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Ermmm this is the 80s how did they have Snapchat back then 🤨 *cough* idk man i wanted to hop on an old trend and join the fandom long after s5 ended (something about being fashionably late or whatever)
I also made this just to post in general because I haven't posted anything for a while
i don’t know if anyone here has seen this yet but omg this amazingly talented person on ig made this custom will byers doll and he is four apples tall and only needs one popcorn and his eyes change from hazel to possessed to mindflayer to sorcerer and he is so itty bitty season 1 will and so perfect and ahhhhhh
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Daryl learns that you don't think you're pretty (have low self-esteem). It breaks his heart a little. It also confuses the crap out of him.
The first time Daryl Dixon realized something was wrong, it was over a damn mirror.
Not a dramatic breakdown. Not tears. Not even a conversation.
Just a mirror.
The prison had become almost comfortable by then, as much as a place full of concrete cells and chain-link fences could be. People had routines. Jobs. Small rituals that made surviving feel less like drowning and more like floating.
You were standing in one of the empty cells with the tiny cracked mirror someone had scavenged months ago propped against the wall. The afternoon sun came through the narrow window, catching dust in the air. You didn’t know Daryl was there.
He’d only come looking for you because Glenn said you’d taken one of the last clean towels after helping Carol wash blood out of the kids’ clothes.
Instead, he stopped in the doorway.
You stared at your reflection for a long moment before grimacing slightly and looking away.
Not in vanity.
Not in disappointment over some tiny flaw.
More like the sight itself hurt.
Then quietly—so quietly he almost thought he imagined it—you muttered:
“God, you look awful.”
Daryl frowned.
You rubbed at your face like you could erase it somehow.
“Pathetic.”
The word hit him strangely hard.
Before he could think better of it, his boot scraped against the floor.
Your head jerked up instantly.
The expression vanished so fast it startled him. You smiled instead, easy and familiar.
“There you are,” you said. “Glenn send you?”
Daryl just stared.
You tilted your head. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Lie.
His chest felt weird.
Tight.
He looked at the mirror, then at you.
You noticed the glance and immediately stepped in front of it casually, arms folding.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But for some reason it did.
A lot.
That night, Daryl couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Which pissed him off.
He was supposed to be on watch, not sitting on the edge of the catwalk replaying your voice in his head.
Pathetic.
The hell was that supposed to mean?
You were… you.
Everybody liked you.
Kids followed you around like ducklings. Carol trusted you. Maggie called you family. Even Michonne smiled more around you.
And Daryl—
Daryl looked for you constantly.
He noticed when you laughed before he even saw you. Knew your footsteps from everyone else’s. Knew how you hummed under your breath while cleaning knives. Knew you tucked your hands into your sleeves when cold.
Knew your smile could knock the air from his lungs.
Pretty wasn’t even the right word for you.
Pretty sounded small.
You were warm sunlight after weeks of rain.
You were soft hands patching wounds.
You were safety.
And apparently you thought you were ugly.
The idea genuinely confused him.
He leaned forward against the railing, scowling into the dark yard.
“How the hell…” he muttered to himself.
“What?”
Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin.
Carol stood nearby holding two mugs of weak prison coffee and looking entirely too amused.
“Quit sneakin’ up on me.”
“You were brooding loud enough for the walkers to hear.”
He grunted.
Carol handed him a mug anyway.
“What’s got you twisted up?”
“Nothin’.”
“Mhmm.”
Silence stretched.
Then Daryl muttered, “She said somethin’.”
Carol immediately looked interested.
“She?”
Daryl ignored that. “Caught her talkin’ to herself earlier.”
Carol waited patiently.
“Said she looked awful.”
Carol’s expression softened instantly.
“Oh.”
Daryl frowned harder. “What d’you mean ‘oh’?”
Carol leaned against the railing beside him.
“She’s always been hard on herself.”
“What for?”
Carol looked at him carefully, like he’d just asked why the sky was blue.
“You really don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“She doesn’t think much of herself, Daryl.”
His brow furrowed deeper.
“That’s stupid.”
Carol barked out a laugh.
“Not stupid. Sad.”
“Well, she’s wrong.”
Carol smiled faintly into her coffee.
“You should probably tell her that.”
Daryl looked horrified.
“Hell no.”
You noticed Daryl staring at you more after that.
At first, it was subtle.
You’d glance up during dinner and find him already looking.
You’d catch him watching while you talked to Beth.
Or when you laughed.
Or while you braided Judith’s tiny wisps of hair.
Every time you caught him, he’d look away immediately like he’d been caught committing a crime.
It was oddly endearing.
Also deeply confusing.
“You got something to say?” you finally asked one afternoon.
Daryl, crouched beside his motorcycle with grease on his hands, blinked up at you.
“Huh?”
“You keep staring at me.”
“I ain’t starin’.”
“You absolutely are.”
He squinted suspiciously.
“You complainin’?”
Your lips twitched.
“No.”
His ears turned pink.
Cute.
You leaned against the fence beside him. “So what is it?”
“Nothin’.”
“Daryl.”
He went back to fiddling with the bike aggressively.
You watched him for a second.
Then softer, “Did I do something wrong?”
That got his head up immediately.
“No.”
The answer came fast. Firm.
You looked surprised.
Daryl swallowed hard.
“You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
Something vulnerable flickered across your face before you covered it with a smile.
“Okay.”
But you still looked uncertain when you walked away.
And Daryl felt like the world’s biggest idiot.
A week later, everything got worse.
You were helping Maggie sort clothes in one of the cells.
Daryl hadn’t meant to overhear.
Honestly.
But he’d been walking past when he heard your voice.
“…this one’s cute,” Maggie said.
You laughed softly. “Not on me.”
“It’d look good on you.”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
There was a pause.
Then your voice, quieter now.
“I’m not exactly the cute one around here.”
Daryl stopped cold.
Maggie looked genuinely baffled.
“What are you talking about?”
You shrugged, focused on folding shirts.
“It’s fine. I know what I look like.”
Daryl’s stomach twisted unpleasantly.
Maggie started arguing immediately.
“You’re gorgeous.”
You snorted.
That sound.
Not amused.
Disbelieving.
Like the idea itself was ridiculous.
Daryl hated it instantly.
“You do realize half this prison’s in love with you, right?”
“Please.”
“I’m serious.”
You shook your head like Maggie was being ridiculous.
Daryl walked away before he heard more because something hot and angry had started building in his chest.
Not anger at you.
At whoever taught you that.
Because people didn’t just wake up one day hating themselves.
Daryl knew that better than anybody.
That night, he found you alone on the outer platform watching the sunset.
Orange light painted the prison yard gold.
You looked peaceful.
Until he got closer and saw the exhaustion in your eyes.
You smiled when you noticed him.
“There’s my favorite grump.”
“Hmph.”
He leaned against the railing beside you.
Silence settled comfortably.
Usually Daryl liked silence with you.
Tonight it felt too full.
“You okay?” you asked eventually.
“Yeah.”
You gave him a look.
“Liar.”
Daryl huffed quietly.
“You?”
Your smile dimmed slightly.
“Yeah.”
Lie.
He recognized that too.
He stared out over the yard for a long moment before speaking.
“Why d’you talk like that ‘bout yourself?”
You went still.
Daryl immediately knew he’d hit something sensitive.
“What?”
“Heard you talkin’ to Maggie.”
Your face flushed instantly.
“Oh my god.”
“She said you’re pretty.”
You groaned softly and covered your face with your hands.
“Please forget that conversation ever happened.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s embarrassing.”
“Ain’t embarrassin’.”
“It absolutely is.”
Daryl frowned at you.
“What’s wrong with you?”
You blinked.
“…Excuse me?”
“I mean—” He grimaced. “Why d’you think that?”
Your expression closed off immediately.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.”
“No, it really doesn’t.”
“You think you’re ugly.”
The words came out almost accusing.
Not cruel.
Confused.
Heartbroken.
You stared at him.
Daryl stared back stubbornly.
Then you laughed.
And it sounded awful.
“Daryl—”
“No, I don’t get it.”
Your smile vanished.
“You don’t have to pretend.”
“I ain’t pretendin’!”
His voice echoed louder than intended.
You flinched slightly.
Instant regret punched him in the gut.
Daryl lowered his voice immediately.
“Ain’t lyin’ to you.”
You looked away.
“People say stuff to be nice.”
“Nobody’s nice no more.”
That startled a tiny laugh out of you.
Daryl pressed on carefully.
“You’re…” He struggled visibly for words. “Hell, you’re you.”
You blinked at him helplessly.
“That is not a description.”
“It is in my head.”
That made you laugh again, softer this time.
But your eyes still looked sad.
“You really don’t see it?” he asked quietly.
Your throat moved.
“No.”
The honesty in that answer nearly wrecked him.
Daryl looked at you for a long moment.
Then said roughly, “That’s fuckin’ crazy.”
You barked out a startled laugh.
“I’m serious,” he insisted. “Makes no sense.”
“You’re sweet.”
“I ain’t sweet.”
“You kind of are.”
“Nah.”
“You brought me three rabbits because I said I liked stew.”
“You were hungry.”
“You fixed my flashlight.”
“It was busted.”
“You gave me your poncho during winter.”
“You were cold.”
Your eyes softened impossibly.
Daryl suddenly felt very exposed.
“You do sweet things, Daryl.”
“Don’t mean nothin’.”
“It means something to me.”
That hit him directly in the chest.
Hard.
You looked down at your hands.
“I just…” you started quietly. “I don’t know. I’ve never been the girl people look at like that.”
Daryl almost interrupted immediately because that was objectively untrue, but you kept talking.
“There’s always someone prettier. Someone easier to love. I guess after a while you just stop expecting anyone to see you differently.”
Daryl’s heart broke a little more with every word.
Because you sounded so certain.
Like this belief had lived inside you for years.
“You think nobody sees you?” he asked.
You shrugged weakly.
“Not like that.”
Daryl stared at you like you’d lost your damn mind.
Then before fear could stop him, he said:
“I do.”
Silence.
You looked up slowly.
Daryl suddenly wanted to fling himself off the prison roof.
But he kept going anyway.
“Always do.”
Your lips parted slightly.
“You’re pretty as hell.”
You looked genuinely shocked.
Not flattered.
Not coy.
Shocked.
Like nobody had ever said it and meant it before.
Daryl felt rage again at whatever people had failed you so badly.
“You got this smile,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes now. “Makes everybody else smile too. An’ your eyes—”
He stopped abruptly, embarrassed beyond belief.
But you whispered, “My eyes?”
Daryl swallowed hard.
“Yeah.”
Your face had gone soft and fragile in a way that terrified him.
“You really mean that?”
The question sounded so small.
Daryl answered instantly.
“Course I do.”
You stared at him for so long he started panicking internally.
Then very quietly:
“I don’t know what to do when people are kind to me.”
Jesus Christ.
Daryl’s chest ached.
Slowly, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal, he reached for your hand.
When you didn’t pull away, he threaded his rough fingers through yours.
“You ain’t gotta do nothin’,” he said.
Your eyes filled suddenly.
“Oh no,” you laughed shakily. “Don’t make me cry.”
“Wasn’t tryin’.”
“You’re very bad at comforting people.”
“I know.”
You squeezed his hand tighter anyway.
And Daryl realized with startling clarity that he would spend the rest of his life trying to make you see yourself the way he did.
It didn’t magically fix everything.
Daryl learned that quickly.
You still hesitated when compliments came your way.
Still deflected praise.
Still looked confused when people called you beautiful.
But slowly, things changed.
Little things first.
You stopped insulting yourself out loud.
Then one day Daryl caught you looking in the mirror without grimacing afterward.
That felt like winning a war.
And Daryl—
Well.
Daryl became relentless.
Not in loud ways.
Never in grand speeches.
That wasn’t him.
But he showed it constantly.
