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Daryl blinks once, trying hard to forget about the visual of your swollen lips he’s blessed with everytime he pulls back. She just kissed you this morning, man. He really shouldn’t be this desperate for another, it’s barely been two hours. Daryl groans on the inside when he realizes that the reminder doesn’t help at all. Because now he’s reliving the way you looked in the tent, the tired smile you manage to wear right after waking up… How sweetly you pecked his lips, his eyes fluttering open just in time to witness the sheer beauty of you, unwound. He’d been awake for a while, actually. But, well, you kinda ruined mornings for him — he used to get up early and spend his time hunting or something. Now, he refuses to leave the tent before you’ve woken up to give him a good morning kiss.

Fuck… this really is bad. It’s not like he should have to depend on that one, like, there’s also the little inbetween kisses whenever he does something sweet for you… The goodbye ones whenever you’re apart for anything above ten minutes… Those heated ones whenever you pull him away from the group for a moment, to “catch a breath” when in reality you’re doing the exact opposite… Short ones just because and, of course, the goodnight kiss. God, he loves the goodnight kiss.

Maybe a little too much, actually. Daryl is trying hard not to dwell on all of this too much, but he just can’t help it. Michonne has chimed up, there’s evidently some important decisions being made, but he just doesn’t have it in himself to care. All those different types of kisses, and yet, he wouldn’t be picky if only you were to cross the distance between you right now and — give him one. Any would do. Daryl likes them all equally, but he needs one or he’ll honestly go insane. It’s like, he’s lived years and years without them and now, in a matter of weeks, you’ve got him addicted. Though he probably was done for the second he first felt your lips on his forehead that first time, back when it was still a "platonic" relationship, as if he hadn't planned out his whole future centered around you already. It’s maddening. Like, somehow he’s lost all sense of proportion. Doesn’t really care about anything but you anymore, or maybe he just loves you so much that everything else is overshadowed. Even such important things as survival. Or less important ones, like what people think of him.

Generally, he hasn’t even changed that much on the outside. He still is the reliable, rugged hunter the group got to know, just a tad distracted, maybe. Or so he hopes. Realistically, he comes off as, well, very distracted. Uncharacteristically so. Like he said — he wants, needs to kiss you so badly that he looks downright stupid. With that lovesick expression on his face, soft eyes and all that crap. You’ve put a spell on him, he’s bewitched! But he’d never ask you to lift it. If that’s even possible. No, he’s enjoying himself far too much. Whenever he does get to shove his tongue down your throat, that is. He’s in heaven, just like that. It’s absolute bliss and not only due to the contrast between fighting for his life and kissing you. It would be bliss even if he’d been the happiest man alive before, as well. That doesn’t matter though, ‘cause he is, right here, right now, in your arms. Happier than ever and happier than he thought possible.

Daryl has long accepted his fate, without struggling at all. Yeah, he may look dumb staring at you and your lips all day, but that’s pretty much his default state now. You see — if only thinking about making out gets him like this already, nobody would seriously expect it to be any better when he’s kissing you, right? It’s worse, actually. His jaw goes slack the second you lean in, arms hanging down his sides uselessly every fucking time because he just can’t believe his luck, even after all these months. It takes a moment, but then he’s arrived mentally. All yours and eager to please, savoring each kiss like it’s the last. Partly because it could be, yes. But mostly because he just can’t help it. Okay, so what if he looks stupid. It’s endearing! In your book, that’s called being in love.

And in love, that he is. Desperately so, and he’s not used to it in the slightest. He’s overwhelmed, in a good way, and it shows. You never mind, not for one second. Instead, you just throw your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, pulling him closer in a way that makes him forget people might be watching and seeing him fall apart by just your kisses. Or that’s the effect you would have, if, well… If in Daryl’s eyes, you wouldn’t be the whole world already.

𝐼'𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑠! 𝑇𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 & 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 🤍 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

Daryl blinks once, trying hard to forget about the visual of your swollen lips he’s blessed with everytime he pulls back. She just kissed you this morning, man. He really shouldn’t be this desperate for another, it’s barely been two hours. Daryl groans on the inside when he realizes that the reminder doesn’t help at all. Because now he’s reliving the way you looked in the tent, the tired smile you manage to wear right after waking up… How sweetly you pecked his lips, his eyes fluttering open just in time to witness the sheer beauty of you, unwound. He’d been awake for a while, actually. But, well, you kinda ruined mornings for him — he used to get up early and spend his time hunting or something. Now, he refuses to leave the tent before you’ve woken up to give him a good morning kiss.

Fuck… this really is bad. It’s not like he should have to depend on that one, like, there’s also the little inbetween kisses whenever he does something sweet for you… The goodbye ones whenever you’re apart for anything above ten minutes… Those heated ones whenever you pull him away from the group for a moment, to “catch a breath” when in reality you’re doing the exact opposite… Short ones just because and, of course, the goodnight kiss. God, he loves the goodnight kiss.

Maybe a little too much, actually. Daryl is trying hard not to dwell on all of this too much, but he just can’t help it. Michonne has chimed up, there’s evidently some important decisions being made, but he just doesn’t have it in himself to care. All those different types of kisses, and yet, he wouldn’t be picky if only you were to cross the distance between you right now and — give him one. Any would do. Daryl likes them all equally, but he needs one or he’ll honestly go insane. It’s like, he’s lived years and years without them and now, in a matter of weeks, you’ve got him addicted. Though he probably was done for the second he first felt your lips on his forehead that first time, back when it was still a "platonic" relationship, as if he hadn't planned out his whole future centered around you already. It’s maddening. Like, somehow he’s lost all sense of proportion. Doesn’t really care about anything but you anymore, or maybe he just loves you so much that everything else is overshadowed. Even such important things as survival. Or less important ones, like what people think of him.

Generally, he hasn’t even changed that much on the outside. He still is the reliable, rugged hunter the group got to know, just a tad distracted, maybe. Or so he hopes. Realistically, he comes off as, well, very distracted. Uncharacteristically so. Like he said — he wants, needs to kiss you so badly that he looks downright stupid. With that lovesick expression on his face, soft eyes and all that crap. You’ve put a spell on him, he’s bewitched! But he’d never ask you to lift it. If that’s even possible. No, he’s enjoying himself far too much. Whenever he does get to shove his tongue down your throat, that is. He’s in heaven, just like that. It’s absolute bliss and not only due to the contrast between fighting for his life and kissing you. It would be bliss even if he’d been the happiest man alive before, as well. That doesn’t matter though, ‘cause he is, right here, right now, in your arms. Happier than ever and happier than he thought possible.

Daryl has long accepted his fate, without struggling at all. Yeah, he may look dumb staring at you and your lips all day, but that’s pretty much his default state now. You see — if only thinking about making out gets him like this already, nobody would seriously expect it to be any better when he’s kissing you, right? It’s worse, actually. His jaw goes slack the second you lean in, arms hanging down his sides uselessly every fucking time because he just can’t believe his luck, even after all these months. It takes a moment, but then he’s arrived mentally. All yours and eager to please, savoring each kiss like it’s the last. Partly because it could be, yes. But mostly because he just can’t help it. Okay, so what if he looks stupid. It’s endearing! In your book, that’s called being in love.

And in love, that he is. Desperately so, and he’s not used to it in the slightest. He’s overwhelmed, in a good way, and it shows. You never mind, not for one second. Instead, you just throw your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, pulling him closer in a way that makes him forget people might be watching and seeing him fall apart by just your kisses. Or that’s the effect you would have, if, well… If in Daryl’s eyes, you wouldn’t be the whole world already.

𝐼'𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑠! 𝑇𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 & 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 🤍 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

You barely had time to breathe before he was on his knees between your thights, hands spreading them wide to finally see the soft, pink treat that was waiting for him.

“Goddamn...” he muttered, voice already fucked out. “So fuckin’ pretty like this... So wet f’ me already.”

Your whole body shuddered as his breath fanned hot across your soaked center, rough and warm, turning you into a whimpering mess already without even doing much. He didn’t waste another second before he buried his face in it, making you squeal.

The moment his lips connected with your most intimate part, he moaned, dragging his tongue all over your slit in one long, heavy lick. His stubble scratched your thighs just right, adding a delicious contrast to the sensations. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all goddamn day…”

You whined, hips jerking as he drooled all over your pussy. His tongue darted out again in sloppy circles before he flattened it and licked a fat, wide stripe from your clenching hole to your clit. “D-Daryl—oh my god—”

His tongue lapped at your soaked pussy with long, hungry strokes. Spit mixing with slick. His nose bumping your clit every time he buried his face deep. You felt filthy, felt perverted—your legs were thrown over his shoulders and his hands kept your legs spread wide open, of course you were gonna feel so fucking exposed!

He groaned deep in his throat, loud, like he was enjoying this even more than you—which was kinda true. “Taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he slurred, breathless. “Shit— can’t get enough of ya.”

He spit —wet, heavy, loud— right on your clit and licked it up with a filthy groan. His jaw moved again, tongue wide and flat, licking you from hole to clit and occasionally sucking on your sensitive bud of nerves.

“S’fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbled against your core. “Ya hear how wet ya are, darlin’? Fuck… Just listen t’ that.”

And you were.

Wet. Squelching. Sloppy.

The sound of his tongue working your cunt echoed in the fucking cramped trailer, obscene and loud, mixing with his moans and your little cries of pleasure. You sure were going to leave the place without looking at any of his neighbours because there was no way on earth they have been saved from this.

And once again, he sucked your clit into his mouth —hard— making you cry out and try to close your legs on him, but he was relentless. Gripping your thighs, holding you open, mouth locked to your pussy like it was his last meal.

He was messy as fuck. Wet mouth, open kisses, tongue licking and slapping over your clit again and again. He licked you like he was trying to devour you—like he needed it to breathe.

And he was fucking enjoying it.

“Shit— Daryl, fuck—!” You whimpered, too overwhelmed by the desperate way he was eating you out. “Ngh— slow down...—”

You looked down and nearly came from the sight.

His face was soaked. Lips shiny, chin glistening with spit and juices. He shook his head as he licked, trying to get more of you on his tongue. Like he couldn't stop. “Nah, baby. Ya can take it.”

And then he dove lower.

“Gonna stay down ‘ere all day” he breathed, panting into your cunt. “Don’t even need my dick, baby. Just wanna eat this sweet fuckin’ pussy. Lemme—lemme get my tongue in there—”

You gasped as his fingers reached for your folds, spreading them to finally get a better access to your hole. And then, he just pushed his tongue inside.

The moan you let out was almost pornographic.

His hot, thick muscle was breaching you, moving slow and deep, licking into your insides like he was trying to fuck you with it. He grunted, spit pooling out of his mouth and dripping down his chin as he lapped inside you, licking up everything you gave him.

“Mmhh—fuck—yer fuckin’ leakin’ for me, baby—shit, it’s so good—”

He pulled out only to spit again, this time watching it drip right onto your clit before he went right back to sucking it—groaning loud as he wrapped his lips around it and sucked it into his mouth like candy.

You could barely breathe, barely think. You thighs were soaked, and your legs were twitching, hips grinding against his mouth, chasing his tongue like a drug.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

He just fucked you with his tongue, sucked your clit, rubbed his stubbly chin against your inner thighs as if he wanted to mark you with beard burn. His jaw moved fast, sloppy, no rhythm, just need and hunger.

You sobbed. “D-Daryl—! gonna cum—please—! baby, please—!”

“Yeah?” he panted, fingers gripping your thighs, holding you open for him. “Then cum, sweetheart. Right fuckin’ now. Give it to me. Want it all in my mouth.”

He flattened his tongue and shook his head, mouth wide open, tongue lashing your clit until the pressure exploded.

You came hard. Harder than you expected.

A full-body spasm, thighs closing around his head, cunt pulsing, clenching and leaking all over his mouth. And he moaned like a man possessed —loud, guttural, drinking through it every little drop— slurping, sucking, letting your juices run down his chin, all while he whispered, “So good, baby—fuckin’ perfect—gimme more.”

You were shaking. Crying. Absolutely fucked out.

And he was still eating you out, swirling slow now, pressing soft little kisses on your overstimulated clit.

When he finally looked up, his face was drenched and his breath ragged. His pupils were blown out and glassy, though he looked ecstatic. Seems like the one who enjoyed this most was him.

He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and gave you the filthiest, most wrecked smile you’d ever seen as he licked it clean.

“We ain’t done” was the only thing he said before he stood up. The couch creaked beneath you as Daryl shoved his jeans down just far enough. You barely had time to recover before he was standing between your legs, pulling his cock out. Big. Thick. Hard as fuck. Veins bulging, tip flushed angry red, already leaking.

“God…” your voice came out wrecked.

“yer still up f’ this?” Daryl rasped, cock fat and heavy in his hand as he lined it up with your dripping entrance. “Looks like ya need this, dontcha sweetheart?”

You were still trembling from the way he’d eaten you out, messy and open for him. Still sensitive, still slick. Pulsing from the orgasm he gave you with his tongue. Practically begging to be filled again, just with something bigger. “Please...”

That’s everything he needed. He dragged it through your slit —slow and filthy— smearing your slick all over himself. O“See that?” he groaned. “See what ya do to me, baby? Got me so fuckin’ hard I could bust just from smellin’ ya.”

You whimpered, reaching down to touch him, but he softly shoved your hand away with a grin. “Nah, baby. ‘m ‘here t’ take care of ya.”

