#twd fanfics

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Happy Flashback Friday!

Daryl had barged out as soon as he noticed that you weren't in the house and he found you hurriedly wiping your tearstained cheeks, sitting at the very edge of the yard in near darkness. You sniffled as he hesitated a brief moment, chewing on his bottom lip, before he sunk down beside you.

He didn't say anything and you were grateful for the time to try and loosen the knot in your throat so you could speak. You could feel him glancing over at you, his brow knit with concern. "Do you wanna talk—"

"No," you interrupted, shaking your head. Daryl nodded and fidgeted a little beside you. He just wished there was something, anything concrete that he could do to help. "I know," you began slowly, looking up at the starry night sky overhead, "that continuing to not deal with this doesn't make it any better. But the bare minimum is all I can manage right now." You looked over at Daryl then, worried about what you would see on his face, but that was foolish. You shouldn't have worried. You saw only concern for you in his blue eyes.

He was nodding. "That's better than doin' nothin'. Be kinder to yerself. Isn't that what you always tell me?"

You smiled at him, just a small one, and let out a slightly amused huff. "So, you do listen to me?" you said.

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod. "Always." Prompt: "I know that continuing to not deal with this doesn't make it any better. But the bare minimum is all I can manage right now." / "That's better than doing nothing."

[croxxbow13]

Y/n: “What’s the plan, Daryl?”

Daryl: “Don’t die. Figured that’s a good place to start.”

Gif from google

[ialreadymadeyouapromise]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒.

PAIRING: daryl dixon x fem!reader WARNINGS: misunderstandings, no use of y/n GENRE: angst, comfort (at end) SONG INSPIRATION: lovers - anna of the north WORD COUNT: 1.2k

navigation | inbox | daryl dixon masterlist

daryl had been an enigma from the moment he set foot in alexandria. he wasn’t like the others. he was rough around the edges, always carrying himself as if he was waiting for something to go wrong. and maybe he was. 

the world now didn’t allow for true safety, and he knew that better than most.

but that didn’t stop you from watching him.

you had liked him from the beginning, from the moment you saw him peering in through the window at deanna’s party. you’d cornered him that night, half amused, half intrigued.

“you know, you could just come inside,” you had teased, leaning against the doorway. “or are you afraid you’ll turn into a respectable member of society if you step over the threshold?”

daryl had huffed out a short, reluctant laugh, his eyes flicking toward you before darting away. “ain’t really my kinda thing.”

“oh, i never would’ve guessed,” you shot back, smirking. “you’re blending in so well.”

that made him snort, shaking his head. he had started to turn away, but something about the way he lingered told you that he wasn’t entirely opposed to the conversation.

so, you pushed a little more.

“well, if you change your mind, i’ll be inside,” you had said, tapping the doorframe lightly. “near the bar. you know, just in case you suddenly develop a taste for civilization.”

daryl had glanced at you again, something unreadable in his expression. then, with a small shake of his head, he walked off.

and that was where it started.

you started finding excuses to see him. 

at first, it was small things. bringing him something from the pantry after a run, offering to patch up scrapes from the road.

daryl wasn’t easy to get close to, but you were nothing if not persistent.

and eventually, it worked.

it started with short conversations, nothing deep, just little things. you’d tease him about how he always disappears whenever a group gathering got too lively.

“you know, i’m starting to think you might be allergic to fun.”

daryl would just roll his eyes, scoffing. “ain’t got time for all that.”

“oh, come on,” you’d prod, smirking. “not even a little?”

“i’m here, ain’t i?” he’d grumble.

you never pushed him too much, never asked for more than he was willing to give. and slowly, bit by bit, he let his guard down.

somewhere along the way, things shifted.

late nights spent sitting together on porches turned into nights in your bed. 

at first, it was just a stolen moment, a hesitant kiss that he didn’t pull away from. then another. and another. before long, he was in your bed more often than not, hands roaming over your skin, lips pressing bruises into your neck, giving you everything he had in the dark.

but in the morning, he’d always leave.

you tried to ignore it. tried to convince yourself that this was enough, that you could deal with him slipping out before the sun came up, that you could pretend this was casual.

one night, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

you lay beside him, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. it was late, the world outside quiet, but you could feel the tension in him. the way his muscles had started to coil again, like he was already preparing to go.

and suddenly, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“why do you always leave?”

the question came out softer than you intended, but it made daryl tense beneath you. his hand, which had been resting lightly against your back, withdrew.

you lifted your head, searching his face. “daryl?”

he let out a quiet breath, staring up at the ceiling. “ain’t about leavin’.”

“then what is it about?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his hair. he didn’t look at you.

something inside you twisted painfully.

“daryl,” you tried again, voice quieter now. “what are we doing?”

still, he said nothing.

the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. you waited, giving him time to find the words, but when too much time passed, you realised, he wasn’t going to.

and that hurt more than anything.

you swallowed hard, forcing back the lump rising in your throat. “you know what?” you let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “forget it.”

daryl glanced at you then, something like regret flickering in his eyes, but he still didn’t speak.

you turned over, pulling the blanket up, facing away from him. you didn’t want him to see the tears that had started to fall. you didn’t want him to see how much this was breaking you.

because that meant it mattered. and if it mattered to you, but not to him…

you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe.

behind you, you heard him stand. the soft shuffle of his boots, the creak of the door. and then he was gone.

–

you tried to move on after that.

you told yourself it didn’t matter, that you should’ve expected it. that you should’ve known better than to hope for something real.

but daryl didn’t let you move on.

he kept coming back around, showing up at your door like he had something to say but always talking around it.

finally, after days of this, you’d had enough.

you met him at the door, arms crossed, your heart aching with every beat. “what do you want, daryl?”

he shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. “i–” he cut himself off, running a hand over the back of his neck. “i dunno.”

you huffed a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “you don’t know?”

“i ain’t good at this,” he muttered. “ain’t never been.”

“yeah,” you said, voice tight. “i noticed.”

the silence between you was suffocating. you didn’t know what he wanted from you, why he kept showing up when he had made it so clear that you weren’t worth staying for.

“i just…” he trailed off, exhaling sharply, frustrated with himself. “ain’t never felt like this before.”

that stopped you cold.

your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. “what?”

“i–” he sighed, rubbing at his face. “i ain’t never had somethin’ like this. like you.”

you opened your mouth, then closed it.

daryl shifted on his feet, looking more vulnerable than you had ever seen him. “ain’t that i don’t want it,” he admitted. “just… don’t know how.”

your heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice.

for so long, you had convinced yourself that you weren’t enough for him, that he didn’t care the way you did. but now, looking at him, hearing him struggle through the words…

it wasn’t that he didn’t care. it was that he cared too much.

you swallowed hard, taking a step closer. “you could’ve just told me that.”

he let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, shaking his head. “ain’t that easy.”

you searched his face, saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.

“maybe it could be,” you murmured.

daryl hesitated. then, after a beat, he nodded. “yeah.”

it was quiet between you, the weight of the moment pressing down. and then, slowly, hesitantly, he took that last step forward, 

closing the space between you.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ᯓ★

© ialreadymadeyouapromise 2025.

[thewalkingdilf]

i physically CANNOT stop thinking abt daryl in glasses like the way he’d look down at you while you’re on your knees for him and he can finally see the crystal clear image of what you look like taking him so perfectly and the frames are slipping down his nose and his mouth is agape because it just feels so good and you just look so pretty and UAHHH😭😭 pls kill me nowwww

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Your Fault

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is pregnant and suffering from morning sickness, only to be comforted by Daryl. Takes place in Alexandria. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).

Tropes: Fluff, Pregnancy Fluff, Established Relationship

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. If anything I'll say references to past smut, but not explicit at all. Mentions of vomiting.

Word Count: 1.5K

Note: This is written in a dialect style with Daryl's accent in mind so the misspellings are intentional. There is minimal use of (y/n).  Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, but nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics.

ENJOY!

