Twd Daryl - Tumblr Posts

PART TWO
⇚ NAVIGATION || MASTERLIST
This chapter is part of a two-part fic entitled 'Chivalry is Dead.' Click the link to view the series masterlist!

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader WORDS: 6.1k SUMMARY: Accepting that your persuasion of Daryl is going nowhere and deciding that you’re better off as friends, you begin to welcome the idea of a sure thing with Spencer. So if Daryl has turned you down multiple times, what gives him the right to be frustrated? WARNINGS: fluff + angst! plot twist HSHJHSJASA SETTING: pre-negan alexandria A/N: kinda felt like the ending turned out weak, but i'm confident this is a fun read still :) reblogs and comments are appreciated!

IV. A CHANGE OF SCENERY…AGAIN - ALEXANDRIA
When you were introduced to the prospect of a change of scenery, you didn’t expect it to be like home. Alexandria was huge. It wasn’t simply a ‘change of scenery,’ it felt like a different world from the one you’ve been living in just a few hours ago.
No blood-stained fences, no corpses stabbed to the head thrown away haphazardly across the streets…
You were damned convinced it was a new world altogether. From a couple of steps away, Daryl observed your eyes darting from one neat detail to the next, fascinated by this neighborhood before you.
He stepped forward to say something nice, maybe something along the lines of, “How—”
You look up at him, curious as to what he has to say. But he stands there frozen, looking as if he was about to say something he’d been debating on saying. He settles for a nod your way, shrinking back to where he stood. You gave him a tight-lipped smile in response.
Daryl sighed to himself, shifting his attention to his crossbow, not knowing what to do with either. Great job, dumbass.
Back in Terminus, Daryl’s only concern was you. Once upon a time, Daryl thought that the worst thing in the world was being liked by you. He was proven otherwise.
The worst thing in the world was having you be mad at him. He couldn’t look out for you, couldn’t keep you safe. You wouldn’t let him.
The entire walk to Alexandria, you spent it with everyone but Daryl. You mostly hung around with Tara, happy to provide her company seeing that she didn’t know what to do with herself either.
“[Y/N],” Rick called as he stepped out of the door to Deanna’s home. “You’re up.”
Daryl spared a glance your way, hoping you would at least look his way so he could assure you with something as minimal as a smile. You didn’t.
After all, you had every right not to.
He recalls the last time you snapped at him. It was in Gabriel’s church, when you decided that you wanted to come along with Abraham’s group.
“You’re out of your mind,” he had said just as you’re about to get on the bus, your hands keeping the door from closing. “There’s no guarantee that Washington’s safe. You should stay here.”
“For what?” you hissed, challenging him to say something. Daryl had thought of what Beth told him. But now wasn’t the time. So he let you go that time. Glenn looked away as you took your seat just to look out the window where you wouldn’t be watched by Daryl as the bus drove off.
No one said a thing as you cried yourself to sleep during the trip.
That’s why up to this day, Daryl still couldn’t find the right words to say and the right way to say them. First, he had to find the right timing.
Except that the right timing was tricky to find. You were always speaking to someone, getting all friendly with everyone. The way you fit right in should’ve been enough to make him doubt his intentions again, but he wouldn’t let that same mistake get to him.
Once the Alexandrians finally left you alone, Daryl made his way to you, trying not to attract any of the people to him as he did.
It was the first time he saw you in a dress, the first time he’d ever seen you neatly groomed.
Daryl didn’t prefer any version of you, he just wanted you. He didn’t care if you were in a dress or blood-stained cargo pants. He found you beautiful nonetheless. He’d always felt that way, he just didn’t want to unload any of his feelings.
He should’ve.
Alas, the right timing was a bust again when a fine looking gentleman came in to talk you out of boredom. Daryl halted in his tracks, a sinking feeling in his stomach coming in when he noticed something about the guy.
“Prim and proper, clean-shaven, wears an authentic watch, bothers to use cufflinks, gets a neat haircut often, works in corporate…”
Daryl eyed his hair. Neat haircut? Check.
“I like them worthy of an introduction to the fam, y’know?. The kind of guy who I could brag about to them shamelessly! The guy who would do well in the role of a sweet, loving husband and father and all that crap in a suburban home.”
He wondered if you could recall how you described it to him. He should be leaving now, running away, accepting that this is what you wanted.
Daryl kept thinking of his conversation with Beth back when they were the ones left together, how he feared he’d lost you forever. How he told Beth that he wishes he’d told you how he really felt about you. How he should’ve never let you go when he kissed you, and that the only regret he had was that he even thought of pulling away.
“Tell her,” Beth had urged him back then.
It was easier said than done.
Daryl couldn’t seem to bring himself to function when he finds you about to look his way. Everything happened in slow motion.
He caught sight of Carol and Tara approaching his way, heading for the doorway he was stationed right next to. Just in time, he gets a hold of them and he asks them about what they think of Alexandria.
You had seen him in your peripheral vision, and you hated that you felt disappointed that he wasn’t walking over to talk to you. You stared at the archer for about two seconds while the man spoke.
Daryl appeared to be deep in conversation with two of your group members—Carol and Tara.
You’d been waiting for him to reach out to you, talk to you. You were waiting for an apology, hoping he’d eventually find the words he wanted to say so you could finally move on.
But it looks like he’s just as nonchalant as you knew him. Maybe it was for the better. And you didn’t mind talking to a charming guy like Spencer, unaware that three of your friends were listening in.
“You know, I’m surprised.” He leaned against the wall, a bottle of beer in hand as he gave you a kind smile. “I didn’t think you’d be easy to talk to.”
You rolled your eyes at the guy. “Why, ‘cause I’ve been with the dead for too long?”
“No, it’s not that,” he said, feigning thinking to himself by tapping his finger on his chin. “I got it.”
You laughed. “Oh, yeah? Then what?”
“Because I thought a pretty girl like you would have another guy tied to your waist by now.” Spencer was a devious flirt, and you were in for it. “I mean, there isn’t anyone, is there? I’d hate to be that guy.”
Daryl’s thoughts froze even while he pretended to be nodding at whatever it is that Carol and Tara were pretending to be saying.
They were just as busy listening into your conversation, only making feign chatter so as to not have you on their trail.
Carol and Tara watched Daryl, preparing themselves for how he would take whatever it is you were about to say.
“Nope,” you confessed. “There’s no one. Plus, I’m not interested in anything at the moment.”
“Why not?”
“Because chivalry is dead.” You shrugged.
He chuckled. “Is that so?”
“Mhm, and so is romance. It died along with everyone else.”
“So, it’s still alive.”
“Right!” you chuckled.
“You must be fun at parties,” he quipped, an effortless stance in his gait.
“Well, you think I’m hilarious.” There was doubt that he was a smooth talker, but you did not know yet.
“Spencer!” he delightfully said, extending his hand to you. To Daryl’s badly disguised dismay, you shake it. “Spencer Monroe.”
“Monroe? Why do I—you’re related to Deanna Monroe?”
“I see you’ve met my son!” On cue, Deanna stops by in front of you and Spencer, delighted at the sight.
The three of your friends noted how well you fit into this life, and that same onslaught of self-doubt crept up to Daryl.
Maybe you suited this life better. . .
But he knew Spencer was a bust, that this was only his facade, exactly like the guys you said you used to date.
“Hi! Yeah, I was just about to introduce myself to him, actually.”
The older woman smiled. “There’s no need for that, he’s watched your introduction one too many times already!”
“Has he now?”
“I might have,” he confessed.
A couple of steps away stood Daryl, who was now dead silent. Daryl wondered if you had told Tara something, but she looked just as confused as to why they were bothering listening into the conversation.
It goes on like that for a while, ending with Deanna inviting you over for dinner sometime within the week. Almost as if you were her son’s girlfriend already.
As soon as Deanna left to entertain the rest of the guests, Carol and Tara could only watch in confusion as Daryl absentmindedly slipped away from them to approach you, not a single thought or plan in his head on how he would even start the conversation.
He grabbed you by the arm with no warning. You yelp in response, confused and slightly furious. The fuck does he want now?
“Daryl!” you exclaimed. You turned to Spencer as you tried to minimize your temper. “Sorry, he’s had too much to drink.”
He hasn’t. He’d never been thinking more clearly than ever before. “Nah, I didn’t. In fact, this is the first time I’m thinkin’ clearly.”
“Is everything alright?” Spencer asked, his eyes on the man he also assumed was intoxicated. Daryl hadn’t even sipped any drink. “There’s more food, if you need some.”
He shook his head. “Nah, m’good. Just needa talk to my friend ‘bout the mattress we gotta bring down from the upper bedrooms to downstairs.”
“Sounds like matters best talked about after a party rather than during one,” said Spencer politely, but there was a threat in it somewhere.
“It’s urgent.”
“Well, this is the time for your group to talk to everyone else other than yourselves! And I think she wants to stay.”
You couldn’t butt in, busy racking your mind on why the fuck Daryl Dixon decided to bother you during this specific moment.
Daryl glared at Spencer. “Why don’t we let her decide?”
“What?” you blurt out, returning from your dazed state. “Decide what?”
“Daryl here—Did I get that right? Daryl here wants your help with moving bed cushions from upstairs to the living room. I, on the other hand, think everybody will be happier just enjoying the gathering as of present.”
“I…”
You felt Daryl’s eyes on you this time, almost pleading. It was so quick, you thought you’d imagined it. But it was there. But if he had no issues denying your pleas, then denying his this time shouldn’t be a problem, either.
“Actually, I think we can talk about the… Mattresses later.” A couple of months ago, you wouldn’t have been able to imagine saying ‘No’ to Daryl, much less outright reject him for any reason. “You should just go do whatever you want for a while.”
Ouch.
Spencer was a master at holding a friendly atmosphere around him, but Daryl could recognize the sinister intentions in his eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but it was there. He looked at you again, hoping you could see through the guy in front of you.
He wanted to ask you if this is what you really wanted, but his reasoning returned.
“Alrigh’ then,” was all he said before leaving the house. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about not saying anything else, but you were also satisfied to get back at him. He deserved it.
He did though, right? You’ve been waiting for him to talk to you, to apologize or to confess, anything. So many times when you were left alone, it was easy for him to approach. And yet he never did!
It’s over, just like it should be.
Carol followed Daryl outside, looking for answers.
She watched as he hoisted himself on his bike, ready to leave again. “You like her, don’t you?”
“What does it matter?” he said, getting off just to catch a cigarette break while speaking with his friend. “She made it pretty clear it’s over, whatever it is.”
“No, she didn’t,” Carol argued, her arms crossed. “The problem with you is that you take maybes for final answers and final answers for maybes.”
He looked up after lighting his cig. “Whaddya mean?”
“[Y/N] tells you many times she likes you, she stops when she realizes it’s going nowhere, you give her motive so she pursues you again, it’s… You have to understand why she’s frustrated, where she’s coming from. She’s a woman after all, she knows her worth. Which is why it’s disappointing having it worn out.”
“She tell you anythin’?”
“No, never,” Carol said honestly. “Although, she used to be vocal about how she felt about you. That’s probably just what she’s been waiting for for a long time. She’s just waiting for you to change, but you’re taking so long and you’re so inconsistent that she eventually got tired.”
“Huh,” Daryl said thoughtfully. “Thanks, Carol.”
It wasn’t just Carol he seeked advice from. He traipsed from one person to the next, hoping to find an answer he wasn’t seeing. An easier solution. The next person who was lucky enough to run into him in the morning was Glenn, just getting out of the second house provided for their group.
“Heya, Glenn, whaddya think of that Spencer guy?”
“Who’s that again?” he asked.
“Deanna’s son. The one—er—[Y/N] was talkin’ to.”
“Oh! I dunno, I never really got to meet him properly. Saw him kind of flirting with Sasha, though.”
“You did?” he asked excitedly, thrilled to have intel. Glenn had to laugh.
“Are you jealous?” Glenn asked.
Daryl ignored the question. He wasn’t. He thinks. He wasn’t sure. Maybe…? “She ever told you anythin’ when yer group was supposedly on the way to Washington?”
Glenn thought back to that day, trying to find ways he could help out. “No, but she was cryin’ during the first few minutes. Then she was… Okay? I guess? Like nothing happened, y’know. Why?”
Daryl was already walking back home. “Nothin’, thanks.”
The next one was Tara, whom Daryl caught just getting out of the same house Glenn came out from. It was still around six in the morning. The poor girl had puffy eyes, having just woken up, and the curious little archer just had to bombard her with questions as he walked with her.
“So you and [Y/N] were with each other on the way,” Daryl started. “Did she… Maybe say anythin’ at all?”
Tara’s face scrunched up, thinking. “About you?”
“Well, I—it ain’t like that, I just—”
“She didn’t, bro.” Tara shrugged, yawning while she scratched at her neck. She halted. “Look, if this is about last night’s party, I didn’t even know the two of you were” — Tara made a kissing gesture with her two hands” — “you know? I mean, I sensed you guys had some history, but she never told me anything. She just kept me company.”
Though Daryl decided just the night before that your anger towards him was the worst thing he could ever live to experience, he felt worse knowing you didn’t care enough to feel anything towards him. He could settle for anger.
“What am I gonna do now?” he asked himself quietly, but Tara still managed to hear it.
“I dunno, man. Maybe you need to change? Most of the time, in relationships, the reason one person starts to lose interest is because there’s something that the other guy’s doing they’re not happy about, so…”
Daryl waited. “So…?”
Tara groaned, rubbing at her eyes. “Sorry, I’m not really the best person to ask these kinds of things. Maybe try Aaron? Seems like a wise dude.”
“He ain’t around, he’s out. I need advice, as in for somethin’ I could do as soon as possible.”
“Erm, talk to her?”
Daryl shook his head, carefully considering his options. “Nah, nah, that’s not it. Thanks, though.”
He pats Tara on the back and prepares to leave, but he halts in his tracks. “Also, what’s that ‘ya said ‘bout suspecting that we uh…”
Tara made the same kissing gesture with her hands, but this time with a question on her face.
“Yeah, yeah, that.”
“I dunno, I didn’t think too much of it before because I was new to the group. But now that I think of it, you guys were pretty obvious with how you felt about each other. Maybe it’s just me.”
“Obvious how?” Daryl interrogated.
“The way you guys stared at each other when the other wasn’t looking? Like, back at that barn?”
He felt heat rush to his cheeks at the thought of you watching him whenever he wasn’t looking at you. “She—?”
“I don’t know. Listen, you’re a cool guy. I like you, you’re strong, crossbow, cool, strong, and all that but I just need to take a walk right now.”
“Oh, right, m’sorry, thanks for the talk.”
One would think that was the end of it. That is, until he got home and caught poor Rick just coming out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Hey, Rick, say, I like a girl, righ’?” Daryl started. Rick stood in front of the bathroom door, dripping wet on the floor. Daryl was blind to hints now thanks to you. “What if, say, the girl I like, and the guy I don’t like, got together? And it was all ‘cause of me, I guess, but it’s ‘cause I didn’t think I deserved the same girl—”
“[Y/N]?” asked Rick, to which Daryl pressed his finger to his mouth, signaling Rick to keep it quiet in fear that you’d wake up next door.
Rick Grimes counted with his fingers at Daryl, who listened concerningly well. “Number one, I know you like her. We all do. Don’t give me that look. Number two, we all know she likes you, she’s made that clear. You never make anything clear. And number three, I need you to go downstairs and have some breakfast and that I’d appreciate an ounce of my privacy and maybe even my dignity. I need to change.”
“Oh, righ’,” Daryl said, bewildered to realize he’d just interrupted Rick who had just gotten out of the shower. He then hurriedly ran downstairs to get himself a glass of water.
Carl was sitting on the couch, reading a comic book.
“Hey, Carl?” Daryl asked.
Carl turned around from his comfortable position on the couch, his brows raised in question.
It was there that Daryl realized how crazy he’d gotten, even about to ask a child for love advice. What’s gotten into him? “Y’know what? Nevermind.”
After drinking a glass of water, Daryl stepped out of the house to feel the breeze of the morning air. Daryl didn’t realize he misheard the last sentence Rick told him. He thought Rick told him to change, opening this whole door of realization—there was a pattern, he thought.
Carol, Glenn, Tara, and Rick have all urged him to change. And he was gonna. Daryl Dixon finally understood, finally knew what he had to do. It all made sense, really. You said it yourself—what you wanted. And you were gonna get it tonight.
“Hey, Rick!” he called from the bottom of the stairs. “"I needa borrow something from ya later! I just gotta run some errands out.”
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
You awoke after sleeping for around three hours, feeling the need to visit the restroom. Half asleep, you got out of your bed to use the restroom. You’re surprised to find that it was locked. You try again.
“Rick?” a voice called. Pressing your ear against the door, you could hear water rushing. It was the shower. “I ain’t done yet!”
“Daryl?” you called.
“[Y/N]? S’that you?” he asked. The shower stopped abruptly.
“Are you taking a shower?” you asked, a smile forming on your face.
“Yeah, I am.”
“Really?”
“Fuck you,” he said in response. “Also, you can, uh, use the toilet if ya need to go.”
“What?” you asked with a laugh. You really needed to go, though. “Would that be fine?”
“Erm—yeah, sure. Hearin’ you piss is a walk in the park compared to when ya puked all over me, anyway.”
You laughed. That already feels way too long ago. . .
“I’ll unlock it, then I’ll tell you when you can come in.”
You scoffed. “You better not be flaunting your nether regions when I get in, Dixon.”
“Fucker.” You heard shuffling from behind the door, then a click from behind the doorknob. “Come on in. I’ll turn the shower on so I can’t hear your…”
“Piss?” you added as you came inside. He turned the shower on as he continued on with his bath. “Please, it’d be music to your ears. Walk in the park, right?”
“Shuddup.”
While you answered nature’s call, you looked at the mirror. Then your eyes fell to the sink, finding some wet crumpled tissues. You stifle your laugh, resisting the urge to tease him about the wet tissues. You did your business, flushing afterwards.
“I’m gonna go now,” you said. Daryl merely grunted in response.
Just as you left the bathroom, you caught sight of a razor with cream by the edge of the sink.
Once you were back in bed, you told yourself you were going to sleep, unaware that you were waiting for Daryl to finish just to hear his footsteps go down the stairs. You think of that time in the Greene farm again. Then the time in CDC. Then… everything.
No. You didn’t want to think about it anymore. Spencer was good. To you and for you. But you felt as if he was only showing you a fabricated facade. But you wanted to like him so bad. You liked talking to him, but that was it. What you felt for Spencer was what you thought was what you felt for Daryl back at the Quarry.
Now, you knew what you felt for Daryl was more than just that. And it pained you that he didn’t feel the same. As your memories together flashed in your mind, you shook it off to will yourself to sleep.
The following morning, you looked for Daryl, disheartened to not find him anywhere. More so when you checked the garage to find that he’d brought along with him the bike Aaron had given him.
He’s avoiding you again, you thought to yourself. After all, that’s what he always did. So running into Daryl today was out of the question.
The one you did run into, though, was Spencer Monroe.
You had to hit yourself internally when you found yourself disappointed at the prospect of spending another moment with him.
You don’t know why it was so difficult to attach yourself to him, really. He was practically perfect in so many ways and yet… He wasn’t Daryl. Nobody was Daryl. You could try to hide these feelings of yours in all the drawers and compartments back at home, but it’ll always manage to find you and haunt you.
Today, in every single second you spent with Spencer, you always found your mind lingering on being with Daryl. It was a disease at this point, consuming you wholeheartedly. And by the time Spencer walked you back to your home come nighttime, you’d made up your mind.
When you turned around to face him after taking one step on the porch, he knew too.
“It’s not happening, isn’t it?” he asked with a friendly smile. He probably saw the apology in your face, as well as the way you spoke with him throughout the entire day. “I get it. It’s because of that guy, isn’t it?”
“What?” you asked, still burying your feelings within you. “No, it’s…”
“[Y/N], it’s fine. This was fun while it lasted.” He extended his hand to you again in surrender. For the second time, you shook it.
“I’m sorry,” you told him. “It’s… It goes way back.”
Spencer gave you a warm smile, already coming to terms with the end of your time together. “I’ll see you around, [Y/N]. Though, you’re really gonna break my poor old pa’s heart once he finds out.”
“Oh, damn, really?” you asked with a laugh. “Tell him I love him.”
“Will do, will do.” And then Spencer was gone, leaving you alone on the porch of the house. You made your way back upstairs to take a shower. It felt monotonous. You understood where Daryl was coming from, why he was always outside.
You missed the thrill of being outside, not knowing what would come next. It just annoyed you to the bone that the universe gave you the supposed thrill of not knowing to you and Daryl.
The minute you sat in your bed after getting dressed, you felt an all too overwhelming feeling of doom closing in on you. You settled for spending your time on the couch, reading all the old magazines to pass time. A loud rumbling in the sky shook you awake while you were about to doze off to sleep.
It was raining. Daryl still wasn’t home yet, and you found your mind racing with all the possible troubles he could have gotten himself into. You still haven’t moved on from him and that one instance in the ravine…
No, no. He was fine. You had to believe he was—
A knock. Then thunder.
You yelled in shock, dropping the magazine you were holding. You hoped you didn’t wake the house up. You rushed to the door, hurriedly swinging it open.
Nothing, and as in nothing could have prepared you for what stood in front of you.
“Prim ‘n proper,” the figure started, “clean-shaven, wears a… Well, it’s a watch for sure. Couldn’t find any cufflinks. Got a neat haircut, at least the best I can do. I hope the corporate part of yer criteria is up for reconsideration because… Ya get it.”
Mr. Daryl Dixon.
In front of your door, wearing a clean button-down shirt tucked into a neat pair of black slacks completed with a leather belt. Under a neat vest, he wore a necktie, albeit a little cluttered, but a necktie nonetheless. He wore black dress shoes and in his hands, he carried a small brown suitcase.
“Good thing we share the same family now, ‘cause I sure as hell ain’t the kind you’d—”
“Holy shit,” you blurt out, in disbelief. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or… Well, you definitely wanted to laugh. And you did, so did he. “Are you my attorney or something?”
But it wasn’t his attire that threw you off. It was his hair and his face. It was the first time you saw Daryl’s face clearly. The first time that his mole stood out as a mole and not just as part of whatever gunk he had all over his face.
His jaw was neatly shaven, too. And you thought of the razor in the bathroom the night before. That’s what it was about. You were relieved to say the least, but you’d tell that to him some other time.
“Whaddya think?”
His hair, on the other hand, was trimmed enough for his face to be the center of attraction. He definitely had the most captivating eyes, but you already knew that long before this. Daryl was a little wet from the rain, but it didn’t destroy the new look he’d fabricated for himself.
“I—The fuck did you do?” you asked, eyes bewildered in shock.
From behind you, Rick came down the stairs while brandishing his gun. “Hands—Daryl? Is that you?”
The archer froze. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes glued on him, still adjusting to his new look. Rick Grimes seemed to be just as dumbfounded as you, dropping his gun to his side.
“Rick, I—!” You watched as the archer, who now looked like a total stranger, panickedly stepped closer to let you step out so he could close the door shut as soon as possible. “Alright, [Y/N], let’s talk outside. Just here on the porch.”
You didn’t know what to say, so you just obliged. Rick just stood there at the stairs, still in shock. Almost as if he was literally frozen.
By the time it was just the two of you out on the porch, you laughed out loud.
“Some look you got there,” you teased.
“I try my best,” he said. “Ya like it?”
You shake your head in disbelief, looking him up and down. “Seriously, what… What’s up with you?”
“See, I… I talked to our friends. And I thought ‘bout what ya said and I put two and two together and I realized that I should’ve been what ya wanted me to be and—”
“Hold up, what I wanted you to be?” you clarified. “Daryl, you still don’t get it. Why can’t you get it? Just—why?”
You wanted to be mad at him—you were! It was just hard to stay that way when you feel like you’re at the precipice of laughing everytime you look at him. You take a deep sigh.
“I never needed you to be anyone else, alright? The thing I told you that was my type long ago, that was just it. A type. And it was all because I wanted to impress my parents.” You started to feel the anger return, bubbling inside you. “Fuck, Daryl! I’ve been nothing but clear with you what I wanted! All I ever wanted was you, and all you did was just confuse me! You didn’t need to do all this.”
“[Y/N] —”
“No! You’re gonna let me finish! I hated that you kissed me and then you took it back. I hated that you never even tried to talk to me before we got here. I hated that you never let me move on.”
“It’s ‘cause I never moved on from ya. And I hated seein’ you with that prick.”
“Fuck you!” you yelled, walking away from him. Furious, you feel your feet moving of their own accord, leaving the house to face the unforgiving rain.
“[Y/N], stop! I ain’t lettin’ ya catch a cold. Are ya nuts?” he yelled after you, leaving behind the suitcase he’d brought along with him.
“Am I nuts?” You faced the now properly groomed archer. “I’m not the one who changed who I am for someone I say I care about when really all they ever wanted was assurance!”
If you were stubborn, Daryl was obstinate. “So, what, yer gonna marry him or somethin’?”
“For your information, I cut it off with him! Because of you!”
“‘Cause of me?”
“Yes, because of you.” The one thing to thank the rain for was that it was hard to tell which drop on your face was from the sky and which one was from your eyes. Unfortunately, Daryl was a master of telling them apart. “Everything I did was for you, and you just keep missing the point!”
“M’sorry,” he said, pulling you into that same damned embrace you’ve always been craving. He held you against his body, his arms wrapping around you. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
You wept against his chest, beating your fists against his chest, trying to get away. But he held you like that for a while. And the next second, your lips were on each other’s once more. The rain soaked your clothes and his.
This time, you pulled away. “Daryl, I never needed you to be someone else. Can’t you see? I’ve only ever wanted you. Your long, untamed hair, your stubble, your—just all of you. I’m sorry you ever felt like you had to change. You never had to. I just needed you to be—”
“To be sure ‘bout ‘ya,” he finished your sentence, nodding. For the first time, Daryl’s mind was clearer than how the skies would be once the rain comes to pass.
You nodded.
The rain poured down on the two of you, but it made the scene worth the wait, worth the back and forth.
“Ya did nothin’ wrong, alrigh’? I… I’s just an idiot, I—”
You pressed a finger against his lips and asked him, “If I let you kiss me again, do you promise to not take it back?”
“I just caught ma hair off for ‘ya, sunshine. S’look like I plan on takin’ anythin’ back?” Daryl smiled as he leaned forward, but you resisted. Confusion took over his face, his shoulders slumping, dejected. “S’matter?”
“Actually,” you said, reeling yourself for the confession, “I kinda had the hots for the hair. And the, uh, the stubble. And… Everything?”
“Oh,” he uttered. You were on the verge of apologizing. “Thank God. I ‘dun really know where I’m gonna get any more of these shirts, I—”
This time, you were the one who pressed your lips against his, hoping it was enough.
Enough to tell him you loved him just as Daryl Dixon.
Rugged and unconventional, sports a stubble jaw, wears a crossbow instead of a watch, favors a leather vest over unnecessary cufflinks, grows his hair out, loves to hunt…
You liked your men— No. You loved Daryl Dixon as Daryl Dixon, never not worthy of being bragged about to anyone and everyone. Daryl Dixon who’d do well in whatever path you decide to choose together, as long it was with each other.
The rain eventually came to a stop once you pulled away from each other, and you couldn’t help but laugh once more.
“What did I tell you, Dixon?” you jab at him. “Never say never.”
“C’mon, let’s get ‘ya washed up, yer gonna get sick if ‘ya let that sit.” He pressed a kiss against your cheek, and when he returned to face you, you were met by the sweetest smile that has ever graced his face. Somehow, you knew you’d be seeing more of that smile from that moment on.
On the way back to the house, you asked him to wait while he stood on the porch. You bent down to scoop a little bit of soiled dirt with your hands. “Wait, I need to see something.”
Grinning, you wiped a little bit of mud on his face. Daryl was scowling, acting all tough, but that’s just Daryl—routinely accustomed to holding a tougher front. You saw through it, and you were willing to wait until he was able to take it off for good.
“Now that’s Daryl.”
“Should I be flattered or offended?” Daryl asked.
“I still need to spell things out for you?” you jokingly asked him. You took it back the moment you saw him getting flustered. “I’m kiddin’, idiot. Flattered. You should be flattered.”
“I knew that,” he answered. Before you could get to the door, he made sure he got there first, his hand on the handle already. “I got this for ‘ya.”
“Wait, before you open it.”
“Mhm?”
You pointed towards the suitcase he’d dropped on the floor moments before. “What’s in that?”
“Oh!” With his memory refreshed, Daryl jogged over to the suitcase to pick it up. Daryl opened the suitcase to reveal two packs of chocolates. “Couldn’t find any more, just found this in the minifridge of a car parked a couple of miles from here.”
You didn’t know what to say. You were sure you didn’t need the shower anymore, you were already warmed up by everything he’s done already, but you knew he’d pester you to clean up so you wouldn’t get sick.
You stepped forward, no longer resisting the ever present urge to kiss him. You press a soft kiss against his cheek in gratitude. “Thank you.”
Smiling, Daryl clasped the suitcase shut for now and returned to his position by the door, his hand ready to open it for you.
“You really have to do this?” you asked him.
“Every door ya gotta open, I’m openin’ all of ‘em for ya.” At that moment, he swung it open.
“And here I thought chivalry was dead.” To your surprise, Rick was still there at the stairs, sitting on one of the steps, staring blankly at nothing.
“Hey, man,” Daryl called. The same look of confusion flashed in Rick’s eyes upon getting a good look at Daryl again. “Ya should go to bed now.”
“No, yeah, right…”
And Rick was off walking back upstairs to bed, and you waited until the door shut upstairs before you and Daryl laughed.
“Just you wait until Glenn and Tara get to see your new look,” you told him. “You’re gonna be the hot topic for the next three weeks.”
You were right.
And just like that, Daryl Dixon was yours, just as you were his.

i'm still building my blog. so for now, just send me an ask to be added to my general taglist :)
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i often think about twd characters having social media and i definitely think that negan would LOVE to just post himself, and daryl hating the idea of social media but giving it a try anyways and following shitpost accs. rick??? would post pics embarrassing his family. and i can totally picture maggie & glenn moving to a farm and posting pics/vids of their animals *sobs*
already gone
rick grimes x reader / daryl dixon & reader (prison!era)
summary: you confess your feelings to rick after spending some time together, and he decides to leave for a while. when he returns, he’s immediately on edge when he sees you with daryl.
warnings: reader is in her twenties, unrequited love, jealousy, angst without comfort, past, fear, heavy angst, insecurities, cute!daryl, rude!rick, rage, angry kiss, mention of shane, season 4.
words count: 2778.



