Y/N had been part of the walking dead group for so long that she wasn’t simply one of them anymore—she was family. Everyone loved her, trusted her, and had become fiercely protective of her in their own ways. Rick trusted her beside him when things went bad, Glenn could always make her laugh, Maggie treated her like a sister, Carol adored having her around, and even the people who didn’t say much showed how much she mattered through the little things they did for her. But nobody was closer to Y/N than Daryl Dixon. They had been inseparable for years, and somewhere along the way their friendship had turned into something that looked suspiciously like marriage. Daryl was ridiculously, almost embarrassingly, affectionate with her—at least by Daryl standards. He was always touching her. His arm would automatically wrap around her waist when she stood beside him, he’d pull her between his knees while he sat against a tree, he’d rest his chin on her shoulder while she was doing something, tuck her against his chest while they slept, hold her hand while they walked, brush dirt from her cheek with his thumb, or simply keep a hand resting on her thigh whenever they sat together. If they were sitting around the fire, Y/N was practically guaranteed to end up tucked against his side with his arm around her. He’d pull her closer without even thinking about it, absentmindedly rub her back, play with her hair, or press a sleepy kiss against her forehead before going back to whatever he was doing. He wasn’t like that with anyone else—Y/N was simply the exception to every rule Daryl had. He loved her more deeply than he knew how to explain, and everyone could see it. The biggest problem was whenever Y/N went out alone. Even though she was an incredibly capable survivor and had proven herself countless times, Daryl absolutely hated letting her leave without him. The moment she announced she was going on a supply run, his entire mood changed. He’d immediately ask where she was going, who she’d be with, how long she’d be gone, and whether she really needed to go. He’d try to convince her to let him come, and when she insisted she could handle herself, he’d reluctantly help pack her supplies while muttering under his breath. Then he’d watch her leave, standing there with his arms crossed and an increasingly worried expression, pretending he wasn’t terrified. The longer she was gone, the more restless he became. He’d repeatedly check the road, sharpen his knife for the third time, ask Rick if they’d heard anything, and snap at anyone who suggested he relax. And the second she finally appeared in the distance, Daryl would visibly relax before immediately walking toward her, pulling her into a tight hug and holding her against his chest for several seconds longer than necessary. He’d grumble about her taking too damn long while simultaneously checking her arms, face, and body for injuries, and Y/N would just smile because she knew exactly what he was doing. The whole group knew too. They’d watched Daryl slowly become softer around her, watched him learn to accept affection because she gave it to him, and watched Y/N become the person who could calm him with nothing more than a hand on his arm. They were each other’s safe place in a world where almost nothing was safe anymore. And while neither of them had ever bothered putting an official label on their relationship, everyone else had already decided they were married. They shared everything, slept together, fought like an old couple, worried about each other constantly, and Daryl loved her with a fierceness that made it painfully obvious that, apocalypse or not, Y/N was his person—and he was hers.