THE WALKING DEAD IMAGINES

daryl's daughter (rick g.)

authors note- reader is of legal age. around 20-23

plot- the reader is daryl's daughter and she and rick are in loveeeee

word count- 2266

warnings- none

For the first time in awhile, things were okay. Everyone is relatively safe, healthy and happy. Our pasts still come back and haunt us every now and then but we're living.

I've been spending my time reading, venturing out beyond the walls of Alexandria and hanging out with my dad, Daryl.

He hasn't always made the right decisions, he's hot headed, stubborn and sometimes says things he shouldn't but at the end of the day, he's my father. He's the only blood I have left in this world and his love for me is endless which is a lot nowadays. He's protected me at all costs and I couldn't ask for a better dad.

As I slowly wake up from what seemed like a deep sleep, I hear my fathers familiar voice coming from downstairs. It sounds as if he's talking to someone. I pass it off as being Carol and head downstairs, my hair a mess and my oversized t-shirt coming down to about mid thigh.

"Dad, who are you-"

I cut myself off once I see Rick standing in our kitchen talking with my dad. The man looks down to the floor and I quickly retreat back upstairs, completely mortified by what has just happened. I shut my room door, leaning against it with my face in my hands. I'm such an idiot. My face is probably flushed with embarrassment. Quickly, I pull on some tattered and ripped jeans, a flannel and throw my hair up so I look somewhat presentable and make my way downstairs.

I stop at the end of the stairwell and listen for my dad's voice which I hear and I can still hear Ricks prominent deep, southern accent.

"Shit." I mutter under my breath. Well, I can't do anything about it.

"Yeah, we're gonna go back to that pharmacy. Didn't look too empty." my dad speaks.

"You're going on a run? Can I go?" I ask hopefully. Dad isn't too comfortable with me going on runs but I'm an adult so he can't really control that, but still does.

"Nope." my father states casually. I scoff and shake my head in annoyance. God, my father can be so ignorant.

"Why not? I'm 22 dad and I'm perfectly capable of handling myself!"

My statement didn't do much damage, it merely grazed the top of his mind before he could return to his narrow mindedness.

"No. You're not goin'." he states once more before gathering up his crossbow, slinging it across his back and walking across the kitchen over to me. He goes to pull me into a hug but can't due to me backing up slightly, my body coming in contact with the island.

"Y/N, come on. I'm only doin' this so you don't get hurt." he tells me.

"And I won't get hurt but obviously I'm only good for staying home and taking care of the children," I begin while walking upstairs. "and cooking and doing the laundry and engaging in any other antiquated fucking traditions women are expected to do!" I finish with a slam of my bedroom door.