#walking dead imagine

[fireside-fanfics]

Just a Scratch

The gunfire had died down, but the tension still sat thick in the air, coiled tight in Daryl’s gut. His grip tightened around his crossbow as his boots pounded against the dirt, weaving between rusted shipping containers. His lungs burned, his heart hammered—he couldn’t stop moving. Not until he found her.

They’d split up. Just for a minute. Just long enough for him to flank one of the Governor’s men and take the bastard out. Long enough for Peach to disappear. And now he couldn’t find her.

“Peach!” he called, voice rough, desperate.

Nothing.

A flicker of movement ahead had him spinning, crossbow raised—only for Rick to come into view, pistol gripped tight in his hand.

“Where the hell is she?” Daryl snapped before Rick could say anything.

“She went after one of ‘em,” Rick’s jaw was clenched, his eyes sharp and scanning. “Think he ran toward the containers. We gotta move.”

Daryl didn’t need to be told twice. He surged forward, his legs aching from how long they’d been running, fighting, surviving. He’d lost sight of her once before and he wouldn’t do it again. Rick led the way, moving fast but controlled. Daryl kept close, both of them ducking behind cover as they made their way deeper into the shipping yard. The cold air bit at his skin, but the adrenaline burning through him made it easy to ignore.

Then—

A faint noise.

A sharp, pained grunt. Daryl’s stomach turned to ice. They rounded a rusted red container, weapons raised—and there she was. Peach was slumped against the metal wall, her breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. Blood stained her jeans, pooling beneath her where she sat. Daryl’s eyes darted downward, and that’s when he saw it: a knife buried deep in her thigh.

“Hey, my two favorite men,” Peach grunted between sharp breaths. She managed to shoot a smile up at them from where she was wincing in pain in the dirt.

Daryl was already beside her, hands hovering before finally gripping her face, tilting it up so he could see her. “The hell happened?”

She swallowed, jaw tight. “Ran into one of ‘em. He got the jump on me. I got the last hit, but—” she flicked her fingers toward her leg—“guess I wasn’t quick enough.”

Daryl gritted his teeth, his fingers twitching where they rested against her cheek. He should’ve been there; he should’ve had her back.

Rick cursed under his breath and crouched beside her, eyes flicking between her wound and the way her fingers trembled as she tried to push herself up.

“S’fine, Rick,” Peach whispered, a sharp gasp of pain leaving her lips betrayed her.

“I’d believe you’re fine,” Rick muttered, shaking his head, “but you got a goddamn knife stickin’ outta your leg, Peach so—”

“I told you,” Peach let out a breathy laugh, but even that sounded weak. “It’s just a scratch.”

The two men shared a brief look, full of unspoken understanding. They knew Peach better than most; they knew she was hurting more than she was letting on. Her facade was already failing. Rick shifted beside them, his gun still drawn, scanning their surroundings.

“We gotta move,” Rick reminded them urgently. “We’re not out of this yet.”

Daryl nodded, barely sparing him a glance before looking back at Peach. He brushed her bangs off her forehead and asked, “Can you walk?”

She clenched her jaw and pushed herself up, her fingers digging into the ground for support. She got about halfway before her leg buckled, a sharp gasp slipping from her lips as she crumpled back down. Daryl didn’t hesitate to catch her before she hit the ground.

“Ain’t got time for pride, sweetheart.”

Before she could argue, he hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her effortlessly. Peach tensed, fingers curling into his vest. With wide eyes, she tried to protest.

“Daryl, you don’t have to—”

“Ain’t leavin’ without you,” he muttered, his grip tightening. “So shut up and hold on.”

Rick was already moving ahead, scanning their path, leading them toward the rusted blue container where Glenn and Maggie were supposed to be. Daryl could feel Peach trembling against him, whether from pain or blood loss, he wasn’t sure. Her forehead pressed into his shoulder, her breath uneven.

“Still just a scratch?” he murmured, trying to keep his voice light, keep her grounded. She let out a real chuckle; it was still weak, but it was a real laugh.

“Still not gonna let you carry me forever,” Peach smiled, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Wanna bet?” Daryl smirked despite himself, adjusting his grip.

They reached the container a minute later. Rick pressed himself against the metal wall, signaling for Daryl to set Peach down. He did so carefully, leaning her against the side before stepping up beside Rick. Rick jerked his chin at the door and Daryl nodded back, silently agreeing on their next steps. Then Rick wrenched the door open; the two men barreled through the door, weapons drawn.

The stench hit them first—sweat, blood, fear.

Glenn and Maggie were huddled inside, eyes wild, hands bound, bruises blooming along their skin. Glenn’s lip was split, dried blood caking the side of his face. Maggie’s arms were wrapped around herself, her shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller. Daryl didn’t waste a second; he stepped forward to cut Glenn’s restraints while Rick freed Maggie.

“Gotcha,” Daryl muttered, gripping Glenn’s arm, steadying him. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

Glenn barely nodded, his body swaying from exhaustion. Maggie clung to Rick’s side, her fingers curled into his jacket. Then Maggie’s eyes landed on Peach who had managed to stagger into the entry of the container; Peach was slumped against the side of the opening, her thigh still bleeding and dripping on her shoes.

Maggie gasped, “Oh my God—”

Peach forced a weak smile. “S’fine. Just a scratch.”

“She’s full’a shit,” Daryl huffed, making his way to Peach quickly to steady her.

Maggie and Glenn introduced them to the others in the container, vouching for all of them. Rick nodded and introduced himself; Daryl grunted and studied them all closely, already calculating if any of them were a threat. Peach managed to wave at the group.

“We gotta go,” Rick cut in, eyes scanning the yard. “Now.”

They all agreed and started to file out, fighting stances ready. Rick kept a firm grip on Maggie, and Daryl crouched beside Peach again, his hand settling against her cheek.

“Can you make it?” His voice was softer now, rough with something unspoken. His hand settled against her cheek.

Peach met his gaze, something tired but stubborn in her eyes. “Will you’ll carry me again if I say no?”

Daryl smirked. “Guess you’ll have to try me.”

With Rick and Glenn leading the way, Daryl hooked an arm around Peach’s knees and scooped her up again. He was careful no to bump the knife. With that the group, took off. Gunfire crackled in the distance, but they didn’t stop running. They made it back to the prison just before dawn.

Hershel tended to Peach first as her injury was the most immediate concern. Daryl sat on the ground beside her cot, watching as Hershel worked, as the old man cleaned and stitched, his expression tight but steady. Peach didn’t make a sound, just clenched her jaw and stared at the ceiling, her fingers curled into the thin blanket beneath her.

When Hershel was done, he sighed and stood; he nodded firmly a Daryl. “She’ll be alright. Needs rest.”

“Thanks,” Daryl nodded. “I owe you, Hershel.”

Hershel patted his shoulder before stepping away, leaving the two of them alone. For a long moment, Daryl just sat there with hands curled into fists; finally, he moved to sit beside her—so close that his leg was firmly pressed again her good one. Then Peach shifted and tilted her head toward him, her eyes heavy-lidded but focused.

“Didn’t think I’d lose you today,” she murmured. “One second you were there and then all of a sudden you weren’t—”

“Ain’t ever losin’ me, Peach,” Daryl swallowed hard, his fingers twitching against her knee. He glanced at her to see if she was bothered, but all she did was grin.

“Good.” Peach smiled, small and tired. She stretched her arm and took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. “Because I don’t want to do this apocalypse shit without you... I mean it.”

“You’re a damn handful,” Daryl exhaled, shaking his head and squeezing her hand, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Peach chuckled but didn’t reply, eyes fluttering shut. She leaned fully into Daryl’s side. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arm behind her, resting his hand on her hip to pull her into him more. Her head dropped on his shoulder and he watched as she drifted off to sleep, her breathing steadying.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight in his chest eased. Daryl stayed there long after Peach had fallen asleep, listening to the quiet, to the distant sounds of the prison coming to life.

Maybe tomorrow they'd be back out there fighting again. Maybe more people would get hurt. Maybe things wouldn’t ever get easier, but for now, she was alive. She was breathing and safe beside him—and that was enough.

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane’s Girl [11]

Part Eleven | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, chapter follows “Tell it to the Frogs” but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: Felt inspired while rewatching the Walking Dead for the thousandth time. I'm excited now that the reader has broken up with Shane, they can have more moments with Daryl. Let me know what you all think and if you want to be added to the taglist.

You finally convince Daryl to change out of his two-day-old hunting clothes, and while he’s gone, you try to make yourself useful; however, Glenn and T-Dog assure you that they can handle packing up the box truck with what little supplies the five of you need in order to survive in the city. Your eyes scan the camp, searching for any other tasks that need to be completed before you leave; however, your gaze lands on Rick and Lori, who are having a hushed argument by the RV. She’s unhappy with him, which you don’t find surprising — she just got her husband back, and now he’s agreed to leave to rescue a man he barely knows. But you know Rick, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knew he left a man to die handcuffed to a rooftop.

Shane and Lori may be able to live with that guilt, but Rick can’t — you can’t. There’s no way that you would be able to look Daryl in the eye if you didn’t go back for Merle. He may not be your favorite person in the world, but he still means the world to Daryl. And you know that if you had someone important in Atlanta — someone you needed to save — Daryl wouldn’t hesitate. He’d be the first person to volunteer to help you, followed by Rick — that’s simply the type of men that they are. Reliable. Dependable. Kind.

Suddenly, another set of eyes lands on you as someone notices your interest in the conversation happening between Rick and Lori. Based on the way your skin crawls, you know you shouldn’t look over, but your curiosity gets the better of you. Your blood runs ice cold in your veins as you lock eyes with Shane who is leaning against the RV, arms tightly crossed against his chest. His gaze, which you once used to find comfort in, is like daggers piercing into your soul. Jealousy is an ugly feeling, and it is written all over his face. But unlike the past several weeks, you make no move to comfort him. Instead, you tear your eyes away from him and return your attention to Glenn and T-Dog. Your hands rub against each other anxiously as you watch the two men bicker with one another. The scene would normally make you laugh; however, you can’t seem to find joy in the interaction when you can still feel Shane’s eyes on you from across the camp.

You jump as a hand suddenly grabs your shoulder from behind, but you relax as your head twists, and you spot Daryl standing beside you. His face twists in worry at your response to his touch, and you feel the familiar sting of guilt creeping into the forefront of your mind.

“You ‘lright?”

