Here 4 Smut.

       The excuse didn't hold water, but Jesus isn't the type to force an answer; simply understanding that not having an answer is already an answer... like your gaze in Daryl's direction. Returning to the task of replanting and cutting away the dead parts, now with the news that Daryl was still smoking, but leaning against the doorframe of Kingdom's cafeteria.

After taking off his gloves, you noticed he had lit another cigarette; he was probably too stressed, and that made you mentally approach him. You smelled the strong scent of damp earth and the cigarette—maybe this wasn't his second, not that you cared, it was his characteristic smell. Despite this, you knew he was like a big man, less intimidated by approach, having developed a greater affinity for physical contact since the difficult times at the Sanctuary.

So you always approached him and placed your hand on his shoulder; he knew it was you just because of that, exhaling a puff of smoke, looking in your direction with those bright blue eyes, and giving a silent nod.

     — Are you really going to the Sanctuary?

       — Until Rick changes his mind or I smash everythin' up there.

       — I know we're on the same page about disagreeing on this, and it also irritates me that communities need to come together to build bridges, but... there must be a better way to do things.

       — With them all dead, I don't believe in any redemption for them.

        — Me neither. Can I have a cigarette?- He nods, showing you the pack, but you become the epitome of audacity, slowly taking the cigarette from his lips and placing it on yours, glancing away as if it were nothing.- Thanks.

         He looked at you sideways, incredulous, his angry gaze softened by the joke, and instead of making an irritated comment, he grunted as always, took the cigarette back from his mouth and tasted the nicotine and now his saliva mixed together, first touching it slowly with his tongue, and then with his lips.

       — If I had known you'd want to taste my saliva, you could have just told me and I would have shown you myself.- And so, he threw his cigarette and stomped on it with his mouth, tilting his face to give it a little kiss, a peck to see if he would recoil. He looked around and scratched his lower lip, but didn't move away.

     He just looked at your mouth again, pecking once more, then twice more, until it was actually a kiss without tongue, just lips, somewhat dry, but that wasn't a problem. You extended your tongue to moisten them, hearing a hoarse moan from his throat, feeling relieved that you weren't the only one who had wanted this since the Governor's time; perhaps that's why he was accepting the kiss so readily. A line of saliva formed between your lips, and you extended your tongue to cut through it.

        — I can accompany you to the Sanctuary tomorrow, why don't you take today to rest? A coffee, a shower... there's still plenty of water for that, and you know how things are at the Sanctuary.

        — Bath?- He frowns, and you agree almost immediately. See him naked? Obviously, that was at the peak of your wishes for a genie.- Oh...

       Something clicked, and he realized: you didn't mean it was "just" a shower, of course it was more. And he responded by glancing around, a little kiss of agreement.

       — We... uh... in 25. In a little while...

        And so it was said, him stomping almost to run away from you, not out of fear, but to hide the erection that had formed inside his pants. Even though he was an old country bumpkin, he didn't know how to deal well with the fact that she would be naked, and soon he would be too.

Not that he was a virgin, but it was a strange, curious feeling every time he got a hard-on, and he felt somewhat frustrated that it was more frequent since he noticed your gaze on him: a strong survivor, but a weak man when it comes to feel horny, he felt that pain, you didn't even do much and you left him disconcerted, that's terrible, but so good... fucking good. It was so disconcerting for him to feel that way over such simple acts; it should be normal, right?

Maybe not for him, who had always been very reserved in these matters, even when Carol played around with making out, he always refrained from getting like that.

But now it was inevitable with you around, he would get lost, feel his ears burning, luckily he has long hair so you couldn't even see it, but even more embarrassing was the painful throbbing inside his jeans.

He didn't even want to think about it, but the image of him as so vulnerable in a place with water was created; just the phrase was frightening, but it was even worse with the figure of another person inside the same cubicle... naked.

Perhaps he should allow himself to be alone with you, because he automatically felt his pants getting wet: pathetic, he was practically leaking just thinking about it.

