beach-babe.✮

simon was due home any minute, out running an errand, and you were barely keeping it together. what if he didn’t want this and every throwaway comment that had been made was just lighthearted fun? these are the thoughts that were plaguing you.

“back, love,” simon calls as he enters the front door and you shove the test under your thigh, opening the book you had on the coffee table in front of you to try and play it off, but you know better than that, and so does he. “what’s wrong?” he asks immediately.

you curse yourself for being an open book to your boyfriend and for his impeccable perception skills. you try to hold it together, try to keep it in, but the thought of potentially losing simon was scarier than anything you had ever had to face before.

he immediately sits beside you, noticing the way your eyes had begun to glaze over, an arm reaching around you after shrugging off his jacket, “darlin’, what’s goin’ on?”

“i have to tell you something, but it- just promise you won’t get mad?” your voice is so small, a tiny house mouse compared to the behemoth one he had.

he nods, pulling your face up by the chin to look at him face on, his big warm eyes that you fell in love with reassuring you, “hey, whatever it is… s’gonna be okay. alright?”

despite the anxiety that was still coursing through you like hot lava, you nod softly before gingerly pulling the pregnancy test out from under your thigh and placing it on the coffee table.

simon was expecting anything, prepared for you to tell him whatever was wrong, but nothing like this, and it showed. his blue eyes closed in on the test before flicking back to yours. the anxiety radiating from you was enough to almost make him feel dizzy from the intensity.

“are you…?” he questions quietly, and you practically squirm under his gaze. he hated seeing you like this, hated seeing you so scared, and because of him.

you nod once more, though this time it’s accompanied by your uneven breathing and a tear that rolls down your cheek, “i am.”

his eyes immediately soften as he sees you tear up, big arms wrapping around you to pull you into his lap. while he was reeling from the news, he was more focused on making sure you were okay first. that was one perk of his job and his ability to keep his emotions under wraps when necessary.

“breathe, love,” his voice gently urges you. “it’s alright, you’re alright.” he continues to soothe you, rubbing small circles into your thighs as you settle on his lap.

“you aren’t mad?”

he shakes his head, softly tilting your face to look up at him once more. “i’m not mad. why would i be mad?” he questions gently, his hand moving from your thigh to wipe away the tears on your cheek.

you exhale deeply, feeling your fear resolve at his reassurance, “i didn’t…. didn’t know if this was something you wanted.”

“of course, this is something i want,” he says, cupping your face with his hand now and running his thumb across your cheek. “i want anythin’ and everythin’ with you.”

all of the anxiety and fear you had been harbouring vanishes now, as if it had never happened, “yeah?”

he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, “yeah. i was just surprised, s’all.”

you watch as he then leans forward to pick up the pregnancy test from the table, noting how much smaller it looked it his hand compared to your own. it was almost comical.

he turns the test over between his fingers, examining it from every angle. the reality of the situation was only starting to really sink in now - he was going to be a dad.

he couldn’t help but think about the fact that you were now carrying a child, his child, something you had both created together, his hand gently moving to brush over your stomach.

there were no physical signs as of yet, but just knowing was enough for him right now.

“we’re really going to be parents,” he says quietly, glancing up at you, his blue eyes meeting your own once more. “we’re gonna have a family.”

“yeah, si. we are.” your eyes glaze over for a second time, though now it was out of happiness.

a small chuckle leaves his mouth at how adorable you look, his arms wrapping around you tighter as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck.

he can’t stop himself from brushing his fingers over your abdomen again, the thought of the small child starting to form in your stomach making him all sorts of soft.

simon was a lot of things, and whether or not your initial fear about telling him seemed silly, you knew now that he was going to protect and love you both with every fibre of his being.

when life was normal, you'd never make time for something childish like this. you were too busy trying to make a name for yourself in your career field, too busy going to workout classes and worrying about how many likes the photos you posted got. too busy with dating apps and diet plans and paying off student loans. too busy filling your life with shit that just didn't matter.

but these days, you know what matters. friendship. found family. the little things, like one of the kids in the community letting you take his extra set of crayons and some paper home, even though supplies are limited for things like this. he just saw how much fun you had, drawing with him when you were in charge of watching the kids in the community one day.

things like that matter. and, okay - more than one good thing came out of this shitty world. you also met daryl, the love of your life, and you have a pretty amazing, close knit group of friends that are so tight they’re like family.

life's strange. and you're just trying to make the best of it.

but daryl interrupting you is a little bit annoying. you almost fucked up your picture.

