#softcherryvanilla writes

𑣲 Even though you immediately cover your breasts with your hands, he just stands there staring like some old pervert until you finally squeal his name, which makes him look up. His face turns bright red and his whole body heats up so much that he feels like he's on fire. It doesn't help that you are definitely not pleased with his presence at this moment. He can't get out a single word, all thoughts left his mind except for one very filthy one that makes him feel dirty.

𑣲 He would try his best to not let his gaze slip, but your body attracts his eyes like a magnet. It's not easy to look at your (adorably flushed) face, even when you ask him what the hell he wants. Your hands are still covering your breasts, holding them tightly, and all he can think about is coming up to you and making you lower your arms. Not to grope you, no. He just simply wants to admire you.

𑣲 It would take him a good ten seconds before he could finally turn away. He'll probably scold you for not putting up a “Do Not Disturb” sign or something when you're changing. He would never admit that it was his fault. He would also never admit that his pants became much tighter after that incident.

𑣲 He will be haunted by the memory of you standing there wearing only lace panties, and every time he looks at you, he will be so flustered that he will have to avoid you at all costs. Especially since he would jerk off to that memory almost every night.

𑣲 He is so deprived of love, touch, and action that he gets so worked up by your bare chest that he almost loses his mind. What's worse (for him), he knows you know it. He sees how you look at him when he tries to act like you're not there. However, he doesn't know that you have a crush on him too, and once the initial embarrassment of him walking in on you passed, you decided to take advantage of poor, very flustered Daryl Dixon. You'll definitely show him your boobs again, this time on purpose.

Taglist:

@theskinniestjackson-denny @stephtuckerwriting @bl4ckt00thgr1n @olive-gardens @gothicxbarbie @slutforgrey @chansmai @bat-revival @oh-to-be-a-girl @marylimlp @sunshine-girl013 @gwenlinthegremlin @electroniczombieprince @cinefilaleitora @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @flirtysnakes @martuxduckling @emmanem1331 @peachycheekz @aliceliddell13 @satata @annylaugh @anaaam @thatonewriterchick @dixons-wifey @belovedmoony @idkmaybeitskhloe @baileyelizabethbarlow @vampsan @lilratbb @final-sights @shattersoftly @imadisneyprincessiswear @cryptidsrcool @jicama420 @securityinarkham @joelmillerisbabygirl @beacon-cause-pigs-suck @visiblyawkwardecho @rttnteef @rzmyersbiggestfan @buffydixon

At the glorious age of 44, he had as much experience as a teenager who’d just had his dick sucked for the first time and ejaculated in about three seconds. He wasn't a virgin, but all his knowledge came from Merle, of course—from his dirty magazines, porn tapes, and the girls his older brother brought home back then, who were kind enough to help his baby brother man up. Even when he didn't want to. Even when he tried to get out of it somehow. But then Merle would call him a weak pussy, a loser, a wimp and many other epithets that ultimately always broke young Dixon's will.

Fortunately, in the world of the apocalypse, none of that mattered anymore. Or at least that's what Daryl thought. He didn't look at girls in any other way than to make sure they didn't run into a horde of zombies and die. For the sake of the group, of course. Personally, he didn't really care. Well, maybe with a few exceptions. He had gotten used to Beth and Maggie's presence, and Carol was one of his best friends, but that was about it. All other females meant as much to him as a stray cat. He wouldn't hurt it, but he wouldn't care much about it either.

That was until he saw you, and all his beliefs came crashing down around him. Well, at first, he didn't really see you, if he had to be honest. He didn't see your face until you felt comfortable enough to brush your tangled hair away with your trembling, uncertain hands. But it was your voice that attracted his curiosity the most. At first, because it stimulated his hearing in this strange way, something between irritating and absurdly pleasant, which Daryl had never experienced before. Female voices often simply irritated him, nothing more, but yours... Your voice was different and intrigued him even more because it contrasted with what his eyes later saw. With what was revealed to the world when the metaphorical spotlight fell on your frail, slim figure. Your emaciated body. Nothing but bones in clothes that were far too large and very dirty.

He froze at the sound of a hoarse, low tone, feminine but firm. Weak, but at the same time with that strong note colouring the words with strength and courage. As if you hadn't used it much lately but hadn't lost the will to use it.

You weren't talking to him, no. To be honest, you weren't talking to anyone in particular. Your voice simply echoed in this godforsaken place that used to be an old church. They found it by accident. It was a very small building, hidden behind a housing complex completely overrun by zombies. They didn't expect anyone to be hiding there, especially since the fence was too high to climb and the gate was locked with a thick chain. But they checked it anyway, looking for supplies, maybe weapons. Who knows what people might have stored in a place like this at the beginning of the apocalypse, was their strongest argument.

“You let them in,” you said hoarsely, your voice echoed in the empty space so unexpectedly that it sent an unwanted shiver down Daryl's spine. Rick and Glenn looked as if they had seen a ghost. The three of them froze, looking around for the source of the unknown sound. But Daryl was a hunter. An excellent hunter, to be precise. Echoes couldn't fool him, and phantom footsteps couldn't deceive him. He aimed his crossbow upward at the empty pulpit and waited, taking a deep, calming breath. He could bet, after a moment's thought and quick analysis of the situation, that this was where you were. And something about that voice both disturbed and fascinated him to his very core.

“Show yourself,” Rick shouted. If only he had paid a little more attention to how sound travels, he would have known where to look. He wouldn't have had to look around like a madman hearing voices,

“She's there,” Daryl muttered, pointing his crossbow toward the pulpit. Glenn and Rick looked in that direction. They had seen Daryl's skills in action many times before, so they had no doubts about them, even if the indicated spot seemed empty.

“We won't hurt you,” Glenn added, but he still held his rifle tightly in his hands. They may not have wanted to hurt her, but that didn't mean she didn't want to hurt them. And that didn't mean the place wasn't swarming with other people, potentially armed. They had to be careful.

Daryl narrowed his eyes, staring intently at one spot, waiting and barely breathing. And then it happened. A single tap of a finger on the wooden surface. Then another. And a hand appeared, grabbing the rim. Right behind it, a head covered with a nest of tangled hair followed, popping out.

“I don't have anything,” you said, not bothering to clear your throat, as if you wanted to sound that wild.

The hoarse voice made Daryl even more cautious. You could have a weapon. There could be more people there. He didn't hear any sounds, footsteps, or rustling, but that didn't stop him from listening carefully, holding his crossbow in a steady and confident grip. Better safe than sorry.

“We won't hurt you,” Rick repeated after Glenn, lowering his weapon and raising one hand in a reassuring gesture. “Are you alone here?”

You didn't answer right away. You hesitated. You tilted your head back very gently, almost imperceptibly, as if you were looking toward the balcony just above their heads. As if you expected to see someone there, to exchange knowing glances with someone trusted.

Smart girl, Daryl thought involuntarily. You wanted to scare them off by pretending you weren't alone. You wanted to keep them at a distance with the silent threat that if they took even one step toward you, someone would smash their heads in.

The other men also looked in that direction, following your gaze, but the archer just clenched his jaw. He knew. His senses were too alert to be fooled by your little actions. To be honest, that's what convinced him that he was right. That there was no one else there but you.

“'S no one there,” he said, his eyes fixed on the top of your head. “She's bluffin’.”

If he had taken a few steps closer, he would have heard you swallow hard, knowing that he had just blew your cover. He exposed you and he did it so quickly you were slightly amazed. And annoyed.

Rick frowned as he looked at Daryl, but seeing the confidence on his face, he turned his attention back to you.

“Listen, we're looking for survivors. We've built a community.”

“You're not the first,” you whispered, and only because of the echo could they hear your words at all. Bad memories overwhelmed you so suddenly that you felt as if you were engulfed in hellfire. “Go away.”

“We can help,” Glenn added.

Why did they care so much? Why didn't they want to leave you alone? You could be dangerous; you could be infected. They should have just left you there to rot behind the church walls. But then again, that wasn't who they were. After taking in the people of Woodbury, their policy had changed radically. Rick had changed dramatically. From a man who panicked at the mere thought of new faces nearby, he became the one who pulled them out of the woods. He sought out the hungry, the thirsty, the frightened, and the dirty. The homeless and those who had lost hope. And he gave them a semblance of home within the prison walls.

For Lori, he used to say. He couldn't save her, but he could save others.

“Go away,” you repeated, the desperation in your voice only intensifying, as did the painful hoarseness.

You were vulnerable. You had to be. Three men had entered your shelter, you felt threatened, but you didn't give up. You didn't have much, but you fought with everything you had—your strong will, your strength of mind, and your voice. There was both courage and foolishness in your actions. Daryl admired it so much that he lowered his crossbow slightly.

“Listen,” Rick took a step toward the stairs leading to the pulpit. The church was small, with not many pews on either side. A few long strides would be enough to reach you, but he decided to move slowly, carefully, and deliberately. He approached you like a wild animal, trying not to scare you away. But you weren't a pray, despite everything that was screaming in your head at that moment. He didn't want you to feel like a pray. He just wanted to help.

“Stop,” you would have shouted at him if your throat hadn't been as dry as sandpaper. If you had the strength to get up. Your supplies were running out, you were rationing them, saving things like water and meat for desperate times.

More desperate times.

But this meant that if one of them decided to simply drag you out of your shelter by force, you wouldn't have the strength to fight back. This realisation left a bittersweet taste of sorrow on your tongue.

“Hey, I just want to help.”

Daryl thought you should shoot now. Or, if you had a gun, at least point it at Rick's head as he was slowly closing the distance between you. But he didn't hear the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked. You didn't change position either. The top of your head was still visible, barely, but it was there.

So, he decided to make a move. He lowered his crossbow completely and took a loud step toward Rick, not even trying to be subtle.

“Daryl, no...”

“She's not armed,” he said, letting his weapon hang back on its strap, loosely on his back. You posed no threat to him, not even a potential one. “C’mon now, c’me out.”

Rick reached out, stopping his friend as soon as he caught up with him. Glenn followed them, unsure of the whole situation.

“I don't have anything here,” you whispered, but loud enough for them to hear. “Leave me alone.”

There was a slight note of demand in your voice, as if you were used to giving orders and people were used to obeying them. As if you couldn't imagine anyone not doing so. And that audible tone in your voice intrigued Daryl too much for him to let it go now, even though his whole being was screaming at him not to waste any more time on you. You didn't want help, so they should have left you there to hell.

But that voice... You were a very strange creature, both to his eyes and ears. And he just couldn't turn around and walk away.

Grimes sighed, abandoning caution, and approached the stairs leading to the pulpit in a few springy steps. Then you moved. Finally. Both hands grabbed the wooden rim, and you pulled yourself up before he could reach you. Your arms trembled, your whole body looked as if it were about to give up, even under your questionable weight, but your head was held high. No one could see your face, it was too heavily covered by dirty strands of hair, but there was something of false confidence in the way you tried to remain calm.

“Why?” you asked, trying to keep that low, strong tone of voice. The hoarseness helped a little. “Why do you want to help?”

“We have food,” Rick said, holding both hands up, one foot on the bottom step, looking at you. “We have beds and showers.”

If it weren't for your hair, they would have seen you clench your jaw at the mere mention of a shower. Damn, how long had it been since you felt the stream of clean water on you? Your whole body would have lunged forward at the thought if your will to fight had been even slightly weaker.

“We have good people.”

“I've heard that somewhere before.”

Although Daryl just wanted to shrug and say Suit yourself, he couldn't stop staring.

“We'll teach you how to use a weapon,” said Rick and something changed in the position of your shoulders. As if you straightened them slightly at the sound of those words. As if you wanted to believe him.

“Why?” you repeated the question, less confident and less assertive than before, as if something was slowly breaking inside you.

“Because no one should be alone,” Glenn said, drawing your attention to himself. “Especially now.”

