#selenblackwrites

[selenblackwrites]

3. Admire

Daryl leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed, his shoulder brushing the faded wood. The scent of bacon and eggs wafted through the air, mingling with the faint smell of coffee brewing on the counter. He wasn’t even hungry. He was just... watching.

Rick stood at the stove, barefoot in old jeans slung low on his hips, and an undershirt that clung to his back in a way that had Daryl biting the inside of his cheek. His hair was mussed from sleep, sticking up in every direction, and a faint line creased his cheek where he’d slept too hard against the pillow.

He was humming softly - something country Daryl couldn’t quite place - and it was terrible. Off-key, low and scratchy like the gravel in Rick’s voice when he first woke up. And God, it was perfect.

Rick shifted his weight, balancing the spatula in one hand while he reached for a plate with the other. His movements were casual, almost lazy, but there was a confidence in them that made Daryl’s chest feel tight. Everything about Rick, from the way he stood to the way his arm flexed as he flipped a strip of bacon, made Daryl want to press him against the counter and never let go.

He wasn’t even doing anything special - just cooking breakfast like he always did - but it didn’t matter. To Daryl, it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

Rick turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder when he felt the weight of Daryl’s stare. A slow smile spread across his face, lazy and lopsided, the kind that always made Daryl’s stomach flip. “You just gonna stand there gawkin’, or you gonna help?”

Daryl snorted softly, pushing off the doorframe but not moving any closer. “Ain’t gawkin’. Just watchin’.”

“Uh-huh,” Rick drawled, setting the plate on the counter and turning fully to face him, the spatula still in his hand. “Pretty sure that’s the same thing.”

Daryl shrugged, his eyes trailing down Rick’s chest and back up again, unapologetic. “Can’t help it. Yer kinda nice to look at.”

Rick raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “That right?”

“Yup.” Daryl stuffed his hands in his pockets, his voice low but certain. “Hottest damn person I ever seen.”

Rick chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back to the stove, but Daryl didn’t miss the faint blush creeping up his neck.

“You’re somethin’ else, Dixon,” Rick said, his tone warm and teasing, but Daryl didn’t answer. He shoved off the doorframe, finally crossing the room in a few quiet steps.

Rick stiffened slightly when Daryl’s arms slid around his waist, but only for a moment. Daryl didn’t hug him often, not like this, out of the blue with no warning. But Rick relaxed into it quickly, leaning back into the warmth of Daryl’s chest.

“Keep doin’ what you’re doin’,” Daryl murmured, his breath warm against Rick’s ear.

Rick’s eyebrows rose, his hands pausing mid-motion over the pan. “What, makin’ breakfast?”

“Nah.” Daryl’s voice dropped an octave, rougher, more gravel than usual. His lips brushed the shell of Rick’s ear as he spoke, quiet but deliberate. “Just standin’ here lookin’ like that. Movin’ like that. Bein’ you.”

Rick huffed out a laugh, but it was a little breathless, the tips of his ears going red. “Daryl…”

“Shut up,” Daryl muttered, tightening his grip around Rick’s middle. “Ain’t nothin’ you can say to make me stop thinkin’ it.”

He nuzzled the side of Rick’s neck and up to his jaw, his nose brushing the line of stubble there. Rick smelled like soap and coffee and something warm and clean that was just him.

“Don’t even need to try, ya know?” Daryl murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Could just stand here all damn day, and I’d still think you’re the hottest thing I ever laid eyes on.”

Rick’s hand tightened around the spatula, his knuckles going white, and Daryl felt a flicker of satisfaction curl in his chest. He didn’t say stuff like this often, not outright. But damn if it didn’t feel good to watch Rick squirm under the weight of his words.

“You’re impossible,” Rick muttered, but there was no heat in it. His free hand came up to rest on Daryl’s arm, his fingers curling over the worn fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah, well…” Daryl pressed a kiss to the side of Rick’s neck, his lips brushing the spot where his pulse beat steadily. “Ain’t gonna stop.”

Rick tilted his head back slightly, giving Daryl just enough space to nuzzle closer. “Y’know, if you keep this up, breakfast is gonna burn.”

“Don’t care.”

“Pretty sure you do,” Rick said, laughing softly.

Daryl sighed, reluctantly loosening his hold and stepping back just enough to let Rick turn around. Rick’s eyes met his, bright and warm and full of something that made Daryl feel like his chest might crack open.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” Rick said, but his tone was soft, fond.

“Yeah. And you like it.” Daryl shrugged, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “Still think you’re the hottest damn person I ever seen.”

Rick shook his head, but he was smiling as he reached for Daryl’s wrist, pulling him back toward the stove. “C’mon, Dixon. You can sit your smitten ass down and pour us some coffee while I finish up.”

Daryl didn’t argue. He sat at the table, watching as Rick went back to the stove, still humming that off-key tune, and he thought to himself that if he got to start every day like this, he was the luckiest damn man alive.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

5. Age

Daryl sat on the edge of the porch, knees bent awkwardly, his fingers working a fishing line he hadn’t used in months. The reel squeaked as he twisted it, the sound cutting through the crisp evening air. Rick was on the porch swing behind him, one foot lazily pushing against the ground to keep the motion going, a faint creak accompanying each gentle sway.

Daryl snorted when the reel stuck, his roughened fingers fumbling to fix it. "This damn thing's older than Carl's first car," he muttered, squinting at the line as if staring hard enough would fix it.

Rick chuckled softly. "Hell, so are we," he said, rubbing at the ache in his left shoulder. The years had been kind to neither of them. Rick’s hair was nearly white now, though he still kept it long-ish. His beard was trimmed close but unmistakably silver. Daryl wasn’t faring much better - his once dark hair was streaked with grey, and his face bore deeper lines than it used to, the kind earned from a life lived rough and full.

“Speak for yourself,” Daryl shot back, smirking as he yanked the reel free with a satisfying click. “I’m in my prime.”

Rick barked a laugh. “Your prime? Last week you got stuck on the ground for fifteen minutes after fixing the truck.”

“Didn’t see you rushin’ to help,” Daryl said, tossing a mock glare over his shoulder. “And for the record, that was ‘cause my fuckin’ knee locked up, not ‘cause I’m old.”

Rick arched a brow. “You’re old,” he said, his tone dry and matter-of-fact.

“Don’t mean I can’t still take you,” Daryl replied, his smirk widening. “Want me to prove it? We can take this down to the yard right now.”

Rick shook his head, grinning. “What, so we can both end up flat on our backs with no way to get up? No, thanks.”

The swing creaked again as Rick shifted, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. His hands clasped together loosely, and Daryl caught the subtle tremor in them. Rick didn’t try to hide it - it was just part of life now, same as the arthritis in Daryl’s hands that sometimes made holding a knife feel like trying to grip water.

“You remember when we could do all this stuff without thinking about it?” Rick asked, his voice soft with nostalgia. “Go huntin', fix up the place, patch each other up, all without complainin' about our backs or knees.”

Daryl hummed in agreement, running his thumb along the reel absently. “Yeah, but we were dumbasses back then. Probably why we’re so busted up now.”

Rick snickered, his smile reaching his eyes. “Speak for yourself. I wasn’t a dumbass.”

“Oh, you were the biggest dumbass,” Daryl said, turning to face him fully. “Like that time you thought you could clear that creek jump with your truck and damn near drowned us both.”

Rick’s laugh was loud and unabashed, the sound so familiar and warm it made Daryl’s chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with age.

“Okay, fine,” Rick admitted, wiping at his eyes. “I was a dumbass. But you went along with it, so what’s that say about you?”

“That I was a bigger dumbass,” Daryl said, grinning.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the sun sinking low on the horizon, casting everything in hues of orange and gold. The aches and pains didn’t feel so bad in moments like this, when they could just sit and exist, side by side, the weight of the years shared and lightened between them.

Daryl turned his gaze to Rick, taking in the lines on his face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that came from decades of smiling, laughing, living. His heart swelled with a love that hadn’t dulled with time, a love that felt like an anchor in the stormy seas of life.

“You’re still good lookin’, you know that?” Daryl said suddenly, his voice gruff but genuine.

Rick’s head tilted in surprise, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal, though the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “Ain’t sayin’ it again, so don’t get used to it.”

Rick leaned back in the swing, his smile soft and warm. “You’re not so bad yourself, Dixon,” he said.

Daryl rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the grin tugging at his lips. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

Rick chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The reel squeaked again as Daryl fiddled with it, and Rick let the swing sway lazily. The world around them was quiet, save for the rustling of the trees and the occasional chirp of a bird settling in for the night. They might’ve been older, slower, a little worse for wear, but in that moment, they were just two dumbasses still figuring it out together.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

6. Agony

Daryl sat hunched over on the edge of their bed, head cradled in his hands, his body tense and trembling. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips, and his fingers clawed at his knees as if he could transfer the unbearable pain elsewhere.

Rick stood in the doorway, watching, worry etched deep into his face. He’d seen Daryl take on walkers, fight through gunshot wounds, survive near-death scrapes that would’ve flattened anyone else. But this? Seeing Daryl in agony like this was new. And it scared him.

“Daryl,” Rick said gently, stepping into the room. His voice was steady, but his heart pounded in his chest.

“Don’t,” Daryl growled through gritted teeth. He didn’t even lift his head, just rocked slightly where he sat, his breath ragged and uneven. “Just... don’t.”

Rick didn’t stop. He crouched down in front of Daryl, placing a steady hand on his knee. The heat radiating off him was alarming. “How long’s it been like this?”

“Dunno,” Daryl mumbled, voice muffled and raw. “Few days. Ain’t no big deal.”

Rick frowned. “Ain’t no big deal? You’re sweatin’ bullets and look like you’re about to pass out. You’re in pain, Daryl. This ain’t somethin’ you can just tough out.”

“Leave it,” Daryl snapped, his voice breaking midway. But the usual bite in his tone was absent, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. His hand shot up to clutch at his jaw, and a choked sound escaped him - a mix between a sob and a growl.

