Daryl Dixon Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Requests 𐴱 More Girl Nextdoor!Reader AU
Summary: You can't help but notice Daryl in class and make a split second decision when the kid in the seat next to you has something to say.
In homeroom, you couldn’t help but stare when Daryl walked in.
No hood today.
He was wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt.
And- Christ.
You felt your mouth go dry as your eyes trailed down his arms. They were toned and straining against the sleeves of his shirt. Your gaze traveled back up to his face where you could clearly see a fading bruise on the left side of his face as he passed, eyes glued to the ground as he walked.
You wondered if he had any friends or even maybe a girlfriend that Maggie didn’t know about. You sure as hell hoped not on the girlfriend front, but acknowledged inside of your own head that it was none of your business what Daryl Dixon got up to in his spare time.
A boy sitting in the next row over made a comment that you had hardly heard and snickered to his friend.
You’d only been able to clearly make out the words ‘Dixon’ and ‘loser’.
Your head snapped to the side and before Maggie could stop you, you'd snatched up and tossed her eraser at the boy's head with as much force as you could muster.
The corners of your mouth curled upwards as you watched it bounce off his temple and fly out of view, hitting the floor with a satisfying smack.
He, and several other students, including your friend, stared back at you, slack-jawed.
“Don’t you think that’s a little fucking rude?” You said lowly, glaring at him.
“I-I Just-” the boy stammered, clutching his head and obviously not used to anyone being so blunt with him.
“Shut up.” you muttered, facing the front with your arms crossed over your chest just in time to watch the teacher stroll into class, oblivious to your outburst.
“What the hell was that?” Maggie hissed, smacking your arm lightly.
“He deserved it,” you argued, shooting another harsh look the boy's way. “Fucking asshole”
“Sure, but damn” She shook her head, trying to hide her amusement. “I think you scared the hell outta him.”
If you’d looked, you would’ve caught Daryl staring intently at the back of your head, unable to decide if he was annoyed by your outburst, or amused.
There was something in him that liked the attention, although, he’d vehemently deny it if anyone would have made a comment. He’d been seeing you out on the porch more and more and he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t curious. It was a quiet curiosity that had been firmly planted in his chest from the second that he’d laid eyes on you.
He didn’t understand why you were getting into his business.
Why did you care if that guy had something to say about him? He didn’t want it to look like he needed some girl to fight his battles for him, but the look on the kid's face was enough to bring a soft smirk to his own.
On his way out of class, He picked the eraser up off the ground and set it down on your desk while you gathered your things.
Your eyes met and you blinked at each other for a moment.
“Think ya dropped this.” He rasped, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
You smiled and opened your mouth to speak but before you could formulate a thought, he was gone.
You turned to Maggie, who looked just as surprised by the event, and tucked your hair behind your ears with pink cheeks.
“Oh my god, did you see that?” you hissed, standing.
“I mean,” Maggie scoffed, following you out into the hall “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen him do anything close to smiling.”
“But that doesn’t really mean anything, does it?” you sighed, hugging your books to your chest “Do you think I should try and talk to him next time I see him?”
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Maggie said honestly “But that definitely was something.”
“Right?” you smiled, “I’m gonna do it.”
Pretty late, a few days later, you saw Daryl walking past your house and away from his own.
Afraid he’d see you anyway and think you were stalking him or something, you cleared your throat and watched him freeze in his tracks.
“You want a cigarette?” you asked quietly, just loud enough to carry across the yard without drawing attention. You’d seen him smoking a few times and figured that this was the most subtle way to grab his attention.
Daryl’s eyes darted from your front porch and the orange glow of your already-lit smoke to the road, contemplating.
The lack of light offered enough cover that you might not see how swollen his face was, but it was a risk nonetheless. He’d been jonesing for a smoke before he’d even gotten home that afternoon, dismayed to find that Merle and his father were both out and struggled to find the resolve to turn your down.
Part of him wanted badly to know why the hell you’d thrown that eraser, but there was no way he could ask you without sounding at least a little interested.
Fuck it.
Instead of answering, he just joined you on the porch, taking the pack and lighter from your outstretched hand, and sat up on the banister without a word.
“You ain’t afraid of your folks seein’ ya smokin’ out here?” He asked finally when the silence grew too comfortable.
“No.” you shrugged “Pretty hard to notice if they aren’t here”
If it hadn’t been so dark you would have seen that your answer had surprised Daryl. You looked pretty normal and even he knew that most people’s parents didn’t leave them alone for more than a weekend.
He’d seen you smoking outside too many times to write it off as a one-time thing.
“It’s just me and my dad” you explained after a too-long pause “He works a lot”
“He work at a fuckin’ gas station or something?” Daryl asked, confused. What the hell kind of job was he working at night?
“No,” you laughed, unable to help yourself. “He’s a trucker. Usually comes home after a couple weeks, depending on how far out he’s got to go.”
“He buy you smokes?” He rasped.
“God no,” you scoffed, shaking your head. “I buy ‘em at the quick stop on Maple.”
“The gas station?” Daryl asked with a furrowed brow, turning towards your slightly “They didn’t card ya?”
“Nope.” you grinned “Never tried to buy your own cigarettes?”
“Nah,” He shook his head, looking a little bewildered. “Always figured they’d turn me down”
The movement made his swollen eye visible and you did your very best not to stare.
“Well,” you smiled softly “You should try it sometime.”
“Not that I mind sharing.” you added quickly, with pink cheeks.
Daryl didn’t ask any more questions.
He didn’t thank you for the cigarette either. He just stood and left you sitting there without a word.
In homeroom the next morning, Daryl sat in the second to last row instead of his usual seat in the back, closer to you. It very well might’ve had nothing to do with the night before, but your mood noticeably improved regardless.
“What’s got you so chipper?” Maggie had asked tiredly from next to you, resting her head in her hands.
“Nothing.” you smiled softly to yourself. “Just have a feeling. It’s gonna be a good day.”
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Sweet Dreams ‘Til Sunbeams Find You | Young!Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader
Summary: While being wide awake at 4am, you took the opportunity to admire your sleeping boyfriend. In the midst of it, he did something you had yet to see—well, her—him do, and it was the cutest thing to you.
Genre: Fluff.
This is part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams universe, but can be read as a standalone.
Warnings: Some allusions to Daryl’s home life, nothing else otherwise.
Word count: 1k.
A/N: My babies! It’s been so long since I’ve written for them. This was requested by @mayday2007. I hope y’all like this!
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There was no reason to be awake. It was barely after four in the morning, the crickets still chirping outside the window of your small bedroom. The moon was still shining brightly, the stars were still twinkling merrily, and absolutely nobody was awake at that hour.
Well, almost nobody.
You sighed softly as you stared up at the ceiling, cursing whatever deity decided that you would not be able to stay asleep past three o’clock that morning. It was not like you had gone to bed early the previous night. Quite the contrary, you had gone to bed later than usual, yet despite that, you had awoke at an ungodly hour. And when you had tried to sleep further, your brain had decided against it.