Saving the last good strawberry for you.
Resting his hand on your back absentmindedly.
Looking at you like you hung the moon.
Calling you beautiful under his breath when he thought you couldn’t hear.
You always heard.
Every single time.
Months later, after the prison, after grief and blood and miles of surviving together, you found yourselves sitting beside a campfire beneath a cold sky.
The others slept nearby.
Daryl sat close enough that your shoulders touched.
You leaned into him naturally now.
Like it was instinct.
Maybe it was.
“You know,” you said softly, “I still don’t really understand what you see.”
Daryl looked over immediately.
Moonlight silvered your face.
To him, you looked unreal.
“I see you,” he said simply.
You smiled faintly.
“Yeah, but—”
“Ain’t just your face.”
You fell quiet.
Daryl stared into the fire.
“You’re good,” he said roughly. “Even now. World’s gone to shit an’ you still care about people. Still kind. Still make everybody feel safe.”
Emotion thickened your throat.
Daryl continued quietly:
“You walk into a room an’ everythin’ feels lighter.”
Your eyes started watering again.
“You gotta stop doing that.”
“Doin’ what?”
“Making me emotional.”
“Hmph.”
You laughed softly.
Then after a long silence:
“I love you.”
Daryl looked at you immediately.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just truth.
“I know.”
You rolled your eyes. “That is the most obnoxious response possible.”
He grinned slightly.
Rare enough to steal your breath.
Then he leaned closer and pressed his forehead against yours.
“Love you too,” he murmured.
And this time, when he looked at you, you finally—finally—started to believe him.
Daryl x wife reader who is heavily pregnant during the line up she’s terrified she’ll go into labour during it love your work 💕
Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead) x fem!reader
During Negan's line up, you start to fear that you're going to go into labour.
I did not like being reminded of this godforsaken episode my lord my poor heart
The night air feels wrong.
Too still. Too thick.
Like the world is holding its breath—and so are you.
Your hand tightens instinctively around your stomach, fingers pressing into the curve of it as if you can shield the life inside from what’s about to happen. The baby shifts, a slow, heavy roll that makes your breath hitch.
Too much stress.
Too much fear.
You cannot go into labor right now.
Across from you, men with weapons stand in a loose circle, their silhouettes lit by harsh headlights. And in the center—
Him.
Negan.
And beside you, on your knees in the dirt, is Daryl Dixon.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.
Not since they dragged you all out here.
Not since they saw your stomach.
Not since everything became very, very real.
“Hey,” you whisper, voice trembling despite yourself.
His head snaps toward you instantly.
“Hey—hey,” he murmurs back, low and rough, shifting just enough to get closer without drawing attention. His shoulder bumps yours, solid, grounding.
“You with me?”
You nod, swallowing hard.
But your face must betray you.
It always does with him.
“What?” he presses, quieter now. Urgent. “What is it?”
Your hand grips his wrist, pulling it to your stomach.
“I—I think—”
The baby moves again.
Harder this time.
Your breath stutters.
“I think something’s wrong.”
His entire body goes rigid.
“Wrong how?” he demands under his breath, panic threading through every word.
“I don’t know,” you whisper, tears already burning your eyes. “It just— it feels— different.”
A pause.
Then, barely audible—
“…you goin’ into labor?”
The words hit like a gunshot.
Your heart slams.
“I don’t— I don’t know—”
You’re not ready.
It’s too soon.
It’s too dangerous.
You can’t do this here. Not like this. Not surrounded by them.
Daryl’s hand tightens over yours, pressing firmly against your stomach like he can somehow hold everything together.
“Hey,” he says, voice sharper now, trying to anchor you. “Look at me.”
You do.
You always do.
“Ain’t happenin’ here,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “Not tonight. You hear me? You hold on.”
A shaky breath leaves you.
“I’m trying.”
His forehead dips briefly against yours, a fleeting, desperate touch.
“I know.”
“Eeny… meeny… miny… moe…”
Negan’s voice cuts through everything.
Mocking. Sing-song.
You flinch.
Daryl’s hand tightens instantly.
“Don’t look,” he murmurs.
But you can’t not.
You can’t look away as Negan paces in front of you all, bat dragging lazily along the ground. The sound of it scraping makes your stomach churn.
Your grip on Daryl becomes almost painful.
“I can’t do this,” you whisper, panic rising. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he says immediately. Firm. Certain. Even if his voice shakes. “You can. Just— stay with me. Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
So you do.
You focus on him.
On the lines of his face. The familiar scruff of his beard. The intensity in his eyes—the fear he’s trying so hard to hide.
You’ve never seen him like this.
Not even in the worst moments.
Not like he’s about to lose everything all at once.
Then—
It happens.
The first swing.
The sickening crack.
A scream—someone’s, maybe yours—you don’t even know.
Your entire body jolts.
“No—!” you gasp, instinctively curling forward, arms wrapping protectively around your stomach.
Daryl’s arm is around you instantly, pulling you in, trying to shield you even when he can’t.
“Don’t—don’t look,” he repeats, but his own voice is breaking now.
You hear it.
The hits.
The sounds.
The silence after.
Your nails dig into his arm.
“I can’t—I can’t—” you choke, breath coming too fast.
Your stomach tightens.
A sharp, sudden pressure.
“Oh god—” you gasp.
Daryl freezes.
“What?” he demands. “What is it—?”
“It’s tightening—” you whisper frantically. “Daryl, it’s—”
His face drains of what little color it had left.
“No,” he breathes. “No, no, no—”
He looks around wildly, like there’s someone—anyone—who can help.
But there isn’t.
There’s just Negan.
And death.
“Taking it like a champ!”
Another swing.
Another life gone.
You squeeze your eyes shut, tears streaming freely now.
Your whole body is trembling.
Your breathing is uneven.
Daryl pulls you closer, one hand cradling the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder so you don’t have to see.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs desperately. “C’mon. Breathe. Slow—like this.”
He demonstrates, exaggerated, steady breaths.
You try to match them.
In. Out.
In. Out.
The tightness in your stomach lingers… then slowly eases.
Not gone.
But not worsening.
Not yet.
“Good,” he whispers, like you’ve just done something incredible. “That’s it. You’re okay. Baby’s okay.”
You cling to that.
To him.
To anything that isn’t the nightmare unfolding in front of you.
When Daryl lashes out—
When he lunges, rage finally breaking through—
Your heart stops.
“Daryl, no—!” you cry, grabbing for him, but it’s too late.
He’s dragged away. Beaten. Forced back down.
And you’re left shaking, terrified that his one act of defiance just signed all your death warrants.
But somehow—
Somehow—
Negan stops.
Laughs.
Moves on.
And you’re still breathing.
All of you.
Well—
Not all.
By the time it’s over, you feel hollow.
Like something inside you cracked and never quite settled back into place.
You’re still shaking.
Still clutching your stomach.
But the tightness hasn’t come back.
Not fully.
Not yet.
Daryl is beside you again the second he’s allowed to be.
Bruised. Bloodied. Eyes wild.
His hands are on you immediately.
“Hey—hey—look at me,” he says, frantic, scanning your face, your body. “You okay? Baby okay?”
You nod weakly.
“I think so.”
“Think?” he presses, voice breaking. “I need more’n that.”
You take a shaky breath, guiding his hand back to your stomach.
The baby shifts.
Slow.
Alive.
His entire body sags with relief.
“Okay,” he exhales, almost collapsing into you. “Okay… okay…”
His forehead presses against yours again, lingering this time.
“I thought—” he starts, then stops, swallowing hard.
You know.
You felt it too.
That night, when you’re finally back—
Safe, for now—
You don’t let go of each other.
Not once.
You sit close, his arm wrapped tightly around you, your hand over his.
Every little movement of the baby makes you both pause.
Listen.
Wait.
Still there?
Still okay?
Daryl doesn’t sleep.
Not even a little.
Every time you shift, he’s awake.
Every time you breathe too sharply, his hand is on you.
“Contraction?” he asks immediately, over and over.
“No,” you whisper each time.
“Just the baby.”
He nods, but he doesn’t relax.
Not fully.
Not yet.
At some point, in the quiet just before dawn, you turn slightly, catching his face in the dim light.
“You saved us,” you murmur.
He shakes his head immediately.
“Didn’t do nothin’.”
“You did,” you insist softly. “You kept me calm. You—”
Your voice falters.
“You kept me from going into labor out there.”
His jaw tightens.
“Shouldn’t’ve been there at all,” he mutters. “Shouldn’t’ve let—”
“Daryl.”
He stops.
You reach up, brushing your fingers gently over the bruises on his face.
“We’re alive.”
A pause.
Then, quieter—
“Our baby’s alive.”
His eyes close briefly.
When they open, they’re softer.
Still haunted.
But softer.
“…yeah,” he murmurs.
His hand covers yours where it rests on your stomach.
Careful. Reverent.
“Gotta keep it that way.”
From that moment on—
He doesn’t let you out of his sight.
Not for long.
Not without making sure someone he trusts is with you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Maggie, looking over Daryl’s shoulder at the campfire: You’re cooking?
Daryl, checking the skewered squirrel meat: For me.
Maggie: Oh.
Daryl, standing up and walking around the fire to thrust the food at Y/N: Here.
Y/N, slowly accepting: Thank—
Y/N, blinking at Daryl who is already halfway across the camp and disappearing into the woods: —you.
Carol, leaning over: It’s the Dixon equivalent of flowers. He likes you.
The fire crackles low and steady, the kind of quiet that settles over camp when everyone’s tired but not quite ready to sleep.
You’re sitting near the edge of it, half-wrapped in your jacket, watching the flames more than anything else.
Across from you, Daryl is crouched near the fire, focused on something in his hands.
A stick.
Skewered through—
…is that a squirrel?
You blink.
“…You’re cooking?” Maggie asks from behind him, leaning slightly to get a better look.
Daryl doesn’t glance up.
“For me,” he mutters, turning the skewer just enough so it cooks evenly.
Maggie hums, a little amused. “Oh.”
You don’t think much of it at first.
Daryl cooks for himself all the time. Doesn’t usually share. Doesn’t usually offer.
Doesn’t usually—
He stands up.
You watch him circle the fire.
Walk straight toward you.
And before your brain can catch up, he’s holding the skewer out.
“Here.”
You blink up at him.
“…What?”
He nudges it a little closer, like that explains everything.
“For you.”
Your hands come up automatically, taking it before you can overthink it.
“Oh—uh—thank—”
He’s already gone.
Halfway across camp.
And then past it.
And then just… gone into the trees.
You stare after him, mid-sentence.
“…you.”
Silence.
You look down at the slightly charred, very much not-for-him-anymore squirrel in your hands.
Then back toward where he disappeared.
Then back at the fire.
“…Did I miss something?” you ask no one in particular.
Maggie snorts quietly, shaking her head as she settles beside you.
“Nope. That’s just him.”
You frown faintly. “He didn’t even stay.”
“He never does,” Maggie says, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
You glance down at the food again.
“He said it was for him.”
“And then gave it to you.”
“…Yeah.”
Before you can spiral too far into confusion, Carol leans in from your other side, voice low and conspiratorial.
“It’s the Dixon equivalent of flowers.”
You blink.
“…What?”
Carol nods toward the skewer in your hands.
“He likes you.”
Your heart does something stupid and immediate in your chest.
“That’s not—” you start, then falter. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is now,” Carol says simply.
Maggie grins. “Honestly, that’s a big deal for him.”
You look down at it again.
At the effort.
At the fact that he made it for himself—and still handed it to you without a word.
Without even sticking around to see if you’d take it.
“…He didn’t have to give it to me,” you murmur.
“No,” Carol agrees. “He didn’t.”
A beat.
You glance toward the trees.
“…He didn’t even let me say thank you.”
Carol smiles, soft and a little fond.
“He doesn’t need it.”
You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head.