Rick’s chest tightened. He’d never seen Daryl like this. His strong, stoic Daryl, reduced to a quivering wreck by a damn tooth infection.

“Hey,” Rick said softly, reaching out to cup Daryl’s face, his thumb brushing over his damp cheek. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out, alright? But you gotta let me help you.”

Daryl flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. His breath hitched, and when his bloodshot eyes finally met Rick’s, there was a flicker of shame there, buried beneath the pain.

“I can’t...” Daryl started, then stopped, his voice breaking. “It’s bad, Rick. Feels like my damn head’s gonna split open.”

“I know, I know,” Rick said soothingly. He leaned in closer, his forehead nearly brushing Daryl’s. “You’re gonna be okay. We’ll get you through this.”

Daryl shook his head weakly, his hands gripping his thighs so tight Rick was sure he’d bruise himself. “Don’t feel like it. Feels like it’s killin’ me.”

Rick slid onto the bed beside him, wrapping an arm around his trembling shoulders. “It won’t,” he said firmly. “I won’t let it.”

Daryl huffed a bitter laugh through his nose. “What the hell you gonna do? You ain’t no doctor.”

“True,” Rick admitted. “But I’m a hell of a storyteller.”

That caught Daryl’s attention, if only for a moment. He side-eyed Rick, one eyebrow twitching upward. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Rick smiled faintly. “It means I’m gonna tell you about our future. You just sit back and listen.”

Daryl groaned, but he didn’t argue, letting his head drop against Rick’s shoulder.

“Alright,” Rick started, his voice low and steady. “Picture this: It’s a few years from now. We’re out by the cabin - you know, the one we’ve been talkin’ about building up in the hills. You’re sittin’ on the porch in that ugly-ass flannel you refuse to throw out- ”

“Ain’t ugly,” Daryl muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rick chuckled. “It’s ugly, and you know it. Anyway, you’re sittin’ there, workin’ on some kind of project - whittlin’ or fixin’ somethin’, I don’t know. And I’m out in the yard, chasin’ after the dog.”

“We ain’t got no dog,” Daryl said, his tone laced with a sliver of skepticism.

“Not yet,” Rick agreed. “But we will. Big ol’ mutt, probably. One of those dogs that looks like it’s been through as much as we have.”

Daryl made a sound that could’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t so strained.

“So there we are,” Rick continued, his arm tightening around Daryl. “You on the porch, me in the yard, the dog runnin’ circles around us. Sun’s settin’, and everything’s quiet. Peaceful. We’ve got a garden out back - one of those messy ones with more weeds than flowers - and a pen full of fat rabbits ‘cause you decided you’d rather raise ‘em than hunt ‘em.”

“Sounds like somethin’ you’d do,” Daryl muttered.

Rick grinned. “Maybe. But you’re the one always out there, complainin’ about how much work it is while you’re sneakin’ carrots to the rabbits when you think I’m not lookin’.”

Daryl snorted softly, his lips twitching as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

“And there’s us,” Rick went on, his voice growing softer. “We’re older than we ever thought we’d get to be, sittin’ there together, watchin’ the sun go down. Happy, Daryl. We’re happy.”

Daryl didn’t say anything, but his head leaned heavier against Rick’s shoulder, his body slowly losing its tension as Rick’s words wrapped around him like a lifeline.

“And you’ve still got all your teeth,” Rick added, grinning. “’Cause we took care of this one.”

Daryl huffed weakly, his shoulder nudging Rick’s. “Dumbass.”

“You love me,” Rick teased, brushing a hand through Daryl’s sweat-soaked hair.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daryl murmured, his voice barely audible. “Just shut up and keep talkin’.”

And so Rick did, spinning stories of their future - of lazy mornings, quiet nights, and a life they both deserved. He talked until Daryl’s breathing evened out, the pain dulled enough for sleep to claim him.

Rick stayed there, holding him close, silently promising to make every word of that future come true. Together.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

16. Apple

Daryl didn’t trust apples.

It wasn’t the fruit’s fault, really. It was just… a thing. A thing from growing up in a house where fruit wasn’t exactly on the menu. Sure, he’d seen apples in grocery stores when he’d tagged along with his mom back when she was still around. Perfectly shiny, waxed to hell, stacked up in neat pyramids. He’d see other kids munching on one, sticky juice running down their hands, and he’d think about trying one.

But he never did.

And now, as a grown man with enough money in his pocket to buy whatever the hell he wanted, apples still didn’t appeal to him. Too sweet. Too raw. Too… something. He didn’t think about it much. He just didn’t eat them.

Except Rick wouldn’t let it go.

“You’ve never had a good apple,” Rick said, shaking his head in disbelief when Daryl declined the slice he was holding out.

“I’ve had plenty,” Daryl muttered, not meeting his eyes. “Just don’t like ‘em.”

Rick gave him a look - one of those soft but steady stares that meant he wasn’t buying it.

“We’ll see about that,” Rick said, pulling out a pocketknife and setting to work.

Daryl watched, half-annoyed and half-curious, as Rick sliced into the apple, cutting it into thin, neat wedges. He worked slow, like he was carving something delicate, his fingers sure and steady.

“Here,” Rick said, holding up a slice.

Daryl hesitated, glancing between Rick’s face and the apple.

“Just try it,” Rick urged, his voice quieter now. “Humor me.”

Sighing, Daryl reached out, but Rick pulled the slice back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Nah, open your mouth.”

Daryl blinked, heat creeping up his neck. “The hell, man?”

“Just do it,” Rick said, his voice dipping lower, teasing.

Daryl grumbled under his breath but obeyed, parting his lips just enough for Rick to slide the slice in. Their fingers brushed, and Daryl’s breath hitched at the unexpected warmth of Rick’s skin.

The apple wasn’t what he expected. It wasn’t as sweet as he remembered, and the crunch was oddly satisfying. But it wasn’t the taste that caught him off guard - it was the way Rick’s gaze stayed on him, steady and intent, like he was watching for something deeper.

“Well?” Rick asked, his lips twitching into a grin.

“It’s… fine,” Daryl admitted grudgingly, his tongue brushing the lingering juice from his lips.

Rick laughed softly, cutting another slice. “Thought so.”

It became a thing after that.

Every now and then, Rick would show up with an apple. Sometimes red, sometimes green, sometimes ones that were almost golden. He’d sit next to Daryl, pull out his knife, and start slicing.

Daryl pretended it annoyed him. Rolled his eyes. Gave Rick shit about being persistent. But every time Rick handed him a piece, he’d take it. And it wasn’t long before he started looking forward to it.

There was something about the ritual of it - the quiet, easy way Rick peeled the fruit, the way he’d push a slice into Daryl’s mouth, the teasing grin that always came with it. It wasn’t really about the apple.

It was about Rick.

One night, they were sitting on the porch, the air warm and thick with the scent of grass and earth. Rick had a green apple this time, its skin bright and shiny in the moonlight. He’d already cut most of it, the slices arranged neatly on a napkin between them.

Rick picked up another slice, holding it up with that familiar smirk.

“You’re startin’ to like these, huh?”

Daryl shrugged, taking the slice without argument. His teeth sank into the crisp flesh, the tartness bursting on his tongue. He chewed slowly, watching Rick out of the corner of his eye.

Rick was leaning back, his arms draped casually over the porch rail, his shirt clinging to his chest in the humid air. His hair was a little messy, his face relaxed in a way that made Daryl’s chest ache.

“Why d’you do this?” Daryl asked suddenly, his voice rough.

Rick turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “Do what?”

“This,” Daryl said, gesturing vaguely at the apple. “The feedin’ me thing. Don’t make sense.”

Rick’s lips quirked into a soft smile. “You ever think maybe I just like takin’ care of you?”

Daryl felt his throat tighten, the words hitting him in a place he didn’t know he’d left vulnerable.

“You don’t have to,” he muttered, looking away. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” Rick said gently. “But I want to.”

Daryl’s fingers curled against his jeans, his chest feeling too tight. “Why?”

Rick leaned forward, his hand brushing Daryl’s arm. “Because you’re worth it, Daryl. Even if you don’t see it, I do.”

Daryl swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the apple slices between them. He wanted to argue, to push Rick away before he could say something that would cut too deep. But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he reached for another slice, his fingers brushing Rick’s again.

“Fine,” he muttered, biting into the apple.

Rick’s laughter was quiet, warm, wrapping around Daryl like a safety net.

Daryl didn’t say it, but apples weren’t just fine anymore.

They were his favorite.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

15. Appetite

Daryl could eat anything.

Rick had seen it firsthand: squirrels roasted over an open flame, canned spaghetti that tasted like tin, mystery stews made from whatever they’d scavenged. It didn’t matter if it was burnt, cold, or smelled off - Daryl would shovel it down like it was a five-star meal. The man never wasted food, never complained.

Rick first noticed it when they were sitting around the fire one evening, bowls of stew passed around and the quiet clinking of spoons filling the air. Daryl had taken his portion like always but didn’t touch it, his bowl sitting balanced on his knee, untouched and growing cold.

“You gonna eat that?” Carl had asked, his eyes flicking between Daryl, the food, and his own bowl he had literally licked clean.

Daryl grunted, handing it over without a word. Carl’s face lit up as he dug in, and Rick chuckled softly. For a moment, he couldn’t help but think back to the time before, and to the kid Carl had been. It had always been more than difficult to get him to eat anything he hadn’t wanted to eat, and stuff like “Eat your greens or no TV today,” had only worked once or twice.

Things couldn’t be more different now, and Rick leaned over to ruffle Carl’s hair, who didn’t even stop shoveling the food into his mouth to shrug off the gesture.

“Guess you weren’t that hungry,” Rick said after a moment, settling back on the log as he turned back to Daryl.

“Guess not,” Daryl replied, his voice low and flat.

Rick didn’t think much of it then - maybe Daryl just wasn’t in the mood. But over the next few days, it happened again.

And again.

By the fourth day, Rick was paying attention.

“You didn’t eat your share this morning,” he said casually as they walked the perimeter of the camp.

