New Writers On Tumblr - Blog Posts

I might try to write some stuff of my own, all credits to the original authors of any previous stories I've reposted. Their work is not mine.

~☆

I’m participating in NaNoWriMo because I hate myself. Wish me luck!!

Hello

I’m new to this whole writing thing so pls bare with me. I am going to try and write some fics and head cannons.

Topics for writing can include:

Avatar 1 and 2

Wednesday

Anne with an E

School for good and evil

The hunger games

On my block

Shadow and Bone

Cobra Kai

More to come :)

⋆⭒˚.⋆MASTERLIST⋆.˚⭒⋆

Drabbles

businessman bf (bottom male reader)

School Spirits

coming soon…

Yellowjackets

coming soon…

Creepypasta

coming soon…

Supernatural

coming soon…

and more to come!!! <33

Hi my lovely sheep's! Or New sheep's that are just arriving on my page.

On my page I'll be writing stories of many kind, some of my own imagination and my own characters. Currently I am not sure if I'll be taking requests from certain fandoms but I'll make that choice in the possible next couple of weeks.

I must say this feels a bit weird since I came from wattpad and now I'm here on tumblr.

When pain has crossed the limit

It turns into a heavy stone

It sinks into soft skin

Continuing past flesh and bone

Until it finds it's way

To your feather light soul

And there it stays

heavy and cold

Sometimes I think the dreams are either alternate versions of me or another person completely and I'm just hopping along in their life that night.

I had a dream I was a woman working in a book store but this woman was not me. I've had this dream before over a decade ago, same woman, same bookstore. She now has her own office so she's doing well since the last dream, she seemed happy, fulfilled. I woke and felt motivated to do something with my life. Maybe visit a books store, maybe I'd see her in the women checking out books, Maybe I'd one day see myself with my own book adorning the shelfs.

I wonder if she dreams of me, I wonder what she sees. Am I a recurring dream, the Young women that prefers to stay curled up, that never went out with friends and now lives half in a world of pretend. Does she see me lay in bed, lost but searching, waiting but hiding. Am I a nightmare. Does she wake confused and heavy and think thankgod that's not me.

Am I only ever meant to dream of what could have been.

I sat outside on a wall across the pub. My dad was inside. I hadn't spoken to him in ten years. But I had seen him through pub windows and passed by him as he smoked in doorways more than a few times. Once I heard him sharply inhale, coughing as cigarette smoke choked him when I passed, but reached out he did not and neither did I.

It was summer, the air was warm and still, the daffodils had fully bloomed. I don't know how long I sat there, but I know it started to get dark and the streets emptied. Someone in the pub put on Sweet Caroline, everyone inside sang it with all the energy of a football chant, I hummed along to the chorus looking at the sky as it changed from blue to pink to black. I sang I'll be fine (I know now those aren't the lyrics) even though I felt so alone in that moment, I was adrift, I was waiting. And I'd waited long enough. But how could I stop. It was all I had.

I kept my eyes fixed on the door for awhile, then the stars, then back to door blinking against the tears gathering at the edges of my vision. I wanted to take off my shoes and rest my feet on the cool pavement, I wanted to feel rooted in something other than my loneliness, my sadness, but I didn't. Instead I quietly sang along to Sweet Caroline, sang about hands reaching out and felt more alone than ever, felt an ache settle deep and heavy into my bones, i suppose I was rooted by my feelings after all.

I'm not sure why I stayed there, was it in the hope that he'd spot me, rush out, hold me close and say it's going to be okay now , dads here or was it a punishment mixed with self pity. All I know is I couldn't bring myself to go inside but also didn't want to hide. The song ended and the stars above looked on in indifference.

Then a man walked passed. I got ready for a suggestive remark or something similar. there are some streets in my city as there are in most around the world, where women line dark alleyways and men in cars roll down their windows and ask how much, and if you happen to be a women walking alone in those areas you might get asked if your working tonight. So I was prepared for something along those lines, I was prepared to politely smile and get my keys ready between my knuckles if needed. He paused for a moment.

