She’s never been with someone who wants to learn her.
He just wants her next to him.
Just a tiny post-ep for 'The Same Boat,' aka The Way I Wish It Ended.
Part of him must be convinced that if he lets go again, she'll disappear.
Like before.
She's done enough.
Five headcanons about Daryl and Carol's sex life. Yep, that's it.
Well, the title pretty much covers the summary;-)
Michonne walks over and holds the dress level with Carol's shoulders, leaning back to give herself a better view. "Damn, that man has you memorized," she mutters under her breath before carefully stretching the dress across Carol's bed, smoothing the fabric to avoid wrinkles. "It's what you're wearing," she announces dramatically. "And you're gonna look so perfect I'll probably be pissed."
They’ve only been sharing for three weeks, but she’s already used to pushing up against the wall, because he insists on being on the outside, his body between her and … everything else.
Carol wears Daryl's shirt. No seriously, that's the summary.
He always thought that the best part of sex was well, sex.
Carol nodded and went into the kitchen before she let the tears fill her eyes. After she stood by the sink for a few minutes, she poured herself an entire glass of water, drank it down in a few gulps, and then rummaged through the miscellaneous drawer for a piece of paper and a pen. On the paper she just wrote, I have no idea how to thank you. ~C.
This is basically a catch-all for short stuff on tumblr that hasn't made its way over here. They'll vary in length and hopefully I'll be slowly adding to them, but they are in no way chronologically or thematically connected. Just this and that, but all shippy!
"You ain’t never done a single thing I didn’t notice." The last few words are strained, so many things still dangerously close to the surface. "Never. Not once.”
In theory, this will wind up a repository for the one word prompts I've gotten on tumblr. Fingers crossed that I actually manage to do them all, because the prompts are amazing.
“Tonight was the first time he’d ever felt the word “home” at the edges of his mind and the tip of his tongue.”
There's nothing he won't do.
"Part of him wanted nothing more than to run, but he had to admit he was surprised that that part wasn't really . . . winning. Because another part of him was, now that his breathing had slowed a touch, having vivid flashbacks to the sensation of her entire body pressed against the length of his, the smell of her skin and the soft curves and angles she'd taught him how to touch."
And she almost lied, almost said, Yeah, I'm fine, because those words would roll off her tongue like honey and the truth stuck in her throat so badly it hurt.
She hadn’t thought about what would happen if she didn’t die.
Infinite, the ways she could love watching him take joy in Sophia’s existence, even on days much like today, when their daughter was more or less behaving like a selfish little shit.
The expression of guilt and regret on her face was so reminiscent of her father in that exact moment that Carol could feel a warm ache of love expanding through her chest and up into her cheeks, the kind that made her wonder, sometimes, how that much insane devotion managed to stay contained within her and not just explode from the inside.
"When he’s gone, she does all the boring shit chores she always does, but she feels his absence like a pressure on her lungs, like she can’t breathe all the way in until she detects the rumble of his bike in the distance, louder until it throbs through the soles of her feet."
It's not as if she hasn't known, from the moment her fingers pulled on the handle of the car door and met a wall of resistance instead of the expected click and give, that if she ever shared space with these people again, the easy camaraderie, the smiling and joking and black humor, would be gone. She just hadn't realized it would feel this bad, that she'd have a crawling sensation up the back of her neck, a persistent pounding in her temples, and the almost overwhelming urge to vanish.
"I promise not to move," she said, her voice quavery with tears.
"Better not," he whispered.
This was supposed to be a tiny paragraph of headcanon about how Daryl had never had a backrub and then um. It was more than a paragraph. So that happened. The title is from ‘Show Me the River’ by Eastmountainsouth.
She kisses him back until she’s sure he’s not thinking about lying or selfishness or anything except how good it feels to finally be able to do this whenever they want to.
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