Daryl shrugged, his crossbow slung over one shoulder. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“You’ve been ‘not feeling like it’ a lot lately,” Rick pressed, his tone light but his concern growing. “You sick or somethin’?”

“I’m fine.” Daryl’s reply was sharp, almost defensive, and it set off alarm bells in Rick’s head. For him to skip meals, something had to be wrong.

Rick decided to wait and watch, hoping Daryl would come around on his own. But when another two days passed and Daryl handed his share to Carl for the third time in a row, Rick couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

That night, after most of the group had settled into their tents, Rick approached Daryl by the fire.

“Got a minute?” Rick asked, sitting down on the log beside him.

Daryl didn’t look up from where he was sharpening a knife, the firelight dancing across his face. “What’s up?”

Rick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, or am I supposed to keep guessin’?”

Daryl’s hand stilled, the knife and whetstone forgotten. “Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Rick said softly, his voice steady. “You haven’t eaten a full meal in a week. You’ve been givin’ your food to Carl and me. What’s wrong?”

Daryl’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the flames. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and Rick thought maybe he wasn’t going to.

Then, quietly, Daryl muttered, “Food’s runnin’ low.”

Rick frowned, leaning closer. “What?”

“The food,” Daryl repeated, his voice rough. “It’s runnin’ low. Ain’t enough to go around if we keep eatin’ like we are. There ain’t no game here to hunt, no houses to pick… ”

Rick’s stomach dropped. “Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

Daryl finally looked at him, his eyes shadowed and tired. “’Cause it ain’t somethin’ anyone needs to know. Not yet. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“That doesn’t mean you stop eatin’,” Rick said, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell are you thinkin’?”

“I’m thinkin’ you and Carl need it more than I do,” Daryl snapped back, his hand tightening around the knife. “You’re the leader. People need you strong. Carl’s just a kid. He shouldn’t have to go without.”

Rick stared at him, anger and something softer twisting together in his chest. “And what about you? What happens if you collapse out there because you’re too weak to pull your weight? You think that’s gonna help anyone?”

Daryl flinched, but he didn’t argue.

Rick exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You’re tryin’ to take care of us. But we take care of each other, Daryl. That’s how we survive. You can’t just… carry it all on your own.”

Daryl’s gaze dropped to the ground, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Ain’t tryin’ to be a martyr or nothin’,” he muttered. “Just… don’t wanna see anyone go hungry.”

“You won’t,” Rick said firmly. “We’ll figure this out. Together. Sooner or later we’ll come across something - a stream to fish in, a house that hadn’t been picked clean, something for you to hunt. But you gotta stop this. Promise me you’ll eat, Daryl. I can’t lose you.”

Daryl hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good,” Rick said, his tone softening. He reached out, clapping a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “We need you, Daryl. All of you.”

Daryl didn’t respond, but he didn’t shrug off Rick’s hand, either.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

13. Anxiety

Daryl hadn’t slept well the night before. Not that it was unusual - his body and mind had never been the kind to let him rest easy - but last night had been worse than usual. Rick had been up early, way earlier than Daryl was used to seeing him. Normally, it was Rick still wrapped up in the covers when Daryl slipped out of bed to start the coffee. But this morning, Rick had been dressed, sitting at the kitchen table like he’d been up for hours.

Daryl didn’t think much of it at first. Rick’s job kept him busy, unpredictable hours and all that. But then Rick looked up at him, serious, and said, “We should talk tonight.”

Daryl froze mid-step, halfway to the coffee machine. His chest tightened, a cold, sinking weight settling in his gut. “’Bout what?”

Rick’s face softened, but he didn’t answer right away. “Nothin’ bad,” he said after a moment, but it didn’t sound convincing.

Daryl wasn’t sure if Rick was trying to be reassuring or if he just didn’t want to talk about it yet. Either way, it didn’t work.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze. Daryl barely registered Rick kissing him on the cheek before heading out the door, leaving Daryl standing in the kitchen with a knot of anxiety twisting tighter and tighter in his chest.

By noon, the house felt too quiet. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful, just suffocating.

Daryl tried to keep busy. He fixed the squeaky cabinet hinge that had been bothering him for weeks, reorganized the toolbox in the garage, even cleaned out the gutters. But no matter what he did, his mind kept circling back to Rick’s words.

We should talk.

What the hell did that mean?

He couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in his head, searching for hidden meaning in Rick’s tone, his expression, the way he’d paused before saying “nothin’ bad.” Daryl didn’t believe that for a second.

What if Rick was tired of him? What if he’d finally figured out that Daryl wasn’t worth the trouble?

The thought made Daryl’s chest ache, his hands trembling as he scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the countertop. He’d spent his whole life waiting for the other shoe to drop, for people to leave. Why should Rick be any different?

By mid-afternoon, Daryl’s anxiety was a full-blown storm. His stomach churned, and his breaths came shallow no matter how hard he tried to slow them. He couldn’t sit still, pacing the house like a caged animal.

He thought about texting Rick, but what would he even say? What do you wanna talk about? You leavin’ me? No. That’d just make him sound pathetic.

Daryl hated how much this was getting to him. He prided himself on being tough, on not letting shit get under his skin. But when it came to Rick, he was raw and exposed, like an open wound.

Rick didn’t get home until after sunset. The sound of the front door opening made Daryl flinch, his heart pounding.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, fidgeting with a loose thread on his jeans. When Rick walked in, Daryl looked up, his stomach flipping at the sight of him.

Rick paused, taking in Daryl’s tense posture and the dark circles under his eyes. “You been sittin’ here all day?”

Daryl shrugged, not trusting himself to speak.

Rick set his bag down by the door and crossed the room, pulling out the chair across from Daryl. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Daryl said automatically, but the word came out clipped, unconvincing.

Rick frowned, his brows drawing together. “You don’t look okay.”

Daryl shifted in his seat, his fingers picking at the fraying thread. “You said we had to talk.”

Rick’s expression softened, his frown melting into something gentler. “That’s what’s got you worked up?”

Daryl scowled, his shoulders hunching. “Ain’t worked up.”

Rick reached across the table, covering Daryl’s hand with his own. “You are,” he said softly.

Daryl’s throat tightened, and he shook his head. “Just say it, Rick. Whatever it is, just say it.”

Rick stared at him for a moment, then squeezed his hand. “I just wanted to talk about us.”

Daryl’s stomach twisted, his heart hammering in his chest. “What about us?”

Rick’s gaze didn’t waver. “I wanted to make sure you’re happy.”

Daryl blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Rick’s lips quirked into a small smile. “I know I can be a lot, Daryl. And I know I ain’t always great at sayin’ how I feel. But I’ve been thinkin’… We’ve been together a while now, and I just wanna make sure you’re good. That we’re good.”

Daryl stared at him, his mind struggling to catch up. “You… you think I’m not happy?”

Rick shrugged, his smile turning sheepish. “I don’t know. You’re not exactly the most talkative guy, you know? Thought maybe I wasn’t doin’ enough, or that you were holdin’ somethin’ back.”

Daryl let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders sagging. “Jesus, Rick… I thought you were gonna tell me you wanted out or somethin’.”

Rick’s eyes widened, and he sat back, shaking his head. “Hell no, Daryl. That’s the last thing I want.”

Daryl ran a hand through his hair, his chest still tight but for a different reason now. “You scared the shit outta me, sayin’ we had to talk like that.”

Rick chuckled softly, reaching out to grip Daryl’s arm. “Guess I didn’t think that one through, huh?”

Daryl shook his head, his lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile. “Idiot.”

Rick grinned, leaning closer. “Yeah, maybe. But you’re stuck with me.”

Daryl’s chest loosened, the knot of anxiety easing just a little. He didn’t know how to put into words what he felt, how to tell Rick that he was the first person who made him feel like he mattered. So instead, he reached out, gripping the back of Rick’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

Rick smiled against his lips, his hand sliding up to rest over Daryl’s heart. “We’re good, then?”

Daryl nodded, his voice rough. “Yeah. We’re good.”

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

12. Answers

Daryl had always been good at pretending. Pretending he didn’t notice the way Rick’s hand lingered on his shoulder a little too long. Pretending he didn’t feel the weight of Rick’s eyes on him when they were together, that slow, careful gaze that seemed to strip him bare.

He’d gotten good at brushing it off. It wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. Rick was just… Rick. Friendly, warm, loyal to a fault. He treated everyone in the group like family, and Daryl wasn’t about to mistake that kindness for something it wasn’t.

Except lately, it felt different. Too different.

Rick wasn’t just glancing his way anymore; he was watching him. When Daryl spoke, Rick listened like every word mattered, even when Daryl knew most of them were useless. When they were working side by side, Rick always found some excuse to touch him - an arm brushing his, a hand steadying him as they loaded supplies.

It was enough to make Daryl’s chest ache, enough to make him hope.

And hope was dangerous.

So, he’d done what he always did. He pushed it down, shoved it so deep that it couldn’t hurt him. He kept his distance, spoke less, made himself harder to approach. He wasn’t sure what else to do.

But Rick didn’t let up.

Tonight was proof of that.

The streets of Alexandria were quiet, the kind of stillness that only came after a long, exhausting day. Daryl had been sitting on the steps of one of the porches, nursing a half-empty bottle of beer, when Rick found him. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching.

Daryl looked up at him, his brow furrowing. “What?”

Rick smiled softly, that lopsided grin that made Daryl’s stomach twist in knots. “Nothin’. Just thought I’d keep you company.”

Daryl shrugged, taking another swig from the bottle. “Don’t need company.”

“Maybe I do,” Rick said, and his voice was so quiet, so careful, that it made Daryl freeze.

He felt Rick sit down beside him, the warmth of his body cutting through the cool night air. They didn’t speak for a while, and Daryl thought maybe that was it - that Rick just wanted to sit in silence.

But then Rick broke it.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Rick said, his voice low. “’Bout us.”

Daryl stiffened, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle. “What d’ya mean, ‘us’?”