"Are you alright love?" he asked, his voice quiet and concerned.

With the relief came the overwhelming need to tell him the truth, to spill everything to this stranger, to tell him that no I wasn't alright, I was deeply not okay and the heavy feeling has been following me around for so long I dont know how to live without it, instead I indulge in it, I give it a place at the dinner table, I drink it with every meal and tuck it close to my heart every night, I use it as a substitute for a lullaby. But I couldn't , I didn't.

I flashed him a quick smile , the most hollow thing you could imagine, the only thing I could muster. it was just something I did to get him to walk away. "Yeah, I'm good thanks".

He didn't walk away, he stood there with eyes so caring I was afraid they'd make everything I was holding in unravel in a messy pile at our feet. "Are you sure, really?" he knew I wasn't, my sad shining eyes didn't help.

I shook my head slightly, another quick smile "I'm sure."

When I was little I was collecting all my future pains and putting them in a neat little line, each one climbing up the ladder of my spine. Because what is time, what does it matter when I could see the ending before I had even begun. It was like the Me that would live through broken glass and kicked in doors felt her heart beating so loudly she sent the sound back through time, and it found me in my room when everything was good. This organ we prescribe love to felt so much fear it ran back to a time before the palpitations.

I want to write about the pain of it all, I want to write about the people I qued with outside of food banks; there was an old man who looked like a wise wizard with his long white hair, he waited for a small portion of pasta most days and offered me advice on the best times to turn up, there was a group of polish men with cans of alcohol shared between them, who at first assumed I was polish aswell and tried to talk to me, but all I could say was Przepraszam, nie wiem Polski the old man told me to stand next to him after that, there was also a brother and sister who where both addicted to heroine, most days they seemed to be going through intense withdrawals. We would all wait in a old medieval churchyard, some sat on toppled headstones while others leaned against stone angels with their faces covered. I want to write about what complete isolation and poverty does to you, how eyes don't meet yours and voices talk over you. But when I do, the room goes quiet and people look away, suddenly i feel the need to awkwardly laugh and say so yeah anyway.

An incoming phone call you say

And I freeze like a deer in headlights

Have I been hit, I feel blooding rushing past my ear drums

My heart is beating quick

then quicker, a fast rapid flicker

it's trying to run away, but my body won't move

Instead my body stands shock still and I watch locked in, but so far removed

I'm dizzy spinning around and round in my amygdala, a ringing is pulsing against the outside walls of it

trying to get inside

I cannot hide

Then the ringing just stops

it's stops

Incoming call is dropped and rational thinking has lost.

I stole a bible a few years ago, I browsed the shelfs not looking to steal but to pass the time and then I saw it, black cover and pages edged in gold. I wasn't religious, more agnostic or an atheist that dabbled in Buddhist ideas, I felt the Christian narrative or at least the one I heard about was always about who would pay. How jesus payed for your "sins", and if you didn't believe then you'll pay in the after life, so hold on to guilt and carry your strife , but I also knew that I wanted , needed something. I wasn't looking for misplaced shame only hope and I wanted to have it tangible in my hands.

So with my stomach empty and my shoes hole ridden, I ignored the fashion magazines with diet tips and beauty tricks and filled my emptyness with something close to hope, if only to cope. I grabbed it from the shelf and I left the store. I was too afraid to steal food , I didn't dare even with my hunger, but possibility of having something bigger than life to cling to on cold and lonely nights seemed worth the risk.

During that time I wasn't doing so well, my mother was drinking and taking drugs with her friends god only knows where and the cupboards where completely bare. I would wander around town, I would wait for the days to pass, I would wait for something to meet me in my loneliness. I wanted so desperately for something like god to reveal itself to me, my mother wasn't someone I could lean on and my father wasn't around so I think naturally I wanted something to believe in, to sustain me when food and family couldn't.

