gon’ learn.” Daryl speaks, finally tearing his eyes away from the younger male and looking at you. You were only inches from Daryl’s face, locking eyes with him through his bangs. You couldn’t help the smile that crawled into your lips.

“You’ve got me, baby. He’s nothing,” you reassured knowing that was what Daryl needed. Tyler glanced over at the couple and grimaced, not liking how close they were.

“Damn right,”

You giggled and placed a soft, quick kiss on his forehead. Daryl leaned into it, grunting.

The night drew on, everyone sitting and laughing around the fire as if there wasn’t a problem in the world. Daryl loosened up a bit after a while, soaking in your scent. He talked to Rick while you listened in and even added to the conversation here and there. You weren’t one for conversation, so they didn’t mind when you would speak up.

But, again, you felt eyes burning holes into your head. You knew you shouldn’t look, but you did anyway. Tyler’s eyes met yours when he noticed you looking, but he looked away quickly. You huffed in annoyance, not appreciating the extra attention.

“You alright?” Daryl questions, feeling your sigh. You were quick to plaster a smile on your face as if nothing had happened, standing up from his lap.

“Yes, everything’s fine.” You said softly to him, “It’s cold, I’m going to go grab a blanket real fast.”

You weren’t entirely lying. It was a chilly night and the fire wasn’t emitting as much heat as you liked. But, deep down, you really just needed break from Tyler’s gaze.

“Alright,” Daryl nodded, letting go of your hand. You smiled at him and made your way to the house which, thankfully, wasn’t far. Everyone was out by the fire so no one thought much of your absence.

It didn’t take you long for you to walk into the house and grab a blanket from off the couch. While you were in there, though, you went ahead and got a cup of water for your unusually dry throat.

Gulping down the refreshing liquid, you heard the front door open. You weren’t worried, though, figuring someone needed to use the bathroom.

When you didn’t hear the door close, though, you turned around. You were undeniably uneasy when you saw Tyler standing there, the front door slightly cracked behind him, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet like he had something to say but didn’t know how to say it. You were confused, giving him a weird look as you placed your glass on the counter in-front of you.

“Um.. hey,” you spoke, obviously weirded out, “Do you need something?”

“I’m just trying to understand something..” Tyler starts to speak boldly, taking you by surprise how blunt he was being, “What do you see in him?”

You blinked and furrowed your eyebrows. Was he serious?

“Excuse me?” You scoffed, resting your hands on the counter.

“You know what I’m talking about, Y/N,” he said confidently, stepping closer, “The guy doesn’t even shower. What is so special about him?”

You didn’t appreciate your love for Daryl being questioned or your intentions.

“I’m not talking with you about this,” you speak quickly, grabbing the blanket you came for, “I don’t owe you shit.”

You went to walk past him, hoping he would catch the drift and drop it. Hopefully never even talk to you again. But, those dreams were shattered when he grabbed your wrist aggressively.

“Don’t walk away from me, Y/N.” He spoke lowly, it almost frightened you, “I think you’re trying to leave cause you know I’m right. He’s not good enough for you.”

“Tyler, if you don’t let me go, I’m going to break your arm.” You spat, not letting your nervousness get the best of you. He only tightened his grip, looking between you and his hand on your wrist, almost debating what he wanted to do.

“She said let go, you hard of hearin’?”

Daryl. He had seen it all, standing outside the door listening before making his way into the house. He grew concerned when he saw Tyler get up and leave the fire and wanted to make sure you were okay. Clearly, his fears were justified.

Tyler’s eyes widened at the sight of Daryl. He immediately dropped your wrist, letting you go as if you were fire and had burned him. He started backing away, hands up in defense.

“W-We were just talking, man.” Tyler stuttered out nervously. Daryl looked at you and you gave him a look telling him how uncomfortable you were. He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side before looking back to Tyler.

“Tell ya what,” Daryl speaks, “If I ever find ya even talkin’ to her again, I’ll blow yer fuckin’ brains out.”

Tyler looked like he was ready to piss himself. He nodded in agreement aggressively, ready to leave the tense situation. But, as he went to leave the room, Daryl grabbed him by the arm.

“And if I ever see ya touch my woman again, I’ll make ya cry for yer mama before I let the walkers have ya.”

That was enough for Tyler. He bolted out the door, making you laugh. Daryl had an amused smirk on his face, knowing you got a kick out of that.

“My hero.” You joked, leaning up to catch Daryl’s lips in yours. He grunted against your kiss and held onto your hips, pulling you into his front. You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Your hands tugged at his hair as he deepened the kiss, putting his hand on the small of your back to keep you upright and pressed against him.

Daryl felt his jeans tightening by the second, so he knew you could feel him hardening against you.

Pulling away, you smiled at him, biting your bottom lip.

“Wanna take this upstairs?” You suggested, bringing your hands to play with the hem of his shirt.

“Hell yea.”

[xsolaresx]

daryl dixon.: love goes through the fire

pairings: daryl dixon x fem! reader wife!

summary: after being kidnapped and tortured by Negan, the reader does everything she can to make Daryl feel better.

warnings: angst! sad! graphic description of Glenn and Abraham's death! mention of torture! only depression from here on!

word count: 3,9k

Author @xsolaresx  

notes: English is not my first language, so there may be some grammatical errors.

ps.: if you want to translate any of my work, please send me a message and we'll talk about it.

The noise still bothered me every night. Whenever my eyes closed, even for just a second, the sound of the bat repeatedly hitting Abraham's skull and then Glenn's tormented me. 

