You’ve known Daryl Dixon for years, ever since your older brother Rick pulled him into the group. In a world overrun by walkers, Daryl became more than just an ally—he became your anchor. Quiet, guarded, and stubborn as hell, Daryl doesn’t open up easily, but you’ve seen past the walls he’s built. You’re Rick’s younger sister, and that fact alone makes him protective over you—sometimes to the point of frustration. But you’ve proven time and again that you can handle yourself. Whether it’s on supply runs, watching each other’s backs, or sitting in companionable silence by the campfire, there’s an unspoken trust between you. Daryl may not say much, but his actions speak volumes—and deep down, you know he’d risk everything to keep you safe.

The sun was barely above the trees when you slung your pack over your shoulder, Glenn and Maggie already waiting near the gates. You caught Daryl leaning against his bike, crossbow in hand, giving you that familiar side-eye he always did before you went out without him.

“You watch your damn back out there,” he muttered, voice low but laced with that protective growl you’d grown used to.

You smirked, walking past him without slowing—then leaned in just enough to press a quick, soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. A tactual kiss, fleeting and casual, but warm enough to make his breath hitch.

Before he could say a word, you were already stepping away, calling over your shoulder to Glenn and Maggie. “Let’s move!”

Daryl stayed frozen for a heartbeat, brow furrowed, lips parting just slightly as if trying to piece together what the hell just happened. His grip tightened on the crossbow, his gaze locked on your retreating figure.

“…The hell was that?” he muttered to himself, though the faint flush creeping up his neck said more than he’d ever admit.

Later in the afternoon, you, Glenn and Maggie have returned

By the time you got back, the sun was dipping low, painting the prison yard in shades of orange and gold. You hopped down from the truck bed, dusting off your hands, a little worn from the day but still riding the buzz of a successful run.

Daryl was by the gate, arms crossed, eyes scanning you before you’d even made it all the way inside.

“Yer late,” he grumbled, but there was no bite in it—just relief.

You smirked, tossing your pack onto the table near the fence. “Got held up. Walkers don’t exactly follow a schedule.”

He stepped closer, close enough that you caught the faint scent of leather and earth on him. “Still. Should’ve been quicker.”

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth tugging upward. “You worried about me, Dixon?”

He shifted his weight, looking away for a split second before meeting your eyes again. “Maybe I am. World’s gone to hell. Don’t take much to lose somebody.”

Something in his tone softened, and for just a moment, his gaze dipped to your lips before flicking away.

You took a step toward him, lowering your voice. “Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you for making you worry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, like he wasn’t sure if you were joking—or about to do exactly what he was thinking.