The Regular

by PinkDino

Summary:

You’re just a girl studying hard for her post-grad and working weird hours to make ends meet.

He’s a country boy who comes in most days with his brother. He’s not your usual type, but there’s something about Daryl Dixon.

You start spending time with him and it’s more wonderful than you could have imagined. And then the world ends, and you think you’ll never see the kind, shy man you were falling for again. Until you do.

POV second person, no use of y/n.

Whole story will pan pre-and-post outbreak.

Chapter 1: Ain’t like that

You filled the two coffee cups without blinking. Then set down the jug and pulled your pen from behind your ear. The notebook from your uniform pocket.

“What can I get you boys?” You looked down at the brothers.

“Cheeseburger please sweetheart,” said Merle, grinning. “And a Coke.”

You nodded, jotted down his order, and turned to his brother.

“I’ll take a grilled cheese. Just the coffee’s fine.”

You took the menus from them, picked up the coffee pot, and bustled away to put their orders in at the kitchen.

The diner was quiet - it was getting late. The only customers beside the Dixon brothers were a trucker tucked in the corner, sipping on his coffee, and a pair of teenagers sharing a milkshake.

You brought Merle his Coke, then perched on a stool behind the counter, picking up the latest book you were reading for class. It was the best thing about working the late shift; you could catch up on your reading for college when it was quiet. And with no screens to distract you, you could scrawl notes in the margins.

Joe - the cook - called for you, letting you know the food was ready. You grabbed the plates and put them down in front of the brothers. Daryl thanked you. Merle nodded.

You went back to your seat and your book, settling reluctantly back into Moll Flanders.

After a minute or two, you’re interrupted.

“Good book?” You look up; Daryl is stood on the other side of the counter.

You shook your head.

“Honestly? I kind of hate it. My professor told us it was this great work and one of the first novels but…the plot is insane. The main character just found out she accidentally married her brother.”

Daryl made a face at you. “Sounds like somethin’ off like…Jerry Springer.”

You laughed. “You’re not wrong. Can’t wait ‘till I’m finished and I can just…read books I like again.”

You tucked your bookmark between the pages and dropped the novel.

“When do you finish up?” He asked.

“Next month. I have two more papers and I’m done. They already have my thesis.”

He nodded. “Good for you. Know it’s been hard goin’.”

You shrugged. “Took me longer than I planned but…looking forward to being done.” You smiled. “Did you need something? Food okay?”

He held up a ketchup bottle.

“This is empty, can I get a fresh one?”

You hopped up and pulled a bottle from the batch you’d refilled earlier in the night. “Here you go.”

He nodded in thanks, and went back to his brother.

———————————————————————

“You’re like a little puppy dog.” Merle said between bites.

Daryl didn’t respond, just focused on his fries.

“That girl ain’t lookin’ at your redneck ass. She’s been to college. Ain’t she even doing extra college? You didn’t even finish high school. Trust me she don’t wanna roll around in the hay with you, boy.”

Daryl stared up at his brother. “I just wanted ketchup. It ain’t like that.”

Merle grinned, took a sip from his Coke. “Ketchup my ass. You’re blushin’ like you ain’t never had a pretty girl smile at you before.”

Daryl shoved another fry in his mouth and stared at the table. His ears burned, but he didn’t give Merle the satisfaction of looking up.

You drifted past with the coffee pot, topping up the trucker’s mug before moving toward their table. “More for you boys?” you asked.

Merle tipped his cup toward you, grinning wide. “Keep it comin’, sweetheart.”

Daryl shook his head quickly. “I’m good.”

You gave him a smile anyway, just polite, then moved on, getting the bill for the teenaged couple, who must be running late for curfew now.

Merle chuckled low. “See? She smiles at everybody. Nothin’ special about you.”

—————————————————————

You took their empty plates.

“Can I get you two anything else?”

Merle looked behind you at the counter.

“What pie you got left?” He asked, craning to see.

“Just cherry now. Sold out of the apple and the blueberry.”

Merle pulled a face. “Nevermind then darlin’. Baby brother?”

Daryl shook his head. “I’m good. Let us know what we owe when you have a sec.”

You hustled the plates back to the kitchen, and whirled back to the brothers’ table with their bill.

Merle pulled out a stuffed money clip. Slipped out a crisp $50 bill and dropped it on the table.

“Keep the change. See you soon doll.”

Merle rose from the table and swaggered out towards his truck in the parking lot.

“He just had a big job come through. Don’t worry, he’ll be back to bein’ stingy again by next week.”

You laughed. You could always tell how things were going for Merle based on the size of his tips.

Daryl stood slowly, glancing back at your book on the counter. Margins stuffed with notes in your tiny, neat print.

He hesitated, then muttered, “Good luck on them papers.”

You gave him a real smile this time, softer, not the practiced waitress one.

“Thanks, Daryl.”

Chapter 2: Apple Pie

The diner was totally empty. It was after 2am, it was true - but usually there was someone around at least - someone driving cross country who needed some caffeine to keep them going. Someone eating a late dinner on their way home from shift work. Someone getting coffee on their way to an early shift.

But except for Joe, who was sat in the kitchen with his feet up, you were alone. You poured yourself a cup of coffee and waited. Trying to read the last few pages of Moll Flanders through heavy eyes.

When the bell on the front door tinkled, you looked up on instinct. Daryl was there.

“Evening,” you said “You’re out late. Merle parking up?”

Daryl shook his head and came to sit at the counter, instead of his usual booth.

“Nah. Just me tonight. Couldn’t sleep.”

You nodded. “What can I get you?” You asked.

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie if you got it.”

You nodded and walked over to the dessert case. Sliced a thick piece of apple pie - more generous than you were for any other customers - and plated it up.

“Ice cream?” You asked.

He shook his head. “Nah. As is.”

You dropped off the little plate in front of him with a fork.

“Coffee?”

He shook his head.

He nudged the fork into the pie, glanced at you, then back down again. “Ain’t you tired? Bein’ here all hours?”

You shrugged. “Coffee helps. And books.” You tapped Moll Flanders where it lay abandoned.

He huffed, almost a laugh. “Still readin’ that? Thought you said it was awful.”

“It is. But I can’t skip it. Got a paper due.”

You leaned on the counter while he ate, sipping your coffee. The diner was dead quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the tick of the wall clock.

“How’s the pie?” you asked.

He nodded once, eyes on the plate. “Best I had in a while.” Then after a beat, without looking up - “Prob’ly just ‘cause you gave me a double sized slice.”

You raised a brow. “Oh yeah? Keeping track?”

His mouth twitched, like he regretted saying it, then he shrugged. “Guess I notice stuff.”

Silence hung for a second. He tapped his fork against the plate, cleared his throat. “Bet you get bored here by yourself.”

“Sometimes.”

“Could, uh…” He shifted on the stool, ears going pink. “Could keep you company. If you don’t mind.”

You hid a smile, busying yourself with wiping the counter. “Depends. You planning on eating your way through the whole dessert case?”

That got the ghost of a grin out of him. He ducked his head, focusing on the pie. “Maybe.”

“So what’re you gonna do? Once you finish up with school?” He asked between bites. “Surely you ain’t gonna stay workin’ here?”

You smiled. “Tryin’ to get rid of me Dixon? Bored of the bookworm in the corner making you wait for your grilled cheese?”

He smiled. “Not what I meant and you know it. Just reckon you should be doin’ more with that big old brain of yours.”

You tilted your head at him. “Big old brain, huh? That your idea of a compliment?”

Color rose up his neck fast. “Ain’t what I—” He broke off, stabbing another bite of pie like it had personally offended him. “Just mean you’re smart. Smarter’n most folk ‘round here.”

You let him squirm a second, then softened. “Thanks, Daryl. I haven’t decided yet. Teaching maybe? Until I find the right thing.”

He nodded, chewing slow. “Bet you’d be good at it. Patient.” He hesitated, then added, almost too quiet: “Way you explain things…makes ‘em not sound so dumb.”

That drew a laugh out of you before you could help it. “Wow, high praise.”

He ducked his head, grinning despite himself. “Don’t go tellin’ nobody.”

You leaned on the counter again, studying him. “You’re not as bad at this as you think, you know.”

His fork paused midair. “At what?”

You smirked. “Talking to people.”

His brow furrowed. “Don’t think that’s true.”

“Truer than you think,” you said, studying him. Your gaze lingered a second too long, and before you could stop yourself, you added, “I like your hair, by the way. It suits you longer.”

The fork clattered against the plate as he set it down too fast. His hand went straight to the back of his neck, rubbing nervously. “Ain’t grown it on purpose or nothin’ - just ain’t got ‘round to having it cut.”

You smiled into your coffee cup. “Still. Looks good.”

His ears burned crimson, and he hunched a little, trying to hide it. “You’re just sayin’ that.”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Dixon.”

He wasn’t your usual type. Typically you went for clean-cut boys with pressed shirts, who knew all the right things to say.

But there was something about Daryl. He was capable - he’d fixed your car once when the ancient piece of junk had refused to start. He was rough around the edges, sure. But he was softer than his brother. Had kind eyes. And there was no denying he was good looking. Or the power in his biceps. When he wore those plaid shirts with the cut-off sleeves when the weather was hot, it was hard not to stare.

—————————————————————

Daryl hung around longer than you’d expected. You chatted a little, not about anything in particular; school, movies, music you liked. He was still sat at the counter, pie long gone, when Darlene came to takeover for you at 4am.

“It been this quiet all night?” She asked.

You nodded. “Just been me and this cowboy for a few hours now.” You gestured your head at Daryl, who grinned and waved sheepishly at the older lady. She smiled broadly, knowingly, at him.

“Well get out of here girly. I got you from here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You stuffed your book into your bag and slipped your denim jacket over the twee pink uniform.

“See you honey. Let me know once you get home please.”

You nodded. Daryl dropped some notes on the counter, and followed you out to the parking lot.

“What you doing, Dixon?” You asked over your shoulder.

“Just walkin’ you to your car. Still dark out here.”

You looked at him and laughed. There wasn’t a soul about.

Your keys clinked together in your hand as you crossed the lot, the gravel crunching under your shoes.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about monsters lurking behind the diner,” you teased.

He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Don’t hurt to be careful.”

You unlocked your car and tossed your bag inside. When you turned back, he was still there, rocking on his heels, like he was working up to something.

“Uh—” he started, then stopped, rubbed the back of his neck. “You ever…you wanna maybe go out sometime? Nothin’ fancy. Just…get a burger somewhere that ain’t here.”

The question hung there, awkward and bare. You blinked, surprised, then gave him a small, regretful smile.

“I’d like that. But honestly? I can’t right now. I have two more weeks of school left and I barely have time to sleep, let alone do anything else.”

His face fell, just slightly, like he’d braced for it but still hoped. “Right. Yeah. Makes sense.” He looked down at his boots. “Forget I asked.”

You reached out and touched his arm, and his eyes shot up to your face.

“Hey. It isn’t a no. In fact - I’m throwing a little house party when it’s all done. Two Saturdays’ time. You should come.”

Daryl blinked at you. “Party?”

You nodded and pulled your notebook out of your uniform pocket. Scrawled down your address. Your phone number. The start time.

“Nothing crazy,” you said, handing him the scrap of paper. “Music. Beer. People who aren’t your brother.”

Something flickered in his eyes, relief, maybe. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t invite you if I wasn’t.” You shut your car door, grin widening. “So you better show up, Dixon.”

Chapter 3: Smoke

You were finally finished. All your assignments submitted. Now you just had to wait for your last grades. But you’d done it. Master’s degree officially complete.

It was hot in your apartment. You’d flung open the front and back doors, and all the windows, to get a breeze flowing through. Cans of beer and hard cider sat in buckets of ice water in the backyard. Your upstairs neighbour was setting up his speakers; he’d offered to DJ in exchange for some beer, and you’d been happy to oblige.

Some of your friends from class had come to help set up and were now milling about in the yard, chatting. You stepped back inside to freshen your lipstick and spray an extra spritz of perfume.

Cassie - your closest friend from class - stepped into your bedroom. You smiled and hugged her.

“You look great. Nice to see you in something other than leggings or that damn diner uniform.”

You were wearing a sundress in a soft butter yellow. Short sleeves. Fitted at the waist. Tied in a bow at the bust and hanging a few inches below your knees.

“Thought I’d make an effort.” You dabbed at your lips with a tissue.

“So…is he coming?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Brandon? I told you he is. But please don’t get messy tonight. I can’t keep track of whether you two are together or not.”

Cassie rolled her eyes.

“No. Not Brandon. Your mystery country boy from the diner. You invited him right?”

You blushed.

“I did. He said he was coming when I saw him this week. But he hasn’t texted or anything.” You shrugged, ran your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t make it a big thing if he does come. He’s a little older than us but he’s shy. Not much of a people person.”

Cassie posed like an angel. “Me? Never. I’ll be totally normal about the first guy you’ve had a thing for in a year and his dreamy arms.”

You swatted at her lightly, and heard the music start up outside.

———————————————————————

The yard was filling fast, voices carrying in through the open windows. You followed Cassie out, weaving through the clusters of people already spilling into the kitchen for drinks.

You were halfway to the back door when the front one opened.

Daryl.

He stood stiff in the doorway, shoulders squared like he was bracing for a fight. Plaid shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, clean jeans - you wondered how long he’d stood in front of the mirror, second-guessing. His eyes moved quick, scanning the room like he was looking for exits before anything else.

Then his gaze found you. Just for a second. His hand twitched at his side, like he didn’t know what to do with it.

Cassie clocked him immediately. “Oh my God,” she mouthed, and before you could stop her she was already striding across the room.

“Hi there!” she said brightly, cutting right into his space. “You must be Daryl. I’ve heard so much about you.”

You saw it on his face; the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of panic behind his eyes. He shifted like he wanted to melt into the doorframe.

“Cassie,” you hissed, moving fast. You slipped between them, your hand brushing his arm as you reached for him. “Come on, Dixon. Let’s get you a beer before she scares you off.”

His shoulders eased the barest bit when you tugged his hand, guiding him through the crowd. He let you, though his grip was tentative, warm and calloused against your palm.

“Sorry,” you said once you’d gotten him into the kitchen, reaching for a cold can from the sink. “When I told Cassie I’d invited a boy, she went full interrogation mode.”

He cracked open the beer and took a sip, smiling.

“So you’re all done now, right?”

You nodded and opened a can for yourself.

“Yep. Cheers to that.”

You both toasted your cans a little awkwardly.

“Congratulations. Sure you’ve killed it.”

You smiled. “Thanks. Feels weird, though. Like…after all that work, it’s just over.”

He leaned against the counter, turning the can in his hand. “Bet it don’t feel real yet.”

“It doesn’t,” you admitted. “I half expect another paper to pop up in my inbox.”

That got a huff of a laugh out of him. He tipped his head toward the yard, where voices rose in laughter. “Guess that’s why you’re doin’ all this? Blow off steam?”

You shrugged, sipping your drink. “Mostly an excuse to get everyone together before we all scatter. People are already talking about moving for jobs, going home, new cities…” You trailed off, then looked back at him. “Not sure where I’ll end up yet.”

He nodded slowly. “Wherever it is, you’ll do fine.” His tone was simple, matter-of-fact - but his eyes held yours just a second too long before he looked away.

Voices were rising with the bass from the speakers. This was probably Daryl’s nightmare, but it meant a lot that he’d shown up.

You tilted your head. “So, Dixon. You hate it here yet?”

He smirked, a shy flicker across his face. “Kinda noisy. But the company’s alright.”

The music changed outside and a familiar intro rolled in.

Your head snapped up, eyes bright. “Oh my God, I love this song.”

You set your can down on the counter, already half-moving toward the back door. Then you stopped, turned back, and fixed him with a grin.

“Come on.”

He froze. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

Daryl’s eyes went wide, like you’d asked him to stand on the table and sing. “Nah. I don’t-” He shook his head, already retreating. “Ain’t my thing.”

You caught his hand before he could tuck it away, fingers slipping through his calloused ones. “Exactly why you should.”

He stared at you, deer-in-the-headlights, the tips of his ears burning red. “I’ll look stupid.”

You tugged him gently toward the door, smile tugging wider. “You’ll look like you’re having fun. Besides, everyone else is too busy getting drunk to notice.”

He hesitated, feet planted, clearly weighing the humiliation against…whatever it was in your expression. Finally, with a muttered curse under his breath, he let you pull him through the doorway into the blur of music and warm night air.

The backyard was alive — strings of lights swaying in the warm night breeze, people laughing with cans in hand, Cassie already twirling with a drink like she was at a club instead of your patchy lawn.

The song kicked in properly, bass thumping through the speakers, and you turned back to Daryl with a grin.

“C’mon,” you urged, pulling at his hand again.

He stood there, stiff as a board, eyes flicking around like maybe someone would laugh.

You rolled yours and stepped in closer, catching both his hands before he could retreat. “Fine. If you won’t move on your own…”

You set his palms on your hips, warm and solid, then started swaying with the beat yourself.

His whole body went rigid. “What’re you—”

“Relax,” you laughed, over the music. “You’re just along for the ride.”

You rocked side to side, guiding his hands with you, your sundress brushing against his jeans. He stared down at where his fingers rested like they didn’t belong there, then back up at you - utterly out of his depth.

“You’re gonna make me look stupid,” he muttered.

“You look fine,” you shot back, smiling up at him. “Better than fine, actually.”

That shut him up. His jaw worked like he wanted to argue, but the song was too loud, and your grin too unshaken. He let you keep swaying him into the rhythm, awkward and tentative, but his hands didn’t move from your hips.

And when you spun under his arm and came back against him, you swore you caught it - the tiniest ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

———————————————————————

The night had settled into something slower. The music was turned down to a low thrum, people clustered in twos and threes across the yard, voices carrying softer now.

Daryl had found a chair near the edge of the patio, half in shadow, a beer on the armrest and a cigarette between his fingers. Another smoker - one of the guys from class - leaned against the railing nearby, trading quiet words with him.

You spotted him from across the yard, the glow of his cigarette flaring as he drew in. Something about the way he sat there, shoulders loose for once, made you cut across the grass without a second thought.

“Hey,” you said lightly as you reached him. Then, without waiting for permission, you lowered yourself onto his lap.

The other smoker raised his brows, smirked, and muttered something about needing another drink before disappearing inside.

Daryl went rigid beneath you, the hand holding his cigarette lifting awkwardly like he wasn’t sure where the rest of him was supposed to go. “What’re you-“

“Relax, Dixon.” You plucked the cigarette from his fingers, bringing it to your lips. “Just wanted a drag.”

You inhaled, let the smoke curl out slow, then handed it back to him with a grin.

“Thanks.”

His ears burned hot enough to feel even in the dark, his other hand hovering near your hip but not quite landing. “You always…sit on folks like this?”

You tilted your head at him, smile tugging. “Nope. Just you.”

He huffed a laugh, low and incredulous, smoke trailing out of his mouth. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You shifted on his lap, close enough now to smell the smoke clinging to his shirt, the faint edge of soap beneath it. He held the cigarette like it was a lifeline, eyes darting everywhere but your face.

“Dixon,” you said softly, leaning in just enough that he finally looked at you.

“What?”

You plucked the cigarette from his fingers again, brought it to your lips, inhaled, then exhaled slow in his direction - close enough that the smoke curled across his jaw.

His throat bobbed, the hand that had been hovering finally landing on your waist, hesitant but there. “You’re trouble,” he muttered.

You smiled, emboldened by the warm buzz of beer in your veins. “Maybe. But you don’t seem like you mind.”

The cigarette burned low between your fingers, forgotten. You leaned in closer, the hum of the party fading until there was nothing but the warmth of him beneath you and the quick rhythm of your own pulse.

His hand at your waist tightened, just a fraction.

You tilted your chin up, your lips hovering a breath from his. His eyes dropped there - to your mouth - then flicked back up fast, like he’d been caught staring.

Neither of you moved, suspended in that sliver of space.

You smiled, barely. “Relax, Dixon. It’s just a party.”

His jaw worked, like he wanted to answer, but all that came out was a low sound, half-growl, half-exhale.

You could feel the heat rolling off him, the way his chest rose hard beneath your palm where it rested. Any closer and you’d have been kissing him, but you stopped there - let the tension stretch tight as wire.

Finally, you leaned back, slow, teasing. Took one last drag from the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray.

“Thanks for the smoke,” you said, voice light even though your heart was racing.

He sat frozen, staring at you like you’d stolen all the air from his lungs. You rose from his lap without a word and rejoined the party.

Chapter 4: Drive-in

There were just a handful of you left now. Cassie and Brandon, who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. A few boys from the football team sharing a joint. A couple of girls from class sipping beer and gossiping.

And Daryl.

He wasn’t hovering around you; he hadn’t trailed after you like a puppy. But he was around. Always in your line of sight.

Inside, the kitchen was a mess. Empty bottles lined the counter, a spill of chips crunching under your shoe as you moved to gather up stray cups.

“You celebratin’ or workin’?”

You glanced up. Daryl was in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes tracked you as you stacked plastic cups.

“Someone’s gotta clean,” you said lightly. “Can’t wake up to all this tomorrow.”

He pushed off the frame, crossing the room in a few strides. “Ain’t your job tonight.”

Before you could argue, his hand brushed your hip, gentle but certain, guiding you back against the counter. Then, with an easy strength, he boosted you up onto it like you weighed nothing.

Your breath caught as you found yourself perched at his height, faces close enough that the scent of smoke clung between you.

“You’re the one s’posed to be celebrated,” he said, voice low, rough. “Ain’t supposed to be cleanin’ up after everybody.”

His hands lingered at your thighs where he’d steadied you, not quite pulling away.

You smiled faintly, pulse quickening. “You’re bossy when you want to be.”

He huffed, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. That wire of tension you’d stretched tight in his lap snapped taut again. You felt the hum of it in your chest, in the way his breath stuttered when you leaned just a little closer.

Neither of you said anything. You didn’t have to.

When he kissed you, it was tentative at first - a brush, testing, like he might pull back if you gave the slightest sign.

You didn’t.

Your hand slid up into his hair, tugging him closer, and that was all it took for the kiss to deepen; still careful, still uncertain, but full of the heat that had been simmering between you all night.

You gasped softly into his mouth, fingers curling into the front of his shirt to keep him close. The kitchen smelled of beer and smoke and him - warm, heady, dizzying.