Your clock's hands appeared to be stuck between the end of the world and the start of a life you could never have imagined. You were never warned about this kind of eternity in the literature you studied as a child; they only discussed how short life was. The books' main characters battled life and death, but in the end, they were granted what they already had: the assurance that they would live on.
Love always had to be lived as if it were the thing that would save you from everything, and although for a time you wanted to believe it, love was no longer enough. Writers were filled with those feelings thanks to the peace they found when they picked up a pen and wrote on paper. But now, everything was different.
You always thought the wanderers were called that because all they did was walk. You felt a kinship with them because since the world ended, you had been wandering, searching for a place where you could feel safe. A task that had seemed complicated even in the past.
But now, you were supposed to be happy. You were with people who cared about you and would do anything for you. Your heart should have felt comforted, yet you struggled to find that comfort even within your own chest. Everything was happening so quickly that you didn’t have time to sit down and listen to yourself. All you could do was run until your feet hurt. Carol had told you a thousand times that you needed to stop and look at the sky, to realize its vastness and your place within it. But none of that mattered since he left.
It had been a long time since you believed that love would save you, yet you weren’t seeking salvation but rather a truce. And none of that was possible since he left. You waited for him every day by the window, talking to others to keep him alive in some way, even arguing with Daryl about going to look for him. He promised he would return, and even left to search for him. But you couldn’t bear to see him go too. Dixon had been your only constant since he left.
He left because you needed supplies to keep the group alive. But the wait was becoming eternal, and Rick wasn’t coming back. The hero who always returned had become a missing person. You wanted to take a horse and go find him, wanted to travel around the world just to hold him again.
"What’s on yer mind?” Daryl asked with a cigarette between his lips. You were sitting, hugging your knees, staring into the distance. You chuckled softly and looked at him.
His hair was a little longer than when Rick had left, and he had a few days’ worth of beard that suited him perfectly, along with a leather jacket that had belonged to his older brother. According to Dixon, they shared everything because they had so little money. You stopped to think about his story, about all the secrets you didn’t know, and maybe that falling in love with him would have been a better choice.
Daryl locked his grayish-blue eyes on yours and read you like an open book. Just like that. You felt like the simplest book in the world and sighed.
"Tomorrow, I’m gonna go look for him again.” he assured, taking such a deep drag on his cigarette that you could almost taste the smoke. You couldn’t help but stare into the void and focus on the farm that Rick had destroyed before leaving.
“Don’t…” you whispered, but he ignored you. It didn’t matter how many times you begged him not to go; this man was driven by loyalty, and he didn’t care if starvation struck him if it meant he could bring Rick back. It wasn’t just an act he did for you, but out of love for Rick.
"Ya never told me what happened that day,” he said, his voice affected by the cigarette, his accent even thicker. He was referring to the day Rick left. He had gone out for supplies, yes. But you were supposed to go with him, and yet he left alone because he had argued with you.
“Nothing important.”
He looked at you and said your name, drawing your attention. Everything was important to him.
“The night before, I told him I loved him,” you admitted, feeling tears well up in your eyes, though they didn’t fall down your cheeks, but burned just the same. “The night before, I told him I loved him, and he didn’t respond. He left as quickly as he could.”
Daryl listened carefully, and you saw his throat tighten as he swallowed. He took a drag on his cigarette and, after a few moments of silence, took another. You were standing watch outside the prison, so no one could hear or see you. The man gave you a look that seemed to understand you in a way you didn’t understand, and the weight of his feelings became too much for your shoulders.
“He got scared off.” Daryl whispered, and your lips went dry. “He didn’t reckon on fallin' in love again after what happened with Lori, and when you told him you loved him, he didn’t know how to handle it.”
That made so much sense that you felt your sweat turn cold, and your body was suddenly overwhelmed by a flood of regret. You felt insensitive for confessing your love when so little time had passed since what happened with his wife. But you couldn’t keep your lips sealed any longer; every time you kissed him, you felt a million butterflies inside you, they were desperate to escape. You were getting along better with Carl and Judith, everything with his children was perfect. You’d never had the chance to have a real family, you had always been so alone that perhaps you didn’t realize that this family was never truly yours. It belonged to someone else.
“Did I screw up?” you asked, though it felt more like a harsh confirmation. Dixon shook his head and crushed the remaining cigarette into the ground. He stood up and took his crossbow.
“Ya were real brave,” he replied, giving you a look that pierced your heart. "The world’s too messed up not to say what we’re feelin’. Some folks ain’t lucky enough to get the chance to say all their feelings.”
To say those words, he looked away. He always gave the impression of being permanently secure and unaffected by anything, but the truth was, he clung to his crossbow as if it could save him from his own emotions.
“Do you not express all your feelings?” Your voice trembled, and he noticed. You saw that his body always yielded to your closeness, and though you noticed, you inevitably thought of Rick. Of the way he looked at you with his clear eyes and how his body responded when only a few inches separated you.
“Why’d I do that?”
You stood up, and you shared the same air with him for a few seconds. It was then that you noticed some details of his face, ones that seemed to only reveal themselves under the moonlight. You wanted to have an answer for his question, the one he deserved. The urge to cry welled up under your tongue, and you took a deep breath. Daryl let out a soft laugh and gently ruffled your hair.
“Rick’ll come back,” he whispered, gazing at the metal door. “And he’ll tell ya he loves ya too.”
You hugged yourself and looked away.
“How can you be so sure?” you asked, letting out a laugh that came straight from your aching heart.
“Cause you ain’t hard to love” he answered, and began to walk across the grass of that lonely place. You took in all the air you could as you watched him go, and before you realized it, your face was wet. You were crying uncontrollably.

A few hours later, you were walking near the fences, making sure they wouldn’t give way anytime soon. Daryl was behind you, dispatching the walkers trying to get through to the other side. You stopped and watched the way he drove his arrows into the dead brains of those creatures.
Unlike others, including yourself, he always did it quickly and without unnecessary violence. You even saw a kind of beauty in his actions and swallowed hard. The earlier conversation was still fresh, and you weren’t fully aware of your thoughts.
Before you could continue walking, one of those monsters almost ripped off your face. It was only avoided because someone swiftly decapitated it. You fell back, and Daryl caught you in his arms. The gesture made you feel safe, but that comfort shattered when you saw who had saved you.
Rick was staring intensely into your eyes. It seemed like his mind was waging a terrible war, with his body as the battleground. He hadn’t eaten in a long time, and his clothes hung loosely on him. You ran to the fence, your fingers gripping the small holes. But it didn’t matter because he was back. You wanted to hug him, touch him. You wanted to feel that it was real and not just an illusion your cruel mind had conjured.
“You’re back,” you said, so happy that you didn’t even notice Rick’s tense posture. He shot a glance at Daryl, who lowered his gaze and then walked away. “I thought you…”
“Thought I wouldn’t come back?” The sarcasm in his words set off all your alarms. You noticed Daryl unlocking the padlock, and when Rick passed through, he didn’t even look at him.
You moved towards Rick, but before you could touch him, he dodged you with a speed that felt hurtful.
“When did you start smoking?” he asked, hinting at how much you must have smelled of cigarettes from spending shifts with Daryl.
“Sometimes Daryl and I share a cigarette…” The answer made his jaw tighten, but he relaxed with a laugh.
“Daryl and you, huh?”
You had always thought of Rick as a mature person who wasn’t jealous at all. He had always treated you with kindness and respect, protecting you as if you were his most precious possession. If there was any danger in the world, you were sure Rick would do anything to make it disappear.
Moreover, he always acted according to such valuable principles that it made you wonder how you couldn’t be just like him. He was everything you had imagined, the person you dreamed of while other girls wanted the bad boy their parents would hate. You, on the other hand, were sure that your parents, if they were alive, would have loved Rick.
But now he was acting like a fool.
“What’s wrong with you?” you asked once you were away from the others and had entered a room to unload the supplies Rick had brought.
“Nothing’s wrong with me. What about you? Anything you want to tell me?” His voice was so neutral it gave you chills. Chills so physical that you checked if any window was open, but everything was closed.
“That I missed you so much I thought you were dead.” You moved closer to Rick as you said this and placed your hand on his blood-stained shirt. You caressed him, and he responded almost immediately, his body recalling all those nights with you, locked in your cell until the sun set again. “I promise you…”
“I don’t see you as heartbroken.” His words struck a blow to your heart.
“Why are you acting like this?” Your voice betrayed your urge to cry. Rick looked at you and let out a laugh from his lips.
“Because I’ve been through this before.” You blinked several times. What was he referring to?
“I’ve been through disappearing and everyone forgetting about you.” He turned away and continued unpacking the cans of food he had brought. You grabbed his arm before he could put another can down and forced him to look at you.
“I couldn’t forget you even if I wanted to, Grimes.” You said with a certainty that came straight from your heart. The man lifted his chin and looked at you in a way that only confirmed he was shielding himself with his words. “Not a minute has passed where I didn’t think about you.”
Rick opened his lips and looked at yours, his tongue playing in his mouth, impatient to meet yours. However, he looked away and remained angry. You didn’t know what you had done wrong.
“I saw you looking at Daryl.” At that moment, you remembered your conversation with Dixon and how you had felt watching him. Your body froze, and Rick, noticing this, laughed in a way that distressed you. You closed your eyes to hide more and felt him start to leave.
“I’m not your wife,” you said with a harshness that made Rick stop in his tracks. “I’m not like her.”
You filled Rick with such intense anger that he nearly lost control, and he moved toward you abruptly.
“I told you I loved you,” you said, not stepping back despite him being so close. Your heart was still the same. You truly loved him even if everything had gone to hell. You saw your eyes, dull but always alive when you were with him, and you stroked his cheek. “I don’t say those words lightly, you know?”
Rick looked you up and down, letting your hand caress his face.
“Daryl is nothing like Shane.” Hearing that name made him tense up. “Daryl would turn the world upside down to find you and would give his heart to save yours. Don’t tarnish our names like that.”
Rick began to close the distance between you until you were backed up against a table. You stared at him, your fast breaths matching his. He brought his mouth closer to yours and started kissing you with a fervor that made you sit on the table to keep your balance. He kissed you as if the world was ending, and you only pulled away to catch your breath. You had never felt like this from a kiss before—so loved, so desperate for more. It was what you had dreamed of while he was gone.
“I know you’re not like Lori and Daryl isn’t like Shane…” he whispered as his large, rough hands touched you as if he could caress you beneath your clothes. “But are you sure he doesn’t feel anything for you?”
Before you could answer or bring your mouth back to his, he pulled away and looked at you with eyes that could kill if looks could kill. Your heart felt empty all of a sudden, and everything began to hurt. That kiss meant nothing because he didn’t trust you. Rick left the room and started walking outside. You followed him.
“You didn’t tell me you loved me,” you shouted, making him stop and look back over his shoulder. “I gave you my heart, and you abandoned it. Now that you’re back, you come to say that just to run away from me again.”
Rick touched his beard and looked at you with his blue eyes.
“I’m afraid to love you because the last time I loved someone, I lost everything,” he whispered, his voice reaching your heart. “I don’t want to go through that again.”
“It won’t happen, Rick. I promise you…” You moved closer and put your hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked at you. He was still grappling with his anger, and he had so many reasons to be angry that you couldn’t blame him. He was as scared as you were.
“Daryl doesn’t feel anything for me, and he would never hurt you,” you assured him, and his clear eyes reflected yours. “Please don’t leave again.”
“I’m already gone,” he whispered and withdrew from your touch.
You watched him walk toward the pavilion and, before following him, saw Daryl watching you from a distance. You could see something broken in him, something you’d love to fix in another life, but not in this one. You took a deep breath until you felt your whole body burning. Rick was walking away, and Daryl nodded, signaling you to go after him, that everything would be okay between you two.
Sometimes letting go is the most beautiful act of love.
When you arrived at the pavilion, you found Rick, and he hugged you, whispering a sincere apology.
“You’re not gone,” you whispered. “We can still find each other.”
this is so perfect 🥺
you found me




if you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did.
҉ summary : daryl finds her reading his book and realizes that she has scars on her soul too.
҉ warnings : hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of child abuse, a lot of kisses, reader was also a victim of her father, they wants to be parents.
҉ words count : 998.

Daryl left a book on the table. You had never seen him read before, so it caught you off guard. You moved closer to check the title, and when you read it, your heart skipped a beat. You began reading the first few pages, noting how the words seemed so close to reality, and it frightened you.
You closed the book, keeping your hand on the cover. You took a deep breath and felt overwhelmed by your emotions. You thought about Daryl and the reasons he had for picking up that book, especially after he confessed his conversation with Beth. He didn't just want to leave his past behind; he wanted to understand himself too.
You opened the book again, which he had placed near his crossbow. You thought both things served as forms of defense: one against visible monsters, the other against invisible ones. That made them inevitably invincible. When you finished the first chapter, you heard footsteps, and something in you knew it was Dixon. You had never told him much about yourself. The past didn’t matter now that the present took up so much space.
The door was slightly ajar, so you decided to close it. You took off the shirt you were wearing, the belt that held your knife, and your jeans. These movements revealed an inexplicable vulnerability. You took the book again and continued reading. The words about how to overcome the things you know are wrong even as a child made your head spin, your lungs feel tight, and your eyes begin to well up with tears.
Everything was paper, but the memories were not.
The door opened, and you closed your eyes. Daryl and you had shared enough moments to consider yourselves in a relationship. You had felt his lips on yours, your breaths had mingled, and you had fought to keep each other alive. But he had never seen you like this—naked and fragile.
Your back had scars stretching from your shoulders to your lower back. You had thought time would take them away, but they were immortal. You had to live with them and the memories they brought every time a mirror reflected them. For a while, you believed you deserved that pain, that your father was only being fair. Then you realized that someone who loves their child would never do this. You kept reading, your knees bent, your hands holding the book delicately.
You heard his slow breathing and could even hear the crack of his heart. His energy shifted from alert to calm. You felt the weight of his body on the mattress and a smile formed on your lips. Your eyes didn’t seek his, even when your heart begged you to. You continued reading those words you both understood.
A few seconds later, you felt the tips of his fingers rest on the deepest scar on your skin, and you remembered the blood it caused and how close you came to losing your life because of it. Daryl’s touch on your skin was so gentle, like a feather brushing your back. Your eyes filled with tears, and you clenched your teeth.
“There were monsters before all this,” you said, and then you felt his lips tracing the line of your scar. You shivered and looked at him over your shoulder. That was enough to make your heart pound faster against your chest. He looked so broken, even while he was fixing you.
Soft kisses trailed to your shoulder, and just when you thought he would ask why you never told him before, his hand took the book and placed it on the mattress. Before kissing you, he held your chin between his thumb and index finger.
"Our kid ain't never gonna have to deal with 'em." That words made you break into tears that wet your genuine smile. You buried your face in his neck, and before you could settle into his body, Daryl slowly pulled away to take off his shirt.
You watched him while thinking of a child you could call yours. Even if you were in this world, you wanted to be the mother of his children.
You ran your fingers over the scars on his back and began tracing them as if you had memorized them. It was his story, and you were caressing it, just as he had caressed yours. You brought your lips to his, and they fit together effortlessly. You broke the kiss to look at him, and Daryl wiped your tears with his thumb. Those tears stopped being tears and turned to dust.
“Do you want to have a child with me?” you asked, tilting your head and running your fingers through his hair, burying them gently in his strands.
He nodded, and you rested against his chest. You listened to his heartbeat, and by the fourth beat, you knew they were yours. It was a sound you would never tire of. You would always want to close your eyes and rest your head against his skin. His heartbeat meant he was still alive, and therefore, so were you.
Your heart and his were bound by something even stronger than love. Unconditionality was something more eternal.
Daryl was your idea of angel. He pierced your soul.
“I love ya,” he whispered, leaving a kiss on your hair. You smiled, and the scars on your back resisted. When the people who are supposed to love you don’t, you forever hope that someone will love you as you deserve. And you can be the one to love yourself, but you also wish someone else would do it too.
Your mouth met his, and the kiss became so real that it almost took your breath away. His warmth and your warmth were allies in a world of adversaries.
“I love you too,” you whispered, knowing that for the first time, your wounds had found a cure instead of salt.
jskahdjahs i'm not okay 😭
ok rockstar!daryl has my heart 😭
For You

rockstar!daryl au
word count: 1.4k
a/n: finally wrote another fic! my motivation was absolutely crushed by outside circumstances, but this au was too good to pass up. so sorry again for the unexpected hiatus, glad to be writing again 🥳
Your margarita sat empty on the counter before you, beads of condensation dripping down onto the stone below.
Your friend had told you about this “cool bar downtown,” and, to their credit, it was pretty cool. The lighting was low, with only a few hanging lights illuminating the small space. The color scheme was dark and monotoned, but still tasteful and rugged, with splashes of red accenting the stools and tables. The atmosphere and energy were dark but still inviting to customers and passersby. The tiny bar was filled with the deep sounds of a Creed cover band that was currently playing on the small stage near the back half of the building.
You and the aforementioned friend had only been sat down at the bar for about 20 minutes until a woman came up and started flirting with them. One thing led to another and they both excused themselves to go to the family bathroom to “freshen up.” You and them both knew that wasn't what was happening in there.
Although you were certainly very happy for them, it left you sitting at the bar alone, and not really in a drinking mood anymore.
The sound of applause snapped you out of your thoughts. The cover band had just gotten done playing their last song. They said their goodbyes and thank you's to the crowd, and even threw one of their guitar picks into the small but loud gathering of onlookers, and a scream rang out, presumably from the woman that had just caught it.
Concerts had always been a staple in your life, and you would go to one every week if you had the money for it. You always just felt at home in the loud and chaotic atmosphere, singing along to your favorite songs with thousands of other people. While, obviously this is not nearly on the same scale, you wanted to check it out anyway. One of the main things that sold you on coming to this bar in the first place was the Deftones cover band that was coincidentally coming up next after the brief intermission. So, you slid off of your stool and sauntered over to the stage area.
You stood at the back of the crowd and leaned on a nearby wooden support beam. Everyone was talking amongst themselves, eagerly waiting for the next band. A small projector was set up on one of the support beams that projected the Deftones logo onto the black curtains that covered the main stage, giving the members access to freely move and switch out their equipment.
After a couple more minutes of leaning against the support beam and letting your eyes wander around the bar, your eyes snapped back to the stage, as the guitar riff for Shove It started playing behind the curtain. This got a lot of people's attention, some of them yelling and shouting a mixture of excited “yeah's!” The band drew the riff out for another minute until the curtain was abruptly pulled to the side, revealing the guitarist, bassist, drummer, and the lead singer.
You immediately started lightly banging your head to the beat while scanning your eyes over the rugged group. Each of them had sort of the same look; The body and wardrobe of a divorced dad that didn't have custody of their kids. However, the contrasting guitarist certainly did halt your gaze.
Wavy, long, brunette hair drifted from side to side as his fingers danced across the fretboard. His broad shoulders could be seen tensing up, even through the faded Slayer shirt he had on. You only caught glimpses of his face with how often his hair was in the way, but you could clearly see his scruffy goatee and piercing blue eyes.
You stepped away from the support beam and wedged yourself into the small crowd. Yes, obviously, you wanted to hear the music better and enjoy the experience more thoroughly, but the way that the veins popped out on the guitarist's hands had you begging to get a closer look.
You managed to squeeze your way into the front of the crowd as Mascara started to play, and your eyes were glued to the rugged guitarist's hands as he played the famous six note riff. But what you didn't realize is that he had started to notice your staring, considering that it was a small crowd. When you managed to rip your eyes away from his hands to his face, he was staring directly at you. Your eyes went wide as you were met with his slight smirk from the stage, followed by the man mouthing the words ‘You're staring, sweetheart.’ Your ears immediately felt hot as you ducked your gaze away and covered your mouth. Did that really just happen? The man was amused by your reaction, chuckling under his breath.
After a minute of staring at the ground to keep your composure, you looked back up to the stage, only to see the man had moved closer to the front of the stage, biceps now fully in view. You stood stunned, barely bobbing your head to the music, eyes flicking back and forth from his face to his arms. He took a side glance to gauge your reaction, raised an eyebrow and smirked.
Through the next several songs, you two had the occasional interaction. From glances, to mouthing ‘You're so hot!’ which made the man roll his eyes in amusement.
It unfortunately had come to the final song of the set list, and the riff for Risk started playing. You screamed louder than you did for any of the other songs, because Risk was one of your favorites. The man took note of this, and hatched a plan.
For most of the song, he played as normal, whipping the long hair out of his eyes to occasionally take glances at you.
But on the final chorus of the song, he walked to the front of the stage and began to sing into the microphone along with the lead singer, looking you in the eyes the entire time the verse was leaving his lips.
I know what to say to take you
Higher, higher
No one else can take you higher
But I will try
I'll find a way
I'll confuse them
But I think I can try
I will save your life
I will save your life
I'll try
I'll find a way
I'll confuse them
But I think I can try
I will save your life
I will save your life
I'll try
For you
For you
You were so overwhelmed with shock and the warmth radiating off your face that you didn't register that the show was over and people were now yelling and applauding. You physically shook your head to break your trance that you were in and joined in on the applause, looking at one man on the stage. He spared you a side glance with his signature smirk, recognizing your high-pitched applause from the rest of the crowd.
When the applause had died down to just chatter and people had begun to go back to the bar or their tables, he glanced at you again and held up his pointer finger, signaling you to wait. He went over to the opposite side of the stage and grabbed a fine print Sharpie.
Of course, you were still standing near the stage, definitely not still admiring the anonymous guitarist. You had let your gaze wander to the rest of the bar when you heard a raspy “Hey! Sweetheart!” It was him. He motioned with his pointer finger to come closer to the stage, and you moved without a second thought.
“Hold out yer arm.” He said nonchalantly, with an unexpected southern drawl. You did what you were told, and he gently turned it palm side up, and you blushed even more at the sudden contact. He then took the cap of the pen off with his teeth and wrote his number on your forearm, keeping his hand loosely wrapped around your wrist.
Snapping the cap back on, he smirked once again.
“Yer hearts beatin’ pretty fast there, darlin’. Bet I know why.”
Still having a loose hold on your wrist, it brought it up to his mouth and gave it a deliberately slow kiss, eyes not leaving yours.
Finally letting go, he moved a stray hair out of his face and remarked, “Name’s Daryl, by the way. Glad ya enjoyed the show.” Followed by a wink.
You watched in flustered shock as he casually went back to his band members to chat and put away their gear.
Emily was never going to believe this.
so. damn. cute. I LOVED EVERY PART OF THIS STORY OMG 😭😭😭
Heaven's Gate