Main Masterlist

Prequel Fic "Meet Cute"

******************************************

Daryl's hand is soft, tangling into the strands of your hair to pull it back from your face as you unleash the remnants of your dinner into the toilet with a loud groan. The brightly colored tile on the bathroom wall mocks you, each swirl of color illuminated by the fluorescent light above that hurts your sensitive eyes.

Who picks bright pink for bathroom tile?

You think with a groan as your stomach heaves again.

Daryl’s right hand rubs soothing circles into your back  to let you know he's there.

“It’s alrigh. Jus get it all ou.” He mutters.

You had practically run him over when you ran to the bathroom, waving your arms to make him go away, not wanting to see you like this, but Daryl had ignored your half hearted attempts to push him away.

And even though you hadn’t wanted him to see you like this, it was easier. Daryl made everything easy, effortless, and most importantly made you feel loved, more loved than you had felt before all of this.

Your forehead presses against the cool lip of the toilet as you wipe the remnants of dinner off your chin and let out a shaky breath.

"Here." Daryl gently pulls you back from your position to wipe at your chin with a towel.

"Hmm." You lean into his touch with a sigh.

"Ya alrigh?"

"Ughh."

“Come on.” He pulls you against his chest, sitting back so his back is against the bathtub, folding his knees in front of him and dwarfing the already small bathroom.

Daryl looks almost exactly the same as he did when you first met and every time you look at him, you feel the exact same. Butterflies flapping against the walls of your stomach, heart surging up into your throat while pins and needles trace his well placed rough fingertips against your arm. Every touch feels like the first, every kiss sets you on fire, and you wouldn't change a second of it. Sometimes you think just how lucky you are that all this happened, because you can’t imagine your life without him. Admittedly a little selfish, but  then you think of what your life would have been if none of this had happened.

Maybe you would still be in Atlanta finishing up your residency, still live in that apartment downtown, still have the same shifts, eat at the same restaurants- but then where would Daryl be?

Where else would you meet someone who got you so simply, who understood what you were thinking just with a quick glance. Who else would make you feel like you’d swallowed the sun when you found them looking at you?

And who else would you love as utterly and completely as you love him?

"This is your fault." You lean your head against his shoulder, stretching out your legs to knock your thigh against Daryl’s knee.

He was  taller than you, broader and stronger in all the best ways. It was what drew you to him, well that and you thought that it was cute how shy he was, how he'd stumble a bit through his words when you first started talking and how the tips of his ears would flush pink when you smiled at him.

"My fault?" You can hear the smile in his voice. Daryl shifts his arm up over your shoulder to pull you closer into his chest, brushing his hand up and down your arm, letting you settle into him.

"Yes. It's your fault I'm pregnant." Your right hand runs over your stomach that has begun to protrude more in the past few months, a whirlwind to be sure, but a welcome one. The initial 30 days had been 30 days of agony while you tried to think of a way to tell Daryl that he was going to be a father. When you first started dating he had been hesitant to tell you about the raised pink scars on his back and chest- the ones you had seen when patching up a bullet wound that he had taken for you.

And when he finally told you what his father did to him, you couldn't help but fold him into you and hold him close.

The pregnancy wasn't a surprise to you, you'd been living together since you'd arrived at Alexandria and this was a happy accident. But nevertheless when you told Daryl he had left without so much as a word taking your heart with him. You had stayed in bed for what seemed like days, only to have him arrive 4 hours later with a bouquet of wildflowers and prenatal vitamins, where he found them you didn't know, all that mattered was that he was back and he was happy. Happier than you'd ever seen him.

Since then Daryl had been at your side almost constantly, the occasional run had intervened, when Rick himself had to  drag Daryl away, but on each run Daryl always brought something back for you. Whether it be another book you could read together, one of the last candy bars to ever exist, or a knitted blanket to cover your shoulders when you dragged yourself into the bathroom at what seemed all hours of the day- like the exact one you had draped around yourself now. And when he wasn't on runs he was helping you with the small nursery, where a hand carved crib stood as another sign of Daryl’s love, the exact crib that made you burst into tears when he and Rick brought it into the house for the first time.

"Pretty sure we were both there." He rumbles with a smile.

"Logistics don't matter." Your eyes narrow.

"Pretty sure they do. Ya're the doc after all." Daryl's smirk makes a warm tingle travel down your spine, the same smirk that got you into this mess in the first place. "I also remember that ya were wearin my shirt-"

"Typical man blaming the woman for what she's wearing. I thought you were better than that."

His smirk grows. "More like what ya weren't wearin."

"My clothes were wet from the storm, I was trying to change-"

"Inta' my shirt!"

You lean away from him, feigning anger. "Oh you think you're so innocent? You came into the house soaked to the bone and no one should look as good as you do soaking wet." You accuse.

"Maybe you should have shut your eyes then." He shrugs.

"Shut up." Your hands fall against his chest, playfully pushing him away, but he grabs your wrists.

"Make me."

"Don't look at me like that." You groan shifting away from him. "That's what got us into this mess in the first place-" Your eyes search his face for a minute, taking in the familiar blue eyes and scruff that scratches against the smooth skin of your fingertips. "But at least we know it's a girl. No more Daryl Jr."

"We ain't gonna call 'im tha. And how do ya know it's a girl?"

"They say that  if it's a girl you get sick more often.”

He snorts, pulling you back into his chest. "The way ya are going we might be havin' two."

"Shut up. Don't joke about that. One's enough, and this one is taking it's sweet time."

"Maybe jus' likes it in there."

You groan into his solid chest, feeling his muscles tense around you, familiar and welcome.  "Everyone always talks about what a blessing it is to be pregnant, how you glow, blah blah blah. It's all propaganda! I feel like I'm smoldering. I'm fat, my feet hurt, I'm sick all the time-"

"Ya ain' fat y/n."

"Don't lie to me." You sit up to look him in the eye. "You made a promise to not lie to me."

"I ain' lying." He breathes.

You search his gaze, nostrils flaring as if you think you can smell the lie, but all you smell is Daryl. The hypnotic scent of cigarettes (that he refused to smoke around you), sweat,  the heady smell of the woods and the smell of a thunderstorm before it hits, that  clean smell of rain  as it dribbles through the branches above before falling onto your skin.

"Ya're even more beautiful than the firs' day I met ya." Daryl's touch is feather light against your cheek, drawing you closer so he can press his forehead against yours. "Pretty sure ya get more beautiful every day. And if this is a girl-" His free hand drags across your belly, smiling as the baby kicks against his fingers. "She's gonna be beautiful jus' like ya."

You feel the blush drift up into the roots of your hair remembering the day you met. “That was a crazy day-“

“Because ya shot me.”

“It only skimmed your hair, don’t be a baby. And I thought you were a walker.”

“Las' time I checked my hair is on top of my head.”

“You were fine.” Your palms gently fall against the scruff of his cheeks. “I’m really glad I missed.”

“Me too."

******************************************

Thank you so much for reading!!

If you liked this fic, be sure to read the prequel “Meet Cute,” that shows the story of how Daryl and the Reader met!

[ruewrote]

𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒.