It's going to be a long afternoon.

Part2?    

The group called you many things.

Rick called you a liability.

Carol called you “resourceful.”

Glenn called you “the human equivalent of a lit firecracker.”

Michonne once stared at you for a full thirty seconds after catching you trying to teach Judith how to throw knives and simply said:

“No.”

You’d smiled innocently.

“Okay.”

Five minutes later Daryl found you in the yard showing Carl how to pick handcuffs with a bobby pin.

“You ever listen?” Michonne snapped from the porch.

“Not particularly!”

Daryl nearly choked trying not to laugh.

That was the problem.

Nobody else saw it.

To everyone else, you were chaos incarnate. Tiny disaster. A gremlin in human form who somehow survived entirely on caffeine, spite, and poor decisions.

But Daryl saw the little things.

The way you made Judith laugh when she cried.

The way you always gave someone else the bigger food portion when supplies got low.

The way you stayed awake beside people having nightmares because you knew what it was like to wake up afraid.

You hid kindness under sarcasm and recklessness.

Daryl knew something about that.

Which was probably why he kept ending up near you.

Even when he swore he wouldn’t.

“You are banned from traps.”

“I don’t think you can legally ban me.”

“I ain’t askin’ legal permission.”

You sat cross-legged on the floor of the church, pouting dramatically while Daryl dismantled the horrifying contraption you’d built from fishing wire, a soup can, and what looked concerningly like a fork.

“It was defensive.”

“It was pointed at the bathroom door.”

“In case of intruders.”

“It nearly took my damn eye out.”

“You still have both eyes.”

“Woman…”

You snorted.

He tried to stay irritated.

Then you smiled at him.

Daryl hated that smile.

Not because it was bad.

Because it wasn’t.

Because it made something inside his chest go soft and stupid.

You leaned back on your palms, watching him work.

“You’re pretty when you’re grumpy.”

Daryl almost stabbed himself with the screwdriver.

“I ain’t pretty.”

“You kinda are.”

“Shut up.”

“You blush really easy for a scary redneck.”

“I ain’t blushin’.”

“Your ears are red.”

“Cold.”

“It’s August.”

He glared at you.

You grinned wider.

And Christ.

That grin was going to kill him someday.

You had absolutely no survival instincts.

That became obvious during a run when you found an abandoned toy store.

“Absolutely not,” Daryl said immediately.

“But—”

“No.”

“There could be useful supplies.”

“You’re lookin’ at a stuffed giraffe.”

“It could contain medicine.”

“It contains fluff.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know exactly that.”

Twenty minutes later, Daryl walked out carrying ammunition, canned food, and somehow three stuffed animals because you’d shoved them into his arms with an expression so heartbreakingly hopeful he physically could not say no.

“You’re manipulative,” he informed you.

“You like me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“You carried the giraffe.”

“…Shut up.”

You beamed like you’d won something.

Maybe you had.

The prison changed things.

Not all at once.

But slowly.

Quietly.

Daryl got used to hearing your footsteps beside his.

Got used to your voice drifting through cell blocks.

Got used to finding little stupid things left for him.

Half a candy bar.

A sharpened hunting knife you’d spent hours fixing.

A note that said:

found this. thought of your grumpy ass.

You never signed them.

You didn’t have to.

And Daryl—

Daryl started smiling more.

Not big smiles.

Tiny ones.

Rare enough that the entire prison noticed.

“You like her,” Glenn said one evening.

Daryl nearly walked directly into a wall.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“She’s literally sitting in your lap.”

Daryl froze.

You were.

Somewhere during game night, you’d apparently climbed onto the bench beside him, gotten comfortable, and eventually ended up sprawled half across his lap while arguing with Maggie about card rules.

Neither of you had noticed.

Or maybe you had.

Because when Daryl looked down, you tipped your head back to look at him upside down and smiled sleepily.

“You comfy?”

Every thought left his head.

