#daryl twd

You were sitting with Maggie on a bench near the gates as Daryl walked over. Maggie was pretty much your only main source of 'girl talk' in Alexandria.

The two of you had been friends since the farm. You helped her figure out what to do with Glenn, and she helped you paint your nails.

"So what are you going to do about him?" Maggie gestured to Spencer, who was helping his mother as she talked to Rick.

Daryl froze and hid behind a corner when he heard Maggie's voice talking about a him.

What the hell does that mean? Was there a him in your life that he somehow missed?

"I don't know." Your voice drew out the last syllable. "He's cute, I guess!" Maggie laughed at your apprehension.

"You guess? Look at him, he's got a great smile!" Maggie was fully and completely in love with Glenn, but nobody could deny that Spencer had decent looks.

Daryl had no idea who you were talking about. But you had just called this guy cute.

"I haven't even talked to him! What if he doesn't like all this?" You had zero intention of changing yourself, but after no romantic flings or dates since the start, a nervous pit formed in your stomach.

Daryl frowned at your words. What was not to like?

Sure, you had very specific taste, and you liked to play dumb. Daryl thought it was adorable how unique you were. He'd love to be the one you're calling cute right now.

Any man who gave you a hard time was an asshole in Daryl's mind. Because looking past your pink surface and loud voice, you had a kind heart. Always giving people the benefit of the doubt when everyone else knew damn well that they didn't deserve it.

It had been a long time since Daryl had any romance either. Probably longer than you. But that didn't change the fact that he was completely lost in the love department. Half of the time, he felt like a damn pervert the way he thought about you.

You were just so sweet, so effortlessly teasing him when you'd do little things like brush up against him, get all up in his space to fix something with his clothes.

He thought about those moments a lot.

"But what about other options?" Maggie hinted.

You put down the mascara that you were using, meeting Maggie's wide eyes and smirk.

"No, I'm not talking about him either!" You squeaked.

Leaning in, she smirked at you knowingly. "Ohhh, you mean the man you've been stalking for like 2 years?" She teased you a little louder than you would have liked.

"Stalking?! Please, staring is not stalking!" You and Maggie fell into a fit of laughter.

Daryl clenched his fists as he listened in. Two damn years?

Whoever this lucky asshole was, he hadn't even noticed or acted on it.

Hell, Daryl considers it a good day when you flash him that pretty smile of yours, lips coated in a thick layer of sparkly gloss.

"Besides, I practically throw myself at him, but he doesn't even blink." You thought about all the times you'd shown up at Daryl's door, dressed in your most revealing little dress, or with a fresh new pick-up line that only earned you a quick 'shut up'.

"I should just show up at his door wearin' nothin' but my damn heels and see his reaction." Again, the two of you fell into a loud fit of giggles like a pair of schoolgirls.

"I think you'd break him."

Daryl's face turned a bright red at the thought. Although he could never admit it to anyone, Daryl thought about you often. He thought about kissing you all the damn time. His thoughts always wandered when he was busy with something, focused on how soft your perfumed skin would be against his.

Whatever man you were crushing on had to be dumb as rocks not to give you a date.

You threw your arms around Maggie and said your goodbyes before she left to go on a run, leaving you to walk back to your place alone.

Daryl took that moment to approach. He inhaled a deep breath to expel some nervous jitters. Before he could reach you, a voice called out to you.

His jaw ticked in anger. One moment.

Could he not have one moment alone with you?

Spencer jogged over to you with a wide smile. He practically towered over you, strides matching your own as he walked with you.

Daryl huffed and walked behind the two of you. His house sat right next to yours, so he had no option but to either push past you and Spencer or listen in.

Daryl chose the latter.

"Y'know, there's just something about you that the other people don't have here." Spencer looked down at you as you walked with him. You missed the way his gaze was drifting down your body, specifically towards your chest.

You were always wearing outfits that emphasized what you were working with. A trait of yours that carried on even at the end of the world.

Daryl rolled his eyes at Spencer's obvious ulterior motives. Sure, Daryl stole a glance every now and then, but that was once he had grown to know you!

"Oh? And what is that?" You gave Spencer a friendly smile. You thought of how Daryl had called you unique and special many times; it became a routine.

Daryl knew you were special, and he helped you keep that shine.

"Well, for starters, this little number." Spencer gestured to the dress you had on. "You look good in pink, by the way. Can't say that about everyone here." You ignored the backhanded insult that came at the end of his compliment, completely focusing on the dress.

Daryl was damn near seething, glaring at Spencer's back like he had just murdered someone.

"It's so pretty, right? Daryl got it for me!" You swished the fabric in your hands with a fond smile.

Spencer's bright white smile fell slightly in frustration. "Uh- yeah. That's nice of him." Spencer knew he'd have to kick it up a notch if he wanted to get you away from Daryl. "Why do you wear pretty little things like this anyway?"

Daryl felt offended for you. That was just how you were, what you liked. Who was Spencer to question that?

"Makes me feel normal. And gives me a hobby, too! Whenever I'm out with Daryl, we always stop by little boutiques, and he lets me shop for like an hour!" You spoke excitedly, eyes drifting off to the side in thought.

Your shoulder brushed against Spencer's absentmindedly, making Spencer smile and wrap an arm around you. Daryl bit his lip so hard that he was sure that blood had formed.

That was supposed to be him. He was supposed to be wrapping an arm around you, showering you in compliments.

He was supposed to be the one that made your eyes light up. But instead, Spencer's hands were on you, right where Daryl's should be.

Spencer had walked you back to your house without you even realizing.

"Thank you for walking with me! I enjoyed our little talk!" Your smile faltered a little when you looked up at him, feeling a little exposed under his intense eyes.

It felt a little intense for a friendly conversation, you thought. Maybe he just had a really intense stare, who were you to judge?

"You just look for me whenever you need someone to talk to, sweetheart. I'll be here." Spencer held your hand in his as he spoke.

"Oh, okay!" You cringed at your own squeakiness, your awkward habits pushing through the moment a man spoke with you about a topic that wasn't fashion or Daryl.

Standing a stair below you on your porch, Spencer pressed a kiss to your hand, his eyes glancing up at you.

There was something there that made you second-guess whether Spencer walked you home with neighborly intent.

If there was ever a moment where Daryl felt anger take over, it was now. He was sure that steam was coming out of his ears the moment Spencer's lips came down to kiss your hand like he was some kind of Prince Charming.

Without thought, Daryl decided to step in. "Hey, you said you needed help with somethin' earlier?" Daryl interrupted Spencer's kiss on your hand unceremoniously. His gruff voice quickly cut through Spencer's.

It was actually true, he had offered to help you with fixing the kitchen sink earlier.

You immediately pounced on his offer, especially given the fact that Spencer was too close for your own liking.

Not a big deal; he probably didn't mean anything by it!

But it was a lot all at once. Too much.

"Yes! Yes! The sink wasn't working earlier, come in! I'm so so sorry, Spencer, I have to go!" You yanked Daryl's hand and pulled him up the stairs, leaving him awkwardly stumbling inside.

"I'll see you later?" Spencer spoke with an unabashed hope in his voice. A tone that went straight over your head.

"Yes! I'll come by your place after Daryl helps me out, 'kay?" You tossed Spencer a flashy smile, making Daryl's stomach churn in disgust. A smile could mean interest; it could be the opportunity for something to occur.

Daryl's jaw ticked at the sight. It made him feel sick to think that you'd go to his house and spend time with him.

"She's busy, man." He couldn't stop himself. When Spencer finally acknowledged Daryl's presence, he had a scowl on his chiseled face. Somewhere inside, Daryl felt damn proud of ruining Spencer's chance.

Daryl gently wrapped his hand around your wrist. While you were profusely apologizing to Spencer, even though the asshole didn't deserve it, Daryl pulled you inside and shut the door.

"Shoulda' told him ya' won't be able to see him," Daryl mumbled, strolling over to the sink to see what was wrong with it.

"He's just getting to know me! That isn't a crime!" You corrected him.

"He's just a physical guy; he shows his affection." You hid a little hint in that statement, but Daryl was like a stone wall as usual.

"That's about all he does." Daryl snorted as he crouched to look underneath the sink, glancing at the pipes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You furrowed your brows.

"Means he's not what you're lookin' for," Daryl grunted as he tried to find the fix.

"Right, 'cause you know what I need? You know the kind of man I'm looking for?" You leaned against the counter, tits stretching the fabric of your dress.

Daryl damn near died when he looked up at you from the sink.

In his head, he was screaming, "Yes! If you'd just look my way!" but in reality all he could give you in response was a shrug.

"Besides, the guy I really like won't even look my way. I try and try, but he acts like we're just friends. He doesn't even realize when I throw myself at him." You sat on the counter, legs dangling just inches from the cabinet that Daryl was under.

Daryl couldn't contain the sick feeling in his stomach hearing you talk about another man.

"He got a name?" Daryl was already making plans to beat the guy to a pulp for being such an asshole to you. He could stare at you for hours, hell, he probably has.

And this asshole won't even look your way?

"Like I'd tell you!" You kicked his thigh teasingly with your heel, snorting at the way he flinched against your touch.

Daryl's ears and face were bright red at this point. He was praying that you weren't able to see his face as he was under the sink.

Your eyes wandered over Daryl's lower half while he worked on your sink, feeling a bit guilty about the perverse nature of the situation.

His shirt had come up while he was working, showing off the slightest bit of hair at the base of his stomach and seemingly travelling downward. You had to practically stop yourself from drooling at the sight.

It was agonizing for you, sitting here on the counter listening to his delicious grunts as he used his arm strength to tighten valves and whatever else you'd find under a sink.

Daryl, however, was also struggling to keep his emotions at bay. You were right there, he could smell your perfume as you sat above him, swinging those pretty legs without a care in the world.

You bent down to kneel in between his legs as he worked on the sink, placing your hands firmly on his knees. "Do you need anything, honey? You're helping me, the least I can do is get you a drink or something?"

Daryl glanced up at you with widened eyes. "Uh-" He cleared his throat. This had to be some kind of dream, right?

"You called me honey." His brain was stuck on the word you called him, definitely storing that memory for later when he was alone with his hand.

Daryl had one leg straightened and one knee propped up. You leaned against his propped-up knee, cheek resting against the worn denim.

It was taking everything in him not to let all the blood rush down to his cock at the sight of you. Your dress had ridden up, now almost completely settled at your hips.

"You don't like that name?" You pouted at him.

God, if only. He thought. Daryl liked it a little too much.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

The sun was well in the sky by the time you had graced Daryl with your presence.