Last year my brother and I where almost homeless, we slept on the hard floor in a cold empty room for three years, we spent every day waiting. I would wait for the stores reduced items at the end of the day, wait for the sun to dry my clothes, I would walk for hours round and round, my shoes didn't last long, I tried ducktaping the soles but the pavement wore through that aswell. When I wasn't waiting outside food banks, staring at white walls or writing, I sometimes would visit the church in town. It's a cathedral and I still have no idea what denomination it's under, but I'd walk around and admire the marbal pillers and stain glass windows, I would try to remember how people hundreds near a thousand years ago carved angles into stone and placed their hope in something other than themselfs, that back then a church may have been the only place you could go if you had no where else. I reminded myself of all the people who would have prayed there, that would have stood where I stood and cried, wished and waited as I did. I would light a candle and I would wish for a better tomorrow, I wasn't asking jesus or a god, I was asking the universe, I was asking subconsciously myself to keep going.

What do you think of religion? (Are you religious?)

Excerpt from my WIP Dead above.

There's a girl with my name, we don't look the same but we both huddle under covers when it rains. There's a girl who is almost my age, yet we have the same moon sign and we always forget the time. There's a girl reading what I write who comments every night and I can only hope that life treats you kindly, this girl will one day be in the ground and so will I, but I hope as you age you'll shed those debilitating fears that hold you back and hopefully we'll have lived a life of joy and mostly happy tears.

The book so far consists of messy notes and pieces of different plot ideas that don't fit together built up over two years. Most of them are my frantic half asleep scribblings that don't make any sense lol. Now i just need to build my Frankenstein.

Screw it , I'm going to write this book.

Screw it , I'm going to write this book.

These where the random notes/doodle from the first idea stage for my WIP 'Dead above'. Does anyone else begin brainstorming by thinking of pieces of dialogue first and then creating characters and plot around it.

I love your writing and I just read your "Dead above" snippet/excerpt and I'm so intrigued and interesting in your plans for it as a whole, is this a snippet of a book your writing or another project.

Thank you! Dead above is the title of the book I'm writing and the post was a snippet from it, I intend to finish the first draft and be on the second by the end of this year and hopefully (fingers crossed) publish it. I have very limited knowledge about how to get published, but at the moment I'm just excited about the writing process. Thankyou for taking an interest, it's very motivating 💛

Excerpt from wip Dead above

I'm teaching myself a new skill, its going as expected, I'm running into a lot of walls and I'll find myself tracing paint marks or picking lint of the carpet than actually making an effort.

So I keep reminding myself that in five years the time will still have past anyway. Or that sixe months ago I would have had a little foundation already, if only I stuck to it. So yes you'll feel frustrated at the beginning or halfway through, yes you'll have days or months of procrastination of feeling like there's no point even continuing, but the time will pass regardless. So in a year you could have bits and peices of a project, or you can have nothing at all, you could have a baseline of understanding for a new skill or none. It doesn't matter if you think that the payout won't be much, because it will be something as apposed to nothing. Rome wasn't build in a day as people say, so don't measure your own progress to harshly, just continue to build at your own rate, but if you believe in your project don't give up, progress is still progress.

The new year feels like a broken clock that speeds up when you want the world to slow down. It doesn't care how heavy your heart is or how you fail to catch the light with your flimsy hands, it just approaches whether you're ready or not.

It spins forward and we spin with it and it sometimes feels a little unnerving, how evrything keeps moving while you’re standing there counting how many breaths you have left. But it's also comforting, It’s like a little nudge saying hey by the way, you can hit reset whenever you want. and you can, there's no universal default start date, your beginning can be when ever you want it to be. Maybe your new year starts when the winter months are long gone and the flowers are in bloom, maybe you begin when the sun baths the ground with new life and the glow of it all makes everything feel easier.

Maybe this year you don't think about beginnings or endings but just let yourself enjoy the middle. Time doesn't care when you start or how, it will push you along regardless. This year will be what it'll be, things from the last year will be carried along and some left behind, we just have to have hope that it'll kind.

