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I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! 💚😌☝

Daryl woke up that morning to a smell coming from downstairs.

At first, he hadn't felt comfortable living inside one of the houses, so Rick had let him live with him and Carl until he felt at ease.

He stretched on the small mattress he'd made on the floor and squinted to adjust to the intense sunlight streaming through the windows.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and gripped his crossbow with the other.

He knew that only Rick, Carl, and he were in that house, but since you never know, that's why he'd brought the weapon with him.

He slowly descended the stairs, checking all the entrances and exits, including the hallways, just in case. It was likely that Carl had gotten up early that day.

Lately, he'd been doing it (Daryl suspected it was to go to the woods with Enid), but even so, he wasn't going to rest easy until he'd seen for himself.

The smell was coming from the kitchen, so he quickly turned the corner into the room with his crossbow raised, until he saw your back, at which point he lowered the weapon.

You were wearing an apron tied around your waist, your jeans were covered in flour, and your hair was pulled back in a messy bun, which you'd tried to hold in place with a pencil.

Daryl almost smiled at the sight before him.

He paused for a moment, lost in thought, and realized that given the state of the world in general, it was this image of you that seemed so strange. It was clear that everything had changed too much.

It was the moment you turned around and saw him that you almost dropped the glass dish you were holding.

Your quick reflexes prevented that from happening.

"Daryl!" “What are you doing up so early?” you exclaimed, clutching your chest to show him you were startled. “You should sleep a little longer.” He stared at you for a few seconds before answering.

“I heard noises downstairs and decided to come down and see what it was,” he explained tersely.

“Yeah, it was me with the dishes, my bad,” you muttered before putting the glass dish in the oven.

Daryl watched you move around the kitchen until he realized the mess you’d made.

There was a cookbook on the counter, several bowls in the sink, and a few mixtures ready to be added to…

“What are you doing?” he asked, casually.

“Well,” you said after setting the oven timer, “you saved my life the other day, again,” you murmured, “and since I can’t give you back the motorcycle that was stolen because of me, I thought I could make it up to you,” you said. “I felt terrible when you were without it, so…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he interrupted, making you look at him intently.

“What?”

“The motorcycle, it wasn’t your fault,” he replied. “Besides, it wasn’t stolen from me. I decided to leave it there to save you,” he blurted out. “I can rebuild the motorcycle, but you,” he whispered, his eyes, halfway between light and dark, resting on yours, “there can’t be another you.”

You swallowed hard at the profound meaning of those words. When you found your voice, you answered

"Of course, I… I understand," you murmured. "Even so, I've prepared something to thank you," you explained. "I'm better at cooking than fighting, so… well, that's it," you blurted out shyly.

The oven began to beep, signaling that the mixture was finished.

Daryl watched as you took it out of the bowl and placed it on a plate, sprinkling something reddish on top.

You put a spoon on the plate and pushed it in his direction. He glanced from the plate to you for a few moments, until you spoke again.

"It's a strawberry pie" you explained. "I haven't made it in a while, so I don't know how it will be," you confessed. "I know you like strawberries, Carol told me," you murmured. "I hope you like it."

Daryl was about to tell you that it didn't matter what you made because whatever it was, he was going to like it anyway.

Instead, he held the spoon between his thumb and forefinger and brought a piece to his mouth under your watchful gaze.

"It's really good, Y/N," he said, making you suddenly release all the air you'd been holding in due to the tension you felt.

"Thank goodness," you sighed. "I'm glad you like it," you smiled.

"You know you didn't have to do any of this, right?" he said. You nodded.

"Yes, but I did it anyway," you smiled. "I'm alive thanks to you, and you have sugar in your system thanks to me," you murmured. "To me, that counts as a victory."

A small smile appeared on the dark-haired man's lips as he brought another piece of cake to his mouth.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! ☝😌🤍

You knew you weren't Daryl's favorite person.

For weeks now, you'd felt his gaze always on your back; he never left you alone.

And of the few things he said, two were to criticize you, or he'd made snide remarks that you obviously knew were directed at you, but you ignored them.

So, the day came when you couldn't take it anymore, and you decided to confront him directly.

"What's your problem with me?" you blurted out when you were in an abandoned supermarket gathering supplies. "Because I'd love to know."

Daryl stared at you for a few moments, as he hadn't expected such a sudden burst of energy from you.

"If you're so interested, I'll tell you," he blurted out. "I don't trust you."

"I haven't done anything to make you distrust me," you huffed. "Besides, whether you trust me or not is none of my damn business." "I assure you it won't keep me up at night; there are already other things that keep me up at night," you added.

"It's nothing personal," he explained, "I simply can't trust someone who puts the needs of others before their own."

"I've never done that," you blurted out. "Tell me a single situation in which I've been selfish enough to do something like that."

"Yesterday when we were at the clinic," he said, "the walkers were coming in nonstop, and you had to take cover behind a shelf just because there was something there you wanted to take for yourself." "And isn't that being selfish?"

"I never said what I took was for me, you idiot," you blurted out, your eyes flashing with barely contained rage. "What I took were antibiotics and bandages for YOU, you piece of shit," you confessed, even though the insults weren't meant seriously, but rather a product of the helplessness you felt at that moment. "The other day a walker pushed you against a rusty nail that pierced your shoulder, I don't know if you remember."

"I remember."

"Of course you do" you huffed. "Do you know who bandaged your wound? ME. Who made sure you were okay? ME. Who risked their life yesterday to get things so your wound wouldn't get infected? ME," you blurted out. "What I did yesterday was for you, not because I wanted to get bitten, because believe me, I have NO DESIRE to leave this world yet." Not now that I've found a home and people I think care about me, so forgive me for being so "selfish," but…

"I'm sorry," he interrupted, stopping your rant in its tracks.

"What?" you questioned, thinking you hadn't heard him properly.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "I shouldn't have…" He gruntled under his breath. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, doesn't matter" you replied. "I'm glad we talked it out," you murmured, extending your hand in a gesture of peace. "Friends?"

"Friends," he answered, shaking it firmly.

"Does this mean you'll teach me how to use your crossbow?"

"No" he said, making you laugh

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! 😌💚☝

Daryl didn't know exactly what had happened, but when he didn't see you return with Abraham from your routine patrol, something inside him told him something had happened to you.

