scudslut

[scudslut]

does anyone else have a thing for daryl’s pants in season 3/4?? like his belt and shoes too?

am i weird? or does anyone else go absolutely feral when they see it

wtf is it. like they’re so worn in, so loose, the handkerchief that hangs out the pocket, i’m not even convinced he wears boxers AND IT MAKES IT SO MUCH HOTTER EHAT IS IT

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hello!!! i just found your account last night and i spent all night reading your daryl fics and im obsessed 😚😚😚 i love your work so so much!!! i hope you're doing well :D 🩷

oh my goodness thank u!! your the sweetest ever💖💖

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You’ve held hot men hostage long enough.Give us, the ppl, Daryl and Scud👀

P.s:

Glad your coming outta writing-retirement 😂

Seriously though, can’t wait to read up on my two favorite guys of Norman’s 🥰

hahahha my bad i’m sorry😭

i appreciate you, i’m happy to be coming back!!🤍 i’ll get on some scud fics asap i haven’t written for him in ages

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𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

he often wondered why he pushed it away for so long; this feeling.

sure, it consumed him… but looking at you it all just made sense. his world had a center, a beginning and an end, a breathing, living soul.

and it was you.

he felt foolish honestly, looking back, thinking he could tough it out, push it down, scare you away. but it was like trying to walk on water.

you terrified him; made his blood rush and his heart burn. before, when he was still trying to escape it, he can remember the way just looking at you would make him ache — this indescribable intensity of emotions that would nearly choke him — and it wasn’t until he accepted his fate that he learned there could be an outlet.

he could pour it into you, whether it being as close as physically possible, or simple as giving you flowers he found and watching the bright smile glow across your face.

he didn’t have let it crush him. he could breathe for you, with you, into you. he could try day in and day out to tie his soul to yours instead of pacing through the woods trying to outrun himself.

nothing would ever compare to you. the way you looked at him. it felt like seeing color for the first time. time stopped when your eyes caught his, everything clicked into place. you stared into his soul and and looked at him like he was the sun.

he would do anything for you, be anything.

for years he read about love like this, saw it in movies or in songs but he never really thought it could exist; that it could be his. it used to be weak to him, a worthless waste of time chasing after something that wasn’t real.

how wrong he was.

it was in everything. in how your scent lingered on his clothes and the little notes he’d find hidden in his pockets. the scribbles in margins of your favourite books.

it was in him.

in every place you touched and kissed and loved. he looked at himself different now, strangely enough. he’d look at his eyes a second or two longer in the mirror, remembering all the compliments and heated glances you bestowed upon them. at his hands he’d hold yours with, how soft and warm yours would feel in his, how utterly perfect it fit and felt like it truly did belong there.

he still didn’t feel as deserving as he should, but he couldn’t help but think if you loved him, maybe he wasn’t worthless after all.

a/n: 🌝🥲 hi guyssss this is somethin i’ve had in the drafts for awhile and figured it would be best to post after my long ass hiatus since its short n’ sweet. hope u like, ive missed u all<33

oh i also have a lil france spicy fic in the works too hopefully it’ll be finished soon!🤍

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PLEASE! COME BACK!

heheh would u guys want me too? I’ve had the urge to write so bad lately and legit have so many unfinished drafts, i’ve just been gone so long and haven’t written in forever idk why im nervousss lol

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this blog hates donald trump

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where do u find this information. your like a norman encyclopedia

life is really difficult knowing how big norman reedus is😔

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woman you need to start citing your sources

life is really difficult knowing how big norman reedus is😔

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sorry i’m just thinking about going down on daryl and just fuckin showering him with praise and compliments.

the man would be so shocked at first, almost humiliated by the words coming from your mouth. “would ya zip it?? s’not even true,” he’d rasp, eyes darting around as if to make sure no one heard in the empty bedroom, but nothing could hide the fact that his heart was racing, damn near exploding in his chest. his palms would sweat knowing what was in store each time, and secretly (it’s not even a secret at all) after a while he genuinely yearned for it.

for you to work that sweet, coma inducing magic on him all the while telling him how he was such a good boy for you. how he had the prettiest cock you had ever seen and god, how you wish you could do this for hours, how you’d never get used to the beautiful, strong man below you soaking up everything you had to offer.

he’d sputter and groan half audible obscenities as he felt your hands roam everywhere. any glorious skin you could touch had a comment to go with it, his arms being one of yours (and his) favourites, “so strong baby, god do you know how sexy these arms are?”

he couldn’t answer.

not with you stroking him so intently, leaning down to lick long strips up his shaft making him buck unintentionally.