You looked back at Rick and, after a moment's hesitation, raised your trembling hand to your face, brushing your hair away. The light was dim, and Daryl couldn't see your features clearly, but he saw Rick's expression soften at the sight. He took a step forward and reached out his hand to you. The inner struggle was visible in your every breath, as if you wanted to give in but weren't sure if you should. No wonder, you were alone in this hole, you must have met many bad people since the world plunged into chaos. Daryl saw it in the way you slowly moved your shoulders, how you gripped the edge of the table tighter, how intensely you stared at Rick, as if trying to see through his soul and discern his intentions with your own eyes, to make sure you weren't making a mistake. Perhaps another one.

He knew that behaviour by heart. All the more, he admired the strength that still lingered in your voice when you spoke, as if that power was trying to embrace all your weakness and protect it from being revealed. He thought about it long after leaving the church, about your small figure slowly walking down the sidewalk between the protective shields of their three strong bodies. You didn't trust them, not yet, but it was your most primal instinct that ruled you and made you, after a long moment of hesitation, put your hand in Rick's—your survival instinct was so deeply ingrained in your mind that you decided to take that risk.

Daryl glanced at you sideways, wondering what was going through your mind at that moment. Your only bag hung from his shoulder, on a strap so thin that he wouldn't be surprised if it suddenly broke and all your stuff fell out. You didn't have much, as he could very easily tell from the weight of the bag. Perhaps a few spare clothes, maybe a memento from your previous life. Perhaps some food you had left.

He almost felt sorry for you. Almost. Because you weren't the only one who had it hard, were you? You were one of many they had rescued during the week. Most of them lived in even worse conditions, in dirty basements or smelly old bomb shelters. They didn't have enough food either. They couldn't wash the dirt off their bodies, hair, or under their fingernails. Hell, just a few months ago, he was one of them, before they stumbled upon the prison.

But he felt something drawing him to you. Something strange, incomprehensible. It annoyed him and altered his brain chemistry. The power you had inside you made his gaze wander involuntarily in your direction too often. He was curious, like a dog might be curious about a cat that hisses but hasn't shown its claws yet. As if he was waiting for this very moment to see your claws, because he was sure you had them. They might be chipped and gnawed, but the spirit never disappeared.

It's not that Daryl was curious about you as a woman. Hell, at that moment, you didn't even resemble a woman, at least in your own perception. He was fascinated by you as a human being. In a sense, he saw himself in your fragile form—put through hell, but unyielding. Just like him. People like you or him never gave up, and it was that kind of stubbornness that earned his well-deserved admiration.

“How long have you been here?” Glenn asked, now much more relaxed in your presence when it turned out that you really didn't have any weapons on you. Just an old, rusty pocketknife that you held in your hand as if it were a lifeline. They could easily knock it out of your bony fingers. They didn't though, so as not to give you another reason to think they wanted to hurt you. On the contrary, they protected you from all the walkers surrounding the church grounds as they headed toward the car, letting you wield that silly little pocketknife like a sword, even though you never once made a move that suggested you could fight.

You cleared your throat softly, though it didn't do much good, and then whispered, “From the very beginning.”

You didn't flinch at the sight of the reality surrounding you. You didn't flinch when Rick stabbed a walker in the head. You didn't flinch when Daryl shot an arrow that went straight through a geek’s eye. You just walked with them, trying to keep up, even though your legs were close to giving out. Your knees buckled too many times, but you didn't say a word. You gritted your teeth, clenched your pathetic little pocketknife, and stared at the only thing that was still familiar to you—your bag, which now hung so casually on the archer's shoulder. The worn black fabric that once held your books and laptop, back when your biggest worry was another important exam, not the dead trying to eat the living.

Not people abusing the opportunity to create a new order and rule the world their way.

You knew that at that very moment you might as well just walk straight into a trap. Three men, armed, dangerous, confident, cutting through the ashes of the old reality with cold precision, and you between them. What could go wrong, right? You would laugh at your own stupidity if you weren't so exhausted.

When the four of you finally reached the car, you almost crawled into the back seat. Daryl sat down next to you, keeping his distance but watching you closely out of the corner of his eye. Glenn drove, Rick in the passenger seat reached out the open window to kill a few walkers that were approaching them. And you just leaned your head back on the headrest, closed your eyes, and your chest rose and fell slowly, in a controlled manner. You didn't allow yourself to breathe a sigh of relief. Not yet. Many things could still go wrong, but your eyelids were so heavy and the car seat so comfortable that for a brief moment you just wanted to lose yourself in this fleeting second.

Your chapped lips were parted, dry, and sore. Daryl didn't even think twice, reaching for the half-empty bottle of water he had left between the front seats earlier and nudging your knee with it just once. So gently that you didn't take it as an attack.

“Here,” he muttered, and you opened your eyes, your whole-body stiffening at the unexpected touch. You turned your head slowly, staring at the bottle in his outstretched hand as if calculating your next move. He didn't move an inch, watching as you carefully reached for the bottle, wrapping your fingers around the plastic surface, as far away from his skin as possible.

“Thank you.”

Oh, how you needed that. For the past few days, you had been dying of thirst, trying to save what water you had left. And there wasn't much. Just a few bottles, not enough for a single day under normal circumstances, but you had learned how to survive with just that. Barely, but you managed.

Glenn watched in the rearview mirror as you opened the bottle with your trembling, weak hands and put it to your lips, tilting it just enough to take no more than a sip. He frowned, exchanging puzzled glances with Rick, but Daryl had to hold back a smile. Their consternation was funny to him.

Smart girl, he thought again. Just as food can be dangerous for a starving person, water can be dangerous for a thirsty person if they drink too much at once. It wasn't about the dryness in your throat, but your stomach. If you drank the whole bottle at once, you would most likely puke. You knew that, and he knew that. So, you controlled your thirst, proving once again that your willpower was your greatest strength. You held that mental leash tight and sure, and you put your needs in place, staying rational. It was something rare. Something extraordinary.

Something strangely fascinating.

Of course, Daryl looked away as soon as your lips were wet from liquid. His role was over; you wouldn't die on his shift, and that should be enough to make him stop thinking about you. Usually, that's how it worked. He did his job and went his way, looking for something else to do, but in the small space of the car, in complete silence, he couldn't stop his thoughts from returning to you – to this creature, whose presence seemed to hang over him like a heavy cloud heralding a sudden storm. And you didn't even move much. You sat still, except for the occasional movement of your shoulders and swallowing as you drank water in small, calm sips from time to time.

“Can I open the window?” you asked unexpectedly, your hoarse voice drawing everyone's attention to you. Daryl thought you were probably directing the question to Glenn, since he was the driver, but Rick replied,

“Go ahead.”

You did so, letting in fresh air, much to everyone's relief. They would never have said so, especially not to you, but the stench of dirty, sweaty body was slowly becoming unbearable. They were used to it by now. They had seen worse things and been through worse situations, so they didn't expect anything else from someone living in an old church without running water, but for you, as a woman who had always taken great care of herself, it was like an insult to what little dignity you had left. You huddled close to the open window, avoiding eye contact with them at all costs. You wanted to apologize for your condition. You wanted to explain yourself somehow, but what could you say? What could you say that they didn't already know or see?

When it all started, you had biggest gag reflex because of the smell of your own body. When you couldn't wash for over a week, you puked. And maybe to them it looked like you were afraid of them, like you didn't want them to hurt you, but you were just... ashamed. You were ashamed of yourself, of your condition, of your stench. You didn't want them to look at your dirty face and messy hair, to smell how much your body craved water and soap. It wasn't because you wanted to look pretty. That wasn't what mattered to you. It was just... it was all so humiliating that tears stung your eyes at the very thought of anyone having to endure you in such a small space.

A few hours later, when you were finally taken to the communal showers in the prison, when a woman named Carol helped you take off all your dirty clothes, including the underwear you were wearing, offering you a reassuring smile and the warm embrace of her steady hands, for the first time in months, you felt hot tears running down your dirty cheeks. You couldn't stop them. They flowed before you realized what was happening. And you were ashamed of it. More ashamed of crying than of standing there completely naked in front of another person.

Well, modesty wasn't practical in times like these. Too many people had seen you naked in the last few months for you to care.

“Do you want me to help you?” Carol asked, smiling gently and still not letting go of your arm.

She didn't flinch at the sticky dirt under her fingertips. She didn't wrinkle her nose like the others did as soon as Rick brought you in. You didn't blame them, though. You would have done the same in their place if you weren't just used to your own stench.

So, you took the shallow shaky breath and nodded. You knew you wouldn't be able to stand under the cold water for very long on your own. Your body was too weak, too limp, and too dehydrated for that. Your mental strength did not match your physical strength, definitely not.

“Could you,” you stammered, avoiding her gaze as tears continued to stream down your face, “wash my hair?”

But Carol didn't judge you. She didn't laugh at you. She smiled when you asked and nodded, agreeing to your request. She even brought a small stool and told you to sit on it, while she slowly and carefully washed and detangled your hair. First with her fingers, massaging some shampoo into your scalp, and then with a comb. You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the moment, tears still burning under your eyelids.

Your long, once beautiful and shiny hair...

“We'll have to cut it a little,” she said, and you sighed quietly. Actually, you had come to terms with this idea a long time ago. You would have done it yourself if you had had scissors. Long hair was not only extremely difficult to maintain but was a hazard to your safety. It was too easy to grab, too easy to pull, keeping you in place.

When Carol finally finished, taking her time and giving you as much time as you needed, you hardly recognized yourself. She wrapped you in an old but clean and dry towel, leaving to fetch your clothes, and you just stood there, staring at your reflection in the cracked mirror hanging above the sinks. Once plump and soft, your cheeks were now sunken, your eyes large and wide open, with huge dark circles beneath them. A single scar ran across your chin, and another crossed your eyebrow and disappeared into your hairline. You skin was pale, almost grey. The girl you once were, was gone. She was dead.

Your hair, now shoulder-length, was wet. It was the length Carol had managed to save, and you were extremely grateful for that. Perhaps it was shallow of you, considering that the world had practically ended and nothing that had previously mattered was important anymore, but you didn't want to cut it all off. You wanted to keep that little bit of your identity that you had left. Because your hair, your eyes, and the tattoos covering parts of your skin were the only things that kept you from looking at a complete stranger in the mirror. That you saw a memory of your former self somewhere in there.

Your body, always curvy, always full of shape, was now just skin and bones. There was no trace of the hips that always attracted attention. There was no trace of thighs that could crush. Your breasts were now so small that it was a little funny when you didn't see them bounce as you looked down while walking. Funny, at one point in your life you would have given anything to look exactly like that. Oh, how stupid you were back then. How much you cared about your appearance. And now it didn't matter anymore.

“Here you go,” Carol returned, distracting you from all those blue thoughts. “They should fit.”

She handed you a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and clean underwear that looked brand new. You almost gasped in amazement at the sight. Everything was clean and neatly folded. Damn, it had been so long since you'd seen clean clothes...

The woman must have noticed how you were looking at them because she chuckled.

“Maggie went clothes hunting just a couple of days ago. You’re lucky, they were still in the bag untouched.”

With tears in your eyes, you looked at her, feeling an almost irresistible urge to hug her. But you didn't move. You just whispered thank you, and she sensed a whole range of emotions in those two simple words. She didn't need anything else. She saw the gratitude in the way your eyes sparkled in the dim light of the fluorescent bulbs.

“Come on, get dressed. You need to eat something and get some sleep.”

You did it. You put on the clothes she gave you, feeling strangely unfamiliar in the clean and fresh fabrics wrapped around your body. There was also a pair of sneakers. A little worn, a size too big, but warm and comfortable. You accepted everything she gave you with immense gratitude. And to think that when you saw those three men crossing the threshold of the church, you wanted to run away as fast as you could without looking back. If they hadn't been so persistent, you would still be hiding there, alone, slowly dying.

You had more thanks to express, but for now, you let Carol lead you outside, where people were talking, laughing, and, most importantly, behaving like a well-functioning community. Something you hadn't experienced in a long time. You felt a little awkward being led to the dining area, but since your dignity was your greatest pride, you masked it.

When you sat down at the table, curiosity got the better of you, and you finally allowed yourself to look around. There was no reason to avoid eye contact now. Some people were watching you too, even giving you friendly glances. This was something new. It was nice.