He took a long drag from his cigarette when you came over to sit with him, like you usually did. "Took ya' long enough."

"Excuse you, a girl needs her beauty sleep! This look doesn't come easy!" You did a little model pose for him, mostly as a joke, but fuck did he take a long look at the way your hips swayed in that dress that just barely reached your upper thigh.

"Shallow." He smirked at your wide-mouthed gasp.

"Dumbass." You stuck your tongue out at him as you propped yourself against the railing of his porch. Daryl could hardly believe the view in front of him. You looked like a damn angel.

He suddenly remembered why he asked you to come over.

"Fixed it for ya'." He pulled a necklace out of his pocket, untangling the strands that knotted as he hastily shoved it into his pocket this morning. He approached you, standing next to you as you leaned over the railing.

The pink pendant that sat on the necklace had fallen off a few days ago, and you were practically in tears about it. Daryl offered to fix it for you, despite having no fucking clue about jewelry.

He'd research the damn thing if it meant keeping you near him.

Your gasp was real this time as you rushed over to take it from his calloused hands. "It's perfect! How did you do it?" You held it up and felt a rush of warmth spread over your cheeks.

He even polished it for you, the metal and pendant now offering a gorgeous sheen that made you giddy.

"Just some pliers. No big deal." He was actually the first person to notice it had fallen off. Mostly because it was always there, teasing him and dipping down in between your breasts when you bent over or moved the right way.

He'd stare at it for hours if he could.

"Can you help me put it on?" You placed the necklace back in his hand and turned around, your ass so close to brushing against his front.

Daryl's ears blushed bright pink, swallowing thickly as his eyes fought against his brain. Don't look, just put the necklace on and don't look.

You were so incredibly close. He could just lean forward and you'd be right where he needed you.

"I thought I said you could come to me for anything! I can definitely handle a necklace, sweetheart." Spencer's voice broke Daryl's focus of your body nearly on his. A jealous glare bore into Spencer's face as he approached.

You didn't even process what the proximity looked like, just completely in the moment. "Daryl fixed it for me! I figured he could also put it on!"

Daryl's fingers fumbled with the clasp, clearly struggling. But your sweet perfume in his senses didn't help his nerves, or the way his hands were sweating.

"Could I talk to you alone?" Spencer's face turned soft this time, head tilted to the side like a curious puppy.

Oh he's good. Daryl thought.

But you just shrugged, a sweet, oblivious smile on your face. "We can talk here! Daryl doesn't mind, do you, Daryl?" You glanced back at him out of the corner of your eye. You noticed the pink that covered his face.

Maybe he wasn't a fan of Spencer after all, and his face was giving that fact away. You thought.

"Nah." Daryl mumbled in a way that was purely unique to him.

Of course he cared. If he had it his way, Spencer would have a bolt in his leg for even walking up to you.

"Fuck it." Spencer scoffed at the ridiculously oblivious situation. "I got all the stuff for a picnic, and it's a beautiful day out. What do ya' say we go on a little lunch date?"

Daryl's face dropped. Would you really go out with this asshole?

Before you could speak, Spencer continued. "You could wear that pretty little dress. I might even have snagged you a little something from that boutique I know you like."

Jaw firmly clenched, Daryl felt like he was going to be sick. That was his thing with you.

He took you to stores, grabbed things you liked. He got to see you gush over him and hug him tightly.

And this goddamn loser thought he could take over. But the worst part was that you hadn't said anything.

Not a fucking thing.

You were deep in the feeling of the warmth of Daryl's front nearly pressed against your back, his rough hands taking such care in being gentle with you. You had forgotten to even reply to Spencer because in your mind it was a no-brainer.

The necklace was finally clasped, and your brows furrowed as it dropped abruptly into place around your neck.

"Uh- I don't-"

You didn't even have time to turn around before Daryl's door slammed shut. He had stormed inside.

Spencer smirked at Daryl's little outburst. "Guess he couldn't take the heat." Your eyes narrowed at him, shaking your head incredulously.

"I'm not interested, Spencer. And next time, don't be an asshole about it."

While you were outside, Daryl was pacing his living room, his breathing shallow and quick. Spencer forced him to just sit and watch while he took you right up from under him.

Daryl thought about what was going to come next. He'd see you out with Spencer, manicured nails and soft hands holding Spencer's as you two walked together.

He'd get to hold you close to him while you wore that cute frilly pajama set that Daryl had only had the privilege of seeing once when you woke him up to capture a spider that wandered into your house. He'd get to wake up to see you every morning with a sleepy, hazy look on your face.

Spencer would get to see you in all the close, intimate ways that Daryl dreamed of.

You stormed inside before Spencer even had time to throw a response at you, slamming it behind you with a force that made Daryl jump.

"Daryl, what was that?" You stood in front of him with your hands on your hips.

He couldn't even look at you. He couldn't even keep control of his emotions at this point, purely acting on rage and impulse.

"Any asshole gives ya' compliments n' you're just gonna go all dumb and give him what he wants?" Daryl's voice was broken as he spoke, weaker than he wished it was.

It just hurt so much. He thought you were above men like Spencer. At least, he hoped you were.

"Excuse me?" You narrowed your eyes at him. Sure, you could be an airhead sometimes, but Daryl was overselling it by a mile.

"You're gettin' ready for your date now, right? Puttin' on that dress for your new man! Guess you don't need me around anymore, got what ya' wanted?" Daryl pointed a finger at you accusingly.

"Actually, I-" He cut you off. Speaking with anger and venom was one thing. Interrupting was something different entirely.

"Thought you were in love with that other man you've been talking about so much. Why don't you go see him too?" Daryl was falling apart in front of you; words he didn't mean were slipping out without care.

"Oh my god, will you just shut up?!" You shouted at him, fists clenching at the way he finally inched away from you.

"I turned him down. He's gone."

Daryl's expression softened a little. Still guarded and hurt, but this time a layer of regret brushed over his features. "Why?"

You took a deep breath, shaking your head as if to shake off the negativity. "I don't want him." Daryl just stared at you in confusion, the stupid look on his face making you laugh sadly.

"I like someone else. Were you even listening to me earlier?" The cute pout on Daryl's face melted your anger away. He could be an asshole sometimes, but part of that was him jumping to conclusions.

Despite his stubborn nature, you still wanted to jump his bones.

"Who?" Daryl figured it'd be best to rip off the bandage now, get all the heartbreak over with right now so he could get over you. Not that he'd ever truly get you out of his head.

"You really are a dumbass." You giggled at him softly. The sound made Daryl's heart jump.

But what you said next practically made his heart stop completely.

"I like you. Have for years. If you weren't eavesdropping on Maggie and me, you would have never-"

Daryl raced over to you in just a few long strides, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was desperate and rough. Hands cupping the sides of your face, his lips moved with yours hungrily.

He'd thank Maggie later.

You pressed into him after a second of shock. The emotional whiplash this man gave you was enough to drive you crazy.

One moment you're screaming at him, the next you're confessing your love, and the very next moment he had his tongue in your mouth.

Between his deep kiss and hands that roamed across your waist, you let out a soft moan. His hands found the sides of your face again as he pulled away to get a good look at you.

Your lips were red now, cheeks just as flushed as his were.

"Thought you were talkin' about someone else." Daryl finally responds, breathy and low. You swiped at the gloss that now adorned his lips after he kissed you so roughly.

"There isn't any other man in our group that would ignore me like you." You thought about the times you would try to get him to break. It always ended in him going silent or you giving up.

"I swear to god I was going to give up and just walk over here with nothin' but my heels and make you finally give in." Another cute giggle left your lips.

Oh god please. Daryl let out a quiet groan at your words.

You'd said it earlier with Maggie, but now that he had you, it hit even harder.

His face read embarrassment. So he was the asshole who didn't give you the time of day when you threw yourself at him. God, he should just go get eaten by walkers now. He thought.

"Was tryin' to be respectful." Daryl's eyes drifted down to your tits out of habit, his mind absolutely in overdrive because you were here. He was holding you; his hands were on you.

Now that you were here, and he was allowed to touch you, he wanted to show you just how much he had to offer you. How much he adored you.

"That was respectful out there?" You recalled how Daryl stared daggers into Spencer and slammed the door shut like a damn teenage girl. He pressed himself against you, arms crossing around you to fully enclose you in his grasp.

Those long, pretty lashes looked up at him, and he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Your manicured nails tapped his chest lightly. "Hellooo? Are you gonna say somethin' or just stare at me?"

Stare. Definitely stare.

"Didn't want any other man touchin' ya'." Daryl confessed in a mumbled slur of words, his eyes meeting yours only for a brief moment. "They don't deserve you." Daryl kissed your jawline, pressing sloppy kisses along your heated skin.

"Yeah? And what do I deserve?" You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck. Daryl smirked at the shiver that ran through you every time he glided his stubble across your smooth skin when he had his mouth on you.

You were so incredibly responsive he was gonna lose his goddamn mind.

"Gonna show ya'." He muttered, lightly nipping at the skin of your neck. That earned him a couple appreciative moans from your lips.

Moans that he was determined to hear again.

While you were focused on his kisses against your neck, you hadn't even realized that his hands had traveled down to your ass until he grabbed an impatient handful in his rough palms.

A giggle left your throat. "Mm, feelin' needy?" With a roll of your hips against his, Daryl let out a shortened grunt. His hands flew to your hips, holding your body in place.

"Says the one who's been wantin' me for years," Daryl spoke with a smirk, his face buried in your neck. You slapped his arm lightly for that comment.

"Stop being mean about it!" A whine left your lips as you struggled to escape his grasp, brushing your leg against his groin. Daryl let out something in between a scoff and a groan. You hated how his rough grip turned you on, heat rushing straight to your core the minute his hands yanked you closer.

Daryl chuckled at your whining. "A sweet thing like you, always hangin' around me." He spoke with a rough tone, one that made you consider just ripping everything off right here and now. "Were you tryin' to get me to break?"

A question that hung in the air for several seconds.

It wasn't like Daryl was complaining about the fact that you wanted to break his resolve. He loved seeing you approach him with a brand new, expensive-looking outfit to show off.

Except now he was rethinking those little 'fashion shows' where you posed in front of him while he worked on his bike. Those moments where you'd ask him to adjust the strap on your dress, purposefully inching a little too close to his crotch.

Fuck he always wanted to just bend you over right across the leather seat of his bike and give you everything. Wanted to slip those straps right off and explore what you looked like underneath all that bright sunshine.

