May She Rest In Pieces

Daryl strutted across the community looking for you, ignoring the smirks and smug looks from other members of the community who recognized you and Daryl's relationship.

"Lookin' for your girl?" Rick's voice echoed across the lawn as he leaned over his porch railing. Rick could hardly believe how positively whipped Daryl was. Searching for you like a lost puppy.

Daryl nodded, adjusting the strap of his crossbow as he glanced up at him. "Ya' seen her? Supposed to be back by now."

You had told Daryl you were going to ask Maggie about something. He wasn't really paying attention to your words as much as he was staring at your features in a way that was more perverted than he'd like to admit.

"She's at the gate. Last I saw her, she was talkin' to Eugene". Rick eyed Daryl's reaction while suppressing a laugh.

Daryl's jaw clenched tightly as he ran a hand through his hair. The mention of that man's name made his blood boil.

Everybody knew that you and Daryl were dating.

Everybody except for Eugene.

"Talkin' about what?" Daryl asked Rick, desperately trying to save himself from having to walk over there and breathe the same air as him.

"Oh, I couldn't tell ya' Daryl. Gonna have to find out yourself." Rick snickered to himself, knowing full well what the conversation was about.

Daryl huffed and turned away, fists clenched as he strutted down the road to the gates.

"Like I said, that sorghum would really do us good. I know sorghum, and you're resourceful. Maybe we could do this together." Eugene was talking to you about the potential of a crop that he had found in the area.

But that wasn't what Daryl saw.

Eugene was too close.

His shoulder was nearly touching yours as he showed you some kind of paper with information on it, eyes raking over you with oblivious confidence.

Saying nothing as he approached, Daryl's boots alerted you of his presence, the heavy stomp making you smile. "Hey." Your eyes met his, and you could sense the anger radiating from him.

Daryl just gave you a nod and ran his hand over yours, a small but warm gesture that reminded you of how he showed affection in the early days of Alexandria.

Daryl moved in between you and Eugene, his eyes remaining glued to Eugene's boyish smile as he was chatting with you.

"What'cha got there?" Daryl pointed to the paper. "Something you wanna share?"

"Oh yes, I was just making plans with Y/n to go check out those sorghum plots I found a few miles from here." Eugene shoved the paper into his pocket as if it were a secret between you two.

As if Daryl wasn't allowed to see it.

Asshole.

You picked up on the one-sided tension right away, Daryl's breathing heavier now as if deep breaths were not going to be enough to wash away his rage. "What Eugene means to say is that I'm going on a run with him to go see it."

Oh, that was it.

Daryl felt his blood run hot with anger he didn't want to place. Jealousy, rage, whatever the hell it was.

"I'll come too, ya' need extra hands." Daryl insisted he come along, the idea of going alone with this guy making his head spin.

Satisfaction rushed through his chest when Eugene visibly deflated at Daryl's participation. "Just thought it could be Y/n and me on this endeavor." He mumbled like a pouting child.

"An' what if walkers rush ya'? Ain't gonna be able to fight em' all." Daryl crossed his arms, not missing the way your eyes flickered to watch his biceps.

"Oh, you underestimate Y/n, she's more than capable." Eugene flashed you a confident smile.

It would have been heartwarming if you weren't his.

"You're so sweet, thanks, Eugene!" You gently shoved Eugene's shoulder, relishing in the way that you could practically see the smoke coming out of Daryl's ears.

Eugene grabbed a duffel bag and glanced between you and Daryl. "I assume y'all need to grab necessities. We'll leave in about an hour?"

Daryl was about to interrupt and shut down this entire plan. But you spoke first.

"Sounds good!" Hand clasping onto Daryl's broad shoulder, you gently dragged him away from the conversation with Eugene.

Daryl's whole body was tense, brimming with utter frustration from watching a man who had no idea how to treat you right.

"Alright." You let out a quick sigh. "What's your problem?" You bit back a smile at his obviously jealous behavior. Daryl was fuming. His eyes were staring daggers into Eugene's soul.

"Don't got one." He shrugged, clenching his teeth when Eugene snuck glances your way.

"You're so jealous. Ya' gonna shoot him while we're out there?" You were joking, but then you backtracked your words when Daryl grunted.

"Might. Depends on what that dumbass tries." Daryl huffed.

Shortly after collecting the necessities in your shared apartment for the trip outside the gates, Daryl felt the pent-up jealousy fill up.

Ready to boil over.

The anger wasn't directed at you. Because it wasn't your fault. But Daryl knew that you were thoroughly enjoying teasing him because of the constant knowing smile plastered upon your face while he was getting ready.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer." Daryl was the one pouting and sulking now. You rolled your eyes as you walked over to him.

You placed your hands on his jawline and watched as he visibly relaxed. His eyes tracked yours, flickering over your features as if he were memorizing them. "You gotta be nice today." You hummed.

Daryl just grumbled in response, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly. He buried his face into your neck, letting out a heavy sigh.

What a grump.

After driving out a few miles, you made it to the sorghum processing plant, eager to see what Eugene was ranting about. Daryl had forced Eugene to drive so that he could keep an eye on him.

Exploring the abandoned plant, there were several viable resources that you could bring back to the community. Farming machinery was scattered around, waiting to be collected.