“Of course he doesn’t.”
You take a small bite.
It’s… actually not bad.
A little overcooked. A little rough.
But warm.
Real.
Yours.
Your gaze drifts back to the treeline, where he disappeared.
“…He could’ve just said something,” you mutter.
Carol hums.
“He did.”
You glance at her.
She nods toward the skewer again.
“That was him saying something.”
You look down at it one more time.
Then back at the dark stretch of woods.
A slow smile tugs at your lips.
“…Weird way to flirt,” you say.
Maggie laughs. “You’ll get used to it.”
Carol just pats your shoulder lightly.
“Eat your flowers.”
You roll your eyes—but you don’t stop smiling.
When Daryl finally comes back, quiet as ever, slipping into camp like he was never gone—
Daryl accidentally makes you cry. He becomes borderline manic, in that awkward Daryl way, in his desperation to make it up to you.
The first time you cried in front of Daryl Dixon, he reacted like a man who’d just been shot.
Not loudly.
Not gracefully.
Just sudden stillness, blue eyes blown wide, shoulders locking so hard it looked painful.
And then absolute panic.
The prison had been tense for days.
Not the normal kind of tense, either. Not walkers-at-the-fence tense or food-running-low tense. This was people tense. Too many close calls. Too many arguments. Too many exhausted survivors trying to pretend they weren’t unraveling.
Everyone was frayed thin.
You especially.
You’d spent the entire morning hauling water, patching torn clothes, helping Hershel with the sick, and trying to keep two terrified children from crying after another nightmare. By the time evening rolled around, your head hurt, your back ached, and all you wanted was ten minutes alone.
Instead, you got Daryl storming into the cellblock covered in mud and blood after a disastrous run with Rick.
He looked furious before he even opened his mouth.
“Where’s the damn medical bag?” he barked.
The entire room went quiet.
You looked up from where you were sorting canned food. “What?”
“The bag.” He yanked an arrow from his quiver harder than necessary before immediately shoving it back in. Agitated. Pacing. “The one from storage.”
“I moved it to the infirmary yesterday.”
“Well it ain’t there now.”
His voice cracked through the room like a whip.
Normally, you would’ve snapped right back. Daryl respected people who bit back. But today every nerve in your body already felt scraped raw.
“I didn’t lose it, Daryl.”
“Didn’t say ya did.”
“You’re acting like I did.”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can nobody in this place put shit where it belongs?”
The words themselves weren’t even the problem.
It was the tone.
Sharp. Angry. Exhausted.
And because you were already hanging by a thread, it felt personal.
You stared at him for a second too long.
Daryl noticed immediately.
His irritation faltered.
“...What?”
You swallowed hard. “Nothing.”
“Ya got somethin’ to say, say it.”
That did it.
Not because he was being cruel intentionally.
Because he wasn’t.
Because Daryl’s rough edges usually hid something careful underneath, especially with you, and right then you were too tired to brace yourself against the impact of his temper.
Your eyes burned before you could stop it.
Embarrassment hit instantly afterward.
God, no.
Not here.
Not in front of everybody.
You looked away fast, but it was too late. Your vision blurred and suddenly tears were sliding down your cheeks before you could suck in a steady breath.
The silence afterward was horrific.
Daryl froze completely.
You heard Glenn quietly go, “Oh, man.”
Like someone witnessing a car crash.
“I’m fine,” you said too quickly, wiping at your face. Which only made more tears come. “Forget it.”
Daryl looked genuinely horrified.
Not uncomfortable.
Horrified.
Like he’d accidentally kicked a puppy off a cliff.
“Hey,” he said immediately, voice dropping hard. “Hey, I—I weren’t yellin’ at you.”
You shook your head once, mortified beyond belief. “I know.”
But your voice wobbled.
Daryl visibly panicked.
“No, I didn’t mean—shit.” He took a step toward you and then stopped like he wasn’t sure if approaching would make things worse. “I weren’t mad at you.”
“It’s fine.”
“It ain’t fine, you’re cryin’.”
“Please stop saying that.”
His eyes widened further.
Wrong thing. Wrong thing.
Everyone in the room suddenly found somewhere else to be.
Carol disappeared first, because Carol was smart.
Rick abruptly remembered he needed to check the fences.
Glenn physically dragged Maggie away while whispering, “Do not stare at them.”
Within seconds, the entire cellblock emptied out until it was just you and Daryl standing there in unbearable silence.
You covered your face with your hand.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
And Daryl looked like that sentence stabbed him directly in the chest.
“Why’re you apologizin’?”
“Because now you feel bad.”
“Well, yeah, I feel bad!” he burst out. “Yer cryin’!”
You made a strangled sound halfway between a laugh and another sob.
Which somehow made him even more frantic.
“Jesus Christ.”
Daryl started pacing.
Actually pacing.
You’d seen him fight walkers with less visible distress.
“I didn’t mean t’make ya cry,” he said rapidly. “I weren’t mad at you, I was mad ‘bout the run an’ Rick keepin’ dumb shit from me an’ then the bag bein’ gone an’—”
“It’s okay.”
“It ain’t okay!”
He sounded deeply offended by the very concept.
You stared at him through watery eyes.
Daryl stopped pacing long enough to point at your face helplessly.
“That’s not okay!”
You let out another watery laugh despite yourself.
And for one tiny second relief flashed across his face.
Good. Laughing was better. Laughing meant you weren’t devastated. Maybe he hadn’t permanently ruined everything.
Then you wiped your eyes again and his panic returned full force.
“Don’t cry again,” he said immediately.
“I can’t exactly turn it off.”
“Try harder.”
You blinked at him.
Daryl looked horrified at his own words the second they left his mouth.
“Not like that,” he said quickly. “Shit. I mean—”
Another laugh escaped you.
Small, shaky, but real.
Daryl seized onto it like a lifeline.
“There y’go,” he said urgently. “See? Better.”
“You’re acting insane right now.”
“Probably.”
He rubbed both hands over his face hard enough to drag his skin downward.
Then, abruptly, he vanished.
Just turned and walked away so fast you barely processed it.
You blinked after him.
“…Okay.”
An hour later, there was a dead rabbit outside your cell.
You stared at it.
Then at Daryl.
He stood three feet away with his arms crossed, aggressively refusing eye contact.
“…Is this an apology rabbit?”
“No.”
“It’s definitely an apology rabbit.”
“Ain’t.”
“It has flowers.”
There were, in fact, several badly crushed wildflowers shoved beside the rabbit’s ear.
Daryl looked furious you’d noticed.
“Carol said girls like flowers.”
Your mouth twitched.
“You asked Carol for advice?”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“She said I was bein’ stupid.”
“She’s right.”
Daryl grunted.
You crouched carefully beside the rabbit, emotion swelling unexpectedly in your chest.
Because this was Daryl.
Daryl, who barely spoke when he didn’t have to.
Daryl, who hated emotional conversations so much he treated feelings like active landmines.
And somehow this man had decided the solution to making you cry was emergency gift-giving.
“I really am okay,” you told him softly.
He finally looked at you.
Still guilty.
Still miserable.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, “didn’t look like it.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
The thing was, Daryl wasn’t good with polished comfort. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d sit you down and talk through emotions gently.
Daryl loved like an animal did.
Protective. restless. instinctive.
He’d sooner bleed for someone than say something vulnerable out loud.
And right then he looked ready to crawl out of his own skin because he thought he hurt you.
“It wasn’t really about you,” you admitted quietly.
His brow furrowed immediately.
“What?”
“I was already overwhelmed.”
“You still cried ‘cause of me.”
“You just… happened to be the last thing before I cracked.”
That somehow looked worse.
“Oh, that’s great.”
“Daryl—”
“So yer sayin’ everybody else managed not t’make ya cry an’ I’m the one dumbass that pushed ya over?”
You stared at him.
“That is not what I said.”
“S’what happened.”
He looked genuinely stricken.
Like this revelation had devastated him personally.
You stood slowly. “You didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“Still did.”
There it was again.
That brutal honesty.
No excuses. No defensiveness.
Just guilt.
You stepped closer carefully. “Hey.”
Daryl’s eyes flicked toward yours.
“You’re not a bad person because you snapped after a terrible day.”
His jaw tightened.
“You cried.”
“You’ve yelled at Rick worse than that.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
He looked at you like the answer should’ve been obvious.
“Because it was you.”
Oh.
Oh.
Your heart stumbled hard against your ribs.
Daryl seemed to realize what he’d admitted a second too late.
He immediately looked away.
“Forget I said that.”
“No.”
His ears went red.
“It come out wrong.”
“It came out honest.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Breathing space suddenly too small.
Daryl shifted awkwardly, looking cornered now in a way walkers had never managed.
“You hungry?” he blurted.
You blinked.
“…What?”
“I cooked the rabbit.”
“You cooked my apology rabbit?”
“Was I supposed t’keep it as a pet?”
A startled laugh burst out of you.
Daryl visibly relaxed again at the sound.
“There it is,” he muttered quietly.
“What?”
“That laugh.”
The way he said it made warmth spread through you so quickly it almost hurt.
He looked embarrassed immediately afterward, like he regretted letting the thought out.
So you saved him.
“You know,” you said carefully, “most men just say sorry.”
Daryl scoffed softly. “Most men ain’t me.”
“No,” you agreed. “They’re not.”
Something unreadable crossed his face then.
Something soft.
Terrified.
Hopeful.
He cleared his throat roughly. “C’mon. Before Carol steals half the damn food.”
You started noticing things after that.
Maybe they’d always been there.
Maybe you’d just finally learned how to see them.
Daryl lingering near you constantly.
Daryl silently handing you the better portion during meals.
Daryl checking the fences nearest your cell first every night.
Daryl appearing out of nowhere anytime someone upset you.
And God help anyone who did.
A week after the crying incident, one of the newer survivors grabbed your wrist too hard during an argument.
Daryl saw it from twenty feet away.
The transformation was immediate.
One second he’d been skinning a squirrel.
The next he was across the yard like a storm.
“Take yer hand off her.”
The man let go instantly.
Mostly because Daryl looked fully prepared to kill him.
You touched Daryl’s arm quickly. “I’m okay.”
He didn’t look away from the man.
“Didn’t ask.”
The survivor backed up fast and wisely disappeared.
Daryl stood there breathing hard for another second before finally turning toward you.
“You okay?”
The difference between the softness in his voice now versus the anger from before nearly melted you on the spot.
“Yeah.”
His eyes scanned your face carefully anyway.
Checking.
Always checking now.
Like he never wanted to accidentally hurt you again.
You reached up before you could second-guess yourself and touched his wrist lightly.
Daryl went completely still.
“You know,” you said softly, “one crying incident doesn’t mean I’m made of glass.”
His gaze locked onto yours.
“Ain’t worried you’re glass.”
“Then what are you worried about?”
His throat worked once.
“That somebody’s gonna hurt ya.”
Your heart nearly stopped.
Because he meant everyone.
Including himself.
You stepped closer.
“So don’t.”
Daryl looked wrecked by that sentence.
Absolutely wrecked.
Like wanting you was the most dangerous thing he’d ever experienced.
“You make this real hard,” he muttered.
“How?”
His laugh came out quiet and disbelieving.
“Sweetheart, I about lost my damn mind ‘cause you cried once.”
Your breath caught.
Sweetheart.
He seemed startled he’d said it aloud.
But this time he didn’t take it back.
You smiled slowly.
Daryl stared at you like the sight hit him directly in the chest.
Then, with the hesitant uncertainty of a man approaching a wild animal, he lifted a hand and touched your face.
Rough fingertips.
Unbelievably gentle.
“You cryin’ now?” he asked suspiciously.
You laughed softly. “No.”
“Good.”
“You’re still panicking, though.”
“Ain’t panickin’.”
“You brought me three different flowers today.”
His expression turned defensive. “Found ‘em while huntin’.”