Then he pressed in.

One thick, slow and dizzying push, your pussy already gripping him like you didn’t want to let go. “Oh fuck—Daryl—”

Your cunt stretched wide, hot around him, sucking him in inch by inch until he bottomed out—deep. Balls flush to your ass, his hands pinning your thighs open as he held himself still, groaning in ecstasy.

“Goddamn, girl,” he groaned, voice breaking. His hips shuddered forward. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he hissed. “Ya feel that? That fuckin’ tight grip—shit, sunshine—ya were made f’ me.”

Your mouth dropped open in a moan, hands scrambling at the couch cushions as he kept himself still inside you—deep and pulsing, head dropped low to watch the way you swallowed him whole.

He leaned forward, spit dripping from his mouth as he kissed you—sloppy, open-mouthed, tongue licking into yours with a desperate moan. “So tight, baby. So fuckin’ wet.” You eagerly answered his movements with tiny whimpers, kissing him back desperately.

His hand left your thigh to move up your stomach and lift your shirt over your breasts, revealing those sweet, juicy tits to his eyes.

“Fuck…” He lowered himself down to give your nipple a long lick, then wrapped his lips around it and began to suck hard. His hand was kneading and squeezing softly the flesh of your boob, while his mouth worked on your nipple until it was swollen and raw.

His lips released the tiny bud with an audible “pop” and moved to lavish equal attention on the other. “Mhmm…” He grunted. “Best pair’a tits I ever seen. They’re so soft... So fuckin’ sweet”.

He continued licking and sucking your nipples until you were trembling and squirming with need beneath him. “Ngh—! Daryl—please, move—! Fuck me already...”

He let out a low chuckle as he leaned down to press soft kisses all over your face, waiting a little longer for your body to get used to his size and for you to stop being so overstimulated by the previous orgasm.

When he finally felt your walls fluttering and clenching around him, he started to move.

Slow at first—long, thick drags of his cock, wet and obscene. You could hear it. Could feel it. The way your slick clung to him, every inch of him rubbing right up against that sweet spot inside you.

You whined like a spoiled little girl, hips rocking up to meet him. “Daryl! Stop teasing me!”

Your pleas were answered with a wicked grin and a sudden hard snap of his hips that made you see stars. The couch creaked for a moment when another powerful thrust met your body, and then no longer after he started to rail you.

Rough. Deep. Fast.

His hips slammed into yours hard, rhythm brutal and hungry. The couch shook beneath you both, the worn cushions squeaking with every hard, deep thrust. You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist as he fucked you like an animal.

“Y’like that, huh? Ya like that, sweetheart?” he panted, burying his face in your neck. “Like it when I fuck you dumb? When I fuckin’ ruin you, baby? make a mess outta this pretty pussy.”

“Y-yes—fuck, yes—don’t stop—!”

He growled, teeth grazing your skin as his thrusts got faster, rougher, hips smacking against yours with wet, heavy slaps. His cock dragged in and out of you with loud, slick noises, each stroke making your toes curl and your head spin.

“So wet,” he grunted. “Ya hear that? Soakin’ my fuckin’ dick. That’s all for me, ain’t it?”

You were gasping, moaning, crying his name—completely gone. And he loved it. He loved how much he could destroy his girl with some rough love.

“Yes—yesyesyes—” you cried, nails digging into his back. “It’s yours—yours, Daryl—”

His cock slammed into you again and again, the sound of skin against skin echoing with every stroke. Slap—slap—slap. Your cunt was a wet mess, juices leaking out, coating his cock in slick and spit and cum.

He leaned back, grabbing your thighs and pushing your knees up toward your chest. The angle made you scream, his cock hitting so deep it felt like he was in your stomach.

“Shit—look at that,” he breathed, watching his cock disappear inside you, the base glistening with your mess. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ deep. You feel that, baby? Feel me all the way up in there?”

You nodded fast, eyes rolling back. “I feel it—I feel you, Daryl—fuck—”

He moaned, sweat dripping from his temples as he pounded into you harder now, desperate and wild. He brought a thumb to your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent shocks through your whole body.

“Wanna see ya cum again,” he growled. “Cum on my cock. Wanna feel this tight fuckin’ pussy choke me, clamp around me—milk me dry.”

You sobbed, high-pitched and broken, every muscle tightening as the heat in your belly coiled tight. Your head was spinning, you were cockdrunk, brainless, completely fucked out.

“Cum for me, girl. C’mon—cum on it.” he panted. “Make a mess on my cock.”

And oh, you did.

With a scream. With your whole body.

Your cunt squeezed him like a fist, gushing slick down his shaft. He gasped—loud—and fucked you through it, chasing his own high.

You came with a cry, body locking up, pussy clenching hard around his cock as he groaned and threw his head back. “Fuck—fuck!—that’s it, baby, milk me—just like that—”

His thrusts got erratic, uneven, desperate. Then he slammed deep—hips grinding, balls tight against your ass—and let out a wrecked groan as his cock pulsed and throbbed inside you.

“Gonna fill ya,” he growled. “Gonna fuckin’ stuff ya full, sunshine—let it leak outta ya for hours.”

And then he buried himself deeper, cock twitching, spilling hot inside you—ropes and ropes of cum, thick and warm, leaking out the second his hips jerked back.

You could feel it—his cum dripping as he held you there, buried to the hilt inside your fluttering, warm sex.

Not many seconds after he collapsed on top of you, breath ragged against your lips, face flushed and wet with sweat and spit. But he didn’t pull out. Nope—his cock stayed deep, still hard, like he didn’t want to leave your body for a second.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, breathless. “Fuck—I wanna stay in you. Wanna keep it warm.”

You both laid there—sticky, soaked, ruined.

You kissed him, slow and messy, savoring the after-glow of the wild, passionate sex session you just had.

Then you broke the kiss slowly, gasping for air. “Love you...” you mumbled softly against his lips.

His heart melted instantly at your words, smiling softly at you in response as he reached up to caress your cheek. “Love ya too, sweetheart,” he finalized with a sweet, innocent kiss on your forehead.

© written by ﹫ 𝐯𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞 !

𑣲𝓽𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 :: @tamakiamajikisgf @whsschuu @dixonsdarkelf @dixons-sunshine @holdmytesseract @astermwah

It took a while, took countless walkers, gunshots and arrows and flesh being ripped apart, but at some point into this new reality, Daryl’s own world shattered as well. His view of himself drastically evolved, and consequently, he saw the whole universe in a different light.

Somewhere along the way, surviving on pure grit had turned into holding onto life for a cause. Maybe it wasn’t the world that had changed, but he himself. It would certainly explain why people acted so different around him all of a sudden… He couldn’t believe it at first, but they actually looked up to him. Being used to either insults or pure avoidance, it baffled him when it began. All these people who had been something — counting on his protection.

Had it started before or after he changed? Impossible to say. Only thing that matters, it’s true.

Daryl just couldn’t get used to it. Still isn’t.

Truly, it doesn't matter much. Not when the only opinion he cares about is yours, anyway.

Come to think about it, he’s pretty sure you’re the reason he became a different person. Better? Maybe. He wants to be the absolute best man he can, for you deserve much more than simply Daryl Dixon. Even if he can't be what you deserve, he’ll make sure to come as close to it as possible.

If someone asked you, you’d deny that he changed at all. Insist that he simply began to see who he really was as of lately. That he’s always been this good, just didn't know it.

He’s sure that’s not true, because y’know, he was there. What he can't deny though, is that you have always looked at him like he was worth something.

God… that’s only one of the reasons he loves you. That you really believe in what you say about him. Daryl knows you do, ‘cause he’s tried to change your mind — show you the truth — more than once. Gave up on it, eventually. You made him, with sheer force of will.

This is the happiest he has been in all his life. This meaning right here, right now, in love with you.

Yet, it’s also the cause of all his dread and misery. Because Daryl is absolutely terrified of losing you.

Everyone has that fear about someone, sure. Or they have lost them already. But, you see, it’s different for Daryl. Because he has never had anyone like this. No one who held such an incredible power over him that they could make him — do anything.

He loves you overwhelmingly, and in that same breathtaking way, he fears losing you.

Can’t seem to forget about the danger lurking behind every corner even for a second, not like the others do. It’s constantly on his mind. He won’t let himself take a break of it.

To cope, he just tells himself that he’ll do anything to protect you, then. He takes that vow very seriously. It’s what keeps him from losing his mind, a cause, being devoted to your protection.

Doesn’t leave your side, ever. Even when you’re going into the woods for a moment to yourself. He will give you a little bit of privacy, turn his back maybe, all gentleman like, but it’s really almost nothing. Not a high price to pay compared with your death, he finds. And it’s convincing.

You think it’s charming, actually. He’s right to act this way, even if to some people, it might seem a little obsessive. Daryl is not very vocal about his love for you. He’s never been that way. Instead, he proves it with actions. And that’s how you know his devotion to you runs deeper than simple affection. You’re his person. It just is that way. He realized slowly, but the more he felt that it was you, it was always gonna be you, he acted like it, even if he couldn’t put a name on it yet. It started with small things, but grew bigger and bigger until eventually, he understood, and by that point it had taken over his whole life: his love for you.

The world has become a dangerous place. You both know that. There are no excessive, sappy declarations of adoration because you're both aware of what you’re getting into. And really, facing a horde isn’t all that different than hiding behind fences, because there could be a walker sneaking up on you anytime. Nowhere is safe. Except... right there, in his arms.

Daryl can’t handle being confronted with the thought of losing you, because it’s something he constantly has on his mind already. Not really in words. There’s no constant lingering thought like “Oh no, I might lose her.” Instead, it’s constantly present in his actions toward you. The incredibly aware way he lives, always on the lookout for danger. How he takes care of you… The way in which he loves you proves that it would destroy him if you were taken away.

He’s devoted to you, and only you. He protects a lot of people, sure. Cares about many, some in a special way, like Carol. But she is like him… she doesn’t need him to be there at all times, even though for her, he would. He watches out for her, yeah. Just like she does him. He loves her, too. But you, he loves in a different way.

In his mind, the ideal would be to melt into you and fuse into one person. That would make everything easier. Actually, he already sees the two of you as one. Of course, it’s out of the question whether you can fend for yourself. However, protecting you isn't something he has to think about, it’s more of an instinct at this point, it’s protecting himself. That’s why he jumps at any sign of trouble. Why he pulls you onto the bike behind him like it’s second nature. Doesn't need to tell you to hold on tight — you already know.

Protection is a little different with the two of you, actually. He knows very well that some people prefer to have their loved ones stay back, at the camp, where it’s safe. Rick made this whole point about Carl not going on runs a while back, and everyone knows that Aaron can't stand the thought of Eric being anywhere else but behind the walls of Alexandria.

That really threw him off at first. He gets the sentiment, understands that his friend wants his partner to be safe. That’s natural, sure. Hell, he’d give anything to know that you were out of danger.

But what no one seems to understand is… there is no safety anymore. Walls may create that illusion, but it’s merely that — make-believe. A charade, so people won't lose their minds. He’s okay with that, but he never believed in it. Knows what it’s like out there… And that’s the same way in here, exactly the same way.

Knowing you do, too, is what soothes him. You get why he can't have you stay behind in Alexandria. You don't mind being joined at the hips, glued to his side out and inside of the town.

Wherever Daryl goes, you follow. If it’s for your sake or his, he’s not quite sure. The latter, probably. He knows that you can see the frantic fear swimming behind his eyes. Loves you even more for never complaining even when his measures seem a little over the top. For instance, even now, in your shared house in Alexandria, he hasn't stopped following you to the bathroom. It’s a habit, one he can't seem to give up. Whenever you’re gone even just for a moment, his mind begins making up scenarios of everything that could happen… It’s terrible.

And he’s never told you about it outright. Worries it might come off as weird, too much. To most people, it probably would. But you accept it, it’s like you already know. Because truthfully... you’re the same way. Keeping close to him when he’s leading the way through the woods, right in his tracks. Or the way you smile back at him when he’s following you through Alexandria, a bit grumpy because he’d rather it were just the two of you. Doesn't care for the other people. But still — he’s right behind you. Trotting after you like a guard dog while you cheerfully make rounds trough the town, greeting every single person. You take comfort in knowing he’s there. He knows because you reach back to hold his hand, pulling him to your side. Squeeze it reassuringly, and it makes his heart beat out of his chest. He doesn't even mind the bustling of the community all around you anymore, no. When has he ever cared about anything else when you stood right beside him?

Daryl has no idea why you love him this much, really. Why you put up with him whe he is like this, the only thing he has to show for being adoration. And maybe his crossbow skills. But, he’s not complaining. Not at all. He feels honored, and maybe a little undeserving.

Taking care of you in return comes naturally. He wouldn't dream of leaving you behind, ever. No, he thinks it safer to be right by his side on a dangerous mission than staying back: in fact, he makes sure of it. You’re safe with him. He’d die for you.

He would, he really would, it’s a fact that he doesn't even take pride in. No proof of his love, not in some sappy romantic way. Actually, there’s nothing romantic about it at all. It’s just — a truth, simple as that.

It’s the kind of love you share. Unconditional, plainly that: true. Nothing frilly or pretty about it… Because more often than not, it brings despair. There’s no butterflies, but crimson blood pulsing trough your veins. His skin hasn't been ripped off, not yet, and still, his innermost is laid bare to you, in all it’s twisted glory. There’s nothing beautiful about flesh and bones. Nothing at all. Why should there be? It’s nothing anyone ever gets to see, except the walkers when his time has come.