"Y/n, would you mind reaching in here to take a look at this engine? Seems perfectly suited for our food conundrum." Eugene called you over to what looked like a tractor of some kind.

You stepped up onto the wheel of the machine and bent over to glance into the large engine. Truth be told, you had little knowledge of cars and machinery. But, you were a little concerned about letting Daryl get too close to Eugene.

Daryl watched the situation, his eyes falling to your ass as you stretched over the side of the machine to glance at the engine.

And then he froze.

Eugene was looking too. Unashamedly and with hunger.

He could have shot him where he stood. God, he wanted to. Instead, his boots slammed against the concrete as he made his way over to Eugene.

"You'd best keep your eyes off." Daryl pointed a finger in his face, the warning crystal clear to Eugene.

After all, he had no idea that you were in a relationship with Daryl.

Hearing the rising tensions, you quickly popped up and shut the hood. "Looks good! We'll get somebody to help us move it in the next few days."

Jumping down from the machinery, you placed a hand on Daryl's chest. "Daryl and I will check these shelves over here if you want to go see what kind of provisions they have here." You spoke to Eugene, your finger absentmindedly drawing circles on Daryl's vest.

"Yes, ma'am. Y'know, a woman of your caliber really should have more authority around the community. Been doin' a fine job leading so far." Eugene offered you a smile before walking over in the direction you gave him.

Daryl clenched his jaw, staring off into the distance with furrowed brows. You looked up at him and snickered, hand leaving his chest as you walked over to the shelves.

You rifled through items that could be of use, searching for supplies that would benefit Alexandria. A shuffling sound from behind you made you smirk. "Can't stay away, huh?"

Daryl took a quick glance around to make sure nobody was looking. Then, his hands snaked around your hips, firmly pulling them back to press against him. "Ya' think this is funny, don't ya'?" His voice was a whisper as he pressed kisses to the back of your neck.

"Think it's funny to rile me up?" One hand ran up your shirt to feel your bare skin, the other kept you pressed against him.

"Daryl-" you whined. "He could see us!"

"Good-" Daryl sucked on your neck, leaving a prominent mark where his lips were. "Let him see."

You couldn't even focus on looking for anything; the heat of his body against yours, pushing you into the shelving, drove you insane.

"But we haven't told him about us-" Your words became a quiet moan as his hand traveled down to your clothed cunt, pressing his rough hands into the spot where you wanted him most.

"What's the big deal, sugar? S'the best way to tell him." Daryl's mind was spinning, rage and lust mixing up inside of him to the point where all he could do was manhandle you with the hopes that he could get his message across.

With one hand, Daryl unbuttoned your jeans. "Daryl, no, he'll catch us." Daryl paused at your words.

"You want me to stop?" He kissed your neck, his hand gently waiting for your response.

Taking a beat to look around, you realized that Eugene was nowhere to be seen. That was enough for you.

"No." You put your hand on his, leaning your head back to fall on his shoulder.

With your permission, his hand slid down your jeans, breath hitching at the feeling of lace underneath. "Ya' gonna show these to me later, huh?" He ran his fingertips over the fabric, sending a rush of heat down to your core.

A whimper escaped your mouth at his actions, and all you could offer him was a pathetically desperate nod.

"Good girl." Daryl's voice could've made you hit your climax right then and there, the raspy voice whispered quietly in your ear.

With two fingers, he slid your panties to the side gently. Daryl didn't even care what was happening outside the corner of this factory; his thoughts consumed by your trembling frame in front of him as his fingers teased you.

His fingers finally reached where you wanted them, slowly stroking your clit. "Fuck, this is crazy-" you moaned against his shoulder silently.

"Been teasing me all fuckin' day." He grunted against you. "Gonna show ya' who can treat you like ya' deserve." His stubble pressed against your neck as he pressed soft kisses, contrasting the way his left hand was holding your hips tightly.

He slipped one finger in, watching the way you bit back a muffled moan, your hips grinding down onto his hand as he thrusted at a consistent pace.

"Daryl please-" You shut your eyes tightly as he caught onto your need, your desperation, by adding another finger.

"Shh, I got ya'." His left hand was splayed across your torso, pressing into you as his right hand was reached around you, fingering you with his middle and ring fingers.

It was all too much. The stakes, the possibility that Eugene might just turn the corner and see Daryl's hand down your pants, making you fall apart on his fingers.

His breath tickled your neck as his breathing became heavier. "So pretty-" he let out a low hum when you pressed your hips backward into his crotch.

Your legs felt like jelly as he thrusted impossibly faster into your cunt, his thumb occasionally rubbing your clit. "Daryl-" you gasped as he adjusted his hand to get a deeper angle, hitting your spot with ease.

"S'That where you want me, sugar?" He smirked at your reaction.

"Yes!" You grabbed onto the shelf in front of you to ground you. "Fuck right there, please." You were so goddamn close, the adrenaline from the whole scenario only further leading you to your climax.

Your orgasm hit you hard, sending waves of pleasure through you as Daryl kept going, working you through it.

"Fuck-" Daryl was breathing hard now at the sight of you, fighting his hardest to keep his own arousal at bay.

Still shuddering from your powerful orgasm, clanking could be heard not far from the two of you. Daryl slowly removed his hand, his touch lingering on you before he finally pulled away.