Rick turned to him, and Daryl could feel the weight of his gaze even before he met it. There was something raw in Rick’s eyes, something that made Daryl’s chest tighten.

“I mean… this,” Rick said, gesturing vaguely between them. “You and me. I want… more.”

The words hit Daryl like a punch to the gut. He stared at Rick, his mind racing. “More?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rick nodded, his gaze steady. “Yeah. I want somethin’ real, Daryl. With you.”

Daryl’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest. He shook his head, his throat tightening. “Why?”

Rick frowned, tilting his head. “What d’ya mean, why?”

Daryl gestured to himself, his movements sharp, almost frantic. “Why me, Rick? What the hell do I got that you’d want? You could have anyone - hell, you had someone. What’s so damn special about me?”

Rick’s expression softened, his hand reaching out to rest on Daryl’s arm. The touch was warm, grounding, and it made Daryl want to pull away and lean in all at once.

“Daryl,” Rick said gently, “you don’t see yourself the way I do.”

Daryl laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Yeah? And how’s that?”

Rick’s grip on his arm tightened, his voice firm. “You’re strong. Brave. You’d do anything for the people you care about, even when it costs you. You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known, Daryl.”

Daryl felt his throat close up, his chest aching with a pain he didn’t know how to name. “You don’t mean that,” he muttered, his voice shaking.

“I do,” Rick said, his voice unwavering. “You think you’re not enough, but you’re wrong. You’re more than enough. For me, for anyone.”

Daryl looked away, his vision blurring. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Rick shifted closer, his hand moving to cup the back of Daryl’s neck. “Yeah, I do. And I’m not lettin’ you push me away, not this time.”

Daryl closed his eyes, his hands trembling as he set the bottle down beside him. “I don’t know how to do this, Rick. I don’t know how to be… what you need.”

Rick’s hand tightened on his neck, pulling him in until their foreheads touched. “You don’t have to be anything but yourself, Daryl. That’s all I want. Just you.”

The words broke something in Daryl, something he’d been holding onto for so long that he didn’t know how to let it go. He felt tears slipping down his cheeks, and he hated himself for it, but Rick didn’t seem to care.

Rick just stayed there, close and steady, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of Daryl’s neck.

“You’re worth it,” Rick whispered. “You’re worth everything.”

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

11. Animal

The night was cold, the kind of cold that settled in your bones and refused to leave. Daryl kept to the shadows as he walked the perimeter of their camp, his crossbow slung across his back and his knife strapped to his hip. The fire at the center of the clearing flickered weakly, casting just enough light to keep the darkness at bay. Everyone else was asleep, or at least pretending to be.

He wasn’t sleeping tonight.

Couldn’t.

Not after what they’d found earlier.

The farmhouse had looked promising from the outside, its weathered walls standing tall against the horizon. But inside, it had been hell. Blood smeared across the floor, claw marks gouged into the wooden walls, and a smell that made Daryl’s stomach churn. It wasn’t walkers. Walkers didn’t leave scenes like that. This was people - desperate, hungry people.

They’d found the remains in the back room. Bones picked clean, scraps of fabric soaked in dried blood. Rick had stood there, staring at the mess with that hard, distant look he got when the world reminded him just how far gone it was.

“Let’s move on,” Rick had said, his voice clipped. “Ain’t nothin’ here for us.”

Daryl hadn’t argued. No one had.

Now, hours later, he couldn’t get it out of his head. The image of those bones, the ragged edges where teeth had torn into them. He’d seen some bad shit - hell, he’d done some bad shit - but there was something about it that stuck with him.

The way it felt so… inevitable.

Like they were all just one bad day away from losing all humanity and becoming animals.

A rustling sound pulled him from his thoughts, and he froze, his hand instinctively going to his knife. He turned slowly, his eyes scanning the tree line.

“Daryl?”

It was Rick, his voice low but steady. Daryl relaxed, his hand dropping back to his side as Rick stepped out of the shadows.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Daryl asked, his voice rough.

Rick shook his head, his eyes catching the faint glow of the firelight. “Nah. Too much on my mind.”

Daryl huffed a quiet laugh, the sound bitter. “Ain’t that the truth.”

They stood there in silence for a while, the night pressing in around them. Daryl could feel Rick watching him, could sense the weight of whatever it was he wanted to say.

“You think we’re different?” Rick asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Daryl frowned, turning to look at him. “What?”

Rick gestured vaguely toward the darkness. “From them. The ones who did… that.”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know how to.

“Don’t know,” he said eventually, his voice low. “Ain’t like we ain’t done shit we’re not proud of.”

Rick nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. But there’s a line, right? There’s gotta be.”

Daryl wasn’t so sure. The line felt like it was moving all the time, shifting with every day they survived. What used to be unthinkable was now just necessary.

“Guess it depends on what you’re willin’ to do to keep goin’,” Daryl said.

Rick ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “That’s what scares me. I look at what they did, and I wonder… how close are we to that? How close am I?”

Daryl turned away, his gaze drifting back to the fire. “You ain’t like them.”

“How do you know?” Rick’s voice was sharp, desperate.

Daryl shrugged, his grip tightening on the strap of his crossbow. “’Cause I’ve seen you, man. Seen the shit you do to keep us alive. You don’t take more than you gotta. You don’t hurt people just ’cause you can.”

Rick let out a heavy sigh, his breath visible in the cold night air. “Sometimes it feels like I’m barely holdin’ on.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t great with words, not like Rick. All he knew was that they were still standing, still fighting, and that had to count for something.

They were quiet again, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the distant rustling of leaves.

“You ever think about what you’d do if it came to it?” Rick asked.

Daryl’s stomach churned. He knew exactly what Rick was talking about. If food ran out, if they couldn’t find a way to keep going… if the line they were so desperate to stay on the right side of disappeared altogether.

“I’d like to think I’d figure somethin’ else out,” Daryl said, though his voice lacked conviction. “But I don’t know, man. Guess none of us do till we’re there.”

Rick nodded, his expression grim. “Yeah.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. “Look, we ain’t there yet. And as long as I’m around, I ain’t lettin’ it get to that point. You hear me?”

Rick met his gaze, something flickering in his eyes - hope, maybe, or at least the faintest glimmer of it.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I hear you.”

They stood there a little longer, the night stretching on around them. Eventually, Rick clapped a hand on Daryl’s shoulder, the gesture brief but grounding.

“Get some rest,” Rick said.

Daryl nodded, watching as Rick walked back toward the campfire. He stayed where he was, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

He didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know how much darker things would get. But as long as Rick was still standing, Daryl would do whatever it took to keep him there.

Even if it meant becoming the kind of animal he feared most.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

9. Anatomy

The morning sunlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds, soft and golden, warming the small room without being intrusive. Rick lay on his side, head propped up on one hand, the other lazily trailing over Daryl’s arm. He let his fingers explore the terrain of muscle and scar, mapping it out like a man memorizing a road he never wanted to forget.

Daryl was sprawled on his back, eyes half-closed, his chest rising and falling with an easy rhythm. He looked so damn peaceful like this - something Rick wasn’t used to, but it suited him so well. The world didn’t leave much room for peace anymore, but here, in this fleeting moment, Rick felt like they’d carved out something sacred, and he silently promised to himself that he would do his best to give them more of these moments.

Rick’s thumb traced along the curve of Daryl’s bicep, marveling at how the muscle shifted under his touch. The strength there wasn’t just physical - it told stories of survival, of everything they’d endured.

“Y’know,” Rick drawled, breaking the silence, “you ever think about how impressive these are?”

One of Daryl’s eyes cracked open, his head rolling just enough to give Rick a skeptical look. “What’re you on about?”

Rick grinned, his thumb brushing over a faint scar that jagged its way across Daryl’s forearm. He loved how deep and raspy Daryl’s voice got in the mornings, his drawl coming out even stronger than usual.

“Your arms. They’re a damn work of art.”

Daryl snorted, closing his eye again. “Ain’t nothin’ special. Just from workin’. Splittin’ wood, haulin’ stuff, the crossbow, y’know.”

Rick’s lips twitched. Of course, Daryl wouldn’t see it - not the way Rick did. Daryl probably thought of his body like any other tool: useful, practical, but nothing to dwell on. Rick, though? Rick couldn’t stop looking.

“They’re special,” Rick said, shifting closer. His fingers wrapped around Daryl’s wrist, lifting his arm to inspect it like he’d stumbled across some rare artifact. “Look at this.”

He ran his thumb along the prominent veins that stood out beneath the skin, marveling at the precision of it all - the way the veins snaked under his calloused hand, the subtle flex of tendons when Daryl’s fingers twitched.

“Strong, capable,” Rick murmured. “But the way it all fits together - muscles, tendons, veins - it’s somethin’ else.”

Daryl huffed, turning his head away as if that might hide the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re lookin’ so close,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “They’re just arms.”

Rick chuckled, leaning in to press his lips to the crook of Daryl’s elbow, letting his beard brush against the sensitive skin there. “Not just arms. They’re your arms.”

Daryl shifted, a quiet grunt escaping him, but he didn’t pull away. His cheeks darkened, though, and Rick didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched, like he was fighting off a smile.

Rick let his hand wander up to Daryl’s shoulder, squeezing gently. His mind flashed back to those early days in Atlanta, when Daryl had been all sharp edges and coiled energy. Even back then, Rick had noticed those wide shoulders, the way they seemed to carry the weight of the world even before they really had to. It was pathetic, but he could still see the way Daryl had flung the rope of squirrels at him, hissing like an angry cat, his muscles bunching together so perfectly to make the throw.

“C’mon,” Rick said, grinning now. “Flex for me.”

Daryl turned his head, giving Rick a look that was equal parts amused and annoyed. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Rolling his eyes, Daryl lifted his arm, clenching his fist and flexing. The muscle tightened under Rick’s touch, solid and unyielding. Rick let out a low grunt of approval, his thumb tracing the hard curve of Daryl’s bicep.

“Damn,” Rick murmured. His voice dropped, thick with something he couldn’t quite name. “You don’t even realize, do you? How good you look?”