You chewed at your lip nervously, the taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth. "Yes, but only because it was taking so long and eventually it became kinda fun to see what made you react!" Daryl's ears went pink at your answer. And then a delicious thought came across his head.

"Guess it's my turn to see what makes you react," Daryl spoke with a teasing tone, backing you up against a wall.

Holy shit, he's good. You could hardly think straight as his hands fumbled with the multiple straps on your dress.

Daryl pulled away in confusion, eyes drawn to the clasps and straps that kept your dress practically glued to you. He'd come this far, there's no way a pretty little dress would stop him from doing what you've wanted him to do for years, apparently.

With a brief pause to consider his options, Daryl tore the straps and clasps. The plastic and metal clattered onto the floor, alerting you of what he had just done.

The sound earned a gasp from your lips.

"This is a Valentino dress! Could'a just asked me to help you!" You spoke with a pout, one that made Daryl's cock twitch in his pants.

"Found this back in Atlanta." Your voice came out as a pathetic whine. Daryl knew you'd be upset, but he just couldn't tear himself away enough to properly apologize.

Daryl pressed kisses to where the straps had sat on your shoulder, moans replacing complaints that left your mouth. "Sorry." He'd promised himself that he'd look for another one.

Whatever the hell a 'Valentino' dress was.

His hands slipped the dress off of your body, breath hitching at the sight of what you were wearing underneath.

Ever the fan of pink, Daryl expected you to be wearing some kind of pink bra and panties, but this was something else entirely.

His brain practically shut off. You were wearing a light pink lace set.

The last time Daryl saw anyone in a damn matching set was the goddamn mannequins at the mall when the world was still normal.

To say he was obsessed was an understatement. Daryl felt like he didn't even deserve to touch you, to somehow taint your light.

"Wore this scratchy set hopin' you'd touch it so you better not back out now!" You were teasing him. Obviously, if Daryl needed to stop, you would take no issue in that at all.

Daryl didn't need to be told twice. Fuck, the way your breasts were cupped by the lace bra, and how your panties lightly hugged your hips like they were made for you.

The heat pooling in your core made it damn near unbearable to wait for Daryl to gawk at you. "Please-" you whined, the sound only making his cock harder.

Daryl's hand brushed over the bra, admiring how sinfully sweet you looked in it before slipping his fingers behind you to unclasp it, letting it fall down onto the floor with a light thud.

He let out a shaky breath, eyes falling to your breasts without hesitation. His self-restraint had made it this far, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep it up, especially with the way your hands were snaking over his body, wandering south.

When he managed to yank his gaze away from your tits, you were already on him, palming his erection through his jeans.

Daryl hummed, lips forming a smirk while he slipped a finger underneath the waistband of your panties.

"Wasn't done with ya'." Daryl snapped the band against your skin, the little sting only accelerating your need for him. "Hands off."

That last sentence hurt, like actually hurt him to say. Because he'd kill a hundred walkers just to see you like this again, to feel your hands rubbing him through his pants.

If you weren't careful, he'd have cum in his fucking pants.

"But I wanna help you!" Your breathy, whiny voice was driving him insane. He'd have to replace those words with moans if he wanted your stubborn nature to dissolve.

Daryl sank to his knees, his hands wrapping around to pull your clothed cunt inches from his face.

"Are you gonna stop whinin' and let me taste ya'?" Daryl wasn't even looking up at your eyes when he spoke. His gaze was fixed on the way your panties had a prominent wet spot where you needed him.

"Been actin' whiny this whole damn week." Daryl's voice gave off the feeling that he was scolding you, but by the way he dragged your panties down your legs,

He was not entirely upset by your little whines and neediness.

"Teasin' me while another man-" He paused with a scoff, hands rubbing circles into your hips and upper thighs. You were practically shaking with anticipation in his grip. His eyes were on you this time.

Staring into you with a heat that you'd only imagined in the dreams you'd had about him.

"While another man calls you pretty." In one swift move, Daryl lifted your leg over his shoulder, opening your legs wide. He had a perfect view of your cunt, soaking wet for him. You leaned up against the wall, your hands desperate for something to hold onto while he questioned you, inches from where you needed him.

"Ya' gonna let another man call you that?" Daryl's voice was higher this time as he pressed sloppy kisses across your inner thigh, teasing you in a way that made you whimper.

"That's not fair! I didn't know he-" You cut yourself off with a loud gasp as Daryl's tongue was on your cunt, giving you teasing licks.

Guess that was the wrong answer.

He had you pressed against the wall, while he was on his knees, face buried in your cunt. You could feel his grin as his tongue flicked your clit.

"O-Oh," A louder moan slips through your lips this time, your hands sifting through his hair. "Fuck Daryl-"

Daryl groaned into your entrance; the sound of his name on your lips as you moaned made his cock twitch, desperate for some kind of pressure.

He sucked and slipped his tongue into you, making you melt into his touch with loud whimpers and moans. Your hips were bucking into his face, only turning him on more.

He rubbed himself through his pants, one large hand pressed against your back to keep you where he wanted you. The other held to his cock as he desperately thrust into his palm.

"Oh my god," You gasped as you realized what he was doing. "And y-you called me needy!" You felt a little bit of pride, seeing him so desperate he'd fuck his hand with his face eating you out like a man with pure devotion.

Daryl grunted beneath you and smacked your ass in response to your witty comment. With a yelp mixed with a moan, your brain went blank. Your legs were shaking from holding yourself up against the wall.

"Watch it, pretty girl."

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking and running his tongue over your sensitive spot. The way he could make you fall apart this easily made him incredibly proud of himself. You were beyond words, your moans and mumbles of his name now falling out of your mouth effortlessly.

Daryl ate you out enthusiastically, his groans sending powerful vibrations into your cunt. His face was fucking soaked as he fucked you with his tongue.

The sound of his mouth on you, slurping and humming at the taste of you, made you whimper in response. It was like you couldn't focus on anything else while he had one of your legs firmly pressed on his shoulders. Daryl's nose was pressed against your clit, his tongue circling your entrance, your arousal practically dripping onto him with every moment he spent devouring you.

He was a moaning mess into your cunt, his hips desperately humping his own hand, obscene noises leaving the both of you.

"Shit! Don't stop," Your head was thrown back, pressed against the wall as Daryl kept you pressed right on his mouth.

He couldn't. Not when he was the direct cause of your sweet sounds. Not when you were shaking and mindlessly whining his name. God, he just couldn't get enough of you.

With your moans getting higher, more dragged out as he ate you out, tongue teasing your entrance and slipping inside, Daryl could tell you were close by the way your cunt clenched around nothing.

"Oh my god please-" You didn't even know what you were asking for, brain numb in pleasure. "Feels so good," You whined. Daryl hummed against your skin in agreement, bringing a thumb up to rub circles into your cunt, making your back arch to push you impossibly closer to him.

He wanted to pull away, wanted to say words of comfort to get you there faster. But the way you tasted, the way your hips were just helplessly thrusting into his face, he couldn't manage to pull himself away from you.

So he removed his hand from his erection, body burning for release, especially when he'd been listening to your sweet sounds without him ever being inside of you. Taking his hand off of his clothed cock, he rubbed circles into your thigh.

White-hot pleasure began to rush through you as you let out a loud gasp at the feeling of your orgasm. You screamed out a loud moan, one that echoed and filled up the foyer where he had pushed you up against the wall.

Body tense and quivering against him, Daryl watched you with awe while your eyes were rolled back into your head. He rode you through it, slowly rubbing circles on your clit with a finger while his tongue did the rest of the work, sucking and lapping at your juices.

Everything throbbed, felt like it was on fire as your orgasm washed over you, pleasure slowly receding. Once he had worked you through your orgasm, he finally pulled away, hand still rubbing comforting circles on your thigh.

You finally glanced down at him, leg still thrown over his shoulder as your body trembled from the force of your climax and the way he worked you through it.

The look he was giving you made you whimper from the pure need that his face had shone. Daryl had a lazy, boyish smile on his face. His facial hair was soaked, and his hair was a tangled mess from the way you clung to it as a lifeline while he ate you out like a starved man.

"Are you gonna let another man call you pretty?" He asked again, clearer this time. Even though he was literally on his knees for you, your mind went dumb a long time ago.

"No." You shook your head quickly. "No, just you."

Daryl let out a quiet groan at your answer. "Never gonna get tired of hearin' that." He rose from his knees, scooping you up into his arms without a second thought, ignoring your little whine as your sore muscles adjusted.

"You're not bein' fair. You still have all your clothes on." There was that cute little pout again, lip gloss smudged from the way he kissed you earlier.

Daryl obliged your request, slipping off his vest and tank with fluid movements. You had a disheveled look, one that Daryl hadn't ever seen.

Up until now, you always looked put together. Always looked like you just spent about 2 hours in the bathroom doing your makeup.

But now, with your lip gloss smudged to the side of your lips and your mascara messy from your teary eyes. Daryl had never been more attracted to you.

He set you down on the kitchen counter, smirking at the gasp when your ass met with the freezing cold temperature of the counter.

"Ah!" You shivered and shot Daryl your best shot at an evil stare. "Quit bein' an asshole! Got any place warmer than the damn kitchen counter?" You were teasing him, but Daryl had plans to shut that down real fast.

He caged you in, arms placed on either side of you, face inches from yours. "Just ate you out n' yer' gonna call me an asshole?"

Daryl recalled how he had moved your hand away from his obvious bulge earlier. He grasped your hand and placed it on his clothed cock. Your eyes widened at the size of him. Although you couldn't exactly feel his length through his jeans, you could tell he was thick from the way it filled up the space of your empty hand.

"Been holdin' back to make ya' feel good, pretty girl." Daryl rasped.

"That doesn't make this any better. Are you gonna help me down or do you just want me to freeze up here?" You crossed your arms, hiding a smile.

Daryl glanced at you for a moment, taking in your features, making mental notes of places he'd want to worship while you sat helpless and cold in front of him. Finally, he lifted you off of the counter.

Only, he wasn't doing it out of the good of his heart.

"S'okay. I'll warm you up." With that line, Daryl turned you around so that your ass was firmly pressed against him. A large hand pressed against your bare back and gently pushed you down until your front was splayed on the counter.

"Daryl-" You surprised even yourself at the breathy whimper of his name that left your lips. Daryl's head lolled back at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue like that.

He'd do anything to hear that again. He'd throw himself in front of a damn bullet.

"Yer' gonna kill me." He scoffed to himself.

The heat rose between your legs at the sound of his belt unbuckling. You crossed your legs together in a hazy blur of lust, a poor attempt to relieve the arousal coursing through your veins.

