#dary dixon/reader

[starlessea]

Hii! Could you plz write a fic where the reader finds out that Daryl's ticklish and a tickle fight break outs between them?

You obviously don't have to if you don't want to! :))

Boots And All

Drabble: Based on this ask. I strayed a little but hopefully it scratches the itch (no pun intended).​

Masterlist

It had taken some time for Daryl to become comfortable around you.

Sure, the two of you had been a thing for some time—sneaking off here and there, swapping shirts for purpled neck bruises.

But those were fleetings moments; there was no real comfort in them. They consisted of rushed encounters, usually when the tension had become so unbearable that the pair of you were at each other’s throats. 

Things were different now. Alexandria had given you the space to slow down. And slowness was something Daryl wasn’t accustomed to. He couldn’t get used to the porch-watching, the grass-mowing, and the domesticity of it all. 

Especially now, as he found himself at the entryway of the shared house, struggling to find the words to say to you.

‘I’m home’ didn’t sound right; neither did ‘I’m back.’

You hadn’t been waiting for him after all—or had you?

Daryl stood dumbfounded. He'd never had trouble with this stuff before, but this suburbanite hellscape had him guessing his every move. What if you didn’t want him anymore?

He shook his head. Footsteps echoed across the hall, and not wanting to get caught mid-agonising, Daryl tried to busy himself.

"Dixon," you greeted, before a furrow pinched your brow. "Boots."

Daryl’s eyes followed your pointed finger, landing on the trail of mud he'd dragged over the ornate welcome mat.

"Damnit, woman," he cursed. "Been gone all day an' tha's all I get—boots?"

“Boots,” you confirmed, and disappeared back into the living room.

Daryl grumbled before sinking to his knees to undo his laces. Here he was wracking his brain for the perfect greeting and you’d settled on fucking boots.

It could be worse, he thought. At least that meant you wanted him to stay.

The fire crackled low as Daryl trudged into the living room. You were slumped down on the couch, legs tucked under you with one arm draped lazily over the backrest. Your attention was on a book he knew you'd already finished.

Daryl deliberated for a moment dropping into the space nearby. He kicked his legs up onto the stool before him, watching the way your eyes flickered over before returning to your page.

There was a tension in the air—subtle but persistent. He wondered if this was as strange and new to you as it was him. Perhaps you didn’t like him all that much now there were other options. He scowled, and tried to put the thought away from him.

“So…” you began after a moment, setting the book down onto the table. “How was it? Find anything good?”

Your voice was softer now, and Daryl felt himself relax slightly. “Nah,” he muttered. “Same ol’ shit. Few walkers—not much else.”

You shifted, and as you did, your hand brushed against his foot. A jolt sparked through his body; he kicked his leg out instinctively.

“Jesus, Daryl," you yelped. "What was that for?”

Daryl opened his mouth to retort, but as he did, you readjusted once more, grazing the base of his foot with your fingers.

He immediately recoiled. “I swear to sweet shit, do that again an’ there’ll be hell.”

A look of realization flashed across your face—and god, did Daryl hate it.

“Are you…” you paused, the disbelief in your voice too great to conceal, “ticklish?”

Daryl groaned. He suddenly felt five-years-old again, wishing he could keep a straight face.

His lack of reply spurred you into action. “You can’t be,” you announced, goadingly. Daryl felt his muscles grow taut, preparing for the worst. As much as he wanted to escape, part of him missed this—missed that look in your eyes when they weren’t clouded by worry and expectation. “Everywhere?”

“Don’t ya dare,” he warned, though it lacked any real bite.

You grinned before edging closer, until you were sat straddling his lap. Daryl stiffened. His hands hovered above your hips, not quite confident to let them rest there.

“All the times I’ve touched you here,” you murmured, tracing a line up his chest, “or kissed you here”—your breath brushed against his ear, and he shivered despite himself—“did it tickle you?”

Daryl swatted your hand. “Yer fuckin’ ridiculous,” he growled.

You couldn’t help the laugh that spilled from your lips. It chipped away at Daryl's defences, leaving him even more exposed.

"And how about here?"

You tested a light prod at the ribs, to which he bucked beneath you, trying to unseat you.

“Fucking—cut it out,” he snapped.

And again, that smile of yours tugged at something deep within him.

“Alright, alright,” you conceded, raising your hands in surrender. “I’ve had my fun.”

He was about to bite something back, but the words caught in his throat. Your hair was splayed, catching the light of the fire as it framed your face, and on it, your expression was one of pure warmth. For a moment, all Daryl could do was stare. How many days had it been—weeks even—since he’d seen you like this?

You were so beautiful.

“I missed ya,” he admitted. The words came out of their own accord, barely above a whisper. “I wanted to get back to ya.”

His hands found your hips, and his thumb began tracing circles there.

"If you'll have me an' my muddy boots."

Your expression softened, and as you leaned down, Daryl left himself completely open.

You kissed him; it was unlike any of the others you shared before. It wasn't urgent, nor desperate—like the ones brought about by fear of getting caught.

You took your time with him, since there was enough now to spare.

“I missed you too, Dixon,” you murmured against his lips. “And I'll gladly take you, boots and all.”

A/N Sup... It's been about 2-3 years but I want to confirm that I'm alive. To be honest, I still read every comment I get and I can't believe people still love my work. I started this page when I was a wee 19-20 year old student, and now I'm 24, have bought a house, a dog, and am heading a company (crazy, I know). That said, I wish I could go back to the days I would write and write and write. Unfortunately, I just don't have the time (and I'm a lot slower now due to the mental block I developed from aiming for perfection)... Though, my wish for 2025 is to devote a little time back to my hobby - no matter how small, nor how long it takes me. To anyone still here, firstly holy shit go touch some grass (just kidding), but truly thanks for sticking with me. If you want to reach out, I'd love to rebuild some bridges and hear your suggestions! P.S I know it's been a hot minute so if you want to be added / removed from my tag list, please let me know x

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[violettwrites]

hi!! will you please write another fic about daryl x reader

reader seeing/experiencing something traumatic and she’s shaking and tears rolling down her cheeks and daryl sits down in front of her trying to comfort her.

safe in your skin 🏹 daryl dixon

a/n: hi nonnie than you so much for this request !! ( and sorry it took so long 😭 ) i listened to the song linked while writing this and highly recommend you guys do too !! it’s beautiful and tigers jaw is one of my fave bands 🫶🏻 anyway i hope you enjoy this !! and as always, don’t forget to like/reblog if you enjoyed this and feel free to follow me to see more of my stuff !! x

i also just realised gregory is the fkn asshole from hilltop but this is NOT him i just couldn’t think of names apparently i am so sorry

as always, my ask box is open !

( intended lowercase )

summary: reader and daryl go on a supply run, but are separated from someone close to them— when they do eventually find them, they must learn to deal with the unforgiving curse that is life.

warnings: mentions of death

word count: 848

the woods were eerily quiet, the usual rustle of leaves and the distant calls of wildlife had been replaced by a thick and heavy silence. you and daryl had been split from gregory during a supply run, someone you had been through the fall with since the start. your best friend in this unforgiving world. but you had known he was smart enough to survive on his own until the two of you found him. or so you thought.

the sun was starting to breach the horizon, the soft glow casting an almost angelic light over the town daryl had led you to in search for your best friend. if it was anyone else, he probably would have told them it wasn’t worth risking their lives to look for him, but you were different.

making your way towards the warehouse you all were supposed to go to so you could find supplies, you stopped once you reached the parking lot, spotting a group of walkers, all crouched down as they feasted on something— someone.

gregory.

you knew that brown coat he had worn since the start, now covered in blood and guts— the remains of what was once your best friend. the sight was too much, causing you to drop to your knees, mouth open to speak but nothing came out.

the brutal reality hit you like a tidal wave— all at once. sure, you had lost people before. people that were close to you, but there was something so much different about losing your best friend. your confidant. the one you told everything to. just taken away from you like that. he was gone. his last moments presented to you in a gruesome way— a way he never wanted to go out.

your hand shakily came to your mouth, tears clouding your vision as they freely streamed down your cheeks, choked sobs coming from your lips as you tried to process what happened, but you couldn’t. you couldn’t get your head around the fact he was truly gone. it was a sight that was haunting, knowing it would be imprinted in your mind for the rest of your life.

daryl, ever the stoic figure he was, had been beside you, at a loss for words. he watched as you struggled to keep yourself together, but the sight of you silently breaking down next to him made his heart wrench. you didn’t deserve to see your best friend’s end like that. no one did.

he took a deep breath, crouching down slowly in front of you, fearing that any sudden moment or words might shatter you further.

“hey,” he spoke softly, his rough voice carrying a tenderness that was rarely heard. he reached out, placing his hands on your shoulder in attempt to ground you— to bring you back to this reality, as much as you didn’t want to be here.

you looked up at him, eyes red and glassy, struggling to form words. daryl didn’t push; he simply stayed there, his present a silent testament to his support. he wasn’t asking you to speak or pretend you were okay, he was just there, a steady presence in the midst of your storm.

as the minutes ticked by, daryl slowly pulled you into a gentle embrace, arms tightly wrapped around you. you rested your head against his chest, body still trembling as you tried to come to terms with the loss you had just suffered suddenly. you tried to focus on the beat of his heart, steady as you listened, a small yet significant reassurance. he stroked your hair with one hand, the other still holding you close.

“i know,” he murmured into your hair, his voice rough yet filled with emotion. “it ain’t fair, it ain’t right.” he paused for a moment, swallowing hard as he tried to find the right words. “but we gotta keep goin’. for him. for everyone we lost. we gotta keep movin’.”

you nodded against him, the closeness offering a fragile sense of comfort. you knew daryl was right, the world didn’t stop for anyone. and the dead wouldn’t stop for anything. not even your tears and cries. but the ache in your chest was still painful. yet his presence was a lifeline, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, you weren’t alone.

eventually, you pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. there was a shared understanding in his eyes, an unspoken bond formed through loss and survival. everyone had experienced the same thing. but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

daryl offered a small, encouraging nod, and together, you stood up, ready to face the rest of your journey— knowing it would be filled with more moments like this. as much as you wish it wasn’t— that cruel things didn’t have to happen to such kind people.

the road ahead was uncertain and filled with the echoes of loss, but with daryl by your side, you took your first step forward, carrying the memory of gregory with you— not his gruesome death, but the light he brought to your life.

[itsmeatballworld]

| it ends in heartbreak |

pairing | daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | you both knew he would break your heart. he couldn't help himself.

wc | 1400

warnings | cursing, sadness/heartbreak [aka the title]

a/n | I've had this in my drafts forever lol I forgot about this one! Also this is the first time I've ever written pure angst so go easy on me <3

continue... [ part 2 ] - [ part 3 ]

You always knew this day would come.

There were signs pointing to the downfall of your relationship, signs you chose to ignore to enjoy the moments of happiness.

But the signs couldn’t be any clearer–it would never last. It couldn't.

It was the end of the world, for starters. Life was always in shambles. The group never stayed in one spot long enough. Even the prison wasn’t safe. With everything unstable, it should’ve been obvious this would happen, but you were naive to think you’d would be any different.

Because the reality was: this was always how it was supposed to end.

He was built on a fractured foundation. He set up walls and built his life around a broken base, worn down by his past that he couldn't escape. First, parents had cracked and hardened his outlook on life. Then his brother taught him he meant little to others by leaving him behind. Not once did he ever learn how to fix the ache in his heart.

Yet when he met you, things changed.

It was gradual. Pieces of him started to align and heal. The tough outer shell wasn't as indestructible as he first imagined. After some time he opened up and let you in.

But you both knew he would break your heart.

He couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to push back, to fight and wrangle away from anything that became too real. Too good.

But for the time being, you enjoyed the blissful moments of his affection.

When he kissed you goodnight it was over.

He lingered, almost as if he was allowing his lips to memorize the feeling of your skin on his. His fingers fell against your curves as you pressed into the cellblock’s cool cement wall. It was in these seconds of quiet where you both had a chance to breathe.

Pulling back, Daryl rested one arm above your head. He leaned in close, gazing sweetly down at you. His other hand slowly traveled to your face and Daryl’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

Without hesitating you whispered the words he never imagined hearing from you.

Love you.

There. Right there. You saw the spark in his bright blue eyes dim. The crystalline color washed away into a deep ocean blue. Rocky and turbulent. Daryl’s eyes were no longer filled with love, but rather, fear.

You lost him, right there, pressed against the concrete wall of Cellblock D.

This was destined to fail.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Have to.”

“No…no you don’t have to, Daryl.” Your chest tightened. It was like the air was on fire. No matter how deeply you breathed in and out, pain still resided in your chest. He was crippling you.

“Daryl–”

“Ain’t up for debate.” He stepped back, snatching his crossbow from the watchtower’s metal flooring.

Your hands fumbled to find your shirt, hating how he sprung this on you in the middle of the night. He didn't have patience to wait, apparently. Just break your heart and go, like it was nothing.

“I’m not trying to…I just…” you groaned. “What happened? Was it me? Did I do something?”

His eyes went wide. That scared, fearful expression washed over him once again.

Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut. That was it. That look. It was just like the other night. When those stupid words stumbled out of your mouth, falling to the ground at Daryl’s feet. Just before he crushed them with his silence.

“Was it something I said?”

He didn't answer and his silence (unlike most nights) wasn't good enough. You needed answers.

“So that’s it then. You say ‘I’m done’ and leave before sunrise?”

The broody man fought to glance in your direction. Instead, he focused out towards the tree-line. He grabbed onto the windowsill and squeezed so tightly that the white of his knuckles appeared. But his tactics to avoid the conversation at hand weren’t getting past you tonight.

You shot up from the floor. “Daryl.”

“I ain’t got time for this.”

“You fuck me, say we’re done, and leave? Like this was all nothing? Like we mean nothing to each other?”

Daryl paused. He turned to you with lips curled into a tight frown. Even in the darkness of the watchtower, through the bright white moonlight, his frustration was clear.

“I said ‘I love you’, Daryl.” There was a desperation behind your words. Your voice was so deeply distressing it made your chest ache. It was heavy and exhausting to display your feelings out to him in the middle of the night. But you wanted more–deserved more–than a shitty ending to whatever you had with him.

“You think this is love?”

You gawked, “yes!”

He paced the small room like a caged animal ready to pounce.

You love this man.

“This ain’t love.”

You love this man. This jerk.

“Then what the fuck is this, Daryl? Tell me.” You paused, tears welling in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. “Fucking tell me!”

The shirt in your hands balled up tight around your closed fist. You were hurt. Everything about him was trouble and you let him in.

“I said ‘I love you’. I said it and now you’re pulling away.”

As he watched you, just for a moment, his eyes didn’t fill with fear or confusion. There was something there. Between the declarations, he looked apologetic. His blue eyes softened, letting the emotions he desperately tried to conceal slip past those walls he built back up.

“Well, shit! I’m sorry I said it. I fucked this up, didn’t I?” The gravel in your voice scratched your throat. Everything burned.

The apologetic stare turned pitiful. A deep scowl crossed his face and your heart sank. “Can’t mess it up when there was nothin’ here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It was so condescending as his drawl pulls at the syllables. That tightness in your chest balled into a pit of rage. Fire that burned you before ignited an anger inside.

You moved closer towards him. “You sleep with me every night. You kiss me before leaving on runs. When you think nobody’s looking, you hold my hand. We talk about our past. Our future. This is real, Daryl.”

“Nah.” He grabbed his belt, twisting it through the loops. “This ain’t real.”

Your fingers tightened on the fabric as you tugged the shirt on. “That’s not true—“

He huffed, staring out into the cloudy night sky. “You’re better off without me anyway.”

“Don’t. Don't say that. I’m not better off without you. I’d be worse.”

Daryl paused.