You manage to nod at his question, but you can still see Shane’s imposing figure over his shoulder watching you intently. Daryl follows your gaze and moves to block your view of the former deputy. He ducks his head slightly, meeting you at eye level. Unlike Shane, Daryl’s gaze is overflowing with warmth and sincerity.

“He say anything to you?”

You shake your head in response, but Daryl doesn’t seem convinced. You don’t blame him for his skepticism as he takes in your shell shocked state.

“He’s just been watching me.”

You say it in a nonchalant tone because you know that it shouldn’t be affecting you as much as it is. After all, you’re the one that broke up with him. But you still can’t seem to shake off the feeling that you’re not safe around him anymore. Daryl throws a cold look over his shoulder at the other man, who seems to get the warning and finally turns away from you. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as your body automatically relaxes now that you’re no longer being watched.

“You ain’t gotta worry about him anymore.”

You nod at his words, but Daryl can still tell that you don’t fully believe him. And he doesn’t blame you. He’s worried about what Shane would have done to you if you had broken things off with him in private. The fact he escalated that much in front of everyone is concerning, to say the least. And he didn’t miss the way that Rick’s face twisted into surprise as he watched his best friend treat you with such disregard. He doesn’t know the man well, but from what little he’s seen and from what you’ve told him about the sheriff, he knows that Rick cares for you. It makes him feel a little better knowing that at least one other person in camp has your best interests in mind.

“You ready for this?”

Daryl won’t admit it, but he feels conflicted about you joining them on their little ‘rescue mission’. On one hand, he doesn’t want you to have to face the horrors that are out there in the city. You’ve been pretty sheltered from the reality of the situation you’re in by staying at the quarry camp; however, he knows that at some point, you will have to come face-to-face with this new reality, and he’d like to be there when that happens, to ensure your safety. On the other hand, he doesn’t want you here with Shane — not when both he and Rick are leaving. He knows that you are strong, and if you told him to ‘fuck off,’ he’d listen, but he doesn’t trust Shane. And if he were to do something to you when he was in Atlanta, he’s not sure he’d be able to forgive himself. But the last thing he wants to do is make decisions for you — he doesn’t want to control you. He doesn’t want to be Shane, but he wants to keep you safe. This is all new to him — having someone to care about and protect.

“You okay with me coming?”

Daryl’s brow furrows at the question.

“Don’t need my permission to do nothin’.”

A small smile graces your features, and before you can respond, Rick finally joins you both. He gives you a kind smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s exhausted — you can tell by the way he carries himself.

“We should talk after this.”

You give him a nod. He’s right — you have a lot to catch him up on. He then switches his attention to Daryl, who is still standing by your side and watching your interaction with the former sheriff.

“Ready to go get your brother?”

Daryl scoffs while adjusting the crossbow slung across his back.

“Bout damn time.”

Rick’s brow furrows as he watches Daryl jump into the back of the box truck. You laugh and give him a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“He grows on you.”

Rick looks down at you with a weary expression before shrugging his shoulders.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You hop in the back with Daryl and T-Dog while Rick gets into the driver’s seat and Glenn navigates from the passenger seat. It takes a little under an hour to make it to the outskirts of the city. Daryl spends the ride sharpening his crossbow bolts beside you. His shoulder bumps into yours every so often due to a sudden pothole or turn; however, neither of you makes an effort to move away from the other. When the box truck finally comes to a stop, Glenn looks back at the three of you nervously.

“We walk from here on out.”

Daryl nods and gets up before extending his hand down to you. You grab his hand, biting down a smile as he pulls you to your feet with ease. To your surprise, Daryl doesn’t immediately release your hand. Your brow furrows — from what you know about Daryl, he isn’t necessarily comfortable with physical touch. Your breath catches in your chest as you look up at him and notice he’s already looking down at you. You’ve grown accustomed to the callousness in Shane’s gaze, so you’re taken aback by how Daryl’s steely features soften as he regards you.

But, before you can think twice about the moment, T-Dog clears his throat. You pull your hand out of Daryl’s gentle grasp and take a step away from him as you both look at T-Dog, who is still sitting on the floor at the back of the box truck. T-Dog raises his hand expectantly towards Daryl. Daryl scoffs, rolling his eyes at the man before exiting the box truck. You try to laugh off the awkward encounter before you grab T-Dog’s hand and pull him to his feet. He looks down at you with a playful expression.

“So, are we going to gaze into each other’s eyes as well or…”

You shove him away, making him laugh.

“Shut up.”

T-Dog raises both of his hands in surrender, and you both hop out of the box truck, joining Daryl, Rick, and Glenn. The laughter between you and T-Dog dies as you take in your surroundings. You haven’t been to the city since before the dead started walking. It’s worse than you imagined. Daryl looks at you, noticing how your expression shifted once you exited the truck.

“C’mon.”

He motions for you to follow him as Glenn and Rick take the lead. And you fall into step beside Daryl as you become acquainted with the new world. 

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[vigilante-3073]

Tree-hugger

Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

PART 1

Summary: Daryl meets his match when traveling through the woods with Beth.

TW: Flirting, guns, fluff.

Daryl and Beth made their way through the woods in the direction of a small town. The group had been running low on supplies and sent Daryl up the road to see what he could find. Daryl was sure that it would be a waste of a few hours, the shops had likely been cleared out a long time ago. The only thing that kept him moving was the possibility of an auto shop.

His bike was getting old and would likely need replacement parts sooner rather than later.

"Daryl, look," Beth chirped suddenly.

Daryl looked up from the uneven terrain, following her gaze to a motorcycle parked at the base of a tree.

Maybe it was his lucky day after all.

"Looks like it still runs. You could probably get some good parts," Beth said.

Daryl nodded with a grunt, his eyes scanning the area warily as he made his way over.

Daryl reached out towards the bike, freezing in place when he heard a gun cock.

"Hands off the bike, sugar," Someone said.

Daryl stepped back and looked around, crossbow aimed at the trees around them. Beth pulled out her gun, staying close to Daryl's side.

"Up here, big guy," The voice called again.

Daryl and Beth looked up, squinting in the bright afternoon sunlight.

"Holy shit," Daryl muttered when he spotted her.

The woman was up in a tree with a rifle pointed down at them.

"Sorry, thought it was up for grabs," Daryl said, eyes dropping to the bike before returning to the person in the tree.

"Well, it's not," She stated.

"It's a nice bike," Daryl said.

"I take good care of my things," She replied.

Daryl nodded, "Let's get out of here," He muttered before taking a step away from the motorcycle.

"We were just wonderin' if-" "Don't," Daryl said sternly.

"If she wanted to kill us we'd be dead already," Beth pointed out, tucking her gun away.

"She's right," The woman stated.

"Do you know if there's anywhere closeby where we can find parts for a bike like that?" Beth questioned, tilting her head towards the bike.

The woman lowered her gun, "There's an auto parts store about three miles East of here. Found it when I blew one of my shocks a while back," She said.

"Thanks," Beth smiled before lookig over at Daryl, "Now we can go," She said.

"Be careful, there was a herd of almost forty dead headed that way a few days ago. It would be a damn shame to see something happen to a handsome man like you over something as trivial as a bike part," The woman said, eyes running over him appreciatively.

"No way," Beth grinned.

"Shut up," Daryl muttered, his cheeks flushing at the compliment.

"I'm Beth and he's Daryl," Beth said.

"Let's go. Now," Daryl grumbled, walking in the direction of the town.

"I'm Y/N. It was nice meeting you, Daryl," Y/N called.

"It was nice meetin' you too, Y/N," Beth said, turning around and running after Daryl.

...

Daryl managed to cross paths with Y/N a few more times over the next few weeks. She moved around the area frequently and spent an alarming amount of time up in the trees. Y/N told him that it was safer than being on the ground and he was inclined to agree with her.

Rick and Daryl had decided to go out on a run to the nearest town in one of the cars. They were looking to stock up on cans and non-perishables for the upcoming months.

Rick parked in front of the shop before the pair slowly made their way up to the door. The small bell above the door jingled as they pushed it open. The men hesitated for a second, silently listening for movement before stepping into the store.

They moved across the room, scanning the area with weapons. Rick and Daryl shared a look before silently parting ways and searching the rest of the store.

Rick caught Daryl's gaze over the shelves before tilting his head towards the back room. Daryl nodded, continuing his search of the aisles.

Daryl froze when he heard a noise, a soft rustling sound from down one of the aisles. He stepped around the corner quickly, crossbow raised and ready to shoot.

"Long time no see, stranger," Y/N stated casually, staring down at the dented can in her hand.

"Jesus, Y/N. I coulda killed your ass," Daryl huffed, lowering his crossbow as he made his way over to her.

"Cute and funny," She mused with a smile. Y/N grabbed two more cans from the metal shelf and tucked them into her backpack.

"You can call your friend back in here, honey. I already swept the place," Y/N stated, zipping up her backpack.

She lifted the backpack strap up onto her shoulder before grabbing her gun from the floor beside her.

Y/N stood up, slipping her arm into the other strap of her bag.

"You leavin'?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah, but I left plenty of supplies for you," Y/N assured, Daryl nodded.

"See you around, Daryl," Y/N said, making her way over to the door.

"You know, it's startin' to get colder out," Daryl called after her.

"That tends to happen in the winter," She stated, pushing open the door.

"You should come back with us... There's food, warm water and some actual beds if you're lookin' for somethin' more comfortable than a tree branch," Daryl said.

He wasn't quite sure why he found himself pushing for her to come to the prison with them. Daryl barely knew the woman, but he did worry about how she would survive out in the woods during the winter.

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't do groups," Y/N stated.

"You could set up camp in the area then... Good huntin' and we have supplies if you run out," Daryl suggested, fidgeting with his crossbow nervously.

"I just might take you up on that... As long as you come visit me," Y/N said, hand slipping from the door handle as she made her way back over to him.

"I can do that," Daryl nodded.

"Good... Because I'm starting to like you, Daryl," Y/N smiled.

[yespleasetommyshelby]

I have a question 🙋🏻‍♀️

I currently have a ten part Daryl Dixon story sitting in my drafts - and it's basically done.

I'll be posting the first part this afternoon, I just want to make sure there'll be someone to read it!

Any interest? 🫣

[gaypanicmode7766259]

I need some smutty Carol shit!😢 I'm desperate guys🥲

if you're a writer, I would love you forever if you wrote some Carol smut!-

[starlitenights]

Merle: “Goddamn idiot.”