Daryl shifted again, visibly uncomfortable, but his lips twitched in that almost-smile. “Ain’t somethin’ I think about.”

Rick leaned down, pressing a kiss just below Daryl’s shoulder. “Well, maybe you should. I sure as hell do. All. The. Time.”

His lips followed the line of Daryl’s arm, slow and deliberate as he punctuated the words with small kisses, his nose brushing against the skin. When he reached Daryl’s wrist, he pressed a kiss to the pulse point, lingering there like he could feel the life thrumming beneath his lips.

Rick paused, his mouth hovering just above Daryl’s skin. “You’re somethin’ else, Daryl Dixon,” he said softly, his words more prayer than compliment.

Daryl finally turned to look at him, his blue eyes steady and unguarded in a way that made Rick’s chest ache. “You’re ridiculous,” Daryl said, but there was no heat behind it.

Rick grinned, sitting up slightly to look down at him. “Maybe. But that don’t mean I’m wrong.”

Daryl shook his head, the faintest smile breaking through his defenses. “If you’re done playin’ anatomy class, maybe we can get up and do somethin’ useful.”

Rick’s grin widened, and he leaned down to kiss him - slow, lazy, and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.

“Not done yet,” Rick whispered against his lips.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

8. Aloe

The fire popped and cracked as Rick crouched low over it, his brow furrowed in concentration. It wasn’t the first time they’d cooked over an open flame, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. But after days on the road, living off canned crap and stale jerky, they wanted something better. A fire-cooked wild turkey would do just fine, or so he thought.

They even fashioned a spit for it - two sturdy sticks planted in the ground on the opposite sides of the bonfire and a piece of construction rod laying across it, the heavy turkey speared on it. It felt as close to a real barbecue as it could. 

Rick was trusted with keeping the eye on the meat, and honestly, it was the least he could do after Daryl had spent a good hour and a half hunting for their dinner. Without thinking, he reached for the rod to turn it, realizing his mistake the moment he put his bare hand on it. The rag he had been using to protect his hand with was still lying on his knee.

The metal seared his palm, the heat biting fast and deep. “Shit!” Rick hissed, yanking his hand back and stumbling upright. He clenched his jaw as the pain flared, hot and pulsing, spreading through his fingers. As he jerked back from the heat, the spit wobbled before it toppled over, the turkey hitting the forest ground with a dull thud.

“Rick?” Daryl’s voice cut through the quiet. He was coming up the hill, crossbow slung over his back and arms full of firewood, his eyes narrowing at the scene in front of him. Rick, standing stiff by the fire, his good hand gripping his wrist.

“‘M fine,” Rick muttered, his teeth gritted.

Daryl stopped a few feet away, squinting. “Bullshit. Let me see.”

Rick shook his head stubbornly, waving him off. “It’s nothin’, just got careless.”

Daryl didn’t budge. He set the wood and his crossbow down, and closed the space between them in a few strides. “Lemme see your damn hand.”

Rick finally gave in, recognizing that Daryl wouldn’t be deterred by words, and opened his palm. The burn stretched angry and red across his skin, already starting to swell. Daryl frowned at it, then shot Rick an unimpressed look.

“You’re a real dumbass, y’know that?”

Rick huffed a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Ain’t arguin’ with you.”

Daryl didn’t bother responding. He dropped his pack to the ground, rummaging through it for a moment before straightening up. “Stay put,” he said, pointing a finger at Rick for emphasis. “I’ll be back.”

“Where the hell are you goin’?”

“To fix your screw-up,” Daryl shot back over his shoulder, disappearing into the forest without another word.

Rick sighed, muttering a string of curses as he sat down on a fallen log. The fire crackled, the smell of charred turkey was still in the air as the pain in his hand throbbed like a heartbeat. It was his own damn fault, but that didn’t make it sting any less. He wasn’t even sure what he was madder about - his hand or their ruined dinner.

Fifteen minutes passed before Daryl returned. He emerged from the trees with dirt on his boots and something green clutched in his hand. Rick squinted at it in the firelight.

“What’s that?”

Daryl held it up - an aloe leaf, thick and fresh. “Aloe vera,” he grunted, like it was obvious. “Real stuff. Saw some growin’ by the stream.”

Rick arched an eyebrow. “What are you, some kinda herbalist now?”

Daryl shot him a look that said, shut up, and crouched in front of him, slicing the aloe leaf open with his knife. The blade split the tough skin cleanly, revealing the clear, sticky gel inside.

“Give me your hand,” Daryl said, his voice softer this time.

Rick hesitated, just for a second, before offering it. Daryl took it carefully, turning it palm-up and studying the burn again. He worked the gel out of the aloe leaf, his calloused fingers rubbing it gently across the tender skin. The coolness of it was a sharp contrast to the fire’s heat, soothing almost immediately.

Rick let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Feels better already.”

“Yeah, well,” Daryl muttered, keeping his eyes on the task as he spread the aloe in slow, deliberate strokes. “Ain’t much, but it’ll help. Keep it there.”

Rick watched him, the way his brow furrowed just slightly in focus, the lines of his face softened by firelight. Daryl’s hands were rough, scarred from years of survival, but his touch was careful. Gentle, even.

“You always come back with somethin’, don’t you?” Rick said quietly, breaking the silence.

Daryl paused, glancing up at him. “What?”

“Doesn’t matter what we’re dealin’ with. You always find somethin’ - a way to help. To fix things.”

Daryl huffed, his lips twitching like he might argue, but he didn’t. Instead, he shrugged. “Can’t just let you sit here bitchin’ about a burn, can I?”

Rick smiled faintly, his gaze lingering on Daryl. “Guess not.”

Daryl finished rubbing the last of the gel across the burn, wiping his hands on his pants before standing up. He tossed the spent aloe leaf into the fire and reached for his pack again.

“Wrap it up,” he said, pulling out a scrap of clean cloth and tossing it to Rick. “Keep the dirt out.”

Rick caught the cloth, his smirk widening. “You’re a real damn nurse, Dixon.”

“Shut up,” Daryl muttered, slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder. But there was no heat in it. He just shook his head and turned back toward the fire, prodding the half-roasted turkey, brushing the leaves and dirt off of it.

Rick wrapped his hand carefully, his movements slower now that the burn had calmed. “Hey, Daryl?”

Daryl grunted in response, his back still turned.

“Thanks.”

Daryl glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. But after a beat, he gave a small nod, barely more than a twitch. “Don’t mention it.”

And that was it. No more words, no big show of gratitude. Just the two of them by the fire, sharing a quiet understanding as the flames crackled and the night settled in.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

4. Afraid

The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows through the windows. Rick was standing in the kitchen, rummaging through a drawer when he glanced over his shoulder at Daryl, who was leaning against the counter, sipping from a bottle of water.

“Hey,” Rick said casually, his tone light. “Think you can grab that toolbox from the basement? Need to fix the cabinet hinge before it falls clean off.”

Daryl froze mid-sip, the bottle just shy of his lips. His fingers tightened around the plastic, and for a second, he didn’t answer, just gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles went white. The air felt heavier, suffocating, and Rick’s calm, concerned voice seemed to fade into the background.

The basement door caught his eye, its shadow stretching across the floor like something alive. It pulled him back, unwillingly, to another time.

He was thirteen again, back in that dark, mold-ridden basement, the air thick and damp, the smell of mildew so strong it made his stomach churn. The walls were stone, cold and slick to the touch, and the single bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows that seemed to move in the corners of his vision.

He sat curled in the corner, his knees drawn to his chest, his ribs aching from the fresh bruises his daddy’s fists had left behind. His lip was split, blood crusted at the corner of his mouth, and his face stung where the backhand had landed. His hands shook, not just from the pain but from the cold seeping into his bones, from the fear that gripped him every time the door above creaked.

“Stay down there ‘til you learn some goddamn respect,” his daddy had slurred, his voice like gravel soaked in whiskey. The door had slammed shut, and the sound of the bolt sliding into place had echoed in Daryl’s ears like a death sentence.

He’d shouted at first, pounded on the door until his fists were raw, but it hadn’t mattered. His daddy never came back until the booze wore off, and even then, it wasn’t for any kind of mercy. It was for more yelling, more hitting, more punishment for being “weak” or “stupid” or whatever excuse the man needed that day.

Hours passed - maybe more, maybe less. He couldn’t tell. Time didn’t exist in that hell. He’d curled up against the wall eventually, hugging his knees to his chest to stop the shaking, to keep himself from falling apart.

The worst part was the darkness. It felt alive, pressing in on him from all sides, whispering cruel things he couldn’t escape. When the bulb finally burned out, leaving him in pitch black, he’d sat there trembling, heart pounding in his ears. Every sound became a monster, every scuttling noise from the rats crawling in the corners sent a shiver down his spine. He could feel them watching, waiting, their tiny claws scratching the stone floor, their teeth clicking.

“You hear me?” Rick asked, glancing at him again, pulling him back to the kitchen, to a different house, to a different time.

“Yeah, I heard ya,” Daryl muttered, noticing he had set the water bottle down with a little too much force. He looked away, his jaw tight, his fingers drumming against the counter.

Rick frowned at the sharpness in Daryl’s voice. “Well? Can you grab it?”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders tense. “Ain’t my job, is it?” he said, the words clipped.

Rick blinked, straightening. “What?”

“I said, it ain’t my damn job,” Daryl repeated, louder this time. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the floor like it had personally offended him, careful not to look at the basement door at all.

Rick turned fully to face him, confusion etched across his face. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? It’s a toolbox, Daryl. In the basement. You’re closer to the door than I am.”

Daryl’s jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring. “Maybe you should get it yerself, then, if it’s so damn easy.”

Rick stared at him, his confusion quickly morphing into irritation. “Okay, what’s this really about? You got a problem with me asking for help, or are you just in one of your moods?”

“Moods?” Daryl barked, his voice rising. He shoved off the counter, pacing a short, angry line across the kitchen. “Ain’t no mood. Just tired of you treatin’ me like - like some goddamn servant!”