It was Eugene coming back with bags of seed and other items. "Found some provisions that would benefit our community to the highest extent."

You were leaning against the shelving, your face flushed and your clothing an absolute mess. "Feelin' alright, Ms. Y/n?" Eugene had no idea.

"Yeah-I." Your eyes met Daryl, who threw you a wink as he walked away from the conversation. "Just feelin' a little weak. Might be time to head back home." Thank god for Eugene's gullible nature in that moment.

Standing behind Eugene's back, Daryl stared you down with hunger in his eyes as he licked his fingers.

Fuck.

The fish aren’t biting today and you're two minutes away from crashing the actual fuck out. You sigh, tugging your borrowed flannel tighter around your shoulders as the wind kicks up, sending ripples across the quarry’s murky water.

Behind you, Carol hums something tuneless while scrubbing a shirt against the washboard, the rhythm steady as a heartbeat. "You’d think after all this time," she says, not looking up, "You'd be better at tellin’ when the fish are just plain stubborn. S’ not your fault, sweetheart."

You smile at her kindness, but it’s half-hearted. Your fingers fiddle with the frayed hem of Daryl’s shirt, the one he’d shrugged off onto shoulders this morning before heading into the woods, muttering about rabbit tracks he'd seen the day before. It still smells like him: sweat, gunpowder, and something stubbornly alive beneath it all.

Andrea tosses a pebble into the water, watching it sink. "How’s it you can stand him, anyway?" The question’s casual, but her eyes flick to you with real curiosity. "Man’s got a temper like a hornet’s nest."

Your cheeks flush pink, fingers tightening around the damp fabric in your hands. "Who, Daryl? Well… He’s not- " you start, then stop, unsure how to explain the Daryl that only you get to see, the one who tucks wildflowers behind your ear when he thinks no one’s looking, the one who builds little makeshift shelves in your tent out of scavenged wood and duct tape for the seashells you keep finding at the quarry.

They'll never understand him. 

Carol’s lips quirk as she wrings out a pair of pants. "Oh, I know that look," she says, softer now. "Same one Ed used to give me when we were just kids, ‘fore he decided bein’ mean was easier than lovin’." The words hang heavy between you, the ghost of her bruises left unmentioned. Your heart breaks into pieces for her. 

Andrea scoffs, tossing another pebble. "Still don’t get it. Guy snaps at Shane for breathing too loud, but you?" She gestures at the way you’re practically swimming in Daryl’s shirt, the sleeves rolled up almost six times. "He lets you steal his clothes like you're some kinda…"

"Pet," Carol supplies, grinning when you duck your head to try and hide the pink flush crawling up to your pierced ears. 

"M’ not his pet," you grumble, but your ears burn hotter when Carol laughs, soft, knowing. The laundry flutters between your fingers, wet and shapeless, and you focus on folding it just to have something to do with your anxious, shaking hands.

"He brings me coffee," you say suddenly as if it's an epiphany, voice small against the quarry’s echo. "Every morning. Even when we’re low. He- uh- he remembers how I like it." Three sugars, no cream, because before the world ended, the corner diner always got it wrong and Daryl would watch you grimace through each bitter sip like a stubborn mule until he'd reach for the sugar packets and fix it himself. 

Andrea’s pebble-throwing pauses. "Huh."

Carol’s hands still in the soapy water. "The man ever tell you why?"

You shake your head, pressing the folded shirt to your chest like a temporary shield. "Don’t gotta say it." The words come out quiet, barely louder than the water lapping at the rocks. "He shows me every damn day."

Carol’s eyes soften, but Andrea leans forward, elbows on her knees. "Yeah? How’s that?"

You bite your lip, tracing the stitching on Daryl’s sleeve where it’s come loose. "Last week," you start, voice gaining strength, "he came back from a hunt with his jacket torn up. Blood all over the sleeve." Andrea raises an eyebrow, but you rush on. "Not his. Walkers’. But he- " A laugh bubbles up, unexpected. "He still took it off before comin’ into the tent ‘cause he knows I don’t like the smell. Hung it on a tree branch like some kinda..."

"Gentleman," Carol finishes, grinning when you nod.

The conversation drifts away after that, dissolving into the quiet rhythm of washing and folding, but the warmth of Daryl’s secret kindness lingers under your ribs like a second heartbeat. By the time the sun dips low, casting long shadows across the quarry, you’ve retreated to your tent, the one tucked farther from the group, half-hidden by a thicket of pine. Inside, it’s a nest of mismatched blankets, scavenged trinkets, and the faint, stubborn scent of Daryl’s musk clinging to the fabric walls. You sit cross-legged on your shared rumpled sleeping bag, idly tracing the stitching of his shirt where it’s come loose at the shoulder, when the tent flap rustles, evening light filtering in briefly. 

Daryl ducks inside, his silhouette backlit by the dying sun. He’s got a rabbit slung over one shoulder, its fur matted with dried blood, and a paper-wrapped bundle tucked under his arm. “Ain’t much,” he grunts, tossing the bundle into your lap. It’s warm, cornbread, probably scavenged from some abandoned pantry, and still faintly soft. “Figured you’d forget to eat.”

