#rickyl fluff

“Daryl, honey, that is not how you beat an egg. Be gentle.”

“Fine. Grimes can do it.”

Rolling his eyes, Daryl pushed the bowl over to Rick and crossed his arms. He was doing his best to act grumpy, but the slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth said otherwise. Rick, on the other hand, had been itching to take over. He used a fork and slowly beat the eggs.

“See, Dixon? That's how you do it.”

“It's not my fault that I'm ain't a damn house-husband like you.”

Daryl always had creative insults to throw around, and it never failed to make you laugh. Covering your mouth, you turned and giggled. Of course, the slight shake of your shoulders gave you away. Your laughter only encouraged the two men, and they continued ragging on each other.

Finished with the eggs, Rick started grabbing the ingredients needed for the frosting and mumbled something akin to “should've left you back in Atlanta”. That comment earned a dramatic gasp from Daryl, and he feigned shock.

“Bullshit. Y'all couldn't live without me, and you know it.”

Even though you knew Daryl was only kidding, you pressed a kiss to his jaw and reassured him. His messy dark hair was pulled back from his face, and it brought a smile to your face.

“Neither of us could, Daryl.”

“Damn straight.”

Despite his confident tone, Daryl was blushing like a schoolboy, and he suddenly couldn't meet your gaze. He shifted on his feet and busied his hands with mixing the dry ingredients. Unfortunately, he hadn't mastered the art of being careful in the kitchen, and he was adding to the mess. You didn't point it out, though.

Seeing the look on his other partner's face, Rick strode over and kissed the top of Daryl's head. This only made his face flame hotter, and he whined pitifully.

“You guys ain't bein' fair.”

Smiling a little, you began picking up some of the mess and nudged Rick with your hip. You turned towards him and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, before gently chiding him.

“Let the man focus, baby.”

“He's just bein' overly sensitive.”

“I am not!”

Their bickering made you roll your eyes for the umpteenth time, and you shook your head. It was like herding cats with these two. You decided to let them hash it out while you finished mixing the batter and pouring it into a loaf pan. While you were distracted and Rick was on some monologue about working together in the kitchen, Daryl decided to help out again.

“If we do it at a higher temperature, it's goin' to be done a lot faster, right?”

“Daryl, do not touch the oven.”

Your tone was soft, but firm. The last thing anyone needed was for the house to be set on fire. Daryl groaned softly and perched himself on the countertop. There wasn't much more left to do, and he was getting impatient. Rick picked up on this and ruffled his hair slightly.

“Don't pout. The kitchen is almost clean, and then we can turn on a Christmas movie or somethin'.”

“I ain't poutin'. Just a little bored. Does it have to be a Christmas movie?”

Realizing his boyfriend had gotten flour in his hair, Daryl grumbled and shook his head like a dog. His poor attempt at getting it out yielded no result. His brow furrowed, and he turned towards you for back up.

“Baby, look what he did to my hair.”

“Rick, we just washed it.”

Rick's response was to streak flour on your shirt, which earned him a glare. Something about being in a kitchen turned these grown men into toddlers. You let out yet another groan and pulled Rick closer. He could tell by the look on your face that you weren't playing around anymore.

“Wipe up the counter and help Daryl load the dishwasher. You two are out of control today.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Being eager listeners, the two men quickly nodded and got to work. It took a little while before the kitchen was clean and the bread was out of the oven. Now, you could deal with their bratty behavior.

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With your bottle of nail polish in hand, you stand in the doorway, fighting an internal battle of if you should go in or not. So in doubt, you hover, putting a few dishes away in the kitchen. Grabbing some water. Checking the fridge. All while the glass bottle of pink polish becomes warm in your hand. Bare feet padding against the cool hardwood as you finally decide to just go back to bed. The safety of the community is undoubtably more important than your damn toes.

“You alright, angel?” Ricks voice is soft as it travels to your spot on the stairs, swiveling around to see both men eyeing you down. Gaze travveling up your bare legs to your tiny little boy shorts and the oversized sweater with a stretched out collar and way too many holes in it.

“Mhm.” You quip, flashing a candy sweet smile.

“You’re pacin’. What’s up?” Daryl isn’t convinced as he looks you in the eyes, elbows leaned onto his knees. Still in his work clothes. Jacket, vest and jeans. Even his boots are still laced up.

“I just-" you look down at your bare toes. All prepped for paint, cut and filed and screaming at you to give them some colour. “Can one of you help me paint my toes?”

The way both of their faces soften at your answer gives you butterflies. They’re always way too worried. Too on edge. Especially when it comes to you. Wanting to protect you. Keep you safe and healthy and happy. So that’s why when they notice you pacing in the kitchen at half past midnight, they jump to their own little conclusions about what might be wrong. About what could possibly be going on in that beautiful mind of yours.

“C’mhere.” Rick pats a hand on the couch cushion next to him which you happily take. Practically skipping over and plopping down, ass on the cushion and feet in his lap.

He takes the bottle and gives it a little shake before continuing his conversation with Daryl, who doesn’t seem to be listening as attentively as he was before. With you laying on the couch, long legs sprawled out and a sleepy smile on your pretty face, you’ve become quite the distraction.

