cherie

21 🎀

[ruinsandreveries]

left at your door

summary; in a place he doesn’t trust, daryl finds himself looking out for the one person who never asks for help.

warnings; none really, daryl not knowing how to handle emotions, slow burn, mutual pining, canon-typical setting

authors note; this one is set when the group are still settling in at alexandria.

The first time he noticed you, it wasn’t because you were loud about anything, or trying to prove yourself the way some people did when they were scared of being overlooked, but because you weren’t—because in a place that still felt too clean, too structured, too close to something he didn’t trust, you moved through it like you’d already accepted what the world was and simply chose, anyway, to be gentle inside it. 

Daryl didn’t trust Alexandria, not its walls, not its quiet, not the way people here still said “good morning” like the dead weren’t clawing at the edges of everything, but he trusted patterns, and he started noticing yours without meaning to. 

You were always at the infirmary before most people were awake, sleeves pushed up, hands steady even when supplies were thin, voice soft in a way that didn’t feel fragile but deliberate, like you knew exactly how much weight your tone carried when someone was hurt and needed to believe they were going to be alright. 

He never meant to linger, not the first time, not the second, not any of the times after that, but somehow his feet slowed when he passed by, his eyes catching on the way you organized what little you had, stretching it, making it last, never complaining when you ran out of something, just… adjusting. 

That’s what stuck with him. 

You didn’t ask. 

Didn’t ask for more, didn’t ask for help, didn’t ask anyone to go out of their way, and for some reason that sat wrong in his chest, like a splinter he couldn’t work out, because he’d seen enough to know you needed more than what you had. 

So the first time he left something, it wasn’t a big thing, wasn’t even something he thought twice about until later. 

A roll of cleaner bandages, not the rough, reused kind, but something better he’d picked up on a run and hadn’t said anything about, just set it down outside the infirmary door early, before anyone else was around, before you could catch him doing it. 

He told himself it didn’t matter if you knew where it came from. 

Told himself it was just practical. 

You needed it. 

That was it. 

But the next time he went by, later that day, he slowed again despite himself, eyes flicking toward the doorway just enough to see that the bandages were gone, and for a second, something in him settled, quiet and low. 

After that, it became a habit he didn’t name. 

A better knife, balanced right, light in the hand but sturdy enough to hold an edge—left against the doorframe one morning before the sun had fully come up. 

Extra gauze he’d bartered off someone who didn’t know its worth. 

A small bottle of antiseptic he’d tucked away and then decided, without thinking too hard about it, that you’d make better use of. 

He never stayed. 

Never knocked. 

Never gave you the chance to say anything about it, because that would make it… something else, something he didn’t have the words for and didn’t particularly want to try finding. 

And still, somehow, he knew you knew. 

It was in the way things disappeared quicker now, like you were expecting them, like you checked the door first before going about your morning, and he caught himself once, from a distance, watching you pick up the knife he’d left, turning it in your hands with this small, quiet smile that didn’t reach anyone else because no one else was there to see it. 

He looked away before you could turn. 

After that, he started coming earlier. 

Didn’t want to risk it. 

Didn’t want— 

Didn’t want what, exactly, he didn’t let himself finish. 

It should’ve stayed like that, quiet and unspoken, something easy to keep at a distance, something that didn’t require him to stand there and take whatever came with it, but things didn’tstay simple for long, not in this world, not even behind walls. 

The morning you caught him, it was because he’d gotten careless. 

Or maybe just… used to it. 

Used to the routine of it, the way the place was still half-asleep when he moved through it, crossbow slung over his shoulder, boots quiet against the pavement as he came up to the infirmary with a small bundle tucked under his arm. 

He didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate, just crouched slightly to set it down by the door the way he always did— 

“Y’know,” your voice came from just behind him, soft but not surprised, “most people just knock.” 

He froze. 

Not fully, not in a way anyone else might notice, but enough that it ran through him like a wire pulled tight, his shoulders going rigid before he slowly straightened, turning just enough to look at you over his shoulder. 

You were standing there with your arms loosely crossed, not blocking his way, not cornering him, just… there, like you’d always been meant to be part of this moment. 

His jaw shifted. 

“Was just droppin’ it off,” he muttered, already half-turning away like that settled it, like it didn’t matter that he’d been caught, like he hadn’t been doing this for days now. 

Maybe longer. 