At least, that’s what he used to think. Nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming intimacy of having you know exactly what it looks like. That is the price to pay. It would be uncomfortable if it were anyone but you. Strangely, your gaze he doesn't mind. He never would. It’s bearable because he knows that the same blood curses through you. Knows the confines of your soul, the off putting paleness of your bones. He’s seen you, and you’ve seen him, and you’ve discovered that you're the same. Two hearts made from the same emotion. Devotion so strong it could rip him apart, but he doesn't see anything strange or disproportional about it because yours is just as overwhelmingly powerful. Soothing, yes. To know that it’s real, it’s really love, because you know him in and out.

He would die for you without hesitation. Just like that, sacrificed. But he would mourn it, mourn the loss of livigng next to you because it is the most blissful he has ever felt. And it would be painful — not the teeth gnawing at his flesh, not the desperate attempt to breathe when his lungs are failing, but knowing how you’d be hurting when he’s gone. To imagine you burying his body... how alone you would feel. He can't be sure which emotions exactly would bring tears to your eyes, of course. But he knows, he just knows. Because he would feel the same if you were to be taken from him. If the you were dead, there would be no sense in staying alive. He fears it might be the same for you... And that’s the other reason Daryl takes you with him. Why you gladly accompany him on every single run. If you are to leave this world, then it will be together, hands joined for eternity.

Maybe you have already melted into one. Everything seems to point at it. Your death would be his demise, as well.

Daryl never thought he would find a love like this, and yet he did. Now, he doesn't know if he should be happy about it. He is, more than ever, and it feels absolutely wonderful. But at the same time, you have revealed to him the terror of love. The danger that comes with it. He is untethered to earth, spinning in space, no gravity left to hold him. Only connected to you — you, you alone have become his universe. In his arms, you feel at home. But he wishes you didn't have to give up the whole world to be with him. He gave his up in a heartbeat, he never had it to begin with, nothing could rival his love for you. And yet, it is with regret that he realizes he has become your world. Because Daryl Dixon is not enough to be everything for you. He never has been. And yet... there is nothing he can do about it. He couldn’t hold back, couldn't keep away even if he wanted to. Not only because he needs to be near you. No, distance he could bear, for your sake. He can’t, because he knows you love him just as deeply as he does you. And for nothing in the world could he bear to bring despair upon you.

Daryl is not in control. Control has long since slipped from his grasp. What really overwhelms him is that he doesn't care. Detached, because the only thing that matters is you, and it has been like that for a long time.

In that way, loving you has saved him. He finally found a reason to live. Didn’t even think he needed one anymore, but it turns out he always did, he was always waiting for this. Now, he could never leave this earth, even though it’s not his anymore… He would never bring that upon you. But the real surprise is — he doesn’t mind. Not as long as you’re here with him.

The van smells like salt and sweat and him. The windows are fogged, barely cracked, the hush of the ocean close enough to taste on your tongue. It’s dark but not dark enough. Anyone could walk past, catch the faint silhouette of your legs thrown over his shoulders, the way his curls bob between them, how the van creaks from the rhythm of his mouth.

JJ’s kneeling on the floor like it’s his altar, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs like he needs them to breathe, fingers digging into skin he knows he’s gonna kiss better later.

And when he looks up at you? That boy looks wrecked.

Red cheeks, spit-slick lips, eyes full of something almost dangerous—like he’s drunk off the way you taste, like he’ll lose his mind if you don’t cum on his tongue right now.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he whispers, voice hoarse like he’s been holding back moans. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Then he dives back in, slow. That kind of slow that feels cruel. The flat of his tongue drags upward like he’s savoring every second. He kisses your clit—kisses it—then wraps his lips around it and sucks, soft at first… then a little harder when your hips jerk. He groans when you moan, like he’s aching for it.

You can feel his curls brushing your thighs, feel him smiling against your pussy when you whine. One of your hands fists in his hair, the other presses against the window like you’re trying to ground yourself. It’s all too much—and not enough.

He’s messy—spit and slick shining on his face, chin glossy, nose bumping where you need him most. He doesn’t stop, even when your back arches off the seat and your hands claw at his shoulders. You’re trembling, whimpering, pushing at him with useless, shaky strength. He just groans, like your cries are the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, and dives in harder.

He slides two fingers in, slow and deep, curling just right while he keeps his mouth locked on your clit. He moans, like your pussy is the only thing that’s ever tasted right. Then—he spits. Warm and wet, dripping right onto your folds before he licks it up with a long, greedy groan.

“Can’t stop,” he pants. “Don’t wanna. You don’t know what you sound like right now, baby. I’d die down here.”

You try to close your legs, overstimulated, too sensitive—he grabs your thighs and spreads you wider. You whimper. He hums. And then he shakes his head, mouth still wrapped around your clit like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste.

You’re gone. Fucked out. Your legs trembling, whole body quivering like the ocean air’s too thick to breathe. And JJ? He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t want to stop. He’ll chase every aftershock, every twitch, every breathless, broken moan.

You hear the voices before JJ does—drunken laughter, footsteps crunching through sand, way too close to where the van’s tucked just past the dunes.

Your hand shoots to his hair. “JJ—wait—”

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even flinch.

Just growls low in his throat and pushes deeper, shoulders tensing as he pins you harder with his mouth, tongue flicking fast and relentless like he’s starved. It’s feral—the way he chases your moans, utterly unbothered by the voices outside. Like they don’t exist. Like nothing exists but the twitch of your hips, the way you cry out when he sucks you just right.

He slides one arm across your waist, pinning you to the seat when you try to squirm away.

“You think I give a fuck?” he rasps against you, the vibration of his voice making your hips buck. “Let ’em walk by. Let ’em hear you. I want ’em to.”

It’s depraved—the way his eyes are low and glassy, face slick, curls wild. Your thighs tremble around him, one heel digging into the seat, the other hooked behind his back. He groans, tongue moving in long, greedy strokes now, chin tilting just enough to press deeper, like he’s trying to devour every last drop. His hands are shaking, but he doesn’t stop. Won’t stop. Not until you’ve fallen apart again.

The voices fade.

But JJ doesn’t.

He only doubles down.

And when you finally fall apart—legs twitching, breath punched out of you in little whimpers and gasps—he moans so filthy into you it echoes in the tiny van.

He pulls himself up your body like it’s instinct, chest heaving, breath hot against your collarbone. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms warm and wide as they settle over your ribs—like he needs to feel your heartbeat to believe it’s real. His face is soaked—cheeks, mouth, even the tip of his nose glistening with your slick—and he looks wrecked. Glassy eyes. Lips swollen. Pupils so blown they leave barely a ring of blue. He stares at you like he’s still starving.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares at you, breathing hard, like he’s trying to memorize the way your eyes flutter and the exact shape of your post-orgasm daze.

Then—softly, reverently—he kisses you.

No hesitation. No break. Just leans in and presses his mouth to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he groans low into the kiss like it’s the first sip of water after a drought.

He kisses you slow. Deep. Lazy. Messy. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek like you’re porcelain and he’s terrified to let go. He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips:

“Could stay between your legs all fuckin’ night.”

You whisper his name, voice cracked open. He grins—barely.

Then? He drags his lips down your neck, hands roaming again, breath still ragged.

“Still hungry, baby,” he murmurs, voice all gravel and heat. “Think I need seconds.”

You’re still trembling—skin flushed, breath catching, thighs twitching from where they’re wrapped around his waist. He’s hovering above you now, face flushed and soaked, that cocky grin nowhere in sight. Not when he’s looking at you like that.

His hands settle on either side of your hips, and his voice drops into that low, ragged rasp that only comes out when he’s already feral for you.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmurs, almost smiling. “You know how fuckin’ hot that is?”

You try to respond—some quiet protest, a laugh, anything—but then he slides down again, kissing the inside of your thigh like he’s apologizing in advance.

Your breath hitches. “JJ—wait, I just—”

“I know,” he whispers. And then: “Let me make you fall apart again.”

Before you can stop him, he’s already there—tongue flicking gently, mouth open and warm and slow. He licks you like he’s savoring every second, like he’s in no rush, like overstimulating you is some kind of gift. You gasp—hips jerking, hands flying to his hair again—but he just groans into you and keeps going.

“Too much?” he murmurs, eyes fluttering up to meet yours.

You nod.

He smirks.

And does it again—tongue dragging slow and hard right over your clit while his fingers hold your thighs wide open.

“You’re twitching,” he says, half-dazed, half-obsessed. “Fuck, that’s pretty.”

He keeps you there—hovering in that edge between pleasure and too much—tongue soft one moment, then rough and fast the next, watching how you fall apart again and again for him.

By the time he finally pulls back, his face is ruined—slick across his cheeks, lips swollen and pink, hair a mess from how hard you’ve pulled it. He crawls up your body again, breathing hard, pupils blown.

And when he kisses you this time?

It’s soft. So, so soft.

Like he’s scared to break the spell.

Like he knows he already did.

“You taste like heaven,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “And I’d go back down there a thousand times just to hear you make those sounds.”

He lets his hand rest on your chest—right over your heart—feeling the aftershocks in the rise and fall of your breath.

The van's quiet now—well, mostly.

There’s soft static crackling from the half-broken aux cord, some lazy, sultry playlist you’d made and half-forgotten about. Cigarettes After Sex, maybe. Or The Neighbourhood. Something low and dreamy, thudding just beneath the sound of the ocean and your breathing.

You're laid out across the backseat, one leg slung over JJ’s bare thigh, your shirt halfway unbuttoned, lip gloss long gone. His head’s propped on his hand, gaze tracing every inch of you like he’s still trying to figure out if you’re real.

And you?

You’re smirking.

“Are you seriously pouting right now because I didn’t say thank you?” you ask, voice raspy but still sharp, still laced with that spoiled, silken bite you know drives him insane.

JJ huffs out a laugh, rubbing lazy circles into your hip with his thumb. “I just made you cum so hard you forgot your name, babe. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

You roll your eyes, tossing your hair over your shoulder even though you know it’s a mess. “Mm. You were the one begging to taste me, Maybank. I figured I was doing you the favor.”

That cocky glint returns in his eye—but it’s softened, sweeter now. He leans in, kisses your jaw, then your collarbone, then just rests his lips against the curve of your shoulder like he’s claiming the space.

“God, you’re such a fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, not even mad. He sounds fond. Like he wants to wrap your attitude in velvet and keep it in his pocket.

You stretch beneath his touch, and for a moment, the air shifts. Softer. Quieter. He pulls the blanket from the floor—smells like sunscreen and his hoodie—and drapes it over your legs. Then he presses his forehead to yours, just breathing with you, fingers still brushing over your skin like he doesn’t know how to stop touching you.

“You okay?” he asks softly, like a secret. “Did I go too far?”

You blink at him. He’s a mess—face still flushed, mouth bitten pink, eyes wide with that little-boy concern he never shows anyone else.

And yeah, your thighs ache and you’re still sensitive and your head’s spinning a little—but that doesn’t stop you from tilting your chin up and saying, voice syrupy:

“If you’re done acting like a starved animal, you can give me a sip of your water now.”

He lets out a full-on laugh—head thrown back, dimples flashing. Then he grabs the water bottle from the front seat, opens it, and holds it to your lips like he’s feeding grapes to a princess.

“Anything for you, your highness,” he says, eyes soft even as his mouth smirks.

You sip, slow and smug, then let your fingers slide under his shirt like you’re bored, like you haven’t just been wrecked by the boy at your feet.

And as your playlist shifts to something softer—maybe Mazzy Star now, the chords slow and thick—you glance at him sideways.

“…You really would’ve kept going if they walked by, huh?”

JJ meets your gaze, no hesitation. “Swear to God.”

Your cheeks flush hotter than you want them to, and you look away.

“Fucking psycho,” you mutter.

He grins, kisses your temple, voice so low it’s a promise.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yours.”

The blanket’s slipping off your legs, but you don’t bother fixing it.

You’re watching him.

JJ’s leaned back now, one hand braced on the seat, lips still swollen, cheeks pink from heat and effort. His curls are a wild halo around his face, and his shirt’s bunched around his waist, half-off like he forgot how clothes work once he got his mouth on you.

He catches you staring.

“What?” he asks, voice low but already cocky, like he knows you’re not done with him.

You stretch slowly, arching just enough to make his eyes flick down. Then you sit up and swing a leg over his lap, dropping into it like you own him. Because you do.

JJ blinks, hands automatically catching your hips. “Uh—hi.”

You smirk, brushing his hair back with mock innocence. “You look like you need help.”

He raises a brow. “Help?”

You grind down just a little. Just enough for him to suck in a breath through his teeth.

“Mhm,” you hum. “You’ve been so busy with your mouth, I think you forgot about you.”

His hands tighten.

“Oh, you think you’re in charge now?” he asks, voice gone rough, but his smile’s doing that dimpled, dizzy little tilt that gives him away.

You drag your nails lightly down his chest through the thin fabric of his tee, then lean close—mouth brushing his ear.

“I think you like it when I act like I am.”

JJ’s jaw flexes. His head tips back against the van wall, eyes fluttering half shut like he’s already unraveling beneath you.

“Fuckin’ love it,” he groans.

You kiss his neck. Soft. Just below his ear. Then lower. Then a bite—not gentle. And he lets you. Breath shaky. Fingers digging into your hips like he’s grounding himself.

