#quietintimacy

[male-passsion]

After the fire… comes the part that matters. Staying.

[babybetweenverses]

soo I am a multi-fandom writer and this was supposedddd to be my first post.. but I had it sitting cause i wanted it to be perfect for yall... (╥﹏╥) This was inspired by me and my love for fun facts!! And I just know Daryl would've gathered them throughout the years. Anyways enjoy, mwah ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡

Carolina Wren

DarylDixon x fem!reader

Summary: A routine hunt in the woods turns into something familiar between two people—where you love sharing fun facts and he’s the one who quietly ends up providing the answers without thinking much of it. But back at the prison, those moments start to stick with more weight than they should, especially to someone who notices the pattern forming before you do.

Tags: mutual pining, slow burn, prison era, affectionateteasing!carol, emotionallyavoidant!daryl

Wc: ~2000

The woods were alive with sound, even if most people no longer bothered to hear it. Leaves shifted softly in the wind, insects hummed somewhere low in the underbrush, and distant birds called to each other through the canopy like nothing in the world had changed at all.

Most people walked through forests now listening for danger. Walkers. Broken branches. The rustle of something larger than a rabbit. Anything that didn’t belong.

You listened too. But you also listened for everything else.

Birdsong, crickets, frogs, the knock of a woodpecker against a tree.

Daryl had noticed that a long time ago, though he’d never said it out loud. You always seemed to be paying attention to things other people missed—tracks in the mud, the movement of small animals, the way birds shifted before the sky changed.

It made you slower sometimes, but never careless. Just aware.

And somehow, it made the silence between you and him feel less empty.

Silence wasn’t something people really got anymore at the prison. Still, you had a habit of breaking it with your little facts.

“D’you know otters hold hands when they sleep?”

Or—

“Horses can recognize faces.”

Or—

“Crows hold grudges.”

Most people just nodded and moved on. The kids loved it. Carl pretended he didn’t. Beth actually listened. Judith stared at you like every word you said was the most fascinating thing she’d ever heard.

Daryl listened too.

Even if he never said much about it.

Today was one of those quieter days. The prison fences stood strong, the weather held steady, and hunting gave him an excuse to disappear into the woods for a few hours.

Somehow you always ended up tagging along. Not because you were particularly useful at tracking. Not because he asked.

You just… did.

Like the two of you had fallen into some strange orbit around one another. Never quite attached. Never far apart.

The forest stretched around you in soft shades of green as you followed several steps behind him.

No pressure to talk. No need to fill the silence. Just the soft crunch of leaves beneath your boots, easy and familiar.

The prison was already far behind you, swallowed by trees and distance, when a sharp bird call cut through the quiet. You lifted your head almost instantly, eyes scanning the branches above like you expected to find the answer hidden there.

Daryl noticed before you even spoke.

“What’s that one?” you asked.

He didn’t stop walking, just tilted his head slightly as he listened. “Carolina wren.”

The answer came so easily it made you smile without thinking. “How can you tell?”

“Sound.”

That was all he gave you, like it should’ve been obvious.

Another call rang out, a little louder this time, and you squinted upward again as if that might help. After a moment, curiosity got the better of you.

“What’s it saying?”

For the briefest second, something shifted in his expression—barely there, just the corner of his mouth twitching before he answered.

“Tryin’ t’ get lucky.”

You blinked at him, then laughed before you could stop yourself. “What?”

“It’s a mate call,” he added, like that explained everything. “Male’s tellin’ every female bird in the county he’s available.”

That only made you grin harder. “That’s amazing.”

“Hm,” he muttered, already looking away like the conversation meant nothing, even though he’d clearly started it.

You kept walking.

A few minutes later he slowed without warning, not because anything was wrong, but because something above had caught his attention. You followed his gaze instinctively until you saw a flash of yellow bouncing between branches.

“Goldfinch,” he said.

Your eyes lit up immediately. “Oh!”

“The yellow means it’s male,” he added, still watching it like it wasn’t anything special.

“Really?” you asked.

“Females ain’t as colorful.”

“Why?”

“Gotta stand out somehow.”

You laughed softly, watching the bird hop higher into the trees until it disappeared into leaves and sunlight. “So birds are just showing off all the time?”

“Pretty much.”

That earned a quiet sound from him—almost a laugh, but not quite.

You watched the empty branches for a moment longer than necessary, like you were storing it away.

Daryl noticed that too.

Another bird called out deeper in the woods, and he shifted his attention immediately, pointing slightly ahead. “Red-winged blackbird.”