PAIRING: dad!rickgrimes x olderdaughter!reader WARNINGS: none GENRE: angst / fluff SONG INSPIRATION: half return by adrianne lenker WORD COUNT: 1k REQUESTED: yes

navigation | ask | the walking dead masterlist

you remember when the apocalypse started. you remember the screams of your classmates, of your best friend as she was torn apart by walkers. you remember going home and finding it empty. no mom, no carl, no dad.

the first couple of weeks alone were tortuous. no sleep and when you did you kept a tight hold on the hunting knife that you’d found in a discarded survival backpack in an abandoned car close by.

most nights ended up with you crying yourself to sleep, your hand covering your nose and mouth silencing your sobs. it was horrible, you hated being alone. well at least now you did. wanting nothing but to take back all the times you purposefully locked yourself up in your bedroom, wanting nothing more than to be back safe with your family.

over the course of a month you went back between the safe place you’d been staying at to what used to be your home. seeing if there was any sign of life, to see if they’d show up but they never did so you walked. not sure exactly where you were going but you did. sleeping in abandoned cars, searching for food and water in every house you could find.

it was a constant struggle to survive, but as the months went on you had only gotten stronger, less afraid. finding techniques to not get bitten, quickly finding out that it helped to kick out their feet from underneath them and stab in the head.

over the times that you had come across other people, it was mostly other smaller groups, you’d help them in any way that you could. 

your heart broke for the last couple you bumped into, finding out that they had their toddler with them too. they were out of food and nearly out of water, everyone who was still alive was struggling but you at least offered them your last pouch of squeezable fruit and a spare bottle of water.

the two thanked you repeatedly, wishing you well as they made their way out of the rundown shop, doing one last look around the building, really finding nothing before leaving too.

days turned to weeks as you stayed in the same pattern, kill, ration, sleep, survive. 

the food that was once in your bag were now just scattered empty wrappers and the almost empty bottle almost felt heavy in your hand, tipping the last of its contents into your mouth. finding that it wasn’t even enough for it to be a whole swig, making you quietly groan to yourself. 

the road in front of you begins to blur, feet faltering as you fall onto the concrete, knees scraped in the process.

trying to use your arms to push you up, nothing. slowly giving up as the black dots start to appear, that’s when you hear the echo of somebody’s voice? and the groan of walkers close by as you completely pass out.

when you awoke you were greeted by aaron and deena, explaining what happened and where you were. soon after you recovered they interviewed you, offering you a spot in their community and you accepted right away.

who were you to say no to a place like this? walls, food, clean water, all you had to do was do runs and protect the town. 

as the months went by you turned out to be a strong assent to the group, being reg and deenas right hand woman even when being one of the youngest adults there.

it didn’t take you long to get into a routine, making friendship with your neighbours, it almost felt like it did before that fall.

as much as you were grateful that you were lucky enough to find alexandria, you couldn’t help but think about your family. 

missing the way your mom used to hug you after a failed math test, missing the way carl would dedicate his drawings just for you, the way your dad used to playfully ‘embarrass’ you in front of your friends. 

your hands dig into the soil as you reminisce, plucking out the vegetables that were fully grown. well that was until you heard the slam of the front gate.

your brows furrowed as you pushed yourself up to investigate the new group of people that stood beside aaron. walking closer to get a better look, taking your gloves off as you did so.

even just by looking at them you could tell they’ve practically been through hell and back out there, the leader still had his back to you, but you could tell that he was almost sizing aaron up, it stopped you in your tracks when he turned around.

even with the big beard and grown out hair you knew it was him. “d..dad?” his eyes soften as they met your own, it didn’t take you long to bound up to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and his around your back.

sobbing into his shirt as you held onto him tightly, worried that he’ll disappear again if you let him go, “i didn’t think i’d ever see you again.” 

pulling out of the hug you noticed carl, “oh my god! look at you, you're all grown up now!”, engulfing him in a hug with a huge grin on your face. 

later on that evening you asked about your mom, and he explained everything. telling you about shane and judith.

you couldn’t say you were surprised about how shane acted, he had his moments when you’d once known him. you couldn’t help but be distraught about how your mom passed.

after a few weeks goes by and it feels like you were never apart at all, you had his back when you went out on runs together, taking carl under your wing since you were his age when all of this had first started. it was often that you looked after judith, she kept you on your toes but also kept your spirits up on the tougher days.

after all this time you were as close as you could be to peace.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© ruewrote 2024.

[jordynclover]

FRACTURED HAVEN CHAPTERS

The named chapters are completed

Crossed Paths

Common Ground

Scars And Spices

Silent Vows

Between Magic And Reality

The Taste Of Coffee And Comfort

Unspoken Bonds

Close Enough To Feel

A Gentle Push

A Night To Remember

Faultlines

Whispers Of What Could Be

Bitter Truths

In The Wake Of Desperation

The Weight Of Regret

Weathered Hearts

Embers Of Hope

A Place To Belong

Two Lines, One Truth

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Author’s Note

The chapters that are titled are still subject to change, depending on how the book goes and if I want to split a certain chapter into 2 because it’s too long. There are I believe a minimum of 3k words per chapter and depending on how far I want this book to go it could end up being more than 50 chapters.

I do have a small child, as well as dealing with the death of an immediate family member, so currently writing is paused until at least the day after thanksgiving.

This book will hopefully be fully published by March 15th 2025, I will be updating this post with new chapter titles as I go so the progress can be shown, I do edit and proof read as I go but I will be doing a final edit and proof read the day or two before publication.

I started this book a few months after I finished bleeding heart and I’m trying to make this an all in one book rather than two or more. As there are 2 more books in the Fallen Forged Forever series bleeding heart is just book one.

If you made it this far I really appreciate you! If you could reblog this and share, it would mean the absolute world to me.

[the-dixon-effect]

"What are you thinking about?" you said, turning to face Daryl who stood next to you, lighter in hand. Bringing it up to his mouth to light his cigarette, he hesitated before he spoke.

"It's nothin'" he drawled, staring off into the distance. The two of you leant up against the front wall of the shared Alexandrian home that belonged to Rick, Michonne, Carl and you. The sun was just about setting and, for the first time since you got here, you felt somewhat at ease. Not looking over your shoulder at any given moment for danger.

"C'mon, you can tell me," you were smiling now, understanding that Daryl may not share your feelings of peace. Maybe you were wrong, however, and it wasn't danger on his mind.

"Ya' feel safe here?" he furrowed his brows and faced you, speaking quietly and softly.

"Do you?" you looked so sweet, so soft. Like you were supposed to be here. You looked perfect. And yet here you were, sharing a blunt with Daryl who seemed so... out of place.

"I dunno," he began. You sensed that there was something he needed to say out loud. "It's jus', you- ya' seem like yer gonna fit in jus' fine here. Me, I dunno."

"Daryl, of course you're gonna fit in here. Besides, if anyone decides they have a problem with you, they'll have to deal with me first." you said, sincerely.

He hummed in response. "Alrigh', just dun get too close ta' that Spencer dude. Saw the way he was lookin' at ya earlier," he drawled. Daryl felt a sense of protection over you, not to mention the other things he felt for you, too.

"Ooh, is Daryl Dixon jealous?" you joked. A corner of your mouth tugged up when you met his eyes.

"Maybe I am, lil' bit,"

prompt: What are you thinking about?

[ghostboneswrites2]

ђคɭɭ๏ฬєєภ ђ๏гг๏г

A Daryl Dixon Fanfic Challenge

Welcome back, fellow Dixon fiends, to yet another mediocre challenge from yours truly. 🩸

This challenge is (obviously) in honor of spooky season, so let’s jump right in! 👻

How to participate:

Simply select a prompt from below the cut and get to writing! 🔪 Be aware, each prompt has a unique set of challenges!

🩸Deadline is October 31!

🩸Winners will be announced in the second week of November!

Once you’ve completed your story, just post it, tag me, and tag the post #ddhh so I can find them all easily!

Rules:

Daryl Dixon x Reader only!

500 word minimum*

5k word maximum*

Must be able to stand alone!

Can be part of an ongoing series, but again, must be able to stand alone without outside context.

Writers may only enter one story from one prompt.

Please clarify which prompt you chose somewhere on your post.

* minimum & maximum word counts are approximate!

Prizes & Results:

Each prompt category will have one winner each.

Results will be decided via polls beginning in the first week of November.

🩸Each poll will be up for voting for 7 days.

🩸Winners will be announced in the second week of November.

The winner from each prompt will:

🩸Be tagged in an honorary winner post!

🩸Have one story of their choosing linked to every fic I post + my masterlist until December 31, 2024.

Prompts:

Choose wisely! Each prompt has its own unique set of kill counts, quotes, advantages, and challenges.

Here is a key for reference:

Kill Count: Mandatory number of deaths.

Setting/Era: Mandatory setting/era.

Quote: A line that must be included in your dialogue.

Challenge: Something that may make a prompt harder than the others.