The redhead tried to explain, but Daryl simply slung his crossbow over his shoulder and glanced briefly at Rick, who nodded, letting him know he was following.

The dark-haired man quickly traced Abraham's footprints on the ground along the path you had taken, since he was the best tracker in the group.

It was then that they reached a sort of clearing among the trees, and that's when they both saw you.

Or rather, Daryl saw you.

He saw you kneeling in the middle of a circle of unknown men who were staring at you in a way that made the dark-haired man want to gouge their eyes out and force them to swallow them.

Rick saw the grimace of rage on the face of his friend, who was practically a brother to him, and nodded calmly.

"It's not that complicated, sweetheart," one of them was saying to you. "You just have to answer one question, that's all."

"I already answered you," you snapped, looking at them defiantly. "I told you there's no camp, I'm not from anywhere, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm alone and aimless, so leave me alone," you muttered. "Don't you have any other girls to assault?"

The men laughed, until the one Daryl identified as the leader spoke again.

"I like you. You've got guts," he whispered. "It's a shame that's what's going to get you killed."

He raised his hand to strike you, at which point Daryl fired the first arrow, piercing his palm.

A yell of pain escaped the man's lips, causing you to crack a tiny smile as you recognized the greenish hue of the arrow.

All the men went on guard when Daryl and Rick appeared, the former wielding his crossbow and the latter his inseparable Colt.

"You son of a bitch!" the man growled, clutching his hand as if afraid it would detach from his wrist. "You've destroyed me! Look what you've done to me!"

"That's nothing compared to what you deserve," Daryl growled. "I should have killed you." Everyone tensed up. Rick noticed most of those present placing their index fingers on the triggers of their respective weapons.

"Okay, let's all calm down for a moment," he murmured. "Let's make a deal: you let Y/N go, and we'll each go our separate ways."

"And what do we get in return?" “—the leader questioned—

—Keep breathing—Daryl blurted out bluntly—

The man smirked, reaching for your face, to which you responded by moving away from him as much as your body, tied to the tree trunk, would allow.

Daryl fired a second arrow, which lodged in the trunk behind him, narrowly missing his hand.

—If you touch her again, the next arrow will go between your eyes—he growled, his gaze fixed on you—let her go.

—I can’t do that, man—he said—just when we were starting to get along, I don’t want to say goodbye to her so soon.

Then all hell breaks loose

The next arrow Daryl fired, just as he had promised, struck him in the head.

As soon as the leader fell, the men with him tried to kill them.

You watched the whole scene, fear and tension coursing through your veins.

You saw Rick defending himself with his pistol and machete, while Daryl cleared the perimeter around you.

When everyone had fallen, the dark-haired man turned to you and cut the ropes around your body with his knife.

"Are you okay?" he asked. You nodded.

"I'm fine," you murmured weakly. Daryl noticed something reddish on your cheek. He ran his fingers over your skin and, feeling the bump beneath his fingertips, his face tightened with anger.

"He did this to you?" he questioned, seeing the bruise on the side of your face.

"Yes," you confessed, making him swear under his breath. "But I'm really fine. I just need to rest and an extra-large ice pack," you whispered, holding his gaze.

"We have to go," Rick announced. "The gunshots alerted the walkers," he said, looking at you intently. "Can you walk?"

"Yes," you murmured, struggling to your feet with Daryl's help.

Between the two of you, with an arm around each of your shoulders, you reached Alexandria, where Daryl asked Denise for an ice pack for your cheek.

Rick left you alone with the promise that he would come to see you later, and you thanked him once again for saving your life.

Back in the quiet of the room, Daryl sat with his arms crossed over his chest, while you applied the ice pack to your cheek.

You hissed in pain as you felt the cold on your bruised skin.

"I should have been there," he said suddenly. "I should have protected you."

"This isn't your fault, Daryl," you whispered. "It could have happened to anyone."

"Yeah, but it happened to you," he specified, making you stayed silent for a few moments—they could have killed you.

"But you and Rick showed up," you sighed, "and you saved my life, again." You shook your head. "It's clear I have to learn to take care of myself," you murmured, before looking at him resolutely. "Teach me to fight."

"I can't teach you something I don't even know how to do myself," he said.

"But you fight, I've seen you do it," you countered. He shook his head.

"No, what I do is tackle people, throw them to the ground, and beat them until they lose consciousness or die," he explained. "That's not fighting, it's using brute force for your own benefit." He was silent for a few moments. "I can't teach you to fight," he said, sitting down in the chair opposite the bed where you were. "But I can teach you to shoot."

"A gun?" “You murmured hopefully, but he shook his head.

“No, we’ll start with something simpler,” he said, “like a bow, for example.”

“Where are we going to get a bow?” you asked. “I haven’t seen one in the armory. How are we going to…?”

“I’ll make you one, out of wood,” he said. “It’s not complicated, and it’ll help you train,” he whispered, “but all that will be after you’ve rested.”

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH RICK

I hope you like it! 😌☝🤍

Rick had found you perched atop a semi-truck, firing at walkers with a weapon he'd never seen before, despite being the sheriff.

You didn't need help; he knew that when he saw how you handled yourself.

But even so, his instinct told him he had to intervene and clear enough space for you to climb down the truck safely, confident you wouldn't get bitten along the way.

"I didn't need the help, but thanks anyway," you said, making him smile in a kind and amused way.

"I know," he said, gesturing to the walker corpses. "They were unlucky to run into you." You nodded.

"They brought it on themselves," you murmured, looking at him more closely this time.

White t-shirt, dark hair, bright, clear eyes, and the look of someone who'd been through a lot to still be on this earth.

"Who are you?" “You asked directly, which inevitably made him smile.

“Rick Grimes,” he said.

“Okay, Sheriff Grimes,” you replied, noticing the star pinned to the side of his shirt. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“Not if you’re a good girl and answer my questions,” he said, making you swallow hard at the intensity of the gleam in his blue eyes.

“Fine, ask away.”

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“232,” you answered confidently. He stared at you for a few moments, until you shrugged. “What? I’m good with numbers.”

