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janiehellion · 6 months ago

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𝐂𝐫𝛐𝐬𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: You’ve been scavenging and trying to survive the war against Negan and the Saviors—but lately, it’s hard to tell if you and Daryl are left fighting for more than just your lives.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Angst ⋮ Car Sex ⋮ Breeding ⋮ Hurt ⋮ Comfort ⋮ Established Relationship

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 5.631 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: MID S7 & EARLY S8 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑩𝒚: @francisofthespook

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

You and Daryl had been together for quite a while now, though it didn't feel like it anymore. Not really.

Both of you had your walls built high at first, but over time, things changed. The feelings between you grew, as did the undeniable desire. It wasn't soft or tender; it was raw and real. When you weren't scavenging for supplies, you were stealing moments with him—rough, sloppy kisses and even harder fucks, the kind that left you both breathless and craving more.

But lately, it hadn't been that easy.

Daryl had grown distant.

The world had gone to hell, and somehow, the quiet had become the loudest thing about your relationship.

It had been days since the war against Negan and his Saviors started. Everyone seemed scared—no one knew when the next fight would happen or if it would even be a fight and not the end. But you had your role.

Scavenging.

You were good at it, or at least, that's what you'd tell yourself when you were on a run. You were good at finding what no one else could, but your choices? Well, Daryl didn't always appreciate them.

You'd found bullets, medical supplies, tools, and even weapons on occasion. But you had a thing for bringing back things he called 'useless bullshit.'

While Daryl's always been practical—focused on things that kept the group alive—your mind wandered to… other things. Things that didn't make sense during the war against Negan, like a book, a mirror you found at a broken-down store, or some postcards you scavenged last week.

It wasn't like you planned it. It was a distraction. The communities were falling apart, and if you could find something that made you feel a bit more human, even just for a minute, you grabbed it. But Daryl? He couldn't understand. You could see it in his eyes whenever he found out you came back with something that didn't make any sense, he'd growl and shake his head. And you hated how that felt. Especially since he'd escaped the Sanctuary only days ago and you were so happy to have him back by your side.

Sure, he'd fuck you when you asked, but it was always that quick, no feelings but routine kind of fuck. And even then, it didn't feel like it was enough.

Maybe it was the tension from the war with the Saviors; maybe it was the ever-present danger—but the way he looked at you lately… it was just so different. Frustrated. Annoyed.

But it didn't matter to you. You were bored with scavenging for the same shit over and over again. It was easier, and it felt like your own little rebellion against the monotony.

Daryl's silence and his glares were enough. But still, you kept doing it—finding things that served no purpose, hoping it would get under his skin. And it did.

The store you chose for the supply run was quiet except for Daryl's grumbling from a few aisles over. It wasn't much different from the last stores you'd scavenged. No walkers, empty shelves, old signs thrown everywhere, and the reminder of a world that used to make sense.

"Grab somethin' useful, would ya?" Daryl's voice came through the silence, and you could hear how annoyed he already was. He'd been in a mood since you set foot out of Alexandria, and he wasn't bothering to hide it.

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, not wanting to look up as you searched through a box on the counter. Daryl's idea of usefulness was a wrench, a roll of duct tape, or maybe a box of nails if you were lucky enough to find one. Your idea? Not so much.

You turned over a cassette tape, smirking as the name caught your eye—Cigarettes After Sex. The world had gone to hell, and here you were looking through its ashes, scavenging a tape that probably hadn't been played in a while. Useless as hell. Exactly the kind of thing that you wanted and needed.

And then there was the other find—a pink lace lingerie set shoved to the back of a dusty rack of mismatched clothes. It was ridiculous. Completely impractical. Which made it perfect.

You went into the tiny bathroom at the back of the store to try it on, biting your lip to keep from laughing at yourself as you adjusted the straps. The mirror was cracked, the lighting awful, but the sight of you standing there, wearing something so out of place in a world like this? It was too good. If Daryl saw it… well, that was the point, wasn't it?

Slipping back out of the bathroom, you walked over to another shelf, pretending to search for something useful during the supply run, and Daryl was still focused as you took a glance at him. He wasn't in the mood to talk, not that he ever was these days.

"Got everything we might need?" You asked, keeping your voice light and playful, knowing full well that he wasn't in the mood for any of it.

"Yeah, and yer jus' wastin' time, s'usual," he grumbled quietly, turning around to face you.