Daryl noticed you as soon as he stepped outside after a small meeting organized by Rick, catching snippets of conversation and whispers about a pretty new girl and not believing that behind all the dirt there was a person. Well, he would have been annoyed by such stupid comments if it weren't true. Damn, you really were pretty. He even stopped in his tracks because his mind couldn't initially process that the girl from church and you were one and the same person.

Now that all your hair was away from your face, cut and combed, drying freely in the sun, he could see your features. Yes, you were skinny and unkempt. Skin and bones, but he expected that. He saw your legs trembling and your wrists barely holding the weight of the water bottle back outside. But he didn't expect to be stunned by the sight of that delicate smile you gave Carol when she placed a plate of hot stew in front of you. So... So simple and gentle, expressing more gratitude than a thousand words could. It was as if he was looking at a completely different person. As if now, when you were safe behind the fence, surrounded by people who had also gone through hell, you finally allowed yourself to relax. Not completely, of course. Watching you, he noticed the tension still present in every movement of your limbs. He glanced at your bare shoulders, taking in the thin lines of tattoos that had been hidden under a holey sweater before. And he wanted to get closer to get a better look at them. From a distance, he couldn't see what they depicted. They were just a blurry shape against your pale skin. They started around the wrist of your left hand and went all the way up to your shoulder and disappeared under the sleeve of your shirt. It wasn't quite a sleeve, that tattoo, but it was definitely a continuous pattern. And there, on the wrist of her right hand, he could also see some ink stain. Now he was even more curious. And that scared him. So he backed off, deciding to just ignore it. Just keep his distance and watch you from afar for a while, to see if you could adapt.

Daryl Dixon may not have been a master of words, but he certainly had a keen eye for noticing things. And he noticed you, from the very first day they brought you in, practically every time you were around. Your presence was noticeable in the form of a slight change in the air, like the smell of freshly cut grass on a sunny day. His radar sharpened whenever you walked by. Whenever he noticed you smiling at someone. Whenever you looked in his direction.

You were friendly to people, which was another thing that differed from his expectations. He expected to see someone withdrawn and shy, but you weren't like that. Yes, you were cautious and perhaps not very effusive, but you were friendly. At least you tried your best. You talked to people about silly, mundane things from your past life, smiled slightly when someone cracked a joke, helped the community as much as you could. But you never stopped looking around for potential threats.

He noticed that too. He noticed a lot of things about you during your first two weeks with them, which he didn't like very much. Not those things. His behaviour. He shouldn't have looked your way as soon as he heard your voice. He shouldn't have watched you so closely as you helped deal with the walkers outside the fence. He shouldn't have come closer, finding excuses to get near you, finding weird comfort with tracing the lines of your tattoos with his eyes. Leaves and tiny flowers stretching across the entire arm. He shouldn't have noticed the sweat on your neck, just below your pinned-up hair, or how your fingers gripped the long rod you were working with by the fences.

And he certainly shouldn't have cared whether you were eating and sleeping enough. But he did care, despite all his beliefs. Against his own will, which turned out to be not as strong as he thought. Every time you skipped a meal because you were busy, you would later find a plate full of food in your cell. A bottle of water in your bag. An extra blanket on your bed when the night was cold. At first, you thought it was Carol. Maybe Maggie, or even Beth. But when you asked, they all denied it.

“Looks like you have a guardian angel,” Carol said, smiling gently, but her gaze flew past your face and stopped on the strong figure leaning against the wall nearby. Your shadow. Daryl wasn't even looking your way. His gaze was fixed on the tree line, his mind wandering far from the prison, but he was there. He was always there.

He was sure there was something wrong with him, to the point that it was driving him crazy. He hadn't cared so much about any woman since his mother died. Well, except for Carol, but his feelings for her were purely platonic. She was like a sister to him. But you... He didn't understand why his eyes kept searching for you in the crowd. He didn't understand why late at night, all he could think about was your delicate smile. He didn't understand why his stomach did strange twists whenever you looked at him.

All these feelings were so foreign to him that he felt confused and frustrated. He preferred it the way it was before, when he simply ignored all women and minded his own business. When he didn't care about the pair of big, gentle eyes that could caught his gaze from across the room, a scenario that often made his blood run cold whenever it occurred to him that he might be caught staring at you. He would rather deal with a horde alone. Even with his bare hands. That's how desperate he was.

He clenched his jaw and let out irritated grunts every time his body reacted in this unpredictable way to your presence. He felt nauseous. Losing control of his own thoughts was disgusting to him. He should stay focused; he should be careful. No distractions, no exceptions. Especially not such pretty exceptions that made his blood boil and his breath catch in his throat.

Your voice reached his ears, and the man almost growled into the void as his stupid stomach did a backflip.

“Sorry, Rick asked me to find you,” you said, stopping a few steps away from the archer. He was leaning against the railing on the bridge, watching the fence when you finally found him. Of course, he heard you coming up the stairs and walking through the door, but he didn't allow himself to react. At least not visibly. Until you spoke and your voice, that strangely deep, subtle voice, reached his ears, he wasn’t even sure if that was you. How could he recognize you by your steps only?

Well… seemed like he actually could.

It was the first conversation you had had with him since you got out of the car that day when they found you. Two weeks and two days had passed. He didn't expect you to ever talk to him, and he didn't mind keeping things that way. He had even grown comfortable with the idea, but you had to come and ruin everything. And now he had to make some changes in his attitude. He had to adapt to the new circumstances.

He turned his head slightly, not wanting to look too eager to look at you, and asked grumbly, “What for?”

It was his stupid habit, his sick tactic—you discourage people before they left you.

“Glenn and Maggie found some new people at the mall,” you said, shrugging slightly and leaning over the railing, just a few steps to his left. You weren't looking at him. You focused your gaze on a few walkers crawling behind the fence, and he could now admire your profile without restraint. Your skin looked better. It was healthier. A blush appeared on your cheeks, the dark circles under your eyes no longer resembled a skeleton, and your body seemed a little fuller. He had noticed it before but up close he could confirm it.

“I never thanked you,” you whispered. Your voice wasn't as hoarse anymore, but it still had that intriguing low tone. Something that made him hold his breath for a second or two, long enough for you to turn your head toward him and catch him, to his horror, looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his.

He swallowed, shrugging his shoulder as if it was nothing, whatever it was you wanted to thank him for.

You smiled with the corner of your mouth.

“If it weren't for you three, I wouldn't be alive.”

No doubt that would have been the case. But Daryl didn't want to agree with you. He wanted to believe that even if it weren't for them, you would have found your way. You were strong and stubborn. He saw that in you that day and secretly admired it.

“Why...” he began but hesitated and stopped.

“Why what?”

There were many questions he wanted to ask you. He had never been so curious about another person before. It was as if you were a book within his reach, but he couldn't bring himself to open it. To read it.

He looked away, feeling as if your eyes were burning a hole in his skull. It was too intense for him. He felt as if he were naked, completely stripped of his defences. You affected him without even realizing it. He didn't know why, but he felt different in your company. As if he weren't himself.

“Well,” you sighed, pulling back, “you know where to find me if you ever want to finish that question.”

You weren't angry, you weren't even annoyed. You were just a little confused, maybe a little curious too. But you didn't press him. You left, leaving behind a lingering scent of soap and citrus, a scent that hugged him like a fresh breeze and intoxicated his senses for a moment. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue, that bittersweet taste of unspoken words and a sick desire that grew in him with each passing day.

He was doomed. He wasn't the type of guy who followed girls around with puppy dog eyes. He had never fallen in love with anyone before. He had never brought anyone flowers or chocolates, never had a sudden urge to run his fingers through someone's hair or touch someone's skin. He had never even dreamed of intimacy with someone in that delicate, sensual way so typical of couples and people in love in general.

Hell, he wasn't in love. He couldn't be in love. He couldn't fall in love with you. He hadn't even spent ten minutes alone with you. Besides, he wouldn't know what to do, how to behave, what to say. He wouldn't know how to treat you properly, how to care for you and your needs. And besides all that, you were younger than him. From what he'd heard, you were approaching thirty, while he was already over forty. Damn, he felt like a pervert watching you walk away, his gaze unconsciously lingering on the curve of your ass. He was too old for you. Too rough and dirty.

But that's what made him feel alive. The rush of adrenaline when he saw you, the sudden urge to push you behind him when walkers got too close to the fence, the warmth that enveloped him when he saw you leaving the block in the morning, rubbing your sleepy eyes with the back of your hand, with your hair messy and your sweatpants sagging low on your hips. That feeling when he saw a bit of bare skin on your stomach when you raised your arms to stretch, which made his ears turn bright red. That awareness that he could look at you. Stare at you.

He felt like a drug addict. He was addicted, and each dose was too small for him. He wanted more. He wanted to get closer. He wanted to allow himself something that should have been forbidden to him. He wanted to earn a glance; a smile; a touch. Damn, how much he wanted to feel your fingers on his skin. He had never been a fan of physical intimacy, hugging, touch in general, but with you... It was as if his whole body had abandoned its previous beliefs at the expense of one need. One filthy dream.

And then someone suggested that he gather a group of people and go to a nearby town for supplies, and because you eagerly volunteered to go with them, all his defences went on high alert. It's as if the very thought that his desire to be closer to you could come true wrapped him in a tight straitjacket of fear and uncertainty.

You, of course, had no idea about this hurricane of emotions raging inside him. You just wanted to be useful, openly admitting that a woman should go to provide the group with items necessary for both sexes, not just cans of ready-made food and more knives.

“What, a little girl wants to go shopping for some makeup?” laughed one of the men, whom Daryl made a mental note to punch in the face for that. He watched your reaction, but you didn't lose your composure. You remained calm, looking him straight in the eye, and said,

“More like sanitary pads, tampons, and other feminine hygiene products.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “You know, those haha things that boys with your mindset used to make fun of during gym class at school.”

That shut him up, and Daryl couldn't help but smile. So sassy, so brave...

Atta girl.

Even though he agreed because he had no sensible reason to deny you, he was reluctant to take you with him. He could see that you would be a distraction for him. He didn't want to take the risk, but your argument was reasonable, and no other woman he trusted could go. He had no choice but to nod his head in agreement to this stupid idea, cursing himself silently for being a weak wimp who didn't have the balls to stand his ground.

Tyreese and some other guy whose name he couldn't remember joined you. Just a small group of four, a quick run, basic stuff. What could go wrong?

Well, in a post-apocalyptic world? Everything.

“Ya stay here,” he growled, reaching out to stop you when, after an hour of searching the almost completely empty shelves, you stumbled upon what looked like a storage room at the back of the store and headed towards it.

You gripped the knife in your hand tighter and swallowed hard. As the echo of footsteps faded, you could clearly hear geeks creeping behind the closed door. You almost walked into a deadly trap.

“Maybe we shouldn't...”

“Shush,” he immediately silenced you. Tyreese and the other guy had gone the other way, leaving just the two of you, and he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life by opening that damn door. But there could be food in there. Lots of food. So, he steadied the crossbow in his arms and nodded. “Open when I tell ya.”

Your heart was beating so fast in your chest that you felt like it was going to jump out at any moment. But you trusted Daryl. You had seen him in action; how calm and confident he was, no matter what he encountered. Walkers, people... Whatever. He was the embodiment of strength and courage, qualities you desired and desperately needed. He never said much, often seemed grumpy and unfriendly, but he made you feel safe, and that was what mattered most. When his fingers tightened on the bowstring and his muscles tensed, you knew everything would be all right.

So, when he told you to do it, you opened the door with one strong pull.

“Fuck,” he cursed, shooting an arrow straight into the geek’s head at the speed of light. He should have listened to his inner voice. He should have thought it through. He should have left that damn door alone and listened to what you had to say, when you told him that maybe you two shouldn’t do it.

He looked at your head sticking out from behind the door, your eyes wide with fear. You were now fucking trapped between the door and the wall. If you moved, if you even breathed a little too loudly, they would pounce on you in seconds.

Burned corpses.

Too many. Too many burned corpses crawled out of the back room, lunging toward Daryl.

