Seeking him out in the afternoon for an hour of peace spent reading to him. He had even cleaned his tent out a little bit so you’d be more comfortable, that is, rearrranged the few blankets and thrown out some half finished arrows he was carving. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, after all.
He really wanted you there, and you weren’t complaining. It was a nice break from everything else that was happening around the farm. Still, it was nothing either one of you longed to share with the rest of the group. No… those quiet hours in his tent were yours, and yours alone. It wouldn’t be the same if you had to explain it to them.
Because, honestly… you weren’t sure what exactly it meant. Sometimes, it seemed crystal clear — he tolerated you, maybe used you to catch a break without having to immserse himself in a book himself. But then, you caught him looking between two pages and everything seemed different.
The sneaking around didn’t really help, either. It was a good thing he had placed his tent a little further away from the groups actual camp, but it still made you nervous trying not to be seen.
The whole situation was strange, but it fit the tense atmosphere at the farm. Life at the brink of autumn felt unsettling, like the silence before a storm. Everyone had counted their losses and succumbed to a stubborn melancholy, sensing that it wasn’t over, that some new confrontration would ultimately ensue and force them to accomodate anew.
It was terrible. Not only the fear, the anger, but the tension between those people who had become your friends, as well. No one seemed to trust each other anymore… Then there was Shane, even more uncooperative bordering on unhinged. He shouted more often now, and it visibly upset the Grimes family in particular. You weren’t sure what had happened between him and Lori, but something had definitely shifted in their dynamic. For Carl’s sake, you wished Shane would deal with it more maturely. The boy was so young and had been a witness to such terrors… He didn’t deserve this, on top of it.
Rick seemed to have an inner conflict, sheer desperation and the will to survive battling his sense of justice and morality. Seeing their leader shaken, the group was unbalanced at its core, trying and failing to hold on to the last remaining ounce of humanity.
It was tiring, but Daryl didn’t seem exhausted. Instead, he had fought his way up from the low point he had reached after failing to find Sophia and returning to the farm hurt and angry at himself. Maybe it was a good thing that Andrea had shot him back then… the injury forced him to take a break.
As soon as he felt better, he began to isolate himself from the rest of the group again. This hadn’t changed, and it was understandable that he would be hurt after his hard work went unrecognized.
Strangely, his behavior to you was diametrally opposed to his general attitude. It was as if those rules didn’t apply to anything concerning you, instead… he pulled you closer. No isolating himself, even though he wasn’t exactly talkative or open.
It didn’t matter. You were grateful for this bond, whatever it was, for it was a welcome distraction from the rest of the world.
The exhaustion weighed heavily on you. It was terrible, you were trying and failing desperately to keep the group from breaking apart. Hershel and Maggie had shut themselves off, worrying about poor Beth who had succumbed to some sort of catatonic shock at the sight of her turned mother. Nothing could get a smile out of her anymore.
Inmidst this chaos, the reading helped. A welcome refuge.
Though you initially were surprised he wanted to continue this at all.
In a way, by doing so, he urged you to change perspective, seek out a refuge you would have turned to before the world went to shit. It’s had a positive effect on your mentalilty, offering enough strenght to keep going.
At the same time… well, it took up a lot of space in your mind. It was weirdly grounding and at the same time exciting, because you were intrigued by his… enthusiasm? At least you could call it that in his case, given that he was rarely affected by anything at all.
Daryl kept to himself, and now he kept you to himself.
And it bled into yourt whole life on the farm.
Just yesterday, he sat next to you at dinner in the farmhouse — which was a stiff and awkwardly somber ordeal, nothing like how it used to be just days ago. Everyone looked up when Maggie got up quietly to prepare a plate for her sister. The chair scraped loudly on the floor, echoing in the heavy silence.
The plate was still full when she came back.
No one knew what to say, so the clattering of forks and knives remained the only sound as dinner was eaten fast and efficiently.
The only thing that really brightened up this time in your eyes was him.
You had always had a soft spot of sorts for the quiet archer. By now, it had only deepened. He took on more responsibilities, yet no one seemed to appreciate it, not really. It made anger flare up inside your heart, observing how he did more for the group but interacted less and less with them.
God, the whole atmosphere was so repressive and plagued, it was hard to endure! Especially hard on you, who lived off of harmony.
Lately, you’ve been catching Daryl looking at you quite often. It happened twice just at todays’s dinner. His eyes had an intensity that’s hard to ignore… it felt like they were burning straight through your flesh.
Your heart does a weird flip whenever it happens. It’s like he can see right through you, makes you feel strangely vulnerable.
Should you adress it? Insecurity is plaguing you. He might just… well, he might just be deep in thought, maybe he doesn’t even know he’s staring. And he doesn’t show any sign of embarrassement whenever your eyes meet his, either. No, instead, he looks away so unabashedly, with an authority that gives you no choice but to accept it.
(You still get a little flustered, though.)
Meanwhile, Daryl is extremely glad that you haven’t confronted him about it. God, it’s… he can’t help it. Doesn't even do it on purpose most of the time. Just… it happens instinctively, ‘cause there isn’t anything he’d rather look at. And the other half of it is, well, checking in on you. Is that excessive?
He genuinely cares.
… He probably should stare less.
It’s just, he has always had a staring problem when it came to you.
Admittedly, it’s gotten way worse lately. Maybe because he’s grown used to admiring you whenever you read to him. So focused on the pages and not where he was looking, while he was focused on the soft lines of your face, the gentle waves of hair falling onto your shoulder, that concentrated furrow of your brows…
Safe to say that Daryl notices things about you now. Microexpressions, the kind of thing that’s easy to overlook or misinterpret. Your mental state is pretty obvious, though.
It makes him worry about you.
Consequently, because he doesn’t know how to give you comfort in any other way, he confronts you about it straight away. In the evening, right outside on the porch. You had stayed behind as the others left to help Maggie with the dishes. Real nice thing to do, especially since there wasn’t any chance of it getting less awkward, either. But, resilient as ever, you prevailed.
So, he volunteers to dry the plates. Hasn’t ever helped in the kitchen before, it earns him a few surprised glances. But hey, everything has changed since the barn, so no one seems to pay it any mind. You looked at him once when he took a towel, but he hadn’t been able to decipher your gaze. Just stick to the dishes, then, he told himself and kept quiet throughout the whole ordeal.
When everything was cleaned and sorted into the respective shelves, you were quick to excuse yourself and leave.
Nah, this isn’t gonna work.
Wooden floorboards creaking under his heavy boots, Daryl follows you up to the porch, carefully closing the door behind him. Only you and him now. The sun hangs low in the sky, cicadas are chirping in the grass.
You don't pay him any mind, walking down the steps, but he catches your wrist. You halt, turning around with a puzzled expression on your face. Daryl drops your hand immediately, letting his own fall to his side motionlessly, as if he had burned himself.
Collecting his thoughts, “Ya alrigh’?”
“Mhm?”
“Been awfully quiet at dinner.”
Your eyes widen a little bit. Look real pretty standing there, he thinks. But you don’t make any signs of answering, so he leans in slightly. No one is there, but his eyes still dart around for a second before he speaks as if making sure that no one is listening.
Satisfied, his gaze drops to you. He studies you with an intensity that takes any words straight out of your mouth.
“Ahem, we don’t hafta, uh, y’know. Ya go straight ta bed if ya wanna. I mean—” his voice jumps up an octave. He’s panicking internally because you’re still not saying anything, hanging off his lips instead. Your head is tilted, as if you’re expecting something. So he splutters, “Don’t care ‘bout that story.”
Daryl watches your face fall in real time, and fuck, no, that’s not how me meant it! A stoic expression masks the flashing hurt quickly, you don’t meet his gaze.
Instead, a cold nod. “Okay. Sure, we don’t have to.”
You turn to leave, and he moves quickly, stepping in front of you. “Wait, that ain’t what I meant.”
“Then how did you mean it?” Your voice is dull and lifeless. He hates it.
Stops, then, to collect himself. He breathes out slowly. “Just been thinkin’. Ya need a break.”
You don’t say anything. But the shadow that falls over your eyes is answer enough.
In a sudden burst of confidence, maybe because he’s sure you’re alone or because you look so… broken, standing in front of him like you’re lost, he takes your hand.
Carefully this time, almost gentle. But because, well, it’s Daryl, and he’s too afraid to see your reaction, he begins walking and pulls you along wordlessly.
The grass has turned yellow. It’s weird, how fast time had passed since your arrival at the farm… Seems like yesterday, and you almost wish you could have these days back. There had been a different type of tension between the group and Hershel’s family, a suspicion turned safety measure by the outbreak. Not so bad compared with how things were now.
Except… If you were to go back to those days, you would lose this. Daryl’s hand in yours, leading you away from the house, careful to circle around the bushes so you couldn’t be seen from the camp.
You weren’t sure what he was up to. He certainly wasn’t leading you to his tent — no, that’d be a whole different way. But you trusted him.
And he still hadn’t let go of your hand.
Daryl takes you out to the fields. You recognize the place now; it’s where he used to spend the nights before he moved his tent closer to the camp. He didn’t say it at the time, but you suspected he did that for you. Or rather — for the sake of your company. He still spends most of his time up here, away from the rest. Under an old oak tree, in the high grass. A light breeze plays with your hair… It’s peaceful.
That’s why he brought you here. However, the whole idea made way more sense in his head. You still hadn’t said a word, just followed him. Made him wonder how worn out you really were. Your behavior didn’t fit the you he got to know at all. Not the version stumbling over her words as she went out of her way to bring him some stupid book to his tent. He was certain you were in there somewhere, behind the sad eyes… Making you glow again wouldn’t be easy, but he’d do his best.
How unfortunate that his brain was literally short-circuiting the whole way because you were holding his hand. Sure, technically he took yours but… you didn’t let go! Made him panic inside, he hopes you didn’t realize. Should he keep holding it? Give you space? God, he hoped he wasn’t sweating.
Daryl still feels the ghost of your slender fingers entertwined with his as he crouches down to prepare a nice little place for you. Pats down the grass to calm down. (Only that it’s not really working… he can feel you looking at him.)
It’s a nice spot, right under the oak tree in the fading sunlight. Has really gotten colder… For a second, he contemplates lending you his jacket, but ultimately decides against it. That’d be too much, he’s sure. Also, he doubts he will be brave enough to do this without the familiar, grounding weight of the worn leather around his shoulders.
Slowly, he pulls the book out of his backpocket. He had it this whole time. Held onto it since you finished the last chapter together, hoping to steal you away again to hear the next bit.
His eyes land on you. You’ve sat down in the spot he cleaned for you. Hardly acknowledged it… You had given him a small smile, but it looked nothing like those he was used to. No, you were… quiet. Sunken into yourself, chin resting atop your knees as you looked into the blue sky. Not the ray of shunshine he learned to love at all.
Did he say “love”?
No, he didn’t.
Daryl is at the same time proud that you don’t feel forced to put on a happy face with him, like you did at dinner earlier, instead comfortable enough to be yourself. Then again, he worries about you. It makes him a little nervous, awkward even. You’re not that adorable clumsy person right now, instead, it’s him fumbling.
He sits down next to you. Not directly face to face like you used to do back in the tent — nah, that would be far to confrontational. He doesn’t dare be this exposed.
The book rests heavily on his thighs. He didn’t remember it being this thick… God. When was the last time he read to someone? If there even was one. School hadn’t exactly been his favorite place and now he sorta wishes it had been, because he feels awfully rusty.
Trying to calm his nerves, he leans back against the tree. He chose a place in the shadow, a little behind you, so you won’t look at him. You’re sitting directly in the remaining sunlight… He thought maybe you could recharge your batteries there or somethin’.
Daryl clears his throat, pulse racing. God, he hopes he won’t fuck up or read to slowly and… Man, he doesn’t even know anything about this fucking story because he never listened…
Pulling himself together, he manages to croak out the first sentence. Way to quickly, without stressing the right words. Too scared to look up and see if you’ve turned around, he just… continues. Slowly, his voice begins to steady, he finds a pace.
It’s really nice, actually. For the first few pages, he doesn’t realize anything that’s going on, but slowly he recognizes some characters and loses himself in the story. Didn’t know that reading could be fun even without your voice. Mhm... He really should have known, you liked it, after all. Meant there was some appeal he missed.
He grows more confident with every page, even trying to mimick some of the voices you did for the characters. Probably fucks up more than once, because he only realizes two chapters in that he confused Daniel and Diego. On top of that, he just can’t get the old lady’s british accent right. Liked the way you did it, it made him laugh. And it sounded so esteemed, too, so smart…
At the end of the third chapter, he dares to look up between two sentences. Relief washes over him… you’re still there, and you’re not even laughing at him.
Instead, he’s met with the most beautiful sight he ever laid eyes on. Thank God he looked up…
You look downright ethereal, silhouette set aglow by the liquid golden light of the sunset. You have shifted a bit, allowing for him to see the golden outline of your profile. A sudden urge to trace your facial features washes over him, his troath goes dry.
Then, you turn around. And the last blow to his heart is the soft smile playing around your lips. Oh, how he missed that. You hadn’t smiled like this in days, not in this quiet, knowing way that makes him feel untethered to time and space. He has to hold back immensively to not just reach out and—
“Why’d you stop?”
Oh. He blinks once, collecting himself. His gaze flies to the book in his lap, opened on page 274. Wow, he didn’t realize he’d come this far. Started at around… He can’t even remember, not when he feels his gaze burning into his skin. Quickly looks up, thinking hard to come up with an answer.
Wait, what was the question again?
“Uh… I didn’t?”
Your light laugh makes his whole body shiver. It’s a nice one, not the kind he dreaded when he started reading. Wrong answer though, he supposes.
You tilt your head, smiling. “Yes, you did. Diego was going on and on about how the island didn’t allow for secrets and… is that really the end of the chapter? If so, that’s a weird cliff to be left hanging on. I mean, that last sentence only created confusion if anything, definitely not suspense…” God, you were babbling again, it was endearing.
He clears his troath. “Was jus’ wonderin’ if ya felt any better.”
“Oh.” Were you… blushing? You bit your lip, and his eyes immediately locked on that. His trailing thoughts were interrupted by your quiet voice, “Yeah, I do, actually. That was a nice idea, coming out here. I understand why you’ve been spending so much time at this place.”
His eyes fly up to yours, hoping you didn’t catch him staring. “Wasn’t ‘cause I wanted ta get away from ya.”
You looked surprised, and he inwardly cursed himself for that unnecessary comment.
“I didn’t think so.”
“… Good.”
The short silence that followed was suffocating. He quickly straightened himself, meaning to say something, but nothing came to mind. That is, nothing he should say out loud, not when the sky was turning a deep shade of red behind you liquifying your outline like that…
Thankfully, you interrupted his suffering. “Daryl?” The way you leaned in should be a criminal offense, because it was making it harder and harder for him not to embarrass himself. “You’ve got a real nice reading voice, you know that?”
No, he didn’t. Are you being serious? He butchered the complete first chapter. It doesn’t even come close to your abilities and— He huffs in response, rasping out an akward “Thanks.”
“No, really. All deep and rumbly. It suits the story.” A wide smile. Finally, your light was back. If anything, that made it worth it.
“Stop. ‘m just glad yer feelin’ better.” His words are muttered quietly, but his eyes soften. He did that. Maybe if he takes you here again tomorrow, you’ll stay like this. All bright-eyed and pink smiles.
His train of thought trails off as you get up, stretching and holding your face into the late summer breeze. Pretty.
“Ya don’t wan’ me ta continue?” There’s a disappointed glint in his eyes as you turn towards him.
A gentle hum, “Daryl, it’s gotten dark. I doubt you could even if you tried.”
Oh. He scratches his neck awkwarldy, the tips of his ears turning red. You’re right, he realizes as he takes in the calm, darkening blue of the sky. Everything is turning grey slowly, the last bit of light fading, but it seems way brighter than just this afternoon. Must be your presence, he concludes.
You hold out your hand to help him up. He’s still leaning against the oak tree. Tempting… But as much as he would love to hold your hand… Daryl collects all of his courage to propose an alternative.
“Ain’t gonna read, then. We could still stay ‘round here ‘n, I dunno, look at the stars or somethin’.”
Did that sound stupid? Probably. God, you’re gonna say no and frown at him. Probably killed off any slightest chances he ever had with you… Still, there’s a strange hopeful tone in his voice that he just can’t get rid of.
To his great surprise, you look giddy. Elated, even. A big smile spreads on your face, making up for the absence of the sunshine tenfold.
“You wanna stargaze with me, Dixon?” The amusement in your voice is of the good kind, accompanied by genuine joy. It coaxes an almost-smile out of him. A tug at his lips, small but your eyes pick up on it, anyway.
He doesn’t answer, doesn’t have to.
No, instead, he can’t believe his luck when you carefully sit back down. Not in the place from before, where he meticulously made sure you were sitting on the absolute greenest of grass, but right next to him against the tree, right on the brown earth. And so close too, for a split second, he curses himself for suggesting it, he can smell the faint scent of Maggie’s shampoo on you from back last week when you took a shower… But then, impossibly gentle, your head tilts to the side slightly, leaning against his shoulder.
For a moment, he tenses. Muscles straining, but then, slowly, he starts to relax. Your cheek feels soft even through the leather of his vest. He loses himself in the sensation. Probably blushes a bit. Good thing that it’s completely dark now.
“Oh! Daryl, look!” You sound excited, pointing at a place a little on the left of his field of vision.
“Mhm?” He follows the line of your finger, it ends somewhere in the nightsky. “What?” He frowns, confused as to what’s gotten you so fascinated.
You smile against his shoulder, he can feel it.
“It’s the north star.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t you see it?”
“Nah, I see it.” He saw it before you even pointed it out. Knows a little somethin’ about constellations, that sort of shit comes in handy on hunting trips in the forest. Just didn’t think you’d get so excited about something so ordinary…
He should have known.
You sound so calm, so at ease, it does funny things to his heart. The way you lean against him, completely relaxed, seeking out his warmth. Makes him feel strangely excited about the mere sight of stars, too, if he’s being honest.
“This was such a great idea, Daryl!” God, he’s melting. “Maybe we’ll even see shooting stars!”
Now, he doesn’t even fight the smile that works his way up to his lips. “Yeah, maybe.”
He hasn't admired the stars in months, not when he needed his eyes to look out for danger. Not before that either, not really, not like this. It’s different now, he thinks they look magical.
But truly, he wouldn't mind not seeing a star ever again if it meant having you by his side forever.
I have so many thoughts about ex-boyfriend!Daryl that it's not funny. Especially S1 Daryl. Like he's such a douchebag, but he cares so much. Enjoy!
Pairing: Ex-boyfirend!Daryl Dixon x Reader
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who immediately thinks of you when the world goes to shit. He knows there's no way to get to you, and even if there was, you probably wouldn't go with him, so he never tries.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who feels a crushing sense of guilt for that.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who finds himself wondering if you survived. Wondering if he should be out looking for you.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who freezes up when Rick comes back to camp with you walking cautiously behind him.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who dumps his crossbow on the ground and starts striding up to you like the fucking terminator, before he can even really figure out how he feels, making everyone nervous.
Ex-boyfirend!Daryl who doesn't give a fuck that he's your ex because you're alive. Tired, scared, and a little worse for wear, but alive.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who takes your face in his hands and just looks at you. Doesn't kiss you because he doesn't think he deserves to, but looks at you like he used to. Like you're the lady of the lake. Like you hung the goddamn moon.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who feels like he can take a breath for the first time since he realized he had to leave you behind.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who takes a shaking breath and tries to say something to you, maybe an apology, maybe something else, but can't do it. The words just stick in his throat.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who damn near takes Rick's hand off when he tries to pull you away, thinking Daryl might hurt you.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who feels such a sense of relief when you lean into him and tell him you missed him.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who's shoving down tears by sheer force of will while you say the difficult things for him. You wondered every day if he was alive. Wondered if you should look for him. That you still love him.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who can't believe he's been handed a second chance with you in this new, fucked up version of the world.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who doesn't know how to apologize for what happened before, and instead tries to atone by making sure you always eat before he does, sleep in the safest place, and never get so far away from him that he couldn't protect you.
Ex-boyfriend!Daryl who's suddenly not your ex-boyfriend anymore.
Setting/Tags: Daryl as a dad, sweet domestic moments,, no specific timeline.
Word count: 890
<masterlist>
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“Daryl!”
You scream from the top of your lungs, the small bundle of joy kicking and crying in your arms is more like a nightmare in this very moment.
“Daryl!”
You yell again, hoping your better half would come and rescue you from this mess.
“The hell’s goin’ on here?”
The door flings open, there stands your man with the sun at his back. He wipes his oil stained hands with a rag, eyes scanning the room – food scattered all over the table and floor, milk still running down the table.
With your daughter in one arm, still crying her heart out like she’s finally realised the world ended ages ago, you pick up the plastic plate from the floor.
“Apparently, her pancakes broke. Can you just take her? Please?”
Daryl’s brows knit together at the reason you just provided but his hands are already under her armpits, picking her up effortlessly and sitting her down on his arm like she’s the queen of the world.
“What does that even mean?”
He rocks her from left to right, confusion blurred with an infinite affection in his eyes as he tries to figure out his daughter – still a mystery, one that he didn’t sign up to solve but so willing to after she came into your lives. Neither of you have imagined building a life that constitutes more than survival during the apocalypse, but here you are. Being in love with each other is one thing, but being in love with a human that came from this shared bond is entirely foreign and unnerving.
“Enlighten me when you find out.”
You fish the rag off his pocket and throw it on the floor to absorb the liquid while your other hand efficiently swipes the pancake crumbs into the plate. Daryl coos her with a voice so cheerful that makes you look twice. It’s a voice that rarely escapes the confinement of your house, a tone that he’s adapted to use with the just two of you. The three-year-old is still crying, her chubby finger clutched tightly on his shirt as she buries her sobbing face into his shoulder to seek comfort.
“What is it, girl?”
He pats her gently on the back, the yellow frock she is wearing is now stained with blue.
“Mama cut my pancake!”
“Don’tcha want that?”
“No!” she exclaims.
“Ok, bad mama, bad mama.” He mutters, it’s evident that he is trying his best to not let a smirk escapes the corner of his mouth.
“I..I…wan…pancakes…round.”
“Ok, ok, mama won’t cut em’ up for yah next time.”
To provide her a serenity and love that he never owned growing up, Daryl seems to have lost all sense of willpower in front of her. Her crying is the most jarring and harsh sound in the world, her demands are the only finish lines he intends to get to, her chuckles at even the silliest things are music in his ears he never gets tired of hearing. You don’t blame him, look at her.
She finally looks up after hearing Daryl’s affirmation, which she has learnt to count on even though she is only 3 years told. Her watery blue eyes are dazzling under the morning light, the trembling lips in the colour of soft pink are muttering broken words that she tries so hard to piece together in her little head. She’s got your charm and his resilience.
“Don’t encourage her.” You say, eyes rolling to show discontent at his constant coddling, but betrayed by a smile. “You realise you just rewarded a tantrum.”
Your fingers dance on her tummy before you reach over to take her off Daryl.
“She was sad.”
“She was being unreasonable.”
“Same thing.”
“Fine, you go make them again for her then. All round and perfect, just the way she wants.”
At the sudden request, Daryl is caught off guard more than hearing walkers approaching 5 feet away. He scratches the back of his neck as he mutters.
“How hard can it be? Just pancakes.”
He gives her nose one last boop before making his way to the kitchen, looking around casually to conceal how clueless he is.
You and your daughter pause to study him, watching his hands touching and roaming between the jars and tools laid in front of him. For the first time this morning, you both burst out into chuckling.
“Daddy gonna make bad pancakes.” She circles her arms around your neck.
Daryl turns to her with furrowed brows and a finger pointed directly at her, trying to look offended.
“Traitor.”
She giggles harder, reaching to him again and he wastes no second to take her back, embracing the familiar and comforting scent of his girl in his arms. You lean against the counter, a sigh that carries only affection fills the room.
“Great. I carried her for nine months and somehow you are still the favourite.”
You pick up an empty bowl, ready to re-make her breakfast. As unreasonable as she is being, she is your whole world and you will make pancakes for her in any shape and form she desires.
Daryl sets her down on the edge of the counter before passing you a bag of flour, an undeniable smirk on his face.
Hi! I was wondering if you could write something for fallen skied?
Ben sees Matt call Anne mom. Ben's got mixed feelings about that because his grief for his mom is still raw but at the same time he likes Anne and wants to welcome her & the new baby into the family. Maybe Anne tells Ben he doesn't have to call her mom, just "Anne" is fine?
Totally up to you - I know this request is super specific so feel free to change stuff around or just use one or two of the ideas there. Thank you so much!