So there you were, wide awake, completely bored out of your mind, but you refused to move. No matter how much your bladder would soon beg you to relieve it, or how much the sound of watching some movie in the living room sounded appealing, you would not move. Not until your boyfriend moved from your chest himself.
At the thought of the Dixon boy, you lowered your gaze from the ceiling to look at your dirty blonde-haired boyfriend. He was sound asleep, his head resting on your chest, his legs intertwined with yours as he laid more on top of you than on the bed, one of his arms lazily wrapped around you. His breathing was steady, his face relaxed and free of any frown lines. It was a sight you truly treasured, your heart warming at the fact that he felt comfortable enough to be so vulnerable with you.
You still could not believe how lucky you had gotten with him. Daryl Dixon was amazing to you. The boy you had known since you were merely twelve years old, your best friend turned boyfriend. He was not necessarily everybody’s cup of tea, but he was your’s. He had his flaws, but he also had his strengths. You loved him despite everything. Because of everything.
You brought one of your hands to thread your fingers through his hair. The boy mumbled something incoherent in his sleep and tightened his grip around you, burying his face deeper into your chest. The action made you smile. You were practically Daryl’s human teddy bear at that moment, and you loved it.
You pressed a soft, tender kiss to the top of his head, before leaning your head back against the pillows. You closed your eyes and thought about nothing in particular, trying to distract your mind enough so that you could hopefully slip back into the comforting depths of sleep. If even just for a few hours, it would be amazing.
A soft snore sounded from Daryl. The sudden, unexpected sound caught you off guard. You could not help the fit of giggles that erupted from your chest. You tried to stop it. You really did, but your attempts were futile.
The shaking of your body woke Daryl. He groaned and raised his head, his eyes squinting as he tried to focus. He could just barely make out your features in the relatively dark room, only being somewhat illuminated by the natural light of the moon.
“What?” was all Daryl managed to utter, his voice gruff and laced with sleep. The confusion was evident on his face, and he looked absolutely adorable to you.
“Nothing,” you began softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.”
Daryl shook his head and lowered it back to your chest. “S’alright,” he yawned. He blinked a couple of times to clear his mind of the fogginess. “Why were ya laughin’?”
It was your turn to shake your head. “It’s nothing.”
“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, clearly not believing your little lie. “You think m’stupid? That I don’t know ya better than that?” he joked, playfully pinching your side.
You laughed and jerked away from the ticklish feeling. “You really wanna know?”
“Wouldn’t’a asked if I didn’t,” he retorted, raising his head to look at you again.
You smiled at him. “You have the cutest snores.”
Your boyfriend groaned and dropped his head once again. “Shit. You heard me snore?”
“I did,” you confirmed, bringing a hand to brush through his hair. “It was adorable.”
“Ain’t adorable,” he scoffed, although he could not help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’re just sayin’ it to spare my feelin’s.”
“I swear I’m not,” you promised him. “No lies, right? Even about little things?”
Daryl nodded slowly as you reminded him of the promise the two of you had made when you were fourteen. It had been made roughly a week after he had first made you aware of his home life. You still held him to that, even almost five years later.
“Right,” he mumbled, his words being punctuated with another yawn.
You smiled softly at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Go back to sleep. It’s late… or is it early?” you wondered aloud, before stopping yourself from the rabbit hole you would descend into if you kept thinking about it. “Doesn’t matter. Just go back to sleep, okay?”
“What ‘bout you?” your boyfriend inquired, his eyes already closed as slumber tugged at the back of his eyelids.
“I’ll try to get a couple of more hours too,” you reassured him, touched by his considerateness. “Now get some more sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. This time when the sun is up.”
“Alright.”
After a few minutes, Daryl’s soft snores emitted through the air once more. The sound brought a strange sense of comfort to you. You closed your eyes and made yourself comfortable against the pillows, intending to keep your promise to the Dixon boy. Surprisingly, sleep came easier that time around.
You sighed and let your body relax underneath the comforting weight of your boyfriend’s body. Right before you allowed yourself to drift off, you pressed one final kiss to Daryl’s head. “Sweet dreams.”
Summary: Still reeling from the traumatic events of the night before, you struggle to figure out your next move. Your suspicion and fear of Shane continues to grow, and aren't ready to face him or Daryl after the night's events.
This chapter follows the last episode of TWD S1 pretty closely, but we do veer off towards the end.
Warnings: mentions of child abuse, abusive households.
You creep down the hallway, your steps quickening, until you pull open a storage door on your right. It’s the first room you see and hope is empty. As you shut the door behind you, you slide to the floor, your back against the cool wood. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you press your hands to your face, rubbing your eyes hard enough to see flashes of color. The events of last night replay in your mind, and you reach up, gingerly touching your sore neck, hoping there aren’t any visible bruises.
There are gaps in your memory—flashes of Shane standing in the doorway with Lori, the yelling, and then him choking you. You can’t fully remember what he said, just the way you felt after. Hurt, betrayed... hollow. The last thing you recall is him dropping you to the floor, and everything blurring until you drifted off to sleep.
What you don’t remember—what sends heat flooding your cheeks—is how you ended up in that bed. You have flickers of someone picking you up, the faint scent of cigarettes and musk surrounding you. At some point, you were lying on something soft, but the details are foggy, slipping away as quickly as they come. Letting out a heavy sigh, you lean your head back against the door.
When you open your eyes, you notice a suitcase on the floor, clothes scattered around it. It doesn’t belong to anyone from your group, but the clothing is definitely women’s. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you crawl over, sifting through the fabrics. A grin spreads across your face as you realize someone must’ve packed this knowing they’d be stuck here for a while. You could use a new pair of shorts and a clean shirt.
You pull out a pair of denim shorts, a black band t-shirt with a faded Queen album cover on it, and—thank god—a clean pair of socks without any holes. The clothes look a little big, but manageable with a belt. Quickly, you change into the new outfit before stepping back into the hallway.
You make your way to the bathroom, less panicked now. Standing in front of the mirror, you inspect your neck. No bruises—just tender, reddened skin. You splash cold water on your face, trying to calm the burning heat rising to your cheeks as memories from the night before resurface. Pulling a comb from your pocket (thankfully found in the luggage), you run it through your hair until you're satisfied.
Back in the hallway, you slide on your black boots, quickly doing up the laces. Voices drift toward you from the left, drawing you toward the cafeteria.
Inside, a few people glance up and murmur good mornings. You spot Glenn slumped over the table, looking more than a little green. Smiling, you notice that most of them look a little worse for wear.
Rick comes in behind you, his hand brushing the small of your back to let you know he’s moving past. “Morning, everyone,” he says with a raspy voice, sitting beside Lori and Carl.
“Are you hungover?” Carl asks loudly. “Mom said you would be.”
“Mom is right,” Rick admits, smiling despite his hoarse voice. Lori murmurs something about it being one of her annoying habits, earning a grin from Rick and Carl.
“Eggs!” T-Dog calls, carrying a pan of scrambled eggs over to the table. You didn’t know him well until yesterday, but he’s friendly, his gap-toothed smile endearing.
“Powdered, but I do ‘em good,” he says proudly. “Bet you can’t tell.”