Advantage: Something that may make the prompt easier than the others.

Slasher

summary: A classic, gory horror trope! Someone in the group has gone insane! The horrors of the post-apocalyptic world has driven them mad! They’re killing everyone! Who are they? Why have they done this? Who will survive?

setting/era: must be set either in Alexandria or the Prison

kill count: 4 to 8 kills

quote: “How could you?”

challenge: The killer must be a canon character from your chosen era, and your kills must also be canon characters from your chosen era. Killer cannot be Daryl or Reader. Killer also cannot be a canonical villain (like the Governor, Termites, Negan, Alpha, etc.)

advantage: Kills can be done with any weapon of choice, to any character of choice.

Supernatural

summary: A (supernatural creature of your choice) is terrorizing and killing off members of the group. What is it? What does it look like? How does it kill? More importantly, how will the survivors kill it?

setting/era: The Greene Farm

kill count: 3 to 5 kills

quote: “What the fuck is it?!” / “Dead, as soon as o figure out how.”

challenge: Supernatural creature cannot be a ghost, demon, or other spirit of any kind.

advantage: Your supernatural creature can be a classic (werewolf, vampire, wendigo, etc) or it can be something completely original and unexplainable. This gives freedom to describe your monster with as much/little detail as you please.

Paranormal

summary: A paranormal force has made its presence known and brought pain and terror upon its victims. Maybe it’s a demonic possession taking over one of the survivors, maybe it’s an angry spirit taking its home back. You decide!

setting/era: —

kill count: —

quote: “Kill it!” / It’s already dead!” / “So are the walkers!”

challenge: Your paranormal entity must not be visible to the human eye, creating an extra layer of difficulty for the survivors.

advantage: Kills are optional. No mandatory setting/era.

FAQ

Do major characters have to die (like Rick, Carol, etc) or do minor characters (like Olivia, Axel, etc) count towards the kill count as well?

Anyone can die!

Can my supernatural creature be anything that isn’t a ghost or spirit?

Yes! Could even be an alien!

Can I write a story for multiple prompts and only use one for the challenge?

Sure! You can even post them! Just be sure to specify which one you’d like to enter in the challenge, even if you do so by just sending me a message.

For the Slasher prompt, who qualifies as a villain?

Good question. Lots of morally gray characters on TWD, so it can be hard to decide who’s a villain and who’s just an asshole. For our purposes, let’s say Negan, Alpha, the Termites, and the Governor are the villains that are off limits.

Credits:

dividers from: @sister-lucifer

I do not own TWD and its characters, blah blah blah.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy @raeraegoaway @ophelialaufey @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfsalltheway @negansbestie @mfnqueen1 @raynelbabe

[suniloli]

JUST FOR KICKS

29 May 2024

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: approximately 3 swear words, sexual innuendo, fluff

Setting: Prison (between s3-4)

Summary: Today’s weather was perfect for an impromptu prison soccer match. Prison goers — children, adults and spectators alike — become involved, including an enthusiastic you and uncharacteristically playful Daryl.

Author Note: Finally back from my 3000 year hiatus!!!! Here’s a little piece I wanted to get out before I lost it. This is more of an innocent one that I wanted to write (although it’s SUPER predictable ….) I hope the POV jumps are easily followable. Am working on another Daryl fic atm. Enjoy! - Sól

The gorgeous spring sun in the sky and the soft warm breeze were the perfect conditions to be outside and enjoying life. Well, what ‘life’ you could experience within the prison’s metal fences in the middle of an apocalypse anyways. 

This sort of weather was your favourite. It reminded you of your sporting days before walkers came to be, especially the excitement you felt before your games where you’d soak up the sun and let it fuel your competitiveness. Like a videogame character harnessing the sun’s power to unleash their most powerful combat moves. 

It boosted your spirit, and reminded you that even in this world, beauty could still be found. You just had to be open to it. 

And open to it you were. When a couple of the teenagers came excitedly kicking around a soccer ball they’d found, you couldn’t help yourself. Many others felt the same way, which is probably how you all ended up in a massive soccer game across the courtyard, children mixed with adults, the majority of prison goers spectating on the sidelines. 

You managed to get enough to have a 6 v 6, exactly three teens and three adults on each team. Your side included some of your closest friends, Glenn and Sasha. On the other side were Carl and Michonne, and some other Woodbury residents you’d seen around and shared a laugh or two with. Today felt the closest to the life you had before, which was one of sport-filled weekends. So, naturally, it brought out your zealous streak. You were going to win. 

“Guys. We need to fucking smash em’.” you asserted. 

“Y/N! There's kids here…” Glenn jokingly admonished. 

“We’re 15 man…” one of the teenagers pointed out. 

“Anyways…they’re gonna lose whether they like it or not. I’ll play up front. Glenn…you’re quick, so you’ll be with me…uh…” you drifted off, attempting to come up with a game plan. You were so focused that you hadn’t realised the run crew had arrived back and were driving towards the gates. Glenn and Sasha were watching you with amusement. The kids were waiting for your word. You were the professional after all. 

“She’s super into this,” Sasha smirked. 

“Hell yeah!” Glenn smiled. “She’s really good at soccer. We’ve had many conversations about it. Mad skills.”

Sasha patted his shoulder. “Guess we’re gonna have to step up our game then.” 

After deliberating with the kids for a bit, you and your team were ready. 

It was time. 

The whistle — an actual whistle someone had found — was blown by Carol, and the game was on. 

Oh, was the high shrill music to your ears. 

Kick-off commenced, the other team passing it amongst themselves for the first couple of minutes. Of course, since there were no real referees, and since Michonne happened to be right there, you gave her a little shove as you passed, giving her a teasing wink. 

“You bitch!” she laughed as she began running hard for the ball. 

You dashed forward, intercepting a pass meant for her, and crossed it over to Glenn on the left wing. 

Ever the quick pizza delivery boy, he sprinted up the sideline, onlookers getting excited. Making a few minor mistakes, he still managed to manoeuvre the ball around Carl, who you noted was surprisingly fast on his feet, and kicked it back to you sprinting up the centre field. You caught it with your left foot and continued on. Two defenders were gaining on you. 

You juked the defender on the left, rolling the ball under your right foot. Chipping the ball over the remaining defender’s head, you booked it straight to the goal. 

The goalkeeper’s face was full of determination. His hands were out in front of him, feet moving from side to side. In the second that you spent looking at him you could tell he was a bit unsure, but his confidence was unwavering. You admired it. 

However, you used his inexperience to your advantage. 

You faked to the right, watching his eyes follow your movement, then swiftly cut to the left. His stance faltered, giving you just the right amount of time to hit the ball with your left foot. You could vaguely hear kids yelling in the background, Glenn’s shrill laughter, and Sasha’s cheers filling the air. 

As you kicked the ball, its trajectory started outside the line of the makeshift goalpost, and about halfway it began to curve inwards.  You held your breath as you saw the ball curving towards the very top left corner, waiting with bated breath as the goalie took a gigantic leap towards it. 

The ball sailed and sailed and sailed. 

Until you witnessed it pass just inside the post, and the satisfying *thud* of the ball hitting the ground behind it caused your teammates to erupt in cheers.

Pumping your fists in excitement, you saw Glenn sprinting up to you with his arms outstretched. 

“HOLY SHIT!” 

“Oof!” you breathed, getting thrown to the ground in a giant bear hug. Before you knew it, all of the kids, including those of the opposition — a definite product of over-excitement — began stacking on top of the both of you, until all anyone could see was a massive pile of bodies in the middle of the courtyard. 

Laughter and screams and fun filled the air. You didn’t even care about the goal anymore. The innocence and presence of the moment were enough to bring happy tears to your eyes. 

Rick wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as he closed the gate behind the car. Looking towards the courtyard, he mumbled to himself in disbelief. “Are they playin’ soccer?”

As Daryl hopped out of the passenger side, he responded a bit incredulously. “Looks like it.” 

Opening the boot to retrieve the supplies they brought back, Maggie started giggling, seeing her husband with the ball. “Look! Go Glenn!”