One hit after another, and at the end Negan's diabolical laughter. 

I could still feel Glenn's blood dripping down to my knees, I was so close to him that after it was over I was covered in his blood and the scraps of skin that flew off. No matter how many baths I forced myself to take, that sticky feeling of fresh blood never left my skin. And sometimes I still found a patch of my skin with a crimson tinge impregnated in it. 

My dark circles told anyone who saw me that I hadn't slept for days. I kept reliving the moment like an endless loop in my head. I still remember how that day began, that week, that month, how the whole situation ended the way it did. 

Hilltop had enemies, and Alexandria needed food. One thing led to another. 

First the massacre at the outpost, then the kidnapping of Carol and Maggie. Everyone had questions about whether it was the right thing to do, whether killing so many people was worth it, whether it was worth seeing another sunrise under so much blood. 

But Carol felt more, the deaths she had caused were beyond counting on her hands. We all kill to survive, but she was molded in this world, she wasn't raised with Rick's hero instinct, or the strength that the trauma and torture that Daryl suffered at the hands of his father and brother did to him. It was too much for her, she couldn't look us in the eye anymore, so she ran away from everything and everyone. 

There was no concrete reason for so many deaths, they were evil, weren't they? They killed people, and they die at the hands of our people. We did what had to be done. We saved a community from the so-called Saviors, but it couldn't have been that easy, there were more of them, there always would be. 

Daryl had to see it first hand. Denise died in front of him by her crossbow. It made him furious, we saved Dwight in the burning bush, helped him and his wife only for him to do something terrible in the end. Daryl had shown them a way, but they couldn't believe that was salvation.

He had to go back there, he had to finish what he didn't finish. He thought it was his fault that Tara no longer had a girlfriend. If only I could have stopped him before...

Everything happened so fast, Maggie got sick, we had to get her to Hilltop. I thought I'd meet Daryl at night, in our room, I'd arrive and he'd be waiting for me, he'd apologize for leaving unannounced, we'd talk and make things right, and then we'd sleep together and have a new day. 

But that day never came. 

They surrounded us on the road, left us with no way out and took us exactly where they wanted us. The frightening whistles were the prelude to something much worse to come. After that I only remember seeing Daryl shot and bleeding being dragged to the wheel, Abraham offering himself up and dying by the bat. 

Little by little I saw the terror forming in Rick's eyes. In all the years I've been with him leading this group, this was the first time I'd seen the elder Grimes lost, with no way out and praying that this madman wouldn't take someone else from our family. 

But Dixon got angry, he tried to get to Negan. And the next thing I knew, the bat with the barbed wire was next to my face. Daryl screamed so much, screamed, cried. 

"It's all right, my love. I love you, it wasn't your fault” I could only look at him, knowing that he would be the last thing I saw before I left calmed me down. 

Negan started smiling and swinging his baseball bat between the two of us. "What the fuck! Let's see what we've got here, guys."  

“P-please... no-no” 

“You'd better shut the fuck up, Rick! Or your dear son's next.” Negan shouted when Grimes tried to intervene, he knew that if I died Daryl would never be the same. "So you're a couple? Dwight's best friend has a wife? hohoho this just gets more interesting!"

“If you lay a finger on her I'll kill you, you bastard!” Daryl wasn't the type to take a beating quietly, even though he was losing blood and had a gun to his head he was going to try and fight back.

“Ah, but I'll remember that very well, dear Daryl... You know what... I'm tired of all this, why don't we just get it over with, huh?” The next thing I saw was blood gushing everywhere. One second I had Glenn, my best friend, the person who had saved me in so many ways by my side, and the next I had a lifeless body. 

Daryl was taken away that night, as a guarantee that we would stay on the line. And only God knows what happened to him during those days.

I couldn't bear to see him so bruised and dirty the first time the Saviors came to Alexandria. That wasn't my Daryl anymore, he looked so fragile, wounded, defeated. He was no longer the survivor who could take it all.

“No! He's my servant now, you don't talk to him, you don't look at him, and I don't make you cut off any part of his body.” Negan shouted when Rick tried to talk to Dixon. “And that goes for everyone, even his wife, understand?” I couldn't walk away, I needed to hug Daryl, tell him that everything was going to be okay and that I was there, but I couldn't risk someone else in our family, so I just turned and walked to our house, mine and Daryl's, unable to hold back the tears any longer. The last thing I heard was Negan's shrill laughter. “That one knows how to take orders, Rick!”

A few days had passed since then, we hadn't heard from Daryl, Maggie was hiding in Hilltop, which was under threat from the Saviors. Rick went out every day in search of supplies for the Saviors, and I... couldn't leave the house. I couldn't leave the room, the bed where I could still smell Daryl.

Frantic knocks started at my door, and when I opened it, I saw Gabriel. "He's back, Y/N. He hasn't done anything yet, but he's back with Carl, they're at Rick's now and he's not back from his run with Aaron yet. I-I don't, we don't know what to do, Judith is there with them and..."

"Gabriel, breathe. It's okay.” I held the priest by the shoulders, trying to calm him down. Everyone was lost, scared. “Tell everyone to stay in their homes, they mustn't have come for anything else, so don't provoke them, okay?” 

“But Judith... I... I promised Rick I'd look after her...” 

“I'll go, okay?” I grabbed my sweater and left the house in the direction of Rick's. If Carl is back with Negan, it means that the boy went after him planning some revenge. He's so young, but he harbors so much anger, he's lost so much to this world. 

