gracie 😽

20 | Infp | 🏳️‍🌈

[thememedaddy]

[natequarter]

the grim reality for a lot of nonbinary people is that their options are closet themselves and be perpetually misunderstood by the world at large or be out and proud and be perpetually misunderstood by the world at large

[needusreedus]

Hello Friday 🥰

[bebsi-cola]

disabled people are often in permacrisis

[bebsi-cola]

there's never enough money each month. there's always an unexpected illness. new symptoms pop up or old symptoms flare up. meds have to be managed always and refilled constantly and any refill has the opportunity to go wrong. any regular care has the opportunity to go wrong. any mistake can send your health spiralling. it's always "i just need to get through this bad patch" but as soon as one ends another begins. another crisis begins in the middle of the last crisis. managing one thing leaves another thing to be neglected until that becomes a major issue and has to be managed asap and the cycle starts anew over and over and over

[normanthatisall]

Behind the shoot 📷❤️‍🔥📷

[redstonedust]

i understand (on paper) why companies are anti-piracy but its funny when random individuals are also strongly anti-piracy. like how does it negatively affect your life if someone you know downloads a cracked torrent of sims 4. you dont work for EA. EA isnt gonna pay you for this. you lose nothing. its fine. chill out.

[euroic]

[euroic]

[helplesslamb]

daryl always praising his group members when they do a really good kill . . just saying

[libertineangel]

Incredibly stupid facet of human biology that stress can weaken the immune system and exacerbate illness, like "oh things are going badly, let's make more things worse too"

[strawberryblondebutch]

[scramratz]

[sink-into-my-sorrow]

Norman with sum animals :3

[dendelon]

He’s so fine omg

[spacejjunk]

Pls can i order a thin crust pizza with pepperoni and

ginger ale and wings “i'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that, sweetheart.” Reader watched Daryl play with their son or be all cute with him and is desperate for another baby. Thank you!!

undisclosed desires

pairing: daryl dixon x reader

w/c: 1.9k+

warnings/tags: smut, breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving)

masterlist // pizza party

The late afternoon light spilled across the yard like honey, catching on the blades of grass and the faded red of your son’s little t-shirt. You stood on the back steps of the house, one shoulder leaned against the railing, a dish towel still in your hands from drying the last of the lunch plates. You hadn’t meant to linger there so long, but the sight in front of you had rooted you in place.

Daryl was on his knees in the grass, crossbow forgotten somewhere inside, every bit of his attention on the four-year-old tornado currently trying to tackle him. Your son’s giggles rang out bright and wild as Daryl let himself be “attacked,” rolling dramatically onto his back with an exaggerated grunt.

“Gotcha, Daddy!” the boy crowed, small hands planted on Daryl’s broad chest like he’d just won the world.

Daryl’s rare, full smile cracked across his face, the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and turned your heart into something soft and aching. “Yeah, ya did, little man. Got me good.” He let the boy sit on his stomach for a triumphant second before gently flipping them both, hovering over your son with a playful growl. “But now I got ya.”

Squeals of delight exploded as Daryl’s fingers found the sensitive spots along the boy’s ribs, careful, always so careful, even when he was playing rough. Your son kicked and laughed until he was breathless, cheeks flushed pink, dark hair sticking up in every direction. Daryl finally relented, scooping the small body up against his chest and pressing a rough kiss to the top of his head.

“Love ya, kiddo,” he muttered, voice low and gravel-rough, meant only for the boy. “More’n anythin’.”

You felt the words settle somewhere deep behind your ribs. That was your husband—the man who had looked terrified the first time you’d placed your son in his arms. Now he moved like he’d been born for this. Patient. Steady. Fiercely gentle in ways the world had never given him credit for.

Your son wiggled free and darted off toward the little wooden fort Daryl had built him last spring, yelling something about “walkers” and needing his “weapons.” Daryl pushed to his feet, brushing grass from his jeans, and glanced up. His eyes found yours instantly, like they always did. That small, private half-smile curved his mouth—the one that said I see you watchin’ me, woman.

You smiled back, but something hotter and sweeter was already curling low in your belly.