Daryl Dixon x Gender Neutral Reader
If there were any more left of me - I'd give it to you.
Summary:
Hope. Not the fragile, delicate thing that everyone mistakes it to be.
Hope is stubborn, and grows inside of you long before you ever realize its purpose there.
Hope can't be crushed by a thousand pound tank or torn apart as easily as concrete walls can. Hope is balanced on the backs of songbirds, it whistles quietly in the wind, and it brings you right where you need to be (even if you don't know it).
Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader. Strangers to Lovers/Lovers Reunited. Emotional Angst, Hurt and Comfort, Fluff. Set during Seasons 1-5.
Word Count: 24,200
The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link
Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.
...
Warnings: the reader character in this fic is completely gender neutral - there is no mentions of the reader's genitals, their clothing style, or their general appearance, and I did not use any gendered terms to refer to the reader whatsoever; a few times the term 'they' is used in conversation, but I tried to be clever and make it so that it could be referring to just the reader or the whole group, interpret it how you want; it is possibly implied that the reader is younger than Daryl, but it's never explicitly stated (when I was writing, this I had in mind that they do have an age gap but I didn't want to state so to leave it more open-ended) - the main focus is the reader being less experienced with survival skills and more 'citified', which is the case for a lot of the characters at the beginning of the apocalypse; there is a lot of TWD themes in the fic - death; canon typical violence, hunting and killing animals for food, killing other humans in order to survive, killing walkers, gun violence, mentions of food scarcity, the general emotional depression that comes with being surrounded by death and being on the brink of survival, mentions of Merle being racist and sexist (the fic does not contain him saying any slurs or performing any actions in alignment with this, it is a background element); there is mentions of canon plot points and this fic will spoil Seasons 2 through 5 if you are watching the show for the first time and haven't seen those episodes yet (I am looking at you, Star), mentions of 'fate' and 'good luck' as concepts; bird symbolism (that may not be accurate to the general recordings of these symbols and are just things I have learned from my personal life), mentions of religion - mentions of the reader praying to 'any god that will listen' (the reader is not religious to one specific religion, but believes in prayer) (yes all of the spiritual concepts in this fic come from my personal life lmao); mentions of canon injuries - Daryl being shot with his own crossbow and then being shot in the ear by Andrea; mentions of stitches for medical purposes; use of the term Y/N (I am nothing if not a traditionalist); mentions of alcohol/characters drinking (Beth and Daryl at the moonshine shack) - implications of genetic alcoholism and how it plays into Beth and Daryl's interactions with alcohol; passing mentions of Daryl smoking cigarettes; mentions of Daryl's abusive past (non-detailed); Daryl describes the reader as 'beautiful' in his personal narration; mention of reader having an abusive father (a father who is 'similar to Ed') (this is not described in detail); mentions of suicide (performed by a non-named character not during the time of the story) (also mentions of Daryl having suicidal ideations due to hopelessness when the prison falls); mentions of taking things off of dead bodies because those things are useful for survival; I think that's it.
A/N: I re-wrote the summary like four times cause I actually have no clue how to summarize the essence of the fic. But I hope this fits well. This is way more about the emotions than it is about what's actually happening in the fic. I am really proud of this fic and I hope that you guys like it.
...
Daryl Dixon was someone who came into your life quietly.
When that original group first made camp at the quarry around Dale’s old RV outside of Atlanta, trying to escape the epic traffic jam and the chilling after effects of the hellish bombs that had been dropped on the city, everyone thought that it would only be temporary. Everyone thought that it would last a few days, at most. Everyone held onto the comforting delusion that it wouldn’t be long until the world got back up on its feet again.
You certainly never thought that all of the people within that camp would become a second family to you - people you would die for, kill for if needed.
When you first saw Daryl, he was trying to hold back his drunken brother Merle from getting into a fight with Shane. You didn’t think much of him then - perhaps you wondered why he stood up for someone so sour and surly, but you knew that the loyalty of blood related family meant too much to some people. That he was likely willing to do far too much for someone who would never return the same favors for him. (And you turned out to be right.)
These days, you thought of Daryl Dixon with increasing frequency and a mixed bag of emotions that you struggled to carry. Bitter nostalgia being at the top of that list.
When you woke up on this particular morning, you thought of him as you gathered your hunting gear. You heard his quiet, gravelly voice in your ear telling you to travel light, but reminding you that the items you should take would each be important and serve a planned purpose. The knife on your belt was heavy with memories of him, ached with the ghost of his touch.
You thought of him as you tracked a buck’s steps through the dirt. You thought of him as you crept through the woods, feeling equal parts peaceful and dangerously pensive. You thought of him that night as you sat beside a gently crackling fire, the flames warming you only beside he had taught you how to start one. You thought of him as you eventually took down the deer - as you skinned it, gutted it, and portioned exactly how he had taught you.
Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood rinsing off your skin (from when you had cleaned the deer), and the general dirt you had gathered on you from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have.
But you missed Daryl so damn much.
It was strange to think that things had been so different not that long ago.
…
The quarry was an oddly beautiful place to be during one of the darkest times in your life.
It was the definition of breathtaking - crystal blue waters, bright green grass, nothing but open space to let the sun shine down on you. None of that city stink from the piled-up, rotting corpses. This far away from Atlanta, it was easy to forget why you were all gathered here, camping out night after night. It was easy to forget that this was about survival and it wasn’t a simple summer vacation.
Well, it was easy to forget when you weren’t actively staring down that city full of corpses. Which is something that you tried your best to do - forget. You tried to focus on the task in front of you, tried not to let yourself get too bogged down with dread at the idea of the end of the world.
You knew that the others likely would have called you foolish because of it. But you had to keep your head up in order to keep going. It was how you survived.
Currently, you were playing a game with the kids - a makeshift game of kickball with an inflatable beach ball that you had gotten for them during your last trip into the city. You were one of the only people that Glenn trusted to go with him. Mainly because you had lived in the city before everything had ‘gone to shit’ - before the bombs. So you knew it well, and you could have his back.
When Carl accidentally kicked the ball past you, you rushed to get it, and you became slightly hesitant when you saw that it had landed at the feet of Daryl Dixon. He was in deep concentration, gutting and cleaning one of the many squirrels that he had recently caught, his fingers stained red with blood. You had never seen animal butchery in person before, and it did make you slightly squeamish. You had only spoken to him a handful of times, most of those conversations less than four words each, and he was one of the only people in the camp that you were still slightly weary of.
His generally stoic nature and his brother - his mouthy, racist, sexist asshole of a brother - didn’t exactly make him approachable or friendly. Though you weren’t exactly sure if Daryl agreed with everything that his brother did and said, or if he just stood by the man because he was family. You still took caution, approaching him like you would approach a supposedly tame bear. Very carefully.
“Sorry,” You quickly apologized for possibly disturbing him as you rushed to grab the ball, and he spared you only a harsh sideways glance as you picked it up.
“Ain’t nothin’.” He shrugged, his words coming out as they always did, in a quiet grunt.
Feeling an awkward lull come over you as his intrusive gaze continued to stare you down, you felt more words form in your mouth and spew out your lips before you could stop them.
“I was just playing kickball with the kids,” You quickly explained, gesturing to the small grassy area about ten feet behind you where Carl and Sophia were standing, waiting for you.
Daryl’s eyes strayed curiously there, clearly listening, and you continued.
“I got them this ball when I went on that run with Glenn. And some other things, too. Coloring books, stickers, fake tattoos. Sophia insisted that I needed one,” You chuckled awkwardly, sticking out your hand to show Daryl the glittery blue tattoo of a butterfly that Sophia had put on you.
He grunted, nodding in reply.
You weren’t expecting him to speak any further, and it surprised you when he did.
“‘s good.” He mumbled. “Makes ‘em happy.”
In the back of his mind, he considered adding on some sentiment about ‘kids being kids’, getting to have fun during such a dark time - but he stopped short. He didn’t want to annoy you with the conversation that you were clearly only partaking in out of social nicety. Politeness that a world falling apart no longer needed.
You nodded, flashing him a smile. “Yeah.”
“Come on! Bring the ball back!” Carl shouted, distracting you from the interaction, causing you to walk away without another word.
Daryl watched you playing with the kids for a few moments - laughing and running around with them, somehow so carefree in a world that was determined to fall apart. He wondered if you had always been like this, or if being around kids just brought that out in you. He wasn’t sure which reason made you better in his eyes - and he certainly wasn’t sure why he thought about it for so long.
Why he thought about you for so long.
He had to shake himself back to reality and go back to cleaning his kills.
…
“Daryl!”
You called out his name as you jogged up toward the stables, and he stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to catch up with him.
“Daryl, hey.” You greeted him with a small smile. “Rick told me you’d be up here.”
He grunted in reply. “Yeah. ‘m gonna take a horse out. Make better ground t’ look for the girl.”
Your stomach clenched at him mentioning Sophia.
The group was supposed to be headed out towards Fort Benning - supposed to be finding refuge at the hopefully safe military base. Instead, you were all setting up camp at the very reluctant Hershel Greene’s farm, not straying too far from where you had lost one of your own in the hopes of finding her.
But that was why you had come to talk to Daryl in the first place.
Sophia had become like a sister to you in the few short months that you had known her. And though everyone else kept telling you it was deeply unlikely, you were hopeful that she was alive - that she would be found. And you did believe that Daryl would be the one to find her.
“How’s the trail?” You asked. “Do you think you know which way she headed? You - you can be honest with me.”
You hesitated on the last part. But you did want his honesty more than anything. You knew that he was never one to sugar-coat things. Even if you hadn’t told him that, he would give you the truth.
“Trail’s a little muddy.” He said, doling out that honesty. “‘m gon follow the river. It’s her biggest landmark out there, so she’ll probably be somewhere round it.”
You smiled at him. And then, you remembered -
“I brought you something.” You noted, reaching for the back pocket of your jeans.
Daryl watched with quiet curiosity as you pulled out a piece of paper - when you showed it to him, he quickly realized that it was a half-used set of stickers.
“These are some of the stickers that I got for Sophia,” You explained. “My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.”
You peeled off a sticker of a bright red bird with a pointed head and a black pattern that resembled an eye mask - as much of a nature man as he was, Daryl was never one for bird watching. He didn’t care about identifying certain species of birds unless he could shoot and eat them. But he quickly reasoned that this must be the cardinal that you spoke of.
“Give me your bow.” You said, shoving the rest of the sticker sheet into your back pocket again and holding out your hand expectantly.
“I don’t need no luck.” He replied, voice full of snark.
In a sense, he thought it was… sweet. You were trying to share some of that brightness with him that the kids got every single day. But he didn’t need you marking up his crossbow with a dumb little sticker. Especially because once Sophia was found, you wouldn’t give a shit to talk to him or be around him any more.
“Just give it.” You replied - equally snarky, equally stubborn.
Daryl sighed and tugged his bow’s strap over his head, presenting it to you. You placed the sticker on the bow’s handle, in one of the places where it wasn’t as worn down from him holding it.
“There,” You said, giving it back to him with a smile. “Now you’re all set.”
It was more for you than it was for him - a token of good faith and protection. The idea that you could do something to bring Sophia home when you felt so powerless.
Daryl let out a harsh sound - somewhere between a laugh and a sarcastic snort as he walked away. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” You replied brightly, edging into a sarcasm of your own.
He resisted the urge to flip you off, believing that you were too sensitive to take it as a joke.
You watched him off for a while, seeing him disappear into the stables before you left to do your own chores. As you scrubbed at laundry, you sent a prayer to every god you could think of that your new little sister would be found alive.
…
Daryl felt like a dumbass.
When Daryl was laying on the harsh, rocky ground after the horse had thrown him, with one of his own arrows digging into his side - he wanted to laugh at the fact that you had supposedly ‘blessed’ his bow with ‘good luck’. He had owned and used the bow for years previous, and not once had he ever been injured by it. You had it in your hands for all five seconds, and now - he had been thrown off a horse and shot by the damn thing. It was the definition of irony.
While he laid on the ground, struggling for breath, bleeding from his wound, drifting in and out of consciousness - he spotted a flash of bright red above him.
He managed to pry his eyes open long enough to properly focus on it, and -
It was your damn bird.
A bright red cardinal had landed in one of the trees above him, staring down at him in a seemingly taunting manner.
‘My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.’
“Good… good luck… my ass.” Daryl huffed out, still spiteful even if he was exhausted and losing blood. Even if no one else was around to hear this verbal jab.
His head lulled to the side, and before his eyes could drift closed as he truly succumbed to the blood loss, he spotted something else - a bright floral fabric, and some strings of yarn that definitely didn’t belong in the muddy creek bed. Once again, he forced himself to focus on it, pushing through the heaviness that threatened to overtake him. He realized in a heart-jolting moment that he had seen the object before.
It was Sophia’s doll.
He turned back to where the bird was still sitting on that branch above him.
“Any… any chance you can lead me to the girl?”
Perhaps it was the dizziness of his injury talking, but he could have sworn that the bird tiled its head at him - as though quizzically asking: ‘what girl?’
It was the spite that kept him conscious, the idea that he would get to laugh in your face when he got back and tell you how unlucky your ‘blessing’ had been. But it was his desire to find Sophia and bring her home that truly got him up on his feet again.
…
Your bird didn’t lead him to Sophia, but it did get him back to the farm before he completely collapsed from his injury - even if he was greeted by a bullet from Andrea, believing he was a Walker.
Because of that bullet sharply colliding with his head, he didn’t remember to tell you about that bird finding him laying in the creek bed until much later. It didn’t come back to mind until the group had truly settled into the prison, after welcoming in the people from Woodbury when the ‘war’ with the Governor was seemingly over. He only thought about it that night when the two of you were up late on watch because he had seen another cardinal on one of his runs that day, and he was telling you how much the damn bird had annoyed him.
Daryl wasn’t someone who believed in luck, but he knew that the story would entertain you nonetheless. And it did.
In fact, it entertained you so much that it caused you to plant a confident hand on his shoulder and lean in for a kiss - sealing your mouth against his, trapping any noises of surprise in his throat as he stood frozen, pinned against the guard rail.
He only truly had time to take in what had happened - to process that sweet, perfect kiss after you had chirped a ‘goodnight’ to him and left. You mentioned something about going on a morning run with Glenn and Sasha to scope out a place with more supplies, but his ears were still beating with blood and he barely heard you.
He had to get used to it then - being yours. But he found that even though the hand-holding and the hugging could be a bit embarrassing at times - he liked it. He liked having someone taking care of him as much as he tried to take care of others. And though it was something he had desperately tried to deny because of your stubbornness and your sharp tongue - he liked you. He was beginning to love you in that dangerous way that was going to get him hurt.
But he would deny that. And he would do anything to stop that from happening.
And that was one of the most dangerous parts about it.
…
It wasn’t just you that he was willing to die in order to protect. Daryl had gotten dangerously attached to life at the prison. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he had a home. Family, friends. As soon as Hershel told them about the veterinary college, about a place where there might be medicine to combat this strange flu that had suddenly struck his home and the people in it - he knew he had to get a group together.
Before he went outside to get the car ready, and make sure he had all the equipment inside it, he stopped by your cell. It would be rude not to say goodbye.
His stomach dropped when he heard coughing.
“Y/N-” He spoke your name in that alarming tone, concern so ripe in the single word as he pulled aside the curtain you had hung across your door for privacy.
You cut him off before he could say anymore.
“I know.” You said, your voice annoyed and slightly strained from the illness clearly running through your body. “I need to go into Cellblock A for quarantine. I’m - I’m on my way there now. I’m just gathering up some stuff. My sketchbook and some novels. I’m guessing it’ll be boring as shit in there,”
Daryl nodded, and moved to step into your cell, wanting to place his hand on your forehead to check you for a fever. He wanted to know how bad it was - how much time he had to get back with the medicine.
“Don’t come any closer.” You said abruptly, raising your hand to keep him back. “I don’t - don’t wanna get you sick too.”
Hesitantly, he stayed where he was.
He knew that you were right, and he knew that it was weak of him - but he found himself craving the affection that he previously found annoying. He had been hoping that you would hug him before he left.
“‘m goin’ on a run.” He said. “Hershel told us ‘bout this old veterinary college - he said there’s medicine that could help.”
“Medicine for dogs?” You heaved out a laugh, strained and full of crud in your lungs, collapsing to sit on the edge of your bunk.
Daryl shrugged.
“Apparently it’s the same as medicine for people.” Then, after a moment of you staring at him with uncertainty, he added on: “He gave us a list.” He assured you, patting his breast pocket, where that list was currently sitting.
You nodded. Naturally, you trusted Daryl. You had to, after everything you had been through together.
Then, you turned to the bag that you had been packing up and took out a sketchbook that looked familiar to Daryl - one that he often saw you doodling in. You flicked through a few of the pages and then ripped one out, presenting it to him with an extended arm. You covered your mouth and nose with your shirt, seemingly for the assurance that you wouldn’t breathe on him so that he could come and fetch this from you.
He took one step closer and grabbed the paper, and you coughed into your shirt as he stepped back and inspected the drawing. He wasn’t surprised to see that it was a beautifully drawn sketch of a cardinal - shaded red with what he guessed were smudges of lipstick. He was almost sure that you had picked it up at one of the houses the group had stayed in during the long winter after they had to abandon the Greene farm.
“For - for luck.” You told him between more coughs, letting your shirt down to smile at him.
He knew by now not to attempt rejecting the symbol. He wouldn’t say that he believed in it - but he believed in you. And he wanted to have you with him. So he folded it up and tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt, right next to the list that Hershel had given him.
“You’re a fool.” He griped, half-winded, only half meaning it.
You smiled brightly at him, your face clearly tired from feeling so ill.
“You love me.” You replied with utter certainty.
He rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to point out that this was a growing problem. That it would pull his focus during the run for the medicine - that he would be distracted thinking about getting home and getting that medicine to you.
“Now go on and get,” He told you, motioning toward Cellblock A.
You gathered your things and got up, making a wide berth around Daryl as you walked down the stairs.
“And I don’t wanna hear nothin’ about you bein’ heroic neither.” He called after you, shouting at your back. “You’re gonna go in there n get your ass t’ bed, ya hear me?”
You knew it was his way of caring - wanting you to rest when you were sick.
You turned back and gave him a big smile and blew him a kiss - something he often remarked upon as being ‘childish’. He hated that it caused a flutter in his stomach, and he couldn’t help that his form of affection in return was to flip you off. You loved it just as much.
…
That was the last time you spoke to him before the prison fell. But it wasn’t the last time that he spoke to you.
When he got back, you were unconscious - you had to be bagged by Hershel to help you breathe, and the medicine helped you survive. Just barely. Daryl held your hand and begged you to live, and eventually he had to be distracted away from your unconscious body by Maggie so that he wouldn’t simply sit there the whole time and mourn. She reminded him that they all had jobs to do, and he made a few rounds of the prison, busying himself with chores to help everyone else get by so that he wouldn’t drive himself insane at your bedside.
And that’s what he had been doing when the Governor rolled up with a thousand pound tank and shot their walls down.
He knew that his love for you would come back to bite him in the ass one day.
…
Daryl got out with Beth.
He almost couldn’t stand her bright, big eyes staring at him, waiting for answers - her chirpy little voice, prodding at him, demanding that they ‘follow the trail’, telling him that they needed to go look for everyone else. Telling him that he was a tracker, that he could find them. As if it was his damn responsibility just because he had the skills to get it done.
It was all too reminiscent of you, telling him that he could find Sophia. That it was a ‘when’, not an ‘if’. All too hopeful, all too damn certain.
Perhaps that was what got him off his ass and doing what he did best - reading the dirt.
“What’re you doin’?” He asked, staring at the girl curiously as she went to one of the bushes and rushed to pick berries from branches. Had she not gotten enough to eat that morning?
“They’ll be hungry when we find them.” Beth told him confidently.
Of course. That undefeatable streak of optimism.
Daryl knew that blueberries weren’t your favorite - but he should have something to give you. He would be too busy tracking the footprints to properly hunt for squirrels or rabbits and clean them for you. So, he found himself pulling a large bandana from his back pocket and offering it to Beth - something to hold the berries in to keep them safe as an offering for you.
“Here.” He grunted at her.
Beth smiled at him.
It was one of the last smiles she gave him for a long time.
When they came across those bodies splayed out beside the tracks - any sense of hope was crushed inside of him. The picture you had gifted him was heavy inside his breast pocket, and he hated that tears threatened his eyes - even if he carefully looked them over to confirm it, and he knew that none of those bodies belonged to you. There was no trace of you there.
It was just a cold reminder that even if the others had gotten out of the prison, they could be dead. They likely were dead.
The days started to blur into each other, and Daryl couldn’t get you off his mind.
One hazy evening, as he and Beth both stared into the fire with dead looks on their faces, he took the drawing out of his pocket and unfolded it.
For good luck.
He didn’t believe in luck - because it didn’t exist. The world was fucked. Nobody was lucky. You and your good luck were dead.
He tossed the drawing into the fire, ready to burn it up along with anything he had ever felt for you. Only a moment later, when the corner of it had barely caught, just barely turning black, Beth snatched it out. She stomped on it with her boot, successfully saving it.
“Don’t do that.” She hissed at him.
Daryl snatched it from her, and crumbled it up, tossing it aside. He let out a harsh grunt, but refused to look at her.
“That was from Y/N, wasn’t it?” She posed.
He could feel her imposing stare as she waited for an answer.
He didn’t give her one.
Just because they had an unspoken agreement to help keep each other alive didn’t mean that he had to participate in stupid conversations with her.
“You can’t burn up the past. You can’t burn your love for people just because you think they’re dead.” Beth sighed, tired and defiant. “You can’t burn up memories. We’re gonna find them. Y/N, and Maggie, and Michonne, and - and everyone. We’re all gonna be together again.”
Daryl scoffed. “Yeah. Cause that’s gon’ happen.”
Beth rolled her eyes, but didn’t speak any further on the subject.
After she had fallen asleep - when the fire was dull, Daryl picked up the crumbled ball and smoothed it out again. The charred corner hadn’t even touched your bird. He felt like a fool doing it, just as much of a fool as he accused you of being, but he folded it neatly - well, as neatly as he could. And then put it back into his breast pocket again.
But that was the thing - Daryl wished that he could. He wished he could burn up those memories. He wished that Beth was wrong.
He wished that you would stop haunting him. Then he wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore.
…
When Daryl sat up in camp that night with his back to the trunk of a tree, he did not intend to fall asleep. He honestly did not think he was capable of doing so - even with the exhaustion so deep in his bones, he was used to going without sleep. He was used to trudging on much like the Walkers shambling around them - upright, puffing shallow breaths, but barely there, barely conscious. These days, he felt as though sleep was a luxury.
As the fire died down, Beth turned over with her back to him, curling an elbow under her head, the only thing separating her from the dirt. She no longer bothered with the mockering of grunting out ‘night’ as an acknowledgement that she was trying to go to sleep (because she stopped saying ‘goodnight’, long ago, even at the prison, because those were few and far between).
Daryl supposed that he was staying up to keep watch. They did have the cans and spare car parts scattered around on lines to make noise if any stray Walkers wandered near their camp. He knew that he slept light, and this would be more than enough noise to wake him if he did fall asleep.
With his eyes locked on her back, he wondered if Beth slept at all these days, or if she simply laid down to fake it. Maybe so that she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore, even for a few hours. Sometimes, he would notice the grip on her knife beside her head go a bit laxer, and believe that this was a true sign that she had actually managed to drift into unconsciousness. Still, even if she wasn’t sleeping, he should keep watch.
Daryl hadn’t intended to fall asleep.
Daryl’s consciousness was jolted suddenly - his entire existence shaken by the feeling of someone - something grabbing his legs. When he looked down, he saw the blur of a snarling Walker crawling up his body. He panicked, his heart thudding hard inside his chest. Naturally, he reached for his crossbow beside him - grabbing, hands shaking, grasping at air.
It was gone. It wasn’t there. What the hell?
One of the cold hands grabbed his shirt, forcing him to look back down the length of his own body at the beast. When its head snapped up toward him, he was filled with a colder kind of shock.
It was you.
Though your once beautiful features had been tainted with rot, yellowing teeth, and your laughter filled eyes had turned sour and rotted like putrid eggs - he absolutely recognized that this was you.
He sucked more gasping breaths, and reached for the knife on his belt, but - that was gone too.
Then, somehow - you let out a dark, harrowing laugh. A laugh that shook everything he was, that somehow managed to echo through the trees and rattled the ground underneath him. An utter mockery of his entire existence.
“This is all your fault, Daryl.” You spewed, your rotting mouth spilling out horrible, black blood. “You did this to me!”
Then, in an utterly horrifying moment, you reached down and tore into him - your weak, dead hands easily ripping into his abdomen, and before his very eyes, you ripped out his guts so that you could consume him like a perfect, bloody feast. Just as you had in life, you dined on parts of him that he would never get back, stole his life force with no consideration as to how he would ever get it back.
You didn’t care how he would survive without you.
Daryl awoke with a start - the sound of the cans clanking at the edge of their small campsite forcing him back to reality with a harsh jolt.
His fingers wrapped around his crossbow where it was seated between his knees within seconds. Before his sleep-sticky eyes were even fully open, he had the loaded end pointed at the source of the sound - a tired, messy-haired Beth, who was wandering back into camp with her hands full of something.
“Told you not to go wonderin’ off.” Daryl barked at her easily, hating how his heart thumped in his chest with residual ‘fight or flight’ instincts, even though he knew that she was of no true threat to him - still partially spooked from the horrible dream that he would never tell anybody about, ever.
He slumped back against the tree, keeping a careful eye on her as she came back to her place beside him, already spouting her surly argument against him.
“I saw some berry bushes over there.” She whined quietly. “Daddy taught me what’s safe and-”
“Don’t matter.” Daryl grunted in return, hating that he felt a sensitive pang inside of him at the mention of Hershel. “I told you: don’t go nowhere without me.”
Beth let out a sharp sigh. “You’re such an asshole.”
He was.
Nonetheless, she silently slid some of the berries his way, carefully contained on the bandana that he had given her before for such berry-picking purposes - and nonetheless, he ate them.
Later that day, when he was prowling the woods with Beth at his back, hoping to score something a bit more substantial for dinner - his eyes landed on the faded splotch of the cardinal sticker that you had put on his crossbow during his time spent looking for Sophia. His thumb traced it idly, and he knew that Beth was dying to ask about it, but held back.
He knew then that he would never be able to escape your ghost.
…
Daryl wished that he could burn up the memories. He wished that you would get the hell out of his head. That if you were dead, every last trace of you would just die.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he had seen you - back in A block, after he had brought back the medicine.
…
He thought it was a victory - getting the meds back to the prison. He thought that it was simple. If he got to the veterinary college, got the meds that they needed, got the run group back in one piece - he thought it would be a win. He knew you. You were a fighter. You would hold on long enough for him to get back. He had to do all the guesswork. He had to keep everyone going on the road.
If anything, he knew that you would be doing the exact opposite of what he had told you - you would be up and about, shuffling through the makeshift ward, feeding the people the hope that you grew and doled out so well. That was your job. He just had to do his.
Maybe it was that stupid, foolish hope infecting him like the illness had infected you - but he truly thought that getting the medication and getting back would be the only complicated part.
“Hey, Doc, how we doin’ in here?” Daryl asked, stepping to lean against the mouth of the cell that you had taken up temporary residence in.
Of course, he was calling Hershel ‘doc’ with a joking air. The man loved to tell everyone now that he wasn’t actually a doctor - but few actually listened. They trusted his experience and the way he spoke with wise authority more than anything.
Hershel used a stethoscope to listen to your lungs, and then looked up at Daryl, his face firm and unreadable. Daryl didn’t like it - but he was still being strung along like a fish on a hook by that foolish, bitter hope.
“Y/N is doing a lot better than before.” He said, placing a gentle hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. “The meds have helped to take down the fever.”
Daryl nodded. “Tha’s good.”
Hershel gave him a serious look. “I like you a lot, Daryl. So I don’t intend to lie to you.”
Daryl’s stomach clenched up - grabbed by a fist of nerves.
You were alive. You were breathing - Daryl confirmed this, locking his eyes on the gentle up and down puff of your chest. What else could possibly be wrong?
“Our friend here is showing remarkable signs of improvement, as is everyone who received the medication that you brought back. You have done a mighty service to these people, Daryl.”
Daryl knew this wasn’t simple praise for the work he had done. This was the sunshine before the storm - it was an omen. He could feel the ‘but’ coming before Hershel spoke it.
“But,”
Of course. There it was.
“-I have to warn you.” Hershel sighed. “We had to perform CPR on Y/N for an extended period of time.”
Daryl’s eyes cast over your face, fixated on your peaceful, unconscious form. His ears became fuzzy, filled with blood, and he could hardly focus on more of the older man’s words as he explained your condition. Explained how you had been deprived of oxygen for a few minutes - how you were at risk of brain death, and Hershel had no way of knowing what the state of your brain activity was without the proper equipment. If your brain wasn’t active enough, you would never wake up again.
All they could do now was to sit and wait for you to wake up. If you were going to wake up at all.
Hershel left Daryl alone with you, and he perched himself on the edge of your bed, his ass shuffled in tightly by the edge of your hip, struggling to find purchase on the edge of the small bunk. It was much like you had done to him after he had been haphazardly shot by Andrea. He took your hand in his, his eyes still focused on your unconscious face - at least you looked peaceful.
With a large knot forming in his throat, he attempted to speak.
Even though he was unsure if you could hear him - he couldn’t contain what he had to say.
“You’re an asshole.” He mumbled out. Part of him was expecting to get a reaction out of you. To mock you into waking up. “I went through all that damn trouble to get those meds, and you gone n croaked on me while I was gone?”
Your face didn’t even flinch.
You were so damn still.
For the first time since he had met you - not laughing, not smiling, not loudly voicing your chirpy, hopeful sentiments. So still.
“Nah, that’s bullshit.” He growled out, his voice growing louder as his frustration grew inside of him - as he became more determined to wake you. “You’re gonna wake up. Wake up!” He shouted, his words echoing painfully off the walls.
In the next cell over, Maggie heard this and became distracted from dabbing a wet cloth against Glenn’s forehead. He was still drifting in and out of consciousness, still too sick to fully take this in. But it caused Maggie to strain her ears, listening in on what happened next.
“You’re gonna wake up. You’re gonna-”
Daryl was startled when he found himself choking on his own words. He sucked in a sharp breath, and despite his best efforts, a sob rattled his chest, and a hot tear rolled down his face.
“Why do I gotta to everythin’ around here? You set me off into the woods lookin’ for Sophia like it was my damn job. Make everythin’ my damn responsibility. I had to teach you everythin’. I had to teach you how to start a damn fire - what kind of simple asshole doesn’t know that?”
He swallowed thickly.
Truly, he wasn’t angry at you.
It all came down to one thing.
“Come on. Come - o-on. You know I can’t do this on my own.” He choked out, his face shrinking into a sob. “I can’t do this on my own.”
He turned more toward you, laying himself down gently so that his face was pressed into your chest. He turned his head - laying his ear against your chest, listening carefully for your heart beat. It was there - thumping along steadily.
Hershel had warned him that your breathing wasn’t the problem. Brain damage would keep you from waking up because your nervous system wouldn’t be active again.
If you didn’t wake up, would you still turn into one of them?
According to what Jenner had told them at the CDC, maybe not.
Maybe you just be like this forever - stuck somewhere in the middle. Some hollow thing for Daryl to scream at that would never answer back.
“You gotta wake up.” Daryl choked out. Knowing that only you would hear, he gathered up the bravery to speak out his next words. “I - I love you.”
In the next cell over - Maggie heard all of it. She was holding Glenn’s hand, wondering what she would do if she were in Daryl’s shoes. She now had muddy tears in her eyes, listening to Daryl plead to you to wake up. Hearing Daryl - someone who had been so stony and tough in her eyes before - cry for the first time - it hit her hard.
So it got her up; she kissed Glenn’s hand and told him that she would be back later, and he mumbled something incoherent back.
“Daryl.”
Maggie felt guilty when he jumped up - clearly alarmed by her presence at the opening of the cell, breaking his bubble of alone time with you. He began to frantically wipe at his face, obviously afraid to be vulnerable in front of her by showing his tears. After all that they had been through together - he still wasn’t willing to show this weakness in front of her.
He only grunted in acknowledgment of her, staring hard at the floor instead of looking up at her.
“These people need water. And they could probably use a good meal after all this.” Maggie told him. “I know you wanna stay with Y/N right now, but - come on, we all got jobs to do.”
Daryl nodded. “Right. You’re right.”
They did have jobs to do. But of course, the main reason she reminded him of the chores was to distract him. To keep him from going insane at your bedside, waiting for you to wake up.
And that was the last he had seen of you before the Governor blasted a hole in A Block with the tank.
…
When Daryl and Beth got to the moonshine shack, it truly came to a head.
Daryl didn’t want to play the stupid game - he just wanted to drink in peace. He wanted to get shitfaced and hopefully pass out, actually. He wanted to have a good, booze-induced heavy sleep so that he could spend one night not plagued with spotty sleep and nightmares of your death - seeing your face painted in his mind as a nightmarish, growling dead thing. One night where he didn’t stay awake and stare at the back of Beth’s sleeping head because he couldn’t bear to close his own eyes.
He didn’t want to play the game, but he did anyway.
It got out of hand.
Instead of trying to calm down, he rode the wave, leaning into the only existence he thought he knew - he turned back into the sputtering, bitter asshole that had once protected him so well. The hard shell that had kept him from getting his feelings hurt when the world had been cruel to him before. When Beth stabbed the Walker in the head, ending his game, he grew all too worried that she had figured him out - that she would try to get him to talk about his feelings.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Daryl howled. “We was havin’ fun!”
He knew it wasn’t true. Nothing about this was fun.
“No, you were being a jackass!” Beth easily corrected him.
She was far too much like you. Too direct. Never one to dance around the point instead of saying exactly what she meant.
“If anyone found my dad-”
Daryl was eager to cut off her additional reasoning, not wanting to think about it - he couldn’t add the mental image of a turned, dead-alive Hershel to his nightmare rotation as well.
“Don’t!” He barked back, making her swallow up her words. “That ain’t remotely the same!”
He had to convince himself of that fact. This random Walker pinned to a tree wasn’t family. At least - it wasn’t the same because it wasn’t his family.
Beth gave him a tight-jawed look, staring him down with those large, knowing eyes. In that moment, he could hear your voice in his head, telling him exactly what she wanted to say.
‘It’s someone’s family, Daryl. That Walker used to be someone. He used to belong to someone - he used to be important to someone. You need to consider that.’
Instead, Beth countered with something a bit more broad.
“Killing them is not supposed to be fun.”
She scolded him like a child, and he felt intensely small in that moment. He hated it.
“What do you want from me, girl?” He warbled out, barely able to find his voice.
He barely had anything left to give.
He was a shit protector - as he had proven, unable to stop the prison walls from collapsing on top of you. Unable to hunt down the Governor - unable to keep him from rolling up to the gates with a fucking tank and blowing your house down.
He was a terrible tracker - unable to find any of the people they had lost from the prison. He couldn’t provide anything for Beth that she couldn’t get for herself. She was more than capable. She was likely only with him now to stop him from going off into the woods and laying down to die. It was likely out of some mental obligation towards you, because she fully believed that you were still alive.
He didn’t have anything left to give.
After a moment of Daryl waiting with baited breath, she gave an answer.
“I want you to stop acting like you don’t give a crap about anythin’.” She announced firmly.
That would be difficult for him. Because currently, that was the only way he was surviving. He gave way too much of a crap about everything - and turning it all off was the only way he got through.
“Like nothing we went through matters.” She added on. “Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you. It’s bullshit!”
It was bullshit.
“Is that what you think?” Daryl countered sourly.
He cared too much about all of them. It all mattered too much.
If he turned that switch back on - if he let himself care again - it would break him.
“That’s what I know.” She whispered tightly near his face, all hot drunken breath.
“You don’t know nothin’.” He spat back bitterly, absolutely assured of this fact.
“I know you look at me and you just see another dead person.” Beth dueled on, determined to make her own point. “I’m not Michonne, I’m not Carl, I’m not Maggie, I’m not Glenn…. I’m not Y/N.”
She knew that mentioning your name was sensitive, but she did it anyway, as if hoping to evoke some positive emotion out of Daryl. As if hoping to wake him from his dreary hopelessness. She hoped that mentioning you among the list of people that she still concretely believed to be alive would shake him, make him believe it too.
She noticed that Daryl refused to make eye contact when she said it.
When he didn’t say anything about it, she continued on.
“I survived, and you don’t get it, cause I’m not like you or them - but, I made it.”
She spoke passionately, determined about the point. If she had made it - someone who used to be so soft, someone who still needed to be protected - then why hadn’t everyone else made it?
“And you don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid.”
Somehow, among all that, one singular point stood out to Daryl.
“I ain’t afraid of nothin’.” He grumbled back.
To him, it was a horrid accusation.
He had already lost everything that was important to him - what could fear possibly do to him now?
Fear was the stupid, idiotic thing that had held him back in the first place. It had kept him from going after the Governor alongside Michonne. It had kept him tethered to the prison, stuck to your side watching you to make sure that you were safe. And look what it had gotten him.
Nothing but ruin. Nothing but ashes.
Beth looked contemplative for a moment, and Daryl hoped that she would finally just shut up. But then, like an unstoppable, sickly bile - the words came spilling from her lips.
“I remember.” She announced. Before he could wonder what she was talking about, she continued on. “Back when you first came to the farm. The way you were - out combing the woods like a madman, looking for a little girl that wasn’t even yours. You never gave up hope, not once.”
Daryl swallowed down his own words.
He wasn’t some damn fool. He wouldn’t even begin to call it hope. He called it the truth - a little girl lost in the woods shouldn’t be hard to find. Like he had told Andrea at the time - it was the backwoods of Georgia, not the mountains of Tibet. It wasn’t the way that everyone else made it out to be.
“Maggie told me that you cried when Y/N wouldn’t wake up.”
Beth added on - to Daryl it felt like a mockery, a clever prodding at his vulnerability. But to her, it was just another observation.
“That’s why you’re not out there, followin’ the trail. That’s why you’re not even botherin’ to look. You would spend months out there tryna find Y/N if you actually thought-”
“Shut it.” Daryl grunted, cutting off her words.
“You are afraid, Daryl.” Beth told him - and chills went through him as he realized that she had seen right through him. But like a prey animal staring down a predator, he kept stiff eye contact, trying his hardest not to let her know that he was weak. “You’re afraid of findin’ nothin’. And now you’re actin’ like it’s my damn fault.”
When he didn’t speak up to make any apologies for this, she snidely added on:
“God forbid you ever let anybody get too close, right?”
“Too close, huh?” Daryl reared back dully, gearing up for another fierce charge in the argument as things got all too personal. “You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends - you can’t even shed a tear. Your whole family’s gone, all you can do is go out lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch!”
He knew that he was being unjustly cruel to her - that on some level, he was taking it out on her just because he could.
But he couldn’t let her talk anymore about him and his fucking feelings. Especially not about how he acted around you. God forbid that big precious four letter word came up. He needed to pull the knife out of himself and turn it around onto her.
“Screw you! You don’t get it.” She easily snapped back.
“No, you don’t get it!” He roared out, quickly growing tired of the seemingly pointless back and forth. “Everyone we know’s dead!”
Beth looked icy shocked by the statement, but quickly argued against it.
“You don’t know that!” She screeched bitterly at him.
“Might as well be!” He yelled back. “Cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again!”
Finally, they had come around to his entire reasoning - the whole fact as to why he had so faithfully given up. Even if they weren’t dead, he believed that he might as well operate on the assumption that they were.
Of course - Beth was operating on the opposite mindset. Killing time, getting by, surviving until she believed that she would inevitably be reunited with her sister, and the other members of their newfound family.
Beth let out a whimper as the truth of it hit her - as she fought past it. Battling internally as a small voice in the back of her mind said: ‘he might be right’.
“Rick…” Daryl hesitated to list more people. Even now, he hesitated to say your name. “You ain’t never gonna see Maggie again!”
It was a bitter personal attack, but he was putting on that hard outer shell - hoping to get Beth to become just as cold as he was. If she gave up, then she would leave him alone. She would stop trying to inject that stupid, putrid ‘hope’ into him.
But of course, that infallible hope could not be stomped out of her. No matter what.
“Daryl, just stop!” She begged quietly, and then - she reached out for him. Attempting to give him some comforting touch.
The last time he had been touched by someone was when he had held your hand without you even knowing, staring at your unconscious face, waiting for you to wake up. Aside from that - a gentle pat on the shoulder from Hershel, assuring him that everything would be okay.
But both you and Hershel were dead now.
Daryl’s touch was a disease that he would not let Beth catch.
He whipped away from her quickly, and turned to face the dead Walker that was still pinned to the tree.
He used to belong to someone.
That was how Daryl felt now. Used up and dead. Nothing but a past tense in someone else’s life.
“The Governor rolled right up to our gates.” Daryl’s throat clenched tightly around the words. He could barely speak about it, but it was true. “Maybe if I… I wouldn’t’ve stopped lookin’. Maybe it’s cause I gave up? That’s on me!”
He was supposed to keep you safe. He was supposed to keep everyone safe.
He had failed.
“Daryl-” Beth choked out, trying again - but she didn’t have anything to follow up. She couldn’t find anything to combat this particular chasm of self blame.
“Your dad… maybe I coulda done somethin’.” He choked on a sob, and tears clouded his eyes now.
It was his attempt at an apology. But he hadn’t even begun to forgive himself yet - so why the hell would Beth forgive him?
Hershel’s death had been his fault. Your death had been his fault.
The others… even if they were alive, their home was destroyed and now they were vulnerable to a cruel world. And it was all Daryl’s fault.
Daryl finally broke down in sobs, and he didn’t have enough energy to fight off the touch when Beth leaned into him, hugging him from behind.
He couldn’t muster up any more breath to better apologize to her for all he had done, but he hoped that it was implied.
…
Things were a bit more smoothed over later that night, when Beth was drunker and Daryl had sobered up some.
“Is it always like this?” Beth sighed, staring out at the grass with a delighted smile.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she meant. She was clutching a half-filled jar of the moonshine like it was precious, her eyes glassy - obviously no longer fearful of going blind because of the stuff.
“You’re lucky.” Daryl remarked. “You’re a happy drunk.”
Beth let out another contented sigh, and then after a moment, and another sip of the moonshine (which she was taking down without hesitation now), she spoke up again.
“You’re wrong.” She told him calmly, seeming very confident in this fact.
Daryl was tired of talking, but too curious not to reply.
“Bout what?” He asked.
“They’re not dead.” She told him. “They’re out there somewhere. All of them. And we’re gonna find them.”
Daryl wanted to believe her. Some tiny part of him wanted to embrace this as truth. But at this point - it felt too much like fiction. Without his family standing in front of him, pure proof that they were alive and well - he couldn’t let himself partake in that paper thin hope. He couldn’t let himself get high on the hope only to come crashing down from that high in the worst way. He couldn’t let himself be hurt again.
He only grunted in reply, staring at the worn floorboards of the porch, hoping the conversation would naturally frazzle out.
Of course, Beth didn’t let that happen.
“Come on,” She said in a nagging tone. “You don’t really believe that Y/N is dead, do you?”
Daryl wasn’t sure what he believed.
Before this, before the dead had risen up and walked the earth, he had spent his whole life focusing on truth. Concrete truth.
For as long as he had been alive, that truth had been hopeless. His father had beaten him, his brother was an asshole, what little he knew of his mother was a drunken slur ultimately engulfed in flames. He had fended for himself most of his life. He never knew hope or optimism. He never spoke of luck or brightness or tipping the odds in his favor.
Not until he met you.
You laughed so genuinely; you sang the praises of looking on the bright side and blessing people with good luck. And he found that at times - he started to believe you.
But having the Governor roll right up to their gates and blow apart their home wasn’t exactly conducive with everything you had been preaching. Having you sick and likely dead under a pile of concrete, unconscious and crushed without even knowing it wasn’t exactly in line with the ‘good luck’ that you supposedly had.
Even if you didn’t know it, you had been feeding Daryl lies the whole time. And those lies had ruined him.
Daryl couldn’t hold out hope that you or anybody else that he had known and loved from the prison were alive.
“Don’t know.” Daryl grunted in reply. He kept his answer vague, not wanting to stir up another argument with Beth.
“Yes, you do know.” Beth chuckled lightly in reply.
Still ever the optimist. Still so damn certain.
Daryl grunted again. Even if he didn’t agree with her, he wanted the day to end calmly, at the very least.
“Can I see it again?” Beth asked, suddenly changing the subject.
Again, this was a confusing little whip for Daryl - something that clearly only made sense to Beth in her own drunken mind.
“What?” Daryl replied.
“The picture.” Beth answered. “The one you tried to burn.”
Daryl felt a pinch of guilt surge over him at the thought. Oddly enough, this was the one time he would be willing to admit that Beth was right - you can’t burn up memories. He was still glad to have a token of you with him, even if he would never get to see you again.
“It was Y/N, wasn’t it? That drew it.” Beth added on, her words slurring slightly. She lifted the mason jar of booze to her lips again and Daryl was tempted to snatch it away from her. Something in the back of his mind reminded him that he wasn’t her chaperone - she was an adult, and if she wanted to get drunk enough to have a nasty hangover, then that was her choice to make.
Instead, he found his hand drifting to his breast pocket and reaching to take the picture out. He presented it to Beth, who put down her drink to unfold it. She stared at the picture fondly under the brightness of the moonlight, tracing a finger over the slightly faded details.
“You know… my daddy used to tell me that a cardinal is like an angel.” Beth said, recognizing the bird from her father’s teachings on the farm. “Someone - someone you loved who passed away, watching over you from heaven.”
Daryl found this to be a nice thought. He could imagine Hershel’s voice in his head, saying something like this while pointing to the bird among the trees.
“Y/N said they was good luck.” Daryl replied.
It was the first time in a long time that he had gathered the courage to actually speak about you aloud, and he found a painful tugging in his chest because of it.
Beth shrugged. “Same thing.”
It was this thought that kept Daryl going for a long time. The idea that even if you were dead, you were watching over him somehow. He sure as hell didn’t believe that someone like Merle would be an angel - but you, you definitely were. And even if it was a waste of your eternal life, you would be determined to watch over Daryl - to make sure that he was safe, well-guided.
You would make sure that he was lucky.
That thought alone carried him through the long journey to D.C.
It was something that lingered in his mind as the group hunkered down in a random barn - as he spotted something carved into one of the wooden beams holding the place up. Even though it wasn’t colored, he could have sworn that the long tail and pointed head of the silhouette indicated that the carving was meant to be cardinal. Of course.
Who knows who had stayed in the barn before them - if it had been left there by a weary traveler, or even put there by someone who had used the barn before the Turn. But Daryl could have sworn that you - your ghost, your angelic hand - had led him to this very spot.
It was a thought that gave him strength as he held the doors up - helped to keep them from caving in while the storm raged outside.
Your luck, and your damn bird - you would keep him safe.
When they reached Alexandria, and they were forced to give up their weapons - Daryl spotted your bird perched on the fence. Bright red, with its pointy head cocked sideways at him. All too knowing, staring at him like it wanted to say something. Just like it had been when he had fallen off the cliff out in the woods when he had been looking for Sophia.
Oddly enough, it made him feel safe giving up his crossbow - perching his precious weapon on top of the fully loaded cart before the awkward, bespeckled woman wheeled it away.
Rick was still weary of this new place after everything that had happened at Terminus, and Daryl understood. He followed Rick’s lead. Especially because he couldn’t tell Rick that he had a good feeling about this place because he saw a damn bird. Even if he was feeling such foolish things, he knew that he couldn’t speak them aloud.
(He couldn’t speak them aloud to anybody but you. And well…)
But even if it was just in spirit, he felt you there. He knew that it was the home you had chosen for them.
So Daryl entered the strangely clean suburban home that Aaron had picked out for them and tried to imagine himself truly living there. He tried to think of Alexandria as his new home now. Because he knew that it’s what you would have wanted for him.
…
You were tired.
You had just gotten back from a three day long hunting trip - three whole days out in the woods, killing small game while tracking a deer in order to shoot it and haul it home.
For a while now, home had been a town called Alexandria.
Well, you wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘home’.
Alexandria was a great place to live, sure - but to you, home was a certain redneck bowman who often stank of cigarettes and dirt and had to be reminded to wash his hands before eating a meal. Home was the gentle grunt he gave you in response to a variety of questions, the scratch of his beard on your skin as he kissed you.
You couldn’t think about him for too long - because you would get homesick.
Since the prison had fallen, since you had escaped nothing more than debris and a crowd of Walkers - you had been moving from place to place, drifting. A lot of the time, you used the skills that Daryl had taught you during your time together in order to survive.
When you found Alexandria, it felt like a dream.
At first, you questioned why a shiny gee-golly boy in a blue rain jacket was trying so hard to ‘recruit’ you. You had to feel naturally suspicious of him and his stack of polaroids. But then you remembered what Daryl had said about bringing people back to the prison - bringing new people in wasn’t just about pity. There was strength in numbers. It became very clear to you very quickly that Alexandria needed fighters - they were bringing people as a tactic.
You leaned into it. You proved to them what a good asset you were. You doubled down on using everything that Daryl had taught you in order to earn your place in the closed off community.
You hunted and brought back game for the people there to eat, you used the skills Daryl had taught you to maintain the cars for runs and even fix-up ones that had been previously out of commission. You were widely liked by the members of the community, and Deanna often called on you for advice about dealing with Walkers. You had been on a few runs with their crews, but you preferred to stay close to town, to keep an eye on things.
The hunt you had recently taken - three long days out in the woods. That had been for you. Something you had learned with Daryl was that hunting could be intensely peaceful. Maybe it was because it was time you spent with him - time when the two of you didn’t need words, just soaked in each other’s presence. Maybe you missed that too dearly. But you needed it to be just you and the trees, the focus on the craft that he had taught you.
No closed-off bottle town politics. No smiling and nodding and pretending to care when the others complained about asinine things like the water from their showers going cold too quickly. Complained about being bored. To you, boredom was a blessing these days.
No men sniffing around you, firing off increasingly poor attempts at flirting, believing that you were single even though you couldn’t tell them otherwise. It was difficult to explain to anyone in town that your heart belonged to someone that you hadn’t seen in a long time. Someone that you didn’t have the room to believe was dead.
So after spending a few days in the woods, enjoying the peace alone, and bagging a deer and a few rabbits in the process, you came home. And currently you were in the shower, cleaning up - it was a blessing to even have a shower, to have perfectly functioning running water. A three day hunt could create a hell of a stink.
Stepping under a stream of hot water after three long days out in the woods was one of the most satisfying feelings you could have ever conceptualized. The bottom of the tub quickly became muddy with a combination of blood from where you had cleaned the deer, and the general dirt you had gathered on your skin from the hunting trip. You let the heat of the water relax your tired muscles, and tried your hardest not to let your mind wander back to something you couldn’t have.
When you got out of the shower, you felt wonderfully refreshed. You were still bone tired, and part of you did want to rush home and crash right into bed. But you had other things to do first. You had to check-in with Deanna, and go by the school before you could even think about going to bed.
Olivia - ever kind and thinking ahead - had set out a change of clothes for you. She had seen you run upstairs to the bathroom covered up to your elbows in blood after you had asked her to stash the deer meat in the pantry’s freezer.
You got dressed, and then went down to the pantry looking to make sure that she had taken the deer meat out of the plastic container that you had stored it in and put it into some plastic freezer bags to store it properly. She was squeamish around blood or raw meat - she had thrown up the one time that you had tried to teach her how to gut a rabbit, but you were hoping to wean her off those fears.
Olivia was a nice girl. You knew that eventually, she would need to get her hands dirty in order to survive. It was a miracle that she had gone this long without doing so. When she told you that she still carried around a cellphone in her pocket - one that had long been dead and useless - you got stuck somewhere between paralytic shock and maniacal laughter.
But it was just a mark of how untouched Alexandria was. How much they needed someone like you.
“Olivia?” You called out gently when you hit the bottom stair.
“In here!” She called back. She was in the armory rather than in the pantry - likely counting bullets to redo her inventory in order to avoid touching the bloody deer meat.
You rolled your eyes at the thought of it and walked into the room, which was lined floor to ceiling with guns, the entire town’s supply. You were also casually pushing back against Deanna’s rule that nobody should be allowed to carry within town, but she had yet to truly hear you out on it. Your eyes fell upon a large cart that Olivia had parked in the middle, one that wasn’t usually there. It was filled to the brim with a variety of weapons.
“What’s this?” You asked.
“A new group came in yesterday, while you were gone.” She informed you, staring at the notebook she had in her hands - the one containing her inventory. “Deanna wanted me to make a list of their weapons. Well - the weapons they surrendered. I wouldn’t doubt if one of them is still hiding a knife in their shoe or something. They seem uber shifty and paranoid.”
She said this with a dreary chuckle - the kind of nervous laughter that told you she was feeling weary of these people.
A strange feeling came over you. A haze - tingling, from your head to your toes. A feeling almost as if you were about to faint - while at the same time, intense adrenaline was pumping through your whole body. You took a more careful look at the weapons gathered on the cart.
A sword. One with the distinctive white leather sheath. A gun that you easily recognized as a Colt Python. A military knife with a knuckle guard… and perched right on top - a crossbow. The sight of which almost made your heart stop.
“Maybe you could help me with this?” Olivia asked, motioning her pen toward the cart. “You know I don’t know the names of guns and stuff.”
Clearly, she was trying to get out of bagging the deer meat - but that dropped off your priority list as you tried harder and harder to keep your hopes from swallowing you alive.
“Sure.” You replied, knowing that it sounded terribly strained in your throat - joy and tears battling terribly inside of you.