"You’re not gonna stop me," you whisper.

“No,” he admits, voice hoarse. “Not even gonna try.”

And there’s something about that—his total surrender—that makes you slow down. Tilt your head. Look at him.

Because under all the rough edges and dirty mouth, JJ Maybank looks at you like you’re the sun and he’s been in the dark too long. Like you do something to him he doesn’t have words for yet. And maybe he doesn’t need them.

So you press your forehead to his, your thumb brushing the corner of his lips. Still pink. Still swollen. Still yours.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

He laughs, quiet. “You taste like heaven.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“Obviously.”

You scoff under your breath, but your cheeks are still pink—and JJ sees it. Smirks like he’s won, like he’s made you flustered for once.

“Aw,” he murmurs, voice low and smug. “You’re blushing.”

You shoot him a look sharp enough to slice. “I’m hot. Your van has, like, zero ventilation. And you’ve been laying on me for ten minutes.”

JJ just grins, smug as hell. “You could’ve pushed me off.”

“Could’ve. Didn’t,” you reply.

JJ blinks up at you—then laughs. One of those unfiltered, head-tilted-back, fuck-you’re-insane laughs that makes your stomach flip. “You are such a little menace.”

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush. “And yet,” you whisper, dragging a finger along his jaw, “you’re still hard.”

JJ’s breath hitches. You feel it—him twitching beneath you, cock straining against his waistband, eyes turning molten like they always do when you get like this.

You roll your hips—just once. Slow. Controlled. Just enough to make his jaw clench.

“I think it’s your turn, golden boy.”

JJ groans, one hand flying to your hip, the other gripping the edge of the seat like he needs to ground himself. “Fuck.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth—featherlight, a tease.

And then: “You gonna beg again, JJ?”

His fingers tighten on your hips. “You want me to?”

You hum. “I think I deserve it.”

JJ’s eyes narrow, but his smile doesn’t fade. He licks his bottom lip, eyes flicking over your face, your body, the way you’re sitting on him like you own the entire van. Like you own him.

“…Get in the front seat,” he says, voice gravel-rough. “Drive somewhere no one’ll find us.”

You blink, smirking. “Why?”

JJ leans in—grabs a fistful of your hair, gently, just enough for you to feel it.

“’Cause if you’re gonna talk like that, baby, I’m gonna fuck you until your knees don’t work.”

You stare at him for a second, pulse thudding, breath shallow—then smirk, tilting your head just enough for his grip in your hair to tighten slightly. Your eyes flick to his mouth, then back to his eyes.

“Deal,” you whisper.

JJ grins like the reckless little shit he is.

You shift in his lap—slow and deliberate, knowing exactly what you’re doing—and then climb off with all the grace of a feral cat in heat. Your shirt’s twisted around your waist, halfway up your back, so you tug it down with a flick and a little shake of attitude, trying to look unbothered. Your legs are shaky, but you’re determined to play it cool.

Until you go to climb between the seats.

And your thigh snags the emergency brake.

And then you just—eat shit.

Like, one knee hits the floor, the other slips sideways, and your elbow smacks the horn in the most humiliatingly loud HOOONK as you flop directly into the front seat with a thud and a breathless, “Fuck—ow, okay—”

There’s a split second of silence.

Then JJ loses it.

He’s howling. Legitimately laughing so hard he doubles over in the back seat, one hand clutching his stomach, the other slapping the van door like it personally witnessed the tragedy.

“Holy shit, baby,” he wheezes between gasps. “You just honked yourself into the afterlife.”

You glare at him from where you’re half-sprawled in the passenger seat, hair a mess, pride in tatters. “It was a tactical error.”

JJ cackles harder. “Tactical?! That was a full-body fumble!”

“I’m injured,” you deadpan, rubbing your knee. “This is abuse.”

He crawls forward, still grinning, still breathless, eyes bright with mischief. “That was the sexiest fall I’ve ever seen. Ten outta ten. Would replay on a loop.”

You try to shove him back, but he grabs your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, then your wrist. Slow, gentle.

Then, with his mouth still brushing your skin: “You can crash into my front seat anytime, pretty girl.”

You blink, heat creeping up your cheeks despite everything.

And JJ just smirks, all teeth and dimples, before reaching for the keys.

Across the beach, Rafe, who was actually pissed now, had stopped watching and was getting clowned brutally by the other Kooks over the fact that you had chosen JJ Maybank over him.

But the two of you had forgotten he existed at all.

For a second, you just stood there staring at each other, lips swollen and still a little tingly.

JJ cleared his throat.

You immediately looked away, smiling. Then looked right back.

"Sooo..." you said quietly.

"So," JJ echoed, shoving both hands into his pockets.

You copied him, stuffing your own hands into the pockets of your dress. "Good talk."

JJ barked out a laugh. You nodded. Then silence settled again.

His eyes flicked down to your dress. "Your dress has pockets... that's pretty cool."

He had no idea why he said it. He just didn't know what else to say.

Neither of you did. Because now there was this thing sitting between you... this huge obvious thing that neither of you seemed brave enough to mention yet.

You giggled at how awkwardly he said it, looking down at your dress. "It does. That's why I got it."

You were quiet for another second, just smiling at each other stupidly, then JJ rocked back on his heels. "Guess we should go back to everybody. Our work is done."

"Guess so."

You both started walking back, trying to regain control of your faces. Then after about four steps, you glanced over to see that he was already looking at you and you immediately smiled.

He smiled back.

Yeah. That was real.

When you got back to the Pogues, they were probably more quiet than you had ever seen them... and they were all staring holes through the two of you, matching stunned and thoroughly amused looks on every single one of their faces.

You both plopped down on a log beside each other and immediately reached for your drinks in perfect synchronization, just to have something to do with your hands.

You finally gained the courage to look up at them.

"What?" you asked, your voice coming out a little higher than you intended.

John B let out a loud scoff.

Kiara's jaw dropped. "Did you seriously just ask that?"

You just smiled and sipped your drink. "Yeah."

"I dunno, maybe we're all staring at you because you were over there practically eating each other's faces." John B shrugged. "I dunno. Just a theory."

Your eyes flicked over to JJ for just a second, heart swelling when you saw him grinning, proud as ever.

"Were we?" he asked.

Pope nodded slowly. "Oh yeah."

Your cousin's face twisted. "Yeah, you were practically shoving your tongues down each other's throats. In front of the entire beach."

JJ's grin grew as he stared at the sand. "My bad, JB."

He snorted like he didn't love it, but he approved. He knew JJ genuinely cared about you and that's all that mattered to him. He's much rather rather JJ have you than some Kook. "All good, bro."

"Had to make it look real for Rafe," you said, shrugging a little.

Everybody exchanged glances, not believing that for one goddamn second.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Sooo you're telling us that wasn't real?"

"Ain't no way," Cleo mumbled with a tiny smirk.

Neither of you said anything now. You both just glanced over at each other in a soft, questioning way that said everything without saying anything at all.

You looked away and stared at your half eaten s'more in the sand, unable to wipe the smile off your face. "It was for Rafe."

JJ nodded. "Yup."

Everybody left you two alone about it after that.

And for the next half hour, you didn't make any boyfriend girlfriend jokes or play pretend. Because now, whatever was going on between the two of you didn't feel like pretending at all. Not one bit.

You just drank and ate s'mores as your friends carried on talking like the two of you weren't actively losing minds.

Every single time you glanced at JJ, he was already looking at you out of the corner of his eye. And every single time that happened, both of you would smile without meaning to.

Then look away.

Then end up looking back, holding eye contact for a moment like you were waiting for the other to do or say something about it.

It felt so ridiculous and obvious that you felt like you were stuck in some strange in between space: Not just friends. Not exactly anything else yet.

Just whatever came after kissing your best friend senseless, pulling each other closer like you couldn't get enough and making small sounds into each other's mouths that could only mean that you were enjoying it.

At one point, JJ rested his hand on the log and his fingers brushed yours. Then it stayed there.

You both looked down, feeling the immediate electricity, and for a second JJ just stared at where your hands were touching, almost like he was waiting to see if you'd pull away.

When you didn't, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Then, carefully, he nudged his pinky against yours once. Then twice.

Your stomach flipped and a stupidly soft little smile spread across your face before you could stop it, because it felt like confirmation.

Finally, you decided to do something about it.

"Hey."

"Hm?"

Your eyes met and suddenly you forgot every single thing you were about to say. You looked away toward the fire and tried to regain your composure. "Have you ever been back to the fort?"

"No," he admitted quietly.

Your eyes found his again. "Really?"

He shook his head. "Nah."

"Why not?"

One corner of his mouth lifted, then disappeared. "I dunno."

You knew that was a lie.

After a second he shrugged. "Guess it kinda bummed me out after you left."

Your heart squeezed. You sat there for a moment, gaining courage, then swallowed. "Do you wanna go?"

JJ's eyes immediately lifted to yours.

You held his gaze.

His heartbeat kicked up.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Sure."

You smiled. "Okay."

"Ok." He smiled back. "Let's go."

As soon as the two of you began walking away, five pairs of eyes immediately followed.

"Called it," Kiara whispered.

"Absolutely called it," Sarah whispered back.

John B watched the two of you, looking disturbed and proud at the same time.

The walk through the woods felt surreal. Partly because you were both a little drunk and partly because neither of you had any idea what was happening anymore.

JJ used the flashlight on his phone to light the path ahead of you while the two of you stumbled through the darkness, laughing every few minutes whenever one of you almost tripped over a root.

"You're drunk," JJ informed you.

"You’re drunk."

"I am."

Your giggle was cut off as you tripped over a particularly large stick.

"Shit–"

Before you could fall flat on your face, JJ's hand shot out and caught you around the waist.

You looked up at him.

He looked down at you, forgetting to take his hand back.

"You good?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. Thanks."

You smiled at each other for a second, faces illuminated by the flashlight. His eyes dropped to your lips for two long, painfully noticeable seconds. 

"Ok." He let go of you and turned abruptly, beginning to walk again. "Onward."

You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

A few moments later, you saw it and stopped dead in your tracks. "Oh my god."

JJ smiled at the fort, a little wide eyed, then you.

It was smaller than you remembered, but it was still there. 

You walked toward it slowly and JJ followed with the light. "I can't believe it."

"I honestly figured Hurricane Agatha would've taken it out." JJ admitted. "I thought about it when that storm hit."

You laughed softly. "You did?"

"Yeah." He ran a finger along the old, weathered wood. "Guess we were better little architects than we thought."

"Damn right we were."

He pointed the light towards the entrance and gestured inside. "After you."

"Thank you, sir."

He watched you crawl inside, heart rate spiking, and shook his head as flashes of the last time began to intrude his mind.

He followed you in and the flashlight swept across the interior.

Another laugh escaped you as you looked around, because the place was practically frozen in time: Old faded candy wrappers sat tucked into corners. A pile of seashells. Some old pieces of rope. A half full water bottle. A crumpled beer can that you and JJ had stolen from his dad and split with you.

Little traces of two kids who had spent entire summers hiding out here.

"Holy shit," you whispered. 

JJ laughed. "No freakin' way."

The two of you dropped down onto the floor across from each other. JJ set his phone flashlight on its side between you and suddenly the fort filled with soft yellow light.

For a second, you just looked around the fort, reminiscing on all the good times you'd had there.

It all felt so crazy.

The last few weeks. What just happened on the beach. The fact that you were both right back where you'd left off all those years ago.

"This is crazy," JJ said suddenly.

You looked over at him. "Little bit."

"This is... weird."

"This is so weird."

Your eyes stayed on his, then you both laughed quietly. Then suddenly it faded like you were both thinking the exact same thing but neither of you knew who should say it first.

JJ rubbed the back of his neck. "So..."

You smiled immediately. "So."

He laughed, obviously nervous, then looked around. "You just wanna come out here and see the fort?"

The smile on your face turned shy. "No."

His stomach flipped. "No?"

You shook your head, then stared down at your hands for a second. "I gotta tell you something... please don't be mad."

His brows furrowed in confusion. "What? ...What is it?"

You giggled. "This morning I uh... I had a headache... So I was looking for Tylenol or something."

His eyes narrowed. "Okay."

"In your nightstand."

JJ groaned immediately. "Oh god."

"And I found that box."

He covered his face, laughter coming out a little embarrassed.

"I wasn't snooping," you said quickly. Then you shook your head at yourself. "But then I kinda was."

He peaked over at you, wincing, then stared at the floor.

"I saw the wrapper... The Hershey's kiss wrapper."

Neither of you spoke for a few seconds, then JJ let out a quiet breath. "Did you think that was weird?"

You shook your head quickly. "No."

He looked over at you.

You smiled. "I thought it was sweet."

His eyebrows raised. "You did?"

You nudged his foot with yours lightly. "It made me really happy... that you kept everything."

Relief filled him instantly.

"Why did you keep it?"

He laughed, not because it was funny, but because he suddenly felt very exposed. "I don't know."

You gave him a look. "That's a lie."

He nodded weakly. "Just wanted to remember it... Felt... special."

You stared at him for a second.

"Was I special?" you asked softly.

JJ looked over immediately, like the answer was obvious. "Yeah," he said quietly. "You are. You've always been special."

You almost felt dizzy for a second at the confession. You scooted a little closer without thinking about it.

"Really special?"

He nodded. "Really special."

You both swallowed as you stared at each other. 

"What about the kiss today?"

JJ's eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up. "What about it?"