Glenn groans next to you, leaning into Jaqui as she tries to stifle her laughter. “Don’t ever, ever let me drink again,” he moans, eyes half-closed.
Your smile fades when Shane enters the room, offering a brief “Hey” as he passes. You watch him intently, taking a sip of coffee Jaqui poured for you. After murmuring a quick thanks to her, you keep your eyes on Shane, tracking his movements behind the cup.
“Feel as bad as I do?” Rick calls over to him.
“Worse,” Shane mutters, grabbing himself a cup of coffee.
T-Dog squints at him. “The hell happened to you?” he asks, noticing the angry red marks on Shane’s neck.
Shane walks over to the table, sitting diagonally across from you. He doesn’t meet your gaze. “Must’ve done it in my sleep,” he says, his voice low.
You glance over at Lori, catching her eye just as she quickly looks away, her face pale and tight with tension.
“I’ve never seen you do that before,” Rick says, concern lacing his voice.
“Me neither… not like me at all,” Shane grumbles, his wide-eyed gaze shifting to Lori. You stare at him, waiting for him to look away from her, but he doesn’t.
Just then, Dr. Jenner enters the room, greeting everyone as he makes his way to the coffee pot. The energy in the room shifts, the tension still thick but more manageable.
Dale clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I don’t mean to bring up questions so early,” he starts, but Andrea cuts him off, saving him from the awkward moment.
“We didn’t come here for the eggs,” she says, her eyes fixed on Dr. Jenner.
He looks at all of you, taking a long sip from his coffee before setting it down. “Come with me,” he says.
You all file out of the room, following the doctor down the hall. You stray behind, trying to match Lori Grimes’ stride as she walks out. She has her arm around Carl’s shoulders as you match her pace.
“Lori, I–” but she cuts you off, her eyes hard as steel.
“Don’t,” she looks over at you with hard eyes, “I’m fine, everything is fine ,”
All you can do is nod under her glare, falling silent as she walks ahead.
You trail behind, watching Shane as he walks up front, his head turning every now and then to glance over his shoulder at you. You ignore him, keeping your eyes down as you continue down the hallway.
A door opens to your right, and you look up to see a sleepy Daryl stepping out of his room, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. He pauses, looking at you for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the change of clothes. His cheeks flush a light pink.
“Nice shirt,” he murmurs with a half-smile, his voice low and groggy.
All you can manage is a small nod, barely smiling back, your heart fluttering as you walk past him into the main control room.
You stand silently as Dr. Jenner shows the group his Test Subject 19 on the large screen. You already have a basic understanding of brain synapses and the different lobes from your first year in college, but you notice how invested everyone else is in what he’s showing. The screen lights up with a scan, taking you deep into someone’s brain, showing the electrical pulses of a living human.
“It’s a person’s memories, experiences, life,” Jenner explains, his voice quiet but profound.
“You don’t ever make sense?” Daryl grunts, crossing his arms, clearly unimpressed.
Jenner explains synapses and brain function, his tone patient. But the realization hits—the group is about to watch someone die on screen.
“This was someone who was bitten... infected,” Jenner continues, the sadness thickening in his voice. “They volunteered to let us record the process.”
He scans forward to the “first event” watching the virus invade the brain. The person on screen is dying in front of you. Conversations murmur around the room as people mention their own lost loved ones, faces tightening with grief. You glance over at Andrea, who looks hollow, her face drained when Amy’s name is mentioned. Your heart clenches for her.
Jenner pauses the video, asking his AI to fast-forward. What you see next makes your breath catch, your eyes widening as you stare at the screen.
In an hour, one minute, and seven seconds, a flicker of light appears on the brain stem. The rest of the brain is dark, lifeless—dead—but this flicker sparks something. It brings the person back to life, or at least what’s left of them. But just as quickly, a sudden flash blows through the brain, and the movement stops. Carol reacts first, asking what it was.
“He shot his patient in the head… didn’t you?” Andrea says. Jenner powers down his station. Jenner powers down the station, his face grim. More murmurs break out, trying to grasp the idea of something that brings people back only to turn them into mindless killers. You glance over at Daryl, and he’s already looking at you. The two of you lock eyes, almost like having your own silent conversation from across the room.
“So there’s nothing left anywhere, nothing?” Andrea says and you turn to watch the doctor. He says nothing. You stand there, processing the truth. The person may technically come back, but they’re not truly alive. Not in any way that matters. They don’t think, don’t feel—just walk aimlessly, driven by the need to consume. Nothing else.
“Man,” Daryl mutters, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I wanna get shit-faced drunk--again.” He walks away, leaning heavily against one of the computer desks, frustration etched into every line of his body.
The room is still when Dale speaks up. “Dr. Jenner,” he says cautiously, eyes filled with concern, “I know this has been hard on you, but I’ve got one more question.” He points to the large clock on the wall. “That clock… it’s counting down. What happens at zero?”
You all turn to look at it: 60 minutes remain.
“The basement generators—they run out of fuel,” Jenner replies quietly.
“And then?” Rick asks, the tension in his voice clear.
No answer.
Rick asks the AI what happens when the power runs out, and she explains: “facility-wide decontamination will occur,” her robotic voice making it sound even more ominous.
The silence is replaced by movement as Rick, Shane, Glenn, and T-Dog rush toward the basement to check the generators for themselves. The urgency is palpable.
You start to follow them when Daryl’s hand grips your arm, pulling you back. His grip is firm, his eyes searching yours. You glance around, noticing the others filing out of the room, but Daryl doesn’t budge. He looks back at the group, then pulls you into the hallway, steering you toward the room where you woke up earlier that morning.
“What happened last night?” he asks, his voice low, a rough whisper meant just for you.
“What do you mean?” you try to deflect, feigning confusion. You’re not sure you’re ready to face the truth of where he found you or how you ended up there. His eyes narrow, scrutinizing your face, searching for answers that you’re not ready to give. The hallway falls eerily silent. You realize the air conditioning has stopped, leaving the air heavy and still. When you glance back at Daryl, he’s still watching you intently, waiting.
You sigh, your shoulders slumping. “I… well… Shane…” You trail off, shaking your head, unsure how to even begin explaining the weight of last night. Before you can continue, the lights flicker and go out, plunging the room into darkness.
You and Daryl peek outside as the group surrounds Dr. Jenner, bombarding him with frantic questions as he walks briskly down the long corridor. The tension is palpable, the fear growing with each second that ticks by.
“Energy use is being prioritized,” Jenner explains, his voice distant and detached, walking faster than anyone can keep up. “Zone five is shutting itself down.”
Your heart skips a beat as the realization hits. “What the hell does that mean?” you shout, quickening your pace to catch up with him. Panic bubbles up, but you fight to keep your voice steady.
Daryl, more forceful, charges up beside you. “Hey, man, she’s talkin’ to you!” he shouts, voice rough with frustration. “What do you mean it’s shutting itself down? How the hell can a building do anything?”
Jenner barely looks back. “You’d be surprised,” he mutters flatly, his answer offering no comfort.