This request is so incredibly wholesome, thank you so much for sending it in! I really hope this scratches your itch🫶 (Extra special thank you for this request being for falling skies)🌌
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Mildly edited, apologies for mistakes🫶
TW: grief, family
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The Mason family had just eaten dinner. It took them a long time to come to terms with being a family of four, without a matriarch. Then all of a sudden there was Anne. While considering her part of the family came naturally to Tom, it took more time for the boys. Hal was older and occasionally wiser, he seemed to take it the easiest. Or at least he had the best front.
“Come on Ben, let’s wash up.” Hal nudged his younger brother, noticing he was no longer listening to the dinner conversation.
They walked away from the rest of the family, picking up everyone’s plates. As soon as the taps were on and he knew no one would hear, Hal spoke up.
“You could at least try and look happy for dad.”
Ben sighed.
“I am happy for him.” He tried to keep focusing on scrubbing the plates.
“Yeah, you sound it.” Hal laughed sarcastically. “Why don’t you like her?” He pushed. Ben just shook his head and continued scrubbing. Hal put down the plate he was washing and turned to look his brother in the eye.
“Dad deserves to happy. Anne’s looked after us, she’s been a good friend. Now she’s giving us another brother or sister, she’s family. You gotta find a way to deal with it.” Ben’s eyes watered, he hadn’t even realised he’d stopped scrubbing yet. “Just look how happy Matt is. He needs this.” Ben turned his back to the sink and watched Matt smiling with his Dad and Anne. He watched as Matt shyly called her Mom, probably for the first time.
Ben couldn’t think. Everything stopped. It felt like the walls were closing in on him. The plate he was absentmindedly holding on to, fell from his hands and broke his trance. Everyone turned to face him. It was like a nightmare. Matt and Anne looked guilty. Hal was clearly disappointed and his Dad…Ben couldn’t bring himself look at him. Instead he ran out of the room. Hal made a move to go after him, but Anne’s chair scraping caught his attention.
“I’ll go.” She said, before heading to Ben’s room. He was stood with his back to her facing the window, hands holding the windowsill for support. When she heard him sniffle, she wanted to go and wrap him in her arms but held back, knowing that would make the situation worse.
“I’m sorry.” He said without turning around. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.” He peeked over his shoulder a little as Anne tutted and walked closer.
“You have nothing to apologise for. I understand how hard this must be for you.” She paused for a moment to find the right words. “You boys already have a wonderful Mom, and I don’t want to replace her. I love your Dad and I am so excited to have this baby with him. Not only because of my love for him, but because of how lucky this child will be to have you, Matt and Hal as their brothers.” A smile twitched on Bens face for a split second, so fast that Anne almost missed it. “You don’t ever have to call me Mom if it doesn’t feel right. But I hope you will call me family one day.” As Anne finished speaking, Ben finally turned around, his heart warmed by her words.
“Thank you Anne.” He pulled her into a hug. Their first ever. He felt awkward at first but when she wrapped his arms around him everything faded away. “You are family.” He admitted to her..and himself.
“Do you think everyone’s mad?” Ben asked. A reassuring smile fell upon Anne’s face.
“Only that you didn’t finish the dishes.” She teased before beckoning him back to the kitchen. As they walked back in, Matt looked up at him eyes wide as their Dad rubbed his arm comfortingly.
“Sorry if I upset you.” Matt chewed his nails nervously.
“Nah.” Ben smiled down at his little brother. “I’m sorry. I’m okay if you want to call Anne Mom, it just surprised me that’s all.” Matts eyes lit up.
“Are you sure?” The younger boy asked, receiving a nod in return. A huge smile broke out on Matt’s face as he flung himself into his brother.
Hal was right. It was cute to see Matt so happy. Maybe one day Ben would be able to call her Mom too.
— -
Thank you for reading! 🌹
First post back in months feelin’ awkssss 😬…sorry for my absence…😬
(I wanna make it clear I love Merle Dixon. For anyone new to my account, I’ve written fluffy and smutty stuff for both brothers so go check them out!)
Positive Daryl x Reader
CW: Cheating, Angst, narcissistic tendencies
You meet and date Merle before ever meeting Daryl, though he spoke about him enough. When the fall of the world happened, you both went to find his brother Daryl. Upon meeting him, you’re struck by his handsome appearance, immediately feeling guilty for the thought.
The real trouble began when the two of you grew closer, having more in common than you first thought, even a mutual attraction showing in unpredictable ways, making your heart flutter guiltily.
The truth also came to light that Merle wasn’t a good boyfriend but Daryl was openly caring and even protective.
You couldn’t help yourself.
~~
Merle huffed at you and turned away.
“What?” You grumbled at his back.
He spun, his face contorted. “Why you gotta flaunt your ass at him? You’re mine, remember?”
“What?!” You couldn’t believe he was really saying that. “I didn’t flaunt my ass at him. I was just talking to him. You need to calm down.”
Merle’s face went red and he stormed right up to you. “Calm down? You’re the one being a little slut. Not happy with just me, huh?”
Despite the rage bubbling up inside you, he looked genuinely hurt at the idea and a part of you felt pity.
“It wasn’t like that at all, Merle. I wasn’t even flirting. We were just joking around.” Your voice softens, reasoning, calming.
“Looked that way to me.” His voice is lower too but still bitter.
You weren’t sure how to respond. “You want me to stop joking around with men? Avoid them altogether?”
He hesitated and you thought he was really considering that. You scoffed.
“Really?”
He shrugged as if it was actually a decent idea.
“You’re not serious?”
“Why you so desperate to talk to other men?” He retorted.
“I’m not! You can’t just- What about Rick? Or Daryl? Should I just ignore them? You don’t think they’d think something was up? That Rick wouldn’t say you were controlling me or something? You’d be kicked out, you want that?”
“Fuck Rick. And Daryl wouldn’t say shit. He’s a little virgin, what would he know?”
You throw your arms up in frustration. “You’re completely missing the point.”
“No, you are! You’re mine. I don’t want you getting too close with the guys, okay?” He wrapped his arms around your waist, a look of love in his eyes but you felt unease. “I need everyone to know you’re mine and only mine. I’ll make sure everyone knows.” He leans down to kiss your lips but it wasn’t sweet.
~~
Sitting in your cell, your argument with Merle playing on your mind, anxiety bubbling up inside you.
“Hey.”
You look up to find Daryl the one to break you from your thoughts.
“Hey.” You look back down at your hands.
“You okay?” He takes a step into your cell, careful not to invade your space. It’s such a small gesture of respect and you can’t help compare him to his brother who would just step inside, take up space, get in your space without a second thought.
You sigh heavily. “Been better.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
You look up at him. The idea of venting to him about his brother was almost comical.
“I…”
“You don’t have to.” He shrugged, leaning against the cell door.
His nonchalance broke something in you and tears welled up in your eyes. Daryl knelt in front of you in a second, hands reached out to look at your face.
“Hey. It’s okay.” His voice was soft, soothing. You looked into his green eyes that showed you only care and concern. Again, you made a comparison with his brother. Was Merle ever like this with you? You couldn’t answer. That realisation sent more tears to your eyes yet still you couldn’t bring yourself to admit Merle’s behaviour toward you.
He pulled you into a hug where you sobbed onto his shoulder. You found yourself almost clinging to Daryl.
He rubbed your back and made shushing noises until you were ready to pull away.
You sniffled and wiped your eyes, chuckling to hide your awkwardness.
“I’m sorry.” You whimper, not looking him in the eye.
“Don’t ever be sorry. I’m always here for you, okay? I know you don’t wanna talk about what’s botherin ya but I’ll be here when ya ready.” He stands up and takes one last look at you before leaving.
A moment later Merle is at your cell.
“What was that about?” He stops and notices you still dabbing at your eyes. “You been crying? Why? Was it Daryl? What’d he say?” He seemed annoyed.
“No, he was comforting me. Just…our argument earlier. I keep thinking about it.”
“Why you crying over it?” He sat down next to you. “I know what’ll make you feel better.”
You shrug his arm off your shoulder feeling gross. “I’m not in the mood.”
He sighs and dramatically slaps his arm on his leg. “You never are. You don’t want me anymore?”
“For god’s sake, Merle. Maybe I’m just too fucking upset to think about sex. Comfort me instead of thinking with your dick. Ugh.” You grumbled and stormed out of the cell. You had no idea where you were heading to, just away from Merle.
~~
A couple of weeks later, nothing had improved with Merle. In fact, it only became increasingly obvious that you didn’t want to be with him anymore. You argued more than anything and he was always twisting things to make himself the victim. It was tiring.
He had stormed off one afternoon, left the prison to ‘go on a run’, more like to find some liquor and drink himself stupid. A vicious thought struck you in the heated moment that maybe he’d be killed by walkers, ripped apart and left out there. You shook it away, the guilt heavy in your chest.
You were sitting on your bed in your cell reading a book, trying to take your mind off things when a shadow fell over the doorway. Your heart pumped rapidly, thinking Merle had come back to argue more but no, it was another, far more welcome, familiar face.
You smiled and sat up. “Hey.”
He smiled back. “I know you said you didn’t wanna talk about it, before.” He stopped, hesitating to open a door you’d kept firmly shut. “I know it’s Merle. He’s a dick, he’s never kept girlfriends long cause he…never treats ‘em right.”
Your heart hammered unexpectedly. You tried to find the right words but knew trying to defend Merle was useless. “Yeah. Promise you won’t say anything to him though.”
He frowned at you. “I’m not an idiot. I’m not even here to tell you what to do. Just want ya to know I know what he’s like and I’m here for you.” There was a silence but it looked like he wanted to say more.
You waited. He eventually made eye contact with you, sighing, he stepped closer and took a breath.
“But, if I’m honest, you should leave him. He’s not good for you.”
“I know.” You whispered. “But how?”
Daryl shrugged. “The others either left without a word, moved away, never answered his calls. Some yelled and hit him, keyed his motorbike and then left.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Why am I not surprised.”
That intrusive thought came to you again, that maybe he’d just die and you wouldn’t have to dump him.
“Fuck.” You leaned forward and put your head in your hands. “God, I hate this.”
“Come with me.” Daryl nodded away.
“Hm?”
“I wanna show you something.”
You follow him through the prison, up on the roof. It was just past noon, the sun was high in the sky, bright and hot. It hit you hard. You turned your face up to the sky, bathing in the heat. It felt amazing and for a moment you could almost ignore the walkers groaning down below, almost forget about Merle off somewhere. You could just exist, in this light, this warmth and be happy.
“I come up here at night sometimes when I can’t sleep. The walkers are quieter, I reckon. Probly cause they can’t see us as good. It’s peaceful.” Daryl confessed. You turned to look at him but his eyes and mind were off the distance, far away.
“He wasn’t always like this.” You said. “He was actually sweet and loving. A little rough around the edges still but he was mine, you know? Ever since this virus and the world crumbled, he changed. He got real protective to the point of questioning every little thing I did. Even joking with Axel a while back. Called me a slut.” Saying it out loud made you realise how stupid you’d been. Merle had changed. He wasn’t gonna be the man he was at the start. Everything had changed.
“He did what? For talking to Axel?” Daryl growled.
“I joked that I should ignore you and Rick too and he… I think he was actually thinking about it. Ridiculous. You and Rick!”
“He’s gone too far.”
You sigh and rest your head on Daryl’s shoulder. He shuffled closer and put his arm around you.
“You’ll always have me. He’s got no say in that.” His thumb grazed over the skin on your arm and a soft buzz of electricity went through you. You turned to look up at him.
“How are you both so different?” You ask rhetorically. He was even more handsome up close. A light stubble covered his chin and cheeks, his green eyes glittered softly at you and your heart raced deliciously. Suddenly, you had the urge to kiss him. He was so close, inches away. Your eyes flickered to his lips and he leaned in a little. You copied.
Within another inch and your lips were touching, gentle, soft, delicate and absolutely electric. Like a magnet you drew closer, deepening the kiss. His arm pulled you in tight.
You were craving each other in a way you’d never felt before. Sure, those first moments with Merle felt intense too, all those new feelings with someone new. It was exciting but this… With Daryl. Oh, it was something new entirely. Hot, fiery, electric, it buzzed through you intensely, leaving hardly any room for breath or thought except the feel his lips and tongue, the taste of him, his hands, big and warm holding you tightly, securely. You never wanted to leave his embrace…
A loud creak of metal broke you apart. The gate was opening, the sound of an engine rumbled in. Merle. He was back.
Your heart pounded wildly.
“Don’t say anything.” Daryl whispered, despite being too far away from him or anyone else to hear.
“But..” you started to argue as if you had fully intended to tell Merle about your kiss with his brother.
“Trust me. Please.”
You nod, already walking away. Daryl stays, watching you with wistful eyes.
Summary: Coming home after work, Daryl finds you wearing nothing but underwear and his beloved angel-winged vest - and who is he to resist the opportunity to work on the future?
Warnings: MDNI! 18+! SMUT (baby making - I repeat, baby making, dirty talk? unprotected sex - obviously, missionary, Daryl gets head and a handjob, thigh riding, aftercare), fluff, swear words, established relationship
Set in Season 11!
Word Count: 4k
a/n: You chose, I deliver. ☺️
Welp... This kinda just happened. I dunno which smut demon possessed me as I wrote this... And the things I had to google for it... Someone spray me with holy water... 🙈
MDNI divider by @jiyascepter <3
Love In The Rearview Mirror °☆• EoH Masterlist
It had been one of the 'quieter' days at work today. Mostly just sitting around the office with Rosita, doing some patrolling and weapon checks. This all still sounded quite ridiculously to Daryl... Being at work. Earning money. Living in the old world and pretending the new one didn't exist. It wasn't something the archer was entirely convinced of, and yet he kind of enjoyed life at the Commonwealth. Well, only because of you. And the kids, of course. Because he could finally give you, Judith and RJ what you deserved... A stable roof above your head, food on the table everyday, proper medical treatment - if necessary and not having to live with fear day in and out and almost having to sleep with one eye open at night, due to Alexandria's instability. The kids could be just kids for a while. It was... nice.
He loved home. Alexandria was home - not this here. But it had to be fixed. It needed the help and once it was thriving again, he wouldn't hesitate a second and go back.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Daryl climbed the staircases leading up to the floor on which yours and his shared apartment was located. He unlocked the door with his spare key and stepped inside the lit room. "'M home!" He called out; already anticipating the kids and Dog to storm around the corner of their room to greet him - but it didn't happen. Instead, he got greeted with a view he hadn't seen coming at all. You stepped into the living room - only dressed in black lace panties, a matching bra and his too big angel-winged vest 'covering' your body.
The archer swallowed hard; eyes raking up and down your body. He always loved when you wore his clothes, but that was even a notch better. Wearing nothing but underwear and his vest was something else. This outfit gave him a hard time to keep his jaw from dropping and hitting the floor. "Hi, babe," your sweet, angelic voice urged to his ears as you greeted him with a smile. "H-Hey. Uh, where are... The kids and, uh, Dog?" You stepped closer - and Daryl's heartbeat quickened. "Jude and RJ are with Mariam, Aliyah and Ezra at uncle Jerry's and aunt Nabila's for the night and Dog decided to stay with Carol as we took a walk." He swallowed again; unable to keep his eyes constantly locked on your face during the conversation. They tended to drop to the second or third floor - and he couldn't help it. "Mh, 'kay," Daryl said then with a deeper, huskier voice than usual. "There, uh, a reason for tha'? 'N for the... choice 'a yer outfit?"
A mischievous smirk darted across your face as you stepped closer once again. So close that your skilled fingers could easily begin to unbutton the grey shirt he was wearing. "Thought we could use some time to ourselves... Get some much needed privacy and... have a try?" Daryl blinked in slight confusion; utterly distracted by your fingers' doing. "Have a try?" He echoed your words with his blue orbs flickering between your face and hands. "At, uh, wha', sunshine?" You smiled again and bit your lip. There was a moment of silence before the air around the both of you shifted. When you looked at him again, your eyes held something fierce. Something lustful and... primal. Suddenly was your hand pressed against the fly of his jeans; feeling him and gently rubbing your palm over the rough fabric to massage him. Your rather bold move caused Daryl's breath to hitch in his throat; eyes widening. "Baby making," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal and casual thing on earth, like asking what's up for dinner. The man blinked again; kinda taken aback but also feeling his arousal spark to live - due to your words and actions.
"O-Oh, uh, y-yeah, 'course. Got it now." You smirked yet again and leaned in to kiss, gently nibble and suck on his exposed neck. "Only if you want to, though, of course. Only if you're ready. We can still wait. Don't have to rush things. Think I still got a few condoms in my bedside drawer," you whispered; wanting to make sure he was up for this. Desire was already coursing through your veins, for sure, but consent was important. You'd never force Daryl into anything he didn't want to.
The bowman's eyes fell shut at your lips' caresses and caring words; feeling his body pump blood southward. His hands twitched. He couldn't stop himself from touching you. The urge was too great. His right hand lifted to settle on your barely covered hip underneath his vest; thumb stroking over the fabric and your warm skin.
Daryl shook his head. "Dun gotta wait. Told ya I want this. With ya. 'M ready." Your lips left his skin as you looked up at him full of love. Not needing words to communicate, you stood on your tiptoes to indulge his mouth in a deep, sensual dance.
Once you parted again, you started to kiss your way down his body along the slit of his open shirt; feeling his warm skin against your lips. His silky chest hair and happy trail tickled; natural musky scent getting stronger the closer you got to where you wanted to be. You made sure to press an extra long kiss against his scars to worship the marked skin. Once on your knees in front of him, your hands settled on his hips for now; fingers looping through the belt loops attached to his jeans. Your intentions were more than clear as you pressed a few sloppy kisses over the small tent his pants had formed. Daryl's hooded eyes watched your every move. "Ya wanna suck me off, darlin'?" He asked hoarsely; one of his work-worn palms cupping your chin gently with his thumb brushing your bottom lip. You nodded; pupils dilated by lust. "If you want me to, baby..." The archer scoffed with the left corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a small smile. "Ain't ever gonna say no to tha'. Can't. Yer mouth feels always so good on me ," he stated as his hand left your chin again to work on loosening his belt and undo the zipper of his pants while simultaneously taking off his boots and kicking them aside alongside his socks. You smiled up at him; hands on his hips helping him eagerly to pull down his jeans.
Once your boyfriend - or well, rather self-declared husband was left in his grey boxer shorts you were on him again within seconds. Your lips suckled on the small, circular wet spont at the front of the fabric; revealing where his tip was. A low groan rumbled through Daryl's chest at the sudden contact. His hands twitched again; fingers curling into fists. "Y/N, damnit," he panted; watching you pepper his steadily growing hardness with tiny kisses - still trapped inside the by now way too tight underwear. "Yer a tease, ya know tha'?" You retreated your lips again with a small giggle; gazing up at him almost apologetically. "Sorry, babe. Couldn't help it." Then your thumbs dipped inside the waistband of his boxers, "Let's get you out of these." and pulled them down to finally free his aching arousal.
And oh boy, was he ready. Readier than you had anticipated. "Damn, baby," you said almost in awe as you cautiously wrapped a hand around his manhood to feel him hot and heavy in your palm; veins pulsing. Daryl hissed at the touch and gritted his teeth. "Already so hard for me? I barely even touched you..." After your partner inhaled a shaky breath, he instantly shook his head. "Ya really wonderin' why 'm already so fuckin' riled up? Ya been waitin' for me 't come home, wearin' nothin' but lace underwear 'n my vest. 'N then ya tell me ya wanna try for a baby. Ya told the lil' guy 't knock ya up. What did ya expect, sunshine?" You giggled, "Yeah, okay, fair enough. Got a point there, Dar." and slowly started to move your closed fist up and down. The man growled lowly again; hips twitching as he resisted the urge to buck into your touch. "'Sides, 'm a man of my word. I'm takin' this seriously."
Your hand stopped abruptly in its movements as your eyes travelled up his bulky frame again to face him. You smiled, "I know." and let your fingers glide lower on his length to cup his sensitive junk while simultaneously putting your mouth on him. "Jesus," Daryl cursed above you; watching you pleasure him - like promised.
You started off slow. Teasing. Just the tip and some kitten licks. Then you took more of him in your mouth. And more. And more - until you had your head bobbing in a steady rhythm, Daryl's hand holding your hair up in a makeshift ponytail to gently guide you and palms splayed on his thick, strong thighs. It was a little messy, admittedly.
"Fuckin' hell, sunshine," your partner grunted; blue eyes locked on your Y/E/C ones. "Yer lookin' so damn hot on yer knees, givin' me head." You hummed around him and tried to take him deeper - which caused the archer's muscles to clench and twitch; a whine of pleasure slipping past his lips. Daryl let it happen for a delicious second, before he quickly shifted his hips to pull you off of him. "Shit, darlin', y-ya... Y-Ya gotta stop. I dun want 't blow my load already. 'S too much."
Your eyes lowered; drawn in by the delicious sight of his manhood. Standing tall and proud, angry and red at the tip. Veins throbbing and twitching. Glistening with your saliva and his own juices. You stared at it hungrily. None of the thoughts forming in your head were neither pure nor innocent in this moment. Far from it.
Your hazy, trance-like state got interrupted by your husbands warm hands on your hands; interlacing your fingers to gently pull you back up on your feet. "C'mon, sunshine. I know whatcha want 'n need." You let him lead you wordlessy over to the sofa, where he sat down on the edge. Spreading his legs, he switched his hold from your hand to your hip and guided you to stand over his right leg. Then he gently pulled - you caught his drift, of course and sat down on his leg; straddling him. Daryl smiled that cute, boyish smirk and gave your hips a squeeze, before he started to move you to and fro; making you grind against his thigh. You gasped at the sudden, delightful friction and fell quickly in rhythm with his movements. Your hands found his broad shoulders; eyelids falling shut as you rolled your hips just right against his firm muscle to repeatedly hit that small bundle of nerves. In combination with the friction of the fabric your panties provided, was it close to heavenly. "Yeah, tha's it, sweet girl. C'mon. Take whatcha need. Wanna feel ya soakin' my thigh."
And you did. It didn't take much - and it certainly didn't take long for you to reach your high. A high pitched moan left your parted lips; hips coming to an halt and fingernails digging into his shoulders. Daryl smiled in satisfaction. "There ya go," he cooed and let his palms glide from your hips inside your black lace panties to grab your ass. "Good girl." Another wave of instant arousal hit you as he called you that. You immediately turned and lifted your head to capture his lips in a hot, yet sweet and thanking open-mouthed kiss. His palms gripped the flesh of your bottom a little tighter, before he shifted you again.
"Let's getcha outta these," the archer prompted in that low, smoky voice you loved so much and slid your drenched panties down your legs. "We still got a mission to finish, right? Ain't done yet. Not until something else is drippin' down 'em thighs as well." Your core throbbed at his words. "Y-Yes, baby. Wanna feel all of you. Want to start a family with you. Want this baby. Your baby." Daryl's length twitched; a groan bubbling up in his throat. His lips found yours in yet another deep kiss, "Want tha', too, darlin'." before his hands wrapped themselves around your thighs to pick you up. With a little squeak in surprise, you slung your hands around his neck and let your husband carry you to your small but cosy bedroom.
Once arrived at your destination, Daryl laid you down on the soft mattress - and found you and himself to be already in the perfect position for the task at hand... Missionary. With your legs still locked around his waist, Daryl indulged you into another lazy make-out session; lips tangled together perfectly. His long, wild chestnut brown bangs fell into your face but you just buried your fingers in his hair to smooth them back again.
With your lips now red and swollen, Daryl moved on. The bowman trailed a path of kisses down your neck and cleavage. He tugged gently at the lapels of his beloved angel-winged vest. You got the hint and shortly sat up to discard the precious item of clothing. Now satisfied with even more freed skin, your husband continued the pleasurable attack on your skin. He pressed a few kisses to your collarbones before he travelled lower to nip at the swell of your breasts. "Want tha' off, too," Daryl whispered lowly; referring to the last piece of clothing covering your body - the black lace bra. "Wanna feel all 'a ya. Wanna be close." You gave the man a small smile and fulfilled his wish, of course; taking off the piece of underwear as well to leave you entirely naked for him. Only him.
The moment your bra was discarded, Daryl's face disappeared between your breasts to caress the soft tissue; gently nipping and kissing on the supple skin. You bit your lip; watching him worship your body with your hands still playing with his hair. As he moved on to lick and kiss down your sternum and stomach, you felt a tight knot of anticipation and pleasure form deeply in your gut. With a last lingering kiss to your lower abdomen, Daryl straightened up again. Work-worn hands instantly worked on getting rid of the dark blue shirt he wore. He threw it aside; leaving him entirely naked as well. "Ya ready for me - for this, sunshine?" Your partner asked in a way softer voice then before; one big palm splayed on your belly. You knew what he meant - and you loved him for asking but there was only one possible answer to this question...