He pulled back half an inch, breath ragged. His forehead dropped against yours, like he needed the anchor. “We’re drunk, I shouldn’t…” he muttered, voice rough, “but damn I can’t stop.”

“Don’t,” you whispered, tilting your chin to chase his mouth again.

The second kiss was hotter, deeper, his hesitation bleeding into hunger. You felt it in the way his hand flexed on your thigh, the way his teeth grazed your lower lip.

You tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck, swallowing the low sound it pulled from him. Heat coiled low in your belly, every nerve lit.

But then he broke away again, chest heaving, eyes dark and searching yours like he needed to be sure. His thumb still traced circles against your leg, betraying him.

“I’m glad you came Dixon.” You breathed.

He laughed, deep and full. “Me too.”

———————————————————————

He’d spent the night. Nothing had happened. No clothes were thrown off. But he’d fallen into bed with you once the last of the guests left. Pulled you close. Stolen kisses. And fallen asleep with you held tightly to his chest, fingers stroking your hair.

You woke to light streaming through the curtains. Smiled when you realised Daryl’s arms were still wrapped tightly around you. You shifted a little, and he pulled you in closer.

“Mornin’.” He murmured into your hair.

“Morning.” You whispered back, against his chest.

You pulled back to look at his face. His eyes were sparkling despite the sleep still hovering around the edges.

“So,” he whispered, “do you reckon I can take you out today?”

You grinned, kissed his cheek.

“Sure you can. If I can clean up that mess outside first.”

He laughed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get outta your hair so you can clean up and get over the beer.” He squeezed you at the waist. “In a bit though, okay?”

So you laid there. Tangled in his arms. Still in your sundress from last night. His fingers trailing over any bare patch of skin they could fine.

—————————————————————

You’d offered him breakfast but he’d turned you down. He’d offered to stay and clean up, and you sent him away. And then he’d promised to be back at 8pm. He’d kissed you at the doorstep before he left; soft and lingering and gentle.

Once he was gone, you got to work. It wasn’t too bad - the majority of the carnage was confined to the backyard, and mostly consisted of gathering up the cans for recycling. You swept up the kitchen, then mopped for good measure. And soon enough, your little apartment was yours again.

Your neighbour came to reclaim his DJ gear from the backyard. Cassie called you to chat about how sweet Brandon had been all night, and how this was definitely it - no more off again on again. You swallowed your laughter and braced for their next break up, probably a week from now.

—————————————————————

You showered, washed your hair. Blow dried it carefully with a round brush. Rubbed sweet vanilla-scented moisturiser into your skin. Put on a little make up; nothing too heavy. Just enough to brighten your tired skin and highlight your eyes.

You thought carefully about what to wear. This was only the second time Daryl’d seen you out of your twee diner uniform. But the summer heat was still thick, and you weren’t sure what he’d have planned.

You settled on another sundress. Pink this time, with little white flowers printed on it. Threw on a pair of white tennis shoes. Added a spritz of perfume. You were putting your wallet and lipstick in a handbag when he knocked on the door. Right on time.

You opened the door, and there he was. Jeans and a plaid shirt - different from last night, but still newer and cleaner than the usual work gear you saw him wear at the diner. He was holding a bunch of colourful daisies.

You went up on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, and felt his face warm from the blood rushing.

“Are these for me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Nothin’ fancy just saw ‘em when I went to pick up more smokes and…thought you’d like ‘em.”

He passed you the little bouquet.

“Let me put them in some water, and we’ll go. Are we in a rush?”

He shook his head. “Nah, you’re okay.”

You invited him in as you moved to the kitchen, pulling out your one vase and a pair of scissors. You filled the vase with water and snipped off the ends of the daisy stems, arranging them one at a time, then putting them in the middle of your counter.

“They’re lovely.” You said, admiring. Daryl shrugged, but smiled at you.

You went over to him, wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands settled on your waist. You pressed your lips against his cheek again. He smelled like cologne; something woody and masculine.

“Thank you. Now - am I dressed okay? For wherever we’re going?”

Daryl squeezed your waist a little. “You’re dressed perfect. You ready?”

You locked the apartment up, expecting to climb on the back of Daryl’s motorbike. Instead, you saw Merle’s truck - looking cleaner than you’d ever seen it.

“Thought this was better, than the bike.” He mumbled, opening the door and helping you climb in on the passenger side. He was in his own seat, starting the engine, in a few seconds.

The truck rumbled to life, and you glanced around the cab. He’d actually cleared it out — no empty cans, no tools rattling around. Just faint traces of soap and sun-warmed vinyl.

“Truck’s looking good,” you teased, buckling your seatbelt.

He grunted, eyes on the road as he pulled out of the lot. “Figured you wouldn’t wanna be sittin’ on old McDonald’s wrappers.”

You laughed, reaching over to nudge his arm. “Thoughtful of you.”

He didn’t say much for the first few minutes, just drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping nervously against the seat. Finally, as the highway stretched out in front of you, he cleared his throat.

“Ain’t nothin’ fancy tonight,” he said, voice low. “I…well I ain’t got that kinda cash. But…I wanted somethin’ that’d feel like a real date.”

You turned in your seat, studying his profile. “Daryl Dixon, are you nervous?”

“Just…don’t want you thinkin’ I didn’t try.”

Your heart softened. “Where are you taking me?”

He hesitated, like he wanted to keep it a surprise, then muttered, “Drive-in.”

You blinked, surprised — then grinned. “Like, an actual drive-in movie?”

“Yeah.” He shifted on the seat, embarrassed. “Packed up the back, so we don’t gotta sit in the cab the whole time. Got a blanket, couple pillows…grabbed some food from the house. Ain’t a restaurant, but…”

You reached across the bench seat, covering his tapping hand with yours. “That sounds perfect.”

He glanced over at you then, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth, ears red even in the dimming light.

The truck pulled up at the ticket booth. Daryl paid, then drove to the spot the attendant pointed at. He reversed so the truck bed faced the screen.

“Wait here. Lemme get it right.”

You smiled and nodded at him as he jumped out of the cab. You felt the truck move around as he set up whatever he had planned.

“Okay!” He called after a few minutes; appearing at the passenger door. Opening it and helping you hop down from the high cab. He led you by the hand to the truck bed and grinned sheepishly.

The bed of the truck didn’t look like Merle’s truck at all anymore. Daryl had lined it with an old camping mattress pad, a couple of thick quilts spread out over top, and mismatched pillows piled against the cab. A cooler sat tucked into the corner, the lid propped open to show cans of Coke and a bottle of wine on ice.

Daryl lifted you up like you weighed nothing, and you walked over to investigate while he hopped up behind you.

In a second cooler you found doorstop sandwiches, fresh and stuffed full. Bags of chips, popcorn and your favourite candy.

“This is…really cute.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “Ain’t much. Just figured it’d be more comfortable than sittin’ in the cab all night.”

You settled down against the pillows, smiling as you smoothed a hand over the blanket and kicked off your shoes. “You thought of everything.”

He climbed in beside you, shoulders stiff like he didn’t know where to put them. “Yeah, well. Hope the movie ain’t too dumb.”

“What is it?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the little ticket stub. “Dirty Dancing.”

You laughed. “Are you kidding? I love this movie.”

That got him to look at you, startled. “For real?”

“For real.” You nudged his shoulder, laughing softly. “Guess you just scored major points, Dixon. Can’t imagine it’s your kind of film though.”

His ears went pink again, but he relaxed back against the pillows, a ghost of a grin on his face. “That don’t matter. I got good company.”

——————————————————————

The movie flickered across the giant screen, colours washing the field in light. You’d started sitting with a bit of space between you, sipping Coke from the cans he’d brought, eating your sandwiches, teasing him quietly whenever he shifted like he couldn’t quite get comfortable.

But as the story played on, the air cooled and your sundress wasn’t much against the summer night. You shifted closer, careful at first, then let yourself lean fully into his side.

He went still, the kind of stillness that meant his whole body was aware of you pressed against him. After a beat, his arm lifted, hesitant, before settling across your shoulders. His palm rested warm against your upper arm, his thumb brushing once — almost by accident.

You exhaled, soft, and let your hand fall against his thigh. He didn’t flinch, but pulled a blanket out from a bag tucked beside him and spread it out over you both. A moment later, his fingers found yours. Awkward at first, fumbling, but then his hand curled around yours with a kind of certainty that made your chest ache.

Onscreen, Baby and Johnny were kissing in his cabin.

You smiled into the fabric of his shirt, whispering so only he could hear, “Told you this was one of my favourites.”

He gave a small huff of laughter, quiet but real, and squeezed your hand once.

For the first time all night, he looked completely at ease.

Chapter 5: Lace

Daryl walked you to your front door, hand in hand, like something out of a movie.

“I had fun tonight.” You said quietly, looking up into his face.

He grins shyly. “Me too.”

You lingered on the porch, the hum of summer cicadas filling the silence around you. His hand was still wrapped in yours, warm and a little rough, like he didn’t want to let go.

For a moment, he just stood there, shifting on his boots like he was working up the nerve. Then, slowly, he leaned down, his forehead brushing yours before his lips touched yours soft, tentative — like he was testing to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

You pressed into him, hand sliding up to his jaw, and felt him exhale into the kiss. It wasn’t long, just a few heartbeats, but it left you breathless all the same.

When he pulled back, his ears were pink, eyes darting away. “Sorry. Just—”

“Don’t be,” you cut in, smiling. “I wanted you to.”

He blinked at you, relief flickering across his face.

You gave his hand a squeeze, tilting your head toward the door. “You wanna come in? I’ve got cold beers in the fridge. No homework hanging over me anymore, so…”

His mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure he should, like he might talk himself out of it. But he nodded, shy grin tugging at his lips again.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

You opened the door, dropped your keys in the dish and slipped off your shoes, flicking on a lamp. Daryl stood there awkwardly for a moment, hands in his pockets, until you waved him over to the couch.

“Sit. I’ll grab those beers.”

You returned with two cold bottles, passing him one before sinking down beside him. Not too close at first - then shifted close enough that your knees brushed.

You both drank in silence for a beat, the TV casting soft light across the room. It wasn’t awkward silence, though; more like the kind you didn’t mind.

“So,” you said eventually, tilting your head at him. “What is it you actually do, Dixon? I’ve been seeing you around the diner for months and I still haven’t figured it out.”

He smirked around the lip of his bottle. “Bit of everything.”

“That’s vague.”

“‘Cause it’s true.” He took a swig, then added with a shrug, “Mainly whatever Merle tells me needs doin’.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That doesn’t narrow it down much. What does Merle say needs doing?”

“Fixin’ cars, haulin’ junk, huntin’ now and then…long list.” He leaned back, the couch dipping with his weight. “Ain’t glamorous, but it pays when it pays.”

You studied him, smiling faintly. “So basically you’re a handyman-slash-outdoorsman-slash-professional brother wrangler.”

That earned you a quiet huff of laughter. “Somethin’ like that.”

You clinked your bottle gently against his. “Sounds important to me.”

His ears flushed, but his smile lingered this time, soft and a little shy.

“I wasn’t like you. School was hard, so I figured somethin’ else out.”

You nodded. “It’s not for everyone. Be a boring world if it was. I’m not handy in the slightest; struggle putting flat pack furniture together.”

Daryl laughed and looked at you.

“Call me the next time you got a desk or somethin’ needs puttin’ up.”

You smiled at him over the neck of your bottle. “Careful, Dixon. That sounds dangerously like volunteering.”

“Don’t mind.” He shrugged, like it was nothing, but the way his eyes lingered on you betrayed him. “Least I’d be useful.”

“You’re already way more than that.” The words slipped out before you could soften them, but you didn’t want to. You meant it.

Something shifted in his face - surprise first, then something else, deeper. He set his beer on the coffee table, leaning back into the couch but turning toward you fully.

You mirrored him, putting your bottle down beside his, your knees bumping his again.

Your voice came out lower than you expected. “You gonna kiss me again, or do I have to do it myself?”

His breath caught, and before you could blink he leaned in - still shy, still careful - but this time with more intent. His lips pressed to yours firmer, lingering, his hand finding your jaw to hold you there.

You sighed into him, sliding closer until your thigh pressed along his. His hand slipped to your waist, pulling you the last inch until you were practically curled against him.

When you finally broke apart, both of you a little breathless, his forehead rested against yours.

“Better,” you whispered.

He gave a huff of laughter, shaky but real, before kissing you again. This time there was no hesitation. His mouth moved against yours with heat, hungry now that the first line had been crossed.

You tipped backward into the couch cushions, pulling him with you until his weight pressed over yours. He braced himself carefully, one hand firm on the back of the couch, the other still gentlemanly at your waist as if he was afraid to push.

You weren’t afraid. Your hands roamed; sliding up the planes of his back, tugging at his shirt, tracing the curve of muscle beneath plaid and cotton. You felt him tense under your touch, then melt, kissing you deeper.

You nipped at his bottom lip, grinning when it drew a low sound out of him, half-groan, half-laugh.

You arched beneath him, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp. He buried his face in your neck for a moment, breathing hard, then found your mouth again like he couldn’t stay away.

The world outside was quiet - just you, him, the creak of the couch, and the thrum of heat building between every brush of your hands and his careful restraint.

It was playful, hot, a little clumsy - but it was perfect.

You kissed him again, harder this time, your nails grazing lightly down his back. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, and you felt the tug of want coil tight in your stomach.

Breaking the kiss, you whispered against his lips, “Daryl…let’s go to my room.”

He froze like you’d doused him in cold water. His hand at your waist tightened, but he didn’t move. His eyes searched yours, uncertain, his breath still ragged.

“We ain’t gotta…” he muttered, “I wasn’t expectin’-“

“I know.” You cupped his face in both hands, making him look at you. “But I want to.”

His jaw flexed, torn between restraint and the pull of you beneath him. “You sure?”

You smiled softly, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “As long as you want to.”

He groaned softly.

“That a yes?”

For a moment he just looked at you, like he was memorising every line of your face, trying to believe you meant it. Then he kissed you again; deeper, almost desperate - before pulling back, helping you up off the couch with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

Fingers laced with his, you led him down the short hall toward your bedroom. He followed close, quiet except for the uneven hitch of his breathing.

You stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and kissed him again, soft and steady, coaxing him further in. By the time you broke apart, the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed.

“Sit,” you murmured.

He did, lowering himself carefully like he thought he might break something. He watched you like he didn’t trust his own eyes.

You let the moment hang. Then, with a little smile, you slid your sundress off your shoulders. The fabric whispered down your body until it pooled at your feet, leaving you in delicate matching underwear - lace and pale silk you hadn’t chosen by accident.

His breath caught, audible in the quiet. His hands flexed against his knees, knuckles pale, like he was stopping himself from reaching for you.

You stepped closer, between his knees, resting your hands on his shoulders.

His eyes dragged up your body, slow, almost cautious, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. His throat worked around a swallow.

“You…you wearin’ all that for me?” he asked, voice low and rough, almost accusing, like the thought alone might knock him sideways.

You smiled, leaning down just enough that your lips brushed his ear. “Who else would it be for?”

That pulled a shaky laugh out of him, more exhale than sound. His hands twitched again, hovering at your hips, not quite brave enough to settle.

“Damn,” he muttered, eyes flicking up to yours, worshipping and dazed all at once.

You put a finger under his chin and tilted his face up towards you. And when you kissed him this time, he finally let go - hands sliding firm around your waist, pulling you closer until you were flush against his chest, his restraint unraveling thread by thread under your touch.

You kissed him again, slow and lingering, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “You know, Dixon…you’re looking a little overdressed.”

His brows shot up, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

You grinned, settling onto the bed beside him. “I’m not about to be the only one standing here half-naked.”

For a second, he just stared at you, caught between embarrassment and something hotter. Then, with a rough little huff, he stood and tugged his shirt over his head. The plaid hit the floor, followed by his jeans, boots kicked aside in a clumsy heap.

He stood there in nothing but dark boxers, broad shoulders rising and falling with each breath, the lamplight catching on the lines of muscle across his chest, the cut of his stomach.

You let your eyes wander openly, deliberately, taking him in. The scars, the strength, the way every inch of him looked carved out of work and grit.

“Wow,” you said softly, lips curving. “Guess I win.”

Colour climbed up his neck, ears pink, but he didn’t move to cover himself. Instead, he looked at you with that same stunned, hungry reverence as before - like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, sitting there in lace, looking at him like that.

You reached out, your fingers tracing the line of his hip where fabric met skin, light and teasing. He shivered at the touch, jaw tightening, and you smiled.

“Beautiful,” you whispered.

His laugh came out disbelieving, almost choked. “Don’t call me that.”

But the way his hand caught yours, pressing it firmer against his skin, told you he wanted to believe it.

You shifted back onto the bed, tugging him with you until you were both stretched out across the sheets in nothing but your underwear. The lamplight fell soft over his shoulders, the curve of his back, the long lines of muscle beneath skin.

He hovered for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should really be there, until you pulled him down into another kiss. Slow at first — mouths tasting, learning. Then deeper, tongues sliding, heat sparking all over again.

You rolled to your side, pressing flush against him, your hand mapping the ridges of his stomach, the dip of his waist, the solid strength of his thighs. Each time you touched, his breath hitched like he didn’t know how to take it.

When his lips finally left yours, they wandered — brushing along your cheek, down to your jaw, then lower to your throat. He kissed there tentatively, then again with more certainty when you arched into it, sighing. His stubble scraped your skin, deliciously rough.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging him closer. “Feels good,” you murmured, your voice catching when his mouth found that spot just beneath your ear.

“Yeah?” he breathed against your skin, his hand splayed wide at your back, holding you against him.

“Mmhm.” You kissed the side of his throat in return, tasting salt and smoke, letting your lips linger at the rapid beat of his pulse.

For a while there were no words, just the messy sound of kissing, the rasp of skin against skin as you shifted together, exploring. Nothing hurried. Just the two of you learning each other in the quiet of your room — heat building in every brush, every sigh, every whispered kiss against throats and shoulders.

His mouth lingered at your throat, dragging slow along your pulse. You tilted your head back, giving him more, a soft sound spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

Daryl froze at the noise — startled, like he wasn’t sure he’d really pulled it out of you.

“Daryl…” you breathed, fingers tugging lightly at his hair.

That broke him. The sound of his name on your lips. In pleasure. He bent again, kissing deeper at the side of your neck, and when your breath hitched he dared a little more - teeth grazing, then a soft bite just beneath your jaw.

The gasp it drew from you made him groan low in his chest. He did it again, more sure this time, tongue soothing where he’d nipped. You clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders, a whimper escaping that you couldn’t swallow down.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, lips parted. “You like that?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”

Something shifted in him then - the hesitation loosening, replaced with a heat that steadied his hands. He kissed you again, urgent now, while his fingers slid up your spine to the clasp of your bra. For a beat he hesitated, giving you the chance to stop him.

When you only arched closer, his thumb flicked the clasp open with surprising ease. The straps slipped down your arms, and he pushed the lace away gently, like he was uncovering something precious.

He leaned back just enough to look at you, chest heaving. “Damn,” he whispered, voice rough, before his mouth was on you again - trailing kisses lower, savouring every inch of skin he’d just revealed.

You gasped at the heat of his mouth, arching up into him instinctively.

He hesitated only a second, then pressed a kiss just above your nipple — tentative, like he was asking permission. The needy sound that broke from your throat was all the answer he needed.

With a low groan, he drew your nipple into his mouth, sucking softly at first, then bolder when your back arched and your fingers threaded tight in his hair.

“Daryl—” you gasped, the syllable breaking into a moan when his tongue flicked over you. Heat sparked down your spine, flooding through you so fast you almost trembled with it.

He growled low at the sound, switching to your other breast, his stubble scraping your sensitive skin as his mouth closed over you. Your hips lifted off the mattress without you meaning to, seeking friction, desperate for more.

The rush of it all — his weight pressed against you, your hands tugging at his hair, the relentless pull of his mouth — made you dizzy, like you couldn’t catch enough breath between gasps and moans.

He pulled back just long enough to look at you, lips wet, chest heaving. “You’re drivin’ me crazy,” he muttered, voice wrecked, before bowing his head to kiss across your chest again, desperate to hear you make that sound for him one more time.

His mouth lingered on your breasts until you were writhing beneath him, the sounds spilling out of you unrestrained now. He pulled back, lips swollen, eyes dark as they swept down your body.

His hand slid slow along your side, over the curve of your hip, to the edge of your panties. He hesitated there, fingers brushing the lace like it might burn him.

You met his eyes, breathless. “It’s okay.”

He swallowed hard, then hooked his thumbs beneath the fabric, dragging it down your thighs inch by inch. The way his eyes followed the reveal made your skin prickle, every nerve alive. He tossed the lace aside and settled between your legs, palms pressing firm against your thighs, spreading you open.

For a moment, he just looked, lips parted, breath shaky. “So damn pretty,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

Then he bent, tentative at first — a soft kiss against your inner thigh, another, then finally his mouth pressed to you.

The first swipe of his tongue made you gasp, hips jerking. He froze, glancing up like he wasn’t sure he’d done it right.

“Yes,” you panted, tugging at his hair. “Don’t stop.”

Bolstered, he did it again, slower this time, tongue dragging over you in a way that made your eyes roll back. Your thighs trembled under his hands, and the broken sounds you gave him drew a low groan from his chest.

He tried different pressures, different angles, paying attention to every gasp, every sharp intake of breath. Each time you moaned louder, he did it again, more confident, more insistent.

When his lips closed around you and his tongue circled just right, a cry tore from your throat. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his mouth glistening, eyes hungry.

“Like that?” he rasped, voice rough.

“God, yes,” you gasped, tugging him back down.

And he obeyed - diving in with a newfound certainty, devouring every sound you gave him, like he’d never let you go quiet again.

He worked you with his mouth until you were squirming, gasping his name, your thighs trembling against his shoulders. Every time you cried out, he groaned into you, like the sound alone spurred him on.

Then, tentatively, one of his hands slid up from your thigh. His fingers traced along your slick heat, testing, before pressing gently inside. You gasped, your back arching off the bed.

He froze. “Too much?”

“No,” you managed, clutching at his hair. “God, no. Feels so good.”

Relief flashed across his face before he ducked back down, his tongue finding that perfect spot again while his finger moved carefully in time. He was clumsy at first, hesitant — but every sharp breath you gave him, every moan when he curled just right, made him bolder.

“Like that?” he rasped against you, adding a second finger, stretching you deliciously.