“Here, motherfuckers,” he growled, backing away. He had to lure them away, distract them. They were too close to you, and it was all his fault. He was responsible for you, and he fucked up.

“C’me ‘n get me.”

He hoped you would stay quiet and still. He hoped you would be as smart as he thought you were. Because if anything happened to you, he wouldn't be able to bear it. He would never forgive himself for agreeing to your stupid idea to go with him. For not protesting. For not doing everything he could to keep you safe behind prison walls, even if you never spoke to him again. It was all his fault.

His fucking responsibility.

He swung his knife at the nearest wlker, making as much noise as possible. His heart was pounding, his breathing rapid and shallow. He saw everything in red. And all because he cared.

He cared about you and your heartwarming smile in a way that terrified him deeply and went straight to his heart, and he knew that if he never heard your soothing voice again, never smelled your intoxicating scent, and never saw your big, sparkling eyes finding him in a crowded room, he would lose all the hope he had gained over the past few weeks.

He would have screamed if it weren't for the geeks on the streets, which could attack him from the front of the store and cut off his escape route.

He swung his crossbow. Once, twice... He killed three and still had about twelve left when he saw the movement of your hair out of the corner of his eye.

No, no, no, no...

But you had already jumped out from behind the door, swinging something long and heavy, smashing two burnt skulls at once. Damn it.

“Ya crazy?!”

At that moment, he didn't know whether he wanted to throw you against the wall and yell at you… or just press his body against yours and kiss you. You had rage in your eyes as the walkers’ attention shifted to you. You were holding what looked like a very sharp piece of metal, and you didn't hesitate to swing again, cutting off more heads.

This gave Daryl time to kill a few from behind. And although he was now angry not only at himself but also at you for your recklessness, it also gave him an idea for a new tactic.

“Here, assholes,” he muttered, diverting their attention away from you. When they turned toward him, you made your next move. By this point, you were covered in blood, guts, and other disgusting, slimy substances that smeared all over your face. But you didn't care. You couldn't let him deal with them all on his own. You had to help. Do something, anything.

You saw his blue eyes flash with fear when he realized the huge mistake you had made. Well, you didn't know he was blaming only himself. You would have told him you were in this together. You were terrified, yes, but that didn't change the fact that you were working as a team. You couldn't bear the thought of him getting hurt while you stood there watching like a little girl, frozen in place.

You didn't hesitate when you noticed that metal object a few inches away, leaning casually against the wall as if waiting to be used. It was heavy, sharp, and cut your skin, but you picked it up anyway.

You saw the moment when Daryl decided to chew your head off for risking your life for him. It was very visible in his eyes, even from a distance, but that didn't matter. Only when the last burned corpse fell to the ground with its skull shattered and the store fell silent did you exhale the breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

You watched him crouch, breathing heavily, his hands resting on his knees and his head bowed. You couldn't see his face now, completely hidden by strands of dark, sweaty hair. And he was glad you couldn't see, because otherwise you would have seen the inner struggle that raged within him like a cruel storm. He didn't know if he should be angry with you or grateful for your help. In fact... he felt a little of both. You could have died so easily that it scared him to death. But you were strong and you fought. You looked death deep in the eyes again, spat at its feet, and walked away, giving it the middle finger as if you weren't afraid of anything.

He looked up, met your gaze, and something deep within his soul changed so suddenly that he could practically hear all his previous beliefs being transformed. It was as if a strange light had fallen on him from above. He understood something. It was it—something he never thought he would have. Something that terrified him so much that he felt panic rising within him.

His weakness.

His nemesis.

His everything.

He slowly got up, watching you calm your breathing. You were disgustingly dirty, covered in things that people shouldn't see in such circumstances. He could only imagine that he looked exactly the same.

“Nice work,” he said in a hoarse voice, as if he hadn't used it in weeks, pulling himself together.

You nodded, lifting the corners of your mouth. You expected him to start yelling, calling you stupid and irresponsible, but he didn't. It wasn't that he didn't want to. He held back.

“Ya shoulda stayed put.”

Here we go.

You rolled your eyes, put down the metal thingy, and slowly approached him, stopping only when you were just a step away from him. You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, and he only managed to refrain from brushing the hair from your eyes with the last shreds of his willpower.

“I chose not to.”

Just as you chose to ignore the pulsing desire inside you to run your hand up his body and see if he was as hard as he looked, as you watched his broad chest rise and fall, his skin dirty and sweaty, his muscles still tense. The brutality oozing from his pores turned you on in some idiotic, sick way you would never have thought possible.

The tension between you was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and maybe, just maybe, Daryl would have closed the distance between your bodies, reaching for you and pulling you closer, if not for Tyreese, who burst into the store with a terrified look on his face and a quiet squeal when he saw the massacre surrounding you two.

“What the hell happened here?” he asked, looking around, completely unaware of the intensity of that little exchange of glances. That spark in the air when his blue irises met yours for the last time before Daryl broke eye contact first.

“Invited some friends,” he grunted and you chuckled involuntarily, pressing your lips together. The moment had passed, time to get back to reality. It was just a minor weakness, an adrenaline rush, nothing more.

“Ya two go,” Daryl muttered. “Need to check the back.”

“Everything's burned,” you said, but the look he gave you shut you up.

“Go.”

This time, no one objected, for their own sake, because his patience was hanging by a thread, and he didn't want to take it out on anyone. Especially you.

He walked over the pile of corpses, clearing a path to the back room with his heavy boots, and when he was sure he was completely alone, he cursed loudly, punching a nearby shelf. Something fell off it and smashed on the floor.

He was furious. He flew into a rage. He wanted the earth to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole, because the hell was the only place for a fucking old pervert like him. That look on your face when you stood so close to him that he could practically feel your breath on his neck will haunt him in his dreams forever. And what that look did to him...

“Fuck,” he growled, clenching his fists and taking a deep breath. He didn't stay to check the storage room. He knew it would be burned to the ground and nothing would remain but the stench of burnt flesh. It was just a stupid excuse. He needed a moment to himself. He had to get away from you.

He needed to pull himself together and do something about this throbbing feeling of need and desire that was burning him up inside. And also deal with the hard cock that was pressing so painfully against his jeans that he almost groaned as he tried to adjust it somehow. This was new to him. He was embarrassed. He got turned on by the sight of a girl covered in blood and walkers’ guts. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He was really twisted. But why be surprised? A childhood without a strong father figure, an older brother who thought the best thing he could do was bring his own girl to their trailer one night and force his fifteen-year-old brother to stick his cock down her throat... All of that shaped him oh so fucking well as a man, right? No doubt about it. Even though he tried his best to bounce back from it all, to become someone completely different, new, better, each time he subconsciously found his way back to all the perversions of his past life.

He would have burst out laughing if it weren't for the tragedy of it all. But luckily for him, the very thought of his spectacular first blowjob made his dick go limp. It was funny, it was just like when he saw that girl rubbing herself against Merle's lap right after she finished with him. She said she had to move on to the man after a boy came in her mouth after a few strokes. Merle laughed, grabbing her ass, and Daryl's face turned red.

He never tried it again after that. He never let a girl give him a blow job. He just fucked a few of them from behind to satisfy his needs, and that was it. He wasn't good at it; they told him so. He was clumsy, sloppy, and too fast. He never made a girl come. That's why, somewhere in his thirties, he switched to doing it himself, and that's how it stayed. It was better that way, more comfortable for him. He didn't have to try hard to be a good guy. A good lover. He no longer had to meet anyone's expectations or conform to any standards.

So, when he went outside, he acted as if nothing had happened. As if you hadn't turned him on with just your gaze. As if he hadn't imagined what it would be like to press you against that steel door, touch you, kiss you, and draw sweet moans from your lips. Oh, what he could do to you in his head... He could never live up to that imaginary version of himself in real life.

“Are you alright?” you asked when he appeared next to the car. He just nodded, not needing any more words. He was afraid his voice would betray him.

“Get in,” he muttered, opening the driver's door. One more car ride and he promised himself he would stay away from you. He was torn between rational thinking and primal instincts. He could practically smell your sweat from the back seat where you sat. And you talked to Tyreese as if nothing had happened. You smiled. You joked.

That raw, animalistic need in him to have you all to himself was slowly killing him from the inside. The length of the ice-cold shower he took immediately after returning to the prison was disturbing. And yet, no amount of cold water could stop him from imagining your body pressed against his. He was confused. On the one hand, there were those embarrassing memories that always made him feel insecure as a man, but on the other hand, he was flooded with his own imagination and whispers of what he could do if he weren't so fucked up.

He would hold you by the waist and pull you toward him. He had seen it once in some stupid movie. It looked simple, but the woman seemed to like it. He would kiss you, first on the lips, then lower, along your jaw and neck. He would leave a mark, marking you as his.

His penis twitched at the thought that you could be his. He had to, he just had to wrap his fingers around his hard, swollen cock, or he would go crazy. He began to pump, quickly and brutally, to get rid of the image of your small hand on him and what it would be like to feel your touch along his length. Your skin was softer than his, it certainly wouldn't scratch him like it did when he did it himself. It wouldn't be so chaotic and nervous. He liked to imagine that you would be gentle, slow. He wanted to believe that he would get something from you that no one else had ever given him—subtlety and care.

Something he didn't deserve, and the only place it existed was in his head.

He growled, groaned, and quickened his movements. He was close to climax, chasing it like a madman, his hand moving frantically up and down. His muscles were tense and ready to finally relax. So, he did. He relaxed with a deep, desperate groan, coming quickly and intensely. A shiver shook his entire body.

And it happened just seconds after that subtly deep tone of voice came from behind him. But there was no way he could stop in time. He came right in front of you.

“Oh shit, I'm sorry, I thought you were...”

Your voice accompanied the last hungry, desperate, throaty moan that escaped his lips. He froze, one hand resting on the wet tiles, supporting his weight, stabilizing himself in an upright position, the other still holding his penis. Sticky strings of sperm now stuck to his fingers, creating an obscene image.

Your whole face turned red. His face, on the other hand, was already red. You saw him masturbating. No, you saw him climax and cum on his own hand. You also saw his naked body, covered with so many scars that you wouldn't be able to count them at first glance.

You stared at his butt for a moment until you realized what you were doing. “I'm sorry,” you mumbled, turning away and quickly leaving the community showers.

You really thought he was done, that the room was empty. Yes, you heard the water, but… You didn’t know what you were thinking. It took him forever, but you thought you just missed him getting out of the shower because there was no way Daryl Dixon would spend more than five minutes in there.

Well... now you knew why it took him so long.

“Fuck,” he muttered breathlessly, his legs almost buckling beneath him. He couldn't see your face, but he could hear your voice. He couldn't even imagine how much respect you must have lost for him now. He felt like he was about to explode, but he didn't know if it would be anger or tears. But there was no turning back now. It had happened.

He wiped his hands and ran them over his flushed face. Now he really had to try to avoid you at all costs. How could he look you in the eye after that? Impossible. Impossible, because not only did he hear that embarrassed tone in your voice when you ran away, but he also felt his dick start to twitch again at the mere thought of your beautiful eyes watching him while he was doing it.

Fuck, now even hell seemed too good a place for him and his sins.

That little accident started a series of unfortunate events that none of you liked. Rick assigned you both to guard duty at the fence, Carol asked you to take her shift in the kitchen when he brought in a skinned deer and promised to prepare it for dinner, Beth asked you if there was a guy you liked while Daryl listened intently to your awkward laughter as you had to pretend there wasn't.

Damn it, but there was. You liked him. You felt such an incredible attraction to him that it seemed to burn you from the inside out. And it wasn't that you were trying to avoid him. It was just... You just didn't trust yourself around him anymore. After what you saw, every thought of him ended with you remembering that moment in minute detail. The way he moved his shoulder as he pumped, how primal the sound was that came out of his mouth when he came, how all his muscles tensed in that moment... and how much you wanted to see for yourself if he was big.

Back in the store, you had this vague feeling that if the atmosphere between you didn't change, all it would take was one more step and you would feel those strong arms under your fingertips because as much as you wanted to just touch him, he looked like he wanted to fuck you. And then you caught him masturbating in the shower—something you wanted to do too as soon as you got back.