"Was that special too?"

His lips twitched. "What do you think?"

Your stomach fluttered. "I thought it was."

The smile faded from his face and the way he looked at you now was dizzyingly soft. Like you were actually everything to him now. Like there were a thousand things both of you suddenly understood without having to say them.

"Yeah... I thought so too."

You reached out, carefully intertwining your fingers with his.

He looked down at your hands, heart pounding now.

You scrunched your nose, teasing. "Your hands are sweaty."

He huffed out a laugh. "You're kinda makin' me nervous."

You giggled. "I'm making you nervous? Me?"

He rolled his eyes, smiling absolutely helplessly. "Yeah, you."

"Why? You got a crush on me or somethin'? You wanna really be my boyfriend?"

JJ answered that without a second thought. "More than anything."

The words came out so easily that neither of you seemed prepared for them. But he wasn't joking. And he wasn't looking away either.

"Okay," you said quietly.

JJ's heart immediately tried to punch its way out of his chest. "Okay?"

You squeezed his hand. "You're my boyfriend then."

He stared at you like he didn't believe it. "Wait… for real?" he mumbled.

"For real." You nodded seriously. Then a grin spread across your face. "But just so you know, there are requirements." You held up a finger. "Number one, you have to tell me I'm pretty at least–"

"Come here."

Before you could finish your very official list of boyfriend duties, JJ caught your face between his hands and pulled you toward him. His lips found yours and you were both smiling too hard to even kiss properly at first. You tried but you both just laughed into each other's mouths.

JJ shook his head against your lips. "You're so ridiculous."

"You like it." 

"I really do."

You scooted closer and the kiss deepened quickly. His hand tangled into your hair like it had earlier. You hummed quietly into his mouth.

"You still taste like chocolate," he murmured breathlessly.

"So do you." You pulled his face back to yours before crawling into his lap and settling there without breaking it the kiss for even a second.

His hand slid to your waist to hold you there. "Oh, hey girl."

"Hi," you whispered.

You kissed him hard, tongue tangling with his, humming once against his lips, your hand sliding into his hair now.

Your hips moved against him once and JJ groaned softly into your mouth, very quickly hardening underneath you. The noise and the way he was pressed between your legs sent heat straight through your entire body.

His hand slid past your hips to grip your ass and guided you towards him again, making you whimper softly.

You pulled back to look at him, nose still brushing his. "JJ?" you whispered.

"Yeah, pretty girl?"

"I want you."

He just stared at you for a second, throat bobbing as he swallowed. "Yeah?"

You nodded.

A soft grin spread across his face. "I want you too, Shrimp."

Your stomach flipped but you couldn't help but giggle at the nickname. "You really gonna call me Shrimp right now?"

He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. "Sorry. Force of habit."

You smiled. "It's ok."

"So... you wanna walk back to the Chateau or..."

You tilted your head. "Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

You looked around the fort. "I mean... why not right here? Seems appropriate to have another first here. Seems like it's kinda our thing."

JJ barked out a laugh. "You wanna...y'know… in the dirt?"

You chewed on your lip, smiling a little more playfully now. "Wouldn't be the first time we played in the dirt."

He laughed again, shaking his head like he couldn't believe that you'd just said that. Then he stared at you for a second, just taking you in: How adorable you were perched on his lap, finally all his. How gorgeous you were. The way that your glossy eyes shined in the moonlight.

His hand came up to brush a messy strand of hair behind your ear. "You sure you want this? ...Sure you want me?"

You immediately frowned at the fact that he'd even ask that. "JJ. Of course I do." You gently cupped his face in your hands. "You have no idea how long I've wanted you."

His heart squeezed painfully. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

You kissed him again and he lifted you before carefully lowering you onto your back in the leaves... accidentally hitting his head on a piece of driftwood in the process.

"Shit. Ow."

"You okay?" you giggled.

He rubbed the back of his head, wincing a little. "This fort’s a goddamn death trap," he muttered, already lowering himself over you, elbows sinking into the ground on either side of your shoulders. "Five years later and the architecture's gone to shit."

You shrugged, smiling. "Maybe you just got taller."

"Maybe you just got heavier."

You gasped. "JJ!"

"What?! You technically did? So did I!"

"Well… true."

You both burst into giggles and he grabbed his phone to turn off the flashlight. Then he was kissing you again and the laughter dissolved into quiet hums.

The weight of him settled between your thighs and when you felt him, hard beneath his shorts, your hips lifted without permission, seeking friction.

JJ made a sound against your mouth and his hand found your jaw, thumb tracing the edge of your lip as he pulled back to look at you.

"You have no idea how many times I thought about this," he said, voice rougher now. "Every single goddamn day since you got back."

Heat bloomed in your chest. "Yeah?"

"I’m serious." His thumb dropped to your chin, tilting your face up. "What happened on the beach earlier... thirteen year old would be losin' his damn mind. He was a mess over you."

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe past the ache in your throat.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "He still is." Then your jaw. Then the sensitive spot just beneath your ear and your fingers curled into his shirt, a shaky exhale escaping your lips. "This okay?" he murmured against your skin.

"Yeah. Yes."

His teeth grazed your earlobe and your back arched. A soft, startled whimper slipped out and you felt him smile against your skin.

His mouth traced a slow path down your neck, tongue flicking against your pulse point, and your hands slid into his hair. You tugged a little and he groaned, the vibration buzzing against your collarbone. Then his fingers hooked the strap of your dress and bikini top and tugged it down.

He gripped your exposed breast gently as he sucked your nipple between his lips. Your grip on his hair tightened as his tongue circled the peak.

"JJ–"

He pulled back, breath warm against the wet skin. "Like that?"

You nodded.

His hand slid your dress up over your stomach, bunching the fabric around your waist before his fingers traced the edge of your bikini bottoms, light and teasing enough to make your thighs tremble.

"You’re shakin'," he said, smiling at the fact he could make your body react like that.

"Because you’re being slow on purpose."

He laughed, and the familiar sound of it cracked something open inside you because this was still JJ. Still the boy who used to catch crabs and chase you with them and who taught you how to gut a fish. 

Still your best friend.

"Patience, Shrimp."

"Oh my god. Again?"

"What, you thought I was gonna be smooth now? Disappointed?"

"Devastated."

His grin flashed in the dark. Then he kissed a soft, open mouthed line down your stomach and your teasing dissolved into a gasp.

His fingers hooked the fabric of your bottoms, pulling them aside. Then his tongue was on you.

Your hips jerked and a strangled sound clawed its way out of your throat. "J–holy shit–"

Your hands found his hair again and held on. 

He was slow at first, exploratory, learning the shape of you. Then he found your clit and sucked and you practically squealed.

"Mmm s'fucking sweet... Knew you would be."

He began to practically probe his tongue into you and you melted into the leaves.

It didn't take long for you to get there.

"God, you're so good at that," you whined. "Feels so good. Want you to do this to me every day."

He smiled wide. "Boyfriend duties?"

"Mmhmm."

He laughed against you and the vibration nearly undid you right then and there. Your thighs began to shake for a different reason now.

"Gonna come already?" He looked up, eyes half lidded and glinting. Drunk off the taste of you. "We just started."

"Shut up."

"That a yes?"

You wanted to say something clever. Something sharp to wipe that stupid smug look off his face. But he did something with his tongue, fast and precise, and all that came out was a desperate, pitiful whine.

"That’s what I thought."

His mouth worked you with a patience you didn’t know he had. Slow circles. Quick flicks. A rhythm that built and retreated and built again until your thighs were clamped around his head and your chest was heaving.

"Right there," you gasped. "Right there, don’t stop–don't–oh my god, just like that– JJ, JJ..."

He didn’t stop. He pressed a hand flat against your lower belly, holding you steady, and sucked hard until you came apart with a cry that echoed off the driftwood walls.

It rolled through you in long waves. Your fingers twisted in his hair and he worked you through it, completely burying his face into you until you were trembling and oversensitive and pushing weakly at his forehead.

He pulled back, mouth wet and shining, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

Your bottoms were gone a moment later, tugged down your legs and tossed somewhere into the dark. You heard him fumble with his shorts, the sound of a zipper, and then the crinkle of foil.

Your pulse hammered. You propped yourself up on your elbows and in the moonlight you saw the outline of him as he rolled on a condom.

Your eyes widened a bit. "Damn, JJ."

He paused and looked up. "What?"

"You know what."

Even in the dark you could see the corner of his lips twitch.

"I’m serious. That’s– like. Okay. Wow."

He ducked his head, a boyish laugh escaping him. "That make you nervous?"

You shrugged a little.

He crawled back over you, hands planting beside your head. His face hovered inches from yours, expression more serious now. "You sure?" he asked. "We don't have to. We can just go back and–"

"JJ."

"I mean it. I don’t wanna mess this up. You’re–you’re really important to me. You know that, right?"

Your throat tightened. You reached up and cupped his face. "I’m sure. I want this. I want you."

He exhaled and nodded, then pushed in slow, inch by inch. The sound that came out of your mouth didn’t even sound like you–a high, breathless whimper that mixed with his low groan.

"Oh my god," you breathed, fingers digging into his shoulders. "You’re really big."

JJ stopped moving. His forehead dropped to yours, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "You okay? You need me to–"

"I’m okay. I’m good. Just–" You let out a shaky laugh. "Give me a second."

"Take all the time you need." His voice was strained, but his thumb traced your cheekbone.

You looked so gorgeous as moonlight filtered through the driftwood and painted silver lines across your face. Fucking unreal.

"Not goin' anywhere."

He stared down at you, lips slightly parted as he held himself still, watching you as your body adjusted and stretched around him.

"Okay," you whispered finally. "Move. Please move."

He did. Slow, shallow strokes at first, barely pulling out before sinking back in. Your back arched and your head tipped into the leaves, a sound like a sob catching in your throat.

"Jesus," he muttered, eyes locked on where your bodies joined. "You’re so fucking tight."

"JJ–"

"You feel that? You feel how good you’re takin' me?"

You couldn’t answer. Could only nod, hands sliding up his neck, pulling him down so you could kiss him.

His mouth was soft but his rhythm was deliberate, each thrust a little deeper, and when he angled your thigh up with his hand, hooking your leg over his hip, you gasped into his mouth.

"JJ... JJ... fuck..."

He pulled back, a crooked grin cutting through the intensity. "Yeah? You like that, princess?"

"Yes," you breathed, nodding quickly.

He grinned crookedly now. "You like that, Shrimp?" he said quieter.

A laugh sputtered out of you. "God, you’re the worst."

"And yet." He thrust a little harder and your eyes rolled back a bit. "You’re the one moanin' my name."

He wasn’t wrong.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. His hips rolled in a slow, steady grind and pleasure built behind your ribs, hot and tight.

"I still can’t believe this is happening," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Me neither."

"Like–you. Me. This fort. After everything."

"I know." Another kiss. "I know, baby."

Baby. The word landed even harder than it had earlier when he was pretending and your stomach tightened almost excitedly at the sound of it.

"I wanna get on top," you said suddenly.

He pulled back, eyebrows lifting. "Yeah?"

"Please."

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands found your hips and he rolled, pulling you with him, and suddenly you were straddling his lap and he was sitting up, back against the driftwood wall. The new angle made you both groan.

You sank down onto him and your hands flew to his shoulders. His flew to your waist.

His eyes fluttered shut as you began to bounce slowly.

"There you go," he rasped, head tipping back. "That’s it. Ride that dick, baby."

A thrill shot through you at those filthy words coming from his mouth and you started to move faster, figuring out the rhythm. His hands slid up your sides to your breasts and then back down. His mouth found yours and the kiss was all tongue and teeth and pure desperation.

"God, look at you," he breathed against your lips. "You’re so fucking pretty. Y'know that? You know how pretty you are?"

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you continued to move on his lap.

"I’m serious." He pulled back. "When I saw you again–that first time, at the Chateau? Before I even knew it was you–I thought, shit. That might be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen."

Your rhythm stuttered. "Really?"

"Yeah."

You laughed, leaning forward to kiss him again. "I couldn’t even believe how hot you got."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You were all sweaty and shirtless and I was like are you fucking kidding me? That’s JJ?"

He grinned wide at this.

You hummed, thumb brushing his dimple and smiling back harder. "So fucking handsome."

He smiled wider, hands tightened on your waist and he thrust up into you.

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. The rhythm found itself again. Faster now. Slick and urgent and building.

"So good," you panted. "You feel so good, JJ. Filling me so good."

His eyes dropped to your mouth, then lower to where your breast was exposed from where he pulled down your dress, then back up with a smirk. "You still sure you don’t want some Kook?"

The laugh that burst out of you was completely involuntary. "Oh my god, are you serious right now?"

"Just checking."

You whined as you ground faster. "Fuck Kooks."

He groaned at that and his hips bucked hard. "Fuck me."

"Ah! Shit, JJ...That’s what I’m doing."

He pulled you down onto him with a force that made you gasp. "You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that, girl?"

You giggled and he kissed you, deep and messy. 

"You are."

Your hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, fingers splaying over the muscle beneath his shirt. His slid from your waist to your ass, guiding your rhythm. The air was thick with the sound of skin on skin, of breathless moans and whispered praise.

"You’re perfect. God, you’re fucking perfect."

You leaned in and kissed him softly. "I’m close."

"Me too. Come on. Come with me."