You nodded, "Make love to me, Dar. Give me your baby." and let your legs fell open for him - naturally. The archer swallowed hard; oceanic orbs blown wide with lust and love. "A'right, darlin'." With his eyes on the prize, he shifted to get closer; thighs sliding underneath your thighs. "Let's make ya a mama." It was no question - it was a promise. A shiver ran down your spine at his words; tickling your throbbing core. You wanted to say something. The word 'Please' was on the tip of your tongue - but then you felt his tip prodding your entrance and all that left your lips was a needy whine. Daryl smiled and skillfully used his thumb to help his length slide inside and connect your bodies in the most intimate way possible.
Your eyes fell shut at the delicious intrusion; fingers clasping onto the sheets below your body. "Christ..." Your husband cursed above you as he watched your body sucking him in, with his hands now holding onto your waist. "Always takin' me so well, fuck," he stated hoarsely and slowly started to roll his hips. The archer certainly didn't rush things; wanting to take his time with you. This was about creating a life - not a stress relief or casual fuck. No... It was truly making love - and you both enjoyed it.
"You can go faster, baby," you whispered; thinking he was still being careful to let you get used to him. Your partner shook his head; palms gently squeezing your waist. "Nah," he stated; delivering slow thrust after thrust after thrust. "Dun want 't. Takin' this slow. Takin' my time with ya, sweet girl. Wanna do this right." You smiled and stretched your arms above your head - like a cat, and felt your fingertips reach the headboard. You felt so incredibly good right now. "Mm, 'kay, baby."
Daryl continued his slow rhythm for another few minutes, but he knew that he needed to take the intensity of it all a notch higher to reach his peak. And after all those years of having sex with you, he knew you needed this as well. So, the man above you relocated his hands; moving them from your waist to press into the mattress beside your head. It changed the angle, gave him a better leverage and the chance to get deeper. In conclusion, it got things spicier and more... intimate.
"Ain't goin' faster...," he started after adjusting his position, "...but I can go harder." and delivered a slow, firm and deeper thrust. It caused your eyes to roll into the back of your head and a high pitched squeak of pleasure to escape your mouth. Instinctively flew your hands up to grip his slightly sweaty biceps; fingernails digging into the muscles. You redirected your gaze up to him and locked eyes with the man you loved; sharing the love and desire that connected you in this moment. Lips parted and forehead creased with pleasure, you showed Daryl exactly how you felt.
"Feelin' good, sunshine?" You nodded - breathlessly. "Makin' love to ya jus' right, yeah?" "Mhhh, 's perfect, baby," you babbled; brain almost already turned to mush by now. A satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. The archer stopped in his hips' rolling movements to bend his elbows in order to lean down and capture your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. It was all teeth and tongue - but did not lack an ounce of love. Then he picked up his thrusting again. Slow, hard, deep.
The tiny break he took gave your brain the chance to recover a little. You let your palms glide down his arms and reached forward. Your fingers were splayed on his belly instead; feeling the soft extra layer he gained over the last years. He had gotten bulkier and... stronger. Daryl was sporting a dad-bod - and you couldn't love it more. It was so hot and attractive in your eyes. Especially now since you were about to make him an actual dad. His skin was hot and slightly sweaty. A few stray chestnut curls were sticking to his forehead. The thick patch of silky hair of his happy trail was damp. No wonder. After all, he did all the work...
You couldn't stop yourself but clench around him; causing the man above you to grunt. That's when you felt it. The contracting of his abdominals and the slight stutter in his thrusts.
"You close, baby? You gonna come for me?" "Mhm," he mumbled with his eyes falling shut. You smiled; eager to tip him over the edge. "Yeah? You gonna give me your baby? Make me a mama?" You whispered and wrapped your legs around his hips; crossing your ankles and digging your heels into his ass in order to make sure he stayed where he was. This in combination with your words made Daryl curse under his breath; thrusts getting sloppier. "F-Fuck, yes, sunshine. Gonna give ya everythin'. Everythin' ya want," he panted breathlessly. "A-Ain't gonna pull out. P-Promised ya 'm gonna have m'self drippin' down yer thighs." You nodded with your palms now on his shoulders; fingertips marking his skin. "Please, baby, please." Those three words did Daryl in. They were his undoing. Another swear word slipped past his lips - followed by a deep, primal groan. His hips stuttered and with a last, powerful thrust he buried himself to the hilt as he reached his peak; searing hot pleasure coursing through every vein in his body. The feeling and visual of Daryl falling apart for you triggered your own high; legs shaking, then going limp around his hips.
Together, you rode on this wave of ecstasy; panting. The archer's arms buckled - fighting hard to keep him upright and not accidentally crush you. In the end, he gave in and lowered his upper body gently onto you. His forearms kept him from crushing you. Daryl reopened his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours. "Fuckin' hell... Tha' was..." He couldn't find the right words. You smiled; thumbs rubbing soft circles into his shoulders. "The best sex we probably ever had? Yeah, I'd agree." Your husband snorted out a small laugh and gave you a nod, "Yah..." but shook his head mere seconds later. "The things ya do 't me, woman..." Your smile widened a fracture, before you angled your head upwards to kiss him slow and tender; still bathing in the aftermath.
Daryl melted practically against you and reciprocated the sweet, lazy kiss. Once your lips parted again, he remained in this position for a moment longer, before he straightened properly up again. He tapped your thighs. "Legs up, c'mon. We're doin' this right." You followed his instruction and lifted your tired legs up. Before you could rest them over his shoulders, though, Daryl stopped you and guided your movements; placing your feet against his chest so that your knees were bent. You stayed like this for a few minutes with the archer lovingly caressing the tender skin of your insteps with his thumbs; other fingers wrapped loosely around your ankles. He was still connected to you, of course.
"I'm excited to see if you hit the target at the first try," you said with a smile and locked eyes with your partner again. Another smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "'M a bowman, darlin'. Think I got pretty good aim - but I guess we'll hafta wait 'n see 'bout it. If not, I'll be happy 't try again." You giggled. "Good thing target practise is so much fun." Daryl's smile turned into a mischievous smirk; "Mhm, yeah..." work-worn palms gliding from your ankles up your shins, knees and down on the side of your thighs before he gave your hips a slight pad. "Think we're good fer now." You nodded in agreement and slowly lowered your legs again. Daryl carefully and gently pulled out of you - just in case you were a little sore. "Ya good, sunshine?" He asked in a soft voice - making sure. "Yeah, baby, all good. I'm feeling great, actually." Your husband smiled and watched you stretch like a cat as he flopped down on the mattress beside you. You couldn't stop yourself from leaning over and kiss him again before you rolled out of the bed.
You were standing on still slightly wobbly legs - now feeling a small sting as you walked. Yeah... The sex truly had been good.
"I'm gonna clean up at least a little. You coming with me, Dar?" The man sat up again on the mattress; propped up on his elbows. His eyes gave you a once over - not in a sexual way but rather in a caring way. But then they got stuck on your thighs - and his eyes turned a little darker again. You noticed, of course, and raised an eyebrow. "What is it?" He jutted his chin at you. "Told ya I ain't stoppin' till 'm runnin' down yer thighs... Got the job done," he stated with a smirk; visibly proud. You giggled. "Mhm, you did. Never expected less. Now c'mon. Doesn't shower together sound nice?"
Daryl was on his feet within seconds; hands on your hips. "Ain't gonna say no to tha'. Lead the way, darlin'."
c.w ⠀ⵗ⠀ heavy make out session , semi-public , sexual tension , risk of getting caught , suggestive content , grinding , groping w.c : 0.7k
notes ꗃ i’m in love with this scenario. ( wrote it in my notebook at college lol )
daryl is the worst person to be making out with in a place where you could easily get caught. not because he’s bad at it —quite the opposite— but because he is always too fucking paranoid. that man hears a leaf crunch from two blocks away and he’s already jerking back from your lips, muttering “someone’s comin’, hold on,” even though literally nobody is coming. and it’s because he’s spent his whole entire life hiding —from his father, from walkers, from danger, from people, from being seen— that the simple thought of being caught while being so intimately loving with his girl makes him flinch.
but now he’s got you pinned against the supply closet door in the armory hallway, kissing you like a starving man, fighting the urge to devour you whole, though every couple of seconds he stiffens like a spooked animal because “what if rick comes lookin’ f’ me” or “carol’s prolly nearby,” as if carol hasn’t already accepted she’ll find the two of you tangled together in your own mess eventually.
but the thing is, when he does kiss you? when he remembers nobody is around and the doors are shut and it’s just his breath mixing with yours? something snaps loose in him. his mouth gets rougher, hungrier. he cups your jaw and suddenly he’s kissing you with that messy desperation of his. and oh, he’s so painfully aware of the sounds he makes—the low little grunts he doesn’t realize slip out when your teeth catch his lip, the way his breathing goes ragged when your fingers slide under his vest, the way he sights when his tongue meets yours. he hates that anyone could hear it, and hates even more how you make him lose control enough that he can’t stay quiet. he’s always been loud in fights but quiet in wanting —almost afraid of it— affection is foreign to him, intimacy even more so; and when you get needy like this, he really, really needs privacy.
meanwhile, he’s all awkward and hesitant until you tug him closer by the collar of his shirt. from then on, his restraint just breaks—he presses his hips into yours without meaning to, swallows your gasps with lots of kisses, and lets his calloused hands slide down to your waist in his clumsy, greedy way. and in his desperate frenzy, you’ll feel his fingers shake the moment he grips your thigh to lift it around his hip. the reason? he’s never had someone let him touch them like this—slow and deliberate. wanted. not some bar hookup merle shoved him toward. not some body he didn’t even remember the name of. this is you. soft and warm and real and actually wanting him.
and then there’s the way the risk messes him up. he’ll pant against your mouth: “we shouldn’t… fuck, we shouldn’t be doin’ this here,” but he’s already sliding his hand up under your shirt, rough fingertips tracing your ribs like he’s memorizing you. he says you should stop, but his thumb is brushing the underside of your breast, and he’s groaning quietly when you roll your hips against him. he buries his face in your neck, breathing you in with this shaky exhale like he’s been deprived of this kind of touch his whole damn life. he kisses down your throat, slow and messy, leaving warm, damp little trails that make your knees go weak, and every time you make the tiniest sound he shudders with pleasure.
and just like that he’s all calloused hands gripping your waist too tight, rough breathing against your skin, and soft noises he’s embarrassed to make but can’t swallow down. he keeps whispering “we gotta stop,” even as he grinds against you, even as his mouth finds yours again with more hunger than before, even as he bites your lip and pulls back just to see the way you look at him. and he hates himself for wanting it so bad, for wanting you so bad, but the second you whisper his name he’s kissing you again like he hasn’t tasted anyone in years—because he hasn’t. because he’s been starving. because you’re the first thing he’s ever let himself have without feeling like he’s stealing it.
and even though every instinct tells him someone could open that hallway door and see the two of you flushed and pressed together, he still keeps coming back to your mouth like an addict.
Warnings: Explicit sex and Dominant!Rick (it's pretty much only smut)
Word count: About 3.4k
Synopsis: Rick becomes upset with you when you express that you don't feel pretty since the world ended and uses all his skills to convince you otherwise.
Author’s note: This is my first Rick fic! I know I'm soooooo late to the game but I started watching TWD the end of last year and am so obsessed and so in love with Daddy Rick so this is the result lol! If you like this fic please come talk to me!! I am desperate for people to obsess over Rick with lmao
P.S. I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Comments and reblogs make my day! Main Masterlist
“I miss hot showers,” Rosita said.
There was a chorus of agreements around the small fire.
“I miss chicken nuggets,” Carl said and you laughed along with everyone else.
This wasn’t the worst off your group had ever been, but it had certainly been a long time since you had any of the luxuries of life before the world fell apart or even since living at the prison.
Everyone avoided mentioning the real heavy hurts, the people you truly missed- the ones who hadn’t survived. No, this was supposed to be a lighthearted conversation, a way to end a day of blood and sweat and walkers on a good note.
“I miss watchin’ movies,” Maggie said and you hummed in agreement.
“What about you?” Carl asked you.
You smiled at him and Judith babbled happily where she sat in your lap.
“Books. I miss the library at the prison. Libraries in general, really,” you replied.
“Nerd,” the teenager muttered with a roll of his eyes but the smile on his face gave away the fondness of his teasing.
You laughed as you leaned back further against Rick’s chest. His arms tightened around you and his foot reached out and nudged Carl’s leg in teasing reprimand.
The conversation continued on, everyone listing little luxuries they missed from their former lives. Things that had been long since forgotten for the sake of survival. As everyone spoke, although you agreed with them you realized you wouldn’t trade the family that you’d found for anything in the world.
Glenn called your name and you realized your mind had wandered, thinking of the love you had for everyone sitting around the fire. Particularly thinking of the love you had for the man whose body currently enveloped your own, for his children that sat with you.
“Hm?”
“Your turn again,” he said.
You weren’t sure why it was so important that you took another turn since Rick had been quiet this whole conversation. Your only indication that he was still awake was the small soothing circles his fingers rubbed on your arm.
“Oh, ummm probably feelin’ pretty,” you said absentmindedly.
“What?” Rick’s voice snapped out, low and in disbelief.
His thumb pressed into your elbow and you could feel the sudden tension in his body pressed against yours.
“Ya know, I miss gettin’ all dolled up and feelin’ pretty. Pretty dresses, goin’ to the nail salon, hairdos that aren’t only practical, makeup, jewelry, heels. Not somethin’ I cared about too much at the time, but still it was nice every once in a while. God, I can’t believe I miss wearin’ heels,” you said with a soft laugh.
“Y’don’t need any of that to be pretty,” Rick said firmly. His hand slipped to your cheek and jaw and guided you to turn your head back enough to meet his gaze as he leaned forward.
“I know, pretty isn’t the most important thing. I’ve survived, that’s what matters, that I’m alive-”
“You’re pretty everyday, baby. Even covered in walker blood and guts,” he said firmly then pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Your cheeks burned as you turned your head back around and realized that the conversation had not moved on without the two of you, that everyone was giving rapt attention to your interaction with Rick.
“Okay,” you muttered quietly, “Daryl I think it’s your turn.”
He took mercy on you and changed the subject. “I miss booze.”
Many agreed with him and the conversation chugged right along. Eventually it dwindled out along with the fire as darkness continued to fall and the full moon rose, bathing everyone in its light.
Camp was prepared for the night and you bundled up with Rick on the hard ground as he held you from behind. Judith slept in Carl’s arms only an arms length away from the two of you.
Just when you started to doze off, the soft snores of the group lulling you to sleep, Rick gripped your hip.
“You still awake?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
“Mmhmm”
“Good, get up and come with me, pretty girl,” he ordered as he stood.
You let out a soft groan but took his offered hand and let him carefully guide you away from the camp and further into the woods. He nodded at Daryl who was on watch whose only response was a grunt and a wave of dismissal.
With a hand on your collar he gently pushed your back into a huge tree and said, “Stay here.”
“Yes sir,” you muttered with an eyeroll as you yawned.
You watched him place a hand on the gun stuck in the back of his pants as he walked a small perimeter around where he left you to ensure you were safe and completely alone.
He came back with his gun holstered and your breath caught at the intensity with which he looked at you.
He was doing that thing, that staring- refusing to speak first- intimidating thing. Heat rushed through your body. It didn’t matter if he was angry with you, you knew him well enough to know his intentions of pulling you here. Weeks on the road had left little time for just the two of you.
“Are you upset with me or somethin’?” you finally broke the silence with a huff.
“Maybe,” he said as he tilted his head. His eyes dragged up and down your body and your legs began to quiver.
You glared at him.
“I’m not playin’ twenty questions. You gonna tell me why?” you snapped.
He stepped closer so his body was pressed against yours and you barely managed to hold in your groan at the firm heat of him.
One hand gripped your waist and the other he placed around your neck- not squeezing but resting there- making sure you felt the potency of his presence, his dominance.
“How dare you think you’re not pretty,” he finally breathed out.
You sighed and rolled your eyes again even as you protested, “Rick.”
His fingers tightened slightly on your throat.
“You- you of all people don’t feel pretty? Don’t I tell you enough how beautiful I find you?”
You breathed out his name again in protest to his words. “This is ridiculous-”
“I ain’t done talkin’,” he snapped. “You temptress. Your beauty ruined me. Wracked me with guilt. You’re the prettiest damn thing I’ve ever seen and I thought that even when my pregnant wife was still alive. Your beauty made me question what kind of man I am because I wanted you even then. The worst part was you didn’t even realize what you were doin’ to me for the longest time. And now, now that I have you. Now that you’re mine- you don’t feel pretty?”
His breaths were coming heavy and his chest heaved against yours at the confession, at the hissed words in the darkness, the truth heavier than the humidity in the summer heat.
Oh.
Oh.
You could barely breathe.
“I didn’t- I’m sorry, I-”
His firm lips against yours quieted your jumbled words and thought process. His kiss was harsh and demanding. His hand drifted up to the back of your head as he pulled you closer. The low growl he released made you whimper as you gripped at his shirt. He used the opportunity to plunge his tongue inside your mouth.
You moaned at the taste of him, desperate for more. Your hands drifted down to the seam of his shirt and you started to tug, desperate for the feel of his skin against yours when he suddenly pulled back and took a step back from you.
There was a wildness in his blue eyes and when you reached out for him he merely held your hand in his, but did not allow you to pull him closer.
“Rick,” you practically whined.
“No, it’s not ‘bout me tonight. No, you’re gonna understand exactly how pretty you are before I’m done with you.” He said the words like they were a threat of violence he’d give to an enemy and you felt yourself become wet with desire.
You only nodded mutely.
“These hands, to start, these hands are pretty,” he said, his voice low as he grabbed your other hand and brought them both to his lips. “It’s real cute how you wave ‘em around when you’re talkin’ all passionate. And they hold the weapons you use to kill to protect our family. The way you touch me, how it feels so perfect when your hand is wrapped around my cock.”
Your breaths shuddered as his lips began to make their way up your arm. “These hands and arms that hold my children with such tenderness.” His lips rounded your shoulder to reach your collarbone and you sighed in relief that he was finally close enough to feel him pressed against you.
“This pretty neck that I’ve spent months dreaming about,” he mouthed at the sensitive skin of your throat and you whined as he bit down.
His tongue soothed the small pain of the bite before he licked all the way up the column of your throat.
“Please, need you-” you moaned and he pulled back to look you in the eyes again.
“Patience, pretty baby,” he murmured as his hand caressed your cheek.
You pressed your thighs together, a desperate and unfruitful attempt to get some sort of relief. The heat that filled your body for this man threatened to overwhelm you. Desperate, you were desperate for him. Rick was normally a filthy talker in bed, but this- this was something different. Even your heart burned with love and desire for him.
“Your eyes are so pretty. I love that I can always tell exactly what emotion you’re always feeling just by lookin’ in ‘em. That they’re so intense no matter what,” he said with another swift kiss to your lips.
“Pretty forehead. Pretty cheeks. Pretty nose. Pretty chin. Pretty jaw,” he said and every sentence was punctuated by a kiss to the feature he was referring to. Here was a man who’d been inside you countless times and yet you felt bashful at this sort of attention from him.
A whimper slipped past your lips, and he pulled back- eyes devoted to the study of them.
“Pretty lips. I love the sass that comes out of this gorgeous mouth even when you try my patience. Love the way your lips feel against mine. Love the pretty sounds you make when I’m inside you. Love how you look with my cock down your throat- prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he groaned and kissed you again.
You could feel the passion in the movement of his lips against yours, in the way his tongue tangled with yours, in the desperate press of his body against yours. You didn’t even care that the rough bark of the tree dug into your back as your frantic desire for him overwhelmed you.
He pulled your shirt up over your head and dropped it on the ground beside you. Your core clenched at the groan he released at the sight of you in your bra.
“Prettiest tits I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.” He pulled the bra off immediately, chucking slightly at the knife he had to catch from falling from where you’d stored it in the bra earlier in the day.
You giggled slightly. “It comes in handy,” you said with a shrug as he dropped the knife on top of the growing pile of your clothes.
“I don’t doubt that,” he replied but any quip back disappeared from your mind as his large calloused hands enveloped your breasts and you moaned.
“Quiet, baby, you don’t wanna wake anybody up or draw any walkers,” he reminded you.
You bit your lip and nodded as you did as you were told.
His hands squeezed and caressed your breasts before he leaned down and replaced one of his hands with his mouth. He kissed, and licked, and finally sucked at your sensitive nipples. Your hand flew to your mouth to muffle your moan as your other hand plunged into the curls at the back of his head to pull him closer.
His lips drifted down your stomach, your waist, your hips all while imprinting reassurances of his appreciation of your body onto your skin. He unbuttoned and pulled off your jeans along with your belt and holster that held multiple weapons. The panties came off immediately too.
“You’ve got the kind of beauty to make a man fall to his knees.” His lips moved to your thighs as he kneeled before you.
Your legs were shaking with desire, with need. His lips and hands worshiped your thighs and calves all the while murmuring sweet words about how pretty he finds every aspect of your body before his lips drifted back up towards your soaked pussy.
He lifted one of your legs and placed it atop his broad shoulder to give him access to your core.
“Prettiest damn pussy I’ve ever seen,” he moaned before his tongue suddenly licked a stripe up from your leaking hole to your clit.
You bit down on the meat of your palm to avoid screaming in pleasure as he finally gave attention to your throbbing neglected heat.
“Oh god, oh fuck, Rick, that feels so good,” you whimpered. His tongue plunged and pillaged inside you as his nose ground against your clit. Heat rushed through you and threatened to overcome you quicker than you’d ever experienced before.
He groaned into your soaked folds before licking back up to your clit. His tongue flicked and swirled around your bud of pleasure. Your grip on his hair tightened and your soft chanting of his name spurred him on.
The cadence of your quiet breathy moans reached a fever pitch as his lips enveloped your clit and he sucked.
“Shit, Rick I’m gonna come,” you groaned, the words slightly muffled by your hand over your mouth.
“Come for me, pretty girl,” he ordered. Just like always- your heart, your soul, and your body followed his orders with a gasp.
Your release wracked through you with such intensity you became lightheaded and Rick had to press his hand against your stomach to keep you standing upright as your legs shook.
He looked up at you- a grin on his lips with your slick coating his beard and you swore you could come again on the spot at the sight.
You took shuddering gasping breaths and once he felt you were steady enough he took your leg from off his shoulder and allowed you to stand for yourself.
“I wanna say you look prettiest when you come…” he stood up and yanked his shirt off before he reached for his belt.
“But I think you look prettiest when I put my cock inside you.”
You couldn’t help the whine that slipped from your lips. He gripped your waist and lifted you up, using the leverage of the tree behind you to hold you up as you wrapped your legs around his trim waist.
His pants were pulled down just enough to release his hardened length and your core clenched as it rubbed against your abused clit.
“Need you inside me, please,” you begged- your voice breathy and near pathetic but he grinned.
“Your beggin’ is real pretty too,” he drawled and gripped his cock and lined it up to your entrance. With one harsh thrust he filled you completely.
You choked on a gasp as you were stretched open so suddenly and completely. You felt deliciously full as you clenched down on his huge cock.
“Fuck,” he growled out between gritted teeth and rested his forehead against yours.
The drag of his hardened length inside your sensitive walls started a crescendo of overwhelming pleasure.
“That’s it baby, you take me so well,” he said and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was all consuming even as his pace and intensity of his thrusts increased.
“Ohhh shit- R-rick, you make me feel so good- so pretty- love you so much,” you babbled as he filled you to the brim and more and you gripped his shoulders.
His grip on your hips only tightened- the pressure most likely bruising but you didn’t care- couldn’t care as his cock repeatedly hit the spot inside you that no other man had ever found- that made your toes curl and your back arch in overwhelming pleasure.
He groaned and you swore it was the sexiest sound you’d ever heard.
“S’much, love you so much my pretty baby,” he said and the words were somewhat muffled as he continued to kiss you and his tongue slipped inside your mouth.
The friction of his bare chest against yours stimulated your nipples as his groin grinded against your clit with each of his deep thrusts.
You clenched around him as your desperate pussy sucked him in.
“I can tell you’re close, come on my cock,” he ordered as his mouth drifted to your neck and he bit down harshly.
Your release hit you like a freight train and the pulsing of your pussy around his thick cock barreled him towards his own release.
“Rick!” you gasped and gripped his shoulder- your nails digging into the muscle.
“Fuck- I know, I know,” he groaned as he pulled out right before he came. He placed you down on your feet as he gripped and stroked his cock.
Your hand joined his and with a groan of your name his come splattered across your stomach.