Your gaze flicked down to the bundle, then back up to him, and there was something in your expression—something warm, something knowing—that made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t like. 

“I figured it was you.” 

That made him pause. 

Not turn back fully, not yet, but enough that his head tilted slightly, brow furrowing like he didn’t quite believe you’d say it out loud. 

“Yeah?” he said, rough around the edges, defensive without meaning to be, because that was easier than anything else. 

You nodded, pushing yourself off the wall to step a little closer, but not too close, leaving space between you like you understood he needed it. 

“You always leave the good stuff,” you said lightly, like it was obvious, like there wasn’t anything strange about any of this, “and it always shows up before anyone else is awake.” 

He huffed under his breath, glancing away, fingers flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them now that he wasn’t holding something, wasn’t moving. 

“Ain’t nothin’,” he said, quieter this time. 

It wasn’t convincing. 

You didn’t call him on it. 

Instead, you bent down, picking up the bundle he’d left, carefully unwrapping it just enough to see what was inside, and when you did, that same small smile from before returned, softer now that he was actually there to see it. 

“These are… really good,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, though he heard it anyway. 

Something in his chest shifted again. 

Uncomfortable. 

Unfamiliar. 

“Thanks, Daryl.” 

That was what did it. 

Not the words themselves, not even your tone, but the way you said his name like it belonged in your mouth, like it wasn’t something sharp or shouted or used when things were going wrong, but something… gentle. 

He didn’t have a response for that. 

Didn’t have a place to put it. 

His shoulders tightened, gaze dropping briefly to the ground before flicking back up, like he was trying to find something to latch onto, some way to turn this into something simpler. 

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice rougher than before, almost uncertain, “well… you need it.” 

It sounded stupid the second it left his mouth. 

Obvious. 

You didn’t laugh. 

Didn’t tease him. 

You just nodded, holding the supplies a little closer, like they mattered more because of where they came from, even if you weren’t saying that part out loud. 

“I do,” you agreed softly, “so… thank you.” 

He shifted his weight, clearly wanting to leave now, like staying any longer might make this worse somehow, might force him to sit with whatever this feeling was that had settled low in his chest and refused to move. 

“Mm,” he grunted, already stepping back, already turning away. 

But he didn’t miss the way your voice followed him, gentle and easy. 

“You can knock, you know.” 

He huffed again, shaking his head slightly, not looking back this time. 

“Don’t count on it.” 

And still, as he walked away, he could feel it—your presence lingering behind him, not heavy, not demanding, just… there. 

Like something steady. 

Like something warm. 

Like something he didn’t quite understand yet, but hadn’t managed to walk away from either. 

[cheriedixon]

Rewatching twd (again) and prison era Daryl is so fine. He literally makes me want to write stuff everytime I see him 😣

[daz4i]

[oliveespineapples]

”mom, what was the two-hour tumblr outage of February 2026 like?”

[cheriedixon]

I was lowkey losing my mind not being able to read my goodnight x reader fics

[lazysoulwriter]

borrowed warmth

content: emotional intimacy, reluctant cuddling, cold weather, soft tension

the cold comes in layers.

it seeps through the walls of the abandoned cabin long after the fire dies down, creeping beneath clothes, through skin, into bone. it’s the kind of cold that doesn’t ask permission. it just takes.

daryl notices it before you do.

he’s been awake for a while already, sitting with his back against the wall, crossbow within reach, eyes half-lidded but alert. he watches the way you shift closer to the fire, shoulders curling in, breath turning shallow. he doesn’t say anything. just stands, adds another piece of wood to the flames, and grunts when it sparks too loud.

“shoulda grabbed more blankets,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

you shrug, tired. “didn’t think it’d get this bad.”

he doesn’t answer. just tosses one of the few remaining blankets your way. it lands over your legs, rough and thin and barely enough. he keeps the other one for himself, settling back down on the opposite side of the room like distance is a habit carved into his spine.

you don’t complain. you never do.

night deepens. the fire fades. the wind picks up outside, rattling loose boards and whistling through cracks like it’s looking for something to tear apart. you curl onto your side, pulling the blanket tighter, but it barely helps. your fingers ache. your feet are ice.

daryl hears your teeth chatter.

he shifts, irritated — not at you, but at the feeling crawling up his own arms. he hates this part. the waiting. the quiet moments when there’s nothing to fight, nothing to fix with brute force.

“you good?” he asks, low.