“Did you count each one?” “—he asked, you shook your head and pointed to your weapon—

“I have them marked,” you said, indicating the wooden handle of your double-bow-like weapon—“each notch is for a walker,” you murmured—“the last time I counted there were 232.”

“How many people have you killed?” he blurted out then, making you frown in puzzlement.

“None,” you replied.

“Why?”

“No one’s been stupid enough to get in my way,” you replied, “so you could say they’ve gotten away with it,” you added, making him smile slightly.

“There’s a town just a few meters from here,” he commented. “Some of us survivors live there, and now we’re accepting people,” he said. “As I see it, you have two options,” he commented. “The first is to spend the winter inside a house with walls, a roof, and a warm fireplace, or…” He tilted his head. “Well, I don’t need to tell you what the second option is.”

“The fireplace thing has convinced me,” you said. “I’ve been freezing for several nights now,” you commented. “I think I deserve to be calm with a hot plate of food in my hands while I watch the flames in the fireplace ignite the dry branches,” you explained. “By the way, I’m Y/N.”

“I wish we had met under different circumstances, Y/N,” he said as you walked.

“I don’t know, it seems to me that these circumstances are ideal,” you commented. making him laugh.

You walked for about twenty minutes, until he stopped in front of some high gates.

"We've arrived," he announced. "Welcome to Alexandria, Y/N," he said, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him.

Your arrival didn't go unnoticed by anyone.

Maggie and the girls welcomed you warmly, as did Glenn, Daryl, the aforementioned Rick, and his son Carl, whom you met after you were already settled in.

Deanna had insisted on throwing a welcome party for the newcomers, so you stood in front of the mirror and tried to make yourself look as presentable as possible.

You didn't have any nice clothes to change into, so you had to make do with what you were wearing… at least until there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" You indicated

Maggie entered the room, leaving a pair of jeans and a light blue blouse on the bed. “It’s not much, but it’s all I could find,” she commented. “You can wear it to the party if you want.”

“Thanks, Maggie, you don’t have to…”

“Don’t mention it,” she smiled. “Wear it, I’m sure it will look amazing on you!” she exclaimed before leaving.

In the end, it turned out she was right.

When you changed your clothes, you looked like a different person.

You washed your face, and after pulling your hair back into a high ponytail, you were ready to go out.

Upon entering Deanna’s house, a sudden feeling of anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach.

It had been a long time since you had been surrounded by people who weren’t dead, so all of this felt new and strange.

Rick’s gaze was fixed on you from the moment you walked through the door.

He noticed the tense expression on your face and knew you needed someone by your side to guide you through the crowd without overwhelming you, so without hesitation, he walked briskly over to where you were.

When you saw him appear, you felt your breath catch in your throat.

Rick had replaced his white t-shirt with a blue shirt the same shade as his eyes.

You wondered if Maggie's choice respected the color of your blouse had something to do with it all.

"Y/N," he murmured, "you're here"

"I am" you repeated, letting out a nervous giggle. "Now what do I do?"

"Don't worry, these parties are all about appearances," he said. "Just pretend you're having a good time and everything will be fine."

"Okay," you nodded.

The night wore on, and before you knew it, you'd struck up a friendship with several of the people there.

Meanwhile, father and son surveyed their surroundings to see how things were going, before turning their gaze back to you.

Carl's gaze was fixed on you, and Rick had seen that look too many times, so he knew what it meant.

"He's too old for you, son," the sheriff remarked.

"I know what you're going to say, and…"

"I'm turning 17 in two weeks, Dad," he retorted. "I'm practically an adult now."

"I know," Rick said, ruffling his hair like when he was little.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH RICK

I hope you like it! 🤍☝😌

You knew perfectly well you'd messed up.

That's why you were prepared to face the consequences, whatever they might be.

Rick asked for a moment alone to talk.

He took advantage of everyone being focused on their morning chores to tell you to come into his house now that Carl was at one of his new friends' houses.

The newly appointed sheriff, serving his second term, closed the door behind you before speaking.

"What you did out there was stupid," he began. "You put your life at risk unnecessarily," he continued. "Glenn told you he had it under control, he told you that's how it was."

"It didn't seem like he had it under control, Rick," you countered, his blue eyes meeting yours intensely. "There were five walkers on him. What did you expect him to do, wait for them to bite him?"

Rick was silent for a moment before answering you.

"You have to promise me you'll never do anything like that again."

"You would do it for me," you blurted out. "If I were in Glenn's place, do you expect me to believe you wouldn't have risked getting bitten to save my life?"

"You're you, and I'm me, Y/N."

"I see," you sighed. "The great Rick Grimes can risk his life for all of us, but when another member of the group does it, it's not right, am I wrong?"

“Yes, you’re wrong,” he replied very seriously, “because you’re not just any member of the group,” he said, getting straight to the point. “Ever since what happened with Lori, you’ve been a fundamental support for both Carl and me,” he said. “You’ve become like a second mother to him.” He let out a sad laugh. “He tells you about things that happen to him before he tells me. You’re always the one he looks for instead of me, that’s why I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he confessed. “I won’t let it happen again.”

The broken and sad tone of his voice made your heart clench in your chest for a few moments.

“I understand, Rick, I really do,” you whispered, “but you can’t keep me in a bubble, cut off from the outside world, you understand?” He nodded. “I’ll be more careful next time and I won’t take so many risks.”

“Do you promise?”

"I promise," you said, extending the pinky finger of your right hand. "A pinky promise," you whispered, "is an unbreakable promise."

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! 😌☝🤍

It was a normal day.

Well… no day had been normal since it all started, but that's how he saw it.

For Daryl, a day spent scavenging for supplies and checking that the area around the prison was clear of walkers was just like any other.

Except that this day didn't go as he expected.

Like every morning, he slung his crossbow over his shoulder and hopped on his motorcycle to do what Carol had called "patrol."

Everything was quiet, maybe too quiet.

The air felt thick and heavy in some areas, as if someone had recently passed through.

Daryl kept one eye behind him and the other on the road ahead.

You never knew where the next horde of walkers might come from.

He turned right onto the road that led to town and slammed on the brakes when he came across a scene he certainly hadn't expected.

There was someone else there besides him.

Another living being, not one of the others.