You looked up at him with a grin on your lips and his lips slowly spread into a breathtaking smile.
“Kiss me?” you asked sweetly as you batted your eyelashes.
He chuckled as he kissed you slowly and sweetly as if he hadn’t just wrecked you completely.
All too soon he pulled back and tucked himself back in his jeans before he pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and used it to clean you up.
He assisted you in clothing yourself and you trailed your hands across his toned chest and torso with hearts in your eyes.
You pouted as he pulled his shirt back over his head. He shook his head at you with a fond smile on his lips. You both returned all your weapons to their proper places in your belts and holsters.
“How’re you feelin’?” he asked finally with a hand on your chin.
“Real pretty,” you purred.
You could feel his smile as his lips pressed against yours once more.
“Good,” he replied, tone deep and gravely.
With a hand on your waist he led you back to the small camp. It didn’t matter that you'll only be getting a couple of hours of sleep at this point, that your back hurt from the tree bark, that you were sore in multiple places, that you probably had bruises- as he led you to lay down and held you in his arms you were perfectly content and wouldn’t change a thing. You felt well loved and appreciated.
You began to drift off when a hand slipped into yours and squeezed, you opened your eyes and Carl was looking at you where he and Judith laid only an arms length in front of you.
“Judith wants you,” he whispered and you looked down at Judith who stared at you wide eyed and made grabby hands towards you.
“C’mere princess,” you whispered as you waved her closer. She crawled over to you and you barely held in your laugh as she climbed up over you and wiggled herself between you and Rick.
He made a sleepy grumbling noise as he pulled you and Judith closer and mumbled, “My girls.”
You grinned and reached over and brushed the curls from his face, your other hand still held by Carl’s which surprised you, but his day had been particularly harrowing and you were more than willing to offer comfort to him, to your entire family that you now laid tangled up with.
Despite the apocalypse, the constant daily fear and fight of the walking dead- you wouldn’t trade anything for this moment. For this feeling of knowing exactly your place in the world and being content with Rick and the family you found with him.
Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Whatever You Like Ch. 1
Warnings: NSFW, dry humping, handjob, fingering, smut in later chapters
Summary: You're horny and lonely. Daryl is horny and lonely. Why not get together and fix that, and maybe try a few things along the way?
Notes: This chapter is just dry humping and a little hands action but things will increase in maturity in the next few chapters.
No one ever talks about the sexual frustration aspect of living in the apocalypse. There was once a time you could just pick up your vibrator and relieve your stress that way, but sex toys and batteries aren't really abundant.
Everyone, at some point, had to deal with that type of frustration. Only Lori and Shane were lucky enough to have each other, a secret they thought was well kept, and everyone else had to suffer. Andrea could get very snappy. It was hard to tell if Merle was suffering with it or if he was just always a perverted asshole.
You thought you were suffering the most. You missed your vibrator dearly, and the bliss it would bring. You hadn't got off since the outbreak, which was… thirty days ago? Your fingers were okay, but nowhere near enough to get you off with how anxious and stressed you were, from the outbreak and sleeping in a tent around all those other people.
Daryl's sexual activity hadn't changed much at all. He never had any fancy sex toys or a girlfriend, just his hand, and he still had that. There was always this underlying desire to have sex, but he'd been dealing with that ever since he found out what it was, and it didn't bother him anymore now than before the apocalypse.
You'd grown desperate. People can call you pathetic, selfish, whatever they want, but your sexual needs are right up there with comfort; under shelter, food, and water. You couldn't help it.
So you started watching people, taking down mental notes, trying to suss out which one would be most likely to fuck you. Andrea might've been willing after a while, but you knew she'd be horrified if you brought up the idea, and you didn't feel like putting in the effort to warm her up to the idea.
It was too risky with Merle, you had a strong suspicion he wasn't exactly clean.
You could try Shane, you knew there was a high probability that he would be into it. Alas, the drama it could bring about with him and Lori was too much for you.
Everyone else was either married or not the type to have casual sex. T-Dog seemed like he'd get attached and have jealous tendencies. Glenn looked no older than eighteen, and he was far too nervous around women.
None of them were your first choice, though. That title belonged to Daryl. He checked all the boxes: didn't seem the type to get emotional, he definitely wasn't flirtatious enough to make you think he had any diseases, and he steered clear of camp drama.
The only problem was it was difficult to get the man to talk to you. He was gone half the time and stuck to Merle the other half.
It was hard, cracking that door for you. He would never pick up on your flirting, your hints, you almost suspected you were the first girl that had willingly talked to him, and he had no fucking idea what you were doing.
You just hoped playing the long run with him would be worth it.
“Hey, Daryl?”
He paused his task of typing his boots, looking up at you from his kneeling position. “Wha’sup?”
It had been a little over a week since you put your plan into action, making an effort to spend time with him, even if he was standoffish at first.
“My tent has a hole in it, and it's letting the mosquitoes in.” You tried not to cringe at your lame excuse. “Tomorrow I'm going to find some decent thread to stitch it up, but, tonight can I bunk in yours?”
He had no reaction for a good few seconds, his mind processing your words. “I got duct tape.”
Fuck. Your mind raced. “No, I tried that already, it peeled right off with the first breeze.”
“Huh.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “I mean, sure, I guess. Whatever. Me an’ Merle ain't no strangers to sharin’ a tent.”
“No way, I don't want to put you out like that, I've heard him snore.”
He sighed and nodded, knowing your words held an annoying truth. “Yeah. Loud enough already, had t’move mine cross the camp.” He nodded over his shoulder where his tent sat a few yards away from Merles on the other side of their private camp.
“God, I know. Can hear it when I come outside at night.” You laughed. Your fingers fidgeted awkwardly as he began tying his laces again, trying to think of more to say.
“Goin West to check out that ole huntin' grounds. Y’comin? Someone might've left a tent out.”
You certainly did want to come, and so you did, right after making a quick stop in the RV to fix yourself up a bit. You fluffed your hair and fixed your makeup a little, something you'd been wearing recently in your quest for Daryl's dick.
The walk wasn't far, to your relief. Though you did end up taking a break once you found a few tents abandoned in a small clearing on the property.
You were so busy analyzing and imagining every outcome to every sentence you wanted to say to him to notice he'd been checking you out damn near the entire time.
Long before that, too. You were not only exactly his type and a woman he thought was the hottest girl he'd ever laid eyes on in real life, but you were also the only woman at camp he didn't want to jump off a cliff after speaking to. You weren't a bitch, you didn't treat him like the troubled kid at school, and you were never part of any drama or issues that seemed to be constant in the quarry.
So it was natural that he couldn't stop staring at you when you weren't looking.
“Daryl?” Your voice had him snapping his head away from your form, a jolt running through his heart at the near miss of you catching him staring. You were sitting in the grass between a few of the hunter tents, sharing a moment of silence after eating granola bars.
“Hmm.”
“Do you ever miss sex?”
Now he was looking back at you quicker than he looked away. “What?”
“I don't know. I know we've only been out here like thirty, forty days, but… you gotta miss it, right?”
You studied his face like a newly poured chemical cocktail that might explode. He looked a little bashful, the tips of his ears red, his eyes flashing from your face to your hands, but there was something else, something that reminded you of that terrified excitement before getting on a rollercoaster.
“I mean, no shit. Sure, sometimes, I guess. Why? Hell you askin’ me for?” He rambled.
You shrugged in your attempt to play nonchalant. “It's only natural. You're away from everyone you once knew, surrounded by strangers that act like sex doesn't exist. Can't go down to the bar or anything and take someone home.”
He snorted, shifting in his spot where he sat in the grass. “That what you used to do?”
“No, Daryl." You laughed, rolling your eyes. "I just miss it. Sex I mean. I was, you know…” you struggled to sound neutral, “just wondering if you missed it too.”
“Why? You wantin' to suck my dick?” He couldn't help the harsh and rude quip of defense, that had always been his first instinct when there was a possibility of being made a fool of. Try to humiliate them, before they could do it to him.
“Why'd you say it like that?” Your voice was soft. “Like it's a bad thing?”
Daryl shrugged his shoulders, snapping up a chunk of grass to rip apart.
You swallowed, moving your legs from their criss cross position to lay out in front of you. “Would you be opposed to something like that?”
“Quit. Get to lookin' around, s’what we came here for.”
That night you did end up sleeping in his tent. He declined your offer to share it, claiming he'd just bunk with Merle.
Only an hour after you went inside for the night, he snuck in with you.
At first he laid on the other side of the small tent, pressed up against the side.
A little while later he moved towards the middle with you, and then finally, he ended up right behind you.
Naturally you'd been awake the whole time.
His mind was racing with your words from earlier. That question, the way you looked at him, your body language and expressions letting him know you were genuine with your proposition.
You bit your lip and shifted your hips, just a tad.
Daryl immediately grunted as if you'd just slipped his dick in your mouth.
You smiled in the dark, staring off into space at the side of the tent. Talk about a boost to your ego.
He groaned again when you began moving, the sound quieter this time. Slow and steady, your hips moving from side to side, and occasionally pressing back against him. His breath was ragged already, and you could tell the man was close.
You slipped your hand down beneath the waistband of your boyshorts, rubbing quick strokes into the side of your clit.
When he was close, he grabbed onto your hips and ground against you like he was on a time limit. The aggressive action caught you off guard and you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut and letting yourself make whatever noises you felt like making.
His dick twitched against the thin fabric between your bodies.
With your free hand you reached for him, twisting your arm behind your back and pawing at the material of his boxers. He gasped when your fingers wrapped around him, his eyes falling shut and his jaw dropping.
Daryl choked down a whimper and thrusted into your fist, the tip of his dick prodding the plush meat of your clothed ass with each thrust.
The poor boy lasted about fifteen seconds after your hand first made contact with him.
With a high pitch groan he buried his face in your shoulder in a desperate attempt to muffle the sounds that made his cheeks burn.
You thought they were the hottest sounds you'd ever heard.
You forced yourself to cum, which wasn't too hard given the incredibly sexy noises of Daryl coming down from his high, his breath hot against the skin of your shoulder.
Your orgasm was amazing. You lost count of the days since your last. It was quick and short, but unbelievably powerful. Your muscles cramped from arching your feet so hard, and your lungs burned from breathing through your lips.
“Have you, you know, ever done anything like this before?” You panted.
He took a while to answer, his breath heavy and shallow. “Grown ass man. Course I have.”
There was silence, the air tense with both of you knowing that was a lie.
“Ain't the first woman to jerk me off.” Okay, that was more likely the truth and the extent of his sexual endeavors.
“It's the most exciting thing I've ever done.” You admitted. You hoped to loosen him up with your admission, prove he wasn't the only one having a new experience. “I never really had an exciting sex life.”
You could hear him roll over and the sound of his zipper being pulled back up.
“You can say no, obviously, but, uh.” You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the roof of the tent above you. “Wanna make this a thing? I don't mean like dating, or whatever. We could try new things out. Do stuff you've always wanted to try. There's not much to do around here most days besides wash clothes and cook.”
It took him a while to answer. So long that you began thinking he'd fallen asleep.
Your chest grew tight as you dreaded the possibility of you having ruined any chance with how straightforward you were.
“Ain't gonna go around tellin' anyone, are ya?”
Your heart leapt. “No.”
With the days that came you learned Daryl was far more inexperienced than you originally believed. That might not have been his first hand job, but that was the only thing he'd ever done before you.
He hadn't even seen a pair of tits in real life.
When the reality set in that you were serious and truly were willing to mess around with him, his hesitance lessened.
He actually grew quite eager, to your delight.
It was shocking how vanilla he could be. You'd assumed someone like him would want to dive right into the intense bits, ask for anal or blowjobs five times a day.
“You want to finger me?” You were unable to hide your disbelief when you whispered.
“S’what I said, ain't it?” He snapped back in a harsh whisper of his own, his eyes darting around camp.
“Yeah, no. Okay. Meet me in my tent tonight?” You'd already told him the hole was a lie to get in his tent, and he was unexpectedly turned on by the reveal.
“Ight.”
You came to the conclusion that night that you'd hit the jackpot with Daryl. He wasn't only attractive, skilled, and clever, he was also incredibly eager to learn and to please.
You already had your shorts off when he crept in, the cover of night preventing him from seeing how wet you already were in anticipation.
He zipped up the flap behind him, even tying the inside strings before turning to you.
“Hey.” You whispered, beckoning him forward with your hand. “Your hands are clean, right? Like I told you?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. He sat in front where you sat kneeling. “Used soap, too.”
Oh, god. Jackpot indeed.
You were quick to get comfortable, shoving your blankets and pillows under your back so you could lay back but keep your eyes on him. You'd taken your panties off already, and bent your legs at the knees, thighs pressed together in sudden shyness.
“Can I?” He breathed, inching closer to you, refraining from anxiously biting his nails.
“Mhm.”
He licked his lips, eyes flicking down to your legs. It was dark enough that he couldn't make out any details, but he could see the shape of your body, and the slight glisten over your folds.
His hands displayed his unsureness, grabbing your knees only to pull away, and then bring them back. He spread your thighs and traced his hands down the insides of each, sending sheets of goosebumps over your entire form.
When he finally touched you, you couldn't stop the whimper from leaving your lips. It had been long since you came with a vibrator, but even longer by an actual person.
The tips of his fingers explored you, first giving tentative strokes down the outside of your labia. After a few seconds his index finger slid down the middle, gathering an impressive amount of arousal on the tip.
“S'it always like this?” He swallowed hard.
You suddenly felt self conscious. “Like what?”
“Wet like this. S’like, covered in it.”
You let out a shaky breath of relief and shook your head. “N-no. Only when I'm turned on.”
You swore you heard his heart skip a beat. “Yer turned on?”
“Mhm.” You whimpered, resting your head against the pile of fabric behind you.
Flattered was an understatement. Daryl was shook. He brought his attention back to your pussy, his finger delving between your folds to feel around. He was immediately drawn to your clit, and brought in his thumb to rub it between his fingers.
“That's good.” You breathed. Your eyes fell shut.
“Feels good?” The hopeful tone of his voice caused you to groan.
“Uh-huh.”
He gave an experimental pinch. Even though it was gentle the action sent a bolt of electrical pleasure through your core, and you sucked in a sharp gasp.
“Sorry-”
“No, that was good.” You exhaled deeply. You swallowed dryly and forced your body to relax again, letting your head rest against the mound of blankets. “Do it again. Just- not hard.”
Daryl nodded quickly, his wide eyes darting down from your face to the glistening mess between your legs. He pinched again and his dick jerked in his boxers at the sight of your body trembling.
For some reason, he felt the need to ask for your permission to touch himself. The thought had his stomach twisting and he didn't act upon the urge, instead choosing to just go ahead and pull out his dick.
With his left hand he touched himself. It wasn't the best, but he made do. With his right he alternated between pinching your clit and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Put one in, please.” You whimpered softly. You slipped your hands up your shirt and began playing with your nipples, pinching and rolling them in sync with his touches.
“Alright.” He breathed. He slipped his middle finger down to your hole, pushing in with little resistance. His fingers were deliciously thick, spreading your walls further than your finger ever could.
He thrusted his finger like he would a dick. While it felt nice, after a few thrusts the pleasure faded and you had to speak up again.
“Curl it, like this.” You held up your left hand and curled your fingers. You didn't even finish the action before he complied, and you saw white.
“Oh, god.” You whined, your hips jerking up into his hand as he curled his thick finger again. “Mmm-yes just like that. Just like that.”
Daryl found himself breathlessly smiling at the sight. His hand on his dick worked faster, and the finger inside you curled deeper. He angled his wrist so he could go back to giving your clit attention.
The second his rough thumb dug into your clit you came, your hips bucking and jerking under him like a wild mustang.
He gaped at you, watching you twist and squirm and cover your mouth to muffle your dry gasps. You looked fucking breathtaking, and he didn't realize he was watching you with held breath.
“F-Fuck, Daryl-”
His orgasm caught him off guard in a similar manner and he let out an unintentionally loud groan. His hips jerked forward and he came right on your cunt, splattering over your clit and folds. The back of his hand took the brunt of his climax.
It wasn't as awkward as the first time. He was actually quite chivalrous. He cleaned you off with a drizzle of water and a clean rag, even going as far as to wipe your sweaty forehead with a different rag.
There was less dialogue though. He simply complimented your ‘sexy as hell’ orgasm, and bid you goodnight after double checking that you did indeed want to continue the game of yours.
(you and carl have been “married” since childhood.)
tags: flufffff, slight angst, mentions of death.
masterlist here!
You’ve known Carl since you were born. Your moms were bestfriends from high school who’d miraculously gotten pregnant around the same time which, naturally, made you best friends as well. You can’t remember your guys’ first play date, you’d been having sleepovers with him every weekend as well.
Around kindergarten, there was an activity in class where you guys could make jewelry. Carl at the time was completely in love with you, although then you weren’t particularly interested in boys and were more interested in exploring and adventures, you needed someone to go on adventures with.
So, when he’d walked up to you on the playground with the ring he made very poorly, your five year old brain knew exactly where it was going. He proposed to you right there in the pokey wood chips under the slide which by the way was covered in cobwebs. How romantic. You thought that if he’d gone on many adventures with you previously, if he was your husband he’d be forced to be your adventure partner. So you said yes. On the condition he’d be by your side for all your escapades. “Anything for you angel.” He responded.
He held you to it, too. He’d continue to call you his wife and angel, a nickname that’d stick for the rest of your childhood. Everyone knew how much he’d loved you and how much he protected you from anything that could possibly harm you in any way. There was a spider in your room? He’d kill it. Someone was bothering you? He’d help you work it out. You got in an argument with your parents? He was close enough with them to argue with them for you. You ended up helping him through the death of his own father who was also someone you’d looked up to for a long time.
Then, the apocalypse started. You were at Carl’s house with Lori when Shane had arrived to round everyone up. They’d return back to your house to rally up your parents but when Shane went inside to get them, you heard his gun go off a couple times.
He walked out that house alone with a big frown on his face.
So you sobbed the whole time and Carl cuddled your side, holding your hand and occasionally shed some tears. He helped you process it, granted you both were ten but he knew what it was like to lose a parent. When Rick came back, he apologized oddly enough. “Angel…I’m sorry my dad came back.” He told you as you hid in the blanket on your cot that was set up in the Grimes’ tent. You flipped over on your side to look at him. “Why did yours get to come back and not mine?”
Your guys’ “marriage” hit a rough patch to say the least. At some point, Carl walked up to Rick with the dilemma. “My wife is mad at me…how do you make mom feel better?” He asked. Rick informed Lori on the situation and she helped you understand. So from there you dropped your little grudge and realized that you loved Carl back. It only took you maybe five years and yeah you were quite young to know you loved him the way you did, but he was the only person in your life who’d stay consistent; even with the world dying.
A good amount of time had passed, when Shane died the first thing you wanted to do was take anything he possibly had on him. So, you took his 22 necklace and his jacket. Handling his dead body that young wasn’t ideal but you needed to remember him. You shoved his necklace in your pockets and threw his jacket on before escaping from the walkers flooding into the farm.
Upon finding safety, you pull out Shane’s necklace to discover he’d kept your parents rings on his necklace. You didn’t say anything about it, you hid them for the right time. He’d notice them later but he kept quiet about it.
You’d gone through the prison, then Terminus. It felt like Carl had never stopped touching you throughout everything. He was holding your hand or maybe even had his hand gripping your thigh. He’d reassure you by holding you or kissing your cheek repeatedly. He made sure you were well fed while you and the group were on the road after losing Beth. “Here, Angel, take this.” He handed you half of his granola bar.
“Angel, need some water to wash that down?” Abraham nudged a water bottle your way, Carl looked at him funny which caught a couple people’s attentions. Abraham looked around. “What?” He questioned. No one really responded but Tara spoke up, clearing her throat awkwardly before speaking. “I’ve uh…I’ve learnt that ‘Angel’ is just a Carl thing.” She explains. Abraham processes and Rick sort of laughs. “Yeah I’ve known her since she’s was born…he won’t even let me call her that either.” He looks to Carl with a teasing smile, prompting the others to sort of smirk and giggle themselves. “Well my apologies.”
Carl gives Abraham a forgiving nod.
Getting to Alexandria was like a breath of fresh air. You and Carl were able to be somewhat of a normal teenage couple who could go on dates and make out in places they shouldn’t. He helped ease your nerves with the new environment, despite his own considering he didn’t know how real Alexandria really was.
He’d fallen more and more in love with you. At some point he’d brought up your kindergarten marriage.
“Do you remember when you said yes when I proposed to you in kindergarten?” He smiled at you as you leaned your head on his shoulder. The two of you were stargazing on a bench by Alexandria’s pond. “Yeah you’ve never let me forget it.” You respond with a small giggle. He pulled back to look at you. “Well I was thinking…with the way the world is and everything.” He chuckles nervously, looking down at your hands which were tightly gripping each other’s, “Maybe we can really be married.”
He stared at you, anticipating your answer. “Well, I dunno what you mean, we’ve been married this whole time.” You say sort of jokingly, causing him to smile, “I think you just mean official rings. I mean we’ve held the label this whole time. Not to mention you’ve stuck to your vows.” You remind him of how he’d promised to stick with you throughout everything. He nods for a moment, his eyes lingering on your face as he admires how beautiful you are in the light of the pretty moon. “Official rings would be nice.”
Without another word, you pulled your hand away, causing Carl’s expression to drop a tad as you dig into your pocket. Your hand comes back out of your jeans in a fist and you stick your hand out, gesturing for him to put his own out. He places his hand out flat and you drop two rings, the metals knocking into each other with a small clink as he looks into your eyes. “Wait really? Aren’t these…” His voice trails off and he looks at you intently.
“My parents’ rings.”
There’s a moment of silence before you take your dad’s ring from his palm and take his left hand, slipping it gently onto his ring finger. It fit perfectly, almost like it was fitted to him. He looks at it for what felt like ages before taking your mother’s ring in his hand. He gently held your left hand, sliding it on to your ring finger. The two of you put your hands between your bodies and just stare.
He tilts his head back up to look at you and before you could fully look at him he kissed you, gently holding the side of your face while he did so.
It was one of the thousands of kisses he’d given you, but this one was different.
Maybe you could go on honeymoon.
a/n: so anon actually wanted this full of fluff but i couldn’t help myself with some parts of angst LMAOOO sorry anon i hope u still like it. i actually think this is the cutest fucking thing i’ve written in a long ass time I LOVEEE IT SM!!! anyway thank u sm for this cute ass request it was so fun to write and it got me out of my writing funk :)))
tag list: @zomb-1-egutzz @lunarnightt @ilikestrawberriesandwomen @hiro--aoki @h00d-tr4sh
Summary: You, Daryl and Michonne make a run to your old high school. The walk down memory lane gets weird when you come across and old classmate of yours who has been living in the school since the beginning. To put it mildly, he isnt exactly over his highschool glory days with you...
Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore, harassment, profanity, insecure man-child, SMUT (eventual), graphic 18+ smut (Creampie, quickie, exhibition kink?), suggestive innuendos, I think that's it.
Main Masterlist
Author's note: Oof sorry I haven't been active lately i have no excuse 😝 this has been sitting in my drafts for AGES, since the start of July i think. I will be getting to requests dw just gotta clear some shit out of my drafts hehe. IMPORTANT ‼️ The character Randy Gardner featured in this fic is an antagonist i came up with for this story, not to be mistaken for Randal in season 2. I just realised the link lol and I wanted to clear that up so there isn't any confusion. Anyway enjoy 🙈
The school looked more like a tomb than anything else.
The double doors groaned on their hinges as you stepped through them, the sunlight cutting sharp and angular through grime-smeared windows, casting fractured beams across the scuffed linoleum floors. Dust swirled in the light like ash. Every sound echoed — your footsteps, Michonne’s quiet hum of disapproval, the distant clatter of something falling in an unseen wing. The place hadn’t just been abandoned. It had been left behind like a bad memory.
Lockers lined the walls in various states of disrepair — dented, some hanging open with rotting textbooks still slumped inside. A faded banner for a long-forgotten spirit week still fluttered limply from the ceiling, half-shredded by time. You could still smell the chemical tang of floor polish beneath the rot. Someone had once tried to keep this place clean. Tried to preserve something.
“Jesus,” Michonne muttered under her breath, the sound barely carrying. Her eyes swept the halls like she was expecting a walker to lurch out of a guidance counselor’s office at any moment. “You went here?”
“Briefly,” you murmured, fingers brushing the cool metal of a locker as you passed. Number 117. You didn’t remember what was inside it anymore. “Moved halfway through freshman year. Didn’t exactly leave a legacy.”
“Coulda fooled me,” came Daryl’s voice from up ahead, echoing lazily off the tiled walls.