Each year I have a new resolution and I can't help but have another. For the past four years it was to have enough food to eat, for a bed to sleep on instead of the hard floor, for my mother( where ever she may be) to be okay. This year I want to feel like a bird let out a cage, I want to shed the apathy from me, I want to peel back a layer and expose myself to all sorts of possibilities, I want to feel the heat of it on new skin. I want to live, not just survive, here's to 2025.

I'm going to be honest, I'm not happy. Instead I just am. Just here. Just there. I'm, just. I spent way too long picking the colours for this blog instead of cleaning my house, I spent way too long worrying over my poems instead of worrying over the bills, I spent way too long writing about things that have happened and not about what could. I reply with flowers under comments because I'm worried I'll sound too blunt without them, but sometimes it feels fake, because I'm not that person alone, I don't think in pretty colours, happiness doesn't bloom behind my eyelids in pinks and yellows. Instead my thoughts are blunt and apathy stuffs itself into my ears and covers my eyes. It encases me in a womb, and I'm just waiting to be reborn. Into what exactly I don't know, just more awake I hope, less rotting in bed and more laughing in a field somewhere.

How do you feel about kindness being filmed like they’re performances. Someone hands a homeless person a sandwich, and boom, the cameras rolling. I’m a good person, they say without saying it, but the thing is a sandwich can only last so long, yet you'll be dining on those social media likes all week. Sure,it’s lovely, helping people. But here’s the thing: It’s sad that the world’s become a stage for doing good when you have a camera in your face, or worse in the face of someone struggling to live each day, they are not the supporting actors in your new tiktok. We don’t just help anymore. We sell the moment. Isn't it lovely though getting credit for being decent when your not just doing good. Your doing good for the algorithm.

Do the people we drift away from ever return to us.

When my parents spilt up I didn't see my dad for months, during this time I would spend nearly every day playing with my friend Kelsey. We would get our hair caught climbing trees or make terrible perfume from her neighbours flowers. One time she pulled out a box from under her bed, it was filled with snails of different sizes collected from her garden "we're going to colour the shells". So that's what we did, we gently coloured around 20 in bright orange, red or purple, after that we put them near a tree by her house. We did all this to see if the same ones would come back, we thought at least 5 would. Weeks went by and we didn't see any colourful shells in her garden, they had moved on. Sometimes people leave and they don't come back, but you still hold the memories close, you still carry their mark on you and maybe they carry yours too.

Maybe somewhere out there, there are snails with brightly coloured shells and maybe carrying a piece of someone with you is enough.

A lot of the time I don't feel like I've matured past 16. I still feel just as scared and even more lonely. They say your twenties are when you'll feel more steady, but I feel like I'm being swung into space and there I float suffocating in the void.

Welcome, Friends.

Hi there! I'm Bria, or B as I sign my fics, and I am so happy you're here. I'm in my mid-twenties and absolutely obsessed with all things Harry Potter. I'm a dramione girl through and through, but also love scorose, wolfstar and jegulus. My current WIPs, The Sun and the Moon (scorose), It Happened One Night (Jegulus), and Half-Lived (Modern Jegulus AU) can be found on AO3 for registered users under @ravenclawstearoom.

My other interests include finding the best chai latte in every city I visit, consuming literature and poetry like it's my full time job, and treating my pets like the spoiled children they are. I am married to my dearest friend in the world who is the gentle Hufflepuff to my brash Ravenclaw, and my unofficial beta for every one of my works (so blame him for any mistakes you find as you read).

I love new friends so don't be shy, shoot me a message if you would like to connect. Take good care of yourselves, loves.

xx,

B

An Introduction and a huge THANK YOU!!

Hi everybody today when I was looking at my notifications I just realised that I have been a complete idiot by not even introducing myself or even saying “Hi”. So hi, how is everything going and all the other stuff people say when they meet others for the first.