Your legs were pressed against your chest, and the gleaming handle of a knife shone in your right hand.

Daryl parked the motorcycle to the side, and the sound of it made you snap your head up towards him, knife raised.

"Relax, I'm not going to hurt you" he began, placing his hands on either side of his head.

"That's what he said before he left," you groaned, your face contorted with pain. "Why should I believe you?" you questioned. "I don't know what to do anymore, I… I just… you'd be doing me a favor if you…"

"Please don't" he said. "You have two options," he continued. "You can follow the tracks and find somewhere to spend the winter, or you can come with me," he offered.

"Do you have a camp?" “—you asked hopefully, he tilted his head toward you—

—Something like that, yes—he nodded—first I have to ask you a few questions.

—Of course, you don't know me at all, it's only logical—you said, putting away the knife when you realized it wasn't a threat—

—How many walkers have you killed?

—I don't know. Too many to count—you murmured—yesterday I took out a few—you shrugged—I think there were about twenty—you confessed—I doused the ground with gasoline and set it on fire—you explained, he nodded—

—How many people have you killed?

Daryl saw the expression on your face darken when you answered:

—Two.

—Why?

“Because if I hadn’t done it, they would have killed me,” you blurted out, “and even though this world is a mess, it doesn’t mean I want to leave it so soon.”

The dark-haired man stared at you for a few moments before gesturing toward the town’s shops. “I was going to do a sweep for supplies,” he said. “You can help me if you want.”

“Those two are empty,” you pointed to two establishments. “I’ve already checked them. I just need to check that one,” you indicated a supermarket with your index finger.

“Okay, let’s go,” he urged.

Even though you didn’t know him at all, you instantly felt comfortable with him.

He was quiet, didn’t pressure you to talk, and most importantly, he was understanding, a quality you hadn’t seen in a person for a long time.

“What’s your name?” “You asked then, because otherwise I’m going to keep referring to you in my mind as ‘the crossbow man,’” you murmured, making him break into an amused smile that you didn’t see because you were walking behind him.

“Daryl Dixon,” he said, “although I do like that ‘crossbow man’ thing” he added.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! 😌🤍☝

Daryl had always despised public displays of affection.

Before the outbreak, when he walked down the street with Merle on his way to one of his deliveries, he had to look away every time he saw a couple kissing or holding hands.

Such situations made him feel uncomfortable and out of place, as if he were watching life through a fogged-up window.

Of course, everything had changed a lot since then.

Both the world and him had changed; Merle was no longer in that world, and now… well, now he had you, and after a long time, Daryl was strangely happy.

Some days he couldn't believe his luck and cursed himself for it, as if he weren't worthy of it.

Those days, when he tilted his head to look at you and you smiled back, he felt that even if the world had gone to hell, he was home.

As time went on, his reluctance to show affection in public lessened, for the simple reason that there was no audience to see them, apart from the other members of the group, of course.

They already knew there was something between Daryl and you.

They didn't know the nature of your relationship, and although everyone saw displays of affection from him to you and vice versa, no one said anything.

At first, every time he went out for supplies or hunting, Daryl made sure you got the biggest portion of whatever he had caught: a rabbit, a deer, it didn't matter, you ALWAYS got the biggest piece.

Later, the signs of affection intensified a little more and became more frequent.

Like leaving the fire ready just as he knew you were going to sleep, or leaving a cup of water at the entrance to your tent every morning, for you to drink as soon as you woke up.

Weeks passed and things were still the same.

He would let you use the blanket he slept on so you wouldn't be cold at night, and you would hunt two rabbits and leave them in his tent to make up for all the times he had given you the biggest pieces.

And so you continued until you decided to take the step and talk to him.

It was one day when he had gone to the river a few meters from the camp to see if he could catch any fish.

You couldn't help but smile when you saw him impatiently scanning the surface of the water, trying to find something moving beneath the surface, when he felt something approaching from behind him.

He quickly grabbed his crossbow and turned around, ready to attack.

As soon as he saw you, he put his weapon aside and moved his head to brush a couple of strands of hair away from his eyes.

"Y/N," he said, as if he couldn't believe you were there. "Hi."

"Hi Daryl," you greeted, gesturing towards where he was sitting. "Are you busy? Can I sit down?"

"No, sit down," he said, indicating the place beside him.

You sat in silence for a couple of minutes, just observing the forest and listening to the sound of the birds perched on the branches above your heads.

"Thank you for everything you do for me," you said then. "You don't have to, but…"

"…I do it anyway," he finished for you. You nodded.

"Why?" you questioned, looking at him intently. "Why, out of all the people in the group, did you choose me to be the recipient of your affection?"

“That sounded very cultured of you,” he commented. “I bet you were a writer before the outbreak or something.”

“Something like that, yes,” you said, making him look at you curiously. “Before all this, I worked in a bookstore,” you confessed, “and in my free time I wrote my own stories.”

“That suits you” he commented. “Any well-known ones?”

“I like to think they could have been, but in the end I didn’t publish any,” you sighed, “and I guess now there’s no point in continuing to write, because no one will read them, so…”

“I would read them,” he said, making your cheeks flush red for a split second, “if you want, of course.”

“Of course I want to,” you said, laughing, making him mimic your expression.

You had never heard Daryl laugh before that moment. It was definitely a sound you wouldn't mind hearing many more times.

"But for that I need paper and pens," you murmured. "I don't know if there are any pens left anywhere that aren't dried out."

"If not, I'll make the ink for you," he said casually, making your eyes widen.

"You know how to make ink?" you asked, astonished. "How do you know how to do that?"

"I know how to do many things," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "You can write like the ancient poets, with handmade ink and a quill pen," he whispered. "I'll take care of it."

"Okay, I'll leave it in your hands then," you smiled.

You gazed at each other for a few seconds, moments in which the entire world around you seemed to disappear.

You didn't know exactly who approached first, but when you realized it, you were kissing.

The kiss was special, slow, and full of meaning.

You were so close.

When he pulled away, you rested your forehead against his for a moment before letting out a nervous giggle.

"I know you think that with everything that's going on, you don't deserve to be happy, Daryl," you whispered, "but you do, just like everyone else."