You unfold the paper carefully, revealing a hunk of cornbread, slightly crumbled at the edges. “You remembered,” you whisper in awe, because it’s Tuesday, and before the world ended, Tuesdays were cornbread nights at the diner down the road from your apartment. Daryl just shrugs, but his ears go pink as he busies himself with skinning the rabbit, his knife flashing in the dim light.

He works in silence, the only sound the steady rasp of blade against hide, until he pauses, glancing at you sideways. “Ain’t like you to hide out here, doll,” he says, voice rougher than usual. “Lori’s got that stew goin’ you like. Carol’s been askin’ after you.”

You pick at the cornbread crumbs in your lap, avoiding his gaze. “Wasn’t in the mood for company,” you murmur, but the lie tastes bitter on your tongue. Daryl’s knife stills mid-stroke, his brow furrowing as he studies you, really studies you, the way he does when he’s tracking something through the underbrush.

“Bullshit,” he says bluntly, wiping his hands on his jeans before scooting closer. The rabbit carcass lies forgotten as he nudges your knee with his own. “Spit it out.”

Your throat tightens. “They were talkin’ about you today,” you admit, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Andrea said she didn’t get how I could stand your temper. Carol called me your pet.”

Daryl’s nostrils flare, but it’s not anger that flashes across his face, it’s something raw and vulnerable, like a wounded animal caught in a trap. “They ain’t exactly wrong,” he mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck where the sun’s burned it pink. “Know I ain’t easy.”

"You're easy with me," you say softly, reaching out to trace the sunburned curve of his neck before you can stop yourself. Daryl goes still under your touch, his breath hitching like you've pressed against a bruise. "That's all that matters to me.”

His jaw works silently for a moment before he exhales through his nose, rough and ragged. "Still." The word comes out ground between his teeth. "Don't like 'em talkin' 'bout you like that. Like you're less than me, like I control you." The knife in his hand twitches, blade catching the fading light.

You catch his wrist before he can start skinning again, your thumb brushing the pulse point beneath his leather wristband. "They don't know, honey," you croon. "How you bring me coffee. How you built those little fucked up shelves for my shells." Your voice drops to a whisper, the tent walls suddenly too thin. "How you kiss me like I'm something precious even after all this time together."

Daryl's pupils blow wide, the knife slipping from his fingers to thud against the sleeping bag. "Christ, woman,” he breathes, and then his large hands are framing your face, calloused thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the shape of you. "Ain't never had nothin' half as good as you, you know that," he says, voice cracking on the last word.

His forehead presses against yours, the heat of his skin seeping into you like sunlight through leaves. You can smell the sweat and pine sap clinging to him, the metallic tang of walker blood still lingering under his nails. But when his lips brush yours, hesitant, almost reverent, it’s all you can focus on.

"You’re doin’ it again," you murmur against his mouth, fingers curling into the frayed edges of his vest.

"Doin’ what?" he grumbles, but his hands are already sliding down to grip your hips, tugging you flush against him.

"Talkin’ like you don’t deserve me. You know I hate when you do that." You nip at his bottom lip, grinning when he growls and kisses you harder, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a desperation that makes your toes curl.

Daryl pulls back just enough to glare at you, his breath hot against your lips. "Ain't talkin' like that…" he mutters, but his hands betray him, sliding up under the stolen flannel to trace the dip of your waist. "Just statin' the facts, sugar."

You arch into his touch, biting back a whimper when his calloused thumbs brush the underside of your breasts. "Your facts are stupid," you whine, and he snorts, dragging his mouth down your neck just to hear you gasp. The stubble on his chin rasps against your skin, the sensation sending sparks down your spine.

The cornbread lies forgotten as Daryl maneuvers you onto your back, his body a solid weight between your thighs. He braces himself on one elbow, the other hand still roaming under your shirt like he’s mapping new territory. "Always so damn soft, it drives me crazy," he practically coos against your collarbone, his voice rough with something that isn’t quite disbelief but close enough to make your chest ache.

You hitch a plush leg over his hip, grinding against the hard line of his cock straining against his jeans. Daryl groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Quit that," he grits out, but his hips jerk forward anyway, betraying him, seeking friction.

Daryl’s breath hitches when you rock against him again, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises. “Told you- fuckin’ hell woman- quit it,” he growls, but his body betrays him, pressing you deeper into the nest of blankets as his cock twitches against your thigh. You whine, arching up to chase the heat of him, but he pins you down with a rough hand splayed across your stomach.

“Ain’t got no condoms, y'know that,” he grumbles, voice thick with frustration. His nose brushes yours tenderly, close enough you can taste the stale coffee on his breath. “Can’t risk it. Not now. Not when things are like this.”

You squirm under his grip, fingers clawing at his vest. “Don’t need ‘em for what I want,” you pant, tipping your head back when his teeth graze your pulse point. “S’ called outercourse- just- just rub against me, c’mon- ”

Daryl freezes, brow furrowed. The confusion on his face is almost comical, like you’ve just suggested they start selling ice cream in hell. “The fuck’s outercourse?”

You giggle at the bewildered look on his face, cheeks flushing as you reach between your bodies to unbutton his jeans with trembling fingers. "Like this," you murmur, guiding his hand down to the damp heat between your thighs. His breath hitches when your fingers wrap around his cock, hot and heavy in your palm, as you drag him through the slickness gathering there. "Just- just move against me, okay? Can't get pregnant like this."