Your hips moved desperately against him until the pleasure snapped and you cried out his name as your orgasm ripped through you. He followed half a second later, a guttural sound tearing from his throat as his hands clamped down on your hips, holding you against him so that he was as deep as he could go.

You felt him pulse inside you. Felt the way his whole body shuddered. Felt his forehead drop to your shoulder as he rode it out.

For a long moment, both of you just sat there like that. Just breathing and trembling and holding each other.

Then you felt his shoulders shake and a quiet laugh escaped him. Then a louder one and then you were laughing too.

"Did that actually just happen?" you asked through your giggles.

"I think so."

"In the fort."

"In the goddamn fort." He shook his head, still laughing. "Might be the most ridiculous thing we've ever done."

"It might be."

You eased up off of him, wincing slightly, then flopped onto your back beside him.

He slowly pulled his shorts back on and then lay down next to you, propping himself on one elbow. "You okay?"

"I’m amazing."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm."

He leaned down and kissed you, soft and tender this time. A kiss that felt a lot like love.

Then you kissed him again. And again. In zero rush to get back to the beach.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩𖦹⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Part 7, last chapter, coming soon (Last one for real this time)

Once you finally make him understand that you want the same thing, he still feels a little bit insecure. You found a nice place, just around the corner of the cellblock. Safe from walkers, far enough from the others as not to be interrupted.

He's tense anyway. You can feel the strain in his muscles when you put your hands on his shoulders. Threatening to snap any second and move quickly, either to run away or fight and protect you. That won't be necessary though. It took some convincing, but you got him to put his crossbow onto the ground and stop looking out for possible threats.

How? Well, it wasn't all that difficult. Turns out, pushing him against a stone wall and stepping real close has him putty in your hands in no time.

It's a good thing there's fences, because your face is very distracting. If there had been a walker approaching the two of you, he wouldn't have noticed it until it bit him, maybe not even then.

Daryl is still nervous, you can see that. Unsure of where to put his hands, he awkwardly places them on your hips. Is that too straightforward? A million thoughts rush through his head. You give him a soothing smile. He tries to return it, but ends up just grimacing.

Deciding to end his misery, you lean in and give him a gentle kiss on the lips. He's a little bit relieved when you don't do anything more immediately. Those are a safe ground, he's used to having you kiss him like that. And yet... they always leave him wanting more.

You haven't moved away, instead hugged him a bit closer. God... it feels too good to have you this close without the fear of being caught. He was worried he'd overwhelm you, but you seem at ease. If he's being honest with himself... It's he who is in over his head. You're so close and you smell nice... He can feel your heart beat against his chest, smaller body pressed into his.

You left him space, but it doesn't take long for him to act. His warm hands stroke your back, then he places one in the nape of your neck, carefully tugging on your hair. You lift your head that had been resting against his leather jacket, and before you can say anything, his mouth is on yours.

It's a chaste kiss at first, like the one you gave him. Not hesistant, not really, but careful. He isn't sure how far you were willing to go but when he doesn't feel you pull away, he feels confident enough to continue. Parts his lips slowly, experimenting a little bit. He angles his head slightly different then, making it easier for you to reach him. You open yours too, allowing his tongue to slip inside. It feels amazing. Daryl wishes he'd done this sooner, 'cause apparently, you don't mind him being out of practice.

No, even better, you seem to actually enjoy it, arms around his neck, pushing him back into the cold wall. What really does it for him though is the little sounds you make. They're pretty, like everything about you. Quiet, but not shy. You like what he's doing and that motivates him a lot.

He wants to hear it again. Parts from you for a split second to catch his breath, then dives in again, and it's messier this time. His lips slant against yours, a little dry and rough just like him and he licks into your mouth. It's a stark contrast to the earlier restraint but you're not complaining, no. You're far from it as he bites your lower lip, not quite enough to make it bleed, resulting only in a small sting.

A strand of his hair falls into your face, tickling your cheek, but you don't mind, not when he's kissing you like this. It probably looks like he's eating your face off. He's clumsy but eager, nose bumping into yours. His stubble is scratchy but it feels good against your skin, this is fun. Your smile into the kiss.

His hands come up to your face, cupping your jaw carefully, as if to make sure you won't pull back. You couldn't if you tried to, with the iron grip he has you in. Good thing you don't want to. Instead, you match Daryl's enthusiasm, kissing him hard. You press him into the wall, caging his body against it. If someone saw that... No, you probably wouldn't even do anything about it. Wouldn't have it in you to care and stop, it feels way too good.

Meanwhile, Daryl is ecstatic. He hasn't ever felt this good just kissing anyone! Actually, he used to not even like it very much. Maybe that's because he didn't know you back then. He is the one that's overwhelmed now, overcome with passion. His chest rises and falls quickly, he pulls back for a second, allowing you both to catch your breath. He takes in the sight of you, and it's almost enough to have him do something else to you on the spot. You look incredible, lips swollen from the kiss, eyes hazed over with want. He probably isn't any different. And then you give him that smile, the one he dreaded back when you weren't together because it made him forget about that fact. Now, it's his favorite thing in the world (apart from kissing you).

His eyes soften, thumb stroking your cheekbone. He's glad you got him him to try this. Though you're gonna have to deal with him wanting to do it all the time, now. His heart warms at the thought. He leans in to kiss you again, not as gentle as in the beginning but just as loving. Before he can deepen it, you pull back slightly, just enough to flash him a teasing grin.

"You're really getting better at this, you know!"

"Shut up." He swallows your giddy laugh, pulling you into his arms.

Hershel's farm seemed like a damn miracle, water in a desert. The white house, seemingly unaffected by the chaos outside the perimeter, was a breath of fresh air.

The path to get here was not.

The group had been surviving on fumes, running around in desperate search of anything that could be utilized for the good of the group.

Until Sophia got lost.

The frantic, racing thoughts and constant noise of searching for that little girl nearly put everyone over the edge. Hell, even Rick was beginning to lose it.

It wasn't until Carl was shot that anyone had a clue about what lay beyond that highway.

After a few days, Carl was feeling better. And life seemingly had color again.

"Y/n, you and Daryl will work on gettin' those tents up. We're camping outside for the time bein'." Shane ordered everyone around, seemingly a distraction while Lori and Rick coped with their son's healing process.

As Shane barked orders across the yard, you glanced over at Daryl, who shook his head with a brief scoff.

"Who made him the boss?" Daryl mumbled, watching you crack up in quiet laughter.

Daryl made life a little easier. His calm demeanor, the way he was able to joke around with you, even in the darkest situations.

He never failed to make you smile.

"C'mon, these tents ain't gonna make themselves." You shoved his shoulder as you walked by to grab one of the folded-up tents from the RV.

As you began placing them, your eyes lingered on Daryl. His lean muscles flexed in the hot Georgia sun as he helped you, skin shimmering with sweat. His shirt clung to his skin, revealing the outline of his body.

If this wasn't the end of the world, you wouldn't bat an eye at the sweaty man helping you make tents. But getting to know him, helping him while you were camped out at the quarry.

You've got to see his kinder side, the one that everybody else had trouble seeing.

"S'hot out here, might wanna take this off." You smirked at him as you poked his shirt. "I sure wouldn't mind." Your banter with Daryl was always flirty, always pushing boundaries.

Daryl looked up at you from where he was securing the tent, hammering stakes into the ground. He snorted softly. "Shut up, ya' just wanna get a good look at me."

He stood up and stretched his back. "Gonna have to try harder than that."

The sun began to set across the fields and the farmhouse. The orange and yellow hues reflected off the grass and white wooden boards.

Now it was Daryl's turn to stare at you. His eyes traveled across your skin, admiring your furrowed brow as you worked.

Sweat dripping down onto your chest.

Goddamn you.

Weeks had passed since Daryl met you at the camp just outside of Atlanta. Merle just about made you throw a few punches within the first hour of you being there.

After shutting down his older brother, he got to know you in a way that he hadn't known anyone else in the group.

The tents were all set up, with Daryl's several meters away from everyone else's. "What, you don't wanna hang out with the rest of us?" You held your arms out as if you were offended by his lone wolf-ish style.

Daryl tossed you an eye roll, the corners of his mouth moving up to a smile. "Don't wanna hear the little love triangle bickering all night. Should move your tent with mine so ya' don't hear 'em." He pointed to Rick and Lori, who stood on the porch discussing something, holding hands in an oblivious manner.

And Shane was watching, brooding.

"Startin' to think you just want me sleepin' next to you." You blow Daryl a kiss, watching a bright red blush spread across his face.

"Shut up, woman." He ran a hand over the back of his head and went to go let Shane know that everything was done. You followed him, staying back to hear the conversation.

"Shane, tents are all set up." Daryl leaned against the pillar on the porch, the muscles in his arms bulging and flexing as he crossed his arms.

You nearly drooled at the sight and glanced down at your feet to give yourself a breather. Staring at Daryl put you in a trance, and you knew exactly what that was.

That feeling.

Love. Affection.

Quickly, you were brought out of it by Shane's words. "Thank you, Daryl. Swear to god we're the only ones who give a damn about survivin' out here." You cleared your throat to make your presence known.

Shane leaned over to look at you. He said nothing, moving inside to go check on Carl.

Daryl turned around and approached you with a smug smirk. "Yeah, should put in more work 'round here." He teased you with a shrug, earning himself a prompt shove.

Daryl nearly fell over, catching himself by wrapping an arm around your waist. "Nearly took me out, ya' tryin' to prove somethin'?" His laugh was confident, relaxed.

"Yeah, prove that you're an idiot." You placed a hand on his where it lay on your waist.

It was right then that Daryl realized what he was doing. He pulled his arm away, his heat leaving yours just as quickly.

For a second, you swore you could see his brows furrowed in some emotion that was indescribable.

Anger? Disappointment?

You pushed it down, taking the rest of the evening to help out the rest of the group.

Morning approached fast, and the sunrise made your eyes peek open to start another day.

Well, that and the scratching at your tent. "The fuck?" You slowly opened the zipper and poked your head out to see what was happening. An uncertain, nauseous feeling rose in you at the thought of danger approaching the group in the night.

But, when you glanced out, you were met with Daryl poking your tent with a stick to wake you up.

"You awake?" He had his crossbow slung around his shoulders.

Daryl couldn't sleep. His mind was spinning, thoughts of you surrounding him and flooding his senses. He couldn't stop thinking about you, how you looked last night as you helped him, how his hand fit perfectly around your waist.

And how you didn't pull away. He did.

Daryl could hardly think about anything but survival these days, but everything was blurred and complicated when you were around. Many nights after he met you, he'd spent lying awake on the ground obsessing over your every move.

Many nights spent with his hand.

"I am now, thank you very much." You let out a sigh and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. "Real charming, y'know. Poking me with a stick." A yawn escaped your tired frame.

Daryl just stood watching you, a giddy feeling washing over him. The way your eyes were barely open, still trying to shake the sleep from your body, made the corners of his mouth curve into a smile.

And how the strap of your tank top slid down your shoulder…

"At least get me some breakfast in bed?" You stepped out of your tent and fixed your clothes, all twisted and disheveled from a night of sleeping.

"This ain't a damn romance movie." He shook his head at your statement.

Even if he wanted to be romantic like that, the best he could do was a cooked squirrel.

And even he knew that wouldn't be the most romantic gesture.

"No? Coulda' sworn it was from the way you're lookin' at me." Eyes meeting his, you brushed your arm against him.

As quickly as the words came out, his eyes averted from yours as if you'd turn him to stone.

Daryl didn't want you to get the wrong idea, but you made it so damn hard not to fall for you. The teasing, the way you could point out every thought he was having.

It only made his denial harder to justify.

After taking a few minutes to collect some supplies for the search, you set off into the forest with Daryl to look for Sophia. The ground was uneven and rocky as you crossed creeks and large tree trunks to look for the missing girl.

"Can we take a quick break?" You tapped Daryl's shoulder and slung your backpack off of your back.

Daryl gave you a silent nod and stepped a few feet ahead to scan the safety of the perimeter. Once he confirmed it was all clear, he grabbed a water bottle from his own bag. "Need a break already?" A smirk formed on his face as he took a swig of water.

"Hey, speak for yourself. I can hear that you're out of breath." You took a sip from your own water bottle, eyeing him from where you sat below him. "Would'a thought you had more stamina…" Your voice trailed off at the end of your sentence.

From the way his jaw tightened, it seemed that your words had the exact effect you wanted them to.

Daryl clenched his fists. "I'll show you stamina, sweetheart." A shudder ran through you at the way his tone changed.

"Right now?" As much as you'd love to take him right fucking there, you both were a tad exposed in the woods.

"Nah, my tent. S'far away from everyone." Daryl wiped a layer of sweat from his brow, his whole body on fire in anticipation. "Tonight?" He asked you.

He didn't even have to ask.

"Tonight. Then you can show me what you got." Running a hand down his torso, a smirk made its way onto your face at the way his stomach tensed.

Daryl broke away first, his attention returning to the task. "Gotta keep lookin'" You felt whiplash at the abrupt change in topic, suddenly speechless.

The way he would avoid you, avoid your touch.

You'd never tell him, but goddamn did it make you feel insecure. Like the things you did just weren't enough to earn his affection.

Later that night, it seemed like Daryl was around you more. At dinner with Hershel and his family, his hand grasped your thigh firmly underneath the table.

In the back of your mind, confusion still raked through you. Maybe Daryl was acting tense earlier because of Sophia?

The sound of discussion from the rest of the group was drowned out as the feeling of his gaze made your skin heat up in anticipation.