“Hold it right there, cutie,” one of Negan's henchmen stopped me on the front steps of the house. 

“I want to talk to him.”

“You can let her through, let's hear what the wife has to say” I stared at the man until he got out of my way. I was angry, the way he called me 'wife' only reminded me that every day Daryl was in prison, being tortured by him. “Hello, my dear, to what do I owe your presence in my humble abode?” Negan was sitting on the balcony with Judith on his lap asleep, Carl was next to him without the bandage on his eye with a sad and angry expression. I completely ignored the killer and turned to the boy.

“Are you all right, Carl?”

“Yeah. I'm fine, he didn't do anything,” he replied, lowering his head. I turned to Negan, who didn't look the least bit happy at being ignored. 

“I want to see him.”

“You're going to have to be more specific, sweetheart.”

"I want to see my husband, see if he's alive. You can search me, I don't have any weapons after you took them all. Take me with you to him." A devilish smile appeared on his face. 

“You know, I can see that you don't look so good after I took your man, but I don't know if I was very clear when I said that he's now my servant, maybe you won't like what you see, your husband isn't the most sociable.”

"I know he's not, but I've seen worse. I need to see him alive, it's okay if he's dirty." 

"Ah girl, you're a tough nut to crack. But I understand, I can't go too many days without seeing my wives, Carl here has met some of them and he can tell you how hot they are! Tell you what, I'll talk to Rick, we'll settle up and if I'm still in a good mood you can come with me." 

“Thanks”

“Oh how I like that word, thank you.” Then Spencer arrived, started his plan to take Rick out and ended up dying. Eugene was going to be taken away for making the bullet. 

“You're gonna take me, right?” I shouted as Negan neared the gate, about to leave. 

"Y/N... what? No." Rick tried to approach but I moved away, I needed to see Daryl.

“I almost forgot the wife, search her, you're coming with me in the truck”

I kept quiet the whole way, blindfolded, the truck had three seats, the driver was some kind of savior who kept quiet and Negan made me stay in the middle of them in case I decided to jump out during the journey. 

“I told them to give your husband a bath, you know, to make him look more presentable, but no intimate visits, I don't want him to get too comfortable with all this” Negan said when we stopped in front of a room. “I also took him out of his cell, that's no place for a lady like you, my love”. When the door opened I saw Daryl in the corner of the room, a little cleaner, but cowering in the dark with an angry look on his face, but when he saw me he turned away from the wall in anguish. Dwight was in the other corner, standing guard. “I thought you guys would be more comfortable with an acquaintance on guard.”

“Not the best, but thanks,” I said between my teeth, looking at Dwight, who couldn't take his eyes off Daryl.

"What the fuck, baby! If you thank me one more time I won't be able to let you go, you've become my favorite." Then he left, closing the door. I ran over to Dixon, throwing myself into his arms, but he didn't return the hug, still focused on the other man in the room. 

"No, no, please, look at me, darling. Don't focus on him, focus on me, please.” I ran my hands over his face and turned him towards me, tears starting to well up in my eyes when I saw the bandage on his shoulder where he had been shot. “I missed you so much, are you okay?”

“I don't think he's going to say much, he probably doesn't even remember how he does it, does he Daryl?” 

"Shut the fuck up Dwight! If you don't I'll come over there and smash your face in” I turned to him who just laughed weakly and left the room. 

“You have to get out of here, you can't stay, I can't protect you... them... them” his voice was broken, as if he hadn't spoken for days. 

“Shiii, it's okay, I just came to see you, he's taking me back, we made a deal... What did they do to you, darling?”

“It was my fault”

"What? No, it wasn't, everything's fine at home, everyone's fine” He pulled my hand away from his face, moving away from me. 

“It was my fault, Glenn, then Maggie, she died because of me” 

“My goodness, no” I moved closer to him so that no one would hear. "Maggie's fine, the baby's fine, we did it so he wouldn't get suspicious. Everyone's fine” Daryl pulled me into a long-suffering kiss and began to cry, grabbing me in a hug, I sat on the floor with him still clinging to me. Dixon looked so broken, he wasn't the same strong guy who did everything for Rick. We stayed like that for a few hours, I ran my fingers through his hair to calm him down, he didn't sleep, he was on the lookout for any threat, but he closed his eyes, enjoying the affection. Until our bubble burst when someone opened the door. Daryl got up at a speed I didn't think he could manage, weakened like that, and promptly stood in front of me, protecting me from whoever came in. 

"Visiting hours are over, honey. I hope you didn't take your clothes off after Dwight left." Negan entered the room with a smug smile, covering his eyes with his bat. 

“I'm very well dressed, much to your displeasure,” I said, getting up and standing next to Daryl, who promptly grabbed my hand. "I have to get back, but nobody's forgotten you here, okay? We'll get you out of this, sweetheart."

“I wouldn't be so sure, but now Laura will take you back, and I hope your puppy behaves better after the visit.” Negan left and a blonde woman came in, waving us out.

I hugged Daryl one last time, kissing his forehead and left the room. 

The days passed more melancholy and with preparations for the war against the Saviors approaching. Rick got help from the people at the Dump. We were on our way to Hilltop to talk to Maggie and get her support. 

But when the gates opened, my vision blurred with tears... Daryl was there, a little shy, but waiting for us halfway. 