“Yes,” you cried, your voice breaking. “Right there—don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. He focused there, tongue and fingers working together, following the rise of your voice, the frantic clutch of your hands in his hair. Each sound pulled another low growl from his chest, like he couldn’t believe he was doing this to you.

Heat coiled tight in your stomach, pressure building so fast it stole your breath. “Daryl—” you gasped, warning him, but he only pressed harder, faster, desperate to give you more.

Your climax hit sharp and overwhelming, crashing through you in waves. You cried out, trembling against him, your thighs clamping tight around his head as you came undone.

He held steady, fingers and tongue coaxing you through it until you were shuddering, boneless, gasping for air. Only then did he slow, pulling back just enough to look at you, lips wet, eyes dark and wide with awe.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe it.

You managed a weak, breathless laugh, tugging him up into your arms. “Yeah,” you panted. “Holy shit.”

He gathered you up against his chest without question, strong arms wrapping tight around you as if to steady you. You buried your face against his shoulder, still trying to catch your breath.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice low, rough from the effort. One hand rubbed slow circles over your back, holding you close.

You let out a shaky laugh, muffled against his skin. “Daryl…that was incredible.”

He stiffened at that, pulling back just enough to search your face. His ears were pink again, eyes wide like he couldn’t trust what he’d heard. “For real?”

You cupped his jaw, smiling at the stunned look on him. “For real. I don’t think I’ve ever…” Your voice trailed off, still dazed, but the way you looked at him said the rest.

Something unguarded flickered across his face then: pride, disbelief, maybe a little fear that he’d wake up and find this wasn’t real.

“Good,” he muttered finally, ducking his head so you couldn’t see the full flush creeping up his neck. But the arm around you tightened, holding you even closer, like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

“Didn’t…didn’t expect it to be like that.” He muttered, almost under his breath, his fingers tracing light patterns on the small of your back.

You tilted your head up. “Like what?”

He swallowed, eyes darting away for a second before he forced them back to yours. “You. Taste so damn good. And them sounds you make…” His jaw flexed. “Damn near lost my mind.”

Heat flared through you all over again, sharper now. You shifted against him, and his breath hitched as your thigh brushed the obvious hardness straining his boxers.

A slow smile curved your lips. “You like the sounds I make?” you teased, your hand sliding down, fingers skimming the front of his boxers.

He groaned, hips jerking despite the way he tried to hold still. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” you whispered, pressing firmer, rubbing him through the thin cotton.

His head dropped back against the headboard, a ragged curse slipping out as your hand worked him. His chest rose hard under your touch, every muscle in him taut with restraint.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut, fists curling in the sheets. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You leaned up, brushing your mouth over his jaw, your hand still stroking slow, deliberate. “Fair’s fair, Dixon.”

Your hand moved more insistently, feeling him straining against the dampening fabric.

You kissed down his throat as your fingers hooked the waistband of his boxers. “I want to see you.”

His whole body went rigid, like he might argue, but the next second you were tugging the fabric down. He lifted his hips without meaning to, and then he was bare before you.

You froze, breath catching. He was huge — thick, long, flushed and already slick at the tip.

“Jesus, Daryl…” you whispered, your thighs clenching involuntarily.

His face flamed, eyes darting away, like he half-expected you to laugh.

“Nothin’ special.” He said awkwardly.

“Wrong,” you murmured, wrapping your hand around him properly now. Fingers only just closing. The sheer weight of him made your mouth water. “You’re perfect.”

He groaned, his head falling back hard against the headboard, as your grip slid slow from base to tip. His hips jerked despite his effort to stay still.

You kissed down his stomach, tracing the lines of muscle with your lips until you reached the base of him. Then, with a teasing glance up, you leaned in and licked a slow stripe up his length.

“Fuck—” His whole body jolted, a strangled sound tearing from his throat. One of his hands shot to your hair, not pushing, just there, clutching like he needed an anchor.

You took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue around until his thighs trembled under your hands. His breath was ragged, chest heaving.

“Shit, darlin’—” he groaned, voice breaking. “You—you don’t gotta—”

But when you slid lower, hollowing your cheeks, his words disintegrated into a guttural moan. His free hand fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, as his hips bucked helplessly toward your mouth.

Every sound he made — every curse, every groan — only spurred you on. And judging by the wrecked look on his face, the way his brain seemed to short-circuit under your touch, he’d never felt anything like this in his life.

You worked him deeper into your mouth, slow and steady, one hand stroking the base as your tongue traced him. Every noise he made went straight to your core — the broken curses, the groans, the way his breath tore ragged from his chest.

“Jesus Christ—” he choked, hips jerking before he forced them still. His hand trembled in your hair, tugging just enough to keep him grounded. “You keep doin’ that, I ain’t gonna last.”

You pulled back with a soft pop, stroking him slick and slow with your hand instead. His cock twitched hard in your grip, his eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling like he’d run miles.

“Good,” you teased, lips brushing the head as your thumb smeared the bead of precum there. “But…” You glanced up at him, a wicked smile curving your mouth. “I think I’d rather take a ride before you’re done.”

For a second he just stared at you, chest heaving, like he couldn’t possibly have heard you right. Then he rasped, voice wrecked, “You serious?”

You smiled, crawling up over him, straddling his thighs. “Dead serious.”

His hands landed on your hips, trembling, like he couldn’t help himself. “Jesus Christ…” he muttered, head tipping back for a moment as though he needed to breathe.

You guided him, lining him up with a slow, deliberate shift of your hips. The blunt head pressed against your slick entrance, and you gasped, bracing your hands against his chest.

He looked up at you then, wide-eyed, like he was caught between awe and panic. “If it’s not…if it hurts I-“

“Shh.” You kissed him, soft and sure. “I want it. I want you.”

You sank down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch making you gasp and moan against his mouth. His grip on your hips tightened almost painfully, his whole body trembling under you as if he was holding himself back from thrusting up.

“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes screwing shut, jaw clenched. “So damn tight…can’t—”

“You feel…” you moaned, rolling your hips lower until you’d taken him fully, “…amazing.”

His eyes flew open then, dark and wild, staring at you like he’d never seen anything so perfect in his life. His chest rose hard under your palms, every muscle taut as a bowstring.

You stilled for a moment, letting your body adjust around him, your breaths mingling in the quiet between moans.

“You feel incredible,” you said, steady, so he could hear it through the haze of heat. “I want this. I want you.”

His throat worked around a swallow, and then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, pressing a kiss to his mouth as you lifted your hips an inch, then sank back down just as slow.

His groan rumbled through your chest, his head tipping back into the pillow. You started to move like that — steady, unhurried — rolling your hips in a rhythm that let you feel every inch of him. Each slow grind made his grip tighten, made a new sound tear from his throat: a low moan, a whispered curse, your name hissed like a prayer.

“Goddamn,” he rasped, eyes locked on you again. “You’re…so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Heat flooded you at the words, your body clenching around him, and he gasped, bucking up before he could stop himself. You laughed breathlessly, leaning down to kiss him, swallowing his groan as he clutched you closer.

Your laugh only seemed to snap something in him. With a sudden growl, he shifted under you, gripping your hips tight as he rolled you onto your back. The breath rushed out of you as his weight pressed over yours, the change dizzying.

“Daryl—” you gasped, but the word broke off in a moan as he drove into you, deeper than before.

“Couldn’t…just lay there,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “Need you too bad.”

He thrusted again and you moaned, loud.

He paused. “This okay? You okay?”

You nodded, struggling to speak.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into him as he set a harder rhythm, each thrust making the headboard creak against the wall. The slow, steady build from before had been intoxicating, but this—this was fire.

“Yes—oh, God, yes,” you cried, nails raking down his back.

He groaned at the sting, hips snapping harder as his mouth found your neck again, kissing, biting, gasping against your skin. Every sound you made spurred him on, every arch of your body making him lose another piece of control.

Your head fell back, a sob of pleasure catching in your throat. “Daryl—fuck—I’m gonna come.”

He lifted his head, eyes dark and locked on yours even as his hips drove harder into you. His breath came ragged, voice low and rough. “It’s okay, baby. Let go for me.”

The words hit you as hard as his thrusts, heat flooding your core, dragging you right to the edge. Your whole body bowed against him, legs trembling around his waist as the tension broke and pleasure tore through you.

You cried out, clinging to him, and he held on just as tight, still moving, still coaxing every last shudder out of you with his body and the rasp of his voice in your ear. “That’s it…that’s it. Feels so good when you come on me.”

Your climax was still rippling through you when you realized he hadn’t followed. His thrusts slowed, but he didn’t stop, his jaw tight, every muscle straining like he was fighting himself.

“Daryl,” you breathed, stroking his back, your lips brushing his ear. “You’re holding back.”

He groaned, burying his face in your neck, hips rolling deep but measured. “Don’t…don’t wanna be done yet.”

Your chest tightened at the restraint in him, the need and care twisted together. You cupped his face, pulling him up so he had to meet your eyes. “I want you to let go,” you whispered, fierce and certain. “For me. I want to feel you lose it for me.”

His eyes blew wide, his rhythm stuttering. “You…you want—”

“Yes,” you gasped, wrapping your legs tighter, dragging him deeper. “Please, Daryl. I want it. I want you.”

That broke him. With a guttural groan he slammed into you harder, faster, his control unraveling in an instant. His forehead dropped to yours, sweat slick and trembling as he thrust through it, his voice shattering into curses and your name until he finally spilled inside you, raw and undone.

You held him through it, whispering his name, loving every second of the way he fell apart in your arms.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His chest heaved against yours, damp skin pressed to damp skin, both of you trying to catch your breath. His weight pinned you to the mattress, but you didn’t want him to move.

When he finally shifted, finally pulled out, it was so he could look at your face. “That was…” His voice cracked, rough with exhaustion. He swallowed hard, trying again. “Was it…good? For you?”

You laughed softly, stroking a hand through his sweat-damp hair, tugging him down for a slow, lingering kiss. “Good? Daryl, that was incredible.”

His breath shuddered out, relief breaking into the faintest, crooked smile. He ducked his head, hiding his face against your shoulder. You felt the tremor of his laugh there, warm and disbelieving.

“Was it good for you?” you murmured into his hair, needing to hear it.

He lifted his head then, eyes dark and earnest, and gave a short, shaky nod. “Best I ever had.”

The words hung between you, simple and unpolished, but they landed deep. You kissed him again, softer this time, the two of you tangled up and still catching your breath, amazed at what you’d just found in each other.

You laughed quietly, and Daryl looked at you.

“What?” He asked.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve Dixon.” He frowned, confused.

You pointed down between his legs. “A lot of nerve to say that is nothing special.”

He went crimson, instantly. “It ain’t.”

You huffed. “Daryl. You’re huge.”

His brow furrowed, lips pulling into a doubtful line. “Ain’t that big.”

Your laugh bubbled out, half-shocked, half-delighted. “You gotta be kidding me. That,” you pointed again “is pretty damn special. And very damn big.”

His breath caught, and he tried to look away, but you caught his jaw and made him face you. The pink in his cheeks deepened, and his lips curved in that shy, crooked smile you were starting to adore.

“Ya makin’ fun of me,” he muttered, though his voice was soft, almost fond.

You shook your head, “No, Dixon. I’m making sure you know exactly what you’re packing.”

He huffed out a laugh, ducking his head like he could hide the way his mouth was twitching at the corners. “Ain’t gotta go on about it.”

You grinned, kissing the little crease in his cheek. “Oh, I do. Trust me, I do.”

He shook his head again, muttering under his breath, “Crazy woman,” but his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer like he couldn’t help himself.

You felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat where your bodies pressed together, his rough palm splayed warm against your back. He brushed it off with words, but the look in his eyes when they flicked up to yours; dark, lit with something fierce and private, told you he’d remember every word you’d said.

Chapter 6: Stay

It was early when you woke. First rays of sunshine just peeking through the curtains. You stretched, and felt Daryl pull you back against him. Chest against your back.

“Where d’ya think you’re goin’?” He murmured against your hair. You covered his hand at your waist with your own, brushing your fingertips over his knuckles lightly.

“Absolutely nowhere.” You half-hummed.

He pressed his lips softly to your shoulder and you let out a little sigh of contentment.

“You gotta do stuff today? Or can we just stay here?”

He groaned. “I gotta meet Merle at ten. But I ain’t gotta go anywhere yet. Sun’s barely up.”

You twisted a little in his hold until you could see his face, his hair mussed, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looked younger like this, softer, and you couldn’t stop yourself from brushing a thumb across the faint stubble on his jaw.

“Then stay a bit longer,” you whispered.

His arms tightened, pulling you flush against him. “Ain’t plannin’ on movin’,” he muttered, voice gravelly with sleep, nose nudging against your temple.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart. For a while you just lay like that; legs tangled, the hush of morning wrapping around you both, the world outside still quiet.

Every so often he’d press another absentminded kiss to your shoulder, your hair, your temple — like he couldn’t help it.

“Could get used to this,” you murmured eventually, eyes half-lidded.

“Yeah?” His voice was quiet, almost like he didn’t trust himself to say it.

“Yeah,” you answered, squeezing his hand in yours. “I’m glad you finally asked me out. Was starting to think you never would.”

He shifted beside you, propping himself on one elbow so he could look down at you. His brow furrowed, like the idea was absurd. “Never would? Hell, I was workin’ up to it for months.”

You blinked, surprised. “Seriously? Half the time you wouldn’t even make eye contact with me.”

He grinned, awkwardly. “Truth is I was pinin’ like a damn fool. Merle has been givin’ me shit for months.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Giving you shit? Like what?”

He brushed a piece of hair off your face.

“Tellin’ me there was no way a fancy college girl was lookin’ at me.”

You put a hand on his chest and leaned in.

“Oh, I was definitely looking.” You smiled dangerously.

“Oh yeah?” He murmured, eyes fixed on yours.

You pressed your lips lightly against his; barely brushing. Then whispered, “Definitely. Those shirts with the cut-off sleeves you wear in the heat?” You made a little groaning sound into his ear.

His breath hitched, the tips of his ears going pink. “That so?”

“Mhm.” Your hand slid lower across his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle there. “Had me distracted more nights than I care to admit.”

A low groan rumbled out of him, half laugh, half disbelieving. “Jesus…all that time I thought you wouldn’t give me a second look…you were sittin’ there thinkin’ about my arms?”

You bit your lip, grinning. “Yes. But not just your arms.”

That undid him. He leaned down and kissed you, not shy this time — deeper, hotter, his hand sliding into your hair as if he couldn’t hold back another second. You gasped into his mouth, tugging him closer, your body arching up against his.

His skin was hot against yours, every line of muscle sliding over you as he shifted his weight.

One of his hands cupped your breast, thumb brushing across the peak until you moaned against his lips. The sound made him groan in return, his hips pressing down, the hard length of him nudging slick against your thigh.

“Not just my arms, huh?” he muttered, his mouth trailing down to your jaw, your throat.

“Definitely not,” you whispered, your fingers already drifting lower, tracing the ridges of his stomach before wrapping around his hard cock. His whole body jerked, a guttural sound tearing out of him.

“You were pining,” you teased, stroking him again, “but you have no idea how bad I wanted this.”

His laugh was strained, his hand slipping lower, sliding between your thighs with a surer touch now. “Think I’m startin’ to get the picture.”

His fingers parted you, sliding through your wetness before circling that aching spot, slow and deliberate. You gasped, stroking him in time, your thumb brushing over the head of his cock and smearing the slick there.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours. “You’re so wet already.”

You tightened your grip on him, stroking harder just to hear that ragged sound spill out again. “And you’re so hard,” you whispered, nipping at his bottom lip.

He groaned into your mouth, kissing you hard, messy, like he couldn’t get close enough. His pace between your legs quickened, matched by the strokes of your hand on him, both of you locked in a frantic, teasing rhythm that had your bodies arching into each other.

He slipped two fingers inside of you and you groaned, clenching down on him. His smile was wicked, boyish and triumphant all at once, as his fingers curled inside you and he watched your face contort with pleasure.

His thumb pressed circles into your clit and your hips jerked. You gasped, your own strokes on him faltering as the pressure built sharp and fast. “Daryl—”

He groaned when you clenched harder around his fingers, his cock twitching in your hand. “Goddamn, you’re killin’ me, girl.”

You kissed him again, sloppy and needy, moaning into his mouth as his thumb found your clit and pressed just right. The sound that tore out of you was half-sob, half-whimper.

Your whole body shook under him, as you broke the kiss with a desperate gasp. “Please—” your voice cracked, wrecked, needy. “Please, Daryl, I need you. I need you inside me.”

He froze, fingers still buried in you, eyes going wide. “You…you need me?” His voice was hoarse, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

You clutched at him, hips rolling helplessly against his hand. “Yes, Daryl. Please. I can’t—”

He pulled his fingers free, his hand shaking as he reached down to line himself up. The head of his cock pressed against your slick heat and he groaned, low and raw, forehead falling to yours.

Then he pushed into you, slow but unsteady, his jaw clenched, chest shuddering as he sank deep.

Your cry, the way your body clutched around him, nearly undid him on the spot. He bit back a curse, fighting to hold on, stunned by how badly you wanted him — and how much more he wanted to give.

His thumb stroked your cheek. “This what you needed baby?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nails dragging down his back as your hips tilted up to meet him. “Yes—just like that.”

He groaned, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm, every thrust angled to pull those sounds from you again. His focus never wavered — watching your face, listening to every whimper, adjusting his pace until you were trembling beneath him.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice frayed, breath hot against your ear. “I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“Faster,” you moaned, wrapping your legs tighter around him. “Please, Daryl—”

He obeyed instantly, hips snapping harder, his hand sliding down to circle your clit again. The cry that ripped out of you made his cock twitch deep inside, but he held on, gritting his teeth, desperate to keep you spiraling higher.

“That it? Feels good?” he muttered, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and searching.

“So good,” you panted, your body clenching around him with each thrust. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

“Never,” he growled, his hand working you faster, his own restraint fraying at the edges.

You clung to him, your voice breaking into ragged moans. “God, Daryl—you’re so deep—” your head fell back, words tumbling out unchecked, “—I can feel every inch of you.”

He groaned, the sound guttural, like your words hit somewhere low and dangerous inside him. His hips stuttered, then drove into you harder, chasing the gasp that tore from your throat.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, eyes squeezing shut for a second before snapping back to your face, watching you unravel beneath him.

Your nails scraped down his back, your legs tightening around him. “You’re filling me up so good—fuck—nothing’s ever felt like this. No one.”

His breath caught, chest shuddering against yours, disbelief flashing across his face even as he thrust deeper, determined to give you more. “Goddamn, girl…” His voice cracked, raw with need, with awe, with the sheer force of holding himself together.

Every time he bottomed out you cried his name, clinging harder, your body pulsing around him, until he was shaking with the effort not to lose himself right there.

Every thrust drove you higher, but neither of you tipped over. You clung to him, gasping, nails raking across his shoulders as your body fluttered around him, begging for release.

And still he held on. His jaw was clenched tight, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping down his temple as he fought it. “Feels too fuckin’ good,” he groaned, his voice shredded. “Don’t wanna stop. Don’t wanna be done yet.”

“Me neither,” you whimpered, rolling your hips up into his, desperate to keep him buried as deep as he could go. “God, Daryl—it’s so good—I don’t want it to end.”

He kissed you hard then, messy and breathless, like he could swallow every sound you made and hold it inside him. His thrusts slowed just enough to draw it out, his cock dragging against every aching spot inside you, his fingers still circling your clit in steady, teasing strokes.

You moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss with a cry. “You’re killing me—feels too good—”

His laugh was ragged, broken. “Same, baby. Same damn thing.” He shifted his hips, angling deeper, and the two of you gasped in unison at the way it hit, your bodies trembling with the effort of holding on.

Neither of you gave in—dragging it out, milking every dizzy, perfect second, caught in that unbearable sweetness just before the fall.

His thrusts grew uneven, ragged, his breath tearing out of him in broken groans. He buried his face in your neck, teeth scraping against your skin as he gasped, “I can’t—fuck, I can’t hold it anymore.”

You clutched him tighter, your body already trembling around him, desperate for the fall. “Daryl—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes wild, mouth parted, every ounce of control gone. “Wanna feel you come with me,” he rasped, his voice wrecked.

The words hit you like a spark to dry tinder — heat flaring, breaking you wide open. You cried out his name, your climax ripping through you as you clenched tight around him.

He groaned, a guttural sound from deep in his chest, and drove into you hard as he spilled inside, every thrust messy and desperate, riding the waves of your body clinging to his.

You both shook through it, gasping into each other’s mouths, every nerve alight until there was nothing left but the pulse of your bodies locked together and the quiet, stunned silence after.

Time blurred. His weight settled over you, heavy but grounding, his cock still pulsing inside as your body clenched in little, involuntary spasms that drew shaky groans from his throat.

“Christ,” he breathed, his nose brushing yours. “You’re still…fuck.”

You tightened your legs around his waist, holding him there. “Don’t move,” you whispered, your lips grazing his. “Not yet. Just stay.”

His hand cupped your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as he kissed you again, slow and unhurried. The frantic edge had burned off, leaving something molten and sweet — mouths opening lazily, tongues sliding, your fingers tangled in his hair while his traced idle patterns across your hip.

Every shift made you both gasp — little aftershocks, sparks of pleasure that kept you trembling against each other. He groaned when you clenched down on him again.

“You’re killin’ me, girl,” he murmured, though his smile was soft, his eyes locked on yours like he couldn’t look away.

You stroked your hands down his back, memorising the feel of every line of muscle under sweat-slick skin. “You still feel good. Even after.” You breathed, kissing him again, tasting salt and heat and him.

He hummed low in his chest, a sound halfway between contentment and hunger, and stayed buried inside you, both of you rocking gently, trading kisses and touches, stretching the moment out as long as you could.

Eventually his breathing steadied, the sweat cooling on his skin. He kissed you again, slow and lingering, before shifting his hips with a low groan.

When he finally slipped out of you, you whined at the sudden emptiness, clinging tighter around his shoulders. “Nooo,” you mumbled against his jaw, petulant and breathless.

Daryl barked a laugh, soft and disbelieving, pressing a kiss to your pout. “You’re somethin’ else,” he murmured, grinning against your lips.

You kissed him back, arms still wound tight around his neck. “Just liked having you there.”

“Yeah?” he drawled, that crooked smile tugging wider as he nudged his nose against yours. “Don’t worry. I ain’t goin’ far.”

And then he kissed you again, deeper this time, like he meant it — like he’d stay as long as you’d let him.