You stepped closer, watching the dark shape perched near the marsh edge as a flash of red appeared on its wing when it moved.

“See the red?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Male.”

You smiled. “Showing off again?”

“Showin’ off again.”

This time you laughed first.

The walk continued like that. Birds appearing and disappearing. Daryl pointing them out like it was nothing, like he hadn’t been waiting for the chance without realizing it.

And you listened like every detail mattered.

Not because you needed the information.

Because it was him giving it.

Daryl didn’t give things away easily. So every small fact felt like something chosen.

Something offered.

Somewhere along the way a squirrel darted across the path, and Daryl’s body moved on instinct, crossbow rising and firing in one clean motion. The animal dropped, and just like that, the moment passed.

“Got ’em,” he said flatly.

“Poor guy,” you replied.

He scoffed faintly. “You feel bad for every animal.”

“I do.”

“It’s a squirrel.”

“It had dreams.”

That got him—an actual laugh, short and rough, like it caught him off guard.

“Shut up,” he said, but there was no bite in it.

You smiled to yourself.

Later, when the sun dipped lower and the forest turned gold at the edges, you tried mimicking a bird call you’d just heard. The result was… questionable.

Daryl stopped walking, then let out a quiet sound that turned into a laugh before he could stop it.

“What?” you demanded immediately.

“Nothin’.”

“No. What?”

“It sounded like somethin’ dyin’.”

Your mouth dropped open. “It did not.”

“It did.”

“I was close.”

“You weren’t.”

That made him laugh again, properly this time, and you looked entirely too proud of yourself anyway.

You tried again. Better this time.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “There y’go.”

You straightened instantly, grin making way on your face. “Praise from the Daryl Dixon.”

“There it is,” he muttered, looking away like he regretted everything.

By the time the prison came back into view, you were quietly repeating things under your breath as you walked.

“Male goldfinch…”

“Carolina wren…”

“Red-winged blackbird…”

Daryl caught fragments of it, and something in him shifted—small, quiet, unspoken—but it stayed.

You were actually remembering.

The gates opened, and just like that, you were gone, heading straight for Beth, Carl, and Judith.

Daryl watched as you dropped into their space like you belonged there. Judith reached for you immediately. Carl pretended not to care while clearly listening. Beth smiled like she already knew what was coming.

“Okay, listen to this,” you said, taking a moment to grab Judith into your arms and then you were off—talking, gesturing, alive with it.

Daryl sat down at a nearby table and pulled out his knife. The squirrels needed skinning.

But somewhere between cuts, his attention drifted.

“And male goldfinches are brighter because they’re trying to attract mates,” you were saying.

“No way,” Beth said.

“It's true!”

Carl asked something. You answered immediately. Another fact followed. Then another.

You never once said where you got any of it.

You just shared it.

Like the world was still worth noticing.

Daryl kept watching anyway, longer than he meant to.

It wasn't intentional at first. Just a glance that didn’t quite move away when it should’ve. Then another. Then suddenly he was aware of the fact that he hadn’t touched the squirrel in front of him in a while.

The knife sat idle in his hand, pressed lightly against the animal’s fur, completely forgotten.

Across the yard, your voice carried easily over the noise of the prison settling into evening. You were still talking, hands moving as you explained something to Carl and Beth, Judith tucked safely in your arms like she belonged there.

Carl looked half-annoyed, half-invested. Beth was smiling like she always did when you got going. Judith was clapping for no reason anyone else understood.

Daryl didn’t realize he’d stopped listening to anything else.

“Daryl.”

Carol’s voice cut in somewhere beside him.

Nothing. His eyes still stayed on you.

“Daryl.”

Still nothing.

A longer pause this time. Then Carol leaned slightly forward, closer to his line of sight, voice sharper just to break through whatever hold you had on him.

“Daryl Dixon.”

That finally got him.

He blinked once, slow, like surfacing from somewhere else entirely. “Huh?”

Carol didn’t even look surprised anymore. She just tilted her head toward the table in front of him, pointing at the untouched squirrel. “You planning on skinning that thing today?”

Only then did his eyes drop. He frowned slightly, like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Oh.”

That one word was enough for Carol.

She followed his gaze across the yard almost immediately. Saw you. Saw the way he’d been looking. Saw the entire situation in about half a second flat.

A grin started before she even spoke.

“Oh.”

Daryl’s posture shifted instantly, shoulders tightening. “No.”

Carol’s smile widened. “Oh, this is good.”

“Ain’t nothin’.”