The group exchanges nervous glances as you follow Jenner back into the main control room. Anxiety spikes, your thoughts racing ahead, searching for an escape route, a solution—anything. You can feel the tension mounting, tightening in your chest. You hear Jenner suddenly bring up the damn French, rambling about how they were the last to try and hold out for a solution, only to run out of power, just like here.
Rick’s voice breaks through the noise, cutting sharp and clear. “Everybody get your things. We’re getting out of here—now.”
The air seems to shift as Rick speaks, the urgency in his tone making it real. The AI system blares an alarm, and the robotic voice announces coldly, “30 minutes until decontamination.” The words hit like a physical blow. A frantic urgency overtakes you, spreading through the group like wildfire. Before you can even react, Jenner rushes to his computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. You and the others start to make your way toward the exits, but suddenly, the thick, metal doors slam shut, cutting off your escape. The heavy thud echoes in your chest, and a cold sense of dread settles over you.
“Did you just lock us in?” Glenn’s voice trembles, panic lacing his words. “He just locked us in!”
Your eyes dart to Daryl, and in an instant, he charges at Jenner. “You son of a bitch!” he bellows, his fists clenched, fury etched across his face.
Chaos erupts. You sprint after Daryl, desperate to stop him, but Shane gets there first, grabbing Daryl just as his hands close around Jenner’s shirt. Shane throws Daryl off, sending him crashing into a desk. People are shouting, screaming for Jenner to open the emergency exits, demanding answers. But Jenner, eerily calm in the storm of panic, shakes his head. His voice is too steady, too cold.
“I told you, once that front door closed, it wouldn’t open again,” Jenner says, pointing a finger at Rick. “You heard me say that.”
The room falls into a deafening silence, the weight of his words crushing down on you.
“It’s better this way,” Jenner says quietly, a hollow certainty in his voice.
Rick steps forward, eyes blazing. “What is? What happens in 28 minutes?” he demands, his voice rising. Jenner looks away, refusing to answer. Rick grabs him, his hands fisted in Jenner’s shirt. “What happens?”
Suddenly, Jenner starts screaming, breaking his eerie calm. He's explaining that this place can’t let things out when the power goes out–small box, ebola, viruses that could wipe out humans. The HITs prevent organisms from getting out. There’s questions on everyone’s faces. But you know what that means. Organisms. No organism can escape this place for the safety of the planet. Your brain clicks into place as your heart starts pumping harder.
The AI, “VI” defines HITs to the room. All you can make out over the pounding of blood in your ears is explosives. The air catching on fire. Absolute devastation makes your skin crawl.
“It sets the air on fire. No pain. End to sorrow, grief, regret…everything,” Jenner whispers.
There’s a deafening silence in the room as you all stare at him. Suddenly Daryl starts throwing things at the door, using hammers with Shane against it to open it. You join them with more weapons, trying to hit the door as hard as you can. You don’t back down from a threat. You know better. The Dixon brothers taught you better. You feel like a caged animal being backed into a corner. All you know how to do is kick and scream and fight . It’s the only thing that’s kept you alive all this time. The adrenaline in you is pumping so hard that you’re in fight or flight. You use all your strength to continue pounding on the door with the sledgehammer in the room.
“Those doors are designed to withstand rocket launchers,” Jenner says from behind you, his voice infuriatingly calm.
Daryl turns and charges again, “Well your head ain’t!” Everyone goes for him, holding him back. You watch, your heart hammering in your chest, knowing Jenner is your only hope. He’s the only one who knows the code. The only one who can let you out. But he’s given up. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. There’s no way out unless he decides to let you live.
“There is no hope,” Jenner says, his voice soft but heavy with finality. “There never was. This is what takes us down. This is our extinction event.”
The room erupts again, voices overlapping, but your mind zeroes in on Carol, who’s clutching Sophia tightly, her face streaked with tears. “You can’tkeep us here!” she screams, her voice cracking, her sobs growing louder.
Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked cuts through the chaos. You whip around to see Shane, his shotgun aimed squarely at Jenner. His face is contorted in rage, eyes wide and wild. Rick rushes forward, shouting for him to stop, but Shane doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s like a rabid dog, on the edge of losing control completely.
But Shane turns, you’re not sure if it’s Rick that was able to turn him or he did it himself to shoot the machines all over the room. You duck behind a table across the room. Rick is on top of Shane, about to punch him with the butt of the gun, “you done now?” he asks. He turns and after a long moment, says he thinks the doctor is lying about no hope. He had to be here working all this time for something.
“I made a promise,” the doctor stands, “to her, my wife.” he’s pointing at the large blank screen.
“Test subject 19… your wife,” you say, standing now. Jenner continues to explain how intelligent and amazing she was, and that she died for this. Because of this. But his wife didn't have a choice.
“All we want is a choice–a chance,” Rick says quietly.
Carol pleads, “Let us keep trying. As long as we can.”
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Jenner hesitates. Then, with a resigned sigh, he punches in the code. The doors unlock with a loud hiss.
“Come on!” Daryl shouts, his voice like a battle cry, and the room explodes into movement.
You sprint to your room, adrenaline fueling your every step. Grabbing your gun and knife, you scan the room for anything else you might need. There’s nothing. Just the clothes on your back and the weapons in your hands. You tear back into the hallway, your heart pounding.
But where is everyone? You whirl around, checking each room, panic clawing at your insides. They were just here—where the hell did they go? The building feels like a maze, but you refuse to leave without Daryl. Not until you know he’s safe. So you keep running, searching every room, every hallway, your pulse racing as the clock ticks down. Time is slipping away, and with it, any chance of survival.
But you won’t leave without him. Not now. Not ever again.
Daryl
Daryl rushes toward the main entrance, hammers gripped tight in both hands. Shane’s right beside him, charging up the stairs with a gun in hand.
“Daryl!” Shane yells, holding out his hand. Daryl tosses him one of the hammers without missing a beat. They both start pounding the windows, desperate, each hit echoing in the dead air. T-Dog joins in with a chair, slamming it against the thick glass. Suddenly, Carol steps forward, trembling, and walks over to Rick. Her hand shakes as she digs into her bag and pulls out a grenade. Rick pauses for a second, eyes wide, then snatches it from her quickly. His movements are sharp as he pulls the pin and places it at the base of the window.
Daryl backs off fast, instincts kicking in. What the hell is he waitin’ for? he thinks, watching Rick linger too close. Then the realization seems to hit Rick, too.
“Oh shit,” Rick mutters, bolting away from the window.
“Get down!” Shane yells. Everyone drops just in time as the explosion rocks the room, the blast shattering the window.
It worked.
Everyone scrambles to their feet, grabbing their things in a rush. Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder and leaps through the broken window, hitting the ground outside. One by one, the others follow, pouring out into the night. They’re running, sprinting through the maze of dead bodies, the stink of decay thick in the air, walkers already stirring, drawn by the noise.
Daryl’s foot catches on something. He stumbles, crashing to the ground. When he looks down, his heart stops. The lifeless body beneath him is wearing nothing but tattered, bloody pants and a Queen band t-shirt...the same shirt you were wearing. His mind reels, blood roaring in his ears. The image of your face flashes before him. No, no, no.