You turned instinctively, catching him just as he emerged from a hallway junction with something in his hands. Your stomach dropped the second you recognized it — a cracked, dust-covered photo frame. You already knew what it was before he turned it around.
And there it was. A grainy, overexposed team photo. Girls in sweat-streaked green and white jerseys, mud splattered across their cleats and knees. In the middle, nearly buried beneath a too-big trophy, was a younger version of yourself — sweaty, triumphant, hair in a crooked braid, grinning like you hadn’t a care in the damn world.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Burn it. Burn it immediately.”
Daryl didn’t move. Just tilted his head, squinting at the photo like he was genuinely studying it. “Huh. S’funny,” he muttered. “Coulda sworn ya told me you was a nobody in high school.”
“Shut up.”
Daryl tucked the photo under his arm with a grin that said he was definitely not letting that thing go.
“Think I’m keepin’ this,” he said. “Yeah - I’ll hang it up in our room.”
You pointed at him, backing slowly down the hall. “You hang that thing up I’ll string you up too.”
You waited for when he wasn’t looking and you lunged for the photo.
But Daryl saw it coming before you’d even twitched and immediately yanked the frame high above his head, just out of your reach. Your hand slapped uselessly at his shoulder, and you let out a frustrated sound somewhere between a groan and a growl.
“Give it here, Dixon.”
He stepped back, cocky grin in full bloom. “Nah. Think I’ll hold onto it.”
“Daryl.”
“Look at ya,” he said, holding it even higher, eyes gleaming with mischief. “All grumpy n’ red-faced. Betcha’d’ve been just like that if you lost a game.”
Well I guess we’ll never know.
You didn’t dignify that with a response. You just lunged again, fingers grasping for the edge of the frame. He twisted, spinning out of your reach, and you followed, nearly knocking into a toppled trash can in the process.
“Oh my god,” Michonne muttered, watching the chaos unfold with a deadpan expression. She leaned against a locker, arms crossed, sword still casually in hand. “Children. You’re both children.”
“I’m dealing with something deeply traumatic,” you shot back, ducking under Daryl’s arm as he blocked you with an obnoxiously smug smirk. “That haircut. Those shin guards. My chubby cheeks. I need this destroyed for the good of mankind.”
“Definitely a heart breaker huh?” Daryl mused.
You gasped, hand to your chest in mock horror. “You’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”
Before he could say something clever you managed to tackle him around the middle with enough force to send both of you stumbling into the lockers behind. They rattled with a clatter loud enough to wake the dead—or at least earn you a sharp look from Michonne, who was clearly weighing whether you were worth saving if something came shambling down the hallway.
You wrestled with him for another few seconds—his grip annoyingly unshakable—before finally giving up, breathless and laughing.
“Fine,” you huffed. “Have it. I don’t even care! Just… keep it away from me.”
“Gonna get it framed proper,” he muttered, mock-proud, tucking it protectively under his arm as he finally let you go. “Hang it right over the bed.”
Michonne snorted. “I’m telling Rick you two need to be separated.”
“I second that,” you muttered, brushing dust off your pants as you walked ahead, pulse still racing—not from the fight, but from the way Daryl’s hand had lingered just a second too long at your waist.
He let you go, but the photo stayed in his hands.
You rolled your eyes, but despite the dust and decay and looming threat of walkers, you couldn’t quite smother the small smile tugging at your mouth.
As you walked, you gestured vaguely at familiar corners, memories rising like dust from the scuffed floors.
“That was my locker… my homeroom… made out with Sam Goldberg behind that stairwell once. He had braces. I ended up with a split lip. Safe to say, it didn’t last.”
Daryl raised a brow, clicking his tongue. “You got a type?”
“Apparently—greasy-haired boys with too much attitude and unresolved trauma.”
Michonne snorted behind you. “Checks out.”
You smirked but didn’t push it, the three of you falling back into a familiar rhythm as you moved through the ghost of your past. Classroom by classroom, you swept through overturned desks and forgotten lesson plans. Daryl jimmied open a locked filing cabinet and found a small hoard of pens. You pocketed a few crayons from a kindergarten drawer, bright wax sticks still intact. Survival didn’t always mean bullets and canned beans.
Then—
“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!”
The sound cracked through the empty hall like a gunshot. Without hesitation, the three of you took off down the corridor, boots thudding against warped linoleum, the echoes bouncing in every direction. It made it harder to pinpoint where the voice was coming from—but not impossible. Daryl led the charge, his crossbow already raised, and Michonne flanked his side, katana in hand. You followed close, heartbeat hammering.
Another scream.
“PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP ME!”
You burst into the cafeteria—and chaos.
A man was backed into a corner by the serving counter, flailing a broken mop handle at a swarm of walkers clawing toward him. Maybe a dozen. Maybe more. He was sweating through his clothes, shouting hoarse, cornered like a scared animal—and he wasn’t going to last much longer.
One walker lunged low, teeth aimed for his calf—
Thwip.
A bolt lodged into its skull, dropping it mid-lunge. Daryl didn’t stop moving.
You and Michonne charged forward, weapons swinging with brutal precision. You took out the one nearest the man’s side, your machete slicing through rotted sinew. Michonne dispatched two with practiced ease, blade singing in the air. Daryl reloaded and dropped another. The room filled with the sickening squelch of torn flesh and the thud of corpses hitting tile.
When the last walker collapsed, the silence was loud enough to hurt.
You turned to the man, breathless, heart still pounding. He hadn’t moved—still crouched awkwardly behind the counter, wide-eyed and shaking. The guy looked like a walking cliché of the apocalypse: tangled beard, tattered hoodie, clothes baggy from too much time between meals. He didn’t look as bad as he smelled—but he didn’t exactly smell like roses either.
“You can come out now,” Michonne said, lowering her sword. Her voice was calm but clipped.
Still, the guy didn’t move.
“Hey, man…” you tried, stepping forward with a small wave. “You alright? You need a hand or something?”
His head snapped to you so fast it made you freeze. His eyes locked on your face, and then—he lit up. Like really lit up. That goofy, disbelieving, full-face grin that made your stomach twist with secondhand embarrassment.
Daryl stiffened.
Before you could say another word, the guy vaulted the counter like it was nothing and pulled you into a bear hug with the kind of force that knocked the wind out of you. Your feet actually left the floor.
“What the fuck—!”
It happened fast. Daryl yanked him off you mid-lift and slammed him chest-first into the counter with a sharp thud. The man gasped, hands flying up in surrender as Michonne closed in, sword angled, eyes sharp.
“Keep ya damn hands off o her!” Daryl growled, the edge of his voice dark with something cold and possessive.
“Wait—wait, wait!” the guy choked out, pinned and breathless as he twisted his head toward you. “Y/N—holy shit, it’s me! It’s Randy!”
You froze, blinking. “I—sorry, what?”
“Randy Gardner!” he gasped, eyes wide and hopeful like that might be enough to bring everything flooding back. “We went to high school together—come on, you have to remember—”
You stared a moment longer, searching. His beard didn’t help, and the apocalypse had done no one favors, but then something clicked. Your mouth opened in surprise.
“Oh my god.” You took a half-step back, eyes scanning his face. “Randy-G-in-bio-period-three Randy?”
Randy’s grin nearly split his face. “Yesss! Shit, I assumed you were dead. I mean, I hoped not, but—damn, look at you!”
You folded your arms with a mock-glare. “You look like you got eaten and spat back out.”
He laughed, breathless and still flattened against the counter. “Okay, fair. But you—I mean, you I mean, God, you look… incredible.”
Daryl hadn’t moved an inch. Still had him pinned, one hand on his shoulder, the other hovering near the knife on his hip. You could feel the tension radiating off him, like coiled wire.
You stepped in and laid a gentle hand on Daryl’s wrist. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “He’s harmless.”
Daryl’s eyes didn’t leave Randy for a long second. Then, slowly—reluctantly—he released him with a grunt, stepping back just enough to let the guy breathe again.
Randy exhaled hard, rubbing the counter-shaped dent in his ribs, and turned back to you with a grin that hadn’t dulled since he recognized you. “God, I haven’t seen another living soul in weeks—then I walk into you? Of all people?” He gave a laugh, shaking his head. “What are the chances huh Trouble?”
You blinked, surprised. Trouble. That was his stupid nickname for you back then. “It’s a small world I guess - jeez how do you remember that?”
“‘Course I remember.” He gave you a crooked smile. “First time I saw you throw hands with Tasha Lipman for stealing your hair brush, I knew I had a type.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting the heat blooming in your cheeks. “Please. That girl was asking for it.”
Michonne raised an eyebrow from the side, but said nothing, arms folded as she watched the reunion unfold with mild curiosity.
“You two were close?” she asked after a beat, glancing between you and Randy.
Randy chuckled, a little breathless still. “You could say that. We used to skip gym and hang out behind the band building. She’d steal the janitor’s keys, and we’d sneak into the auditorium to smoke and make out. Practically got expelled together. Right, Trouble?”
Daryl’s eyes sharpened.
You laughed, brushing imaginary lint off your jeans to hide your face. “Yeah, well. That was a long time ago.”
“Still,” Randy said, that look lingering just a little too long. “If I had to run into anyone after all this time… I’m glad it was you. I mean that’s gotta mean something right? Running into eachother?”
Daryl’s jaw ticked.
You cleared your throat. God it was stuffy in here.
Michonne gave a dry snort. “Yep. This definitely just got interesting.”
“Ya’ve been livin’ here?” Daryl finally snapped. His eyes darted around the cafeteria walls like they were proof of some kind of crime. “Holed up in a high school?”
Randy’s shoulders lifted in a defensive shrug. “Didn’t have much of a choice. First days, when it all went down, I got chased by rotters down the street. Ended up gettin’ shoved inside by the crowd. Once I shut the doors, I… just stayed. Every time I try to make a break for it, there’s another pack waitin’. Ain’t exactly got your skills with them.” He shot you a half-grin, like you’d get the joke. “But I ain’t dead yet, am I?”
You traded a look with Michonne, then with Daryl. That was impressive, in its own way. Not smart, maybe, but stubborn. And you knew stubborn.
“What were you doin’ up on the counter?” Michonne asked, cool as ever.
“Emergency stash.” He pointed upward. “Got supplies hidden in the ceiling panels. Food, water, a couple things I kept just in case. Was tryin’ to grab some when they cornered me.”
Your brows rose. The three of you didn’t even need to speak. The glance between you, Daryl, and Michonne said it all: supplies for safe passage.
You leaned back on your heels, crossing your arms. “Alright, Randy. Here’s the deal. You get us your stash. We get you out of here. We have a community, it’s safe. You pull your weight there you might just fit right in. Sound good?”
For a beat, he just blinked—then his face split into a grin so big you thought it might crack his cheeks. “Good? That’s the best damn deal I’ve heard in years.”
You looked up at the ceiling and positioned yourself directly under it. “Alright then, gimme a boost.”
Daryl had already moved closer, nodding slightly—until Randy, quicker and more eager than he should’ve been, stepped in first. His hands landed firmly on your waist, fingers splayed like he had any right to be touching you.
You froze.
It was instant—Daryl’s arm shoved Randy off with enough force to knock him back into the wall of trays and serving carts. Metal clattered. Randy held his hands up like it was nothing.
“Shit, sorry—thought she meant me.”
Daryl didn’t even glance at him. “She didn’t.”
Randy let out a quiet scoff, rubbing his shoulder. “Yeah, nah. My bad.”
Michonne’s jaw ticked but she said nothing, choosing instead to kick one of the pantry shelves aside.
You cleared your throat and lifted your arms again—this time only when you knew for sure Daryl was there.
That’s when it clicked for Randy. Daryl’s touch; it was familiar, his hands gripped your thighs like he had done it so many times before. You guys were together.
“Ok, let’s uh… try that again, shall we?”
He grunted, sliding his hands beneath your thighs as he hoisted you up, rough and certain.
And just like that, you were up and over.
——————
It started in the hallway outside the gym, where the sunlight knifed through broken blinds and caught you square in the eyes. You squinted, hand up like a visor, already cranky from the heat.
“Thought you said it was left at the lockers,” Daryl grunted, stopping at a dead end.
“I did,” you snapped, pinching the bridge of your nose. “But you insisted you knew better despite this being my old School. We covered this corridor before so congratulations, we’re lost.”
He shot you a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Ain’t lost. Hall’s just… different since last time.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. The hall moved.”
His jaw twitched. “Maybe if someone didn’t talk my ear off while I was countin’ steps—”
You stopped in your tracks. “Oh my god, are you blaming me for your sense of direction?”
Daryl gave a short laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Shoulda known better’n lettin’ you lead. You’d get turned around in a straight line.”
Your hands flew to your hips. “Excuse me? I’m not the one who thought the music faculty was the cafeteria.”
“Didn’t see the piano.”
“Uh-huh,” you drawled. “One time we nearly got eaten because you can’t tell a kitchen from a music classroom.”
Michonne walked on ahead, carrying the box of supplies you had collected from the ceiling, wisely pretending not to hear any of it.
But Randy wasn’t so polite. He lingered near the lockers, watching with raised brows and a little twitch of a smile. To him, it didn’t sound like banter. It sounded like cracks—like a woman snapping at her man, tired, exasperated. The kind of exasperation that maybe had room for someone else to step in.
“God, I’m starving,” you groaned, fanning yourself with your hand. “Bet the mice got more rations in their stash than we do.”
Daryl snorted, adjusting the strap of his crossbow. “Ya eat more’n the horses, woman.”
You gasped, clutching your chest in mock offense. “Excuse me? Bold talk from a man who eats squirrel innards for breakfast.”
His lip twitched, eyes flicking over you. “Still, reckon you’d put down the whole coop if we had one.”
You narrowed your eyes and smirked, bumping your shoulder against his. “Mm-hm. And I bet you’d still skin it and serve it to me. Spoiled, that’s what I am.”
That made him smile, because he totally would.
You spun on your heel so you were walking backward, facing him with that smug little grin that always spelled trouble. “Maybe I’m keepin’ up my figure for my other boyfriend. He likes me all plump and curvy.”
Daryl’s head snapped so fast you half-expected to hear it crack. “The hell you just say?”
Your laugh bubbled out, and you darted a step away before he could grab you. “Exactly,” you shot back, teasing. “Thought so.”
He lunged anyway, catching your arm, and you squealed as he dragged you in against his chest. “Smartass,” he grumbled into your hair, but the twitch of his mouth betrayed him.
You shoved lightly at his chest, grinning. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you, Dixon.”
His arm looped around your waist, keeping you anchored, his voice low like a warning. “Keep talkin’ like that, I’ll toss ya over my shoulder ‘n’ leave ya in the gym.”
You gasped, laughing harder. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He leaned close, lips brushing your ear. “Try me.”
He squeezed your sides — the bastard knew you were ticklish — and your squeal echoed down the hall, your laughter spilling over like it always did with him. Daryl’s mouth twitched into that rare, quiet half-smile he never showed anyone else, and you were still breathless when a voice cut in, sharp and misplaced.
“Hey. You don’t gotta talk to her like that, man.”
You both froze, blinking in sync before you turned to find Randy standing too close, shoulders squared like he’d just stumbled into some grand rescue.
Daryl stared at him for a long second, his brow furrowing in sheer disbelief, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right. He didn’t move, didn’t even bother to explain himself — just looked at you like is this guy serious?
Then Randy stepped forward, his hand closing around your arm to pull you slightly aside. “Calling her greedy like that,” he said, jaw tight, voice dripping with misguided chivalry. “She’s just hungry, we all are. Ain’t right to put her down for it. She’s beautiful no matter what size.”
Ok who does he think he is?
The air went flat. Daryl’s jaw flexed, but he still didn’t rise to it — just squared his shoulders, his silence speaking louder than anything. You could feel it, though, the temper thrumming just under his skin.
And that was enough.
“Randy, I need you to really listen to me when u say this.” Your voice was sharp now, cutting through whatever fantasy he’d built up in his head. “We went to high school together for, what, five minutes? That was literally decades ago. We may as well be strangers.” You stepped back toward Daryl, shaking off his grip. “So quit acting like you know me, and stop coming on so strong.”
A heavy silence lingered in the hallway, Randy shifting uncomfortably like he wanted to argue but had nothing solid to stand on.
Then you felt the warm weight of Daryl’s palm settle against the small of your back. “C’mon,” he muttered, steering you forward without a second glance.
Except he did glance — over his shoulder. The look he leveled at Randy was sharp enough to cut glass, a death glare that promised if the man tried anything like that again, he’d regret it.
-----------------------------
The art faculty was half shadows, half dust, like time had locked it up and walked away. Canvases leaned crooked against the walls, their surfaces cracked and curling, a kiln crouched in one corner with its door hanging open, and the whole place smelled faintly of rot and turpentine.
Randy had been buzzing with words, pointing into corners, mumbling about a stash he swore he’d left here, though he couldn’t remember where. His hand twitched toward you—“Me and you can—”
“No.”
Daryl didn’t even raise his voice, but it cut like a blade. He didn’t look at Randy when he said it, either, just tipped his chin toward the hall. “You and Michonne. Down there. Take the rooms at the end.”
The air dipped taut for a moment, and then Randy shrank back with a muttered, “Ah. Yeah. Okay.” He disappeared into the hall behind Michonne, his footsteps scuffing until they were gone.
That left you and Daryl.
You huffed, crouching in front of a tall cabinet. Its hinges groaned like a complaint when you tugged it open—and the next second a heavy thud knocked into your chest, bursting cold and wet.
“Shit!”
The gallon tub of white paint rolled to the floor, its lid barely clinging, leaving your shirt soaked and smeared, paint dripping down in messy streaks that clung to every curve. You swore, swiping at it with the rag tucked at your belt, but all you managed to do was spread it wider. The fabric clung tighter, plastered in streaks of chalky white.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you grumbled, rubbing harder. “This is just—perfect. I look like a prostitute on a Saturday night.”
You glanced up, ready to ask for more towels—“Can you—”
And froze.
He wasn’t moving.
Not a twitch.
He stood rooted to the spot, his crossbow still slung lazily at his back, his hands hanging at his sides like he’d forgotten what they were for. His eyes were locked on you, wide, dark, unblinking. Like someone had carved him out of stone, only his jaw ticking, throat working as he swallowed hard.
Your lips tugged slow, wicked. “What?” you asked, feigning innocence. “Never seen a girl get a paint job before?”
His mouth twitched, the faintest grimace, the faintest smirk. His voice came out rough. “Jesus Christ.”
You dropped the rag, dragging your palms over your chest deliberately, smearing more paint across the ruined shirt. “What?” you teased. “You don’t like my new look?”
His nostrils flared. He still didn’t move.
“Could use some help getting it off,” you added, softer now, tilting your head just so.
That cracked him. His eyes dragged lower, over your shirt plastered to your skin, up to your throat, and back again, heat plain on his face.
“Fuck,” he muttered, barely audible, like the word had clawed out of his chest on its own.
You grinned. “That’s not very constructive criticism, Dixon.”
Your boots creaked across the floor as you crossed to him, slow, deliberate. He still didn’t move. Didn’t back away. Just stood there watching you come closer like he wasn’t sure whether to step forward or bolt. When you stopped right in front of him, close enough to feel his breath mingling with yours, you murmured, “You’re staring.”
His throat bobbed again.
“If you want something,” you whispered, your breath brushing his lips, “all you gotta do is ask.”
The leash snapped.
His mouth crashed to yours, all teeth and heat, messy, desperate. You gasped into it, startled at the sudden ferocity, then clutched his shoulders, kissing him back with equal fire. His hands found your waist, paint smearing his palms, his shirt, gripping like you were water.
A strangled sound broke from him against your mouth, and then your feet weren’t on the floor anymore.
He lifted you without pause, hauling you up against him like you weighed nothing, spinning until your back hit the counter. The kiss didn’t break—it only got rougher, hungrier, his mouth greedy against yours, his fingers digging into your hips through the sticky paint.
You tore back just long enough to pant against his jaw. “We're supposed to be... looking for-”
“I'll be quick,” he rasped, breath harsh, already fumbling at the hem of your shirt. “Just a quick one, please.”
Your laugh was breathless, a whisper against his skin. “We really shouldn't...”
It wasn't a protest so much as a statement. His breath was fanning against your lips; you were so close that your lips kept brushing together. "Cmon, baby, we've got time."
You crashed your lips against his again, and you lost all reserve, if you had any to begin with.
“Better.. mmmfh… take your pants off then,” you mumbled against his lips.
It was when your pants were halfway down your thighs when Daryl finally lost his patience. He groaned low into your mouth like the sound was being dragged straight out of his chest, like even undressing you felt like too much to bear. His hands shoved the rest off in one rough tug, dragging your underwear with them, the cotton snapping against your skin before hitting the floor. You gasped at the cool air, but it was gone just as quick—replaced by him, all heat and weight and hard muscle pressing you into the counter.
You barely got his belt undone before he ripped his cock free himself, hissing at the sudden relief. He was already slick at the tip, flushed and heavy, and the second he pushed against you, your whole body arched forward like it had been waiting all day for this exact moment.
His cock pressed hot and heavy against your belly as he shoved his boxers down just enough, the heat of him smearing precum into your skin.
“Fuck—” he rasped, voice torn up. His forehead dropped to yours, sweat already beading at his hairline. “Goddamn baby—”
“I need you inside me. Now,” you breathed out and he swallowed your breath like it was his soul source of oxygen.
“Yes ma’am.”
When he finally sank into you, there was no patience, no testing the waters—it was a sharp stretch, a filthy, wet slide that had both of you gasping into each other’s mouths. The first thrust punched the air right out of your lungs. The slap of his hips against yours echoed loud in the empty art room, each movement wet and unforgiving, the counter rattling under your spine. His rhythm was messy, frantic, like he couldn’t pace himself even if he wanted to. His mouth crashed to yours, biting, sucking, drowning out your moans until he had to pull away just to breathe. The counter rattled against the wall, your back arching hard as you clung to him, and he held you tighter, hands spread wide on your thighs like he thought you’d slip away.
“Baby,” you breathed into his ear, voice wrecked and playful all at once, “we really… need to stop… fucking on runs.”
You meant it as a joke, and it landed—the broken laugh he huffed against your jaw was half-amusement, half-desperation, like even now he couldn’t believe you. “Shut up,” he rasped, biting at your neck before kissing the sting away. “Ain’t stoppin’ now.”
His hips ground against yours in slow, relentless drags, the coarse hair at his base and his pelvic bone scraping your swollen clit just right, and it was unbearable—the way he moved like his skin was on fire, like the only way to soothe it was to burn himself deeper inside you. His groans tangled with yours, teeth catching your lip, hands sliding over every inch of you like he didn’t know where to hold first.
The air was damp with sweat and paint, the tang of sex already thick around you. Your thighs trembled against the counter’s edge, your fingers tugged at his damp hair, and the taste of him—salt and spit and hunger—filled your mouth.
“God, Daryl”, you gasped between kisses, your forehead pressed to his, “you fill me so... so well—”
“Yeah?” His smirk was ruined by the wreck in his voice, by the way his hips stuttered even as he tried to sound cocky. “That why we keep endin' up like this?”
You laughed into his mouth, breathless and bright, but it dissolved into a moan when his thrusts turned deeper, more desperate. His was painted now from rubbing against yours, his pulse hammering under your palms, and when he groaned again—low, guttural—it vibrated through your bones like it was yours too.
And for a moment, there was no run, no danger, no world beyond these four walls—just the frantic slap of skin, the grind of hips, the desperate way he kissed you like you were oxygen and he’d been drowning.
Randy crept down the hall, knife clutched too tight in his sweaty hand. The noises had started low, muffled by walls and echoes—grunts, moans, the thud of furniture. It had to be walkers, cornered in one of the classrooms. He told himself this was his chance. He could handle this. If you saw him kill one—just one—maybe you’d finally stop looking at Dixon like he was the only man alive worth leaning on.
Don’t be a wimp. Dob’t be a wimp.
He crept closer, heart hammering. The sounds sharpened, not the hollow rasp of walkers but something hotter, wetter, human.
“Baby—oh fuck I’m close—”
The words froze him. His chest went tight.
That was your voice.
Randy’s throat clicked dry as he edged toward the window in the door, knife trembling in his grip. He shouldn’t look. He needed to look.
What he saw on the other side hollowed him out.
You were bent back across a desk, bare legs and feet flailing with Daryl perched in between them, your shirt tugged halfway down your chest, skin streaked with white paint and flushed pink with sweat. Your breasts bounced with every thrust of Dixon’s hips, your face twisted in pleasure so sharp it almost looked painful. Your mouth fell open on another broken moan, your fingers clawing red down his back like you couldn’t get him close enough.