“yeah,” you lie. “just cold.”

he exhales through his nose. knows that tone. says nothing else.

you try to sleep. you really do. but the cold keeps nudging you awake, your body seeking warmth without asking your brain first. somewhere between drifting and waking, you roll slightly, drawn by instinct more than intention.

your knee brushes his.

daryl freezes.

every muscle in his body locks up, breath caught halfway in. his hand tightens around the edge of the blanket like it’s something he needs to control. he doesn’t move away — not immediately — but he doesn’t relax either.

you murmur something in your sleep. his name, maybe. maybe just a sound.

he shifts, just enough to create space. your knee follows without you meaning to, sliding closer again. this time, your calf presses along his thigh, warm even through layers of fabric.

“christ,” he mutters under his breath.

he should move. he knows that. he always knows what he should do.

instead, he stays still.

your breathing evens out again, soft and slow, the kind that only comes when you finally feel safe enough to rest. your shoulder drifts closer next, nudging into his arm. there’s a moment — a split second — where he almost pulls away.

then your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket.

not tight. not demanding. just… there.

something in his chest tightens, sharp and unfamiliar.

daryl swallows. shifts the blanket, telling himself it’s just practical. just cold. just survival. he drapes it a little wider, making sure it covers you properly. when the wind howls again and you flinch in your sleep, he sighs — defeated — and lets his arm fall around your shoulders.

it’s heavy. protective. careful, like he’s afraid of doing it wrong.

you settle instantly.

your head tucks against his chest, breath warming the fabric of his shirt. he can feel the heat of you now, steady and real, seeping into him whether he wants it or not. his jaw clenches. he stares into the dark, counting breaths, waiting for the urge to pull away.

it never comes.

instead, his body adjusts. arm tightening just a fraction. shoulder angling so the cold doesn’t reach you. his chin dips, resting lightly against the top of your head before he even realizes he’s done it.

he tells himself he’s stuck like this.

that he’ll move when you do.

morning comes slow.

the fire is nothing but ash. pale light creeps through the cracks in the walls, painting the room in soft gray. daryl’s been awake for a while again, arm numb, neck stiff, but he hasn’t moved.

you’re still there.

curled into him like you belong. like this is normal.

his eyes drop to you before he can stop himself. your face is relaxed, peaceful in a way he doesn’t get to see often. for a brief, dangerous moment, he lets himself imagine this as something more than necessity.

then you stir.

your eyes flutter open. confusion crosses your face, followed quickly by awareness. you pull back just a little, blinking up at him.

“oh,” you whisper. “sorry. i—”

“it’s fine,” he cuts in quickly, pulling his arm back like he’s been burned. he sits up, grabs his crossbow, puts space between you again. his voice is gruff, closed off. “was cold.”

you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips anyway. “yeah. thanks.”

he doesn’t look at you.

but that night, when the cold creeps in again and you hesitate by his side, he doesn’t say a word when you sit close. doesn’t tense when your shoulder presses into his arm.

he just adjusts the blanket.

and lets you stay.

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[cheriedixon]

This is so good 😣

[cheriedixon]

Terror of the Cell

A scream echoed through the upper level of the prison wing. It was your voice. There was no mistaking it.

You were in trouble.

Daryl stopped in his tracks, dropping whatever he’d been doing. His stomach sank, his mind immediately jumping to the worst possible scenario. His heart was pounding loud as he hurried up the stairs. 

When he reached the cell you were staying in, he found a trembling, frightened girl swinging a magazine at something on the wall near your bed.

“The hell ya screamin’ like that for? Thought you were in trouble” Daryl said his voice still laced with worry as he stepped closer, both to you and whatever you were trying to swat.

“I am in trouble” you said, voice shaking. “There’s a huge-ass spider next to my bed with fast, long, hairy legs”

You quickly backed away from the wall where the spider sat, shoved the magazine into Daryl’s hand, and retreated behind him.

Daryl couldn’t believe his eyes. The woman who had no trouble killing walkers and never backed down from a fight was clinging to him over a spider. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of you finding comfort in him.

“It’s just a bug. Thought you were gettin’ eaten alive or somethin’” he muttered, glancing back at your frightened face before quickly taking care of the spider.

“Thank you”, you breathed, stepping closer. Before he could react, you rose onto your toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek in appreciation.