And you did, just a few hours later. Lying under the blanket late at night, you slid your hand down and slipped it between the soaked lips of your pussy. You'd been wet ever since you saw him, covered in blood and sweat, breathing heavily after killing all those geeks. It didn't take much for you to remember how he looked at you, as if he wanted to fuck you roughly up against that door, and you moaned into your hand to muffle the sounds. As your fingers played with your clit, your mind imagined that it was his hand down there. Or his mouth. His tongue.

You were doomed. You both were.

“What's wrong with you?”

You blinked when Maggie nudged you with her shoe a week later, snapping you out of your reverie. You didn't realize you were daydreaming until she called you out. A blush rose to your cheeks as Daryl from your imaginations stopped sucking on your nipple.

“What?”

She smiled mischievously as she sat down on the grass next to you and leaned on her hands, tilting her head toward the sun.

“Who is the guy?”

You shrugged, but her question made you blush even more. She didn't even have to look at you to know how you reacted. How embarrassed you were.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Strange,” she said. “You've been acting differently since that little run to town.”

She looked at you sideways, smiling cheekily.

“And you're not the only one, actually.”

You pressed your lips together, not wanting to go down that road. You knew who she was talking about, because she wasn't the first person to notice, but you couldn't lie to her as easily as you could to others. There was something about her that always drew the truth out of you. And at that moment, you were afraid of that.

“Did something happen between you and Daryl?”

Nothing. Nothing happened, really. It's just... You just couldn't stop thinking about how it would be like if it had happened.

“You're delusional, Maggie,” you said, pulling at dry blades of grass to keep your hands busy. You'd forgotten what it was like to have a girlfriend you could talk to about these things. Hell, you forgot what it was like to talk about such things. Since the world ended and you were surrounded only by strangers, you couldn't even imagine that one day you would feel excited and aroused again at the mere sight of a man.

An older man. Someone so far from your ideal pre-apocalypce type of man that your subconscious was still processing the intensity of your attraction to him.

“I have eyes,” she said, shrugging. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you replied. Well, that was the truth, wasn't it?

“Oh, and that's why you've been fucking each other with your eyes ever since?”

You grunted at her comment, silencing her for fear that someone might hear, and she just laughed.

“Can you stop?” you muttered.

“I knew it.”

You rolled your eyes, hearing the satisfaction in her voice. So what if she knew? So what if everyone around knew? It didn't change anything, because if he wanted to do something with you, he would have done it a long time ago.

If only you knew how much he wanted it. How much he wanted to just pick you up, throw you over his shoulder, and carry you somewhere where no one could see what he wanted to do to you. But that was Daryl from his dirty fantasies, not the real him. The one from his fantasies would have known exactly how to touch you to make you moan his name at night. But the real him had no idea what to do with a woman. He had no opportunity to gain that experience, he was always ridiculed, always made fun of. He was always so self-conscious that he stopped trying. How could he even explain this to you? How could he say that he, a 44-year-old man, didn't know how to fuck you properly? After that, you wouldn't even want to touch him; he was sure of that. You probably expected someone who knew how to handle you, someone who had no problems with intimacy.

Oh, he liked to tell himself that so much that at some point he lost track of what was real and what wasn't. If you maybe said that to him already. And when they told him to lead another run, he didn't say a word to you, even though you were sitting right next to him in the passenger seat. You were both silent.

Except you were so close, and he wanted you so badly. It had been a month since you arrived at the prison, and you had already changed so much that he couldn't help but admire every detail about you. The way you learned to shoot and never backed down from a challenge. The way you got rid of the walkers behind the fence, one by one, systematically. The way your eyes always sparkled and your lips curved into the gentlest smile. The way he wanted to grab your cute little butt, wrapped in denim, and squeeze it with his rough hands. The way you pinned up your short hair, raising your arms, and your shirt rode up to show more skin than he should have seen. Once he even saw the outline of black ink somewhere around your hip bone. Hell, he wanted so badly to see what was there.

Every time you swung your knife at a zombie's head, he was stunned. It was like watching his wet dream burst out of his head and come to life. He definitely had some weird kinks, and you were at the centre of it all, all sweaty, panting heavily, with a bloody blade in your skilled hand.

His penis would have twitched at the sight, if not for the terrifying scream coming from where the other two members of your group were. You exchanged quick glances and ran down the street of the small town you had been searching for over an hour.

That day, you lost two people whose names Daryl didn't even remember. But you did.

“Thomas and Matt,” you whispered, kneeling next to one of them, lying unconscious on the sidewalk and bleeding out. “I'm so sorry.”

You sighed, placing your hand on his chest, and with one swift motion, you pierced his ear with your knife, driving the blade into his brain. Daryl looked at you with admiration before pulling himself together and doing the same to the other guy. What did they die for?

Daryl clenched his jaw. He was so involved with you and your presence that he lost perspective. Maybe if he had been more aware, more careful... Damn it, he fucked up again, for the second time. He was responsible for those people, and he did nothing to help them. He sent them out on a reconnaissance mission, staying behind with you, following your silhouette with his eyes like a stupid puppy while they died.

He froze when he felt your hand on his shoulder. He hadn't even noticed when you approached him, when he finally straightened up from his crouch, which was just further proof that he was far too distracted.

“There was nothing you could have done,” you whispered, as if you knew exactly what he was thinking at that moment. “It's not your fault.”

“’S responsible fer them,” he muttered, but he didn't push your hand away.

“In this world, we're all responsible for ourselves, Daryl. You can't take that burden on your shoulders.”

He clenched his jaw, looking in your direction. Your hand still touching him, but your eyes were fixed on the dead body at your feet. You were mesmerising. Soo delicate, so gentle, so beautiful. Fearless.

“Let's go,” you said before he could respond to your words. It looked like you didn't care, but that wasn't the case. You just didn't want to let yourself break down in the middle of nowhere, like a piece of meat exposed to all the walkers in the area. Daryl knew that. He knew you were sensitive and empathetic, always trying to help those around you, but in situations like this, your rational side prevailed, which he greatly appreciated. He couldn't handle someone who would burst into tears at the sight of a corpse, even if it belonged to someone they knew.

So, he silently followed you to the car, glancing back to make sure you were safe. It was the least he could do. He would have thrown himself in front of a speeding train if it meant saving you. Oh, how foolishly desperate he was. How terribly naive. Now that, after a week of avoiding each other, you had spoken to him, he thought that maybe you could both just forget about the incident and go back to what you had before—occasional glances, gentle smiles, small talk about nothing in particular.

Pathetic, right? He wanted to go back to something that would be practically nothing to a normal person. Because that's what he had—nothing. He meant nothing to you, that was for sure. Did it matter that he lost what he had and found himself in an even deeper void after you saw him in that damn shower? It shouldn't have, because it didn't change anything in your relationship.

He clenched his teeth to hold back a sigh. He drove away from the town, from the bodies of Thomas and Matt, from the nostalgia for what used to be a peaceful and quiet neighbourhood, full of people and laughter, but now a ghost of days gone by.

He looked at you as he drove back the way you had come. You sat in the passenger seat, your head turned to the right, watching the little houses disappear among the trees. You were terribly quiet, but so was he. It had been a long time since he had had so many thoughts in his head at once, it seemed to him, and he had to deal with them, otherwise he would go completely mad. It was enough that his consciousness was constantly trying to fight the primal, raw instincts raging in his chest. He had a strange feeling that once he had awakened them, there was no turning back.

Well, he hadn't awakened them entirely on his own, had he? It was your unintentional doing. Even now, returning from what had turned out to be a fatal run, he felt a burning need to simply reach out and touch you. Just because you were there. Just because your natural scent so close to him was driving him crazy. Just because you leaned your head back on the headrest and closed your eyes, looking so relaxed in his presence.

You slumped back in your seat, spreading your legs slightly so that your left knee was close enough to the gear lever that Daryl could nudge you with his kuckles when he changed gears. You didn't react to it. You just kept daydreaming while he tried his best not to look in your direction. He felt increasingly uncomfortable, not only because his semi-hard cock was now pressing against his jeans, but also because he felt like a fucking teenager who couldn't control his lust. His member didn't get hard as often when he was in his twenties, as it was the case now. The bulge in his pants was growing, as was his embarrassment. You were just sitting there doing nothing, and he was already so worked up. Fucking pathetic.

He clenched his jaw, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as if it were the only thing he should be focusing on. He didn't even notice the moment you opened your eyes and looked at him, seeing exactly what was happening. Seeing the tent in his pants, even though he was trying very hard to hide it. Your face became hot and pink, your lower abdomen tightened uncontrollably, almost spasmodically, but... But you swallowed hard, taking advantage of this moment before you chickened out and said quietly, “I can help you with that.”

He almost crashed when he heard your voice again at a moment when no one, especially you, should have seen him. He slammed the brake pedal to the floor, braking so rapidly that you both flew forward, and he looked at you as if he had just seen a ghost. As if he was sure he had misheard and that you had just called him a fucking pervert. As you should have done.

“W... What?” he mumbled, looking at your flushed face, then back at the road, then at his hands, then back at you. His cock throbbed painfully.

“I said,” you shifted in your seat, turning completely toward him, “that I can help you with that.”

You had never been the most straightforward person when it came to sex, but damn it, you wanted him. And he clearly wanted you. One of you had to make the first move, and if for some reason he didn't want to do it, you decided to just give it a try. Despite the fact that you were completely confused. Despite the urge to run for the hills and never come back. Despite the age difference.

“Nah... Ya don't want this,” he mumbled but not very convincing, trying to cover his crotch with his hand, but the accidental rubbing only made matters worse. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, you were still sitting there, looking at him with a gentle expression, your lower lip caught between your teeth.

“Then why did I offer?”

He didn't have a clever answer for that. Hell, he never considered himself clever in general, so it wasn't a surprise. And the way your eyes began to wander over his body made him give in almost too quickly.

“You took a shower this morning, right?” you asked with a playful smile, watching his ears turn red at the mere mention of a shower. You couldn't tell if it was because your question had thrown him off balance, or if memories of that incident were also raging in his head. Because in yours... Oh, in yours they were raging, and at breakneck speed.

He cleared his throat and nodded, so nervous that your blush was nothing compared to the state of his cheeks. He looked so... innocent. Almost so pure that a certain thought came to your mind too suddenly to hide. He noticed the change in your facial expression.

“What?”

“Did you never...”

“I did,” he interrupted so quickly that you raised an eyebrow. “I did,” he repeated, now more slowly, avoiding your gaze. “It's just...” he began, as if searching for the right words, staring at a point above your shoulder, his words becoming quieter and quieter, “Ain’t good at it,” until they finally turned into a whisper.

His gaze fell on his hands, and you frowned when you heard his confession. That would explain why he was so shy, even awkward, but... Why the hell did he think that in the first place? You didn't understand it because... One look at him, one word spoken in that throaty tone, was enough to make you feel that he wouldn't have to touch you to bring you to orgasm. One glance in his direction was enough to make you feel aroused. He had an effect on you. He turned you on in a way no one else ever had.

You wanted him.

“We'll see about that,” you said, and he gave you a look that could have been either a warning or a plea. It seemed as if he himself wasn't quite sure what effect he wanted to achieve. “Only if you want to.”

He did. Fuck, he really did. How could he not want you, especially when you offered yourself to him? Only... Why did you do that? Why did you tell him that? Did you really want to do it? Did you really want to make him feel good? Give him a blow job?

The memory of the first and only time a girl's lips had touched his cock flooded his mind and almost made him tell you to back off. He had been humiliated once; he didn't want to experience it again. Not with you. He couldn't bear it.

But your eyes were so beautiful and bright, and your pink lips were so beautifully parted, and your hand was now resting on his in a reassuring gesture, as if you wanted to let him know that everything was okay, so gentle.

So, he nodded. Once. It was barely noticeable, but you didn't miss it.

“Drive,” you said, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Slowly, but drive.”