"I know," he replied softly. "I'm scared," he confessed, making your heart clench in your chest. "I'm scared that I'll grow to love you and then you'll be taken away from me, like what happened with Lori and Rick. I… I don't think I could bear it."

"None of that's going to happen, okay?" you murmured, holding his face in your hands. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere," you assured him.

I wrote another fic with Daryl

I hope you like it! ☝🤍😌

Daryl had been watching you.

For the past few weeks, you'd noticed his gaze on you at various times throughout the day, but you didn't think much of it.

If he looked at you so much, it was because he was interested in you, and you (though you'd never admit it out loud) wanted him to be interested.

One day, he saw you jump the fence that separated the city of Alexandria from the outside world.

He frowned in surprise, since he'd never seen you do anything like that, and without a second thought, he grabbed his crossbow and followed you through the woods without you noticing.

Given his rugged appearance, you would never have believed it, but the truth was that Daryl Dixon was incredibly stealthy.

He moved through the trees with the speed of a gazelle and the cunning of a panther.

He hid behind some bushes when he saw you stop at a clearing near a river.

The dark-haired man watched the scene, and from what he saw, he knew it wasn't the first time you'd run away.

What surprised him was that he hadn't noticed.

You unearthed the weapon from the hole beneath a rock you had previously dug, and aimed firmly at the targets you had drawn on the tree bark.

Daryl knew then that you had set up a shooting range in the middle of the woods.

It was logical that you had done it, the dark-haired man thought.

Of all the inhabitants of Alexandria, none of them knew how to fire a weapon or defend themselves in any way, claiming that they didn't need to because they would always be behind the walls they had built.

But both Daryl and his group knew that, however strong and high you build the walls, they always end up falling eventually.

And when that happened, they had to be prepared.

Daryl watched as you took three shots and missed none of them.

You clicked your tongue in frustration, and as you were about to get ready to continue practicing, the branches to your right moved violently, revealing a walker.

You'd obviously seen one before, but never this close.

That's why, despite having your pistol in your hand, it froze.

You stood perfectly still, as if that would make the walker disappear.

You closed your eyes tightly, and just then you heard the whiz of an arrow through the air, accompanied by a thud and a body hitting the ground.

When you opened them again, you found yourself face to face with Daryl, who was retrieving his arrow from the walker's skull, yanking it out.

"Thanks," you murmured nervously at his presence. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that" he retorted. "Since when do you jump the fence?"

"Since when do you care?" “You blurted out, holding his gaze, “For a couple of months now,” you murmured.

“It’s very dangerous, you shouldn’t do it,” he said. “You’re not ready.”

“I know, but that’s not my fault,” you huffed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I didn’t say it was,” he whispered. “We all know who’s to blame for this situation,” he said before turning his gaze to the trees. “You’re not very skilled with a pistol, but you can use other weapons.”

“I have to use the pistol, it’s the most effective,” you murmured. He shook his head.

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “The sound of the shots gives them away. Melee weapons are best, or long-range silent weapons,” he explained.

“Like your crossbow?” “You questioned him, and he nodded. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” you sighed. “It doesn’t matter what gun I have if I don’t know how to shoot it.”

“I can teach you to shoot,” he said. “If you wanted to learn to shoot, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, no offense, but you’re not exactly what you’d call an approachable person,” you blurted out. He frowned slightly before nodding.

“You’re afraid of me,” he said then. “I understand. I’m a stranger to you, and you shouldn’t trust me, but you have to understand one thing,” he whispered. “I’m one of the good guys. My group, all of us, are good people. We’ve done things to survive, but we’ve all done them because we felt obligated to,” he explained. “And it’s because I’m a good person that I’ll teach you to shoot.” If that's what you want, of course. "It is," you murmured, your gaze fixed on him.

"Okay," he said, "first lesson: you can't hold the gun like you're afraid of shooting yourself."

"That's because I am afraid of shooting myself," you repeated, making him give a tiny, almost imperceptible smile.

"That's not going to happen," he said firmly. "Hold it with the butt resting between your thumb and forefinger," he indicated, watching you do it. "That's it, good," he encouraged from behind you. "Now aim where you want to shoot." You positioned yourself in front of the tree bark. "Good, now take a couple of breaths and fire." He held your hands in his to position you correctly.

You tried to ignore his closeness, his husky voice, how kind he was being with you and his scent, that damned mix of leather and tobacco, all for your own good, so you could finally achieve your goal, which was to learn to shoot and do it well.

"Shoot," he said, seeing you hesitate. "You've got it, just pull the trigger, that's all."

You pulled the trigger as he said, sending the bullet flying at breakneck speed… until it lodged in the center of the target in the tree bark.

"Yes, I did it!" you squealed.

You were so euphoric that you wrapped your arms around Daryl's neck to give him a hug, and he suddenly tensed up.

As you parted, his eyes were fixed on you, so intently that you doubted he'd blinked once.

"I knew you could do it," he said, making you smile. "We should head back. It'll be dark soon, and it's not safe to be out here when that happens."

"Okay," you nodded. "Thanks for the crash course, Daryl."

"This was just the beginning," he said. "You still have a lot more to learn."

I wrote another fic with Daryl

I hope you like it! 😌🤍☝

A couple of days ago, a new group of survivors had arrived at the city gates.

They had never accepted newcomers into their community, but the person in charge believed they needed people who had been outside their walls to teach them new methods, tricks, and ultimately, things necessary for their survival. Naturally, you didn't trust any of them.

After all, they were new people you knew nothing about, so you always kept a close eye on them.

You weren't spying on them, but you were observant enough to know where they were at any given moment.

Weeks passed, and the man who went by the name of Rick began patrolling the streets wearing a jacket with the word "sheriff" on the back.

Beside him was Michonne, a woman with a rather unfriendly face, whom you had no intention of approaching if you could avoid it.

And then there was him. He was the only one in that whole group who wasn't managing to adapt.

It wasn't that he couldn't manage it (which he also couldn't), it was that he simply didn't want to.

The others had changed out of the clothes they'd arrived in, cleaned themselves up, and eaten decent food.

He, on the other hand, continued wearing the same clothes they'd had on the day they arrived, hunting small animals he found near the walls and slitting their throats at the first opportunity.