“Y/N,” he breathes, his chest tightening with panic. He’s wrenches himself to his feet, eyes wide, whipping his head around to search for you. His breathing is ragged, frantic. You’re not with the others, you’re not running ahead with the group like you always are. You’re not beside him. You’re nowhere.
Rick and Shane are screaming at him, their voices a blur in his mind. He can’t hear them. Can’t hear anything but the pounding in his skull. All he can think about is you. Where the hell are you? How did he lose track of you? His fists clench tight. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He knew better than to let you go off alone. Should’ve waited for you, should’ve been with you. Always together, always watching each other’s backs. He promised he’d keep you safe, and now… now…
Daryl spins around, ignoring the shouts from behind him. He bolts back into the building, his legs moving before his mind can catch up. He’s shouting your name, his voice raw, desperate. He passes Dale and Andrea—they’re trying to call him, but he doesn’t stop. Won’t stop until he finds you. His throat burns from screaming, his vision narrowing. He knows time’s running out, but he can’t think about that. Not now. Not when you’re still inside.
He pauses for a second, gasping for breath, trying to pull himself out of the panic. He can’t do this. Not like this. He forces himself to stop, closing his eyes for a second, trying to clear the fog. Focus, track her. You’re good at that. You know how to find her. His mind sharpens. The noise, the chaos fades into the background. He listens. And then he hears it—your voice. Faint but there. Screaming his name. Daryl’s head snaps toward the sound. He sprints down the hallway, his heart pounding. The doors are all open, rooms emptied out. And then, at the end of the hall—you.
You’re running toward him, panic all over your face, your skin flushed. His own chest is tight, matching the terror he sees mirrored in your eyes. For a split second, everything stops. Just you and him.
And then you’re running again, full speed toward each other. He grabs your hand, his grip tight, pulling you with him. Without a word, you’re both sprinting, racing down the stairs, out the shattered window, feet hitting the ground hard. The cool morning air feels like a slap, but there’s no time to think about that.
In the distance, you both hear the others—Rick’s voice, Shane yelling—but it’s all a blur. Daryl knows they’ve only got seconds. Maybe two, if they’re lucky.
He shoves you down behind a pile of sandbags, throwing himself on top of you. His body covers yours, his arms hovering protectively over your face and neck, his breath quick and shallow against your ear. The ground shakes beneath you, the sound of the explosion deafening. The CDC building behind you bursts, flames erupting from the windows, shattering glass and sending a wave of heat and pressure through the air.
Daryl holds on tight as debris rains down around you. His body shields yours, his arms bracing against the force of the explosion, his heart pounding in his chest. For a long moment, all he can hear is the roar of the fire and the pounding of his own blood in his ears.
And then… silence.
Daryl’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he lifts his head slightly, looking down at you. His hand is still gripping yours, tight, but he loosens his hold, blinking away the dust and ash. Your face is pale, but your eyes are wide open, staring up at him. Alive.
You’re both alive.
He lets out a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against yours for a brief second, the tension finally breaking. You’re safe. You made it out.
For now.
x Flashback x
Young reader & Daryl
It was a cooler day, the crisp bite of fall in the air, when Daryl showed up at your front door. You were maybe six or seven at the time—having only met him a few days ago. When you opened the door, you found him standing there, quiet and pensive, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he was working up the nerve to say something.
“Hi,” you greeted shyly, waiting for him to speak. After a long pause, he finally looked away from you, fidgeting with his hands.
“Wan’ come hunt squirrels?” he mumbled, twisting his fingers together, still avoiding your gaze.
A grin stretched across your face, showing the gap where you’d just lost a baby tooth. His shy grin mirrored yours, growing wider as he waited for your reply.
“Yeah!” you agreed, stepping outside to join him. Daryl’s grin got a little bigger, his shoulders loosening as you walked off the porch together.
“Don’t you gotta tell your mama and papa?” he asked, stopping you halfway down the stairs. The smile faded from your face as you glanced back at the door.
“Daddy ain’t here no more,” you said quietly, your eyes dropping to the cracks in the worn wood of the porch.
“And your mama?” Daryl asked again, softer this time.
You shrugged, turning away. You knew she wouldn’t notice you were gone. She rarely did these days, spending her time either asleep in bed or out late, reeking of booze when she stumbled back in the early hours. You doubted she even realized you were still in the house most of the time. Once in a while when she was conscious she would look at you with her nose crinkled or swatted a newspaper at you.
Daryl walked in stride beside you as you left the house, the cool wind picking up around you. The woods were nearby, the sound of a small stream trickling as you approached the trail. Daryl had a large crossbow strapped to his back, way too big for a kid his size, but he carried it like it was the most important thing in the world.
“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at the weapon slung across his small shoulders.
“My pops’ old huntin’ crossbow,” Daryl said proudly, puffing out his chest a bit.
“Wow,” you whispered in awe, your eyes wide. Daryl’s chest puffed up a little more, clearly pleased that you were impressed.
“Darylina!” a voice called from behind, interrupting your conversation. You both turned to see a lanky teenage boy on a beat-up bicycle coasting up to the curb. He had messy dark hair and a smirk plastered on his face.
“Who’s this, Darylina?” he taunted, jumping off his bike and walking over with a swagger. “Is this your girlfriend?”
Daryl’s face flushed, and he stared at the ground, the confidence he’d had moments ago disappearing.
“Stop callin’ me that, Merle,” Daryl muttered, kicking at the dirt.
“Aww, did I hurt your w’ittle feelin’s?” Merle sneered, crouching slightly as he leered at his younger brother. “Is this your girrrlfriend?” he asked again, this time directing his smirk at you.
“How ya doin’ little lady?” Merle approached you with a swing in his step, “I’m Merle. This kid’s big brother,”
You had been around a lot of bullies in school–those who’d taunt you about your dirty clothes, your greasy unwashed hair, and sometimes even followed you home off the bus to taunt you about living in a trailer park. Merle seemed just like them. Your face was turning red, but not out of embarrassment. It had been a long while since you let other kids embarrass you.
“What’d’ya want?” you stood straight, arms crossed. Daryl shot you a glance, eyes wide with surprise at your boldness.
“Ooohoo hoo! We love a girl with some spunk, don’t we, Darylina?” Merle said, whistling through his teeth. He looked back at Daryl, who remained silent, but his eyes never left you.
“Go away,” you said confidently, standing a little straighter.
“Or what? What’re you gon’ do, little lady?” Merle teased, taking a step closer. “What’s yer name, anyway?”
“None of your business,” you shot back, folding your arms tighter over your chest.
Merle’s leer just gets wider, looking you up and down, “I like you, Daryl needs someone to be his backbone for once,”
That seemed to be enough for Daryl. “Get outta here, Merle. We’re huntin’ squirrels,” he said, turning his back on his brother, clearly wanting you to follow. But you stayed put, watching Merle closely, daring him to push you further.
“Aww, ain’t that cute—this your first date?” Merle laughed, his voice sing-songy. “Should I mark the date on my calendar for the weddin’?”
You stare up at the teenager, your mouth tightening into a thin line, eyes narrowing. He’s leering down at you too, waiting for what you’ll do next. You honestly think he might actually like your spunk, but you can’t be sure. You knew many bullies like him. But you make up your mind and turn your back, following Daryl.