A walking corpse wasn't exactly the kind of audience you wanted while doing all those sweet things to him that you imagined every night.

“Have you ever done this in a car?” he asked, a little shyly, a little curiously, moving slowly, side-eyeing you in that charming, uncertain way so unlike his usual gruff exterior.

You smiled slyly, using the small hair tie you always carried on your wrists to tie your hair back. You noticed the moment he saw it and the movement of his throat as he swallowed. You'd be lying if you said that one reaction didn't turn you on even more.

“Never,” you admitted, leaning in, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other on his thigh. “But I've always wanted to try.”

He turned his face toward you, his eyes wide and shining with excitement, but you cupped his scruffy chin with your fingers and turned his head back toward the road.

“You don't want to get us in trouble, do you?”

He had never heard that flirtatious, cocky tone in your voice before, but he thought he could easily get addicted to it. It was better than any porn he had ever watched. No one had ever spoken to him that way, so gently and sensually at the same time. Only by speaking that way could you convince him of anything.

But when you touched him... His world fell apart with one stroke of your fingers along the seam of his jeans. He could have fallen to his knees and never gotten up again. You already had him wrapped around your little finger, and you hadn't even done anything yet.

He hissed through his teeth, throwing his head back. At that moment, he was genuinely afraid he wouldn't be able to drive. The sensation was too strong.

But what if he came before you even touched him properly?

These toxic thoughts appeared in his head all of a sudden. You felt his whole body stiffen involuntarily under your touch, and you immediately pulled back. At that moment, he felt like a fucking loser.

“Daryl, stop the car,” you commanded, placing your hand on his again. You weren't angry or disappointed. You were concerned. “Pull over.”

“Let’s just go,” he muttered, accelerating, and you sighed.

“Daryl Dixon, either you stop the car and talk to me, or you'll never get another chance like that.”

He clenched his teeth. Talk to you? About what? What could he say to make you see him as the man you wanted, not the pathetic loser, an excuse of a man?

“I’m not kidding.”

Something in your voice made him believe you. He blinked. And he stopped. Not as abruptly as before, this time more slowly, more carefully, actually parking the car on the side of the road instead of stopping in the middle of it.

“’M sorry,” he mumbled. “Ya don't have to...”

“Of course I don't,” you said, watching his expression now hidden behind the dark hair. He didn't want to look at you? Fine. He didn't want to talk? Fine. You could do it for both of you.

“Listen,” you began, trying to sound as gentle and soft as possible, “I don't know what's going on in that pretty head of yours, but I can easily tell that your body isn't listening to it. Whatever it is.”

He frowned.

“Let's get one thing straight, Daryl. I didn't offer this because I think I have to do it. I want to do it. It's that simple.”

“Ya think 'm pretty?”

Now, you blinked, taken by surprise. It was as if nothing else you had said had reached his ears. As if his entire system had frozen on that one word and had been trying to process it ever since. And he couldn't.

You chuckled and sighed.

“Well, guys usually take offense to that term,” you shrugged. The big, muscular guy sitting next to you looked like a teddy bear at that moment, a little ragged but still very cuddly. With red cheeks and big, shiny eyes. Full of hope and tenderness.

“Do ya think that ‘bout me?”

He wanted to hear it. No, he needed to hear it.

“Yes, I think you're pretty. Among many other things.”

His breathing became shallow.

“Good things?” he asked so quietly, as if he were afraid to raise his voice even a little. Afraid to hear the truth but desperate to do so anyway.

“Only good things, Daryl. I don't know who or what made you so self-conscious, but you have no idea how many people besides me think so highly of you. In many ways.”

“’S not like I feel sorry fer m’self.”

You touched the top of his hand with your index finger, just above his bruised knuckles, making him shudder.

“I never said that. We all need a little reassurance from time to time.”

He watched your finger trace the veins along his hand, then slide higher, up his forearm. You were thinking intensely about something. About sharing something more, and you weren't sure if you should, but since he was able to open up a little in your company, you could too, right?

“Do you remember the day you found me in the church?” you asked in a quiet, slightly uncertain voice. You didn't even wait for an answer, you knew he remembered. “I was scared when I saw the three of you. So scared that I peed me pants a little.” You giggled, but he didn't make a sound. He listened intently, feeling more and more comfortable with every second of your touch. More and more relaxed. He could have stayed like that forever, feeling your skin against his, listening to your low, subtle voice.

"I didn't trust Rick's words. How could I? I've met a lot of bad people since the world went to hell. But I took that risk, mostly out of desperation. And hunger. Thirst. Pain. I wanted to look tough, though, so I fought for so long before finally giving in. I would have done it as soon as you blew my cover, saying I had no backup and was alone, if not for my stubbornness."

He smiled slightly at the memory.

“I was so ashamed when I sat next to you in that car. I stank. I almost threw up. I think it was your water that saved me from further embarrassment. I have no idea how the three of you could stand it.

”We've smelled worse."

You didn't dare look him in the eye, but you smiled.

"I can only imagine. Anyway, my point is... It was a tough day. Full of emotions, even if I didn't show it. But when Carol took me to the showers, when it was just the two of us, I broke down. I just started crying, so overwhelmed by everything. I felt awful. And she just smiled and asked if she could help me. She meant clothes and a shower, but to me it was so much more than that. She let me vent while she washed my hair and quietly reassured me that I was finally safe."

He had never seen you cry. Hell, he couldn't even imagine you crying. Yes, you had a delicate appearance and a gentle touch, but he knew you were tough on the inside. Probably tougher than him. He felt bad that he didn't know. That he just assumed everything was fine because you were smiling. You fit into society so easily that he never wondered if you were just pretending until you really felt comfortable.

“We all need reassurance from time to time,” you repeated your previous words and finally looked at him, smiling gently. “So, if you need it, let me be your reassurance.”

“M’ first time was with a hooker,” he blurted out, looking you straight in the eye, as if he wanted to finally get it over with and let you laugh at him before anything happened between you two. Not that it could after that confession, right?

“M’ older brother paid for it. A birthday present.”

His words made you freeze in time and space. You straightened up slightly, staring into his beautiful blue eyes, so sad and full of unspoken thoughts.

“And his girl gave me m’ first head,” he continued, spitting out the words. “Ten seconds. She said I wasn't a man. Merle laughed for weeks.”

Merle. His older brother? That bastard was lucky he was dead, or you would have killed him with your bare hands. How could he do something like that to his own brother? It wasn't a present; it was fucking sexual assault.

“How old...”

“Fifteen,” he replied before you could ask the question. “Girls always said I ‘s bad at it.”

“Daryl,” you whispered, your heart aching so much that you had to clench your teeth to keep from letting out a pitiful moan. Poor boy...

He let out a pitiful sound resembling laughter, full of self-contempt, looking away and focusing on the road.

“Ain’t need no reassurance, girl. ‘M just a piece of shit, 's all.”

He lied. Of course he lied. Normally, you would tell someone like that to stop feeling sorry for themselves and pull themselves together, but his whole demeanour showed years of unprocessed trauma. He was a grown man, yes, but deep down he was still that 15-year-old little boy whose brother had mocked him for not being able to last longer. You couldn't ignore it. You couldn't just pretend you hadn't heard what he said. As if it didn't hurt your deeply empathetic soul.

“You're not a piece of shit,” you said firmly, reaching again for the hand he had pushed away a moment ago. “I wish you could see what I see when I look at you.”

He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth. Who would have thought that an impulsive offer to give him head could turn into a session of painful confessions and therapeutic talk?

“When was the last time you had sex?” you asked, because that was the topic that started the whole conversation, and you wanted to help him get over it. You wanted to be the person he trusts enough to open up.

He shrugged.

“Don't even remember.”

He didn't look at you. Trauma. The trauma was so obvious that you were surprised you hadn't noticed it before. It poured out of him like a waterfall.

"So, you've been dealing with this on your own for a long time, right?

He sighed, his cheeks still red, but somehow slowly getting used to your direct questions. Yes, for so long it had been just him and his hand against the whole world that he couldn't even remember what it felt like to have another person's skin on his. And in his mind, he had just managed to ruin his only chance to change that.

“Daryl, you were just a kid,” you said gently. “A teenager who didn't know any better. How could you have done better? How could you have gained any experience when you were so discouraged by all those idiotic comments from girls older than you?”

What you said made sense. He knew that, but still...

“How... I mean, yer first...” he began to stammer, but you just nodded, knowing what he wanted to ask.

“He was my first boyfriend,” you replied calmly. “It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad either. Just... average. It took me a while to feel comfortable doing all those things. I wasn't very good at it at first. Damn, I was very clumsy.”

He looked at you sideways, now curious. Clumsy. He remembered the girl who had called him exactly the same thing. He had felt offended at the time, but you made it seem unimportant. As if it wasn't even worth a second's thought. If a woman like you could admit it...

“It's the same with everything. You're not going to tell me that when you first picked up a crossbow, you hit a deer right in the eye.”

“Lost a lotta arrows,” he said with a slight smile.

“See? Everything takes practice.”

There was something truly special about you. The way you talked to him, making him relax right before your eyes. The way you smiled at him, making him feel important. The way you ran your fingers over his shoulder, across his arm and the side of his neck, up to his rough cheek, and brushed him with your knuckles, making him want more. You slowly familiarized him with your touch. You didn't want to cross any boundaries, that wasn't the point. Hell, you were afraid that if you did, you would scare him away, so you proceeded calmly and slowly. Daryl was broken inside, and you didn't want to risk him withdrawing and hiding within himself.

You just stroked him gently with your fingertips, in seemingly innocent places. On his face, shoulders, hands, but never on his chest or thighs. You sat there in silence for maybe ten minutes, and with each passing moment, his breathing became calmer and calmer. Your touch was like a magical remedy for all the wounds on his soul. You were so gentle, so careful.

At one point, he moved a little restlessly, following with his eyes the circles your fingers were drawing on his forearm.

“’S that offer still...,” he cleared his throat because his voice sounded too harsh even to his own ears, “actual?”

Warmth flared up in your body again, burning you with desire.

“Only if you promise not to force yourself,” you said, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. You didn’t know but at that moment he decided that this spot was to remain unwashed for a very long time. He intended to treat it as something sacred. The first time your lips touched his skin, so gently, so tenderly, so sweetly. He wanted to cry with relief and delight.

“I wanna,” he murmured, biting the inside of his lower lip.

“Then it's still actual,” you said with a gentle smile. “And please believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about,” you added, and he let out a quiet, shy laugh.

“D’ ya want me to drive?” he asked, feeling his cock already hardening. Oh, he was very needy. That little break didn't change the fact that he wanted you so badly it hurt.

You looked around carefully, seeing no walkers on the road, and shook your head.

“Let's stay here for a while.”

He nodded, leaning back in his seat. He was damn nervous, but at the same time, he couldn't contain his excitement. He had said all those embarrassing things to you, and it hadn't changed your decision. Maybe this was what he had been waiting for all along. Maybe it was you he had always had that little hope of meeting one day. That special person who would care for him.

When your fingers returned to their previous place, at the top of his growing bulge, he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

“What if I...” he let out in a pathetic, tearful voice, “ya know... too fast...”

You kissed him on the cheek again, and he opened his eyes.

“We'll try another time, then.”

Another time.

Another time.

It sounded as if you wanted it regardless of the outcome. As if you wanted him. Or his dick. But since it was part of him, so for now he could consider it a small victory.

“Relax,” you whispered, palming him with your hand through the fabric of his worn jeans. He smelled of musk, cigarettes, and leather, and you felt intoxicated being so close to him. He smelled like a man. Like the embodiment of all your secret desires.

Your own arousal pooled between your legs, and you squeezed your thighs together to get a little friction. But it wasn't about you. It was about him and his need. And you had no problem with focusing on that only. On him.

With delicate movements of your fingers, you unbuckled his belt, pushing through the layers of clothing. You knew he was watching you so intently now, with such a hungry gaze. You heard his breath catch in his throat when you managed to unbutton his jeans. Pre-cum was already leaking through his boxers. Your mouth watered at the sight of his impressive bulge, his cock clearly desperate to break free from its prison.