Obviously, this couldn't go on, but who were you to say anything to him? Besides, you didn't know how this man, with his rough appearance and the look on his face that suggested he didn't want to talk to anyone at all, would react.

You knew nothing about him, about what he'd done, you didn't even know his name.

As soon as they arrived, everyone was assigned a job, a role to play within the community.

He was the only one without one.

That's when an idea came to you.

He was cleaning the arrows on his crossbow when you approached.

He raised his head to look at you, so that his dark eyes could rest on yours.

"Hi," you greeted him. "I know you don't know me at all and all that, but anyway"—you took a deep breath—"my name is Y/N, and I heard you haven't been assigned a job yet, so I can…"

"I don't need a job," he interrupted. "I'm fine."

"You're still killing rabbits and skinning them like you still live outside the walls. You're clearly not okay," you remarked casually. He frowned, looking at you intently.

"It's called survival instinct," he said. "It's what helps you survive," he emphasized, as if he needed you to. "I don't need your help, or anyone's pity."

"I'm not pitying you. I'm trying to keep your mind occupied with something else."

"Why? So we don't find out about the shady dealings you guys have going on here?" "So, rather, so we don't turn against you?" he questioned. "Is that it, right?"

"No, it's NOTHING like that," you corrected him. "By 'keeping your mind occupied,' I mean doing something you enjoy, and in doing so, doing something good for the community."

"I don't have to do anything you tell me" he muttered.

"And you're absolutely right," you agreed, "but it would be a shame if the machinery of all those motorcycles were damaged." He tilted his head and frowned again.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I heard you like motorcycles," you murmured, "so I thought that since you're here, you could build yourself a new one with the parts we have in the workshop."

"Why would you do that for me?" “You don’t know me,” he asked curiously. “

You don’t know me at all either,” you whispered. “You could have shot me in the face the moment you saw me, but you didn’t.” You shrugged. “That’s enough for me.”

He looked at you thoughtfully for a few moments before saying,

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! ☝🤍😌

The house you'd gone to investigate that day was enormous.

Daryl thought wealthy people must have lived there before the outbreak, as everything was ostentatious, large, and sometimes tacky.

The wallpaper was far too outlandish, the decorations were obscenely large, and the paintings were… well, he wasn't exactly sure if THAT could be called paintings.

You stayed downstairs while he inspected the upper floor and made sure there were no walkers.

You glanced around the entryway, and when you saw the living room, you couldn't help but smile with excitement.

After combing the entire upper floor, Daryl was ready to head up to the attic, but a sound stopped him.

If his ears weren't deceiving him, it sounded like music.

He frowned and wondered where it was coming from.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he went downstairs to the living room, where you were playing the piano.

He leaned lightly against the doorframe, watching your delicate yet steady fingers rest on the keys, as you kept the rhythm with a song so soft it felt like a lullaby to Daryl.

"You could have done this professionally," he said, making you turn to face him with a shy smile.

"Daryl," you murmured nervously, "thank you, I…" You swallowed hard. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to finish the song" he replied. "Where did you learn to play?"

“I had a teacher in high school who saw something in me that, according to her, no one else had,” you explained. “She said I had a special gift and that one day I might end up playing in a major orchestra.” You shrugged. “Then the outbreak happened, and well… here we are.”

“Your teacher was right” he whispered. “It’s a shame we can’t take the piano back home. I’d love to hear you play a little more,” he added, making you blush.

“That can be fixed,” you murmured, turning back to the piano.

Daryl stared at you, captivated, as you began to play and sing a different song.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! 😌🤍☝

The herd of walkers was growing larger.

Daryl fired several arrows from his crossbow, taking down a number of them, while he gestured for you to enter the building next to you.

The dead had surprised you during a supply run, so you were forced to take refuge in the first place you found, which turned out to be an abandoned school.

There weren't usually walkers in schools, mainly because there was never anyone alive there for them to eat.

Even so, you should check.

As you passed by, Daryl blocked the doors of the building with a thick rope and chain, so the dead couldn't get in.

He gestured for you to follow him through the corridors, and with the help of his crossbow and your knives, you fought your way to the heart of the school.

After combing through everything and getting rid of a few stray walkers, you settled into the headmaster's office, which turned out to be the safest place in the entire building.

Since this school wasn't a boarding school, it didn't have beds, but you managed to make a couple using two mats you took from the gym, along with several pieces of fabric that could serve as a blanket.

When you returned to the spaciousness of the office, Daryl was taking off his jacket and setting aside the crossbow.

You avoided looking at the muscles in his back and arms for longer than necessary, but when you tried to look away, you found his dark eyes fixed on yours.

"You're back," he commented casually. "Did you find anything?" “—he asked, and you nodded.

—Yes, but you have to help me bring it here,” you murmured. “It’s too heavy for me to carry alone.”

Daryl nodded, and without a word, followed you to where the sleeping mats were.

You were surprised when he grabbed two at once and put them on his shoulders as if they weighed nothing. I mean, you knew he was strong, but you didn’t think he was THAT strong.

Back in the office, you arranged the mats so you were side by side.

—You should get some sleep” he said. “I’ll do the first shift.”

—Okay, you agreed, “but wake me up later so I can relieve you,” you asked. He nodded in a silent affirmation.

I wrote another fic with Daryl

I hope you like it! 💚😌☝

Daryl didn't like you.

You knew it, because whenever you spoke, he looked away, ignored you, and avoided you whenever possible.

That's why, when the Governor set fire to the prison where you lived and you both scattered, you thought it must be some kind of sick joke, that HE of all people had to be the one to save you from an hour of walkers.

From that moment on, you were alone together, surviving and wandering to random places in search of food, water, and shelter.

For the first few days, you didn't speak at all.

Well, he was the one who didn't talk; you'd mention things like where Rick and the others were, or how much you missed junk food, and he… well, let's just say he heard you, but he wasn't paying attention to anything you said.

One day you got fed up with his attitude and decided to ask him directly, politely.

"Do you dislike me?" You blurted out, tilting his head towards you as he skinned a hare he had just hunted for lunch.

“What do you mean?” he asked, without taking his eyes off the animal.