Slipping out of the rest of his clothes, Daryl lightly tapped your thigh. "Need ya' to spread these." He watched as your legs trembled while you spread those pretty legs open.

His eyes fell to the heels that were still on your feet. Daryl had purposefully asked you to keep them on. It just drove him insane seeing how you stumbled and shook as he pleasured you, and you struggled to keep your balance.

"You okay?" He peeked over your hips to get a glance at the side of your face as you lay lazily against the counter. "Ready?"

After giving him a weak nod, you pushed your hips against his front. His hands flew to your skin quickly, a grunt leaving his lips. As his fingers ghosted across your heated skin, your face was firmly pressed onto the counter, relaxing as the cool sensation eased your nerves.

Sure, you'd been teasing him like a woman obsessed for months. But now that he was standing over you with his hands kneading your skin, you felt a little shy.

"Ya' look so beautiful," Daryl spoke softly, the tip of his cock pressing into your entrance slowly. His voice faltered slightly as your cunt squeezed around him. "Fuck, so pretty like this-" a quiet sigh escaped him as he tried to keep his composure.

You hissed quietly at the feeling of your pussy stretching around him, taking him inch by inch. Daryl watched the dirty scene, his cock sinking into you, with blown-out pupils and a slack jaw.

"Oh my god Daryl," A whiny moan escaped your lips, your brain too fuzzy, too deep in pleasure to even register it.

But Daryl did. His hips instinctively thrust into you at the sound, fully entranced by your sounds that he just couldn't control himself. By the time he was fully sheathed into you, his resolve was hanging by a thread.

He's wanted this for years. Watched you prance around him, teasing him with what he couldn't have. Only to find out he could have had you whenever he wanted.

Could have had you bent over, with nothing on your mind but his name and the feeling of his dick pushing deep into your soaking cunt.

He moves slowly, pulling out almost all the way, listening to the way your sounds responded to his every move. The tip of his cock is still pressed into you before he thrusts himself back in into you again. You writhed under his grip, tiny gasps and mewls mixed with his groans, filling the room with echoes.

Daryl picks up the pace, motivated by the way you pushed your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

"So perfect for me," Daryl pants, keeping one hand firmly pressed against your hip while the other reaches up to palm your breasts.

He slams his hips into you and you just melt, legs shaking against the kitchen cabinets. Daryl was bigger than you expected, and by the time you had adjusted to his size, you could feel every inch stretching you out.

Small groans left Daryl's lips, jaw clenched tightly, as if he was still holding something back. If you'd have known he'd be this addictive, you'd have just asked him to fuck you years ago.

"Can you say my name again?" Daryl fucking loved to hear it leave your lips. Especially now, hearing how torn apart you were, feeling how your cunt was squeezing and fluttering around him and keeping him buried deep.

No response, just slack-jawed moans and heels softly clacking against the floor as Daryl lifted you slightly to meet every thrust.

"Too fucked out n' dumb already?" He leaned down, his breath brushing your ear as his low voice made you whine.

You nodded, cheek pressed against the counter in a lazy blur. Daryl stopped his movements, ignoring your half-mumbled protests. He wrapped an arm under your torso, pulling you up to press your back firmly against his front, his cock still buried inside you, only so much deeper.

"Mmm, much better isn't it? Get to have you right here, all for myself." Daryl was rambling now, just so obsessed with you.

Daryl's hand found your jaw, holding it firmly. "Get to hear all those little noises ya' make, loud and clear." He thrust up into you now, the force of him fucking you had you grasping the edge of the counter for some kind of stability.

It was so mean, the way he gripped your face in a way that made you feel like he was totally in control of the entire moment.

But the way his cock hit your spot every time, rolling his hips into you hard enough to make you scream out.

"Wanna hear ya' say it, pretty girl," Daryl pants, his voice right next to your ear, the rumble of his deep voice sending vibrations down your spine.

"Oh f-" You started mindlessly rambling, but Daryl stopped you with a harsh string of thrusts into you, making you cry out. "Ah! Daryl please-" Tears began to form in the corners of your eyes, stinging only further pulling you deep into the feeling of his cock, the pleasure he was giving you.

"Christ-" Daryl's voice was broken now, as frantic as his thrusts. Fuck he wished he could record that damn sound.

His grip on your trembling frame was tight, caging you into him as you writhed against his movements.

Any resolve that he's been holding onto was broken now, cast aside the minute his name left your lips for a third time. Daryl let go of your jaw, arms instead wrapping around you to keep you close to him.

The minute his hand left your jaw, your head fell back onto his shoulder, eyes tightly closed to feel everything he was giving you.

Daryl was completely lost now, groans echoing in the nearly empty space in Daryl's apartment. "Ain't ever gonna need anyone else." A gasp left him at the feeling of your cunt fluttering and squeezing around him.

Daryl was so fucking close, but he just had to have you get there first. After seeing you so composed, so put together and pretty; to see you fall apart from his doing would make his whole lifetime.

"Fuck- gonna treat you right." Drunken mumbles left his mouth, his lips pressed against your head as he pressed soft kisses. Nearly contradicting the rough thrusts he was sending up into your core.

"Make you feel so good all the time, pretty girl, oh-" He whimpered as you clenched down around him, making his thrusts stutter as he struggled to keep up the pace.

"You gotta cum for me. Can't hold on much longer." Loud grunts escaped him, rough hands gripping you so tight you thought they'd bruise. The way you squeezed him tightly, clenching with every word that you liked hearing from his mouth.

Especially when he called you pretty girl.

"Want ya' to stay here with me," the confession made your stomach twist in excitement. "Want you to wear those tiny skirts, maybe nothin' underneath." The words fell out of Daryl in a frantic, slurred fashion. God he was so fucking close.

"Oh- gonna look for a store. Get you more of those -ah- sets," Daryl couldn't see the way your eyes lit up at the thought.

"Jus' need you all the damn time. Please." Daryl's stomach tensed as his orgasm hit him suddenly, eyes rolling back with a strained whimper. He shuddered against your body.

Hearing him, feeling the way he shook as he filled you deep inside was all you needed to reach your own high. Your hips jerked against his thrusts, craving anything that he could give you.

It was overwhelming, the way that Daryl continued to thrust into you, fueling your orgasm to make every nerve feel like it was on fire.

Short gasps and whines came out of Daryl's mouth, overstimulation beginning to set in as he fucked you in a dizzy blur.

With breathless, desperate moans of his name over and over, the both of you chased the fading flames of it. Daryl was breathing heavily when he finally released you from his caging grip. He spun you around so that he could see you.

God you looked amazing.

All fucked-out and dizzy. Your mascara had run down your cheeks, from the tears that he had pulled from you.

Daryl scooped you up; and learning his lesson from when you complained about it earlier, he placed you on his couch. Slipping out of your grasp, he came back with some water and a cloth to clean you off.

"Was tellin' the truth. I want you here." Daryl cleaned you up, smiling fondly at the way you whined against his overstimulating touch.

"Were you lying about the matching sets?" You spoke in a hazy, tired voice. Your eyes were closed, drinking the water he gave you like it was the first time in months.

Daryl laughed at your response. "That's all ya' think about?" You lightly slapped his arm.

"I thought it was obvious that I wanna be here! You're my favorite person I've ever met, Daryl. You don't try to stop me from being myself." You opened your eyes, making sure that he knew you were sure about your decision.

"Annnnd you're the only one who takes me on shopping trips! There's no way in hell that I'm lettin' you go." You pulled Daryl onto the couch, snickering at the way he fell into you, arms immediately wrapping around you like you'd leave in a minute.

"I'll get you all the matching sets ya' want." Daryl pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Okay, now you're starting to sound like a sugar daddy. Maybe I need to up my needs. I think I'll also take some makeup since you're offering."

"And I think you need to take a nap." Daryl's eyes felt heavy.

"Fine. But then we leave to get the matching sets." You poke his chest to keep him awake enough to hear you.

"Whatever."

Taglist:

@gglittergoddess | @hagbones | @clussysposts | @eskalotte | @darylstargetpractice | @idkmanimjstired | @berriesandcreampie | @little-mops-booknook | @summergirl37 | @gaiestguyever-to-exist

The sun hangs low over the trees, heat pressing in heavy as you weave through the abandoned gas station, boots crunching softly over broken glass. Daryl moves a few steps ahead, bow slung across his back, knife in hand, moving with that effortless quiet of his. Always aware. Always in control.

And his arms.

You tell yourself you’re just paying attention—watching his movements like he watches everything else around him, staying alert. But your gaze keeps catching on the shift of muscle beneath his skin, the way his forearms flex when he grips his knife, the lazy tension in his biceps every time he lifts his arm to wipe sweat off his brow.

You shouldn’t be looking.

But it’s hard not to.

Especially when he plants a boot on a fallen shelf, using his weight to pry open a rusted metal door. The strain makes his muscles coil tight, veins standing out just enough to make you swallow hard.

"Well?" His voice snaps you out of it.

You blink. "What?"

Daryl jerks his chin toward the darkened storage room behind the door. "You goin’ in first or what?"

Shit. You’ve been staring.

"Yeah. Right. On it."

You step past him, ears burning. The space inside smells like old rot and motor oil, a few overturned boxes scattered around. You crouch, rifling through some supplies, heart still kicking too fast. It’s stupid. You’ve been on runs with him before. But something about today—the heat, the silence between you, the way he’s been rolling his shoulders like his muscles are wound too tight—has you hyper-aware of every damn thing he does.

A tin of peaches clatters loose from a shelf, and you reach for it at the same time he does. Your fingers barely brush his, but the contact is enough to send a jolt up your arm, like static crackling under your skin. He pauses. Just for a second. And when he draws back, you swear you catch the flicker of his gaze sweeping over you before he looks away.

You can feel your pulse in your throat.

You should let it go. Should get back to work. But the words are out before you can stop them.

"You ever—" You hesitate, pulse hammering, but you push through. "You ever, I don’t know, choke somebody with your arms before?"

Daryl stops. Slowly, he turns his head toward you, eyes narrowing just slightly. His bicep shifts as he adjusts his grip on the tin in his hand. "The hell kinda question is that?"

Shiiiit. You fucked up.

But instead of retreating, you force yourself to keep looking at him, tilting your chin up just a little. "I just mean, you’re strong." A shrug, like it’s no big deal. "Bet you could hold somebody down real easy."

Silence.

Then, Daryl exhales through his nose, shaking his head. But there’s something in his expression—something flickering behind his eyes, sharp and considering.