He had never paid much attention to his member before. It just sort of... was there. Some girls thought it was big, but as they said, size wasn't everything, so he tried not to even think about it. At least until now. When it finally popped out of his pants, freed in all its glory, hitting his stomach, your hand seemed so small next to it. He held his breath, waiting for your next move, impatient and desperate to feel your touch.

“Please,” he moaned before he could stop himself. He didn't care how it sounded. He wanted you to finally make a move.

“As you wish,” you whispered coquettishly in that sweet, sensual voice, wrapping your slender fingers around the tip and spreading his pre-cum over it with your thumb. He buckled his hips up, unable to sit still. Damn, it felt so good. So damn good. He practically pushed his penis into your hand, and you had to put your other hand on his thigh to stabilize him. Oh, you could tell he wouldn't last long. He missed human touch so much that even the slightest movement of your hand made his member twitch. But that wasn't a problem. You just had to change your tactics a little. Adjust them to his current needs. No big deal. It was all about him at that moment.

So, you leaned in, bringing your head closer, and spat as gently as possible on the tip of his penis.

“Ya sure...”

But you shushed him by digging your nails into the skin of his thigh. You ran your hand along its entire length, slowly and firmly, and when he hissed, you repeated the exact same movement, but this time with your tongue flat against his member.

“Fuck,” he growled, and if you had looked up, you would have seen his head thrown back, his eyes closed, and his mouth open as he breathed heavily. His chest rose and fell chaotically. There was something euphoric about the way his strong body was breaking down under your touch.

You repeated the movement, tasting the sweat on his skin, feeling the pulsing vein running along its base under your tongue. You were driving him crazy, and you knew it. You liked it. You felt so damn powerful that it made your head spin. And you hadn't done much. Not yet.

You purred with approval as his hand found your back, resting there as if he needed it to ground himself, and you took the tip of his penis into your mouth, wrapping your tongue around it, your hand still caressing the base. Most people thought it worked best when a girl took it all in and almost choked on it, but you had your little secret that didn't require that. Thank God, because Daryl was definitely too big. Your throat was definitely not that deep.

You sucked him gently, sensually, moving your head only slightly up and down, focusing only on his head for now. You felt his fingers slowly moving up your back to the base of your neck as you moved. You didn't know if he knew what he was doing or if it was involuntary, but the touch of his large hand on your body made you moan with need, and without thinking too much, you acted impulsively.

He growled throatily as you took him deeper, sucking in air along with his sensitive skin, and began to move your head up and down a little faster. Still not fast enough.

“Fuck,” he growled again. “Don't stop.”

You had no intention of stopping. You were going to suck him off so well that he would never again think he wasn't worthy of it. And he would never again see anyone but you in his dirty fantasies.

Your hand moved up and down at his base, while your sunken cheeks squeezed moans and whimpers out of him to the point that he covered his face with his forearm. Another murmur from your throat, vibrating against his skin, made him buckle his hips up, thrusting deep and chaotically into your throat. You choked in response to this unexpected movement. You felt the tip of his cock deep inside you, bumping against the back of your throat, and you barely suppressed the gag reflex.

“Shit,” he said, panicked. “’M sorry.”

You pulled away for a moment to catch your breath. Saliva dripped from the corner of your mouth, your eyes were watering, and your lips were red and swollen. You looked at him and licked your lips in such a pornographic way that he almost came just from the sight of it.

“’M sorry,” he whispered.

Damn, if it weren't for that damn gag reflex, you would have taken him all in without hesitation, regardless of his size. There was something about the way he devoured you with his eyes that made you want to do anything to make him feel good.

“Don't be,” you whispered back. If you were in a different position, you would have taken him into your mouth without breaking eye contact. You wanted to see his reaction. You wanted to see his eyes watching his cock disappear into your mouth. But since that wasn't possible in the small space of the car, you just lowered your head over him and brushed him with the tip of your tongue once more. And then you dropped down quickly, taking him into your mouth and sucking maybe a little too hard.

He grabbed your hair, wrapping his fingers around it like a hair tie, and you smiled involuntarily. Oh, Daryl had that wild nature hidden somewhere deep inside, and you wouldn't mind bringing it out.

“That's it,” you murmured, giving yourself another moment to catch your breath before plunging your mouth back down on him. You continued to move your tongue and suck him alternately, your movements still steady and firm. You wanted to show him that he could last longer than he thought, but the primal urge to drive him crazy was slowly taking control of you. You liked it. You liked everything about him, but those throaty moans especially. He was breathing harder and faster as your head moved up and down his body. You sped up your movements, turned on by his body's reaction, and he wanted so badly to see your beautiful mouth wrapped around him... Only he couldn't keep his eyes open for long, it felt so fucking good. He moaned and whimpered, grabbing your hair and lifting his hips from time to time. He fought the urge to hold your head in place as you almost managed to take him all in. The sound of you choking on his cock... Fuck. He didn't even know he could enjoy something like that.

He was so desperate to come that he almost begged you to end the sweet torture and give him relief. He knew he couldn't take it anymore when your cheeks caved in around his length and you sucked hard. You did it as if your whole life depended on it. Well, his life certainly did.

“Ya should...” he moaned and wanted to push you away, feeling that familiar tightness in his stomach. He knew he was about to come hard, and your lips were still wrapped tightly around him. He held your hair, trying to somehow force you to change position. You kept him deep in your hot mouth, driving him to the brink of madness, and the fact that he managed to retain a shred of sanity was incomprehensible to him. But he didn't want to hurt you. He couldn't... Not like this. Not with you.

“Please, ya should...”

And you just purred, teasing him further with your tongue, not stopping sucking. You could feel how close he was. You brought him to the edge of that abyss and with one deft movement of your tongue you pushed him off it, refusing to move even a millimetre.

“Fuck,” he groaned, clenching his fist in your hair so hard it hurt, his hips jerking violently. A hot stream of cum shot straight into your throat. You were ready for it, but you still pulled back a little. You almost choked on the amount of it, but you weren't going to pull back completely. You didn't want to. You wanted to stay there, your mouth still around his sensitive member, squeezing what you could out of him and showing him that it was really okay. Hell, more than okay.

You guided him through his orgasm, swallowing every drop of his ecstasy, gently caressing him with your fingers. You let his cock soften under your touch as you ran your tongue over the now soft tissue one last time and slowly pulled away, lifting your tear-filled eyes at him. He looked at you with wide eyes, as if he had just seen an angel sent from heaven. As if you had hung the moon in the night sky. As if the sun shone only because of you.

Straightening up, you raised your hand to wipe your mouth, but he was quicker. His calloused knuckles brushed your lower lip, wiping away traces of saliva and remnants of his own juices. It was a sweet gesture, almost intimate, and it made your cheeks flush. He didn't even know what it meant to you. If your panties weren't completely soaked by then, they certainly were after that gesture. And he just sat there, trying to catch his breath, looking at you with his beautiful blue eyes as if he had never seen you before. Not completely.

You swallowed the aftertaste of his cum.

“Thank you,” he whispered in a voice so hoarse and low that you shivered. The ordinariness of those words brought a smile to your face.

“You're welcome.”

You could still taste him on your tongue long after you both returned to prison, sharing the grim news of the deaths of two members of your community. If only they knew what you had done after escaping from that town... They would shame you for it, no doubt. You both knew that, but honestly… You couldn't care less. Not in the slightest. Not about death, of course, but about judgment.

You exchanged a glance before going your separate ways. He to report to Rick about the trip, you to take a shower and calm down. And maybe to release the tension after the events of the day. As you stood there, letting the cold water run down your body, you couldn't stop thinking about how his hand had grabbed your hair. And how later, when you were returning to camp after it was all over, his knuckles brushed your knee, so shyly, but at the same time as if he couldn't help himself. As if he wanted to be able to touch you. Fuck, you wanted him to do it. To touch you, kiss you... To do whatever he wanted with you. To push you into the back seat of that car and rip your clothes off. You wanted to feel his fingers inside you, his mouth on your wet pussy.

You moved your hand down, sliding it between your legs. You needed to feel that sweet tightening in your lower stomach, one way or another, it didn't matter how. Well, you would have preferred him to help you get rid of all that tension, but you didn't want to rush anything. You didn't want to scare him off. And even though you offered to give him head in such a casual way that surprised even yourself, you couldn't bring yourself to ask him to return the favour. He had to know that you weren't doing it because you expected something from him. You just wanted to give him pleasure, even if it meant you'd have to satisfy yourself later on your own. You were fine with that. You'd been dealing with your arousal on your own for a long time, actually. No big deal, right?

When your middle finger finally slipped into your entrance, you heard a soft, throaty grunt behind you that made you freeze in your movement. You were sure you were alone. You made sure no one was around before you started touching yourself. But you knew that grunt. You knew that particular tone.

You bit your lip. You had your back to him, completely naked and exposed to his gaze. Water ran down your face, and then your body, leaving wet tracks, getting into your ears, dulling your senses a little, but you couldn't be wrong, could you? Well, you hoped you weren't wrong; that you hadn't misjudged the situation, because if you had, it was going to get very awkward. If it wasn't him...

You turned slowly. Your hands now hung loosely and seemingly casually at your sides, but the prospect of him being able to see you in all your glory filled you with a shiver of uncertainty. You were never very confident about your own body. Your breasts were exposed, and your not-quite-shaved pussy was slippery with your arousal. And Daryl just stood there, in the place where you had stood just a week earlier, looking at you as if you were a very precious work of art that could only be admired but not touched. Even though his fingers itched at the sight of your naked body, he didn't move an inch.

His blue eyes slowly and carefully examined your figure, from top to bottom, then from bottom to top. His face was red and hot, but he didn't look away. He couldn't. He was mesmerized. You had bewitched him. And it wasn't like he caught you by accident. No, Daryl knew exactly where to find you, and he couldn't stop his legs from carrying him down the hallway and straight into the showers. He wanted to find you there. He wanted to see you.

“Hi,” you said quietly, feeling a little silly standing there as if you were on display, his gaze so hungry that as it slid down your body, it almost left physical marks behind. But you didn’t cover yourself with your hands. You didn’t cross your arms on your chest. You let him look.

You, this beautiful, divine creature, stood before him, wearing nothing, and looked at him as if you trusted him to do only what was right. Except he didn't want to do anything right with you. Not when you looked so appetizing and were so close. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a naked woman, but he felt that even if a whole herd of naked women stood before him now, he would still choose you. Only you.

You, with your beautiful smile, tempting eyes, and delicate lines of ink stretching along your entire left arm. His gaze involuntarily lingered on your right hipbone, where he once noticed another tattoo. As it turned out, you had more of them under your clothes than he thought.

“Can I join ya?” he asked, as quietly as you, very uncertainly, but fighting his shyness and with his heart beating fast, he watched you bite your lower lip and then slowly nod your head, without even giving yourself a moment to think about the question.

“Ya sure?”

You didn't answer. Not with words. You stepped out from under the stream of water and took a step toward him. One, then another, and another, and he watched, unable to move, until your naked, soaked body was just inches away from him. He held his breath in anticipation, and you simply pulled at the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and exposing his muscular chest.

That look you gave him... Shit. This time he didn't need any confirmation. He ripped off his shirt in one quick motion, and when you took a step back, he took a step forward. His pants followed almost immediately, thrown carelessly to the ground. Soon after, his boxers landed on top of them. You could see him again in all his glory, beautiful and strong, and he didn't feel a shred of embarrassment as your gaze slid down his chest and stopped at his cock. You had already seen it. Touched it. Kissed it.

He followed you under the stream of ice-cold water, never taking his eyes off you for a moment. That delicate skin of yours was just begging him to reach out and touch it. Your shoulders, hips, breasts... He swallowed. He didn't know what he had done right in his life to deserve such intimate moments alone with you, but he wasn't going to think about it, lest someone up there suddenly decide it was all a cruel mistake. Until that day, he hadn't even thought about the possibility of having you all to himself. Not in the near future. In fact, never. It all remained in his indecent imagination, behind closed doors of guilt and shame, but you were there, running your fingers over his chest, exploring the surface of his skin, the curves of his muscles. And you looked at him as if you couldn't imagine anyone else being there with you. As if you wanted only him and nothing else mattered to you.