“you got it baby, move those hips,” you soothed, praising every little sound and action he made, encouraging him because you knew he wouldn’t do it himself. “do whatever you want daryl. i want all of you.”

you’d kiss that special spot. the one right below his belly button, kissing and sucking the plush skin and trail of fine hairs there and he knew he was done for.

god was he done for, twitching and bucking erratically into your awaiting mouth, “y-yea?” he’d whimper. your words would effect him so much. so much so that shivers would run down his back and the air would leave his lungs, replaying each thing you had said about him as you took him so deeply.

and just as he was about to come, he’d stop you, “fuck, fuck, need ya, please. need ya t’fuck me,” he’d whine, grabbing at anything he could reach to get you up there, above him with your lips against his and lined up so you could sink right down where you belonged.

[scudslut]

life is really difficult knowing how big norman reedus is😔

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OOo TY FOR THE TAG T AND @kookiekult 💖💖

Favourite Colour: green, purple and burgundy!!

Last Song: roseblood by mazzy star

Currently Reading: the brothers of auschwitz’s by malka adler and also rereading the beautiful creatures series

Currently Watching: random eps of the office and new girl GIMME DD S2 NOW!

Currently Craving: oo! money! so i can go to spain iykwim👹 and to buy a house next to katie bean when i visit💖

Coffee or Tea: coffee. and tea. both. but coffee

No Pressure Tags! @werejustlefttodecay @dix0nvix3n @love-norman @ghostboneswrites2

🤍🤍🤍

get to know me game

rules: answer + tag six people u want to know

fav color: green (if u haven’t noticed hehe)

last song: heaven & back - chase atlantic

currently reading: king of sloth

currently watching: sofia the first lmao

currently craving: crab rangoons

coffee or tea: matcha tea

(ps thanks for the tag angie baby) (also sry girl i didn’t know we were supposed to reblog😭😭)

@yuenity @sceletaflores @kyletogaz @harpsinfinity @neoarchipelago @the-californicationist @mostly-imagines - this is lowkey humiliating bc I don’t talk to many of u, but i love ur writing so… 🤝 (also i did do seven… whoops)

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What’s your TikTok user? If you don’t mind 💓

not at all!! it’s @mrsemmadixon 💖💖

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GIRL NO CUZ I WAS JUST LISTENING TO IT TODAU AND ALMOST CRIED

The intro theme to Daryl Dixon's show still makes my stomach flip in the best possible way.

[scudslut]

omg this was so good, so excited to read more

part one

obsession

series masterlist .. masterlist .. taglist

warnings - mentions and descriptions of violence and gore, mentions of racism (Merle), feelings of paranoia, profanity

idle hands

A man of few words often had little to say, but never had he truly been rendered speechless the way he was when you arrived at the quarry.

It wasn’t your best of days, but you were captivating nonetheless. Even when it was littered with abrasions and bruises, your face was just so perfectly framed by the mess of unkempt hair, and even though your eyes were dressed in dark bags and layers of terror, they were brilliant. Simply put, you were a disaster of the most beautiful kind, and Daryl knew the moment he laid eyes on you that he was wading upstream, knee-deep in shit’s creek.

That was back in the beginning, when walking corpses and unimaginable gore were still new territories for most people. You were shaken up from the events that led you to this new group of people in the first place. Back then, you were more human; still affected so deeply by loss. Watching your family die left you vulnerable, malleable, terrified. With the constant threat of pain and death looming over you, your mind was sharper. Constantly balancing along that thin line between fight or flight.

That day, though — the day you met him — you discovered a new fear response: fawn.

The second your eyes befell him, you froze. Your pupils wide, gulping dryly in the Georgian sun, time came to a stop as you took in the site. There was something unsettling about him. He didn’t just see you, he studied you. You could practically feel him soaking you in, memorizing every detail. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about him that made you squirm. Maybe it was his narrow slits where his eyes should have been, tracking your movements, or his large frame reminding you just how weak you really were in a man-eat-man world.

Luckily for you, he didn’t spend much time around camp. He was a hunter — fitting, you thought — and he was usually off in the trees somewhere.

Though, despite him being out of sight, he rarely left your mind at ease. His eyes left a lingering impression on your flesh. You could always feel the chill of his cool gaze tracing over you. As you worked around camp or tried to keep cool from the sun, you constantly glanced over at the forest in any direction. You felt as if he’d be standing there, watching you. You never saw him there at the edge of the woods like you anticipated, but you always wondered if he was still there, lurking deeper in the in the shadows, beyond your line of sight.