You rolled your eyes, moving to another aisle before you heard him exhale loudly, and it was clear that his patience was already going away. That was just how things were now. The world had changed, and so had your relationship.

But it wasn't long before Daryl caught you with something else. A hairbrush.

"Seriously?" He snapped, the tone in his voice rather harsh. "Ya can't help yerself, can ya? We're in the middle of a damn war, and yer scavengin' shit like it's a goddamn mall run!"

You shot him a look, biting back a scowl. "Life's gotta feel normal sometimes, Daryl," you said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "It's not all about the damn war."

He gritted his teeth, slamming the tools he'd found into his bag with more force than necessary. "Ya don't get it," he growled. "Yer actin' as if everythin's still the same like we're not fightin' for our lives."

You couldn't help yourself, and you refused to back down. "You really think all we need to focus on is to fight? Do you think that's enough? We're still alive, Daryl. We're still here. We need to feel… something."

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "Don't know what ya want from me," he growled, almost to himself. "Ya need t'grow the hell up."

The words hurt more than you wanted to admit. But you wouldn't let him get away with it. "And you need to loosen up," you snapped back just a bit too loud.

Daryl was about to say something, but you didn't wait to hear it. You turned around, making your way toward the exit, feeling the fire of his stare burning into your back.

"Thought we were lookin' for actual supplies," he grumbled as you stepped into the sunlight outside and he walked past you. The bags over his shoulder looked ready to burst with everything you hadn't bothered to help him find. "Ya even find somethin' useful, or ya jus' wastin' time again?"

"I found stuff, Daryl," you shot back. "Might not be practical, but at least it's not boring."

"Yeah, s'great. Let's throw a damn party while we're at it."

"Maybe we should," you said. "Wouldn't kill us to relax for once."

He stopped walking, so suddenly you almost ran into him. "Ain't 'bout relaxin'," he said, his voice only a whisper. "Ain't been 'bout relaxin' in a long time."

You stared at him, your heart racing. "Maybe that's the problem," you said softly, but the words only seemed to push him further away.

By the time you reached the car, the silence between you felt suffocating. He threw his bags into the trunk, then leaned against the side of the car, lighting a cigarette.

"What'd ya even find?" He finally growled, throwing his bag into the backseat.

"Stuff," you said simply, throwing your own bag in after his. "Like I said."

"Stuff," he repeated, his tone sounding rather biting. "Right."

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "Maybe not everything has to be about the war, Daryl. Ever think about that?"

"Yeah, maybe it don't. But that ain't the world we're livin' in."

"Oh, so this is about you giving a shit all of a sudden?" You shot back before you could stop it.

His jaw twitched, and for a second, you thought he might yell, but he didn't. Instead, he opened the driver's side door and climbed in, slamming it shut behind him. You stood there for a long moment, staring at him through the window, your heart pounding in your chest.

When you finally got in, he didn't even look your way, throwing out the cigarette before turning the engine on, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

"What's your problem, Daryl?"

He didn't answer right away. Just stared straight ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Maybe this," he said finally, "ain't workin' no more."

The words hit you harder than you expected. For a moment, all you could do was sit there, staring at him, trying to make sense of what he'd just said.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He didn't answer, and the look on his face made it worse. It wasn't anger, but something else entirely.

"Say it," you pressed, leaning forward, your voice trembling despite yourself.

He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead. "Ain't got nothin' to say to ya no more."

You wanted to slap him, shake him, kiss him—anything to break through that damn wall he kept building.

A while later, you slumped against the passenger door, staring out at the trees rushing past. Reaching into your bag, you pulled out the cassette tape you'd scavenged earlier, but you hesitated for a while, glancing at Daryl, but his focus was fully on the road.

"Fuck it," you whispered, more to yourself than to him, and slid the tape into the car's stereo.

The opening of 'Young & Dumb' filled the silence with the kind of sound that wrapped around you like smoke. You leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes as the music played. The lyrics came out of the speakers, which now felt bittersweet, and without thinking, you started to hum along. By the second verse, you were singing softly in a shaky attempt to drown out the pain in your heart.

...wearing black lipstick, bleaching your hair blonde…

...put on your socks...

...cut-offs or jean shorts, vampire fangs and your...