Daryl makes a strangled noise low in his throat, hips jerking forward instinctively. "Fuck, sugar," he rasps, forehead dropping to yours as you guide him between your thighs, the head of his cock catching against your clit with each shallow thrust. "This- shit- this legal?"

You snort, dragging your nails down his sweat-damp back. "Pretty sure the law ain't exactly a priority anymore, babe."

Daryl groans, hips stuttering as he grinds against you, the rough fabric of his jeans rasping against your inner thighs. "Fuckin' little smartass," he grits out, but there's no heat in it, just that rough, desperate edge that makes your stomach flip. His calloused fingers dig into the swell of your hips as he finds a rhythm, each thrust dragging his cock against your puffy clit in a way that has you biting your lip to keep from crying out and embarrassing both of you in front of the whole camp.

"Quiet, gotta be quiet, baby," he breathes against your ear, nipping at the lobe. "Whole damn camp's gonna hear you."

You whimper, arching into him as his teeth sink into the soft skin of your shoulder, just hard enough to sting. "Daryl- "

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, fingers twisting in Daryl's vest as he moves against you with rough, desperate strokes. Every drag of his cock against your clit sends sparks up your spine, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly. "Daryl," you whimper again, louder this time, and he clamps a hand gently over your mouth with a muttered curse, his hips never slowing.

"Told you- quiet," he growls, but his voice cracks halfway through, his pupils blown wide with want. His other hand slips between your bodies, calloused fingers finding your swollen, slick clit with unerring accuracy. The dual stimulation makes your thighs shake, a broken moan muffled against his palm.

Daryl watches you unravel beneath him with something like reverence, his breath hot against your cheek. "That's it," he croons, thumb circling your clit in tight, relentless circles. "Gonna make you come so damn pretty for me."

You writhe under him, the pressure building unbearably fast, almost overwhelmingly fast. The tent walls feel paper-thin at this point, every rustle of fabric deafening as Daryl's thrusts grow more erratic, his rhythm faltering. His forehead drops to yours, sweat dripping from his temple onto your flushed skin. "Close," he grits out, his voice raw. "Fuck- so close- "

You clench around nothing miserably as Daryl’s fingers work you closer to the edge, your thighs trembling where they bracket his hips. "Please, Daryl- baby-" you whine against his palm, the words muffled but ridiculously needy. His answering groan is ragged, his hips stuttering as he grinds against you with renewed urgency. The head of his cock catches your clit on every thrust, the friction just shy of too much, until it isn't, until pleasure crests like a wave and crashes over you in a shuddering rush.

Daryl’s hand tightens over your mouth as your back arches off the sleeping bag, your cry swallowed by his calloused palm. He watches you with dark, hooded eyes, his breath coming in sharp pants against your temple. "Fuck," he rasps, his hips jerking erratically. "Just- just like that, sugar- " His voice cracks as his own release hits him, his body going rigid above you before he collapses with a muffled grunt, his forehead pressing into the curve of your shoulder.

For a long moment, the only sound is your mingled breathing, harsh and uneven in the quiet of the tent. Daryl’s hand slides from your mouth to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had escaped. "Ain’t never seen nothin’ prettier," he rasps, voice rough with something that makes your chest ache.

You huff a giggle, still boneless beneath him, and nudge his shoulder with your nose. "Even with your hand smotherin’ me?"

Daryl snorts, rolling off you with a grunt, his body still thrumming with leftover heat. He reaches for the discarded flannel beside the sleeping bag, wiping hastily at the mess between your thighs before tossing it into the corner. "Woulda been louder without it," he teases, but there's no bite to it, just that gruff tenderness that still makes your stomach flutter.

You stretch lazily, the muscles in your legs pleasantly sore, and catch him staring at the chubby curve of your hip where his shirt has ridden up. His gaze flickers away when you notice, but not fast enough to hide the way his throat bobs. "What?" you tease, poking his ribs.

"Nothin'." He catches your wrist, pressing your palm flat against his hairy chest where his heartbeat thrums rabbit-quick beneath warm skin. His fingers twine with yours, callouses rough against your knuckles. "Just... you."

The simplicity of it punches the air from your lungs. You squeeze his hand, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "Daryl Dixon, what a poet you are," you giggle, half-joking to mask the way your voice wavers.

Daryl scowls at your teasing, but his fingers tighten around yours,.anchoring, possessive. “Ain’t poetic,” he grumbles, rolling onto his side to face you. The fading light catches the scar above his eyebrow and you trace it without thinking, and he stills under your touch, his breath hitching like it’s the first time you’ve ever touched him.

“You are, though,” you murmur, and his brow furrows deeper. “In your own way.” You press a kiss to the scar, feeling his pulse jump under your lips. “Like when you patched my Chuck Taylors with duct tape ‘cause you knew they were my favorite.”

Daryl’s ears go pink. He swats halfheartedly at your shoulder. “Shut up, Christ almighty.” But his voice lacks its usual bite, softened by the way his thumb strokes circles into your palm. The silence stretches, comfortable, until his stomach growls loudly enough to startle a laugh out of you.