Glenn had the ball and was sprinting up the sideline. At that moment, the three of them observed his and your play. 

“Damn girl…” Daryl breathed upon seeing your goal. Rick let out a low chuckle. Seeing his son playing was like being transported back to a time he thought he’d never get to experience again as a father. 

When Glenn tackled you to the ground, Maggie let off a grunt of amused disapproval and began jogging towards the fun. 

"She’s gonna’ suffocate!" Maggie shouted playfully, her voice full of warmth as she made her way onto the field. Slowly, everyone removed themselves from the stack, allowing you to get up and have a laugh. From where Daryl was, it looked as if you and Glenn were trying to coerce Maggie to join in rather animatedly. Cute. 

As the game continued, Rick grabbed Daryl’s shoulder breaking him out of his little trance. “You comin’ or what?” he grinned. 

Daryl looked to Rick, and after a couple of seconds gave him an upwards nod and made his way down to the sideline with him. 

“Ya’ refereein’ or somethin’?” Daryl asked Carol with an amused smirk.

“Something like that…your girlfriend is kicking some major ass.” 

“She ain’t…whatever,” Daryl grunted. Looking away and at the field, he saw Michonne pass it off to another player, resulting in a tying of the score and a multitude of cheers. Eyes drifting away from the scoring team and Carl’s silly victory dance, Daryl caught sight of you again. 

What you were wearing closely resembled tiny soccer shorts which showed off your long, toned legs. You almost always wore cargo pants, so that was certainly a sight for sore eyes. He stared as the muscles in your quads and glutes expanded and retracted as you ran with an elegance he’d never seen before. 

“You might wanna close your mouth before you start drooling big guy.” 

A faint blush crept up his neck. Turning to shoot Carol a glare, he growled a low shuddup before being interrupted by the ball landing at his feet. A bit perplexed, he looked down at it, and up again to see a bunch of teens running at him and obnoxiously calling for it. 

Daryl couldn’t help but smirk after being encouraged by Carol to pass the ball back. The enthusiasm of youth was so infectious, that even his reserved self couldn’t hide from it. 

“Come on, Daryl!” you suddenly exclaimed, causing him to glance towards you. Hearing your voice made a rush of warmth spread through his chest.

As Daryl looked over towards you, you were caught off guard by the handsome smirk he donned, his eyes glistening with something that made your heart skip a beat. Your cheeks flushed slightly, but not from the sun or exertion. 

“Gonna kick it or what?” You called out, a bit of a challenge in your tone. Daryl’s smirk widened, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. Without missing a beat, he booted the ball toward the centre of the field. Before either of you could say anything else, Carl beat you to it. 

“Come play Daryl! We need another person!” 

Carol nudged him in the side. “You should go…” 

Daryl looked between Carol, Carl, and finally towards you. You bit your bottom lip and gave a single shrug of your shoulders. The vivaciousness you exuded was alluring. Looking towards the plumpness of your lips and back up, Daryl’s eyes locked with yours and stayed there. It was like you were inviting him to join. Carol hid a knowing smile as he continued to stare. 

Daryl couldn’t leave you hanging, nor could he not indulge you (or so he told himself). Squinting his eyes slightly, he took a deep breath to steel his resolve. Your eyes were like magnets drawing him in. You were beautiful. 

 “Alrigh’...”

As Daryl started jogging onto the makeshift field, a couple of people started cheering and chanting his name. You giggled as he approached you. “Ma’am.”

“Sir.” you mimicked, hands on hips. You subtly lowered your eyes and gazed at him through your lashes. “Ready to get pounded?” 

“W-what?” Daryl stuttered, suddenly pretending he was interested in the play being made across the courtyard. 

“Are you ready to lose?” You laughed, pinching his side while watching his ears go red. He swatted your hand away. 

“Ain't I playin’ wit’ ya?” 

“Nuh-uh. Didn’t you hear Carl say they were short one?” You waited for a beat, before suddenly shoving Daryl backwards and running to chase the ball. “So better get into position, Dixie!”

Stumbling back a step or two from your playful shove, it was like a switch was flipped. Hearing his name being called and encouragement being thrown his way from the sidelines, Daryl was nearly completely overwhelmed. He wasn’t used to so much positive attention in this manner…especially your…blatant flirting? He almost didn’t know how to deal with it. 

Almost. 

Seeing you turn back to give him a wink made a certain desire erupt in his midsection. It ignited a type of fervour in him. 

It’s on girl. 

Daryl’s heart raced every time the two of you made eye contact. Not having really played a proper game of soccer before, it was difficult for him to try and manufacture some sort of on-field play with you. Although he’d touched the ball and passed it off to others a few times already, he was slightly trepidatious. The timing just wasn’t right for you to engage with him. 

So, he just decided to ‘go with the flow’. 

Daryl had to admit, this was some of the most enjoyment he’s had in a long time. Especially with other people. But mostly, he enjoyed watching you enjoy yourself. 

You were everywhere, laughing, shouting instructions, encouraging your teammates. You were truly in your element. It was like watching a different person, a side of you he hadn’t seen before. And damn if it wasn’t attractive.

Before Daryl knew it, one of the kids passed the soccer ball back to him, and he glanced up to see you were headed straight for him. He started towards you, eyes narrowing in determination. 

You saw your chance. Daryl finally had the ball and was within proper distance. You started sprinting towards him, admittedly a bit distracted by the glistening sweat on his arms accentuating every muscle fibre there. Focus Y/N. 

As you two closed the gap between each other, Daryl stuck his other leg out and pushed you for good measure, tripping you. 

Your momentum carried you forward, causing you to nearly fall head-first into the ground. At the last second you caught yourself, letting out a huff. A series of concerned ‘Oooos’ could be heard from onlookers. “What the hell Daryl!” you yelled at his retreating form. 

Admittedly, the action pissed you off a bit. Two can play at that game, chiselled arms be damned. 

You quickly pushed yourself from the ground and sprinted at full speed to catch up. You were there in no time. Getting ready to shove Daryl back from behind, you squared up your shoulder and collided with him. It was enough to mess up his footing, and the ball skidded off to the side.  

There was an element of shock across Daryl’s face as he turned around to find you behind him, causing your annoyance to completely fizzle out and turn into something more akin to lust-fueled amusement. The two of you locked eyes, and Daryl’s expression turned roguish. 

The next few seconds felt as if they were in slow motion. The ball sat stationary fifteen metres away, watching, waiting. 

The air cracked with unspoken tension. Your heart was almost beating out of your chest in anticipation of what was to come. Everyone in the vicinity had vanished from your awareness. Now, it was just you, Daryl, and the ball — although really, you were both more focused on the presence of each other than the game now. 

Without wasting another second, you lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of Daryl’s sleeveless shirt. You heard him release a grunt of objection, but it was enough for you to pull him backwards and allow you to lead the chase. 

You heard Daryl yell smart ass as his footfalls sounded behind. You were so incredibly giddy that you felt like a little girl being chased by her little boy crush in the playground.

You were about three metres from the ball before you felt his calloused hand grip your shoulder, half shoving you in another direction. Catching a glimpse of the rarely-ever captured excitement in Daryl’s face, you began giggling as you tried to retain your balance. 

“Hey!” you puffed out. 

“Better watch ya’self” Daryl panted, trying to battle for possession of the ball which now had both of you fighting for it. 

“Better watch your —” you grunted, holding him back with your forearm “— self!” 

Just as you were getting the upper hand, Daryl used his arms to grab you and hastily shove you to the side. His touch set you ablaze. 

As he began running again, you managed to hook your ankle around his own, effectively tripping him over. 

As Daryl stumbled, you couldn’t help but burst into laughter, laughing harder when Daryl’s hand caught you behind your knee and he pulled you down with him. You felt an intense surge of electricity travel up your leg and remain at your lower navel. 

Realising you were now trying to escape his grasp and army crawl towards the direction of the ball, Daryl swung himself from his side onto his stomach, scrambling to get a better hold of your slowly retreating legs. 