But the hurt and anger fueling your body didn’t stop. “So don’t make me feel crazy for falling in love with you. Like it was a choice? If I was fucking smart, I would’ve ran far away from you the second we met. But I didn’t. Because I saw you for more than the asshole you pretend to be. So excuse me for feeling blindsided by your decision to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He spat. “Get it through your head, girl. You ain’t mine! You’re just some bitch I screwed.”

The frogs croaking down by the creeks ceased to exist. Trees stopped rustling in the breeze. Crickets no longer sang under the stars. The world froze as his words were thrown at you with such haste. Like he didn’t think twice.

Your arms wrapped around your waist, tugging at the fabric clinging to your body.

He didn’t look back at you. His eyes seemed to drift anywhere but you like he couldn't face the fact that he said it out loud.

No, no. He doesn’t really think that…

Your voice cracked as the tears from earlier were not going to wait much longer. “Daryl–”

He turned on his heels and was out the door. Down the ladder, each step was louder than the last. You paused, bawling your fists as the tears finally spilled across your cheeks. Loud and heaving gasps, muddled together with hot tears.

He broke you down within seconds. The tears and sobs continued on for what felt like forever until you finally had a moment of rest. The tightness in your chest subsided, thankfully, but this was the easier part. Tomorrow will be harder when you’ll have to put on a fake smile, wipe away tears in the dark prison hallways, and avoid him.

Forget him. Forget him…right like it would be easy. It’ll be fucking impossible to forget him.

You wished you could hate him. But you don’t.

So for tonight, you let yourself feel the heartbreak and planned to stand taller tomorrow. Because in the end you knew it would never last.

But it didn't matter.

You loved that man.

Yet after everything, he might have been right. You weren't truly with him.

And maybe he never really cared for you at all.

-xx-

-xx-

a/n 2.0 | daryl PLEASEE {as if I didn't write him to act this way}

[zirconika]

nine lives of a thief

ONE | living in high cotton

NAVIGATION . MASTERLIST

This chapter is part of a series entitled 'Nine Lives of a Thief,’ but you may choose to read each part as a oneshot. Click the link to view the series masterlist!

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader WORDS: 4.1k SUMMARY: Years after your first love broke your heart, you’re stunned to see him among the newly welcomed group of survivors in Alexandria, and his return might just be the cure to your heart that’s been malfunctioning ever since he left. Your personal goal to put everything in the past is interrupted by his mission to win you back. WARNINGS: Major angst in progress. Talks of a miscarriage and a former abusive relationship. SETTING: First few weeks in Alexandria and pre-apocalypse flashbacks

The last time you spoke to each other, the two of you were getting high in your parents’ Chevrolet Cavalier that you stole. On your ring finger rested a bejeweled stone he’d given you, promising you his love. 

I’m gonna marry ‘ya, he had told you. You believed him more than you believed any god in your life. You were going somewhere far away together, ready to leave behind the life both of you had. To him, leaving meant leaving Merle. But to you? It meant leaving everything behind.

And now, there you were. You no longer sported the voluminous curls the eighties deemed fancy, your face was bare, and you were older. He couldn’t take your eyes off you, and he wondered if you could also tell how much he’d changed ever since…

Well, ever since he ditched you. And most of all, he wondered if you were still carrying the same indignation you had when he left.

For the first time, your eyes laid on him from afar. Of all the many survivors you expected to find within the walls of Alexandria, you didn’t expect this damn asshole.

He watched as your face went from bliss to raw recognition, his heart thumping faster and heavier in every passing second you didn’t dare to walk over to him, until you did.

Oh, he didn’t know what to make of the world around him as you came closer. It was just like seeing you for the first time again, but this time he was begging the Earth to swallow him whole. 

By the time you were standing in front of him, the archer was at a loss of things to say, but also the power of saying it. Seconds passed and a look of doubt and uncertainty kept flashing on his face, and yet nothing came out of his mouth. 

You were just as bad. God, you hated the feeling in your bones that wanted to throw your arms over his shoulder. He was alive and breathing. The closest thing you could do was give him a tight smile.

“Hi,” you tell him with a smile. “I—uh, it’s been, what, thirty years?”

The two of you couldn’t help but laugh, and he was grateful to all the saints and gods in the world no matter how much he lacked faith that some force of destiny had brought him here, and that you were still safe. 

The weight in his chest was slowly beginning to lift. Maybe it really is all in the past. 

“Yeah, m’still Daryl, though. You?”

You chuckle. “Still [Y/N], sadly. Y’know, uh, I was actually just about to head out to the porch with a beer. You…wanna come with me?”

Then came the weight. You noticed rigidity returning to Daryl’s stance, and you instantly regretted having asked. 

You chuckle nervously. “You don’t have to, I just… Thought you looked—”

He shook his head to assure you. “Nah, yeah, I wanna come with ‘ya. Let’s go.”

The air was cold, but it didn’t bother you as much in the presence of Daryl Dixon. You wanted to beat yourself over the fact that he had so much control over you all thanks to the scent of his you could recognize anywhere. Heck, you smelled him before you saw him. The moment that you got a whiff of him just a few minutes ago, you knew you were bound to crumble. It’s only thanks to the bottle of beer in your hand that you’re able to comfort yourself.

He leans against the porch’s post as you lean opposite him. He’d changed indeed. You eye him with deliberation: his hair was darker, longer. Wrinkles were present in places where you used to kiss him. You shake the thought away. “Not surprised you’re a survivor.”

An unsaid anguish hung between the two of you. Daryl crossed his arms to gnaw at his thumb. He never seemed to outgrow that habit, and you couldn’t help but feel comfort from the familiarity.

“Have ‘ya been here right from the start?” he asked to break the ice, taking a sip from his bottle so he’d have something to do with his hands when you spoke.

“Yeah, I—uh—bought a lot here when they were still preselling, so I got it for a pretty good deal.” You shrugged. Moving away from the post you were leaning on, Daryl thought you were going to leave with no farewell, but instead you just set the beer down. “Y’know the house you and your folks holed up together in? That was mine.”

You could see heat rush to his face, and you could tell he felt bad over the prospect of you giving up your house for them. Daryl’s shoulders tensed. “They kicked ‘ya outta yer own house?”

You shake your head with a smile. “No, it’s not like that. I volunteered to give it up. I moved to a smaller house. I’ve been dying for an excuse to leave that house, anyway.”

“Why’d ‘ya wanna leave? It’s a big house,” he observed. It is a big house. It catered to the entirety of their group with no problems.

“Because it’s a big house,” you answered as-a-matter-of-factly. Living alone in that shell of a home haunted you in more ways than one. At one point, you felt as if there was a ghost upstairs because you had never bothered to visit it. 

Daryl paused. You had to glance his way to check on him. He seemed to be debating on whether or not he should ask something until he decided on doing so. He needed answers. “What about your…family?”

He’d been trying to forget that the last time he really saw you was years after he’d left you. It was in a grocery store, and you were shopping for baby diapers while caressing your belly. And then he was on the run with Merle again.

That was ten years ago, some time before the turn. Daryl assumed one of the kids he ran into was yours, or maybe you’d tucked him or her to bed. He knew nothing about you.

“Oh, it’s just me.”

It was clear Daryl had more questions, but you figured he deserved to know at least a little bit of your recent history. 

“It’s alright to be curious, y’know. Husband ditched when he knocked up his work wife. Good riddance.” You hated that you were only relieved to find out he’d left. It wasn’t standard for a woman to rejoice upon discovery that she’d been left for another woman, but it meant freedom. 

Daryl nodded slowly, processing it all in his mind. He couldn’t believe it, any of it. He’d been living on the belief that you were better off. That you were happy.

You sipped from your beer again. “I didn’t really mind, and taking care of the divorce papers proved to be a good distraction. Plus, I got the house and the car so I’m not really complaining. He did get our vacation cabin in Vermont, though. But what good is it for now, right?”

“Right,” he scoffed. And he didn’t want to ask, but he decided to maximize your go signal to ask anything. “What about… What about your kid?”

You raised a brow. “You know about that?”

“M’sorry,” he hurriedly said, shaking his head. “Ya don’t have to tell me anythin’ about that.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You waved a dismissing hand. It surprised you that you were no longer as affected as you were then. It no longer pained you to talk about her. “She died the minute she came into the world.”

“I’m sorry.” The image of you shopping for diapers came to Daryl’s mind. At the time, it seemed that you were happy, and maybe he was right. But the more he knew about you, the more he began to doubt that your life was better the moment he left it. 

All the time you spent apart, Daryl concocted an image of you tending to your sweet and happy family in the suburbs, busy sending your kids to school and celebrating every anniversary with your husband in different countries every single year.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” you said with a smile. You’ve moved on from it, really. “It was for the best. Can you imagine raising a kid in this mess?”

Daryl made no comment whatsoever, but you remembered that his gang had brought a teenager and an infant. 

You sigh. “Sorry. But you get it.”

“S’fine, yer right anyway.” Daryl took a sip from his bottle. “You should meet ‘em sometime.”

You nodded in response, and he watched as you subconsciously and subtly knocked on your chest. It was one of those things he’d gotten used to seeing you do back then, and he never got to ask why you constantly did it. It didn’t feel like a big deal to ask now, so he let it slide, simply grateful for the opportunity of seeing the little parts that made you who you are once more.

“Geez, I think I gotta lay off the beer,” you said, settling it down on the floorboards.

He nodded. “Right, good call.”

“So, how’s my house?” you started. Daryl knew the time for him asking you questions was over, at least for now. He respected that.

“S’good, there’s plenty of space for us all,” Daryl answered. “Though I gotta be honest, ‘ya gotta give us some time to warm up to it.”

You give him a warm smile. “I get that.”

“But it is cozy,” he added. You don’t know what he meant by it, but a playful grin rested on his mischievous lips. “Pretty far from the camper van ‘ya said ‘ya wanted to live in forever.”

“We’re gonna run away and we’ll just…I don’t know, steal one of those camper vans and go anywhere together!” you had told him when you let him put the ring on your finger, wearing a smile you were so sure you’d never have to bother removing.

You stared at him a little longer than you intended to. You notice the mole he had just shy above his smirk that slowly faltered. You used to love kissing that very spot. No, don’t think about that.

Fuck. “M’sorry, didn’t mean it that way.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” you laughed, waving your hand in the air to assure him. “I’m just surprised you remember.”

His shoulders relaxed, but the guilt that accompanied him in every journey he’d taken on never left. If anything, he felt its weight more so now that he’s found himself in front of you again. 

“Yeah, well, how could I not?” 

“To be fair, you did drive away in my car while I was getting nachos.” You had to look away this time, bringing your attention to the gates in the distance. 

Daryl froze. He wasn’t stupid, but he might as well have been. He knew what it looked like to you all these years, and for the first time in a long time he thought once more about how you must have felt in the parking lot, searching for half an hour only to realize you were all alone miles away from home.

It was too late to explain himself, but he could at least try. 

“M’sorry about what I did,” he said carefully. “I was an idiot for that. M’just glad to know you’ve been alright all these years.”

He didn’t mention noticing your jaw tightening as you smiled at him, but he also realized how much of a bad choice it was to comment that you’ve been alright. There was a story in that expression of yours somewhere, he knew that. It just wasn’t the time to ask about it more. 

“It’s fine, really,” you told him. “It’s in the past, it’s been decades. We’re adults. And it’s the least of our problems now, I mean, we got the dead walking for fuck’s sake!”

You laugh in disbelief, and so does he. It was so easy, so natural. Suddenly, you were seventeen in the passenger seat right next to Daryl fucking Dixon singing Boys Don’t Cry by The Cure as it played in the car stereo. 

No.

This shouldn’t be real, you thought to yourself. You’d put him in the deepest, darkest pit in your mind and in your heart. Daryl coming back was a blessing and a curse. Though you were grateful to discover that he was a survivor, his presence ached you deeply.

It dug out every single memory from your past you’d tried so hard to bury. Your smile faltered as you felt the past blending with the present. 

Daryl noticed the change, so you spoke before he could. 

“I should get going now,” you announced with a forced smile, a little bit louder than you intended as your mind was preoccupied thinking of an excuse. “I gotta go home!”

“Want me to walk with ‘ya?” You could see a grin growing on his damned lips. It was like being brought back to the past. You knew this scene somewhere, and you hated that you liked it.

“Well, I—it’s fine!” 

“S’fine to walk with ‘ya or s’not fine to walk with ‘ya?” he asked, but it was more of a challenge. Usually, you knew what to say and how to say it. You were just that kind of person, it was even something you were proud of.

“Erm,” you gulped. 

This was not one of those ‘usual’ moments.

You wanted to return to the party, but you couldn’t just say that—you’d already taken one step down, away from the porch! 

You look back at him to explain yourself as you walk a little bit farther every single time. You were going the wrong direction, but you decided that it was too late to go the right way. You’d just have to make a round trip across Alexandria. “I got this…thing. In my stomach. I have to, you know. And I’m tired, so I guess I’ll—!”

“Nah, seriously, I insist.” Daryl had made up his mind the minute he asked. He brought the half empty bottle of beer with him as he walked ahead of you. 

You scoffed. “Fine.”

Though Daryl seemed to have built this wall around himself, you could still see rays of his stubbornness. It used to be something you’d fight over, but also solely for the purpose of kissing and making up.

The first half minute of the walk was silent, and you hated how peaceful and at ease you felt. It should have felt unbearable, uncomfortable. Daryl had a way with his presence you never realized you’d been missing until now that you have it again.

You tell yourself it’s just the severity of being your first love, but it was more than that. You waited for a couple of seconds to pass before deciding that this idiot wasn’t gonna make conversation despite insisting to walk you home.

“So, the outside,” you started. “How long have you and your people been out there?”

“For a while. The longest home we had was a prison.”

“You were…in jail?” you asked hesitantly. You knew of his criminal record, but you didn’t consider for a moment that he’d been behind bars this entire time.

“No,” he answered. “Just found shelter there.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know you’d find a grin on his face. His stupid, stupid, stupid face. “Ya thought I was in prison?”

“No! Just when you mentioned it. Then just now, I thought it made sense why I never heard from you.”

Daryl stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He’d thought you wanted nothing to do with him. “You were expecting to?”

Maybe it was wrong to confess something like that. “A postcard would’ve been nice.”

“Didn’t know where ‘ya lived.” He shrugged, even though he wanted to admit that he assumed you no longer wanted to hear news about his whereabouts. 

“Well, you knew about my kid. What’s that about?” You’d been meaning to ask, but you couldn’t find the opening. 

The archer halted, looking for an escape hatch. 

I heard from a friend? No, he didn’t. The honest answer would’ve been that Daryl wanted to reach out to you but bailed when he discovered the good life you were blessed with. The life Merle said you’d be robbed of having had you run away with Daryl.

But Daryl wasn’t an honest man, at least not tonight.

“I didn’t know, I just guessed.”

And of course, you let him lie. “Right. And you wanted to walk me home because…?”

“I wanted to.” Daryl had not yet toured the entirety of the neighborhood, but it felt like a pretty long walk for a walk home. Just when he’s about to ask, you reach the small apartment buildings just across Deanna’s house. The two of you had just done a round trip of Alexandria. You were just right across the street.

He wanted to ask why you’d taken the long route when you’d seemed so eager to be away from him earlier that night, but he knew exactly why. 

You were never able to make the sane decisions when you were with him. 

You stop in front of your home. “Well, this is me.”

“M’kay, I’ll see ‘ya around.” The archer gave you a tight smile, raising his hand as a wave right before turning around to make his way to the gate. 

“Daryl,” you called. And he’s glad you did. “Have you been well? Ever since?”

He thought of Merle. Beth. Herschel. Everyone they lost. When you were younger, you changed him. That change was undone when he left, ruining everything you’d built together. But this time, the man you built before was slowly returning. 

