Daryl Dixon x Reader One-shots

Daryl x Daughter!Reader (requested)

Requested by AO3 user: Daryl runs into his daughter on a run for Alexandria and is confused as to why she seems to hate him so strongly.

Warning: User requested the story to include the reader being a pyromaniac and schizophrenic.

****

Snarls filled the air as your heart beat so fast you were sure it was going to explode in your chest, just like a ticking bomb.

Flames licked at the grotesque creatures that filled the barn, and you knew this was it. The fire was spreading quickly and there was no escape. Both exits of the barn were no longer viable; each blocked by what looked like hundreds of the undead, and their numbers were increasing.

Turning from the edge of the platform, you directed your gaze to Hershel's overrun farm. In the distance, you could spot your friends fighting for their lives - Glenn, Beth, Lori, some others. Your father was nowhere to be seen.

Fingers curled into determined fists of rage, you yelled as loud as you could towards anyone who could hear you.

"Help! Somebody help me!"

The heat seemed so much more intense, and you suddenly realized that the upper level of the barn was now on fire. The flames would soon reach you.

"Dad!" Hot tears streamed down your dirty face as you screamed for Daryl and smoke entered into your lungs, burning and scratching at the tissue. But no one came.

Choosing to be brave, you turned around to face the flames hungrily consuming the wood around you in loud crackles. Flames leaped and danced around you, and the orange tongues licked at your skin.

***

Your body jerked awake and you gasped for air, clutching at your smoke-filled throat. Except it wasn't filled with smoke.
You were fine.

The door of your room slowly opened as a man carefully poked his head in; even in the darkness you could see the concern on his face.

"You okay there, y/n?" Negan asked softly as he padded his way quietly to your bed, sitting on the edge beside your feet. His white shirt seemed to glow in the darkness, as if it were under a blacklight.
You nodded slightly.

The dreams didn't occur nightly, but the events of that night on Hershel Greene's farm haunted you daily. Standing in that barn, screaming for help - you'd never felt more alone. And nothing hurt more than when you saw your father making his escape on his motorcycle, Carol clutching him desperately from behind as they rode away. He'd abandoned you, just as everyone else had. They'd left you to burn in the barn you'd initially run into to save Carl and Rick.

You absent-mindedly rubbed at the raised and bumpy surface of your scarred skin, traces of where the fire had eaten away the flesh on your neck, arm and torso.

"It's okay, kid. You're safe," he said caringly.

By some miracle, the flames hadn't totally burned your body to a crisp - you'd managed to escape, eventually dragging yourself into an old furniture store some way from the farm, where the Saviors had found you. After a 'Holy shit, kid. What the hell happened to you?' followed by a charming white smile, you'd been under Negan's care - and you were grateful. He treated you well, clothed you, fed you, kept you safe. You knew how he forced other people and communities to give half of their supplies to the Saviors, but that didn't matter. He did it to provide for people; he did it to survive.