Surprisingly, you managed to drag yourself another metre or so before Daryl got a proper grip on your thighs, his fingers heavily dimpling into the skin there. Laughter never dissipating, Daryl smiled to himself, having trapped you on the grass. 

Twisting to lie on your back, you continued to squirm in Daryl’s solid grasp. You were able to sense every bend and every shape of every finger taking hold of your thighs. Daryl pushed himself up on his knees, now leaning over your squirming form. 

“Ya shouldn’ta never told me ya’ were ticklish…” Daryl said quietly before he released your legs and started attacking your sides with his hands. 

“NO!” you squealed, thrashing your body in an attempt to get away from Daryl’s large hands. 

Daryl couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the way your eyes sparked with joy. Your tousled hair strewn all over the grass with the sun beating down on your tanned skin made you look otherworldly. Like an angel even his own imagination couldn’t conceptualise the beauty of, but was still here in front of him, seemingly reciprocating his affections. 

You were laughing so much that you were gasping for air. Not wanting you to suffocate, Daryl slowly stopped his hands from moving and held them on your waist for a few seconds to allow you to get your bearings.

Staring into your eyes, he revelled at the softness beneath his fingertips. He focused on the small movements of your abdominal muscles beneath them, and watched your lips part as you pulled in heavy breath after heavy breath. His eyes were drawn to your lips once again as you wetted them with your tongue. 

Moving your hands from above your head to softly grasp Daryl’s at your waist, you huffed a small laugh and gazed at him with wide eyes. You admired his boyish handsomeness. 

“You. Are a prick.” 

Daryl let escape a small snort of his own and shyly chewed his lip. “Only fer ya’ pretty girl…” 

A small breeze picked up, slightly swaying the section of hair hanging from Daryl’s forehead. The way he was softly watching you made you want to pull him down to you and close the distance —

“Either play or get a room!” 

“Yeah! Jesus Christ…” 

The heat of the moment was ruined by a herd of teens resuming the play which you’d seemingly both forgotten all about. 

Both realising the…compromising…position you both were in, the two of you abruptly pulled away from each other, both going equally red from embarrassment. The sounds of people hollering and some mildly inappropriate noises filled your ears, adding to the awkwardness. 

“Oh my god…” you managed, sitting up and covering your face with your hands. 

Daryl stood and offered you his hand which you sheepishly took. He waited until you looked at him before he gave you his half-smile, reserved only for you. You’d never admit it, but it always managed to make you melt. 

“Ya’ actually ain’t that bad at soccer.” 

You shook your head in jest. “Shut up.”

*I DO NOT give permission for my work to be used/adapted/copied in any way.*

[dixonsdarkelf]

AO3 link

❤️ fluff | 🖤 angst | 💓 smut | 👀 implied smut | 😉 suggestive content but no smut

➼ Flattery ❤️ 😉

➼ Aches & Pains ❤️ 😉

➼ 'Cause They Ain't You ❤️

➼ Not an Invitation ❤️

➼ You're An Amateur (but Baby, I'm A Pro) ❤️ 💓

➼ Daryl & The Weird Girl ❤️

➼ I’m sat ❤️

➼ My stomach just did the thing ❤️

➼ Daddy issues, daddy issues, chaos junkie ❤️

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

reader pronouns: she/her "Daryl—we're either both getting out of here, or neither of us are. I'm not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me," Aaron said, looking at him incredulously.

"It ain't nobody's fault," he argued. "S'okay."

"No!" Aaron argued. "We'll do it together!" He sighed and leaned back into his seat heavily while the dead pawed at the windows. "Can you imagine what Y/N would do if I came back without you?" he said, cocking an eyebrow up.

Daryl straightened up and turned to look at him again. He shrugged. It seemed specific that he had mentioned you. "...What?"

Aaron laughed and glanced over at him. "Seriously?"

Daryl looked perplexed but gulped nervously.

"Daryl... She loves you. You haven't figured it out yet? Really?"

Daryl gulped again. "N—no, I dun—"

Aaron laughed again. "It's not a question. Everyone knows but you apparently. So. Let's get out of here together and get back so you can figure it out for yourself. Okay?"

Prompt: "She loves you."

[croxxbow13]

Gif from google

Y/n: “What’s for dinner?”

Daryl: “Whatever didn’t run fast enough.”

Y/n: “…you’re really sellin it.”

Daryl: “You’re welcome.”

[ellie1green]

(Y/n just doing absolutely anything)

Carl: look at them, they are just so pretty

Enid: then go And talk to them?

Carl: ARE YOU CRAZY?! They would NEVER talk to me

y/n hearing Carl shout And going over: oh hey Carl, is everything ok?

Carl: i love you

Enid: (facepalm)

Y/n: huh..?

[thewalkingdilf]

i saw this trend on twitter of people editing these glasses on different people so of course i jumped at the opportunity to put this random png of glasses on daryl and AHHHHH why am i so obsessed with it😭😭 HE LOOKS SO FINEEEEEEE like please sedate me

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Meet Cute

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is surviving in the apocalypse alone, until she meets a stranger who needs her help, even if he doesn't want to admit it. This is a reimagining of when Daryl gets hurt trying to find Sophia in Season 2, in which the reader shoots Daryl instead of Andrea. This can be read as stand alone, but can also be read as a prequel fic to "Your Fault," describing how reader and Daryl met for the first time. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me).

Era: Hershel farm era.

Tropes: Angst, Fluff (if you squint at it), Patching up someone's wounds.

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any. I'll say references to past trauma with survivors, but mentioned only once or twice and not detailed. Blood and gore, because the reader is patching up Daryl's wounds and of course zombies. Cursing, not a lot, but a few words.

Word Count: 4.1K (Oops) (Seriously did not mean for it to be this long.)

Note: There is minimal use of (y/n).  Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.

ENJOY!

Main Masterlist

Future Fic "Your Fault"

******************************************

It was raining and you were having a bad day. You weren’t having a bad day because it was raining, you actually liked standing in the rain, feeling the cool water drip down your face and through your clothes made you feel alive in the best way. It was difficult to find things that made you feel alive, especially after two months in the zombie apocalypse.

You considered yourself lucky, the first day everything went to hell you had slept through it. Pulling a double at the hospital downtown knocked you out and you woke up to the screams and the pounding of feet in the hall of your apartment building.

By then the phones were gone, electricity to the city had been cut off and you were hopelessly alone. Not unwelcome, due to the fact that it had been you on your own since your father had died a year earlier, but still acute enough for you to notice. It took you a week to leave your apartment to try and scavenge for food, even then you were not ready for the carnage that waited on the streets of Atlanta. After another week you realized that you needed to get out, it was too dangerous to be there. The military had failed and there was nothing left for you in the city. So you packed your backpack and said goodbye to your old life. Finding the cabin outside Atlanta was fortuitous, especially after you ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. That being said when you found it originally, it had its quirks. No windows, a door that hung off its hinges, blood stains on the wooden floors, and no running water all made the cabin less than ideal.

But after two months it was home.

You sigh to yourself as you reset the trap, hiding it underneath the wet dead leaves as rain dripped from the treetops above. Someone or something was getting into your traps. It was the third time in a week it had happened and you were starting to get annoyed. You suspected it was a walker, since you continued to find bits and pieces of squirrel in the forest around the trap.

You continue your trek in the half-circle one mile out from the cabin. It was a nice spot, dense forest with a small creek that ran through, small enough to cross, but enough water that you didn't have to worry about going any further to find it. The only time you left the cabin was to scavenge, but that took a few days of preparation.

Rain pattered softly over the fallen leaves, weaving in and out of the canopy above, and kissing your skin. Being alone never bothered you before, but the thought that you might be the last person on earth was different. It was one thing to choose to be alone, another thing to be forced into it.

The sound of shuffling and sliding leaves makes you pause, ears peeled. You did not see too many walkers where you were and figured that because you were in the middle of nowhere there weren't enough people to turn.