Watching him like this—sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes, muscles shifting under the worn black tank top, that rare laugh still echoing—did something visceral to you. It wasn’t just love. It was want. Deep, aching, bone-deep want. You wanted to see him do it all again. Wanted another tiny body in his arms. Wanted to watch his big hands cradle a newborn the way they cradled your son now. Wanted to feel your own body stretch and change again because of him.

The thought hit so hard your thighs pressed together unconsciously.

You wanted another baby.

The realization settled over you warm and certain, like the sun on your skin.

Dinner was loud and messy in the best way—your son recounting every second of the “battle” while Daryl listened like it was the most important story he’d ever heard, interjecting with gruff little corrections that only made the boy giggle harder. You caught Daryl’s eye across the table more than once. Each time, something passed between you, unspoken but heavy.

Later, after bath time and the long, slow ritual of story time—Daryl’s deep voice rumbling through the pages of a worn picture book until your son’s lashes fluttered closed—you eased the bedroom door shut behind you.

The house felt smaller at night. Quieter. Just the two of you.

Daryl was already in bed when you slipped inside, shirt discarded, propped against the pillows with one arm behind his head. The soft lamplight traced every scar, every line of muscle across his chest and shoulders. He watched you undress down to your simple cotton panties and an old t-shirt, eyes dark and appreciative.

“Kid went out like a light,” he said, voice low.

You nodded, crawling across the mattress toward him. The second you were close enough, his arm hooked around your waist and pulled you in, tucking you against his side like he always did. Your head found the familiar spot on his shoulder. His fingers traced idle patterns on your bare thigh.

For a minute you just breathed him in— still your favorite smell in the world. Then you tilted your head up.

“I was watching you today,” you said quietly. “With him. In the yard.”

Daryl made a soft sound, almost a hum. “Yeah?”

“You’re so good with him.” Your fingers drifted over his chest, following the line of an old scar. “It makes me… I don’t know. It makes everything feel right. And it made me realize something.”

He waited, patient as always, thumb still stroking your skin.

You swallowed, heart suddenly loud in your ears. “I want another one.”

The words hung there for a beat. Daryl’s hand stilled. You felt the subtle shift in his breathing.

“Another baby,” you clarified, voice steadier now. “With you. I want to try for another one. I want to see you like that again—holding a newborn, teaching them to walk, all of it. I want our family bigger.”

Daryl was quiet for a long moment. Then he exhaled, slow and rough, and turned onto his side to face you fully. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“Ya sure?” he asked, eyes searching yours. There was heat there already, but also something softer—wonder, maybe. “Ain’t sayin’ no. Just… ya really thought about it?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I have. All evening. I can’t stop thinking about it. About you putting another baby in me.”

That last part came out softer, but the effect was immediate. Daryl’s pupils blew wide. A low, gravelly sound rumbled in his chest.

“Fuck, darling…”

He kissed you then—deep and hungry, like the words had flipped a switch. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted you while his tongue claimed your mouth. You moaned into it, already melting, already wet from the sheer idea of him.

Clothes came off in a tangle of limbs and quiet curses. Daryl’s mouth moved down your throat, sucking a mark just below your collarbone that would be hidden tomorrow. He worshipped your breasts with lips and teeth and tongue until you were arching and gasping his name, fingers twisted in his hair.

When he finally settled between your thighs, he took his time. Broad shoulders pushed your legs apart. He kissed the inside of one knee, then the other, working his way up until his breath ghosted over your slick folds.

“Look at ya,” he muttered, almost reverent. “Already drippin’ for me. Just from talkin’ ‘bout me breedin’ ya again.”

The filthy words sent a fresh rush of heat through you. You barely had time to whimper before his mouth was on you—tongue dragging slow and deliberate from your entrance to your clit, then sealing around the sensitive bud and sucking. Two thick fingers slid inside you at the same time, curling just right, and your back bowed off the bed.

“Daryl—oh, God—”

He ate you like a man starved, groaning against your pussy like the taste of you was the only thing that mattered. His fingers pumped steadily, scissoring, stretching, getting you ready for him. You came on his tongue with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, but he didn’t stop until you were tugging at his hair, oversensitive and begging.

He crawled back up your body, cock heavy and flushed, dragging against your inner thigh. You reached down and wrapped your fingers around him, stroking once, twice, loving the way his hips jerked and his breath hitched.