Flustered Daryl hurried out of the cell, muttering something along the lines of, “Was nothin’”.

// would lowkey take walkers over those Australia spiders anyday..

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

gif not mine

Carol: Why do you keep looking at Y/N?

Daryl, narrowing his eyes: Threat assessment.

Carol, rolling her eyes: Threat assessment?

Daryl: Yep.

Carol: Daryl, she put a flower in your hair this morning. I think she’s harmless.

Daryl: Wolf in sheep’s clothin’.

Carol: Is that why you still have the flower in your hair?

Daryl: Shit.

[cheriedixon]

I need someone to draw Daryl with a flower in his hair now

[cheriedixon]

You, me and the stars

Daryl slowly approached the resting figure in the dark. He immediately recognized it to be you. You were lying on your back on a rooftop, hands folded behind your head to soften the surface, staring up at the night sky. It wasn't an uncommon sight. He'd be more surprised not to find you out on a clear night.

“The hell ya doin’ out here alone?” the man grunts as he climbs onto the roof, his presence breaking the silence.

You turn your head toward him flashing a gentle smile. "Stargazing"

"Ain't no time for that shit. Ya ain't on duty. Ya should be resting" he mutters, words coming out a bit more rough than he intended.

"Mm. But I am resting", you hum, centering your gaze back to the starry sky above.

Daryl settles down beside you. Not too close. He doesn't dare.

“Lay down,” you suggest, and after a moment of hesitation, he does.

He lies there beside you for a while, gazing at the constellations he doesn't know the names of, and listening to the quiet breath of the night.

“It’s the only time of day when I feel like I have space for my thoughts,” you say softly. “When the world’s asleep, and it’s just me and the stars.”

As someone who tends to keep to himself, Daryl understands exactly where you’re coming from.

“Up here I get to appreciate beauty without having to worry." you continue. "I get to sort my thoughts or let them drift away with the wind"

“I like having the stars for company.” You turn your head towards the man, eyes finding his. Your heart jumps at the sight of the hunter bathed in moonlight. “But I don’t mind sharin them with you"

Hearing your words, Daryl keeps his eyes fixed on the night sky, silently hoping the night to be kind enough to hide the warmth blooming across his face.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

I’ll Keep You Close and Keep My Secret Safe

Daryl Dixon x Reader (unestablished)

Setting: The Greene Farm

Warnings: Small depiction of hunted animal

Summary: Daryl had never actually liked someone before. So he shows you the only way he knows how.

A/N: I read this in a post somewhere and when I went back to my dashboard to get their username, I couldn’t find it. Thank you, whoever you are. This is for you.

Daryl never meant for you to notice. Not really.

Hell, he didn’t even know why he was doing it at first.

It started small. He was out hunting more often than not. Mostly for Sophia until she was found. In that barn. Then he went out just to escape, but when he came back with a rabbit one evening, he decided to leave it by your tent before dawn. He figured you might need it more than the others. You’d been helping Maggie and Beth, wearing yourself thin, and he’d caught you skipping meals more than once.

He didn’t care. He didn’t. He just didn’t want to hear everyone bitching when you ran yourself into the ground.

It was just a damn rabbit. He was just being useful. It was no big deal.

Until he heard you squeal.

It was early, the sun barely up. The sound carried across the pasture, sharp and startled. Daryl had been half-hidden near the fence line, checking a few snares he had set here and there. He froze—crossbow half-raised—before realizing it wasn’t danger. It was you. Standing outside your tent, hands hovering like you didn’t know what to do with them. You were staring down at the uncleaned rabbit he’d dropped off a few minutes earlier.

You looked confused. Disgusted. Then guilty for being disgusted.

He felt like an idiot.

That night, he didn’t bring anything. Didn’t even look your way at dinner. Why would he? He didn’t care. You hadn’t wanted the food.

But you needed it.

The next kill, he cleaned it. He skinned it right there under a hickory tree and cooked it over a small fire beside his tent. Far away from everyone. Made sure it didn’t burn. He was no chef, but it smelled good enough. When the meat cooled, he wrapped it in cloth and left it where your tent flap met the grass.

He didn’t wait around.

He just walked away, keeping to the edge of the trees, pretending to check snares while he watched you find it.

You looked around like you expected someone to jump out and explain. Then your mouth softened, and you smiled. Smiled. Small and real. You took the food inside your tent and didn’t say a word to anyone.

That smile stuck with him all damn day.