He quickly instilled a sense of paranoia in you. You always watched for him, always hoping he’d be there despite the sense of danger his presence alone caused you.

The others around the quarry began to worry for you. They noticed the way you’d shrink away when he walked past, they felt you physically recoil. The Dixons had a reputation. Whether it be back home where they wreaked havoc on the locals, or there at the quarry where those they terrified relied on them too much to get rid of them. They worried for someone like you, very clearly and quickly becoming the target of the younger, quieter Dixon.

You supposed it could have been worse — right? At least it wasn’t the asshole cop with a fetish for widows, or the older Dixon spouting racist idiocy at the drop of a hat. All things considered, you were fed, clothed, and you even had your own tent. Comparatively speaking, you were probably better off than most people in Georgia, or, maybe even the entire USA. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

“Y/N.” Shane interrupted your thoughts. “Ya got an extra pair of hands you could lend to the girls down by the water?”

You glanced down at the hands in question, folded idly on your lap as you rested for the first time in days. Since your arrival at camp, Shane had been very clear about having another mouth to feed, and how you needed to earn your keep. So, every day, you crawled out of your tent, stretched your aching muscles, and found a new task to occupy your time. Yesterday, it was sewing the holes in everyone’s clothes. The day before, it was repairing fishing lines. Before that, gathering wood and boiling water. You had hoped today would be the day you got to take a break, just like everyone else got a day to rest every now and then. Hell, even the Dixons didn’t hunt every single day.

“I guess.” You shrugged, groaning as you pushed yourself up to your feet and brushed the dust from your jeans.

“Guesswork ain’t puttin’ food in your belly.” Shane retorted. “Go on now.” He concluded with a pat on your shoulder. You clenched your jaw as his hand made contact with your shirt, struggling to contain the scowl that begged to show.

Down by the water, the ladies were chatting casually, dunking garments in and out of the water as they did. All of the women were there, save for Lori, who conveniently managed to evade laundry duty every time. You wondered if it had anything to do with the previously mentioned asshole cop and his fetish for widows.

“Shane sent you down?” Carol wondered, squinting up at you as she wiped sweat from her face.

“I told him we had it covered.” Andrea added.

“It’s okay.” You shrugged, sitting down on your knees at the edge of the water. “I had an extra pair of hands.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s instrument.” Jacqui said as she wrung out the shirt she had just washed.

“That is what they say.” Carol agreed.

“Please.” Andrea snorted. “That’s just a saying some old men made up so we wouldn’t play with ourselves.”

Everyone paused and looked at her then. She glanced around at everyone and shrugged.

“What?” She asked defensively. “It only takes a few minutes to realize we’re better off doing it ourselves.”

You all snickered at that, finding little reason to argue.

“That goes for a lot of things.” Jacqui said.

“Yup. Laundry, dishes, dinner… If you want it done right, you do it yourself.” Carol commented.

As the ladies carried on with their domestic complaints of men being useless in just about every job description that doesn’t include brute strength, your mind wandered elsewhere. Your eyes scanned over the water as you mindlessly scrubbed smelly jeans. Their voices became distant and distorted. Images of rotting teeth displayed behind your eyelids every time you blinked — tearing into your sister’s flesh, ripping her apart, eating her alive. If you listened closely, you could hear her scream. You could see your dad reach out for her, arm stretching into the horde of death. You could see them grab him too. You could feel their cold fingers wrap around his arm and pull him in. You could smell their blood.

“Y/N?” Amy snapped her fingers in front of your face. You blinked, realizing all five of them were watching you with worry. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Yeah, just… Tired.” You assured them.

“Well, no wonder.” Carol mumbled. “Been here eight days and haven’t taken not one break. You need rest.”

“Shane wants me to earn my keep.” You reminded her.

“You’ve been earning it just fine.” She argued. “You do more around here than he does for Pete’s sake. Just cause what we do doesn’t look hard doesn’t mean it’s not hard work.”

“Preaching to the choir.” Jacqui scoffed. “Women have been saying that since the beginning of time. The men protect and hunt, we do everything else. Everything.”

Between the six of you — Carol, Jacqui, Amy, Andrea, Mrs.Morales, and you — the laundry only took about an hour. None of you were complaining, as you’d all seen it take a full day before with less hands on deck. For a small camp of people who had to leave behind everything they’d ever worked toward, you all sure knew how to rack up some dirty laundry. Then again, with this heat, maybe you were glad that hygiene was still a priority.