Rick’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Servant? Are you kidding me right now?”

Daryl didn’t answer. His breathing was shallow, his fists clenched at his sides.

Rick took a step closer, his tone softer but still edged with frustration. “Daryl, what’s really goin’ on? It’s a damn basement. A toolbox. What’s the big deal?”

Daryl’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing. “Ain’t no big deal!” he snapped, but his voice cracked at the end, betraying him.

Rick froze, watching as Daryl’s hands twitched, his gaze darting anywhere but at him. The pieces started clicking into place, and Rick’s frustration melted into something softer.

“Daryl,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “You don’t wanna go down there, do you?”

Daryl’s shoulders stiffened, his whole body going rigid. He scoffed, shaking his head, but the movement was jerky, forced. “That’s stupid,” he muttered, his voice low. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with the damn basement.”

“Hey.” Rick’s voice was steady, gentle. He reached out, his hand hovering just above Daryl’s arm. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to tell!” Daryl snapped, jerking away like Rick’s touch burned. “I just don’t wanna go down there, alright? Ain’t that enough?”

Rick held up his hands in a gesture of peace, taking a step back to give Daryl space. “Alright,” he said calmly. “You don’t have to go. It’s fine.”

But Daryl didn’t relax. He was still bristling, pacing like a caged animal. “Don’t need you diggin’ into my head,” he muttered, his voice shaking. “Ain’t some broken thing you can fix, Rick.”

“That’s not what I’m tryin’ to do,” Rick said softly. “I just… I didn’t know. If I’d known, I wouldn’t’ve asked.”

Daryl stopped pacing, his back to Rick, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Just forget it,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Rick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not tryin’ to push, Daryl. But you gotta let me in sometimes. You can’t keep stuff like this bottled up ‘til it explodes. It ain’t good for you.”

Daryl let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothin’ good about me, Rick. You know that.”

Rick’s chest ached at the words, at the raw self-loathing in Daryl’s voice. He closed the distance between them, resting a hand gently on Daryl’s shoulder.

“That’s not true,” Rick said firmly. “You’re good, Daryl. You’re better than you think you are.”

Daryl tensed under his touch, but he didn’t pull away. For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the faint hum of the fridge in the background.

“I’ll get the damn toolbox,” Rick said quietly, giving Daryl’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “You don’t gotta go down there. Ever. Not if you don’t want to.”

Daryl swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at the floor, his arms hanging limp at his sides.

Rick started toward the basement door, but he paused, glancing back at Daryl. “You ever wanna talk about it… I’m here. You know that, right?”

Daryl nodded once, a jerky, almost imperceptible motion. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”

Rick gave him a small, understanding smile before disappearing down the stairs.

Left alone in the kitchen, Daryl let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He felt raw, exposed, like Rick had peeled back a layer of him he wasn’t ready to share. But deep down, he also felt something else.

Relief.

Because Rick hadn’t pushed too hard. He hadn’t pried or judged or tried to fix him. It was as if Rick understood that some wounds needed time to breathe and heal on their own.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

2. Acceptance

Daryl sat on his porch steps, staring at the chipped paint on the railing like it held the answer to every problem in the universe. His leg bounced nervously, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers, the ash dangerously close to falling. He wanted to just spit it out, get it over with - but every time he opened his mouth, the words stuck, heavy and jagged, somewhere in his throat.

Rick was leaning against the porch post, arms crossed, watching the horizon like he hadn’t noticed Daryl’s restlessness. But Daryl knew better. Rick noticed everything.

"You all right?" Rick finally asked, his drawl soft, coaxing.

Daryl ground his teeth and flicked the cigarette into the dirt, even though he hadn’t taken a single drag. “I gotta tell you somethin’,” he muttered, his voice rough and low.

Rick raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. He just nodded.

The silence stretched out too long, and Daryl could feel his chest tightening like a vice. He stood abruptly, pacing the small porch like a caged animal, his hands twitching like they didn’t know where to go. He shoved them in his pockets, then pulled them out again. Finally, he stopped, standing with his back to Rick. It was easier not to see his face.

“I’m... I’m gay,” Daryl blurted out, his voice sharp, like the words had been dragged out of him.

The quiet that followed was deafening. Daryl’s heart pounded in his ears, drowning out the faint rustle of the wind in the trees. He waited for something, anything, but Rick didn’t say a damn word.

Daryl whipped around, his shoulders hunched, fists clenched at his sides. “You gonna say somethin’ or just stand there like an idiot?” His voice was harsher than he meant it to be, but the rawness in his chest felt unbearable.

Rick blinked, his brow furrowed, like he didn’t understand why Daryl was so worked up. “Okay,” he said simply, like Daryl had just told him it might rain tomorrow.

“‘Okay’? That’s it?” Daryl’s voice rose, and he took a step closer, his body vibrating with tension. “You don’t care? After all that - me tellin’ you - you don’t got nothin’ to say?”

“I mean... okay. Thanks for tellin’ me, I guess?” Rick shrugged, looking genuinely puzzled. 

Daryl scoffed, his jaw tightening as he turned away, his hands gripping the porch railing so hard his knuckles turned white. He could feel his heart drop into his stomach, then flare into anger. “You think I just go ‘round tellin’ people that kinda shit? You know where I come from, what people like me get for sayin’ this kinda thing? Forget it,” Daryl snarled, his fists clenching at his sides. “Shouldn’t’ve said nothin’. You don’t get it.”

Rick stepped forward, his boots creaking against the old wood, but Daryl didn’t turn around.

“Daryl-”

“Just go,” Daryl snapped, his voice like a whip. He didn’t look back until he heard the screen door close, and by then, his eyes were stinging, his chest heaving with suppressed anger. He’d bared himself, ripped open a part of himself he never dared to let anyone see - and it felt like it meant nothing.

Daryl barely slept that night. The anger simmered in his chest, but beneath it was a raw ache he couldn’t shake. He felt stupid, like he’d laid his soul bare for nothing.

The next day, Rick found Daryl in his garage, crouched over his bike, pretending to work on something. He didn’t look up when Rick entered, but the way his shoulders stiffened said he knew exactly who it was.

“Hey,” Rick said softly, stepping closer.

“What d’you want?” Daryl’s voice was flat, his head ducked low.

“I wanna talk,” Rick said. He crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees to meet Daryl’s eye line. 

Daryl didn’t respond, just tightened a bolt that didn’t need tightening.

“I screwed up,” Rick said without preamble, standing awkwardly on the porch, his hat in his hands. “I’ve been thinkin’ about yesterday, about how I reacted. I know it probably felt like I didn’t care. And I’m sorry for that.”

Daryl crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, his jaw tight. “Yeah, well... don’t matter now.”

“It does matter,” Rick said firmly. He stepped closer, his blue eyes steady on Daryl’s. “I wasn’t surprised, you know? I don’t go ‘round makin’ assumptions about people, but when you told me, it just felt like... okay. That’s part of who you are. Same way I’d take in anythin’ else you told me about yourself. I just took it as another piece of you, like findin’ out your favorite color or what kinda whiskey you like.” 

Daryl’s throat tightened. He looked away, his gaze fixed on a spot just past Rick’s shoulder.

“But I get now that it wasn’t just information for you,” Rick continued, his voice softening. “It was... somethin’ big. And I should’ve seen that. Should’ve told you how much I respect you for trustin’ me with it. I’m sorry, Daryl.”

Daryl swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “Ain’t used to people just... acceptin’ it. Not like it’s nothin’.”

“It’s not nothin’,” Rick said gently. “But it doesn’t change a damn thing about how I see you. I’m still here, same as I was yesterday. And I ain’t goin’ anywhere. You’re still you, and you’re... important to me.”

Daryl swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he looked away. “You really mean that?”

Rick reached out, gripping Daryl’s shoulder. “Every word.”

They sat there in silence for a moment, the tension slowly draining from the air. Finally, Daryl nodded, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

“A’right.” Daryl’s chest ached with the weight of Rick’s words. Slowly, hesitantly, he nodded. 

Rick smiled, a small, warm thing. “Alright.”

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

My goal for this year is to improve my writing and work on my perfectionism. That is why I created this challenge for myself.

For every day of this year, I got a one-word prompt that I had randomly generated, and I will try my best to write something based on that prompt. What it really means is that for the next year, there will (hopefully) be one Rickyl one-shot for you all every single day. Not all will deserve the Explicit rating, but some definitely will.

I'm primarily posting on AO3, I'll upload here in batches.

1. Abstinence

Daryl’s back and arms were burning and aching with exertion, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat just as his hair was plastered to his forehead. They didn’t really need any more wood to be chopped, but the rhythmic sound of the axe hitting the log was oddly therapeutic. It helped him to stop thinking about how much he craved, needed, wanted to tap a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket and light it up. 

It was day eight of yet another attempt at quitting. With each swing of the axe, he tried to push the craving further away, telling himself he had come too far to give in now. But the little voice in the back of his head was just too insistent to ignore, whispering sweet nothings about how he deserved a reward for his hard work. Just a one cig, no one needed to know about that.

No! Daryl grunted as he swung the axe again, hitting the log in a perfect arc, splintering it cleanly in two. He wouldn't give up this time. He wasn't a damn pussy. He could do it!

Too lost in his thoughts, in the rhythmic thud of the axe against the wood, he didn't notice Rick coming to the garden, not until the other man came into his line of sight, standing far enough so he wouldn't be hit by any flying debris. 

"It's getting dark... why don't you call it a day?" 

"There's plenty of light left," Daryl shrugged before getting ready to raise the axe again.

"Daryl..." It came out in a soft tone that made Daryl put the axe down. That gave Rick the opening to step closer to him, to card his fingers through Daryl's messy, sweaty hair.

"You've been out here all day. I've missed you." 

"Okay," Daryl breathed out, suddenly feeling beyond exhausted, his arms aching and heavy. "Just... give me a minute." He closed his eyes, letting the tension seep out of his body as he leaned into Rick's presence, grounding himself in the moment. 