“Want you inside me,” you whispered against his mouth. “Want you to fuck a baby into me, Daryl.”

He swore, low and filthy, and lined himself up. The thick head of his cock nudged at your entrance, then pushed in—slow, stretching you open inch by inch until he bottomed out with a shared groan. You were so full, so perfectly full, the way you always were with him.

He started moving in deep, rolling thrusts that ground his pelvis against your clit on every stroke. One of his hands gripped your hip— the other braced beside your head. You wrapped your legs high around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he rewarded you with a particularly hard snap of his hips that punched a moan from your throat.

It built fast— glistening skin, the wet sound of him moving inside you, his rough breaths against your ear. You clenched around him without meaning to, the pleasure cresting sharp and sudden.

Daryl’s rhythm stuttered. A ragged groan tore out of him.

“Fuck… if ya tighten up like that 'm not gonna last long.”

The words—strained, desperate, exactly as he’d said them—only made you clench harder, the idea of him losing control because of you tipping you right over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you in hot, pulsing waves, your pussy fluttering and squeezing around his cock as you cried out his name.

Daryl buried his face in your neck, hips snapping faster, chasing his own release. “Shit—woman—ya feel too fuckin’ good—gonna fill ya up—”

He thrust deep one final time and came with a low, broken moan, cock pulsing as he spilled inside you in thick, hot spurts. You felt every throb, every wave of heat, and it dragged another helpless aftershock from you.

For a long minute neither of you moved, just breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other. Daryl stayed buried deep, hips twitching with the last pulses of his orgasm. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were soft again, thumb brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead.

“Ya okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You smiled, lazy and satisfied, and pulled him down for a slow kiss. “More than okay.”

He eased out carefully, but only so he could roll you both onto your sides, tucking you against his chest. One big hand slid down to rest possessively over your lower belly, fingers splayed like he was already imagining it rounded.

“Gonna take care of ya,” he murmured against your hair. “All of ya. However long it takes. Ya want this… I want it too. Another little Dixon runnin’ around.”

You pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart. “I love you.”

“Love ya more.” His arms tightened around you. “Ain’t lettin’ go of this. Of you. Never.”

You fell asleep like that—tangled together, his cum still warm inside you, his hand protective over your stomach, both of you dreaming of the future you’d just decided to build.

In the morning, your son would wake them with excited chatter about breakfast and adventures. Daryl would grumble but smile, already halfway to the kitchen to make pancakes shaped like whatever animal your boy demanded. And you would watch them again, heart full to bursting, already wondering if tonight you’d try again.

You had time. You had each other. And soon, God willing, you’d have one more.

[spacejjunk]

Hi there, how are you? I love your writing—can I ask you for something? Una porción de pizza de masa fina con pepperoni y muchísimas verduras, y una Pepsi, Daryl.

imnotyourboyfriendbaby

pairing: daryl dixon x grimes! reader

w/c: 1.7k+

warnings/tags: protective daryl, smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), hidden relationship, little sister grimes! reader, slight age gap

masterlist // pizza party

The late afternoon sun filtered through the thick canopy of trees as you and Daryl picked your way through the underbrush. Your boots crunched softly over dead leaves and twigs. The supply run had been long—too long—but the two of you had a decent score— a half-full bottle of antibiotics from an overturned pharmacy, three cans of beans, a pack of batteries, and even a crumpled bag of stale but still-edible potato chips Daryl had shoved into his vest pocket “for later.”

Nobody back at the group knew the real reason the two of you always volunteered to go out together.

It was supposed to stay that way. After all, you were a Grimes.

A low, wet growl rolled through the trees ahead. Then another. Daryl’s crossbow was up in an instant, his body going still the way a hunting dog does right before it strikes. You froze behind him, heart hammering.

“Eight, maybe ten,” he muttered, voice gravel-rough. “Too many t' take quiet. Cabin’s just up the ridge. Move.”

You didn’t argue. You never did when he used that tone.