Has he been well? Daryl knew better than to disagree. 

The archer stared up at you one step away, curious if his eyes were deceiving him by letting him see you again. “Yeah, I’ve been alrigh’.”

“Okay,” you say, half-satisfied. “I had fun. Bye, Daryl.”

And Daryl watched as you hurriedly got inside your home. You didn’t know it yet, but something inside him sparked bright with ambition. This wasn’t the end of it.

Mornings in Alexandria were particularly slow in the most comfortable way possible. It unnerved Daryl; something about going on his day ‘normally’ felt alien, out of place. Thus, he’d often step out for long hours to ‘hunt,’ when really he could be back anytime he wanted with his stellar skill in the craft. 

He wouldn’t say it, but he just felt suffocated in Alexandria. Some would argue that the apocalypse wired him to be the way he was now, but a part of him would beg to disagree. He would’ve felt smothered had he found himself inside the damn gated community way before the turn. 

And that’s precisely why he’d fallen prey to Merle’s argument about you that fateful day he left.

“What, ‘ya think a girl like [Y/N]’s gonna be fine livin’ off pot? Nah, brother. She’s been livin’ in high cotton her entire life. Girls like her were made for them nice houses with picket fences married to a fancy man who works in a bank. How’s that g’nna work, huh? Hell, yer the kind who robs one!”

Daryl had been so sure he made the right choice then…

“Something bothering you?” Carol asked the archer, just leaving the house in complete uniform looking very much like a sweet, harmless housewife. 

“Nah.” Daryl looked up behind him as he sat on his haunches, cigarette in his loose hand as if it was an extension of himself. “Didn’t feel like goin’ out today, but I didn’t feel like stayin’ here, either.”

“You could take a shower,” said Carol. Daryl grunted, and she only smiled, knowing where to direct the conversation to. “Maybe then you could finally ask out your pretty neighbor.”

“What?” Daryl spun, standing up to meet Carol at eye-level. He didn’t want anyone to know of his past, much less see a part of it. Suddenly, everything felt real. You felt real. You were, but it pained him to admit that he hasn’t yet been able to say everything he’s wanted to say in every single day that haunted him when he left. 

Carol, on the other hand, had thought nothing of it for the past week. Though she wondered if there was more to the story, she resorted to assuming Daryl simply liked the Alexandrian. But Carol wasn’t stupid, she knew now for sure that there was something deeper.

“See, I was making conversation with everybody. I heard from Sally that [Y/N] was supposed to bring cookies, but she burnt them too much.” Carol wanted to laugh at how serious her friend looked, eager to hear more. “So, I wanted to help her out and Sasha said she saw her leave with you.”

“S’that it? All of it?” Daryl asked, his voice grim. 

Carol crossed her arms, raising her brow in question. “That’s all of it for me, what’s all of it for you?”

The archer trudged down the stairs of the porch, tossing the cigar on the floor as he did so. “Nothing.”

“The house we’re staying at,” Carol started, just enough to get Daryl to stop in his tracks. “That house is hers, isn’t it?”

Daryl paused. “Ya heard some of it?”

“I may have heard some of it,” she said. “I might have even heard…all of it? Before you walked her home?”

“Damn it, Carol!” he groaned in exasperation. There was no point in denying it now. Carol knew something, and knowing her, Daryl knew she’d been observing you ever since that night. No lie would slide past that woman no matter how hard he tried.

“So?”

Daryl looked around him, checking if someone else was listening into their conversation. “The garage,” he said. And so they went.

When they got inside, Carol was surprised to find a brand new motorcycle. She ran to its side, eyeing the shine on the body. “Oh, she’s pretty! Where’d you get her from?”

“I know,” Daryl exclaimed. “Aaron, he… He wants me to look for survivors with him instead of—Ow!”

Carol punched his arm, her eyes wide in defiance and her mouth grinning wide. “You’re trying to change the subject!”

“Am not,” he defended, feeling his arm with his hand. That woman was a nut, and she was getting an answer whether he wanted to or not. “Fine. Just the short version.”

She crossed her arms again, making her outfit look more like a costume than a uniform. “Alright, what’s the story?”

He didn’t want to tell it, but somehow he felt he needed to. Daryl was used to bottling his secrets in the belief that he could carry it all on his own. He couldn’t. It just so happened that it was your history together that had the most effect on him. 

“We’ve known each other since we were kids,” Daryl started. His heart was begging to be released into the wild where it could be free. Telling this part of his life was something he’d never bothered to let out. Heck, he’d never even thought about it to himself in a long time. He treated it like a dream he was starting to forget but couldn’t. “I was trynna win her when we grew up, and I—we dated. For some time. Then we were gonna run away together. She was the one who wanted to; stole her parents’ car ‘n everythin’, brought a wad load of cash. I gave her a ring I saved up for, and we were gonna go far away. We hopped two states. Then I… And… I just—she was one of those kids from a well off family, alrigh’? And I was…intimidated.”

Though Carol found herself smiling for the first half, she didn’t like where this story was going. “What did you do?”

Daryl stilled himself for what was about to come out next, from his mouth and Carol’s.

“I left her while we were two states away from home. She was shoppin’ for groceries while I was in the parkin’ lot. I drove away. With the car. And the cash. Never looked back.”

The next thing he knew, his friend had planted a hard slap across his face. And he knew he deserved it. Heck, he deserved worse than that. Maybe even deserved to die for it, now that he knew the life you were left to live wasn’t exactly paradise.

Daryl Dixon was a coward.

Daryl Dixon was stupid for assuming he could even win you back.

And most of all, you would be just as stupid if you let him.

i'm still building my blog. so for now, just send me an ask to be added to my taglist :)

DARYL DIXON TAGLIST: @vaniniweenie

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 4

Warnings: Sexual situations

When Rick noticed Daryl lagging behind after a couple more hours, he made the call to set up camp. You had expected tents and at least blankets but what you got were bedrolls and jackets. Daryl had told you to sit tight while he went hunting and Rick was setting up a perimeter. 

You watched the other man with naked curiosity. You had no experiences with the dead, having been taken by Big Jazz just before the outbreak. You hadn’t even seen a walker in person. It was easy to decipher what the string and cans were supposed to accomplish. Perhaps if you studied these men enough, you’d be able to defend yourself should the need arise. 

For now, you supposed, you’d just stay perched on that log and wait for Daryl to return. You could use the time to psych yourself up for alone time with the archer. You weren’t as good as the other girls at interpreting what customers wanted, but you usually came pretty close with a few adjustments. 

Daryl was quiet and attentive. He probably liked a loud lover. One that would let him know he was making them feel good. He wouldn’t want to be called daddy if he disliked sir so vehemently. He liked being in control. He had taken the initiative to purchase you, ignoring Rick’s hesitance but you just had a gut feeling that he wouldn’t mind relinquishing that control on occasion, if for nothing more than a reprieve. 

Tonight, you’d just present yourself to him and let him do as he pleased. He probably wanted to reprimand you for all your earlier misconduct and providing the full canvas would possibly save him from explaining himself to Rick, as long as you could keep the bruises hidden. 

Thinking of being naked in front of him made your stomach flip. Men had been disappointed with your body before. Hopefully, you could convince him that you were worth keeping based on your performance alone. 

You flinched when there came movement to your right, Daryl stalking in from the shadows with a few squirrels held by the tails. You’d never had squirrel before. There were a lot of things you’d never had but especially now when most depended on hunting or scavenging to survive, you had missed out. You had been fed instant oatmeal, protein bars, and sometimes dog food for the past however long it had been. 

Daryl borrowed Rick’s knife, having offered his own up in trade for you. The guilt you felt hit you like a ton of bricks but you forced it down in favor of watching him work to prepare the meal. Each slice, each pull was done with a practiced precision. It was morbidly hypnotic, but soon there sticks through the rodents and they were being roasted over the fire on a makeshift spit. 

Daryl was sitting across from you with Rick at his side. Each of them was engrossed in something: Rick with a map and Daryl with the bolts from his crossbow. Focused as he was, you would look up to see him staring at you over the flames. You were quick to avert your gaze so as not to offend him any more than you already had that day. 

The silence continued until the food was ready to eat, Rick smiling and patting the archer on the shoulder in thanks. Then Daryl stood and made his way over to you, offering you one of the skewers. 

“Thank you, Sir.” You said quietly, keeping your eyes downcast while accepting the meat. He didn’t go back to where he had been, actually choosing to sit a little closer to you on your right. The food didn’t really have a smell other than just—meat. Still, your mouth watered. Holding the skewer over your lap, you waited for Daryl to finish eating, which didn’t take long. Had the situation been different, you might have laughed at his lack of decorum. 

“Ya just gonna stare at it or what?” He finally said around a mouthful. You blinked at him, hoping he’d get the message without you needing to remind him. You hadn’t openly told him earlier. He had told you to eat and drink without explanation. 

“She’s waitin’ for you to say it’s okay.” Rick offered, placing his own empty skewer on the ground next to his leg. 

Daryl’s lip curled, his brows drawn inward. “Gave it to ya, didn’t I? What else would I wantcha to do with it?”

Though you were skeptical of that being actual consent, you eagerly picked off a piece of meat and popped it into your mouth. It was bland but not in a horrible way. So much better than dog food. With a quiet hum of approval, you dug in, raising the skewer to your mouth to rip bites right off the source. 

“I think she likes it.” Rick chuckled, watching you with a gentle smile. 

When you noticed both men looking at you, the stick was lowered and you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand with a mumbled apology. 

“S’fine. Just eat, would ya? No one here gives a shit how ya do it.” Daryl tossed his empty skewer and wiped his palms on his thighs, no longer interested in you at all. “I got first watch.” He said, leaning back against the tree behind him. Rick nodded and rolled the top of his bedroll down in a makeshift pillow before stretching out on it. 

“Wake me when you get tired.” He yawned and shifted until his back faced you. 

That left just you and Daryl, and suddenly the squirrel meat wasn’t at all appetizing. After staring at it for probably much too long, you held it out to him. 

“Ya barely touched it.” He commented with a look that eerily resembled concern. 

“I, um—I don’t need much. It was really good though. Thank you, Sir.” It was hard to suppress a flinch when he stood but he bypassed you and crouched in front of his bag. 

“Give it ‘ere.” You placed the food onto his palm and watched with grand amounts of confusion as he pulled out a cloth and shook bread crumbs from it before he hastily pulled the skewer from the meat and wrapped it. “Ya can have it tomorrow if’n ya want. Or one’a us’ll eat it.”

You nodded, pulling your feet up onto the log and wrapping your arms around your shins. 

“Ya tired?”

Was it a trick question? “No, Sir.” I’m exhausted. 

Daryl closed his eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Ya sure?”

“Yes, Sir.” No. 

His blue eyes, warmed by the soft glow of the flames, narrowed and gave you a once over. “Fine. Ya can sleep on that when ya want.” He pointed to his own bedroll as he stood, going back to his tree in two long strides. 

You were so utterly confused. Did he not want to fuck you? You risked a glance at him to find him staring off into the darkness over where Rick lay sleeping. You didn’t understand what he meant for you to do. Maybe you had it all wrong and he needed you to take control? The thought terrified you. You had done it before when customers asked but to initiate it without express permission seemed dangerous. 

So, you waited. 

Just as before, you would find him watching you when you chanced a look in his direction. His expression was unreadable. And so it continued like that well into the night, until you were fighting to keep your eyes open. 

That’s when he stood. 

Your back straightened, your body reacting, ready and as willing as you could be to do what he wanted. 

“Gonna take a piss. Won’t be but a minute.” He said lowly, watching you for another moment before he disappeared into the darkness. 

You stared at the spot where the shadows had swallowed him and waited, still nervous and unsure. True to his word, he emerged only a moment later, fastening his belt as he walked. He stepped over the perimeter line and headed straight for the tree to assume the same position as before, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles with his back against the tree. 

Surely, he was waiting for you. Things might even turn out worse for you if you withheld from him much longer. 

With a sigh, you stood, taking small steps over to him and lowering to your knees next to his legs. He watched you with a curious expression but said nothing. Steeling your nerves to calm the nausea that attempted to bring up the squirrel, you threw one leg over his thighs to straddle him and began to unbutton the shirt he had given you. 

“Whoa, hey! The fuck ya doin’?” He pressed himself impossibly closer to the tree, his hands up as if in surrender. When you were finally brave enough to meet his eyes, you found them wide and full of panic. Not kindness, but panic. 

“I thought—” You blinked at him, your small fingers frozen on the buttons of the shirt. “Don’t you want to fuck me now?” 

If his eyes got any wider, they would pop out of his skull. “What?! That—that ain’t what this is!” He had yet to move, same as you. For a few more uncomfortable moments, you simply stared at one another before he cleared his throat. “Could ya get offa me?”

You did move then, scrambling back to your log in clumsy motions. “Did I—do something wrong, Sir?” He was purposefully keeping his eyes off of you. 

“Ya should get some sleep.” He stood quickly and grabbed his crossbow, stopping to speak over his shoulder. “Gonna check the perimeter.”

You opened your mouth but closed it just as quickly while he walked away. Once he was out of sight, you turned back to the fire, buttoning the shirt back up. What had just happened? 

[honey-ros3ss]

Bloody and Grimy

Daryl x fem!reader

!fluff/angst season 4 prison era

"What are your thoughts on this?" you asked, turning to face Daryl and showing him a purple top. "Hmm, don' like it" he grumbled. "Well, I think it's cute and I'll just wear it at home," you replied smiling, trying to lighten the mood. "Then why yea' ask?" he mocked, mimicking your tone. "Hmm, I don't know," you shrugged. As you walked around, your eyes landed on a zipped-up, long-sleeve green shirt.

"Oh, baby, look at this!" you exclaimed, holding it up for Daryl to see. "Wha'?" he asked curiously. "Year' boobs will be... out" he pointed out. "Really? It's a zip-up anyway," you defended.

"Oh," Daryl sighed.

Grinning and shaking your head, you decided to search the area to see if you could find anything else. As you reached out to turn the doorknob of a storage closet, Daryl called out your name. Startled, you quickly turned around. As you made your way towards Daryl, you heard growls. Swiftly, you spun around to face four walkers. "Shit," you muttered under your breath. "Daryl, there are walkers!" you exclaimed loudly, hoping he would hear you.

You swiftly draw your knife from its holster, easily stabbing one walker in the head and forcefully pushing it back, causing another walker to fall. You focus on the two limping walkers closing in on you, you raised the knife to slash into the head of the one on my right.

However, the knife becomes lodged and unable to be removed. As the other walker continues to approach, you stop the attempt to retrieve the knife and search for an object to defend yourself. Unfortunately, you're unable to find anything around you.

The walker finally reaches you and leans its weight on you making you stumble down, you immediately extend your hand to keep it away from your face. You scan the area and notice the walker fall down in a swift, recognizing the arrow you know its Daryl.

Daryl quickly runs towards you forcing his knife into the walkers skull. The body collapses on you as you felt relieved. He rips the walkers body off of you, concerned, he quickly checked if you had any bites. "Are yea' okay, hun? Did yea' get bit?" he asked with worry. "Yes, I'm okay, and no, I didn't,'" you replied with a slight smile. He kissed your head and hugged you. "What about you? Are you okay?'"you mumbled into his chest. "Yeah, I am." You let go of the hug to retrieve your knife from the walker's head.

As you were about to wipe the blood residue on your pants, you noticed how dirty and grimy your shirt had become. "Ugh, my shirt is ruined," you dramatically sighed. "Really tha's wha' yer' worried abou' ".

Ignoring his remark about the situation that just happpend you remembered about the clothes you found. "Daryl, where are the clothes I found?'"