I threw my backpack on the floor and ran as fast as I could to him, his arms already open waiting for me, and he kissed me with such urgency that I lost my breath. We stayed like that for a few minutes, crying and hugging, until Rick approached us in silence, his smile unmistakable. 

I broke away from Dixon, making room for Rick and the others to hug him. Joyful laughter with tears coming out of me. 

_______________________________

“We can't try anything without Hilltop's weapons, we have a lot of personnel, but it's still too little, and we're vulnerable that way.” Maggie said after we left Gregory's room, the asshole would rather spend his whole life under threat than fight back. 

“She's right, but maybe I know someone who'd be interested in helping... they call themselves The Kingdom.” Jesus intervenes, from the corner of the room, where we're hugging, Daryl squeezes my hand with an air of hope and I can't help but smile at him with confidence too.

“Do you think they'd be allies in the war?” Rick asks, shifting in his seat. The situation isn't the best, I realize that now. I was so numb from missing Daryl that I didn't focus on protecting the community, and Rick had to handle it alone. 

“They also suffer threats from the Saviors, but the community doesn't know about it, only the leader and people they trust.” 

“He doesn't want to create panic or riots for no reason,” I say and everyone agrees. “So, what are we waiting for?” With a nod from Rick, everyone leaves the mansion and heads for their cars. The whole time Daryl didn't let go of my hand and I didn't make a point of complaining, he wasn't one to show much affection in the midst of so many people, but after everything that happened to him, I understand. 

The Kingdom was very large, with many warriors training and many families, protected and happy. I squeeze Dixon's hand tighter when I see a couple with a newborn baby surrounded by elderly women. He stares at the couple and lowers his head.

When we enter the auditorium, the first thing that catches our eye is the huge tigress sitting next to a guy on a kind of throne. Rick shies away from approaching her, but they talk normally. Until Morgan appears, and Daryl asks me quietly where Carol is. “It's a delicate subject, but if Morgan's here she must be all right, you know she's tough.” He nods, even though his curiosity isn't quenched, he knows it's not time.

The King didn't accept our proposal, but gave Daryl the freedom to take refuge in the Kingdom for as long as he needed. 

“We need to go Y/N, they can go into Alexandria after Daryl.” Rick appeared next to us as I was saying goodbye to Dixon, I nodded and he walked away. 

“It's temporary, when this is over you're not leaving my side anymore, okay?” I held Daryl's cheeks and he bowed his head sadly. 

“I want to go with you, I want to help put an end to this”

"You'll help, my love. Staying here, safe. Maybe you can convince the King, we need him."

“You know I'm not that diplomatic”

“Let's look at this situation as an opportunity, what do you think?” I smile to break the mood, Daryl gives a sad smile. “I'll never leave you, my love” I say more seriously so that he feels the truth, these days away from him were the worst and I don't want it to happen again.

_______________________________

“Look, look, look, Rick Grimes has come to greet me on my doorstep!” Negan and his henchmen arrived shortly after we got back from the Kingdom, someone up there is surely on our side. "I love seeing your abandoned dog face, Rick, but today my business is with your little friend's wife. Why don't you bring her to me?" 

Rick nods begrudgingly, turns and starts walking towards the main house where we were all gathered, waiting for some sign of Grimes. 

“He wants to talk to you.” Rick approaches and says quietly. “Be careful, he's unpredictable.” 

"That's all right, Rick. I'll put him in his place, I've had enough of this.” I walk away quickly, anger overflowing just knowing that because of him my Daryl is shaken. 

“Y/N, no, wait.” Rick tries to stop me, but it's too late, I'm striding hard towards Negan. 

“I hear you want to talk to me.” That maniac's smile only gets wider when he sees me.   

"Oh, hello, darling. How are you? Miss your husband?" 

“You've got to be kidding... of course I miss him, if you don't remember you took him away from me and I'm very possessive of what's mine,” I say through my teeth. If he thinks I'm going to be compassionate and keep my mouth shut, he's mistaken.

"Wow, that's what I like about you, darling. You're tough as nails,” he says with a mischievous laugh. "The problem is that your husband was very moved by your visit, you know? And he must have thought it was a loophole for an escape." 

“Wait, what?” I say exasperated, I've always loved acting. “You mean you've lost my husband?” 

“I thought you could help me find him.” 

“You're unbelievable...” I whisper indignantly. “If you think he's here you can look, have your goons search every house, every manhole or cupboard in this place.”

“You're always a refreshment to me, darling, you always know what I want.” I roll my eyes as he sends his men to search Alexandria. 

As expected, they find nothing and leave, promising to return next week to collect supplies. 

“I have to go, Rick,” I warn Grimes. To avoid the risk of them following me, I waited a few hours after they left, and night came. I need to see Daryl, he won't stay another night thinking we've abandoned him. He gets up from the rocking chair on the porch of his house with Judith on his lap and approaches.

“Okay, but be careful, make sure no one's following you.” Rick hugs me in his fatherly way. We were always close like brothers, after I lost everything Rick was there as a leader for everyone. “And send him a hug, tell him we miss him.” 

“I will.” I say goodbye to him and kiss the head of a sleepy Judith, who gives me a smile. I grab a car and head out through the cellars of Alexandria, towards the Kingdom, towards Daryl.

_______________________________

“She's magnificent” Daryl was standing next to Shiva's cage when I arrived at the Kingdom. Quiet and shrunken, just stroking the snout of the tigress who melted at his touch.