“…Yeah.”

Glenn made a face like he wanted to scream.

The thing about you was that you trusted Daryl completely.

Without hesitation.

Without fear.

You’d hand him your weapons without thinking twice.

Fall asleep against his shoulder.

Reach for his hand automatically in crowds.

And Daryl, who’d spent most of his life feeling unwanted, didn’t know what to do with that kind of trust.

Especially because he wanted more of it.

Wanted all of it.

Every smile.

Every laugh.

Every terrible impulsive idea.

Every moment.

It scared the hell out of him.

“You ever gonna tell her?”

Carol sat beside him on the prison tower roof while Daryl cleaned his crossbow.

He didn’t look up.

“Tell who what.”

Carol snorted softly.

“You’re hopeless.”

“Ain’t ask for commentary.”

“You look at her like she hung the moon.”

Daryl immediately scowled.

“I do not.”

“Mmhm.”

“She drives me insane.”

“You’re smiling right now.”

His face flattened instantly.

Carol laughed outright.

Below them in the yard, you were attempting to roller skate using scavenged children’s skates two sizes too small.

“You’re gonna bust your ass!” Daryl yelled.

“I believe in myself!”

“You shouldn’t!”

Two seconds later you crashed directly into a fence.

Carol nearly cried laughing.

Daryl was already climbing down the ladder.

“Y’alright?”

You sat in the grass blinking up at him after your spectacular wipeout.

“One day,” you announced solemnly, “my athleticism will reveal itself.”

Daryl crouched beside you, trying and failing not to smile.

“You got a death wish.”

“You caught me last time.”

His expression softened before he could stop it.

Because he had.

Months earlier.

You’d slipped climbing a shelf during a supply run and Daryl had caught you before your head hit concrete.

You’d stared at him afterward like he’d hung the stars.

Daryl remembered every second of it.

Now you looked at him that same way again.

Open.

Warm.

Fond.

Dangerous.

“You always catch me,” you said quietly.

Something painful tugged in his chest.

He looked away first.

“C’mon. Let’s get ya cleaned up.”

You took his hand immediately.

No hesitation.

Never hesitation.

The first time Daryl kissed you happened because you almost got bitten.

Which honestly felt fitting.

You’d split from the group during a run after hearing a dog barking somewhere nearby.

Because apparently your survival instincts had fully evaporated.

Daryl found you cornered in an alley with three walkers closing in.

Afterward, after the blood and panic and violence, after he killed the last walker with brutal fury, he grabbed you by the shoulders hard enough to make you stumble.

“The hell were you thinkin’?!” he shouted.

You looked startled.

“There was a dog—”

“You coulda died!”

“I didn’t—”

“You don’t get to run off like that!”

Your face changed then.

Not angry.

Hurt.

“I said I’m sorry.”

Daryl stopped breathing.

Because your voice had gone small.

And he hated that.

Hated being the reason for it.

You looked down, rubbing your arm awkwardly.

“I just thought maybe if it was alive—”

Before he could think better of it, Daryl grabbed your face and kissed you.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like he’d been holding it back for months and finally snapped.

You made a tiny surprised sound against his mouth before kissing him back instantly.

Like you’d been waiting too.

When he pulled away, both of you were breathing hard.

Daryl looked horrified with himself.

You looked delighted.

“Well,” you whispered. “That’s one way to communicate.”

“I—”

“You really need healthier coping mechanisms.”

He groaned and dropped his forehead against yours.

You laughed softly.

Then kissed him again.

And Daryl Dixon, perpetually grumpy survivalist, realized he was completely and utterly screwed.

Dating you was a nightmare.

Not because you were difficult.

Because you were impossible.

You stole his shirts constantly.

You hid plastic spiders in his bedroll.

You once convinced Glenn to help you paint tiny smiley faces on all of Daryl’s bolts.

He discovered them mid-run.

“What the hell is this?”

You looked unbearably pleased with yourself.