He looked at you with a questioning look then pointed to where you had initially been. As you searched through the pile of items, you found the shirt you were looking for. With a smile, you replaced the bloody and grimy shirt with the nice green one. Turning to face Daryl, you noticed his cheeks turning red. "Soooo, you likey?"

'Its nice but-' he pointed to your breasts. "Babe it's nothing I can jus-" "tk" looking at your hand there's the zipper. Before Daryl could say anything you walked up to him and kissed him "Let's go".

Not sure if I love this lol, hope you guys enjoyed!

[sirensvcubus]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Early season 5

Pure smut//One Shot//Short but sweet//

Daryl Dixon pulls you away from the group while everyones asleep in the forest huddled around the small fire. Daryl furiously kisses you pushing you against a tall tree the bark scratching your skin as he ripped apart your top. He kisses his way down your body as you pull down your pants he kisses your thighs and lower stomach teasing you as he presses his wet lips over your blue lace panties. He gets bellow you pulling them aside with his rough hands trailing up to your bra you hold onto his strong arms caressing them slowly. He holds onto your thighs so tight as he foes down on you. Your sure he’ll leave bruises of his large hands. When you get back early in the morning rick rubs his eyes and grins seeing you two sneak back to the now withering fire. Glenn rolls his eyes as he was on night patrol and you slither back into the comfy sleeping bag. Daryls warm body behind you holding you close kissing your neck before you both drift off.

[zvdvdlvr]

care (for you)

daryl dixon

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: "𝗂 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍. 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾"

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 [ 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇', 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 ], 𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, confessions!!!, possible ooc daryl? idk

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒: 𝗌𝗁𝖾/𝗁𝖾𝗋

{🫐}

daryl was in the building for once. the exhausted man sat rigid on the thin jail beds with his head in his hands. between making runs, watching little ass-kicker, and keeping watch outside, there was little time for daryl to do much- let alone sleep.

"hey D," y/n greeted quietly. she leaned against the wall, holding little judith in her arms.

"hey darlin'. what's up?" he asked, voice hoarse.

the woman shrugged. "Ain't nothin' goin' on today that's remotely interesting... thought i'd... thought i'd come see how you're doin'," she explained. "know you Ain't gettin' sleep."

daryl furrowed his brows. "yes i am."

y/n scoffed and looked down at judith after she let out a little whimper. playing with judith's tiny fingers, y/n looked up. "you know, i chose to worry about you, sweetheart. please let me."

biting his lip, daryl patted the space next to him. when y/n sat down and adjusted judith, she looked expectantly at daryl. "you know... i ain't good with this... communication stuff, sweet girl- you outta know that- but i... i like it when you gimme that look of yers and just... you just..."

with a shy smile, y/n pressed on. "what do i do, daryl?"

daryl threw his head back. "fuck! you do that, sweetheart! you care about me! yeh go 'round with little ass-kicker in yer arms and you call rick on his bullshit and yeh get me off my high horse and- fuck! i love that! i love... you. i think. i know i love you... and i- shit- i think i could fall in love with you," daryl ranted, eyes frantically searching y/n's, hands twisting together.

after he finished, daryl looked down. "fuck... i- i ain't mean to say that. i'm sorry sweetheart.''

his heart cracked further at her silence. daryl never had exposed himself like that- voluntarily made himself so vulnerable. he didn't like that feeling. the feeling of suspension in the air after a big ass bomb is dropped and person A is worried person B will shatter their hope, shatter their soul. step on their body and crush their spirit. daryl spiraled. not often, but this was one of those moments.

but then his thoughts stopped as a hand turned his face. her warm, caring hand tilted his face to look at hers. "i know i love you too," she murmured.

flabberghasted, daryl felt his jaw loosen and eyes widened. he looked desperately between her lips and eyes, hoping she'd get the message and make a move. daryl couldn't overstep- couldn't make a wrong move now and scare her away. no, y/n meant too much to daryl, and if he scared her away, he couldn't live with himself.

"you gonna kiss me or not?"

daryl leaned foward and desperately grasped at y/n. their lips intertwined and their teeth knocked. little grunts fell from daryl's lips and synchronized flawless with y/n's quiet groans.

daryl's hands flew to y/n's neck. desperately holding on to her, as if she'd disappear if he looked away. this was too great: the 'i love you's, the hot and havy make out session, the quiet moaning.

an abrupt cry split the two apart.

"hey baby," y/n cooed, as if daryl's togue wasn't just down her throat. at her restless cry, y/n frowned. "i know, sweet heart. you're hungry, ain't'cha?"

daryl chuckled and let his hand move from y/n's neck to her lips. with his thumb, daryl brushed the plush part of her bottom lip and watched, starstruck, as y/n looked back up at him eith that beautiful smile. "i meant that, D," she spoke. after pressing a small kiss to his lips, y/n stood up. disregarding judith's fussy noises, y/n went on, "let me care for you. please."

and with that, daryl was suddenly left alone was his nasty thoughts and the memory of her lips on his.

[hopefulatrocity]

From The Ashes Prologue

Gif credit: hellodollfac3.tumblr.com

Note: This prologue hasn’t been proofread, if you find any mistakes let me know please! I’m looking for someone who might be willing to beta read the story if at all possible. Also, this story is going along with my experiences as a trans guy. Everyone’s transition is different. For me, I have little bottom dysphoria, so I use typical terms for AFAB genitalia when writing smut between my oc and Daryl. I also chose not to use HRT, which is how I wrote Pheonyx as well. In regards to passing, I write sometimes about Nyx having some more “feminine” aspects to his appearance, because this is an issue I have with passing in public. If any of these things are a trigger for you, please proceed at your own risk. Take care of yourselves, lovelies! Remember, every trans person transitions differently and I’m simply trying to portray my experiences as a trans guy.

If you would like to be added to a taglist for this story, please let me know!

Summary: Pheonyx Greene is the oldest of the Greene siblings. He’s always been different than the rest of his family; having endured abuse from his biological father as a kid and growing up as bisexual/transgender in conservative rural Georgia. He loves his family but the past has made him weary of strangers and love. He finds himself on the family farm recovering from top surgery when the world falls apart. As the dead begin to rise, Pheonyx finds himself becoming the sole protector of the farm as his family lives in denial about the Shadows of loved ones past. His life is changed the day Rick Grimes shows up on the farm, and shortly after a certain gruff archer as well. Daryl is drawn to younger man but how does he deal with the internal prejudices he’s grown up with? As the search for Sophia ensues, Daryl is forced to group up with Pheonyx. Will he push him away? Or will Daryl allow himself to put the past aside and let Pheonyx in? 

Series Trigger/content warning: Homophobia/transphobia/biphobia, zenophobia/racism/sexism(Merle), age gap romance(11yr difference. Pheonyx is 28, Daryl is 39 ), sexual assault/rape, child molestation, canon character deaths, body mutilation, child abuse, torture, hunting, smut 18+( P in V, unprotected sex(please practice safe sex!), creampie, breeding kink, rough sex, marking/biting, oral sex, sub/dom undertones), animal deaths, scars, blood, corpses, depression/anxiety, body dysphoria, religious trauma, menstruation mentions

Chapter Content Warnings: Transphobia/biphobia, religious trauma, child abuse, depression/anxiety, childhood molestation, self harm/suicidal thoughts, puberty, bullying, menstruation talk, body dysphoria, sexism 

Next Chapter

Pheonyx Greene spent the majority of his childhood hiding. So much so, it became second nature to him. 

From the day he was born to the age of 8, he hid from his father’s fists and hateful words that he didn’t understand. Words he wouldn’t understand for years to come. Bruises and lashes were concealed behind baggy clothes. Practiced smiles and rigorous play with neighborhood kids disguising the pain of every movement. His mother, Annette, would stare at him with guilt. Guilt for not having seen the abuse for 5 years, not wanting to see what was going on when she wasn’t home. Guilt for not noticing the flinches at innocent touch. And guilt for letting it continue as she worked to pull away from the monster that held them under his thumb. She never spoke of it to Pheonyx. Simply holding him after each “punishment”, silently cleaning his wounds and wiping his tears. That silence hurt worse than the switch on his back. His eyes begged for just a word from his mother. Something to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. That she was there for him or that she was going to do something to protect him. But those words never came. Annette gave birth to his brother, Shawn, when he was 6. 2 years later, they finally escape Pheonyx’s hell. The scars littering his body and the night terrors were always a reminder that he never fully escaped, though. 

At 8, Pheonyx no longer had to hide from his father, but he had to hide from other things. Schoolyard bullies tormented him. They asked him why he only wore jeans and long sleeves? Why did he play with boys instead of the “other girls”? Why did he cut his hair short using the scissors in art class? Why did he roll around in the mud while the girls were playing House on the other side of the playground? They would pull his pants down in the cafeteria, laughing about checking to see if he was a boy or a girl. It confused him. Why did it matter? Couldn’t he just be himself? But apparently it did matter. He would spend his entire schooling years, hiding from those bullies. 

     At 9, his mother married his stepfather, Hershel. He was a nice man. Much older than his mom, but he accepted and adopted, both Pheonyx and Shawn. He had a daughter, only a year younger than Shawn who had just turned three, named Maggie. Her mother died shortly after giving birth to her. While devastated about the death of his late wife, Hershel was strong and took on the role of a single father. He and Annette met at the local grocery store. A wailing Maggie in his arms, Hershel was trying to find the right formula product for his growing daughter. Annette was a godsend, taking Maggie and calming her before helping the man find the correct food for his daughter. They exchanged numbers and were married not many months later. The way Pheonyx’s stepfather tells the story, the older man fell for Annette the second she held Maggie in her arms.  

    Hershel was a good father to both Maggie and his stepsons. But Pheonyx was weary of the man at first. His only father figure was a devil of a man and the young boy waited for months for the other shoe to drop. It never did though. He would purposely break dishes or get bad grades at school, just trying to see what would be the final straw before his step father finally punished him. But aside from a small scolding and increased chores for his bad grades, Pheonyx was left unharmed. Hershel was kind and he treated his step children as if they were his own. He would often take the boys on house calls with him, whether it be helping birth a newborn calf or checking a swollen ankle on a neighbor’s gelding. Pheonyx loved the animals and looked forward to any time he could spend helping Hershel with his duties as a veterinarian.  The only thing Pheonyx hated about the man was how devout Hershel was. Pheonyx went from never going to church, to going every Sunday and Wednesday. Plus attending all holiday functions, youth group trips, and bible camps. He had lived in true hell for 8 years. The Christian version seemed like child's play compared to his father’s belt. It was at the church he also had to hide. Hide from the side eyed glances of older neighbors. Hide from the whispers wondering why he refused to wear a dress or why he didn’t act like a “proper young lady”. He had to lie when his mother asked why he didn’t want to attend Sunday School with Shawn and Maggie. He couldn’t explain that the teacher looked at him with evil eyes. That the man’s hands were cold as he slipped them under Pheonyx’s button up blouse. That the touches made him feel worse than when his father would make him kneel and count the lashes. 

When Pheonyx hit puberty, around the time his half sister(Beth) was born, he began to hide within himself. How did he explain to his mother and stepfather that the sight of his budding breasts made him want to claw his own skin off? How did he explain that when he got his first period, he contemplated taking all of his mother’s antidepressants and putting an end to the feeling of wrongness in his body?  How did he explain that everytime someone called him “miss”, “sweetheart”, or “girl”, he felt physically sick? What would he say when his mom knew that he kissed Caroline Allen under the maple tree at school? That same week he also kissed Jeremy Mason by the soccer field. Both of those kisses made his stomach flutter in ways it only should with a boy.  The preacher that previous Sunday had told them that any desire for people of the same sex was the ultimate sin. How did he explain to his mother and stepfather that, in their beliefs, he was destined to go to hell? He couldn’t. So he hid everything. The depression from not feeling at home in his body and from not being able to be himself at home. The anxiety of not fitting in with southern conservative values. The disgust with his own appearance as he let his hair grow and wore dresses to get his mom to smile. The weight of it all became too much. 

Maggie found him one day, crying in the barn, a razor held to his wrist. The 20 yr old thought Maggie would be mad, but she wasn’t. At just 13, the girl was wiser than most adults. She had seen her sibling struggling. She didn’t understand it, but she listened as Pheonyx explained what was wrong. Maggie held him as he cried and led him to the house. There, she helped Pheonyx cut his hair. The cut was jagged and patchy, as all they had were some dull kitchen scissors, but he loved it. She called him her brother and it felt like the cloud of depression and anxiety disappeared for a short amount of time. It was the first time Pheonyx felt truly accepted. That night, Maggie held Pheonyx’s hand as he told their parents and siblings everything. Beth was mostly too young to understand and Shawn was just confused. As were Annette and Hershel. They tried to tell him it was just a phase and that it was normal to be confused at such a young age. They refused to even consider the possibility of him being a boy. Of God having made a mistake when he was forming the child’s body. Despite their non acceptance, Pheonyx felt freer than he ever had. He had been working for 5 years at local horse stables and also as an assistant for Hershel at his clinic, so he used his savings to buy more masculine clothing. Maggie was the one who suggested the name “Pheonyx”. The meaning behind it felt right to him. From that day forward, he went by Pheonyx Archer Greene. 

The years following were rough. Maggie accepted him, never once misgendering or dead-naming him. But the rest of his family continued to have issues with it. Shawn and Beth picked it up faster than his parents. It took 3 years before the older couple even began to come around to the idea of Pheonyx being trans. They consistently pushed him to go to Church, to repent, or to go to “counseling” with the local preacher. This created a divide between the family and Pheonyx, one that still existed even after his parents began gendering and naming him correctly 75% of the time. 

He lost his innocence the day he turned 22. His body, that he had finally begun to love, became a broken shell. A layer of grime covering his already marred skin. No matter how hard he cleaned or tore at his skin, the filth never disappeared. The state of Georgia was suddenly a prison. The rolling pastures and never-ending forests that were once home suddenly held memories he needed to escape.

Once his physical body healed, Pheonyx took the first flight out of the Bible Belt and landed in Michigan. He took shitty jobs just to get by at first. Long hours with little sleep just to avoid the memories that haunted him at night. Solace came in the form of a friend, another trans guy that frequented the diner Pheonyx bused tables for. Small talk became long conversations over burnt coffee. The other man offered him a job at his tattoo shop, Zombie Ink, as a receptionist/custodian.  From there, he healed. Slowly. He had more nightmares and more scars than before but his skin finally felt clean.

He kept in touch with his family, but he avoided visiting. The memories were still painful. It took 6 years for the man to finally gain the courage to go back to his home state. His impending top surgery being the motivation to finally put his demons to rest. He would need some help after his surgery, and truth be told, he missed his siblings. Even his parents. So, he opted for a surgeon closer to his hometown. Afterwards, he would spend the next month healing on the family farm. Pheonyx didn’t realize that by making the decision to put his nightmares to bed, he was changing the whole course of his life. 

Maybe it was fate that brought him back home just shortly before the world collapsed. Or maybe it was just shitty luck. Pheonyx wasn’t sure. All he knew was that everything changed. 

Next Chapter

[d-dixonimagines]

ANGSTY

A bit of angst and tension and banter! Cause I love me a spicy Daryl! As always, choose which prompt you would like to use ( you can pick at least two if they mesh well together). I envision Daryl being the one to say a lot of these, but it can be your choice who says it! Choose the prompt(s) and a brief summary or idea of what you would like and I will do my best! Some may be recycled from past lists. Enjoy! 1. "Excuse me! That's rude!" 2. "I don't like your attitude." 3. "You sure love to hear the sound of your own voice, don't you?" 4. "You owe me an explanation." / "I don't owe you shit." 5. "You're the worst person I've ever met." 6. "What the hell did you think would happen?" 7. "You didn't think this through, did you?" 8. "You can't get rid of me that easy." 9. "Why are you so stubborn?" 10. "Please, for the love of god, shut up for once." "Why don't you come over here and make me?" 11. "Sometimes I feel like you're just waiting for an excuse to leave." SOME SOFTER THEMED PROMPTS: 12. "You can relax. We're safe here." 13. "That's quite a scratch you got there." 14. "I can't think straight with you." 15. "I used to want to kill you. Now I just want to kiss you." 16. "Stop being grumpy, it's lame." 17. "You're bleeding -- how long have you been hiding this?"