He tried his damn best to really be there, with his body just as well as with his mind when they ate dinner while watching a movie later. He made sure to thank Rick for cooking and kept their knees touching. Not that it could make up for being distant for the whole day, but it was a start.

But it was tiring and by the time Daryl slipped underneath the blanket in their bed, he was back to his gloomy, withdrawn self. Rick noticed. He noticed everything no matter how hard Daryl always tried to hide it. And Daryl equal parts loved and hated that. He loved that Rick cared enough to see through his facade, but he hated feeling so exposed.

"What's wrong, darling? Please, talk to me. Is it something I did?" Rick asked as he shuffled closer to Daryl, close enough so he could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and he stroked his hair lightly, trying to push the unruly strands behind his ear.

"'S not you..." 

"Then what?" It was clear Rick was done with having his questions brushed aside, and Daryl could sense the determination in his voice. It took everything in Daryl to not say something nasty back. The prodding was making him feel cornered, and he wanted nothing more than to retreat into the shadows of his mind where he felt safe. 

"I just... I want a fucking cigarette, a'right? Shit, I just need it. I have a killer headache, my nerves are shot, and I haven't taken a dump in three days. And all I can think of is my pack and my lighter that's in my vest." Daryl didn't even notice his voice rising as he talked, going from gravely to almost desperate. 

"You quit smoking, darling? Why?" It was a long moment of them just blinking at each other before Rick spoke, his tone confused. Daryl rubbed the back of his neck, and pressed his face into the pillow, suddenly feeling absolutely dumb.

"'Cause... I want to be better. For you. 

Rick’s eyes softened, and he leaned closer, resting his hand on Daryl’s arm. “Better for me? Hell, Daryl, you don’t need to change for me. I fell for you just as you are.”

Daryl didn’t lift his face from the pillow, his voice muffled but full of emotion. “Yeah, well... you deserve someone who ain’t... all screwed up. Someone who ain’t got all this shit in their head. I just wanna be... good enough.”

Rick sighed, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on Daryl’s arm. “You’re already more than good enough. You think quitting’ll make me love you more? Ain’t possible. I already love the stubborn, grumpy, hardheaded man right here in front of me. Cigarette or no cigarette.”

Daryl snorted, finally lifting his head just enough to glance at Rick. “I don’t get how you put up with me.”

Rick grinned, brushing Daryl’s damp hair back from his face. “Because I see the good in you, even when you don’t. And because you’re worth it.” He tilted Daryl’s chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Now, if you wanna quit, you quit for yourself. Not for me. Not for anybody else. Got it?”

Daryl hesitated, then nodded, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “Got it.”

“Good.” Rick pressed a kiss to Daryl’s forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. "You’re doing good, Daryl. Real good. I’m proud of you.”

Daryl closed his eyes, the knot in his chest loosening just a bit. Maybe he could do this after all - with Rick by his side.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

➳ SUMMARY: Where Merle goes, chaos follows, and in that chaos, trying to put their lives back together is always Daryl. Amidst the turmoil, Daryl crosses paths with Rick, and an unexpected connection blossoms, setting their lives on an unpredictable course.

➳ PAIRING: DARYL DIXON X RICK GRIMES

➳ CHAPTER COUNT: 1/21

➳ SETTING: AU - MODERN DAY

➳ LINK: RIGHT HERE

It was Daryl’s day off, which usually meant he would get up when it was still dark outside, grab his crossbow and backpack, and go hunting in the woods behind their house. His brother taught him how to hunt, how to track the animals, and be one with nature. It was a necessity back then because if you didn’t hunt, you didn’t eat. Their daddy did not believe in providing food for his children. But Daryl chooses to remember the hunting and locks the rest in a deep recess of his mind.

So it’s his day off, but he’s only just waking up. The alarm clock on his bedside table shows 3:27 PM. Daryl’s sleep-addled brain tells him to jump from the bed and run to hide in the woods. Daddy doesn’t tolerate laziness. But he takes a moment to wake up properly and quickly realizes that his daddy is long gone, and he can sleep however long he wants.

Daryl’s been working nonstop for the past two weeks, staying in the garage until odd hours at night. There were two rounds of food poisoning in his workplace (that Daryl dubbed in his head as a 'shitfest') that left only him able to work. He knows why he brings his own lunch. First, he doesn’t have the money for fancy lunches, and second, he likes to know where his food comes from. Sure, sometimes it’s a possum that was rummaging around in his trash can, but he still knows where it came from. On the other hand, he wouldn’t touch the meatloaf that brought the second round of food poisoning with a metal bar, let alone eat it.

He reaches for his phone, hoping and praying that there are no messages calling him to work, that none of the idiots in the garage ate something vile again. He’s not sure he can pull off a one-man show again for a week. Sure, working on the bikes, that’s easy, even if it’s physically taxing. But that’s what Daryl likes, and he’s relatively good at it. But the rest... The interaction with customers, handling money, answering emails, and the worst of all - taking phone calls... he can’t deal with that stuff. He has no idea what is wrong with him, but talking on the phone not only brings out his accent way more than he’s comfortable with, it also makes him sweat and stutter, and overall, he sounds like he has some brain damage.

Luckily, there are no messages from work, just one missed call and a message from Merle. He decides that Merle can wait, tosses his phone back in the direction of the bedside table, and gets up. He stretches, and his back and shoulders pop like a glowstick. Damn, he’s getting old. He pads to his bathroom, once again thankful for not having to share it with his brother. They were still living in that shitty trailer he grew up in, butting heads every day on everything when a fancy lawyer in a suit arrived, saying their auntie, who they didn’t even know they had, had left them her house.

It was immediately decided that Merle gets the ground floor, while Daryl settled upstairs and made it his. He even installed his own kitchen, converting one of the rooms because there is no way he’s gonna share the kitchen with Merle.

While he's brushing his teeth in the Merle-free bathroom, his phone keeps beeping with new messages. With the toothbrush still in his mouth, he walks back to the bedroom to check the chaos unfolding, but deep down, he already knows. When his phone starts blowing up like this, it means Merle’s in trouble.

There are now seven missed calls and thirty-three new messages. How could that happen in the span of three minutes? He has no idea. With a sigh, he opens the messages first. It's mostly an illegible mix of random letters and symbols, so he quickly scans the messages for any semblance of coherence. There's one very blurry selfie, possibly of Merle’s chin and bottom teeth, and another indistinct photo of a toilet stall. The rest is gibberish.

It's clear that Merle's high again, perhaps mixing it with alcohol. Judging by the messages, he needs to be picked up and driven home to sleep it off. Daryl's not sure what it says about him that he can recognize the bar by the blurry photo of the toilet stall, but he knows the place. There's no need to think about getting dressed; there's only one clean shirt at the back of his closet, as he had no time for laundry in the past two weeks. It's his least favorite, which is why it stays in the back and never sees the light of day. It's too tight, so he ripped off the sleeves, but that didn’t help, and it's missing most of the buttons, making him look like a douchebag who needs to show off his chest—like there's something to show off. He shrugs it on, buttons up the three remaining buttons, pulls on the least dirty cargo pants, and heads to the kitchen.

The toast is done by the time he ties his boots, and he grabs the two dry pieces of bread to eat in the car. Downstairs—The Kingdom of Pleasure, as Merle calls it—the air carries the scent of stale bodies, cheap beer, cigarettes, and something else Daryl isn't keen on identifying. That said, it's relatively clean; you can still see the stained carpet in some places. Daryl sweeps the trash littering the hallway aside with his foot, creating a safe path. He swears that he'll make Merle clean it up, but deep down, he's quite sure that he'll end up doing the cleaning himself in the end. Daryl's truck isn't in the driveway, so he hops onto Merle’s bike. He hopes the truck's parked nearby because taking high Merle as a passenger on his own bike would be a death sentence. He tucks the toast into his pocket, hoping to catch a long enough red light to wolf it down as he heads toward the bar. ➳ Read the whole chapter on my AO3

[selenblackwrites]

17. Aquarium

Daryl didn’t think much of aquariums. Too much glass. Too many gawking faces pressed against it. Too many people milling around like they were the ones trapped inside, not the fish.

Still, when Carl asked to go, there wasn’t even a second when he would consider saying no. The kid rarely asked for anything these days, was at that age when hanging out with his old man was lame or something. But he had actually asked for this, so, here they were - wandering through dimly lit halls lined with glowing tanks. Carl was up ahead, pressed against the glass, pointing out stingrays and sharks with wide-eyed excitement. Rick stood next to him, smiling like he’d never seen anything better than his boy having a good time.

Daryl lagged behind a bit, staying at the tank with eels for a moment longer, quietly snickering at the seemingly surprised expressions on the eels faces - he was a simple man, alright? But that was probably why he missed one of the staff catching up to Rick by one of the tanks, holding some kind of laminated guide and gesturing animatedly toward the water.

She was young. Way too young for Rick - barely in her twenties, for fuck’s sake. She had on a tight staff t-shirt, her name tag placed just right to give a peek of cleavage to anyone who wanted to read it. As if her tits weren’t on the verge of spilling out whenever she leaned forward. And she was leaning forward a lot.

At first, Daryl thought it was just customer service. She smiled too much, sure, but maybe that was just part of the job. Then she touched Rick’s arm, laughing at something he said, and Daryl’s stomach twisted.

Rick didn’t seem to notice. He kept talking, his hands put casually in his pockets, his attention mostly on Carl or the tanks. The girl didn’t care. She kept pulling at her shirt, brushing her hair back, leaning in closer, squeezing Rick’s wrist at one point…

“You okay?”

Daryl flinched, not realizing Carl was next to him now, looking up with that sharp, knowing look he’d inherited from Rick.

“Fine,” Daryl muttered, glancing away.

Carl snorted. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.” Daryl glared at the kid, but Carl just grinned, unbothered. Sometimes he really hated how easily both Rick and Carl seemed to read him. 

“Dad’s not interested in her, you know,” Carl said, crossing his arms. “He’s just being polite.”