“Darylina and his girlfriend, kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I–” you hear behind you, and you stomp back over and kick your foot out, hard into Merle’s shin.
“Ow! You little–!” he shouts.Without missing a beat, you grabbed Daryl’s arm and bolted into the woods. You could hear Merle cursing behind you, but the two of you veered off the path, ducking under branches and weaving through trees where Merle couldn’t follow on his bike.
When you were sure you’d lost him, you both collapsed into laughter, breathless and exhilarated. Bent over, hands on your knees, you looked at Daryl, who was grinning from ear to ear.
“He might kill you,” Daryl chuckled, still trying to catch his breath.
“I’d like to see him try,” you shot back, straightening up with a defiant smile. “Now, you gon’ show me how to hunt squirrels or what?”
Daryl’s grin returned, and he pulled the crossbow from his back, holding it like a badge of honor. “Yeah, let’s go.”
You and Daryl made your way into the woods, and kept telling you to keep quiet.
"Your fat feet keep scarin’ everything off," he muttered, glancing back at you with mild frustration. "You wouldn’t last a day on your own if you had to hunt fer yourself."
You whipped around on him, and he staggered to a stop, “Ain’t you s’possed to be teachin’ me?” you snapped, hands on your hips. he rolled his eyes at you, then pointed to your feet.
“You’re muckin’ up the trail, come here,” he said, pulling you back. You backed up so you were right next to him, following his pointed finger.
"I only see dirt," you said flatly, squinting at the spot he was so focused on.
“Look closer,” he whispered, leaning down to the ground. You squatted next to him, your face inches from the forest floor. That’s when you noticed it—subtle gaps in the leaves, some pressed down, others left undisturbed. It looked like nothing at first, but then you saw the faint shape of a footprint.
“Prints?” you said, heart swelling.
Daryl stood up quickly, a rare smile flickering across his face. "Yeah," he said, nodding, then turned to lead the way again. His sharp eyes tracked the trail effortlessly, pointing out when the path veered or when the prints led up onto a tree. His focus was intense, like this was second nature to him.
Suddenly, he stopped, scanning the branches above. His posture tensed as his eyes flicked to his right, across a small clearing. That’s when you both heard it—the chattering of a squirrel, hidden somewhere in the trees. Daryl glanced back at you, pressing a finger to his lips to signal silence. Then, with practiced precision, he raised his crossbow. Despite its size, the weapon seemed like an extension of him. He took aim, waiting for the right moment. When the squirrel ventured down to the center of the trunk, Daryl released the arrow. It flew through the air, striking the target with deadly accuracy.
"Wow!" you whispered excitedly, running up behind him as he approached the tree. "Where’d you learn to do all this?"
Daryl crouched by the tree, yanking the arrow free from the squirrel’s chest and tying the small creature to the strap of his crossbow with a piece of rope. "Have to eat somehow," he replied quietly, his voice distant.
You paused at that, his words sinking in. Sure, you had to fend for yourself most days, but you always managed to find a way to get food. Your mom was a mess, but there were usually a few crumpled dollars in her purse you could get away with stealing. But Daryl…Daryl didn’t seem to have that luxury.
"Your parents...?" you started to ask, but trailed off when Daryl’s eyes met yours, hard and cold.
"Pops always said if we couldn’t figure shit out for ourselves, we’d never learn," he grumbled, tightening the rope around the squirrel. "Ain’t old enough for a job. Merle’s barely around since he turned 16."
A heavy silence settled between you. Daryl stared down at his hands, fingers fumbling with the rope, his face tense.
"Sometimes I steal my mama’s money out her bag to buy somethin’ from the corner store," you admitted quietly, glancing away. You didn’t know why you said it—it wasn’t something you told anyone. But with Daryl, it felt like you could share that secret.
Daryl’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, then quickly darted back down. "If I ever tried that, I’d get whooped," he whispered, his voice tight. The weight of his words hung in the air, the reality of his life sinking in deeper.
For a long moment, neither of you said anything, standing there in the middle of the woods, two kids with too much weight on their shoulders. Finally, Daryl cleared his throat and looked up at you, trying to change the subject. "You got a crossbow at home?"
You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. Daryl let out a long breath, nodding. "Right. Well, let me show ya how to make a snare, for the little guys like this. For when I ain’t around."
The way he said it—for when I ain’t around—made your chest tighten, but you just nodded. You followed him closely, watching his every move as he showed you how to set a snare, feeling, for the first time in a long while, like maybe you weren’t so alone.
Daryl Dixon Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Requests 𐴱 More Girl Nextdoor!Reader AU
Summary: You attend a house party to kick off the school year with Maggie, and find yourself intrigued by a familiar looking boy and his older brother.
Warning: Underage drinking
You 'd spent a full hour fussing over what to wear before settling on a denim skirt, a black tank top and your hot pink cowboy boots, knowing full-well that they made you look insane.
It had been a point of contention inside your head. Two sides of you going back and fourth, trying to decide if you wanted to lay low and keep any and all attention off of you, or bask in the curious stares like you would have the year before.
You'd stared at yourself in the mirror for half an hour after getting ready, feeling yourself slip back into the numbness that had seemed to consume you whenever you thought about life before losing the two people closest to you.
In the end, you'd had to run the bathroom tap until the water was boiling hot and stuck your hand under it in an effort to shock your system back to normal.
It took two pulls from one of the whiskey bottles on top of your fridge to get out the door once you got a handle on yourself.
The long, dark stretch of rural road seemed endless on the way to the party. Luckily, Maggie had slid a crudely-drawn map across the cafeteria table that day at lunch after you'd adamantly turned down a ride from her older brother, unsure you wanted her to see how run down your house was. You could just barely make out the details in the moonlight.
Maggie was standing out front when you got there and frowned when she caught sight of the cigarette dangling from your lips, shaking her head in disapproval.
“Those thing’s’ll kill ya.” She tsk’ed, only half joking as she pulled you in for a brief, but unexpected hug.
You rolled your eyes and put it out on the sole of your boot, carefully tucking it back into the half-full pack.
The girl had gasped loudly and taken an abrupt step back to look down at your feet before you could so much as tuck the carton back into your bag. “I love your boots! Where did you get them?”
“My birthday a couple years ago” you smiled, feeling a slight pang in your heart as you recalled how excited your mother had been to watch you unwrap the expertly wrapped gift.
It had been clear that she'd seen your smile grow strained. That she'd clocked the stutter in your heart rate somehow. But, Maggie was kind enough not to mention it and ushered you inside instead, excitedly rambling about the promise of free liquor clearly highlighted on the invitation.
Despite having known Maggie for less than a week, you found yourself hoping desperately that the friendship would stick.
The two of you ducked inside the house, glancing around the packed room and sharing nervous, but excited smiles as you took in the state of the party.
There was easily a hundred people milling around the house in various states of intoxication.
The music blaring through the speakers in the living room was near-deafening and you found yourself popping your jaw as you followed Maggie towards the kitchen.