You skipped lunch that day, as the pickings were slim as it was already and you figured the kids needed it more. You instead decided to retire to your tent for a quick nap before Shane came around again with some obscure task for you to complete.

Surprisingly, nobody bothered to wake you that afternoon, or that night. By the time you woke, most people were asleep. Someone had left you a tin can full of stew from dinner that night outside your tent. You figured it was Carol, as she was the most likely to care enough to do so. You scarfed down the cold leftovers viciously before you stumbled down to the quarry to wash up.

A lot of the women tended to bathe at the same time, as a way to look out for each other, but you’d overslept so you’d just have to make it quick.

Your clothes clung to your wet skin as you redressed yourself. You squeezed excess water out of your hair as you wandered back to camp. The night was quiet, except for Ed’s snoring. You wondered how the walkers hadn’t found you all here yet. You were sure his snores echoed all the way down to the city.

You took a seat on the steps of the RV, folding your hands together in your lap as you stared at the remaining embers of the campfire. It was a rule to keep flames low, even when it was cold. You sort of didn’t mind. The glowing ashes resembled twinkling stars if you squinted hard enough.

Your thoughts began to take over as they often did while you remained fixated on the remnants of a dead fire. A distant rustling caught your ear. You struggled to adjust your eyes to the dark, scanning in the direction of the noise until two figures emerged from the trees. Quickly you realized it was Daryl, sneaking off into the woods in the middle of the night. You weren’t sure if he noticed you there.

You wondered what he could have been doing. Surely hunting in the dark was no easy feat, so what was he up to? You glanced back down at your lap, where your hands sat idly, folded together.

“Idle hands are the devil’s instrument.” You whispered to yourself as you fingers twitched. You had a choice or make that night. Funny how those old sayings often rendered true. Had you not been sitting there with nothing else to do, maybe you wouldn’t have made the decision you made. Maybe things would have been different.

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy @raeraegoaway @ophelialaufey @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfsalltheway

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Daryl Dixon: The Book of Carol

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his cutesy little choker screams mommy if that’s anything to go by🤷🏼‍♀️

and also just off the top of my head: his hair, him being a stoner, the way he says ‘pretty please’, him acting all tough but when it comes down to it he’s a little scaredy boy, his clothes, his voice, the way he’s such a little sub it’s not even funny, THE POWERPUFF GIRLS ARE U KIDDING ME, nerdy gamer boy, his entire personality and charisma, his cutesy smile when he has donuts, the 3way he was in, the supposed torso lighter he has,,,

there’s probably so much i’m forgetting

I love the idea, and I'm watching Blade 2 as I'm typing this out. Someone needs to tell me why we're all saying Scud has a mommy kink?

[scudslut]

more pls, pretty pls 💖💖

Alone Time

Summary: Daryl needs some time alone in the woods.

Length: 2388 words

Era: Not important, Post Prison-ish?

Warnings: Mature content 18+, Male solo, thigh riding, fantasy.

Daryl PoV, Unnamed female pronouns

A/N: One of the last (if not the last) Daryl pov stories I had planned. Just finally finished it.

Daryl watched her roll on to her side, a soft sigh tumbling from her parted lips. She was dozing, just like everyone else except him and the second watch of the night. After the long day they'd had and then with her making him carry all of her shit on top of it he should have passed out damn near instantly, but that fuckin' girl was in his head. That seemed to be happening more and more. Wouldn't bother him so much if it was the usual day-to-day shit they had to worry about, but this was something different. Something he shouldn't be thinking about.

It wasn't like he meant to. He tried thinking about anything else but when he closed his eyes all he could see were little soundless clips of her his subconscious collected through the day. The way her big doe eyes looked up at him as she pleaded for him to carry her clothes in his bag because she wanted more room to carry books they found or the ruddy flush of her cheeks when she was struggling to keep up with him in the woods. It was these little things that made his cock stir and curse god that he had a half decent memory.

The more he tries to sleep the more he recalls and the more he recalls the more his cock begins to ache. The way her teeth catch her bottom lip when he's telling her some stupid story he doesn't even care about. The color deepening the longer he talks until by the end those lips look kiss swollen and red. He shouldn't even be thinking about her because she's just a friend. He almost snorts because friends don't think about how those lips would taste. No, he ain't sleepin', not like this. He needs to clear his head.

Sitting up makes the very source of his uncalled for fascination stir. "Daryl...?" his name on her lips makes his cock spasm.