...'I Love New York' shirt…

Your voice cracked slightly, but you kept going. Anything to distract from the growing knot in your stomach, the one that had been there since Daryl's cold words outside the store. You could feel his eyes on you now, looking over at you like a blade pressed against your throat. But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt; you wanted to hide it.

"Turn that shit off."

You ignored him, letting the song pull you further in with a melody that you just needed to listen to right now.

...well, I know full well...

...that you are the patron saint of sucking cock...

...señorita, you're a cheater...

...well, so am I…

"Jesus fuckin' Christ." Daryl's hand shot out, turning the volume down, though the music still played in the background. "What the hell is this shit?"

"Music," you shot back, but you didn't look at him, keeping your eyes on the passing trees. "Something you clearly forgot exists."

Daryl just snorted in response. "Yeah, 'cause what we need right now's a fuckin' sing-along. So damn useless."

You clenched your fists in your lap. "Sorry if I'm not looking through shit for duct tape," you snapped. "Didn't realize music was illegal now."

"It ain't 'bout music; s'bout survival!" His voice rose, the frustration boiling over as he slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

You didn't respond. Again. What was the point? Every word felt like throwing gasoline on a fire you couldn't control. Instead, you turned your attention back to the tape, singing the words of the next verse.

...you wanna go...

...where the girls are young and dumb...

...and hot as fuck...

You didn't stop. No. You turned toward him and leaned closer, moving slightly to the beat. Your fingers tapped against your thigh in time with the music, and you kept singing just a little louder.

God, he was so easy to rile up when you wanted to. Weeks of quick fucks and rushed moments between runs had left you frustrated and aching for more—more attention, more sex, more him.

"What? Don't like my singing? Or are you mad that I'm not as sad and devastated as you want me to be? Want me to break down and cry painfully in the car?"

His eyes looked toward you again, and you saw the fire in them this time—the way they stayed on the curves of your body, watching every move you made.

But you licked with your tongue across your bottom lip and sang further along with the song. "Where they're dancing in the streets... With nothing on..."

"S'nough!" Daryl snapped out of nowhere, yanking the car to the side of the road so abruptly the tires kicked up a cloud of dust. The engine growled before going silent, leaving nothing but the music from the cassette tape and the pounding of your heart.

He turned to you, his face unreadable. "What the fuck is wrong with ya, huh?!"

You stared back at him, wide-eyed, your breath stopping in your throat. "Me? What the fuck is wrong with you!?" The words came out before you could stop them. "You're the one acting like—like I'm some kind of burden! Like you can't stand to be around me anymore!"

Daryl didn't answer.

"You might as well say it," you continued, your voice breaking. "If you don't want me around anymore, just fucking say it! Do it, Dary! Just fucking do it! Let this be over!"

"Don't," he said, his voice only a whisper.

"Don't what?" You demanded, your voice rising. "Care about you?! Love you!?"

You didn't mean to say it. The words just came out of you all desperately, and you saw the way they hit him. He still stared at you, his hand gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from slapping you across the face.

For a moment, you thought he might actually do it. Then something changed. His gaze dropped, looking at the skin of your collarbone, where the neckline of your shirt had slipped just enough to reveal a bit of the lingerie.

"The hell's that?" He growled, trying not to blink even once.

You froze, your heart racing in your chest. "Nothing!" You said quickly, but the lie wasn't convincing enough, and Daryl's eyes narrowed.

Without warning, he leaned forward, his fingers grabbing the collar of your shirt to pull it down just enough to confirm what he already suspected. The sight of the lingerie seemed to shock him for a moment, his breath hitching as his eyes widened.

"Ya gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he grumbled, though his voice had lost some of its earlier anger. It was quieter now, almost trembling, like he was fighting something he didn't want to admit.

"Don't start," you warned, though your voice came out weaker than you intended.

But his reaction alone was worth every ounce of trouble you were about to get into.

"Yer outta yer damn mind," he said, his voice rougher now, like he was barely holding himself back. "Gonna fuckin' kill ya..."

And the way he leaned toward you, his hands now gripping his knees like he was about to break, told you he was feeling something else entirely. Was it anger? Lust? Both? "Puttin' on some shitty slow music, draggin' useless shit back as always like we ain't got a damn war t'fight?"

"Well, if you didn't spend so much time worrying about everything," you said in defiance, "you might actually see that sometimes, we need to calm down a little. Got any problem with that, Daryl?"