“Morale.”

“You vandalized my weapons.”

“They’re happy weapons.”

“Why are they winkin’?”

“Artistic flair.”

Daryl stared at the bolt.

Then at you.

Then back at the bolt.

And despite every effort not to—

He laughed.

A real laugh.

Rough and rusty from disuse, but real.

Your entire face lit up.

There it is, your expression seemed to say. There you are.

And God.

Nobody had ever looked happier to hear him laugh.

You loved him loudly.

Openly.

Without shame.

Daryl had no idea what to do with that at first.

You kissed his cheek in passing.

Curled against him at night.

Told him you missed him after short supply runs like he’d been gone for years instead of hours.

And every single time, Daryl looked vaguely stunned.

Like love was something he still didn’t fully believe belonged to him.

One night, lying together beneath a threadbare blanket while rain hammered the prison roof, you traced the scars on his arm gently.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” you murmured.

Daryl shrugged.

“Nothin’.”

“Liar.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

Then finally:

“Ain’t never had… this before.”

You looked at him carefully.

“This?”

“Someone carin’ this much.”

The honesty in his voice nearly broke your heart.

You shifted closer immediately until your forehead touched his.

“Then I’ll care enough for all the years nobody else did.”

Daryl stared at you like he physically didn’t know how to process that sentence.

Then he kissed you slow and deep and aching.

Like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

The prison fell.

Everything broke after that.

But not you two.

Never you two.

Even separated, even terrified, even covered in blood and grief and exhaustion, Daryl searched for you like breathing.

And when he found you again—

God.

He nearly collapsed from relief.

You ran toward him through the trees so fast you almost tripped.

Daryl caught you around the waist as you slammed into him.

“You idiot,” you choked out, crying and laughing at once. “You’re alive.”

He buried his face against your neck.

Couldn’t speak for a second.

Because you were alive too.

And that was everything.

Absolute everything.

“I gotcha,” he muttered hoarsely.

Your arms tightened around him instantly.

“I know.”

And you did.

You always did.

Years later, after Alexandria, after wars and grief and rebuilding, after all the ugly parts of surviving finally softened around the edges—

Daryl still woke up every morning with you tangled around him like a sleepy octopus.

Still found random objects hidden in his vest pockets.

Still watched you climb things you absolutely should not climb.

Still heard your laughter carrying through whatever place became home next.

And every single day, Daryl loved you more.

Even when you filled his motorcycle saddlebags with stolen candy.

Even when you taught Judith swear words “educationally.”

Even when he found you sitting on the kitchen counter at two in the morning trying to train a possum you’d found outside.

“You cannot keep that thing.”

“He likes me.”

“It hissed at me.”

“That’s just his personality.”

“You said that about me once.”

“See? Soulmates.”

Daryl stared at you holding the possum like a proud mother.

Then he shook his head slowly and stepped between your knees, hands settling automatically on your hips.

“You’re a damn menace.”

You smiled lazily, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“But I’m your menace.”

And there it was again.

That feeling.

That soft helpless warmth that had started the first day he found you hanging upside down from an RV roof.

Daryl pressed a kiss to your forehead.

you always knew daryl needed space the same way fire needed air. he craved it, since even before the dead started rising. he was a man built from silence, rough edges, old scars, and habits formed long before you ever stepped into his life. it's what made him the way he was.

he wasn't cruel—far from it actually—but affection still sat awkwardly on his shoulders. he could fight walkers with one hand, track deer through rain-soaked woods, and survive damn near anything: but when it came to you wrapping around him like ivy does to a wall?

that was harder.

you knew that you were clingy, but not because you meant to be. not because you were childish or needy— but because in a world where everything could be ripped away in an instant, you held tight to the few things that felt safe.

and it just so happens that daryl makes you feel safe. safer than you've ever felt since the day you were born.

daryl was the only one that gave you attention and wanted you around, like somehow deep down you were his safe thing too. you like to tell yourself that that's why he allowed himself to fall for you and for you to fall for him.