He tosses the tin into your hands and mutters, "You’re weird." and walks away.

═════════════════════════

Back at the prison, dinner is quiet, the usual hum of conversation mixed with the occasional scrape of utensils against tin plates. Most people are too tired to talk much, a day of tending to the gardens, cleaning out cell blocks and keeping walkers at bay making everyone look forward to the slower evenings. The air in the hall feels thick with the kind of exhaustion that settles deep, making everything feel slow, heavy.

You should be eating, but your stomach isn’t interested.

Because Daryl’s staring at you.

You haven’t looked at him, not really since you got back, but you can feel it. That steady weight from across the room, the burning of your ears, it makes it almost impossible to keep your stomach from doing somersaults. 

You should’ve kept your mouth shut on the run. Should’ve swallowed the words down, let them die in your throat. But no—you had to go and say it. Maybe it was your stupid hormones, the way he seemed to speak to some primal part of you that evolution put in your dna, maybe it was just some stupid impulse you couldn’t control. Either way, it’s too late now.

Not like it meant anything.

Except, if it didn’t, why was he still looking at you?

Your fingers tighten around your fork, but you don’t move to take another bite. Instead, you stare at the food on your plate, willing yourself to focus on anything other than the way your face feels too warm, the way your pulse is pressing a little harder than it should.

Maggie shifts in her seat, nudging Beth’s arm. “You good?”

You blink, glance up. Beth tilts her head, studying you, while Maggie smirks like she already knows something you don’t.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost today or somethin’,” Maggie says, “The run go that bad?”

“N-no,” you stammer, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, “It went fine. Got a lotta good stuff, actually.”

Maggie hums, unconvinced, and you watch as her eyes flicker behind you when she says, looking back at her plate, “Looks like someone’s got a little crush.”

The fork slips from your fingers, clattering against the plate, “I do not!”

But your reaction is what does it– it’s too sharp, too defensive. Beth startles a little, but Maggie just stares, slow realization spreading across her face as you lock eyes with her.

“I was only kiddin’." she says incredulously, "I meant the grouchy archer sittin' across the room, he keeps starin’ atcha.” she shakes her head, eyes lighting up. “But I see I’ve been mistaken.” She leans in. “You like Daryl?”

Your stomach drops.

Beth gasps, slapping Maggie’s arm. “Oh my god.”

Your face is on fire. “I don’t—”

Maggie grins. “Holy shit, you totally do.”

Beth’s trying to stifle a giggle. You shake your head fast, like that’ll help, like it’ll undo the last five seconds, but it only makes Maggie look even more certain. You can feel the walls closing in, feel their eyes on you, but worse—you can still feel his.

It’s too much. You push your plate away and mutter a quiet, “Not hungry anymore,” before standing and heading for the stairs, their laughter echoing behind you.

You don’t look back, because if you were to turn around and find those ocean blue eyes still on you, it would be your undoing.

═════════════════════════

The book in your hands is old, pages yellowed and brittle at the edges, the spine cracked so deep you have to be careful when you turn the pages. You’re not even sure what it’s about. Something about a man lost at sea. Maybe.

You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for the last ten minutes.

It’s not that it’s boring. It’s just that your mind refuses to focus.

You shift on your cot, tugging the blanket over your lap, trying again, but it’s useless. Your brain keeps circling back, over and over, to dinner. To Maggie’s knowing grin, Beth’s giggles, and—worst of all—Daryl.

You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling sharply. You should’ve never said anything. Should’ve kept that stupid thought locked away where it belonged.

A quiet scuff of boots outside your cell makes your stomach jolt. There’s a pause, then a hesitant knock against the frame of your open door. Not loud or rushed, more like a question.

You look up.

Daryl stands in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, head slightly ducked. His shoulders are hunched, like he’s already thinking about leaving before he’s even fully stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

Then, he clears his throat. “Didn’t know ya read.”

You blink. It’s such a small thing to say, but something about the way he says it, like he’s searching for an easy way in, trying to settle into the conversation, makes your stomach tighten.

You glance at the book in your lap. “Yeah. Helps pass the time.”

Daryl nods, his eyes flicking around the small space of your cell, like he’s looking for something else to comment on, something to delay whatever it is he actually came here for. Between your haphazardly taped posters and handmade streamers, he doesn’t find anything, so instead, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, exhales through his nose, then finally says:

“That thing you asked me.”

Your stomach drops. Of course. You should’ve known that was why he was here.

Your fingers tighten around the book, but you shake your head quickly. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry if I made you–”

“You think I can?” he asks, huffing.

You frown. “Think you can what?”

His jaw tenses, and when he speaks again, it’s lower. Almost cautious. “Forget it.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He shrugs, but it’s not casual. It’s forced. “Ain’t exactly somethin’ you just let go of.”

Your chest feels too tight all of a sudden. You can’t quite place the look on his face—something careful, something guarded, like he’s trying not to let on that it’s been sitting in the back of his head since you said it. What went through his mind when you asked him?

You shift on your cot, swallowing. “Daryl, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

His gaze flickers, just barely. “Yeah?”

You nod, but something in the way he’s looking at you makes your throat dry out. He still doesn’t seem convinced.

“You think that’s what I am?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge there, frustration starting to rise in his voice. “Some kinda animal? The kind of man who would kill someone with–” he shakes his head slightly, jaw clenching. “You think I’m like that?”

The realization hits you hard. Your stomach twists. “Daryl, no,” you say quickly, sitting up straighter. “That’s not—”

He shakes his head again, looking at the floor. “Wouldn’t blame ya.”

Your heart kicks against your ribs. “That’s not what I meant.”

Daryl exhales, folding his arms over his chest, still avoiding your eyes. “Then what did you mean?”

You hesitate. Because now he’s looking at you. Not guarded, not distant—just waiting.

Your fingers press into the book in your lap. This is your chance to brush it off. Laugh it away. But you can already feel the heat creeping up your face, and Daryl is still standing there, still waiting, and if you don’t say it now, he’s just going to keep thinking the worst.

You shift slightly. “I meant…” Your throat feels tight. “I meant in bed.”

Daryl blinks.

His whole body stiffens, like his brain short-circuited, like the words hit him sideways and he can’t quite recover. His face is already turning red, slow at first, then creeping all the way up to his ears.

Your own face burns, and you clear your throat, pushing through the embarrassment. “I meant—if you’d ever choked someone in bed. With your arms.”

A silence falls over the room. A long, unbearable silence.

Daryl shifts, dragging a hand over his mouth. He scratches the back of his head, looks anywhere but at you.

Finally, he exhales, mutters, “Jesus,” under his breath, then huffs out a quiet, almost nervous laugh.

Your stomach clenches. “I know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s—uh. That’s what ya meant?”

You nod quickly, still burning. “Yeah.”

Daryl looks at you for a second. His fingers flex slightly at his sides, like he’s thinking too hard about where to put them.

Then, after a long pause—his voice comes out quieter.

“You’d want me to?”

Your stomach drops.

Your eyes snap to his. “What?”

Daryl shrugs, but it’s forced, like he’s trying to play off how red his face still is. “I dunno. Just—” His mouth twitches slightly, like he can’t believe he’s even saying this. “Sounded like somethin’ you were real curious about.”

Your breath catches.

He’s not teasing, not quite—but there’s something in the way he says it, something light, something almost amused. Like he’s surprised at himself, surprised at you, but now that he’s said it, he’s not taking it back.

Your mouth opens, then closes again. Your hands are way too warm.

“I wouldn’t—” you swallow. “I wouldn’t not want you to.”

Daryl huffs out another soft laugh, shaking his head, glancing toward the hall like he’s wondering how the hell this conversation ended up here.

Then he looks back at you, eyes a little sharper now, lips twitching.

The heat in your face flares as he just chuckles under his breath, rubbing at his jaw before he steps back toward the door.

“Get some sleep,” he says, still smirking.

He turns, but not before you catch it—just the slightest flicker of something in his expression.

Something knowing. Something interested.

And when he finally walks away, you can’t do anything except stare at the empty doorway and try to remember how to breathe.

═════════════════════════

The past week has been unbearable.

It’s not like anything has happened, not really. No one has said anything, no lines have been crossed, but the air between you and Daryl hasn’t been the same since that night in your cell.

It’s in the way his eyes catch on you more often now. The way he lingers a little too long before walking away. The way your skin prickles when he’s nearby, too aware of the space he takes up, too aware of how small you feel in comparison.

And now, you’re on another run together.

“Last one went well,” Rick had said, shoving packs toward both of you. “Might as well stick with what works.”

The drive into town is quiet. Neither of you talk much, just like last time, but it’s not the same. There’s a different kind of weight, and you’re grateful that the open road on the motorcycle leaves little conversation to be said over its echoing roar.

When you finally reach an old pharmacy on the outskirts, the sun is starting to climb higher in the sky, heat burning your neck and the pavement glimmering.

Inside, dust clings to everything, thick in the air. It smells stale, like old paper and time left to rot. Shelves are overturned, bottles and boxes scattered across the floor.

You do your job, scanning for anything useful, but your focus keeps slipping.

Because every time you glance up, Daryl is there.

He’s not doing anything different. Not saying anything. Just moving through the space like he always does—quiet, efficient. But somehow, it feels like every single movement is deliberate. Like every shift of muscle under his skin is something you shouldn’t be watching, but you are.

The dust-covered counter at the back of the building gives you something to focus on, something to do besides thinking about the weight of Daryl’s gaze. You hop over the counter and crouch down, scanning the lowest shelf, rifling through half-empty boxes of medication, checking for anything still worth taking back.

A prickle of awareness crawls up the back of your neck.

It’s not the usual kind of awareness you get on a run, not the instinct that tells you someone—or something— dangerous is lurking nearby. It’s different. Warmer. Closer.

When you stand, a bottle of pills in your hand, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Daryl is right there, barely a foot away, standing between you and the only way out.

Your breath stutters. He doesn’t usually get this close without reason.

He’s blocking the exit, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trapping you—it feels like he’s stopping himself from walking away. His weight shifts between his feet, his arms twitch like they want to cross, but he doesn’t move, just watches you with something unreadable in his eyes.

Your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hand. “Wha—what’s up?”

Daryl doesn’t answer at first. He just looks at you, quiet and considering, something simmering beneath the surface. His teeth catch against the corner of his lip for a second, his fingers flex at his sides, but it’s like he still hasn’t worked out how to say whatever it is that’s sitting heavy on his chest.

Then he exhales through his nose and mutters, “Can’t stop thinkin’.”