You were immediately introduced to Lisa, a tall, gorgeous blonde who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else as she sat perched on the dining room table. Despite her initially bored demeanour, she’d enthusiastically greeted you both before mixing up a horrid concoction of liquor and juice that you'd chugged as soon as the cup was slapped into your hand.
As the mixed drink combined with the dwindling effects of the whiskey you’d had before leaving your house, your nerves fizzled out completely and you felt more at ease than you had in months.
“Slow down!” Maggie had laughed, shaking her head in mock-disapproval as she palmed her own drink “She pours heavy.”
You just shot her a toothy grin and took a second drink from Lisa with a shrug, listening as the girls gave you the rundown on the rest of the party goers.
Within a few hours, you were pretty sure that you could point out every couple in the room and spout a lengthy list of gossip you’d absorbed about each one. You were having a great time and found yourself infinitely grateful that Maggie wanted to be your friend and had invited you in the first place.
Lisa was a little snarky, but was kind enought to you throughout the night, continuing to play bartender and mixing the three of you outrageously strong drinks.
You were all well passed buzzed and giggling as you played ‘smash or pass’, trying to be discreet.
“I can’t believe you don’t think he’s cute-” Maggie had sounded horrified after you'd ‘passed’ on a boy who had graduated two years prior, but froze as more people came in through the door.
“Oh great” She scoffed “The Dixons are here”
You followed Maggie’s narrowed eyes to the two newest partygoers, surprised to find the boy you'd seen in your neighbourhood a few times since you'd moved, accompanied by a taller man who had to have been his brother.
Even from across the room, you could see just how blue their eyes were.
Aside from having ten years on the younger Dixon, the taller of the two had his hair buzzed almost clean to the skin in what looked like a military haircut. His gait was confident and relaxed as he sauntered his way through the crowd, openly leering at girls and roughly nudging any obstacles in his way
The younger one’s hair was just as long as it had been days before, somehow blonde although you could have sworn it had looked brown when you saw him stomping off into the trees. It was hard not to notice the mole on his cheek and the way he hadn’t once raised his head high enough to make eye contact with anyone.
Despite the hair blocking most of his face, from what you could see, he was cute.
Real cute.
“Smash.” you muttered under your breath.
“I’ll save you the trouble,” your new friend looked horrified by the comment “Those two are bad news. Best steer clear.”
“Unless you want a joint,” Lisa interjected before taking a large swig of her drink, “Merle Dixon sells the best weed in town.”
“Yeah,” Maggie rolled her eyes “And god knows what else.”
“Which one’s Merle?” you asked, still blatantly staring at the brothers who by that point, had made their way to the kitchen to pour themselves a drink.
“The older one.” Maggie nudged you to break your gaze “Quit staring!”
“I’m just looking” you rolled your eyes “What about the other one?”
“That’s Daryl.” Lisa shrugged, “He’s supposed to be in our grade, but hardly shows up to class.”
“I think they might be my neighbors or something,” you said absently, allowing your eyes to wander back over to the kitchen. “I’m pretty sure I saw Daryl the other day.”
“I hope not for your sake,” Maggie said seriously, pulling your attention “Everybody knows that their dad’s a drunk”
“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Lisa added, watching Merle smack the red solo cup out of some poor kid's hand and start downing whiskey straight out of the bottle.
Daryl was leaning back on the counter, looking like he really didn’t want to be there, which only made him seem more mysterious.
Maggie and Lisa seemed to have dropped the Dixons as a conversation topic, delving into a detailed account of the previous years grad prank that had been, as Lisa described it, ‘legendary’. You struggled to stay focused, offering halfhearted laughs here and there, fixated on the younger Dixon across the kitchen.
Eventually, you excused yourself to the bathroom, insisting that you didn’t need them to come along.
On your way back, you couldn’t help but wonder if Lisa had been serious when she’d said that Merle sold weed.
You’d tried smoking pot for the first time a few weeks before while packing up Joey’s room. There had been a jar of weed at the back of his sock drawer and you had stared at it for what felt like hours before trying to roll yourself a joint.
You’d used a page torn out of the bible your mother had gotten you as a child, no longer wanting anything to do with god or church.
If god was so great, how could he have let this happen? How could he have taken your mother and Joey?
The joint was a pitiful thing. Loose and unsealed, no filter or anything to keep you from inhaling chunks of poorly ground bud, which, of course, is exactly what happened.
You thought you might like it if you had been able to figure it out on your own, and found yourself contemplating if it was worth asking. You hadn’t really enjoyed it the last time, but you’d do anything to outrun the grief you was fighting to keep at bay.
Surely you’d be able to pay him an extra dollar to roll you a joint.
Your eyes tracked the younger Dixon’s movement in a blatant stare as you took your sweet time getting back to your friends, hoping that, just once, he’d meet your gaze.
When he did, it had lasted half a second before he was looking away, eyes hidden by his long hair. You frowned, wondering what his deal was. The way the girls had talked about him made him out to be some kind of psycho. Always fighting and abrasive, never one to keep any friends around.
You just couldn’t help it.
Surely you weren’t the only person in this town intrigued by his mysterious demeanor. Daryl was a good-looking kid and that whole dark and stormy thing he had going on was beyond enticing.
You tried not to look so obvious when you went into the kitchen under the guise of pouring yourself another drink.
You'd nodded cooly to the younger Dixon, reaching next to him for a half-full bottle of vodka.
You’d gotten so close to brushing up against Daryl that he’d caught a whiff of your perfume, flooded with the smell of vanilla as he leaned slightly further from you.
He’d felt you staring throughout the night and wondered why, sneaking glances of his own when you weren’t looking.
He didn't speak, but he did look back at you.
“I think we live on the same street.” you continued, filling your cup with two fingers of clear liquor and introducing yourself “I just moved into the grey house.”
“Daryl,” he muttered, taking a long sip from the beer in his hand. His eyes scanned you from head to toe, taking in your ridiculous boots with slight amusement, well-masked by his scowl.
If he'd been a bit braver, he might've told you that he’d already known that you lived on the same street. Although, he had not intention of ever letting you find out that he’d been periodically watching you sit on your porch and smoke from his bedroom window. The last thing he needed was for some chick to go around telling everyone he was being a creep.
At least now he knew your name.
When he didn’t make any further attempt to talk to you, you took the hint and wandered off, slightly discouraged, but not before calling a ‘nice to meet you’ over your shoulder first. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head as you downed the last of your drink and tossed the empty cup into the garbage bin across the room.
Once you cleared the corner, you steadied yourself, lightheaded.
You’d always had a problem knowing when to stop but figured this was about as clear of an indicator as you’d get. If you stayed any longer, you’d keep drinking and surely embarrass yourself.
You found Maggie and Lisa and said your goodbyes, zipping up your coat on your way to the door.
“How are you getting home?” Maggie caught you by the wrist as you was leaving, glancing at you with concern.
“I’m gonna walk?” you answered slowly “Ain’t very far”
“My brother Shawn is coming to pick us up in an hour, do you want to come with us? I bet he wouldn’t mind dropping you off.”
“No thanks,” you smiled politely, trying not to look too drunk, and gave her a half nod before turning on your heel. “I like to walk.”