but that came with sacrificing his space that he always felt he needed, hell— even wanted.

you followed him through camp while he made his rounds on watch. sat beside him while he sharpened knives and bolts. curled into his side every night while he slept like your body knew exactly where it belonged. you reached for his hand constantly, tugged at his sleeve for attention, pressed yourself into his back while he cooked.

at first, he tolerated it with grunts and eye-rolls.

then he softened up, just a tad.

then he started leaning back into you and reciprocating your feelings. offering you small pecks on the lips when you were being too inseparable, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours every time you pouted in his direction.

however, like always, stress had a way of souring even good things. and hell was it stressful now that hershel's farm had been a bust: food was low, tempers were high, two supply runs had gone bad, and everyone was exhausted. especially daryl, who had been constantly hunting and scavenging for food and supply.

and you, sweet as ever, kept hovering.

"daryl," you said one afternoon, trailing after him through the peaceful stretch of woods. he had begged you to stay behind, where you'd be safe. but you didn't listen, will never listen to him if he tells you to stay anywhere that he isn't. 

"you haven't eaten today." the concern laced in your voice made his eye twitch unintentionally. he knew that you meant the world when you spoke to him, but right now the stakes of survival were too high. and now he had to worry about you being out of safety with him.

"m'fine." he grumbled out lowly, wanting to focus on any danger that could be lurking.

"you said that yesterday too." you pointed out, annoyingly. he ignored you though, eyes still focused on the vast greenery that surrounded him and was supposed to make him feel better.

you stepped closer, slipping your arms around his waist from behind, cheek pressing between his shoulder blades. "sit with me for five minutes, take a break. you deserve it you know."

his whole body went rigid instead of relaxing. your body could practically predict what was going to happen as he pulled away from your touch, the force of it nearly knocking you down in front of him.

"can ya stop?" he muttered, voice beginning to twist into one laced with the annoyance he had been trying to suppress for your sake.

however, you just blinked at him. "stop what?"

"always bein' on me."

the words hit harder than they should have, causing your shoulders to slump in defeat immediately. "i was just—"

"i know what you were just doin'." he spun around, frustration burning across his face. now you knew just how ticked off he truly was. all because you cared about his well being.

"can't breathe half the damn time with you hangin' off me every second." the forest that seemed so loud with life two seconds ago had now gone quiet as your mind began to process his words, heart beating so fast that you swore you could hear it from outside your chest.

the air felt sharp. like it was stabbing you in the lungs, but at the sight of your face falling so quickly at his words made his anger die on impact. immediate regret flashed behind his steel blues.

"i didn't know i was bothering you," you said quietly, like you had shrunk down to nothing but an ant in his sharp gaze. "i just care about you."

he opened his mouth, but the damage was done. you're shaky voice had ripped the air from his lungs, but he couldn't move. he knew he fucked up in the snap of a finger.

daryl watched as you stepped back, swallowing hard. he knew you were going to walk away now, but didn't know if he should follow you. he just knew that when he returned later tonight, that you'll be there waiting for him and maybe then the tension would have cleared.

"sorry." just as he predicted, you walked back to camp on your own. his worry about your safety being undermined by the new onset of damage he had caused. his mind clouded by the anxiety that had erupted within his chest at the possibility of losing you.

the idiot he was. the whole time he was out in the woods, his second home, he couldn't concentrate. he just needed to go back to camp and figure things out.

when he arrived back at the makeshift camp that the group had set up the air still felt thick. later that night, you didn't come find him or curl into his sleeping bag like he predicted you would— didn't brush against him for warmth as the night air sent chills throughout your body. hell: you didn't even smile at him from across the fire that burned a little too cold now.

and daryl realized something ugly: the thing he thought annoyed him most was the thing he missed worst. your absence was louder than any noise you'd ever made.

and that night, he barely slept.