The cabin was small, one-room, half-swallowed by vines and time. The door hung crooked on its hinges. Daryl cleared it fast—two walkers inside, dispatched with quiet efficiency—then dragged a heavy dresser across the entrance while you barred the windows with whatever furniture you could shift. By the time you finished, the sky outside had gone the deep bruised purple of true night. Rain started pattering on the roof, soft at first, then steady.

“Storm’s settlin’ in,” Daryl said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere till mornin'.”

The single bed was a sagging mattress on a metal frame, but it was dry. Daryl shrugged out of his vest and draped it over your shoulders without asking. The leather was still warm from his body. It smelled like him— pine and blood and smoke.

“Sit,” he ordered, voice low. Not harsh—just Daryl. You sat on the edge of the mattress. He crouched in front of you, calloused fingers working the laces of your boots with surprising gentleness. “Feet’re soaked. Get these off.”

You let him. When both boots and socks were gone, he rubbed warmth back into your toes with his thumbs, eyes flicking up to yours once, quick and almost shy.

“Cold?” he asked.

“A little.”

He stood, stripped off his flannel, and handed it to you. Underneath he wore only a thin gray tank that clung to the hard lines of his chest and the scars that mapped his back and arms. You’d traced every one of them on other nights, in other dark places. He never let you linger too long on the worst ones.

“C’mere,” he said, and pulled you down onto the mattress with him. He arranged you against his side, one arm heavy and protective around your waist, the other hand resting on your hip like he needed the contact to breathe right. The rain drummed harder. Somewhere far off, thunder grumbled.

For a while you just lay there, listening to his heartbeat under your ear. His thumb stroked slow circles on your hipbone through the flannel.

“Been thinkin’,” he said eventually, voice barely above the rain. “Bout how we keep sneakin’ ‘round. Ain’t fair to ya. Sneakin’ kisses behind the armory, meetin’ in the woods at night… Y' deserve better’n that.”

You tilted your head to look at him. In the dim light his eyes were soft, the usual guarded blue gone gentle.

“I don’t mind,” you whispered. “As long as I get you.”

A small, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—the one he only ever showed you. “Yeah. Well. Still. One day I’m gon’ walk ya back in front of everybody and tell ‘em you’re mine. Rick’ll probably shit himself. Probably 'll kill me bein' with his little sister but…"

You laughed quietly. Daryl’s hand slid up under the flannel, warm palm spanning your ribs. His touch was possessive but careful, like he was still half-convinced you might vanish if he pressed too hard.

“Tonight, though…” His voice dropped lower. “Tonight yer all mine. No sneakin’. Just us.”

He rolled you onto your back with easy strength, settling between your thighs. The mattress creaked. His mouth found yours in a kiss that started slow and deep, then turned hungry. Daryl kissed like he did everything else—focused, thorough, a little rough around the edges but always paying attention to what made you sigh. His tongue stroked yours, tasting you, claiming you. One big hand cradled the back of your neck; the other slid down to grip your thigh and hitch it higher around his hip.

“Lift yer arms,” he murmured against your lips.

You obeyed. He peeled the flannel and your shirt off in one smooth motion, then your bra. Cool air kissed your skin, but Daryl’s mouth was there a second later, warm and wet, sucking a mark just under your collarbone where your clothes would hide it. His teeth grazed. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to make you arch.

“Pretty,” he rumbled, voice thick. “All mine.”

He took his time. Kissed down the center of your chest, licked the underside of each breast before drawing a nipple into his mouth and sucking until you whimpered. His hand stayed on your other breast, thumb circling, pinching lightly, then soothing. Every touch said I got you. I’m here.

When he reached the waistband of your pants he looked up, eyes dark and steady.

“These comin’ off too.”

You nodded. He stripped you the rest of the way, then stood long enough to shuck his own clothes. The sight of him—broad shoulders, narrow hips, thick cock already hard and flushed—still made your mouth go dry. Scars crossed his torso like old lightning. You reached for him— he caught your wrist gently and pressed a kiss to the inside of it.

“Later,” he said. “Right now I’m takin’ care of ya.”

He sank back down and spread your thighs wider with his shoulders. The first slow drag of his tongue up your center made your whole body jolt. Daryl groaned like he’d been starving for the taste of you. He licked broad and flat, then focused tight circles around your clit, sucking it between his lips while two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling just right.