Chapter 7: Confident

Daryl was in the shower. You were wrapped in a thin robe, frying bacon in the kitchen. Music playing from the radio in the corner.

Daryl stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel just as you were plating up his breakfast. You stared at him. Little droplets of water flowing down his abs. Two sharp diagonal lines that disappeared under the towel.

You set the plates down, but your eyes lingered on him, following the water drops down his chest. Your mouth curved before you could stop it. “You’re unreal, you know that?”

Daryl huffed a laugh, shaking his head “Unreal? I came inside you an hour ago, and now you’re makin’ me breakfast…and I’m the one that’s unreal?”

You flushed, biting your lip to hide your smile. “Fair point.”

The towel dropped lower on his hips as he padded closer, and your breath caught. He leaned one arm on the counter, peering at you through damp hair. “We, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. “Need to hit the pharmacy? Plan B or somethin’?”

You slid a plate toward him and shook your head. “Nope. I’ve got an IUD. We’re good.”

Relief flickered across his face, and he nodded.

“Should’ve figured you had it covered. You really are somethin’ else,” he muttered, before taking a strip of bacon right off the plate with a grin and biting into it.

You shook your head.

“What?”

“You’ve got a fork right there,” you teased, pointing at it. “But sure, go ahead and eat like a caveman.”

He smirked around his mouthful, unbothered. “Tastes better this way.”

You rolled your eyes, and set to work on your own plate.

“So it’ll probably be a late one with Merle tonight.” Daryl mumbled between bites of toast.

You sipped from your coffee cup. Looked up at him.

“But maybe I can see you tomorrow?” He asked, shyly. You smiled.

“I’m working the afternoon shift tomorrow. You can pick me up if you want? I can change in the office and we can go do something fun.”

He nodded. “I’ll drop you off then too. So you ain’t gotta go get the car.”

“Okay. Pick me up from here at 12ish? And then I’ll be done around 7.”

“Sounds good,” he said, finishing off his toast and brushing the crumbs from his fingers. He drank deep from the glass of orange juice you’d set out for him, then checked the time on your wall clock and groaned.

“Merle’s gonna be waitin’,” he muttered, already sounding reluctant.

You stood as he pushed back from the table, and he stepped close, one hand finding your waist almost hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if it was allowed yet. You slipped your arms around his neck in answer, and he pulled you tight against his body.

“Go get dressed,” you teased softly, smiling up at him. “Before you’re late.”

He huffed a laugh, then bent and kissed you. Not rushed, not shy — slow and lingering, his lips warm and certain against yours, like he wanted to take the taste with him.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested on yours for a beat. “Tomorrow,” he murmured, voice low.

“Tomorrow,” you echoed, stealing one last quick kiss before he ran into the bedroom to get dressed.

—————————————————————

The afternoon sun was hot on the pavement when you stepped out of your apartment, bag slung over your shoulder and the front of your hair pinned back for your shift.

You heard it before you saw it — the low, throaty growl of a motorcycle engine rolling up outside. You smiled to yourself, already knowing.

Daryl pulled up at the curb, cutting the engine and pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. He looked unfairly good for the middle of the day, one hand resting easy on the handlebars, the other holding out a helmet. Wearing one of those shirts with the cut-off sleeves you told him you’d liked so much.

“Figured you’d insist on one of these.” He said, nodding at the helmet.

“You figured right, Dixon. Like my brains where they are - inside my head.” He laughed.

You stepped towards him, but instead of taking the helmet, you ran your hand down the bare rippled muscle of his arm and bit your lip.

His arm flexed under your touch, and he went stock-still, swallowing hard as his eyes flicked from your hand to your mouth. The corner of his lip twitched, almost a smile, almost a groan.

“You tryin’ to kill me before I even get you to work?” he muttered, voice low.

You grinned, finally taking the helmet from his hand. “Don’t pretend you didn’t wear that for me.”

He shook his head, ears pink, but the smirk that tugged at his mouth gave him away.

You slid the helmet on, buckled the strap, then swung onto the back of the bike. Your arms wrapped snug around his waist, your cheek brushing his shoulder.

“Better hold on tight,” he said, trying for casual, though his voice came out a little rough.

You pressed closer, lips almost grazing his ear as you whispered, “Don’t worry, Dixon. I plan to.”

The way his chest rose sharp under your arms told you exactly what that did to him — and then the engine roared to life, carrying you both down the street, your shift waiting but the heat of him under your hands making it hard to think of anything else.

———————————————————————

The bike rumbled to a stop in front of the diner, the neon sign buzzing faintly above the door. You swung your leg off and tugged the helmet free, shaking your hair out.

Daryl stayed straddled on the bike, one hand loose on the handlebar, the other braced on his thigh. He looked up at you through the fall of his hair, something hesitant in his eyes — like maybe he thought you’d just thank him and head inside, like a kiss here might be too much.

You caught it instantly. That flicker of doubt. And before he could tuck his head or look away, you leaned down and kissed him. Firm, certain, right there in the sunlight with the diner windows behind you.

For a beat he didn’t move, stunned — then he groaned low in his chest and kissed you back, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you closer even as the bike shifted under his weight.

When you finally pulled back, a little breathless, you smirked. “See you at seven, Dixon.”

His ears were flaming red, but his grin was wide and unguarded. “Countin’ the minutes.”

You handed him back the helmet and slipped inside, leaving him sitting there on the bike, watching you go like he still couldn’t quite believe his luck.

———————————————————————

The truckers all liked to flirt. It didn’t bother you - you knew most of them well, and they left good tips.

Tonight was no different. One leaned over the counter, grinning at you while you scribbled his order on your pad.

“Come on, sweetheart, when you finally gonna let me take you out for a real meal instead of you servin’ me greasy fries?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you tucked the pencil back behind your ear and pinned the order up for the kitchen. “You know I only like you for your twenty-percent tip.”

That got a round of chuckles from the other men at the counter.

Daryl pushed through the door just then, the bell above it jangling. He froze at the sight — the trucker leaning in too close, you smiling back — and something hot and sour curled in his chest before he could stop it. His jaw tightened.

But then you looked up.

The way your face lit up when you saw him knocked the air right out of him. All at once, the laughter around you blurred into background noise.

“Hey, you,” you said brightly, slipping past the counter before the trucker could get another word in. You untied your apron, tossed it onto a hook, and crossed straight to Daryl.

Before he could say anything, you rose on your toes and kissed him — firm, certain, like you’d been waiting for that exact moment all shift.

His hand found your hip automatically, pulling you closer, the jealousy bleeding right out of him under the heat of your mouth. When you pulled back, you were smiling, eyes shining.

Darlene came out of the back office and let out a wolf whistle. You whipped around and stuck your middle finger up at her, and she laughed.

You turned back to Daryl. “Give me five minutes to change?”

He shrugged. “Take as long as you need.”

———————————————————————

Daryl’s jaw fell open when you came back out. No soft sundress tonight. You were in tight black jeans and a black off-the-shoulder shirt. Collarbones exposed. You’d let your hair down loose and added a little more make up. You were stuffing your diner uniform in your bag.

“Reckon this will fit in that storage thingy under the bike seat?” You asked.

Daryl was slow to respond. Eyes busy tracing the curves of your body.

You raised your brows, smirking when you caught him staring. “Dixon?”

He blinked, throat working as he snapped his gaze back up to your face. “Uh. Yeah. Should fit fine.”

You stepped closer, deliberately brushing against him as you handed your bag over. “Glad you approve.”

His ears went pink, but his hand settled on the small of your back anyway, guiding you toward the door. “Approve?” he muttered under his breath, still shaken. “Damn near forgot my own name.”

You laughed, leaning into his side as the bell above the diner door jingled behind you.

Outside, the night was warm, the air humming with cicadas. Daryl tucked your bag into the little storage compartment under the seat, snapping it shut before straightening up.

He turned toward you, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, eyes flicking nervously down your body again before darting back up. “You, uh…you look…” His voice trailed off, rough with hesitation. “Real good.”

You smiled, stepping closer, close enough to smell the soap lingering on his skin, the faint leather and smoke that was just him. “Real good, huh?”

He nodded quickly, ears burning, fumbling for more words. “I mean—you look—”

You cut him off, fisting the front of his cut-off shirt and dragging him down into a kiss. Not soft, not shy — hot, hungry, the kind that had your teeth grazing his bottom lip and his hands grabbing instinctively at your hips.

When you finally pulled back, a little breathless, you smirked. “That what you were trying to say?”

He stared at you for a beat, dazed, then huffed out a laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Somethin’ like that.”

——————————————————————

You leaned over the pool table, eyes narrowed. Daryl stood a few feet back, bottle dangling from his hand, watching intently.

You lined it up, tongue peeking between your teeth, and with one smooth strike, the eight ball dropped neatly into the corner pocket.

“Game,” you announced, straightening with a grin.

Neon signs blinked around the dive bar. Country music playing low. Other patrons playing pool.

Daryl blinked, then huffed, shaking his head. “No way.”

“Oh, absolutely way,” you said, tossing the cue onto the felt. “Guess you underestimated me, Dixon. So what’s my prize?”

Daryl raised a brow, finishing the last swallow of his beer. “Prize?”

“Mhm.” You stepped closer, smug and playful, chin tilted up. “I just beat you fair and square. Seems only right I get something for it.”

He snorted, but there was no hiding the flicker in his eyes as he set the bottle down. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

Then he moved — slow, deliberate — closing the distance until your back brushed the wall in the shadowy corner of the bar. One arm braced beside your head, his body crowding yours, the heat of him washing over you.

“Daryl,” you breathed, lips curving in a smile even as your heart kicked up.

He leaned down, so close his breath stirred your hair, his voice low and rough. “That what you want? A prize?”

Your hands slid up his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his cut-off shirt. “Depends what you’re offering.”

His jaw clenched, eyes locked on your mouth. For a beat he hovered there, tension crackling between you, before he finally kissed you — hot and certain.

Your laugh caught in the kiss, muffled and breathless, as he pressed you harder into the wall. The taste of beer lingered on his tongue, the rough scrape of stubble against your skin making you shiver.

His hands slid down your sides, slow and certain, before slipping into the back pockets of your tight black jeans. The move pulled you flush against him, no space left between your hips.

You gasped against his mouth, grinning even as you kissed him harder.

He groaned low in his throat, kissing you deep once more before finally breaking away, breath ragged, his forehead resting against yours. His hands stayed put in your back pockets, holding you there like he wasn’t ready to let go.

You licked your lips, still grinning, your voice soft but playful. “I like it when you’re confident. A little possessive.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, startled — like he hadn’t expected you to admit that out loud. His ears burned, but his grip tightened fractionally, tugging you even closer.

“Yeah?” he asked, rough, almost disbelieving.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your mouth over his again. “It’s hot.”

That dragged a groan from him, and he kissed you again, messy and quick, like he couldn’t help himself. “Then let’s get out of here.”

———————————————————————

Daryl was on his knees at the side of the bed, his shoulders pressed firm against the insides of your thighs, holding you open like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. You were sprawled across the sheets, hair a mess, chest heaving, clothes abandoned somewhere en route to the bed.

His head dipped, tongue dragging a slow, devastating stripe up your slick heat. The rasp of his stubble burned deliciously against your skin, and your whole body jolted.

“Daryl—” you gasped, fingers tangling in his hair.

He groaned in answer, the sound vibrating through you, his grip on your thighs tightening as he buried his face deeper, licking you like a man starved. The sight of him — broad shoulders hunched, jaw working, eyes squeezed shut with focus — made your stomach flip, your hips grinding helplessly toward his mouth.

Your back arched off the sheets, a cry tearing from your throat as his tongue worked you in rough, hungry strokes. He was topless, jeans riding low on his hips, the muscles in his shoulders and back straining with every movement as he held you down like he couldn’t stand the idea of you wriggling away.

“God, Daryl—” you moaned, your voice breaking. Your thighs trembled around his head, but his hands clamped tighter, fingers digging into your skin.

He shook his head against you, groaning into your core, like he needed more, needed all of you.

He pulled back just far enough to suck your clit into his mouth, moaning like he was the one being undone, his tongue flicking fast, messy, relentless. The wet heat of his mouth and the slide of his lips and tongue had you seeing stars.

When his fingers pushed inside you — fast, curling deep — you shattered with a broken cry, clenching around him, grinding against his face as your orgasm tore through you.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow. His mouth and fingers worked you through every aftershock, chasing the tremors in your body like he was determined to wring every last drop out of you.

Your body was still trembling when you grabbed fistfuls of his hair, tugging him up. His mouth was wet, chin slick, eyes dark as you crushed your lips to his in a messy, desperate kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and the groan it pulled from him rumbled straight into your chest.

“Daryl—” you panted against his mouth, trying to catch your breath.

But he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes wild, voice hoarse. “Ain’t done yet.”

Before you could answer, he ducked back down, dragging your hips to the edge of the bed with rough hands. His mouth found you again, hungrier than before, like kissing you had only made him need more.

“Fuck!” you cried, your head falling back into the pillows as his tongue pressed deep, his fingers spreading you wider. He groaned into you, like the mess you were making was the only thing he wanted in the world, and you knew he wasn’t stopping until you were shaking apart all over again.

You were already oversensitive, nerves raw from the first orgasm, but he didn’t let up. His tongue flicked quick, his fingers curling hard inside you, wringing out every sound you had left.

“Daryl—I—oh my God—” Your cry broke as your second climax slammed into you, stronger, sharper, ripping through your body until you were shaking and gasping, your thighs clamped tight around his head.

He groaned at the feel of you clenching around his fingers, riding it out with you, his mouth still working you until you were boneless, whimpering his name. Only then did he slow, easing his touch as he pressed one last kiss to your thigh before pulling back.

You collapsed against the sheets, chest heaving, hair wild, your body flushed and slick in the dim light.

Daryl pushed to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. For a long moment he just stood there, jeans hanging low, his chest rising hard with every breath as he stared down at you.

Wrung out, glowing, completely undone — and all because of him.

His jaw tightened, eyes dark, a crooked smile tugging faint at his lips. “Look at you,” he rasped, voice rough with awe. “Ain’t ever seen nothin’ so goddamn beautiful.”

You lay there, chest still heaving, every muscle loose and trembling. His eyes raked over you, and for once there wasn’t an ounce of shyness in the way he looked — only hunger, only certainty.

Daryl shoved his jeans and boxers down, kicking them away, his cock heavy and flushed, leaking from how long he’d held back. He caught your gaze again, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“You ready for me?” he asked, low, confident — not a question of if, but how bad.

Your lips parted, a shiver running through you at the change in him. “Yes,” you breathed, already reaching for him.

He crawled onto the bed, slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in, his hands sliding up your thighs to spread you wide again. “Good,” he murmured, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing, dragging it slow through your slick folds. “’Cause I ain’t done showin’ you how good I can make you feel.”

You whimpered, clutching at his arms. “Daryl—please.”

He leaned down, kissing you deep, confident, his voice rough against your lips. “That’s it, baby. Beg for me.”

And then, steady and unhurried, he pushed inside — thick, filling, his groan mixing with your sharp cry as he sank deep.

He buried himself, groaning into your mouth, the stretch of him making your back arch off the bed. His thrusts started steady, purposeful, every inch of him pressing into you like he meant to claim you.

Your nails dragged down his back, your lips brushing his ear as you gasped, “You know I’ve been thinking about this all day, right?”

He stilled for half a heartbeat, breath catching hard in his throat.

“Thinking about you,” you whispered, your hips rolling up to meet his, “fucking me just like this. Couldn’t stop picturing it.”

A guttural sound tore out of him, raw and shaken, and then he thrust into you harder, deeper, like your words had lit him on fire. His forehead dropped to yours, eyes wild. “Jesus Christ,” he rasped.

You smiled, wicked, your nails biting into his shoulders as you clenched tight around him. “Feels even better than I imagined,” you whispered, voice ragged but taunting. “So deep…filling me up just right.”

He groaned, the sound wrecked, his thrusts growing sharper, losing that steady rhythm he’d started with.

You kissed his jaw, his throat, every gasp spilling out of him, then nipped at his ear. “Bet you’ve thought about it too. Bet you’ve thought about fucking me while you were sitting in that booth, watching me walk away in my uniform.”

“Fuck,” he hissed, his hips slamming into you harder, control slipping with every word.

“Tell me, Daryl,” you breathed, rolling your hips up to meet his, squeezing around him. “Tell me you wanted it just as bad. That you thought about me…like this.”

His jaw clenched, a choked moan breaking loose as he lost his rhythm entirely, fucking into you rough, desperate, like he couldn’t stop himself.

“Goddamn it,” he gasped, his hand sliding up to grip your throat gently, his eyes blown wide. “You’re—fuck—you’re gonna make me lose it.”

You grinned, triumphant, pulling him into a messy, breathless kiss. “That’s the idea, baby.”

You nipped at his bottom lip.

“Bet you’ve been think—”

Your taunt broke off in a strangled gasp as he shifted his hips, driving into you at a new angle that made white-hot pleasure tear through you. The words died on your tongue, replaced by a raw, needy moan.

“Fuck—Daryl!” you cried, your nails digging into his back, your thighs locking tight around his hips.

He froze for half a second, startled, then a crooked, breathless laugh escaped him. “Yeah?” His voice was wrecked, hoarse with strain, but laced with something dark and satisfied. “That where you want it?”

You whimpered in answer, unable to find words, your body trembling as he pushed in deep again, grinding just right.

“Goddamn,” he rasped, watching your face twist in pleasure. “You were runnin’ your mouth a second ago. Now you can’t even talk.”

All you could do was cling tighter, gasping, your teasing long forgotten as he worked you into desperate, dizzy silence.

You tried to speak, tried to get the words back, but another sharp thrust stole your breath and left you clinging helplessly to him.

“Daryl—oh my God—” Your voice cracked, high and desperate, your body fluttering around him with every deep grind of his hips.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, his thrusts rough and uneven now, every muscle in him straining. “You’re so fuckin’ tight—keepin’ me right there—”

Your back arched, nails scoring down his shoulders as the pressure snapped. You shattered around him, crying out his name, your whole body clenching down hard.

That undid him. His rhythm faltered, hips slamming forward one last time as a guttural moan tore out of his chest. He spilled into you with shuddering thrusts, riding out the waves of your climax as his own overtook him.

You gasped into his mouth, both of you messy, breathless, clutching at each other like you might fall apart if you let go. His hips rolled slow, instinctive, drawing every last aftershock out of you until you were both shaking, completely spent.

Finally, he slumped against you, chest heaving, still buried deep, both of you tangled and trembling in the heat of it.

He collapsed against you, both of you slick with sweat, breaths ragged and uneven. For a long moment neither of you moved, just clinging, tangled up, still joined.

Finally, you laughed weakly into his shoulder. “Told you…I like it when you’re confident.”

He lifted his head, hair sticking damp to his forehead, eyes still a little dazed. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “I ain’t confident,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “But you…” His thumb brushed over your cheek, gentle. “You can bring it out in me.”

Your chest ached at the honesty, the sweet, wrecked look in his eyes. You kissed him again, soft this time, lingering. “Guess I’ll just have to keep doing that then.”

“Guess you better,” he murmured, smiling against your lips.

Chapter 8: Lunch

The place didn’t even have a proper sign. Just a rusted corrugated door rolled half-open, the smell of motor oil and stale smoke drifting out into the heat. You hesitated a second on the sidewalk, then ducked inside.

Daryl was there, half under the hood of a beat-up truck, hands and forearms streaked with grease. A cigarette burned low between his lips, forgotten, as he leaned over the engine with a frown of concentration.

You smiled, leaning against the doorway. He hadn’t noticed you yet. His shirt was already clinging with sweat, the fabric stretched tight across his shoulders. The cut-off sleeves showed every line of muscle flexing as he worked, and for a minute you just watched. There was grease up his arms. A smudge of motor oil on his jawline.

“Well, I’m sure it’s totally safe to have that cigarette over an engine.”

He jolted, nearly banging his head on the hood, the cigarette almost tumbling from his mouth. His eyes snapped to you, startled, before softening into something warmer.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he muttered, wiping his hands on a rag, suddenly self-conscious about the grease, the mess, the whole place.

He dropped the cigarette into a soda can on a workbench nearby.

You lifted a paper bag at him. “Thought I’d bring you some lunch.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Just looked at you.

His gaze swept slow — from the loose red cotton of your dress brushing against your knees, up over the bow tied at your waist, the soft curve of your shoulders, to the faint sheen of sweat at your collarbone from walking in the heat. His jaw worked like he was trying to find words and coming up empty.

You raised your brows, pretending not to notice, though the heat in his stare made your skin prickle.

“C’mon, the trailer has air con. We can eat in there.” He led you out of the garage and around to the back, to a small static trailer.

Inside the trailer, it was cooler - the overhead AC must have been running earlier in the day. Daryl flicked it back on, then frowned at the greasy mark his fingers left on the button.

He headed for the little sink in the trailer’s kitchenette, and you placed the lunch bag on the little table.

He turned the water on, scrubbing at his hands like he meant it this time, soap foaming up his wrists, water splashing across the metal basin. You leaned against the counter, watching, the red cotton of your dress brushing your thighs as you shifted your weight.

When he shut the tap off and shook his hands dry, he grabbed a paper towel and wiped them roughly before tossing it aside. Then he turned, eyes flicking to you, something sparking there as he reached out.

You smirked, holding your ground as his fingers brushed your hip. “Pretty sure you’re still dirty,” you teased, pointing at the faint grease still smudged across his cheek.

Before you could pull your hand back, he caught your wrist, tugging you closer. His mouth found yours in a sudden, heated kiss — hungry, unpracticed, but certain. You gasped against him, your free hand clutching at his shirt as he crowded you back against the counter, lips moving hard and sure against yours.

When he finally broke for air, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath warm on your lips. He huffed a laugh, low and rough. “What’s a nice girl like you doin’ in a place like this?”

You wiped the grease mark he’d transferred off your own cheek. “Getting dirty, apparently.” You grinned.

“Didn’t know you knew where this place was.” He said. “Would’ve cleaned up a bit if you’d said.”

You shrugged. “I asked Darlene. Thought I’d come and see you in action.”

His brow furrowed. “Action?”

You smirked, letting your gaze drift deliberately over the grease on his arms, the flex of his shoulders. “Mhm. Turns out, it suits you.”

Daryl blinked, throat working as his ears went pink. “Yeah?”

