DEAD OR ALIVE
- Reads 22
- Votes 2
- Parts 2
MatureOngoing36m
Last published Sun, Jan 3, 2021
{daryl dixon x reader fanfiction}
{she/her pronouns used}
{art used in cover rightfully belongs to Rob Sacchetto - found on google images - if they wish for me to take it down please contact me.}
{The Walking Dead and its characters belong to their rightful owners - this is merely a story written for non-profit entertainment.}
A smile was an unusual accessory to wear during the so-called 'end of the world', but it was one that [Name] took with her everywhere. After being found travelling in Georgia, and taken in by the Governor, she had ended up having a chance to live a life much different to the one she was used to - and it just didn't feel right.
{slow updates} {present word count : 7.1k}
{book is rated 15+ like the show - proceed with caution}
{begins mid season 3 - be careful of spoilers}
All Rights Reserved
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𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 ➳ᵈᵃʳʸˡ ᵈⁱˣᵒⁿ
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Hate That I Love You
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Daryl always put on a mask, an impenetrable facade that made him appear indifferent, as if he didn't care about anything or anyone except for himself. He pushed people away, deliberately keeping them at arm's length, but I knew better. I had seen glimpses of something more beneath that hardened exterior-something real, something human. It wasn't obvious, and it wasn't easy to see, but it was there. I didn't know the full extent of his story, of the pain and the ghosts he carried with him, but I could tell that behind his rough edges, there was a man who cared. The more I watched him, the more I saw that contradiction in him-this mix of isolation and vulnerability. I didn't know him the way I wanted to, but at the same time, there was a strange, inexplicable feeling that I did. It was as if there was something familiar in him, something I recognized, even though we'd never truly shared our pasts. His eyes, especially, told a story all their own-a silent narrative of hurt, survival, and loss. There was a depth there, something raw and honest, as though his life before all of this had shaped him into someone who had learned not to trust, not to hope. I found myself wondering what kind of life he had before the world fell apart-what his family had been like, what his childhood had been shaped by. I could imagine the kind of father he had-a man whose influence left deep scars, someone who might have made Daryl believe that showing emotion or affection was a weakness. It wasn't hard to guess that the lessons Daryl had learned were ones forged in silence and pain, things that had made him pull away from others and close off the softer parts of himself. Daryl Dixon x Fem!OC
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