“She is.” he confirms with a frown. I moved closer until I could see tears forming in his eyes. I quickly bent down, sat next to him and hugged him tightly, which he reciprocated. 

"It's all right now, my love. I'm here, you're not going to stay away from me any longer.” I tried to calm his crying, which was only getting more intense. I've never seen Daryl so broken, he seemed to be accumulating all the suffering, the pain, waiting to fall apart on me. He would never do that to anyone else. 

“I got scared.” Daryl says after he calms down. “I was afraid of losing you too, losing our family.” 

“You're not going to lose me, ever.” 

“But what if it does?” Daryl lifts his head with a more serious look. "When they tortured me, all I could think about was you, that you'd be alone out here, unprotected. They could do anything to you to make me accept the fact that I was nothing in that place. And I felt like nothing."

“No, no, no.” I pull Daryl's face so that he pays close attention to me. “You're not going to lose me, you know why? Because your wife is strong, she'll go through hell to pull you out of the fire and when I can't do it anymore I'll have our whole family helping me, because I love you, Daryl, we love you. That's what love does, it turns us into fighters, people who would do anything for the one they love. I love you, Daryl.” Tears flowed non-stop from my eyes and Daryl's.

“I love you, Y/N” His lips met mine fervently, it was a needy kiss, as if he had been thirsty for days and I was his oasis in the desert. I gave myself completely to him, wanting more and more all the time. 

We were too wrapped up in our bubble, completely forgetting that Shiva was still in the cage next door, and an imposing roar from her broke us out of this bubble of lust. 

“I don't think she likes not being the center of attention,” we laughed when we noticed the tigress's angry face at being left out. 

“She'll have to accept it, because now my only attention is on my wife.” 

[i-wanna-write]

Never Again - Daryl Dixon x Reader

Prompt: Reader was at work when the outbreak happened, leaving them separated from their spouse. But, through luck and survival, they find eachother

Takes place during season 1

Warnings: some cuss words. Probably some inaccurate timelines cause I haven’t watched season 1 in ages. Awkward Glenn. Crying Daryl.

All the Flufffff

Word: 2170

————————————————————————

You stare at the flames in front of you, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders while you fiddle with your knife in your hands. The group you joined only hours ago talk quietly among themselves, wise to keep their voices low to not attract the dead. Rick, the small town sheriff you met a week ago, sits next to his wife with his son in his lap, whom he was finally reunited with, details of his time away from them.

Just a day ago you were fighting for your life in Atlanta, killing the already dead with the small town sheriff by your side. You’re grateful for your past and your knowledge of weaponry as that is a needed skill for survival now. The hunting knives and guns you found now act as an extension of your body, allowing you to protect yourself and stay alive.

You never thought a day would come when those who die would not stay dead. That you would have to stick a knife in your coworkers or patient's skulls to put them down. That you’d hear the crack of their skull as you punctured it to reach their brain so they’d stay down. That you’d be separated from your family, separated from your person.

Yet here you are.

“New girl,” a voice sounds from your right. You turn your gaze from the flames to meet Glenn’s eyes, they Asian kid you owe your life to. “Tell us a little about yourself. I feel like we only know your name.”

‘That’s cause that’s all I shared.’ You think to yourself.

His statement causes the whole group to look at you and you feel a little anxious at all their eyes. You were never one to be the center of attention. You always enjoyed talking one on one and were never a fan of groups. You’ve always been closed off and hesitant to open up to others, yet now everyone seems to want to know more about you.

“Um,” you begin. “Well, you all know my name is Y/N and I found Rick a week ago. Before than I was just on my own trying to survive I guess.”

You’re not really sure what to say, not knowing what information these people want. You just met them today. Sure, you trust Rick and Glenn, but feel so out of place compared to them. Glenn seems to know and get along with everyone and Rick has his family and best friend with him. You don’t have anyone.

“What’d you do before all this?” Shane asks. Ricks best friend, small town deputy, and appointed leader of this group.

You sigh, figuring that the sooner you answer their questions, the sooner the attention is off you.

“I was a Physician's Assistant in the ER at a hospital.” You reveal.

Shane whistles. “Damn, so you're a doctor then?”

Everyone seems to get excited at the idea of having a doctor in the group.

You shrug. “Not formally but I guess. I would treat those that came into the ER and had past rotations in the OR, assisting with surgeries. But I always liked the front line and helping people get to the surgery. Not during or after.”

Everyone seems to nod at that answer, seeing the sense

It’s quiet for a moment and you’re glad, hoping the conversation is over and a new one will be picked up.

“What about your family?” A blonde asks.

You look over at her and think it’s Andrea who asked it, or Amy. You’re not quite sure but know they're both blondes and sisters.

“I’m an only child and both my parents have been dead awhile.” You state, not getting into the details.

“What about a boyfriend? Fiance? Husband?” The other blonde asks. Now you think this one is Amy, the younger of the sisters. “I mean, you’re so pretty. Were you single before all this?”

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you even more, if that is possible. You begin to feel your heartbeat increase and your throat begins to feel as if it’s going to close. This is the question you didn’t want to be asked.

“Yeah, you mentioned you were looking for someone.” Rick chimes into the conversation.

Your hand automatically flies to your necklace, fiddling what’s around the chain. So many memories come back to you at once and you feel your eyes fill with tears.

“I-“ you clear your throat, trying to keep the tears at bay before taking a breath to calm yourself. “Yes. I mean no, I wasn’t single before all this. I’m married.” You reveal.