You gathered your breath, and forced your concrete legs to move. You stepped toward the cart, and timidly stroked a finger across one of the bolts that was strapped to the top of the crossbow.
After a moment, you finally gathered the courage to ask the question.
“So - can you tell me more about the group?” You asked, your throat clenching around the words, so damn dry all of a sudden. “Did you happen to catch any of their names?”
“Come on,” Olivia sighed. “You know I’m no good with names.”
Of course.
The one time when you needed her to be paying attention, she hadn’t been. Where the hell was Aaron when you needed him?
You could have been wrong. This could be nothing. It could be a coincidence.
You wouldn’t let yourself get your hopes up - not until you knew.
“Well - what were they like?” You asked.
Olivia picked up one of the guns, inspecting it before she wrote down something in her notebook. It took her a moment too long to answer. You became dizzy with agitation, unconsciously holding your breath while you waited for something. Some proof. Something.
“They were… strange.” She shrugged. “They reminded me of you when you first came here. But… you can tell they’ve been outside for longer.”
That didn’t answer your question. So you moved on to another one.
“How many of them was there?” You asked.
“Maybe a dozen, I guess.” She answered easily. “It’s the biggest group Deanna has ever allowed in. I don’t know why, though. Aaron seems to really like them, but I didn’t get to talk to him much before he went home.”
She wrote down something else, and then she continued - seemingly not noticing the way you were staring at her with an intense glare, hanging on her every word.
You needed to know.
“There was kids with them. A baby, and a young boy. A teenager, maybe? He was wearing this brown cowboy hat, that looked like a sheriff’s hat, kind of? I guess he got it off some cop.”
‘My dad says that I get to wear the hat because I’m in the club.’ Carl’s small voice excitedly announced to you, pushing the too-big hat up over his eyes as it sagged down from how fast he had run toward you.
‘What club?’ You countered curiously.
‘People who have been shot and survived.’
‘Woah… okay. You probably shouldn’t go around saying that to people.’ You chuckled in return, trying to play off the casual morbidity. Knowing that ‘and survived’ was the important part. ‘Cool hat, though, kid.’
‘Thanks!’
As the memory from Hershel’s farm played over again in your mind - you remained frozen. Your voice was caught in your throat, seized by tears and shock - but all you could do was stand there as Olivia continued talking.
“And their leader is this really grumpy guy. He kept… staring at me. His eyes were so cold… it was almost creepy. I could hardly see his face past his beard.”
‘And, uh, I got this for you.’ Michonne chuckled, extending her arm out toward Rick, trying her hardest to gift him the electric shaver. ‘Your face is losing the war.’
The words evoked another memory from you - Michonne making jokes about Rick’s beard being overgrown, trying to get him to trim it down. Now, you couldn’t picture him without one when you tried to remember him.
“Here, take this.” Olivia picked up the crossbow and put it in your hands. “Can you help me with the rest of these guns? I don’t know how to unload them. I need to take inventory of the ammo.”
Your eyes were fixated on the crossbow in your hands - you ran your thumb over it.
You had almost forgotten about it.
Trying so hard to push down the memories, to forget - it had almost slipped your mind. The marking you had left on Daryl’s crossbow that made it so uniquely yours. The blessing of good luck you had marked him with when you had sent him to look for Sophia.
The cardinal sticker that you had put on his bow. It was faded now, but it sure as hell was the one you had put there.
In the back of your mind, you could still hear Daryl’s snarky voice snarling about how he didn’t need luck - but it had gotten him this far, hadn’t it?
All at once, your nervous system shook, your body prickling up fiercely with goosebumps as the realization truly hit you.
Daryl was here.
Daryl was right here in Alexandria.
He was alive. He was within arm’s reach.
He was home.
“Daryl.” You mumbled quietly, your voice still choking on it - it was a name you hadn’t spoken in so long.
“What?” Olivia asked, turning around to look at you, clearly confused.
“Daryl.” You spoke it louder.
You looked to the door, and before you could take a moment to explain or even put down the bow - your legs were carrying you with a great urgency.
He was close by - you were going to find him.
“Daryl!”
You screamed out this time, your voice echoing through the streets of Alexandria. Random people going about their day stared at you, but you didn’t care. You continued sprinting down the street, looking for that familiar face that you knew had to be close by.
“Daryl! Rick! Michonne!”
You screamed out the names of the people you knew would be with thim, and then your mind became fixated on him - on seeing his face again, on hearing him call you an asshole with a smile. Fueled only by joy, you pushed past your previous tiredness, determined to find him. Your cheeks began to hurt before you knew you were smiling and your legs pumped harder as you ran.
“Daryl! Daryl!”
You weren’t even sure where you were going, but you knew he would come to you - he would be there soon.
You ended up at one of the last houses on the lot, rounding the corner when you finally spotted him.
It was something you had pictured in your mind a thousand times.
One of the quaint porches of Alexandria - so clean, so white, so picturesque - finally dirtied up by his presence. Olivia made you gut your kills in the back because she didn’t want it to disturb people, but Daryl didn’t know the rules, or just didn’t care. His hands were already covered in the blood of the possum that he was skinning - careful, meticulous, doing it right. His gaze focused downward in pure concentration - much like he had been on the day you had first properly spoken to him.
Dressed in all black and still dirtied from the road - he was a sight for sore eyes.
And he caused you to pull in a sharp, shattered breath as you began to cry outright now. Hot tears of relief, joy, love streaming down your face as you laid eyes on him for the first time in so long.
His head snapped up at the sound of it, and his eyes widened beyond the splintering bangs that hung beyond his brows - hair longer than the last time you had seen him. His hands froze their movements, still hanging onto the half-skinned possum. You gripped tightly onto the crossbow, holding onto it tightly like an anchor, drifting at sea.
You knew that look - his jaw gaped, his eyes swimming with intense emotion - shock, most of all. He was frozen.
He was looking at you as though you were a ghost.
In Daryl’s eyes, you might as well be.
The last time he had seen you - you were dead. Or dying.
It was all the same to him.
He genuinely couldn’t believe that you were standing right there in front of him - alive, clean, beautiful as ever, holding his crossbow. It was like a dream.
“I think I have something that belongs to you.”
Hearing your voice again - it was oddly startlingly. You motioned toward the crossbow - his crossbow, that you were holding for some reason.
His entire body was filled with concrete - he was frozen.
“Daryl, is that possum so much more interesting than me, or are you gonna come on over here and give me a damn hug?”
Yes.
That was what finally got him up - he tossed the possum aside because it would never be more important than you, and he rushed off the porch, rushing toward you. You dropped his crossbow in the grass and when he pounced on you, his arms encircling you for the first time in such a long time - you finally felt like you were home. He squeezed you in a bone-crushing way, and you squeezed him right back - feeling a strange kind of comfort from the smell of sweat and dirt and cigarette smoke coming off him.
It was so Daryl. It was so real.
You heard gentle sobs in your ear and you realized that he was crying too, so overwhelmed by the emotions of seeing you again and not too proud to hide his tears now. You didn’t notice and didn’t care that he was getting blood all over your clean shirt, gripping you so tightly with his possum-skinning hands. It was just another assurance that all of this was real and not another stupid daydream.
“Goddammit.” He croaked out, his face shoved so tightly in the crook of your neck, soaking your skin with his tears. “I thought - I thought I lost you.”
Pressed so close to his chest, you saw the yellowing corner of the paper sticking out of his breast pocket. You couldn’t help but to raise your fingers to fish it out of his pocket.
“Why would you ever think that?” You sniffled weakly in return. “You had this for good luck.” You teased him lightly, pulling away slightly to wave the folded piece of paper in front of his face - both of you knowing exactly what it was.
He let out a weak laugh in response.
“You’re still a damn fool.”
That was all he managed to reply before he put both hands on either side of your face and pulled you in for a kiss. It was unlike any other time he had kissed you before. This wasn’t chaste - it wasn’t a simple kiss signifying that he cared about you, that he was trying, but affection simply wasn’t his thing.
This was gravity.
This was passion, this was love. This was this kiss of a man who had nearly ended himself because he had realized in horror that his entire world had hinged on you. And now that he had you back, he wasn’t going to waste a single second treading around feelings, hung up on simple things like the fear of affection. This was a kiss from someone who needed to show you that you were his whole world, and now that he had you back, he would move mountains just to see you smile.
It was a kiss that easily had you moaning into his mouth, made you dizzier than you already were, stole breath from your already weak lungs.
He held you tight to his lips and he poured every single ounce of emotion into that kiss - telling you how sorry he was for all the time he had wasted, telling you how much he had missed you, and most importantly - telling you how much he loved you.
“Daryl, please tell me that you’ve showered by-”
The stunning moment was sorely interrupted by another voice, one you distinctly recognized as Carol. She opened the front door behind you and stuck her head out, ready to scold Daryl - but she promptly cut off her own words when she saw you. You pulled away from his lips at the sound of her voice and whipped around toward her, and instantly a smile cracked your face, broad and unbroken.
She was staring at you with utter shock.
“Carol.” You said her name warmly, greeting her as an old friend.
You couldn’t help it - you jumped forward and embraced her in a hug. It was only then that she loosened from the shock and let her own arms fall around you, hugging you back, and she was able to speak again.
“Y/N.” She said your name quietly in return. “What - what are you doing here?”
“Um… returning Daryl’s crossbow.” You chuckled, motioning to the bow that you had dropped with numb arms before you had ascended the steps, rushing toward him. “But you know… I think I have something for you too.”
Naturally, Carol looked confused - and you chose to show her what you meant rather than to explain.
…
You brought Carol and Daryl to a house in the complex that functioned as the school. They didn’t know that yet - and you asked them to wait outside as you rushed inside and boisterously disrupted the beginning of the afternoon class.
The teacher began telling you off, but you didn’t care.
Daryl and Carol were theorizing about what you were doing, half ready to go in after you when you stepped out the door with someone in tow.
“What’s so important? We’re supposed to start reading King Lear today and I can’t miss-”
Both of them looked up at the mousy voice and instantly recognized the streak of sandy blonde hair - a bit lighter now from exposure to the sun, topped on someone a bit taller than they remembered.
“Sophia?” Carol gaped.
A daughter she had said goodbye to in her mind, someone that she couldn’t keep hoping was alive. Somehow once again, standing right there in front of her, fully alive and well. Once again - all thanks to you.
“Mom?”
Sophia broke out of your grasp and ran from the door into her mother’s arms, and Carol quickly embraced the girl who was almost as tall as her now. Carol was unable to hold back her tears and you knew that it was a swelling of perfect emotion as they hugged each other so tightly. Daryl petted a gentle hand over Sophia’s hair as he looked at you fondly.
You couldn’t imagine a more perfect day.
Carol used a hand behind Sophia’s back to wipe some of her own tears from her cheeks, still not letting the girl go as she looked at you with a wet smile forming tightly across her face.
“I should have known she’d be with you.” Carol choked out - her way of thanking you for taking care of her daughter. Clearly scolding herself for not keeping the faith alive that Sophia would be okay.
“We’re BFFs.” You said, unable to hold back a smile. “Of course we’re gonna stick together.”
…
You thought back to the day you had first taken on the title of Sophia’s BFF.
The two of you had been close since the group at the quarry had first formed. It was unfortunate, but Ed reminded you of your own father, and you found yourself gravitating toward Sophia because of that. A natural instinct kicking in that made you want to take care of her because you understood what she was going through. You knew that Carol had to take care of herself, had to keep her own head above water, and she said that she was always appreciative of your help.
You knew that Sophia appreciated having you around, being treated with gentle caring and a certain kind of maturity that she needed from an older sibling that she didn’t have. You didn’t always treat her like a child - you talked to her like a person who needed to be listened to, who had her own feelings that needed to be heard.
Especially after Ed’s death - when she was feeling conflicted about the partial relief of being freed from her father’s abuse but oddly missing him at that same time. You were more than happy to listen to her and give her honest advice.
When she fled into the woods off the highway that day, Daryl had to physically hold you back to keep you from running into the tail end of the herd yourself. It would have been stupid for you to blindly run after her, especially considering that, at that point, you didn’t carry a knife or any other weapons on you regularly. You would have been running after Sophia with nothing but your bare hands and your best intentions.
It would have ended up with you both dead, and in the end, you thanked Daryl for holding you back.
Which was why you trusted Daryl greatly to find her. You trusted his skills and his abilities, and especially his judgment. And you silently cursed Andrea for almost shooting his head off and putting him out of commission in that search. Especially considering the fact that Shane and even Rick were clearly losing hope in ever finding Sophia alive, and it was clear that they were ready to call off any search efforts. They were ready to abandon the Greene farm and leave her out there to die.
So after Daryl’s wounds had been treated, when he was resting in his tent, you decided that it was high time to get the search back on. Of course, you had to wait for Andrea to leave, after she had apologized to him and left him with one of Dale’s crappy books as entertainment - something you knew wouldn’t help him much, because he was far too much of a hands-on busy body to sit around and read.
But you didn’t dwell too much on thinking about that. Instead, you stepped into the tent next without being invited, determined to get his advice so that you could pick up the search for Sophia where he had left off.
Daryl’s eyes snapped open where he had been lightly dozing off and he glared at you - it wasn’t malice or true anger, instead, simply light annoyance.
“Can’t get five minutes of damn peace ‘round here.” He grumbled out as you invited yourself fully into the tent and without speaking a word to him, came right in and sat down on the edge of his cot.
He instinctively scooted away from you. He could have said that it was because you had aggravated soreness in his injured side where he was still stitched up. But truthfully, it was because he wasn’t used to having you (or anyone) this close. Though he also couldn’t deny that the simple warmth of your body - the gentle heat of your ass pressed up against his thigh from you having to sit so close on the small cot - it was nice.
But he couldn’t think too much about that right now.
You obviously weren’t as caught up on the simple act of closeness. You weren’t as mindful of being this close to another person. You were someone who thought nothing of hugs and other simple forms of affection - something that you did regularly with people you considered friends, like Glenn and Lori and Dale.
Instead of thinking at all about how close you were sitting to Daryl, you dropped your bag at your feet and began rooting around inside of it, looking for something. A moment later, you pulled out a map, which you held in one hand and shoved tightly in Daryl’s face.
“Show me where you found Sophia’s doll.” You ordered stiffly.
Daryl grunted at you, chewing on one of his nails for a moment before he replied.
“What good is that gon do?” He asked.
You didn’t know how to track or follow a trail. You weren’t the outdoors type. If he sent you off looking for her, he’d probably have to go off into the woods looking for you next.
You sighed and rolled your eyes.
“Maggie is saddling one of the horses for me right now.” You explained. “You know that Shane has already given up, and Rick is about to.”
You cleared your throat, trying to hide the quiver of potential tears.
Daryl knew it wasn’t the kind of grief that everyone else held when talking about Sophia - you weren’t afraid that she was already dead and you would be combing the woods looking for a Walker to put down. You weren’t looking for closure. You were more terrified at the aspect of Shane and Rick giving up when someone you viewed as a little sister was still out there. You were afraid that she might be abandoned when she was still alive and had a chance to be rescued.
“You’re not goin’ out there by yourself.” Daryl declared firmly.
Predictably, he then tried to sit up - as if he would somehow accompany you in his severely injured state. But he didn’t make it very far off the cot before he let out a sharp wince of pain. Something he tried his hardest to conceal out of an ingrained toughness, so you knew that his pain had to be a lot worse than he was leading on. He fell back down instinctively and gripped a hand to his side, taking in sharp breaths as he tried to ignore the pain.
“Well, you’re not going with me.” You griped sarcastically, motioning toward his injury.
“Screw you.” Daryl replied, tossing up a middle finger - frustrated by his circumstances more than anything else.
“Look, I’m gonna go whether you tell me where to pick up the trail or not.” You announced, firm and finite in your conviction.
Of course. Stubborn.
Daryl glared at you again.
“And I’m not gonna drag your ass around with me,” You added on. “I just wanna know where you would search because before you got hurt, you were the best man for the job.”
Daryl wanted to hate the snide, back-handed compliment - he wanted to hate your stubbornness and your inability to take ‘no’ for an answer. But he knew that you were going to keep to your word. You were going to do this with or without his help, and his help would be invaluable to someone like you.
So, for some stupid reason, he folded to your will.
(It would become a pattern so utterly predictable throughout your relationship. You were so direct and so stubborn that you learned how to play him like a fiddle.)
“Gimme that damn map.” He grumbled out, finally folding to your infallible will.
“Here, I have a pen. You can mark it down for me.” You announced brightly, giving him a chirpy smile as you got your own way.
You reached back down to your bag, looking for the aforementioned pen, and Daryl bit his tongue. The fact that you even needed a marking on the map to remember what he was going to point out to you was a huge red flag for him - a sign of just how naive you were when it came to the woods, tracking, finding someone lost out there.
He was already mentally preparing himself to go looking for you later. (He just hoped that this would be a good thing - that even if you got lost yourself, you would take some supplies to Sophia and help her survive a bit longer until he could get both of you back home.)
He took the red pen that you handed to him and stiffly held the map, trying to ignore the gentle waft of floral soap coming off you as you leaned more into his personal space. More and more into his personal space, clearly trying to better pay attention to what he was showing you as he pointed to the landmarks on the piece of paper.
“Found the doll down ‘round here.” He said, marking a small red X on the map. “I figured that she mighta dropped it when she was crossing the creek up somewhere here, and it washed downstream.”
“Oh, okay.” You said. “So you think she’s on this side of the water?” You asked, pointing to a heading of your own.
“Prolly.” Daryl nodded. “She gotta be close by the water cause it’s her only real landmark. You better stay close by the creek, got it? I don’t need to go in those damn woods lookin’ for your ass too if ya get lost.”
“I’m not gonna get lost.” You sighed, snatching the map from him.
“Make sure you don’t spend the whole time on the horse.”
He added on, determined to give you good advice if you were determined to go out there. In the back of his mind, he was surprised that you knew how to ride a horse, but he didn’t bother to bring it up. Instead, he continued speaking about the topic at hand.
“She’s little. It means she could be hidin’ somewhere down low. Caves, ditches, even down in the bushes. She could be passed out somewhere from the heat and you might not see her if you’re perched up high on that damn horse the whole time.”
You nodded, soaking up all the information, determined to take advice from someone you knew was better versed in things like this than you were.
“Anything else?”
Daryl looked thoughtful for a moment.
Then he reached off to the side for his own bag, holding in another pained wince as he stretched out his injured flesh. He batted away your hands as you went to help him, and his hands came back with a large knife - his hunting knife, sheathed in the cover that he often wore on his belt. You had never seen him without it, and you were surprised when he extended it out toward you - clearly wanting you to take the knife, even if only temporarily.
“Daryl, that’s yours, I can’t-”
“Shut up and take it.” He growled quietly. “This is gonna be better to you out there than any gun. And not just cause you’re a piss poor shot.”
You rolled your eyes at the paper thin insult, but still hesitated to reach for the knife.
“The woods are damn quiet, and if you run into a Walker, you gon need somethin’ quiet to take ‘em down.” He explained. And then, with a fair amount of cheek, he added on: “Come on. It’s for good luck.”
You let out a sharp nasal sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh, and then you reached out and grabbed the knife, tucking the holster onto your belt.
“Maybe I don’t need luck.” You stated, getting up and making your way toward the mouth of the tent. “If I run into a bunch of Walkers, I could just make a necklace out of ears. That would be very fashionable.”
You winked at Daryl, and he flipped you off - though you knew he didn’t mean anything harsh by it, seeing as it was paired with a small smile that he was unable to hold back at your comment.
“Asshole.” He mumbled under his breath.
“I heard that!”
(For some reason, this made him smile harder.)
…
Despite what Daryl believed, you were comfortable in the woods.
You had spent a lot of your childhood camping - he likely would have called it ‘glamping’ (if he knew what that word was). Your family spent a lot of weekends in an RV, driving off to remote areas to go fishing or so that your father could go hunting. You spent a lot of time off in some cabin deep in the woods with no TV reception, playing around in the trees with a stick, making mud pies for fun.
You knew the reason that you seemed so naive in Daryl’s eyes was because you spent all those childhood experiences very hands-off. Your father was a wicked control freak of a man who never let you touch anything, despite how many times you voiced wanting to learn.
He insisted that your family have ‘happy’ family outings - he insisted that you get your ass in the boat while he was fishing, he insisted that you eat the game that he shot while out hunting, he insisted that you get out in nature because it was what he had done as a child. But he would never let you touch a fishing rod, he would never let you hold a gun to hunt or set a snare. He always told you it was because you were ‘too stupid’ and you would inevitably mess things up.
So before Daryl had started teaching you the basics, you didn’t know how to read a map, you didn’t know how to start a fire, and you had been learning how to fix vehicles only because of Dale. Your mother was the one who insisted that you learn how to ride a horse because it was something she had learned during her childhood. (It had spawned a wicked argument between your parents that you didn’t want to think about.)
But nonetheless, you felt comfortable by yourself in the quiet of the woods. It was a quiet you had come to enjoy throughout your childhood.
It was why your ears immediately picked up on something - a particular noise - standing out from that quiet. The gentle thrashing of cicadas, the quiet bustle of leaves in the breeze, but then, something else. Crying. Distinctly - the sound of someone crying.
You hopped off the horse that Maggie had given you and tied the saddle to a nearby tree, taking Daryl’s advice to get off and having a look on foot.
And sure enough - you soon came to a small cliff, at the base of which there was a small rocky indenture that could have been considered a small cave. It was something that you might have passed by when perched so high on the horse.
When you crouched down and got even lower on your hands and knees-
“Sophia?”
You almost couldn’t believe your luck. You had been riding for less than an hour, and fuck - there she was.
She was curled up with her back to you, likely crying out of upset from being separated from her mother for so long, being scared and alone. Even covered in dirt - you recognized that blue tee shirt that she had been wearing when she had run off. And it’s not like there would be some other little girl hiding out in these woods.
“Sophia.” You called her name a little firmer, in case she hadn’t heard you, or she was fatigued from the whole ordeal and needed a little extra jolt to awaken her attention toward you. It was then that her head turned and she gazed at you with two large teary eyes.
“Y/N?” She hiccuped sorrowfully. “Wh-where’s my mom?”
“Your mom is waiting for you,” You grinned at her, extending your arms out to invite her toward you - and she began crawling out to meet you. “Everybody set up camp at a farm just off the highway so we could look for you.”
“I thought you were gonna leave me.” She sobbed, sitting upright and jumping into your arms - you couldn’t help but embrace her in a tight hug.
Relief flooded your system, and though you knew that she was scared, hungry, and definitely dehydrated by now, you couldn’t be happier to have her in your arms - alive. To know that Carol would feel the same relief in such a short time.
“Nobody was gonna leave you.” You assured her.
You hated that it was a partial lie. But of course you weren’t going to tell her about Shane’s pessimism and Rick’s liability to fall for the ramblings of his best friend. They would all feel foolish when you rode back with her on the horse. And you would be happy to prove them wrong.
Then, something else came to mind.
“Are you hurt?” You asked, pulling away from the hug to inspect her. A secondary terror spiked your system. If she had been bitten - you didn’t know that you would be up to the task of ‘doing what needed to be done’ as Daryl had put it.
“My ankle.” She said, motioning to her foot. Upon further examination, it was swollen so tightly that it looked more than painful, cartoonishly bulged over the edge of her shoe. The sight of it made you wince. “I fell down.”
“Okay, well - one of the people at the farm is a doctor. So he’ll be able to fix you right up.” You smiled at her. “But you didn’t get scratched or - you didn’t get touched by any of the Walkers?” You asked, wanting to be sure.
“I hid from them.” She assured you. “I was running away, and - and I got lost, and I couldn’t find my way back, and that’s when it got dark, and-” She broke into more sobs, and you reached out to hug her again.
“It’s okay.” You assured her. “It’s okay, I’m gonna take you to your mom now.”
“Look out!” Sophia screamed this in your ear suddenly, pointing a finger to something behind your back.
Your heart thumped in your chest, panicked, and then, with an instinct you didn’t even know you had, you reached to the handle of the knife - Daryl’s knife on your belt. You pushed Sophia away, whipping around in order to jab the knife toward the danger.
The first time you hit the Walker somewhere in the middle of its torso, and the second time you locked onto two disgusting yellow eyes - and you jabbed the knife right between them. Within seconds, all the movement in the Walker went limp, and it fell to the ground - and you let out a huff (not even fully knowing that you had been holding your breath) as you pulled the bloody knife out of its skull.
“I got it.” You said, feeling victorious as you looked over your shoulder toward Sophia - who was shell-shocked and very tearful once again. “Let’s just… get on the horse and go back to the house, okay?”
“There’s a horse?”
You gave Sophia your canteen and she drank the entirety of the water during the ride back, and by the time the sun was setting, you were emerging from the trees with her sitting on the front of the saddle.
On top of the RV, Dale and Andrea were having a dispute about who was supposed to be on watch. One especially heated after the debacle of Andrea accidentally shooting Daryl in the head.
“Just give me - give me those! Give me those!” Andrea snapped, taking the binoculars from Dale.
The man acquiesced to her fierce will, and he nodded, putting his hands up in surrender as he walked toward the edge of the RV to descend the ladder.
Andrea put the binoculars to her face and looked out upon the fields, and what she saw shocked her more than the bloodied Daryl that she had mistaken as a lone Walker.
“Oh my god.” Andrea gasped.
“What?” Dale whipped back around, obviously thinking that something was wrong. “What? What?!”
Andrea took down the binoculars and turned to Dale with a look of pure shock.
“It’s Sophia.”
…
A short time later, everyone was gathered in the living room, an odd air of dread and tension having fallen over the group. It seemed that nobody else shared your joyous relief, as they were all anxious to hear it from Hershel’s mouth that Sophia was going to be fine. It was a case of waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course.
It wasn’t long before Hershel came out of the downstairs bedroom to grace everyone with the news.
“How’s she doin’?” Lori asked, practically trampling the man before he even had a chance to close the door behind himself. “Is she gonna be okay?”
“Well - the girl is quite dehydrated after the adventure she’s been on,” He said, pressing that word, using it quite liberally. “But - after some IV fluids and rest, I don’t see any reason why she won’t make a full recovery.”
Lori burst into tears. The previously silent room became a muddle of relieved sighs, delighted chatter, and more tears - and the joy you had somehow been suppressing exploded inside of you tenfold. As you looked around at everyone hugging and celebrating, you realized that there was just one person missing from the scene.
The man who had made it possible to find her in the first place.
You knew that Daryl should be resting because of his injuries - but what he should be doing, and what he usually did weren’t two things that often coincided. You wandered out the front door while everyone was distracted by the exchange of hugs and the general relief of the whole situation, and you weren’t surprised to find Daryl sitting in front of his tent, poking at a low-flamed fire with a long stick.
You were slightly surprised to see him sitting up - but if you weren’t mistaken, his shirt was licked with blood on the side where his stitches would be underneath. So he was aggravating the wound and simply ignoring the consequences. Very predictable for him.
“Hey.” You greeted him casually as you walked up.
He didn’t bother to take his eyes off the flames, and after a quiet moment, he quietly spoke.
“She okay?” He croaked out - his typical meditative speech. No more words than he needed. You liked that about him.
“She’s great.” You answered. “You were right. She’s gonna eat a good meal and sleep in a warm bed tonight, and she’s gonna wake up next to her mother. She is gonna be more than fine.”
If you weren’t mistaken, the small flinch at the side of his mouth - something that could have been taken for a tic in his cheek muscle - it was a genuine smile at the idea of Sophia actually being okay. A smile at something actually turning out well for the group.
“And it’s all thanks to you.” You added on, taking the opportunity to give him genuine praise where it was due.
Daryl shook his head. “Nah.”
“Come on.” You sighed, crossing your arms. “You pointed to a place on the map, I went there, I found her. That’s all you.”
Daryl rolled his eyes. “Maybe you’re just lucky.”
You knew he was being snarky, but you couldn’t help leaning into it.
“I am.” You grinned at him.
He sighed harshly, shaking his head. He resisted the urge to argue, not wanting to ruin the general air of happiness at Sophia coming home alive.
“But the knife did help.” You had to admit it - he had been right about forcing you to take it. You took it off your belt and extended it out back toward him, and he hesitated for a moment, perhaps wanting you to keep it for your own protection - and then he took it back.
“Told ya it would.” He grumbled quietly.
Before you could form some clever reply, you heard the front door of the house open once again, and you were surprised when Carol came marching toward you. You thought for certain that she would be attached to Sophia’s side after such an ordeal, but soon enough, she was sweeping you into a tearful hug.
“Thank you.” She wept into your shoulder. “Thank you, thank you so much. You found my daughter - you brought her home.”
“Oh. I…” You weren’t really sure how to respond. “It wasn’t all me. Daryl told me where to look. He was the one who followed the trail.”
Again - you had to give him the credit where it was due.
“Of course.” Carol nodded, pulling away from squeezing you and moving toward Daryl.
He jumped up from his camping chair so fast that he knocked it over, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to escape her thankful affection. A tense silence fell over the three of you as he gripped at his side, and he stared her down with wide eyes like a deer caught in a hunter’s cross-hairs.
“I got stitches.” He mumbled out, clearly looking for an excuse as to why he couldn’t be hugged in the same way.
“Okay.” Carol replied meekly. “I still want to thank you for everything that you’ve done for my daughter.”
“Yeah.” Daryl nodded. “Welcome.”
…
Even if Daryl didn’t know it then, helping to bring Sophia home truly cemented his place in the group. If it wasn’t a truth in everyone’s eyes, it was you whispering it to them, hammering home the fact that he was more than worthy - not as some kind of politician, but because you truly believed in him.
And while you spent time rooting for him, he became an iron clad wall behind you. He continued teaching you every single skill he could, imparting all of his knowledge. And while you had insisted on returning his knife to him, he realized that a bothersome nuisance was that you didn’t have a good knife of your own.
And he needed to make sure that you got one.
Things were always subtle with him. He never went out of his way to make it seem like he was intentionally being nice to you or giving you a gift. He always made it seem like it was a coincidence - a side effect of whatever else was happening at the time. If the two of you went hunting together, he was teaching you because it was practical, because he had to.
If he picked a flower out of the ground and tucked it behind your ear, it was because he claimed you smelled bad and it would dampen ‘the stank comin’ off you’ - not because it was meant to be any kind of affectionate gesture. If he made sure that you got a little bit extra on your plate that night, it was because he didn’t like the particular kind of game he had picked up, or because he was giving you ‘the worst parts’. Not because he was trying to make sure that you ate more in order to stay healthy and keep from going hungry.
So when he gifted you a hunting knife of your own, it was entirely by mistake, of course.
You didn’t know that he had been on the lookout for one with the intention of giving it to you for weeks. He wanted you to be able to protect yourself, and to be able to gut and skin your own kills properly now that you were learning to hunt. And in order to do that, you needed a good knife of your own.
It just so happened that he found the perfect one while the two of you were out on a formula run for Little Asskicker. The kid was only a few days old and had lungs like a professional opera singer, wailing loud enough to shake the prison walls every few hours, and she was going through enough formula to fill up a mac truck. At least, that’s what it seemed like.
The stuff that Maggie and Daryl had gotten just after she had been born had only lasted about a week. So now, you were out with Daryl once again, raiding a small rest stop that the two of you had seen nearby while out on a hunt.
So far, the trip had been pretty successful.
After struggling to get through the heavily padlocked and gated front door, Daryl boosted you through a higher up back window - which left you impressed by his strength and slightly afraid to fall on the other side (and then grossed out by the state of the bathroom that you ended up in). You got the gate up from the inside and found the keys to the padlocks on the dead owner (sitting in his office chair with a bullet in his head beside a very typical scrawl on the wall about hopelessness that you tried to ignore). And soon, Daryl unlocked the chains and then the two of you were in.
Turns out that the security had been a deterrent for other people, and the place was relatively untouched. The two of you made off like bandits. Medicine, bandages, canned food, bottled water, juice, and of course - plenty of baby formula. Daryl even found a spare car battery that would work for one of the vehicles, and a half full can of gas.
You were celebrating your haul with a handful of jellybeans each, smiling to each other, when Daryl noticed something. The molding corpse of the owner, now nothing but dried out skin husking against the bones with tattered old clothes rotting on top - had a very nice leather knife holster on his belt.
Some things really do withstand the test of time.
He necked down the rest of his candy, and as he chewed, he stepped into the office and you cringed as he reached for the dead man.
“What are you doing?” You asked.
“Thas a nice knife.” He mumbled in return, causing an awful crunching sound as he peeled the holster off the corpse.
You had to admire him - where everyone else saw decay, he saw possibilities.
He took the knife out of the holster and admired it for a moment, and sure enough - it was a damn nice bowie knife. It would need to be sharpened, but things like this last a lifetime. It would be perfect for you. He took out his bandana and wiped it off a bit, getting off any of the decay or dead skin that the previous owner had gotten on it, and then, he turned to you.
“Here.” He said, holding it out to you. “You need one.”
You did have a knife on you - a small pocket knife that Maggie had lent you for the trip out. Though you knew it was a nice gesture in Daryl’s mind, you were slightly hesitant to take something that had come off a corpse.
“No, I don’t-” You huffed, trying to deny it.
Next, Daryl did something that entirely shocked you, causing any protests to easily die off in your throat.
He stepped forward, crowding into your personal space with his tall, looming presence - hot, sweaty skin lurking on every inch of him, warm breath that lingered partially with cigarettes and the sugar he had just consumed becoming absolutely apparent under your nose. And then, he lifted up the edge of your shirt, causing sharp tingles all through your body when his knuckles brushed across the bare skin of your hip as he forcefully slatted the holster onto the edge of your pants.
His eyes were sharply locked on your hip, refusing to look at you, busying himself with securing it and then straightening the fabric of your shirt behind it so that you would have easy access to it in case you needed it. But your gaze was hard locked on the side of his face, only inches from yours. And you knew that he could feel how thick the air had gotten between the two of you. That he hadn’t missed the tiny gasp you had let out the second his skin had brushed against yours.
“Daryl-” You said his name quietly, a whispered prayer, and before you could wander any further into dangerous territory, he easily cut you off.
“There.” He grunted out, stepping back, breaking off the tedious moment. “Now you got one.”
Before things could swim any further into that murky territory, he moved back to the bags the two of you had packed full of supplies, forcefully busying himself with taking them out to secure onto his bike.
That moment left you thinking about his hands for hours after, days after - and you still thought about that moment occasionally when you used the knife.
Strangely enough, you didn’t work up the courage to kiss him for the first time until much later, still lingering with the belief that he might reject you, even after that heated moment.
…
It wasn’t long before news got around to the rest of the group that you and Sophia were in Alexandria, alive and well. You were greeted with many tight hugs, excited chattering, and you were introduced to the new people who had helped the group along the way and seemed to have cemented themselves into the family now.
Quickly the idea came about that everyone should gather for a big family dinner - much like the one that was held to celebrate Sophia coming out of the woods alive and well.
Even though it was something that had peeved you earlier, ultimately you were glad that Olivia hadn’t put the deer meat in the freezer, because it meant that you were able to treat everyone to something fresh. On top of that, when you had first arrived in Alexandria, Aiden had gifted you a few bottles of wine with some cheeky line about ‘sharing’ them with you whenever you wanted, and they had been gathering dust in a cabinet somewhere - so you could think of no better occasion to open them. Soon, you were all sitting in the living room of the house that Rick and company had been sleeping in - sleeping bags and blankets cleaned up in favor of a jumble of mismatched tables and chairs thrown together to make a long dining table that would fit the entire group.
Surrounding the table was the whole group - Rick, Michonne, and Carl who was holding sweet little Judith on his knee (someone you had been so excited to see again). Beth and her new friend Noah (who were not-so-subtly holding hands underneath the table). Maggie and Glenn (who had hugged you so tight upon seeing you and refused to let go for nearly a full minute), their new friends Abraham, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene. Sasha, Bob (who looked happier than ever somehow) and Tyreese.
And to round out the table, Carol sitting close by to Sophia with an arm wrapped lovingly around her daughter. Daryl was sitting next to you with a hand so shamelessly on your thigh - something that he never would have done before that you absolutely loved. As you looked around, all you saw was family - even in the people you didn’t fully know yet. You knew from Glenn and Beth’s words that the new people were nothing but good - and that was more than good enough for you.
Radiating through you was nothing but pure joy. You truly didn’t know how things could get any better than this.
“Well, I would like to propose a toast to our host,” Abraham said, rising up out of his seat and raising the plastic cup that he had filled with wine toward you.
“Technically, Rick is our host,” You reminded him, nodding toward the man who looked so odd when he was clean shaven. It felt so strange to see his naked face.
“Hey, this has only been my house for a day.” Rick replied with a shrug. “You can take full credit for giving us the best damn welcome wagon ever. This is a pretty fine spread you managed to put together on such short notice.”
“Well, in my book, anybody who brings such good grub and such prime booze is the host,” Abraham argued lightly, giving a grin. “Plus, you were crawling around in the woods and shot down this buck so we could eat it. That deserves a thanks.”
“Well, you’re welcome.” You shrugged in return.
Everyone else raised their glasses in a slightly disorganized chorus of ‘thanks’, and Abraham accepted this and sat back down. You felt almost too humble and too embarrassed to accept it. You didn’t think that providing food for your family was all too big of a deal.
“Dude, I’m just happy to be eating something that’s not from a can.” Tara added on with a grin.
“I’m just happy that we’re all together again,” Bob replied with a smile.
“Cheesy.” Sasha scolded him lovingly, rolling her eyes.
“Well, I’m not the only one deserving of thanks.” You shrugged, feeling a need to deflect some of that embarrassment. “Daryl taught me how to hunt.” You explained, giving him a pat on the thigh to affirm the credit in his direction. “I wouldn’t even know how to hold a knife properly if it wasn’t for him.”
Carol smirked. “That’s always your story, isn’t it?” She mocked you gently. “‘Daryl showed me the map.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to build a fire without matches.’ ‘Daryl taught me how to hotwire a car.’” She said, performing a mocking imitation of your voice.
Sophia let out a gentle laugh at this, having heard this plenty of times from you while on the road together.
This time, you could see Daryl shrinking back into his seat slightly with embarrassment, his eyes purposefully fixated on his empty plate instead of looking at anybody else around the table.
“Well, it’s true.” You replied.
…
You thought back to a time shortly after you and Sophia had escaped the prison alive. You had tried looking for the others, and found nothing but the stalled prison bus, surrounded by corpses. The two of you were tired, broken down, starving - luckily, you and Daryl kept some hunting supplies outside the fence for when the two of you went hunting, including the spare crossbow that he had fixed up to teach you with.
So you had managed to snag a few squirrels and gut them just as night fell, and you started a fire with the flint and steel with minimal difficulty as he had taught you.
“Daryl taught you all this stuff, huh?” Sophia wondered aloud as she watched you put the flayed squirrels, now skewered onto sticks, over the fire to be cooked.
“Yeah.” You confirmed gently. “I’m certainly glad he did.”
You didn’t let yourself wonder where Daryl was, if he was okay. You couldn’t imagine that someone like him would be easily taken down by Walkers, not with how you had seen him handle himself. Anybody could be blown apart by a thousand pound tank or smashed by falling concrete, even if they were as skilled and vigilant as him.
But you refused to let yourself think about it. You refused to worry about going back to pick over ashes just to have some confirmation - because there wouldn’t be any. You had to believe he was alive, or not even think about him at all.
You had to take care of Sophia.
A rattle in the leaves behind you caught your attention, and you grabbed your crossbow without any hesitation. You whipped around and pointed it toward the source of the sound, and soon found yourself staring down a random man. He didn’t hesitate to walk closer to your makeshift campsite, clearly unafraid of you even with your weapon raised.
He was obviously someone who had been outside a long time - his clothes dirty and tattered, his teeth rotting as he gave you a filthy smile.
“What do we have here? Hmm?” He greeted you in an oddly calm way - perhaps his attempt at mocking kindness.
A general sense of unease caused all of your hair to stand on end.
“Sophia,” You called her name gently, getting her attention, and in a moment, she was at your back, standing behind you while you stayed guarded.
“Y/N-” She said your name quietly, grasping at the back of your shirt.
“It’s okay.” You assured her, keeping the man locked in your sights as he came to fully stand in the light of the fire that you had made.
“Oh, it is okay.” The man chuckled. “I assure you that I don’t mean any harm.”
He gave another filthy smile - not just dirty by the color of his teeth, but something deeply unsettling that made your stomach twist with disgust.
“I’m only looking for a kind person to share the night with. Perhaps I can share the warmth of your fire, and we can make friends.”
He peered around you then, and eyed Sophia heavily with a look that made you all too certain your next move.
You pulled the trigger on your bow and shot him, the arrow landing perfectly in the hollow of his neck - he sputtered on his own blood for a moment, and then fell to the ground. You felt regretful that Sophia had to witness it, but you knew that sadly, during her time at the prison, she had seen similar or even worse things.
Once you were sure that he was dead, you walked over to his corpse and pulled out the arrow, and stabbed him in the temple with it to make sure that he stayed down. And then, almost hearing Daryl’s voice in your ear telling you what to do next, you began looking over his corpse for anything useful. His backpack held a few cans of food, and the knife on his belt wasn’t too bad. You gave it to Sophia and reminded her to tuck her shirt behind it as her mother had instructed.
After you dragged the body far enough away so that it wouldn’t be an eyesore, the two of you enjoyed some canned spinach alongside the squirrels for dinner.
…
“He knows a lot of very practical stuff and I’m lucky that he’s taught me so much.” You added on, not even realizing how much praise dripped through your voice as you spoke about Daryl. “It’s a huge reason that me and Sophia survived out there for so long. I was able to get us food and fix vehicles for us to get along because of what Daryl taught me. Back at the beginning of all this, I would have been so helpless and… probably dead if I had gotten stranded out there by myself.”
You felt Daryl’s eyes on you, thoughtfully fixed on the side of your face, and he gently squeezed your thigh. It warmed him to the core to know that he had given you a gift - that he had kept you and Sophia alive with the proxy of his knowledge and skills, even if he couldn’t be there to protect you and provide for you himself. In a way, he had kept you fed and safe all that time.
It was so sweet that you felt a devilish temptation curling up in you.
“And you know, him being cute is just a bonus.” You added on with a grin - knowing that it would tickle him with embarrassment that you had loudly, affectionately announced this in front of the group.
And it worked.
“Aw, shove it.” Daryl scoffed, reaching up to shove your shoulder.
But you didn’t get very far away, didn’t get to fall off your chair completely before he took the hand off your thigh and wrapped that arm around your neck, pulling you close and smothering your cheek in a few beard-scratchy kisses, making you cringe and smile all at the same time.
This was a brand new, openly affectionate side of Daryl that you had never seen before. He had missed you for so long and he certainly wasn’t wasting making up for lost time.
Fuck, you really loved him.
“You know, Dixon, I never woulda guessed that you off all people would be saddled up.” Andraham commented.
“Yeah, you never mentioned Y/N before,” Rosita added on, clearly curious as to why Daryl had never mentioned you.
Beth gave Daryl a very knowing look as he reached for his glass of wine and finished it off, and Daryl felt lucky when someone else spoke up before he could.
“We all saw it coming. Him getting ‘saddled up’, that is.” Michonne added on with a smile. “Carl owes me a Baby Ruth, though.”
“The over-under was two years,” Carl hissed quietly in reply.
Rick glared at them, and any further discussion about this bet was silenced.
“You never told us how you got out.” Glenn piped up, suddenly curious about this. “The prison was utter chaos, if I had known that someone else was alive in A-Block, I would have-”
“It’s not your fault.” You pressed. “It’s actually a really crazy story.”
“Well please - do tell.” Sasha said.
…
Chaos. Noise.
Being woken from the deepest unconsciousness of your life, still coughing up ugly yellow mucus and nearly having large chunks of the concrete ceiling fall on top of you due to an apparent explosion - definitely not one of your best days. Your vision was a clumpy haze due to the sickness you were still battling and you had to forcefully, bloodily rip out the IV that Hershel had put in you in order to try and navigate through it all. You climbed over the fallen bits of the building, stumbling around with a dizzy, weak body to climb down what was left of the stairs and partially falling down to the ground floor.
“He - hell - o?!” Your efforts to call out for help were damped by coughing and the general chaos around you - the sounds of more explosions and a hail of gunfire that you could barely form panic over because your head was pounding and you still felt so fucking ill.
You needed to find Daryl. You needed to find somebody.
The prison bus. That was the plan if things ever went wrong.
You moved toward the exit and found that the main hallway was blocked by more debris, but a splintering path that you knew led toward the library wasn’t. Even in your hazy state, you remembered the fact that Carol had a very large trunk in the library filled with emergency supplies. Water, dry rations, and knives that she had been teaching the kids with. Even if you couldn’t get to the bus, you could get those supplies and get out on foot. The others would likely be camping somewhere along the highway when the bus eventually ran out of gas, so you could catch up to them - eventually.
It was the best plan you could come up with on such short notice, so you stumbled your way toward the library, and as soon as you opened the door - another explosion rocked the building, causing one of the tall, unsecured bookshelves to come tumbling down on top of you. You ended up flat on your back with the large shelf crushing you, leaving you as perfect bait for Walkers that were likely being lured by all that noise outside.
Though you were already weak from illness, you did try to move your arms - and you found out that only one of them wasn’t completely pinned down by the shelf. It was a completely futile effort to try and lift the thing off yourself. Between the weight on top of your lungs and the way the illness had weakened your system - you soon passed out.
When you drifted back into consciousness, the noise had greatly lessened. There was the faint growling of Walkers - cordoned off unintentionally in some other area of the prison - but there were no more explosions, and no more gun fire.
The first thing that caught your eye was something bright red. You focused your eyes to focus, and you quickly realized that it was a picture of a red cardinal. A hand-drawn sketch on the front of a book titled ‘Birds of North America’ that was on one of the other shelves. It was tipped perfectly into the line of your vision, as if meant for you to see.
Before you could futilely try to lift the shelf off yourself again, you heard a voice.
“Hello? Is anyone in here?”
You quickly recognized who it was.
“So-Sophia?” You called back, barking out another cough that strained your words. Luckily, she heard you.
You were soon greeted by the sight of her legs rushing toward you. Though you had no clue how such a waifish girl would ever be able to lift the bookcase off you, you were at least relieved that you were no longer alone.
“What happened?” She asked, kneeling down to speak to you.
“Stupid thing fell on me.” You wheezed quietly. “I came in here looking for your mom’s stash. I’m guessing you had the same idea?”
“Yeah.” She confirmed. “Can you get this thing off you?”
“Yeah. I was just having a leisurely lie down underneath a bookshelf.”
Sophia rolled her eyes at your sarcasm.
“Guess I’ll just leave you here then.” She remarked, battling back with her own sarcasm, clearly having no intentions of doing so.
“Well you might have to… I have no clue how you’re gonna lift this thing off me.” You admitted quietly, hating how defeated you sounded.
“I think I have an idea.”
You were curious what she meant, and you couldn’t quite see what she was doing as she stepped out of your eyeline and made some noise, shuffling around to grab something. Then she came back with a long wooden beam - a shelf she had broken off of one of the other fallen bookcases. She stacked up a few of the books, making a hinging point, and then stuck the beam underneath the bookcase and somehow - using all her bodyweight, she was able to push it off you for long enough for you to crawl out from underneath it.
“Thanks, kid.” You smiled at her as you sucked in greedy breaths.
“Glenn taught me that.” She smiled back. “He said it’s basic physics.”
“I’ll remember to thank him when I see him.” You said.
…
Sitting at the dinner table, you then turned to Glenn.
“That reminds me,” You said. “Thanks for that.”
Glenn chuckled. “Happy to help.”
“Okay, okay, I’ve just one question,” Rick piped up. “Why did you have a stash of weapons in the library, Carol?”
Carol took a long sip of wine, pointedly avoiding the question.
“Oh shit, he never found out about storytime, did he?” Carl chuckled, obviously directing this question toward Carol.
“Storytime?” Rick echoed, eyeing his son heavily, clearly confused.
You cut them off, not wanting to get Carol in trouble for her proactive teaching a bit too late.
“Okay, let’s all just be happy that we’re together and that we’ve had a nice meal.” You said. “I’m not doing dishes. You guys have fun with that. Come on, Daryl, I’ve got somethin’ to show you.” You made your exit, getting up from the table and hoping he would follow - which he did, making way to push out his chair.
“Is it your bare ass?” Abraham joked, clearly at least a bit drunk.
“Abraham!” Rosita chastised him with a gentle smack.
“What? I think it’s cute that Dixon’s all shacked up.” He replied with a chuckle.
“You’re lucky he doesn’t punch your lights out for that one.” Tara remarked.
“Nah, you’re safer with Y/N around.” Maggie commented. “He gets all soft when he’s around Y/N. It is cute.”
“Oh, if you think this is cute just wait til I tell you about what they were like back at the prison.” Michonne added on. “He used to bring Y/N dead squirrels like a cat dropping dead mice at someone’s doorstep. I have no clue how such an odd form of flirting actually worked.”
“Well, some people like dead squirrels, some people like toothpaste.” Rick replied.
And that was the last of the conversation you heard before you closed the front door behind you, going off down the street with Daryl in tow to show him your place.
When you took him up the porch of another manicured house and opened the door, he quietly croaked out:
“This ‘ur place?”
“Yeah.”
You told him, shoving your boots off, not wanting to get dirt on the clean rugs inside. Daryl felt a bit strange taking his shoes off - knowing that his overly worn socks had holes in them, but still, he followed suit. He knew you wouldn’t judge him for something as petty as his socks having holes in them, after all.
“This is where me and Sophia have been living. But there’s always room for one more. If you’re done snuggling up next to Rick on the living room floor,” You couldn’t let another opportune joke escape you, and Daryl rolled his eyes.
“Asshole.” He gently scoffed.
Though the two of you had never slept in the same bed together before. And he couldn’t help but to love the idea of being curled up next to you at night. He found that he also loved the idea of waking up next to you every morning - especially after going for so long without seeing your face. You walked up the stairs and he couldn’t help but to follow you, and he was surprised when you didn’t lead him to bed - but instead, went to the back of a hallway, and pulled down a latch.
This unleashed some stairs that led to the attic, leading the two of you up even higher. He found himself shamelessly admiring the view of your ass as he followed you up the stairs, and when he emerged into the dark attic (only lit by a few strokes of moonlight coming in through the small window) - he was surprised by what he saw. He had to crouch down on his hands and knees to be comfortable, and he quickly adjusted to sit down on his ass as you had.
It appeared that you had built a watchtower of sorts up here.
There was a telescope set up in the small window, and off to one side, there was a cork board with a hand-drawn map of the surrounding area, a few notebooks sitting in the corner that you likely wrote down observances in. Posted on the cork board - there were names of all the residences in town, and you had written down certain traits beside each of them. Along with a hand drawn map of the town itself and names on the houses, indicating where everyone lived.
“So you’re gettin’ paranoid?” Daryl joked.
“No.” You scoffed. “Besides, you should know that a healthy level of paranoia is necessary these days.”
It was in that moment that it truly hit Daryl - you had taught him to be hopeful, even if he hadn’t fully known it at the time. And he had taught you to be less naive, to be firmer in order to survive. The two of you were only alive, only able to have the privilege of being in each other’s presence now because you had accepted those pieces of the other person that kept you alive.
“Ain’t that right.” He replied. “Why did you wanna show me?”
You shrugged. “I thought you might like it.”
Daryl couldn’t hold back his grin - one of the most genuine smiles you had ever seen come from him. He did like it. He liked that he had made a little fighter out of you. But at the same time, nothing had snubbed out the perfect spark that he had fallen in love with. Your smile, your laughter, the brightness in your eyes - somehow, it was all still the same. It made him love you even more somehow.
“I guess I also wanted to thank you.” You added on. “I meant what I said before. You taught me so much - I would have been clueless without you. I would have starved to death and been blind, and lost and stupid without everything that you taught me.” You declared passionately. “You kept me fed and sheltered and warm, and I don’t know how much I could thank you for that.”
Daryl began to get choked up, and he hated that for the second time that day, more tears swelled in his eyes.
He knew that in a different way, you had kept him fed, sheltered, and warm too. You had kept his soul from dying out in those woods - you had kept his spirit fed on the idea of hope that he never would have conceived as something real before he had met you.
He couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. So instead, he found himself reaching out toward you. He put a firm hand under your jaw and guided you toward him; you easily fell limp to the touch and let yourself be guided toward his mouth once again.
This was much less of a surprise than the earlier kiss. This was much warmer, like sinking into the hot shower had been earlier that day. Only this was much, much better. You let out a gentle moan as you let yourself feel it, simply enjoying the tingling sensation throughout your body, gripping into the lapels of his vest, crawling forward to sit in his lap as your mouth embraced his.
After a moment, you pulled away. There was only one thing on your mind, one incomplete thread that you had been thinking about since you had lost him at the prison.
“I love you too.”
Daryl grunted in reply and pulled your mouth back to his.
For once in his life, he didn’t feel like a fool for letting himself hope.
That night, Daryl went to sleep in your bed.
For the first time in far too long, he got to wake up knowing that you were alive and well - he had the privilege of being greeted by the sound of your even, calm breaths. You slept on his chest long after he awoke, and he let you. He was greedy and starved for your touch, soaking in the feeling of your warmth half on top of him, nosing over the top of your head to enjoy your natural scent mixed lightly with the smell of soap.
As the sun rose over the walls of Alexandria, Daryl noticed a streak of red flash by and land on the roof of a house beside yours. Through the window, he saw it there perfectly - the red cardinal that you had gifted him with for luck, the symbol that had guided him all the way here, all the way back to you.
He couldn’t help it, then - he grinned to himself.
The next day, he found one of those picture frames that Aaron had gifted the group with that they largely had no use for, and he put your picture of the bird, still singed on one edge, inside of it.
A while later, when the two of you were out on a run and he had a bit of time on his hands as you fell asleep - he edged a stick n poke tattoo into the skin of his forearm, outlining the bird as best he could with his very little artistic talent. When you saw it, you giggled - and he assured you that it was because he liked the look of it, most definitely not for luck.
He didn’t need ‘luck’ anymore - not when he had you.
...
A/N: This is a stand-alone oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. I have always intended for this to be a stand-alone story, so please do not ask for a follow up or a sequel in the comments. If you are going to comment, please comment about the material that has already been written. If you want to see more TWD fics from me, I have some posted on AO3 (which is linked in my pinned) but I don't currently have any of my other TWD fics posted on Tumblr. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this!
nothing else matters
rockstar!daryl x leadguitarist!reader (rivals to lovers)
first part.