“Are you sure?” Maggie called after you “It’s really no trouble!”
“I’m good” You shouted back without turning around “I’ll see you Monday”
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Daryl Dixon Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Requests 𐴱 More Girl Nextdoor!Reader AU
A/N - This is the first thing I've written in months so be nice 😭
Summary: A little context to better understand how we got here and learn what makes our girl tick.
Warnings: Grief, Self harm, Neglect, Loss of a parent, Loss of a sibling, underage drinking, underage smoking
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who lost her mother and older brother in an accident and is drowning in grief.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who is left to live with her never home, truck-driver father, who isn't doing much better and isn't used to actually parenting.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who is uprooted and moved to Senoia Georgia the summer before her Junior year of high school.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who finds herself living in the middle of nowhere, on a street with 3 broken down-looking houses, and a neighbour around her age she only sees in passing.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who quickly grows used to being left at home for weeks at a time with a wad of cash while her father works all over the country.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who picks up smoking less than a week after moving and smokes herself hoarse every night for a week.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who can't get out of bed some days.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who puts her cigarettes out on the inside of her arm when she needs to remind herself that she's real.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who hates being alone but is stuck in a quiet tomb.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who used to love reading, but can no longer get through a paragraph without feeling suffocated.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who's father sees his late wife in her face and can't stand the sight of her when he is home between jobs.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who polishes off whatever's left of the whiskey the second her father walks out the door and crawls up the stairs to hide under the covers.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who is immediately taken under Maggie Greene's wing on the first day of school and finds herself feeling something other than grief for the first time in months.
꩜ Girl Nextdoor!Reader, who can't help but stare at the mysterious neighbour boy.
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Daryl Dixon Masterlist 𐴱 Main Masterlist 𐴱 Taglist 𐴱 Reading List 𐴱 Pinned Post 𐴱 Requests 𐴱 More Girl Nextdoor!Reader AU
Summary: Following the eraser incident in homeroom, you and Daryl take baby steps towards friendship despite his reluctance to get close.
Warning: Underage smoking
It hadn't taken you long to discover the little smoke spot across the street from the high school.
You'd been informed by a disgruntled looking receptionist on your first day that there was a strict no smoking policy on school grounds. You'd been offended for a half-second to have been pinned as a smoker so quickly, but you could imagine that the chain smoking marathon that had been prompted by nerves that morning had left you smelling like an ashtray.
You'd noticed a couple of kids smoking in the parking lot, but ended up trailing after the few who took off into the trees.
You hadn't done all that well at making friends aside from Maggie, but the stragglers huddled around the base of a large oak didn't seem interested in sparking up a conversation.
So, you'd kept walking.
There was a small break in the trees not too far that you had claimed as your own as soon as you'd seen it.
It felt a little sacred to you. A place to hide in between classes or while you were skipping a select few all together. You hadn't told Maggie about it, not that she would have joined you if you had. She'd been very vocal about her distaste for your growing habit and the fact that her daddy would kill her if he smelt smoke on her.
You'd almost tripped over Daryl the first time you found him in your spot.
He'd planted himself in the dirt, legs sprawled out in front of him, bent at the knee while a lit cigarette dangled from his lips.
"Oh." You'd all but gasped, staggering to the side a few steps to avoid crashing into him, and recovering as smoothly as you could by propping yourself up against the nearest tree. "Hey."
Daryl had stared at you for a moment, somewhere between bored and annoyed as he watched you pat your pockets in search of your carton of cigarettes.
Before you could find it, Daryl was on his feet and holding his own pack out to you.
He'd tried the gas station you'd told him about and had successful in procuring his very own, full pack for the first time. So, he felt like he owed you one. A 'thank you' might've done, but to him, it wouldn't feel like a debt settled. If there was one thing Daryl Dixon hated more than anything, it was feeling like he owed someone.
It was hard not to beam at him as you plucked out a cigarette and glanced down at your lighter to get it lit.
"Thanks," You sighed happily, looking back up and feeling a bit caught off-guard by the annoyance on his face.
"Whatever." Daryl scoffed, quick to take a few steps back and put some distance between you. "You followin' me now or somethin'?"
"I've been out here every day for two weeks," Your arms crossed over your chest defensively "Don't flatter yourself."
"So have I." He grumbled, letting his hair fall in front of his face to hide the blush creeping up his neck as he averted his gaze. "Ain't never seen ya out here."
It was quiet for a full minute before you sighed loudly.
"Ya know," the corners of your lips curled upwards. "You and me could be friends if you weren't so grumpy all the time."
"Friends?" The word may as well have been a curse word for the force of which he spat it, looking both alarmed and irritated. "Fuck do you wanna be friends with me for?"
"Well," You frowned, wondering distantly if this boy had any friends at all aside from his older brother, "For starters, we could smoke our cigarettes out here and be civil about it."
Daryl stared back at you, softening, but only slightly. It didn't sound all that bad to him, but he'd dug himself a bit of a hole by being so standoffish out the gate and he wasn't one to back down easy.
"Maybe we could walk home together from school since we're headed the same way?" You continued when it became clear he wasn't planning on speaking. "Eat lunch together if you're feeling real crazy-"
"We ain't eatin' lunch together." He spat with a lot less bite, shaking his head. The thought of sitting in the cafeteria at all, let alone with you, had always turned his stomach. He never had a lunch or money to buy one and he'd be horrified if you noticed and tried to ask about it. Sure, you lived next door and had seen how run-down his house was. Hell, your own house looked a little rough around the edges. But, Daryl couldn't shake the uneasy feeling.
"Alright fine." You agreed easily, nodding with a grin as you headed back towards the school. "So we'll be civil, and meet here after school"
"Don't get your hopes up." He muttered, watching you go.
"Too late!" You called over your shoulder, pausing only to put out your cigarette "My hopes are sky high, Dixon."
He waited until you were gone to chuckle under his breath.
It was hard not to squeal with delight when you found Daryl waiting for you after school.
He'd been toeing the dirt and started walking as soon as he heard you coming, leaving you to job if you wanted to catch up.
You did.
"So, friends then?" You asked halfway back to your street.
Daryl muttered something under his breath that you didn't quite catch, something along the lines of 'Jesus fucking Christ'.
"What was that?" You stopped and held your hand up to shield your eyes from the sun, squinting at him.
The mischievous glint in your eyes made his fingers tingle.
"Said fine." He grumbled, gnawing on his thumbnail.
"Great," you beamed, continuing down the road with a skip in your step.
Daryl didn't say a word, but you felt the mood lighten.
By the time you made it back to Hartley Street, you'd just barely managed to stop smiling like a crazy person.
"Wanna walk to school tomorrow?" You called after Daryl when he kept walking once you reached your front porch.
"Don't push it!" He called back without turning.
He heard your laugh in the distance and cracked the tiniest smile before ducking into his own house.
Despite his grumbling, Daryl was standing outside the following morning, waiting for you.
He'd been up late thinking about it and settled on there being no harm in walking with you if you were both going that way anyway. It would take more effort to avoid walking with you.
At least, that what he kept telling himself.
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