by morning, he found you a little bit aways from everyone else. he knew all too well that you had been isolating yourself. the position you had placed yourself in, knees tucked up to your chest with your arms wrapped tightly around them— staring out into the green abyss of trees, that you were growing depressed. 

you looked tired too.

small.

something finally snapped in him as he seen the impact he had on you, he wanted to fix things. wether or not you'd take him back, he couldn't stand seeing you like that. seeing you with such a blank and numb expression, your posture failing you, like you had the weight of the world crushing your body into the cold, wet dirt.

but when he approached, you shifted like you meant to stand and leave. confirming his suspicions that you no longer wanted him around. a drastic difference in less than 24 hours.

"don't," he said quickly, before you could evade.

you froze.

daryl stood there awkwardly, hands flexing at his sides. the great hunter, tracker, fighter—utterly useless in front of one wounded girl. it was almost comical.

"i was mad— things are tense between everyone right now, " he muttered, catching you off guard but you said nothing in response. your words couldn't come to fruition even if you tried. "ain't an excuse."

you still said nothing, but you took in every single one of the words that spilt from his mouth.

he took a heavy stepped closer to you, as if you would run away if he spoke any further. however, he swallowed heavily and continued.

"truth is..." he scrubbed a hand over his face. "i ain't used to havin' someone care that much." your eyes flicked up, finally showing him that you were fully paying attention to what he had to say.

he swallowed hard once again, like the words he was about to stupidly say would make him melt into a puddle of emotional mush. "makes me mean sometimes. makes me scared."

"scared of what?" your voice was nothing but a whisper, but your words meant everything, held emotions that daryl couldn't wrap his head around.

his voice dropped rough and honest, "needin' it."

that cracked something open between you, the oxygen being sucked from your lungs proving it as you gasp lowly to yourself. you hadn't realized that this was how he felt, how deep down he felt like he wasn't worthy of being cared for. like his past effected his present and perhaps future, defining what he deserved.

you stood slowly, cautiously even. "daryl..." you wanted to reach out to him, but decided to let him make that move. you were still uneasy from yesterday's argument.

"i didn't mean none of it," he said, stepping closer until you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. "maybe i get overwhelmed. maybe i'm an ass. but i don't want ya thinkin' i don't want ya near me."

his hand then lifted, hesitant, brushing your jaw with a surprising gentleness. you immediately melted and stepped closer, barely any gaps left between your two bodies. "because I do."

your breath caught hard, making your chest rise but not fall.

"i want your hands on me. want you followin' me around. want you in my bed. want you botherin' me 'til i'm old and mean and gray." his confession was everything that you never thought you needed. it drew a watery laugh from deep within your chest, nose burning and eyes blurring with tears.

his thumb stroked your cheek. "missed ya like hell in one damn night." a light smile crossed his face. even if it was just for a moment, you cherished it.

you looked at him carefully though, not wanting to bring the mood down but needing to get how you felt off your chest. "you really hurt me."

"i know."

"and if you snap like that again?"

"then ya tell me i'm bein' stupid, slap me, punch me, knock some damn sense into me."

You smirked. "that all?"

"mah." he breathed out as his mouth twitched. "then i spend the rest'a the day makin' it up to ya."

heat curled low in your stomach at his words.

"oh?" you whispered, curious as to what he truly meant. the devious look that replaced the one of sadness caused butterflies to suddenly erupt in your stomach.

he stepped forward until your back met the hard bark of a treet, body crowding yours in that slow, dangerous way only he could manage. one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding to your waist with such care that you could melt.

"yeah," his lips hovered just above yours. "startin' now."

daryl then closed the finale distance that lingered too long between you, pressing his lips firmly to yours. the kiss was deep and apologetic all at once—slow at first, then hungry. like he'd truly starved himself overnight.

on instinct you tangled your fingers in his vest, pulling him closer by the collar.

"there she is," he murmured against your mouth. "my clingy girl."

you laughed breathlessly. "still on your nerves?" the sound of you making jokes again solidified that you had forgiven him and truthfully he was the happiest he has been in a long while.