So first of all you all should know that I AM WEIRD LIKE REALLY REALLY WEIRD, that’s the first thing you should know about me. So here is my introduction my name is VanSaw( well my friends call me that) and I just want to THANK EVERYBODY for taking some time to read my stories I am really very grateful!! I would love to TALK to you all and trust me when I say this I am a chatter box I can talk endlessly!!! I am also not very techno savvy so it takes me a LOT of time to do things on any social networking site.

So Thank you everybody for reading my stories and for your lovely comments, I am really grateful!!! SO THANK YOUUU!!!

NEW WRITER ALERT.

What an excellent first fic! I got all tingly reading it. Can’t wait to read more from this talented writer!

DISTRACTED

2 Nov 2023

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: Explicit, implied sexual content, sexual language, swearing

Setting: Alexandria

Summary: Upon realising how potent your little infatuation is with a certain archer, you decide to act on it. 

Author Note: My first ever fan fiction. I had this idea to express how I'd think sexual tension with Daryl could potentially manifest.....it is definitely harder than it seems to try and capture already existing characters and write them successfully. I’m a bit unsure about the dialogue, and the ending feels a bit rushed, but I hope it works.  - Sól

Never did you believe that these ‘chemicals' you always heard about were capable of affecting a person in such a way. You always used to think that being infatuated to this degree was a farce, a fun exaggeration of the truth. But my god were you wrong. And perhaps you've been wrong for a while.

That's what you realised sitting amongst your family in your shared Alexandrian home. You had been here for a couple of months now, and everyone was comfortable enough to let their guards down and enjoy a domesticated, casual occasion. Everyone was happy. You could hear Abraham's hearty laugh bouncing off of the walls. You could make out Glenn cracking some joke to the right of you. Rick was relaxed for once, smiling at the scene before him. Rosita and Tara were conversing to your left, but you'd checked out of the gossip session after getting caught up in the sight across the room.

You hadn't even meant to get distracted.

You swear.

You also swore you could hear Rosita asking you something, but alas, those chemicals in your brain fogged all of your other senses.

With his arms crossed, you watched as his hand smoothed down from the top of his shoulder, so tantalisingly slowly, down to his elbow and back up again at an ever agonising pace. You stared, enraptured, as his strong, muscular palm very lightly gripped his bulging bicep absentmindedly, while he nodded in response to a very animated Aaron. 

That was something you liked about Daryl. No, it was something that you realised made you embarrassingly aroused; the squareness of his hands and definition in his arms had you reeling. There was something in particular about passing by Daryl, whether he was tinkering with his bike, or back at the prison working the gates, or simply walking about the streets in Alexandria, that really got you going — his forearms shifting when twisting a screwdriver, his triceps flexing when aiming his crossbow, and the sheen of sweat glistening from his shoulders in the hot heat…

Reluctantly dragging your eyes from his arms and across his broad chest, your eyes met his two steely blues which were now looking directly at you.

Resisting the urge to look away, it was as if time stopped. You felt confined to the lounge by his stare, and it was exhilarating. The tiny smirk which lifted the corner of Daryl's mouth had flipped a flirtatious switch in you, and your eyes began to traverse the length of his body as if your life depended on it.

Slowly crossing your legs and slipping your hand down your leg and across your thigh, Daryl continued his equally invasive perusal of your body as your gaze travelled lower and lower down his. The tension became palpable. 

A myriad of dirty thoughts came to light, as you not-so inconspicuously trailed the waistband of his black jeans. Now that you mentioned it, the belt holding them up looked a little tight, as if whatever tent that was underneath was just about to protrude and —

“What are you so hot and bothered by Y/N?” Tara cheekily asked while trying catch a glimpse of whatever it was causing you to blush. 

“I think we already know the answer to that” Rosita said. Still in a bit of a daze, you uncrossed your legs and covered your cheeks to try and subtly dissipate the redness there. 

“I’m not. ‘Was just thinking about stuff…” You murmured. Rosita put a hand on your leg and leaned in to whisper something. 