Abe: “Redneck asshole.”

Merle: “Fake-ass ginger.”

Abe: “… Where the fucking hell do you think I’m finding hair dye?”

[fearthepicturepixie]

They Would Have Ruled the World

Michonne: Broken warrior with a conscience

Negan: Broken warrior with a heart

Imagine them discovering one another at the very beginning. The healing. The world building. She would have saved him. 🌔 if only 🌖

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

Part 2 | part 3

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

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

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

Part 2

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

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

[encounterthepast]

I love her character and boldness. x

The Reunion - Negan

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Warnings: It’s Negan so language, violence, etc, etc,

The air hung heavy with fear. Everyone in your group was panicking and rightfully so. The unknow was far more terrifying than any walker you’d ever met. You’d been forced to your knees in the dark, awaiting judgment as it were. You fought back at first but all you’d received for your efforts was a split lip and a few bruises. So you now knelt on the ground and kept your head down.

You’d been with this group since Atlanta, finding them right after the CDC blew to oblivion. Despite the length of your acquaintance, you still weren’t close with anyone other than Rick and Daryl. Well, and Rick’s little girl Judith but what kind of asshole didn’t get along with a baby? No one seemed to mind your loner tendencies though. You were good at staying alive and keeping others that way and that was enough for them. They were content to leave you to your hermit lifestyle.

You hadn’t always been that way. In fact, when the world went to shit you were with the love of your life. He’d been quick to take on a leadership role. Like Rick, he was a natural. You’d had a group. Nothing big, nothing fancy, but you’d trusted them. That was your first mistake, and one you didn’t intend to make ever again.

Keep reading

[mystic-writings]

we’re just fine | daryl dixon

PAIRING — Daryl Dixon x Fem!reader

SUMMARY — after the fall of the prison, you find yourself in alexandria, alone. two months later, your family finds their way back to you. 

WARNINGS — angst, canon-typical violence/situations, pregnancy, fluff 

WORD COUNT — 5,000

NOTES — idk what happened to me all i know is i blacked out and then this was made. enjoy i guess

masterlist | navigation | requests are open!

Despite the pure monotonous routine you’d gotten used to during your two months in Alexandria, you couldn’t say that it wasn’t sometimes extremely boring. Your only saving grace was the mealtimes you had with Aaron and Eric at the end of the day. At least they had the sense and experience outside the walls to be able to carry out a conversation that wasn’t about what food you were eating or how the weather was. 

It was why you hated when they went out on recruitment runs. As their roommate, you felt awkward being in the home by yourself when they left the walls; as though you were intruding. You felt that way in a lot of aspects. An intruder on a perfect life that these people had grown used to in the wake of the apocalypse. A life where their only worry was whether or not Aiden and Nicholas would find the right ingredients for the food they’d planned on cooking during their supply runs. 

But there was nothing to be done aside from making a meal for one, eating alone with only a soft classical music CD to fill the silence, and to wait for the couple to come back home so you would have normal people to talk to. 

You were glad for them and the runs they went on, though. Or they never would’ve found you, and you’d likely be dead in a ditch by now. 

Your hand shook as you gripped the handle of your blade, wide eyes searching the pharmacy for any signs of walkers, or people. Being on the road alone for as long as you had been was making you feel like you’d gone crazy. Maybe you had already. 

Sweeping the small aisles, you found no signs of life. Most of the shelves were already empty, likely having been raided during the early days. Still, you grabbed whatever was available to you, shoving it into your bag before ducking into a corner, knees pressed to your chest as you rooted around for one of the final few cans of food you had left. 

You’d been rationing out what used to be a plentiful supply for a few weeks now. One can of food per day, nothing more. A lot of what you had was thanks to the traffic blockages on the highways and interstates you’d wandered along on your way out of Georgia. What used to be two cans a day for almost three weeks turned into one for the past week and a half, bordering on two. 

The lack of food wasn’t your only issue anymore. With no signs of life from your former group, you had every reason to believe that they were all dead. Logically, you knew they weren’t. You’d seen some of them escape in the firefight, yourself included. But without any real way of tracking them down, they were as good as dead. Not to mention the sudden and constant fatigue that the southern sun seemed to give to you, making traveling more difficult than you had originally planned. 

Even with no end in sight, no real indicator that the man you called your husband was still alive, and no true hope for your future, you still persisted. You found places to sleep for the night, whether in abandoned cars or gas stations off of turnpikes. You found just enough food to supply you for a few more days if you managed to stretch it thin enough, and you kept going. 

Just as you were about to crack open a can of corn, the crunching of glass and shuffling of footsteps alerted you to the body that had just entered the pharmacy. Its footfalls sounded too heavy and spaced out to be anything but a human. 

Gripping onto your knife, you held your breath and gently placed the can on the floor. With your bag still on your shoulders, you kept your body crouched and your ears peeled, moving around the person — no, people — moving around the pharmacy. 

“I’m telling you, we’ve already been here. There’s nothing left to take,” a voice reasoned. 

The footsteps ceased for a moment, and you paused, praying they hadn’t heard you. “I know. Doesn’t hurt to check, though, right? I mean, we can’t exactly go back empty handed. Aiden’ll have something to say about it.”

“But we aren’t out here for supplies,” the other stressed, “we’re out here for people, remember? New members?”

“I know,” their partner chuckled, footsteps resuming as they rounded the last aisle. You ducked between the shelves closest to the door, hoping to just outrun them and not have to fight them. There was a pause, a palpable beat, before he spoke again. “But I think we might not be coming back alone.”

A cold chill ran through your veins at the former’s words. He knew you were in here. He’d seen your can of food, or heard your shuffling around the pharmacy. In an instant, you were at your full height, eyes wide as your fingers clutched your knife tighter and you ran, against your better judgment, toward the pair. The blond was the one closest to you, his back facing your front. With as much energy as you could muster, you hooked your arm over his shoulder, dragging him to your chest as you pressed your knife to his throat. It wasn’t hard enough to do any real damage, but you knew that if you absolutely had to, you’d apply pressure. 

“Who are you?” You spat, hand shaking as it gripped the knife. “What do you want?”

“Woah, woah, calm down. It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.” The brunet immediately jumped into negotiation mode, putting his hands in front of him. The position reminded you of Rick, oddly enough, and your heart twinged as you adjusted your grip on the knife. 

“Then what are you here for?” You spat. “Like you said, there’s nothing worth taking here.”

The faintest of whimpers escaped the lips of the man you held hostage, dragging both yours and the brunet’s attention to him. “We’re just—” the blond gulped. “We’re recruiters. We have a camp not too far from here. A safe one. We’re looking for people to join us. People who have— have experience, out here.” 

His words, as stuttery and fearful as they were, confused you. 

“I’m Aaron,” the brunet said, keeping his arms up in surrender as he slowly slid the backpack from his shoulders. “That man you have is my partner, Eric. Everything he’s saying is right, and I can show you. I have pictures and a brochure in my bag, if you’ll let me get it.” 

Hesitantly, you nodded. Even if he had a weapon, most of your body was blocked by his partner — Eric. There was a highly likely chance that he wouldn’t try to harm you while you kept his friend in your grip, however weak it was becoming. 

Slowly, Aaron reached into his bag, pulling out exactly what he said he would. With Eric still in your grip, he showed you pictures of the place he and his friend called home — Alexandria. “Look,” Aaron sighed, stepping back a bit. “You seem like someone we could use. You have experience that we lack. Plus, it seems like you’ve been out here by yourself a while. We have walls, food, running water, and proper shelter. And if you decide to come with us, our leader, Deanna, will interview you. If she allows you in and you don’t like it, you can leave any time you want. We won’t keep you there if you don’t want to be, okay?”

With a shaking nod, you let go of Eric, nudging him toward Aaron, who enveloped the other man in a tight hug. “I— I can leave if I want to, right?”

“Of course, you can. No one will stop you, and that’s a promise.” 

It took a bit of getting used to, but you were glad that Aaron and Eric had found you that day. You’d been skeptical of things in Alexandria for the first few days, but you warmed to the entire situation a lot easier than you thought you would. You supposed it was because of how things were at the prison, but even then you weren’t alone.

Aaron and Eric, while not pushing the topic often, had managed to get to know enough about you and where you came from before they’d found you that they considered you a close friend. 

You’d only told them the briefest of answers. That you were with a large group in Georgia from the beginning, that you’d been with one of them for most of that time — even, at some point, considering yourselves to be married, though the symbol you’d had to show it had been lost months ago — and then another group came along and took everything away from you, simply because they could. 

The safety and privacy that the couple provided was something you were more than grateful for, even if you were sure you wouldn’t be able to have it forever. 

Because while Aaron and Eric, along with the rest of Alexandria, provided a structure and a sense of normalcy for you, you couldn’t shake the grief that fell upon you every time you were alone. 

The thought of Daryl being out there, combing every inch of Georgia for you while you were so far away, was enough to bring you to tears. It was another thing to think about the possibility of his rotting corpse roaming the woods in search of something living to eat. The thought that you’d never see him again, dead or alive. That you’d just push through life — however much longer that would be for you — without him, even though he promised you’d never have to go through something like that. 

The thought of your baby never knowing who their father was, and their father never knowing who they were, either. 

You could go an entire lifetime without ever seeing Daryl again, and the idea of it nearly killed you when he was still around. It hurt a hundred times worse now that it was practically a reality. 

The night passed without word from or the arrival of Aaron and Eric. It was common for them to be gone a while at a time — this particular trip lasting almost a week — but you hated sleeping in the house by yourself now. You were so used to waking up to Eric clattering dishes in the kitchen that waking up midday when they were gone only proved how fatigued you seemed to feel nowadays. 

Waking up to a knock on the door wasn’t unusual as of late, but it was certainly unpleasant. You were, however, grateful for the fact that when you were given a room at Aaron and Eric’s, it was on the first floor. 

Rolling out of bed got harder and harder with each passing week, but you managed it anyway. The knocking persisted, and you sighed as you made your way into the living room, shouting out, “I’m coming!”

The knocking ceased, and you pulled on the fabric of your shirt before answering the door, only to find Jessie. “Oh, hey,”

“Hi, hon,” she smiled, and you felt bad for being upset at her moments before. “Pete sent me over, said you were supposed to see him this morning?” 