"Back t' sleep." he tells her. It's barely a rasp is sound but she moans a tired hum of agreement that's a shot of lightning down his spine. Fuck clearing his head! There ain't no sleepin'. Not after that. He grabs his backpack and his crossbow, a sick idea forming somewhere in the back of his skull. If he doesn't move now he'll talk himself out of it but he has to get her off of his mind. He needs to sleep. He tosses a languid hand up to whoever is on watch before vanishing into the trees lining the old road.

Reckless is what this is, sheer fuckin' stupid. He keeps heading deeper into the trees until the group is out of sight and the firelight is just a faint winking dot. He's far enough away that he can hear them if one of them yells, but out here he's alone. No group to worry about, no girl to drive him wild, just him and his backpack and his hand.

He's disgusting for this. He tells himself that even as he palms his length over his jeans and has to choke back the sound that nearly left him. She's just a friend. She understands that side of him he's only ever been able to share with a small few and here he is thinking about what her tits would feel like smashed against his chest. Disgusting doesn't cover it but he can't help it, not now.

"Fuck..." it leaves his mouth as a sigh. He needs to go back to the group, lay back down next to her and pretend this hasn't happened. He won't though, it feels too good and he needs her too bad. Uttering a curse he drops his crossbow to the ground, sliding the back pack off his shoulders so he can lean against the tree proper. He's still palming himself, flexing his fingers around his length, the friction just heavy enough to wipe out most thought until he looks at the bag again. The blood rushes from his face, a soft trill of excitement running over his shoulders and down his spine. Her clothes are still in there.

He shouldn't.

God knows he shouldn't but he was going to.

Movements stiff and jerky he opens the zipper at his feet and fishes for the first piece of material inside. Even in the dark he knows exactly what his fingers find just by the feel of it, that ugly yellow shirt. It takes him only a second to press it to his nose, the smell of her intoxicating and overwhelming, bringing fresh life to the gentle images of her he was conjuring. His cock pulses, throbs. He leans his head back staring at the material balled in his fist. If she knew she might hate him. She might never talk to him again but her scent is tickling his nose and his cock demanding satisfaction from a woman he can't have.

He's imagining her there now; leaning against the tree across from him, head tilted back looking down her nose. Her delicate fingers toying with the end of her shirt that's barely covering her pussy and her teeth catching her lip turning it oh, so red again. He should put away her shirt, go back to the group and forget about all of this but that image is branded behind closed eyes and he just-- can't. Uttering a whispered curse he starts pulling on his belt until he shoves his pants down his hips just enough to free his dick. It's weeping at the thought of her closing the distance, practically dripping at the thought of her crawling into his lap.

He knows what she would think if she found him. He's a pervert. Daryl is repeating it in his head even as he spits in his hand and grips his length. Doesn't matter what she thinks now because whatever was left of him that felt actual shame was gone now and in his head all he can see is her. She's breathing against his ear, soft shallow pants with his knee between her legs. He's gripping her hips to keep her there, to encourage her to rock against him because as badly as he wants to be in her, he needs to see her, needs to see more.

Daryl is desperate to see that wanton pink flush tinting her cheeks, her lips parted in a tiny 'oh' as she grinds down on him. He won't kiss her, not yet. He won't do that until he's buried in her. He's too infatuated with the hazy hooded look of her eyes to think of missing the soft flutter of her lashes.

That makes him groan. His lips press in a thin line as he strokes himself in time with the imaginary version of her, no longer teasing himself with slow strokes. He's a fuckin' teenager all over again thinking about the dampness between her legs smearing over his jeans as she bears down on him. Her head falling back, a throaty moan breaking up her labored breath as her chest juts in his face. Pumping his cock he needs to see her get off. He needs her to use him, to make him a fuck toy for only her pleasure.

Daryl takes the shirt in his hand and buries his face in it taking the smell of her deep into his lungs. His muscles are shaking, straining, and he has to lean back against the tree trunk, bark scraping at his biceps. He pretends that it's her nails and not the tree biting at his shoulders. He wants to cum but it's way too soon. Not yet! Not yet. Not yet...

He stops breathing her in and spits on his palm again, a sticky glob that mixes with the wetness of his tip. He fists himself again pushing the cloth back against his mouth, tongue tasting the salt still lingering in the fabric. He's imagining it as her skin, pressing his face against her breasts, whining as he nips tender flesh. She's close, so fucking close and he can't breathe but he'd die happy. If this was love then he could learn it.