The shuffling gets louder and you duck behind one of the trees, drawing your pistol from the belt at your waist. It was a gift from your father when you moved to Atlanta to start your residency. Target practice every week made you a good shot and helped blow off steam when shifts at the hospital were tough. Unfortunately, you hadn't been able to find many bullets, which prompted you to carry a hunting knife on the opposite side of your waist. The only ammo stores you found were stripped down and desolate. Sometimes you worried what would happen when you ran out.

You hear the heavy exhale of the walker as it continues through the woods behind the tree where you are hiding. You peer around the tree trunk, watching it shuffle along. It's wearing dark clothes, blood dripping from its side as it hunches over and travels away from you. A crossbow is strapped along it's back at an awkward angle and every step it releases a heavy exhale.

You click off the safety. Probably the same walker that's been eating all my squirrels. You think to yourself as you aim the gun at the back of the walker's head and take in a deep breath. But just as you pull the trigger, the walker stumbles to the left and the bullet scrapes along the outside of the walker's skull.

Shit.

As it falls, it hits its head on a tree stump and lies still, face down. You come out from behind the tree cautiously, replacing the pistol at the holster on your waist and pull out the hunting knife. The walker doesn't move.

Okay. I can do this. I can do this-

You tap it with your boot. It groans once, but doesn't make an attempt to get up. Wait. If its groaning and not moving is it not-

You bend down and grab the back of the walker's shirt, avoiding the crossbow to roll it over, and suddenly realize, it's not a walker, it’s a man.

SHIT.

"Hello?" You poke his chest once, twice, but he doesn't respond. "Um- Sir? Are you okay? Can you speak?"

Why did I just call him sir?

The man groans softly, but does not open his eyes.

SHIT.

You hadn't run into many people in the apocalypse. Saw them from afar, but never approached one. Your father had instilled in you that desperate situations bred a new kind of person. No one could be trusted. The one time you had run into a group, you learned that the hard way. You shake it off and look down at the man on the ground.

He's covered in a layer of dirt and grime, a necklace of walker ears hangs over his dark green tank top, a large hunting knife hangs from his waist next to a child's doll, and blood soaks through the side of his shirt.

Why does he have a doll? Is he like one of those truckers on the highway that has a teddy bear strapped to the front of their semi? Because that's kind of weird.

You stepped closer to examine where the blood has stained his shirt along his side. He's really hurt.

You raise your head to look around the forest around you. He doesn't have a pack, his camp must be nearby. Which means that there might be others that come looking for him.

You look back down at the man where the bullet scraped through his hair, watching the blood trickle down the side of his head. You think about leaving him there. I don't know him. I can just walk away no harm done-

You bite your lip. I can't do it. I can't leave him here. You curse your conscience. Now I just have to haul him the entire mile back to my cabin, without waking him up or hurting him.

Great.

*******************************************

Dragging him back to the cabin through the woods and up the front steps took over an hour. You were too afraid to drag him back quickly, afraid that it would do more harm than good especially because you were unsure how bad the wound on his side was. He hadn't woken up, a bad sign, but you were optimistic.

Guilt momentarily fills your chest. You wouldn’t have shot him if you knew he was still alive. You probably would have just let him go on his merry way. But then you think about how he stumbled.

If I let him go, how far would he have gotten? Maybe me taking him is better than the alternative.

Staring at him laying on the hardwood floor made you wonder if this was a bad idea. You didn't know him. He might have a group somewhere and he might be faking to find out where you lived.

If he is faking he is certainly committed. You mused gazing down at him again.

He was older than you, by a few years at least, with brown hair that stuck out in different directions. Your eyes sweep his clothes, nose wrinkling at the strand of walker ears around his neck. His clothes were dirty, covered in dirt and dead blood. You had taken great care with his crossbow, setting it down on the small wooden table that you usually ate at, noticing how clean it was.

He must really care about it.

You couldn’t help but notice how small the man looked laying on the floor. And it made you feel more guilty about shooting him.

You walk away to get your medical bag, it was on the makeshift kitchen counter on the right back wall. The cabin was one room, in one corner there was a giant cabinet filled with whatever cans you could salvage, in another there was a wooden counter with a non-working sink, a small fireplace sat on the left wall, and in another there was a small twin sized bed covered in mismatched blankets. You had been prepping for winter, moving further and further into town to salvage what you could and storing chopped wood against the inside wall by the fireplace. The thought of winter scared you more than you’d care to admit. Especially with the squirrel traps giving less and less each day.

I wonder if this is the person stealing all my squirrels. You frown to yourself. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

You hear a strange sound behind you and as turn around, bag in hand, you notice that the man isn't on the ground anymore. He's standing, crossbow drawn, pointed directly at your chest.

Great.

"Where the hell am I?" The man growls.

Your chest tightens in fear. By the time I reach for my gun he’ll shoot me.

"It’s okay." You force the tremor from your voice, trying your best not to look frightened. The bag drops to the ground  and you hold up your hands in front of you in a gesture of surrender. "You're at my cabin. You're safe."

"Why?" His eyes narrow as he takes another step forward.

This was such a bad idea. Granted I also would have that reaction if I woke up in a strange place.

"I'm a doctor. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You collapsed and I noticed you were bleeding."

He backs up towards the door without turning around, eyes wild, body tense, ready to spring.

"Wait please. I feel really bad-"

The guilt is back now as you look at the scrape along his head and the blood soaked shirt.

"Why?" The man narrows his eyes.

 "Because I-" You scrunch up your face in embarrassment. "I thought you were one of those things and I shot you. I'm sorry."

"You shot me?"

"Yes. I mean, you stumbled at the last second and I missed, but I'm also pretty sure that you hit your head pretty hard."

"What?"

"It felt wrong to leave you there.”

“I don’t need your help.” He spits.

“You’re probably right.” Your hands are still palm up in front of you. “But I thought it would be stupid if you survived this long with those things out there and then died from an infection. That's pretty pathetic." You smile sheepishly at your attempt at a joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn't smile.

Well the good news is if he leaves I'll never see him again, and I'll be able to forget about this entire awkward exchange. Who am I kidding? It’s going to haunt me at night, right up there with the time I tripped and ate it on the way to the microphone at my 8th grade talent show.

"I don't want your help." The man says again as he turns to go, but groans when he feels the muscles on his side strain with the movement.

"Please." You breathe. "It'll take ten minutes then you can leave and we never have to see each other ever again."

His eyes are still narrowed. They skate across your body sizing you up. “Are you alone?”

The question makes a cold shiver travel down your spine. It's the question that made you avoid other survivors, the question that made you tie your hair up under a hat, wear oversized clothes to hide your body, and a scarf to hide the bottom half of your face.

“If I say yes are you going to attack me?” Your throat is thick when you ask it.

He shakes his head.

You watch him curiously, but even though he’s pointing a crossbow at your chest you don’t think he’s lying. “Then yes.”

The man stands there for another few seconds. “Five minutes.”

“Fine."

He makes no move to lower the crossbow.

"Is it okay if I move or are you going to shoot me?" You raise an eyebrow.

The man sighs and finally lowers the crossbow, which you take as confirmation that you can pick up your medical bag.

What am I doing? I should have just let him leave. You think to yourself, watching the way his eyes dart around the cabin.

You both stand there awkwardly for a second. “You can just sit on the bed. It'll probably be easier than the chair.”

He sits down, but places the crossbow next to him on the bedside table, as if preparing for you to attack him.

You tried to remember the training you had for dealing with unwilling patients. Of course when that happened the hospital let them leave, but you didn’t want him to leave. You felt guilty for shooting him and you felt guilty for dragging him all the way here. And despite not knowing him, you were worried.

He could barely move without it hurting, what would happen if he left? One of those things were sure to get him on the way back wherever he came from.

You pull up a chair, so close to him that your knees are almost touching, and place the bag on your lap, looking through for your supplies.

“How long have I been here?”

“A little over an hour. Took me a while to drag you here. You’re heavier than you look.” You smile up at him, but he continues to frown.