“You hate flowers.”
“They were there.”
You grinned.
Daryl groaned quietly, realizing you were making fun of him.
Then his thumb brushed your cheekbone once.
Tender. Careful.
Like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed.
The smile faded from your face slowly.
Not sadness.
Just feeling.
Too much of it.
Daryl noticed instantly and looked alarmed again.
“Oh hell, are you cryin’ again?”
“No!”
“You got that face.”
“What face?”
“That face before the tears start.”
You burst out laughing.
Real laughing this time.
Daryl stared at you for a second before something in him finally loosened completely.
Relief flooded his face so openly it made your chest ache.
“There y’are,” he said quietly.
And before fear could stop either of you, you leaned forward and kissed him.
Daryl made a startled noise against your mouth.
Then he kissed you back like he’d been starving for it.
One rough hand cupped the side of your face immediately, protective even now, while the other settled carefully at your waist like he was afraid you might disappear.
When you finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, Daryl rested his forehead against yours.
“You got any idea what ya do to me?” he muttered.
You smiled softly. “Probably something close to a panic attack.”
He barked out a laugh.
“Yeah. Sounds ‘bout right.”
Then he kissed you again.
And this time, when you smiled into it, Daryl smiled too.
Can I request a fem!reader x Daryl Dixon? Maybe set in Alexandria since they are all settled down. I was thinking maybe a really girly girl reader, soft bimbo. Basically like all the contrary to Daryl and they’ve been friends since the beginning at least for her and as time passes Daryl develops confusing feelings towards her since she’s the only girl that has truly given him attention despite him not wanting it at all. Hope that was kinda clear? Sorry English it’s not my first language…
Thankss!
Just a Pair of Heels
pairing: GirlyBimbo!Reader x Daryl
summary: It took Daryl a while to come to terms with your way of life, your femininity during such hard times. But he grew to appreciate you. Well, maybe a little more than appreciate... WC: 3.8k
warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, the reader is very girly and is not shy about it, swearing, kissing, small argument, mean!Daryl (only at the beginning!), mentions of periods
author's note: Okay I loved writing this so freaking much! I made Daryl a bit apprehensive about bimbo!reader at first because I wanted the fluff to be that much sweeter I hope I did not disappoint!! Thank you to the lovely @verenahx for requesting this!!
By the time the group reached Alexandria, there wasn't a single member who wasn't wearing clothes that one could only describe as dusty, grey, and worn.
Everyone except for you.
Even when you had arrived at the gates for the first time with Rick's group, your overly pink outfit was, albeit covered in splatters of blood and dirt, a standout feature about you. Wearing a bright pink jacket, you certainly drew some attention to yourself.
To everyone else outside of your small circle, most would assume you were trying to be the center of attention. But to Daryl, it was just your way of expressing you.
Back in Atlanta, however.
To say you annoyed him would be an understatement.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
When everything went down in Atlanta, you had found the camp just outside of the city. That's where Daryl first met you.
Fresh acrylic nails pressed to your fingernails, and a mini skirt that looked like you had just stepped out of a shopping mall; Daryl felt almost pissed off by your presence.
And boy, was he not scared to let you know.
You had been discussing old things you enjoyed with the ladies down at the quarry as you helped them wash clothes. Andrea shared what she missed, making the group laugh loudly in shock.
"I miss my makeup." You expressed with a pout. "Next time we out, I'm definitely looking for a little something to spice up my look." Sure, it wasn't a necessity, but couldn't a girl feel good about herself once in a while?
Daryl overheard your voice, and scoffed as he skinned a deer he had caught just hours before. His eyes narrowed at you slightly, almost as if he was trying to fight back his words.
It was his annoyed scoff that made you turn around to face him. "Got somethin' you wanna say?" Your southern accent was poking through your girly exterior.
"Yeah, you got all these people here starvin', and you wanna go get some damn lipstick?" He ran his knife over the deer more aggressively, his eyes not meeting yours.
"How stuck-up could you be?" He mumbled to himself. Andrea rose from her seat to defend you, but you grabbed her arm to stop her.
"It's okay, honey. He just doesn't understand." You could have hurled insults his way, but ultimately decided to leave it alone. You weren't just a pretty face like he wanted to believe, but he'd have to figure that out himself.
Daryl shot you a confused look, expecting you to make a fuss and argue with him. Hell, he would've liked to see you spouting off in what would sound like a valley-girl accent. But instead you were…sweet.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
It wasn't until you had arrived at Hershel's farm with the group that he truly understood your value in the group. Up until then, he found himself wondering how you had lasted this long, given your seemingly incessant need to be high maintenance.
You were helping everyone around the farm. And eventually, Rick sent you and Daryl to go after Sophia together. His grumbles let you know that you weren't exactly desired on this hunt. You brought your own weapon, a glittery pink knife, and one of the guns you borrowed from Dale.
He looked at your knife as you pulled it out of your belt. "Seriously?" He scoffed at you incredulously.
"Don't knock it! It does the job." You smile at him and press on, straightening the bow you had in your hair.
He let you take the lead, watching as you stumbled through the woods. His focus was completely on you, and how you were so goddamn strange.
His eyes traveled along your frame, examining the way you pushed your hair out of your face like you cared about what it looked like.
That's why when you paused to listen for something, he just found it ridiculous.
"Gotta keep movin'. Christ-" Daryl wasn't able to finish his sentence before you grabbed his jacket and pulled him backwards.
A group of walkers was passing by, near inches from both of you. He'd been so lost in you that he didn't even hear them.
Without words, you kicked one of the walkers to the ground and stabbed it in the head. Moving to your feet quickly, you shoved another one into a tree before stabbing it. In the end, you killed about four walkers with ease.
"M'not just a pair of heels." You smirked at him and walked on.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
Just as he had warmed up to the idea of you, all of you. You had approached him with a question.
"Can I go on a run with ya'?" You spent about 20 minutes working up the courage to ask him. With everything going on, you were sure he would say no. "Since you're going out anyway, thought I could join ya'." Somehow, the grump had a way of making you laugh by his sheer obliviousness.
"Why? What do ya' need?" He was lying in his tent, his arms folded above his head. Your presence began to be a normal occurrence. Most of time, he didn't mind it.
"Just need to get some lady things. Wanted to see what they have while we're out. Hope it's not a big deal." You ignored the cramps that were driving you absolutely crazy. Part of you was hoping that you could find some kind of period product while on the road, but now you were desperate.
Daryl, however, had a completely different idea of what 'lady things' were. He sat up and moved out of his tent without saying a word.
"Daryl, I'll go with you. I just wanted to see if we could find anything-"
"What, you think I'm gonna risk my life for some damn nail polish or something?" He exploded at you, making you furrow your brows.
"That's not what I-"
"Not what you meant, huh? You really are somethin'. None of this bullshit matters when you've got walkers coming right at you!" He was pacing now, pointing at your clothing as he spoke. You bit back your words, taking his insults in stride. That seemingly pissed him off more.
"Want me to grab ya' some perfume, yeah you'll smell damn good. Good enough to get bit, right? Let's go find out." He went to grab your hand to lead you towards his bike.
"Daryl, stop!" You yanked your arm away from him, your shouting alerting other camp members.
"I'm on my period. Need some tampons." You mumbled. It was clear how he felt now. The silence blared in your ears, your eyes not meeting his.
Daryl froze, guilt sinking into his stomach. Fuck, he wanted to drown himself in the creek right now.
"I would never ask you to risk yourself for me. That's how little you think of me?" Your heartbeat was pounding with adrenaline, and hurt.
"Stop thinking that you know anything about me. You don't know shit." Your words were laced with venom, an anger that he hadn't ever seen. Even when he had laughed at you in Atlanta.
"I'll go myself. Make life easier for ya'." You strode away from him, tears brimming in your eyes, betraying your attempt to look tough in front of him.
Daryl chased after you. "Wait-" He panted. "I'll take ya'."
Placing a hand on your hip, you looked at him with skepticism. Daryl took your pause as permission to continue. "M'sorry. Been judgin' you too hard." He sighed and ran his hands down his face.
"Thought you were stuck up. You're not. You're a good person." His apology was broken up between pauses while he thought of meaninful things to say. Because an "I'm sorry" would not suffice.
Not after all he'd said about you. All the trouble he'd put you through.
You finally turned around to face him, your arms still crossed. "Fine. But because you were mean, I get first dibs if we find any candy." Daryl took in a deep inhale of relief.
He knew he was still in the doghouse, but seeing your usual bubbly self start to blossom again made him feel warm inside. He had no idea why seeing your smile made him feel that way, but he pushed it down for now.
That feeling of confusion continued far beyond Georgia.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
Now the group was living in Alexandria, a slice of domesticity that seemed strange given the situation outside the walls. Daryl had time to observe you, to talk to you in ways that weren't purely for survival.
And the two of you became friends.
Although you still got on his last nerve sometimes.
Daryl sat on his porch, cleaning off walker blood from his crossbow after a successful run. He heard a clack of heels coming toward him and he audibly sighed. "What'cha want now?" He asked, a tiny smile creeping its way onto his face.
"Don't act like you don't like our talks, Dixon!" You made your way up to his porch, sporting jewelry that made clinking sounds when you walked. "Wanted to ask you somethin' anyway." You plopped down onto the floor of his porch.
"Hm?" He grunted, swiping some sweat that had accumulated due to the summer heat. He found himself staring, noticing how put-together you were. Of course, there was no way to be clean out there, exposed. But in here, you looked like you stepped out of a damn magazine.
Your hair looked perfect, you had found some makeup, and you were wearing heels. It made him chuckle, thinking about how different you were.
Different in a good way.
"Can we go on a run together? We haven't been out just the two of us in so long!" Your hopes were as high as your heels, your lips jutting out in a pout that Daryl rolled his eyes at.
"Jus' got back from one with Rick. Tired." He grumbled, lighting a cigarette. You scoffed and jumped to your feet, approaching him with narrowed eyes.
"Please, you're not tired, it was a quick run like right down the street. Besides, could probably find more of these-" You snatched the cigarette from his hand and put it up to your own lips, taking a short puff before handing it back to him.
Daryl felt his face flush at your actions, looking down at the lipstick marks that were wrapped around his cigarette. Between the pouting and your boldness, Daryl wasn't sure how he could say no.
"What do ya' need out there?" He asked, considering it. If it was something stupid like shoes or dresses, he'd probably complain the whole way home.
"Well, guess I shouldn't say 'lady things' because you'll go crazy right?" You toss him a quick smirk. Daryl cringed at himself, remembering when he shouted at you for needing period products on the farm.
"You drive me crazy all the time." He stood up, ignoring your look of offense.
"C'monnn, there's a little boutique like 2 miles from here!" You followed him because of course you did.
Daryl approached his motorcycle, turning to face you with crossed arms, his grumpiness showing. "Yer gonna get me killed over a boutique?" You let out a giggle at his dramatic conclusion.
A giggle that made his stomach twist, for some reason he couldn't place.
"Not killed! Maybe a scratch or two." You winked at him. "Oh! Can I ride in the front this time?" Pushing past him, you hopped onto the bike before him.
Daryl shook his head. "Yeah, and crash my bike? Nah." He let out a quiet laugh. "Just give me one second to talk to Carol really quick."
You nodded and rested your head on the handles of his bike, playing with your jewelry absentmindedly.
Once you were out of his line of sight, he walked a little faster to Carol's place.
Carol was in her apartment, baking something that Daryl wouldn't try if it was the last thing to eat on Earth. He knocked and took it upon himself to walk inside once she had opened the door.
"No time for askin' if you can come in, huh?" She laughed at his frantic bodily language. "What'cha need?"
"Yer' a woman." He started, fumbling with his crossbow nervously. Carol just chuckled.
"I am. Why?" She narrowed her eyes at him. Daryl swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry.