summary: you’re the lead guitarist in a band, and daryl dixon is the biggest singer of your generation. you were born to be rivals, but but you’re made to love each other.
warnings: rockstar!daryl x leadguitarist!reader, m!reader, rivals to lovers, abuse of drugs and alcohol, sassy!daryl, rock & roll, rough kiss.
words count: 2K+.
based on my headcanons and this ask. (thanks bro you’ve given me an incredible idea)
very proud of this work, i hope you all like it.

There’s a reason why the sun leaves the sky every night. Light isn’t meant for the darkness.
Daryl was smoking a cigarette, leaning against his motorcycle. The smoke filled his lungs and drifted out through his nose. His sharp eyes seemed to take in everything and yet focus on nothing.
Your world, on the other hand, was upside down. Nerves made your fingers tingle. You had a guitar slung over your back and a bottle of rum in your hand. Your heart was pounding so hard that you almost told it to calm down, or you’d both be stuck on the edge of success. Today was your first day with your new band.
When you got to the venue door, it was locked. You knocked a few times with your knuckles. Nothing. Not a sound inside. Frustrated, you turned around and saw a guy leaning on a bike, puffing on a cigarette. The smoke clung to his lips, and your body tensed. He brushed his hair out of his face and gave you a lazy, half-asleep look.
“They open in ‘bout an hour,” he murmured in a raspy voice. Suddenly, you heard something more—the tune that wouldn’t stop playing in your head. The one you couldn’t help but hum, even unconsciously. Whether you were showering or cooking, those lyrics and that addictive melody followed you everywhere.
That guy was Daryl Dixon. The lead singer of Arrows, the city’s hottest new band.
Your first instinct was to show your admiration, but you took a deep breath instead. You were in the same game now and had to make your own space. You took a swig from the bottle to get into character.
“So, what you doin’ here, then?” you asked, your voice a little rough from the strong alcohol. Daryl’s eyes flicked over you from head to toe and back up again. “You lookin’ to grab a seat at the bar?”
You laughed, but he didn’t. He just ran his tongue over his bottom lip, his mouth dry from the smoke.
“I’m playin’ tonight,” he said bluntly, cheeks hollowing as he took a deep drag. He looked at your guitar and nodded at it with his ring-covered fingers. You could’ve sworn you saw one with a skull and another with some kind of monster. "Ya even know how to play that thing, or is it just for looks?"
An immature thought flashed through your mind, and you stuffed one hand into your pocket. You knew how to play it all right; you’d practiced a bunch of his songs.
“I’m pretty good,” you said, holding his gaze. Daryl nodded, but his eyes stayed blank. Not even a hint of curiosity. It was a void you could either float in or drown in.
“I’m playin’ tonight too,” you said, gripping the neck of the bottle as you looked at him. It was impossible to look away from this guy, no matter how hard you tried.
He tossed the cigarette to the ground and ran a hand through his beard. He was wearing a leather jacket you’d seen at his shows.
“When?” he asked, stepping closer, his presence so intense it made you tighten your grip on the bottle.
“Nine,” you answered, and a smirk crept onto Daryl’s lips, making your jaw clench.
He was just inches away when he tapped you twice on the shoulder.
“Well, looks like you’re my openin’ act,” he said, licking his lips before unlocking the door with a key you hadn’t noticed. Standing in the doorway, he gave you a cocky smile. “Don’t put ‘em to sleep; I don’t wanna have to wake ‘em up.”
Before you could respond, Daryl stepped inside and shut the door right in your face.
Asshole.