“Are you really a doctor?”

“Why would I lie about that?” You shuffle through the bag, placing the supplies on the bed.

“I don’t know.” He shifts. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“Because I’m a woman?”

“No. You're just-“

You wait for him to think of it, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Okay.

“This is going to hurt just for a second.” You soak the cloths in the antiseptic and raise one to the side of his head. The man flinches away from your touch with narrowed eyes. “For this to work I’m going to need to touch you.” You say softly with a gentle smile. You were under the impression that he wasn't mean, rather he just wasn’t used to other people.

He leans forward, looking away from you to give you access to the side of his head. Your left hand brushes away the strands of hair from where the bullet scraped along his head, dabbing with the cloth along the shallow wound. You were happy to note that it didn’t need stitches, but you still wanted to clean it out. The man doesn’t wince when the cloth touches his skin.

“I’m y/n by the way.”

He waits a beat. “Daryl.”

You continue to clean along the wound, concentrating on getting as much blood and dirt away from the opening.

“Have you been out here alone this whole time?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“No.”

Guess he doesn’t say a lot.

When you finish with his head, you start to reach for his shirt, but Daryl jumps hand twitching towards the crossbow.

“It’s okay." You smile at him.  "I want to look at your side. If you could just take off your shirt-"

“No.”

“But I have to see it-“

He frowns at you. Finally, Daryl pulls up his shirt only enough for you to see the wound on his side, but no further. Just under the cloth of his shirt where it stops, you see remnants of pink scar tissue.

You try very hard not to look at the pink scar tissue, but you were curious. Was that why he didn't want me to take off his shirt?

He’s not looking at you. In fact the only time he made eye contact with you was when he was holding the crossbow.

“You might need to lie down for this one.”

Daryl eyes you again, before finally he lays down on his side, still not looking at you. The wound on his side is deeper, two piercings that go from the front of his abdomen and through to his back.

Did he shoot himself with the crossbow? How is that even physically possible?

“What happened?”

“Fell.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I think I’m going to need to pour the antiseptic in this one and it's going to hurt. You can hold my hand if you want.” You put your left hand on the bed as a peace offering. He doesn’t take it.

Or not.

As soon as the liquid touches his skin, Daryl fists his hand in the mountain of blankets, clenching his teeth together.

“I know I’m sorry.” You can't help but touch his arm and he flinches back away from you. “But now it’s clean and you don’t have to worry about infection.” You go through the motions with the stitches, pulling the needle through the skin smooth and steady, surprised that Daryl does not react to the needle. You reach for a bandage to cover the affected area. "Okay, so keep this clean, don't raise your arm up too high or the stitches will rip, change the bandage in a day or so. I'm going to give you one to take with you. Do you want some painkillers? I think I have some in here somewhere."

"No."

"Okay." You stand up and move out of his way so that he can get up from the bed, before beginning to look through the bag for a spare bandage.

Daryl stands there for a minute with his crossbow dangling from his right hand as if he's not sure what to say.

"Here." You hold out a bandage.

"Don't need it."

"Are you sure?"

Daryl nods once.

"Well if you rip your stitches or decide you want another bandage, you know where to find me." You can't help but smile at him. 

As much as you were afraid of him at first, you couldn't help but like the interruption in the monotony of your day. And despite his gruff exterior, you liked talking to him. Which was surprising given the fact you hadn't liked talking to anyone else in the past.

He doesn't say anything, instead he starts to walk to the door of the cabin, but he stops. "Thanks." Daryl doesn't look away from the door.

"You're welcome. Be careful out there."

And then he's gone, leaving you in the still silence of the cabin once more.

********************************************

The next few days pass as they usually do. You check the traps, scavenge for water, read a book by the fireplace at night, but every time you leave the cabin you hope to see Daryl again, hope that he'll come back because he needed that bandage or maybe will just come by to sit in utter silence.

That last bit seemed the most in character.

You didn't want to admit to yourself how disappointed you were in the silence that followed his exit. Not because he spoke that much, but even his presence in the cabin made whatever this was easier. Before you relished in the fact that you were alone, but now after you met him, it felt too quiet.

However, you had noticed more dead in the area over the past few days and that made you worry.

What if Daryl never made it back to wherever it was he was going? What if he had gotten attacked as soon as he left? You tried not to think that, because Daryl looked capable enough to survive in the apocalypse. Definitely seemed capable when he held a crossbow to your face.

You jolt awake to the sound of someone frantically knocking against your door.

What?

You tighten your hand on the hunting knife under your pillow before you sit up in bed. Maybe I dreamed that.

Someone kicks open the front door of your cabin.

Definitely didn't dream that.

A ball of fear lodges in the back of your throat as you grab the gun on your bedside table, holding it up between you and the dark figure standing just inside the doorway.

"Y/n?" A familiar voice shouts.

"Daryl?" You lower the gun watching the dark figure turn to barricade the door.

"We have to go."

"Daryl what's wrong-" As soon as the words come out of your mouth, you hear the moaning and shuffling of the dead  followed by the pounding of hands against the door.

Fear makes your entire body freeze. You had been in Atlanta long enough to watch the chaos, watch what happened in the streets, the memories of what you saw keeping you awake more than one night, memories of the masses of bodies swarming survivors and the ungodly screams that followed.

"We gotta go.” He grabs your wrist and hauls you out of bed.

In case of an emergency like this, you always slept fully dressed. You clip your belt around your waist before putting the gun back in the holster and throwing your oversized jacket on over your t-shirt. Your pack is on the floor by the back door. The medical bag is small enough to shove inside the black backpack.

“Come on!” Daryl grabs your hand and pulls you out the back door, dragging you through the woods behind him.

You glance over your shoulder. The moonlight above illuminates the mass of walkers that surely would have destroyed the small cabin and you inside.

He came back for me. The thought makes a surge of gratitude warm in your chest. He didn't even know me and he was willing to fight his way through dead infested woods to save me.

Daryl shoots one that stands in your way, glancing behind him to see the mass of walkers that follow, before letting go of your hand and reloading the crossbow.

“Where are we going?” You shout running behind him, gun drawn.

“Up ahead-“ He responds over his shoulder.

You break out of the tree-line onto a road, where a motorcycle waits haphazardly on the edge of the long grass.

He jumps on the motorcycle revving the engine once, looking up at you expectantly. You don’t hesitate. You kick your leg over the side and wrap your arms around his waist to secure yourself. Daryl's muscles tense as you do, but the motorcycle shoots off, the sound of the engine masking the moans and shuffles of the dead emerging from the trees behind you.

You drive for a few miles, far enough that you put your face into Daryl's back to block the onslaught of wind that comes up over the road.

As soon as Daryl hits the interstate he weaves through the broken cars, before finally parking in the median. The world sounds quieter without the roar of the motorcycle, you notice as the smooth silence of the night returns.

"Why did you come back for me?" You ask him, as you get off the seat before you can stop yourself.

Daryl lights a cigarette, not meeting your eye. "You helped me."

"After I shot you."

"You missed." He shrugs.

You snort. "I did." You look out over the desolate interstate where cars are haphazardly parked and empty luggage cases spew clothing onto cracked pavement. "So what now?"

Daryl blows out a lungful of smoke. "You could-" He stops.

"What?"

"Well." Daryl shifts his feet, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Daryl?" You try to catch his eye worried that he's going to tell you to go away, that he's going to say goodbye right here right now.

"My group is supposed to meet up here." He doesn't meet your eye. "If you want you could come with us, but you don't have to." In the moonlight you swear you see his ears turn pink.

"Well," You sigh looking around. "How else am I going to repay you for saving my life? Might as well stick around."

"We're even."

"No. I think saving someone from zombies trumps suturing a wound. Plus, somebody's got to make sure you don’t shoot yourself with your crossbow again."

Daryl frowns. "I didn't shoot myself with my crossbow."

"I think that you did and that you're too embarrassed to say anything. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

He continues to frown at you, but it only makes you smile wider.

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

***********************************

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, be sure to read "Your Fault!"