His voice is rough, like the words have been stuck in his throat all day.

Your pulse jumps. “Thinking... about what?”

He shifts again on uneven footing, glancing toward the counter before dragging his gaze back to you. The moment stretches, thick enough to smother, before he finally speaks again.

“Since last time,” he mutters, voice quieter now. Your stomach flips. He shakes his head, almost to himself. “You got me all fucked up, girl.”

It’s not frustration, not really—it’s more like exhaustion, like he’s tired of pretending that something between you hasn’t changed. And when he steps forward, closing the last bit of space between you, your body reacts before your brain catches up.

Your back hits the wall behind you.

The old metal shelving is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him. He’s so close now, close enough that you catch the faint scent of pine and sweat clinging to him, close enough that every nerve in your body locks up, unsure whether to tense or melt.

His arms come up, hands bracing against the metal on either side of you, and suddenly you can’t look anywhere but at him.

Your breath feels too shallow.

Daryl dips his head slightly, breath warm against your cheek, and you hear the way he inhales, slow and deep, smelling the remnants of the apple shampoo you used days ago. 

“S’not like I haven’t thought of ya before.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and your lips part, but you don’t know what to say. You can barely think straight with him this close, his voice this low. He smells of musk and leather and summer sunshine, something distinctly masculine and Daryl all at once. His words sink in, heavy and real, and before you can even process them, he huffs a quiet breath, shaking his head against the side of yours.

“Thought of ya a lot, actually.”

Your stomach twists, heat flaring under your skin.

Daryl pulls back just enough to look at you, and that’s when you see it—the way his pupils are blown, the way his breath comes slow and measured like he’s still holding something back. His jaw is tight, his fingers flex slightly against the metal, and you don’t know whether he’s waiting for permission or for you to push him away.

“Say somethin’,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel in your ears. “Please.”

You reach up then, your hand trembling slightly as your fingers brush along his jaw, skimming over the uneven scruff growing in patches on his face. He exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you trace up along his cheekbone, down the side of his neck, feeling the tension there, the way his pulse beats strong beneath your fingertips.

“I think of you a lot too,” you finally manage to say, and it’s barely louder than a whisper.

His eyes open, still blown wide as they flicker between yours, then drop to your lips. His breath is slow, measured, like he’s forcing himself to hold back.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s more than just a response—it’s permission, it’s consent, letting him know that whatever he’s thinking, whatever’s been running through his mind, you want it too.

And like you’ve just cut the cord that’s been wound too tight between you, he pushes forward, his lips crashing into yours with urgency.

You’re surprised just how soft his lips are, how gentle he tries to be, but the way he moves is anything but hesitant. There’s no testing, no waiting—he’s done holding back, done second-guessing. He kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like it’s something he’s wanted for too damn long, and you can’t help but act in equal fervor.

Your fingers tighten against his jaw, then slide up into his hair, gripping, pulling. He groans into your mouth, the sound low, wrecked, sending a sharp pulse of heat straight through you. His hands move without restraint now, gripping at your waist, fingers pressing into your hips, pulling you closer like the space between you is unbearable.

You barely register the sharp clatter of bottles knocked from the shelves as your back presses harder against the metal. Daryl doesn’t seem to care. If anything, the mess spurs him on, makes him more reckless, more desperate.

He kisses you deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your legs weak, makes your stomach tighten. He’s breathing hard, fingers digging into your sides, body pressing fully into you now, until there’s nothing between you but heat and friction.

His lips drag from your mouth down to your jaw, then lower, his breath hot as he murmurs against your skin. “Been losin’ my mind over you all damn week.” His teeth catch on the pulse in your neck, not biting, just grazing, making you shudder. “Longer than that, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Your nails bite into his shoulders as he kisses lower, pressing into the spot just beneath your jaw, the one that makes your breath hitch. His hands are everywhere—roaming, gripping, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips brush against bare skin, warm and rough, and you arch into his touch without thinking.

“Daryl…”

He groans at the way you say his name, a quiet, broken sound that sends a deep shudder through his body. He presses his forehead against yours for a second, breath ragged, like he’s trying to steady himself but failing. Then his hands tighten on your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter of the pharmacy.

You gasp softly, but he’s already between your legs, already pulling you flush against him, the heat between your bodies unbearable. His lips are on yours again, claiming, devouring, his hands moving up your thighs, squeezing, gripping like he can’t get enough.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you kiss him harder, the urgency between you growing into something more frantic, more consuming. His hands slide beneath your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, and you shiver as his palms drag over your ribs, rough and warm.

His mouth leaves yours just long enough to mutter against your skin, voice thick with something wild, something unraveling. “You sure about this?”

Your only answer is to pull him back in, crashing your lips to his, fingers fisting in his shirt as you tug him closer, needing him, needing more.

That’s all he needs. His shirt is gone in the next instant with yours following suit, and the moment the fabric is over your head, his lips are on you again, everywhere. You arch into his touch, heat rolling through you as his mouth works down your neck, trailing over your collarbone, then lower. Each kiss leaves behind something electric, something you feel everywhere, and when he drags lower still, down onto your bare chest, his lips and teeth and tongue worship everywhere but where you want him most.

Your breath hitches, your hands restless, gripping at his arms, his shoulders, his hair—anywhere you can reach, anywhere you can pull him closer. He’s between your legs now, his body solid, burning against yours, his hands gripping your thighs, fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back.

You look down at him, ready to beg, but the sight of him wrecks you.

Daryl between your legs, his lips on your skin, mouth open, breath warm as he stares at you like he’s never seen anything like you before.

Any coherent thought vanishes the moment his lips close around your nipple.

A breathless moan leaves your lips as his tongue flicks over it, hot and slow, sending a deep ache curling low in your stomach. His rough fingers knead your other breast, rolling and pinching your sensitive skin in just the right way, his touch deliberate, like he’s learning you, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

You arch into him, pressing closer, needing more, but he keeps the pace slow, like he’s savoring every second, like he wants to soak in every feel of your body against his. 

His tongue swirls over the sensitive bud, lips tugging gently before he soothes it with another slow flick, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His other hand stays firm on your breast, rolling, kneading, fingers rough with callouses as he works you over with slow, steady intent. It’s almost too much, yet not enough, and you feel yourself tilting between the two sensations, every nerve in your body locked onto the way he’s touching you, kissing you, like he never wants to stop.

You’re barely aware of your own sounds, the quiet gasps, the soft moans, the way your hands dig into his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, needing him closer. His mouth moves lower, lips dragging down your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, gripping your waist like he’s grounding himself.

Then, just when you think he’s going to keep going, he stops.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling, lips slick and parted. His hands squeeze at your waist, thumbs brushing slow over your skin, and he swallows, throat bobbing as he exhales through his nose.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, thick with something dark, something unfiltered.

Your breath catches.

You do as he says, shifting, dropping your feet to the floor and gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself as you twist in his hold. The air feels even thicker now, hotter, your pulse hammering as his hands slide over your hips, guiding you exactly where he wants you.

His palms press firm against your lower back, tracing down to your waist before his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. There’s no rush in the way he tugs them down, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every new inch of skin he reveals. The scrape of fabric against your thighs sends a shiver rolling through you, and when they finally pool at your ankles, his hands smooth back up, gripping, kneading, pulling you back into him.

A sharp inhale leaves your lips when you feel him press against you, his breath warm at the curve of your neck. His fingers flex at your hips, gripping tight, like he’s still trying to hold himself back, like he’s at war with the need running through him.

“Goddamn,” he mutters under his breath.

You don’t have time to respond before his lips are on your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin, hands gripping you tighter, pulling you flush against him. The heat of him seeps through you, burning into your skin, your body molding against his like you were always meant to fit there.

Then, slowly, his hand slides up.

You barely register the shift before the weight of his arm is curling around your neck, firm but careful, forearm bracing across your throat, holding you in place. The solid strength of his muscles—it’s everything you imagined, everything you tried so hard to ignore when the thought first crossed your mind.

A low, rough chuckle rumbles against your ear.

“This what you wanted, ain’t it?” His voice is gravel, wrecked, thick with something primal as his breath ghosts along your jaw. His hold tightens just slightly, just enough to make you shudder. “My arm around this pretty neck?”

His words send a shudder through you, pooling heat low in your stomach as your hands grip the counter harder. His arm is thick around your neck, a steady weight that makes you dizzy with want, and when he tightens it just slightly, enough to make you feel it, a whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Yes,” you breathe, voice barely there.

Daryl stills for half a second like he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily. Then he makes a noise low in his throat, something rough, something wrecked, and his grip on you tightens.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice thick, warm, almost tender in contrast to how strong he feels behind you. His nose brushes against your jaw, his lips grazing over your pulse as his other hand trails lower, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your hip. “What a sweet thing you are”

The praise sends a jolt through you, your breath catching, fingers twitching against the counter as he shifts behind you. Then you hear it, a belt coming loose and buckle clattering to the floor with the jeans he was wearing and suddenly you feel him– heavy and thick as he nudges against you, the heat of it pressing right against your slick entrance.

Your whole body tenses, then melts, nails digging into his arm where it rests against your throat. 

Daryl lets out a slow, shuddering breath, nipping lightly at the edge of your ear before murmuring, “Christ, barely touched you and you’re all wet. This all for me?” His hips press forward again, slow, teasing, and you let out a quiet whimper, pushing back into him without thinking. His cock notches into you then, and you both let out a sudden gasp.

“That’s it,” he praises, lips pressing against the shell of your ear, his voice low and soothing and coaxing as his cock sinks deeper into you. “You’re so damn good. Feels good, don’t it?”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him talk like this before, soft and filthy all at once, like he’s pouring everything he has into the way he touches you, the way he holds you. You nod, swallowing hard. “So good, Daryl.”

His breath turns heavier, warmer against your skin as he pulls you back onto him, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch as he buries himself inside you. His grip tightens at your hip, steadying you, holding you exactly where he wants you, but the real weight—the one that sends a full-body shudder through you—is his arm, still firm around your neck. You back arches against him, leaning into the muscles of his forearm as he holds you into the crook of his elbow.

“There you go,” he rasps, his voice strained, wrecked. His hips rock forward again, sinking deeper, stretching you, and a ragged moan slips from your lips. His grip flexes, and he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, lips warm, tongue flicking against your pulse before he nips at it, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. “Knew you’d take me so good.”

Your nails dig harder into his arm, fingers curling around his wrist where he holds you, your breath hitching as he starts to move. Slow at first, testing, drawing himself out before pushing back in, each roll of his hips deliberate, each thrust pressing deeper, setting a rhythm that already has you unraveling.