"mm." he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the pulse in your neck. "drives me crazy." it was his turn to joke around with you— his hand sliding to the back of your thigh, lifting it around his hip.

"but i think i'm addicted to it." his voice raspy and sultry, whispering perfectly into your ear as he continued kissing everywhere but your lips. you shivered, whole body shaking beneath his hold.

"good," you whispered. he looked up, eyes dark and warm.

"why's that?"

you wrapped both arms around his neck and held tight.

“No. That ain’t how this works. You ain’t get to give me a fuckin’ heartache and then get all pissy when I react.”

You’d never seen Daryl this angry, and it put you on edge. Men yelling in anger was a massive trigger for you. He didn’t know that, though. All that your boyfriend knew was that you’d passed out and put yourself in imminent danger. In his frustration, he picked up a nearby beer bottle and threw it against the wall. The glass shattered and you flinched hard. He looked up just in time to see a tear roll down your face.

As Daryl stared at you, he felt like his father, and it made him sick. He’d been terrified of losing you, but he should’ve communicated that. Instead, he’d become destructive and scared you. He looked heartbroken by his own actions and his voice was torn when he spoke.

“Did I scare you? Sweetheart…”

You hated crying, so you wiped your face and tried to pull it together. The damage was done, though. Daryl didn’t know how to handle this, and he didn’t trust himself not to say any other harsh words. He was still too amped up to think clearly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he took a step back and mumbled.

“I’m gonna go out and clear my head.”

“You’re gonna leave?”

God, you probably sounded pathetic. It was clear that Daryl needed space to gather himself, but you didn’t want him to leave. His expression became even more apologetic, and he stumbled over his words as he tried to explain.

“I-I just need a fuckin’ minute, okay? Ain’t like I’m walkin’ out on you. Just give me a second to breathe.”

That came off much more defensive than Daryl had intended, and he cringed at how he’d sounded. He could never get this right. Not bothering to wait for your response, he grabbed his crossbow from by the entryway and walked out. You just stood there and stared at the closed door.

It wasn’t until two hours later that Daryl finally returned to the house. The rest of the group was in the shared home, and he could hear them from the front porch. He opened the door and walked inside. Forgetting that you were likely in a flare, he’d been expecting to see you alongside everyone. You were nowhere to be seen, though. He sat the crossbow back in its resting place and headed towards your bedroom.

To Daryl’s surprise, you were asleep on the bed. Even in slumber, you looked exhausted, and it made the guilt in his chest grow. He didn’t want to wake you just yet. Careful not to make too much noise, he snuck back out of the room and down the hall. He had to make it up to you somehow. Carol saw him approaching and raised an eyebrow.

“Is your girl still sleeping?”

“Yeah, she ain’t feelin’ too good. Is it alright if I bring her dinner to her?”

“Of course. Do you think she’ll stay in bed for the rest of the evening?”

“Probably. Thanks for the food.”

Daryl was clearly in a hurry to get back to you, so Carol didn’t ask any more questions. She was used to abrupt conversations with him. Your boyfriend moved further into the kitchen. He grabbed one of the bowls that had been set out and filled it with Carol’s stew. It was made from the rabbits that he’d caught a few days ago, and he knew that you’d enjoy it. After filling his own dish, he carefully balanced the two and went back to where you were he resting.

He slowly opened the door and came back into your bedroom. Unsurprisingly, you were still out. Daryl placed the bowls on the bedside table and crouched beside your mattress. His fingers brushed some hair from your face as he spoke quietly.

“Hey, sweetheart. Wake up for me. I’ve got dinner.”

It took several seconds before you finally stirred, and you blinked blearily at him. You finally registered that it was Daryl in front of you and a small smile graced your face. While you weren’t pleased with how he’d ended the previous argument, your fatigue was too strong for you to maintain any real anger. Your voice was clouded with sleep when you spoke.