“Fuck—Daryl—”

“Shhh.” He glanced up, lips shiny. “Storm’s loud. Still gotta be quiet, baby. Can ya do that for me?”

You nodded frantically. He rewarded you by sucking harder, fingers pumping steady and deep. The wet sounds were obscene in the small cabin. Your hand flew to your mouth— Daryl reached up and gently pulled it away.

“Wanna hear ya,” he said. “Just soft. For me.”

You bit your lip and let the sounds out anyway—tiny, broken moans every time his tongue flicked just so. He worked you with patient, relentless focus until your thighs started to shake around his head. When you came it was with a choked whimper, back arching, his name a prayer on your tongue. Daryl kept licking you through it, gentler now, until you tugged at his hair.

He crawled back up your body and kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock dragged heavy and hot against your inner thigh.

“Condoms are in my bag,” he said, voice rough. “But I wanna feel ya. Y' okay with that?”

You nodded, already pulling him closer. “Please.”

Daryl lined himself up and pushed in slow, inch by careful inch, watching your face the whole time. The stretch burned sweet. When he bottomed out he stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“Fuck. S' tight. S' good.” His hips rolled once, testing. “Y' feel that? That’s me. Yer mine. Nobody else gets this.”

He started moving—deep, rolling thrusts that ground his pelvis against your clit on every stroke. One hand pinned both your wrists above your head, just enough to make you feel held. The other braced beside your head so he could watch you. Every time you moaned he kissed you to swallow it, or whispered praise against your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

“Yer mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “Daryl—yours—”

He groaned, hips snapping harder for a few strokes before he caught himself and slowed again, drawing it out. The rain hammered the roof. Thunder cracked somewhere distant. Inside the cabin there was only the creak of the bed, the slick slide of skin, and Daryl’s low voice telling you how good you were, how perfect, how he was never letting you go.

He let go of your wrists only to hook one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you deeper. The new angle made stars burst behind your eyes. He fucked you steady and deep, one hand between you now, thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts.

“Come fer me,” he ordered softly. “Wanna feel it.”

You did—clenching around him, crying out into his shoulder as the second orgasm rolled through you harder than the first. Daryl followed right after, burying his face in your neck with a broken groan as he spilled hot and deep inside you. His hips kept moving in tiny aftershocks until he finally stilled, breathing ragged.

For a long minute neither of you moved. Then Daryl carefully pulled out, kissed the inside of your thigh, and reached for the canteen. He wet a clean corner of his shirt and wiped you gently, murmuring apologies when you shivered. When he was done he pulled you into his arms again, this time chest to chest, your head tucked under his chin. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare back.

“Stay right here,” he whispered. “Ain’t lettin’ go all night.”

You fell asleep like that—tangled, warm, safe. Daryl stayed awake a little longer, listening to the rain and the steady rhythm of your breathing. Every so often he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and whispered things too quiet for anyone but you to hear.

Mine.

Love you.

Gonna keep you safe.

[redstonedust]

the whole "insulting someone based on their appearance is bad because it could indirectly hurt people you like who share that feature" is a good start for unlearning body shaming but i do think we need to go further and remind people that even if there was some physical trait that was magically 10000% exclusive to conservatives and creeps and nobody else ever had it, we still shouldnt be insulting them based on that. because the problem with them is not their appearance its their ideology and actions. by insulting their appearance you arent just indirectly insulting others who look like that, youre literally not making the correct point. stay on topic ya know.

[magnificentdreamlandblizzard]

DRUNK DARYL DIXON X F! READER

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

° ◛ ✩ ➵ • ♡ ° ┆

Daryl only agreed to go to one of Rick's parties because he knew you'd be there. A little too much whiskey later, he's saying everything he's spent months keeping to himself, and suddenly, the feelings you both thought were one-sided aren't so one-sided after all.

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

CW: Some cursing, alcohol consumption + drunkness, mutual pining, friends to lovers, drunk confessions, fluff, kissing, light romantic/physical affection (hugging, cuddling, kissing)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Stupid Rick and his stupid parties.

He’s drunk as hell on Rick’s porch, and regretting even showing up. He only came for you, and god, you looked beautiful. He figured hell would freeze over before you considered thinking about him the way he thought about you.

