twd one-shots

try (part 3) - daryl dixon x reader

Plot: Pre-Apocalypse AU. A world like this changed you; maybe Daryl wasn't the same man who broke your heart.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: themes of DA/EA, swearing, mentions of violence,

A/N: final part ahhh!! 

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Previously

And then you finally found the look in his eye you'd been searching for, but it wasn't something dreadful or heartbreaking. It was intense and anticipatory, and your heart kept at its pounding pace for another reason.

He stepped forward and you sucked in a breath.

"I tried," he panted, "but I can't jus' forget ya."

Now

"What?"

The word hung in the air. Daryl's breaths were still frantic and quickened, but yours was completely knocked out of you.

"Can I?" He motioned inside your home.

Maybe it was your state of shock, or maybe you just wanted to hear what the hell was going through that cryptic mind of his. Regardless, you moved to the side and held the door open for him. He walked ahead of you and you let the door close, eyes glued on the back of his frame.

"'S nice in 'ere," he muttered, his eyes lost in the room.

Before now, Daryl had never been in your home. Having him here was odd— discomforting, even. Tiny blood splatters trailed after him; there was a stark contrast between the dirt on his skin and the pristine white of your walls. But you couldn't fool yourself, those things weren't the source of the tightness in your throat.

No, that was him. Him and his apprehension for whatever the hell he was planning to say, or do, all while looking like he stepped out of some cheesy horror film.

"Thanks," you exhaled, watching his movements still. A moment passed, familiar tension filling between you as you wondered if he'd lost the confidence, or at least the urgency, that guided him here.

"Daryl," you began, your tone weaker than you liked.

He turned then. Glossy blue eyes met yours and your lips were sewn shut.

"I get ya didn't wanna talk 'bout it— or ya couldn't," he stuttered, "but I— I can't jus' pretend' ya ain't wha' ya are."

"What I am?"

"Yer— yer..."

You waited, again. Alike all the other moments before, Daryl seemed to fall back into that predictable pattern, unable to—

"Walker grabbed me tigh' out there, n' if it hadn't been for Aaron, I'd be dead. All I thought 'bout was ya. Seein' ya one more time. N' I get I fucked up. I hate tha' I ever acted like tha'— can't stand the way I must'a hurt ya... But actin' like it jus' happened n' now s'over is killin' me, 'cause it ain't." He stepped forward, almost reluctantly, and you wondered who's heart was beating faster— his or yours, "I— I meant it when I said ya deserved to know."

His throat bobbed with a thick swallow, like he had to bite back the urge to spill some excuse, explaining this was all a misunderstanding. That he wasn't really confessing anything to you, that he didn't run here immediately after almost dying.

That you weren't the first thing he thought of.

But even if he stopped now— walked out and left you with your jaw on the floor— the look in his eye was so intense you knew, with all your heart, that you were. Unlike that night, when he stood so despairing and regretful, first announcing the words he repeated now— ya deserve to know. That look he gave you, intentionally or not, expressed everything his words couldn't. And that was enough to make your eyes prick.