“You know what I mean,” you murmured, still not quite believing what you were hearing. “I mean, ever since Rick took me into the group, you’ve acted like I don’t exist,” you explained. “You pretend you don’t hear me. When I’m there, it’s like there’s an invisible wall you don’t even look at. That’s why I asked,” you blurted out. “So I thought maybe you were doing all this because I’m not your favorite person.”

The dark-haired man paused for a moment to look directly at you.

He placed the skinned animal on the rock in front of him before answering.

"You're right, I've done all those things," he began, "but I didn't do them consciously, but because…" He shook his head, "I don't know, I'm just like this."

"That's not true," you murmured. "You're not like this with Carol."

Daryl had to restrain himself from cracking a lopsided smile, something he apparently failed to do.

"Don't laugh! I'm telling the truth! I've never seen you do any of the things I just told you to Carol," you murmured. "You're always looking out for her, offering to go hunting with her, or tying her damn shoelaces even when it's not necessary."

"I see" he said simply, making you slowly begin to lose your temper.

"What do you mean?" “You questioned, mimicking her earlier question.”

“You’re jealous,” she stated, causing your cheeks to flush violently against your will.

“Jealous of Carol? Me?” "That's… that's nonsense, I'm not jealous," you blurted out, while Daryl enjoyed your unexpected nervousness.

"Good to know," he replied.

"Yes, it is."

"Okay."

"Okay." You both remained silent for a few moments, until Daryl spoke again.

"I hate that you think I've been ignoring you or giving you the cold shoulder. I would never do something like that to anyone," he said. "I wasn't talking to you because I don't know how to behave around you, because the truth is…"

"Yeah, I get it," you interrupted. "You have to pretend you like me so the group harmony doesn't break up and…"

"…I like you." You stopped talking for a moment, waiting for your brain to process what you had just heard.

"Excuse me, what did you say?" “—you questioned, making him move his head to brush his hair away from his face—

—I said I like you, Y/N—he repeated. You couldn't believe it; your face must have been a picture at that moment—

—B-but, what about Carol? I thought you two...

—Carol is a good friend—he clarified—but how I feel about her has nothing to do with how I feel about you.

—And what exactly is that?—you asked. He shook his head.

—I like you, that's what it is—he blurted out. You swallowed hard, nervously. That was the third time he'd told you, in less than five minutes—say something, please—he pleaded, and the anguish in his voice made your heart clench in your chest

"I… I don't know what to say" you murmured sincerely, "I thought you hated me."

I wrote another fic with Daryl

I hope you like it! ☝😌💚

Because the world had gone to hell a long time ago, nobody bothered to think about the small celebrations that used to happen every year, and which, for obvious reasons, were no longer happening, like celebrating birthdays.

You didn't know when Daryl's birthday was, but you did know that he had said it would probably have been towards the end of spring, almost at the beginning of summer.

So you spent the whole winter preparing a surprise for him.

One day you thought was the right time, you hid the surprise behind your back and went out to look for him.

You didn't have to wait long to see him, as he was helping to take down several walkers whose intention was to bring down the prison fence.

Given his good peripheral vision, Daryl saw someone approaching, and after plunging his knife into the skull of the last walker, he turned towards you.

"Clean-up day?" you asked, seeing the corpses. He nodded.

"An intense one, too," he stated. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yes, everything's fine," you murmured. "I have something for you," you announced. "It's a surprise," you added. "Close your eyes and hold your hands out in front of you," you instructed.

He did so without a second thought.

He trusted you, so he had no problem doing what you told him to do.

The dark-haired man felt the weight of something settling in his hands before hearing your voice again.

"You can open them now," you announced. As he did so, Daryl's gaze fell upon a cloth in which something was wrapped. "Open it" you pleaded, your heart in your throat.

The dark-haired man removed the cloth to reveal what was inside.

He held the small constructions in his hands, his eyes wide with surprise and excitement.

"They're arrows," he whispered. "Wooden and metal arrows" he said. "Did you make them?"

"Yes, Glenn helped me get the materials and Rick helped me forge the points," you whispered. "Do you like them?"

“I love them” he affirmed. “They’re so pretty” he said.

“I painted them green so that when you shoot them, they blend in with the leaves and don’t know where you’re shooting from,” you explained.

“It’s the best gift I’ve ever received,” he said, making you smile kindly. “Thanks, Y/N, but why…?”

“Well, I remembered what you said about your birthday and I thought today was a good day.”

“It is” he said, looking at you. “It’s a perfect day” he murmured, his gaze lingering on you. “I was just about to leave on a reconnaissance mission to the next town over. We need powdered milk for Ass-Kicker” he said, referring to Judith, Rick’s daughter and Carl’s sister. “Do you want to come?”

"Okay, but I warn you, I'm not very good at shooting," you murmured.

He gave a tiny smile before replying.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! 😌☝🤍

You had been surprised by a horde of walkers.

You didn't know how it had happened so quickly, but when you realized it, you were in the middle of the road, with no way to hide in any nearby building to give them the slip.

Daryl fired several of his arrows and used his knife to take down some, just as you did, using your bow to eliminate several walkers.

"We have to find somewhere to hide until they pass," you said, plunging your knife into the forehead of one of them. "There are too many of them."

"We can't take them all on" Daryl said, scanning the road for a solution. "There's a car over there," he pointed to a spot a few meters away. "We're faster than them; we'll get there first."

"Let's go," you blurted out without a second thought. It turned out that the place Daryl had spotted from afar was an abandoned car.

Although it was in pretty good condition for what it was, you wondered if the engine would work, but there wasn't time to check.

The dark-haired man pried open the trunk, and you both climbed inside.

Daryl closed the lid, and you both remained silent, waiting for them to leave. You spent more than ten minutes in that trunk.

Ten minutes in which you were perfectly aware of the dark-haired man's proximity, and which parts of your bodies were touching and which (to your dismay) were too far apart in your eyes.

Daryl observed you with difficulty thanks to the little sunlight that filtered through the trunk opening, at which point you also looked at him. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw the glint of his brown eyes through the darkness of that confined space.

"Do you think they've passed by now?" "You asked, and he nodded outside."

"I don't know, I'll check," he said, slowly opening the trunk lid, one of his arrows pointing outside. "Yes, they've already passed," he whispered, slowly opening the lid. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." "A little overwhelmed, but okay," you replied. He nodded.