And Dixon—Jesus Christ. His head was buried against your throat, hair damp, jaw tight, eyes shut like he was praying into your skin. His hand was braced on your thigh, forcing your legs wider, the other pushing your shirt down farther, desperate for more to touch, more to lick, more to claim. He fucked you like a man starved, hips driving so hard into you that the desk screeched against the tiles.
Randy’s grip on the knife tightened.
The sounds bled through the wall—your gasps, your whimpers, his guttural growl vibrating low in his chest. He watched Dixon’s mouth latch on your breast, sucking hard, wet, greedy, like he couldn’t get enough, clearly not fazed by the paint. You arched up into it, crying out, and Randy’s stomach flipped with heat and shame.
There was nothing gentle about it. This wasn’t comfort. Wasn’t survival. This was want, raw and shameless, painted across both of you. Literally.
And it hit him like a punch to the ribs: this wasn’t something he could compete with. Not strength, not skill, not devotion.
Everything he saw in Dixon was the kind of man he could never scrape himself up to be—solid, unflinching, the kind of strength that made people follow without a word. But what made Randy’s stomach twist, what made his throat close, wasn’t the muscle or the grit. It was the way Dixon moved with you. The way he touched you like he owned every inch, like he knew what you needed before you even asked. And worse—you gave it back. Your sounds, the way your body arched into him, the look on your face—pure surrender, pure pleasure.
Randy’s eyes dipped lower against his will, and bile clawed at his throat. Christ. Dixon wasn’t just strong, wasn’t just fearless—he was hung, thick and heavy, stretching you in a way that made Randy’s skin crawl with jealousy. Watching him slide in deep, watching you come apart on him—it was obscene, like something ripped from the kind of fantasy Randy had never been brave enough to voice, let alone live. He wanted to look away. He couldn’t.
You let your head fall back, eyes rolling, chasing that sweet, brutal edge, body chasing that brutal edge, pleasure pooling low and mean, when the haze cracked. Something flickered in the corner of your vision, behind the glass. Your lashes fluttered, blurry focus sharpening until the heat in your blood turned cold.
The strip of glass in the door. A shape. A face.
Randy.
Watching.
The bottom fell out of your stomach. Your pulse jackknifed, mouth drying even as Daryl’s cock hit deep, over and over. “Daryl—” you gasped, your voice tangled in a moan you couldn’t bite back, panic snapping into the sound like static. Your arms flew up, clutching at his shoulders, dragging yourself up and pressing against him so he was covering your bare chest with his body. “We—we gotta stop. Randy, he’s watching us—”
But Daryl didn’t lift his head. Didn’t even turn. His pupils were blown wide, his lips dragging wet against your throat as he groaned, low and dangerous, like a man too far gone to be pulled back. “So let him.” His voice was a rasp, guttural, and his hips didn’t falter. They snapped forward harder, rougher, each thrust a greedy slam that made your teeth click and your thighs shake.
“Daryl—” you whined, torn between panic and the molten ache spreading through you, your voice breaking when his hand clamped your thigh, pinning it higher against the desk. The angle made you sob out loud, your head falling back again even as your eyes flicked, terrified, to the window. Randy hadn’t moved. Still there. Still staring.
Daryl’s breath dragged harsh across your ear. “Let the fucker watch,” he growled, and the raw hunger in his tone made your whole body jolt, traitorous shivers chasing down your spine. His thrusts turned reckless, almost violent in their need, as though the idea of being seen only made him want to tear you apart more, claim you deeper, grind every sound out of you until there was no mistaking who you belonged to.
Your nails clawed red into his back, torn between shielding yourself and pulling him closer, the edge of humiliation tangling with the white-hot flood of sensation. “Baby hold on—oh my god—” you whimpered, the words half-muffled against his jaw. You didn’t want this, not like this, not with Randy’s wide, stunned eyes drinking in every second—and yet, with Daryl snarling into your skin, fucking you like he’d die if he stopped, your body didn’t care.
This would usually be very unlike Daryl, but you knew better - he only got like this, so reckless and driven when he was upset or horny. Sometimes both.
Your vision blurred at the edges, white flooding through the cracks, and your body gave before your mind caught up. The coil inside you snapped, vicious and sudden, tearing a raw cry from your chest as your cunt clenched down hard around him. The gush of release was hot, unstoppable, spilling down your thighs, soaking both of you. Daryl’s answering groan was guttural, wrecked, his forehead pressing hard into your shoulder as his hips lost all rhythm. He jerked, stuttered, desperate and undone, spilling inside you with sharp, frantic thrusts until every last drop was driven deep.
You shook through it, trembling, your nails dragging at his damp back, his breath ragged against your skin. The world narrowed to the sounds—the wet slap of his hips still pushing through aftershocks, the broken curses he gasped against your neck, the sharp hitch of your own breathing.
Slowly, the rhythm ebbed, leaving only the throb of your pulse in your ears. The room spun around you in muffled silence.
Daryl practically collapsed against you, his head suddenly feeling too heavy laid peacefully on your shoulder but his arms stayed locked around your back, iron-tight, his cock still buried deep, twitching weakly inside you as though his body wasn’t ready to be done. You held him the as he panted against your skin, chest heaving, every exhale hot and damp at your throat.
You stroked his damp hair back, your voice barely a whisper. “You good killer?”
He didn’t move. Just groaned low, the sound nearly a laugh, and finally rasped against your shoulder, rough and ruined, “Told ya I’d make it quick."
Daryl hadn’t moved much, still sprawled heavy against you, skin damp, chest rising slow against your back. His hand curved over your middle in that absent way he always did now, like he couldn’t stop reminding himself you were both there. He pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder, then another, his lips dragging clumsy along your neck until you squirmed.
“Quit it,” you whispered, laughing.
“Nuh huh,” he muttered, voice rough, half asleep and half drunk on you. He shifted just enough to nudge your hair out of your face, fingers brushing gentle along your temple. And then, almost like it slipped out of him, low and simple—
“Y’know I love ya, right?”
It wasn’t a grand confession, not some big cinematic reveal. It was just Daryl, rasping out what you both already knew, like stating the weather, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. But it still hit you, warm and sharp, made your grin stretch wide enough it hurt.
“Really?” you teased, tilting your head to catch his eye. “Lil' old me?”
His mouth twitched into that reluctant half-smile, the one he never gave anyone else. “Shut up,” he muttered, and he face planted into the crook of your neck again.
You giggled against him, hand stroking his back. “Love you too Dixon... god you're so sappy after sex .”
“Yeah? Still ain’t hearin’ you complain.”
“Maybe I don't hate it,” you shot back, grin cocky, and he huffed that little almost-laugh into your throat, holding you closer, like he couldn’t help it.
You let your cheek rest on his temple, groaning into his hair finally;“God we are both covered in paint.”
He hummed against your skin, his voice hoarse and his eyes shut as if you were pulling him to sleep by just holding him. “Totally worth it.”
That earned him another grin, wide and wicked, and you cupped his face, pulling his face up so you could see that love lien face he he always tried to hide. You leaned in, kissing him slow, almost lazy, lips dragging against his like you had nowhere else to be. He kissed back with the same kind of stubborn gentleness that always undid you — sweet, steady, like he was sealing the words he’d just spoken straight into your skin.
By the time you pulled away, you were both smiling too hard to kiss again without laughing, foreheads pressed together, breath tangling. It was nothing new — the teasing, the banter, the ease — but right now, in this dingy classroom with paint still drying on your shirt and his hand tucked under your shirt like he owned you, it felt like everything.
And Randy, still rooted at the window, felt it too. That sharp, frantic hunger he’d seen in you minutes ago had shifted, softened into something worse — something he wanted even more. Not just the heat. Not just the frenzy. But this. The tenderness. The familiarity. The way you made it look so damn easy.
Randy couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away.
The way you laughed into Daryl’s mouth like you’d been doing it your whole life. The way Daryl let his forehead rest against yours, eyes closing like that smile of yours was the only thing keeping him upright. It wasn’t frantic now. It wasn’t hunger. It was soft, achingly soft, and Randy felt it punch a hole straight through his chest.
He wanted that. God, he wanted that.
“Really?” came a voice behind him.
He flinched so hard he nearly dropped his knife. Michonne was standing in the hallway a few paces back, arms crossed tight across her chest, her expression carved from stone.
Her eyes flicked once to the window, then back to him. And the judgment there was so sharp it made the hair on his neck prickle.
“You seriously standin’ here spying on them?” Her voice was low, even, the kind of calm that promised nothing good. “What a creep.”
Randy’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
She shook her head slowly, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was looking at. “Gross,” she muttered, before stepping past him without another glance, her boots heavy against the tile as she moved toward the other end of the hall.
stomach twisting, the sound of your laugh still spilling faint through the cracked-open door. He’d seen more than he should’ve, more than he wanted to admit, and for the first time since the world ended he almost wished the walkers had gotten him at the start. At least then he wouldn’t have this burned into his skull.
The door creaked wider and you and Daryl stepped out, both of you flushed and breathless, streaks of white paint smeared down your shirts. You grinned, raising the battered duffel over your shoulder like a trophy.
“Yahtzee,” you announced brightly. “Jackpot.”
Randy’s throat clicked as he swallowed, forcing a smile that wobbled at the corners. “Never thought a supply run could be that… productive.” His eyes flicked between you and Daryl, too long, too knowing.
Your grin faltered just enough for the innuendo to sting, and you made a point of turning away from him, brushing past like he wasn’t even there.
“Let’s go,” Michonne snapped, already striding down the hall. No room for discussion, no patience for Randy’s tone.
Daryl lingered a beat longer. His stare was flat, unreadable, but when he shouldered past Randy he did it hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Randy doubled over, gasping. Daryl didn’t even look back.
And if Randy did manage to get out of this school alive, he knew one thing for certain: Daryl Dixon would make him regret it.
————
The second your hand pushed on the crash bar, you knew it was wrong.
The doors rattled under the weight of bodies pressing from the other side—groans muffled through glass, teeth clicking against panes already spiderwebbed with cracks. Two dozen, maybe more, and the instant they heard you all inside, the sound swelled, frantic, hungry.
“Back,” Michonne hissed, raising her blade, but it was too late.
The glass gave out in a thunderclap, shards spilling like rain as gray hands surged through, clawing, reaching. The stench of rot punched the air.
“Shit—MOVE!” Daryl barked, shoving you toward the hallway.
You bolted, boots hammering across the tile. One walker lunged from the side, and for a half-second it was Randy’s dumb voice shouting, “Help!” that cut through everything. He’d tripped—of course he had— the box of supplies sliding across the floor from his grip and a set of jaws was already snapping inches from his throat.
You didn’t think. You just grabbed a mop from the broken custodial cart as you ran and jammed the splintered end through the thing’s eye. It crumpled, and Randy scrambled up, panting, wide-eyed. He looked at you like you’d just given him a Valentine.
“Cmon dumbass, get up!,” you snapped before he could even open his mouth. You picked up the box of supplies because clearlt he couldnt be trusted.
Michonne’s voice cut sharply. “We won’t make it through the front. Need another way.” Her eyes scanned the walls, the ceiling. Then she nodded, decisive. “Vents. Cafeteria runs straight above the loading bay—there’ll be a drop. It’s tight, but it’s clear. We can double back for the supplies when we get a window.”
Randy perked up, nodding like it had been his idea all along. “Yeah—yeah, that’ll work.”
“Then let’s move,” you said, already running for the nearest ladder bolted to the wall. You didn’t hesitate, plopping down the box of supplies. “Guess I’ll go first. Pussies.”
You hauled yourself up, shoving at the grate until it gave way with a squeal of metal, and slipped inside. The shaft was narrow, dark, stinking of dust and rust.
Behind you, Randy put a foot on the ladder. “I’ll—”
“Fuck that.”
Daryl’s voice was low, final. His hand clamped around Randy’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “Not you.”
Randy bristled. “I owe her—”
“You don’t owe her shit,” Daryl cut him off, his eyes flaring, jaw tight. “She don’t need ya watchin’ her back.” His gaze flicked up toward where your boots disappeared into the vent, then back to Randy.
Randy swallowed hard, shrinking an inch under the weight of it.
And then Daryl was climbing up, leaving his trusty crossbow behind so he could fit and sliding into the vent after you. He gritted his teeth against the cramped space, crawling forward on his elbows, the sound of your knife scraping faintly ahead of him, your scent—paint and sweat—hanging in the air.
The view of your ass didn’t hurt either.
No—fuck that. That was the reason. Not some bullshit about owing you. Not a chance in hell.
Daryl smirked faintly to himself and kept moving.
----------------------------------------
“You good back there, big guy?” you called, breathless, sweat beading along your hairline.
A rough grunt came from behind you. “Yeah… jus’—fuck—It's so tight. M'too damn big fer this.”
You bit down on a smirk, shoulders shaking. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’ll squeeze in just fine if you keep pushin’.”
“Shit,” he muttered, voice gruff and frayed. “Ain’t got much room ta move.”
You stifled a laugh that came out more like a gasp. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with it. Can’t exactly swap places now, can we?”
A pause. Then a sharp sting cracked across your backside—Daryl’s calloused palm finding its mark. You yelped, your laugh spilling out so loud it rattled through the shaft, but you kept going.
“Daryl!” you hissed back, scandalized, though the grin on your face was wide enough to ache.
“Quit wigglin’ it at me, then,” he drawled, absolutely not sorry in the least.
Behind you came a muffled curse, followed by a sharp, metallic scrape—his belt buckle catching, the noise ricocheting through the dark.
Then Michonne’s voice cut in flat, bone-dry. “Do you two even hear yourselves right now? Because we do. And it sounds exactly like I think it does.”
Your laugh burst out, echoing through the shaft until you had to clap a hand over your mouth to quiet it. Daryl groaned, forehead thunking lightly against the vent wall.
The truth was absurdly ordinary. Just four survivors, crawling belly-to-back through a dust-choked ventilation shaft, trying not to suffocate on rust flakes and old insulation.
The vent groaned as Daryl shifted closer, the metal clanging like it was ready to give. His breath hitched, low and ragged, and you could feel the vibrations of his body straining against the narrow walls.
The vent felt like a coffin—tight metal walls pressing in, every breath choked with dust, every inch forward a slow drag of knees and elbows. Your knife scraped along with you, clutched tight because you weren’t letting it go, not in a place like this. Behind you, the hollow thud of Daryl’s knees echoed, steady as a heartbeat, a quiet reminder that he was right there.
Until he wasnt.
The vent groaned under the weight as if to warn you.
Then came a single ping of a screw failing. Then another.
Your whole body went rigid. The metal beneath you dipped, then shrieked under the weight. Before you could even turn back, the panel gave out.
“Shit!”
The crash tore through the silence. Daryl and Randy vanished in a blur of flailing limbs and clattering bookshelves, the echo of their fall shuddering through the shaft. Dust rushed upward like smoke, choking the air, and then it was too quiet.
“Daryl!” you shouted down, clawing forward, your palms slipping on the vibrating metal.
Nothing. Just the groan of toppling shelves and settling rubble.
Your chest squeezed so hard it hurt. “Baby!?” The word rang out raw, the echo carrying through the library below like something broken.
At last, a rough cough answered. “M’ good!”
The breath tore out of you in relief, your forehead pressing against the vent floor.
“…Yeah, I’m fine too,” Randy called up. “Not that anybody asked.”
You ignored him, already shifting forward. “Hold on, I’m coming—”
“No.” Daryl’s voice snapped sharply, brooking no argument. “Ain’t stable. You keep movin’ forward. Michonne, double back. Go for the main entrance—it'll be clear now. Sound will bring 'em to us.”
"Wait what!? They're headed for us!?" Randy turned his head so quickly you thought he would have whiplash. The three of you ignored him ofcourse.
“Are you out of your damn mind? I'm not leaving you hear with snowflake here!” you spat back, fury boiling up through the panic.
“Would ya relax, nobody is leaving anybody, just meet us down there. Me 'n him are gonna make a break for the window.”
Your fist slammed against the vent wall, the clang ringing in your ears. “Don't get all smart on me Dixon. You are not pulling this macho bullshit on me—”
“This bullshit’s keepin’ ya alive, woman,” he shot back. “Would you fuckin' get—”
“You don't get to order me around, asshole!”
“Someone's gotta!”
The words collided, hot and sharp, until Michonne’s voice sliced through, exasperated. “Would you two shut up?" She yelled from across the gap in the vent, voice booming around the barren library. "We don’t have time for this.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. You pressed your forehead to the cold metal, teeth clenched, chest heaving. Finally, you forced the words out, shaky but steady enough. “…Fine. But you better meet me on the other side, Dixon. I swear to god.”
There was a pause—just long enough to make your throat tighten—before his voice came back, low and sure. “See ya there.”
You shoved yourself forward, and you heard Michonne doing the same, turning around to come back the way you came. Each scrape of your elbows against the metal was a promise, the ache in your chest heavier than the vent pressing down on you.
The library smelled like rot and mildew, all warped paper and dust that clung to the back of your throat. Daryl squatted near the window, testing the frame with one hand. The drop on the other side was steep—fifteen feet easy, maybe more. Not exactly something you could walk off.
“We ain’t jumpin’,” he muttered. “Need a rope.”
Randy hovered awkwardly by an overturned shelf. “So… like, curtains? Sheets?”
“Whatever the hell you can find,” Daryl said, already yanking the hem from a banner that had once hung across the wall, some pep rally relic of a world long gone. The fabric ripped in his hands, sharp and loud in the silence.
They worked in quiet at first, piling strips of cloth. Daryl twisted and knotted them tight, checking the give with a sharp tug. His hands were steady, practiced. Randy’s weren’t—his fingers fumbled clumsily, and when he spoke, it wasn’t about the knots.
“So you and Y/N, huh?” Randy asked, tone just a little too casual, a little too smug.
Daryl didn’t look up from the rope he was knotting together. Just gave a low grunt, clipped and noncommittal.
Randy smirked faintly, though it didn’t touch his eyes. “How long’s that been goin’ on?”
“Dunno.” Daryl tugged the knot tight, testing it with a sharp pull. “A while.”
Randy leaned against the wall, arms folded like he was settling in for story time. “Where’d you two even meet?”
“On the road.”
“Romantic,” Randy muttered, rolling his eyes. “Guess that’s all it takes these days, huh? Some guy with a crossbow shows up, does some grunting, and suddenly she's all doe eyed—”
“Stop.” Daryl’s voice was flat, a warning edged in steel, but the man either didn’t hear it or didn’t care.
“So what is it then? You save her from a couple rotters and she swoons? Or maybe she got sick of waiting around for someone better and settled for you?” Randy’s chuckle was sharp, humorless. “Back in school, girls like her… they didn’t look twice at guys like you.”
Daryl’s hands stilled. The rope dangled loose from his fingers, jaw ticking hard enough you could hear his teeth grind.
Randy smirked wider, mistaking the silence for an opening. “What, not gonna deny it? C’mon, man, you think if the world hadn’t ended, she’d even spare you a glance? She was—hell, she was outta my league too, but at least we make sense together. You guys? That don't add up—”
The sound of fabric slamming against the table cut him off. Daryl moved so fast Randy flinched back, his shoulders smacking the wall. One hand fisted tight in the front of Randy’s shirt, crossbow-calloused knuckles pressing into his chest.
“Enough.” Daryl’s voice was low, rough, but steady. “World ended. People changed. Accept it.”
Randy hesitated, then laughed under his breath. “C’mon, don’t tell me you really think this lasts. If the world hadn’t ended, she wouldn’t have even glanced your way. You wouldn’t have stood a chance. She had her whole life ahead of her. College, a career, a family—people like her weren’t looking at guys like you.”
The words hit their mark, and Randy knew it. He leaned in, emboldened. “You know I’m right. You’re a fluke, Dixon. A mistake she made because the world went to shit, and you just happened to be standing next to her when it did.”
The sound of fabric tearing was drowned out by the slam of wood against concrete. In one motion, Daryl had Randy pinned hard against the wall, forearm digging into his chest.
“You don't know shit,” Daryl spat, his voice low, but it carried like thunder, his breath hot with fury. His eyes burned, unblinking, so close Randy flinched. “World before don’t mean nothin’. Sooner you get that, the easier it gets. That girl you knew—she’s gone, man. Like everybody else. She’s who she is now ‘cause she fought for it. ‘Cause she survived it.”
Randy swallowed, face blanching under the weight of it. Daryl leaned in just a fraction closer, his words sharp as broken glass.
“You’re stickin’ your head where it don’t belong,” he said, each syllable deliberate, dripping venom. "If you make it out of here and tha's a big if, I don't wanna see you're ugly face near 'er, ya hear me?"
Randy’s throat worked around a pitiful gulp. He nodded, stiff and jerky, too choked to get a word out.
Daryl’s stare didn’t budge. His eyes were flat, cold as steel — the kind that let a man know he was looking straight at a predator, and all he’d ever be was prey.
The rope dangled from Daryl’s fist as he stepped back, shoulders heaving, his glare still locked on Randy like a loaded weapon.
“Get back to work,” he growled.
Randy straightened his shirt with shaking hands, no comeback this time.
------------------------------------------
The night air hit like a shock the second you wriggled free of the vent. It was damp, cool, full of the smell of wet asphalt and rot that clung to Alexandria’s forgotten corners.
You dropped down into the grass, knees bending to take the shock, boots sinking into the wet earth with a muffled squelch. The night air hit you like a wave — damp and sharp, thick with the scent of rain-soaked soil, copper tang still clinging to your tongue after too long breathing in the duct’s stale, metallic breath.
You didn’t move.
You listened.
The world seemed to hold itself still for you: cicadas silenced, the wind pressed flat. And then—there. A rhythm that didn’t belong. Footsteps. Quick. Uneven. Too light to be a walker’s drag, too frantic to be deliberate.
Your throat tightened. Every muscle pulled taut. You raised your weapon, moving along the wall as if plaster and brick could make you untouchable. The rough edge of stone scraped your shoulder as you crept, breath shallow, pulse crashing like a drumbeat in your ears.
The steps came closer. Closer.
And then—you weren’t alone.
Both of you rounded the corner at the same time. Two shadows colliding. A figure low to the ground, shifting quick and jerky in the dark. You couldn’t make out the face, not at first—the moonlight cut only enough to frame it in edges. Instinct took you the rest of the way, blades lifted, ready, your heart pounding so loud you swore they could hear it too.
For a breath, the world collapsed into nothing but the gleam of steel and the harsh rasp of breath, two shadows poised to tear each other apart. The silence pressed thick around you. Then the figure uncoiled, rising out of the crouch, and the moon spilled just enough light across their face to catch on the familiar fall of braids and the sharp glint of a katana you knew all too well.
“Shit,” you exhaled, lowering your blade. "What the fuck, Mich!"
Michonne’s brow lifted, just slightly, though her sword didn’t drop until she gave the perimeter a final sweep. “Thought I was about to cut your head clean off,” she muttered.
You blew out a shaky laugh, wiping the sweat from your palms. “Could say the same.”
The reprieve lasted only a heartbeat. Overhead, a dull thud shook the quiet, pulling both your gazes skyward.
The library windows gaped black against the brick. From one of them dangled a length of knotted fabric—curtains and shirts, fraying where they’d been tied together. The rope swayed under the strain of weight. Daryl was halfway down, every muscle locked tight, his jaw clenched as he braced himself, his boots scraping slowly down the wall.
And above him, framed in the window, was Randy.
He lingered at the top, white-knuckled on the frame, knife glinting in his hand. His eyes darted everywhere but down, sweat shining at his temple.
Relief swept through you, so strong it was almost dizzying. He was almost down. Daryl was almost out.
But then—Randy moved.
His knife jerked, clumsy, catching the fabric. The sound of tearing ripped the night open.
“Daryl!” The scream ripped out of you raw, panic cutting sharp through your chest.
The rope snapped.
For one gut-wrenching second, he was weightless. Then the ground came up fast, and he slammed down just a few feet from you, the sound brutal enough to make your stomach heave.
You were on him before the echo faded, knees sinking into wet earth, hands scrambling helplessly over him. “Daryl!”
His face was pale, his mouth tight with pain, but his eyes—those defiant, sharp blue eyes—met yours through the haze. He coughed, tried to straighten, voice gravel-rough. “M’ alright.”
The lie cut sharper than the fall.
Michonne’s blade angled upward, her gaze locked on the window where Randy still poked his head out. His knife trembled in his hand, his face pale with something between fear and guilt—but not nearly enough of either.
Your vision tunnelled, your hands still clutching at Daryl’s shirt. Rage burned so hot it made your skin prickle.
“Son of a bitch,” you spat, the words shaking out of you, low and guttural.
Daryl's face was chalk-white beneath the streaks of dirt and sweat, jaw clenched so hard the muscle twitched. He tried to stand, stubborn as ever, and for a fleeting moment you believed his lie—until the sound tore out of him.
