#lawyerreader

Pair: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Era: Pre-Apocalypse. 

Tags: #LawyerReader #PreApocalypseDaryl #SlowBurn #AngstWithFluff  #UnexpectedRomance #RoughAroundTheEdges #TensionAndChemistry #OppositesAttract #EnemiesToLovers #MerleDixon 

Word Count: 20k (approx.)

Warnings: None, except maybe do not fall for a bad boy with a heart of gold who needs legal help as it’s a conflict of interest. 

Summary: When Daryl Dixon, the gruff mechanic with a troubled past, walks into your lawyer’s office, you expect the usual—trouble, paperwork, maybe a little too much whiskey. But what you get is more complicated than that: a messy case, a man who refuses to ask for help, and the kind of chemistry that’s impossible to ignore. As Daryl’s case drags on, you find yourself learning more about the man behind the leather jacket—his complicated relationship with his brother, Merle, his troubled past, and the fact that he’s a little more vulnerable than he lets on. It’s a bumpy ride full of legal drama, awkward silences, and moments where you want to slap sense into him—and yourself for caring so much. But as the stakes rise, so do the feelings, leading to a night you’ll both remember. From enemies to lovers? Maybe. From lawyers to breakfast buddies? Definitely.

Chapter 1: The First Meeting

The office was quiet, the only sound the steady clicking of your keyboard as you worked on the ever-growing stack of case files. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the room. You had been at your desk for hours, buried under paperwork, your mind still replaying the conversation you'd had with a colleague earlier that morning about a case you couldn’t quite seem to crack. It had been a typical Monday: routine, ordinary, the weight of responsibility hanging over you like a heavy cloud.

You’d been in the law game for three years now, and though you had made a name for yourself, it didn’t feel as glamorous as people seemed to think. Sure, you had the fancy office, the leather chair, the clients who always asked for your help in navigating the legal labyrinth, but you also had a lonely apartment in the city that echoed with silence when you returned home at night. No family nearby, no significant other to ease the stress. Just you and your work.

The job had become your identity. You worked hard, stayed focused, and in return, the legal world gave you prestige—clients who needed your help, the occasional flirtation from well-dressed professionals who assumed you’d be impressed by their suits or resumes. You’d learned early on not to get caught up in the drama.

But you did have a weakness. You couldn’t help it—bad boys. You’d spent too many years trying to avoid falling for the ones who were trouble. Your first boyfriend, Jake, had been just that—rough around the edges, a criminal with a grin that could melt anyone’s defenses. You’d gotten him out of trouble more times than you could count. In the end, he died of a drug overdose, and you had sworn off men like him. It was partly because of Jake that you had decided to become a lawyer. After all, you couldn’t keep rescuing people like him without learning how to fight the system from the inside.

But despite your best efforts to keep your heart protected, it had always wandered to the kind of men who made your mother nervous—the ones with too many tattoos, too many secrets, and just the right amount of charm.

You sighed, setting your pen down and rubbing your temples. Your phone buzzed across your desk, snapping you out of your reverie. It was a message from your mother: “Are you ever going to date someone who doesn’t have a criminal record?” You chuckled to yourself. Your mom had been asking that for years, ever since you’d first met Jake in college.

You put the phone aside and returned to your work, trying to push the thought of your mother—and Jake—out of your mind. The steady hum of the office felt strangely comforting.

That’s when the door creaked open.

You didn’t look up immediately, assuming it was just another client showing up a bit early or maybe a delivery. But the presence that filled the room felt... different. It was the kind of presence that commanded attention without needing to say a word. You looked up.

He stood in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, his posture almost intimidating. His hair was a mess of dark waves, and his leather jacket, worn with age, looked like it had seen better days. His face was rugged, with stubble that looked like it hadn’t seen a razor in days, and his blue eyes... they were the kind of eyes that could make you feel like you were being read from the inside out.

He was rough around the edges—nothing like the well-dressed, polished clients you usually dealt with. You could tell right away that he wasn’t here for a simple consultation about a divorce or a business deal. This man didn’t belong in a lawyer’s office.

He stepped forward, his boots making a heavy thud against the floor. “You the lawyer?” His voice was low, a little rough, and he looked you over with a certain wariness, as if he were trying to size you up just as much as you were him.

You leaned back in your chair, eyeing him carefully. Something about him made your pulse quicken—a mixture of curiosity and caution. He had the look of a man who had seen things you didn’t want to imagine, things that might have turned him into someone you couldn’t quite trust.

“Who’s asking?” you replied, keeping your voice professional but with a touch of curiosity.

The man gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “Daryl.”

“Okay, Daryl... no surname?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you leaned forward slightly.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing away as if debating whether to reveal more. Then, as if giving in, he muttered, “Dixon.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the door as if considering whether to make a hasty exit. Daryl Dixon. The name didn’t mean anything to you, but the man himself? He was another story.

“Alright, Mr. Dixon,” you said, your voice firm and professional, though there was a hint of curiosity. “What brings you here today?”

Daryl shifted, his posture becoming even more uncomfortable as he glanced around the room. It was clear he wasn’t used to sitting still for long periods of time, let alone discussing his problems with a stranger. His eyes darted to the paperwork on your desk, then back to you, and you could see the hesitation in his gaze. He wasn’t someone who usually asked for help.

“I need your help,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough, like the words were heavy on his tongue. “I’m in some trouble. With people who... well, they don’t take kindly to being crossed.”

You gave a nod, a silent signal for him to continue. You had dealt with enough shady characters in your time to know when someone was being vague for a reason. The question wasn’t whether the man had gotten himself in deep—it was how deep.

“I’ve made a few bad decisions,” Daryl added, his gaze flicking back to yours, as if seeing how you’d react to the admission. “People are after me. I don’t want anyone else caught in the middle of it.”

You leaned back in your chair, studying him. He was clearly trying to play it off as if it wasn’t a big deal, but something about the way he said it told you this was serious.

“You’ve come to the right place,” you said, your tone cool but reassuring. “But I’m going to need some more details before I can help you.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing the risks of revealing more to a stranger. He seemed the type who didn’t trust easily, and you understood that. You were a lawyer, after all, but you also understood people. And this man? He had a lot of baggage.

Finally, after a long pause, he said, “Alright, I’ll tell you what you need to know. But I’m not asking for a miracle. Just... help.”

You nodded again, already thinking ahead about how you’d approach this case. But before you could continue, Daryl’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

“I’ll need you to know my full name,” he said, his voice quiet, like he had just realized it wasn’t something you could just skip over. “It’s Daryl Wayne Dixon.”

You paused for a moment, writing down the name, feeling the weight of those words. Daryl Wayne Dixon. It wasn’t just the name of another client—it was the beginning of something much bigger than that.

And as he stood to leave, your mind raced. There was something about this man that made you feel like you were on the edge of something. The kind of something you weren’t sure you wanted to get involved with... but also couldn’t pull away from.

Thanks, Mrs. Lawyer,” Daryl said, his tone slightly lighter now. There was a faint flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “I’ll be in touch.”

"Miss Lawyer."

“Thanks, Miss Lawyer,” Daryl said, his tone slightly lighter now. There was a faint flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “I’ll be in touch.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at the correction. There was something about the way he said it—softened by the faintest trace of gratitude—that made you think maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t all hard edges after all.

“Take care, Mr. Dixon,” you replied, your voice warm but still professional as he turned to leave.