His arm around your neck tightens, just slightly, just enough to make your next breath stutter, to make the heat between your legs coil tighter.  His breath is hot against your ear, rough and ragged, the tension in his body coiled so tight you can feel it thrumming through his chest, through the arm braced around your throat.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, his voice raw, nearly pained as he rocks into you. "You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me."

His hips move with slow precision at first, teasing, working you open, dragging out every sensation like he wants you to feel him, to know that he’s the one making you come apart like this. His fingers dig into your hip, pulling you back onto him, the blunt head of his cock pressing deep with every thrust.

"Been thinkin’ about this," he murmurs, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Bout how tight you’d feel, how fuckin’ perfect you’d take me. You feel that, baby?" He drives into you harder then, pushing you flush against the counter, stealing your breath with the sheer force of it. "Feels better than I ever imagined."

Your nails claw at his arm, breath ragged as his grip tightens just slightly around your neck, just enough to hold you there, to keep you at his mercy. His hips snap into you then, harder and faster now that you’ve adjusted to the sheer stretch of his cock. 

"Shit," he groans, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw, sucking at the delicate skin before biting down, his voice going strained. "You like this, don’t ya? Bein’ held like this? Wrapped up in me, nowhere to go."

You whimper, pushing back into him, chasing the heat, the pressure, the way he’s unraveling you piece by piece.

His free hand slides down, dipping between your legs, his fingers finding you slick and swollen, rubbing slow, purposeful circles that make your knees shake.

"Fuck, look at you," he mutters, pressing his forehead to the side of your head, his breath coming harder now. "Gettin’ all worked up, takin’ it so damn well." His fingers flick over your clit, pressing just right, and you let out a broken moan. "That’s it, baby. Let me hear you. Been dreamin’ ‘bout these sounds."

His thrusts grow rougher, deeper, and the tension in your belly coils tight, too tight, everything building.

Daryl feels it.

"Yeah," he breathes, his voice shaking now, wrecked with how good you feel around him. "I know, sweetheart. Feels like your body’s beggin’ for it, huh?" His lips drag over your jaw, his hips pounding into you now, chasing that high. "Wanna cum all over me, don’t ya?"

The coil snaps at his words, white-hot and blinding as his arm tightens, stealing the breath from you completely. Your entire body goes taut as pleasure crashes over you, so sharp and overwhelming as your lungs scream for air. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing tight, and Daryl groans deep in his chest, his rhythm going sloppy, erratic.

"Shit, you’re milkin’ me, baby," he groans, his fingers moving to grip your hips, "Goddamn, you feel like fuckin’ heaven." 

He holds you, hips pinning you against the counter as he buries himself deep, shuddering against you as he spills inside you.

His hold around your neck finally eases, his hand smoothing over your collarbone, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against the side of your neck as both of you come down together.

"You alright?" His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges, but there’s something tender in it, something real.

You exhale shakily, your body still humming from the aftershocks, a slow, blissed-out smile creeping across your lips. "Yeah. That was… that was so hot."

Daryl huffs out a small, breathless laugh, pressing a lingering kiss against the side of your neck. His hands keep roaming, slow and absentminded, smoothing over your waist, tracing lazy circles along your hips, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

"Yeah?" He nuzzles into your shoulder, his lips grazing your damp skin. "Ain’t never tried it before." His voice is warm, a little smug, but softer than before, like he’s still coming down from it too.

You hum, stretching slightly against him, still pressed chest to back. "Me neither. Somethin’ about you, Dixon."

Daryl makes a sound deep in his throat, something pleased, something almost knowing. His fingers tighten just slightly at your hip, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw before he murmurs, "Ain’t gonna be the last time, neither."

“Promise?” you chuckle, turning in his arms to snake your hands around his neck.

Daryl smirks, slow and lazy, his breath warm against your skin as he tilts his head, letting your fingers slip into his hair. His hands slide lower, resting at the curve of your back, holding you against him like he has no intention of letting go.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough but sure. "Promise."

Normally you’d cover your tracks, a habit you picked up some time ago, but you didn’t have time. You barely made it out of sight as it was. 

“Maybe she ran off,” one said, his partner in crime it seemed, “she took off fast.”

“Nah,” the man in leather rumbled, “she’s around here somewhere.” 

“We’re losing daylight Daryl, we can circle back tomorrow.” 

Daryl. Daryl in the leather vest. Only Daryl seemed to know better, because you wouldn’t be here tomorrow. If you made it out of this spot they’ve cornered you in, you’ll be long gone before they make it back to the camp they claimed to have. 

“Can’t just leave her out here t’die, you saw her…” he trailed off, kicking over a loose stone, “looked like she forgot what food is.” 

You peered down, curiosity getting the better of you. That wasn’t a comment made lightly. It wasn’t a comment a man who wanted you for all the wrong reasons would make. Your shift caught the hunters attention and you snapped back into position. The blend of earth tones you’ve scavenged camouflaging you against the rough bark. 

“Alright,” Daryl muttered, eyes on you and pretending not to see a thing, “I’ll just leave her m’pack, come back around like you said.” 

You shifted slower this time, eyes on his, watching the torn up canvas backpack strip off him.

Him, all sweat and muscle and discretion. 

It looked good, too good.

Against your better judgment, you stayed. You picked apart his pack, and he left more than you’ve scavenged in months. A pocketknife, freshly sharpened. Water half drank and a well loved plastic bag that had some form of jerky in it. There was a long sleeve shirt, socks with holes in the heels, and an arrow that had snapped clean in two. 

All usable. All needed. 

The forest shifted. The birds went quiet, the breeze softened, and his boots crunched softly against the stiff leaves. 

He was surveying the space. Slow movement, skilled in the practice of careful quiet. You watched curiously as he got closer, waiting for the louder, more obvious set of shoes, but nothing followed.

“You’re Daryl,” you whispered, lingering closer to the forest floor than before. 

He looked up, and there you were, dressed up in his clothes. He dropped his crossbow with a hesitant nod. 

You fiddled with the sleeves of the oversized long sleeve, anxious to be wearing it but needing the extra layer it added more. 

“Is it just you?” 

“Just me,” he replied instantly, words rougher than boots on gravel. 

You walked gracefully down the branch, clinging to the center of the tree trunk to get a better look at the archer. “You left me things.” 

“You needed it.” 

“Why?” 

“Shits hard out here alone.” 

“I get by.” 

“I see that,” he muttered, placing the bow at his feet and shrugging a different pack off his shoulders. It was cleaner, heavier too. “Got some more water, food too.” 

“Why?” 

He glanced up, a mess of yellowing leaves and dying branches and you. He was so undeniably taken with you. Your dirt stained cheeks, the intentional mess of hair and twigs that hides you so effortlessly. “You need it.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

His eyes softened for no more than a blink, “nothing.” 

You wanted to believe that. You almost did. You felt something deep in your bones that was vaguely familiar to trust, but you knew better. “Good people don’t exist anymore.”

“That ain’t true where I’m from.” 

“Where are you from?” 

“Come down here and maybe I’ll tell ya.”

You climbed up rather than down. Fleeing from what you were absolutely sure was a trap. “I don’t want it.” 

“Yeah y’do,” he drawled, setting out the contents of his pack like he had packed for a picnic. 

A blanket folded neat. Two bottles of water, crystal clear and mouth watering. Foil covered something that looked enough to feed you for days. 

“Think about it,” he muttered, shrugging on the empty bag with a step back. 

“You’re leaving?” Your voice squeaked more than you wanted it too. 

He kept moving. That same graceful movement that suggested he and the forest had mutual understanding, “I’ll be back.” 

He came back the next day. More food, more water, a jacket your size. You still didn’t come down from your perch. 

It didn't sway him, and the visits became routine. A part of your day that was anticipation and excitement you did too well at hiding. Every time he came to your corner of the forest, you were closer. Curious but quiet.

He pushed, but never far enough to trigger your fight or flight. He would gently remind you of the offer on the table. Safety in numbers. Safety with fences and walls. A roof over your head and food that didn’t come at a cost. 

It seemed too good to be true, and so did he. The man who visits like an old friend, leaving gifts at your tree like you were a forest fairy considering granting him a wish. 

Your feet were dangling today. Swung over the branch, no longer hiding at the familiar pattern of his light steps through the terrain. 

You still had his long sleeve on, his socks. Hair clean and braided back thanks to the soap, brush, and hair ties he left out yesterday. 

You looked more like yourself than you had in a very long time. 

He approached with caution but his bow was down. He wasn’t searching, just walking. 

“Brought you something,” he muttered, shrugging off his pack as he got closer. 

“I never would’ve guessed.” 

He glanced up. A joke. Not enough to make him laugh but enough to get his attention. He took a second to look at you. For a woman living in the trees, you clean up okay. 

The dirt across your cheeks was a memory, the rat's nest that was once your hair had been sorted. Still, you looked like you belonged up there, like you and the trees were a package deal. 

Your feet swung sweetly underneath you and he noticed a hole in the seam of your boots. His socks, a few sizes too big for you, visible through the crack. 

“I’m gonna pull it out and imma need you to stay calm ‘bout it.” 

You tensed. He knew you would, but warning you only seemed fair. He dragged the zipper down and pulled out a gun. 

Small, simple, something that wouldn’t be missed. 

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. And he set it down at the base of the tree like an offering. 

“It ain’t much but it’s got bullets.”

“Why?” 

“Didn’t like the idea of you out here without one.”

Your voice went small, weak and disbelieving, “thank you.” 

“Ain’t nothing,” he shrugged. 

He liked his time outside the walls too much sometimes. He loosened up each step further from the safe haven in the making. There was no one watching him, thanking him, or trying to talk about nothing.

Outside the prison it was just him, the breeze, and you. 

He was getting ready for the day, taking no more than his fair share of rations, when the lecture he had been anticipating started up behind him. 

“You don’t think you’re wasting your time?” 

“Nah,” Daryl rumbled, inspecting the spare sets of boots in the shared pantry. He had done a pretty decent job at guessing your sizes so far. The jacket fit well, the beanie he gave you was warm and snug, but his view of you is limited by bark and leaves.

“She won’t even leave the tree.” 

“She’s scared.” 

“Or she’s using you for resources.” 

Daryl finally looked up, entering into a stone-cold staring contest with Rick. 

The prison had plenty, more than enough of everything to go around. The people were clothed, fed, safe under an actual roof and behind two layers of fence. You were alone. He didn’t know for how long, maybe he’d ask one day, but it didn’t really matter. 