Fuck. He did care, didn’t he?

After that, things were different. Whenever you were out with Maggie or helping Hershel, Daryl would drift a little closer, acting as a silent shield between you and any threat. He wasn’t obvious. Daryl Dixon never was. But he was there, watching from the treeline. Bringing you rabbits and squirrels—cleaned and cooked, of course. Fixing your tent when it sagged. Sharpening your knife when you left it out.

He didn’t know what to say to you. Words were never his thing, and feelings sure as hell weren’t. But he could do things. Quiet things. Things that kept you safe, kept you fed, kept you smiling.

Because that smile. That smile was everything.

One night, by the fire, you caught his eye across the flames. Everyone else was talking, but you just—looked at him. Long enough that he felt it deep in his chest.

You mouthed a silent thank you. And then that smile.

Daryl just nodded, pretending not to know what you meant. He absolutely did not blush.

But later, when he returned to his tent, there was a little bundle waiting by his bedroll—a piece of cornbread wrapped in cloth, still warm.

He didn’t need a note.

He just smiled into the dark. Just another quiet thing. Maybe he understood a little more about feelings than he thought.

[cheriedixon]

This is so cute 😣

[sickobuff]

having hazy memories of daryl leaving dead animals on that one blonde girl’s porch to win her affection.

maybe im making this up, but im frothing at the mouth thinking about him getting all shy and quiet after meeting reader, not exactly sure how to go about showing you he likes you. so he does what he knows best. he goes out and kills something. slaughters a deer or something of the sort. bleeds it, skins it, does all the messy, dirty work so that you don’t have to. and just. quietly leaves it there. doesn’t say anything. no expectations of gratitude. he just wants to provide for you, wants to be safe in the knowledge that you’re okay.

he’s like this big old stray cat. darts away the second you reach for him, but you’ll see him lurking around the corner when you step outside. brings you all the little things he finds just because it makes sense to him. he’s gotta keep his person safe, right?

he wants more than anything to let you come a little closer, let you take him into your home and treat him gently, give him the love he never had before. but he’s a stray. the rough life is all he knows.

obviously, the moment you figure out it’s him leaving you all these things at your front door, you’re just in love with him (if you weren’t already). you eventually manage to coax him close enough to show him you don’t mean any harm, that your touch is soft and that you won’t hurt him. and by some miracle, he lets you.

blah blah blah now he curls up next to you in bed and leans into your hand without a second thought. he’s still worn and scarred from all he’s lived through, but he’s learning that life can be gentle. he learns through you.

he still brings you little dead things, and you share them together. he won’t ever stop either, because he loves you too.

[cheriedixon]

Big old stray cat is such a good description of him lol

[twd-bee3]

Thinking about Daryl Dixon with a soft partner...

Warnings/Tags: headcanons, pure fluff, domestic!daryl, very slight reference to child abuse, multiple seasons, established relationship

A/N: Being loved gently would be an adjustment for him, and I can not stop thinking about all the ways he'd heal.

Daryl Dixon who genuinely believed you were making fun of him every time he received a compliment.

Daryl Dixon who originally mistook your admiring gaze as judgment.

Daryl Dixon who was shocked when you were the one to ask him out.

Daryl Dixon who came home exhausted from a long run to see that you'd made dinner and didn't know how to react.

Daryl Dixon who spent the first six months of your relationship perpetually blushing whenever he caught you staring.

Daryl Dixon who was afraid to breathe the first time you slept on his chest because he didn't want to wake you.

Daryl Dixon who initially flinched whenever you hugged him without reason.

Daryl Dixon who was surprised you still wanted him after he left the prison with Merle.

Daryl Dixon whose breath hitched the first time you gently traced his scars.

Daryl Dixon who had to learn how to communicate his feelings without lashing out or shutting down.

Daryl Dixon who made you cry during an argument and spent the rest of the night terrified you were going to leave.

Daryl Dixon who still has the urge to pinch himself each morning, just to make sure this isn't all a dream.

Daryl Dixon who got flustered the first time you remembered something important to him.

Daryl Dixon who is forever grateful for the way you've shown him love without pain.