[snailss]

hey so y’know how i said i would get a fix out a few days ago?

i lied

some shit happened irl and i got busy again BUT I SHOULD BE FREE IN A FEW DAYS!! so i’ll HOPEFULLY (no promises) get some stuff out this week.

[walkingtalkingsomething]

one of the series i originally found on ao3, and easily one of my faves 💙

Daryl Dixon x NB!Reader (afab, plus-size) 🏹 Daryl x Reader x Rick 🛡️

The Cop and the Criminal - Chapter 32

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Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Taglist

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Summary: It's been a week or so since Glenn and T-Dog saved Rick. Now, your pack is getting settled in new place. Word count: 3K This chapter contains: Nesting, going into heat, firearms, smut.

Author's note: I am a little behind on posting chapters to tumblr. So I'll be trying to fix that in the next few days.

==

Nest.

It was all you could think about as you took water and soap to every surface in the kitchen. The other rooms had been cleaned, from top to bottom, including the loft and the basement. The loft had a low ceiling, but Ro and Merle had made their bed up there, using an air mattress and sleeping bags. Carl slept on the main floor, closest to the wood stove, while you, Rick, and Daryl had a makeshift bed in the basement. It was a far cry from your house, a home filled with Daryl’s handiwork, not to mention modern furniture. All that remained were some old, hand-made chairs and a small kitchen table.

This cabin, like the others around it, was old, from the 1850s, you’d guessed, based on the structure and style. In more recent years the land had been repossessed then abandoned. Before then, generations of Dixons had lived here, in their own version of Walton’s mountain, before the Great Depression.

Despite the bedding downstairs in the basement of this old, cozy cabin, your omega was desperate for safety, seclusion, and comfort.

As you cleaned, you were also looking after Carl. He sat at the table, still and focused as he drew pictures to give Lori and Shane when they arrived. He’d grown quiet over the last few days, since you left home.

You hoped, for his sake, that Lori and Shane would get here soon.

The past few days remained a chaotic whirlwind, made all the worse by your biological imperative. Soon after you met Glenn and T-Dog, your mates decided it was time to get out of town, before things got worse.

The next morning, you packed what you could: clothes, food, and supplies. When it came time to pack up the pillows and blankets from your nest, you sat frozen in your nest, trying not to cry. That’s how Daryl found you when it was almost time to go.

“C’mon, Bubbie,” he said, clearing space so he could sit next to you. “You’ll make a new one.”

“You built this for me,” you replied gesturing at the bed, then running your hand along the shelves behind it. “You made this a home. For us.”

Daryl gathered you in his arms. “Yer the one who made it a home. ‘Sides we’ll come back when it dies down.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think we will. The way Glenn describes the city…I don’t think this will be safe for a long time if the dead are migrating here.” You took a deep breath. “I know we have to go.”

“Don’ mean it’s easy,” he said, hugging you. After a moment, he got off the bed and opened one of the cherry wood chests he’d made for your nesting materials. He dumped out all the unused, pillows and blankets, still in their plastic wrapping.

What to take was your decision, but Daryl helped you, arranging everything in the chest, and packing it tightly.

Later, when it was time to go, Rick reassured you, too. “We’ll get you a place for your nest in time.”

“What if we have to move again, while I’m in heat?” you asked. “It will be soon.”

“I know. We both do. That’s why we’re goin’ now. And it’s why we need to stick together. Not just us, but the new guys, too.”

You nodded. Rick wrapped you up in a tight hug.

“We owe them. I owe them,” you said. “They brought you back to me.” Even in the short time you’d known Glenn and T, you knew them to be good people. T-Dog, an alpha, kept his distance from you; he must have known you were close to your heat, but you’d gotten to know Glenn a little. He had strategic way of thinking, and you thought maybe he was some sort of weekend warrior. But no, just a delivery driver.

Now, in the cabin, you gripped the edge of the sink, panic rising. Trying to control your breathing, you glanced at the wooden chest sitting by the basement door. Then, you stared at Carl’s back, as a sudden, unwelcome wave of frustration came over you. Your omega didn’t want him near your nest. In fact, it didn’t even want your mates near it, not yet.

Outside, Merle and Ro kept watch while your mates were clearing out other cabins, making them livable. T and Glenn took one, next to yours. You bristled at having strangers so close by when your heat was imminent, but you owed them.

The front door swung open, and you flinched, letting out a whimper of surprise. Despite the gust of cold wind from the door, you were too hot to even notice, but Carl shivered.

Daryl stepped in, quickly closing the door, and going to add logs to the wood stove.

He took one look at you, and whether it was your bond or Daryl’s keen eye, he seemed to know exactly what you needed. Jutting his chin toward the basement, he sat down next to Carl, distracting the boy while you went to make your nest.

The chest was too heavy for you to carry, and through your bond you felt Daryl’s impulse to help you. Rejecting it and putting up a mental wall, you grabbed armfuls of your blankets and pillows, making a few trips up and down the basement stairs. When you were done, you locked the door at the top of the steps and got to work.

The padded mats you cleaned earlier had dried. One still held hints of Daryl’s musk, pine, so you put it in the center foundation of your nest and started arranging everything around it. Nestled in the corner of the room, the nest began to grow. Releasing your perfume, you set about making the entire area yours. Blankets were piled on top of each other, pillows lined the walls. After hours of work, you were almost satisfied and crept back up the stairs to find the house empty except for Daryl and Rick, who were both pacing in the open-spaced living room and kitchen.

“Carl?” you said, still on edge, but in control of your anxiety for the moment.

“With Jesus.” Rick assured you.

“Whaddaya need from us, Bubbie?” Daryl asked, his voice low and soft.

“I need your clothes, something,” you said, your voice almost whiny. Your first heat had been so perfect. But this heat was different. You couldn’t be sure your pack would even be safe here, or how long you could stay in one place. Especially with Rick and Daryl unable to protect everyone like they had been.

Wasn’t it selfish of you to need them like you did? Not just one, but both? Yet how could you choose? Yes, you were more in sync with Daryl, but he’d claimed you and been with you for half a year now. You cared just as much for Rick, and soon you’d be bonded with him, too.

Daryl started striding across the room, but you backed away, shaking your head.

“Not yet.”

Rick shrugged out of his fur-lined deputy’s coat and untucked his shirt, unbuttoning it as you watched. His bare chest gleamed with sweat, his soft dusting of hair enticing. Your stomach clenched and all you wanted was to lay on top of him and let him ease the growing ache in your belly.

Meanwhile, Daryl froze in place, and, although it took you a moment, you finally realized what you’d inadvertently asked of him. Quickly, you opened your suitcase and started pulling out unwrapped Christmas presents. What a simpler time that had been, when your most pressing worry was dropped stitches and miscounted rows.

Setting some things on the kitchen table, you approached Daryl with his poncho, it was hooded, with two layers of thick wool.

“Trade for your coat?” you asked him.

He took it and brought it to his nose, sniffing deeply.

“Ya make this? Fer me?”

You nodded. “I did some research and it’s supposed to keep you warm while you use your crossbow.”

Your mate’s face was red, and he was blinking quickly as he stared down at the gift.

“Merry Christmas,” you said quietly. Daryl nodded without looking up, refusing to meet your eyes or Rick’s.

“I-I-I have more,” you stammered, unnerved by Daryl’s reaction. Why would he cry over a poncho? You gave Rick his wide scarf and matching gloves. Daryl had a pair of gloves, too, fingerless with rubber grips sewn on the underside—for driving his motorcycle.

“Bunny,” Rick breathed, still shirtless and sniffing his scarf. “These are amazing. And your scent is all over them.”

Daryl grunted, and got out of his coat, handing it to you, and putting on his poncho.

“’S real nice, ‘mega,” he said, adjusting the poncho on his shoulders then grabbing his crossbow from where it sat nearby.

Clutching Daryl’s coat and then grabbing Rick’s shirt, you said. “Soon. But --”

Daryl looked up. “Ya dun wan’ anyone in ‘ere but us.”

You nodded.

Rick said, “While your finishin’ up, we’ll get Carl settled in with Jesus. Already talked to him about your heat.”

“You did?”

“Carl knows that you’ll need me— us -- for a few days.”

Of course, children knew, vaguely what an omega in heat entailed. Not the actual mating, but the privacy, the duty of alphas to care for their partners.

“And the others?” you asked.

“Merle swore off drinkin’ an’ Ro’s good with the kid. Glenn and T helpin’ with keepin’ watch.”

Their reassurances consoled you. Besides, the betas in your pack knew what they needed to do, and you trusted them. But Carl…he had been taken from his mom and now his dad, too.

You pointed to two crocheted Woobles on the table. “These are for Carl.” Both were dinosaurs from his favorite cartoon.

“I’ll make sure he gets them,” Rick said.

“Go’n now,” Daryl told you, jutting his chin at the basement door. “Be dark soon, an’ cold.”

You nodded, renewed determination compelling you to tweak your nest until it was perfect and cozy for your alphas, for yourself, and for the days that followed.

*

Finally, your nest was as close to perfect as it was going to get. Surveying the pile of blankets and pillows, your omega was finally happy to have a place to share with your mates.

Despite the stress of the past few days, a glimmer of happiness bloomed. Rick could claim you. Daryl would make love to you. And the world outside would fall away.

Skin still hot, you left the basement in search of your men. You’d been cramping steadily for the past hour, nothing unmanageable but growing more intense as time went on.

Outside, you heard the rumble of engines, and a wave of tension hit you. Not your own, but Daryl’s

Grabbing your coat, you ran outside, finding Daryl on the porch and Rick standing in the worn path near the house. A little behind Rick were Merle and Ro; Merle with a shotgun pointed at the winding path that led to the cabins.

In the distance, three vehicles approached, a Jeep, a Cherokee, and an RV.

“That’s Shane and Lori,” Rick said, but his hand was on the butt of his revolver, you noticed.

You approached Daryl, standing next to him as he held his crossbow, lowered, but seemingly ready to aim at a moment’s notice.

“You said it was just them two,” Merle shouted. “Then explain the rest of ‘em.”

The cars continued to approach, Rick glanced around, his eyes landing on Merle, who had his rifle raised.

“Put that down, Merle,” Rick ordered.

“Ya gonna make me?”

Daryl gruffly shouted, “Merle!”

Merle shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. If y’all wanna risk it, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

Glenn, from across the way, spoke up. “It’s all good. More people, yeah? Safer that way.”

You agreed with Glenn and Rick, at least on principle. Yet, right now, on the verge of your heat, the thought of strangers being near you or your nest, felt like a threat on your pack’s territory.

Just then, Carl ran out of the cabin next door, without a coat on. Merle lowered his gun even more at the sight of the pup, but you could still see the tension in his shoulders. Next to him, Ro was quiet and still, his hand at his side holding a gun.

The red Jeep barely came to a stop before Lori appeared, throwing herself out of the passenger side door and running to Carl. Shane got out, too, and you relaxed at that. If Rick trusted Shane enough to tell him about this place, then the people with Shane had to be trustworthy, too, right?

Shane’s scent didn’t alarm you, not like it had the first time you’d met him, but there were more alphas’ scents emanating as other people emerged from their vehicles. One alpha’s odor burnt in your nostrils; when a balding, scowling man looked your way, you knew it was him. In the same car were a thin woman and a cowering little girl, who was around Carl’s age.

The alpha stared at you, his eyes bulging, it seemed, making you gasp and hide behind Daryl. Daryl squared his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the crossbow as Rick took an intimidating step toward the strange alpha.

Still, the frightening man didn’t look away.

Rick’s voice sliced through your fog. “Inside. Now.”

Not a command, and not directed at you.

Daryl said, “Holler if—”

“I will,” Rick replied, keeping his eyes on the strangers.

Daryl took you by the arm and guided you back into the cabin. Inside the warm living room, you took off your outerwear as quickly as you donned it moments ago. Your body was at war with your mind. Cramps of need swept through your middle, beginning the incessant pulsing at your core. You reached for the kitchen table to steady yourself, but Daryl caught you, holding you tightly against him, your backside pressing against his front. Slick moistened your underwear, and Daryl’s reaction was nearly instantaneous as you felt him grow hard against you.

Glancing out the windows to see Rick shaking hands with the strangers, you trembled as Daryl let out a possessive growl and rubbed his scent on you. Melting against him with a whimper, you let your instincts take over, ignoring the activity outside. With a huff, Daryl let go of you for just a moment to shoulder his crossbow, then he practically shoved you to the basement door. Eagerly you obeyed, flying down the stairs and burrowing on top of your nest.

“Daryl,” you whined, stripping off your layers of warm clothing and gazing up at him.

He locked the door, and after placing his weapon nearby, Daryl laid next to you, pulling you against him and running his teeth along your neck.

“Fuck, Bubbie,” he groaned, and began kissing his mark. With his hand on your hip, he pulled you to him and threw a leg over you, kissing and fondling you onto your back. Ridding himself quickly of his clothes, Daryl lowered himself above you, his bare skin on yours as he settled between your legs and kissed you again.

Your core throbbed, clenching and unclenching, demanding more than kisses from the alpha on top of you. Daryl started pressing his cock to the apex of your thighs, just slowly grinding his hips against you as his mouth and hands worked you to a fever pitch. You grabbed at him, too, sinking your nails into his back, squeezing his upper arms, reaching for his ass to urge him closer. Daryl was frantic and somehow still gentle, knowing all your favorite places for his mouth and hands. The scent of your arousal only grew stronger, and Daryl groaned in response. Fumbling, he rearranged himself so he rested on one forearm while his other hand cupped your mound. Taking one breast into his mouth, Daryl sucked and nipped at your sensitive bud as he slipped a finger inside you.

“Yer so wet, ‘mega’” he told you, “Jus’ lettin’ me right in. Feel so good on my hand.”

Your belly fluttered at his praise. Raising your hips to meet his hand you moved slowly, then with more intensity as he added another finger. His hand knew just how to make you come unraveled.

“Yes, Daryl, please .” you begged, getting close.

Suddenly, Daryl’s fingers left you, and you cried out in protest. He silenced you with a kiss on your mouth, immediately breaching the seam of your lips with his tongue. At the same time, his cock slipped through your folds and found its home in your soaking, needy pussy.

“Ye-e-e-sss,” you moaned. His cock was so big and perfect, stretching you and filling you. When he started moving you hung onto him for dear life, savoring the feel of him inside you, of his mouth on yours, of his entire body caging you in.

In your soul, you felt Daryl too, his passion and his desire, crashing into you the more he worked your body. He paused his kisses and locked eyes with you, holding your face in his hands as he thrust, the steady movement of his cock inside you sending you over the edge.

“I love you, Daryl,” you moaned, pulsing around him and holding his gaze. His knot notched into place, and he came, filling you even more. Nuzzling your gland and his mark, Daryl kissed you gently, then his mouth moved, lightly kissing your jaw then your mouth. He collapsed on top of you then rolled you over so you could lay on his chest, his knot holding you together. Reaching beside you, you found one of your favorite knitted blankets and covered you both.

Still breathing heavily, Daryl cradled you in his arms, teeth teasing your earlobe as you sighed against him.

“I love ya, too, Bubbie,” he whispered, speaking the words aloud for the first time.

You wondered if he felt the fullness of your heart through the bond. He must have because he sighed and relaxed, whispering more sweet words in your ear.

“So perfect, my omega, so strong.”