You were trusting him. Allowing him closer, little by little, and that wouldn’t stop because Rick wasn’t convinced you’d finally come back down to earth. 

Rick broke first. A long dramatic sigh and a step back. “I’m just saying, you’re out there everyday. We’ve got people here, work to be done.”

“My works done.” 

“You haven’t been on a run in two weeks. You spend more time with her than you do on the hunt.” 

Daryl scoffed and shoved two different sizes in his bag to be safe. “Tell that to the deer y’had for dinner last night.” 

The branches swayed in the afternoon light, golden rays blocking his view of the heavens you live in. 

“I know yer out here,” he rumbled, squinting with a hand over his eyes. You switched it up. Three trees down, higher up than you’ve ever been. Out of sight but certainly not out of mind. 

You weren’t hiding. Testing, maybe even teasing. 

“You gonna make my old ass climb this damn thing?” He asked, still looking up the wrong tree. The tree you prefer. 

The branches are thicker. There’s a blunt edge you hang your bag on. The base where the main branches split creates a decent enough spot to sleep in. It’s not much but it’s been your home. 

“I don’t know, can you?” 

His head turned so fast his neck cracked, but he still couldn’t see you. Your words were soft and they echoed around the quiet woods, making it hard for him to pinpoint the source. 

You peered down cautiously, clinging to the thin branches as he walked through the brush. Back and forth, until he stared up at the canopy of dying branches with a huff. 

“C’mon now.” 

He was looking right at you, though he didn’t seem to know it. You rolled an acorn between your fingers before tossing it down, giggling softly when it hit him dead center in the forehead. 

“For a hunter you’re not very aware of your surroundings.” 

“I’m a tracker,” he muttered, crunching the acorn you’d tossed under his boot, “ain’t no tracks up in the trees.”

“I have a gun now,” you said, climbing down to a more manageable level, “I could shoot you.” 

“Y’could try,” he countered, tapping his shin with the crossbow that wasn’t yet loaded. 

“If I come down…you promise you won’t do anything?” 

“Only one way yer gonna find out.” 

You considered it, for too long maybe, but you made your way down. Grace with each move, one branch at a time until his hand was in reach.

A silent offer, and to his genuine surprise, you took it.

fingers crossed this isn't total buns. cheers to the squirrel man, thanks for reading, love you bye.

taglist: (lmk if you want to be added/removed at any time!) @idkmanimjstired @firefirefeline @philiasoul @bedshrooms @lillybahng @t0xicsl33p @wizardparfait @jewellthebooknerd

There was always something to do. Water to carry. Clothes to wash. Food to sort through. People were already stretched thin enough, and you hated the thought of being one more thing for everybody to worry about.

So you tied your hair back, pulled on your boots, and pretended your hands weren’t shaking.

You made it almost an hour before Daryl noticed.

He was sitting near his bike, cleaning dirt from one of his bolts, when his eyes caught on you. You were stood by the water buckets, one hand pressed lightly against the side of your head like you could hold yourself together if you just applied enough pressure.

His gaze narrowed.

“You alright?”

You straightened too fast. The world tilted for half a second.

“Yeah,” you said, voice coming out rougher than you wanted. “I’m fine.”

Daryl didn’t move at first. He just looked at you in that quiet way he had, like he was reading all the things you were trying not to say.

“You don’t sound fine.”

You forced a small laugh and reached for one of the buckets. “That’s because you’re dramatic.”

“Mhm.”

You managed about three steps before your grip slipped. The bucket hit the ground with a heavy splash, water spilling into the dirt around your boots.

Daryl was up before you even had time to swear.

“Hey.” His voice sharpened as he crossed the space between you. “The hell are you doin’?”

“I dropped it,” you muttered, bending down.

He caught your arm before you could grab the handle.

You looked up at him, ready to argue, but his expression shifted the second his hand touched your skin.

His brows pulled together.

“You’re burnin’ up.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just warm.”

“It’s freezing.”

You glanced away, annoyed because he was right and even more annoyed because he knew he was right.

Daryl let go of your arm, but he didn’t step back. “Go lie down.”

“I’m fine, Daryl.”

He scoffed under his breath. “Stop bein’ stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn. I’m helping.”

“You’re about to fall on your ass in the middle of camp.”

You rolled your eyes, but the movement made your head throb. You tried to hide the wince. Of course, he saw it.

His jaw tightened.

“That’s it,” he muttered.

Before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed the bucket with one hand and nudged you gently but firmly in the direction of the house.

“Daryl-”

“Walk.”

“I don’t need to be babysat.”

“Then quit actin’ like a damn child.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “You’re very comforting, you know that?”

“Good. Maybe you’ll listen.”

You wanted to argue again, mostly out of pride, but your body had started giving up on you. Every step felt heavier than the last, and by the time you reached the spare room, your legs were shaking badly enough that Daryl had to put a hand at your back.

Not pushing. Not rushing.

Just there.

You sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, trying to make it seem casual.

Daryl stood in front of you, arms crossed, looking deeply unimpressed.

“Boots off.”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Boots. Off.”

“You’re bossy when you’re worried.”

“I ain’t worried.”

“Right.”

He looked away too quickly.

You smiled a little, though it faded when another shiver rolled through you.

Daryl noticed that too.

He crouched down without saying anything and tugged at the laces of your boots. You watched him quietly, your fever making everything feel soft around the edges. The room, the light through the window, his hair falling into his face as he worked.

He pulled one boot off, then the other, setting them neatly beside the bed like it mattered.

“You eat today?” he asked.

You hesitated.

His eyes lifted.

“That means no.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Course you weren’t.”

He stood and grabbed the blanket from the chair, throwing it over you with less care than he clearly meant to. It landed half across your shoulder and half across your face.

You pulled it down with a weak laugh. “Trying to smother me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

But his voice was softer now.

He disappeared for a few minutes, and you told yourself you were only going to rest your eyes until he came back.

Then you woke up to cool water touching your forehead.

You flinched slightly.

“Easy,” Daryl murmured.

The room was darker now. You didn’t know how long you’d been out, only that your clothes were sticking to your skin and your head felt like it was full of smoke.

Daryl sat beside the bed, one elbow on his knee, a damp cloth in his hand. There was a small bowl of water on the floor beside him, along with a cup and what looked like the sad remains of some soup Carol had probably forced into his hands.

“You’re still here?” you whispered.

He glanced at you. “Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere useful.”

His face tightened at that. “Ain’t useless.”

You looked at him for a moment.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Daryl dipped the cloth back into the water, wrung it out, and placed it across your forehead again. His fingers brushed your temple, rough but careful.

You closed your eyes.

“That feels nice,” you admitted quietly.

“Fever’s high.”

“You been checking?”

“Had to. You were mumblin’.”

Your eyes opened. “What was I saying?”

“Bunch of nonsense.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shrugged, but there was the smallest hint of amusement in his face. “Said somethin’ about Rick’s hat lookin’ stupid.”

You let out a breathy laugh, which turned into a cough.

Daryl leaned forward instantly, one hand hovering near your shoulder like he wanted to help but wasn’t sure how to do it without making a whole thing of it.

You waved him off once it passed. “I stand by that.”

“Yeah, well, don’t say it in front of Carl.”

You smiled faintly, but the tiredness was already pulling at you again.

Daryl noticed. He always noticed.

“Drink.”

You made a face.

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

He helped you sit up enough to take the cup. You tried to hold it yourself, but your hands were unsteady, so he kept his fingers around it too, pretending he wasn’t basically helping you drink water like you were made of glass.

It should’ve embarrassed you.

It didn’t.

Not really.

Not with him.

When you were done, you sank back down into the pillow, exhausted from doing almost nothing.

Daryl adjusted the blanket around you. Again, not gently at first glance. But he tucked it close around your sides so the cold air couldn’t get in.

“You don’t have to stay,” you murmured.

He sat back in the chair, stretching one leg out. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“You’ll get sick.”

“Had worse.”

“That’s not comforting either.”

“Go to sleep.”

You turned your head slightly, watching him through half-open eyes. He looked tired. More tired than he’d ever admit. His shoulders were tense, his fingers tapping against his knee, his gaze flicking from your face to the cloth to the window and back again.

Pretending he wasn’t worried sick.

You knew better.

“Daryl?”

“What?”

“You’re being nice.”

He scoffed. “Fever’s makin’ you delusional.”

“No,” you whispered, smiling faintly. “You’re always nice. You just make it weird.”

He looked at you then, properly. For a second, all the gruffness slipped. His eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache more than the fever did.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, looking down. “Somebody’s gotta keep you from dyin’ over a damn cold.”

You hummed. “So dramatic.”

“Sleep.”

This time, you listened.

You drifted in and out for the rest of the night. Sometimes you woke to the cloth being changed. Sometimes to Daryl shifting in the chair. Once, you woke to him standing by the window, crossbow in hand, checking the dark outside like your fever was something the whole world might try to take advantage of.

Each time, he came back.

Each time, the cloth was cool again.

At some point near dawn, when the sky had gone pale and the worst of the heat had finally started to break, you opened your eyes and found him sitting on the floor beside the bed, his back against the wall.

His head had tipped forward slightly, eyes closed, arms folded over his chest.

He’d fallen asleep sitting up.

You watched him for a while, too weak to move, too warm in a different way now.

“Daryl,” you whispered.

His eyes opened immediately.

He looked at you like he’d been awake the whole time.

“You okay?”

You nodded a little. “Think so.”

He leaned forward and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. Then your cheek. His expression loosened by the smallest amount.

“Fever’s goin’ down.”

“Told you I was fine.”

He gave you a look. “Don’t push it.”

You smiled.

He reached for the cloth again, but you caught his wrist lightly before he could move away.

“Thank you.”

Daryl froze for half a second.

Then he shrugged, like he hadn’t spent the whole night beside you. Like he hadn’t checked on you every time your breathing changed. Like he hadn’t looked scared when he thought you weren’t awake enough to see it.

“Ain’t nothin’.”

Your fingers slipped from his wrist, but he didn’t move back right away.

His hand stayed near yours on the blanket.

Close enough that your pinky brushed his.

Neither of you said anything.

Then he cleared his throat and stood, grabbing the bowl of water like he suddenly had a very serious job to do.

“Gonna get you more water. Maybe somethin’ to eat.”

You settled back into the pillow, smiling to yourself.

“Bossy,” you murmured.

He paused at the door and glanced back.

“Stubborn.”

Then he left before you could see him smile.