“Forgot about the cornbread,” you admit sheepishly, reaching for the crumpled paper packet. It’s cold now, the edges brittle, but Daryl snatches it from your hands before you can take a bite.

Daryl scowls at the stale cornbread like it's personally offended him, then shoves half into his mouth in one bite. Crumbs stick to his stubble as he chews, glaring at the tent wall like it’s hiding answers. You giggle, reaching up to brush them away, but he catches your wrist, turning your palm to press a kiss to the center. The gesture’s so sudden, so un-Daryl-like, your breath catches.

"Still tastes like shit," he laughs against your skin, but his lips curve just enough to betray him.

You wiggle your fingers free to poke his ribs again. "Hmmm, maybe. But I know you scavenged it from that gas station pantry just ‘cause you remembered it’s Tuesday.

Though he doesn't deny it outright. 

His scowl deepens, but his hands betray him again, tugging you closer until you’re sprawled half on top of him. The rabbit carcass lies forgotten by the tent flap, its blood seeping into the dirt. Daryl’s fingers trace idle patterns down your spine, rough enough to raise goosebumps. "Ain’t like I got a damn calendar, jus’ knew you needed dinner," he grumbles, pink flushing his face.

His fingers pause mid-stroke when he feels the tremor run through you, not from cold, but from the way his blunt honesty still surprises you sometimes. The way he remembers things no one else would. Your nose presses into the hollow of his throat, breathing in sweat and gunpowder and something stubbornly Daryl. "You're fulla shit, babe," you murmur, but your lips curve against his skin when his chest rumbles with a sound too soft to be a laugh.

The cornbread crumbs itch where they’ve scattered between your bare thighs, sticking to the sweat still drying on your skin. Daryl’s fingers pause their lazy tracing of your spine to pluck one away, flicking it into the dark corner of the tent with a grunt. “Messy girl,” he mutters, but there’s no real insult behind it. He'd never and you know it. 

You nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck, smiling when his stubble scratches your forehead. “Your fault,” you murmur, dragging a fingertip through the trail of crumbs on his chest. “Shoulda let me eat it proper.”

Daryl huffs, catching your wandering hand in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, calluses catching on the delicate skin there. “Ain’t my fault you got distracted,” he says, but his voice dips low, roughened at the edges in a way that sends warmth pooling low in your belly again.

Outside, the campfire crackles, voices drifting on the wind, Shane’s booming laugh, Carol’s quiet murmur. The sounds feel distant, muffled by the thick canvas of your tent and the steady thump of Daryl’s heartbeat beneath your ear. You press closer, inhaling the scent of him, pine resin and gun oil, the metallic tang of the rabbit’s blood still clinging to his vest where it’s discarded beside the sleeping bag.

Daryl’s fingers tighten around yours as the campfire voices grow louder, Shane’s boisterous storytelling punctuated by Glenn’s nervous laughter. You feel the tension coil in Daryl’s shoulders beneath your cheek, his breath hitching like he’s bracing for impact. “Ignore ‘em, it's just me and you here,” you coo, pressing a kiss to the jut of his collarbone. His grunt is noncommittal, but his thumb strokes your wrist in silent thanks for the knowing comfort.

The tent flap rustles suddenly, not from wind, but from the deliberate shuffle of feet outside. “Y’all decent?” Carol’s voice is amused, muffled through the canvas. Daryl stiffens, his grip on you tightening possessively. You bite back a laugh at the way his ears flush crimson.

“No,” he barks, but you’re already wriggling free, scrambling for his discarded angel vest to cover yourself. Daryl snatches it back with a growl, shoving it into your chest again. “Wear it proper,” he practically commands, pointedly avoiding your eyes as he yanks his jeans up over his pale hips.

You button the vest with fumbling fingers just as Carol’s head pokes through the flap. Her eyes dart between Daryl’s disheveled hair and your swollen pink lips, her smirk widening. “Dinner’s ready,” she says, too innocently. “Brought y’all bowls since you were... occupied.”

Daryl's arm snakes around your waist like a steel band, yanking you back against his chest with a growl that vibrates through your shoulder blades. "We're good, thanks," he barks at Carol, his free hand snatching the offered bowls with more force than necessary. The stew sloshes dangerously close to the rim.

Carol's smirk doesn't falter. She lingers just a heartbeat too long, eyes flicking to the scattered cornbread crumbs and the way Daryl's vest hangs open on you, barely covering your thighs. "Mmhm," she hums, dragging the sound out like taffy before ducking back out. The tent flap falls shut with a whisper of canvas, but not before you catch her muttering, "Lovebirds."

You bury your face in Daryl's shoulder to muffle the giggle threatening to escape. His grip tightens. "Ain't funny," he grumbles, but his lips brush your temple in contradiction, lingering just long enough to make your toes curl.

The stew smells rich, rabbit, judging by the gamey scent, but Daryl sets both bowls aside without tasting them. Instead, his fingers find the loose threads at the shoulder of his vest where you've been worrying at them all week. "Gotta fix this," he mutters, more to himself than you, his calloused thumb rubbing circles over the frayed fabric.

Daryl's fingers still on the loose threads, his brow furrowing in that way it does when he's turning something over in his head. You watch the familiar crease form between his eyebrows, the one you've traced with your fingertips more times than you can count. Without thinking, you reach up to smooth it away, and his gaze snaps to yours, startled, like he'd forgotten you were there.

"Quit fussin' on me, woman," he groans, but he leans into your touch anyway, his stubble rasping against your palm. His hand drops to your knee, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above where his vest ends. The contrast makes you shiver, rough hands touching you so softly it aches.

Outside, Shane's voice rises above the others, followed by a burst of laughter that sounds horrifically forced. Daryl's fingers twitch against your thigh, his jaw tightening. "What a fuckin’ asshole," he mutters under his breath, but there's no real heat behind it, just exhaustion, the kind that settles deep in his bones after too many days with too little sleep.

You catch his hand, pressing a kiss to his scarred knuckles. "Eat," you prompt gently, nodding toward the forgotten stew. "Before it gets cold."

Daryl scowls at the bowls like they've personally insulted him, but his stomach growls loud enough to make you snort. He mutters something about "damn traitorous guts" before snatching up the nearest bowl, shoving a spoonful into his mouth with all the grace of a starving wolf. Steam curls around his lips as he chews, his brow furrowing deeper with each bite.

"Carol put rosemary in it," he grumbles around a mouthful, nose wrinkling. "Tastes like a hotel's fuckin' potpourri."

You giggle, stealing his spoon for a taste. The herbs are overwhelming, definitely Carol's doing, her attempt at "civilizing" camp meals, but beneath it, you can still taste the careful balance of salt Daryl always insists on when he cooks game. "You seasoned it," you accuse, licking the spoon clean.

Daryl's ears flush pink. He swipes the utensil back with more force than necessary. "Ain't my fault she ruins good meat, was tryin’ to fix it," he grumbles, but his shoulders relax incrementally as he eats, the tension bleeding out of him with each spoonful.

In the attic, held in both Lucas and Max's arms, your broken body was unmoving, and tears of blood streaked down your face. Steve had witnessed a lot of horrible things in his short life, but nothing compared to that moment, to seeing you like that.

You had died, the doctors had said. Your heart had stopped for over a minute. But somehow, by some miracle that no one could place, it started again.

But you never woke up. Day after day, Steve waited at your bedside. He played your favorite song on a stereo when he visited, hoping that the music would help you find your way back to him. He held your hand and kept you updated on everything that was happening in the new quarantined Hawkins. He refused to give up on you.

"El's been training like crazy," Steve said, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. You had once said, in a sleepy, post-nightmare haze, that when he held your hand like that, you weren't scared of anything. He hoped that you could feel it, his hand in yours, and that you weren't scared, wherever you were.

"Your dad's determined to keep her out of the Upside Down; he says there are too many soldiers and it's too risky. But El, you know, she's stubborn, and she wants you back even more than she wants Vecna dead," he said before sighing. "I do too. I just want you to come back to me, to us. Nothing is the same without you. I-It feels...wrong. Everyone just keeps going, planning, trying to put an end to this but...but I can't look forward like they do, not without you."

Steve's patience was thin, impossibly thin between the Hawkins lockdown, crawl after crawl with no new updates, but most of all, with you still in a coma after eighteen months.

For eighteen months, eighteen agonizing months, it had felt like Steve's better half was ripped right from him. His heart was constantly aching, like someone had set up residency inside his chest just to squeeze it painfully.

He didn't mean to be snippy or borderline mean. But everything hurt, and the fucked up world didn't feel even remotely okay without your smile, your laughter, without just you. Steve would have given anything just to see you open your eyes, for you to hold his hand back. But you were still motionless in the hospital, and he felt more and more miserable as the days ticked by with no progress on any front.

"Seriously, dude, what is your problem?" Dustin said, earning a scoff from Steve as the two attempted to make modifications on the van.

"What's my problem? What is your problem? I mean, come on, Dustin! Picking fights with a team of jocks you know can and will kick your ass? For a 'genius' that's pretty freakin' stupid."

It was Dustin's turn to scoff. He dropped the hammer in his hand, letting it clatter loudly onto the ground. "Oh, I'm the stupid one? That's rich, coming from you!"

"What did you think was gonna happen, huh? That they would laugh it off and leave you alone? You're lucky they didn't kill you, dude! I wish you would just think, Henderson!"

Dustin rolled his eyes and jumped onto the gravel, retrieving his hammer. "Oh my god, what does it even matter? I don't need you to lecture me! I can do whatever I want, okay? Those assholes...they deserved it. They deserved more, actually!"

"Yeah, I'm sure you showed them with that corn snake," Steve grumbled.

A groan of frustration fell from Dustin as he threw his hands up in the air like he was fed up with Steve; Steve was fed up with him too. Ever since everything went to shit, Dustin's been reckless. For a kid who prided himself on his intellect, he sure as hell wasn't using it. Steve already had enough on his plate that weighed him down; he didn't need the added stress of a careless Dustin.

"Why do you care, Steve?!" Dustin yelled, taking Steve slightly aback. He was used to Dustin's sharp jabs and sarcastic droning. Yelling though, that was different. "Seriously? Why do you care? You're not my mom! Hell, you're not even my babysitter! She's in a coma! If she's not here to care, then why the hell should you?!"

Steve was quiet; the anger that had almost bubbled over retreated. Dustin turned away from him, his hands shaking at his sides. He felt deflated, like a sad, popped balloon.