"Still on for tonight?" Daryl leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"Yeah, but you better not be mean like you were today." You admitted, it sounded a little childish but it was true. His affection would hit you suddenly and then leave without a trace.

"Won't be too mean, promise." He pinched your thigh, a smirk plastered across his stubbled face.

After dinner, you were helping the rest of the ladies clean up and get the dishes washed. In that time, Daryl had disappeared from your view. Part of you felt this longing, an impatient rush running through you.

Because once this line was crossed, things would be different.

Eventually, everyone had settled in for the night, the sun had fallen behind the trees several hours ago.

Shuffling over to Daryl's tent, you felt nervous.

After weeks of teasing and flirting with seemingly no intent to actually do anything about it, you couldn't help but feel hopeful that maybe this would finally be your peace, your reminder that the world can still be somewhat normal.

"Psst! Daryl! You awake?" In a whispered breath, you contemplated turning back around when there was no response.

Guess he forgot.

"Shoulda' just stayed in my own place." You mumbled to yourself.

"Will ya' give me a minute, woman? Christ." He unzipped his tent to let you in. Daryl was shoving something into an empty beer bottle, his back turned partially to you.

A hot blush spread across your face in embarrassment. "What'cha got there?"

Daryl turned to face you where he was sitting inside his tent. "Somethin' I found, thought ya' would like it."

It was a small bunch of beautiful wildflowers, sprouting with blue, yellow, and pink hues on their petals. Your heart was nearly bursting as you took it from him. Sure, it was stuffed into a beer bottle, but the gesture was sweet nonetheless.

"They're so pretty! When did you find time to do this?" You set the bottle next to you and scooted closer to him, your knee touching his.

"Jus' thought they look nice, s'all." He shrugged away your compliments and wrapped an arm around you.

Daryl walked around the farm for half an hour while you were busy talking to Maggie. He figured that he should at least try to do something romantic for you.

Especially since he had been wanting you and begging himself to make a move for weeks now.

"Hm, maybe you were expecting something in return?" Your hand pressed against his chest. You knew Daryl wasn't that shallow, but the teasing made his ears flush red anyway.

His brain froze for a moment, eyes flickering down to your hand and then back up to your eyes. "What would I get in return?" His hand brushed across your jawline, eyes glancing over your lips.

The wait was too unbearable, you closed the distance with a light kiss. One that Daryl deepened almost immediately, his hands tightly grasping your waist to keep you close.

Leaning into you, his body pressed against yours as you both collapsed onto the tent floor, thin blankets being your only mattress for the time being.

But that didn't matter.

His hands were all over you, frantic and attentive. A quiet groan vibrated against your lips as he kissed you.

All restraint was lost, his stubble lightly scratching your skin as he pushed your shirt off. The kiss was messy now, his tongue slipping inside your mouth, and one of his hands cupping your cheek.

As Daryl pulled away, you could see the look on his face. His lips were a shade of pink now from his kisses, and his eyes were traveling all over your body as if he were memorizing your frame.

He leaned back in, this time attacking your neck with kisses and bites. "Can't stay away, can ya'? Been comin' onto me since we met." He wore a smirk as he shrugged off his vest. An offended expression washed across you.

"Look who's talking! I know you've been wanting this since Atlanta, don't even try to deny it." The silence gave you an answer.

Daryl huffed and pulled his shirt off, hands grasping at your hips to pull you closer. "Gonna get these off f'me?" He helped you unbutton your jeans and pull them off.

"You need help pulling a girl's pants off? Wow, very sad." You snickered to yourself, blissfully unaware of the stare he was throwing you.

Daryl had little patience left with your teasing.

"Gonna do what I promised earlier, sweetheart. On your knees." Large hands wrapped around your waist to help you flip yourself over onto your knees. A low heat grew in your core, sending an unbearable satisfaction up your spine.

His hands caressed your skin for a moment, sliding down over your ass to admire you. "Y'gonna do what I say? Or should I shut you up instead?" He unzipped his jeans, slipping them off quickly to reveal the large outline in his boxers.

You glared at him from your position, head turned to look. "We do have all night, if you really wanted to."

Daryl groaned at your words, fingers palming his erection through his underwear. "Shut up, woman." His strong hands pulled your hips against his, giving you a feeling of just how badly he wanted this.

Moaning quietly and pressing your heat against him, you were fucking dripping at the thought of him inside.

And it was obvious to Daryl when he pulled your hips away to see a wet spot on his boxers from where you pressed against him. "Fuck, such a good girl f'me." He couldn't wait any longer to see you, to see your aching core that was practically begging to take him.

He yanked off your panties and left them hanging around your knees. Dragging a long stripe up your cunt with his tongue, he tasted your arousal with a deep hum.

"Taste even better than ya' look." He pulled away to shove his boxers down to his knees as well, hands quickly returning to grip your hips with a bruising hold.

He got his revenge when he rubbed the tip of his cock on your entrance, hitting your clit and threatening to push into you.

"Daryl please-" You gasped as your plea was answered immediately. The tip of his cock pressed into your entrance, both of you letting out a heavy sigh.

This was a long time coming. Impossibly long nights alone with nothing but your hand and the thought of how he flirted with you that day; they seemed to wash away all in one fell swoop as he finally inserted himself where you both wanted him to be.

"Jesus-" Daryl let out a choked groan and pressed in further, eyes glued to the way your cunt took him so well. "So good-" he caressed your sides as he felt you struggle to relax enough to fit his large size. "So good f'me."

Leaning over you, he pressed kisses into your back and over your neck.

Gentle, but the way he stretched out your pussy was not.

Daryl gave you a minute to adjust before tapping your hip. "You good?" He was biting his lip to keep some semblance of control, but fuck the way your back was arching against him, it was almost unbearable.

After hearing a whimpered "yes" from you, he pulled out agonizingly slow. Without warning, he slammed himself back into you with one thrust, making you jolt forward with a scream.

"Holy shit!" You managed to get out before Daryl's hand found your mouth and covered it.

"Shh, can't have the rest of the group hearin'." A thought flashed into his mind as he began hard thrusts into your tight cunt with a grunt.

If only things could stay this way. Maybe there was truly some hope that he could keep you, have you near to him when he needed you. Not just for sex, but when either of you were feeling lonely.

A lover.

"Feels good-" You bit back a moan as Daryl slammed your hips back onto his cock. He hummed in response.

"I know baby, I know." He shifted his position to angle his thrusts into you, striking your spot as he mercilessly fucked you.

You stuffed his sleeping bag into your face as you screamed his name, your legs beginning to shake. Daryl was holding you up at his point, fucking into you with no abandon, like you weighed nothing.

Daryl was beginning to lose control as well, his head thrown back in pure bliss as long groans escaped his mouth that was hanging open.

Squirming against his grip, you felt the white-hot pleasure building up in you with every thrust he pounded into you. "Please-" you sobbed out, "Please don't stop!"

Oh he wouldn't dare. Not when you could barely hold yourself up from the immense pleasure, your legs beginning to close upon themselves.

Before you could collapse under his grip, he sat up abruptly.

Bringing you with him.

You were now sat in his lap as Daryl was on his knees, his hips jackhammering into you. Daryl wished he had a mirror right now so he could see the way your tits bounced as he drilled you.

Now, you were an absolute mess. Tears were flowing down your face as he held onto your ass. "Know you're close, sweetheart. Let go f'me, wanna feel that pussy cum on me." Daryl was breathless as well, his words coming out in pants as his orgasm rushed closer.

With his pleads for you to cum, your high hit you intensely. Neither of you cared about the sound anymore, with you moaning his name loudly. You practically melted in his grasp, your body jolting and convulsing in pure pleasure.

Daryl came right after you, pulling you close to him as his hips bucked up into you uncontrollably. His warm cum seeped into you, earning an appreciative hum from Daryl. "Oh-" He groaned into your neck. "Oh fuck."

A fucked-out smile spread across your face. You used all your energy to toss him another tease.

"That good, huh?"

Daryl huffed at your teasing and bit your neck gently, making you yelp.

Jerks of pleasure hit both of you as you separated briefly. Daryl wiped you off with a clean rag he had managed to find in his tent. "Says the woman who couldn't stop sayin' my name. Whole camp knows who fucked ya' now."

Daryl couldn't shake the pride that he felt in that fact.

That you were his, that you were here in front of him.

You curled up to him despite his teasing, your bare skin touching his in a way that he could only describe as freeing.

How often did two people have a real connection during the current world situation?

Daryl wrapped an arm around you and managed to cover both of you in the thin blanket he had in his tent.

"You're stayin', right?" The question sounded more like a command, but you nodded anyway.

"Since you're begging, I guess I have to." You giggled to yourself and pressed a kiss onto his stubbled cheek.

"Hush." He shook his head, letting silence fill in the gaps of your conversation.

The crickets outside were blaring, reminding you of the dark world that lay outside the tent. Small lights flared up around you as lightning bugs flew by, offering just enough light to see a smile on Daryl's face as his eyelids began to droop.

"G'night." He mumbled against your ear. The warmth from his body kept you from freezing in the night breeze as your eyes closed alongside his.

Morning broke through Daryl's tent, the early sun shining bright onto his face in a comforting warmth. But there was more warmth than he'd been used to.

Then he suddenly remembered last night. With one glance down at your sleeping body, blissfully unaware of his gaze, a knot formed in his stomach.

A new day brought new concerns, new worries.

Daryl slowly moved away from you, so as to leave you undisturbed by his movements. He stumbled to put his clothes on, his hands beginning to tremble.

Because it was all hitting him at once.

How could this ever work? How could he be so stupid?

Daryl took one last look at you, eyes ghosting over your naked body in admiration. If things were different, if there wasn't this danger hanging over everyone's heads, he'd love to wake up to this sight every morning in a nice warm bed.

But things were different. He couldn't even take care of himself, couldn't even find Sophia.

How on earth could he protect you?

Daryl unzipped his tent quietly and slipped out, fingers fumbling with the zipper as he zipped it back up.

Thoughts swirled around him faster than he could even process them, making his feet move faster to find a place of solace. Alone.

He ran his hands over his face to try to wipe away his stress, his worry. But no such luck.

Folks were dying, and people went missing all the damn time. If he gave into this feeling, this thing that the two of you shared last night, he couldn't afford to lose you.

Anyone but you.

Daryl made his way over to his motorcyle, grabbing his gun out of one of the compartments. If he was going out to look for Sophia, he'd be going alone. There's no way in hell he could even fucking look you in the eye without hurting.

Hurting inside because he couldn't be with you. You didn't deserve it, and neither did anyone else in the group.

Attachments get you killed. Can't feel sad about it if you didn't associate with them in the first place, right?

And the worst part was; he believed this could work. He picked out those flowers, thinking of you in every one he plucked out the ground. A sliver, a shimmer of hope that this could work. He fell asleep with you last night, imagining that this is how it could be every night, you curled up next to him with that beautiful smile.

What a goddamn idiot.

He jumped a mile at the sound of your voice.

"Daryl? You didn't wake me." Your voice only twisted the knife he had voluntarily stuck in his side to rid himself of the feeling he had for you.

And then, a hand was on his shoulder, fingers brushing against his vest like this was some kind of romantic greeting from his lover.

He pushed your hand off. "Didn't need to. You're grown." He stepped away, making distance between you.

"Just thought you might've wanted to take advantage of being the first two people awake." Approaching him, you placed a hand on his chest, the same way you did last night.

He flinched, as if you had burned him. "Wanted to get an early start. Been too distracted lately, probably why I couldn't find her." Adjusting where his crossbow strap sat on his shoulder, he looked in an off-direction.

"Alright, let me grab my things-"

"You ain' comin'." Daryl grunted, his jaw clenched tightly. You looked offended at that, brows furrowed in confusion.

"And why not? We could take advantage of the alone time?" You reached to grab his hand when he yanked it from your grasp.

"Will you stop trying to touch me, woman? S'bad enough what we did last night." He shouted at you, alerting some of the others who were sleeping nearby.

"Excuse me?" You were angry right back at him, as he knew you would be. You were tense as you stood in front of him, your eyes narrowed to hear his explanation.

"Ain't nothin' good can come out of what we did last night. S'best we both forget it." He got in your face this time, his finger pointed at you accusingly.

"And what the fuck does that even mean? You regret it?" Anger was racing through your veins, making your fists clench up in rage. He seemed so sweet, so different last night. What happened?

"Hell yeah I do!" He shouted, throwing up his arms in rage.

You felt the air leave your lungs all at once.

"Really? You regret everything?" Tears pricked at your eyes, more out of anger than anything. Because it wasn't just a fling. You bared yourself to him, physically and emotionally. You spent hours getting close to him, finding your peace with the man.

And he regrets it?

Your arms were crossed against your chest, your brows furrowed as you gazed harshly at him.

"Every goddamn thing." He snapped back at you.

You laughed sadly. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You're my problem! People are dyin' every damn day. Hell, Sophia's still out there because I can't do my goddamn job and find her." He was shouting at you, ignoring the approaching group.

"Oh so that's my fault now?" You were breathing heavily now, suddenly becoming very aware of the eyes on the both of you. Rick and Shane were staring at you with a look that you could only pass off as judging.

Daryl was pacing now, his crossbow dropped somewhere in the heated argument. "Can't do a goddamn thing to save anybody 'round here! Everybody's either hurt, missing, or we lose 'em."

