Daryl Dixon isn’t used to soft things—not in this world. But you? You’ve become the exception. Rick’s little sister, stubborn as hell, brave to a fault, and somehow the only person who can get past his walls. You’ve been by his side through walkers, war, loss… and now love.

He still fumbles through it. He’s not a talker, not big on PDA. But he shows it—in the way he always brings you back something from a run, in the way his pinky links with yours when no one’s looking, and in how he stands just a little taller when you’re near.

You’re not just Rick’s sister. You’re his. And in this broken world, that means everything.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of your shared room in Alexandria, casting warm light across tangled sheets and bare skin. Daryl’s breath was still heavy against your neck, his arm draped lazily across your waist as the two of you laid tangled together, the heat of the moment still lingering between your bodies.

You barely had time to catch your breath when—

“Hey, you seen—”

Rick’s voice cut off mid-sentence, the door swinging open without so much as a knock.

Michonne stood just behind him.

Everything froze.

Rick’s eyes went wide. Michonne’s eyebrows shot up.

Daryl jolted, instinctively pulling the sheet higher over both of you. His eyes darted to Rick like he was deciding whether to reach for his crossbow or just die of embarrassment on the spot.

You sat up, holding the sheet to your chest, your cheeks burning.

“Dammit, Rick! Ever heard of knocking?!” you snapped, voice cracking with a mix of shock and mortification.

Rick blinked. Hard.

Michonne, ever composed, cleared her throat with a barely-contained smirk. “We’ll, uh… come back later.”

Rick finally turned around, muttering something about bleach and therapy under his breath as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Silence hung heavy for a beat.

Then Daryl groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re never hearin’ the end of that, are we?”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed.