damn, hurry up, goodness gracious / messinâ around with my patience
darylxbeth // modern - no zombies - au // one-shot
A steadily increasing panic attack might not be included in any of the Thanksgiving dinner dishes, but itâs always been part of the deal whenever Daryl finds himself alone with Beth. Ainât exactly the season for Christmas miracles just yet, though, so what else did he expect?
moodboard by: @kitten1618x
for the @ultimatebethylficlist holidays event: thanksgiving: âdinnerâ + âfamilyâ + âbonfireâ
Darylâs survival instinct implores him to be on his best behavior â but all the same heâs got something like a self-destructive streak when Bethâs around.
Heâs aware of it, at least.
It doesnât help, though, that sheâs sitting right next to him, curled up in one of Rickâs Adirondack chairs on the back patio, toasting her goddamn sixth roll over the bonfire. Daryl knows itâs her sixth, too; he counted.
âAinât gonna be hungry for dinner, rate youâre goinâ.â
Beth whistles. Impressive, since she does it around a mouthful of bread. âOooh, yes, I will.â
âWhere you gonna put it?â Daryl snorts, elbows on his knees, takes another bracing swig of beer. âSkinny ass anâ five-foot-nothinâ.â
âFive-foot-one,â she corrects him, and lifts her chin again, haughty this time, âand that ainât no way to talk to a lady. Worry âbout your own ass, Mr. Dixon.â
âSays you.â She tosses whatâs left of her roll at him, but it ainât much and Darylâs got good reflexes, so he catches it in his mouth. She laughs. âYou coulda been in the circus.â
He huffs. âFuck off.â
That only makes her laugh harder. She fuckinâ hiccups, covers her mouth and giggles through it âtil the hiccups subside, which is all of thirty seconds and suddenly Darylâs whole life is ruined.