"Ya' know what women like. Right?" He couldn't even look Carol in the eye, the scenario was too awkward, too vulnerable.
"Daryl, will you just tell me why you're here?" Carol already had an idea of where this was going, she just wanted to hear him say it.
Unfortunately, Daryl was as stubborn as a mule, and he shut up promptly.
"This is about the girl." She smirked at him, leaning against a wall smugly.
"Ain't about nobody." Daryl shrugged, avoiding her gaze. He thought a gift, maybe some kind of gesture would help him catch your attention.
Well, romantic attention. Not the way you were hanging around him being all friendly.
"Fine. If we're talkin' about a random girl. Women like perfume, some nice jewelry maybe. Could even get her a dress if you know her size." Carol snickered at the way Daryl was so obviously mentally noting her words.
"I mean, if you're really serious about this random girl, you could go ring shopping-"
"Shut up." Daryl shoved her lightly. Carol knew exactly who he was talking about. The girl laid up on his bike staring up into the cloud right now.
"Look at you, such a loverboy." Was all Carol could say before Daryl scoffed at her and walked out.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
At the boutique, you were shopping as if the world was completely normal, picking items off of the rack and holding them up to yourself to see if they would fit. "What do you think, Daryl?" You turned around to see him fumbling with perfume bottles.
He jerked his hand away and met your eyes before looking at what you were holding up. "S'good." Was all he could say.
"You're such a man." You scoff and put the item back. "Don't think I could pull that off anyway." It was a pink sundress, one that had beautiful color streaks and butterflies on it.
As you walked away, Daryl approached it and stuffed it into his bag behind your back. He thought that you could absolutely pull it off. Hell, you could probably wear anything and look like an angel.
"Need any perfume?" He asked you, grateful that you were oblivious to his questioning.
"Eh, unless they have some kind of vanilla scent, I think I'll pass." Your response made Daryl look at the bottles closely, reading the labels. He settled on one that he thought you would like.
Vanilla Honey
Daryl stuffed that one into his bag as well before leaving the perfume aisle.
He snatched a few pieces of jewelry as well to be on the safe side before he left with you.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
A few weeks had passed since that visit to the boutique, and Daryl still hadn't given you those gifts.
Not because he didn't want to. But he was just so concerned.
What if you didn't like any of it? What if he was just reading your attention wrong, and you only saw him as a friend?
Daryl hadn't seen you all day, which begun to worry him. You were usually bounding over to him with that wide, gorgeous smile that made him feel like he was the only man in the world.
He realized he missed that. Maybe it was time to show you how he felt?
Daryl was in desperate need of advice, so he went to Carol again.
"Daryl, you haven't given her those gifts yet? Seriously?" Carol put her hands on her hips in a disappointed move. "What did you get anyway? I wanna see."
He emptied his bag and out came the dress all balled up and wrinkled, the perfume he got you, and the jewelry all tangled up from being shoved into the bag. Carol rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed.
"You're such a man." Carol sighed and unfolded the dress, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. "It's beautiful though, how did you know she'd like it?"
Daryl bit back a smile just thinking about it. "Always wearin' pretty stuff like that." He helped Carol untangle the jewelry. He got a beautiful necklace with a blue jewel hanging at the base, and a bracelet to match.
"Not exactly her color, but I think she'll like it." Carol teased him.
"Her color? I ain't told you her name yet." Daryl furrowed his brow. Carol snickered and gave him a look.
"Daryl. You're gifting this mystery girl a pink dress and jewelry. I don't know of any other girl in Alexandria who wears things like this." Carol spoke in between laughter.
"And perfume." Daryl interrupted her.
"What?" She smiled.
"Got her perfume too. Smelled like her." Daryl held it up to show Carol.
Carol broke out in loud laughter at that, doubling over to hold her stomach.
"Smells like her?" She smirked.
"What? She wears perfume all the damn time." He held his arms up in confusion.
"Do you even hear yourself? You've got her a dress, jewelry, and perfume. You remember things about her, remember the way she smells." She was desperately trying to lead him to the conclusion.
"You think she won't like them?" Daryl glanced down at the gifts. Maybe it was too much?
Carol snickered. "You're adorable when you're in love, Dixon." His face blushed a bright red shade.
So that's what it was. That feeling.
"To answer your question, she'd like anything you get her. She follows your grumpy ass around like a lost puppy. She feels the same way. Trust me." Carol saw the way you would hang on his words, how your eyes would rake over him in public like you couldn't wait to get him alone.
That was all Daryl needed before he took off back to his place. His heartbeat was pounding, filling his ears with loud thumps as he approached his porch.
Only to find you there, legs and arms crossed as you sat on his chair. "Where have you been? Been waitin' here to see what you wanted to do today." You pouted at him, adjusting the glittery pink knife in your belt.
You still had it, after all these years. It made him smile whenever he caught a glimpse of it.
"Was lookin' for you all morning, should'a been out here earlier." He cringed inwardly at how desperate his words sounded.
"Damn, can't a girl sleep in? Bed felt too comfy and warm to leave." You snuggled into the chair as if it were your bed.
Daryl pulled up a chair next to you. "I gotcha somethin'. From that boutique we went to." He spoke quietly, his nerves getting the best of him as usual.
"Really? Show me show me!" You were beyond excited, because this was not usual behavior from the grumpy man he had come to be through the years.
He pulled out the gifts and laid them in your lap. Your eyes immediately fell to the dress, expression softening into a happy smile.
"Daryl, is this the dress I showed you at the boutique? I thought I told you it wouldn't look good on me!" You held it up again, the beauty of it now hitting you.
Maybe it's because he picked it out for you.
"Ya' look good in everything." He shrugged. Your face flushed a little bit at his words, suddenly feeling a little shy.
"Thank you." You picked up the jewelry next, examining the color and design. "This is so beautiful, you have good taste!" And finally, you squealed when you looked closer at the perfume bottle.
"Daryl, you're a goddamn genius. This is the perfume I use, how did you know?" Your eyes were wide and bright now, completely surprised by his pick.
Daryl was just as surprised as you. "I didn't. Ya' said you like vanilla." He probably should have ran with it, should have said he knew exactly what you used.
But part of him felt like he had to be honest with you. Like you deserved it.
"Daryl, this is the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me. Like ever, I never knew you were so attentive." Your face was bright red at this point, and that he was most likely seeing it too.
Of course he was attentive. You consumed his every waking thought.
"I'm gonna go try it on." You walked into Daryl's apartment like you owned the place, to change in his bathroom. Daryl waited on the porch for you, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world.
When you came back out with the dress on, he damn near had a heart attack. The dress complimented you, as if it was accentuating what was already there. It made you glow.
"What do you think now that it's on?" You struck a pose, your hands on you hips dramatically. Daryl barely had the words, his eyes looking up at you like you hung the moon.
"Beautiful." He managed to get the word out, much to his relief. You were practically bouncing up and down with joy.
"Thank you so much for everything. I loved it so much, everything looks so pretty!" You raced over to him, your thoughts swirling.
And you pulled him into a soft kiss.
Daryl froze in his spot. You were kissing him.
Him. Your entire opposite.
When you felt him go still, you pulled away. "Shit, I'm sorr-" You didn't have time to finish your sentence before he pulled you back into the kiss.
Now he had adjusted and come to the realization that this was real.
He wouldn't let you go this time. "Don't be sorry." He mumbled against your lips, kissing you with his hand cupping your cheek gently.
Daryl deepend the kiss, his hands moving to your waist to hold onto you. His large hands were keeping you pressed against him as if you would vanish if he let go.
After a few minutes of making out with him, Daryl broke away for some air. You snickered at him and bit your lip. "Does this make me your girlfriend?" You looked hopeful, excited for the possibility of finally being his.
Rick was walking by during this, and he noticed the situation right away. You were seated in his lap, freshly separated from a makeout session. Daryl hadn't even noticed the man walk up.
"Waited long enough." He called out to you.
Then Rick saw it. The lipstick stains all over Daryl's lips and stubble. Rick laughed aloud.
"Daryl, you got a little something here." He gestured to his mouth, snickering to himself.
Daryl quickly moved to wipe away the stains, much to your dismay. "Hey! I worked hard on those." You pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving more stains there.
Rick left the two of you alone, going off to tell everyone else.
"He's gonna tell the whole town, you know that right?" Daryl asks you.
"Let him. He's right. It's been a long time comin'." You smiled.
hii queen! i saw that your requests are open, could you write something with daryl and a reader in the earlier seasons who are dating in secret? (they dont want no one to know because daryl is new to relationships and i believe he would be more reserved a little in the beggining), however the group ended up noticing how soft he is to her and how he always keep an eye on her😩 and also i just wanted to say that i read some of yours writtings and they are amazing💕💕
A/N: Fank you so much nonny 💖😭 I've been really enjoying writing for Daryl, he was one of my biggest obsessions as a teenager, and that obsession will continue to prevail.
And this is such a cute request, I love secret relationship tropes so much. I decided to do Prison era!Daryl if that's okay, I assume you probably meant for like season 1 or 2, but I felt like it would be cute in the prison.
I know that a slow burn wasn't requested BUT the thoughts just kept coming the more I wrote. Also sorry this took so long to post.
Growing up people would always say you will find the one when you least expect it. Whether it’s in a grocery store, at the park, in a museum. That one person you’re bound to spend the rest of your life with will be there. As if they were waiting for you, and you for them. It was a fairytale dream, one that you lost faith in long ago.
There were moments you had thought that maybe you finally found that person. Until disappointment would strike time and time again. Your experience with relationships had been less than ideal, never lasting longer than a year. Cheaters, liars, and worst of all abusers. Those types of men had always been the most drawn to you. Making you feel as if you were cursed somehow, unlucky.
After a while and a slew of pity attempts, you gave up on dating for your own benefit. Deciding it would be best to focus more on yourself. Not allowing yourself to succumb to the societal pressure of getting married by twenty and popping kids out by twenty one.
That was the dream of a delusional small town teenager, too young to think for themselves let alone plan a future family, and that had been your dream once upon a time. Maybe you read too many stories about young girls finding their prince charming and living happily ever after.
You started to value your alone time. Enjoying the feeling of not having to walk on eggshells in order to keep the other party happy. Things were smooth sailing for about two years. You changed your life around, got a new job, a new car, and a new apartment all within a few months.
A newfound happiness was settling inside of you, you were beginning to find yourself again. You became more confident in who you were as a person, allowing yourself to actually live your life instead of just simply being alive.
But life had a twisted sense of humor.
Things started with frantic breaking news segments on the news. Reporters talking about the horrifying developments coming out of France. In the beginning you had hoped that things wouldn’t escalate past that, hoped that this would be an isolated incident. But things just got worse the more you watched. An unknown virus wreaking havoc across the entirety of Europe, spreading like wildfire across each country.
After the first case of the virus was reported in Ohio, you started to worry. Things were getting too close for your liking, and with the details they were releasing it wasn’t going to get any better. With each new segment that aired your mother would call, urgently telling you to come back to live with them until this sickness blows over. You knew that it would be your best bet.
Once the local grocery stores started getting raided, you found yourself being thankful that your family was full of survivalist nuts. Growing up hearing them praise people like Jim Baker, and other televangelist hackjobs like him that weaponized fear mongering for profit.
Your parents home was stocked full of all the essentials thanks to your aunt Jess. First aid kits, canned food, water to last just a little over a month. It was everything you needed and more.
“Y’always gotta be prepared, honey.” Your wine-drunk aunt had told you after a week, the both of you lounging on the sofa as you watched the news. “You don’t know how long this crap’s gonna last.”
It all went by so quickly. The news stations eventually stopped airing not long after the first report hit Georgia, they were urging everyone to evacuate to Atlanta, leaving the streets a mess of honking and dead-stop traffic right outside of your parent’s home.