A few more years and you were quite a celebrity. You enjoyed doing concerts in cities you had only seen on TV before, and women were crazy about you. You couldn’t take two steps without being stopped for an autograph; you were the sensation of the moment. And it was just as well that you couldn’t sing, or the spotlight would have been all yours.
That night, you were in Chicago, backstage at a festival. You were practicing some chords on your guitar while Glenn (your best friend) was arguing with the sound guy for not paying attention to something. You were murmuring a Nirvana song until you saw the guys from Arrows approaching you. It had been many years since you last saw them.
The drummer of the band walked up to you and offered his hand. He told you he liked the way you played a particular chord.
Daryl was wearing a vest with wings on the back, sunglasses that covered his eyes, and he had the same rings on his fingers. You remembered what he had said to you the day you met, and you couldn’t help but move closer to him.
"Now we're headlining," you said, making him turn around and take off his glasses. His blue eyes burned you.
"Congrats," he said, looking into your eyes and then at your lips. It was so subtle you didn’t know if it was just in your head or if he really did it.
"Daryl!" the guitarist of his band called out to him, and he turned his back on you again. His indifference hit you like an arrow.
"I'm havin’ problems with my wife, man," he confessed loudly enough for everyone to hear. “She saw some pics of me with another girl, and she's freakin' out. I gotta get home and sort it out.”
You shared a laugh with your best friend, who had grown tired of tormenting the sound guy.
"Don’t fuck with me, man," Daryl said, clearly frustrated, as he fixed his clear gaze on him. "We gotta perform in front of over fifty thousand people."
Glenn took a few steps forward and approached Daryl, placing his hand on his shoulder. You didn’t understand why he did it until he opened his impertinent mouth.
“My guitarist can help y’all out,” he said with conviction, and you felt your blood rush to your face. You kept your cool, lifted your chin, and crossed your arms.
“Why would I do that?” you asked, feeling Daryl's gaze slide over your body—your tense neck, your muscular arms crossed against each other, and your makeup that only deepened your features.
Your best friend didn’t expect your answer; he knew you were always there to lend a hand. He frowned and let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“You know their songs,” he pitched, making your heart start to pound. Daryl was surprised by this revelation; he didn’t expect you to know his songs. He placed a cigarette between his lips and looked at you.
“Ya don’t gotta do it, it’s no big deal,” Daryl murmured without giving it much importance.
You clenched your teeth and nodded.
“I’ll do it,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “There’s a whole mess of folks waitin' on us.”
Daryl smiled, and you felt something deep in your heart. He was still your rival, but he burned you as much as a lover.

You let your bony fingers caress the strings of your guitar with expert technique as you played the opening chords of Metallica’s “Until It Sleeps.” Nothing else existed in this world but you and your instrument. You allowed the melody to seduce you and transport you to a new realm. You knew the lyrics so well that your lips moved almost instinctively. You lifted your smoky-eyed gaze and saw Daryl drinking a beer while watching you.
You continued playing, and Daryl took the opportunity to lose himself in the way your fingers moved, the grace with which you strummed the strings, and your feet keeping the beat. He found himself staring at the blackness that clouded your eyelids and the way you parted your lips every time the chorus came around.
He hated with all his soul that he couldn’t admit how amazing you were.
He hated with all his heart how you made it even more perfect.
He wanted to move closer to you and sing along.
He wanted so many things that he just stayed there, finishing his beer.
An up-and-coming band finished their set, and it was Arrows’ turn. You shot Glenn a death glare, and he just winked at you. You had no idea what that was about. You sighed and stepped onto the stage. The applause was so deafening it almost left you without hearing. Your anxiety turned into something almost surreal. Daryl kept his eyes locked on you and the guitar hanging from your shoulder.
“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded.
You were in sync with the band; you started right on cue and ended almost perfectly. Everyone supported you and trusted your technique, which made you shine on stage. But everything began to unravel when you heard his voice. His voice sank into your bones and made you feel so many things you couldn’t even name. You watched his hair, the way his body moved while he added his voice to your music, and your whole world seemed to tremble. Sometimes you had to play the strings harder just to remind yourself that you were there. Playing with him.
Daryl’s grayish eyes were locked on you during the solos. He parted his lips and smiled. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing you or genuinely impressed.
When you thought the show was over, you took a moment to look at the thousands of people. They were pumped up, going wild for Dixon. Everything was going just as you expected until Daryl signaled his bassist and started playing a song. You gripped your instrument and swallowed hard. That song wasn’t on the setlist you’d been given.
That song was your favorite, but you’d buried it in the “forced forgetfulness” drawer after what happened with Daryl at the bar.
The idiot had released it a few months after you met. The song was about a night with a girl in a nightclub. She’d done her eyes up with dark makeup and had a tough attitude. The lyrics described how her hands touched him like guitar strings and how she straddled him, moving as if she were the star of a movie. It was about a girl he wanted but couldn’t truly have, because after their one night together, he knew they both belonged to the same sky, but at different points.
Click.
You looked at your hands on the guitar and remembered your own face. You heard every lyric, how it described her shining. You thought you were dreaming until he gave you a look that made you forget how to breathe.
You’re such an idiot, Daryl Dixon.

“What the hell was that?” you demanded as you barged into Dixon’s dressing room. You had a few minutes before it was your band’s turn.
Daryl was checking himself out in the mirror, and you were right behind him. You were wound up, your heart racing, and you couldn’t believe what had just happened—even if half of it was probably just in your head. He was your rival; you’d spent half your careers making each other’s lives miserable, trying to one-up each other. It wasn’t fair that, when you finally shared the stage with him, he sang that song.
“What?” he asked calmly, fiddling with his rings.
“Uh…” You swallowed and hesitated. No, it didn’t make sense to say what you wanted. ““You sang a song without tellin’ me. Y’all should’ve—”
Daryl unbuttoned his vest because it was sweltering in the room. You noticed his chest and a new tattoo on his abdomen. He scratched the back of his neck with a fake hint of embarrassment and gave a small laugh.
“Yeah, we shoulda told ya ‘bout that song,” he said, moving closer to you as if drawn by some invisible force. “What’s the deal? You don’t like it? If it makes ya feel any better, you played it real good.”
His condescension got under your skin, and you closed the gap until you were almost touching. You were fuming and couldn’t figure out why. Maybe you were still mad because Glenn had pushed you onto that stage with him. His eyes locked onto yours, and he raised his chin, challenging you to keep eye contact. His body was close, almost naturally dominating. In this game, no one was going to win.
“Who’s the song about?” you whispered near his lips. “Who is she?”
You pressed your lips to his, lingering to steal his breath. He tasted like alcohol and weed. Daryl froze. Maybe you’d made a huge mistake. You cleared your throat, shook your head, and started for the door.
Before you could leave, Daryl pushed you against the wall. The shove was unexpected, rough, and bold. You locked eyes, and before you knew what was happening, his lips were on yours. The kiss was fierce and hungry. His hand, covered in metal, wrapped around your neck and you let out a moan. His tongue danced with yours, and you both nearly lost your breath.
All your heat gathered in one part of your body, and you pressed your hips against him, making sure he felt you.
“Since I’ve known ya, all my songs’ve been ‘bout you,” he admitted, pulling away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, still wet from you.
Your chest heaved as you looked at him.
Glenn knocked on the door and said it was almost time.
“I didn't like your song,” you confessed, holding his gaze.
Daryl turned around. You saw him laughing thanks to his reflection in the mirror.
“Maybe I’ll like it when you write about something real,” you said, making his mood shift completely.
He sat down on the couch, spreading his legs slightly, and you felt a rush of heat. He softly touched his thigh with his hand.
“Give me a reason then,” he murmured, drawing out the words.
“I’m sorry, but I have to keep being a star, Daryl Dixon,” you said firmly, walking away.
There’s a reason why there are stars in the sky. They’re meant for someone to look at in the dark.
S4 E4 — DARYL DIXON GIFS (TWD TV SERIES.)




credit if used | reblogs appreciated.






otpsource's 3 year anniversary ❀ day 1: choice of otp
carol peletier & daryl dixon (the walking dead)
this absolutely made my night better, istg
To Kiss or To Kill. | Daryl Dixon |
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Masterlist
Summary: You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until unforeseen circumstances leave you discovering that maybe Daryl and you were cut from the same cloth.
Warnings: rivals to lovers trope, daddy issues, language, descriptions of fights + bodily injuries, brief mentioning of homophobia, attempted SA, Reader is mentioned to be bisexual.
Word Count: aprox. 10k
Era: Prison to Alexandria
A/n: This is not my proudest work and I definitely think I could've done better with the material but I hope it can still be enjoyed!
Song recommendations: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Ray, Daylight - David Kushner , Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

