Drowned Words
  • Reads 2,529
  • Votes 96
  • Parts 25
  • Time 5h 38m
  • Reads 2,529
  • Votes 96
  • Parts 25
  • Time 5h 38m
Complete, First published Aug 18, 2021
Mature
I am extremely proud of this work, so please if you are inspired by it or just want to talk! Let me know, I would love to chat and even share ideas <3

Daryl Dixon×Fem!Reader


Things in the reservoir camp had stayed relatively quiet. Apart from some of the arguments that'll break out but you can only expect that when strangers take shelter together. Y/n was a survivor of the city, brought in by Glenn. You were thankful for the kindness from the stranger but the same behavior wasnt shared from the rest of the group. Supplies are tight and tension gets high everytime a newcomer is brought in. The Dixon brothers dont miss a beat to make sure and cause a scene, going on and on about supplies and how thin we are stretched. The speeches have droned on but no one listens to them, especially when they come from a couple hillbillies. Days went by the same, hardly any words spoken your direction unless it was snarky comment or small talk from Glenn. 

Changes started taking place when a fellow named Rick Grimes showed up.
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Scars • Daryl Dixon by 0Myraa0
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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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