Taglist: @imadisneyprincessiswear @josephisblog @t-folklore13 @madyb17 @storiesofthev01d @aphroangelis @dixondisease @angelwings-crossbowstrings @idkwthgoitmww @smuttfuelled @glennseyeball @tvduxveil @death-in-a-tar0t-card @spookysturnz @nichemint @asparagus-antics @xanaxiii @hail-yourselves @viviandarkbloom11 @softcherryvanilla

[cheriedixon]

Summer days

Summer days had become your favorite. Though you hadn't always been the biggest fan of the season. You used to hate how you would always end up getting sunburnt, hated the way the heavy heat felt, and absolutely despised the number of bugs crawling everywhere.

While you still weren't the too fond of the heat and bugs, you had learned to tolerate them. There were things far worse in your daily life now due to the apocalypse. But the same world ending apocalypse had also brought you the best thing you'd ever had.

It was a hot summer day in Alexandria. As usual, people were out working their asses off in the heat. As usual, Daryl was working his ass off in the heat. Since Daryl wasn't on a run, you knew where you could find him on a day like this.

Daryl liked to keep himself busy, helping out wherever and whenever he could. He was also quite a handyman, especially when it came to mechanical stuff like cars and bikes.

You made your way to the garage, hopping along in your cute mini skirt, carrying a glass of fresh lemonade with you. The garage door was open and as expected there he was - in all of his glory. Sweaty, dirty, sleeveless Daryl working on his motorbike.

You stepped into the garage, and the man, so focused on his work, hadn't noticed your light footsteps yet. You took a moment to take in the sight. 'Thank you end of the world' you thought, admiring the man.

"Jesus, girl, when did you get there? The hell you staring at?" Daryl straightened up and fixed his gaze on you.

"Brought you something to drink" you smiled, offering him the lemonade, which the thirsty man gladly took.

After chugging the drink Daryl gets back to work. "You need something?" he raises an eyebrow as he looks at you still standing there.

"No, I'm perfectly fine where I am. Just admiring the view" you smirked.

"I mean, it's a nice bike. Not sure it's much to look at" he said, trying to understand the vision.

"That's not the object of my admiration" you giggled.

The hunter wasn't sure whether the heat was from the weather or from himself, but he turned back to the bike, a pink hue decorating his face.

~ cute lil summer scenario cuz I would very much like to admire Daryl on a hot summer day

[cheriedixon]

"Didn't wanna stay with your boyfriend for any longer?" Daryl asks as you join him at the gate, ready to head out for a run.

"My boyfriend? You mean the new guy who hasn't stopped bothering me since he got here?" you raise an eyebrow, laughing softly. Just the thought of looking at a man other than the one in front of you feels ridiculous.

"Yeah. You two been spendin' a lotta time together. And he's your age" he says.

"He's nice i guess. But he's not really my type." you reply, still a little weirded out by the idea.

"You got a type now? Can't be too picky when most of the population's been wiped" he points out.

"I don't think the grumpy men with southern accents have gone extinct just yet. They seem to be pretty good at this survival shit. And lucky for me I already know where to find one" you smirk and watch the hunter in front of you get visibly flustered, a hint of pink creeping up his neck.

~~i've been getting lots of support already despite being new to this game. i'm so so happy that people enjoy my silly little writings. ty >< <3

[cheriedixon]

"The hell is that?" you hear an unamused voice from behind you.

"It's a calico critter. I used to love these as a kid" you say with a smile, proudly holding up the tiny bunny figure for the hunter to see.

"Unless you're plannin' on throwin' walkers with those hello kittys, leave 'em be. We came for supplies" he grunts, moving further down the aisle.

"Fine Mr. grumpy" You sigh, set the bunny back with the other toys, and continue down the aisle, scanning for the items on your list.

That night, when your back at the prison, you return to your cell after washing up. You find the same calico critters from earlier placed carefully on your bed.

~ just a cute lil scenario cuz Daryl would 100% silently grab anything you looked at too long on a run

[cheriedixon]

The hunter discovers that the quiet girl who has been with the group since the quarry, nose in her pink little sketchbook, has been drawing him all along. The lines on the page so soft and delicate that he cannot fathom how someone could portray him in such a way. How someone could capture his essence so accurately - and all that he so desperately trying to hide. How someone could view him as if he was the most fascinating being on the planet.

A shade of red flushes all the way up to his ears and he can feel something fluttering inside. The hunter quickly puts the book down before anyone catches him and hurries back to his cell, the shade of pink still visible on the man's face.

~~ lil drabble cuz i'm obsessed with the idea of daryl having a cute little secret admirer