This book has imagines about Norman Reedus and his characters.
I take requests. I will wright any kind of story you would like.
I also do smut. So be prepared there will be smut in this book.
I hope you enjoy!!
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There are lots of things that take getting used to when it comes to being stuck under one roof with five or six different people and five or six different personalities. One would just have to hope and pray that they actually got along with these people and maybe one day see them as family.
Daryl Dixon was that lucky to be surrounded by people that saw him as family, though never realized just how lucky he was. Then again, the only person he ever really noticed was you.
From the moment the two of you met, Daryl wasn't really sure what to make of you. He knew he didn't hate you but he didn't know what it was he was feeling. Or maybe he was just in denial for he knew once he admitted it to himself, things would never be the same. It was easy to avoid you when you were at the farm. He set up his camp far away from everyone else and refused to make the slightest bit of eye contact with you.
But now you were in the prison, too small of a space to have a good enough reason to avoid you. That didn't stop him from doing it although he knew it sent the wrong message.
One afternoon, you were frying up some deer meat that Daryl had caught earlier that morning. You were happily slicing up the finished meat and serving it to members of the group when Daryl emerged from the cell block, his empty stomach alerted by the smell of cooking meat. He did enjoy the way you cooked meat. He wasn't sure why since you never used any spices or anything that would make it smell any different. Maybe it was just because it was you that made it.
"Daryl!" you called out. Daryl froze for a moment, trying not to awkwardly stare at you but you were holding up a bowl of food and he couldn't just stand there like an idiot so he forced his legs to move towards you. With a warm smile, you set the bowl down in front of him, "Thanks for getting this meat for us. We'll be well fed today. Wish we could make it last to tomorrow."
"Yeah," he grunted, keeping his eyes focused on the bowl in his hands. If he met your gaze, he wouldn't be able to handle it. He was never good at making conversation, especially when it came to you, "I'll go out again at dawn tomorrow. Thanks for the lunch, Y/N."
"You overwork yourself," you said, reaching out to touch his arm, "You should let someone else do it once in a while. You've done so much for us."
Daryl shrugged but he didn't move away from your touch. Your hand was warm and he liked the way you lightly squeezed his arm. He didn't respond right away, forcing himself to lift his head and look into your eyes. You smiled at him and there was such immense happiness and light in your eyes that made it impossible to feel angry or sad. Daryl turned away quickly so you wouldn't see his smile.
"I don't mind," he muttered, "I gotta go."
He tore his arm from your grip and stormed off back to his cell. You had been trying so hard to make him happy but it always seemed like you just annoyed him. Why did you even bother? He was never going to be nice to you or like you.