He took another sip of whiskey and leaned against the banister, head turning as he heard the door open.

Oh god it’s her.

“Hey, ‘s you.” He slurred, tilting his head to the side with a lopsided grin.

You shake your head, lolling against the railing next to him. “Are you drunk? I didn’t think that was possible.”

He chuckled, swaying slightly as he looked at you with dazed eyes. “Mhm, real drunk. Been workin’ on it for hours.” He gestures with the bottle, the amber liquid sloshing against the lip of the pitcher. He moves to grip the bottle with both hands, knuckles white, but the liquid still slides down the side, dripping once, twice. “How’re ya doin’ tonight, sweetheart?”

You reach over and take the bottle from his hand, capping it as he pouts. “Jesus, why are you drinking so much anyway?” You question, holding the alcohol out of reach as he shakily reaches for it.

“Aint none o’ your business, ‘m jus’ havin’ fun’.” He wines before muttering under his breath. “‘S lonely without ya around.”

With brows furrowed deep, jaw locked, and lips in a thin, white line, you narrow your eyes to slits, lowering your voice. “Daryl, tell me and I’ll give you your drink back.” It was a lie, but not one that he could pick out from the drunken stupor he was in.

Daryl huffs, crossing his arms like a child. “Fine. Miss you, alright? Miss talkin' t'ya... miss everythin'. Been thinkin' 'bout ya all damn night. Didn't think ya'd wanna see me outside o' work." His cheeks flush deeper than the alcohol’s doing, embarrassment mixing with honesty as your eyes widen.

“W-well, I wasn’t going to give you the drink back…” You admit, cheeks flushing a deep crimson shade. “But.. that’s really sweet.”

Daryl’s eyes widen at your blush, and for a fleeting moment, a genuine smile pierces through his drunken scowl.

“Yeah? Ya miss me too?”

He steps closer, stumbling slightly across the wooden floorboards, but quickly catching himself. Putting the drink aside you hold him by his shoulders and he lets out a shaky breath, his hands finding your waist instinctively. You stared at him, searching his face for some sign that he was teasing you. Instead, all you found was a man far too honest for his own good.

"Daryl..." you murmured. “You know that you can just… ask me to hang out.”

He frowned immediately, eyes dropping to the porch floor. “Thought you had better things to do. Always busy.” His words tangled together as he spoke, the whiskey making every sentence slower than the last, but the warmth in your chest grew impossible to ignore. The tips of his fingers curled slightly, bunching up your shirt as if afraid you’ll disappear.

“I think we all are, a zombie apocalypse isn’t a piece of cake.” You tease, wrapping your own arms his waist as he buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. You sigh and slowly run your fingers through his scalp, his locks of hair curling around your fingers. “...time’s been there… always has.”

A soft whimper escaped Daryl’s mouth as he shifted his weight forward, the scent of him wrapping around you like a blanket. “Then why ain’t ya takin’ it? Usin’ it? Usin’ me? Cause everytime I see ya… I start thinking stupid things.”

“Like?” You tilt your head slightly, but he looked absolutely horrified that you asked.

"...Like holdin' your hand." He murmured, his ears turning bright red. "...Or sittin' next t'ya. ...Maybe kissin' ya someday."

The last sentence barely came out above a whisper, but before either of you could say another word, the porch door flew open.

"Daryl!" Rick called, grinning far too widely himself. "There you are! We've been lookin' all over—"

Rick stopped mid-sentence, taking in the scene: you holding Daryl steady by his shoulders, Daryl's hands still resting gently around your waist, and the unmistakable blush on both your faces.

"...Am I interrupting something?"

Daryl groaned.

"'Course ya are."

Rick lifted both hands in surrender, trying, (and failing), not to laugh.

"Okay, okay. I'll leave."

He disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence settled over the porch again as Daryl buried his face in one hand with a groan. "'M never hearin' the end o' that."

Smiling, you gently pulled his hand away from his face. "Probably not."

He peeked at you through messy strands of hair. "...You mad?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

His shoulders visibly relaxed, leaning into you until his forehead bumped lightly against yours. "'Kay..."

"Daryl?" you murmured.

"Hm?"