You bit your lip and nodded. Eyes trailing up and down his body.

You bit your lip and nodded, your eyes trailing slow up and down his body. “Definitely suits you.”

His breath hitched, and he tried to cover it with a huff, tossing the grease rag aside. “Ain’t much to look at. Just me sweatin’ in this heat.”

You stepped closer, close enough that your dress brushed his jeans, and tipped your chin up. “Trust me, Dixon. It’s a lot to look at.”

His jaw worked, his hand twitching at his side before he finally gave in, gripping your waist and dragging you into a kiss — hot, messy. You kissed him back just as hard, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, relishing the heat of his skin beneath.

When you pulled back, lips swollen, you smirked at the dazed look on his face. “Still think it’s nothing to look at?”

He opened his mouth — but whatever words he meant to say fell apart when you sank to your knees in front of him, hands already working his belt open. His breath left in a sharp hiss, his hand shooting out to the counter for balance.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, staring down at you, stunned. “Girl…what’re you—”

You just smiled up at him, wicked, before freeing him from his jeans and wrapping your hand around him, stroking slow and deliberate.

His head tipped back with a groan, one hand tangling in your hair as you leaned in and took him into your mouth.

His thighs trembled, hips jerking despite himself as ragged curses fell from his lips. You took him to back of your throat, staring up at him as you gagged a little on the sheer size of him. His jaw fell open. Then you started to move.

Every sound tore through you, urging you to take more, suck harder, stroke him with your hand until he was panting your name, completely undone.

He looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing — dress pooled at your knees, your lips stretched around him, your eyes locked on his.

“Fuck—” he groaned, voice breaking, his grip tightening in your hair. His thighs shook under your hands, his hips jerking forward despite himself. “I’m—Jesus—”

You stroked him harder, sucking deep, and his head tipped back with a strangled cry, every muscle in him snapping taut as he spilled into your mouth.

The taste, the heat, the raw sounds tearing out of him — and he watched in awe as you took it all, swallowing greedily as his chest heaved, his body shaking.

And that’s when the trailer door crashed open.

“Well, goddamn.” Merle’s voice rang out, smug and mean. “Ain’t this a fuckin’ show.”

Daryl’s head snapped up, still panting, horror flashing across his face. He staggered back a step, fumbling to tuck himself away and yank his jeans up, eyes blazing murder even as his ears burned red.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glaring at the doorway. Merle stood there with a shit-eating grin, arms folded, soaking it all in.

You rose from your knees.

Merle’s grin widened. “Didn’t figure you for this type, sweetheart. Thought maybe you’d have better taste than my little brother.”

Daryl bristled, already stepping forward like he might throw him out of the trailer, but your hand shot out, catching his wrist before he could move. You leveled Merle with a glare sharp enough to cut.

Merle’s grin widened as his eyes flicked between you and Daryl. He put his hands on his hips. “Well, hell. If you’re handin’ out turns, sweetheart, I’ll park myself right here to go next.”

You felt Daryl’s anger rise beside you, but you just laughed.

“Oh honey, next? Not if you were the last man left on Earth.”

You linked your fingers with Daryl’s, and Merle looked down at your hands and laughed deeply.

He clapped Daryl on the shoulder.

“She’s a feisty one. Good for you baby brother.”

Daryl glowered.

“I ain’t here to interrupt. Just…stashing a delivery.”

Merle had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He moved past you and lifted a mat on the floor. Pulled up the handle of a storage area and stuffed the bag in. Then covered it back up.

“Don’t let me keep you anymore. I’ve gotta meet Davy.”

Daryl still just stared at his brother.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Merle cackled with laughter again, and marched out of the trailer, slamming the door shut.

You heard the truck engine start up, and the sound of him driving away.

The rumble of Merle’s truck faded into the distance, leaving the trailer quiet but for the hum of the air unit overhead.

Daryl still hadn’t moved, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the door like he could burn a hole clean through it. His hand was locked around yours, tense, knuckles white.

You gave his fingers a squeeze. “Hey.”

He finally looked at you then, worry crowding out the anger. “You okay? He—he shouldn’t’ve said that—“

You laughed and stroked his cheek.

“Daryl, I couldn’t care less what a shitty drug dealer like your brother thinks of me.”

His jaw worked, eyes still dark, but the way you said it — firm, certain — cut through his storm. You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against his mouth.

“What I care about,” you whispered, lips still grazing his, “is you.”

His breath caught, shoulders easing as your thumb traced along his jaw. He kissed you back then, slow at first, like he was letting himself believe it.

And when you tugged him closer, your body arching into his, the kiss turned hotter — messy, hungry, his hand sliding from your cheek down to your hip, gripping like he couldn’t stand another inch of space between you.

You broke the kiss just long enough to smirk against his lips. “Now…where were we before the interruption?”

The look that flashed in his eyes was pure heat. He kissed you again, hard, then suddenly pulled back, chest heaving. For a second you thought maybe he was having doubts — until he spun on his heel, strode across the trailer, and threw the deadbolt on the door with a sharp click.

You burst out laughing, pressing a hand to your mouth. “Seriously?”

“Hell yes, seriously,” he muttered, coming back to you fast, his ears red but his grin wolfish. “Ain’t takin’ no chances.”

You laughed harder, looping your arms around his neck as he hauled you back against him. His mouth crashed back onto yours, the kiss full of heat and relief both, your laughter spilling into it as he lifted you up onto the counter.

His hands roamed down, rough palms sliding under the hem of your dress as he pressed himself flush against you. His mouth was messy on yours, his breath ragged, as his fingers slipped between your thighs — ready to shove fabric aside.

But there wasn’t any.

He froze, just for a second, fingertips brushing bare heat. His eyes snapped open, widening as he pulled back half an inch to look at you, chest rising like he’d been punched.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, voice rough.

You leaned in close, lips grazing his ear as you whispered, low and teasing, “So maybe I didn’t just come to bring you lunch.”

His fingers brushed bare, soaked heat again, and this time he groaned into your mouth like it broke something loose in him.

“You came here like this?” he rasped, almost a growl. “For me?”

His hand slipped between your thighs, two fingers sliding over you, already slick. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders as his mouth found your neck, kissing and biting while his fingers curled inside you; slow at first, then quicker, more certain with every sound you made.

“Goddamn, you’re wet,” he muttered against your skin, his thumb circling just right. “All worked up for me…”

Your hips bucked against his hand, your moan spilling loud into the cramped little trailer. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging hard, guiding his rhythm without words.

“Daryl—” your voice cracked, whiny and wrecked, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, I need you—need you to fuck me—”

He groaned at the words, the sound rough and guttural, but his fingers didn’t stop. If anything, they pressed harder, his thumb circling faster over your clit.

“Not yet,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and locked on your face. “You’re close. I can feel it.”

You whimpered, grinding against his hand, the pressure so sharp it made your thighs shake. “Daryl, please—”

“Shh,” he murmured, his mouth crashing back to yours as his fingers curled deep, stroking that spot inside you over and over. “Wanna feel you come on my hand first.”

The words, the heat in his voice, sent you spiraling. Your hips jerked helplessly against his palm, a broken cry spilling from your lips as you clutched at him, falling apart around his fingers.

You sagged against him, trembling, your breath catching in little gasps as the aftershocks rolled through you. Daryl kissed you through it, soft at first, then hungrier, his fingers finally easing out of you.

Before he could pull back, you reached for him, slipping your hand between your bodies. He was still half-hard, heavy and warm against your palm — but the second you wrapped your fingers around him, he groaned into your mouth, hips bucking like he couldn’t help it.

“Jesus,” he rasped, his forehead dropping to yours as you stroked him, firm and slow. He swelled against your hand almost instantly, twitching back to full hardness with every squeeze.

You grinned through your ragged breaths. “Ready for me again already, Dixon?”

His laugh was low, strained, more a groan than anything. “You have no fuckin’ idea.”

In one motion he caught your thighs, dragging you right to the edge of the counter. Your dress bunched up around your waist as he lined himself up, his hands shaking with urgency. Then he pushed into you with a guttural sound, filling you deep in one long thrust.

You cried out, clutching at his shoulders, legs locking tight around his waist as the counter creaked beneath you.

“Fuck,” he growled, setting a hard rhythm right away, his mouth hot on your neck. “Couldn’t stop if I tried.”

He pushed into you deep, and then again, quicker this time, like he couldn’t stand the thought of being anywhere but inside you. The counter gave a faint creak under your weight as your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Daryl—” your voice caught, breathless, your arms locking around his neck as his hips moved in a needy rhythm, not polished, not planned — just raw want.

His mouth found yours again, hot and messy, like he couldn’t bear to lose the taste of you. Every kiss was broken by groans, every moan spilling against your lips as he rocked into you faster.

You arched into him, clinging, matching every thrust with your own hips. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

He groaned at the sound, hips stuttering but never slowing, need making his whole body tremble as he held you against him, giving you everything he had.

“Daryl—” your voice broke, high and desperate, your nails raking down his back. “I want it…want to feel you come inside me.”

His groan was guttural, torn from deep in his chest. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes wild. “Goddamn…you’re gonna—fuck—”

He slammed into you again, hips jerking, his rhythm unraveling as the words undid him. With a strangled moan he buried himself deep, spilling hot inside you, every shudder of his body echoing through yours.

You cried out with him, clutching tight as your own release hit, your body clenching around him, dragging him through it. The world narrowed to the sound of your mingled gasps, the counter creaking under your weight, the heat of him filling you.

For a long moment neither of you moved, just tangled, trembling, panting against each other’s lips.

Then, slowly, he eased out, his breath still ragged. His eyes dropped — and he froze. Watching as his release slipped out of you, glistening, trailing down your thighs where you still sat spread open on the counter in your rumpled red dress.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice hoarse, a crooked, stunned grin tugging at his mouth. He dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Look at you…”

The hunger in his eyes made you shiver, even through the haze of aftershocks, knowing he wasn’t looking away any time soon.

Chapter 9: Water

Daryl’s lips were trailing softly along the bare skin of your spine. Not like he was trying to start something; just like he couldn’t resist the call of your soft skin. You made a little contented sound, and felt him grin.

He shifted closer, his chest warm against your back, one big hand splayed lazily over your hip. For a long moment he just lay there, breathing you in, letting his mouth wander in slow, aimless kisses across your shoulders, the nape of your neck, the curve where your arm met your body.

“You gotta do stuff today? Or can I take you somewhere?”

You rolled to face him. His smile was easy and broad across his face. You pecked a kiss to his cheek, playful.

“I’m all yours Dixon. Where we going?”

———————————————————————

He’d told you to bring a swimsuit. You’d thrown on a little bikini you’d bought for a spring break trip with Cassie earlier in the year. A pair of denim daisy dukes. A linen shirt.

You took your car instead of the bike - easier to load up a cooler with drinks and snacks. A towel for each of you. Daryl insisted on driving, and stopped by the double wide he shared with Merle to pick up his own swimsuit. He refused to let you inside - just murmuring “Merle’s a pig. Prob’ly passed out on the couch in his underwear.”

You drove deeper into the country for half an hour or so; woods all around. Daryl pulled up at a spot that didn’t look any different to the rest of the forest to you. You looked at him.

“We grew up out here. Mostly shitty, but there were a few good bits.”

He cut the engine, grabbed the cooler, and nodded for you to follow. The air was heavy with the hum of cicadas, the heat pressing down through the trees.

“Mostly shitty,” he repeated over his shoulder, pushing a low branch out of your way. “But me and Merle used to come out here when we were kids. Got us outta the house, y’know?”

You nodded, careful on the uneven ground, your sneakers skidding over roots. “And where exactly is here?”

He only smirked, eyes glinting as he looked back at you. “You’ll see.”

The trail dipped suddenly, and you had to grab his arm to keep from stumbling.

Then you heard it - rushing water.

A few more steps and the trees opened up. Sunlight spilled through the canopy onto a small clearing: a pool of impossibly clear water, deep enough to swim in, fed by a narrow stream tumbling down rock into a miniature waterfall. Ferns crowded the edges, their fronds swaying in the mist, the air cooler here, fresher.

Daryl grinned when he saw your awed expression. “Nice, ain’t it?”

You smiled at him. “Beautiful.”

He shrugged like it was nothing, though the flicker of pride in his eyes gave him away. “C’mon then. Water’s cold, but you’ll like it.” He pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his shoes; he’d put on his trunks at the house.

You peeled off your shorts and shirt, leaving just the bikini, and Daryl’s eyes flicked over you before he turned quickly toward the water, muttering something about checking the depth. You laughed, tying your hair back as he waded in first.

The moment his calves hit the water he hissed. “Shit. Still cold as hell.”

You dipped a toe in and yelped. “That’s freezing!”

He grinned over his shoulder. “Told ya. Best part.”

Before you could argue, he bent and splashed a sheet of icy water your way. You shrieked, hopping back, and he laughed so hard he nearly lost his footing.

You shook your head at him, eyes gleaming, and ran straight for him.

He splashed again, you splashed back, both of you laughing so loud it startled a bird from the trees.

Finally you dove under, resurfacing with water streaming down your face. “God, that’s good,” you gasped.

Daryl was watching you, chest-deep in the pool, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Told ya.”

You swam toward him, slow strokes cutting through the clear water, until you reached him. Without a word you slid your arms up around his neck. His hands instinctively found your waist, steadying you as the gentle current tugged at your legs.

“Not so bad,” you murmured, leaning close, your foreheads almost touching.

“Mm,” he hummed, his breath warm against your wet skin. “Ain’t bad at all.”

The two of you drifted lazily, half-floating together in the cool spring. The waterfall hummed behind you, birds calling in the trees overhead, but all you felt was the solid warmth of his chest beneath your hands, the way his thumbs traced idle circles on your hips underwater.

You tipped your head, brushed your lips over his. Just a soft kiss, then another, deeper this time, lingering as he pulled you closer against him.

When you finally broke apart, you were both smiling, the kind of smile that stayed in your chest.

“Worth the drive?” he asked, low and a little shy.

You kissed him again, your nose brushing his. “Completely.”

—————————————————————

You’d spent the full day at the little beauty spot; rotating between lying in the sunshine and cooling off in the water. Daryl pointed out all the creatures that visited; mainly little birds. But he showed you deer tracks. A hawk that soared high, high above. A tiny lizard basking in the heat.

When you finally got home, you were a little sun drunk, freckles blooming across your shoulders and the tip of your nose.

Daryl followed you in, carrying the cooler and the bags. You started unpacking what you hadn’t used, getting rid of the trash, when you realised he was just staring at you.

“What?” You asked, smiling.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Nothin’. Just…you.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Me?”

He huffed, frustrated with himself already. “I mean—this. Us. I ain’t…good with sayin’ stuff.” His fingers tapped against the counter, restless, his jaw tight as he forced the words out. “I dunno what I’m meant to call it I—“

Your smile softened. He looked so uncomfortable, so tangled up in his own head, and yet so earnest.

You crossed the kitchen, slipping your hands over his. He finally looked at you then, eyes full of that worry you knew too well.

“Daryl,” you said gently, “I liked you for ages. You do realise that, right?”

His mouth opened, then closed again, like he wasn’t sure he believed it.

You squeezed his hands, steady. “We don’t need to stick a label on it. Not yet. But there isn’t anyone else, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just you.”

Something broke in his expression — a flash of relief, of disbelief, of wanting so badly to trust it. He swallowed hard, nodding once.

“Yeah?” he murmured, rough.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, leaning up to kiss him, slow and certain. “It’s you.”

His lips parted like he wanted to answer, but for a second nothing came out. He shifted on his feet, scratching the back of his neck before blurting, “Ain’t nobody else for me, either. Ain’t been. Not for a long time.”

The words hung between you — blunt, a little clumsy, but charmingly open and honest.

You smiled, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “Good. Then we’re on the same page.”

Colour rose high in his cheeks, but he didn’t look away this time. Instead he bent to kiss you again, firmer, the relief in it almost dizzying. You were both smiling wide when you broke apart.

You handed him your phone.

“I’m going to take a shower - will you order us a pizza or something while I do? I’m starving.”

He huffed a little laugh and kissed the top of your head. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Chapter 10: Thunder

You’d had plans to go out. The weather had other ideas. There was a thunderstorm of epic proportions raging outside. Rain lashed against the windows, wind blew the trees almost sideways, and every few minutes the room lit up from bold flashes of lightning.

All of this you were distantly aware of, though more pressingly you were focused on the pressure of Daryl’s head between your thighs. He’d become an expert in making you a moaning, quivering mess, and clearly he saw no reason why the storm should distract him from his goal.

Your back arched off the mattress as he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked gently. You whimpered, and he slipped two fingers inside you.

“Daryl—” your voice cracked, lost to the roar of rain and another crash of thunder.

He groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. His hand gripped your thigh tighter, holding you open as he worked you, slow at first, then faster when your hips began to buck against his mouth. Every sound you made dragged a harsher curse from his throat, spurring him on.

Lightning lit the room, catching the mess of his hair, the sheen of sweat on his shoulders, the intensity in his eyes when he looked up at you. He looked utterly devoted, like he’d stay between your thighs until the storm itself gave out.

When your climax hit, it tore through you like the thunder outside — sharp, all-consuming, leaving you trembling, clenching around his fingers as your cry was swallowed by the storm. He didn’t stop until you sagged back into the mattress, whimpering from oversensitivity, your whole body shuddering.

You were still trembling when he gathered you against his chest, your cheek pressed to the warm skin over his pounding heart. One big hand stroked slow circles across your back, anchoring you as the storm raged outside.

“I got you,” he murmured against your hair.

You smiled weakly, threading your fingers through his, squeezing. For a moment the world was only the sound of rain, the scent of him, the heat of his body wrapped around yours. You were weak, boneless, but still something in you ached for more. A little whimper escaped your throat before you could swallow it down.

Daryl pulled back just enough to look at you, worry flashing across his face. “Too much?”

You shook your head quickly, your cheek brushing his chest. “No. Just…need you, Daryl. Please.” The word came out broken, needy, making your own cheeks burn.

He groaned low in his throat, kicking his boxers off in a hurry. A gentle hand on your hip rolled you so your spine was against his chest. His arm curved around your waist, tugging you flush against him.

You gasped when you felt the heavy weight of his hard cock nudge against you.

“Yeah?” he rasped against your ear, his breath warm as he guided himself to your entrance. “Still want me?”

“Always,” you whispered, reaching back to clutch at his hip.

He pushed into you slow, both of you groaning as he sank deep, his forehead pressed to the curve of your shoulder. The position kept you tangled tight, your bodies flush, every inch of him fitted to you.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, almost to himself, holding you close as he set a gentle rhythm.

Each thrust was deep, unhurried, rocking through you with the storm outside, the thunder echoing every breathless moan that spilled from your lips. You clutched his arm tighter, your voice breaking on a soft, whiny plea: “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

His arm cinched tighter around your middle, pulling you closer still, until there wasn’t a scrap of air between you. His chest pressed firm against your back, each ragged breath he took ghosting hot across your neck.

The rain hammered against the glass, cool air leaking through the seams of the window, but every inch of you was warm — flushed from the heat of his body, the slick slide of him moving slow and steady inside you.

Your skin prickled at the rasp of stubble against your shoulder as he kissed there, his lips catching salt from your damp skin. You whimpered, the sound swallowed by another crash of thunder, and felt him shudder behind you, hips faltering for a beat before he pushed back in just as deep.

Your fingers tangled with his where they rested low across your stomach, the press of his rough, calloused knuckles a perfect counterpoint to the softness of your own. Every squeeze of your hand made his breath hitch, every clench of your body around him dragging another low groan from his chest.

The rhythm wasn’t frantic. It was steady, consuming — like the storm outside, relentless and impossible to ignore.

You tipped your head back against him, eyes squeezed shut, the scent of rain and sweat and him filling every breath. “Daryl…” you whispered, barely audible, like the name itself was the only tether you had left.

His teeth grazed your ear, “I’m right here.”

The words sent a shiver through you, your whole body tightening around him. His rhythm stuttered, hips jerking deeper as a strangled groan tore from his throat. You clutched his arm tighter, knuckles white, your cries muffled by the thunder crashing outside.

The pressure coiled hot and sharp, every thrust driving you higher until you were gasping, whining his name, your body begging for release. His hand slid lower, fingertips brushing over your clit in a shaky circle, and that was enough — you shattered around him with a broken sob, clenching down so hard it dragged a curse from his lips.

“Fuck—baby—” His thrusts faltered, hips pressing tight to yours as he spilled inside you, the sound of his groans caught somewhere between the thunder and the storm of your own cries. His whole body shook against your back, chest heaving, his face buried against your shoulder as he held you through it.

You trembled together, tangled and slick with sweat, the storm still raging against the windows. Neither of you moved for a long time, save for the way your fingers squeezed his, laced tight across your stomach.

——————————————————————-

By the time the storm began to ease, the room was thick with the scent of rain and sweat, sheets tangled around your legs. The clock on the nightstand blinked past five.

Daryl sat on the edge of the bed, tugging his boots back on, hair falling into his face. You propped yourself up on an elbow, watching him lace them, the ache of wanting him to stay pressing heavy in your chest.

He paused halfway through tying the second boot, his shoulders slumping. For a moment he just sat there, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the floor.

“I don’t wanna go,” he admitted finally, voice low and rough. “Not leavin’ you here.”

Your chest squeezed at the honesty in it. You slid closer, your arm looping around him, cheek brushing his shoulder. “Then don’t.”

He huffed out a short laugh, bitter around the edges. “Merle’ll raise hell if I don’t show.”

You sighed and kissed along his shoulders. “Tell me it’s one of his more legit hustles tonight.”

He turned to face you. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

You let out a slow breath. “Then tell me you’ll be careful at least.”

He leaned down and kissed you softly, then smiled - though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I promise I’ll try, that good enough?”

You sighed. He studied you for a moment, and then his smile softened, the lines of tension in his face easing.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day someone worried over my sorry ass.”

That dragged a reluctant laugh out of you, the heaviness breaking just a little. “Well, someone’s got to.”

He grinned, boyish and playful in that way that melted your heart. And then he leaned down and kissed you; not the soft, fleeting brush from a moment ago, but deep and lingering.

His hand cupped the back of your head, keeping you close until you were both breathless.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “See you tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Anytime, Dixon.”

Chapter 11: Bit

Your apartment has developed this weird empty quality without him. It was odd; you’d been living here for nearly two years on your own. And in just a few short weeks, you’d got used to having company.