“Oh, shit, Jessie I’m so sorry,” you said, brushing some stray hair from your face. “I overslept, normally Aaron—” 

Jessie smiled warmly, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on your arm. “I understand, Y/n, no need to worry. Just get dressed and head over to the infirmary. It’s not like Pete’s in any real rush.” 

“Alright,” you nodded, bidding Jessie goodbye and closing the door as she headed down the porch steps. 

Padding your way through the home, you went back to your room, pulling on some fresh clothes before freshening up in the bathroom. Routines like these were simple, but they kept you sane. You’d had something a little closer to it at the prison, but it was nowhere near as nice as it was in Alexandria. 

After eating a small breakfast, you were out of the house and on your way to the infirmary. The streets were quiet, as always, and the sun was anything but forgiving. People smiled and waved, and you did the same, even if you didn’t know half of the people in this place. Even after being here for two months, it was hard to remember such trivial things about so many people. Plus, putting names to faces was never one of your strong suits. 

Stepping into the infirmary, you were grateful for the burst of air conditioning that fell over your body. Smiling, you greeted Denise and Pete, the former of the two sitting on one of the beds as she pored over the book in her lap. 

“Alright, let’s take a look at you. Sound good?” Pete smiled, and you nodded back. 

While you hauled yourself onto the bed, Pete readied the ultrasound equipment. Pulling back the loose shirt you wore, your eyes glued themselves to the obvious, albeit still small, bump you were sporting. 

“Hey, I’m about four months along now, right?” You asked, eyes darting up to Pete, who confirmed with a nod. “That means you can see the baby’s gender, doesn’t it? I remember hearing that somewhere,” 

Pete chuckled, powering on the machine and taking the gel from its holster. “Most of the time, yes. If you want me to look around for it, I can do that. After I make sure everything’s okay.” 

“I really wanna know,” you said, wincing at the cold gel making contact with your skin. “It’d mean a lot. Then I can go full nesting mode. And so can Aaron and Eric, really.” 

The ultrasound went off without a hitch. According to Pete, your margins were clear, and everything looked healthy with the baby. It was always a relief to hear. There was little room for error with these things now that you had scarcely little supplies to work with. Finding the ultrasound machine early on in the apocalypse was a miracle in itself. 

“Okay…” Pete hummed, the wand moving and pressing over your skin. “The kid’s giving me a hard time with this one. And…” he pressed a few buttons, eyes focused on the screen before him. You watched his features intensely, as though his expression would give the answer away before he could say it. Pete’s eyes broke from the screen as he smiled, lifting the wand. “You’re having a little girl. Congratulations.” 

Your heart swelled, a wide smile overtaking your features as Pete handed you a towel. “A girl,” you whispered, eyes locked onto your belly. 

Before you were able to stop yourself, you were once more reminded of the likelihood that you’d never be able to share this with Daryl. Tears welled along your waterline as you sat up, swiping the scratchy cloth across your belly. Whether Pete noticed or not, he made no indications. You were thankful for it, and for him leaving the room to put the ultrasound equipment away. 

When he came back inside, he pulled Denise from her books and into the kitchen to talk, but you paid no mind to them. They were talking too low for you to listen in, anyway, and you were too busy trying to quell your emotions on the makeshift examination table to want to eavesdrop. 

By the time you were ready to leave, Olivia entered the infirmary, eyes scanning the room before landing on your frame. 

“Y/n, they’re on their way back,” she smiled, and you nodded gratefully. 

“They’re okay?”

The woman nodded. “Eric’s a bit banged up, hurt his leg I think, but otherwise they’re fine. And they brought a group. They should be getting here soon.” 

Exhaling a relieved breath, you slid from the bed, bidding goodbye to Denise and Pete as you followed Olivia onto the street. You walked side by side in silence, mulling over what she’d said. 

“You said they brought a group?” You asked, following Olivia up the steps to the house that held all of your inventory. “How many?”

Olivia huffed, brows cinching. “Deanna said it was a big one. That they had a lot of weapons, been on the road a while.” 

Your eyes widened. “A while as in the entire time, or?”

“Not sure,” Olivia shook her head. “All I know is I gotta get the weapons cart to the gate, if you wanna help?” 

“Sure. Should probably be there to get Eric to the infirmary, anyway,” you decided. 

And, sure enough, Aaron helping a limping, sweating Eric through the gate was the first — and for now, only — glimpses of the new group you would get. Aaron smiled apologetically as he spotted you, tucked out of view from the newcomers. 

“What the hell happened to you?” You said, looking pointedly at Eric, who grimaced as you took his arm from Aaron. 

“Roamers,” he sighed. “It’s broken, I think.” 

“You think?” You asked, eyeing the bruising flesh. “I can tell it’s broken. Come on, let’s get you to Pete.” 

Aaron thanked you as you wrapped an arm around Eric’s waist, helping him up the road and back into the infirmary. 

As Pete worked to wrap Eric’s ankle, you couldn’t help but ask questions about the trip. 

“It was a disaster,” Eric groaned. “There were roamers everywhere. Plus, this group, they’re headstrong. Been out there a while.” 

“How many of them are there?” You asked. “Olivia didn’t tell me.” 

“Fifteen,” Eric hissed, squirming as Pete positioned his ankle properly. 

Your eyes widened, throat going dry. “Jesus,” you huffed. “That many of them and they’re still going?”

“With a baby,” 

“Oh my God,” you gasped. Your mind flashed with images of baby Judith, heart clenching. The fall of the prison meant that you never found out exactly who made it out alive, and you never dared to venture the thought of whether or not she did. “They must be some lucky sons of bitches.” 

Eric laughed. “Not only are they lucky, but they’re tough. And really close. I think, once you get used to them, you’ll like them. They remind me of you when we found you.” 

“So, scrappy, hungry, and tired?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Eric laughed, and you couldn’t help but do the same. 

“If you need me, I’m four houses down.” Aaron pointed, Rick and Carl following his line of sight. “If I’m not there, Eric or Y/n probably will be.” 

Carl’s eyes snapped back to the brunet, a mixture of confusion and skepticism floating within them. “Y/n?”

Aaron’s brows furrowed at the boy. “Yeah. She’s a friend of ours, came here a few months back. Why?”

“We, uh…” Rick stepped in, a hand scratching at his beard. “We used to know someone named Y/n. that’s all.”

“Oh,” Aaron nodded, stepping away and heading back home, where you and Eric were sitting at the table, sandwiches in hand as you giggled about something he wasn’t aware of. 

Upon his entrance into the kitchen, you stood excitedly and hugged the man. “Glad you’re back okay,” you said, heading back to your chair. “I heard the group you brought was tough.”

“Yeah, they are.” Aaron chuckled, still mulling over the puzzle pieces in his head. “You said you were with a big group before, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Aaron huffed, glancing at his shoes. “I brought up your name to one of the new members — just a name, nothing else — he said they used to know someone with the same name.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, limbs freezing as you were bringing the sandwich to your mouth. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to put the food back down, looking up at Aaron with shining eyes. “This man, what’d you say his name was?”

“Rick. Rick Grimes.” 

If your heart had been fluttering before, it was banging like a drum in your chest now. Your stomach fluttered, your hand coming to rest on the swell of your belly, hoping to quell the anxiousness. 

“Where are they?” You asked, and Aaron’s mouth only remained agape. “Aaron, where are they?”

“Down the street,” he finally said, voice cracking. “The house on the curb, the one you said you liked.” 

Within moments, your food and friends were abandoned as you practically ran from the home, shooting down the porch steps and down the street. You were thankful that no one was out and about right now, or you were sure they’d think you looked crazy. You didn’t even register a person in your path until you’d already bumped into them. 

“Oh! Y/n, are you alright?” Jessie asked, her hands on your shoulders as her eyes searched your wild ones. 

“‘M fine, Jessie.” You muttered. “I’ve gotta go.”

You gave the woman no time to respond before you were wriggling out of her grip and hurrying down the street. Up more steps, you were greeted by the charming yellow door of the home you’d wished you lived in, knuckles rapping frantically and unyielding on the wood. 

The door finally, after what felt like decades, creaked open. Your heart stopped in your chest as you took in the sight of your husband’s best friend, clean shaven and hair dripping from a recent shower. 

Rick’s eyes flooded with tears as they met your own. In seconds, you were pulling him into your arms, grateful that you weren’t the only survivor of the Governor’s wrath. 

You sobbed into his shoulder, gripping tightly to the clean white shirt he wore. “Rick,” you croaked, “is he—” 

“He’s fine,” Rick whispered, heart breaking when your sobs worsened out of pure relief. “He’s just fine.” 

When you finally found the strength to let go, Rick led you inside. “We thought you were dead,”

“There were times I wished I was,” you said, taking a seat at the edge of the couch. “I was by myself for just over a month. Found some train tracks, lost ‘em, then stuck to interstates, mostly. Got lost in the woods, found a small town, and from there, Aaron and Eric found me. I’ve been here for two months.” 

Rick huffed a laugh, disbelief filling the sound. “Sounds like you had one hell of a trek.”

“I had a car, for a bit.” You shrugged. “Walkers ruined that part. I crashed it into a tree. Stuck to walking after that.” 

“When did you…” Rick glanced down at your swelling belly, forcing a laugh from you. 

Shrugging, you smoothed your hand over your belly. “Four-ish months ago. Didn’t find out until I got here. Been terrified ever since, really. Not knowing if Daryl was out there, if I’d see him again.” 

“You’ll see him soon,” Rick assured you. “He’s talking to Deanna now.”

“And the others?” You asked. “Beth? Judith?”

“Judith is just fine,” Rick said, eyes leaving yours as he sighed. “Beth got caught out in Atlanta. A woman in a hospital killed her.”

Your stomach churned at Rick’s words, guilt crushing your lungs and bile rising in your throat. “Oh, my God,” you whispered, pressing your fingers to your mouth to try and stop yourself from throwing up. 

Rick nodded, resting a hand on your knee. He watched you stand, your arm resting over your belly, beginning to pace the floor before him. 

“I have to… I need to go see the others. Daryl.” And without another word, you were leaving Rick behind in an unfamiliar home, nearly running down the familiar path to where Deanna and her husband lived. 

The group milled about in the small courtyard in front of Deanna’s house, hidden behind the brick walls that fenced it in. Everyone was either sitting or leaning against something, sticking to a tight group, and completely blocking your path to the inside of the home. 

With your mind so set on seeing Daryl, on simply getting close to him again, you failed to register Carol saying your name. Once again, you were pulled from your thoughts only when someone was right in front of you. 