Almost nothing else existed as Daryl held you in your makeshift nest. Only one piece was missing, and as you nestled into Daryl’s chest, you hoped that Rick would join you soon.

==

To be continued.

==

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[dixons-sunshine]

The Importance Of Secret Keeping | Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader

Summary: When Rick brought in the former Woodbury residents, Daryl tried to stay away from them. However, a little girl had made him her unofficial best friend, and she revealed some pretty interesting things to him about you.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Prison, pre season 4.

Warnings: Swearing.

Word count: 1.3k.

A/n: This isn't the best because I couldn't really focus while writing this, but I wanted to get this done. I hope you like this nonetheless!

“Daryl, are you a tree?” Hazel asked innocently, skipping alongside the archer who had just returned from his run.

Daryl raised his eyebrows in surprise at the six year old's question. He sent a nod in Rick's direction, before extending his hand to the little girl to help her bound up the stairs that lead to the cell blocks.

“No, I ain't a tree,” Daryl replied to Hazel's question, pushing open the door that lead into the cell blocks.

“I didn't think so,” Hazel responded instantly, using her hand that held Daryl's to swing their arms in a childlike manner.

Daryl's lips twitched up into a small smile at the girl's antics, allowing her to swing his arm as they walked. “Then why'd ya ask, kiddo?”

“Because Mama said you have arms like tree trunks,” Hazel replied, before giggling and shaking her head. “Silly Mama. She thinks you're a tree. You should tell her you're not.”

Daryl's eyes widened in shock at Hazel's confession. He stopped in his tracks and withdrew his hand from the small girl's grip, making her turn around and look at Daryl in confusion.

“Daryl?”

“Yer mama really said tha'?” the archer questioned in surprise.

“Yeah! Mama says a lot of things about you. She talks about you with Michonne all the time,” Hazel happily told him. “Her thinking you're a tree is silly, though.”

Daryl hummed in acknowledgement, willing the blush spreading across his face to go away. He started walking again and Hazel bounded next to him. “Wha' else does yer mama say 'bout me?”

“She says you have a cute butt,” Hazel began, before making an over exaggerated disgusted face. “Butts are gross.”

“Yeah, butts are gross,” Daryl chuckled, leading the six year old into the cellblock and up into his own cell. “Dun' know why yer mama would think mine s'cute.” He allowed Hazel to rush into his cell, her attention instantly going to the boardgame they had been playing the day before.

“Are you going to be my new daddy, Daryl?” Hazel asked suddenly, eliciting a confused scoff from the man.

“Why ya askin' tha'?” he inquired, sitting down on his bed. He toed off his boots and grabbed some jerky he had made, before flopping down onto his back, the thin mattress offering some form of relief for the tired archer. He began chewing on the dry meat, turning his attention back to the young girl.

Hazel climbed onto the bed, making herself comfortable by his feet. “Because Mama said that you have daddy vibes.”

That caught Daryl off guard. He choked on the jerky, his airway cut off. He sat up and hit himself against his chest, soon successfully ridding his airway of the thing that almost killed him. He looked at Hazel in shock, the little girl looking back at him in confusion.

Catching his breath, Daryl shook his head at Hazel. “Nah, I ain't gon' be yer new daddy. Yer mama must've been talkin' 'bout someone else.”

Hazel shook her head in disagreement. “No, Mama was talking about you, Daryl. She said your name when she said that.”

Daryl looked at Hazel in shock and slowly nodded. He had a hard time believing that you, the no-nonsense lady who was one of the very few Woodbury residents who actually knew how to handle herself against the dead, had taken an interest like that in him. There was no way that the woman he had taken an unexpected liking to, a liking that had soon morphed into something that wasn't platonic, liked him like that. He just couldn't believe it.

“Mama also said she'd look better in your shirt,” Hazel said, interrupting his train of thought.

Daryl inhaled sharply. He thought about her words for a moment before nodding to himself, picturing you in his shirt. “Yeah, she would,” he mumbled to himself.

“What?” Hazel asked, tilting her head in confusion.

Daryl quickly shook his head. “Nothin'. S'nothin'.”

As if appearing out of thin air, you showed up at his cell, quietly knocking on the doorframe. Hazel's attention shifted towards the door and she quickly clambered off the bed. She excitedly sprinted towards you and you caught her in a big hug, placing a small kiss on top of her head.

“Hey, Baby,” you greeted her, looking up at Daryl and sending him a shy smile. “Hey, Daryl.”

Daryl, now cursed with knowledge about what you thought of him, could feel his cheeks heating up. He sent you a small nod. “Hey.”

You looked down at your daughter again, about to usher her out of the cell with you, but she saw someone walking outside, and she wiggled herself out of your arms to run to that person. “Michonne!”

“Hazel!” you called out to her, peeping out of the cell just in time to see Michonne embrace the girl in a hug.

Michonne looked up at you and waved you off. “I got her. I'll get her settled down for the night. You say goodnight to your crush.”

You ducked your head in embarrassment and sent her a crude gesture with your middle finger, eliciting a laugh from her. “Fuck you, Michonne,” you mouthed to her, watching her leave with Hazel.

Shaking your head, you turned back around and almost ran into the archer. Daryl steadied you, and you could feel the heat seeping from his hands to your arms.

“Ya alrigh'?” he asked you, his blue eyes gazing deeply into yours.

You nodded, your breath leaving you due to the close proximity you had with the man. “I'm good,” you whispered in confirmation, your heart speeding up.

Daryl, overcome by a rare sense of confidence, hummed and smirked slightly. “Ya sure? My tree trunk arms didn't chaffe yer shirt or anythin'?”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you took a step back. “What?”

“Ya need my shirt instead? I bet ya will look better in it than any of yer own shirts.”

Realization dawned on you. “Hazel—”

“Yeah,” Daryl cut you off, smiling slightly at the way your eyes widened. “Said ya think my butt looks real cute, too. She said other things too, but m'not gon' embarrass ya any more.”

“God, she really exposed me, huh?” you laughed shyly, ducking your head to avoid the archer's eyes.

Daryl moved forward and cupped your chin, lifting your head to look at him. The air between the two of you shifted, an unexplainable electricity forming. His eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, silently asking for permission.

However, before anything could happen, Hazel came bounding into Daryl's cell again, Michonne hot on her tail. Daryl quickly pulled away and took a step back, and you straightened yourself.

Michonne looked between you and Daryl with a knowing smirk. Daryl blushed and ducked his head, while you pursed your lips and sent her a warning glare. “Don't even think about it,” you mouthed to her, moving away from Daryl to pick up your daughter. “What are you doing here, Baby? I thought auntie Michonne was putting you to bed.”

“I want you to do it, Mama,” Hazel explained, lowering her head to rest on your shoulder. She waved at Daryl, giggling into your shoulder. “Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Nigh',” Daryl greeted her, sharing a shy nod with you. “I'll, uh, see ya tomorrow, righ'?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, casting your eyes away from him. “Goodnight, Daryl.”

With that, you turned and walked out of the cell with Michonne, leaving Daryl alone in his cell. The archer, confused by everything that happened, sat himself down on the bed. However, he chuckled to himself when he heard your voice from down the hall.

“Hazel, how about for tonight's bedtime story, I teach you about the importance of keeping secrets?”

Yeah, Daryl thought, Hazel definitely wasn't lying. And he took that as an invitation to finally confess to you.

Which he did, that very next day, while you were on watch duty.

[darylsgarden]

Pairing - Daryl Dixon × Bimbo reader

" In an out in 10 minutes. Got it?"

You nodded

"Only medicines, food if we can find any and clothes if there's time left"

"Got it Daryl"

Daryl knew it was not the best idea to send you off on your own in the other direction, because the last time he did this, you had spent most of your time finding "the perfect pair of heels" which you could use nowhere in the apocalypse. The time before that you had busied yourself in trying out the cutest little pink 2 piece top you could find and when he had questioned you regarding it your only explanation was "But it's pink Daryl 🥺🩷" Well he couldn't really be mad about the pink top because to cool of his anger you had let him fuck you stupid in the said top adding onto the precious time he had lost to that top.

You really did not plan on straying away from your list this time.

Antibiotics - Check

Gauze pieces - Check

Sanitizer - Check

Empty syringes - Check

And a whole lot of other stuff that wasn't yet expired you filled it in your sac.

Then on the way to the food mart there was a store. Well a clothing store. And the mannequin had on the sexiest dress.

*Daryl said clothes in the end* you repeated to yourself several times, but it was almost that the dust clad dress was calling onto you.

"Ughh Daryl's gonna be so mad" you said to yourself as you entered the doors of the brand store that was once considered luxury.

Some of the dresses were in their plastic bag coverings so you didn't really have to worry about the dust. After a bit of searching you found a dress similar to the one on the mannequin. It was magnificent. Straps so delicate, a low neck that wouldn't cover much and it was perfect around your waist, highlighted your curves just the way you wanted. You had 2 choices - 1) to quickly shove it in your bag and run towards the food mart, 2) Try it on and look pretty and pray and hope Daryl didn't find you wearing it. You chose the second 🎀

--------------------------------------------------

Daryl had finished off clearing the top floor and now he was on his way down, hoping to find you by the food mart. The moment he entered the food mart and couldn't pick up on a single sound he knew you weren't there yet because honestly you were clumsy as fuck. So he began walking outward when he saw the clothing store and it didn't take him a lot of time to figure out where you were. He swung the huge glass doors only to find you admiring yourself in the mirror. The tiny thing you called a dress barely covering anything, and the heels with white bows that you had picked to go with it, making you stand almost as tall as Daryl.

"Dary...Daryll"

"Shut up"

"I'm sorry"

"I hope ya know yer punishment"

You nodded

"Mmhm go on then" he said motioning to a flat sofa in the store

"Go on now, Ya know, how I like ya"

" The dress is delicate, don't be rough🥺"

"The dress will be fine sweetheart, the only thing I'm gonna be rough with is ya"

________________________________________

Part 2 ?

[sundrop-writes]

Heaven's Gate

Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral Reader

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

Summary:

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 24,200

The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

...

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

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

...

Daryl Dixon was someone who came into your life quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you missed Daryl so damn much. 

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grunted, nodding in reply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why he thought about you for so long. 

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

…

“Daryl!” 

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

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

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

Your stomach clenched at him mentioning Sophia. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled at him. And then, you remembered - 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

Daryl felt like a dumbass. 

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

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

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

It was your damn bird. 

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

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

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

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

It was Sophia’s doll. 

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

His stomach dropped when he heard coughing. 

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

You cut him off before he could say anymore. 

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

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

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

Hesitantly, he stayed where he was. 

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

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

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

Daryl shrugged. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

…

Daryl got out with Beth. 

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. That undefeatable streak of optimism. 

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

“Here.” He grunted at her. 

Beth smiled at him. 

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

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

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

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

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

For good luck. 

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

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

“Don’t do that.” She hissed at him. 

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

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

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

He didn’t give her one. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

Daryl hadn’t intended to fall asleep. 

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

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

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

It was you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was. 

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

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

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

… 

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl nodded. “Tha’s good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“But,” 

Of course. There it was. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face didn’t even flinch. 

You were so damn still. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed thickly. 

Truly, he wasn’t angry at you. 

It all came down to one thing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daryl.” 

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

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

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

Daryl nodded. “Right. You’re right.” 

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

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

…

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

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

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

It got out of hand. 

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

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

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

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

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

“If anyone found my dad-” 

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, Beth countered with something a bit more broad. 

“Killing them is not supposed to be fun.” 

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

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

He barely had anything left to give. 

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

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

He didn’t have anything left to give. 

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

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

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

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

It was bullshit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To him, it was a horrid accusation. 

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

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

Nothing but ruin. Nothing but ashes. 

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

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

Daryl swallowed down his own words. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But both you and Hershel were dead now. 

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

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

He used to belong to someone. 

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

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

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

He had failed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bout what?” He asked. 

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

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

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

Of course, Beth didn’t let that happen. 

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

Daryl wasn’t sure what he believed. 

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

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

Not until he met you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still ever the optimist. Still so damn certain. 

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

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

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

“What?” Daryl replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beth shrugged. “Same thing.” 

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

You would make sure that he was lucky. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

You were tired.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you found Alexandria, it felt like a dream. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?” You asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed to know. 

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

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

‘What club?’ You countered curiously. 

‘People who have been shot and survived.’ 

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

‘Thanks!’ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had almost forgotten about it. 

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

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

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

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

Daryl was here. 

Daryl was right here in Alexandria. 

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

He was home. 

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

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

“Daryl.” You spoke it louder. 

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

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

“Daryl!” 

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

“Daryl! Rick! Michonne!” 

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

“Daryl! Daryl!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all the same to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

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

It was so Daryl. It was so real. 

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

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

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

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

He let out a weak laugh in response. 

“You’re still a damn fool.” 

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

This was gravity. 

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

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

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

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

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

She was staring at you with utter shock. 

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

“Sophia?” Carol gaped. 

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

“Mom?” 

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

You couldn’t imagine a more perfect day. 

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed and rolled your eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. Stubborn. 

Daryl glared at you again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything else?” 

Daryl looked thoughtful for a moment. 

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

“Daryl, that’s yours, I can’t-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Asshole.” He mumbled under his breath. 

“I heard that!” 

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sophia?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, something else came to mind. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s a horse?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god.” Andrea gasped. 

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

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

“It’s Sophia.” 

… 

A short time later, everyone was gathered in the living room, an odd air of dread and tension having fallen over the group. It seemed that nobody else shared your joyous relief, as they were all anxious to hear it from Hershel’s mouth that Sophia was going to be fine. It was a case of waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course. 

It wasn’t long before Hershel came out of the downstairs bedroom to grace everyone with the news. 

“How’s she doin’?” Lori asked, practically trampling the man before he even had a chance to close the door behind himself. “Is she gonna be okay?” 

“Well - the girl is quite dehydrated after the adventure she’s been on,” He said, pressing that word, using it quite liberally. “But - after some IV fluids and rest, I don’t see any reason why she won’t make a full recovery.” 

Lori burst into tears. The previously silent room became a muddle of relieved sighs, delighted chatter, and more tears - and the joy you had somehow been suppressing exploded inside of you tenfold. As you looked around at everyone hugging and celebrating, you realized that there was just one person missing from the scene. 

The man who had made it possible to find her in the first place. 

You knew that Daryl should be resting because of his injuries - but what he should be doing, and what he usually did weren’t two things that often coincided. You wandered out the front door while everyone was distracted by the exchange of hugs and the general relief of the whole situation, and you weren’t surprised to find Daryl sitting in front of his tent, poking at a low-flamed fire with a long stick. 

You were slightly surprised to see him sitting up - but if you weren’t mistaken, his shirt was licked with blood on the side where his stitches would be underneath. So he was aggravating the wound and simply ignoring the consequences. Very predictable for him. 

“Hey.” You greeted him casually as you walked up. 

He didn’t bother to take his eyes off the flames, and after a quiet moment, he quietly spoke. 

“She okay?” He croaked out - his typical meditative speech. No more words than he needed. You liked that about him. 

“She’s great.” You answered. “You were right. She’s gonna eat a good meal and sleep in a warm bed tonight, and she’s gonna wake up next to her mother. She is gonna be more than fine.” 

If you weren’t mistaken, the small flinch at the side of his mouth - something that could have been taken for a tic in his cheek muscle - it was a genuine smile at the idea of Sophia actually being okay. A smile at something actually turning out well for the group. 

“And it’s all thanks to you.” You added on, taking the opportunity to give him genuine praise where it was due.  

Daryl shook his head. “Nah.” 

“Come on.” You sighed, crossing your arms. “You pointed to a place on the map, I went there, I found her. That’s all you.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’re just lucky.” 

You knew he was being snarky, but you couldn’t help leaning into it. 