“I bet. But it definitely wouldn’t have anything to do with the surly, tomato-faced man over there, would it?”. You grasped whatever courage you had left and snuck a peek at Daryl, who was now hiding behind a glass of something, having moved to another side of the house. You noticed the glass he was holding wasn’t very effective at hiding his slight fluster. 

You sighed. “No, it doesn’t.” You deadpanned. “In your dreams ‘Sita. It’s not like that.”

“Oh, but it is” Tara interjected. “Look, we’ve known each other for a while. I’d like to say we’re good enough friends for us to know that—” 

“You have a fat crush on Daryl. And everyone knows he has a fat crush on you.” Rosita finished.

You were usually a very honest and down to earth, but now, that couldn’t be further from reality. You decided you could play this two ways. You could keep denying your sexual interest in the man. Or, you could admit to your imagined undressing of him and succumb to their teasing. You decided with the former.  

“I’m not even going to entertain that. Just because we’re good mates, doesn’t mean anything but that. Mates. Friends.” You explained. You half-knew they could see through your facade, but you trudged forward anyway, digging yourself into a hole of your own making. Pointing at Rosita, you added “Plus, as you said, the dude’s surly as fuck. He’s more concerned with trying to squint like Zoolander than anything else…”

“Y/N likes Daryylll!” Tara sang merrily at an annoyingly high pitch. Her and Rosita laughed, continuing to teasing you for a bit longer. They got back to talking again when they realised you wouldn’t budge, so you utilised the opportunity to find Daryl again. 

There he was, seated in an armchair with his signature, piercing eyes surveying the room. It was like he practiced that squint in the mirror. It was almost as practiced as male models on a runway. ‘Daryl could be a model’ you thought. He had that look about him. He had a gorgeously well built, muscular frame, strong enough to pick you up and throw you, probably. His signature scowl was more like an intense gaze, replicating exactly what you saw of those men in magazines. Except, it was Daryl. He was hotter than all of those men combined. He was the epitome of man. Daryl Dixon was gorgeous. Your smile widened substantially just thinking about it. The throb down below was getting electrifyingly worse. It was hard not to imagine his calloused hands gripping onto both of your spread thighs, descending onto you with those whirling blues and smug curling up of his mouth. He was so incredibly hot, and there was nothing you could do about it.  

You guess you did have a ‘fat’ crush on Daryl. 

Realistically, what was the worst that could happen if you made a move? It wasn’t usually your style to be the first to initiate that sort of thing. But you two had such a deep friendship that a little admission of something more couldn’t ruin it, right? You could feel your heart beating in your chest. Even if he didn’t reciprocate, surely it wouldn’t diminish the bond the two of you shared ever since you met in Atlanta. Worst case scenario, you’d have to distance yourself for a while. That’s not so bad. 

Deciding to be brave, you abruptly got up and grabbed a drink from the table. ‘A bit of liquid courage’ you hoped. Receiving knowing looks from Rosita and Tara, you rolled your eyes at them, only to notice Daryl was gone. Drinking a glass (or two), you approached Carol. You were about to ask her of his whereabouts when she beat you to it. 

“Down the hall, in the kitchen I think” she stated as you approached, with a seductive wink to go with it. She was a very perceptive woman. 

Shooting her a tiny grin, you slowly made your way down the hall. Whether placebo or not, you could feel a slight buzz from the alcohol already. After all, you didn’t drink these days. 

The music was a little bit quieter down here. Psyching yourself up, you made it to the kitchen’s entry, and there you saw him. He detected your presence before you even made it to the door, ever the skilled hunter. 

“Hey…” Daryl said. You leaned against the archway, glass in hand, and smiled. Before you could reply, he grabbed something from the counter and flicked it at your forehead from across the room. It bounced straight off and onto the ground. 

Maintaining eye contact with him, you sipped the rest of your beverage, and placed the glass on the small kitchen island. Picking up what you realised was a blueberry from the ground, you threw it at him with more force than was necessary. He dodged it just in time. 

“That’s not very nice, Daryl” you said lowly, your smile widening. His eyes travelled down your body quickly and back up to your eyes as you got up from your crouched position. “What are you doing here anyway?” You asked, moving into the kitchen to stand next to him and lean on the counter. 