This time, Carol was pulling you into her arms, her grip on your body tight. You hugged her back, despite the sweat and grime that covered her. Soon enough, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne, and Sasha had joined her. You were surrounded by your family, all overwhelmed at your presence, but happy nonetheless. 

When you finally requested to be let go, they obliged, and you finally spotted Judith in the arms of someone you didn’t know. Relief flooded you, seeing the baby healthy and happy as she could be. 

“What happened to you?”

“We thought you were dead!”

“Are you okay?”

“Guys, I’m fine, I promise.” You chuckled through tears. “I’ve been here almost the whole time, and I’m perfectly healthy. The doctor said so this morning.” 

You smiled as Carol’s eyes drifted from your face to your belly, shock overcoming her features, before her smile matched yours. She said nothing, but you were sure everyone else was either figuring it out or partially aware, just based on the interaction alone. 

A loud scoff echoed from the porch door, followed by low, gravelly muttering. Your heart stopped at the familiar voice, before thrumming in your heart like a rapid drumbeat. There, walking with careless ease, picking at his thumbs, was your husband, covered head to toe in layers of dirt and grime. You choked a sob as the group seemed to part around you. 

“Daryl,” you croaked, just loud enough for him to hear it. 

Daryl paused at the top of the steps, his eyes locked onto yours through the hair he’d let grow too long. In a flash, he was down the stairs entirely, rushing to pull you into his arms. You met him in the middle, colliding with his body and bringing you both to the ground. With one hand cupping the back of your head and the other splayed between your shoulder blades, Daryl cradled you close to him, rocking you as you clutched to the leather vest on his back tighter, sobbing in his embrace. 

“I thought ya were dead,” he whispered, fingers digging into your back. “I thought I lost ya,”

A choked sound escaped you as you shook your head. “Never,” you promised. “You could never lose me.” 

“Yer necklace,” Daryl croaked, tucking his face into the side of your head. “I found it, on the tracks in Georgia. Thought ya were gone…” 

“It fell.” You said, words hushed and shaking, as though they were a desperate plea. “Walkers were coming for me, too many for me to take on myself. It snapped off in the fight, I couldn’t go back for it.” 

By the time you felt okay enough to stand on your own, everyone had departed from the courtyard, likely into Deanna’s home. With a vice grip on his arms, Daryl helped you stand. His eyes raked over your face, tear-stricken and flushed with emotion. No matter the state you were in, Daryl could never see you as anything other than utterly beautiful. 

“You’re okay?” You asked, hands gently brushing the hair from his dirt-caked face. “You’re not hurt?” 

Daryl shook his head, leaning into your delicate touch. Hands smoothed over cloth, over skin, dedicating the feeling of your body beneath his touch to memory. He watched your eyes flutter closed as he did so, relishing in the slight pressure of his palms against your skin. They slid down your hips, your waist, and Daryl’s brow furrowed. He’d committed your body to memory long ago — every curve, every bump, every scar. Slowly, and with a hand that was less steady than it had been a moment ago, Daryl’s fingers drifted delicately over your front, eliciting a small gasp when he found what he’d suspected. 

The sound forced your eyes to open, meeting the bright blue of his own, widened in shock. Immediately, your stomach churned and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, a habit you’d been unable to shake since high school. 

“Daryl?” Your voice shook. 

“Yer…” he breathed, eyes darting down to where the backs of his fingers rested, the slight swell of your stomach confirming what he’d been about to ask. “When’d you… did you know?”

“No, no…” you whispered gently, shaking your head. “I had no clue when… I didn’t know until I got here. I suspected it on the road, but… no, I didn’t.” 

A shaking breath fell from his lips. “And yer okay? Yer both— both okay?”

“We’re just fine,” you smiled, resting your palm on his cheek. “I promise. Your girls are just fine.” 

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat, a new wave of pure emotion rolling through his body. It seized his muscles, freezing him in place as he struggled for breath and blinked away tears. Girls. He was going to be a dad. He was going to have a daughter. 

“Ya have no idea how much I love ya,” Daryl muttered, his head dipping low, forehead resting on your shoulder. 

“I think I have a clue or two,” you joked, voice as soft as you could make it.

Daryl scoffed, lifting his head and pressing his lips to yours. It was short, shorter than you would’ve liked, but it carried as much love as all the other kisses you’d shared and stolen with the archer over the years. Still, he was here, and he was safe, and so were you. Nothing else mattered except that. 

The horrifying reality you’d thought yourself to be in was nothing but that — a mere thought. For now, you and Daryl were safe. Together. As a family. 

And you knew that, as he slipped the necklace back onto your skin, this time on a leather rope tied tight, there was nothing either of you wouldn’t do to stay that way. 

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[fireside-fanfics]

More Than A Promise

The fire crackled in the distance, licking at the remains of their camp, consuming everything they hadn’t managed to grab before they were forced to run from the prison. The night was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burned wood and flesh.

Peach stood amidst the wreckage, hands clenched into fists at her sides, the weight of exhaustion pressing into her bones. But it wasn’t the fire that had her breath coming sharp and uneven.

It was him.

Daryl stood a few feet away, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, his face shadowed in the flickering light. He wasn’t looking at her—wouldn’t spare her so much as a glance. Coward. She hated thinking that about him, but what else could she call it?

“You made a promise,” Peach whispered, her voice rough, barely pushing past the tightness in her throat.

Daryl stiffened. His fingers flexed at his side, the only sign that her words had hit their mark. He didn’t turn around, not yet, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his breath came just a little sharper.

“You promised me, Daryl,” she repeated. She swallowed, forcing herself to stay steady before she continued. “The day we met on the fuckin’ rooftop in Atlanta, you promised you’d never leave.”

He let out a slow, measured breath through his nose. “I ain’t leavin’.”

“You’re walking away! That’s the same damn thing!”

This time, he flinched. It was subtle, but she knew him too well not to catch it. His head dipped slightly, his jaw tightening. Slowly, almost methodically, Daryl turned around to face her. The pair stared at each other in silence as if they were preparing for a dance or better yet a duel... It had taken them a long time to admit what was between them—far too long.

They had always been in sync, from the moment they met—an instant, natural rhythm. He had been rough around the edges, all scowls and silence, and she had been the opposite: bright, talkative, but sharp-witted enough to throw his own sarcasm back at him.

People had joked about them—Daryl actually tolerates her?—but it worked. They worked. When the pair had finally figured it out themselves, finally stopped dancing around it, one bad stroke of luck threatened everything they had built. Daryl had looked at her with that same cautious, guarded expression he wore now and whispered, “Ain’t got much, but whatever I got, it’s yours.”

And she had believed him.

“You don’t get to do this,” Peach said, voice shaking now, anger and hurt clawing at her throat. “Not after everything. Not after—”

She stopped herself, sucking in a sharp breath, overwhelmed by recent events. The attack had happened too fast. The camp had been overrun—raiders, not walkers. They had fought, but they had been outnumbered. They lost people: friends, family, and in the chaos tonight, she had nearly lost him. Running on fumes after taking down so many already, Daryl had been dragged down by a burly man who held a knife inches from his throat before she had gotten to him.

He hadn’t seen it coming, but Peach had from across camp. She had seen the way the man creeped on Daryl in his blind spot; she had tried shouting a warning, but she was too far and the chaos was too loud. The instant the two men had started fighting—fists and knives flying—she had run towards him from across the small field, screaming his name like a prayer.

In slow motion, she had watched the two men stumble to the ground. By a magical stroke of luck, or sheer strength of love, Peach tackled the man and rolled him off Daryl just in time before ending the man’s fight once and for all... And afterward, when the dust settled, when they were standing in the wreckage of what used to be home, he had started pulling away.

Now she understood why.

“You think this is your fault,” she whispered suddenly, breaking the silence.

Daryl exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face, but still, he wouldn’t look at her.

“Daryl.” She took a step closer.

“Nah,” he muttered.

“Don’t lie to me.”

He swallowed hard, shifting his weight like he wanted to run. Like he wanted to disappear into the woods and never come back.

“You almost died, Daryl!” Peach continued earnestly. “Right in front of me and now you’re acting like walking away is the answer.”

Daryl finally looked at her then, and the rawness in his gaze nearly knocked the breath from her lungs.

“I ain't walkin’ away!” he scowled, voice low, rough. “I was tryin’ to—I don’t know. Give you space. Give you a chance!” He shook his head, his mouth twisting like the words were painful. “You shouldn’t have to be the one savin’ me, Peach! You shouldn’t—”

“That’s what this is about?!” She let out a short, humorless laugh, cutting him off. “Your damn pride?”

“Ain’t about pride!” Daryl spat, kicking the dirt.

“Then what is it?” Peach demanded, stepping even closer now, until there was barely a breath of space between them. “Because I don’t need space, Daryl. I don’t need distance. I need you!”

His breath hitched, just barely, but she caught it. She reached out then, hesitating for just a second before gripping his wrist. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, calloused and rough from years of surviving even before the apocalypse.

“You don’t get to decide what I can handle,” Peach whispered. “You don’t get to leave and hurt me under a foolish guise to protect me.”

Daryl let out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping slightly. His fingers twitched against hers, and for a long moment, neither of them moved. The fire continued to crackle behind them, the last remnants of their old life turning to dust.

Then, slowly, Daryl nodded curtly. Just once. Then again before opening his eyes to stare intently at her.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he murmured.

Peach searched his face, looking for any sign of doubt, any hesitation, but there was none. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and when Daryl’s fingers brushed against hers, she didn’t pull away. Neither did he; rather he intertwined their fingers, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. For the first time in a long time, the two weren’t just surviving. They were standing still. Together.

The fire still burned behind them, its glow flickering over the wreckage of what had once been their home. But for the first time in what felt like forever, the sweltering summer heat wasn’t the only thing warming Peach’s skin.

Daryl’s fingers remained against hers—warm, rough, real. Neither of them moved for a moment, standing still in the middle of everything they’d lost, both waiting to see if the other would pull away first.

Peach squeezed his bicep with her free hand, barely a twitch of her fingers, but Daryl felt it. She saw the way his throat bobbed, the way his lips parted just slightly like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. For all his sharp edges, his gruff voice, and that ever-present scowl, Daryl Dixon was so damn easy to read when you knew how.

And Peach knew how.