“I am.” You grinned at him. 

He sighed harshly, shaking his head. He resisted the urge to argue, not wanting to ruin the general air of happiness at Sophia coming home alive. 

“But the knife did help.” You had to admit it - he had been right about forcing you to take it. You took it off your belt and extended it out back toward him, and he hesitated for a moment, perhaps wanting you to keep it for your own protection - and then he took it back. 

“Told ya it would.” He grumbled quietly. 

Before you could form some clever reply, you heard the front door of the house open once again, and you were surprised when Carol came marching toward you. You thought for certain that she would be attached to Sophia’s side after such an ordeal, but soon enough, she was sweeping you into a tearful hug. 

“Thank you.” She wept into your shoulder. “Thank you, thank you so much. You found my daughter - you brought her home.” 

“Oh. I…” You weren’t really sure how to respond. “It wasn’t all me. Daryl told me where to look. He was the one who followed the trail.” 

Again - you had to give him the credit where it was due. 

“Of course.” Carol nodded, pulling away from squeezing you and moving toward Daryl. 

He jumped up from his camping chair so fast that he knocked it over, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to escape her thankful affection. A tense silence fell over the three of you as he gripped at his side, and he stared her down with wide eyes like a deer caught in a hunter’s cross-hairs. 

“I got stitches.” He mumbled out, clearly looking for an excuse as to why he couldn’t be hugged in the same way. 

“Okay.” Carol replied meekly. “I still want to thank you for everything that you’ve done for my daughter.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “Welcome.” 

…

Even if Daryl didn’t know it then, helping to bring Sophia home truly cemented his place in the group. If it wasn’t a truth in everyone’s eyes, it was you whispering it to them, hammering home the fact that he was more than worthy - not as some kind of politician, but because you truly believed in him. 

And while you spent time rooting for him, he became an iron clad wall behind you. He continued teaching you every single skill he could, imparting all of his knowledge. And while you had insisted on returning his knife to him, he realized that a bothersome nuisance was that you didn’t have a good knife of your own. 

And he needed to make sure that you got one. 

Things were always subtle with him. He never went out of his way to make it seem like he was intentionally being nice to you or giving you a gift. He always made it seem like it was a coincidence - a side effect of whatever else was happening at the time. If the two of you went hunting together, he was teaching you because it was practical, because he had to. 

If he picked a flower out of the ground and tucked it behind your ear, it was because he claimed you smelled bad and it would dampen ‘the stank comin’ off you’ - not because it was meant to be any kind of affectionate gesture. If he made sure that you got a little bit extra on your plate that night, it was because he didn’t like the particular kind of game he had picked up, or because he was giving you ‘the worst parts’. Not because he was trying to make sure that you ate more in order to stay healthy and keep from going hungry. 

So when he gifted you a hunting knife of your own, it was entirely by mistake, of course. 

You didn’t know that he had been on the lookout for one with the intention of giving it to you for weeks. He wanted you to be able to protect yourself, and to be able to gut and skin your own kills properly now that you were learning to hunt. And in order to do that, you needed a good knife of your own. 

It just so happened that he found the perfect one while the two of you were out on a formula run for Little Asskicker. The kid was only a few days old and had lungs like a professional opera singer, wailing loud enough to shake the prison walls every few hours, and she was going through enough formula to fill up a mac truck. At least, that’s what it seemed like. 

The stuff that Maggie and Daryl had gotten just after she had been born had only lasted about a week. So now, you were out with Daryl once again, raiding a small rest stop that the two of you had seen nearby while out on a hunt. 

So far, the trip had been pretty successful. 

After struggling to get through the heavily padlocked and gated front door, Daryl boosted you through a higher up back window - which left you impressed by his strength and slightly afraid to fall on the other side (and then grossed out by the state of the bathroom that you ended up in). You got the gate up from the inside and found the keys to the padlocks on the dead owner (sitting in his office chair with a bullet in his head beside a very typical scrawl on the wall about hopelessness that you tried to ignore). And soon, Daryl unlocked the chains and then the two of you were in. 

Turns out that the security had been a deterrent for other people, and the place was relatively untouched. The two of you made off like bandits. Medicine, bandages, canned food, bottled water, juice, and of course - plenty of baby formula. Daryl even found a spare car battery that would work for one of the vehicles, and a half full can of gas. 

You were celebrating your haul with a handful of jellybeans each, smiling to each other, when Daryl noticed something. The molding corpse of the owner, now nothing but dried out skin husking against the bones with tattered old clothes rotting on top - had a very nice leather knife holster on his belt. 

Some things really do withstand the test of time. 

He necked down the rest of his candy, and as he chewed, he stepped into the office and you cringed as he reached for the dead man. 

“What are you doing?” You asked. 

“Thas a nice knife.” He mumbled in return, causing an awful crunching sound as he peeled the holster off the corpse. 

You had to admire him - where everyone else saw decay, he saw possibilities. 

He took the knife out of the holster and admired it for a moment, and sure enough - it was a damn nice bowie knife. It would need to be sharpened, but things like this last a lifetime. It would be perfect for you. He took out his bandana and wiped it off a bit, getting off any of the decay or dead skin that the previous owner had gotten on it, and then, he turned to you. 

“Here.” He said, holding it out to you. “You need one.” 

You did have a knife on you - a small pocket knife that Maggie had lent you for the trip out. Though you knew it was a nice gesture in Daryl’s mind, you were slightly hesitant to take something that had come off a corpse. 

“No, I don’t-” You huffed, trying to deny it. 

Next, Daryl did something that entirely shocked you, causing any protests to easily die off in your throat. 

He stepped forward, crowding into your personal space with his tall, looming presence - hot, sweaty skin lurking on every inch of him, warm breath that lingered partially with cigarettes and the sugar he had just consumed becoming absolutely apparent under your nose. And then, he lifted up the edge of your shirt, causing sharp tingles all through your body when his knuckles brushed across the bare skin of your hip as he forcefully slatted the holster onto the edge of your pants. 

His eyes were sharply locked on your hip, refusing to look at you, busying himself with securing it and then straightening the fabric of your shirt behind it so that you would have easy access to it in case you needed it. But your gaze was hard locked on the side of his face, only inches from yours. And you knew that he could feel how thick the air had gotten between the two of you. That he hadn’t missed the tiny gasp you had let out the second his skin had brushed against yours. 

“Daryl-” You said his name quietly, a whispered prayer, and before you could wander any further into dangerous territory, he easily cut you off. 

“There.” He grunted out, stepping back, breaking off the tedious moment. “Now you got one.” 

Before things could swim any further into that murky territory, he moved back to the bags the two of you had packed full of supplies, forcefully busying himself with taking them out to secure onto his bike. 

That moment left you thinking about his hands for hours after, days after - and you still thought about that moment occasionally when you used the knife. 

Strangely enough, you didn’t work up the courage to kiss him for the first time until much later, still lingering with the belief that he might reject you, even after that heated moment. 

…

It wasn’t long before news got around to the rest of the group that you and Sophia were in Alexandria, alive and well. You were greeted with many tight hugs, excited chattering, and you were introduced to the new people who had helped the group along the way and seemed to have cemented themselves into the family now. 

Quickly the idea came about that everyone should gather for a big family dinner - much like the one that was held to celebrate Sophia coming out of the woods alive and well. 

Even though it was something that had peeved you earlier, ultimately you were glad that Olivia hadn’t put the deer meat in the freezer, because it meant that you were able to treat everyone to something fresh. On top of that, when you had first arrived in Alexandria, Aiden had gifted you a few bottles of wine with some cheeky line about ‘sharing’ them with you whenever you wanted, and they had been gathering dust in a cabinet somewhere - so you could think of no better occasion to open them. Soon, you were all sitting in the living room of the house that Rick and company had been sleeping in - sleeping bags and blankets cleaned up in favor of a jumble of mismatched tables and chairs thrown together to make a long dining table that would fit the entire group. 

Surrounding the table was the whole group - Rick, Michonne, and Carl who was holding sweet little Judith on his knee (someone you had been so excited to see again). Beth and her new friend Noah (who were not-so-subtly holding hands underneath the table). Maggie and Glenn (who had hugged you so tight upon seeing you and refused to let go for nearly a full minute), their new friends Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene. Sasha, Bob (who looked happier than ever somehow) and Tyreese. 

And to round out the table, Carol sitting close by to Sophia with an arm wrapped lovingly around her daughter. Daryl was sitting next to you with a hand so shamelessly on your thigh - something that he never would have done before that you absolutely loved. As you looked around, all you saw was family - even in the people you didn’t fully know yet. You knew from Glenn and Beth’s words that the new people were nothing but good - and that was more than good enough for you. 

Radiating through you was nothing but pure joy. You truly didn’t know how things could get any better than this. 

“Well, I would like to propose a toast to our host,” Abraham said, rising up out of his seat and raising the plastic cup that he had filled with wine toward you. 

“Technically, Rick is our host,” You reminded him, nodding toward the man who looked so odd when he was clean shaven. It felt so strange to see his naked face. 

“Hey, this has only been my house for a day.” Rick replied with a shrug. “You can take full credit for giving us the best damn welcome wagon ever. This is a pretty fine spread you managed to put together on such short notice.” 

“Well, in my book, anybody who brings such good grub and such prime booze is the host,” Abraham argued lightly, giving a grin. “Plus, you were crawling around in the woods and shot down this buck so we could eat it. That deserves a thanks.” 

“Well, you’re welcome.” You shrugged in return. 

Everyone else raised their glasses in a slightly disorganized chorus of ‘thanks’, and Abraham accepted this and sat back down. You felt almost too humble and too embarrassed to accept it. You didn’t think that providing food for your family was all too big of a deal. 

“Dude, I’m just happy to be eating something that’s not from a can.” Tara added on with a grin. 

“I’m just happy that we’re all together again,” Bob replied with a smile. 

“Cheesy.” Sasha scolded him lovingly, rolling her eyes. 

“Well, I’m not the only one deserving of thanks.” You shrugged, feeling a need to deflect some of that embarrassment. “Daryl taught me how to hunt.” You explained, giving him a pat on the thigh to affirm the credit in his direction. “I wouldn’t even know how to hold a knife properly if it wasn’t for him.” 

Carol smirked. “That’s always your story, isn’t it?” She mocked you gently. “‘Daryl showed me the map.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to build a fire without matches.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to hotwire a car.’” She said, performing a mocking imitation of your voice. 

Sophia let out a gentle laugh at this, having heard this plenty of times from you while on the road together. 

This time, you could see Daryl shrinking back into his seat slightly with embarrassment, his eyes purposefully fixated on his empty plate instead of looking at anybody else around the table. 

“Well, it’s true.” You replied. 

… 

You thought back to a time shortly after you and Sophia had escaped the prison alive. You had tried looking for the others, and found nothing but the stalled prison bus, surrounded by corpses. The two of you were tired, broken down, starving - luckily, you and Daryl kept some hunting supplies outside the fence for when the two of you went hunting, including the spare crossbow that he had fixed up to teach you with. 

So you had managed to snag a few squirrels and gut them just as night fell, and you started a fire with the flint and steel with minimal difficulty as he had taught you. 

“Daryl taught you all this stuff, huh?” Sophia wondered aloud as she watched you put the flayed squirrels, now skewered onto sticks, over the fire to be cooked. 

“Yeah.” You confirmed gently. “I’m certainly glad he did.” 

You didn’t let yourself wonder where Daryl was, if he was okay. You couldn’t imagine that someone like him would be easily taken down by Walkers, not with how you had seen him handle himself. Anybody could be blown apart by a thousand pound tank or smashed by falling concrete, even if they were as skilled and vigilant as him. 

But you refused to let yourself think about it. You refused to worry about going back to pick over ashes just to have some confirmation - because there wouldn’t be any. You had to believe he was alive, or not even think about him at all. 

You had to take care of Sophia. 

A rattle in the leaves behind you caught your attention, and you grabbed your crossbow without any hesitation. You whipped around and pointed it toward the source of the sound, and soon found yourself staring down a random man. He didn’t hesitate to walk closer to your makeshift campsite, clearly unafraid of you even with your weapon raised. 

He was obviously someone who had been outside a long time - his clothes dirty and tattered, his teeth rotting as he gave you a filthy smile. 

“What do we have here? Hmm?” He greeted you in an oddly calm way - perhaps his attempt at mocking kindness. 

A general sense of unease caused all of your hair to stand on end. 

“Sophia,” You called her name gently, getting her attention, and in a moment, she was at your back, standing behind you while you stayed guarded. 

“Y/N-” She said your name quietly, grasping at the back of your shirt. 

“It’s okay.” You assured her, keeping the man locked in your sights as he came to fully stand in the light of the fire that you had made. 

“Oh, it is okay.” The man chuckled. “I assure you that I don’t mean any harm.” 

He gave another filthy smile - not just dirty by the color of his teeth, but something deeply unsettling that made your stomach twist with disgust. 

“I’m only looking for a kind person to share the night with. Perhaps I can share the warmth of your fire, and we can make friends.” 

He peered around you then, and eyed Sophia heavily with a look that made you all too certain your next move. 

You pulled the trigger on your bow and shot him, the arrow landing perfectly in the hollow of his neck - he sputtered on his own blood for a moment, and then fell to the ground. You felt regretful that Sophia had to witness it, but you knew that sadly, during her time at the prison, she had seen similar or even worse things. 

Once you were sure that he was dead, you walked over to his corpse and pulled out the arrow, and stabbed him in the temple with it to make sure that he stayed down. And then, almost hearing Daryl’s voice in your ear telling you what to do next, you began looking over his corpse for anything useful. His backpack held a few cans of food, and the knife on his belt wasn’t too bad. You gave it to Sophia and reminded her to tuck her shirt behind it as her mother had instructed. 

After you dragged the body far enough away so that it wouldn’t be an eyesore, the two of you enjoyed some canned spinach alongside the squirrels for dinner. 

…

“He knows a lot of very practical stuff and I’m lucky that he’s taught me so much.” You added on, not even realizing how much praise dripped through your voice as you spoke about Daryl. “It’s a huge reason that me and Sophia survived out there for so long. I was able to get us food and fix vehicles for us to get along because of what Daryl taught me. Back at the beginning of all this, I would have been so helpless and… probably dead if I had gotten stranded out there by myself.” 

You felt Daryl’s eyes on you, thoughtfully fixed on the side of your face, and he gently squeezed your thigh. It warmed him to the core to know that he had given you a gift - that he had kept you and Sophia alive with the proxy of his knowledge and skills, even if he couldn’t be there to protect you and provide for you himself. In a way, he had kept you fed and safe all that time. 

It was so sweet that you felt a devilish temptation curling up in you. 

“And you know, him being cute is just a bonus.” You added on with a grin - knowing that it would tickle him with embarrassment that you had loudly, affectionately announced this in front of the group. 

And it worked. 

“Aw, shove it.” Daryl scoffed, reaching up to shove your shoulder. 

But you didn’t get very far away, didn’t get to fall off your chair completely before he took the hand off your thigh and wrapped that arm around your neck, pulling you close and smothering your cheek in a few beard-scratchy kisses, making you cringe and smile all at the same time. 

This was a brand new, openly affectionate side of Daryl that you had never seen before. He had missed you for so long and he certainly wasn’t wasting making up for lost time. 

Fuck, you really loved him. 

“You know, Dixon, I never woulda guessed that you off all people would be saddled up.” Andraham commented. 

“Yeah, you never mentioned Y/N before,” Rosita added on, clearly curious as to why Daryl had never mentioned you. 

Beth gave Daryl a very knowing look as he reached for his glass of wine and finished it off, and Daryl felt lucky when someone else spoke up before he could. 

“We all saw it coming. Him getting ‘saddled up’, that is.” Michonne added on with a smile. “Carl owes me a Baby Ruth, though.” 