The muscles in his neck flexed as he turned towards you fully. "To calm down?"

You couldn't tell if you were mad or if you were just doing this to get a reaction out of him—but you could feel the rage between the two of you like a storm that was brewing.

"Ya think this—" He motioned to the car, to you, to everything around you. "—this s'a damn spa trip? That I can jus' keep watchin' ya act like everythin's fine? Like it's all gonna work out without ya dyin' in the end?"

"Shut up, Daryl, I get it! I've been getting it since day fucking one, weeks ago! But it feels like we've been stuck in this shit for months!"

There was no way to hide from the look in his eyes. He saw everything—everything you'd been trying to keep buried. The way you didn't try to give a shit about the war, the way you needed something to feel in a world that had stripped you again of every little thing you didn't want to lose. And this—this was your rebellion. The lingerie was just a part of it, a pitiful attempt in the face of everything going wrong.

He shook his head like he couldn't believe you were this reckless. "S'a damn waste. Yer a damn waste..."

You clenched your jaw, feeling the tears in your eyes and fighting them back, completely trying to focus on the music.

But despite the fight, despite the anger, you couldn't help but want it. Want him.

And Daryl didn't wait for an answer. His hands shot out again, this time grabbing you by the waist and yanking you over with force. He pulled you onto his lap, your knees awkwardly pressing into the car's seat, your thighs straddling his. The steering wheel pushed into your back as his hands dug into your hips, his grip bruising and possessive, and his eyes, dark and wild, held yours in place.

"Could really fuckin' kill ya…"

His fingers moved fast, pulling off your jacket and tearing at your shirt without hesitation before ripping it off. You barely had time to react before he was yanking at your pants. Soon, he got them down just enough, pushing them away like they offended him.

And then, there it was—the lingerie you'd scavenged, fully visible, old, and a little worn. It wasn't perfect, but it had been enough to make you feel human for just a moment. Now, under his gaze, it felt both ridiculous and utterly electric at the same time.

Daryl scoffed as his eyes looked you up and down. "This what ya wanted, huh?" His fingers slid over the lace, touching it in a way that betrayed his anger. "To piss me off so I'd fuck ya?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out but a choked sob.

"Fuckin' dumb," he mumbled, but his hands didn't stop. They wandered, moving along your thigh where the lace garter was before pushing you down against the bulge in his pants.

The feeling made you whimper, and you couldn't stop the way your body arched toward him, desperate for more. His smirk was almost cruel as he watched your reaction, his hands moving over your thighs, squeezing, teasing, but never giving you exactly what you wanted.

Not yet.

You swallowed hard, the heat in his eyes making it impossible to look away. "I wanted to see if you still cared…" You admitted, your voice shaking slightly, but you didn't break eye contact, even as a tear rolled down your cheek.

"Ya think I don't care?"

You gasped, your fingers clutching his shoulders as his hands slid lower, gripping your ass, pulling you even closer against him until you could feel every inch of his cock pressing against you through his pants.

"Ya really think I don't care?" He asked again as his grip tightened, and he pulled you closer, his lips kissing your tears away as he spoke.

"I care," he whispered against your wet skin. "I care too much…"

And you believed him. Every word.

Meanwhile, the lingerie didn't stand a chance; it gave way under his fingers, leaving you half naked as quickly as he could get you out of it.

He worked his pants open right after and the sight of him made your heart race—his cock, thick and already leaking, sprang free, throbbing and unapologetically hard. Your mouth watered, but before you could even think about reaching for it, his hands were on you again.

"C'mon… I need ya so damn much…"

He pushed one hand under your thigh, guiding you up just enough to position himself. His other hand slid between your legs, his thumb brushing over your clit in a way that made you jerk, your nails digging into his shoulders.

You trembled as the head of his cock pressed against you, the feeling almost overwhelming. But he moved slowly, pushing you down inch by inch. The stretch was intense, almost too much, and your fingers clutched at him as a broken moan and another sob escaped you.

"Feel that? I want ya… Always."

You couldn't respond, couldn't think, your body trembling as he pushed deeper. The fullness was maddening, his cock stretching you to your limit. He didn't stop until your hips were against his, your thighs trembling against his own and making you feel every inch of him.

Your forehead dropped to his shoulder, your breathing uneven as you tried to adjust. He didn't move, didn't thrust, just held you there, his hands keeping you in place.