“Thank you, baby.”

Your man helped you into a sitting position and made sure that you were steady. He learned from your last flare that sudden movements could make you dizzy. Your back was propped against the headboard when Daryl set the bowl of stew into your lap. He had to fight the urge to feed you himself, but he knew that your stubborn ass wouldn’t allow that.

Even though your hands trembled as you brought the spoon to your mouth, you managed to eat without spilling. You sipped the broth and chewed the cooked rabbit bit by bit. Your movements were much slower than usual. Daryl ran his fingers through your hair again and hesitantly spoke up.

“I’m sorry ‘bout earlier. When I saw you passed out in that house, it made my heart sink. It’s not an excuse for how I treated you after, but I was fuckin’ terrified.”

Daryl didn’t usually open up about his feelings like this, so you made sure to listen. You weakly squeezed his hand and nodded. Finishing your dinner, you set the dish to the side and reassured Daryl.

“I know, baby. It’s okay. While I don’t appreciate the way that you spoke to me, I understand where you were comin’ from. I should’ve listened and let you clear that house. I was just bein’ stubborn.”

At the mention of your headstrong nature, Daryl laughed softly and nodded in agreement. He was ridiculously obstinate, so he couldn’t tease you too much. Kissing your forehead, he met your eyes again and asked quietly.

“We’re good?”

“Yes, my love. We’re good.”

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you peel your face from his chest to look up at him, his light eyes finding yours immediately in the ill-litted room. there’s a steeliness to them that you’d never seen before, but something far beyond just the depths of his seriousness. there was fear.

“daryl-“ you begin to speak, managing to get nothing out but his name before he shakes his head.

“need ya to promise.” he says it more stern now.

there’s a beat of silence, his eyes scanning your face, trying to gather any information on the answer you’re going to give him. his hope lingers in the air as your fingers run across his skin, like kisses from a ghost, as you reach to touch his cheek.

he instinctively leans into the touch. a fault of his. always craving your touch, no matter the circumstances.

then you shake your head and his heart plummets in his chest. his brain working to come up with a reason but your words overpower his own before he has a chance.

“there’s nothing in this world that will ever make me run anywhere that isn’t straight to you. and you can argue with me all you want, tell me that it’s for my own safety, but i don’t care.”

he’s silent for a second before he speaks, but his voice is small, a whisper in the wind, “please.”

you take in a deep breath, your chest pressed flush to his side as you tangle your fingers with his, “daryl, you can’t ask me to do that.”

“s’why i ain’t askin,” he grumbles, his voice gruff compared to your calm tone. “i need ya safe. i need ya alive.”

you can’t help but stifle a small huff of laughter at his stubbornness, your hand pulling his towards your mouth as you press a soft kiss against his knuckle. you can feel his breathing relax a little at the gesture and you look back up at him in the bed.

“when are you going to get it through your thick skull that this world isn’t worth surviving unless i’m surviving it with you.”

his breathing falters, eyes widened with a mixture of disbelief and desire. he still count fathom the fact that anyone could ever care for him, love him, the way you do, but hearing you say that you wouldn’t want to be in this world if it wasn’t with him… it makes his heart swell and ache at the same time.

“y’can’t think like that,” he shakes his head but it’s you who cuts him off this time, pressing your finger to his mouth.

“i can, and i will,” you nod. “if i lose you… i lose everything. i’m not going to let that willingly happen.”

he doesn’t know how to respond, his words getting caught in his throat. he knew you were stubborn, much like him, but he also knew how devoted you were to those you loved, and it confused him every day how lucky he was that he got to be one of those people.

he just nods, knowing there was no point in arguing, “a’ight. a’ight.” his voice is a shaky, but it doesn’t let up just how affected he was by your words, and he pulls your head back to his chest, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

©𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐂 ⋆˚࿔ 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. ✩ mature content. mdni. do not steal, plagiarise, repost or take inspo from my work.

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