And for a short while you had settled into this false hope that you were safe there with them.
That was until you came back from a short trip to a ransacked Dollar General just down the street.
The house was oddly quiet when you walked inside. The TV was muted on a flickering static screen, your dad’s recliner was empty, a blanket on the floor. The backdoor that led to the porch was ajar, the sun shining through the crack onto the wood flooring. You remembered that feeling in your stomach as you walked closer, fingers slowly curling around the doorknob.
When you walked outside it felt as if a bucket of ice water was dumped over your head. The horrifying sight of your mother’s body being gutted by your own father and uncle, fresh blood dripped down the side of the RV next to your aunt’s already mangled corpse. Your hands were trembling fiercely, a nauseating coppery smell filling your nose.
All you could remember was running. Packing whatever you could get your hands on before taking your mother’s minivan.
Not long after the death of your family, you were taken in by a small group of five. They were unstable, barely hanging on by a thread, with almost nightly arguments tilting them further over the edge.
It made things harder for you. The tension starting to make you too nervous to sleep without a knife tucked securely under your pillow.
The self appointed leader demanded too much, wanting more than half of the rations to himself. He was a cruel hearted individual, mind diluted by the atrocities you were all forced to witness. A dangerous man who was quick tempered, and ruthless to anything or anybody you came across.
After a month of running with them you made a mistake. You hid a portion of your findings from him. Food that he would have taken the majority of. But you were starving, at the point of hardly caring about your survival if it meant you could eat just a little bit more.
Other members had found out though, outing you quickly. As a punishment he tied you up, stole everything from you. Photo albums, your weapons, your food, bandages, it didn’t matter what it was. After beating you he left you in the supply closet of a convenient store you were temporarily camping out in.
Part of you half expected them to come back, but you knew better than to think positively now, that could get you killed nowadays.
The minutes blended into hours into what felt like days. The zip ties around your wrists and ankles dug harshly into your skin, biting into the raw bleeding flesh as you struggled to free yourself. Eventually it got to the point where you started slipping in and out of consciousness, your body exhausted and dehydrated. You were sure you would die there.
But, much to your surprise, your luck hadn’t run dry just yet.
In your haze you could hear the sound of once shuffling corpses hit against the door with a heavy thud. Hushed voices barely graced your ears through the door, two men talking to each other.
Your voice was hoarse as you pathetically attempted to call out. Your throat was dry from the lack of water, forcing your words to come out as a croaking squeak.
The door had been opened cautiously, the beam of a flashlight assaulting your eyes. You attempted to focus on the man crouching down above you, his blurred features obscured by the baseball hat he wore.
“Rick!” The man called over his shoulder, another figure coming into view. He was wearing what seemed to be a police officer’s uniform. Whether it was stolen or actually his, you didn’t care, you just wanted out of this damn closet.
Both men were quick to cut your binds and hauled you to your feet. The quick motion was all it took for you to finally pass out. A thick blanket of exhaustion pressed into you, forcing your eyes to flutter closed and your body to go completely limp. Unable to cling onto consciousness any longer
In those last moments you almost thought that they would just leave you there. Not wanting to bother helping a now passed out stranger, and you wouldn’t have blamed them if they did abandon you.
Instead when you woke up you were laying on a couch, an older man with short white hair standing over you.
At first you had almost believed you dreamed it all, the outbreak, the group. That you were in some sort of comatose state and the world was not overrun by flesh eating monsters. But the stinging pain deep within your wrists proved otherwise, the gashes covered by white gauze and medical tape.
The white haired man, Hershel, ran you through your current state. Malnourishment, dehydration, feverish temperatures. It was evidently clear that you had been through the wringer, and if Glenn and Rick had not found you when they did, you would have died within the day. In fact he had said it was a miracle that Hershel himself could have saved you.
You figured you had always been stubborn, though, you never gave up easily.
Hershel had been kind enough to allow you to stay in his house until you got better. Providing you with enough water and food to get you back on your feet.
The family allowed you to use their shower. When you looked at yourself in the mirror you understood why they were so insistent. A thick layer of grime and blood coated your skin, your hair was matted, your clothes ripped beyond repair.
You couldn’t help but cry, realizing just how quickly you lost yourself out there. Your humanity has faded so much in such a short amount of time, leaving you a hollow shell of your former self. You looked like a stranger to yourself.
Over the next week Rick’s group urged you to stay. They knew you had nowhere else to go, no family to run back to.
You were hesitant, though. You didn’t want to continue to be a burden, you were a stranger infiltrating an already close knit group. The closeness they had made you feel even more lonely than you did in your previous group, because at least when it came to them, you didn’t crave that companionship.
Gone were the days of blind trust, knowing that everything always came with a price these days. So your knife stayed tucked beneath your pillow, fingers clutching onto the handle as you kept an eye on the zipped up entrance of the tent.
On many sleepless nights, which were frequent, you would sit yourself in front of the dwindling fire outside of your tent. Mind wandering to everything that’s happened to you in the past three months, the things you’ve done to stay alive, the permanent scars you would carry with you for life.
You stewed in your bitterness. Chewing ruthlessly on the skin around your fingernails.
Your tent was further away from the rest of the group’s, tucked away in your own area. You found yourself watching the rest of them at first. Thoughts of running away while everyone slept crossed your mind more times than you could count.
Until one night you heard a twig snap behind you, your knife quickly unsheathed and pointing towards what you thought to be a threat,
“Geez. You’re almost as bad as Daryl.” One of the older men from Rick’s group, Dale, chuckled as he walked closer to your secluded camp, his hands up in surrender. “But I can go if you want.” He smiled softly.
“Sorry… Bad habit.” You said quietly, setting your knife back down next to your thigh.
He shook his head, taking a seat in front of the fire, “No need to be sorry. I can’t blame you for still being a little paranoid.”
Dale quickly became a source of comfort for you, sporting an almost fatherly personality when talking to you. He was kind, and realistic which was exactly what you needed after everything you’ve been through. Over the course of a few nightly visits he was able to get you to open up a little, telling him about your former group, he was sympathetic and understanding.
“The world has truly gone to hell.” He grimaced, taking his bucket hat off of his head. “But, we have good people here. Believe it or not.” His smile was reassuring.
After a few days you started to come around more. Helping the women with laundry, listening to the stories they told about their lives before, anecdotes to keep themselves sane.
It wasn’t hard to understand why they were so close. The tragedy of their former camp just outside of Atlanta, the C.D.C, Lori’s son getting shot, the people they’ve lost along the way.
Slowly you felt more like yourself again.
Every so often they would mention that same name Dale did, Daryl. The only member of the group you had yet to meet personally.
You had seen him walking around the camp, or tucked away in his own tent, further away from the group much like yours was. He was gruff looking, intimidating to the eye, and his occasional temper didn’t help much. But with how insistent he was on finding Carol’s missing daughter, you could tell there was warmth beneath his rigid exterior.
The first time you talked to him was less than ideal. You were attempting to set up a snare trap in the woods, wanting to try and contribute a little bit more. The frustration quickly turned to embarrassment when he snuck up on you. Your feet got caught in your own trap and caused you to trip and fall.
“Looks like y’caught somethin’.” Daryl attempted to joke, walking past you and deeper into the woods with his crossbow pointed towards the trees.
You cut yourself free of the poorly made snare and ran to catch up with him. Choosing your words carefully.
“Daryl, right?” All you got was a grumble in response, “Listen I know you don’t know me or anythin’... But could you teach me how to hunt?”
“Teach yourself. I ain’t got time for babysittin’.” His response stung a little, harsher than you had hoped it would be.
You figured you should have expected that, though, the conversation him and Shane had this morning was heated. An argument almost leading to a full on fight. The tension was growing higher and higher as the days dragged on with no signs of Sophia.
Then the group found out about what was inside the barn.
One day when Rick was out helping Hershel, Shane took it upon himself to break the chains on the barn door. Walker after walker spilled out, being shot down ruthlessly by some members of Rick’s group, while the Greene family cried out for them to stop. Their worst nightmare coming true, as well as Carol’s.
A little girl limped out, skin grey and beginning to rot. Her hair was matted with leaves, eyes a milky grey color, and a rasping snarl emitting from her. There was a large gash on her shoulder, a bite. It was devastating to see a child fall victim to such a death. But even more so for Carol, coming to realize that each day they restlessly searched, she had already been dead..
The safety that the farm provided didn’t last long after that.
Shane was quickly losing his grip, Dale was killed by a lone walker, and eventually the fields were overrun by walkers. A massive hoard stumbling onto the property, drawn in by the frequent gunfire.
You had lost quite a few on that night, good people that had helped you come out of your shell, people that didn’t deserve what they got. In all honesty you didn’t think you would have made it out either if it wasn’t for Andrea and Daryl.
After the fall of the farm, you were all lost. Hershel and his family had lost their home, and the entire group was left to search.
But you had to bury your sadness for the time being, winter was quickly approaching. The leaves were changing into a crisp orange color, and the wind had a bite to it in the mornings, leaving you shivering as you huddled closer to the fire. Daryl had been kind enough to let you borrow his poncho some nights, insisting you probably needed it more than him.
Daryl seemed to warm up to you after a while too. He would subtly make sure you ate by leaving a half eaten can of vegetables next to you, or would occasionally sharpen your knife for you after doing his own. It was a kind gesture, letting you know that he was starting to trust you.
Eventually it got to the point where your group finally ran out of canned food. There were no stores around, and everyone was too cold or tired to go anywhere. So Daryl decided to take you out to the woods, finally going out of his way to teach you how to hunt.
“Y’know what you’re trackin’?” He asked one day, slowly walking beside you, following a small winding trail in the woods.
You were quiet for a second, thinking as you analyzed the tracks next to your feet, “Could be a deer, whatever it is, it’s got hooves.”
“Obviously.” He huffed, resisting the urge to smile when you glared at him.
“Shut the hell up, man.” A small sigh came from you, “Could be a hog.” You crouched down and moved the leaves out of the way to get a better look, “The prints are close together, if it were a deer they’d be further apart, right?”
Daryl just shrugged, “You tell me.”
That’s how your hunts would usually go, Daryl providing frustrating nonanswers as you attempted to close in on your prey. He wasn’t going to babysit you, as he had originally said when you first asked, you had to figure it out yourself. You knew that was the only way you’d be able to learn, even if it was mildly annoying.
The winter finally started to melt into spring, temperatures rising and falling occasionally until settling into an in between. And soon enough your restless searching came to an end, the high chain link fences surrounding a prison with walkers meandering the expansive field calling your names. A soon to be shelter for your group and many others.
The fight against Woodbury had been a painful ordeal, with Maggie and Glenn getting taken hostage, and Daryl leaving with his brother. The group was briefly left in shambles, hanging on by a thread as Rick slowly faded away, losing his way after Lori’s untimely death and the birth of her daughter.
When Daryl left it broke your heart a little. The two of you had bonded over the course of the harsh winter, often seeking each other out as a heat source. Whispering stories of your families filling the silence as the biting wind wrapped itself around you. But you could never blame him for leaving, knowing you would do the same thing if you could.
The first attack from the Governor was when Daryl finally returned, his mouthy brother in tow. They had rescued Rick on the outskirts of the fence, luckily finding him just in time before he was overpowered.
It made you happy to see your friend again, a hand squeezing his shoulder before pulling him into a hug. It had been a lot less awkward than you expected, his arms wrapping around your middle and squeezing softly, reassuring you that he was okay.
“Well, ain’t that just cute.” Merle had teased, pinching his little brother on the cheek.
But the tragedies were never ending, your group seemed to constantly be one step away from death’s doorstep.
The Governor decided to make his way back to the prison, armed gunmen following behind him.
They wanted to execute every last one of you no matter what it took. Your group had laid out traps, pretending to have left as requested, lulling them in with a false hope that you were gone. Until the shrill sound of the prison sirens started, smoke grenades being thrown down at their feet in the darkened hallways.