“You almost died,” she murmured. She let out a breath, steadying herself before speaking. “I know that scared you... It scared me too...”

His expression hardened, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her. It was at himself.

“I get it,” she continued, trailing her fingers up and down his bicep. “I do, but do you really think I wouldn’t do it again?”

Daryl’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away. He didn’t speak, but let go of her hand to place both of his hands firmly on her hips as if he were afraid she’d float away.

“You think I’d just stand there and let someone take you from me?” She shook her head and reached up to brush hair out of his eyes. “Not happening ... you got that?”

Peach expected him to argue, to grumble something about how she shouldn’t have to save him. Instead, he just exhaled, long and slow, and finally—finally—his shoulders relaxed just a little.

“Didn’t wanna put that weight on you,” he admitted, voice quiet.

Peach’s lips quirked up, just slightly. He was a man of few words, but all along she knew that’s what was bothering him.

“We’ve been carrying this together since the start, Daryl. What makes you think I can’t handle my half?”

Daryl huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh, or maybe just a breath, but either way, some of the tension in his face eased. Peach leaned into him completely, placed her hands around his neck, and tilted her head.

“You once told me you’d give me whatever you had,” Peach whispered. Daryl swallowed hard, nodding once. “Well, I don’t need anything but you... You stay, Daryl, and we figure it out together just like we always have.”

For the first time that night, Daryl truly looked at her—not just a glance, not just a flicker of guilt or hesitation. He looked at her like she was the only thing still standing after the world had burned. And then, before she could say another word, he finally did what she’d been waiting for—he moved.

Slowly, cautiously, he lifted one hand from her hips and cupped her cheek. His fingers were calloused, warm, shaking just slightly, but she leaned into his touch without hesitation.

“Ain’t gonna leave,” he murmured. “Ain’t gonna let you carry it alone either.”

Peach’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widened.

That was the thing about Daryl. He didn’t always have the words, but when he did—when he meant them—they carried more weight than a thousand reassurances from anyone else.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his, closing her eyes for just a second. The world was still burning behind them, but for now, just for this moment, they were both here.

They were both alive. They were together.

“Good,” she whispered, because anything more would have broken the quiet, would have shattered the way his breath hitched just slightly against her skin.

And when Daryl slid the hand that was on her hip into the back pocket of her jeans, squeezing slightly, pulling her impossibly closer to kiss her slow and hard, Peach knew—this was the promise that mattered.

Not the words.

Not the ones spoken in desperation or guilt.

But this: standing in the ashes and choosing to stay.

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [13]

Part Thirteen | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh & Merle Dixon are the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, story follows the show but dialogue and events are paraphrased, abusive behavior, a very slow burn

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: I've been on kind of a roll with this series lately. It's just all been flowing nicely and I've felt super excited to write each new chapter. Thank you for all the love you've shown this fic over the years, but especially for the last two chapters. It's been so heartwarming. Let me know what you all think and if you want to be added to the taglist.

Your knees ache as your feet pound against dark, uneven asphalt. Glenn leads the group through back alleys and side streets while Rick and Daryl silently take out any lone walkers you run into as you all make your way back to the box truck. You and T-Dog trail behind the other men, carrying the gear you’ve all picked up in the city. Glenn turns down another narrow passage, and finally, the five of you can see the train tracks where you left the vehicle. But the sight is not one of relief. Instead, panic rises quickly in your chest as you notice that the box truck is missing. 

“Where the hell’s our truck?”

Daryl spits the question out through gritted teeth; crossbow raised as he observes his surroundings for any sign of an ambush. He doesn’t like this. Without a vehicle, the five of you are vulnerable. You all either need to move or find shelter — standing out in the open isn’t an option. Glenn takes his baseball cap off, running his hands through his dark hair, before responding to Daryl’s question. 

“We left it right here. Who would take it?”

“Merle.”

Daryl lowers his crossbow as Rick says his brother’s name. As much as he hates to admit it, the sheriff is probably right. His brother probably thinks he was left for dead, handcuffed to that roof — and he ain’t the forgiving type. Daryl nervously chews on his bottom lip as he makes eye contact with Rick. Rick waits for Daryl to blow up at the insinuation, but the youngest Dixon simply nods at his statement. 

“We gotta go. He’s gonna be taking some vengeance back to camp.”

Rick’s jaw clenches as he takes in Daryl’s words, but he composes himself before addressing the rest of the group. 

“Alright, drop anything we don’t need. We don’t have a vehicle, but we need to make it back to camp — fast.”

“How are we going to do that?”

Rick locks eyes with T-Dog, and you let out a tired sigh as you look at one of your oldest friends. You know that expression — you’ve seen it countless times. And you know you’ll hate the following words that come out of his mouth.

“We run.”

You rarely hate being right, but right now, you loathe how well you know Rick Grimes. Before you can ask what you’re supposed to do about the heavy duffle bag full of guns hanging off your shoulder, Daryl takes it from you with ease. He adjusts his crossbow to fall across his chest while the duffle bag rests against his back. A part of you wants to get defensive and insist that you can handle it, but you’re more impressed by how little Daryl reacts to the extra weight he’s carrying. The five of you give each other one last look before breaking off into a jog back towards camp. 

If you thought the hour drive to the city was long, the run back is excruciating. Your lungs burn as you keep pace with Glenn behind Rick and Daryl. Your lungs might feel like they’re on fire, but at least it means that you’re alive. And even if you thought about slowing your pace, Daryl’s occasional glances back to you are enough to keep you focused on putting one foot in front of the other.  

You glance at Glenn nervously as the sun sets behind you, noticing that T-Dog has fallen behind slightly due to the weight of the toolbox on his left-hand side. Glenn notices and spares an amused look back at his friend.

“You holding up, T-Dog?”

There’s a grin plastered to Glenn’s face as he asks the question. T-Dog rolls his eyes before quickening his pace slightly.

“Shut up, Glenn.”

Hours pass. And as your breathing becomes more ragged and your sweaty clothes cling to your body uncomfortably, you begin to believe that you may never make it back to camp. That is until a deafening scream rips through the eerily quiet woods. You share a panicked look with Glenn as Rick breaks off into a dead sprint towards the sound. Before you can follow suit, Daryl grabs your shoulder. 

“Don’t matter what’s there, just get your knife out and stay behind me. Okay?”

He searches your eyes as you nod frantically at his request. He huffs out a frustrated breath as the rest of you chase after Rick who has started cutting through the treeline, abandoning the dirt path you’ve been following. Daryl has his crossbow raised, and you've got a white knuckle grip on the knife in your right hand. As the five of you stumble out of the treeline and into camp, you let out a panicked gasp. To your surprise, Merle is not the culprit of the chaos, but instead, a small herd of walkers that just so happened to have wandered into camp. Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl immediately throw themselves into the action, but your entire body freezes as your eyes land on Amy’s bloody body on the ground nearly fifteen feet from the RV. 

No. It can’t be. You were all supposed to be safe here. Shane promised that you were all far enough away from the city — that there was no way walkers would make their way up here.

You shake yourself out of your momentary paralysis, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your free hand before rushing into the confusion with Glenn. The two of you make sure the children are accounted for and that everyone without a weapon is hidden from the carnage as Rick, Daryl, and T-Dog make quick work of the walkers with Shane’s help. You usher Jacqui into an empty tent, telling her to stay put until someone gives the all-clear before looking around the camp for any more stranglers. Your eyes land on Daryl, who shoots another walker straight between the eyes. He moves to reload, missing the walker approaching him from behind. Your grip tightens around the hilt of your knife as your feet move on their own accord.

“Daryl, behind you!”

You watch in horror as Daryl turns, and the walker grabs him by the shoulders. Daryl’s footing staggers as he drops his crossbow. He attempts to grab the knife at his side, but holding the walker back from biting into his flesh is taking all of his strength. Your legs move as fast as physically possible to make it to him in time, and you don’t think twice before plunging your knife into the back of the walker's skull. Daryl releases his hold as the walker becomes deadweight in his arms and turns to you with a bewildered expression. You look down at your shaky hands, dropping the bloody knife and taking a step away from the body.

“Hey.”

Your eyes shoot up to Daryl, who has ducked his head down to meet you at eye level. His chest is heaving, but the look in his eyes isn’t panicked. No, he’s looking at you with a gentleness and appreciation that seems misplaced in your current predicament — like you just saved his life. 

“I killed him.”

Daryl nods at your words before speaking.

“You had to.”

You did save his life. So why does the sight of the walker’s corpse make you want to throw up? You’re disgusted as you look down at the bloody knife. Not by the scene before you but by yourself. 

“Is it over?”

Your voice feels small and far away from your body as you look back up at Daryl. He looks around the camp — at who’s left after the devastation — before nodding. You let out a tired sigh before turning on your heel without another word. There’s only one thing on your mind as you make your way towards the RV: Amy. 

Daryl picks up his crossbow and your knife before following after you. He stops short as he watches you approach Andrea and Amy. You crouch down beside your friend’s body and hug Andrea. He doesn’t particularly like you being so close to Amy’s corpse, but he knows you need to say goodbye. He doesn’t want to take that closure away from you, so he makes his way to the front of the RV and slides down to sit on the ground. He’s far enough away that he can’t hear your conversation but still close enough to step in if anything happens. 

You know he’s watching over you as you console Andrea, and you find comfort in it. Andrea’s arms are tight around your body as she sobs into your shoulder, explaining that she was excited to celebrate her sister’s birthday tomorrow. You just hold her tighter, assuring her that this is not her fault. Eventually, Andrea pulls away and asks for a moment alone with her sister. You nod, tears rolling down your face as you hold Amy’s hand one last time. Finally, you tear yourself away from your friend’s lifeless body and make your way over to Daryl.

“You ‘lright?”

You slide down next to him, shoulder brushing against his. Your head leans back against the RV, and you can feel Daryl’s eyes on you as you take a shaky breath. You know you look like a complete mess, and your hands are still shaking at your sides, but he’s looking at you with a tenderness that makes you want to sob. 

“Feels like you’ve been asking me that question a lot lately.”

In spite of the circumstances, a huff of air escapes through Daryl’s nostrils — the closest thing to a laugh that anyone will hear tonight. The sound makes your lips quirk up into a small, sad smile.

“Lot’s been going on.”

He’s right. The last three days felt like a month, and you’re left with nothing but exhaustion. And today was nothing less than hell on earth for you, but you cannot shake off the feeling that this is just the beginning.

