Daryl Dixon x Reader One-shots

Daryl x Daughter!Reader: Part 3

The next morning upon stumbling out of bed, you'd discovered Negan was back. The loud yelling gave it away. Groggily you pulled on some fresh clothes and brushed your teeth, then headed out of your room.

Last night's events felt like a veil placed over your mind, covering everything else. Another nightmare had plagued you when you fell asleep. You couldn't remember the dream, but the feeling it left still hung in your mind like a heavy cloud; refusing to rain but refusing to leave, simply remaining only to cast a shadow.

"You look like shit, kid," Negan smiled as you approached him, swinging Lucille over his shoulder.

"Sweet as ever, asshole," you joked tiredly, stifling a yawn.

"You know I'm just bustin' your little lady balls," he said with a laugh before adding, "Which reminds me - a little birdy told me that you had a night out in the town."

Your stomach dropped in fear. How could he know?

"Getting home at midnight? And you were out there alone? Be glad those dead pricks didn't have you for dinner," Negan shifted his weight, eyeing you sternly. A small smile still lingered on his lips, but you could tell he wasn't happy.

"I'm sorry. I - I just.." Your words stuttered as you fumbled for an excuse, relieved that he wasn't referring to your little adventure in the prisoners corridor.

"Relax, kid. Just give us a warning next time," he sighed and affectionately placed a hand on your shoulder. 

The door behind you suddenly opened and Simon's head popped out, the tired lines in his face seeming more defined. You spotted Dwight in the background, looking equally as tired as Simon.

"We need to talk," he said to Negan, briefly turning his attention to you and giving you a small nod.

"Gotta go, kid. Don't stir up too much shit - and no wandering out in the world acting like zombie bait," he ordered as he waved Lucille around, motioning towards everything.

You lightly punched Negan in the arm, saluting him before heading downstairs. Workers bustled loudly below you, and you swore you could smell pancakes. Your stomach grumbled loudly at the thought. Brushing through the crowd of people, you made your way to the lady making the food. People lined up at each station, talking and bustling around like chickens in a coop. 

"Twelve points," you heard someone say, followed by another person loudly exclaiming that it was double the amount of points it had been the day before. You sighed, not bothered. It had been weird in the beginning. The system at the Sanctuary seemed unfair and unruly, but after a while you realized it worked. It didn't matter whether these people paid twelve or twelve hundred points for some bread - at least they weren't dead.

As you neared the stall, you saw a neat stacks of fresh pancakes placed on the table next to three women, who skillfully flipped more of the warm treats in pans. Reaching forward, you snagged a few and placed them in your pocket, shoving one into your mouth.

"These are great," you complimented the chefs, who offered you warm smiles.

You made your way out of the chaotic room and into the maze of hallways. A few lefts, a couple rights. You didn't really know why you were heading this way. Perhaps it was out of morbid curiosity - was he dead or alive? Maybe you just wanted to talk to him again.

A few people passed you dutifully in the hallway, not paying special attention to you. As you rounded the corner, you caught sight of a person inching their way forward. You recognized the clothes as that of the prisoners, but the familiar brown hair gave away their identity. Rushing forward, you grabbed the grimy beige sweatshirt. Daryl gasped, spinning around to face you. This was bad.