You knew you were probably rushing things. But it had all been so easy. It was like Daryl didn’t know playing games was even an option; he wanted to see you whenever he could. And it wasn’t just the sex either. You’d spend clear nights in the backyard tucked up against him, talking about everything and looking up at the stars. You’d cook together in your tiny kitchen. Drink beer and watch old movies. Everything was effortless with him. Then when he was gone, things were just…a little odd.

You were curled around your laptop on the couch, coffee in hand, scrolling through job boards. Dreaming of trading the diner job for a solid salary and decent health insurance. You weren’t sure what you wanted to do - but something had you looking for openings close by.

You jumped when your phone rang, not expecting it. Cassie’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hey Cass, what’s-“

“Something’s wrong. Brandon. He’s gone nuts.”

The panic in her voice snapped you upright. “What do you mean, nuts?”

“He came over last night—said he didn’t feel good. I thought it was just a flu or food poisoning or something, but this morning—” Her voice broke into a sob. “He tried to grab me. His eyes—God.”

Your stomach flipped. “Cassie, listen to me. Lock the doors. Call the cops.”

“I’m in the bathroom. He’s out there, pounding on the door—” The sound of thuds carried faintly through the line, Cassie’s ragged breathing filling the space between. “He’s not—he’s not himself.”

You shoved your laptop aside and shot to your feet, fumbling for your keys and bag. “Okay. Okay. Stay put. I’m coming.”

“Don’t—” she cried, voice shaking. “You can’t come here, it’s not safe. Just—just tell me what to do.”

You bolted out the door, the humidity hitting you like a wall, and ran to your car. You jammed the key into the ignition—nothing. The engine coughed once, then went dead. You tried again. And again. Nothing.

“Cass just get out of there. Hit him with something if you have to.”

You heard banging on the end of the line. Then shouting. Then the sound of Cassie dropping the phone.

Your blood went cold. “Cassie? Cassie!”

Nothing but chaos on the other end — banging, a muffled scream, something crashing. Then the line went dead.

Your shaking hands fumbled to punch in 911. The phone rang once, twice—then silence. No operator. Just dead air before the call dropped out completely.

“What the hell,” you whispered, staring at the screen. You tried again. Same thing. No answer.

Your heart hammered so hard it hurt. You backed out of the call, thumb sliding over your contacts until you hit Daryl’s number. You pressed it, held the phone tight to your ear, praying.

One ring. Two. Straight to voicemail.

You tried again. Same.

“Come on, come on, pick up,” you muttered, pacing tight circles in the driveway, the dead car looming useless at your side. The cicadas droned loud in the sticky air, the ordinary sound feeling wrong against the panic rising in your chest.

You dialed him a third time, clutching the phone so hard your knuckles whitened. Still nothing.

“Shit,” you hissed, your voice cracking.

The phone buzzed in your hand. Cassie’s name flashed across it. You answered quickly.

The line clicked and then Cassie’s voice spilled out, shrill and shaking. “I’m in the car—I got out—I don’t even know how, but I’m driving, I’m driving—”

You sagged against the side of your useless car, relief and terror hitting all at once. “Good. That’s good, Cass. Just come here. Straight to me.”

Her sob broke through the phone. “He bit me. Oh my God, he bit me. On my arm. I can’t—what the hell is happening?”

Your stomach lurched. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just keep the wheel straight and get here.”

“I don’t have anything,” she babbled. “I left my bag, my phone charger, I don’t even have shoes—I just ran. He—he was tearing at the bathroom door like some kind of animal, and his face—his eyes—”

Her words broke off into a fresh round of sobbing.

“Cassie, listen to me.” You pressed your palm hard over your eyes, forcing your own panic down. “I’ve got everything you need. Just keep your eyes on the road and get here.”

“I’m trying.” Her voice came smaller this time, trembling. “It hurts so bad, I can’t—”

“You can. You will. Just keep driving to me. I’m not hanging up.”

——————————————————————

By the time Cassie’s car squealed into your driveway, your nerves were so frayed you could barely breathe. She stumbled inside barefoot, hair plastered damp to her temples, and dropped her keys on the kitchen table with a clatter before dissolving into sobs.

You caught her shoulders, guiding her into a chair. “Hey—hey, you’re okay. You made it.”

“I can’t—” she gasped between cries, clutching her injured arm against her chest. “I can’t get the sound out of my head.”

“Shh.” You moved fast, grabbing the whiskey bottle from the counter and pouring a glass, pressing it into her hand. “Drink. Right now.”

She obeyed, her hands shaking so hard the amber liquid sloshed over her knuckles. She coughed at the burn, but it steadied her enough to let you gently prise her arm free.

The bite was ugly. Ragged. Deep enough that blood had dried in streaks down to her wrist. Your stomach turned, but you grabbed the first-aid kit anyway, soaking a cloth and starting to clean around the wound.

“Hurts,” she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I know. Just hold still.”

Once you had the blood cleaned away, it looked better; but the distinct teeth marks were sickening. You covered it carefully with a bandage. Cassie just watched you, eyes glassy.

You poured her another two fingers of whiskey and she drank dutifully. Then you pulled the roll of plastic wrap out of the kitchen drawer, and wrapped a few layers around her arm. She stared at you.

“Go take a shower. Everything you need is in there. Use all the fancy stuff, you’ll feel more human.”

Cassie let out a little sob-laugh.

“I’ll get you some comfies to wear, okay?”

She nodded, and shuffled towards the bathroom.

—————————————————————

Half an hour later, Cassie was curled on your couch in a set of your pyjamas. Hair wrapped up in a towel. Nursing another glass of whiskey. She looked small, pale, eyes red from crying.

“It was his face,” she whispered finally, voice hollow. “Like he didn’t even see me. Just…rage. Like an animal. He would’ve killed me. If I hadn’t run…”

You shuddered. You’d never exactly liked Brandon, but you wouldn’t have believed him capable of something like this.

You looked at Cassie’s face. Her thousand yard stare.

“Something weird happened after we got cut off. I tried to call the cops and…no one picked up.”

Cassie’s eyes refocused on your face. “Same thing happened to me. I tried them before I called you. Didn’t know 911 could have technical difficulties.”

You shook your head. You couldn’t work it out.

You looked at Cassie. The shower had helped her mental state, but she was looking worse by the minute. Pale, sickly.

“Cass, why don’t you go lie down? Try and take a nap? I think you’re in shock.”

You expected her to argue with you, always stubborn, but she just nodded wearily.

“A nap sounds good. Can I—“

“Go sleep in my room. I’m right out here if you need me.”

Cassie reached over and squeezed your fingers with her uninjured hand.

“Thank you.”

You shook your head and smiled, and Cassie padded off to your bedroom, closing the door behind her.

You’d barely settled back on the couch, still rattled from the whole thing, when your phone buzzed in your lap.

Daryl.

“Finally! I’ve been trying you all day. Are you on your way back from that job yet?”

His voice came in rough and ragged, tighter than you’d ever heard it. “You okay? You at home?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, frowning at the panic in his tone. “I was calling because of Cassie. Brandon showed up sick last night and then this morning he just—snapped. He attacked her, bit her. Scared the life out of us. But she got away, and she’s here with me now. She’s fine. We’re safe.”

There was silence on the line, just the sound of his breath. Then: “He bit her?”

“Yeah,” you said, sitting up straighter. “It’s bad, but I cleaned it up. She’s resting now—”

“Shit,” Daryl muttered under his breath, voice sharp. You could hear noise in the background — shouting, maybe, the roar of an engine. “Listen to me. You gotta—”

The line crackled, distorted.

“Daryl?” you said, pressing the phone tighter to your ear. “I can’t hear you—”

“Listen—bites ain’t—” His voice broke up, words chopped to static. “You can’t—safe—get out of—”

“Daryl, what? I can’t hear you.”

The line went dead.

You pulled the phone away, staring at the screen as the signal bars flickered and vanished. No service.

The house creaked in the silence. Somewhere down the block, a dog started barking, high and frantic.

Chapter 12: Blood

By the time Daryl picked his way through the traffic and sirens and chaos, the sun was setting. It had been agonising hours since he’d been cut off from you. He only hoped you’d heard his warning. Merle had spent the entire journey swearing in the passenger seat about how they were wasting time. It was only when Daryl threatened to throw him out of the moving truck that he’d finally shut up.

Daryl turned onto your street too fast, gravel spitting under his tires. Relief surged when he spotted your car still in the driveway; only for it to vanish in an instant when his eyes landed on your front door.

Wide open.

Daryl’s stomach dropped. He slammed the truck into park and was out before the engine even cut, yanking a tire iron from behind the seat. The metal felt heavy, solid, in his grip — not enough, but better than nothing.

“Christ almighty,” Merle muttered from the passenger side, lighting another cigarette like none of it mattered. “Told ya this was a waste—”

“Shut up,” Daryl snapped, already moving. His boots pounded on the sidewalk, his pulse thundering louder than the sirens echoing in the distance.

He stopped just inside the doorway.

The living room was wrecked. Couch cushions half on the floor, a lamp shattered. Blood smeared the wall in long streaks, some of it pooled dark and sticky near the kitchen.

Daryl’s grip on the tire iron tightened until his knuckles went white. He called your name once, low, hoarse — but the only answer was the groan of the cicadas in the evening heat.

Your car sat in the driveway. Your shoes by the door.

But you weren’t here.

Merle clomped up behind him, peering over his shoulder at the destruction. “Looks like your girl’s monster chow, little brother.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He didn’t answer, just gripped the tire iron tighter, fighting down the sharp burn in his chest.

Too late. He was too damn late.

He shook his head and stalked further into the apartment.

He was calling your name again, louder this time, his voice cracking around it. The bedroom door hung half open — he kicked it wide and froze.

Sheets ripped half off the bed. Your dresser drawers yanked open, clothes spilling across the floor. No sign of you.

He checked the bathroom next, his chest hitching as he yanked the shower curtain back. Empty. Just water still dripping from the faucet.

“Goddammit!” His fist slammed the doorframe so hard the wood splintered. He pressed his forehead there a moment, shaking, the tire iron hanging useless at his side.

Merle leaned in the doorway, cigarette dangling between two fingers. “Ain’t gonna find her hidin’ in the damn medicine cabinet, Daryl. She’s gone.”

Daryl whipped around, eyes wild. “Shut your mouth.”

Merle’s smirk faltered at the look on his face — broken, desperate, a man about to come apart.

“Listen,” Merle said, his voice lower, steadier now. “We stand here bawlin’ like babies, we’re dead. World’s goin’ to hell out there. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe she ain’t. You want a shot at findin’ her later, we gotta move now.”

Daryl’s breathing came fast, ragged. His hands shook as he gripped the tire iron tighter, eyes darting back toward the living room like maybe you’d just…walk back in.

Merle clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Ain’t sayin’ forget her. Though I don’t reckon anyone loses that much blood and lives. But havin’ a breakdown in this bathroom ain’t helpin’ anyone. So get your ass in gear.”

For once, Daryl didn’t fight him. Couldn’t. He let Merle drag him toward the door, his boots heavy, his eyes lingering one last time on the wrecked apartment.

The blood. The silence. The open door.

Then he was outside again, the air thick with smoke and sirens, Merle shoving him towards the truck.

Chapter 13: Three years later

Daryl wondered how long whoever had been using this basement had lasted. He often found bodies curled up on camp beds underground, having swallowed a bullet once the food ran out.

That wasn’t the case here. There were still some cans. A few dozen bottles of water. He figured whoever had been hiding out down here had gone out for something and just…never made it back. He picked through supplies; he was looking for ammo. Alexandria was running low on shotgun shells, but he’d take anything he could get his hands on. He snagged a protein bar from a box with an expiry date he figured couldn’t be so long ago, and chewed as he searched.

He was squatting to inspect the padlock on a metal footlocker when he heard the gun cock and felt it against the back of his head. He froze. He hadn’t heard a thing - no movement, no footsteps. He raised his hands slowly.

“Turn around. Slow.”

Something pulled at the back of Daryl’s brain. Recognition?

Daryl’s breath caught hard in his throat. For a second he didn’t move, didn’t dare, afraid he was hearing ghosts.

“I said turn around.”

He rose to his full height, slowly, and spun.

To face you.

——————————————————————

Your heart lurched so violently you almost dropped the gun. Then you started laughing. You decided your brain had finally cooked itself — that the fever you’d been ignoring had tipped over into full-blown delirium.

“Oh no,” you murmured. “This is bad. Guess the antibiotics are not working.”

The apparition stared at you. Brow furrowed. Said your name.

You laughed again. This was a good one. You’d seen Daryl in dreams occasionally, since the whole world went to shit. But this hallucination was top tier. He looked older. Dirty. A crossbow slung over his shoulder. That was a nice detail for your subconscious to add. You knew he hunted with one sometimes but couldn’t remember ever having seen it. His hair was long - longer even than that time you’d told him the length suited him.

“Is that…really you?” His voice was low, rough, like gravel dragged over stone.

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. “Oh yeah. That’s exactly what I needed. Hallucinations that talk back now.”

When you opened them again, he was still there — brows knit, mouth parted like he didn’t know whether to move closer or keep still. His lips shaped your name again, slow, careful, like he was afraid the sound would break you. Your eyes moved over him. It was a pretty solid approximation of a post-apocalypse Daryl. Loaded up with knives. Strong. Solid. The sleeveless shirt was a bit much though; a detail only your own brain would dredge up. Why would he have that much exposed skin?

Your laugh cracked into a cough. “God, my brain is really going for it this time.” You gestured vaguely with the pistol, your arm trembling. “You look good, though. Older. Grubbier. And the crossbow? Nice touch.”

He blinked at you, once, twice. Then he took a cautious half-step forward, his hands still raised. “Ain’t no dream. Ain’t no trick. It’s me.”

You put the pistol down. Put your hands on your hips. Smirked.

“Okay. If you’re real. Prove it.”

Your voice wavered, part challenge, part plea.

Daryl’s throat worked as he searched your face, like he was the one seeing a ghost. This really was a detailed kind of insanity.

“Uhh…okay. Grilled cheese at the diner. You readin’ at the counter. I took you to the drive-in.”

Your eyes narrowed. “How does that prove anything? Those are my memories.”

He edged a little closer towards you.

“You look different. New scars.” He pointed at your chin. Your neck. Your hand.

You shrugged, utterly unconvinced.
Still, the Daryl apparition moved closer.

“You kissed me at your house party. I took you to the swimmin’ hole. You were teachin’ me how to cook.”

Your lower lip trembled. This seemed cruel. For your brain to drag up that short span of happiness. Again, the hallucination stepped nearer. Just a foot away now.

“Last time we spoke, your friend—you said she’d been bit and—“

“Stop.” Your voice cracked, sharp, desperate. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to shove that memory back into the dark where it belonged. Not that. Not Cassie.

A silence stretched. You braced yourself for your mind to twist the knife further.

But instead, warm calloused fingers brushed against your palm. Light. Careful. Not searing pain like fever dreams always brought — just the rough drag of skin against skin.

Your eyes flew open.

Daryl stood right in front of you, hand barely cupping yours, his face raw with something between terror and hope.

The world tilted. Your breath came shallow, your chest too tight. You stared at his hand on yours, then up into his eyes.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, voice breaking. “It’s you.”

And then the world went black.

Chapter 14: Fever

You stared up at the pipes on the basement ceiling. Head foggy. Eyes blinking. What a vivid dream. You pulled yourself up to a seated position, and reached for a water bottle. Cracked the seal and drank deeply.

Then froze.

Your head whipped sideways, checking what your peripheral vision had told you. He was there, slouched in a chair a few feet away, elbows braced on his knees, eyes fixed on you.

“Careful,” he said, voice low, gravelly. “You nearly dropped last time.”

The sound of it punched straight through the fog. Real. Too real.

Your breath hitched, the bottle shaking in your grip. “You’re…you’re still here.”

Daryl nodded once, slow. His face was drawn, tired, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You both sat in silence, staring at each other.

“You’re sick.” He said bluntly.

You nodded. Lifted the hem of your shirt to show him the nasty bandage underneath.

“Think this is infected. I’ve been taking antibiotics but I guess they’re not the right type.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at you carefully.

You grimaced looking down. “Should’ve studied something useful.” Your voice was flat. Empty.

Daryl’s eyes traced the bloodied bandage. The sweat on your brow. “What is it? Gunshot?”

You shook your head. “Knife. Guess it was dirty.”

Daryl swallowed hard.

“You on your own down here?” He asked carefully.

You nodded.

“Haven’t been here long. Couple weeks maybe.”

His jaw tightened, like he wanted to ask a dozen questions, but he kept it to one. “Ain’t no doctorin’ I can do for that. You need proper help.”

You gave a short laugh, sharp and joyless. “Don’t know if you noticed, Dixon, but the world’s fresh out of hospitals.”

“Not out of everything.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on you. “Place I’m with — Alexandria. Got a doc. Denise. She’ll know what to do.”

You blinked at him, wary. Alexandria. It sounded like another fever dream. The last so-called “safe zones” you’d stumbled across had been nightmares, not havens.

“I don’t…” you started, shaking your head, but the words trailed off as a wave of dizziness rolled through you. Your hands trembled against your knees.

Daryl stood fast, like he might catch you if you tipped again. “Ain’t askin’. You come with me. Or you don’t last.”

That should’ve made you bristle. Once, you would’ve snapped back. But you were so tired. The pain in your side pulsed hot and mean, spreading through every limb.

You stared at him a long moment, chest heaving, before finally nodding. “Okay. Alexandria.”

The relief in his face was so raw it almost hurt to look at.

—————————————————————

Daryl had helped you gather what little you had. He didn’t ask questions, not yet. You were grateful for that. He helped you climb in the back of the little minivan he’d been using for the raid. You peeked into the trunk from the backseat; a few boxes of ammunition. A case of canned fruit.

You were shocked at how weak you felt - you hadn’t gone further than the house’s backyard to relieve yourself since you’d got away. The walk to the car was so taxing you’d eventually had to accept Daryl’s offer of a steadying hand. The touch of his skin felt alien. Wrong.

In the backseat, your head swam. Eyes blurry.

“Just lay down, it’s gonna take a little while to get there.”

You eased down onto your good side, stretching out.

The engine rumbled to life, a low growl under you.

From the corner of your blurred vision, you saw him glance back over his shoulder as he pulled onto the road. “Ain’t too far. Couple hours.”

A couple hours felt like forever. You closed your eyes, clutching your arms tight around yourself, trying to breathe through the fever haze.

“You holdin’ on back there?” His voice was rough, but there was something gentler under it, like he was afraid of the answer.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Been worse.”

“Don’t sound like it.”

You almost smiled at that, lips twitching faintly. He sounded the same. Different, rougher, but still him.

“Trust me.”

You caught the way his brow furrowed at that in the rear view mirror. Let him wonder. You’d tell him if he still existed when the fever broke.

If the fever broke.

—————————————————————

Your world blurred between sleeping and waking. Flashes of trees slipping past the window. Words from Daryl that you couldn’t quite make out. Searing pain. Body-wracking shivers. Other voices?

You thought maybe he’d carried you at one point, but that couldn’t be right. Hallucinations of dead boyfriends couldn’t do that.

Then there’d been more pain. More hands on you.

A woman’s voice — firm, urgent, snapping words you couldn’t hold onto. Something cool pressed to your skin, then the sting of something sharp. You whimpered, but your body felt far away, floating.

The world slid in and out of focus. Sometimes Daryl’s voice was there, low and rough at your ear — steadying, anchoring. Sometimes you were sure you were back in the basement, still delirious and alone. Sometimes you swore you heard Cassie calling your name, though that was impossible.

It all tangled together, a blur of fever and fear and the strange, steady rhythm of someone checking your pulse, your breathing.

You fought to open your eyes once, just once. A flash of harsh light above you, unfamiliar walls. A face you didn’t recognize, pale and determined. Then the dark closed in again.

———————————————————————

You could hear two voices. Men. One voice seemed familiar. One didn’t.

“What d’ya mean?”

“I know her. Or knew her. From before, we were…”

You blinked slowly. Looked around. You couldn’t see where the voices were coming from.

“You were what, Daryl?”

There was a beat of quiet.

“Did you ask her the questions?”

More silence.

“She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s fine. I had to bring her back.”

There was a deep sigh. “That was before Daryl. We’re all different now. You don’t know who she is now.”

Your eyelids were heavy again, and you were struggling to listen.

“I know her. And I’ll vouch for her.”

Sleep pulled you back under before you could hear another word.

———————————————————————

When you came to properly, it was quiet.

The room was cool, dim. The sheets under you were clean — clean — the pillow soft beneath your head. A faint antiseptic smell clung to the air, undercut by something warm, almost homey.

You blinked, slow, trying to make sense of it.

And then you saw him.

Daryl. Slouched in a chair beside the bed, head tipped forward against his chest, like he’d fought sleep until it dragged him under.

You stared, hardly daring to breathe. He looked older, leaner, his hair longer — but it was him. Real. Solid. The rise and fall of his chest. The rough stubble shadowing his jaw.

The door clicked softly. You startled, eyes darting that way. A woman slipped in, carrying a fresh IV bag. She froze when she saw your eyes open.

“Oh,” she whispered, voice pitched low, glancing at the chair where Daryl dozed. “You’re awake.”

Your throat worked, dry. “Where…?”

“Alexandria,” she murmured, moving with practiced care to the IV stand. “You’re safe. I’m Denise.” She hung the bag, her motions brisk but gentle. “That wound was bad. You’ve been under almost a day. I cleaned it up and we’ve got you dosed. Antibiotics, fluids.”

You nodded. Denise poured you some water from a jug on the bedside table. You sipped it, gratefully.

“Thank you.” You whispered. “I was trying to fix it myself but-“

Denise shook her head. “Pills weren’t going to cut it. You needed the stronger stuff. You look better already though.”

You nodded, and your eyes flicked back to Daryl’s slumped form.

“He hasn’t left your side.” She murmured, following your gaze.

The words tangled in your throat. “He’s…really here?”

Denise nodded, a small smile touching her lips. “Yeah. Really here.”

You pressed your head back into the pillow, tears burning sudden and sharp behind your eyes.

Denise slipped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Chapter 15: Real

You watched from your bed as Daryl stirred. Shook himself awake. Stretched out his stiff limbs.

And then he noticed you were awake.

His whole body went still, like a deer catching a scent on the breeze. His eyes locked on yours, wide, disbelieving. For a long moment, neither of you spoke — just stared across the quiet room, both afraid the other might vanish.