“Nothing’s going to be the same now, is it?”

You know the answer. 

After witnessing the destruction and mayhem in Atlanta firsthand. After taking down your first walker — knowing that even though their only instinct is to kill, it was once a person with dreams and aspirations. After watching a close friend meet a gruesome, untimely demise.

You know nothing can go back to the way it was. 

Daryl sighs, looking at you with a disheartened expression. It’s the first time he’s dropped his composure since you’ve both gotten back to camp.

“Nah, I guess not.”

His voice is strained, brimming with unspoken sadness and frustration. Your heart aches at the realization that he’s also had one hell of a day. After all, Daryl lost someone today as well. Your brow furrows as you peer at the man sitting beside you. A single question ricochets through your brain as you watch him pick at his thumb.

“Are you going to leave now?”

The question makes sense to you, and you’re expecting him to say yes — bracing for a goodbye that you’re not prepared for. But Daryl physically recoils at your words, and confusion washes over his tired features. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I figured with Merle still out there…”

Daryl’s face softens as you trail off. Oh. Merle was the last thing on his mind after everything that happened today. The hope he’d felt after seeing the trail of blood and realizing that Merle had managed to cauterize the wound immediately disappeared after he witnessed how many walkers there were in the city. Merle is headstrong and resilient; however, at the end of the day, he’s still just one man. Maybe if he were a better brother, finding Merle would be the only thing on his mind. Daryl knows that several weeks ago, he would have left without a second thought, not stopping until he found his brother’s body. But things have changed. It may be selfish, but after everything that happened today, the only concern on Daryl’s mind is keeping what’s in front of him safe. But anxiety suddenly courses through his veins as he realizes maybe that’s not what you want. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

Daryl cringes at his words. Maybe Merle was right. Maybe he is already whipped for a woman he barely knows. Because if you told him to leave right now, he would. He’d leave in the dead of night without another word. But he hopes that you don’t. Even though it makes him feel strange and uncomfortable, Daryl finds himself hoping that you ask him to stay. 

And you’re at a loss for words as you take in the vulnerability deeply etched into his expression. Even though you’ve known him for weeks, you feel like this is the first time you’ve actually seen Daryl Dixon. His stoic, hardened demeanor cracks for just a second, and the importance of this moment doesn’t escape you. Finally, you manage to shake your head at his question. Daryl smiles at that — genuinely smiles. And the sight is a breath of fresh air on your worst day. 

“Then I’m not going nowhere.”

You nod, biting back a smile before falling into a comfortable silence. Daryl leans his head back to look at the night sky. It seems so strange that after all the carnage he witnessed today, he can still find beauty in little things like stars — or how your breathing evens out beside him as you fall asleep. He knows you’d have a better night’s rest in your tent, but he doesn’t make an effort to wake you. He’s painfully aware that you technically still share a tent with Shane, and he really has no interest in going back to his empty tent filled with Merle’s belongings, so he just continues to sit next to you. And although every muscle in his body tenses as you lean your head against his shoulder, he doesn’t falter. 

He promised you he wasn’t going anywhere, and he meant it. 

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[vigilante-3073]

Tree-hugger

Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

PART 3

Summary: Daryl hasn't seen Y/N in a few days and she isn't responding when he calls to her on the radio. Daryl goes out to try and find her in the middle of the night.

TW: Injured reader, illness, nervous Daryl, fluff, cursing.

Daryl had gone 60 days without seeing Y/N when the prison fell. Everyone had been scattered and slowly came back together before carrying on to try and find a new home. Daryl called out to Y/N on his radio, but never heard anything back. He was certain that she had died, he found himself missing her irritating quips and bright smile.

The group managed to find a community called Alexandria and settled in fairly well, but Daryl couldn't seem to assimilate like everyone else. He slept out on the porch, feeling comfort in the thought that if Y/N was still alive out there, maybe they were looking up at the same stars.

Daryl escaped to the woods during the day, setting traps in the area and hunting with his bow. Until one fateful day when he heard a loud whistle from somewhere in the trees before getting hit in the head with an acorn. Daryl couldn't even bring himself to care about the pain, spinning around in time to see her climbing down from a tree.

Daryl rushed over, dropping his crossbow onto the ground before pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Wow, I might just have to go missing more often if you're gonna hold me like this," Y/N grinned, wrapping her arms around him.

"Don't you dare," Daryl mumbled.

...

Despite their prolonged separation, Y/N still insisted on staying in the woods. Daryl visited her almost every day and they walked his trail to check the traps together.

Daryl couldn't help but feel antsy when he hadn't seen or heard from her in three days. The final straw was when he called for her on the walkie and heard nothing back.

He knew something was wrong.

It was the middle of the night and he had been trying to get ahold of her all day. He couldn't find her when he checked the traps earlier, but he needed to look again.

He took a flashlight and went out into the woods. Daryl searched the area until the sun had started to rise. Then he spotted her in the early morning sunlight.

Y/N was laying on the ground by a tree, Daryl looked up and saw her tether still tied in the place where she had fallen from.

"Hey, hey, Y/N, can you hear me?" Daryl asked, carefully turning her onto her back.

She blinked slowly, mumbling something he couldn't understand as her eyes wandered around, never quite focusing on anything.

Daryl reached up and pressed the back of his hand to her sweaty forehead, her skin burning hot against his.

"Jesus, are you bit? Can you talk?" He asked, eyes scanning over her quickly.

There were no tears in her clothing, no blood and no evidence of bites or scratches. Whatever this was definitely wasn't good though.

"Gonna pick you up," He mumbled, sliding his arms underneath her body and lifting her into his arms.

He rushed through the woods, bringing her into Alexandria. She woke up in his arms as he carried her through the gates, squirming around in his hold and weakly pushing at his chest.

"Hey, it's me. It's Daryl. I got ya," He assured, tightening his hold on her.

"Daryl?" Y/N mumbled weakly.

"You're gonna be okay," Daryl said, carrying her towards the medical building.

Her head dropped down onto his shoulder, feverish skin pressed against his as her eyes fluttered shut and she lost consciousness.

..

Y/N had been in the infirmary for three days on IV fluids. She had likely been sick for days before spiking a fever. The medic was surprised that she lasted as long as she did without some kind of treatment.

Daryl stayed at her bedside, dutifully wiping a cool cloth across her forehead to try and bring her fever down. Her fever finally broke on the third day, but she still had yet to regain consciousness.

When she did, it certainly wouldn't be a fun experience. The entire side of her body was bruised from where she fell with a few cracked or bruised ribs, but no major damage.

She was lucky. And Daryl wouldn't be letting her forget it.

...

Y/N woke up, blinking up at the ceiling before panic quickly set in. She had been in the woods, how the hell did she get here?

She reached over and quickly pulled out her IV, throwing the tubing off to the side. Y/N sat up and got out of bed with a grimace, she tugged up the material of her shirt to see her side covered in dark bruises.

"Fuck," Y/N muttered, letting the material fall back into place.

She needed to get out of here and fast.

She looked around the room, searching the bedside table for her things quickly. None of her things were here, she slammed the drawer before taking a shaky breath.

Y/N's head snapped up when the door opened with a squeak. Her eyes quickly found the pair of scissors on the bedside table alongside a roll of medical tape.

She grabbed the scissors, gripping them tightly and readying herself to attack.

Daryl made his way into the room, pausing when he saw her awake and upright.

Her shoulders relaxed, letting out a soft breath of relief when she realized that she isn't in any danger.

"Put those down before you hurt yourself," Daryl said gruffly, nodding to the scissors in her hand.

Y/N tossed the scissors back on top of the table, "Why the hell would you bring me here? I told you that I didn't want this," She stated.

Daryl ignored her, "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" He asked.

"I was dealing with it," Y/N said.

"You coulda died," Daryl stated.

"I'm fine," Y/N said, crossing her arms with a grimace.

"Yeah, you're welcome. Found you passed out on the ground in the middle of the woods like walker bait," Daryl said.

"Thank you for looking out for me, but I can't stay here, Daryl," Y/N replied.

"You can and you will. You're not well enough to be runnin' around the woods right now," Daryl said sternly.

"My shit is still out there," Y/N said, gesturing outwards before quickly pulling her arm back as her side ached in protest to the movement.

"No, it ain't. I went out and grabbed it a few days ago," Daryl snapped.

"A few days? How long was I out?" Y/N questioned.

"Three days," Daryl muttered.

"Three days?" She asked incredulously.

He nodded, "Shit," Y/N mumbled, rubbing a hand over her aching side.

"You're stayin' and that's final. You can stay here or with me," Daryl listed.

Y/N huffed, "Daryl-" "Pick one, tree-hugger. I'm not lettin' you go back out there," Daryl said.

She narrowed her eyes at the nickname, "You couldn't even try and call me something cute? Sunshine, honey and baby are all valid options, but you chose 'tree-hugger'?" Y/N asked.

"Quit stallin'," He said.

She sighed heavily, "Your place then, I guess," Y/N grumbled.

"C'mon, let's go" making his way out of the room. Y/N reluctantly followed after him.

...

Y/N was relieved to find all of her things stored safely in the corner of Daryl's bedroom. Her motorcycle was parked out front beside his and everything was in order, but she still couldn't bring herself to relax.

Y/N felt more exposed in this house than she ever had in the woods, but she couldn't deny how much she'd missed having warm water.

Y/N made her way out of the bathroom, towel drying her hair. Daryl had loaned her one of his shirts to sleep in, the loose material being gentler against her bruised skin.

"You take the bed. I'll sleep here," Daryl stated.

"You sure?" Y/N asked, laying the towel over the back of a chair.

Daryl nodded, already laying down on the ground beside the bed with a pillow. Y/N stepped over him and climbed into the bed.

They laid together in silence for a few minutes. Y/N picked at a loose thread on the blanket, "Daryl?" She called softly.

He grunted wordlessly.

"Thank you for saving me... You're my sexy redneck hero," She said.

"You're welcome... Sunshine," He replied.

A wide smile spread across her face, "You are my perfect man, Daryl Dixon. It's like I made you in a lab," Y/N said.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," He mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up at her compliments.

The comfortable silence settled over them again, Daryl fell asleep quickly while Y/N tossed and turned restlessly.

Her side ached and the bed was too soft, she felt like she was suffocating.

Y/N sat up with a huff after a few more hours of restless shifting, climbing out of the bed and laying down on the floor beside Daryl.