"I think..." Heat crept into your cheeks. "I think we've both been really stupid."

His brows furrowed. "...Huh?"

You laughed under your breath. "You keep saying you thought I didn't want to spend time with you, but... I thought you didn't want to spend time with me."

His head jerked up. "What?"

"You always seemed busy. Hunting, helping Rick, talking to Carol..." You shrugged. "I figured I'd just be bothering you."

"Botherin' me?" he echoed, genuinely baffled.

"I'd talk myself out of coming over every time." You fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt before quietly adding, "...There was another reason."

"...Another one?"

You nodded. "I... kind of panic around you."

His eyebrows shot up. "...Me?"

"I know it sounds ridiculous."

"'Sounds a little ridiculous."

You nudged his shoulder with a laugh. "Thanks."

"'M bein' honest."

Taking a slow breath, you admitted, "I never know what to say..."

"Why?"

The words escaped before you could lose your nerve.

"...Because I think you're really attractive."

Daryl's mouth fell open, his cheeks flushing an even darker shade beneath the porch light. "'Ya... ya think I'm hot?" He stared at you like you'd spoken another language. "Sweetheart... 'm just some redneck with a crossbow."

You sigh and cup his face, making him freeze as his breath hitches. “I’ve just had a crush on you for the longest time and… I’ve never been good with those.”

Daryl’s heart raced, his pulse visible in his neck as silence seemed to choke him up. "Ya... ya did?" His mouth hung open. "Why didn't ya say nothin'? Been pinin' after ya for months."

You laugh, going to ruffle his hair when he catches your wrist, not letting you pull away. “Guess we’re a couple of idiots in love.” You tease but his eyes search yours intensely, a mix of wonder and lingering drunkenness.

“Love? Your love? Shit… Yer gonna regret sayin’ that when I kiss ya, sweetheart.”

Frozen in place, your face becomes as red as a tomato and you stumble back “I think we should get you sobered up first.” You swallow before lugging him to your apartment, your heart racing.

He just stumbles along, leaning heavily on you but grinning. “Ain’t gonna make me wait forever, right? Once I’m sober?”

° ✩ °

Your apartment is small but cozy, and as soon as you two walk in Dylan collapses onto your couch. “Yer place is nice. Cozy, like you.”

“Alright hold your horses.” You chide, bringing him a glass of water and pressing it against his lips. “Here, drink.”

Effortlessly he takes the glass and downs it like a shot, placing it aside. “Mm. Thanks. Still want that kiss though.” He murmurs, patting the spot next to him on the couch, eyes slightly clearer but still glazed over with desire.

“You’ll feel better, but I’m still not kissing you till you’re sober.” You remind him, curling up and pulling a blanket around the two of you. Even nuzzling into the crook of his neck now feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He grumbles but accepts, wrapping an arm around you under the blanket. “Fine. But tomorrow morning, yer mine.” Soon you feel his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm, his body warm against yours. “Yer so damn soft… how’re ya so soft in this world?”

“I still don’t understand how you can be so handsome either, I just look at you and my heart races. You muse, massaging his scalp from the comforting warmth of his embrace. Daryl just shivers at your touch, his eyes half-lidded.

“Keep doin’ that and I’ll forget ‘bout bein’ sober.” He remarks, his voice dropping lower, husky with sleepiness and want as he watches you with darkening eyes, his breathing becoming uneven. “Yer playin’ with fire, darlin’ been dreamin’ ‘bout havin’ ya like this. Yer quiet now. Thinkin’ bout what ya wanna do to me?”

His hand slides to your hip, thumb stroking gently. “Or what ya want me to do to you?”

You just snort and lightly smack his forehead and reply. “You’re way too bold for someone drunk on your girlfriend’s couch.”

Dylan winces playfully at the smack, then freezes. “Girlfriend? We official now? Cause I’m holdin’ ya like a boyfriend should.” A smirk forms and his grip tightens possessively. “And I ain’t that drunk, still know what I want.”

And that line was all it took. All it was before you could snap.

You cupped his face and pulled him close, kissing him as he groans deeply, immediately responding with hungry passion. His hands move to grip your waist firmly, pulling you onto his lap without braking contact.

“Finally… been waitin’ so damn long…”