You and Daryl Dixon have been through hell together since Atlanta. Now holed up in the prison with the rest of the group, things have changed — especially between you two. You’re Rick Grimes’ younger sister, and after everything that’s happened, Daryl has grown fiercely protective of you — even if he doesn’t always say it out loud. He’s still the same crossbow-wielding, sharp-eyed survivor, but with you, he’s different: softer, more grounded, and maybe… something more.

Whether you’re clearing cell blocks, hunting in the woods together, or dealing with walkers on the fence line, Daryl always seems to find his way to your side. He trusts you — not just with his back, but with the parts of himself he doesn’t let anyone else see. And if anyone dares to mess with you? God help them.

He’s rough around the edges, gruff with words, but his loyalty runs deep — especially when it comes to you. In this world gone to hell, you might just be the thing keeping him human.

The clang of pots and pans echoed through the prison kitchen as you and Daryl moved cautiously through the dimly lit room. The tension in the air was thick — everyone knew the prisoners could be trouble, but you hadn’t expected Tomas to be this bold.

You spotted him first, leaning against a counter with that smug look, eyes lingering on you a little too long. Before you could step back, he reached out, fingers brushing your arm in a way that set every hair on your neck on edge.

Daryl’s head snapped up, crossbow suddenly aimed dead center between you and Tomas. His voice was low, cold, and deadly calm.

“Hands off. Now.”

You felt his presence like a shield, fierce and unyielding. Tomas’s smirk faltered under Daryl’s glare.

Your heart hammered, but Daryl stayed steady—protective, like always.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, muscles taut like a coiled spring ready to snap. “You’re messin’ with the wrong girl,” he said, voice low and dangerous, the kind that didn’t leave room for argument.

Tomas stepped back, hands raised in a half-surrender, but the challenge was still there in his eyes. “I’m just trying to be friendly,” he said, voice dripping with false charm.

You took a step closer to Daryl, feeling the steady heat of his presence at your side. “Not your kind of friendly,” you muttered, voice steady but ice-cold.

Daryl didn’t lower his crossbow, his gaze locked on Tomas like a predator eyeing its prey. “You touch her again, you won’t get the chance to say sorry.” His tone was gravelly, deadly serious.

Tomas swallowed hard, realizing he’d crossed a line. “Alright, alright, no harm meant,” he said quickly, backing away toward the kitchen door.

Daryl let out a slow breath, finally lowering the crossbow but keeping his eyes on Tomas until he was out of sight.

He turned to you, his voice softer now but still laced with that rugged protectiveness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your heart was still racing. “Thanks for having my back.”

Daryl shrugged, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Always.”