“I was tryna grab more beer”.

You hummed. That switch was flipped again. In the split second you had to come up with a response, you noticed he was gazing upon you with an equal amount of fervour. 

“Are you saying I'm distracting you?” you asked in a sultry tone. Inhaling slowly, you could smell the leather of his vest, and something woody. God did you love it. 

Daryl replied with a soft, low grunt. You slowly moved your hand and rested it on his cheek. Pushing away the thought that he could feel the perspiration emanating from it, you tapped your thumb a few times on the mole above his lip.

“You know, for as long as we’ve known each other, I don’t think I’ve ever told you how cute your mole is”. 

“Cute?” Daryl questioned breathily. “ I aint’ cute”.

He broke from your gaze and looked down at the proximity between you both. Removing your hand and placing it next to his on the counter, you lightly shook your head. 

“I think you’re wrong about that.”

Biting his lip in that little way he usually does, Daryl looked back up, seemingly gaining a bit of confidence. He pinched the bottom hem of your shirt, fiddling with a loose thread near your hip.

“Well, I think ya look cute in this shirt…couldn’t stop looking at ya before…” he trailed off. 

Getting imperceptibly closer, you could hear Daryl’s soft, shallow breaths. His eyes flicked to your lips and back up. You gently placed your other hand onto his one at your hip, and trailed your fingers along Daryl’s forearm until they reached the crook of his elbow.

“Well, if you liked what you were seeing so much, why didn’t you come over?” 

His hand was now fully splayed on your lower hip, thumb caressing the space there.

“Could say the same ‘bout ya”.

His little smirk shot arousal straight through your body. Suddenly you were aware of how hot it was in the kitchen. The space around you cracked with anticipation. The soft moonlight filtering through the kitchen window juxtaposed the heat permeating between your bodies. You could see the desire glimmering in Daryl’s eyes. 

“I’m here now…” you breathed. 

Dragging his hand up to your waist, Daryl pulled you closer. Your arm moved upwards along his toned bicep and shoulder to rest gently on the side of his neck. You could feel the intense pulse of blood through his veins, making you acutely aware of the intense throbbing making its way to your core.

“The things ya do to me woman…” Daryl husked. 

Pulling your bodies completely flush, you inched your face closer to his. Wrapping both of your arms around his neck, you whispered in his ear.

“Maybe you should do something about it…”

In an instant, his other hand came up to hold your jaw, and his lips desperately connected with yours. At first it was a bit rushed, but you blamed that on the adrenaline pumping through your bodies. He took your bottom lip into his mouth, and finally the kiss slowed. The hard, fiery melding of your mouths became more intense by the second. It was a delightful push and pull of lip and tongue. You could feel Daryl growing exponentially hard in his pants. As you carded your fingers roughly through his hair, Daryl’s hands smoothed down your back. His hands reached lower and lower, until he had a handful of your backside and —

“Daryl! Did you grab the — oh.” Rick exclaimed.

Too caught up in the moment, the both of you abruptly pulled apart with a loud *pop* sound. Gawking at the impassioned scene before him, Rick’s stunned expression turned knowing. “Uh… I’ll leave you both to it” he said with a half-concealed smile.

As Rick exited, you both turned to look at each other again, still in the same position as before. You were both heaving in breaths of air. A few seconds passed before he broke the silence. 

“Damn girl…”

“That was…woah…” you said a little dreamily. Moving into your lips once again, Daryl gave your butt a hard squeeze. 

“Fuckin’ Rick had to ruin it…” he muttered into your mouth with a bit of feigned disdain. Without breaking the kiss, you bit down on his lip, and dragged your hands down to his chest and fiddled with the collar of his sleeveless shirt. 

“Doesn’t mean we can’t continue this elsewhere…"

Breaking the kiss, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, and gave you the cheekiest smile you’d ever seen. 

“Don’ have ta’ tell me twice girl”