“Hey,” you murmured at last.

He rose from the chair. Moved towards you.

“You’re awake,” he said, like he couldn’t believe it.

“And you’re…real. Not a hallucination.” You said simply.

He nodded. “Not as far as I know.”

You gave a small, shaky laugh that died almost as soon as it left your mouth. “Guess I owe you an apology for pointing a gun at your head.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Ain’t the first time somebody’s done that.”

You glanced down at your hands, picking at the blanket, not sure where to put your eyes.

“I didn’t think…” Your throat tightened. You forced the words out anyway. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Figured you were dead like…like everyone else.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the floor. “I thought you were gone.”

Another silence fell, jagged around the edges. For the sweet memories between you — the diner, the drive-in, lazy summer swims — you couldn’t find your footing now. Too much had happened.

Finally, you blew out a breath and leaned back into the pillows. “Well. Here we are.”

“Yeah.” He shifted again, his hand flexing at his side like he wanted to reach for you and couldn’t. “Here we are.”

Finally, you cleared your throat, the weight of the silence unbearable. “So…Merle?”

Daryl’s eyes flicked up, sharp, then away again. His jaw worked, and he shook his head once. “We were together a while. He’s…he didn’t make it in the end.”

You blinked, processing. You hadn’t liked Merle — not even a little — but the news still landed heavy. He was part of Daryl, whether you wanted him to be or not.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

He shrugged, a tight jerk of his shoulders, but his eyes stayed fixed on the floor. “Ain’t your fault.”

Your voice was small when it finally came. “I thought you’d look for me. That’s why I was so sure you were gone.”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

“I know we weren’t dating long but I just thought…”

You swallowed hard, and shrugged. “I thought if you were alive, you’d find me.”

He stared at you, and you felt the pain of the unsaid accusation in his eyes. That he hadn’t really cared.

“I went straight to your place I—“ He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Your front door was wide open. And there was so much blood. So much.”

You squeezed your own eyes, forcing down the memory.

“And your car was still there. Your shoes. And you said your friend was bit on the phone and I—“

“Stop.” You said. Not wanting to face the flashback.

The silence after was hard. You kept your gaze on the blanket, your fists knotted tight in the fabric, until you felt the weight of his eyes on you.

“I thought you were gone,” he said finally, voice low. “Merle swore it. Said nobody could live through that. And I—” His throat bobbed. “I believed him. Hated myself for not gettin’ there quick enough every damn day since.”

He was crying now. Fierce, angry sobs.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known. Should’ve looked harder. Shouldn’t’ve given up so easy.”

His eyes were pleading. Raw.

“There was just so much blood and-“

“Stop it. I can’t…” your voice trailed off as you tried to calm down. “I can’t think about that day. It’s just…worse for some reason. Than all the shit I’ve seen since.”

Daryl’s mouth worked, like he wanted to say more, but the look on your face stopped him.

“Alright,” he said finally, voice softer. “Alright. I’ll shut up.”

Silence fell heavy between you again, but this time it wasn’t sharp. Just tired.

You rubbed at your temples, eyes closing. “I’m too damn tired to argue with you right now anyway.”

That almost got a smile out of him — faint, crooked. “Ain’t tryin’ to argue. Just…don’t want you thinkin’ I didn’t care.”

Your eyes opened again, finding his. He looked wrecked, but earnest, and for the first time since waking you believed he might mean it.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know now.”

He nodded once, relief flickering across his face. Then he shifted and sat awkwardly in the chair; like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

Chapter 16: Eat

Daryl had offered you a bedroom in the house he stayed in. There weren’t any unclaimed homes that didn’t need work done, and it really was time for you to free up your bed in the clinic.

He’d given you the master bedroom, with the en-suite. Mumbling something about how he usually slept downstairs anyway. That you believed - the room looked like it hadn’t been touched since before the end.

You’d forgone the full Alexandria tour for now; you were still weak and healing, and walking more than a few dozen paces was exhausting. You didn’t doubt that if Daryl hadn’t stumbled across you, you’d be well on your way to death by now.

It was impossible to deny this was an impressive set up; power, heating, running water. If you weren’t looking at the fence, it was possible to believe that the world hadn’t fallen apart. At least, if you didn’t have a swollen, stitched-up stab wound reminding you every time you breathed.

You spent your days, and nights, resting. You couldn’t remember ever having slept this much. Denise came by every day to check on you; change the dressings, check your pain levels and how the wound was healing.

Bottles of water and snacks appeared on your bedside table while you slept. You never caught him at it. One moment the table would be empty, the next there’d be a bottle of water, a handful of crackers, a piece of fruit. Like the house itself had learned to look after you. But when you asked Denise, she just smiled and said, “That’s Daryl.”

The hot meals were harder for him to disguise. Twice a day he’d knock — always short, sharp, like he was worried about disturbing you — then slip in with a tray. Never much conversation, just a muttered, “Eat somethin’,” before he left again. Sometimes you’d try to coax him to stay, but mostly he’d linger a few minutes, fidgeting like the chair beside your bed was too small for him, then disappear back downstairs.

It was strange, how easily you fell into the rhythm of it. Strange how safe it felt, even with all the unspoken things thick between you.

One evening, after Denise left, you shifted gingerly and opened the curtains. The sun was setting beyond the wall, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. For a few minutes you just watched, caught between awe and grief. The world was still beautiful. It just wasn’t the same world.

A knock broke you from your thoughts. Daryl edged in with another tray — stew this time, still steaming. He set it down on the nightstand, then paused when he saw you upright, gazing out the window.

“Shouldn’t be on your feet too long,” he said quietly.

You turned back, managed a faint smile. “Just…needed to see something that wasn’t the ceiling.”

His mouth twitched, but he nodded. Then, after a beat, “Want me to stay while you eat?”

That was new.

You blinked at him, surprised. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He sat in the chair beside your bed as you settled down to your meal, and watched you swallow the first few bites.

“This place is really something.” You murmured. “You been here since the start?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah. There are people who have though.”

You nodded, kept eating.

“Been a lotta places. A quarry. A farm. We were in a prison for a while, that was a good set up.”

He couldn’t quite seem to make eye contact with you.

“That’s smart.” You said. “All the defences already there.”

He nodded. “That was the idea. And it worked — against the walkers at least. The people not so much.”

You nodded again. “That’s always the hard part.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “This place took us in after some bad shit. None of us trusted it, not at first. But the kids…” he trailed off, and cleared his throat. “The kids couldn’t be on the road no more.”

You finished the last few bites of your meal. Put the tray on the nightstand.

“What about you? Where did you go…after?”

You couldn’t help yourself; you laughed. Daryl raised an eyebrow at you.

“The diner.”

His jaw fell open, and you could’ve sworn you saw him work through every stage of grief in his head.

“That’s—fuck. That’s why you thought I’d—“

You nodded.

“Didn’t mean to end up there. Muscle memory took over. One minute I was climbing into Cassie’s car barefoot and the next…I was in the parking lot.”

You shrugged. “Then later, once I thought about it, it didn’t seem like such a terrible idea. Somewhere familiar. Plenty of food. Nothing around except the turn off onto the highway. And-“

Daryl laughed, but there was no humour in it. “The second place I’d come looking for you after your apartment.” His voice was bitter. You just shrugged again. He put his head in his hands.

“There was even an old shotgun in the office. And there were still the old shutters from before it was 24 hours.”

Daryl dragged his hands down his face, groaning low. “Christ. You were right there. Could’ve found you. If I hadn’t been so damn—” He cut himself off, jaw locking.

You looked over at him, softer now. “Daryl. You couldn’t have known.”

His head snapped up, eyes raw. “Don’t let me off that easy. Not when you were sittin’ in that damn diner, waitin’—” He broke off again, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose.

“It was okay for a while. I wasn’t alone. Me and Darlene and Joe. We locked the whole place down and just…hid. Played card games. Ate. The day the power went we ate enough ice cream for a lifetime.”

Daryl smiled a little at that.

“It wasn’t so bad. Then someone came looking for something and…that was it.”

Your voice went flat at the end, a wall slamming down. You didn’t spell it out, didn’t need to — the shift in your tone told him everything.

Daryl’s faint smile disappeared. He sat forward, elbows braced on his knees again, like the weight of what you weren’t saying pressed down on him. “You don’t gotta tell me the rest,” he said quietly.

You gave a short, humorless laugh. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t think I can.”

The silence stretched. Daryl’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach across the space, but he stayed put, chewing at the inside of his cheek.

Finally, you pulled the blanket tighter around you, leaning back into the pillows. “Anyway. That was a long time ago.”

“Don’t make it any less shit,” he muttered.

You looked at him — older, rougher, scarred by years you hadn’t seen — and managed a small, tired smile. “Guess we’ve both got plenty of those stories.”

He met your eyes, something unspoken flickering there, before he nodded once. “Yeah. Plenty.”

You snuggled down deeper under the covers.

“You cold?” He asked, but he was already moving to the dresser you knew was filled with spare bedding. “Denise said you’d probably feel it more.”

He spread another soft blanket over you and, absurdly, tucked it in around you.

You let out a faint laugh, the kind that barely reached your lips. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, but his hands were careful, smoothing the blanket into place before he stepped back.

Your eyelids drooped and grew heavy again. Your eyelids fluttered. You wanted to fight it — to stay awake, to hold onto the strange reality of him sitting there beside you — but sleep pulled harder.

The last thing you saw before your eyes slid shut was Daryl lowering himself back into the chair, arms folded across his chest, his gaze fixed steady on you.

Chapter 17: Dream

Joe, glassy-eyed on the floor. Darlene shrieking, then that awful wet sound of her throat being cut. The blood pouring onto the floor. Then the weight on top of you - the certainty you were next and—

You woke up panting. Not screaming. You hadn’t done that in a long time. It was like your body had trained itself; making noises like that out in the world was a death sentence.

Your chest heaved, lungs dragging for air that wouldn’t come. The room was too small, the sheets too tight, the smell of blood still thick in your nose. You clawed at the blanket, desperate to get it off, to get out.

“Hey.”

The voice cut through, low and rough. A hand caught yours — firm, steady.

You blinked through the blur, vision finally finding him. Daryl was out of the chair, sat on the edge of the bed, one hand braced gently but solid at your wrist, the other hovering like he wanted to touch but didn’t know where. His eyes were wide, searching your face.

“Breathe,” he murmured, softer now. “Just breathe, alright? You’re here. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you.”

Your breath still came sharp, ragged. Panic tightened your throat, your chest, and you shook your head hard. “I can’t—I can’t—”

“Yeah, you can.” He shifted closer, pressing your hand against his chest. His heartbeat thudded strong beneath your palm. “Feel that? That’s real. Just keep with me.”

You focused, dragging shaky breaths in time with the rise and fall of Daryl’s breathing under your hand. Slowly, slowly, the edges of the room stopped closing in.

Daryl’s thumb brushed the back of your knuckles — an awkward, tentative comfort, but it worked. “You’re safe,” he said again, and this time you almost believed it.

The panic ebbed, but the shaking didn’t. Your body felt hollowed out, trembling with all the fear you’d bitten back for years.

And then, before you could stop it, the tears came. Hot and silent at first, then harder, breaking loose all at once. You tried to turn your face into the pillow, tried to swallow it down — but Daryl’s hand was still wrapped around yours, anchoring you, and when your shoulders shook he didn’t let go.

“Hey,” he murmured, rough but steady. No judgment, no surprise. Just that one word, softer than you’d ever heard it.

You gave up fighting. Let it happen. Let yourself cry — ugly, gasping sobs you hadn’t allowed yourself in years. The kind that left your chest aching and your throat raw.

And Daryl moved without hesitation. He shifted up onto the bed, sat against the headboard, and pulled you carefully into his chest. His arms folded tight around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, holding you like he could keep the whole world out if he just held on hard enough.

You clung to him, fists knotted in his shirt, and for the first time since the world ended you didn’t feel like you were holding yourself together alone.

“I got you,” he whispered into your hair. “Ain’t gonna let you go.”

———————————————————————

You weren’t sure if it had been part of the dream or not. The last thing you remembered was Daryl holding you tight as you tried to cry out three years of trauma in one go.

But then you’d woken up alone. Meal tray gone. Daryl nowhere in sight and no evidence that anything different had happened.

There was a beautiful sunrise going on just outside the window; streaks of orange swirling across the sky. You decided it was time for fresh air, and slowly rose from the bed. You were undoubtedly feeling better; still exceptionally sore, yes; but the pain felt clean. A pain that was coming from healing, not something slowly killing you. You weren’t sure you could put the precise difference in the feelings into words.

You stepped into slippers. Pulled a thick sweatshirt on over your pyjamas. Wrapped one of the soft blankets around you like a shawl. And slowly, extremely carefully, made your way out of the bedroom and down the stairs. You stepped out onto the front porch and took in a deep breath. Let the cold fresh air fill your lungs and steal your body heat.

On your second breath, you caught a smell. Cigarette smoke.

You turned, and saw Daryl standing in the corner of the porch, inhaling deeply on a cigarette. You stared at him.

“Apocalypse not doing a good enough job of shortening your life expectancy? Decided to keep trying with the lung cancer?”

You laughed, and Daryl smiled.

“If I live long enough to die of lung cancer, I reckon I’ve done alright.”

You shook your head at him.

“Gimme some credit. Dead girl walked back into my life without trynna bite me. Need a vice to cope with shit like that.”

You reached out two fingers, waiting for him to pass you the cigarette. Instead, he shook his head at you.

“Doc’s orders. She says smokin’ makes you heal funny.”

You rolled your eyes at him, expecting him to relent and offer you a drag. But he didn’t; he just carried on smoking and staring off into the distance.

“You look better.” He said after a while.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not so grey. A little colour in your face.”

You nodded. “Big compliment.” You said dryly; you knew you still looked like hell.

He grinned. “I’ve seen you look better. So yeah - less grey is as flatterin’ as I can be right now.”

You eased yourself into one of the wooden chairs on the porch. Took the time to really look at Daryl while he finished his cigarette. All his features had sharpened in the time you’d been apart. He’d always been lean, with muscle on his arms, but it was like someone had turned up a “strength” dial on him. Every muscle on his arm was well defined now. Thick veins criss-crossed his forearms. His shoulders were broader, and he stood straighter than he used to.

There were new scars you didn’t remember from before. A thin one cutting along his jaw, another jagged line disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His hands — hands you’d known so well, that had traced every inch of your skin — were changed too. They’d always been calloused; but now they were even rougher. They looked like a pair of hands that held lives in them.

The crease between his brows was almost permanent now - though really, who hadn’t picked up extra wrinkles from the stress of the last few years? There were a few grey hairs scattered through his beard; a little longer than he’d kept it before.

He was different. The time had changed him. But in certain lights, when his eyes softened or something drew a smile to his serious face, you could see the man you’d known. The one who’d fumbled through flirty exchanges over the diner counter. Who’d brought you daisies. Who’d made a picnic in the back of his truck at the drive in.

You wondered if that sweet, shy man was still in there. Then you wondered if the girl he’d dated was still in you.

What did he see when he looked at your face?

You looked down at your hands. Once soft and manicured, now calloused. Nails chewed down. Your hair was greasy. Someone - Denise? - had braided it while you were unconscious, presumably to keep it out of the way. You hadn’t had the strength to wash it, or even brush it, since.

You were a long way from the girl in the sickly pink diner uniform. Or the pretty sundresses. You were surprised he’d recognised you at all.

Chapter 18: Books

For the first time in a long, long time, you felt something close to normal.

Infection cleared up, wound healed to a fine pink scar. No more pain meds or antibiotics.
You’d had a long soak in the shower - revelling in the miracle that was having real, unlimited hot water. You’d washed and conditioned your hair. Even blow dried it after you found a hairdryer in one of the dresser drawers.

Someone had dropped off a box of salvaged clothes, and you’d rummaged through until you found something that felt and fitted right. Simple blue jeans and a soft, warm sweatshirt. You pulled on a thick knitted pair of socks and slipped your feet into the slippers you’d been using before making your way downstairs. There were voices in the kitchen, and you padded softly towards them.

“Well look at you. Glad to finally see you up and about.”

There was a woman in the kitchen with Daryl. Short grey hair. Soft cardigan and slacks. She was smiling at you.

“I’m Carol. Known Daryl since…well the start of it really.”

She reached out her hand and you shook it cordially.

“Nice to meet you.” You said, quiet but polite.

“Well I won’t keep you! I was just doing some baking and wanted to drop off some treats.” She pointed to a Tupperware on the kitchen counter. “I can show myself out.”

She nodded to Daryl and made her way towards the front door.

Daryl focused his attention on you.

“There you go. You look great.”

You grinned. “That’s more like it. Much better than saying I’m less grey.”

He smiled back at you. “They’re lemon bars.” He said pointing to the box Carol had left. “Do you want one?”

You shook your head. “Maybe later? She seems like a sweet lady. Surprised someone like that made it this far.”

Daryl laughed and shook his head. “Nah. Trust me. Don’t underestimate Carol.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said firmly. “Ain’t a soul in this place tougher. You’ll see.”

You just nodded at that.

“So, you up to a tour?”

———————————————————————

It was dizzying to see how well organised Alexandria was. A regimental guard duty schedule. Detailed records of all the food in storage and weekly rations for everyone. A rota for supply runs with clear breakdowns of what was needed.

Compared to every settlement you’d seen, it was a well-oiled machine. The only places you’d seen that had come close to this level of organisation had been run by tyrants; men who kept people in check with violence and fear. That didn’t seem to be the motivator here.

Daryl had clearly saved the part of the tour he thought you’d enjoy the most for last. He led you into a house that looked like any other on the block.

The smell hit you first. So familiar and almost-forgotten your eyes watered a little bit. Every room of the house was filled, floor-to-ceiling, with shelves stacked high with books. The scent was old paper. It was long nights in the library. It was finding the right source for an essay. It was a different lifetime.

You stared at Daryl.

“What d’you think?”

You turned in a slow circle, your hand brushing the spines closest to you, dizzy with the sheer abundance of it. Whole shelves of novels, encyclopedias, cookbooks, battered paperbacks with cracked spines. Your throat tightened.

“It’s…” You swallowed, tried again. “It’s incredible.”

Daryl shifted his weight, scratching the back of his neck. “Was my idea. Long time back.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “You did this?”

He shrugged, like it wasn’t much. “Figured people needed somethin’ that wasn’t just fightin’ or starvin’ or worryin’ what’s comin’ over the walls. Somethin’ to take ‘em outta it for a while.” He took a deep breath.

“You said somethin’ once. That night I first came to see you at the diner on my own. I asked why you liked readin’ so much. And you said that it was an escape. Whatever was goin’ on, you could pick up a book and be somewhere else.”

You were staring at him, open-mouthed.

He shrugged. “Thought people could use that here.”

Your breath hitched, sudden and sharp. He hadn’t just remembered you — he’d kept you, carried you with him in ways you hadn’t imagined.

“Daryl…”

He looked away, embarrassed now, his voice low. “Didn’t know if it’d matter. Just thought maybe it’d help.”

You blinked fast, but the tears still came, slipping hot down your cheeks. You didn’t even try to hide them.

He shifted again, shoulders tight, like he was already regretting saying so much. Then, rough and uneven:

“Truth is…I never forgot you. Not a damn day.”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

His jaw clenched, his eyes still fixed on the floorboards. “Thought you were gone. And I—I let myself believe it, ‘cause it was easier than thinkin’ I left you out there. But I didn’t forget. Couldn’t.”

Finally he forced himself to look at you. There was a rawness in his eyes you hadn’t seen since before the world fell apart.

“I know it don’t change nothin’, but…I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ it up to you. For not findin’ you.”

Your throat closed up, a sharp ache sitting there. You had no answer — not yet — only the sight of him standing there, awkward and earnest, laying his heart bare in the only way he knew how.

For a long moment, you could only stare at him. The words sank into you, heavier than anything he’d ever said before.

Your hands shook as you reached across the space. He flinched, just slightly, like he wasn’t sure what you meant to do — but you only slipped your fingers through his, squeezing tight.

Daryl went still. Then, slowly, gently, his hand closed around yours, rough and warm, like he was afraid if he held too hard you might disappear again.

Chapter 19: Work

The makeshift library quickly became your safe spot in Alexandria. There was a big, squishy armchair in what had originally been the living room. Most mornings you’d spend time trying to organise the shelves - Daryl’s system so far had only extended to bringing the books in and putting them somewhere they would fit. You were working on bringing the different genres together; history, poetry, useful facts, a small kids’ section. It was slow work, and you got tired so quickly these days. After an hour or two you’d fold into yourself on the comfortable armchair, and more often than not, take a nap.

It felt good to use your brain even in this small way. So much of the last few years had depended on focusing exclusively on all the different things trying to kill you. Trying to decide whether the Hobbit should go with the classics or kids fiction felt like some kind of holiday for your exhausted neurons.

You felt a little guilty not to be contributing more to Alexandria’s survival. You could be working in the gardens. Taking shifts on the wall. Going out on raids. But the community seemed happy enough for you to do whatever you wanted. You wondered sometimes if Denise had put you on some apocalypse equivalent of long-term sick leave.

Daryl wasn’t around much during the day. It seemed he did…everything. You’d spot him dropping off game at the pantry. Manning the walls. Helping with construction. It seemed like he had more odd jobs now than he had before the world ended.

———————————————————————

One evening, coming back from the library house later than usual, you let yourself into Daryl’s place. The downstairs lights were low. For a moment you thought maybe he wasn’t back yet.

Then you heard it — a hiss of pain, muffled behind the half-closed bathroom door.

You frowned and moved closer. The door was ajar, and when you pushed it open you found him perched on the closed toilet lid, shirt off, trying to tape a bandage one-handed around his side.

His jaw was set tight, face shadowed with irritation.

“Daryl?”

He jerked his head up, scowling like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Ain’t nothin’.”

You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you. “That’s not nothing. What happened?”

He grunted, looking away as he tried to rewrap the gauze. “Huntin’. Slipped dressin’ a deer. Blade caught me in the side.”

You frowned, moving closer. “Jesus, Daryl—”

He cut you off, voice sharp with embarrassment. “I said it ain’t bad. Just pissed at myself, is all. Stupid mistake.”

You plucked the roll of tape from his hand before he could argue. “Yeah, well, stupid mistake or not, you’re not about to bleed all over the bathroom floor because your pride’s bigger than your brain. Hold still.”