A strangled, bitten-off yelp that hollowed you out. His hand snapped to his side, fingers clutching tight, his body curling around the pain like he’d been stabbed.
Your legs moved before your brain did. You dropped to the ground beside him, one hand pressing his chest to stop him from rising, the other tugging his shirt up with shaking fingers.
“Hold still,” you demanded.
“’M fine,” he panted, breath short, sharp.
“Shut up.” You shoved the fabric higher, and your stomach sank at the sight. Bruising already spread dark across his ribs, angry and swollen, the skin warped in a way you knew too well. A rib out of place, maybe two. Not fatal—not yet—but dangerous if left.
Your voice came low, urgent. “Dislocated rib. If we don’t fix this now, it could puncture something - that is, if it hasn't punctured something already. We gotta get him outta here.”
He shook his head, still trying to straighten, because of course he would. “We gotta get the stash, we ain't leaving empty—”
“Oh my god, stop talking!” You glared at him, your fear too sharp to soften.
With Michonne’s help, you hauled him between you, his weight heavy, his steps staggered, each inhale catching like a knife in his chest. Every time his boot struck the floor you could hear it—the low hiss of pain he was trying to bury.
By the time you reached the van, his sweat had soaked through his shirt, his lips pale and cracked. You didn’t wait for him to argue. You guided him down onto the floor, your hands firm but careful, lowering him onto his side.
“Injured side up,” you muttered automatically, like it was just another box to tick on some apocalypse to-do list. Your hands moved without asking your brain for permission, all muscle memory and stubborn calm, while your stomach was tying itself in knots. Inside, you were screaming. Outside, you kept your voice flat, almost dry, because if you let the panic through, it’d eat you alive. You could panic later. After. Preferably not while trying to shove his ribs back where they belonged. Not unless you wanted to be the idiot who killed her own boyfriend by helping.
He didn’t fight, like every time you touched him, he relaxed slightly, though the tension in his jaw said he wanted to bolt. His body folded to your guidance, too tired to resist.
You shifted his head into your lap, your thighs cradling him, your belly curved protectively above him. His cheek pressed against your thigh, hot, damp with sweat, his breath fanning uneven against your shirt.
For a long moment you just stroked his hair back, grounding yourself as much as him.
His eyes dragged up to meet yours, glassy and half-lidded, but still sharp enough to cut. “That good, huh?” he rasped, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smirk but didn’t have the strength.
“Oh yeah. Fantastic,” you murmured, though your throat was tight and the joke landed like glass in your chest. You pressed your palm against the swollen rib, fingers spread, feeling the unnatural give beneath skin and muscle. “This is gonna hurt. Like—royally. But after, it’ll be better. Y’know, like puking up bad booze. You hate every second of it, but then you feel like less of a disaster after.”
He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “Nice one.” It was very unenthusiastic, especially considering he’d just burrowed his head harder into your lap, like if he could just get comfortable, maybe the whole ordeal wouldn’t exist.
“Hey, I’m trying here,” you muttered, the exhale shaky, your hand steady only because it had to be. “You trust me?”
His throat bobbed once, then again, and he gave you the smallest nod—barely there, but enough to split you open inside. Of course he trusted you. Always. And that was what made your chest ache, because you weren’t sure you deserved that kind of blind faith, not when it meant you were about to break him just to fix him.
You bent closer, your lips at his hairline. “Alright. Deep breaths for me baby—”
His hand fisted in your shirt, curled around your middle, knuckles white. “Just—do it.”
He breathed with you for a few moments, the smell of you filling his nose, calming him—
You steeled yourself, shifted your weight, and pressed down.
The crack of bone sliding back into place was nearly lost beneath the scream he gave. Raw. Guttural. It ripped out of him and straight into your stomach, muffled against your body as he buried his face there. His whole frame shuddered, his back arching, sweat soaking through your clothes, fingers clawing at your thigh like he could tear the pain out of himself if he just held tight enough.
And then—relief. A ragged gasp broke through, his body slackening all at once. He trembled violently, but the agony had dulled to something else, something survivable.
You stroked his hair, shushed him with care, your other hand smoothing down the length of his back, whispering over and over, “That’s it. That’s it, baby. It’s done. You did so good. You’re okay.”
His breath was hot against your stomach, uneven but steadier with every exhale. His voice cracked when he finally spoke. “Ya were right—that sucked."
“I know,” you soothed, pressing a kiss to his damp temple, blinking back tears you couldn’t afford to shed. “Luckily, you got me.”
A sound caught in his throat, half laugh, half groan, and his arm curled around your middle, gripping you hard, anchoring himself to you.
And so you sat there, his head heavy in your lap, the world outside the van bristling with shadows and Michonne’s silent watch, while inside, it was just him and you—the steady rhythm of your touch, his breath beginning to even, the worst behind you.
The three of you waited out the night huddled in the van, the ruined school crouching in the dark like some giant carcass you weren’t finished picking clean. You tried to take watch, but Daryl’s arm was an iron band around you, even in sleep. Every time you shifted, every time you even thought about moving, his fingers flexed on your hip like his body remembered what his mind couldn’t. Michonne eventually smirked from her post by the window. “Ain’t no point. Man’s got you locked tighter than a bear trap.”
By dusk, the decision was made. The stash had to be retrieved. You weren’t about to limp back to Alexandria empty-handed after all this.
The gym doors were heavier than you remembered, their hinges shrieking in protest as Daryl and Michonne forced them apart. The air inside was stale with dust, rubber, and the faint rot that had seeped into every school since the fall. Your boots echoed on the polished wood, ghost cheers rattling somewhere deep in the rafters.
And then—bang.
Daryl yanked you back instinctively, his body covering yours as fragments of wood splintered where you’d been not even a second ago. The shot tore through the cavernous room, ringing against the walls so loud your ears screamed with it.
“FUCK!” Randy’s voice cracked from somewhere near the bleachers, the desperation raw. “You BITCH! That was my only bullet!”
You tried to shoot me, missed, and now I'm the bitch? Right. That makes sense.
You could hear him pacing, the scuff of his shoes on the floor, ragged breathing. He wasn’t even trying to hide.
“I had one shot,” he rambled, voice rising to a whine. “One chance to prove it—and you ruined it! You always ruin it, Y/N. Back then, now—it’s the same thing. You’d rather run around with him—” his voice spat like venom “—with that hillbilly—than with someone who you belong with. Someone who gave a damn.”
Your blood turned cold. You could feel Daryl’s whole body go still against your back, the quiet before the storm.
That was it. You were done. This loser has had enough spotlight for one day.
You bolted, Daryl cursing after you, but he was right behind, Michonne’s blade whispering free as her boots hit the floor. Randy shrieked when he saw you running towards him, panic ricocheting off the walls, and he ran. Of course he ran.
Through the gym, past the faded banners, toward the double doors—straight into the wall of walkers that had conveniently rushed to the scene when they heard the gunshot. How thoughtful. Randy skidded to a stop, tried to pivot, but more poured in from a side corridor.
Trapped.
You slowed just enough to watch it unfold. He bolted for the lockers, tried wrenching one open. His hands shook too hard, his screams rising high-pitched, almost childlike. He shoved himself halfway inside, scrambling like he could squeeze back into his teenage skin, back into the years that had already rotted away.
The door slammed on his leg.
The walkers hit him like a tide, tearing at the parts left exposed—his hands, his stomach, his throat straining above the edge of the locker as he screamed your name.
The sound cut off with a wet, ugly rip. Blood sprayed the faded paint.
Silence, except for the guttural chorus of feeding.
You stood there, chest heaving, sweat and paint still sticky on your skin. Michonne lowered her blade. Daryl’s hand closed on your shoulder, grounding you, steady as bedrock.
The three of you turned, leaving him exactly where he belonged—locked in with his glory days, devoured by the past he could never let go.
Daryl stepped back, slipping a hand across your back with quiet precision, fingers pressing against the base of your spine like he was still half on alert.
“You good?” he murmured, only for you.
You nodded, even though your pulse was still pounding and your stomach ached with leftover cramps and stress and that awful, sour taste of betrayal.
“Yeah,” you said. “`Let's just get our shit and go home.”
After doing just that, he opened the van door for you without another word. He helped you in, one hand steady on your elbow, as if he wasn't sporting a serious injury, then climbed in after. Michonne got behind the wheel, gave a last pointed look toward the school, then started the engine with a low grumble.
As the van rolled out of the cracked school lot, you leaned into Daryl like it was second nature. Your temple found his shoulder. His hand, without even thinking, dropped to your thigh—warm and solid, his thumb idly stroking through a rip in your jeans where the denim had stretched too tight to hold.
He didn’t seem to notice he was doing it. Didn’t care that Michonne was two feet away. She was family. She’d seen worse. In the art faculty, to be more specific.
“You sleepin’?” he asked softly, dipping his head a little to glance at you.
“Just resting my eyes,” you murmured.
The van bumped down a cracked road as trees flanked the path home. The conversation between the three of you drifted toward nothing in particular. Judith’s latest sass. Gabriel’s failed bread experiment. Rosita and Abraham are sneaking off again and thinking no one noticed.
Somewhere between the low hum of Michonne’s laugh and the feel of Daryl’s chest rising beneath your cheek, your body finally relaxed.
The van hummed low beneath you, Michonne’s steady hands on the wheel, her eyes fixed on the long stretch of road bleeding into dusk. The sky outside was bruised purple, streaked with the last scraps of daylight, but inside the van it was dim and warm, the air heavy with the smells of sweat, leather, and blood.
You were half-asleep already, body slumped completely against Daryl’s good side. His arm curled around you automatically, the weight of his hand a promise against your hip. Every bump in the road jostled you, but his grip never slipped. You could feel the steady thrum of his pulse under your cheek, the faint rasp of his breath where his jaw rested against your hair.
You blinked heavy-lidded, the world outside the windows a blur of dark trees and rolling asphalt, fighting the drag of sleep as you mumbled into Daryl’s chest. “It’s weird, y’know… Randy. He was just… stuck. Like he never made it out of high school. Like he froze right there forever.”
Your words vibrated faint against him, muffled by his shirt, and your fingers wandered in absent circles over the ink etched into his skin. You traced the angel wings spread over his collarbone, then followed the curve up to the skull just above. You’d done it a thousand times before, sometimes teasing, sometimes just to annoy him, but now your hand lingered like you were mapping a history, something deeper than bone and ink.
“I remember those days,” you murmured. “When I went there. But it doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Doesn’t even feel real. Like someone else’s memory I borrowed for a while.”
Your breath hitched on a quiet laugh, soft and tired. “Guess we all got ghosts from before. But compared to now, compared to this—it just feels… foreign. Like I couldn’t even fit into it again if I tried.”
Daryl’s hand flexed against your hip, a slow squeeze, and his lips brushed your temple. He didn’t answer right away, and you could hear the gravel of his breath stirring through your hair before he muttered, rough and low, “Ain’t just you. Sometimes I can’t even picture it no more. Like it’s a different world. Different people.”
From the driver’s seat, Michonne’s voice cut into the quiet, softer than you expected. “That’s because it was. That world’s gone. We’re what’s left.”
“Guess that’s why it’s hard. This one, I mean.” Your voice thinned to almost a whisper. “People like Randy… their big end-of-the-world moment was finishing high school. Moving towns. Ending relationships.”
You huffed a short, ironic laugh. “They didn’t stand a chance. Not when the real end came knocking. Sometimes I think… maybe I wish I’d been like that. Oblivious. Stuck in something simple.”
“No ya don’t,” Daryl rumbled, lips brushing your hair.
“Sure I do,” you teased back, but your voice softened. “Imagine it—thinking a bad hair day, or ruining your favorite shirt in the wash, was the worst thing you’d ever face. Back then, it was easier to tell the difference between living and surviving.”
His hand tightened around your thigh, his grip protective, grounding, and you clutched at his arm in return.
“Hey,” Michonne said, and when you glanced up, she wasn’t looking at the road anymore—she was looking at you, her eyes steady, certain. “We’re living. Believe me.”
Daryl grunted low, a sound that was almost agreement, and added, “Damn straight.”
The road stretched on, endless and quiet, the hum of the engine the only thing filling the silence. It was steady. Carrying you home.
You tucked yourself tighter into Daryl’s chest, your hand still drawing lazy circles over the rise of his ribs until your eyes began to betray you, lids drooping lower with every mile. His thumb brushed slow across the curve of your hip, keeping time with the rise and fall of your breathing.
And finally, when the pull of exhaustion won out, you let your eyes slip shut, lips parted just slightly as you dozed against the man who never once let you hit the ground.
Summary: When one thing leads to another, you and Daryl spend a passionate night together at the CDC. Unfortunately, neither of you is interpreting the signals right afterwards...
Warnings: 18+! MDNI! smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), uhhh sub and dom Daryl? unprotected rough-ish sex? Daryl gets a bj (yes, you read that right), he's a bit mean, too - but also a cutie patootie, uhh slight angst? bit of drama, alcohol - drunk-ish Daryl and tipsy reader, fluff, swear words, bickering
Set in Season 1!
Word Count: 4,5k
a/n: You want it, you got it, friends. I don't know what this is, though - or which demons possessed me as I wrote it. I really don't. I also don't know how I should feel about it. Embarrassed? Proud? Send help, lol.
Anyways, I hope you like this! Please go easy on me. Smut isn't really my forte...
Daryl's toast had been the starting shot for an evening full of conversation, fun, laughter - and alcohol. Some would say reams of alcohol. Wine, booze, beer - you and the group stopped at nothing. That was probably the reason why everyone staggered somewhere on a scale between tipsy and shit faced drunk at the end of the evening.
You were currently on your way to your personal room - something you'd describe as a luxury. Sure, back at the quarry you had your own tent, but there was a huge difference between that and a whole goddamn room. With a own freaking shower! It was crazy. Who would've thought that something so plain and simple would become such a valued, precious thing? Most likely nobody, because it was something taken for granted.
Well... Not anymore. Not since the world went to shit.
After passing a very drunk Glenn on the way, you more or less stumbled into your room. Tipsy... You were definitely tipsy. Without a single care in the world, you started to shed your clothes the moment the door shut close behind you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You had too much alcohol coursing through your veins to search for something you could use as a pyjama. You hadn't a problem with sleeping naked. Not tonight.
Unfortunately had your plan a catch... One that you weren't aware of yet.
This wasn't your room.
You were just about to free your body of the last piece of fabric you were wearing - a pair of admittedly beautiful dark blue lace panties, when a sudden voice managed to almost send you into cardiac arrest.
"Wha' the fuck 'r ya doin' in my room?!"
You startled so bad, that you almost lost balance and fell flat on your ass. Your balance was a bit off-track anyways, due to the wine...
With wide eyes you turned around to face the intruder.
"Daryl?"
You blinked. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed; his cheeks puffed out and reddened. He had been drinking way more than you did, and it showed. The archer's hands were fumbling clumsily with the fly of his jeans. "Jus' been taken a damn piss, 'n 'm comin' back to find ya standin' in my room." You crossed your arms over your bare - an information which hadn't reached Daryl's brain yet - chest. "This is clearly my room, Dixon." He scoffed again. "'S not!" "Yes, it is!" "'S not!" The man took a few wobbly steps closer. "Go bullshit someone else, I-" He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence; eyes widening to the size of plates. Now the information had been received and processed.
"Yer almost naked," he stated; bluntly staring.
Oh, you suddenly realised and remembered as well. He was right.
In any other situation, you'd have frantically tried to cover yourself up and perhaps even threw an insult at the man standing across from you, but the alcohol lowered your boundary of shame and loosened you up; making you see things more relaxed.
You huffed out a breath. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Daryl still blinked and tried very hard to not let his eyes drop, but that was an almost impossible task for the alcoholized man. "Why?" You shrugged your shoulders. "'Cause I wanted to go to sleep." The archer swallowed hard. "In my room? Naked? Ya lost yer damn mind, woman?" "It's my room," your tipsy self was still profoundly convinced, while you made your way over to the bed on slightly wobbly legs. Daryl just watched you; flabbergasted, speechless, shocked - and incredibly turned on. After all, he had a damn pretty woman in his room - no, bed. Half naked!
"You could join me, Dixon." He scoffed again and tried to walk in a straight line over to the armchair; accepting his fate. "In yer damn dreams. 'S ain't gonna help me - or my hard-on." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl and rolled around in the sheets. "That the reason why you can't get that zipper up? You like me, Daryl? Like what you see?" You pestered him with questions; smirking, and watched his cheeks redden even more - if that was physically possible and your eyes didn't betray you. "Shuddup," Daryl just growled in response. You giggled again, before a long beat of silence passed between the both of you.
The alcohol didn't just lower your boundary of shame... It also caused you to become bolder. "I could help you with that, you know..." You tried to sound as flirty and seductive as possible and turned in the sheets once more, but now to face the man sitting across from the bed. You perched yourself onto your stomach and crossed your ankles in the air; swaying your legs.
Gods, you felt like a teenager again. Damn the alcohol and your crush on the archer. It was a dangerous combination, since you hadn't planned to actually act on said crush. Well, and here you were now in his - nu.uh, your - bed, almost naked and trying to seduce him.
Some might say this escalated quickly...
"Help me with wha'?" The archer finally responded after a long moment; dumbfounded. His usually very smart and witty brain slowed down by the alcohol. You thought for a hot minute that he had already fallen asleep on you. You rolled your eyes and groaned - acting like Daryl just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Your boner," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal thing to say.
The archer swallowed hard; feeling his chest (and pants) tightening.
"Wha'?" He crooked out. The normally so talkative, glibly redneck seemingly rendered speechless by your boldness.
Once again, you rolled your eyes. "Do you reaaaaally want me to spell it out for you, D?" Daryl clearly needed a moment to recover, but once he did, he scoffed.
"Pf, yer bluffin'."
"I'm not."
"Yeah, ya 'r."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, ya 'r. Can tell. Yer way to innocent fer shit like tha', sunshine."
"Are you challenging me, Dixon?"
"Nah, jus' statin' facts."
Now you were the one who scoffed. He really asked for it, didn't he? You smirked and hid your face in the blanket beneath you. Oh, you were so going to prove him wrong.
You rolled your barely covered body around a third time, but this time to get up from the bed - which was a much more difficult task than expected, but you made it in the end - even though not gracefully and certainly not seductively. "Facts, huh?" You asked the crossbow-wielding archer then with a raised eyebrow and your hands on your hips. He crossed his arms over his plaid beige-brown shirt clad chest; bare forearms and biceps bulging with the movement. "Yes, facts." Although he stared into your eyes with his blue coloured irises, he still had a hard time for them to actually stay on your face.
"Well, you can go screw your opinions - or me. Your choice, pretty boy," you stated and shrugged your shoulders as you bridged the short distance between the bed and the armchair. Before the younger Dixon could even do as much as open his mouth for a snarky respond, you had dropped to your knees in front of him - between his manspread legs.
Daryl's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. "Wha' 'r ya doin'?!" He literally screeched and gripped the armrests of the armchair. "Proofing you wrong, pretty boy." You smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat; hands and fingers clumsily trying to open his jeans. "F-Fuckin' hell, wha'?! Yer insane, woman!" The archer cursed above you, but also didn't make any moves to stop you. So, you took that as a sign to continue. And continuing you did...
It took you a hot minute to get your eye-hand coordination straight and overcome the obstacles which were his jeans and boxers, but once you did, there was no holding back. "Ya really gonna do th- F-Fuck..."
You did.
"Told you, Dixon," you stated with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes; hands firmly cupping him. Daryl answered nothing. The archer had a hard time to control his breathing and rapidly beating heart. He was still gripping the armrests like a vice - his knuckles already turning white. He really couldn't believe this was happening right now. Was he asleep and dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Did the wine manage to fog up his brain so much that his eyes were deceiving him? But when he felt your lips wrap around him, he instantly threw all those thoughts overboard again. This was real. It had to be real. After all, he was feeling it, right?
"F-Fuckin' hell," he cursed again; feeling waves of pleasure crash over him. One of his hands loosened its grip on the armrest and went in your hair instead - tying your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. You were already too far gone to care; the taste of him addictive.
Working your magic, you tried to grant the man above you as much pleasure as possible - and it seemed to work. Within a few minutes, Daryl was a whimpering mess - a side you'd never thought you were ever going to see of him. Not in your wildest dreams.
"Ain't... Ain't g-gonna last," the archer panted breathlessly; the hand in your hair twitching. You didn't want him to. You wanted him to fall apart. A gentle squeeze of your hand was all it took. "Y-Y/N, damnit, 'm gon'- Gonna cu-" His sentence got interrupted by a low moan that paved its way to the forefront of his lips. The hand in your hair twitched again as he attempted to pull you off him. You didn't let him, though, and easily dodged his lousy attempt. Instead, you helped him ride the wave. His thighs twitched; muscles tensing as his high crashed into him. Daryl felt like he had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler - but in the best way possible. It had been so long...
The gentle grip he had of your hair slackened; hand falling limply to his side. You lifted your head to look at him to witness his blissed-out state. Daryl's eyes were closed, and his breathing laboured. You smiled; hands gently caressing his clothed thighs. "You believe me now, D?" He gave you a mere nod. Clearly he needed another few moments to get his head straight again. Your smile never ceased as you kept up your fingers movements. Your knees protested by now, but you didn't care.
Another few moments passed, before the archer peeled his eyes open again. Seeing you still on your knees for him managed to send another shockwave of arousal throughout his entire body.
Wide-blown eyes stared at you intensely; the gears turning in his fogged up head.
"T-Thanks, I guess," he whispered then. His voice was still hoarse. You smiled up at him. "You're welcome, pretty boy. Said I'm gonna help you." Daryl nodded almost shyly and clumsily stuffed himself back inside his boxers. You eyed him thoroughly and started to giggle. "Didn't think you'd loose it so fast. Wouldn't have pecked you to be a... premature guy." Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn't help yourself but to tease him a bit. It was meant to be a playful comment, but you seemed to hit a sore spot...
You could practically see how his eyes darkened, before he narrowed them. "Whatcha say, huh?" He asked in a gruff voice and stood up; towering over you. You blinked - were a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "I-I, uh... Said I didn't think you'd be one t-to, uh, come too early..." The archer growled under his breath. "Ya better watch yer mouth, sunshine," he said in a threatening tone and grabbed your arms to pull you up on your feet. Daryl quickly noticed, though, that his legs were even more wobbly now that they've already been before; forcing him to take cautious steps. "What are we doing, pretty boy? You gonna make me pay for saying that?" You gave another sassy remark; provoking him and tickling his nerve ends even further. A grunt passed his chapped lips as he dragged you with him. Once close to the bed, he wrapped his arms firmly around your bare midsection and literally threw you onto the bed - wobbly legs be damned. You giggled at his eagerness and slid upwards to rest your head on one of the pillows; giving the man a confident look. "C'mon then, pretty boy, show me what you got. I know you want to." He scoffed and crawled on the bed. "Pretty boy my ass." You just giggled again. You felt intoxicated by the wine you had consumed and definitely aroused - which got only worse when you felt calloused, deft hands gripping your delicate skin. Daryl parted your legs and settled on his knees between them. His eyes were directed on your face. He looked like a predator - ready to attack his prey. It was incredibly hot.
"'M gonna shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers, just ya wait," he growled in a deep voice, and wrapped his arms and hands around your thighs like a snake - holding them firmly and simultaneously keeping you splayed open for him, before he literally yanked you down; bringing your hips closer to his.
Your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden movement and the upcoming anticipation.
His fingertips danced over the skin on your hips then - and suddenly got your dark blue lace panties ripped into shreds.
"Daryl!" You shrieked, then gasped. "Those were my favourites, I-" "'S jus' a damn piece 'a fabric. Dun be such a crybaby," he interrupted you; instantly putting you in your place. Your mouth clapped shut. This was yet another new side of him. Sure, you knew he was hotheaded, but he literally just went from kinda submissive to dominant within the blink of an eye. Was it the alcohol? Or truly his temper?
The clinking of his belt ripped you out of your thoughts. Some shuffling and the rustling of fabric was the only premonition you got, before you felt him against your hot and pulsating center. Your hips instantly bucked; trying to get closer.
More friction.
More pleasure.
More of Daryl.
The archer hovering above you scoffed. "Look how needy ya are. Dun even hafta prepare ya." You could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Tis all jus' from gettin' me off, huh?" You nodded and bit your lip. Daryl on the contrary shook his head, "Yer tha' desperate? Pf... Pathetic." and lined himself up, before hitting home.
Stars exploded in front of your eyes as his hips met yours. The most sinful moan the archer had ever heard in his life slipped past your lips; only spurring him on more. He picked up a firm, steady pace - leaving you a mess beneath him barely within a few minutes. Just what you did to him.