"I miss her too," Steve said, his voice just above a whisper. "So much. She always knew what to say. How to...to fix things. But now it's all just so..."

"Broken." Dustin slowly turned back around to face Steve. The pinched annoyance that had grown usual on Dustin's face had crumbled into something much sadder. He wiped a couple of tears from his cheeks and sat on the edge of the van beside Steve.

For a while, the two sat in silence. That was probably the longest they had gone without arguing. It had become something of a new habit for them. Steve hated it, but he hated a lot of things that had happened over the last eighteen months.

Dustin broke the silence first, his voice drained of anger and reverted back to something more child-like. "I lost Eddie," he said. "I don't want to lose her too."

Steve closed his eyes and let out a breath. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could imagine the way your face would scrunch up when he made a bad joke, or how beautiful you looked when you pulled back after kissing him. But the memories were starting to grow fuzzy around the edges. Details were slipping the longer you stayed asleep, stuck somewhere no one could reach. He didn't know how much longer he could hold onto every detail of your face or the sound of your voice that he'd gone over a year without. It was only getting harder, and not just for him, for everyone.

"I know, kid," Steve replied. "I know."

The journey was long; it was never-ending, actually. Round and round you went, walking, searching, pleading. The mind was a labyrinth, especially Henry Creel's. Around every turn and through every door was a new, confusing memory that you had to wade through.

Time moved strangely, but you knew it ticked on, and on, and on. You could feel it slipping, like you were trapped in an hourglass that someone kept flipping.

You traversed memory after memory of Henry's, in search of a way out. You wanted out so badly. You wanted to live so badly. It was like a sick joke. For months, after the death of your father at Starcourt, you fell into a deep pit of sadness. Each time you tried to climb out, even with the helping hands of your friends, your sister, and your boyfriend, you kept slipping. It was almost as if the universe didn't want you to find your way out of the pain, the heartbreak, the suffering. No, it seemed like the universe wanted to drown you in it.

However, you had learned it wasn't the universe, but rather Vecna. He preyed on your sadness, your open wound of a heart, placing a pretty target on your back. But you thought you had the answer, the way out of the pit. When you fell under his curse, crash-landing into a world of your worst nightmares, the sound of your favorite song, mixed with the pleas of your friends, saved you.

The second you came to in Steve's arms, as he repeatedly told you that he was right there, that you were safe, the fight to live slowly returned. Seeing the looks on the kids' faces, the sweet kids you had babysat for years, it reignited a will buried deep inside of your grieving heart. Not only did you want to live, but you had to live. You had to, for your dad, for El, for your long-lost little sister Sara, whose right to live was taken away too soon.

And god, you thought you would win. You thought the plan would work. You recalled the pain, the nothingness of your vision, and then sunlight. You awoke somewhere else, somewhere not real.

Trapped in Vecna's mindscape, you didn't let go of that fight. Not even when you hit a dead end or back at the beginning of Henry's confusing memories.

It wasn't until you heard it, your favorite song. Shock hit your system like ice water. You tore through his memories, desperate to follow the music.

Then you saw it, the bright bubble of reality floating amongst the deep red sea of Vecna's mind. In the hellish landscape, you saw yourself in a hospital bed, but that wasn't what made you freeze, limbs locking you in place in pure disbelief.

At your bedside was Steve. He sat close with one hand grasped in yours. Glancing down at your hand, you could just feel the ghost of warmth from his calloused hands. He was still there; he hadn't given up on you. Why? You couldn't say. He remained, playing your favorite song and talking to your sleeping form, when he could have thrown in the towel ages ago, and you wouldn't have blamed him. You would have understood. But Steve was still there; he was right there.

Shaking the shock off, you started to run. Tear burned your eyes as you raced toward the real world, your body that had been resting there for who knew how long. You ran and ran until you could almost touch it. With an outstretched hand, you readied to crash-land back into the real world. But before you could, the music stopped.

Reality vanished in a snap, dissolving back into the nightmare world of Vecna's mind, along with your hope.

Instead of more escape plans, you retreated into hiding. Inside a rocky wall, a cavern provided you with safety from Vecna. He wouldn't step foot near the rocks, for reasons unknown to you. All that mattered was that you were without his lurking company while inside.

For a while, that was fine. You focused on the fact that he couldn't reach you in there. But after some time, your loneliness grew to an overwhelming level. Talking to yourself only got you so far, until that only made you feel crazier. You missed your friends, your family. You missed the embrace of reality, no matter how unstable it could be.

You dreamed of reunions at night, how'd you hug the daylights out of the kids. You dreamed of finally breaking free of Hawkins, running away with Steve to live a normal life. That had once been your nightmare, the mundane settling down. But not anymore. No, you'd give anything for a white picket fence, for the biggest problems in life to be the color of the walls and what to plant in the garden.

You now craved normal, easy, and even a little boring. And you wanted it with Steve, no one else. Because he hadn't given up on you, even when you had given up on yourself.

But that dream slipped further and further out of reach as the days passed by. You felt yourself sink deeper into the world of Henry, with no way out in sight. That was, until you ventured into the woods one afternoon.

It was a risky trip, but one your gut told you to take. As you crouched in the woods in front of the Creel House, you saw her.

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'."