She's pulling his hair, forcing his gaze upwards to watch as her rhythm stutters in an uneven dance as she chases her high. Breath catching as she rides him, she's the most dazzling thing he's ever seen. He's awestruck as she goes rigid, chest flushed red as her back bows and there's a split second while she's frozen with pleasure tearing through her that he wants to capture forever. This is beauty, a painting he can finally appreciate in all its splendor. Then all too fast that second is over and she's gasping for air as she bucks against him but then comes the knowing that he can give her what she wants, that his body is enough for her. It's a sick sort of satisfaction, a joy, thrumming in his chest when she falls against him half out of her head from cumming on his thigh. His thigh.

He needs her. Standing there in the middle of the woods with his cock in his hand and her shirt to his nose he's never needed anything more. Now he wants to take as much as she's willing to give.Laying her down on the ground she's watching him with glazed sated eyes, tiny creases at the edge of a smile. He needs to know the greedy suck of her mouth, the press of her teeth swollen lips kissing his crown. He needs to see those ruddy cheeks bulge with his cock as he fucks the shallow of her mouth, her tongue laving his shaft. He needs, he needs, he needs…

His knees are weak, his vest catching on bark as he slips down to the ground. He's choking on the smell of her, the shirt damp from his breath as he fucks in to his tight fist. Behind his closed eyes all he can see are the sloppy strings of saliva connecting them both as her grabby hands try to bring him back. He's whimpering into the shirt, pleading with himself not to finish. He wants to drown in her and with her but his cock is so sensitive it nearly burns as he pumps furiously.

And her? She’s just lying there, her hair haloed around her head like a crown as she whispers filthy things that all too sweet smile narrowing her puffy eyes. She's praising him, her naughty boy, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He zeros in on that, the words. He's groaning, the sound muffled by the cloth. “Naughty boy. Naughty boy. Naughty boy.” It's on a loop, her eyes wild with fascination when his body shakes. His breath seizes. Her hand covers his as she looks up at him demanding his full attention as she says, “Cum baby.”

He does.

His shoulders bow inward, hips thrusting at the air as thick ropes of spend hit the ground between his booted feet. Daryl tries to stifle the sound he makes before he's choking from the force of his orgasm, unable to breath as his abdomen clenches over and over, hips twitching as he cums and cums. Her shirt falls from a loose grip as he slumps, his whole body sensitive and shaking. He's ruined and whole and ruined again, completely and utterly spent on the forest floor.

Daryl uses his bandana to clean off his shaking hands enough to light a cigarette and he fumbles the lighter twice before he gets it right. It takes him the entire thing before he can make himself stuff her shirt back in his bag and put away his dick. How the fuck was he going to look her in the eyes? How was he going to be able to see anything other than her spread out on the floor below him with her knees pressed together with want?

He'd figure it out tomorrow. Had to. It wasn't like he could avoid her, they were traveling together. The only good thing that came of him emptying his balls (other than blowing his own damn mind) was that he was tired now. Tired enough to sleep until morning and he was going to enjoy that rarity even if it was only because he didn't know if he could meet her eyes.

He groaned as he stood, his legs fighting to sit back down the entire walk back to the fire's edge. The watch had switched and was adding twigs to the flame to keep it going. If they knew what Daryl had just done they didn't say, just a nod of acknowledgement that he hadn't died and that was more than enough for him. Now all he had to do was tip-toe back to his spot on the fringes and pray he didn't wake her up.

He was careful setting his stuff down, his movements as slow and steady as he could manage praying to any god that would listen that she wouldn't wake up. Frowning he eased down on the ground next to her, the starring role of his forbidden fantasy. He'd made it to his back before she stirred beside him and without opening her eyes she whispered to him, "I'm cold." His heart slammed into his throat, his sluggish mind struggling to come up with something, anything to say to her.

“Don' care.” He muttered. Closing his eyes he silently admonished himself. He could've tried to be a little nicer but it didn't matter because she was already scooting over. She snuggled up to him, slipping her hand under his shirt to rest on his belly. “God dammit woman!” He hissed but not because it was cold.

She hushed him, pressing her body up against his side. “Daryl, go to sleep.”

Only now he couldn't because her touch was electric, tiny sparks of it dancing across his chest stirring up a weird feeling in his rib cage. He sighed, resigned to his fate, a punishment from God probably for what he did only minutes ago and stared up at the stars above them trying to count them. Anything to pretend he wasn't honed in on the pads of her fingertips drawing tiny circles near his naval.