"We should have been back ten minutes ago. It's going to get dark soon," he warned, looking up at the sky. "We need to hurry if we want to get back to the prison sooner."

"And if we don't make it, we'll find a house and play house," you joked, bringing a tiny (almost imperceptible) smile to Daryl's face.

"When we're safe," he said simply, gesturing for you to follow him.

If only he knew you'd follow him to the ends of the earth just because he asked, you probably wouldn't be there in the middle of nowhere, but in a house under the covers, and…

"Y/N," he said, interrupting your thoughts, "I saw a deer," he announced. "If we get back to the prison with dinner, everyone will be very happy."

"True, we haven't had meat in months," you agreed, remembering the salads made with the vegetables from the "The vegetable garden that Carl had helped his father plant—we can make a bonfire and roast it over the fire."

"That sounds good" he said, "but first we have to hunt the deer." You nodded.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! 🤍☝😌

Daryl had been taking care of you since you were as small as the tomato plants that grew in the prison field where you lived.

You don't have a single childhood memory in which he wasn't present, just as many of Daryl's happiest memories are because you're in them.

One of his favorites was when he taught you to fish in the river next to the prison.

There were hardly any fish left, but sometimes you managed to catch the few that remained for dinner or lunch that day.

Daryl remembers that moment with absolute clarity: you were five years old, and he was beside you with the water up to his knees, putting a lot of effort into teaching you how to fish.

"You have to be patient, you little asskicker" he said—that's what he called you—"if you don't let the fish appear, then you won't be able to catch them, and therefore we'll go without dinner," he explained. "Once they come out, you have to be attentive, walk slowly behind them, put your hands in the water quickly…" he whispered as he did it himself, "And pull them up before they have time to escape."

The fish Daryl had caught was a golden-brown color, a couple of shades that at first glance didn't seem to go very well together, but that wasn't something that mattered to either of you.

The important thing was that it was food, and even if it wasn't much, none of you would go hungry that day.

"It's a very pretty fish, Daryl!" you exclaimed. "I feel bad eating it," you blurted out suddenly, a sad expression on your face.

"I know, but it's the circle of life," he said. "For some to eat, others must die."

"That's… very cruel," you blurted out, making the dark-haired boy turn towards you with a surprised expression on his face, given that words as complex as "cruel" weren't typical of a five-year-old's vocabulary.

"It is," he affirmed, "but we can't do anything to change it," he explained. "It's just the way it is."

"I understand," you murmured. Daryl gave you a kind smile before nodding towards the prison entrance. "Come on, let's go back inside. It'll be dark in a couple of minutes."

A long time had passed since that anecdote about the fish, a time in which you had grown up and he had grown older.

You weren't a child anymore, and he… well, you could say he hadn't changed, except for his now longer hairstyle, but essentially he was still the same Daryl who taught you how to kill a Walker, and how to disinfect a wound if you didn't have any disinfectant on you.

The passage of time had taken its toll on all of you, but you probably felt it the most.

The transition from child to adult was proving more complicated than you thought, mainly because at your current age, you stopped to think about things you hadn't paid attention to before, or that simply didn't matter to you.

Like Daryl's biceps, for example.

The way his eyes seemed to slant beneath his skin as he skillfully held his crossbow, his hair falling haphazardly on either side of his face, gave him a rougher look than he was used to.

His beautiful dark brown eyes met yours when he realized you were looking at him, so you nodded in greeting before continuing to watch the fence surrounding the prison where you lived, rifle in hand.

That time, it was Daryl who watched you.

He was finding it difficult to watch you grow up.

Basically because he thought that by doing so you would never need him again, and that therefore you would start ignoring him like his brother and father had done before him, but nothing could be further from the truth.

The plain truth was that you needed Daryl like the air you breathed, and he, though he was having trouble admitting it, needed you too.

You were so focused on your thoughts that you didn't notice a walker had made a hole in the gate and slipped inside until you heard the sound of its heavy breathing approaching you.

You quickly turned around, and just as you were about to shoot it in the head, the sound of an arrow whistled through the air, striking precisely in that spot.

The walker's body fell to the side with a heavy thud, revealing Daryl's figure behind it.

He lowered his crossbow before looking at you. "Are you okay?" “—he asked, and you nodded.

—Yes, it was close,” you said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, glancing at the hole. “We should fix that and reinforce the weakest parts of the fence,” he said. “There have been a lot of hordes lately, and if we’re not careful, they could end up getting in here.”

“Sure,” you murmured. “We can use those big poles to do it.” You pointed to several sturdy logs near where you were standing. “Don’t worry about me. If you were doing something else, I can ask Rick or Glenn for help,” you said. He shook his head.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t busy right now,” he whispered. “I’m all yours,” he added.

The sentence shouldn’t have sounded that way, but that's exactly how he did it. It wasn't hard to pick up the double meaning

You also didn't know if he had done it intentionally or if, on the contrary, it hadn't been deliberate.

In any case, twenty minutes later the stakes were in place, the hole plugged, and you were visibly exhausted.

You couldn't remember ever being so tired in your entire life.

You sat down next to Daryl, observing the field in front of you while you tried to catch your breath.

As you tilted your head, you saw the dark-haired man's chest rise and fall in ragged breaths, also slowly recovering from the effort you had made.

"Well, it's fixed now," you commented to break the silence.

"Yeah," you murmured, "it could have been worse."

"MUCH worse," you emphasized, making him give a very slight smile. "What do you want to do now?"

"Smoke a cigarette," he blurted out without a second thought. "I'll wait until we're inside. I know the smoke bothers you."

The fact that he remembered that made your heart sink. You shook your head, looking at him intently. "Thanks, but don't worry about me. Smoke if you want," you murmured. "I might even try it," you added.

His eyes widened.

"No way," he said. "I won't let you."

"Why not?" “You smoke and nothing happens,” you complained.

“Just because my lungs are wrecked doesn’t mean I’m all for you having them the same way,” he said. “It’s more than enough that either of us has them.”

“Fine, then I’ll have a beer,” you said. He nodded.

“That’s more reasonable,” he conceded, “though I don’t entirely approve either, just so you know.”