Revenge was sweet, wasn't it?
His precise, powerful thrusts carried you from one high to the next - and Daryl enjoyed it. He loved to see you fall apart beneath him. And this time, he was the one lasting longer. "Who's commin' too soon now, huh? 'S not me, sunshine. Told ya I'd shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers," he growled lowly; slowing his pace to just give you a few moments of recovery. You moaned at the sheer endless pleasure he granted you. Your hands gripped his thick arms like a vice after he had planted both palms firmly in the mattress beside your head to gain more leverage. "F-Fuck, Daryl," you whimpered; fingernails digging into his sweaty biceps. "I know. Jus' one more, 'kay? Can ya give me one more?" You nodded wordlessly. "Good girl," the archer praised and picked up his speed once again; pulling another sweet moan alongside some incoherent noises from you.
Your hands travelled. They left his arms to rest on his chest, where they fisted the fabric of his plaid shirt with the ripped off sleeves. The fabric held a darkened stain - a puddle of sweat formed on his chest.
Your hands continued to fist his shirt, as you pulled - an attempt to undo a few buttons. But once the archer noticed what your mission was, he stopped dead in his movements. "Nah, dun do tha'," he scolded you instantly and peeled your hands away from the fabric covering his upper body. "W-Why?" You asked breathlessly; not understanding his sudden mood shift. "'"Cause I told ya to!" He snapped.
Just in that moment, you realised that you must've hit another sore spot... But this time one that actually seemed to get to him. Not one that managed to turn him on.
"S-Sorry, D-Daryl, I-" You immediately apologised, but got interrupted once more. "Keep holdin' on ta my arms, if yer need sum'thin' to hold on to." His voice was gruff, but way more soft than a few moments ago. The archer redirected your hands and placed them once more around his sweaty biceps. Without another word, he continued where he left off, causing your grip to instantly tighten. "There ya go," he praised you again and readjusted your legs with his thighs. Just the slight change of angle was enough to send you a third time over the edge. This time, though, you dragged him right with you.
A broken sound - close to a cry, left the man's lips as he pulled out and coated the supple skin of your stomach with his release. A single droplet of sweat rolled down his neck as he threw his head back in ecstasy. It was a sight to behold. A sight you might never forget for the rest of your life - no matter how long your life was going to be.
A few moments later collapsed Daryl on the mattress beside you. He was clearly spent. Perhaps this had been something you both needed. Who knew?
"Imma take a shower," the archer announced after a while and left the bed - but not before gentleman-like wiping the mess he made on your stomach away with his hand. Without another word, he left, while you just laid there - still naked and staring at the ceiling; recalling in your mind what just happened. The sex managed to sober you up a bit. Did that really just happen? Had you been dreaming this?
You heard the water run, but not how Daryl returned to the room and settled down for the night in the armchair. You had ventured off to dreamland at some point.
To say the next morning was awkward was an absolute understatement. Awkward was not even remotely enough to describe the vibe between the both of you.
When you woke up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen. Now sober, you left the bed, picked up your clothes, noticed that you truly were - in fact in his room, and tiptoed butt naked down the hallway into your room. Luckily nobody had seen you. That would've been scandalous, right?
Your luck was also that everybody was quite hungover from last night. Some more, some less. Therefore noticed nobody the way you and Daryl acted around each other.
You could barely manage to look into his eyes.
You felt ashamed; thinking that you pushed him too far yesterday night. Thinking, that you were too bold and unable to control your damn feelings. Thinking that you pushed him away, instead of drawing him in. You anticipated that the archer must hate you now - and you couldn't even blame him...
Nevertheless seemed a conversation inevitable. You didn't want to destroy the friendship - if you could even call it that - the both of you had before last night.
It took you days to bite the bullet and ask him to talk, though. Sure, you had been on the road again since the CDC was a dead end, but that wasn't an excuse in your eyes.
"D-Daryl?" You approached him cautiously as you found him alone in the stables of the Greene farm; saddling a horse to go looking for Sophia. "Whatcha want?" He asked you and gave you a short look. You swallowed nervously. "Can we, uh, can we talk?" "'Bout wha'?" You watched him work for a moment, while your fingers fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt; trying to gather all the courage you could find. "That, uh, night at the CDC..." Your words came out as a whisper, but Daryl heard them nonetheless - and froze in all his tracks.
"Why'd ya wanna talk 'bout tha'?" He asked nonchalantly after a beat of silence and continued his work; had seemingly shaken off the small 'shock' quite quick. "I-I..." You started and sighed. "Things f-feel so weird between us since that n-night, and... I don't want that. I-I'm sorry for what I did. I'm s-sorry for making you sleep with me." Your eyes were stuck on him. You watched him and tried to gauge his reaction - afraid of what was going to happen.
"Yer sorry 'bout it?" Daryl asked then - almost in disbelief. Then he scoffed. "Do ya regret it?"
That was a question you didn't see coming. A question you haven't thought about yet. Did you regret it? Your memories took you back in time; letting you relive that night you shared with him. The answer was clear - as you quickly discovered.
"No, I don't, but... It was wrong. I shouldn't have-" "Wrong?" He interrupted you. His voice appalled. "Tha's what ya think 'bout this? 'Bout... us?" Daryl accused you with a grimace on his face. Was that... sadness you could detect in his blue orbs? Hurt?
You blinked; "U-Us?" were definitely confused by his words. "W-What do you mean 'us'?" "Ya know wha' I mean, Y/N." You shook your head. "No, Daryl. No, I don't. We've been practically ignoring each other since the CDC. We can't even talk properly! Neither of us can look into the other's eyes! Everything is just... weird, and you talk about an 'us'? No, I don't get it. Tell me. Explain it."
A frustrated huff left the archer's lips, before he started to gnaw at the pad of his thumb; averting your eyes. All of a sudden, the usually so confident redneck became all shy and insecure. "Dunno how," he started; merely shrugging his shoulders. "'S difficult, 'n I ain't good with words." "Try it, D," you encouraged him and gave him a soft smile. "Please. I want to make things right between us again." The archer nodded and took another moment - most likely to gather his thoughts. "'S tha' feeling, ya know? Can't pin it down. Always feelin' so strange whenever yer close to me."
Your heart skipped more than just one beat as his words urged to your ears. Could it be...? No...
"W-What do you feel? Can you... describe it?" Daryl lowered his gaze to the ground. The little stone laying beside his left foot suddenly became really interesting. "Jus' strange. Gets harder to breathe, 'n... My stomach's all messed up. Feels like an itch I can't scratch." You couldn't believe this was happening. Did that night cause Daryl to fall in love with you? "You're doing good, D. Keep going. What else?" You had to know.
He grunted; his foot playing with that little stone, before kicking it aimlessly over the concrete ground. "I... always go back to tha' night in my head. Can't forget it. Yer look. Yer touch. The way ya felt, I-" He stopped himself to take a deep breath. And you smiled. Perhaps having slept with him hadn't been a mistake. Perhaps you interpreted his behaviour wrong. Perhaps you just misread the signs...
"I jus' dunno how to act 'round ya. I dunno wha's happening to me. Tha's why I ain't talkin' to ya. Didn't mean to ignore ya..." Daryl apologised with his head still lowered.
You stepped closer to him and cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Daryl, I... I think I know what happened to you," you whispered. "'N wha's tha'?" He asked; finally brave enough to lift his head to look into your eyes. You smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think you... are in love."
As quick as the man had lowered his guard, as quick was it up again.
He pulled his hand out of your grasp and scoffed, before he took a few steps back. "Pf. Love? Me? Tha's ridiculous, woman - 'n we both know it!" "Is it, yeah? You really think so?" "Yes!" He yelled, and wanted to rush past you - but you stopped him with your palm splayed on his chest. You didn't know if what your heart made you do was a wise decision, but it acted on its own will. Your head was powerless anyway.
Daryl's eyes travelled from yours to the hand on his chest and back. "Whatcha doin', woman?! Leave me the hell alo-" You had heard enough. You had held yourself back long enough. This was the only option you had left. It was do or die.
You cut the man off with standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips to his. It was a chaste, gentle kiss - but nonetheless meaningful. It felt so right. So good. His lips so soft and warm - compared to his seemingly rough exterior. His blond-brown goatee tickled your skin in the best way possible.
Once more, Daryl froze to the ground; not moving a muscle.
When your lips left his again with a soft pop and you reopened your eyes, you could see how his eyelids fluttered slowly open as well. You could feel his heart galloping underneath your palm. "What do you feel now, Daryl?" You asked in a hushed tone. Your eyes never left his. The archer swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I-I-I..." He stammered out; his cheeks heating up. "G-Good," he croaked out. "R-Real good." You smiled - happy that your heart had made the right decision. "Wanna do it again?" He blinked. The tips of his ears got red as well. "I-If yer willin' t-to k-kiss me again?" Your smile even widened, before you reached up to cup his beardy, red cheeks in your palms to pull him into another kiss. Daryl gasped against your lips; eyes falling shut and lips following your lead. It caused the kiss to get more intimate. More demanding. More passionate.
His hands acted on their own will, as they settled on your waist and pulled you closer. Your body crashed against his. You could tell that he hadn't kissed a lot in his life; his movements clumsy and messy - but perfectly Daryl. And you loved it. You didn't care how experienced or skilled he was. All you cared about was him - and all the love he deserved you wanted to give him.
He was far from perfect; had his flaws - but so were you.
"What do you say now about love, pretty boy?" You asked in a playful, yet loving manner; your hands crossed behind his neck. Daryl's hands gently squeezed your sides, "Shuddup." before he dipped his head to indulge you into yet another kiss.
It was early in the morning. You hear the door open a few second after Dog jumped down off the bed.
That meant one thing - Daryl was finally home.
He had been on a run for the last two days, and you missed him like crazy. You pulled yourself out of bed, padding over to the door and walking down the steps.
Daryl looks up at you while scratching Dog’s head, “Didn’t wake ya, did i?”
You shake your head, “No. I haven’t been sleeping well since you left.”
He quietly tells Dog to get down before walking over to you, pressing his lips to his, “M’home now, go get some sleep, baby.”
You nod, yawning as you turn back around, “C’mon, Dog.”
“Go get mom. I’ll be in in a minute, boy.” Daryl motions for Dog to follow you and he does. He stands at the top of the steps, waiting for you to reach them before running in and jumping on the bed.
A little bit later, you heard the bedroom door push open and close quietly. Daryl chuckles as he sees Dog laid up under your arm and slowly climbs into the bed behind you.
“Ya asleep?” Daryl whispers as he moves to press his body against yours, his arm laying over your waist. You let out a sigh, “No, but I will be here soon.”
He plants a kiss on the back of your head, “I love you.”
You smile, turning your head so you can get a real kiss, “I love you. M’glad you’re home safe.” He nods, reaching up to brush his hand over your hair, “Me too.”
Summary: One blanket. Two people. A cold and stormy Georgia night.
The prison is louder at night.
Not with voices–those have long since faded, but with the wind. The way it howls in the dark, slipping through the metal fences and rattling against rusted metal. Thunder rolls somewhere far off, low and steady. Rain starts to tap against concrete like it's trying to get in.
Georgia storms don't ask permission.
Your sitting outside the watchtower, your back against the cool concrete, a rifle resting across your lap. When the temperature drops it's subtle at first, just enough to notice the way your shoulders tense or the way your fingers curl in on themselves as a shiver runs down your back.
You don't say anything. You just pull the thin blanket slung around your shoulders tighter. It smells of dust and smoke. Your knees draw up to your chest, eyes scanning the dark tree line beyond the fence.
Daryl's a few feet away, pacing the tower, his crossbow tight in his hands. He's silent, like always.
“Yer shiverin'."
His eyes are on you now, watching the way you shake softly. The chill biting at your skin.
“I'm alright." You say, fingers clutching the edges of your blanket.
He doesn't respond.
You don't look at him, choosing instead to focus on a walker that's repeatedly running themselves into the fence, wondering who they were before they became this. You hear the shift of Daryl's weight and the scraping of his boots against concrete. The pause that follows stretches long enough to make your chest tighten.
Then—warmth.
The blanket lifts and folds around you, it's warmer, thicker than the one you grabbed from your cell. You inhale without really meaning to, the scent familiar now. It smells like him.
You glance over.
"This is yours," you say quietly.
"Yeah," he replies.
He slides down the wall, sitting beside you.
Close enough that your arms brush. Close enough that you can feel the heat coming off of his body, warm and steady. He pulls the blanket further around both of you, reaching over you and tucking the edge behind your back with a careful hand, like he's done this before. Like it's instinct.
The winds louder now, the rain picking up speed. Thunder crackles and a bright flash of lightning floods your vision.
You flinch before you can stop yourself.
Daryl shifts, just slightly, his shoulder pressing into yours. Grounding you.
"Yer good," he murmurs. "Ain't comin' to get ya."
You nod even though he's not looking.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Time works differently on watch, measured in heartbeats and distant sounds, in the rise and fall of someone else's breathing.
Your fingers ache from the cold. You flex them once, twice, before tucking your hands behind your knees.
Daryl notices.
He always notices.
Without a word he adjusts the blanket again, this time pulling your hands free and guiding them closer to his side. Your knuckles brush his thigh, warm even through the layers. He doesn't pull away.
Instead, he shifts his arm, resting it behind you—around you—but not quite touching you. As if he's asking for permission, giving you the option.
You take it.
You relax against him, your head resting softly on his shoulder. You fit against his body like you belong there. His muscles tense for just a moment before he relaxes, his arm settling more securely around you.
The storm rages on. Rain pours harder now and somewhere below, metal creaks and groans.
Up here though, up here it's quiet.
You lift your head slightly to look at him. He's already looking at you and he's close. Too close. The light from the moon catches in his eyes, they seem softer somehow.
For a moment neither of you moves.
Your breath fogs faintly in the air between you. You're painfully aware of his arm pulling you closer. It would be so easy to lean in just that last inch.
His gaze drops. Not to your hands, not to the blanket.
To your lips.
The world feels very small all of a sudden.
Daryl swallows, his jaw tightening. A habit of his you've noticed. His thumb shifts against your shoulder, a barely there brush that sends a different shiver down your spine.
He leans in.
Not much, just enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. Enough that you can smell the subtle scent of tobacco from the last cigarette he smoked. Just enough that your heart stutters, anticipation curling low and tight in your chest.
Then he stops.
Pulls back just a fraction, like he's caught himself mid-fall.
"Shouldn't," he mutters. It sounds like a reminder. To himself more than you.
"Yeah," you nod even though every part of you aches at the space he's put between you two.
"You should sleep," he says. More of a demand than a request.
"I'm on watch."
"I got it."
You hesitate, "Daryl-"
"Go on." He interrupts softly. "I'll wake ya if I need to."
You don't argue. You don't have the energy to.Your head tips against his shoulder, exhaustion finally winning. You feel so safe and before you can overthink it your eyes slip shut.
Daryl stays still.
Even when his arm starts to go numb. Even when the rain starts to soak the edges of the blanket. Even when the storm passes and the air grows cold again.
John "Soap" MacTavish
Soap brings you back the most absurd souvenirs. One time it was a handmade frog carved out of bark. Another time it was a hand-knit chicken wearing a scarf. "Found it in a street market," he said, proud as hell, holding it out like it was treasure. "Reminded me of your face
when you sleep." You punched his arm, but you still displayed it on your desk. He brings back little things: enamel pins, knockoff sunglasses, a shell from the beach they cleared. "S'just bits, aye, but they're all you now." Each item smells faintly like gunpowder and Soap.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Ghost doesn't make a big show of it. He just hands you things without explanation a smooth pebble that fits perfectly in your palm. A pendant from a broken necklace. A patch with foreign writing he picked off a uniform. "Figured you'd like it", he mutters, brushing past. But the trinkets always match something you once mentioned in passing. One day, you find a note inside a little box with a copper coin. It just says: This reminded me of your eyes under firelight. You keep it under your pillow. He never asks if you liked it. He knows.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Gaz brings you practical trinkets- useful gadgets, pocket tools, and clever things you never knew you needed. "This pen's also a flashlight. And a stylus. And a bottle opener." But every once in a while, he surprises you with something soft-like a pressed flower between pages of a mission map. "Saw it growing out of a wall. Had to take it."
John Price
Price always returns with something you didn't know you needed. A folded map with a path circled in red. A hand-carved chess piece. A dog-shaped bottle opener. "Saw this and thought of you," he says, handing it over like it's a sacred relic." Kept it in my vest the whole time." He once brought you a worn compass that still works. "To find your way to me," he said and kissed your forehead. The objects are weathered. Tough. Like him. And now they live on your shelf, beside the tea he brought from a tiny village in the mountains.
Gary "Roach" Sanderson
Roach brings back everything. Stickers, candy wrappers, keychains, weird bugs in jars (once). His bag is half full of "souvenirs" and he's always so excited to show you. He'll sign stuff like "This one smells like you!" or "I named this rock Steve." He once brought you a pencil he found in aburned-out school. You looked at it, touched it, and smiled. He beamed. That pencil now lives in your kitchen drawer. You never write with it. You just keep it. Because it came from him.
Nikolai
Nikolai brings you the most bizarrely perfect gifts-hand-embroidered patches from back-alley vendors, a Locket with a mirror that you didn't realize held a photo of you until months later, an antique coin with a romantic proverb etched around the rim. "I thought you'd like it," he says with that devilish grin. He once brought you an old cassette tape labeled only" "You found it was filled with love songs in three different languages. He never explained. You never asked. You just kissed him.
Alejandro Vargas
Alejandro shops during missions. Literally. He'll smuggle local chocolates, rare spices, handmade jewelry, anything he thinks would light up your eyes. "I had to wrestle this from a stubborn vendor," he grins, holding up a beaded bracelet." Told him it was for my soulmate." You tease him. He doesn't flinch. T meant it." His most prized find? A leather journal with your initials burned into the cover. "Write about me in it," he jokes. You already have.
Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra
Rudy brings back thoughtful, delicate things-pressed flowers in a tiny tin, handmade soap from a village market, a hand-woven bookmark with your favorite color. "You said you loved lavender," he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your wrist. He once brought you a little clay sculpture of a fox. "It reminded me of the way you sleep." You were too stunned to speak.. He just smiled and held your hand. "I remember everything," he said. And you knew he meant it.
Valeria Garza
Valeria claims she "doesn't do sentimental shit"-yet she brings back something after every op. A sleek knife engraved with a quote you once told her. A silver ring she "found" but fits your finger perfectly. "Don't lose it she growls. "It's one of a kind." You once found a photo tucked under your pillow-her, half-smiling in front of some local graffiti. On the back?" Smile. I survived again." You never bring it up. She never explains. It's hers. But it's for you.
Keegan Russ
Keegan's trinkets are practical and quietly meaningful. A lighter with your birthstone. A pocketknife with your initials carved into the grip. A pen you Nonce joked about losing he found a twin to it overseas. "This one won't break," he mutters, handing it over. He gives them casually, never explaining how he found them, but every item is wrapped with care. He once gave you a stone shaped like a heart. Said nothing. Just pressed it into your hand, kissed your temple, and walked off.
König
König brings back soft, strange things. A tiny ceramic bird. A hand-sewn pouch filled with lavender. A child's drawing of him-huge, masked, and holding hands with a stick figure labeled "you." "I asked the kid to draw us," he said, voice soft. He has a box labeled "Für Y/N' that he fills during deployments. When he returns, he shyly holds it out like a treasure chest. "Do you... want to see what I found?" You always do. And every item inside smells faintly like him.
Nikto
Nikto doesn't say he's bringing things back for you. But they're always there-carefully chosen, always darkly elegant. A handcrafted pen. An antique pendant. A sharp, silver ring The says "suits your hands." He claims they're meaningless. "Just scraps." But when you ask why he cleaned and polished them, or why one of them has your name etched inside, he just shrugs. "Because I could." The truth? They're proof he thinks about you even when surrounded by war.
Krueger
Krueger brings you things no one else would think to collect-pages from old books, burnt matchbooks, bits of charred jewelry he cleaned and preserved. "They tell stories," he murmurs. "Like you do." His favorite? A pressed flower wrapped in a page of foreign poetry. "Found it growing through concrete." You ask him what it says. "Doesn't matter. It's yours now." He doesn't say much, but when he places something in your hand, it means he survived-for you.
Philip Graves
Graves brings back gifts like trophies." Look what I hauled back just for you, sugar." The man once brought you an entire handcrafted swing chair and insisted on installing it himself. He's also brought weird mugs, stolen hotel soaps ("Don't judge me"), and even matching cowboy hats. "Now we're a real power couple." His proudest gift? A bullet casing he wore on a chain during a mission. "Lucky charm. Figured it'd work better on you now."
Farah Karim
Farah brings you art. Music carved into instruments. A hand-painted tile. Fabric scraps with ancient patterns. She finds Soul in the smallest things and brings them to you like offerings. "This," she says, showing you a worn ring, "was made by a widow who sells them to support her family. It's yours now." You ask why she always gives you the beautiful things. She shrugs. "Because you are the beautiful thing, Y/N." You don't cry. Not really.
Hadir Karim
Hadir brings gifts like confessions. A delicate carved comb. A pair of earrings made of sea glass. "I imagined you wearing them," he says softly. "It kept me sane." His trinkets always come with stories- fragments of his journey, and the way he survived it with your face in his mind. He once brought you a pocket-sized Quran with your favorite verse bookmarked. "For your protection," he whispered." Even when I'm far away."
Alex Keller
Alex brings back vibes. Woven bracelets from kids, snack wrappers you've never seen before, patches he ripped off a vest and said "looked cool. He once mailed you a rock that Looked like a potato. You loved it. He doesn't overthink it. "Saw this, thought of you," is his default explanation. And every time, it's perfect. The best gift? A beat-up dog tag with your name printed on the back. "Had it made," he said, like it was no big deal. You haven't taken it off since.
Kate Laswell
Laswell brings you practical but intimate things. A hand-crafted coffee scoop from a café she found. A book annotated in a language she knew you were trying to learn. A silk scarf dyed with wildflowers from a mountain village. "You don't get souvenirs," she says, "you get continuity." She once brought you a single pearl. "Rare. Resilient Like you." You keep it in a small case beside the bed. You never ask how she found it. She never tells. It's just yours.
Vladimir Makarov
Makarov doesn't bring gifts. He brings trophies. A cracked ring. A shattered compass. A gold coin he says he took off a corpse. "Yours now," he says. "So you remember me." He doesn't wrap them. Doesn't explain. Just dumps them into your hand like tokens of war. They're sharp-edged, dangerous, never pretty. But you still keep them. Because for him, this is vulnerability- offering you what little softness he has, buried under blood.
you wake up at the feeling of tiny, sticky hands pulling at your cheeks. letting out a soft hum, opening your eyes slowly to find the cutest little face in front of you, smiling brightly
“morning’, mommy!” he chirps, flashing you his baby teeth.
“mmm, good morning, baby” you murmur sleepily, hand going to his face, brushing his messy bed hair off his forehead, “you are up early today,”
“yeah! i dreamed about you!” he excitedly tells you as you slowly sit on the bed, pulling your son into your lap
“yeah? about what?”
before your son can even open his mouth, a low grunt made both of you turn your heads to the other side of the bed to see a tuft of pink hair buried face down on the pillows, a muscular, tattoed arm emerging from the covers to settle heavily around your stomach.
“s’too fucking early for this,” your husband mutters under his breath, eyes still squeezed shut.
you swat at his arm, a smile tugging at your lips the moment yuuji starts giggling at his dad’s bad word. “ryo! language,” you scold softly and your husband finally opens his eyes slowly, squinting against the morning light.
“brat’s old enough, don’t you think?” sukuna asks, looking at his son, who only nods enthusiastically.
“yeah, mommy! i’m a big kid, i got 'munity to bad words!” your son puffs his chest proudly, tilting his chin up
sukuna flashes you a sleepy, loopsided smirk before closing his eyes again. this time, his arm raise from your stomach to tug at yuuji, making the little boy fall between the two of you.
“go back to sleep, brat. it’s saturday and too early to be up,” he says, his big hand covers his son’s face to force him to close his eyes and yuuji giggles, moving his face back and forth to escape his father’s grip.
“dad! i was going to tell mommy about my dream!” he whines, pouting but the little yawn that leaves his lips tells you he was ready for another hour or so of sleep.
“later, let your mom rest,” sukuna opens an eye to look at you, gesturing with his head for you to lie back down, “come here, ma. cuddle your husband and son,”
you let out soft laugh, lying on your side, soon feeling the weight of your husband’s arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and the now sleepy yuuji tucked against his chest.
closing your eyes, you let out a dreamy sigh, falling back to sleep enveloped by the warmth of your two favorite boys.