Ricks hands are warm as he holds your feet, carefully painting each nail, all while he stays talking. You hear snippets like, “- well if we do that, then they’ll just be headed for Oceanside. We need to find a route that makes sense for everyone, even if it means-” but you aren’t really listening. You’re more focused on making heart eyes with Daryl and playing with a loose string on the hem of your sweater. Eyes growing heavy with each coat of paint. The intoxicating, chemical smell that you've weirdly enough grown to love, fills the room and your feet tickle when rick blows cool air on them. Closing the bottle and popping it back into your hand while he leans back and asks Daryl something off topic about a run with Aaron. thumb running over your foot, hand traveling up your calf and gently massaging the muscle there. You sink even further into the couch, all warm and tired and cozier then ever. The combination of Ricks touch sending tingles up your spine, and the drawl of both their voices, act in accordance to lull you right to sleep.

“You gotta promise not to get mad. And- promise we’re not gonna like… eat them or anything.” His perplexed look deepens and you become even more nervous. Nervous that he’ll tell you to go put them back where you found them.

“Baby, what’s in the box?” He repeats his question. Definitely more concerned about the contents now.

“The mama didn’t make it,” you explain, setting the shoe box down on the counter. Hushed little “meow”s coming from the cracked open lid.

“No.”

“You haven’t even seen them, Dare,” you whine. Already rejecting the prospect of such adorable kittens.

“Not happening.”

“Told you he’d be like this,” Rick chimes in, leaned against the counter. Cheeky little grin splayed on his face.

“Like what?” Daryl seems defensive. Momentarily distracted by Rick while you open the shoebox and grab the cutest one. All black fluff with big yellow eyes. By far the cutest of the 5.

“All grouchy ‘n shit. You’re never any fun anymore.” You complain, holding the kitten out in front of you.

Daryl’s scowl only deepens.

“C’mon, Dare. How can you say no to this lil face?” You pout your lips and hold the kitty beside your face. Trying your best to guilt him into letting them stay.

“…”

“Please,” you try one last time, giving him the biggest puppy dog eyes you can possibly manage.

“One. You can keep one. The rest need to go.” Fuck yeah!

You breath out a sigh of relief. Handing him the kitten, which he definitely didn’t want to hold. But as soon as it cuddled up where he held it against his chest, it started purring. Begging to be loved. And that must have tugged a heart string.

“I’ll ask around if anyone wants the rest.” You tell him over your shoulder, already making your way out of the door with the shoebox. 4 little kittens cuddled up and ready for some new homes.

And when you get back, empty handed and feeling satisfied, Daryl is asleep on the couch, with soft snores leaving his lips. The kitten cuddled up on his chest and purring away. The two of them looking like a damn match made in heaven.

Rick has an ankle crossed over his knee, lounging back to read a book in his armchair. You walk over and plop yourself into his lap, squirming around until the two of you are comfy. His hand snaking around your waist, as his eyes move along the lines of the page.

You lean into his ear and kiss his neck gently, earning a sweet little sigh from the man. You whisper softly, trying not to wake up the other man,

“Told you he’d warm up to it.”

“You- uh- you wanna talk about it, kid?” Rick asks, approaching the couch and sitting down next to you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Cheeks damp and lips wobbly as you shake your head no.

Rick nods, giving you a sympathetic smile and nudging you to move over so he can really lay back into the couch. And once he’s comfortable, he tugs on your hoodie gently so you lay your head back down in his lap. “C’mhere, sweetie.” His hands immediately start running through your hair, softly scratching at your scalp. Soothing the borderline nausea that’s been brewing all day in your stomach. And his caring affection makes you wanna just fall asleep then and there.

“We got you, baby. Right here for you, okay?” You hear Rick whisper as another hot tear rolls down your cheek and onto his jeans. Daryl comes over and lifts your feet, setting them on to his lap as well, adjusting your blanket so you’re all warm and cozy. Both of them doing everything they can think of to comfort your broken heart. Rubbing your back as Rick stays whispering sweet nothings into your ears, all gentle and comforting. But all Daryl can focus on is your shaky little breaths in between tears, and how fucking hurt you sound, crying over some dipshit that was dumb enough to let you go. He has to physically hold himself back from grabbing his crossbow and hunting the guy down.

Finally, your breathing becomes rhythmic and your eyes flutter closed. In your sleepy daze, you’ve somehow shifted even closer to Rick, arms slung around his waist and face smushed into his chest, Daryl carefully stands up, trying his best not to wake you. He grabs his jacket from the armchair and slings it on while a perplexed look forms on Ricks face.

“Where are you goin’?” Rick whispers. Daryl already has his boots on and is zipping up his jacket. He lets out a frustrated sigh, watching Ricks hand rub up and down on your back as you sleep on his chest. The whole night he’s been thinking, how the hell could anyone break such a sweet girls heart?

“I uh- just wanna talk to him.”

“Daryl,” Rick’s voice is a warning.

“Just wanna ask him a couple questions.”