To your surprise, he didn’t fight you. Just sat there, jaw tight, letting you kneel at his side and peel away the makeshift dressing. The cut was long, shallow but messy, already angry from him trying to deal with it one-handed.

You dabbed it clean with a damp cloth, and his whole body went rigid under your touch. Not from the sting — you realised — but from the fact that you were there, tending to him, your hands careful where his had been clumsy.

“See?” you murmured, half to yourself, pressing fresh gauze into place. “Not so bad. Just needed someone with two hands and half a brain.”

That almost earned you a laugh — the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to. Instead he just gave you a little nod of thanks and reached for his shirt.

—————————————————————

You plated up two portions of pasta. It smelled good - the tomato sauce had been canned from last year’s harvest. Or so one of the ladies at the pantry had told you when you went to collect your rations.

You put the two bowls on the table, one in front of an already-seated Daryl, and filled two glasses with water at the tap.

He twirled his fork through the noodles, took a bite, and gave a small grunt of approval. “This is good.”

You blinked. “You don’t need to be polite.”

He shook his head, swallowing. “Nah I ain’t. It’s real good. Better than what I’d’ve slapped together.”

He ate a little more before glancing up at you. “So…how was your day?”

That stopped you cold for a second. It had been so long since anyone asked you that — so long since the idea of a day meant anything other than survival. You fiddled with your fork. “Uh. Fine. Worked on the library a bit. Fell asleep in the chair again.”

Then, softer: “Still feels weird, though. Everyone else is working. Pulling their weight. And I’m just…shelving novels and napping.”

Daryl’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He looked at you like you’d said something backwards. “Ain’t true. You’re restin’. You almost died.”

“That was weeks ago.”

“Yeah. And it’ll take longer than that for you to be right.” He set the fork down, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then, quieter, “Ain’t like you’re slackin’ off. You’re doin’ somethin’ for the community. And anyway, I’ve been coverin’ your shifts.”

You stared at him, stunned. “What?”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Garden, wall duty. Some runs. Figured you didn’t need folks expectin’ you to jump right in. So I told ‘em I’d take it.”

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak. “Daryl…you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said simply, eyes steady on yours. Then, as if the conversation was over, he picked his fork back up and went back to twirling pasta.

Chapter 20: Ammo

Notes:

CONTENT WARNING

This chapter contains reference to past rape and sexual assault. No acts are described in detail; just referenced by the characters in a conversation and implied by a scene they witness.

“I’m tryin’ Rick, but I’m runnin’ outta places to look.”

“There’s gotta be somewhere we haven’t thought of yet.”

The two men were in the kitchen as you walked in, planning on putting your tea mug in the dishwasher.

“Still looking for more ammo?” You asked.

Rick nodded. “I don’t like how low the stock is for some of the guns.”

You swallowed.

“I might know somewhere.” Your voice was quiet. Small.

Daryl stared at you.

“The place I was before. Not the house. The place I got hurt. We had a stash and it was pretty well hidden.”

Rick rubbed his face. Daryl spoke first.

“Ain’t that place gonna be home to whoever stuck the knife in your gut?”

You shook your head. “Most of ‘em were already dying when I got out. If they’re still there, they’re just walkers. Nothing you couldn’t handle.”

Daryl was brooding.

“Can you show us on a map?” Rick asked.

You nodded. “Sure, but you’d need me to find the stash.”

———————————————————————

“I don’t like this.”

Daryl’s arms were folded. You’d lost count of how many times you’d had this conversation.

“I can go with Rick. Or we’ll take Glenn with us. You don’t need to come.”

You rolled your eyes as you checked your pistol and holstered it.

“Daryl, we’ve been through this. She knows the place best, knows where everything is hidden. We’ll scope it out first, and if something ain’t right, we’ll come back with a bigger group.” Rick was exasperated.

“She nearly died, she shouldn’t be—“

“Daryl.” You interrupted and stared at him. “I’m fine. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve lived just as long through this shit as you have.”

His mouth settled into a hard line. For a moment you thought he’d fire the same protest all over again, but instead he just shook his head.

“I don’t like it,” he muttered, voice rough. “But if you say you’re comin’, then you’re comin’. Ain’t no stoppin’ you.”

You smirked faintly, checking the magazine on your pistol. “Exactly.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, still simmering with that mix of frustration and worry, but he didn’t argue further. Instead he adjusted the strap of his crossbow and muttered, “Then I’m stickin’ to you the whole damn time. Don’t care if you hate it.”

The corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself. “I don’t hate it.”

Rick exhaled loudly, half-relieved, half-exhausted. “Good. Settled.”

———————————————————————

The air inside the storage building was close and stale, every sound echoing sharp off the corrugated metal. You kept your pistol up, steps slow, eyes scanning. Rick and Daryl flanked you, both tense, both quiet.

Most of the units were locked or still sealed, dust clinging thick to the doors. But one stood open.

You froze in the threshold.

A stained mattress lay on the concrete floor, no sheets. A walker. Female. Naked. Wrists bound with rope to a hook on the wall. Snarling at the disturbance.

Your stomach lurched. The walls tilted.

“Keep movin’,” Daryl muttered, trying to nudge you past, but you couldn’t stop staring. Your body locked up, throat tight, bile burning at the back of your mouth. Daryl stepped into the storage unit and pulled a knife from his belt. Put the walker out of its misery. He looked back at you, but you turned away.

Rick glanced between the two of you, reading enough in your face to leave the door alone. He pulled ahead, clearing the next row.

You forced your legs to work, but your hands were shaking so badly on the gun that Daryl gently reached out and lowered it. His eyes flicked back to the body on the mattress, then to you, and you knew he understood something - if not everything - without either of you saying it out loud.

You kept walking, the echo of your boots too loud in the narrow corridor. Every row looked the same, metal doors stretching into shadow, but you knew exactly where you were headed. Muscle memory, even after all this time.

Rick raised a hand, sharp and silent.

A walker staggered out from between two units, dragging one foot, jaw working soundlessly. Daryl didn’t pause. Crossbow up, string snapped, bolt through the skull. It dropped like a stone.

You stopped dead.

“That one,” you said flatly, your voice steady despite the way your chest tightened. “He’s the one who stuck me.”

Both men glanced at you. Daryl’s gaze lingered, searching, but you only nodded toward the next unit. The roll-up door hung crooked, jammed halfway down.

Inside, sprawled on the concrete, were three corpses. Rotting now, clothes in tatters, skulls with neat bullet holes in them.

“They were with him. Got them before my ammo ran out. That’s how he managed to get the knife in me.”

Silence settled. Rick looked at the bodies, then at you, his face unreadable. Daryl’s jaw worked, but he said nothing, crossbow lowering just a fraction.

You led them deeper into the storage facility. Counting each turn you made. Looking for the mini-landmarks your old friends had used to navigate. Scraps of electrical tape. Scratches in the concrete.

“This one.” You nodded at a padlocked unit. Stepped towards it and entered the combination.

Rick checked again for walkers, and then slowly slid the door up.

The door rattled open, rolling up with a metallic groan. For a second you thought maybe your memory had betrayed you — then you saw them.

Ammo crates. Dozens of them. Stacked neat against the back wall, stenciled lettering still sharp on the sides: 9MM. 12GA. .22.

Rick let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Daryl stepped inside fast, crossbow loose at his side but his eyes bright, almost disbelieving. “Jesus Christ. Look at it…” He crouched, pried one lid open with his knife. Rows of boxes gleamed inside, untouched. “This’ll keep us runnin’ a long damn time.”

You huffed a breath that was almost a laugh, tension bleeding out of your shoulders for the first time since you’d walked into the building. “Told you it was worth the trip.”

Rick was already moving crates toward the doorway, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe their luck. “This is a haul. Alexandria’s gonna breathe easier for months.”

Daryl kicked at something in the corner — a set of battered rolling carts, the kind delivery drivers used to wheel heavy loads. He grinned, quick and sharp, almost boyish. “Well ain’t that handy.”

Rick barked a laugh, hauling one cart out. “Load up what we can. We’ll come back for the rest.”

You glanced at Daryl. For once, his expression wasn’t grim or guarded — there was light in it, a spark you hadn’t seen since before the world fell.

And damn, if it didn’t make you feel lighter too.

———————————————————————

The house was quiet. Daryl sat at the table, crossbow broken down in front of him, a rag in one hand and oil in the other. He worked methodically, jaw tight, movements rougher than they needed to be.

You came in from the kitchen, still buoyed by the success of the day. “We just bought Alexandria a whole lot of breathing room,” you said, dropping into the chair opposite him. “So why are you sulking?”

He didn’t look up, just kept running the rag over the same piece of steel. “That mattress. The girl.”

The words landed like a stone between you.

You went still. He finally glanced at you, and there it was — not accusation, just the weight of what he’d seen written all over his face.

“They didn’t get me,” you said quickly, steady, like you’d been rehearsing it for years.

But your throat tightened anyway. You forced yourself to keep talking. “When I got out, I could hear them. What they were doing. To my friend.”

The rag stilled in his hand.

“Her name was Lana. And I left her there.” Your voice cracked but you pushed through it, eyes fixed on the table. “I had to. I was bleeding out. If I’d gone back, it would’ve been both of us.”

Silence stretched. You felt him watching you, but you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“The ones who were…well they came after me. When they heard me shooting. I lost them. But I guess they just left Lana there.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, hard.

“They didn’t touch me that day,” you said finally, voice flat, measured. Then, softer — more dangerous for being honest: “But don’t think that means it’s never happened.”

The admission hung there like smoke, half-formed, impossible to shove back down now that it had slipped out.

His chair creaked faintly as he leaned back, the rag hanging forgotten in his hand. His eyes didn’t leave you, but they’d gone darker, shuttered, like he was forcing himself to stay put instead of slamming a fist through the wall.

His jaw worked, muscle ticking hard at the corner. Once, twice, like he wanted to say something — anything — but nothing made it past his teeth. Instead, he set the rag and the oil down on the table, carefully.

He gripped his hands together. Knuckles turning white from the force. He stared at you, eyes burning, like he wanted to set the whole damn world on fire for what you’d just told him.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Careful. “Ain’t nothin’ you gotta explain. Not to me. Not if you don’t want.”

You swallowed. You hadn’t meant to tell him. Not like this anyway.

“He didn’t live long. After, I mean.”

Daryl’s eyes flickered, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He didn’t ask how or when. Didn’t press. Just sat there, breathing hard through his nose, like he was holding himself back from splintering the table in two.

His voice came out rough, almost a growl. “Good.”

Chapter 21: Nightmare

You’d known long before you fell asleep that it was going to be a rough night. Going back to the last place you’d been hurt was only ever going to cause more nightmares. So when you woke, breathless, replaying the moment the knife had slipped into your gut, while Lana’s screams echoed, you were horrified yes; but some logical part of your brain just sighed in twisted acknowledgment that this had been inevitable.

You sat up, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes until the dark spots cleared. The room was quiet — too quiet. You could still feel the echo of it in your chest, that panic, the certainty you were dying. Lying back down wasn’t an option.

So you pulled on the sweater draped over the chair and padded down the stairs.

The house creaked in the silence. No voices, no footsteps. Just the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional sigh of wind against the shutters.

You found him in the living room.

Daryl was stretched out on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other draped across his stomach. Boots still on. He wasn’t asleep — you could tell by the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his breathing didn’t have that easy rhythm to it.

He was pretending.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Your voice was soft, cutting through the dark.

His eyes flicked open, slow. He shifted, like maybe he’d been caught. “Somethin’ like that.”

You looked at him. A memory stirring.

“Last time I had a nightmare — when I first got here — I dreamed that you held me in bed, while I was having some kind of breakdown. Crying like I haven’t in years.”

His jaw tightened. He sat up, elbows braced on his knees, looking anywhere but you. For a long beat, he didn’t answer.

Finally, rough, quiet: “Weren’t no dream.”

You froze, hand tightening in your sweater. For a long moment, you didn’t say anything at all. Then—

“Why?”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing slightly. “Why what?”

“Why’d you do it? Why hold me like that, and then act like it never happened? Why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice cracked, sharper than you meant. “Why let me think I imagined it?”

Daryl’s mouth worked, but no words came out. He dragged a hand through his hair, then dropped his gaze to the floor like it might give him the answer.

“I didn’t—“ he cut himself off. Swallowed hard. “Didn’t know you thought that.” He shook his head. Started a third time.

“You were losin’ it. Was the only thing I could think of to calm you down.”

He gnawed on his bottom lip.

“When you fell back to sleep I thought…you weren’t in your right mind. Wouldn’t have wanted me there when…”

His voice trailed off, and you moved closer. Sat beside him on the couch.

“When what, Daryl?”

He looked up at you, eyes brimming with pain.

“When I wasn’t there for you to begin with. When I’m the reason you saw all that shit that gives you nightmares in the first place.”

Your breath caught, his words sinking deep. “Daryl…”

He shook his head, already retreating into himself, like saying it out loud had been too much. “If I’d found you, if I hadn’t believed what I saw at your place—” His voice cracked, raw. “You wouldn’t’ve been there. Wouldn’t’ve gone through any of it.”

“Daryl, I—“

“Nah.” He shook his head. Pressed his hands into his eyes. “You ain’t gotta make me feel better. Ain’t lookin’ for your sympathy.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better,” you said softly. He stilled, his hands still pressed to his face.

“I’m saying…I don’t blame you.”

He dropped his hands then, eyes flashing to yours like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. You swallowed hard, heart pounding.

“Why…why not?”

You gave a small, sad smile and reached for his hand.

“Because it isn’t your fault. Do I wish you’d found me? Sure. But that wouldn’t have saved me from anything. I’d have just gone through a different kind of hell. The same hell that gives you nightmares.”

He blinked at you, frowning like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words.

“I’ve heard some of the stories from the others. The prison, Woodbury, Terminus…” Your voice cracked, but you pushed through it. “If I’d been with you, I’d have lived through all of that. Or maybe I wouldn’t have lived at all. Either way, I don’t think either of us came out untouched.”

His jaw worked, muscle ticking hard at the corner, and you could almost see the thought hitting him for the first time — that maybe finding you wouldn’t have meant saving you at all; just trading one nightmare for another.

Your fingers curled tighter around his. “So no, I don’t blame you. Not anymore. Because there wasn’t a version of this world where either of us walked away clean.”

For a long moment he just looked at you, eyes raw, like he didn’t know whether to accept the lifeline you were offering.

“I…I never thought of it like that. Just thought I could’ve protected you.”

You squeezed his hand a little tighter again,

“You couldn’t have protected me from the world ending, Daryl,” you said gently. “No one could.”

His eyes dropped, shoulders tense like he was still wrestling with the thought, but he didn’t pull his hand from yours.

You shifted closer, closing the space between you until your knee brushed his. He stiffened, just for a moment, then let out a shaky breath.

When you leaned in, he didn’t meet you halfway — not at first. He just sat there, stunned, until you rested your forehead lightly against his shoulder. Then his arm moved, hesitant but sure, wrapping around you and pulling you against his chest.

He kicked off his boots with a dull thud on the floor, then leaned back into the couch, tugging you with him until you were tucked firmly against his side. His hand stayed at your back, fingers splayed, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

You settled there, listening to the slow thump of his heart. His shirt was soft with wear under your cheek, faintly smelling of woodsmoke and the leather of his vest.

The couch creaked as he shifted, just enough to angle you closer, his chin brushing the crown of your head. Warm breath stirred your hair with every exhale. His thumb began to move, almost unconsciously, small circles against the curve of your spine — not a gesture meant to soothe, but it soothed all the same.

When his stubble grazed your temple, it was so light you almost thought you’d imagined it. Then came another pass, firmer this time, followed by the briefest press of his lips against your hairline. He didn’t say anything, but you felt the words in the way he held you tighter, the way he let out a long, quiet breath like he’d been holding it for years.

Chapter 22: Warm

The first thing you noticed was the warmth. Not from heavy blankets, or sun spilling through blinds. But from the weight of Daryl’s arm around you. The heat of his chest underneath you.

For a long moment you stayed still, eyes closed, listening to the quiet of the house. The walls didn’t rattle with wind or walkers. No screaming. No chaos. Just the low sound of Daryl’s breathing by your ear, the faint tick of a clock in the hall.

You shifted slightly, and his hold instinctively tightened, pulling you closer against him. For the first time in years, being held didn’t scare you. Didn’t bring back those memories.

You wondered quietly what made this — him — different. Since it had happened, even gentle embraces from women made you feel trapped. And here you were, the strength of his biceps palpable even in sleep, and you felt…comfortable. Safe.

You let yourself breathe into it, slow and steady, syncing your rhythm to his without meaning to.

You shifted just enough to look at his face. Lines smoothed by the calm of sleep. Hair wild and messy. The most relaxed you’d seen him since before the world ended. You closed your eyes and nestled back against his chest, and allowed sleep to pull you back under.

The next time you stirred, the light was brighter, warm through the curtains. For a second you didn’t remember where you were. Then the weight of his arm reminded you.

Daryl shifted beneath you with a low groan, his breath ruffling your hair. His chest expanded against your cheek, then stilled when he realized you were awake too.

“Sleep okay?” His voice was gravelly with morning, careful, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask.

You nodded, your lips brushing his collarbone. “Better than I have in years.”

His arm tensed as though the words hit him somewhere deep, and you felt his heartbeat kick up under your palm. He didn’t say anything right away. Just let his thumb stroke an absent line along your waist.

You turned to look into his eyes, and smiled broadly.

“What is it?” He asked.

You shook your head.

“King size bed upstairs. And we both slept on the couch. You’re going to be stiff as a board today.”

He smiled, pulled you in even tighter against his chest.

“Worth it.” He mumbled against your hair.

You looked up at him again. “What’re you meant to be doing today?”

He rubbed his eyes with his free hand, thinking.

“Uhhhh…just checkin’ the traps. I think.”

He looked down at your face. “Why?”

“Can I come with you?”

Daryl looked uneasy. “How ‘bout instead of that…I meet you after. I can come help you out in the library.”

Your eyes narrowed at him. “You still scared to have me outside the walls?”

He bit his lip. “Ain’t that. Well it is but—it’s gonna be cold out there. And won’t take me more than an hour. I can grab the game, clean it, clean up and meet you before you’ve taken your first nap.”

He grinned wryly at you.

“You’re the one that keeps insisting I’m still healing and need the rest.”

He squeezed your waist playfully. “You do. I’m just kiddin’ around.”

———————————————————————

You heard Daryl call your name.

“In the dining room!” You shouted to him.

He found you surrounded by boxes and stacks of books.

“What can I do?” He asked, eyes scanning the room.

“Can you move these three boxes,” you pointed them out, “into the living room?”

He nodded and lifted the first heavy box with ease. You watched him shoulder the weight and march into the other room and smiled, going back to your methodical sorting.

By the time the third box was gone, you had neat little stacks lined along the wall — history, poetry, battered paperbacks that had probably lived in someone’s bathroom before ending up here.

“Where d’you want the cookin’ ones?”

“Kitchen, obviously,” you said without looking up.

He huffed out a laugh and started hauling the boxes that way. You lost track of time, both of you falling into an easy rhythm — him moving weight you couldn’t, you making sense of the mess he called a system.

Eventually, your body started to tire and you found yourself drifting to the familiar armchair in the living room.

Daryl came back in with empty hands, glanced at you, then at the work still to be done. “You done for now?”

You nodded, tugging the blanket draped over the armrest across your legs. “Yeah. I am.”

He hesitated, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself without a task in his hands.

You patted the cushion beside you, your voice soft but steady. “Sit with me a while?”

He hovered a moment, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he belonged there. His eyes flicked to the stacks of books, then back to you, like maybe he should keep moving boxes instead of sitting still.

“Daryl,” you said quietly. A simple reminder.

His jaw worked. Then he gave a short nod and lowered himself into the chair beside you, stiff at first, like he was bracing for orders.

You didn’t hesitate. You leaned into his side, tucking yourself under his arm. His body went rigid for a beat — then slowly, cautiously, his arm came around you, settling across your shoulders.

You let your head rest against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “That’s better,” you murmured.

He swallowed hard, eyes fixed straight ahead. His hand flexed once at your shoulder, then stilled, like he was trying to make sure he wasn’t holding too tight.

“You can relax,” you said, smiling into his shirt. “It’s allowed.”

His breath left in a shaky huff — almost a laugh. “Just…wanna make sure it’s what you want.”

“It is,” you whispered, curling closer. “It’s exactly what I want.”

That seemed to settle him. His body loosened under you, his warmth seeping in until it felt like the chair had been made for both of you.

You must have drifted off without meaning to. The weight of him beside you, the rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his arm — it all blurred into sleep.

When you stirred again, the light through the curtains had shifted. The house was quiet, except for the faint creak of a floorboard. You blinked, head still tucked against Daryl’s chest, and found Carol standing in the doorway.

Her eyes softened when she saw you wake. She lifted a finger to her lips and mouthed sorry, before stepping closer.

You eased yourself up a little so as not to disturb him, but Daryl didn’t move. Out cold, his arm still draped heavy over you.

Carol’s smile warmed, knowing. She leaned in so only you could hear.

“Don’t be too surprised,” she whispered. “Man hasn’t let himself sleep this deep in years.”

You swallowed, glancing down at him, then back at her. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Honey,” Carol cut in softly, “it’s good for him. For both of you.”

You felt your face heat, unsure how to respond, but Carol only tilted her head, her expression gentling even more.

“Took me a long time to figure out what he lost. He didn’t talk about you. Not at first. Not until after Merle.”

Your throat tightened. You glanced down at the man beside you, his hair falling into his face, the lines of strain softened in sleep.

“Then one night we were on guard. Jokin’ around. And something made him go quiet. So I asked. If there’d been a girl. And he told me. All about you.”

You blinked up at Carol.

“He didn’t go on and on. You know what he’s like. But he told me about the diner. Then the state of your apartment when he got there. And how he hadn’t wanted to leave you the night before.”

You closed your eyes. You could remember it perfectly - him getting out of your bed. Getting dressed to meet his brother. Both of you wanting to stay tangled up together. Neither of you with even the slightest clue of what was coming. Of the years of separation that would come between you.

Your chest ached at the memory, sharper now that you knew he’d carried it too. You opened your eyes again, found Carol still watching you, her gaze steady, kind.

“I’m so glad he got you back.” She smiled warmly, and stepped out of the room and slipped out the front door. In his sleep, Daryl pulled you tighter against him.