"Look at me," he whispered against your ear as soon as he moved. When you bit into his shoulder in desperation to hold your tears back, he grabbed your jaw, forcing your eyes to look into his. "Don't cry…"

Your mouth opened, but no words came out again, just a broken whimper as he changed his angle, hitting the right spot inside you which made you tighten around him.

Daryl's thrusts were deep and torturously slow like he wanted to see every second of watching you fall apart on top of him. He let out a quiet groan as you moved against him, your body desperate for more even as he made you work for it. One of his hands slid up your back, holding your neck before pulling your face forward, his teeth biting softly along the sensitive skin of it.

"Ya feel that, too?" He mumbled over the sound of your uneven moans. "That's me. M' still me…"

The car was rocking slightly with each movement as he buried himself inside you, over and over. His grip was controlling, and every deep grind of his hips made your vision blur. When your body trembled harder, your thighs beginning to shake with the effort, he slowed down just a bit.

"I care…" His hands guided you, forcing you to grind down onto him, his cock pushing against every sensitive spot until you were moaning his name in broken sobs and whimpers, and his lips kissed your cheek as he continued. "I want ya to feel me…"

When his hips pushed up on purpose, driving his cock impossibly deeper, you cried out, your body tightening around him hard. Daryl grunted in shock, but you didn't care. All you could focus on was the way his cock stretched you, filled you, and claimed you back with every movement.

"Mine," he growled, his teeth now sinking lightly into your bottom lip as he thrust into you. "All mine..."

He kept his hands on you, one still gripping your waist, to guide you down onto him. The other soon moved over your body again, squeezing one of your tits, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple.

"That's it," he growled. "Jus' let yerself feel me. Don't stop."

His words spurred you on, your thighs trembling as you rode him, the feeling of his cock inside you just perfect. You threw your head back as it overtook you, moaning loudly, but Daryl wasn't having it. One hand was back on your jaw in an instant, forcing your eyes down to meet his.

"Eyes on me…"

You simply obeyed, looking into his eyes all helpless.

"Don't ya look away," he groaned, teasing your lips softly with his. His thrusts became faster, his other hand gripping you so tightly you knew you'd have bruises tomorrow. But you didn't care. You wanted it, loved the way he was making sure you're all his.

"Daryl, please," you suddenly whispered, your voice trembling as the need in you burned hotter. "I—fuck—I need more. Harder, faster… please!"

"God, look at ya," he groaned further. "Shakin' for me, beggin', lovin' me…"

"Yes," you choked out, your nails digging into his shoulders as another deep thrust pushed you closer to the edge. "Please, Daryl—Fuck, I'm so close…"

Before you could finish, he slammed into you, the force of it pushing out the breath from your lungs as he hit the right spot again, making you cry out with this hard, punishing thrust, and it was enough to send you over the edge.

Your pussy tightened around his cock, a strangled but loud moan escaping you as your orgasm finally overtook you, and every cry muffled when he crushed his lips against yours, swallowing your desperate sounds.

And even as your body shook with the force of your orgasm, he didn't stop. His thrusts remained deep and hard, drawing out every second of it until you were trembling in his arms. But Daryl's control was breaking with each thrust like he couldn't hold back anymore himself.

Each time he slammed you down onto him, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock filling you so completely it left you gasping and wanting him all over again. His eyes were now closed, his forehead pressing against yours as he growled. "That's all me—every inch. Takin' what's mine..."

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing as his orgasm hit. His growl turned into a loud groan, his body tensing up beneath you as he filled you up and made sure you felt every drop.

As soon as he was done, he slumped back against the seat, holding you in his arms while you were both drenched in sweat and neither of you moving just yet.

"Ya should…" He started, his voice hoarse, while he moved his head to look at you. "Ya should never put that song and 'em clothes on again if ya don't want this to happen more than jus' once…"

Your laugh came out breathless and shaky as you let the moment sink in. "And what if I do?"

He snorted, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "Jus' to let ya know… yer lucky I didn't already fuck ya in that store."

He moved slightly, his cock softening as he slipped out of you, and your legs felt weak as you slid off his lap, your thighs still sticky. You tried to move carefully, your fingers fumbling to quickly adjust your clothes, but there was no hiding the cum between your legs. Every little movement made you wince, reminding you of how deep he'd been inside of you—and how much he'd wanted you.