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A lemon is sour from the start and rots with age.
The relationship you shared with Daryl could be described as said lemon.
It was nearing the end of summer. And though this meant the end of scorching heat, the winter proved to be a difficult season for survival. This morning at the prison had begun like any other. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn we’re set out on a run to find any supplies necessary for the growing community. With all the new folk after the fall of the Governor only a few weeks before, it put more pressure on the group in their endless searches.
The town in which the prison resided did not hold many options when it came to scavenging but there was one place not yet explored. Pike County High School, the only high school in the small town of Zebulon, Georgia. Daryl thought the plan was futile. What was he to find in a high school besides dusty textbooks and inappropriate drawings in the bathroom stalls?
But none the less, Rick sent the trio on their way with a list of items in hand.
The school was as Daryl expected. Papers were thrown about the floors. Windows were broken leaving glass shards to crunch underneath their boots. Desks and chairs were thrown about. And worst of all, there was an eeriness that loomed the chaotic halls. But there was something else hanging in the air, stillness.
Maggie banged her gun on the rusted lockers and waited for any walkers to make themselves known. But the silence that followed was so loud you could practically hear the wind gliding through the shattered windows. Daryl took it a step further and threw a chair down the hall, creating a loud clattering noise as it collided with the wall. Yet still, nothing.
"Alright," Glenn muttered, his uneasiness just as high as the others. "Let's get what we need and get the hell out." Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, "Daryl find the nurse's office, take whatever you find no matter how unimportant it seems. Rick asked us to find some good books for the kids." Glenn passed the list over to a very unamused Daryl.
"Guess I ain't smart enough to find some books."
Daryl walked the halls of the school, crossbow in hand, keeping his ears peeled for any movements that weren’t his own. The silence unsettled Daryl for two reasons. There could be someone residing here which would make sense with the absence of walkers. But he could not shake the thought that there were once children who roamed these halls. Kids who were Carl’s age now. Kids who were planning who they wanted to be, and what they wanted their lives to be. But now their dreams were just as grim as these empty halls.
He spotted it as his gaze wandered from the walls to the floor.
Droplets of deep red stained the tile, varying in size and opacity. Daryl dragged his fingers along the droplets, smearing the coagulated blood. The blood was not as dry as Daryl had hoped.
Daryl drew his bow closer to himself, resting his finger on the trigger, and slowing his steps as he followed the trail of crimson dots. They led him exactly where he needed to be, the nurse's office.
The wood door creaked open, the natural light from the windows lighting the room. The scene worsened in the room. There were now blood smears staining the floors, cabinets swung open and drawers left agape. Someone had obviously barged in in a hassle, with desperate need to help themselves.
What concerned Daryl was the adjoined room to the far left, he could not see into the area unless he approached it directly. Keeping his bow up, he proceeded. Just as the tip of his bow peeked its way around the corner, it was knocked from his hands with a single blow.
Daryl had not known what knocked his bow from his grasp but he sure as hell felt the hit to his jaw.
The punch you had thrown sent a throbbing through your right hand, and the tendons in your arm fizzled with the sudden force. The man reacted quickly, grabbing you by both arms and pulling you away from the wall you had been hidden behind.
You ripped an arm from his grasp quick enough to unsheathe the blade on your thigh. The struggle continued, both of you equally pulling at the other in an attempt for dominance while simultaneously avoiding the cut of the blade. Random objects clattered to the ground in the tussle, including an old coffee mug falling and shattering.
The wound you had acquired on your leg was not helpful in this situation. Had your adrenaline not been so high, you would have dropped long ago. While you struggled to keep yourself standing, Daryl was simply shocked at the brute force of the woman in his grasp.
You paused for a moment, your grip on your knife tightening until your knuckles turned white. Just then you were able to look at him. Daryl saw the determination in your eyes. And though there was determination, there also seemed to be a pleading.
But with one forceful shove, you fell back, your leg buckling under you and your head hitting a cabinet.
A painful gasp left you, feeling the poorly done stitches rip your wound open again. Dropping your knife, your shaking hands grasped at the wound on your thigh as you pulled your back up against the cabinets. Your chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and pain. The skin on your thigh seared hot, every nerve around the wound throbbing.
Had you been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the man grip up his bow that was now aimed at you. It gave him time to examine you. You did not look dirty and unkept as other survivors had. Your hair was pulled back into a messy braid at the back of your head. Clothes black, all the way down to your boots. Holsters for weapons hung from your hips and thighs. And a pair of dog tags dangled around your neck.
“Daryl!” Maggie and Glenn came rambling through the door, weapons drawn. Daryl held a hand up to them, signaling that he was fine. The school was not one of great size, it did not surprise Daryl that they’d heard the tussle.
With the arrival of two new faces, you made an attempt to grab the blade you’d drop. But Daryl was quick and kicked the blade away leaving your hand to smack against the tile floor. Now left with no weaponry and not even a stable body to defend yourself, you’d figured you’d start begging to them or praying to God.
“I-I just want to leave. I’m-“ The sudden sharp tingle in your thigh cut your words short. You clenched your jaw tight and shut your eyes waiting for the muscle spasm to pass. “You’re not going anywhere on that leg.” Maggie holstered her gun and met you on the floor. There was a hesitation to her but in her heart she knew leaving you would be a death sentence. “My daddy can help you.”
“Maggie…”
“Glenn.” Maggie’s tone was stern, sending her husband a threatening glare.
While Maggie began to ask you questions, she motioned for the two men to scavenge the room. “What’s your name?”
“Y/n…”
Maggie pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, scooting even closer to you. She motioned for you to lift your leg, “I’m Maggie. That’s Glenn and then Daryl.” She slipped the fabric beneath it, tying it in a tight knot around your wound. You winced at this, resisting the urge to pull her hands off of you.
“How many walkers have you killed?” Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Had you known you were meant to keep track, you would’ve started long ago. “I don’t…know…a lot?” Your words were stuttered and shaken considering the pain you felt. You saw the man you had just fought glance at you from the corner of his eye. You began to debate if you should feel guilt for attacking him.
“That’s okay,” Maggie gave you a kind smile, “How many people have you killed?” She watched your face falter and your eyes shift to the ground then back to her. “Eight, I think.” Maggie gently nodded, her tone becoming slightly more serious “Why?”
“I’ve been alone for a long time.”
Maggie’s eyes met yours and for a moment, while you held each other's gaze, there was an understanding. An understanding that only another woman could begin to fathom.
Your arrival at the prison was nothing short of chaotic. The run starting as three and returning as four, though a possibility, was not expected.
A man with a beard pulled Daryl aside beginning to hound him with questions, Maggie supported you as you stood while Glenn ran off shouting the name Hershel. Much of everything after that was blurry. You could remember the man with the white beard mainly due to his kindness and gentle touch while he took care of your wounds. And you remembered the name Rick being tossed about in conversation.
"Let her rest." Hershel patted Glenn on the shoulder, muttering him a thank you for his help.
You lay flat on your back, your head and leg propped up with a pillow. You could not say it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid in. You weren't even sure it was cozier than where you slept the night before. You fought the tiredness away, unsure of falling asleep in an unfamiliar community. But the medicine Hershel gave you made you drowsy. And soon every muscle felt heavy and your eyelids heavier.
You were unsure of how long you'd slept, only being startled awakened by the clank of metal. Rick noticed his mistake immediately pulling his hand away from the door of the cell, now standing with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry. I forget how loud these things are." You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your beating heart. Rick entered the cell, opening the foldable chair Hershel had previously been sitting on.
"Was gonna drop these off for when ya woke up." Rick held up a glass of water and some type of protein bar. You adjusted yourself into a more proper sitting position, sending Rick a nod. As your mind awoke you became very conscious of your lack of pants, pulling the blanket farther up your waist. You were grateful that Ricks seemed to avert his eyes.
"I'm Rick.” His accent was noticeable.
“Y/n.” Just like your own.
“Maggie and Daryl told me a little bit about you but I wanted to speak with you directly.”
Rick held a certain type of authority to him. He spoke to you politely while still holding himself with dominance. A certain awkwardness became present when Rick spent a tad bit too long racking his brain for a question. “M’sorry about attacking, uhm… Daryl.” You decided to cut the awkwardness yourself.
To your surprise, Rick chuckled at your apology. “Please don’t apologize.” He looked at you, still with a smile on your face. “You were doing what you thought was right.” Rick shifted in the metal chair, resting his elbows atop his knees. "Did you serve?" Rick pointed to your neck, "Is that how you learned to fight?" You instinctively reached for the dog tags hanging from their chain.
"No no, they were my dads." You rubbed the smooth metal anxiously, feeling the indents of the letters and numbers imprinted. "I was an only child, only daughter at that, so my dad was rather protective of me... He had me in every boxing or self-defense class he could afford." A chuckle followed your words, reminiscing on the memory. Rick could understand your father's need to protect, having two children of his own.
"Rick." A gruff voice interrupted your conversation. The man named Daryl took up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, he seemed to falter under your gaze. He nudged his head in the opposite direction, asking for Rick to come with him. "Alright." Rick stood from the chair with an exasperated sigh, "Imma leave this right here for ya." Rick placed the water and protein bar on the chair in his place.
On his way out, he turned to you, "Maggie's gonna bring you up some clean clothes and help you get washed up. That alright?" His kind, yet tired, eyes sought an answer. You nodded and muttered a quiet thank you in return.
Your time in the prison since then could only be described as isolating. The injury on your leg kept you mostly restrained to the bed in your newly appointed cell. So, most of your time was spent with Maggie, Hershel, and occasionally Rick coming and going. Maggie cared for you in any way she could, nourishing you with food and assisting you in showering and changing. She had seemed to take a liking to you, as you did her, and you assumed you could now call her a friend.
However, there was another you don't think you could call much of anything.
Maggie helped you outside to the courtyard after you’d expressed that you were going mad looking at the same four walls. She’d left you with the book of Little Women, a blank leather journal, and a blue ink pen. “Holler if you need me, okay?” Maggie gently patted your shoulder before departing to meet Glenn only a few yards away.
Being outside after your imprisonment for the last 5 days, revived something in you. The heat from the sun's rays provided warmth on your skin but the cool breeze prevented you from overheating. You could not remember the last time you'd been outdoors without your head on a swivel or without the fear of being someone's dinner.
You could not focus on your book or your journal with the people who walked about the courtyard throwing glances your way. Everyone had heard about, the girl with the leg injury, with time. Random passers-by flashed you smiles, small waves, or even shy hello’s all of which you felt inclined to return.
“Y/n?” Though the voice was familiar, it did not stop the annoyance of having to put your pen down once again. You looked to the man, “Hi Rick.” Rick gleamed with a smile on his face “I’m glad to see you out here.”
Rick took it upon himself to take a seat at the table across from you making it obvious he desired to continue this conversation.
"Were you able to think about what we talked about?" Rick came by yesterday evening with a proposition for you. He invited you to join in with the group of people who went on runs for the community. Once you were fully healed, of course.
The only downside to this was who your main run partner was to be, Daryl. Rick saw something between you that you weren’t quite sure you saw yourself.
Daryl felt a wave of awkwardness standing behind Rick as he spoke to you. The same awkwardness he felt only a few days before standing in that doorway. Daryl knew of Rick's plans having been talked to about it only a few hours before.
He felt no need for a run partner. He was perfectly fine going about on his own but Rick thought the opposite.
What if something happens to you?
What if you get stuck somewhere?
We can’t afford to send search parties out for you.
All valid arguments from Rick. But Daryl had no desire to hear any of it. His stubbornness made him deaf.
Daryl could very clearly see you now. Whatever dirt and grime washed away revealed a remarkable woman. Your hair appeared soft and your dark eyes almost sparkled with the sun. He could see the definition of muscles on your biceps, highlighted by the short sleeves of your shirt. How you composed yourself screamed confidence as if you knew you were too pretty for a world so ugly.
And it infuriated him.
“Yeah, I uh...I wanna help any way I can.” Rick seemed pleased with your answer though the person behind him did not. You shifted in your seat, feeling Daryl’s eyes burn into you. In an attempt to redeem yourself, you spoke again, “If there’s anything I can do now, I want to.” Rick nodded at this, “We’ll find ya something.”
You could hear Daryl scoff from behind Rick. And though you tried to ignore it, you could not help the sour look you gave him in return. Daryl saw this as an invitation to continue his pronounced distaste.
“Don’t need someone who can’t walk holding me down.”
"Don't need someone who couldn't fight a girl holding me down."
Your response was quick-witted and more degrading to Daryl's masculinity than his insult to your injury. If you weren't mistaken, Daryl's eye twitched.
Rick stood from his seat to begin their exit, knowing the lengths of Daryl's temper. "You ain't nothing I couldn't handle." The chuckle you responded with and the glint of excitement in your eyes at the looming argument tested Daryl even more. "Sure, Daryl."
It was the first time you'd ever spoken his name to him. And he never stopped thinking of it for days to come. The way it rolled off your tongue and sounded with that southern twang. It left him restless at night and irritable during the day.
When your leg had healed and you'd grown tired of cleaning the library or serving daily meals, your first outing with Daryl was set. And it started just as rocky as it ended.
"Ya get bit, I ain't gonna hesitate to put a bullet in yer head."
"Why wait? I'm standing right here."
You remained quiet after that, not wanting to push the tension even more. But even the simplest of questions left Daryl huffing and puffing. It started with you asking how his morning was going. And it ended with you asking why he was such a prick.
It was a silent ride home.
You'd like to think you'd tried to find his good side in those beginning days but you soon began to question if such a thing even existed. Any time you were kind to him, he retaliated with anger. It brought out a certain type of frustration in you that you didn’t know was possible.
Within your time at the prison, you'd made yourself an esteemed part of the community. You used your [now useless] degree in agriculture to help build the gardens and begin the planting of any seeds you could find. Rick took a heavy trust in you and appointed you a seat on the prison council. And you'd shown your skills in scavenging, even when you had Daryl breathing down your neck.
It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when this whole charade started. Perhaps it had started in the nurse's office, in the courtyard, or on your first run together. But it did not matter where it began because there was one thing for sure, there seemed to be no end.
You both had a hold over another, in a way no one else did.
Daryl hated your confidence because he lacked his own. He hated that you were quick to go toe to toe with him. Because many others were too scared. He despised that you were so smart, a college graduate. And he especially hated when you spoke so highly of your father. Because he didn’t have a father to talk about at all.
But there was always a ting of something in all of his hate. Jealousy.
You hated his ego. You hated the fact that he contradicted everything you said. You hated when he called you names. Princess, he’d say or, miss college graduate. You hated that he never even tried to get to know you; to know that you weren’t this pretentious brat he painted you to be. Despite being with each other on a regular basis, there was a lacking of personal connection.
It was a day familiar to any other. Your hot morning tea whirled about in your mug, your feet gliding gently around the grounds of the growing garden. After all your laborious hours in the Georgia heat, it was gratifying to see the various plants take bloom. Knowing there'd soon be a garden big enough to feed the community gave you satisfaction and perhaps a sliver of peace.
"You comin' or what?"
And there goes another blissful morning pissed down the drain.
Your long braid fell from your shoulder to your back when you looked at the disgruntled man. "We might need to find you a new mattress." You made your way to him, shoving your mug into his chest, "You can't ever seem to find a good side to wake up on." He scoffed, involuntarily taking your mug. The two of you, along with Michonne and Glenn, were set out on yet another run. Not one of great importance nor would it take that long of time but nonetheless it was still time spent around him.
Daryl followed behind you as you continued your way back to the prison, mug still in hand. "Michonne and Glenn are waitin' while yer staring at some fuckin' bushes." It was your turn to scoff, "They're not bushes. It's food. And a lot of fucking work."
Oh, Daryl knew how much work it had taken from you.
In the weeks he'd spent out in the gardens, his eyes worked more than his hands. He couldn't not look. You wore a tank top every day with the same black gardening gloves and dog tags dangling from your neck. The muscles in your biceps were always highlighted from the hours of digging. The blistering sun always had you drenched in sweat leaving your skin constantly glossy. Words couldn't describe the way he felt when it was dripping down your neck and into the crevice of your breast.
He was outraged for the entire three weeks.
"Whatever."
The mug in his hand became very apparent to him. "When the hell ya give me this?" He now strode beside you, approaching the car at the gates. You smiled to yourself, "A while ago."
Daryl would have preferred to ride his bike to avoid being trapped in such a confined space with you. But it was, “A waste of gas” as Rick would say.
You weren’t exactly sure what Daryl had done. But he had particularly did you in today. So greatly that you almost walked home. Glenn had to beg you to come back. Perhaps it was the way he glared at you that threw you over the edge. So cold and hostile. Or the way he stepped all over your feet, cutting you off mid-sentence, always thinking that he was right. You were simply always wrong.
This particular run would change the trajectory of your relationship forever.
You and Daryl had split in the strip mall, deciding to cover more ground separately. The strip was usually overrun with a hoard of walkers but as of late, they seemed to be diminishing one at a time. It had become clear enough to begin digging at the stores it held. Some random clothing stores, liquor shops, a CVS pharmacy, and dead restaurants.
You were rummaging about the pharmacy, most of it already picked through.
Examining the bottle of prenatal vitamins in your hand for Maggie, you heard footsteps. Thinking it was Daryl you spoke. "It's not like these expiration dates even matter anymore." Blind to your danger, you turned to face him.
Before you were given time to react to the two strange men, you were grabbed by the back of your neck, pulling at the nape of your hair, a blade held to the side of your throat. The bottle dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. You grasped the man's arm attempting to keep the blade from your skin but you'd failed; cuts appeared on the delicate skin.
"Stay." The other man reached for your gun belt, unholstering your weapon and keeping it for himself. You kept your calm but your eyes widened with fear. "Scream and you'll die." The short man with the knife moved it away from your throat, his hand freeing your neck. The other man, who had taken your gun, now had it pointed at you.
It was loaded. You knew because you were the one who'd loaded it that very morning.
"Ya can't just come into the place we've worked so hard to clean up and start taking things...we need some form of payment."
"I have my bag." You offered hoping they would merely steal your things and go. Slowly, not taking your eyes off them, you moved your pack off your back. "There's food and ammo and other supplies." Your bag was snatched from your hands with haste. "Thank you." It wasn't genuine, just taunting.
"But that's not what we want." Their eyes looked at you more hungry than any walker. Once you realize what they meant, tears begin to blur your vision. You could feel them begin to come closer to you. Feeling helpless and too stunned to cry out for Daryl, you weren't sure if you should start fighting or begging.
Daryl heard your continuous screeches from down the way, dropping his bag of clothing. "Y/n!" His feet carried him to you swiftly. You cried his name shoving one man off of you from your pinned spot against the shelves. It was foolish of Daryl to begin shooting so wildly.
Luckily you moved to the floor in avoidance of the bullets, covering your head and blocking your ears.
You kept yourself crouched on the ground, deaf to what was happening around you. Until a hand grabbed your bicep and hoisted you from the ground, "Come on, we gotta go." For once you were relieved to see Daryl.
But you wouldn't be for long.
"We shouldn't have split up!" Daryl shouted. He was walking too fast for you to keep up, as he did at times. You trailed behind him stumbling your way over the branches and leaves in an attempt to make it back to the road with his bike. "You always got stupid fuckin' ideas!" Daryl's adrenaline was still pumping, too ignorant to think of you. He muttered to himself, “Course there was people, walkers don’t just clear out by themselves.”
He marched onto the blacktop.
"Ya talk big game just to not do nothing to help yourself." Daryl was angrily throwing the green brush off his bike, removing it from its hidden spot in the treeline. "Always talkin' 'bout yer daddy and what he did for ya." Daryl said this more to himself but it didn’t fail to reach your ears.
"Well, where was he now yuh?" Daryl turned around to face you, his chest heaving. Only to catch you in the midst of buttoning your pants. Guilt dreaded him.
You didn't care to hear his insults. And you had no desire to get on that bike and be so close to him right now.
"I.." Words couldn't find themselves in your mouth. All you could focus on was the way everything felt frozen yet moving at an intense speed at the same time. Daryl saw the way you struggled with yourself.
There was a twisting pain within your chest as your panic only grew. "Y/n." Daryl put his frustrations aside, the situation becoming clear to him now. He swallowed down his pride and reached a hand out to you. Before his fingertips could even graise the fabric of your shirt, you took a step back. "No." You spoke gently, looking out to the woods instead of to Daryl; all you could fathom now was the desire to escape.
"Y/n," Daryl repeated more soft, "We gotta go home."
"I don't want to." You turned back to him abruptly. He could see the tears irritating your eyes. Where your hands lay across your chest, you could feel your rapid heart.
"Why not?" Daryl couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to go home. It was safe, it was comfortable. Two things you desperately need right now.
"I can't, I…I can't get on the bike right now." Your frustration with yourself was growing.
Why couldn't you just get on the bike?
Why couldn't you breathe?
Why didn't you listen to Daryl and not split up?
Why was Daryl being so kind to you suddenly? Was it pity? You hated pity.
"Alright." Daryl watched the tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "We can walk, it's alright." There was no way of making it back to the prison on foot before sundown. Daryl knew this. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for you.
Daryl gripped the handles on his bike, walking the heavy machine down the road with you in tow. You were seemingly able to calm yourself down. The only thing remaining now was shame. You were embarrassed that Daryl had seen you so vulnerable. And you were even more embarrassed that he had to save you.
All the countless years felt wasted. All that time spent in the ring or on some thin gym mats. All those tireless nights where your father wouldn’t allow you to rest until you got one more. It was a phrase all too familiar.
You knew Daryl was annoyed having to walk, his huffs and buffs gave it away. The sun was beginning to set. "Daryl we can drive." You tried to persuade for the third time. "S'fine."
"Daryl, it's getting dark."
"S'fine!" He shouted back frustrated with the disappearing sun. You stopped in your tracks. "I know somewhere we can sleep."
You could hear the soft sounds of the water flowing down the river bed. The moon allowed a glow onto the water, gleaming with the current. Crickets and cicadas chirped in the night air like music to your ears. Despite the struggles of being in the wilderness alone, nights like this made you miss it.
"What ya doin' over there?" Daryl asked sitting a few feet behind you at the fire. "Nothing."
You pushed yourself from the ground, making your way back to him. Daryl bitterly smoked his cigarette. You didn't need to ask to know why he was so irritated, you could already imagine. Perhaps catching the fish for dinner was what did it. Or the hundreds of pounds of metal he walked for miles. Or maybe he actually was mad about having to save you. Or the simple fact that he was stuck out here with you.
You couldn't pick one.
No words were spoken, just the sounds of the wilderness and the crackling of the fire. It allowed you to think.
You began to wonder if you'd ever actually hated him. Because how could you hate someone you'd grown such an attachment to? How could you hate the person you screamed out for in your time of need? There were countless days where he'd anger you so much you thought you might actually strangle him. But somehow you always went right back. You always met him at the gates or stumbled upon him at breakfast.
Staring off into the fire you began to accept that you all along had been trying [and presumably failing] to win him over. "You okay?" Your eyes looked from the fire to him. His cigarette no longer present, "M'fine." You replied.
Daryl would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about you. Just because he didn't care for you at times, didn't mean he doesn't care about you. "It happened a couple times out on the road. I could handle it then...I just..." You shifted where you sat, "Got surprised today was all." To hear this wasn't the first time but a time of many, gutted Daryl.
You had become more afraid of encountering a man than a walker.
Daryl was never angry with you. He was more angry with himself, unable to protect you from finding yourself in such a situation.
"Wasn't yer fault. M'sorry." Shockingly, Daryl's guilt overshined his ego.
You let out a deep sigh looking back out towards the water. You knew his apology was sincere but you couldn't find the courage to acknowledge it. "I was just thinking about how I miss it out here sometimes. The sounds, the views, the peace."
Your confidence and sharp tongue did not seem present at this moment. Looking back to him, he seemed completely entranced by this newfound gentle side of you. "But that's only one percent of it, isn't it?" Daryl never took his eyes off yours, the fire casting an orange glow within them. "Yeah."
The other ninety - nine percent was the actual survival. All the bloody fights. The permanent anxiety. The sleepless nights due to fear. The painful emptiness of your stomach. The constant blisters on your ankles [that never healed] from running or walking. And the unbearable hopelessness.
"Were ya always alone?" Daryl had always been curious. You shook your head, "No." He nodded his head and looked away, leaving it at that. He had no desire to make your night even more miserable by talking about the ones you'd lost.
"It was just me and my brother for awhile."
"Meryl?"
Daryl furrowed his eyebrows knowing he'd never mentioned him before.
"Maggie's talked about him briefly."
"All nice things?" Daryl asked sarcastically.
"Not really." Your attempt to stifle your laugh was a failure, the smile lingering. But this did not anger Daryl the way you thought it would. Instead, he had his own small smile, scoffing and shaking his head. "He wasn't the best at times...but he was my brother ya know?"
You nodded muttering a, yeah.
Daryl flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dying fire. Knowing this was the first and potentially last time you'd ever speak to another so tenderly again, you continued.
"I was an only child. My mom died in childbirth when I was eight…so I never got siblings."
"M'sorry."
"Don't." You didn't say it to be cruel. You grew up hearing sympathy after sympathy, you did not need anymore. "I was never alone though. I had my Dad. And my aunt and uncles helped take care of me so I was surrounded by my cousins all the time...I guess I did have siblings in a way." A nauseating wave of nostalgia rose in your throat, silencing you for a mere second.
"My mom died when I was young too. 'Cept my Dad was just some drunk asshole, didn't care 'bout nobody but himself." Daryl couldn't deny his slight envy towards you. You grew up with a father who cared for you and your safety. It made him wonder how you'd ended up alone in the end.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't need yer apologies Y/n."
"I know."
The fire was no more. Only red hot embers burning on the rocky gravel. And it made you think that perhaps it was symbolic that the fire was slowly diminishing as your conversation grew more gentle.
A few minutes of silence had passed before either of you spoke again. "Look at us, talking to each other, treating each other like human beings for once." You joked with a laugh in an effort to replace the depressing mood.
You actually heard Daryl chuckle even though he lowered his head in an attempt to hide it. His eyes glanced at you, your own cheeky smile dimpling your cheeks. If this is what having a personal connection with Daryl was, it was dangerous.
Why did it take so long?
Was what you wanted to scream at him.
I could've loved you if you'd just given me a chance.
"Maybe we have more in common than we ever allowed."
Daryl broke eye contact with you, staring down at the glowing embers, chewing on his bottom lip. And he did the only thing he ever learned how to do when he felt something. "Night Y/n."
You didn't know why you expected anything different.
"Goodnight Daryl."
Daryl took his vest off, rolling it up and using it as a makeshift pillow. He turned away from you, his back tauntling in your face.
You stayed up a little while after, too overwhelmed by thoughts to rest. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl could not rest either. In fact, he did not sleep that entire night, only allowing himself ten-minute naps here and there. The only sense of relaxation he felt was when he'd check over his shoulder and see you in blissful sleep. As if nothing and no one had ever touched you.
When Rick asked what'd happened, Daryl lied. Saying you'd been outrun by a hoard and had to crash somewhere safe for the night. The days continued on, and what happened that day was not spoken of again. But there had come an understanding that Daryl and you were indeed, more in-common than ever allowed.
Patrick approached Daryl and you at breakfast as you mapped the run for the next morning. "H-hi!" Patrick greeted sheepishly, giving a small wave to the table. Maggie and Glenn greeted him first. Then you, pulling your attention away from the map on the table to him; give a polite smile and nod. "Hey Patrick, everything okay?" Rick asked from where he sat beside Daryl. "Yeah..." Patrick was nervous on his feet, awkwardly pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask Daryl and Y/n if I could join them out there?"
There was suddenly a stiffness in the air. Glances were exchanged between the lot of you. "Patrick I-" Rick scratched his beard awkwardly, finding a response for the boy. Patricks's confidence plummeted. He had spent hours building up the courage to ask, only to be met with stiff glances.
"How old are you Patrick?" It was an odd question for you to ask but it did not come without reason. "Uhmm fifteen."
You rose from your seat making your way over to him as gently as your feet would allow. Come, you spoke gently reaching an arm out to him.
Patrick began to walk with you.
"I was younger than you when my father began to enroll me in fighting classes."
Pausing your words, you continued your stroll until you stopped just before hitting the grass. "He told me that you could never be too young to know how to protect yourself...What does that mean to a little girl who only wanted to play with her Barbies?"
Patrick listened to you intentively, entranced by the way you spoke.
Looking out to the green gardens, you seemed lost in thought for a second. "I don't think your question is outrageous. I just don't think you're prepared." Patrick seemed to understand this answer more, nodding his head.
You knew the day would come when the prison folk grew tired of looking at the same walls and more curious about the world beyond. Especially the children. You'd seen the group of kids over by the fences, close enough to look at the walkers but far enough away for safety. It was often that they were scolded by the adults.
"I know I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you or Daryl or even Carl. But I just wanna…” Patrick paused, “be brave for once.”
You couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the boy.
"You can't go out there knowing nothing Patrick." He had finally begun to accept defeat but the long face and disappointed eyes tugged at your sympathy.
"I can teach you. Just as my father taught me." Patrick's eyes lit up with hope. "Th-thank you Y/n." He gleamed with excitement, reaching a hand out to shake yours. You were truly at a loss of words with no choice but to shake it in return.
You'd spent day after day out in the field with Patrick. You taught him how to block blows, how to hold and use daggers, and much more. He was skittish and shaky most days but he was trying. In place of your days with Patrick, you were skipping your usual days with Daryl. You truly hadn't thought he'd mind much. If anything, you assumed he'd be happy to finally have a break from you.
"I feel like this wouldn't hurt that bad." Patrick commented. Carl was punching the book Patrick held, having begun to invite himself to the practices. Thick index books were the closest thing you'd find to a punching bag. You chuckled, "It hurts more than you'd expect."
Daryl approached the three of you. You could hear his footsteps. They were gentler than normal as if he wished to not disturb. "It hurts more if you have rings on." Patrick looked at you curiously, "Did you used to wear rings Y/n?" You nodded happily. "All the time.”
You turned to finally face Daryl. "Hey." You greeted, taking the last few steps to meet him. "Hi." Daryl looked about, chewing on his bottom lip. "You ain't been showing up for runs." It almost, almost, sounded as if this upset him. "I've been here," you motioned to the young boys, "You know that."
Daryl nodded.
Of course he knew. He saw you every day, always wanting to come over and join but never allowing himself to.
"You really serious 'bout all this?" Daryl nudged his head to Patrick and Carl. You let out a deep sigh. You asked yourself the same question. Was this serious? Did you really plan on taking a kid outside the gates? There was a chance this was all for nothing at all. But what you did know was that it kept your mind at peace and your days busy.
"I don't know. I thought we could at least take him down to the river. It's nice down there, it's not far, would get him outta here for a few hours."
The river.
"Alright."
"Alright."
You sat alone at dinner that night, needing quiet time after hanging out with teenage boys for the majority of your day. You poked about your rice and veggies, still working on the copy of Little Women. "Hey." Daryl greeted. The day was growing late, the sun beginning to disappear from beneath the trees; he'd presumably just gotten back.
"Hi." You looked from your page, secretly happy he was giving you an excuse to put it down. Daryl's eyes looked anywhere but your own. "I-uh...got something for ya." Daryl dug into his front pocket, grabbing the handful of metal. He placed the rings on the table, making their own clattering noise together as they fell.
You seemed bewildered at this. "What...uh." Daryl chewed nervously on his thumb. He'd searched through this town and the next to find them for you; which could mean nothing at all. “You didn't have to."
"S'fine." You nodded, the smile finally creeping it’s way to your features. "Thank you, Daryl." You were flattered. Flattered to think that for once, he'd actually listened to you. "Do you wanna go get dinner and come sit?" You offered.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
A certain closeness was growing. The arguments slowly became banter. And the war of dominance diminished. You began to work together as partners, mapping runs and brainstorming improvements for the prison. Instead of using your skills against each other, you’d began to find the perfect balance between.
Daryl joined you most days with Patrick. He found that he had no desire to go beyond the gates unless you were in tow.
There were moments when sheer frustration retook hold of you. But never did it reach the lengths as before. It came with reason, with a pleading, instead of merely arguing of who was right and who was wrong.
You turned the rings on your fingers about as you walked to the dining area outside. Daryl was a ways away, smoking his morning cigarette. “Morning.” You greeted, crossing your arms and taking your spot beside him. “Morning.”
The end of summer was near, mornings were chillier than usual but days still hot from the sun. There was a curtain of peace over this particular morning. The smell of Daryl’s cigarette filled your nose along with the morning dew. His presence comforted you. “I think it was around this time last year when you guys picked me up.”
Daryl blew the smoke from his lips, “Yeah, biggest mistake ever.” He joked. This earned a laugh from you. Daryl watched the joy on your face; it scrunched your eyes and accentuated the apples of your cheeks. “Yeah, I bet.”
He couldn’t take his eyes from you and a heaviness weighed within his chest. Because he knew, just as you did, that it was not only friendship lingering. It was more.
“I think I’m gonna go out, make sure the path to the river is clear.” Daryl knew what this insinuated. “We’re taking him out today?” Daryl had begun to hope that all of your time with Patrick was nothing, that it was merely something to fill up the days. “It feels like a peaceful day…” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Besides, Patrick’s not been feeling good, I doubt he’ll even want to go. It’s the effort that means something to him.”
Hmm, Daryl hummed. You nudged your elbow into him, “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?” Daryl hummed in response again. “D…” You nudged him again as if needing a more reassuring answer for your verbal contract. The nickname perked his ears and heated his cheeks. Looking to you, he nodded.
You gave him a thankful smile. “Be safe!” Daryl shouted to you as you began on your way.
Arriving back to the prison you could feel within your gut that something was wrong. The sympathetic eyes that Michonne greeted you with solidified this.
Daryl recognized your footsteps entering the cell block.
“What's happened?" Daryl rushed to stand in front of you, blocking your path. It was eerily silent. “Come on.” Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders trying to turn you away. You shoved his hands from you, slipping past him.
"Y/n.” Daryl could not stop you from continuing on. Your expression was stuck in a state of confusion and shock as your feet guided about the chaotic cell block. It smelled of metallic blood and bitterly sour. Almost as though you'd stuck your nose in a gaping infected wound. When you'd turned your head to glance into a cell, you saw him.
Patrick lay still on the ground, an arrow lodged in his skull. An airy gasp left you, clutching your hands to your chest. It was as if you couldn't take your eyes away. Your eyes still not yet communicating to your brain what you were looking at. But when it did, the only thing you could seem to focus on was the arrow. An arrow.
Daryl watched the realization settle on your features when you turned to him. For once, Daryl felt a sense of fear. And it only worsened when you began towards him.
It was as quick as a breath. You unsheathed the dagger on your hip and aimed it at him.
"Y/n no!"
Daryl caught your wrists, the blade mere inches from his right eye. Though he stopped the blade, your brute force did not stop him from being shoved into the closest wall.
"I told you to look out for him!" You yelled through your glassy eyes.
He had no words for you, pure guilt blocking any defense or insult.
"I had to." You scoffed at this, "I can't trust you to do anything."
"Y/n it's not his fault. It was an accident." Rick reasoned with you.
With his back pressed against the wall, he had fully submitted himself to your wrath. His guilt would let you kill him now if you'd like. His hands around your wrist did not hurt nor squeeze to withhold your strength, they began to merely rest there.
Your rapid breathing began to slow to deep inhales and exhales, ones that moved your entire chest. Your eyes remained steady on his, the world drowning out around you.
While his eyes showed remorse, yours burned with anger; eyebrows furrowed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.
With one forceful shove, you ripped your arms from Daryl's grasp, his back bumping the cement wall. The dagger made a clattering noise to the floor, having been lost from your grasp in the process. You stood there for a moment looking to Daryl as if waiting for something.
"M'sorry."
His apology only seemed to anger you, your face once again turning hateful. You took a few steps back before making your exit.
When time came to take care of the ones lost, you helped dig their graves; in defiance of everyone telling you not to. Your hands covered in splinters from the blistering wood of the shovel’s handle. The once thriving and growing prison become melancholy, a heavy cloud of sorrow always above.
You and Daryl had not spoken for days. You'd ditched any planned runs that had been scheduled. But without fail, Daryl waited every morning for you, on the off chance you'd join him again. And when you never did, he kept an eye on you from afar.
You had become quiet and distant. He seemed to only find you chatting with Maggie or Glenn and on the off chance, Rick. You were on fence duty every day presumably taking out every bit of anger on those poor dead bastards.
You'd been out there day after day, nothing but water in your system, running off of pure spite and grief. You'd be out there till your adrenaline wore off and your body gave up on itself from exhaustion. If Daryl wasn't mistaken he had spotted you crying on some days; but that bloody pipe never left your hands.
You had begun to wake up earlier than Daryl, always managing to slip away from him just in time. You ignored him at every meal and walked by him as if he was a ghost.
Daryl couldn't deny the itch of missing you. He longed for you to look at him again, to smile at him and call him names. He began to even miss when you yelled at him, as cruel and loud as you could be.
Daryl couldn't continue on like this. You were torturing him.
He had awoken particularly early this day, ensuring he was in the kitchen long before you; knowing you never skipped your morning tea.
Exhaustion was all you could feel. Your body raged against your decisions every day. Your arms were sore, hands red and raw from gripping the damn pipe so hard. But you could not allow yourself to be around him. You couldn't stand to be trapped in those cells, indulged with pity.
Wrapping the strap of the fingerless gloves around your wrist, you wandered into the kitchen. Glancing up, you saw him, stopping your steps. The kitchen was dark on this early morning, the sun not yet fully risen.
Every thought Daryl had vanished from his mind. Every speech he'd rehearsed or apology left him in an instant. He hadn't known seeing you face to face, alone, would leave him so breathless. Daryl could see your exhaustion even in the dim light. Your usually neat braid had been done in haste, it was sloppy and hairs fell messily into your face. The constant emotional distress dragged on your features.
"I had to see ya."
You crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him. "So you just waited for me here." Your tone was venom to him. Daryl swallowed sharply, second-guessing his actions. "Ya get yer tea every mornin'." It would be flattering to think he'd memorized your everyday routine if it was any other time. But you couldn't find that now.
"Was gonna go out..."
He wasn't. Daryl would only go if you were in tow.
You scoffed at him. Had he truly gone through all this effort just to ask you to join him on a sleazy run?
Your attitude hurt Daryl more than he'd like to admit. "Just wanted to see if ya wanted to come with me?"
You knew why he actually was here. Scratching the skin on your arm nervously, you said, "No Daryl."
“Why the hell not?” Your mouth dropped agape. Astonished at his mere audacity. “Why not?” You repeated back. Daryl looked at you blankly. Should he apologize? Or should he begin his stubbornness rant about all the ways it wasn't his fault? You shook your head, "You're pathetic."
The fire was lit once again.
You'd insulted his ego and his efforts to meet you here. But most of all, you'd insulted any feelings he'd developed for you.
Daryl's face switched from hurt to a hateful glare in a second. You didn’t care to continue on with him, turning and disappearing into the hallway. Daryl’s anger took hold of him as he rushed after you. “M’pathetic?” He followed after you, stomping like a child.
You ignored him, continuing on, letting the door slam in his face when you exited outside. Daryl following suit in your path did not falter. Carol and Rick turned their attention to the commotion.
Daryl and you spewed insults at each other. You'd reached down in yourself, past the grief and guilt, and pulled any degrading thing you could manage to say to him. And he did the same. No words you said could possibly cut him as deeply as his actions cut you.
"I shoulda left ya out there!"
"Yeah I wish you fucking would've..." You took a step closer to him. "But you couldn't because you fucking needed me."
"I don't need you."
"You fucking need me." You repeated.
"Yeah? Then you need me!"
"I don't fucking need you! I never needed you."
Daryl lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes. "Ya didn't need me out there, hm?" He watched your furrowed eyebrows falter. Daryl knew he was crossing a line but couldn't find it in his heart to stop. "Where was yer daddy that day, yuh?"
Your glassy eyes looked up at him attempting to form your own degrading insult. "What? Say it, come on say it Y/n." He egged you on.
You only think about yourself, just like your father.
But you refrained, swallowing your words along with your tears. "Fuck you." Daryl watched you walk away, wiping at your face. "Fuck you!" Regret dreaded him. He could have run after you then, apologies spewing from his mouth but his stubbornness kept him still.
The prison fell that same day.
Amid chaos and destruction, Daryl could only find himself to look for you. And when he finally accepted defeat, he could only pray that you'd made it out.
You had fled on your own. Fighting your way through to return to the comfort of the wilderness. After a few strenuous days on your own again, you'd found Carol and Tyreese; joining them with the girls. The blisters on your feet had returned as did the heaviness deep in your chest.
You thought about him more than you'd like to admit. And Carol did her part in reminding you of him on the daily. You'd begun to dwell on how you'd treated him in those final days.
"I regret it deeply now." You'd say to Carol.
"I'm sure he feels the same." She'd respond.
A longing for your life to return as it was among those prison walls struck you down every hour of every day. The wish to go back to that morning and accept his offer. To take his hand and go beyond the walls. Maybe one more day together would’ve fixed everything. And you wouldn’t be left with the guilt of leaving things off on a bad note; never to see him again.
The smoke rose above the tree line, only making you more anxious. With Tyreese and Judith safely at the cabin, you kept guard at the road. Keeping an eye for anyone making an escape.
Kill them if they weren’t one of us. Carol instructed.
But the sound of gunfire made you unsure of anyone’s survival. Fuck, you muttered to yourself out of frustration. You glanced constantly down the road and amongst the trees, hoping for a familiar face.
You turned your last surviving ring anxiously about your finger. A rustle in the woods grabbed your attention. You gripped your gun closely in your hands, stepping towards the tree line. When it was deemed clear, you continued on, your boots crunching on the leaves.
Your ears perked at a sudden crunch of a twig. Whipping your body around, you pointed your gun.
Daryl aimed his bow to you, the tip of your weapons mere inches from the other. Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were tired, his face bruised. But you couldn't say you looked any better.
Both your fingers lingered over your triggers, though neither of you would shoot. Daryl lowered his bow. Looking at you with teary eyes. You lowered your own weapon, looking to him with the same unsure gaze. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you had the energy to fight. "Y/n?" Maggie snapped you from your daze. “Maggie?” You rushed to embrace her, discarding Daryl.
The weeks spent on the road proved to be difficult. Everyone grew more hopeless by the day and this hopelessness only grew when it became loss after loss. There was truly no time to heal from one loss before having to mourn another. First Bob, then Tyreese, and then Beth. You’d glued yourself to Maggie after Beth just as she did for you after Patrick.
Daryl mourned Beth in private. You wanted to be there for him, to provide him a shoulder to cry on. But he’d shut you out, just as you’d done to him. And besides, you never even tried, too focused on Maggie to consider it more than a thought.
You and Daryl had become strangers once again. There was no room for forgiveness, no time to spew apologies to each other, and no space to coddle each other through the pain.
Alexandria came to the suffering group, shining a new light of hope and a more secure future.
But this meant you could not hide from him anymore nor him you. The known could no longer be left unspoken.
You’d slipped away from the main house to the house next door that belonged to the group but was yet to be used. Daryl was first to notice your absence, asking where you’d gone so late. When he was told, the urge to follow after arose.
The front door was left unlocked, allowing Daryl entry. “Y/n?” The house was dimly lit, an amber glow looming from across the room. Daryl saw your figure sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. A liquor bottle sat atop the coffee table reading, Honey Whiskey, along with an empty glass seemingly for him. The other was in your hand, resting on your thigh. He couldn't help but think how perfectly you the liquor was; bitter yet soothing and sweet.
Daryl didn't know what told him to sit beside you but he did not resist the urge.
Nothing was said, the both of you staring off into the gas-lit flames. Your eyes studied the fake logs that were engulfed by flames, comparing it to how real wood burns. Daryl craved for you to speak to him. He didn't care if it was hurtful. Any words, cruel or no, were better than this silence. "Y/n..."
"I forgive you." Daryl went still. You hadn't given him time to breathe.
"What?"
Just then you turned, your freshly cleaned hair falling over your shoulder. The fire cast a glow on your features; highlighting the bridge of your nose and emoting a sparkle within your eyes.
“I said I forgive you.” It was the gentlest tone you’d ever spoken to him in.
“I don’t think I had reason to be angry in the first place. I was just trying to blame someone that wasn’t myself.” You reached forward, popping the cap from the bottle and pouring Daryl a glass. You handed it to him, along with a slight smile. It tugged at his heart.
“M’sorry…bout what I said that day. 'Bout your Dad...Wasn’t right.” Daryl swirled the liquor about his glass, wondering where you’d found it. You took a deep breath before speaking on, “My daddy disowned me.”
The dog tags around your neck suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds. It was a burden you carried around your neck every day, hoping the weight would be lifted lighter if you just spoke highly. "Why?" Daryl couldn't help but ask. You hesitated, your mouth gaping but no words following. "Because I loved a woman." You flashed Daryl an insecure smile, unsure of how he'd react. "I lost her about a month before you guys picked me up. That's why I was alone."
Daryl felt a whirlwind of emotions hit him at once.
How many times had he thrown your father in your face like some jealous brat?
“I think I resented ya a lot. Thinking ya had a father that rolled out the red carpet for you." Daryl had found his own courage in a now empty cup. You took note of this, pouring more for him. "I know, D."
"M'sorry."
"I know that too."
After that, a soft silence fills the room. The two of you sit peacefully, content with the weight slowly lifting from the shoulders of your friendship. But there was another topic to relive before you could truly sweep up all of the choked-off fragments and furnish them with conclusions.
“Patrick uh…”
“Ya don’t gotta talk about that Y/n.”
“No, I need to.”
The liquor wasn’t persuading you to talk nor to act a certain way, you’d barely drank any.
A deep sigh left you and you rested your back against the couch. “Patrick talked about his parents a lot. He said that his mom wanted him to be brave…That’s why he wanted to go out, he said that he felt like a coward. He’d always been safe in Woodbury then the prison.” Your words were quick and shaken.
Daryl listened attentively, taking sips of the honey whiskey in hopes it would calm his mind. “He thought that if he went out, even once, he would be brave… like us.” You motioned to you and Daryl. A smile rose on your face. “He also just really wanted to impress you, he was so excited when you started joining us in the mornings.” You took a sip from your own cup finding strength in the liquid.
“I know you always thought it was silly but…Patrick reminded me a lot of my cousin. He was my best friend until my aunt moved to a different state. I promised to keep in touch but I started college, got distracted, and only saw him on holidays.”
Your words trailed as if unsure of what was to be said.
“Until he jumped off a fucking overpass.” You could feel Daryl’s sympathetic eyes looking at you. “In his note, he said he knew he was a coward but he couldn’t be here anymore.” Your lip began to quiver but you quickly covered it with a swig of liquor. Daryl was left to think while you choked your tears down.
"They were brave." Daryl said in hopes it would relieve some of your guilt.
You placed your glass on the table beside the couch. "And dead they are." The tears could no longer be drowned in whiskey. You covered your face with your hands. Your body trembled violently, sobs racking your chest. Daryl put down his own glass. “C’mere…c’mere please.”
Daryl scooted closer to you, grasping for you to meet him halfway. You met him gladly.
“You’ve never hugged me before." You commented with sadness, your words mumbling against the fabric of his shirt. "I know. M’sorry.” He could hold you all night if need be. You gripped your arms around him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. A deep sigh of relief left both of you, melting into the other's embrace.
He smelled of pine from the soap he'd used to wash. But the familiar scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke could never be washed from his skin. At first, it annoyed you. You'd complain that the oil gave you headaches and scold him about his unhealthy habit. But now, no four walls of any house could provide you the safety and comfort of Daryl's broad figure.
You pulled away from him but your hands did not leave him. They dragged down from his back to rest comfortably in his own. Your soft skin caressed his calloused hands. Your forehead rested against his. He did not remove himself from you but merely looked down, avoiding your gaze. "Ya been drinking a lot Y/n, ain't in the right mindset right now." You shook your head, "No Daryl...I love you."
Your nose bumped his own as you scooped your head down, capturing his lips in yours. You taste of the bitterly sweet liquor, your lips still slightly damp from the tears that fell only moments ago. He resists before giving in to his longest desires. It made his nerves feel fuzzy.
The kiss turned from gentle to desirable in time, lips moving in sync together. His hands moved to either side of your face, ensuring to keep you close. You began to lay back, hoping Daryl would follow. He was quick too, ensuring his body weight did not crush you.
Needing a moment to breathe, you parted from him. Your back relaxed against the plush couch all your tense muscles turning to putty beneath him. Daryl's head fell to your chest. He felt your own heartbeat, just as quick as his own. "Love ya too."
Daryl's hands freely wondered you. He gripped your thighs, feeling the jagged scar on your thigh through the thin pajama pants; remembering the day you met. "I fell down a hill." Daryl stopped his lingering hands, "What?" There was a ting of a smile on your face. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "I was fighting a walker and I fell downhill. I think I got stabbed by a tree branch or my own knife, I never knew." You admitted shamefully. Daryl dropped his head to your chest again, chuckling.
His laughter sent vibrations through you, triggering a laugh of your own. You bring your hand to the back of his head, stroking his messy brown hair. “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?” Daryl lifted his head, the fire dimly lighting the right side of his face. He nodded.
"I'd like that."
today i had my last therapy session after two years in treatment, and to reward myself (and fucking up my mental health again), i decided to finally watch the first episode of the book of carol :) wish me luck lmao