“What?” and “You’re married?” and “I’m so sorry.” are heard all at once.

You close your eyes to take another calming breath, opening them to only stare back at the flames.

“Yeah.” You whisper. “I’m married.”

You can't stand it. You know that if you look away from the fire you’ll see it - the pitying glances. Their looks of sympathy. Rick just reunited with his wife and son and you can’t help but feel jealous, wishing it was you and your husband who were cuddled around the fire instead.

“If you’ll excuse me.” You say, rising to your feet and walking away, needing to get away from the group.

You walk towards some tents, not quite knowing where to go but knowing where you currently don’t want to be. You feel so jealous of Rick and shame fills you because of this. Rick risked his life to help you and vice versa. He’s not only a husband but a father. He deserved to find his family again. He was a sheriff before all this and was shot for Christ sake. He deserves to have found them.

But you still wish you found him.

“Hey.” A voice says.

You turn and see Glenn.

“You probably don’t wanna talk, but I’m here if you wanna…” he trails off.

You smile gratefully, now know what to say.

“You can crash in my tent tonight - not with me of course! I’ll sleep in the RV. Cause, you know, you’re married. Well obviously you know your married but I just mean-“

You cut the rambling kid off, smiling again but this time in amusement.

“Thank you Glenn.” you say, raising your hand. “I appreciate it.”

The kid smiles back and guides you to his tent where you step in and lay down, sleep immediately taking you.

————————————————————————

You wake up to raised voices and immediately grab your knife from under your pillow. You open your eyes and see blue, the past day coming back to you. Atlanta. Wearing a dead man to blend in. The group in the woods. The conversation by the fire.

You sigh, bringing a hand to your face and wiping the sleep from your eyes. You don’t think you should stay with this group. While everyone is nice and open, you feel - you know - that your husband is still out there. You know you’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t find him. Whether walking alive or walking dead.

“Hey.” A voice sounds, causing you to quickly turn, knife raised. “Whoa, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You’re face to face with Glenn, his head pooping into the opening of the tent, his eyes wide and arms raised. You lower the knife quickly and swallow, glad you didn’t almost kill the poor guy.

“We let you sleep through breakfast since we figured you’d be so tired.” He begins to explain. “I figured the fighting may have woke you up, guess I was right.”

“What’s going on out there?” You question, pulling the blanket off of you and beginning to rise, your back popping from the night of sleeping on the ground.

“I forgot you weren’t with us yet when we were on the roof.” Glenn begins to explain, motioning for you to follow.

You stand up and exit the tent with him. You’re both standing away from the main clearing where all the action is and you’re glad, never being a fan of drama.

“We were on a roof to escape the dead and handcuffed one of our group to it. He was a real ass. And racist.” Glenn starts. “His brother was out hunting and just got back so we had to tell him we left him behind.”

“You saying you left a racist asshole cuffed to a roof surround by the walking dead,” you question, eyebrows raised and hands on your hip

You have no idea how these people were still alive. Their survival levels are next to non existence.

Glenn’s face turns pink and he ducks his head. “He was high out of his mind!” He starts to defend. “You never met Merle but he -“

“Wait who?” You ask, your heart beginning to pound so loud you hear it in your ears.

Merle. Racist asshole. High. There’s no way that’s a coincidence.

“Merle.” Glenn says cautiously as he notices your reaction and starts to get nervous. You can’t possibly know this guy, right? No way this guy is the husband you’re looking for, right? That’d be bad. Not only would they have an angry Daryl to deal with but and angry you as well.

“And his brothers name is…” you trial off.

“Daryl.” Glenn says, motioning for you to follow him towards the fight.

Daryl. Daryl. Daryl.

Merle, racist asshole high out of his mind with a brother named Daryl who was hunting. Hunter. Your Daryl is a hunter with a brother named Merle who also happens to be a racist asshole that's always high.

This is just one large, almost comical, coincidence right? There’s no way this groups Daryl could be your -

“Daryl?” You whisper to yourself as you reach the clearing.

There, in the middle of the commotion, is your husband. Looking just as he did when you saw him weeks ago, only dirtier. Wearing a green tank top and jeans, his hair is still just as short, reaching just long enough to curl near his ears.

‘Hes here.” You think to yourself. ‘He’s alive.’

…And he’s being held in a chokehold.

“Chokehold’s illegal!” He yells and you can’t help the sob that escapes you at the sound of his voice.

“Best file a complaint.” Shane growls back at him.

You don't care what they’re fighting about as you start running towards them. Your legs move the fastest you ever think you’ve ran, so happy and oh so grateful he’s here. He’s alive.

“Daryl!” You yell as you run towards as Shane lets him go.

His head moves faster than you think humanly possible as his eyes lock on you.

“Y/N?” He questions, as if he’s hallucinating and this is just a nightmare. His brother left behind for dead and his wife finally here and safe.

But he soon realized it is real as your body collides with his.

“Daryl!” You sob, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck and jumping into him so your legs can wrap around his waist.

You burry your face in his neck as sobs now escape you freely. Weeks of not seeing him, not knowing if he was dead, walking dead, or alive have finally led to this moment. You finally have your husband back in your arms.

You take a deep breath in and breathe only Daryl. Gasoline mixed with vanilla and spice. You can feel his skin stick to yours due to the heat but you don’t care and just squeeze tighter. Arms wrap tightly around your waist and you feel every inch of Daryl’s body against your own, so happy he’s in your arms again.