"And you think that's my-" You were cut off sharply.

"And I can't lose you, too!" He shouted, his voice breaking as he spat out his last few words.

Both of you just stood there. The confession hung in the air, unaddressed, unquestioned.

The silence broke Daryl from his white-hot rage, and he glanced around at the camp's nosy eyes observing him. He was near tears, his chest heaving with the emotions swimming through him.

"Show's over." He managed to speak out, albeit cracked and unsure. Daryl grabbed his crossbow and took off towards the forest.

Standing there, Carol was quick to come over to console you, or at least drag you away from prying eyes. It was difficult to process the bag of complex emotions that Daryl had dropped on you that morning.

Did he really regret it? Or was he scared of losing you?

Hours had passed since you had seen Daryl, and, from the sympathetic looks given by the other camp members, he wasn't back yet.

You were sitting out with Carol doing laundry, hanging clothing out on a line to dry it. Andrea, who was sitting on top of Dale's RV, stood up quickly.

You were a few meters ahead of Andrea, and you could see what she was looking at. It was a figure coming out of the woods.

Bloody, beaten, slow.

"Walker?" You glanced back at Andrea as she tried to look through the scope.

"Yup. I'll get that fucker." She settled into position to shoot the figure. And your eyes followed where she was aiming.

Only, you realized the walker was holding something.

"Hand me those binoculars." Carol passed you her binoculars with no hesitation.

Your heart sank into your stomach at the sight. It was Daryl.

Not a walker, but so bloody and bruised that he looked like death himself. And Andrea was about to shoot him.

"Andrea, fuck-" You tripped over yourself trying to reach her. "Don't shoot, it's not-" A shot rang out, and you turned just in time to see Daryl collapse.

And you froze. Like time itself had stopped, like nothing else mattered in that moment.

You couldn't hear anything else in that moment, just your heartbeat and your feet brushing through thick grass as you ran over to Daryl. Rick and Shane had followed, reaching him before you.

As the men were assessing what happened, you stopped yourself from joining them. A sick feeling rippled through your body.

The last talk you had was in anger, in hatred. And now you were losing him, the one person here who you felt truly understood you.

You didn't even feel the tears that streamed down your face until you could taste them on your tongue. Wiping your face, you watched through teary, blurred eyes.

Rick and Shane lifted Daryl up, carrying him across the field. His head was bleeding.

"Oh god-" A quiet sob broke out from you.

Carol rushed over. "He's alive. Look, he's alive." She pointed to the way his legs tried to keep up with how fast Rick and Shane were dragging him.

You let out a shaky, heaving breath that you had been holding in. The thought of losing him broke you. He was alive, but for how long?

Laughing sadly to yourself, you came to the realization of what Daryl meant. Why he was so upset.

Because now it was your turn to feel this. To experience the loss he feared.

After a few hours, Hershel came out to give you the news. "How is he? Is he going to be okay?" You were trembling, exhausted from the emotional journey this whole day had been.

"Thought his girl should be the first one to know. He'll be fine. He's just getting dressed. The bullet grazed him, no harm done, but he's very lucky." Hershel chuckled at the hug you gave him after hearing his news.

It made you feel warm inside being referred to as 'his girl'. But that was definitely due to the heated and very public argument you had this morning.

"I will let you know, he's very upset. I don't know exactly what went down this morning, but I suggest you give him some space for a little bit." Hershel gave you a tight-lipped smile before walking back inside his house.

You decided to listen to Hershel, even though you were practically shaking in anticipation of getting to see him. That only lasted about 20 minutes, and you were unzipping his tent to visit him.

"Daryl." You peeked inside to see him lying down, his head supported by a pillow and wrapped in a large bandage. The sight made your stomach churn.

He didn't say anything, just stared out the tent entrance with a loaded glance. You could tell he was deep in thought by the way he was biting his lip.

"Can I come in?" Your voice was soft and pleading. Hell, you probably needed this more than he did.

Daryl gave you a nod and turned to look away from you as you stepped inside.

"Fuck, she really is a good shot-" You reached to hold his head in your hands, and he didn't resist.

He just let you with no protest.

"You're never going out there on your own again. Could have lost you." You let out a deep sigh, your eyes meeting his.

Daryl felt the guilt sink in his stomach. "M'sorry for this morning. Was just scared, s'all." His eyes scanned you for any anger. He felt horrible for blowing up at you, when it was his own damn fault that he couldn't cope.

"No, I understand. I was a mess when I thought Andrea had actually shot you. Could barely breathe thinking I lost you." Daryl was your best friend and the one man you truly thought you could form a stable relationship with.

Daryl reached out to you, his fingers nudging your hand. You grasped his hand firmly, a smile growing on your face. "I thought you said you regret everything?" You questioned him, trying to ignore the flashes of last night that moved through your mind. "You really hurt me, y'know?"

"Was bein' an asshole to you." He couldn't even look you in the eyes, the guilt overwhelming him.

"Never regretted nothin'. Just wanted to push ya' away so I didn't have to lose ya'." Daryl shrugged, squeezing your hand. "M' sorry."

"You know you can't get rid of me that easily. Wasn't gonna let you." You heard him laugh, a sound that made you feel like everything could be alright again. Like you could move past this.

"Should've dragged you back here for yelling at me like that." You smirked at him, fixing the bandage and kissing his head gently.

Daryl grabbed your waist and in one move, pulled you up into his lap. A quiet yelp escaped your lips. "What're you doing?" You hold onto his shoulders for some solid grounding.

"Wanna show you how sorry I am." He looked up at you from where he was lying down.

"But your head-"

"Should'a stayed here this morning. Ya' looked so good all laid out from last night." He hummed quietly.

"Daryl Dixon, you're gonna open your stitches, stop it." You grab his cheeks in between your hands to focus his attention.

"Nah, long as you can keep your hands off my head." His hands roamed your body, traveling from your waist down to your ass, grabbing a handful and squeezing.

"Will you at least let me do most of the work? You can lay there and heal. Like you're supposed to be doing." You grabbed his hands that were pressing your hips down into his.

Daryl grumbled and nodded. "Fine. Y'gonna close the tent?" He snickers as you roll your eyes.

"You couldn't have waited until it was dark? Anybody could see us!" You crawl over to go close the tent zipper. Daryl's eyes fell to your ass, letting out a satisfied hum.

"Nope." His arrogance started to shine through again, making you smile to yourself. Finding your way back onto his lap, you felt his erection pressed against your core.

"Pervert." You pressed a kiss to his lips, one that he returned hungrily. It was gentle, his lips moving with yours slowly but in a way that let you know he was so desperate.

You slipped off your shirt, leaving you in your bra. Daryl pulled away to watch you, his hands flying up to squeeze your tits through the rest of your clothing you still had on. You quickly unclasped your bra and let it fall down your shoulders, not missing the way he let out a relieved sigh at the sight of your breasts.

"Prettiest sight ever." He grumbled, his fingers unbuttoning your jeans, eyes never leaving your chest. Daryl tried to sit up, pressing open-mouted kissed onto your tits. A quiet moan left your lips before you gently pushed him back down onto his back.

"No no, you just lay there. Let me do the work." You smirked at his annoyed huff and stood up to push your jeans off, bringing your underwear with it.

"Should be makin' it up to you, not sittin' here makin' you do everything." Daryl's lip jutted out in a small pout. He slipped off his jeans as well, shoving his boxers down to his ankles before kicking them off.

"Mmm, next time be nice, and you can have me however you'd like." You slipped back onto his lap. "Hate to say it but you got your karma." Running a finger down his chest, you stopped right at his hip. Daryl's breaths were heavy as he watched. Your teasing was driving him crazy.

His hands held your hips firmly, eyes glued to where your hand was lining his cock up with your pussy, dragging him through your arousal with a whimper.

Sinking down onto him, a loud gasp escaped both of you. You took him about halfway before you winced, your cunt adjusting to his size despite the way he was stuffing you last night.

His hands held you in place, a reminder to pace yourself. Glancing up towards him, you saw his eyes staring at you in pure awe.

After about a minute, you sank down on his cock, taking the rest of him with a heavy sigh as you tilted your head back in pleasure. "Holy shit-" you whimpered.

Daryl rubbed circles into your waist, his chest heaving as he tried to keep his composure. He could just thrust up into you if he wanted. But seeing you have control over this, over him.

It made him impossibly harder.

Before Daryl could speak, you began to slowly ride him, your cunt squeezing him tightly as you moved up and down. His head fell back onto the pillow, jaw wide open in an 'o' face.

You were barely moving and Daryl was already gone. "You like when I'm on top, huh? Like when I'm ridin' you?" You bent down to whisper in his ear.

Daryl gasped quietly as you picked up speed, your hips bouncing on his cock like you had done this hundreds of times before. "Mmhm." He whined with a quick nod.

You pressed your lips to Daryl's shoulder, desperately trying to mask your moans as you rode him harder. Daryl's hands held onto your ass and hips, helping you bounce on his cock.

The feeling was fucking euphoric. Your pussy squeezed him as you let out a high-pitched whine against his skin. The sensation made him thrust up into you instinctively.

"Oh my god-" You moaned loudly and clasped your hand around your mouth. You kept up your movements, riding him with fervor, your tits bouncing with every movement you made.

Daryl was beyond control now. His hips were bucking up into you wildly, ensuring you took all of him down to the hilt. "So pretty, so sweet f'me." He groaned as his hips pistoned into you. "You gonna come f'me, sweet girl?" His voice trailed off into a high-pitched whine, nearing his orgasm with every rough thrust he pushed into you.

"Fuck-" You cried out, hands grasping his shoulders firmly. "Yes baby, keep going please!" You were trying your best to keep up with him, to ride him without collapsing onto his body.

Pleasure ran up his spine at you calling him 'baby'. "Shouldn't have yelled at you this morning-" he cut himself off with a loud groan, his fingers trembled against your skin. "Should'a stayed here-" His forehead fell against yours.

"You mean everything-" He kept up the pace, his hips thrusting into you more than you were riding him. His hands were grasping onto your hips tightly, listening to the way you were a whimpering, shaking mess on top of him.

"Daryl please I'm so close." You pressed a kiss onto his lips, the gesture making him melt. He planted his feet and fucked up into you, his eyes shut tight. His orgasm was so goddamn close. But he had to wait.

He would not come without making you come first.

"Give it to me, please sweetheart. Need to feel you-" He was begging at this point, his skin burning with the desire to let go.

With that, your orgasm hit you hard. You screamed into your hand, body shaking and jolting with shocks of pleasure as Daryl kept pushing into you mercilessly.

Daryl was so blissed-out. Watching your orgasm made him reach his own, his arms wrapping around your waist as his thrusts slowed to a stutter. His breath was incredibly shaky and mixed with pathetic whines.

"Fuck- I love you." He groaned, the words leaving his mouth before he could process them and stop them.

You collapsed onto him, his words just starting to come to your brain. "W-What?"

His eyes widened like he'd seen a ghost. "M'sorry- fuck." He ran a hand over his face. He couldn't even say anything else. It was too late to take it back, especially with the stunt he had pulled this morning. "Don't have to say it back."

You took a beat to respond. And in that silence Daryl's heart could have pounded out of his chest.

Maybe he should have just taken it back, told you he didn't mean it, told you it was a spur of the moment emotion.

But then your hand came up to his cheek, your fingers rubbing his stubble affectionately. He melted into your hand, his eyes closing for a brief second.

"No, I love you too. Why do you think I tolerate you so much?" Your body was still trembling against him, his softened cock still stuffed inside you, cum threatening to spill out.

He lifted you off of him slowly, the both of you wincing at the cool feeling that came after. "S'why I can't lose you." He was being sincere in this moment, his eyes meeting yours with heartbreaking sincerity.

"Can't promise anything. You know that." You started, heart hurting at the way his face dropped. "But we're here now. We're safe." You placed a kiss onto his forehead.

"You have me now. And I have you. That's what matters." You were trying to get your point across.

That even though tomorrow may not be promised, you can find peace in what is here right now, in this tent.

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

And his arms.

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

You shouldn’t be looking.

But it’s hard not to.

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

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

You blink. "What?"

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

Shit. You’ve been staring.

"Yeah. Right. On it."

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

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

You can feel your pulse in your throat.

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

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

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

Shiiiit. You fucked up.

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

Silence.

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

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

═════════════════════════

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

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

Because Daryl’s staring at you.

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

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

Not like it meant anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach drops.

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

Your face is on fire. “I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

═════════════════════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look up.

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

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

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

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

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

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

“That thing you asked me.”

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

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

“You think I can?” he asks, huffing.

You frown. “Think you can what?”

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

Your breath catches slightly.

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

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

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

His gaze flickers, just barely. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl blinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod quickly, still burning. “Yeah.”

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

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

“You’d want me to?”

Your stomach drops.

Your eyes snap to his. “What?”

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

Your breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something knowing. Something interested.

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

═════════════════════════

The past week has been unbearable.

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

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

And now, you’re on another run together.

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

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

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

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

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

Because every time you glance up, Daryl is there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your back hits the wall behind you.

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

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

Your breath feels too shallow.

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

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

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

“Thought of ya a lot, actually.”

Your stomach twists, heat flaring under your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daryl…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

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

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

“Goddamn,” he mutters under his breath.

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

Then, slowly, his hand slides up.

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

A low, rough chuckle rumbles against your ear.

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

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

“Yes,” you breathe, voice barely there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daryl feels it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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