“I know that,” Daryl grumbled, but his voice lacked conviction. He tried not to look anymore, but then the bimbo laughed again, the sound carrying through the dim hall.

Carl rolled his eyes like Daryl was the biggest idiot on the planet. “You don’t have to worry about him, Daryl. He loves you. Like, a lot. It’s kinda gross, honestly.”

Daryl huffed out a laugh despite himself. “Shut up, kid.”

Carl shrugged. “I’m just sayin’. If it bothers you, go do something about it. Claim him or whatever.”

Daryl watched Carl wander back to Rick, who was still chatting with the girl. He felt a twinge of guilt - Rick wasn’t doing anything wrong. It wasn’t his fault the girl couldn’t take a hint. But it didn’t stop the jealousy from gnawing at Daryl’s gut.

Carl gave Daryl a pointed look over his shoulder, and Daryl sighed.

Fine. Clearly he would be taking advice from a teenager today.

He walked over, his steps heavy, his nerves buzzing like static. It wasn’t the first time people had flirted with Rick, and he had always just swallowed the jealousy and acted like it was nothing. But he just had to do something now. Even though he wasn’t sure what that “something” was.

Rick turned to him with a smile, his face lighting up like it always did when he saw Daryl. “Hey, there you are. I was worried we lost you.”

Daryl didn’t answer. He slipped his hand around Rick’s waist, pulling him close, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. It was a quick kiss - nothing too bold, nothing inappropriate for public and for Carl’s sake - but it got the message across.

Rick blinked, surprised, then grinned, his arm sliding around Daryl’s shoulders. “Well, hey there, too,” he said, his voice warm and teasing.

The girl’s face fell. She muttered something about needing to get back to work and scurried off. And Daryl couldn’t help the smug satisfaction that bubbled up as he watched her go.

Rick chuckled, squeezing Daryl’s shoulder. “Something wrong?”

“Nope,” Daryl said, trying to sound casual. “Just didn’t like the way she was lookin’ at you.”

Rick raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “You jealous?”

“Maybe,” Daryl admitted, ducking his head.

Rick leaned in, his lips brushing Daryl’s ear. “You don’t need to be, you know.”

Daryl’s heart stuttered, the words sinking deep.

“I know,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “Just... didn’t like it.”

Rick pulled back enough to meet Daryl’s eyes, his gaze steady and sure. “I’m yours, Daryl. Always.”

Daryl swallowed hard, nodding. He felt stupid for getting worked up, but Rick didn’t make him feel bad about it. Instead, he pressed another quick kiss to Daryl’s temple and turned back to Carl, who was pretending not to watch them with a smirk.

“Let’s go see the jellyfish,” Rick said, his hand still resting on Daryl’s shoulder.

Next ┈➤

[selenblackwrites]

7. Alarm

Food, clean water, clothes, ammo… yeah, those things were scarce during a damn apocalypse and it was no surprise to Daryl. But what he missed the most was privacy. In the beginning it used to be a privacy to sulk, to hunt, to escape. Later, in the prison, it was a privacy to shower, to sleep, to jerk off. And then on the road to Alexandria, when they hadn't even known that they were going to Alexandria, it was privacy to finally find the balls to stop pining after Rick and make his move.

But even in Alexandria, they were still living on top of each other, too used to keeping members of their group close to really be comfortable with solitude. And it drove Daryl crazy. All he wanted were a few uninterrupted hours with Rick - to spread him out all naked on his bed and explore every inch of his body without the world intruding. He imagined the sounds they would make, the way their breaths would sync, lost in a moment that felt almost impossible in the chaos that surrounded them. Was it so much to ask?

Deep down, he knew that they were lucky they had managed to find a few stolen moments together, rushing to jerk each other off before either of them was needed somewhere. But he just wanted more.

It took weeks until such moment came, and it wasn't by chance. It took careful planning to arrange it all so that in the evening the house was empty except for him and Rick. 

Daryl had spent the whole damn day making sure everything was in place. He’d covered Carol’s shift on watch so she’d owe him one, sweet-talked Tara into taking Judith for the evening, and even went as far as convincing Aaron to invite the rest of their housemates over to his place to plan another supply run over dinner, so the house would be quiet. It wasn’t easy, pulling all those strings, but as the sun dipped low and the streets of Alexandria grew still, it felt worth it.

Rick had come in late, looking beat from another long day of council meetings and trying to keep everyone in line. He didn’t even get a chance to ask why the house was so quiet before Daryl grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him - hard.

“Not wastin’ time tonight,” Daryl muttered against Rick’s lips, his voice rough but urgent.

Rick grinned, his hands sliding up to grip Daryl’s shoulders. “What’s the occasion?”

Daryl just shook his head, pushing Rick back toward the bedroom. “Ain’t one. Just us. Finally.”

Rick didn’t argue. His hands fumbled with the hem of Daryl’s shirt, pulling it over his head as they stumbled into the room. For once, there were no voices echoing down the halls, no knocks on the door, no baby crying or plans needing attention. It was just them.

And Daryl wanted to savor every damn second of it.

He nudged Rick onto the bed, following him down and hovering over him for a moment, just looking. Rick’s hair was damp from the summer heat, falling in ringlets over his forehead, his chest bare and already rising and falling faster as he stared up at Daryl with a mix of curiosity and hunger.

“You alright?” Rick asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, his own voice coming out rougher than he’d meant. “Jus’... I’m so lucky to have you.”

Rick’s eyes softened at that, and he reached up, cupping the back of Daryl’s neck to pull him down into a slow, lingering kiss.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Daryl let himself relax. He let go of the tension that always seemed to coil in his muscles, the constant edge of survival fading just enough for him to focus on the man beneath him. He mapped out the scars on Rick’s body with his hands, his lips, memorizing every line and curve like he’d never get the chance again.

Rick responded in kind, his hands trailing over Daryl’s back, his fingers brushing against the scars there as if to remind him he wasn’t alone in his pain. The intimacy of it all - the quiet, the vulnerability - made Daryl’s chest ache in the best possible way.

It didn’t take long until they were both naked, pressing their bodies against each other, moaning at the feeling of skin on skin, the heat radiating between them igniting a fire that had long been suppressed. 

"Wanna fuck you..." Daryl managed to pull his lips away from Rick's to gasp out his desire, his breath hot and heavy between them. He knew that Rick wouldn't refuse him. He could feel it in the way he clutched at his shoulders so tightly, the way his body arched toward him, hungry and eager, the way his cock was leaking over Daryl's stomach, their movements smearing it everywhere.

He made quick work of coating his fingers in lube - he might or might not have "borrowed" the tube from Aaron's place - as he lined them up against Rick's entrance, teasingly pressing one in slowly. Rick gasped, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed back against Daryl, urging him to go deeper, craving that connection that only they could share.

"Oh, fuck, Daryl, just like that," Rick whispered, his voice laced with desperation. Daryl couldn’t help but smile at the sound, increasing the pace of and adding another finger as he relished every moan that escaped Rick's lips. With each gentle thrust, he could feel Rick's body starting to relax, inviting him in further, making it so easy to press his fingers in and pull them out, over and over again.

He kept it on, until Rick was a squirming, breathless mess beneath him, completely lost in the sensation. 

"You like that, don't you? Can't wait to see how much you're gonna love my cock," Daryl murmured, his voice low and teasing, as he watched the pleasure wash over Rick's face. Without a warning, he pulled his fingers out, and settled against the headboard, barely holding back a smile at Rick's desperate whine as he reached for Daryl and crawled over to him, longing for more.

He barely got time to lube himself up before he had his lap full of Rick, who eagerly sank down onto him, gasping at the sensation. Daryl's hands gripped Rick's hips tightly, guiding him as he moved, their bodies perfectly in sync, each thrust igniting a fire that consumed them both. The room was filled with the sounds of their shared breaths and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, each movement driving them closer to the edge. Daryl's heart raced as he watched Rick's head tilt back in pure ecstasy, and he felt like he could come just from that sight alone.

It took maybe a doze more thrusts, until suddenly Rick sat down on his cock with a high moan, pulsing his release between their bodies. And Daryl was powerless to stop himself as he followed Rick over the edge, a deep growl escaping his lips as he bucked his hips up into that perfect, tight heat, coming deep inside Rick's hole.

And then it happened. A loud, shrill alarm pierced the air, cutting through the silence like a blade. Both of them froze, their breaths mingling in the tiny space between their faces.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Daryl growled, still sounding breathless, reeling from the intensity of his orgasm. Rick groaned, his head falling forward, their foreheads pressing almost painfully together. “Fucking timing...”

The alarm wailed again, more insistent this time, and they both knew what it meant.

“Walkers at the gate,” Rick said, already moving to sit up.

“‘Course it’s fucking walkers at the damn gate,” Daryl muttered, rolling off the bed and reaching for his crossbow and clothes. “Can’t even catch a break for five minutes.”

Rick was pulling on his boots, his expression already shifting to that focused, determined look that always meant trouble was coming. “We’ll deal with it quick,” he said, his voice steady but full of unspoken regret. “Then we’ll continue this.”

Daryl snorted, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder. “You better mean that, Grimes.”

Rick turned to him, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Always do.”

With that, they were out the door, the quiet intimacy of the bedroom replaced by the chaos of Alexandria springing to life. Shouts echoed in the distance as people scrambled to man the gates, and the distant groans of walkers grew louder with every second.

Daryl felt the familiar rush of adrenaline kick in, his senses sharpening as he and Rick ran side by side toward the action.

They didn’t need words as they moved - just the shared rhythm of survival, honed over years of fighting together. Daryl’s crossbow sang as he picked off walkers with practiced precision, and Rick’s gun barked in reply, their efforts seamless, almost choreographed. But even as they fought, a small part of Daryl couldn’t help but think about the moment they’d just shared.

When the last walker fell, Daryl turned to Rick, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.

“Think we’re done?” he asked, his tone half hopeful, half resigned.

Rick glanced around, his breathing heavy, and gave a small nod. “For now.”

Daryl grunted, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

Next ┈➤