“The over-under was two years,” Carl hissed quietly in reply. 

Rick glared at them, and any further discussion about this bet was silenced. 

“You never told us how you got out.” Glenn piped up, suddenly curious about this. “The prison was utter chaos, if I had known that someone else was alive in A-Block, I would have-” 

“It’s not your fault.” You pressed. “It’s actually a really crazy story.” 

“Well please - do tell.” Sasha said. 

… 

Chaos. Noise. 

Being woken from the deepest unconsciousness of your life, still coughing up ugly yellow mucus and nearly having large chunks of the concrete ceiling fall on top of you due to an apparent explosion - definitely not one of your best days. Your vision was a clumpy haze due to the sickness you were still battling and you had to forcefully, bloodily rip out the IV that Hershel had put in you in order to try and navigate through it all. You climbed over the fallen bits of the building, stumbling around with a dizzy, weak body to climb down what was left of the stairs and partially falling down to the ground floor. 

“He - hell - o?!” Your efforts to call out for help were damped by coughing and the general chaos around you - the sounds of more explosions and a hail of gunfire that you could barely form panic over because your head was pounding and you still felt so fucking ill. 

You needed to find Daryl. You needed to find somebody. 

The prison bus. That was the plan if things ever went wrong. 

You moved toward the exit and found that the main hallway was blocked by more debris, but a splintering path that you knew led toward the library wasn’t. Even in your hazy state, you remembered the fact that Carol had a very large trunk in the library filled with emergency supplies. Water, dry rations, and knives that she had been teaching the kids with. Even if you couldn’t get to the bus, you could get those supplies and get out on foot. The others would likely be camping somewhere along the highway when the bus eventually ran out of gas, so you could catch up to them - eventually. 

It was the best plan you could come up with on such short notice, so you stumbled your way toward the library, and as soon as you opened the door - another explosion rocked the building, causing one of the tall, unsecured bookshelves to come tumbling down on top of you. You ended up flat on your back with the large shelf crushing you, leaving you as perfect bait for Walkers that were likely being lured by all that noise outside. 

Though you were already weak from illness, you did try to move your arms - and you found out that only one of them wasn’t completely pinned down by the shelf. It was a completely futile effort to try and lift the thing off yourself. Between the weight on top of your lungs and the way the illness had weakened your system - you soon passed out. 

When you drifted back into consciousness, the noise had greatly lessened. There was the faint growling of Walkers - cordoned off unintentionally in some other area of the prison - but there were no more explosions, and no more gun fire. 

The first thing that caught your eye was something bright red. You focused your eyes to focus, and you quickly realized that it was a picture of a red cardinal. A hand-drawn sketch on the front of a book titled ‘Birds of North America’ that was on one of the other shelves. It was tipped perfectly into the line of your vision, as if meant for you to see. 

Before you could futilely try to lift the shelf off yourself again, you heard a voice. 

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” 

You quickly recognized who it was. 

“So-Sophia?” You called back, barking out another cough that strained your words. Luckily, she heard you. 

You were soon greeted by the sight of her legs rushing toward you. Though you had no clue how such a waifish girl would ever be able to lift the bookcase off you, you were at least relieved that you were no longer alone. 

“What happened?” She asked, kneeling down to speak to you. 

“Stupid thing fell on me.” You wheezed quietly. “I came in here looking for your mom’s stash. I’m guessing you had the same idea?” 

“Yeah.” She confirmed. “Can you get this thing off you?” 

“Yeah. I was just having a leisurely lie down underneath a bookshelf.” 

Sophia rolled her eyes at your sarcasm. 

“Guess I’ll just leave you here then.” She remarked, battling back with her own sarcasm, clearly having no intentions of doing so. 

“Well you might have to… I have no clue how you’re gonna lift this thing off me.” You admitted quietly, hating how defeated you sounded. 

“I think I have an idea.” 

You were curious what she meant, and you couldn’t quite see what she was doing as she stepped out of your eyeline and made some noise, shuffling around to grab something. Then she came back with a long wooden beam - a shelf she had broken off of one of the other fallen bookcases. She stacked up a few of the books, making a hinging point, and then stuck the beam underneath the bookcase and somehow - using all her bodyweight, she was able to push it off you for long enough for you to crawl out from underneath it. 

“Thanks, kid.” You smiled at her as you sucked in greedy breaths. 

“Glenn taught me that.” She smiled back. “He said it’s basic physics.” 

“I’ll remember to thank him when I see him.” You said. 

… 

Sitting at the dinner table, you then turned to Glenn. 

“That reminds me,” You said. “Thanks for that.” 

Glenn chuckled. “Happy to help.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ve just one question,” Rick piped up. “Why did you have a stash of weapons in the library, Carol?” 

Carol took a long sip of wine, pointedly avoiding the question. 

“Oh shit, he never found out about storytime, did he?” Carl chuckled, obviously directing this question toward Carol. 

“Storytime?” Rick echoed, eyeing his son heavily, clearly confused. 

You cut them off, not wanting to get Carol in trouble for her proactive teaching a bit too late. 

“Okay, let’s all just be happy that we’re together and that we’ve had a nice meal.” You said. “I’m not doing dishes. You guys have fun with that. Come on, Daryl, I’ve got somethin’ to show you.” You made your exit, getting up from the table and hoping he would follow - which he did, making way to push out his chair. 

“Is it your bare ass?” Abraham joked, clearly at least a bit drunk. 

“Abraham!” Rosita chastised him with a gentle smack. 

“What? I think it’s cute that Dixon’s all shacked up.” He replied with a chuckle. 

“You’re lucky he doesn’t punch your lights out for that one.” Tara remarked. 

“Nah, you’re safer with Y/N around.” Maggie commented. “He gets all soft when he’s around Y/N. It is cute.” 

“Oh, if you think this is cute just wait til I tell you about what they were like back at the prison.” Michonne added on. “He used to bring Y/N dead squirrels like a cat dropping dead mice at someone’s doorstep. I have no clue how such an odd form of flirting actually worked.” 

“Well, some people like dead squirrels, some people like toothpaste.” Rick replied. 

And that was the last of the conversation you heard before you closed the front door behind you, going off down the street with Daryl in tow to show him your place. 

When you took him up the porch of another manicured house and opened the door, he quietly croaked out: 

“This ‘ur place?” 

“Yeah.” 

You told him, shoving your boots off, not wanting to get dirt on the clean rugs inside. Daryl felt a bit strange taking his shoes off - knowing that his overly worn socks had holes in them, but still, he followed suit. He knew you wouldn’t judge him for something as petty as his socks having holes in them, after all. 

“This is where me and Sophia have been living. But there’s always room for one more. If you’re done snuggling up next to Rick on the living room floor,” You couldn’t let another opportune joke escape you, and Daryl rolled his eyes. 

“Asshole.” He gently scoffed. 

Though the two of you had never slept in the same bed together before. And he couldn’t help but to love the idea of being curled up next to you at night. He found that he also loved the idea of waking up next to you every morning - especially after going for so long without seeing your face. You walked up the stairs and he couldn’t help but to follow you, and he was surprised when you didn’t lead him to bed - but instead, went to the back of a hallway, and pulled down a latch. 

This unleashed some stairs that led to the attic, leading the two of you up even higher. He found himself shamelessly admiring the view of your ass as he followed you up the stairs, and when he emerged into the dark attic (only lit by a few strokes of moonlight coming in through the small window) - he was surprised by what he saw. He had to crouch down on his hands and knees to be comfortable, and he quickly adjusted to sit down on his ass as you had. 

It appeared that you had built a watchtower of sorts up here. 

There was a telescope set up in the small window, and off to one side, there was a cork board with a hand-drawn map of the surrounding area, a few notebooks sitting in the corner that you likely wrote down observances in. Posted on the cork board - there were names of all the residences in town, and you had written down certain traits beside each of them. Along with a hand drawn map of the town itself and names on the houses, indicating where everyone lived. 

“So you’re gettin’ paranoid?” Daryl joked. 

“No.” You scoffed. “Besides, you should know that a healthy level of paranoia is necessary these days.” 

It was in that moment that it truly hit Daryl - you had taught him to be hopeful, even if he hadn’t fully known it at the time. And he had taught you to be less naive, to be firmer in order to survive. The two of you were only alive, only able to have the privilege of being in each other’s presence now because you had accepted those pieces of the other person that kept you alive. 

“Ain’t that right.” He replied. “Why did you wanna show me?” 

You shrugged. “I thought you might like it.” 

Daryl couldn’t hold back his grin - one of the most genuine smiles you had ever seen come from him. He did like it. He liked that he had made a little fighter out of you. But at the same time, nothing had snubbed out the perfect spark that he had fallen in love with. Your smile, your laughter, the brightness in your eyes - somehow, it was all still the same. It made him love you even more somehow. 

“I guess I also wanted to thank you.” You added on. “I meant what I said before. You taught me so much - I would have been clueless without you. I would have starved to death and been blind, and lost and stupid without everything that you taught me.” You declared passionately. “You kept me fed and sheltered and warm, and I don’t know how much I could thank you for that.” 

Daryl began to get choked up, and he hated that for the second time that day, more tears swelled in his eyes. 

He knew that in a different way, you had kept him fed, sheltered, and warm too. You had kept his soul from dying out in those woods - you had kept his spirit fed on the idea of hope that he never would have conceived as something real before he had met you.

He couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. So instead, he found himself reaching out toward you. He put a firm hand under your jaw and guided you toward him; you easily fell limp to the touch and let yourself be guided toward his mouth once again. 

This was much less of a surprise than the earlier kiss. This was much warmer, like sinking into the hot shower had been earlier that day. Only this was much, much better. You let out a gentle moan as you let yourself feel it, simply enjoying the tingling sensation throughout your body, gripping into the lapels of his vest, crawling forward to sit in his lap as your mouth embraced his. 

After a moment, you pulled away. There was only one thing on your mind, one incomplete thread that you had been thinking about since you had lost him at the prison. 

“I love you too.” 

Daryl grunted in reply and pulled your mouth back to his. 

For once in his life, he didn’t feel like a fool for letting himself hope. 

That night, Daryl went to sleep in your bed. 

For the first time in far too long, he got to wake up knowing that you were alive and well - he had the privilege of being greeted by the sound of your even, calm breaths. You slept on his chest long after he awoke, and he let you. He was greedy and starved for your touch, soaking in the feeling of your warmth half on top of him, nosing over the top of your head to enjoy your natural scent mixed lightly with the smell of soap. 

As the sun rose over the walls of Alexandria, Daryl noticed a streak of red flash by and land on the roof of a house beside yours. Through the window, he saw it there perfectly - the red cardinal that you had gifted him with for luck, the symbol that had guided him all the way here, all the way back to you.  

He couldn’t help it, then - he grinned to himself. 

The next day, he found one of those picture frames that Aaron had gifted the group with that they largely had no use for, and he put your picture of the bird, still singed on one edge, inside of it. 

A while later, when the two of you were out on a run and he had a bit of time on his hands as you fell asleep - he edged a stick n poke tattoo into the skin of his forearm, outlining the bird as best he could with his very little artistic talent. When you saw it, you giggled - and he assured you that it was because he liked the look of it, most definitely not for luck. 

He didn’t need ‘luck’ anymore - not when he had you.

...

A/N: This is a stand-alone oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. I have always intended for this to be a stand-alone story, so please do not ask for a follow up or a sequel in the comments. If you are going to comment, please comment about the material that has already been written. If you want to see more TWD fics from me, I have some posted on AO3 (which is linked in my pinned) but I don't currently have any of my other TWD fics posted on Tumblr. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this!

[myhappylittlesideblog]

LOOOOVE

Day:1 Guard Watch

Tonight, it was your turn to take watch up in the guard tower, most of the group would grumble at the thought of a shift outside on their own in the dark but you were always the first to volunteer as night-time had always been your favourite time of the day.

The temperature had dropped compared to previous weeks spent outside, the mild autumnal days had slowly started to slip away, replacing itself with cool, crisp, and darker nights; the air was sharp enough to take your breath away with every inhale, but you didn’t mind.

Although you had the option to take cover in the guard room, your go-to spot was always just outside of the door, enabling you to have a bird’s eye view of your surroundings but mostly for the view above; plus, the room wasn’t exactly always used just for watch purposes…

Duffle bag in tow you started to unpack the contents, firstly laying down your camp roll to protect yourself from the cold harsh metal surface, sliding yourself onto the mat you pulled out one of your thicker blankets which you quickly placed over your legs, an immediate barrier from cold and a small portion of chocolate that had been sneakily stowed away in your pack by a certain silver haired lady. Reaching up above your head, a communal pair of binoculars hung from one of the hooks. Lifting them up to your face, eyes taking a little while to focus, you started to pan around, left to right and for once, there was absolutely nothing in sight.

Cherishing the moment, you shifted the pack behind your head while sliding your body down, so it was flat against the roll. Apart from a few distant growls of walkers and the rustling of nearby trees, you could have heard a pin drop; almost perfection. Except you were battling through a zombie apocalypse and therefore made things practically impossible to switch off but this was as close to your zen as you were going to get.

Then you heard him, the Archer.

He’d spent the last few weeks taking the time teaching you how to hunt and track, at any given opportunity you were up at the crack of dawn, bag packed and ready to go but your favourite part of the training sessions overall was the hunt and seek, creeping up on him and then tackling his body to the ground – which you were getting quite good at.

“I can hear you Dixon”.

He let out an exasperated sigh, followed by a groan.

“Heel toe, isn’t it sunshine”? Using his most common pet name for you, knowing full well that this would be winding him up something chronic, you were almost able to picture the frown on his face and the death glare…

You heard him pause, trying to think of a comeback. Nothing, this was unusual for him, Daryl took pride in spending most of his free time teasing you and throwing comebacks your way as he loved to see your smirk and roll your eyes.

Then suddenly you felt his two freezing cold hands wrap around your waist pulling you into his frame and holding you tight, he slipped one hand up the back of your jumper and the other hand pressed to the side of your face.

“DIXON” you wanted to scream but you knew this would alert any walker nearby to your whereabouts, his fingertips felt like ice blocks as he tried to run them over any exposed skin.

“Oh, d’ya not hear me? huh sunshine?” his deep voice and southern twang echoed through your ears with emphasis on sunshine, the stubble of his chin tickled the side of your neck causing a shudder to ripple through you, losing your whole trail of thought, Daryl continued to hold you close and he was so warm.

“Shut up” Daryl was chuckling to himself after his ‘victory’ something that always made you smile, most of the time he had a worried looked across his face, always on high alert ready for the next storm – it was nice to hear him laugh and let his guard down, something that he now felt very comfortable in doing so around you.

Comfortable silence fell between the both of you and Daryl showed no sign of releasing you from his hold, “c’mere, you’re freezing” he freed a corner of his poncho and tried his best to cover as much of you as possible, not even realising just how cold you actually were. Shifting your fame, back now resting against his chest, he reached for the blankets which had been thrown off in the struggle and tucked them just under your chin.

“Thank you” your voice, barely a whisper, teeth chattering. Daryl acknowledges your appreciation with an ‘mhmm’ he hesitates slightly and thinks for a moment before cautiously resting his head against yours, slowly, almost to ask for permission.

“Stay with me.” It wasn’t a question but more of a statement to show him that you were comfortable with his closeness.

“M’not goin anywhere, someone’s gotta to keep y’warm”.

--

Not my best, I'm sorry.

I've just finished 3 12 hours shifts and my brains a bit fried.

Thank you everyone for all of the likes, replies, reblogs on my past 3 little drabbles. I know I'm not the most amazing writer but I'm enjoying this so much.

Tag list: @yevmarie @thegeorgiahuntsman @hannah-murdock-505 @charlottewatkinsblog @welcumetomyescape (thank you all for your support <3 )