Daryl didn't say a word at first. His breathing was still heavy, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon. You saw his hands tremble as he zipped himself up, and for a man who always seemed so silent, it was rare to see him like this—wrecked, raw, and a little out of breath.

Reaching for the seatbelt to get a better grip as you made your way back into the passenger seat, you hesitated, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His expression wasn't angry anymore or frustrated. If anything, it looked softer now—like he was finally letting himself breathe after holding it in too long.

Before you could settle back, his hand shot out, grabbing you by the wrist. You froze, heart racing, as he pulled you back toward him. His free hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before he kissed you.

This wasn't like before. There was no anger to it, no frustration coming through. His lips were warm and gentle, moving against yours like he was trying to tell you everything he hadn't said.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours once more. "Ya gotta clean yerself up 'fore we head back. Can't have ya sittin' in this seat, drippin' everywhere."

Your cheeks burned, and you shoved him back lightly, but he didn't let go. If anything, his grip only tightened, his hand sliding down to your thigh as he looked at you.

"Hell, maybe I'll help. Or…" He let you go, nodding toward the glove box. "There's some clean rags in there."

You rolled your eyes but did as he said, grabbing a few and making a half-hearted attempt to clean yourself up. His cum was thick and sticky, and no matter how much you wiped, it felt like there was no getting rid of it, as if it just kept coming.

Daryl watched you the whole time, smiling a little like he was enjoying the show more than he should. "Missed a spot," he said, leaning over to slide his thumb against the inside of your thigh. He brought it to his mouth without hesitation, his eyes looking into yours as he sucked it clean.

"Oh my God! What the hell are you doing?" You asked in surprise, barely holding back a laugh.

He just smirked at you. "Ya can jus' call me Daryl, ya know? But 'God' 's fine s' well."

You just laughed again, but your cheeks turned red as you tried to focus on buttoning your pants, and he let you finish this time until you finally settled back into the passenger seat.

Soon, he turned the engine on, but before he pulled back onto the road, his hand was finding your thigh. He gave it a quick squeeze and left it there, which was saying more than words could.

You smiled despite yourself, leaning your head back against the seat as the car started moving. Whatever had been between you, it was gone now. For the first time in a while, it felt like you were both on the same page again.

Meanwhile, the song that you had listened to earlier on the cassette tape started all over where it had left off, and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself singing along again.

"We'll drive your car to the beach with the song on repeat…" You sang softly as you closed your eyes for a second, but this time without any feeling of sadness or hurt. "You showed me..."

Daryl didn't say anything for a few minutes, but his eyes were looking from the road to you ever so often, as if he couldn't bring himself to look away, fearing that you might be not there anymore, by his very side, even though he held so tightly onto you with his fingers.

"Ya know," he then finally said, breaking the silence between the two of you, "we might jus' do that." His words were quiet, but they were a promise, a suggestion of something simpler—something outside of the war, outside of everything.

That was what you needed. Something real, something between the two of you that wasn't starting to break by the constant threat of danger, something more than just scavenging or fighting for survival. A moment where it was just you and Daryl. Together.

As you began to put your jacket back on, Daryl's hand moved out to stop you. He tugged at it, pulling it off your shoulders gently.

"Hell of a thing to find," he said with a smirk before he reached over, turning the volume up of the stereo.

"Thought you hated all this 'useless' stuff," you teased, running your fingers over the lingerie, or rather, what was left of it.

"Stuff... Yeah, I guess I jus' never really understood why ya did all that," he confessed, his voice quiet, like it took everything in him to say the words. "But I get it now. I do."

It was some kind of understanding that maybe the war wouldn't ever truly go away, but there was still something worth holding onto.

Daryl moved in his seat, his hand never leaving your thigh. "We gonna drive to that beach," he murmured, his voice so tender it almost seemed out of place for a man like him. "And we'll figure the rest out as we go."

Sure, the beach wasn't an actual destination—you both knew that. The final war against Negan was still about to happen. And, of course, Daryl wasn't saying everything, but he didn't need to. He never had to. With him, it was the little things—moments like this, where everything felt just a bit more certain and safer.

In this moment, the world outside the car didn't matter. The war, the fear, the uncertainty of what lay ahead—it all went away, leaving only the two of you.

And right now, with his hand on your thigh and the music drowning out everything else, it felt like maybe, for just a little while longer, the world didn't have to exist beyond the both of you.

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