“Mhm.”

“It ain’t.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair now, completely entertained. “You’ve been staring at her for five straight minutes.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

A beat.

“I wasn’t.”

“You absolutely were.”

Daryl let out a quiet, frustrated breath through his nose and looked away like the conversation itself was the problem.

Across the yard, your laughter rang out again.

Daryl looked before he could stop himself.

Carol noticed immediately.

“There it is,” she said, almost amused.

“Jesus Christ,” Daryl muttered under his breath, like he regretted having eyes.

Carol rested her elbows on the table now, watching him instead of the yard. “You got it bad.”

Daryl finally dragged his attention away from you just long enough to glare at her. “I don’t.”

Carol exhaled through a smile, like she was trying not to laugh outright at him. “You spent the entire hunting trip collecting bird facts for her.”

That made him stop.

Not dramatically.

Just… still.

The knife in his hand pressed a little too hard into the table for a second before he eased off.

His jaw worked slightly like he was considering arguing it.

But nothing came out.

Carol didn’t push. She just watched him sit there for a moment, quiet in a way that wasn’t defensive anymore.

Finally, she spoke again—but softer this time, less teasing and more certain.

"It's not the bird facts she's listening for" she said, glancing briefly toward the yard where you were still talking. “You’re the part she’s tuned into.”

Daryl didn’t answer.

But his eyes went back anyway.

And stayed there longer than before.

Across the yard, you were still smiling. Still explaining. Still lighting up like the world hadn’t ended and somehow still had room for things like bird calls and facts and wonder.

Something in his expression shifted—a fondness too soft to name making way to the surface.

Carol noticed that too.

Her grin came back, smaller this time.

“Thought so,” she murmured.

Daryl finally picked up the knife again, but it didn’t move right away. His hand hovered for a second too long, like his attention was split between the work in front of him and the sound of your voice carrying across the yard.

He exhaled quietly through his nose.

“Shut up,” he said again.

But this time it didn’t carry any weight at all.

Just habit.

Carol only hummed in response, satisfied, and left him to it.

And when Daryl finally did look back down at the squirrel, his focus returned in pieces—fractured, incomplete—because part of him was still across the yard where you were, laughing like the world still made sense.

Somewhere beyond the fences, a Carolina wren called into the evening like it had all the time in the world.

Daryl rolled his eyes.

Then smiled anyway.

I just love daryl sm (◞‸ ◟) Please let me know if you enjoyed it !

[alarwynnwhispers]

✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4: ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ✈️

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ + ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴅɪꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ

ɢʜᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ / ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜᴅʀᴀᴡᴀʟ

ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ

ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ

ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ᴜɴᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʏ

ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

The warmth of those early days faded like summer evenings—slow, subtle, and painful in ways (Y/n) couldn’t quite name.

She still had Lando’s number saved under something ridiculous, Mr. Vanilla Latte, a callback to their second meeting when he’d ordered the same drink with no shame. But for the past few days, her screen remained achingly still. No texts. No pings. No private driver at her curb with a lazy smile and a mumbled, “You know the routine, Miss.”

It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear briefly during back-to-back races, but this time felt different. He hadn’t warned her. Hadn’t said goodbye. He’d simply faded out, leaving her with a half-read message and a dozen half-formed questions.

You: Everything okay? Just checking in.

Delivered. Not read.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

(Y/n) tried to be rational about it. Lando was busy. The F1 calendar was relentless. And she had her own mountains to climb: mock exams, flight deck assessments, her scholarship paperwork due next week.

But even as she sat inside the university simulator cockpit, headset firm over her ears, altitude ticking upward in digital meters, her mind spiraled somewhere far from the clouds.

What if he was ghosting her?

What if he had someone else?

What if the whole thing—every sweet moment, every soft laugh—had been nothing more than an indulgent illusion?

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

It wasn’t until the third evening that he finally texted.

Lando: Sorry. Just landed. Been a shitty week.

That was it. No emojis. No humor. No softness.

She stared at the message, thumb hovering.

She thought about leaving it unanswered. She thought about asking directly—What’s going on? But instead, she sent:

You: Hope things get better soon.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Another two days passed.

By the time Sunday arrived, she was no longer waiting. She was studying late in a quiet café, textbook open beside her untouched coffee, when her phone buzzed with an incoming call.

Lando.

She let it ring once. Twice. Almost didn’t answer. Then sighed, flipped her phone, and pressed it to her ear.

"Hi."

"Hey," his voice was low, tired. "I’m outside. Can we talk?"