The onlookers watch in confusion, happiness, and shock as Daryl Dixon - who was just screaming at everyone in anger - drops to his knees with a women in his arms. They watch as the usually grumpy man appears to cry tears of joy as he buries his head into the neck of the women in his arms.

“Y/N.” Daryl whispers as he squeezes tighter before pulling away to look at you.

Your eyes meet light blue, more gorgeous than the sky during a sunset and you see the tears running down his face, knowing you match his expression. His hands reach up to cup your cheeks before one of his thumbs moves down to stroke your lips.

“You’re here.” He breathes

“You’re here.” You repeat, a bright smile on your face.

“I looked for ya. I did. I wanted to stay at the house for ya but Merle-“

You cut him off. “It doesn’t matter. Cause you’re here. And I’m here. And we’re here. And I’m never letting you go. Never again.”

Daryl leans in, his lips crushing against yours in a kiss that makes your toes curl. You don’t care that everyone is watching. You finally found the person you were looking for. The person that's been there with you through good times and bad. Your person.

Daryl pulls away, his eyes staring into yours as he whispers with your lips so close you can feel his breath upon yours.

“Never again.”

•••

Please lmk how it was!!!

💜 Kenzie

[firfirice]

[williammarksommer]

Royal Palms

Staring at the Sun series 

Hasselblad 500c/m

Kodak Tmax 100iso

[sai-int]

i’m thinking about making my smut debut, any words of encouragement so i don’t chicken out??

also since you asked for asks, how do you think daryl dixon would react to you subtly teasing him all day?

hi there! PLEASE make your smut debut you wont regret it! it's so nice to just put something out in the world that's your own and see that other people enjoy it as well! my words of advice: don't over think it too much! just write what comes to mind and hit the post button. not everyone's always gonna like what you write, and you might not always blow up, but at least one person will enjoy it! tag me in your first smut !

summary - daryl's a tease

⟡ wordcount - 994

⟡ a/n - gn!reader, swearing, suggestive, daryl's kinda mean, but this is pretty mild, I flipped the ask around a little, just a fun little ovulation drabble, ps Lana + writing smut is magical

he'd pick up on how needy you were from the get go. your longing stares, the way you didn't want him to leave the sheets you were both wrapped up in when the sun came up. he knew.

he stood up from the bed, the soft glow from the sun illuminating his sculpted body as he maneuvered around the room, sliding his clothes on his body. in your early morning daze, he could've easily been a fallen angel.

more like an incubus. his pants hung low on his waist as he pushed his belt through the loops, your eyes following his v-line, memorizing the way his waist tapered ever so slightly.

"wanna picture, sweetheart?" he rasped, haphazardly putting on that one black t-shirt that nearly choked his biceps. the same one that you had expressed a specific fondness of just a few nights ago, moments before you tore it off him.

your face flushed at his comment, your eyes meeting. you noticed the smug smile that adorned his lips. he knew.

🌙

you'd find him chopping up some firewood in the middle of Alexandria, the early afternoon causing him to sweat so much that you'd question if he'd just jumped in the lake.

but to your hungry eyes, it'd be no different if he had oiled himself up, stripped himself bare, and had "come get me" written on his back. his muscles were glistening and bulging with each blow of the axe, the sunlight giving his skin a honey-like glow.

you'd watch him- no, gaze at him like a wolf preying on an elk, ready to pounce. his shirt clung to him like second skin, each one of his muscles rippling with each swinging motion. fuck.

he knew exactly what he was doing. the number the hot summer sun was doing on him was incomparable to the holes your eyes were burning into his skin.

the sneaky mother fucker turned his head directly to you, right as the axe was about to come down on yet another log. with a quick blow to the wood, he threw the axe down, turning to look at you once more with a shit-eating smirk. your mouth fell agape. that little shit.

he turned away, wiped forehead, tied the upper half of his hair up into a bun, and practically sauntered down the street and into your shared house.

you had subtly crossed your legs, trying to stop the filth that plagued your mind. as the seconds passed, you became increasingly aware of the heat that radiated from your cheeks and core. your panties were soaked and glued to your heat as you shifted.

in all actuality, he hadn't been doing anything too outlandish- at least not anything he hasn't done before. he just wanted to see you squirm. you stood up from the bench you had been sitting on and walked toward your home.

you knew he'd be there, you just hoped he'd give you what you wanted- no. what you needed. you advanced toward your house, wearily opening the door with a click. you walked into the quiet house and shut the door behind you. the shower was running upstairs.

the clock striked 4 as you made your way up the stairs. each step echoed in your head as your body radiated heat. you took your shoes off at the top of the steps, probably in hopes that you could take him by surprise, but who knows. you were as rational as your thoughts were pure. when you peaked in the door way, you could see the shower curtain drawn shut, but the mirror revealed just the slightest bit of his back, the water cascading down it.

you stripped yourself of your clothes, the humidity mingling with the sheen of sweat on your body. you opened the curtain, stepping in to the shower behind him. your arms snaked around his waist, your head resting against his back. the smell of soap and his natural scent sent shivers down your spine.

you held him tightly, pressing your body impossibly close to his, hoping he'd understand how badly you needed him. being impossibly stronger than you, he turned around in your grasp, his hands pulling your waist and chest firmly against his.

he looked in to your eyes, brushing a wet strand of hair behind your ear. "so needy f' me today, hm?" he cooed so sweetly as his large hands sunk down to the meat of your hip, his grip possessive. you looked into him, bobbing your head up and down and suddenly feeling small under his gaze. you snaked your arms around his neck in efforts to bring him closer.