He radiated a comforting heat that had her shifting back slightly to press her back against his. Sleep found her quickly when she was snuggled up beside Daryl.

...

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, squinting at the bright morning sunlight that flooded in through the window. She draped her forearm across her eyes with a huff, listening to the soft noises coming from the kitchen below.

Y/N washed up in the bathroom before making her way down the stairs.

Daryl was standing at the stove, "Mornin'," He said.

"What are you doing?" She asked, slowly making her way over to him.

"What's it look like? Making breakfast. Sit down," He said, turning his attention back to the stovetop.

Y/N pulled out a chair and sat at the island, "I can't remember the last time a man cooked for me," She said.

"Don't get used to it," Daryl muttered, scooping scrambled eggs out onto two plates. He grabbed two forks from the drawer before passing her plate to her across the island.

"Thanks," Y/N said.

"Welcome," Daryl replied before digging in.

Y/N hummed as she took a bite, "These are amazing, like probably the best I've ever had amazing. Is there anything you can't do?" She questioned.

Daryl shook his head with a small smile, cheeks flushing under her praise, "Just eggs," He mumbled.

"You look so pretty when your cheeks are all red," She smiled, staring up at him lovingly.

Daryl looked up at her, "You never take a day off, huh?" Daryl questioned.

"I think you should be told how smart, handsome, strong and sexy you are every single day. And if I recall, I was asleep for three days so I'm gonna be laying it on thick to make up for all that lost time," Y/N said, taking another bite of her breakfast.

"Bring it on, sunshine," Daryl smirked.

[yespleasetommyshelby]

Daryl Dixon - Fate (1)

Here it is, Part one! 🥰

Summary: After finding himself stuck on a roof with walkers at his ankles the last thing Daryl Dixon expected was for a walking ray of sunshine to come literally screeching to his aid.. After the chance meeting he was sure he'd never see her again, but then again, fate will find a way.

Daryl Dixon x Daisy OC (Named but no real details other than shorter than Daryl)

Word count: 1458

~~ The Meeting ~~

"Hit the road Jack and don't you come back, no more, no more, no more, no mooore." I sung as I skipped down the empty road, the sun shining on my face, the lone sounds of the birds singing ringing through the otherwise silent streets. The machete swinging by my side and the gun tucked into the back of my shorts a stark reminder that it was the end of the world, a fact that I could've happily forgotten, could've.

"Would you shut up, for once." My loyal companion groaned as he trudged along behind me, the sun not lifting his moods even slightly, unlike me.

"Oh smile Jack!" I grinned, spinning around to face him before spinning back with a laugh.

"What exactly do I have to smile about?" I heard him, not needing to turn around to know that he'd raised an eyebrow as he'd asked the question.

"It may be the end of the world Jacky boy, but at least you're with me." I called back, before returning to my song. "Hit the road Jack.."

Jack is, I guess, with no better words, my best friend. No matter how much he may disagree with that fact when he's actually asked, but after ending up together after the fall of our camp a few months back it's been just the two of us, fighting and scrounging to survive.

Shaking my head I tried to distract myself from my current train of thought, thinking back to our group, the people we'd lost, it just hurt too much I guess. Slowing my pace I held my hand out to Jack getting him to stop ignoring his bored face as I closed my eyes and waited.

"There it is!" I whisper shouted, my eyes wide as I scanned the area, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "Listen!" Putting my hand over his mouth, freezing as I heard it again. "Come on!" I breathed out, not waiting for a reply as I turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, the sound getting louder with every step.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Jack whisper yelled as he slid to a stop where I was, peaking around the side of a building where a small group were balanced on the roof of a car, uglies reaching for their ankles. "No, nope, come one, now!" He was quick to turn around, grabbing hold of my arm as he tried to tug me along.

"Jack!" I exclaimed as I pulled my arm from his grasp. "We can't just walk away." I pleaded, watching his eyes as they darted from me to the group who have quite possibly reached the end. "Paul wouldn't." A low blow from me, and the look on his face said it all, but with a rough shove he released me.

"Low blow." He muttered, bumping my shoulder as he walked back towards the end of the alley.

"I'm sorry Jack, but it's true! This isn't what he wanted for us, for the group! He would've helped!" I cried, Paul had been the leader of our last group, an older man with a heart of gold who saw the best in everyone, he'd treated Jack as his own son until the night it all went to shit, again."Fine. Don't help me then." I scoffed as he made no effort to move, his head down and shoulders tense.

With another shake of my head I turned around to see one of the people slip, the rest of the group holding him as tight as possible. Taking a deep breath I braced myself before I stepped out into the open, taking my machete from its holster I raised it high before banging on the shutter of an old store.

"Dinner time! Come and get it!" I screeched, my voice gaining a lot of attention, very quickly, "Come on then you ugly fucks, let's go." I muttered to myself, my knife ready as the first Ugly approached.

In the midst of flailing arms and dropping bodies Jack had joined the fight, our eyes locking for a split second and a single nod letting me know all I needed to, we were good. As the corpses turned to, well, corpses, the only sounds that were left were the puffing and panting as we all tried to catch our breaths, at least that's what I was trying to do before the sound of a gun clicking made me freeze.

"Are you seriously fucking crazy?!" Jacks voice made me jump as he grabbed my arm and spun me around to face him.

"I mean, maybe a little." I shrugged slightly always able to find the funny side of any situation. "What are you gunna do? Section me?" I snorted out a laugh as Jack huffed, shoving me slightly as he stared down at me.

The sound of a gun clicking interrupted our intense stare off, looking over the river of dead I spotted the group of survivors, the ones we had just helped, aiming their weapons straight at us. Raising my hands slightly I took the chance to look over the four of them properly, a woman with dreadlocks had a katana pointed towards Jack, her eyes dark as she watched us like a hawk. A slightly younger girl, around my age if I had to guess, her eyes narrowed as she aimed her gun towards me, the next one was around the same age, Asian guy with a face of uncertainty as he took in the scene around us, his target of choice being Jack. Then there was the last guy, long hair and a grimy face staring at me with hard eyes, his muscled arms aiming a crossbow straight at my face.

"Well, you're welcome." I spoke first after what felt like a way too long stand off. "Or whatever." I huffed as Jack sent me a look I knew all too well.

'Shut the fuck up, I'll deal with it'

"We don't want any trouble." Jack spoke slowly, his hands already raised as he looked over at me then back to them. "We saw you needed help, so we helped, we don't want anything in return." As he stepped back the woman with the sword stepped closer. "I'd stop there if I were you." Jack sighed, almost sounding bored as he looked at the woman.

"And why's that?" She spoke for the first time, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer again.

"Jack." I warned, knowing what happened when the current look he had in his eye would crop up. "Jack!" I all but yelled, interrupting the current staring contest he was having, his head snapping towards me. "Enough." I deadpanned, not breaking eye contact until he'd taken a deep breath and nodded, stepping back.

"How about we all calm down." The younger girl spoke, her southern accent standing out immediately. "Hey." She nodded towards the one with the crossbow, the only one still holding their weapon up, with a sigh he lowered it, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings. "Thank you." She moved to face us, seemingly happy with crossbows actions.

"You're welcome." I smiled at her, my eyes skipping over them all. "I'm Daisy, and that grump is Jack." I smiled, ignoring the huff that came from my companion.

"Maggie." The girl nodded with a smile. "This is Glen, that is Michonne and that one's Daryl." She introduced the rest, each one offering a small smile, other than Daryl.

"Yeah, yeah, nice to meet you, time to go Dae." Jack huffed, his impatience showing more the longer we stood around making small talk.

"What? I just made new friends!" I whined, unable to hide the smirk from my face knowing what reaction I was about to get. I watched with bated breath as he stopped and turned around, without a word he raised an eyebrow which was my demise.

With a shudder I couldn't help but break out in laughter, such a simple thing of raising one eyebrow always leaving me in stitches, and it just so happened to be the one thing Jack always did when he was, well, anything really, happy, annoyed, judgemental, you name it.

"Daisy!" He half sighed half shouted as I caught my breath. "Can you please, please, get a move on." If he'd had been on his knees it could've been classed as begging, which is something I will hold over his head at a later date.

"Okay, okay." I chuckled, dramatically wiping the tears. "Well, it's been our - my pleasure." I corrected as Jack narrowed his eyes at me before stalking away. "Who knows, maybe we'll see you around again." I grinned, saluting the small group before skipping towards Jack, almost as though we hadn't just saved a handful of strangers.

"What the hell was that?" Nobody answered the rhetorical question as they stood there watching the retreating figures head off, the girl, Daisy, skipping along. But one thing was for sure, Daryl thought as he focused solely on her, he wasn't going to forget her anytime soon, her voice already on a loop in his mind as it floated through the wind.

"Hit the road Jack, and don't you come back..."

---

And there you have it! I'm thinking to update this on a weekly basis! 🥰

[pencil-n-pen]

I WANT AN INNOCENT LOVE

.☘︎ ݁˖

──────────────────────

alexandria! rick grimes x fawn! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: you’re a new addition to alexandria. Rick’s just looking out for his group. That’s the only reason he finds himself drawn to you. Nothing else.

cw: LEGAL age gap (it is big, i imagine reader in her early 20s) canon typical depictions of violence, Rick is kinda mean to reader at first, Rick kind of struggles with the age gap a little, dom! Rick, slight possessive rick

tags/tropes: shy and skittish reader, she’s not used to dealing with people but she’s not helpless, honestly she’s just a sweet and soft person who became what everyone becomes in the apocalypse, hurt/comfort, insecurity, touch-starved reader a bit, YEARNING, no saviors or whisperers just Rick and everyone living happily in alexandria. Daryl is also here and he’s kind of like ur uncle bc i love daryl and i say so

a/n: i have nothing to say other than this is so insanely self indulgent it’s not even funny. nobody asked for this but writing it has kept me sane while i’m couch ridden. everything is terrible rn but rick grimes <3333

songs i listened to while writing: We'll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross, Work Song by Hozier (Rick's theme song) you were mine by Esha Tewari, Do I Wanna Know- Hozier's Cover, Somethin' Stupid by Nancy & Frank Cinatra, Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (i'm so not normal about that entire album) Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers, Little Bit by Lykke Li (the original not the remix)

title taken from Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers

──────────────────────

₊ ⊹❀

You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[starlitenights]

I had the strangest dream where Rick was divorced and struggling and somehow that equals him and Daryl becoming drag queens and Merle was appalled.