He carefully placed his huge hands on your hips, just as he had imagined many times, pulling you closer to his body. His hard member pressed against your stomach, making you curl your toes. It was two completely different things to take him hard in your mouth and to feel him hard against your body.

“Teach m’,” he whispered, raising one hand to your face and brushing the wet hair from your forehead in a gesture so tender that if anyone had seen it, they wouldn't have believed it was him. “Teach m’. Wanna make ya feel good.”

Those words alone brought back that electric tension jumping between the cells of your body. You clenched your thighs with excitement, and your pussy began to throb. He was practically begging you to tell him what to do, how to satisfy you, how to make you scream. You could have taught him, guided him, but... But maybe if he allowed himself to follow that inner voice, you wouldn't even have to say anything. You could see in his eyes how desperate he was to please you.

“Have you ever imagined anything...?”

“Wanna taste ya,” he blurted out before you could finish, voicing your deepest desire. The image of his tongue on you made you gasp chaotically, and your chest rose sharply, drawing his attention. The air was thick and sticky, and the cold water evaporated on contact with your heated bodies as Daryl slid his hand up your stomach and brushed your breast with his fingers. You almost pressed yourself into his palm, so desperate to feel him more and harder.

“Do something,” you moaned. “Anything.” You felt like you were going to explode if he didn't touch you and lazy smile spread across his face as his thumb rubbed your swollen nipple. He did what you said—anything he could think of and looked like it worked, because you tilted your head back with a sigh.

“Daryl,” you whispered, making him look away from your breast and into your eyes. “Whatever you've been imagining,” you clenched your thighs, “just do it. Don't think. Just do.”

It was as if something clicked in his mind when you said that. Oh, there were so many things he had imagined. So many things he wanted to do to you. And tasting you was the first of them. Tasting all of you.

So, he lowered his head and, while rubbing one of your nipples with the index finger and thumb of his right hand, his tongue swirled around the other. Gently, slowly, without unnecessary haste. He didn't want to rush. He wanted to taste you as if it were the only time he could ever do so. As if he wanted to remember every curve of your body under his tongue, in case he never got to do it again.

Those sweet sighs coming from your throat drove him crazy and made his cock twitch restlessly. Maybe he knew how to make you feel good, after all. He just... He did what he felt was right and was waiting for your reaction.

When he squeezed your nipple harder between his fingers, you dug your nails into his shoulder until it hurt. But it was a sweet kind of pain, almost euphoric and he craved more.

“Please,” you whispered the quiet request, and when he lifted his head, pausing for a moment, you looked into his blue eyes so desperately that he could no longer hold back. He nodded once, briefly, running his knuckles down your cheek, sliding down your body without breaking eye contact. He knelt before you on the wet floor as if bowing down to you, his eyes shining in the light of the fluorescent bulbs. Your lower abdomen tightened at the sight. It was something you wanted to do to him in the car—watch him from between his legs—and now he had beaten you to it, the sneaky bastard.

And he thought he didn’t know what he was doing, right? Damn, he was fucking you with his eyes so well that you could almost feel your first orgasm coming.

You sighed when he kissed the inside of your thigh, about halfway down.

“’S that okay?”

“Mhm,” you murmured, spreading your legs a little wider in front of him, giving him free access to your wet pussy. “Just... your mouth, your tongue...” You stumbled over your words at the sight of his eyes watching you intently from below. “Do whatever you want...”

You took a shaky breath as he ran his hot tongue up your thigh, from your knee to your hip, ending at the black lines of a tattoo. A line of moons in all phases. Now he knew what it was. He fed his curiosity and traced it with the tip of his tongue. You knew you wouldn’t be able say anything else. Daryl was not only fulfilling one of his naughty fantasies, but also one of yours. He wasn't kidding when he said he wanted to taste you.

He licked your other leg in exactly the same way and moved to the inside of your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses up and down. He hadn't even reached the place where you needed him most, and he was already drawing those quiet sounds of pleasure from you. Testing the ground, he experimented, and you let him. You let him find out for himself what worked better and what didn't.

“Up.” He grabbed your left leg under the knee and lifted it, placing your foot on his shoulder, holding you so you wouldn't lose your balance. You rested your hands on his arms for stability. Your pussy was now completely exposed to his gaze. The short, dark hair on your pubic area, your wet lips, the excitement running down your thighs... He felt intoxicated by the sight alone.

“Shit, look at yerself,” he worshipped, staring adoringly at your wet, slick cunt. With every louder breath you took, he grew more and more confident. Now you could feel his hot breath on your pussy, so close, so damn close, but he resisted, not yet giving you what you wanted. What you needed. He licked the skin around it, on your thighs, around your groin, until you brushed his hair with your fingers, tugging lightly at the ends.

“Daryl, please,” you moaned, trying to pull him closer. Maybe you shouldn't have done that... Or maybe that's exactly what he wanted from you.

He smirked. He wanted you to teach him how to make you feel as good as he had felt earlier that day. He wanted you to force him to do certain things to you that he could only dream of until now.

“As you wish,” he repeated the exact words you had said to him in the car, and without further ado, he buried his face in your pussy, planting the most intimate, most lustful kiss you had ever experienced.

You moaned, and he growled softly in approval. That sound, so primal, so wild, sent vibrations through your entire body. And he didn't stop tasting you, as if you were his only source of nourishment. Your scent, your taste... He was already intoxicated, and he had only just begun.

He reached his hand to your wet lips, parting them so he could see you better. The awareness that someone could walk in and see you at that moment... Him kneeling in front of you and you, your fingers tangled in his hair, rubbing yourself against his tongue, your head thrown back and your chest heaving, made it all the more exciting. It awakened that sick, primal instinct in him that screamed that you belonged to him at that moment. Only to him. And if he could, he would show it to everyone around him so that no one would have any doubt that it was he who was making the muscles in your body spasm with pleasure.

The movements of his tongue were slow and decisive. He licked your pussy from the entrance to the clit over and over again, and you moaned sweetly, rocking your hips back and forth. What a beautiful sight. If he had died at that moment, he would have died as the happiest man in the world. The most fulfilled man in the world.

“There,” you moaned as the tip of his nose brushed your clit when he slid his tongue into your entrance as deep as he could. He didn't know if it was good, but he felt he had to try. He felt he wanted to try everything with you, and as long as you didn't tell him to stop, he was going to do just that. But that wasn't the spot you meant. Not that sensitive spot.

His stubble was now glistening with your arousal as he pulled away from you for a moment and looked up. This small eye contact made you clench your hands tighter on his long hair, and he groaned with approval.

“Where?” he asked, half joking, half making sure he understood you correctly.

“There,” you moaned again, removing your other hand from his shoulder to slide it down your stomach, joining in his little game. You parted the smooth lips of your pussy with your fingers and exposed that bundle of nerves on your body to him. That the most sensitive part, the sweetest spot. You showed him where you needed him most and he obeyed.

“Here?” He touched it with the tip of his tongue, and your legs buckled slightly beneath you in response to the stimulation. He was holding you with both hands now, but without any physical support of other sort, it became dangerous. If he was to follow your desire, he had to make sure you were comfortable.

He stood up quickly and frantically, placing his hands on your hips again, and before you could even react, he pushed you backward, out of the stream of water, and your back touched the cold surface of the tiles on the wall behind you.

It almost took your breath away. He wanted to be gentle, but he didn't succeed. Not when his eyes burned with such desire that he almost turned you around and thrust himself brutally inside you.

And honestly, you wouldn't have complained. You wanted to discover every side of him, learn all his dirty thoughts, and prove to him that you could handle them. You reached out and kissed him hard and decisively before he could kneel in front of you again. Your lips collided with his in a needy, clumsy kiss, so hot and so passionate that it made his head spin. You tasted your own excitement on his tongue and almost forced him to return between your legs. Your hands pressed down on his shoulders, and he didn't protest.

“Are you sure you've never done this before?” you asked quietly as he lifted one of your legs again, giving himself perfect access to your pussy.

“Never,” he murmured. His tongue was on you, pressing flat against your clit, and you moaned before you could think to muffle the sound with your hands.

He began to lick and kiss, suck and drink your juices. It was all a little too chaotic now, a little too hasty and sloppy, but you didn't complain. You let him devour you as if he had been hungry his whole life and you were the delicious meal he couldn't pass up. As if he were a death row inmate and you were his last meal.

As if he was putting his whole soul into every movement of his hot tongue on your body.

And you moaned, whimpered, tugged at his hair, and rubbed yourself against his face as if it was all you had ever wanted in your life. As if it were the missing piece of the puzzle that you had finally found and put in place, and now everything was going to be as it should be. Because it wasn't just lust that made you feel like you were losing your mind. It wasn't just the chaotic, somewhat brutal way he stimulated your clit. It was the looks he gave you from below, as if to make sure everything was still okay. That confident grip on your thighs to hold you safely in place. That concern in his eyes.

“M’ name,” he demanded in his low, husky voice, which so unexpectedly put pressure on your nerve endings that it almost drove you crazy. You arched your back, clenching your eyelids, and would have fallen to your knees if it weren't for his strong arms holding you tight.

“M’ name,” he repeated with more emphasis, swirling his tongue around your sweet sensitive spot.

“Daryl,” you moaned into the ether, and stars appeared before your closed eyes as you felt the knot deep inside you tighten violently, causing you to fall apart and your whole body to tremble with a sudden spasm. You came quickly and hard, chaotically, with his name on your lips, pulling his hair and moving your hips to squeeze every last drop out of the moment.

“’S it,” he muttered, and you covered your mouth with your other hand as he literally sucked another moan out of you, not stopping for a moment, even though you were slowly reaching the edge of your intense orgasm. The most intense in your whole life, probably.

“Daryl,” you whispered his name now, trying to pull away from his mouth, unfamiliar with the excessive stimulation. Your eyes were still closed, your breathing heavy and rapid, your senses dulled, but you could feel how sensitive you were down there, and each touch of his tongue made you writhe uncontrollably now. He overstimulated you to such an extent that you felt tears running down your cheeks.

But you didn't tell him to stop. Not until you felt that overwhelming feeling that your body no longer belonged to you and every brush of his lips sent a shock through you.

“Enough,” you gasped softly, brushing the hair from his face with your fingers. “Enough.” You couldn't keep your eyes open, you couldn't look at him, but you felt him place one last kiss on your swollen clit and stand up, releasing your legs but holding you firmly and steadily to keep you upright.

The sight of you, so flushed, panting, your eyes closed, and all because he had brought you to this state, was the fulfilment of his wildest, most secret fantasies. As you moaned his name, coming hard on his tongue, his cock trembled with excitement and shot out, rather huge dose of his cum mixing with the cold water and your juices on the floor. He came at the very sight of your ecstasy, at the sound of his name on your sweet lips. And he wasn't the least bit embarrassed by that fact.

You collapsed into his arms, exhausted as hell, and he held you in complete silence, letting you recover at your own pace. You could feel his heart beating fast and hard in his chest, right under your cheek. You smiled against his skin.

“If you tell me one more time that you're not good at this...” you threatened playfully, weakly, without even opening your eyes, and he chuckled, brushing your back with his calloused fingers. Another thing he wasn't sure about but wanted to try—aftercare.

“’S ‘cause of ya.”

Perhaps. Or maybe he was just too modest to admit that he knew exactly what to do but had never had the courage to do it. Either way, everything that happened between you that day changed something irrevocably in your relationship. For example, when you both, clean and in fresh clothes, joined the rest of the group for dinner, you couldn't hide the tender glances you exchanged across the table. Or the small, gentle touches when one of you walked by. Or that tender goodnight kiss later that evening.

That night, you both fell asleep quickly, and for the first time in ages, Daryl slept like a baby through the whole night, dreaming of holding you in his strong arms, protecting you from all the bad things and making you feel safe.

Happy.

Desired.

Appreciated.

Seen.

Loved. Just like you made him feel—simply loved.

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3