The armed militia of men, mothers, and teenagers the Governor recruited had run away in fear, knowing that their fates would be sealed if they stayed any longer.
As the weeks continued after the attack, things started to look up. That once forgotten positivity slowly makes its way back into your heart, along with a smile as you allow yourself to get to know the former residence of Woodbury. Your community was slowly forming, a home being made out of the prison.
It was easy to become comfortable.
And as your fondness grew for Daryl, you remembered what your mother used to tell you.
“You will find the one when you least expect it.”
Who knew that the world had to end in order for you to find him. With every soft touch, lingering whisper, and a quick stolen kiss in the shadows of your cell, it grew increasingly more obvious that your mother may have been right.
Daryl was the only person you felt safe enough to be vulnerable around. His gentleness towards you breaking down the walls around your heart, settling himself deep within it. And you gladly let him. You both decided to keep your relationship a secret. Enjoying the thrill of sneaking around, while also avoiding any teasing remarks that would come from your group.
You knew that this was Daryl’s first serious relationship, so you wanted to allow him the grace of warming up to the idea. You wanted him to become more comfortable with himself, taking his time with you, soothing any anxious wandering thought he may have.
But you knew that the group would notice eventually. Hell, they already were. The small teasing remarks being thrown your way would make Daryl stiffen. He would pick at the strings on his denim jacket as he huffed and grumbled something in response.
“You want me to slip her a note or somethin’?” Carol teased him, nudging her elbow into his side, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” She laughed quietly when he rolled his eyes, “Come on Daryl-”
She was cut off by someone running up to him, Glenn’s frantic eyes meeting Daryl and Carol’s before quickly sputtering out your name, “I don’t know what happened but-”
The poor boy could barely get the words out before Daryl ran off towards the cell block.
You were laying in your cell, blood covering your shirt as your side bled profusely. Hershel was quick to try and stop the bleeding, urging everyone to give him room to work.
“If you want her to live, get out, now!”
The blood drained from Daryl’s face as he looked at you. Bruises were beginning to bloom on your face and arms, your nose was bleeding and there was a slash on your cheek. Your boyfriend directed his anger towards one of the new members you had taken on a run, pinning him roughly against the concrete wall with his forearm.
“The hell happened out there?! Huh?!” Daryl shouted in the scared man’s face, shrinking in on himself as Rick and Maggie tried to pull Daryl off. “Talk!”
“We-” The man gulped, “We got attacked by a small group…” There were tears in his eyes as he tried to explain, his swollen lip trembling. He didn’t look much better than you did honestly, his eye was almost swollen shut, and there was blood coating his hairline, “She said- said she knew them, some group she was with. I thought they were gonna k-kill us.” He swallowed harshly, “They shot her…”
Daryl swore he could see red. His shoulders heaving as he started to pace, fingers running through his hair as he tried to process what the man had said. His face was hot, body pulsing with anger as he glanced back into your cell to see you lying there motionless.
He stalked back up towards the man, his gaze hard and threatening as he spoke in a gruff voice, “If she dies, her blood is on your hands.” He pressed his finger hard into the man’s chest, pushing him harshly back into the concrete wall before stalking towards the exit of the prison.
It took the entire council to talk Daryl out of hunting this group down himself. Carol telling him it was a suicide mission, and he would die if he left like this. Going into a situation blinded by rage was never good for anyone, especially now, with you lying unconscious in your cell.
Luckily for you the bullet went straight through, and all they had to do was wait for you to wake up.
Daryl didn’t dare leave your side, a rag gently dabbing across your forehead as he whispered softly to you. Unspoken words that he had wished he had told you sooner, words that only you were allowed to hear him say, something he had never dared utter to another person. Not even his own family.
“I love you.”
The time seemed to drag on slowly as he waited, his watchful not leaving you for more than a few seconds. His gentle fingers traced patterns on your skin, ignoring the occasional staring that would come from someone passing by your cell. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the secrecy, not now.
“That fuckin’ tickles.” He suddenly heard you rasp, your eyes fluttering open and glancing down at his fingers on your forearm.
Relief washed over Daryl like cool rain on a hot summer's day. His shoulders sagged and he couldn’t help but lean his head down to rest on your arm, a long sigh being released from his lungs.
“Daryl…” You whispered, making him look at you, “It was my old group.”
The look on your face was similar to the one you sported when they first found you, terrified, lost, confused. You didn’t know what to do with yourself knowing that not only were they still alive, but a lot closer than you would have liked.
“I know.” He replied, his hand holding onto yours, “You don’t have t’worry about that right now.”
Even though you were able to find happiness in the apocalypse, tragedy never ceased to sneak up from behind every corner. And you guessed that it had become easy to forget that life had a cruel sense of humor.
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Summary: Daryl decides to take you on a little run in order to escape the summer heat. It leads to something unexpected, but welcome.
Tags: Swearing, fluff, twd typical violence, no use of y/n, somewhat proofread
Words: 4.1
A/N: Dude when I say I hate Georgia heat with a passion I mean it. This state tries to kill me every summer.
The ending is a little rushed but that's okay
Made a small playlist for this <3
The heat pressed down on you like a thick blanket, a brief miracle of wind gracing against your skin. Beads of sweat rolled down your forehead, and all you could think about was how you should have appreciated the beautiful invention of air conditioning more.
Summers in Georgia were always a dreadful experience, even before the outbreak. The humidity almost makes the air feel as if it was boiling around you, the sun stinging against your skin every time the tree above you shifted, the shade being cruelly stripped away for just a moment.
Even as a child you hated summer, solely because of the heat. Temperatures like this made it almost impossible to move, even breathing was a struggle as the scalding heat invaded your mouth.
The palms of your hands were slick with sweat, but your mouth remained dry. The lack of fresh water was making your brain go fuzzy. You knew that at any moment, if you stood just a little too quickly, blackened dots would scatter across your vision, and inevitably you would pass out.
You were grateful that it would at least happen within shouting distance of Daryl and the rest of the group. Instead of happening in the middle of the woods, reducing you to unconscious bait for the undead.
"Ya'look like you're dyin'." Daryl commented, walking over to you with his crossbow securely slung over his shoulder.
A small huff left you as you attempted to fan your face, "Feels like it. This heat is fucking ridiculous."
You craved any form of shelter, but you already knew that the inside of some stuffy house would be no better. A home without air conditioning, in weather like this, is like being trapped inside of a pre-heating oven.
"And here I thought we had a true southern woman on our hands." The rough edged man jokes, crouching down in front of you with a small smile on his lips.
"Oh please, I've lived here my entire life. I just ain’t built for heat like this.”
You hated sweating this much, it made you feel dirtier than you already were. The grime coating your skin mixing with the salty perspiration. You started to crave that harsh winter chill you felt months ago, at least you’d be able to wear more layers.
"You wanna head out for a bit? I gotta get something for the camp." He asked, averting his eyes to look over his shoulder towards Lori and Rick.
They were engaged in a conversation of their own, Carol coming out from her tent, and Glenn who sat next to Hershal. The rest of the group was scattered around the makeshift camp, their hopes of finding some safe place to settle dwindling by the day.
“What’cha got in mind?” You asked him curiously.
“Guess you’ll just have to find out.” With that he stood back up, walking over to Rick and exchanging a few words and nods. You couldn’t really hear what they were saying, Rick glanced over at you with a small smile and tilted his head to the side before shrugging.
“Couldn’t hurt.” Was all you could make out of their conversation.
Daryl walked back over to you and extended a helping hand. He tugged you away from the tree you had planted yourself against. His skin was just as hot as yours, and the contact brought an uncomfortably hot flush to your cheeks.
The relationship you and Daryl had was far from romantic. It was more of mutual respect, he had saved your life a fair share of times, which you had returned gratefully. There was not a moment you didn’t feel safe when he was around, his watchful eyes always finding their way to you.
Merle used to always tease his younger brother about going soft. At first, it had driven a small wedge between both Daryl and you. You originally thought you were being held at a distance so Daryl could avoid his brother’s cruel comments, often referring to him as a whipped pussy. In reality it was to keep Merle away from you, not wanting him to scare you off.
Before the outbreak things were much simpler with Daryl. Granted, you barely knew him. To you he was just a customer that occasionally came into the hunting supply store your father worked at. You remembered thinking he was attractive.
You had often avoided looking directly at him from where you sat behind the counter, eavesdropping in on the conversation he was having with your dad.
There was a nervous shyness inside you, reminding you of a teenager with a crush. At the time you remembered thinking it was pathetic acting like this. But reflecting back, you couldn’t help but think of that innocent feeling fondly. Where at a time, the only thing you had to worry about was a stupid crush on a stranger.
After everyone started to flee, you found yourself moving more south. In hopes to escape the plague of death raking over your town. You drove until your dad’s truck was running purly off of fumes, a sputtering sound filling your ears occasionally.
An old broken down house caught your eyes, it was just a little ways from the road. It had been abandoned since you were a young teenager, slowly rotting away and being consumed by vines.
The wheels on your dad’s old pickup groaned as you slowed to a stop. You put the vehicle in park before removing the keys, tucking them into your back pocket once you stepped out from the front seat. You reached for the gun sitting in the passenger seat, wanting to have some form of protection from these creatures.
The second your fingers brushed against the handle, you felt a sharp prod against your spine.
“You lost, little girl?” A gruff voice said from behind you, your heart seized in your chest, fear gripping tightly onto your throat. “Come on outta that truck why don’t’cha. Come on, let’s go.” The man urged, not giving you much of an option as his hand roughly tugged your bicep.
Your back hit against the door of the pickup, eyes meeting some very familiar ones. It was one of the Dixon brothers, you remembered seeing him accompany Daryl plenty of times. Listening to their quiet bickering that would echo through the small store.
“Well, what do we have here…” Merle smiled, his knife continuing to press against your skin. “You’re a long ways away from home aren’t’cha, girl?”
“I could say the same about you.”
Over the next few hours you attempted to plead your case. Hoping- no, praying- they would at least be nice enough to take you along with them for the time being. Especially because they were the only familiar faces you have seen, making you feel somewhat at ease.
Merle fought hard against it. But Daryl vouched for you, knowing that you would die if they left.
“Oh come on, brother!” Merle groaned, rolling his eyes as he gestured towards you, “She’s gonna drag us down Daryl.”
“I ain’t gonna drag anyone down, I know how to hold my own Dixon.” You defended yourself. “I’ve been huntin’ with my dad since I was little. I’m a good shot, please… Just- I don’t want to be left alone.”
“Where’s your daddy then, huh girl? Shouldn't you be with 'em?” Merle asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Your eyes hardened a little, glaring at the man in front of you, “Where do you think?” You spat out.
The flashes of him dying worked through your mind, tormenting you. You remembered hearing his sickening screams as your older sister tore into him. Leaving you little to no time to react. Her rasping growls, those milky white eyes...
You ran from the house without turning back, all you had was an empty backpack, the keys to your dad’s truck, and a hunting knife that was gifted to you on your birthday several years ago.
In the beginning you weren’t sure why Daryl was so inclined to help you, to be by your side, you weren’t anything special. Just a twenty something year old trying to survive.
At first you assumed his protection was out of pity for you losing your family. Or maybe it was so he could score a night alone in your tent.
That line of thinking was turned over after a conversation the two of you had inside the C.D.C. It was after a few drinks, the two of you were left leaning against each other in the reading room. The two of you talked for hours about everything, your life before the outbreak, your families, your dreams, everything you expected life to be. He was vulnerable with you, more than you ever expected him to be.
That night you realized there was something much more to how he treated you. Something more caring, cracking itself out of Daryl’s rigid exterior. You had come to realize he saw a little bit of himself in you. Alone, lost, and scared. Much like he had been so many times in his life as a young boy.