“you colorin’ butterflies now, sunshine?” daryl teases. his voice sounds low, scratchy. really hot. your annoyance at him fades almost instantly.

you twist in your chair and turn around to face him, where he's leaning against the counter in the kitchen. you're still holding your pink crayon, and daryl's got his arms crossed, crossbow slung over his back, and whatever good mood he's in is contagious, because it's pretty rare that you see the little smirk he's wearing tugging at the corner of his mouth. you smile too.

daryl. you could just swoon.

“you scared me,” you huff, faking a pout. “i almost ruined my picture.”

“ain’t my fault you were so zoned in on your arts n’ crafts,” he shrugs, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice.

you squint at him, trying to convey your seriousness, which just makes him laugh. then you turn around to pick up a crayon, not the precious pink one, and you throw it at him. it bounces off his chest and hits the floor, and he just shakes his head in amusement. walks over to you, but not before setting his crossbow on the kitchen island.

“you’re such a brat,” he mutters, but he takes the empty seat next to you anyway.

“that butterfly’s pink,” he says, like it’s a crime. you never thought daryl had any eye for the arts, truth be told, but surely he can see your vision? you scoff good naturedly, beginning to color your picture again.

“maybe i like pink butterflies.”

“don’t think i’ve seen one of those in real life.” he doesn't sound judgy, and you're grateful for that. but really - daryl's never been one to judge. not you, at least.

“maybe you’re not looking hard enough,” you say, bumping arms with him. “they’re out there. somewhere," you pause, then look at the crayons that you're already wearing down. "'m sure there's a craft store out there somewhere too. i need more paper. and maybe some markers."

daryl goes quiet for a second. then reaches into the box of crayons without a word, holds up a navy blue one like he’s inspecting a weapon. there's a look of confusion on his face that's so funny, you wish you could take a picture. but these days, you've learned to just enjoy the present. you smile.

“you got another page?” he asks, but that catches you by surprise.

you blink, and he actually rolls his eyes. drama queen. “wait. you wanna color?”

daryl shrugs. “ain’t like there’s a whole lot else to do. rick's drivin' us all crazy," and you giggle at that. "'sides…” he continues, a little gruff, not looking right at you. “you looked real happy. figured i’d see what that’s about.”

your stomach does that fluttery thing he always causes. pink butterflies erupting in your stomach, maybe.

you shamelessly scoot your chair closer to his, then you hand him a piece of paper.

you keep coloring. so does daryl. he presses too hard on the crayon and snaps one in half after three minutes, swears under his breath. you try not to laugh but the sound slips out anyway.

his knee bumps yours under the table, but he doesn’t move it.

you're dying to know what daryl is coloring, but you don't want him to feel like you're watching him over his shoulder. but eventually, when your butterfly is all done, you take a look at his drawing.

he’s coloring the sky above a tree, and it's a little messy, but really fucking cute, and you feel an emotion you've never quite felt. maybe it’s just love. it feels like something pure. something light, a feeling you'd never thought you'd feel again, since the sound of those alarm sirens went off in your city so long ago.

“you missed a spot,” you murmur, pointing to the corner of his paper. daryl literally moves his paper away from you, muttering something under his breath. he grumbles and fills it in. “bossy.”

“you like it.”

“yeah,” he says, soft and quick. and he doesn’t take it back. you feel your face heat up, but it's in a good way. and then you can't help yourself.

your fingers find his on the table a few minutes later. rough calluses and warm skin. so comforting, daryl dixon. you love him so much you don't even know what to do with yourself. you squeeze his hand.

you only unhook your fingers to write in the corner of your masterpiece. to daryl. love you. and you hand it over to him.

for the first time in a long time, the world outside doesn’t feel so heavy. and when you hang daryl's picture on the fridge with a magnet, and he folds your drawing and puts it somewhere real safe, your heart almost bursts. you wanna shout from the rooftops, show everyone how much you love daryl, but he likes to keep this thing with you close. so nobody can stick their fingers in it.

he wants to keep it yours. his. just for the two of you. keep it safe.

and you really fucking admire that.

you overhear him talking to deanna later that night, asking if she knows if there's any stores around here that might have...supplies. god, you love him.

but you think he's going to need to be a little more specific than that.