Her brows furrowed. "Outside... the café?"

"Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up."

She gathered her things quickly, shoving notes into her backpack and wrapping her jacket around herself. The sky outside was bruised purple, and Lando leaned against a black SUV, hands in his pockets, baseball cap low over his eyes.

She walked up slowly. "Hey."

"Hey."

They stood there awkwardly for a second. Then he opened the passenger door.

"Ride with me?"

She didn’t say anything, just slid in.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

They drove in silence for a while. The city flickered past in streaks of amber. He didn’t take her to his apartment. Instead, they pulled up near a lookout point on the outskirts—where city lights glittered like stars scattered below.

(Y/n) broke the silence first. “So, is this where you bring all your sugar babies to get dumped?”

His head snapped toward her, startled. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—quiet and raw.

“No. Just you.”

She looked at him. “That’s not as comforting as you think.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face, suddenly serious.

“I didn’t mean to vanish. I was just... overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?”

He nodded. “The team. The press. My family. And then—” he looked at her, “—you.”

Her breath caught. “What about me?”

“You’re not just a fling, (Y/n). You’re not just some arrangement. And that scares the hell out of me.”

There it was. The fracture line.

She folded her arms. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been terrified since day one, Lando. I walked into this thinking I’d trade time for tuition money, not... not fall for someone who acts like I’m his secret.”

He blinked. “You’ve fallen for me?”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

He leaned back against the headrest. “I never meant to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to handle it. You’re young. You’re brilliant. You’ve got this whole future ahead of you. I shouldn’t even be in the picture.”

“You are in the picture,” she said softly. “Whether you want to be or not.”

Silence stretched again. A tension hung between them, dense and uncertain.

Finally, he looked over. “Can I ask you something?”

She nodded.

“Would you still want to be with me... if there was no money? No McLaren? No private flights?”

That cut deep. She didn’t answer right away. Just stared out at the glittering horizon.

Then, quietly: “Yes. But I won’t lie, your money got me through the door. Your heart kept me here.”

He looked wrecked. Moved. Maybe both.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he whispered.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Norris.”

He chuckled. “You’re infuriating.”

“You’re dramatic.”

Then, without warning, she reached across the console and took his hand. It was cold. But steady.

“Are we okay?” she asked.

His thumb brushed over hers.

“I think we could be.”

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

The next week was a strange return to something familiar, but with cracks now visible.

Lando still called, still sent Uber Eats to her dorm when she forgot to eat. Still left her sweet notes when she visited. But he was guarded now. Measured. Like he was afraid to tip the scale too far.

And (Y/n), for all her coolness, felt the shift too.

They weren’t sugar daddy and sugar baby anymore. Not really. They were something messier. Undefined.

One evening, as they lay in bed fully clothed, her head on his chest and his fingers tracing light patterns along her arm, she asked, “What happens if your team finds out?”

He didn’t answer.

“Your parents?”

Still silent.

She pulled back to look at him. “Lando. I need to know where I stand.”

He stared up at the ceiling. “You’re the one thing in my life that feels real right now. But I don’t know how to protect that without ruining everything else.”

Tears stung her eyes, unbidden.

“I don’t need protection. I need honesty.”

He nodded. Swallowed hard. “You’re right.”

(Y/n) sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I’m not asking you to announce me to the world. I’m asking you not to hide me from it.”

He sat up too, closer now. “Then I’ll try. I promise.”

She searched his face. “Don’t promise things you can’t keep.”

“I’m not.”

And somehow, she believed him.

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

But late that night, as Lando watched her sleep beside him—curled into his hoodie, lips parted slightly—he wondered just how long he could hold that promise.

He was falling for her.

And falling, in his world, always came at a cost.

To be continued...

✈️ ꜰʟɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪꜱᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 5: ʙʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ✈️

[moanspeak]

Silence works in public.

Some things are seen without being shown.

Necklines, collars, doorways —

the certainty is quiet, but it is there.

[male-passsion]

Home is wherever you fall asleep in my arms.

[male-passsion]

Good morning, my love!

[runa-diary]

Soft morning light spills through the curtains, tracing the lace and the quiet curves it meets.

Her fingers lift the floral crown with a gentle motion, hair falling in warm waves around her skin.

A calm gaze, intimate and steady—

柔らかな朝の日差しがカーテンを透かし、レースの縁と静かな曲線を描き出す。

彼女の指先が花冠をそっと持ち上げると、温かな波のように髪が肌を包み込む。

穏やかな眼差し、親密で揺るぎない――