Troublemaker

ONESHOT
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl Dixon knew better than to challenge you, yet the thrill of breaking the rules was too tempting to resist. He let you play your game—by his own rules—because certain forbidden lessons in trouble were just meant to be learned.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: TEACHER!DARYL DIXON X FEM!STUDENT READER
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / LANGUAGE / BLOWJOB / CUNNILINGUS / TEASING / ROUGH SEX / TABOO
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.350
ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: PRE-APOCALYPSE—ALTERNATE UNIVERSE
ʀᴇǫᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ: @mikes-babygirl
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: A quick heads-up—I changed the setting from a typical school to college, and made Daryl a younger substitute professor, instead of a regular and much older teacher on purpose. I just wanted the story to feel more comfortable and kinda more mature overall. Even though it’s fiction, I don't want to cross certain lines. But I do hope that I've still done the request justice, after all...
MASTERLIST



You walked into the room, already preparing yourself for another boring day at college. It wasn’t that you hated college exactly—it was just more of the same, day after day. You threw your bag next to your desk and sat down in your seat, scrolling through your phone while the other college students started to get ready for class.
But then you looked over to the door.
Of all people to be teaching today—it was him. Mr. Dixon. Just your luck. You’d always had a problem with this guy. Sure, he was good-looking—annoyingly good-looking, actually—but that just made it worse. Someone that hot shouldn’t have the right to be such a pain in the ass. And the constant lecturing like he knew everything? He had that whole "I’m smarter than you!" attitude, and it drove you crazy.
He hadn’t done anything yet, but just the sight of him was enough to piss you off.
And as soon as he started the lesson, talking and gesturing around, you immediately zoned out.
It just didn’t matter.
You were more focused on how he stood there, acting like he had everything under control and looking all arrogant. You hated that. And there was no way you were just going to sit through this class quietly.
So you raised your hand slowly.
"Yeah?" Mr. Dixon turned to you, raising an eyebrow in that way that made you want to punch his face.
You shrugged, leaning back casually. "Just wondering... what’s the point of all this? I mean, history? It’s not like we need this for our major. This has nothing to do with what we're actually studying."
He looked irritated but kept his cool. Of course he did. "It’s 'bout understandin' why the world works the way it does—no matter what field you’re in."
You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, right. Like learning this bullshit is gonna pay my bills."
A few students laughed, but Mr. Dixon's expression didn’t change. "The point of learning history is to understand how people like ya keep makin' the same mistakes—and why they're still broke."
"Sounds like a waste of time," you muttered loud enough for him to hear.
He paused, staring at you for a moment longer than necessary, so you leaned forward, looking into his eyes as if daring him to say something else. He wouldn’t. He knew better.
Daryl sighed loudly and continued with the lesson, but you weren’t done. Throughout the class, you kept at it—making comments or sighing dramatically in annoyance every time he explained something.
At one point, you put your feet up on the desk, pushing your chair back lazily. "Seriously, Dixon, can we speed this up? Some of us have better things to do."
His eyes looked toward your legs, then back to your face, but he didn’t say anything. He was trying hard to keep his cool.
With a yawn, you stretched your arms over your head, and as time went on, you decided to continue.
"So, Dixon," you said loudly, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Ever thought about getting a real job instead of just playing teacher?"
This time, he paused. Really paused.
You knew you’d povoke him eventually, but that’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted him to react.
But instead, he just gave you a small, almost unnoticeable smirk. "Careful, ya might just find out I’m more qualified than ya think."
Your heart skipped a beat. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
In one way or another, you spent the rest of class barely paying attention, since something about that smirk he gave you before had pissed you off more than usual.
As soon as the bell for the break rang, you waited near the classroom door, pretending to chat with a few friends until he left the room as well. Once the hallway was empty and everyone was out of sight, you slipped back in.
First, you walked up to his desk, staring at the pile of papers he's left there. It was all so organized, so... proper. You hated it. With one quick move, you knocked the papers to the floor, scattering them all over the place.
Your eyes then landed on his bag on the chair behind the front desk. Without thinking twice, you grabbed it and looked through it. There were a few personal items still inside—a notebook, some other papers, and a lighter.
"A smoker, huh?"
You then looked through the notebook. There were random notes, lesson plans, and other things you didn’t even care about, but something about it being his made you want to ruin it. Without hesitating, you ripped out the pages, tearing them apart.
"Not enough..."
You grabbed the lighter, turning it on, before you held it to some of the torn-out pages, watching it burn for a few more seconds before dropping it onto the pile of papers on the floor, while making sure the windows were open to avoid triggering the smoke alarm.
Anything to piss him off.
And just as you were about to leave, your eyes landed on his coffee mug, which he's left behind. That stupid mug he always carried around. Without thinking twice, you grabbed it, throwing it against the wall, and before anyone could catch you, you slipped back out of the room, blending in with the crowd of other college students outside, acting like nothing had happened.
Soon, the break was almost over, but the classroom was still empty. Mr. Dixon walked in first, and the second he saw the mess, his eyes widened—papers torn and burned, the broken coffee mug on the floor... He didn’t say anything; he just stood there, taking it all in.
"Ugh… Really?" He mumbled to himself. "Yer testing me, huh? Alright then."
He walked around the room slowly, closing the open windows and getting rid of the chaos you'd left behind.
"Ya want my attention?" He said quietly, almost like he was talking to you even though you weren’t there. "Ya sure as hell got it."
He should’ve been pissed, but there was something that made him more curious than angry.
Now, he quickly straightened up as he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. He watched the door, waiting for you to walk back in, knowing full well what you’d done.
The college students soon began walking back into the room, and you were one of the last to come in, casually late, throwing yourself into your chair while your eyes looked to Mr. Dixon, standing at the front, but... with no hint of anger.
His eyes soon met yours for a second—just long enough to make your heart race—but then he looked away again.
"Alright," he began, "we’re gonna continue with something different now."
He walked to the front of his desk, grabbing a stack of books he'd brought with him to the classroom—Divided Loyalties. He held one up, flipping through the pages and then passing them out. As you grabbed your copy, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. American Revolution? Really?
"This play's 'bout a family torn apart by their opposing views," he explained, walking slowly in front of the board. "Patriots, loyalists, people choosing sides. The family in this play has to decide where their loyalty lies—what side of history they wanna be on. Some of 'em follow, others... they go with what’s expected. Either way, their choices split 'em apart."
He didn’t say it outright, but you felt it. He picked this damn play on purpose.
You tapped your fingers on your copy of the book, half-listening to him, half-lost in your thoughts. It was like he was waiting for you to make a move. But what move exactly?
"The point of this," he said, moving around again, "is that sometimes we get pulled in two directions. Loyalties get tested. But what matters is whether or not ya own yer choices."
That last line felt like it was meant just for you. There it was again—that feeling. Unspoken, electric. Like you both knew exactly what was happening between the two of you, but neither of you wanted to admit it.
He stepped away, continuing with his explanation about the play.
"Ya know," he continued, leaning back against his desk, arms crossed again. "A lotta people thought on either side they were just troublemakers. Pissin' off each other, causin' problems... all 'cause they couldn’t keep their mouths shut." His eyes looked to yours again, almost like a challenge.
You bit your lip, trying to focus on the book, but his voice, his presence—it was all too distracting somehow. He knew exactly what he was doing. And it was working.
One of the students sitting a couple of rows over raised their hand. "Mr. Dixon, did you ever have to deal with that? Like, divided loyalties? You seem like you know what that feels like."
He paused, smirking a bit, but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he was looking almost amused. "What makes ya say that?"
The student shrugged. "I dunno, just the way you talk about it. It’s like you’ve been through some stuff and things yourself."
"Let’s just say I’ve seen my share of... divided loyalties." He glanced at the board. "But that ain't the point of the lesson."
Another student chimed in. "What did you do before teaching, anyway? You weren’t always here. You don’t seem like... a regular teacher."
He laughed, shaking his head slightly. "That’s because I’m not. Jus' a substitute, fillin' in until I finish my graduate program. I’m workin' toward my Master’s in Education. Right now, I'm here until the regular prof returns. Ya don’t have to worry; I ain't stickin' 'round forever."
Your curiosity was growing, though you’d never admit it. He didn’t fit the type of a normal professor at all, and now it was obvious why. He wasn’t one. Well… Not really.
"Now, back to the lesson," he continued. "Troublemakers…" He said the word slowly, like he was testing it out. "Sometimes, trouble’s what shakes things up. Forces people to finally pay attention."
Your heart was racing faster and faster. He was toying with you, and you knew it. He was playing a game, and you hated how much it was getting under your skin. But part of you... part of you liked it. The push, the pull, the challenge between the two of you. He wasn’t like the other teachers who'd have scolded you by now. No, he was letting you come at him, daring you to make your next move and to fuck up.
And you couldn’t help but play along.
You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms with a bored look on your face. "It's just another pointless play to rot our brains with bullshit that we don't even need for our future."
He gave you a quick glare, but he was still rather unimpressed with your attitude. "If ya think it’s pointless, maybe ya ain't puttin' enough effort into understanding it."
"Effort?" You snorted and smirked. "The only effort I see is you trying to make us suffer with bullshit no one even gives a fuck about."
He narrowed his eyes at you, but he was still in control. "Perhaps if ya paid more attention, ya’d understand why this bullshit is still relevant."
"Relevant? Don’t make me shit myself," you snapped back, now leaning forward to rest your elbows on your desk.
The room was quiet, all eyes looking between you and Mr. Dixon, but no one else dared to say anything.
Daryl sighed, clearly fed up somewhere deep inside. "That’s quite a way to talk to a teacher."
"Yeah? But you aren't a real teacher, nor will you ever become a professor, so what are you going to do about it?" You shot back. "Get me suspended? From college? As if any prof would even do that! Or how about you give me detention? Oh wait, you’re already doing that with your shitty lessons."
He stepped closer to you, smirking as well. "Watch ya damn mouth an' shut it."
"Or what?" You taunted. "Are you going to make me?"
His eyes were burning into yours, and for a moment, it felt like there was something else there in them—something else than simple irritation and annoyance.
"Is that what ya want?" He asked, putting his hands into his pockets. "For me to give ya what yer askin' for?"
"Oh, please! Like that’s going to make any difference!" You laughed back at him, waving one hand in dismissal.
"Yer testing my patience," he answered, his voice still calm. "And yer 'bout to find out how far I’m willin' to go to get ya suspended, if that's what ya really want. Or maybe expelled. Even if this is college."
The room was dead silent, the other students watching with wide eyes and whispering to each other. But you didn’t care.
"Expelled, huh? Those are some serious words for someone who’s barely even qualified to be teaching," you smiled.
Daryl didn't respond immediately; he just stared at you with that still calm expression. Like he was holding back.
Finally, he took a step back. "Ya think this is a joke?"
You shrugged, yawning and smirking at him. "Well, I’m not exactly learning anything here, so yeah, it really is kinda funny."
But the smirk on your face faded the second he slammed his hands down loudly on your desk, making you jump.
"Enough!" He said, his voice only a growl.
You opened your mouth to snap back once more, but he cut you off before you could even speak.
"Detention," he continued. "After school. We’ll see how ya will act when there’s no one else 'round to laugh.”
You raised an eyebrow, leaning back, trying to seem unimpressed. "Fine. But I’m not scared of you, Dixon."
He walked back to the front desk, giving you one final look. "Ya will be."
The bell rang soon enough, and everyone else went to walk out of the room. You stood up slowly as well, watching Daryl write notes down on a paper at his desk like nothing had happened.
But that last glare? That look in his eyes? You couldn't think about anything else as the hours passed.
And now you had detention with him. Alone.
Detention had seemed more appealing than getting suspended or expelled, of course, especially from college by a substitute teacher who still didn't graduate himself yet, but it wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped for in one way or another. Mr. Dixon had made it clear you’d be staying after the lessons, and now here you were, sitting at the front of the room, waiting for him to show up.
The minutes ticked by until Mr. Dixon walked in, his face looking as neutral as ever.
"Well, well, well," he started as he stood near the door, closing it slowly. "I didn't think I'd actually be seein' ya here." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But here we are."
"Guess I just wanted to make it all a little more exciting for myself," you shot back.
He stepped closer, not invading your personal space but close enough. "Excitin', huh? Or just plain stupid?"
"Depends on who you ask," you replied, crossing your arms. "What’s next, more boring lectures? Another dumb play?"
"Maybe... or maybe I’ll find another way to keep your attention," he said, taking another step closer.
You smirked, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, right. As if you could keep me interested. You don’t scare me, Dixon; I've said it before, and I'll always say it again. Why? Wanna try me? I dare you to try."
Before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist, the move sending adrenaline straight through your body in an instant. "Careful what ya wish for."
His eyes moved down to your lips, and for a short moment, you thought he might actually kiss you. But as fast as that thought came into your mind, you quickly pushed it away again.
"Maybe ya wanna find out how far I’ll go to teach ya a lesson," he challenged, his breath smelling like cigarettes.
"Maybe I do," you replied. "Or maybe I don't."
He let go of your wrist and walked back to the front desk, but the distance between you still felt nonexistent.
"And I don't care," he answered, setting the book from all those hours before down on the desk. "Yer going to reread Divided Loyalties again. I want ya to pay close attention this time. Maybe ya will finally learn, or at least shut up."
You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a laugh. "Like learning how to deal with your bullshit?"
He ignored the comment. "Start readin'. I’ll be gradin' some papers in the meantime."
You shrugged, picking up the book. But as you looked through the pages, an idea started forming in your mind. If Mr. Dixon wanted you to take this seriously, you were going to make it interesting—by your own rules.
You looked over at him, already busy with his grading. Perfect. You began to read aloud, but not in the way he might have hoped, interpreting the text in your own way and playing around with the words.
"Forsooth, thou hast a long and sturdy lance," you read, your voice now louder on purpose. "I’d wager it could penetrate any barrier with ease."
His head moved up and his eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing, choosing to let you continue.
You pressed on as you read. "Verily, thy bedchamber is most inviting. I am most eager to partake in its pleasures."
You leaned back in your chair, watching him closely as you continued. "Our loyalty lies not just in our words, but in the way we... entertain each other behind closed doors."
His eyes looked at you again, and you could see the struggle on his face to keep his calm. It was clear you were getting under his skin, and you loved it.
You let out a rather quiet laugh, closing the book and stretching yourself. "You know, Mr. Dixon, I think I’m starting to understand the ‘divided loyalties’ part. Sometimes, it’s hard to stay loyal to something when there are so many... distractions."
Daryl raised an eyebrow with a small yet almost unnoticable smirk. "Okay, enough," he said. "Let me tell ya somethin'. In this room, I'm in charge. Ya will do as I say as long as I am yer teacher."
"Fine," you answered him through clenched teeth, glaring at him. "But let me tell you something as well, Dixon. In this room, I'm not going to just sit here and do shit! And I want something in return. Deal?"
Daryl leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. "And what exactly would that be?" He asked, his blue eyes looking at you with a frown.
"I want..." Your voice trailed off as you tried to find the right words. "I want... you," you finally said, the words surprising even yourself.
Daryl just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded slowly. "Alright," he said. "If ya wanna play that kinda game, then I'll play along. But only if ya agree to my terms."
You swallowed hard, feeling your heart racing in your chest. This just got too real, even for your taste, but what were you expecting? You didn't know. But part of you wanted this as much as you tried to deny it. "Wait… What? What terms exactly? What…"
"First, this stays between us. No one can know about our... arrangement. Second, ya will do whatever I say, both in and outta this room. And third, ya will keep up with yer damn work from now on and calm down with yer shitty behavior."
You nodded slowly, feeling your pulse racing at the thought of what you're about to agree to. "Fine," you answered. "I accept your terms."
Daryl then moved towards you again. "Good," he said, reaching out to cup your chin with his hand. Then it happened. He leaned in closer once more. Your breathing stopped for a moment as his lips brushed against yours, teasing you with a hint of a kiss.
"Dixon," you breathed, half a protest and half a plea. "Don't you fucking dare."
"Shut up," he murmured against your lips before kissing them fully, his hands framing your face.
The kiss was intoxicating—all heat and urgency. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, feeling the world around you fade away while tasting nicotine on your tongue… and you wanted more.
"Yer gonna do everythin' I tell ya to do," he mumbled, his lips brushing lightly against your ear after he broke the kiss. "And if ya disobey me, there will be consequences. But I think ya know that by now, don't ya?"
You gasped as one of his hands moved away from your chin, along the side of your neck, before slipping beneath the collar of your shirt, grabbing it, and pulling you out of the chair toward the front desk.
"Yes," you whispered, feeling yourself already getting wetter with every passing second. "I know and I understand."
Daryl's grip on your neck tightened ever so slightly, and you let out a small moan. "Good," he said, smirking a little. "Now, ya better be gettin' down on yer knees."
You hesitated for just a moment before slowly sinking down onto the floor of the room, watching as Daryl undid the button of his pants. "Take it out," he commanded.
You reached out with trembling hands, fumbling around as you pulled his thick, hard cock out.
"Now, put it in yer mouth," Daryl said. "And don't ya dare bite down on it."
You smirked and leaned forward, wrapping your lips around the head of Daryl's cock and sucking gently while looking up at him. He let out a groan, his fingers holding your head and playing with your hair as he began to guide you and move his hips.
"That's it," he murmured. "Jus' like that. Suck it harder. Show me how much ya wanna be good again."
You obeyed his command, applying more pressure with your lips as you worked your way further down his swelling shaft. His breathing got more uneven, and you could tell just how much he was enjoying this already.
"Yeah, jus' like that," he said breathlessly, his hips beginning to thrust forward a little harder. "Oh fuck, yer so good at this."
You felt yourself getting even more turned on by his words and reached down between your legs, sliding your fingers inside your pants and beneath your panties, stroking gently at your swollen, aching clit.
Daryl must've sensed the change in your behavior because he suddenly pulled away from you, his cock slipping out from between your lips. "That's enough for now."
He reached down, helping you to your feet before leading you over towards the desk at the front of the room. He bent you over it, your tits and stomach pressed against the surface.
"Now, get those pants off and spread yer legs for me," he said. "I wanna see how wet ya are."
You obeyed his command again, parting your legs as wide as they'd go after pulling down your pants and panties. Daryl let out a growl as he took in the sight of your wet pussy, his fingers sliding over your wet folds.
"Oh shit, jus' look at how fuckin' wet ya are," he mumbled. "Ya really wan' it, don't ya? Since when, huh?"
You let out a gasp as Daryl's fingers found your clit. "Who knows?" You moaned quietly. "Maybe I did want you to fuck me all along."
Daryl didn't respond right away; instead, he continued to tease you with his fingers. "Good t'know," he finally said. "First, I wanna taste ya. I wanna feel that sweet lil' pussy against my tongue. But don't ya worry. I promise it'll be worth the risk."
With that, Daryl got onto his knees, with his head between your legs, his tongue moving out to make contact with your swollen, aching clit from behind, licking it and sucking at your folds, his tongue moving slowly on purpose.
"Oh fuck, Dixon," you moaned quietly again, your legs starting to tremble a little. "Right there. Yes..."
"Fuck, ya look so sexy like this," Daryl said and kept licking and sucking before sliding two fingers deep inside to pump them in and out of you a few times. "Ya taste so fuckin' good," he continued. "Could eat ya out all day an' night. But I wanna feel ya cum all over my cock next. Hell, I love how yer pussy looks when 's all wet an' ready for me," he mumbled, sliding his fingers out of you again.
You gasped softly, your hips bucking back, trying to meet his hand and face once more. "Hell, just... I need more," you pleaded, your voice shaking while you tried not to tremble too hard.
"Jus' wanted to make sure that yer wet an' ready for me 'fore I give ya what ya want," he said, gripping and stroking his hard, leaking cock.
"Dixon," you begged with a whimper. "Just fuck me already, okay?"
Daryl smirked, clearly unable to resist your begging any longer. "Alright, sweetheart," he answered, positioning himself between your legs before slowly pushing his cock inside you from behind. "I'm gonna make ya feel so fuckin' good, girl."
You let out a gasp again as his cock pressed up against your dripping wet pussy, tormenting you with the tip for several long moments, then sliding the thick, hard shaft of it back and forth over your wet folds, before he filled you up completely, his thickness stretching your pussy walls deliciously. "Jus' take it. Take every single inch of my cock deep inside ya."
You obliged eagerly, pushing back and pulling him even deeper inside you with each passing thrust, trying not to groan out loud at the feeling of being stretched and stuffed so deeply.
"Oh fuck, ya feel so damn good," he said, his fingers digging into your hips as he started to pound away at your pussy with a little bit more force. "Shit, I could fuck ya all the damn time an' never get tired of it."
"Oh, fuck yes!" You groaned in response as Daryl continued to thrust in and out of you.
As he soon fucked you harder and deeper, you could feel your orgasm building up inside you, threatening you to make you scream out loud.
"I'm so fucking close already," you panted as you held onto the edges of the front desk for dear life. "Please... don't stop! Don't fucking stop!"
"Oh shit," you moaned and whimpered as he continued to fuck you. "Harder, please, harder."
And Daryl didn't disappoint you. He fucked you hard, his cock pounding in and out of your pussy in quick, rapid thrusts.
"Ya wanted this, didn't ya?" He growled out. "Ya wanted me to fuck ya like this."
You nodded eagerly. "Yeah, shit, I did… I do!"
"Ain't gonna stop until I've made ya cum all over my cock, sweetheart," he said, increasing the speed, which immediately brought you to the edge like you've never experienced before.
"I'm cumming! Oh fuck, I'm cumming!" You whimpered, your entire body tensing up, and just as you thought, your orgasm exploded through you like a bomb, your pussy clenching around him, gripping his cock as if not wanting to let go. But Daryl didn't stop, even after you've finished.
And just as you were coming down from your orgasm, he suddenly pulled out, his breathing ragged. "I’m 'bout to cum," he groaned, wanting to finish himself off, and started to stroke his cock, ready to let go, but then you acted on instinct. You couldn't just let him finish without you, not like this.
Quickly, you dropped to your knees and took his cock back into your mouth, sucking him hard just as he began to cum, brushing your teeth ever so lightly over the throbbing shaft. Daryl let out a deep moan, surprise and shock written all over his face as he found himself clearly unable to resist.
You sucked his cock hard, moving your tongue around the tip before taking him as deep as you could. His hands immediately found your hair, urging you on, and you responded by increasing the pressure of your lips. "Oh fuck, jus' like that," he groaned, losing himself in the feeling of your mouth.
"Jus' a lil' more," he urged, his voice trembling, but you wanted to draw it out. You picked up your pace, pulling back fast just to tease him before taking him deep into your mouth again. You could feel his cock throb and pulse against your tongue, and you knew he couldn't hold back any longer.
Finally, he lost it. "I can’t—oh fuck!" He tried to keep his groans quiet as he began to cum, his warm load filling your mouth as you swallowed down every drop, refusing to simply let him cum all over you like he'd wanted to.
Once he was finished, you pulled away, but not before licking his shaft from the base to the tip once more and looking up at him with a smirk.
"Shit, ya really are one hell of a distraction," he mumbled, catching his breath and slipping his cock back into his pants with trembling hands.
You stood up, pulling your clothes back on as you caught Daryl’s eye. He suddenly seemed different now—annoyed, maybe? But you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it all.
Daryl cleared his throat, straightening up and sitting down on the desk with a serious look on his slightly red face, while also trying to adjust his still half-hard cock in his pants. "This was a one-time thing. Got it?"
"Sure, just a one-time thing, Mr. Dixon," you replied innocently, but you couldn’t resist adding, "I mean, it’s not like I’ll ever forget a one-time lesson like this while having something as ridiculous as detention... but I bet reading Divided Loyalties won't be a one-time thing, isn't that right?"
He narrowed his eyes at you. "Yer such a damn troublemaker." Daryl shot back, crossing his arms over his chest as if he could shield himself.
You sat down on the edge of the front desk as well, pushing your luck further. "Maybe I really am. How else could I have gotten you to break the rules?" You bit your lip, watching the way his jaw tightened.
"Ain't 'bout that. Ya really need to get yer shit together, or I’ll have to start disciplinin' ya for real," he warned, but the look in his eyes betrayed him, showing you he was still fighting with the thoughts about what you both just did.
You couldn’t help but laugh all over again, rolling your eyes playfully. "You disciplining me? That’d just make me want to misbehave more. Besides, who would ever believe you? The hot substitute who gives other collegians detention and an extra special lesson? Sounds like something you only find in certain writings, if you ask me. So, don't shit your pants about it."
"This ain't a joke. I may not be a real teacher yet, but I have to follow the damn rules."
"Sure, but isn’t it fun to break the rules once in a while?" You asked to provoke him and leaned in. "Let’s be honest, Dixon. This was way more exciting than any discussion about Divided Loyalties."
His breath hitched, and for a short moment you could see the real man beneath again. But then he straightened up, shoving any emotions aside. "Get outta here. We’re done now."
"Sure… We’ll see about that." You grabbed your bag, trying to hold back a smile as you turned to leave. But just before closing the door, you glanced back over your shoulder at him. "Do not be fooled; I am but a mere troublemaker in thy class, yet my mischief will find thee again—so prepare thyself."

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema

E3 of daryl's series has me screaming, crying, throwing myself against a wall. i'm out of words in english to describe what i'm feeling so i'll just say quién mierda me mandó a ver esta serie, la puta madre que me parió
yeah but daryl chokeholding rick?!?!


I love her hair in the finale sm
Daryl Dixon & Rick Grimes are brothers










......
"We've taken different paths
And travelled different roads
I know we'll always end up on the same one when we're old
And when you're in the trenches
And you're under fire I will cover you
If I was dying on my knees
You would be the one to rescue me
And if you were drowned at sea
I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe
I've got you brother-er-er-er
I've got you brother-er-er-er
I've got you brother-er-er-er
I've got you brother-er-er-er
Oh brother, we'll go deeper than the ink
Beneath the skin of our tattoos
Though we don't share the same blood
You're my brother and I love you that's the truth
We're living different lives
Heaven only knows
If we'll make it back With all our fingers and our toes
5 years, 20 years, come back
It will always be the same"
....
LGBTQIA+ CHARACTERS IN THE WALKING DEAD
Paul "Jesus" Rovia


Arron


Tara Chambler


Denise Cloyd


Yumiko & Magna


Cigarette daydream
You were only seventeen








Soft speak with a mean streak
Nearly brought me to my knees
Ron's definite age isn't known but he's close enough to 17.