And after all this time, you still stuck by his side. There was trust, an understanding between the two of you.
“C’mon, it’s still early, we got plenty a’time.” He walked a few feet in front of you towards one of the trucks.
“Be safe!” Carol called out to the two of you, giving you a small wave.
The leather seat in the truck was unbearably hot beneath your thighs, stinging against your skin. You resisted the urge to hiss at the feeling, knowing that if you adjusted your legs enough eventually the heat would dissipate.
“You know I hate surprises.” You commented, looking over at Daryl who kept his eyes trained on the road.
His eyes met yours for a brief moment, “Well, you’re just gonna have to get used to all that.” He replied, “Surprises around every corner these days.”
The drive fell into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the hum of the engine.
You couldn’t argue, it was just a fact. You had to worry about your throat being ripped out in your sleep. A hoard could sneak up at any minute, a sudden sickness could sweep through the camp, anything could happen in this new world.
“Here it is.” Daryl sighed out.
The lake in front of you glistened under the sun, the smallest push and pull of waves against the clay shore. You could hear the distant call of geese, their bodies briefly diving under the surface to try and catch something.
“Where’d you find this place?” You asked him, opening the passenger door and stepping out.
“Found it while huntin’. Thought we could try an’ get some water for camp.” Daryl replied while removing the keys, the door creaked as he opened it. “There’s some jugs in the back, go ahead and grab two of ‘em. I’m gonna scout the area real quick.”
“Sounds good.”
You grabbed the jugs and made your way towards the body of water, cautiously keeping an eye on your surroundings. Daryl wasn’t far from you, keeping his crossbow pointed towards the woods and listening for any movement.
The water brushed gently against your shoes, your socks getting wet on the inside. Any other time you would complain, but the feeling brought so much relief that you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.
You unscrewed the cap of the jug, tucking it into your pocket before dipping the container into the water. It filled up quickly, the water brown from the dirt and murky. You would have to boil it out a few times before it would be safe enough to consume.
“Think we’re good for now.” Daryl said from behind you, now holding a jug of his own.
“Good, means we can enjoy this for a few minutes.” You used your empty hand to splash at Daryl.
He didn’t flinch away from the water, “Ain’t got time for playin’.” He shook his head a little as he unscrewed the top of the jug.
You lifted your filled container out of the water and brought it over towards the shore, putting the top back on. You grabbed the second one, and filled it the same. The silence was peaceful, the buzzing of bugs flying past you and the birds calling from the tree branches, maybe serene was the word you were looking for.
“Alright, I’m done with mi-” You were cut off by a sudden splash of water hitting your face. “Okay… I see how it is.” You rubbed water away from your eyes before being splashed again.
“I figured you still wanted to cool off.” Daryl smirked. He was going to splash you again but your hand stopped him, tugging him deeper into the lake where you stood.
You halfheartedly wrestled against him, trying to push him down. But he was strong, forcing you to dig your feet into the muddy ground as he pushed against you, a wide smile on his beautiful face.
“I ain’t goin’ down without a fight, sweetheart.” He teased, his face getting closer to yours, making your stomach flip.
You took that as a challenge, finding whatever strength you could muster to try and bring him down. You grabbed onto his flannel shirt roughly, balling it into your fists as your leg came up to hook around the back of his knee, making him lose his balance. His knee buckled but he was quick to recover, stepping forward and shoving your shoulders roughly sending you backwards.
The water splashed around you, giggles flying from your mouth as you tried to get the droplets to stop assaulting your eyes.
Daryl smiled sweetly, holding out a hand to help you up from your sitting position in the lake, your shoulders barely peeking from the surface.
You grasped onto it with a slight smirk, your other hand shooting up and grabbing him by the neck of his shirt again. You roughly tugged him down, hearing him let out a quiet gasp before he came down on top of you face first. You were both submerged for only a second before he recovered.
He was quick to sit back on his knees, giving you a halfhearted glare.
“Aww, you look at an angry little cat.” You teased, ruffling his soaked hair.
Daryl softly slapped your hand away, huffing out a laugh of his own, “You play dirty.”
“I gotta do that against you.”
“That ain’t true.” The man shook his head, smirking a little.
“Is too!” You laugh.
You went to splash him again, but Daryl’s rough hand caught your wrist. He leaned forward a little.
“Stop.” The sudden whispered tone in his voice made your heart still in your chest.
Daryl’s head turned towards the sound of snapping branches coming from the woods. He stood up from the water, fingers going to grasp around the knife attached to his belt. The water dripping from his clothes sounded a lot louder when you were trying to be quiet. Slowly, you stood up behind him and looked at the treeline.
A walker stepped out from behind a fallen tree, tripping over a vine before continuing its path towards the two of you, one of its arms missing, its body boney and distorted. Growling and snapping its blackened teeth in anticipation. Another one stepped out from behind a bush with its head bowed, its clothes ripped to shreds, giving way for the intestines that dangled from its stomach.
“I got the first one, you get the second one. Sound good?” Daryl asked you urgently, pulling his knife from his belt.
You grasped onto the hunting knife sheathed on your thigh, watching as Daryl waded carefully towards the shore. His hand grasped the walker’s shoulder before he plunged his knife into its skull.
The second one made a bee-line towards you once you stepped closer. Its head rose with a rasping growl, fresh blood dripping from the corners of its mouth. The milky white eyes met yours, making your steps falter slightly as you scanned over the walker’s features.
No…
He grabbed for you, bloody fingers finding its way to the soaked fabric of your shirt and grabbing onto it roughly. Its blunt nails scraped across your skin through the shirt, making your stomach drop a little at the close proximity. The smell of its rotten breath, meat hanging from its teeth. Its jaw popped loudly with every snap of its teeth, that same sound you would remember hearing whenever your dad ate at the dinner table.
He had always said it was from getting his jaw broken when he was a teenager. Telling you the story more times than you could count.
Before it could even think to bite you, your knife plunged deep into its eye socket. The walker’s blood sprayed onto you when you ripped your knife out, stabbing it again for good measure.
Tears dripped from your eyes as you watched him fall to the ground with a lifeless thud.
You couldn’t lie and say you were surprised. The camp was closer to your home than you’ve been in almost a year, and the thought had been in the back of your mind ever since you saw the sign of your town. A thought that eventually you would see him again.
“We should get outta here, don’t know how many friends they might have.” You said after clearing your throat, walking closer to Daryl and grabbing the two jugs you filled.
Once back inside the truck Daryl looked at you before turning towards the backseat, digging through the floorboards. He had a rag in his hand, using it to gently wipe the blood off of your face, he held your chin with his hand, turning your face to the side.
Your stomach twisted at his delicate touch. Fingers twitching as he starts to clean your hands.
“Thank you.”
“Scared me there for a second. That walker grabbing a’hold of you like that.” Daryl confessed, the rag stilling against the palm of your hand.
A small huff left your parted lips, “Yeah…” A small sniffle left you as you attempted to smile. “I just… God, that was so fucked up.” You couldn’t hold back anymore, the tears streaming down your cheeks faster than you could stop them.
Daryl was quick to bring you into his hold, arms wrapping around you as you cried into his shoulder.
Out of everyone in your family, your dad was the one you were the closest with. He had raised both you and your older sister all by himself, nothing but love to show for the both of you. He was protective in his own way. But also respected you enough to not treat you like a delicate princess who couldn’t do anything on her own. He taught you how to handle yourself, how to protect yourself from animals and people alike.
You even remembered how he had teased you when it came to Daryl, “You want me to slip him your number?” He had said one day, eyeing the two brothers standing in the trapping section.
“Dad! No!” You could feel your face heating up, trying to distract yourself by wiping down the glass display case.
He let out a laugh at your embarrassment, “Oh look at’cha, my little girl’s got a crush.” He pinched your cheek, which further irritated you.
“Shut up, old man.” You groaned, glaring at him as he continued to laugh.
Finally you leaned back from Daryl, using the same rag to clean off your hunting knife. Your heart hammered against your chest, your hands were still shaking. The knife was heavy in your hands, resting softly against your thigh. Your thumb brushed softly against the initials engraved on the blade..
“You gonna be okay?” Daryl asked after a minute of silence, cranking the truck and backing out of the clearing and back onto the road. “I know stuff like that ain’t easy.”
“I’ll be alright.” Your response was soft, “You know he really liked you, my dad.”
The man beside you hummed softly, “I know…” He chuckled quietly before continuing, “He uh- he actually was tryin’ to get me to ask you out on a date.”
Your eyes widened at that. That same feeling of embarrassment you used to always feel flooding your system. You couldn’t say you were surprised, your dad had always been somewhat of a matchmaker, having helped your older sister find her husband when she was around your age.
“Oh my god.” You said, covering your face with your hands before laughing, “Yeah that sounds like him. I’m sorry about that, he didn’ exactly have much of a filter.”
“Nah, nothin’ to be sorry about.” Daryl looked at you for a second, clearing his throat, “I was actually gonna do it, but I pussied out. Figured you’d find someone better, than some beat up ol’ hillbilly.”
The air had felt like it was sucked from your lungs after hearing that. Daryl Dixon had thought about asking you out? Your stomach fluttered at the idea.
“Were you really?” You asked cautiously.
The truck slowed to a stop just a little outside of the camp, Daryl looked at you with a small smile. You couldn’t help but admire how attractive he looked, his hair starting to grow out a little more, the sun shining down on his face.
“Would you’ave said yes?”
Knowing what you knew now, you didn’t have to be scared to confess. Your lips quirked up into a smile, turning yourself to face him better. Your face still felt hot, fingers picking at the strings on your pants as you looked at him.
“Daryl, I’m gonna be so honest with you right now.” You started, “I had the biggest crush on you from the second I saw you in my dad’s shop.”
“You’re kiddin’.” He let out a small laugh, a smile blooming on his face.
You shook your head, chewing on the inside of your lip before saying, “I was terrified of rejection, so I just didn’t say anythin’. Pussied out, as you put it.”
Daryl chuckled at that, ducking his head briefly before glancing back up at you. His hand found its way to yours, grabbing it gently and shaking his head in disbelief. You almost felt foolish for not saying it sooner, wondering what it would have been like to be with him before everything fell.
“Well, you ain’t got nothing to be terrified of now, sweetheart.” His thumb stroked softly against your palm, “Walker’s, sure, but not me.” His voice was sweet, calm and comforting just like it always was when he spoke to you.
Your other hand came up to his cheek, brushing against the scruff as you cupped his jaw, “You think I still gotta chance?” Your voice was almost a whisper.
“You’ve always had one.” He replied carefully, leaning into your touch and meeting you halfway.
His lips were soft against yours, albeit a little chapped, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. After a year of pining you finally had him, his hand coming to gently hold your waist and bring you closer. His lips moved against yours gracefully, his other hand cupping your jaw and guiding you into a deeper kiss. He had needed this just as much as you did.
“We should probably get back to the camp…” You whispered once you parted, your nose still brushing against his.
“We should.” Daryl’s fingers softly traced your cheek, blue eyes full of emotions, “Gotta get you in some dry clothes. Don’t want you catchin’ a cold or somethin’.”
He took the truck out of park and drove the rest of the way into the camp, his free hand holding yours now. Rick waved at the two of you once you started to slow, walking towards the truck and helping take the full jugs out of the truck bed.
“Run into any trouble?” Rick asked once you got out of the truck.
“Just two walkers, other than that it was clear.” You replied.
You didn’t miss the way he looked at both of you and Daryl, still soaked from wrestling in the lake. A small smirk graced the man’s lips before he nodded, turning back towards the camp and meeting his wife halfway, handing her one of the jugs.
“So you plannin’ on movin’ into my tent?” Daryl half jokes, bumping his shoulder against yours, the jug he was holding sloshing around quietly.
“Not sure, you think you can handle a roommate?” You tease.
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