if anyone was the wolf here, it was him. his lips lingered so close to yours as his eyes flickered to your eyes, lips, your bare frame, and at anything else you had to offer him.

your body was buzzing. you could feel your knees growing weak in his embrace as if he was holding you up with just his regard. you were sure you could feel yourself dripping down your leg. it was almost if he could sense how viscerally you craved him. your hands fell to his shoulders, gripping tightly onto his tense muscles.

he placed a chaste kiss to your shoulder, your head instantly tilting to allow him as much of you as he wanted. he trailed his kisses toward your neck, kissing your pulse in the process. he smirked softly as he felt how wildly your heart was beating. his scruff tickled your neck just right, only making you grip him tighter. you swore you could cum in that moment.

his kisses grew sloppy, his own breathing growing deeper as he felt his cock throb at the sound of your ragged breaths. he kissed your ear and whispered to you as he shut the water off.

"wait f' me in the room"

masterlist

[trashg0blin37]

I just think he’s neat :)

[nameless-ken]

you and me, always forever

we could stay alone together

you know I'll keep you in my locket

just come here and we can settle down

[love-norman]

Does anyone know how Norman reacted when he got hired for his Daryl role? I found JDM’s reaction but not Norman’s. Does anyone know?

[adventurealldays]

[starlightandfairies]

Hey! Since requests are open may I request Daryl x reader where they separate after the governor attacks the prison but they reunite in Alexandria, or Daryl finds readers dead body being eaten?? You can choose which one <33

If your comfortable with it I would prefer reader with she/her pronouns, thank you <3

Description: The reader and Daryl are separated after the attack on the prison and are reunited back at Alexandria.

Warnings: fluff, swearing

*I'm so sorry for how long it has taken me. I might also do the other option as well*

Requests are open!

Key: Y/N = Your Name, POV = Point of view

Word Count: 883

The attack on the prison was brutal and heartbreaking, it had been a home and things had been going wrong for way too long. It was only bound that this was going to happen, groups were formed as they went separate ways in order to get away from the herds and the wreckage. Daryl had been separated with Beth, all the others had someone but Y/N. She was all by herself, it killed her and being alone did nothing good for her. She needs people and needs to have someone with her so she was hoping that she could find someone soon. Better yet, hoped that Daryl was alive and that they find each other again. 

Y/N had a system, she walked throughout the day, barely any stops and sipped water all throughout her journey on foot, then would find a new body of water before it was dark and would hide in a car as the night went on. The first moment she saw another form of human life, she hide in the back, her gun firmly in her hand as she watched a man check the back of cars and then leave them. Not wanting to create a problem for herself, she stayed hidden and hoped that the man would look in the back of the car and even if he did that he was nice and would leave her alone. 

Her heart jumped in her chest as the man ran into the car she was currently in, she placed a hand over her mouth as he closed the door hiding from a heard of walkers and holding something in his hands which appeared to be a number plate from a state that she couldn't make out. She placed the gun to his head, speaking quietly, not prepared to make any moves as she didn't want to kill anyone. 

"Tell me your name, what you're doing and your morals, I'll put the gun down as soon as you tell me this and if I agree with your morals then we can both hide in here before they go. Okay?" 

"My name is Aaron, It sounds really silly, I know but I'm collecting state number plates for my boyfriend, it's something that we do. You know, to pass the time and deal with this world. I won't hurt you, you look like you've been through a lot and I can take you to my community you can rest there, have some food and if you don't like it there you can leave." Y/n sat back, apologising to Aaron for holding a gun at him and agreed to go with him. 

Y/n sat in a room, staring at the camera nervously as she answered the questions, it brought on emotions she didn't want to deal with. She was terrified of the fact that she did not have Daryl, that she didn't have her friends and begged that they were all okay and that she would see them again soon. 

A couple of weeks passed, and Y/n had decided to stay for that time, going on runs in the hopes that she would see someone she knew and turned up empty-handed every time. Y/n had come out of her house after what had been a few days. 

Aaron had been stopping by, giving her food, making sure she was still alive and still living amongst the others. The girl sat on the porch, reading a book, feeling happy and proud to touch something new, to read a book that she hadn't touched before and she felt at peace for a short while. 

The girl glanced up, searching the area for a moment, freezing as she saw a familiar face. She threw the book to the side, stumbling as she raced over to the group, tripping over air and already had tears in her eyes.

"Daryl!" She shouted, panting as she ran as fast as she could to finish the distance between them both. Daryl stared at her, he couldn't believe that the girl running towards him was alive and she was safe. He dropped his crossbow to the ground, finishing the distance and picking her up in his arms. He whimpered lightly, Y/n cried in his arms and gripped at the iconic leather vest the man always wore.

Daryl slowly dropped to his knees, soaking into the ground with the girl in his arms and placed kisses on her forehead. Sobbing lightly as the girl was finally in his arms again and seemingly unharmed and in a place that seemed to be safe and with decent people.

"I was so scared, I thought you were gone." She whispered, smiling as he tightened his grip and held her off the ground. 

"I've got you," Daryl whispered, feeling everything he has been feeling for the last little while come back to him and had a couple of tears well in his eyes as he held the girl in his arms. Daryl did not want to let her go, did not want to let her out of his sight. The girl he loved was alive, with him and he felt safer with her back with him.