*This is a Daryl one shot I did from a prompt by the fabulous sweetkiwi604. It's chock full of angst and smutmance as my Daryl stories usually are ;)
*Time frame is early season 4 while the group is living contentedly in the prison and Daryl is becoming emotionally stronger, self-aware and confident. Basically, it takes place before the shitstorm!
Well missy, I hope this little post-apocalyptic love story does your idea justice and inspires Sweet Dreams darling ;)
Trigger warning: references cutting and child abuse
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings , etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way affiliated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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"Contrary to what we may have been taught to think, unnecessary and unchosen suffering wounds us but need not scar us for life. It does mark us. What we allow the mark of our suffering to become is in our own hands."
― Bell Hooks
Michelle felt alone again and everything she'd gained in the past seven months had deserted her. She lay in bed trying to read, but the words blurred on the page. She was angry and that made her depressed and that just made her wanna curl up in a ball and die. This shit never changes. Even if you caught a break and things started going your way, something would come along to fuck it up.
Her mind was racing with all the things that had gone wrong. Like everyone else in the group, she'd lost a lot in the past year. However, Michelle was starting to rebuild her life. Suddenly the rug was pulled from beneath her. Her best friend was gone. Michonne had become like a sister to her and Michelle couldn't believe she'd left on that stupid vigilante quest to kill the Governor. She wouldn't listen to Michelle. She wouldn't listen to Daryl. She put on blinders and heard only the voice of her anger.
Maggie strode into Michelle's cell with purpose.
"Michelle honestly, you need to get out of this bed. You've been sleeping too much. And I haven't seen you eat anything other than one orange."
"I'm tired. And I'm not hungry."
"Yeah, well, this isn't healthy. And it's not you. I've never seen you like this." She paused. "By the way you're up next to go on the supply run."
"I'm not ready. Can you take this one? Please? I'll owe you."
"Uh Uh, you already owe me two besides you need to start being human again. Get your ass up girl, Daryl's waiting."
Daryl? Great. Going with him will just make everything worse. He'd remind her of all the runs she and Michonne had gone on with him. The three of them had made a great team. Just her and Daryl going seemed wrong. Incomplete.
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"Hi." She said weakly, walking slowly toward the pickup truck.
"Hey," he responded slamming the hood down. "You feelin' better? Maggie says you been sick." He wiped engine grease from his hands with the rag from his back pocket.
"Yeah," she forced a half-smile and picked at the fraying denim tears on her upper thigh.
He nodded. "That why I ain't seen too much of you then?"
"Yeah of course. What else would it be?"
He shook his head. Daryl was a man of gestures and mannerisms. Michelle had picked up on that when she first met him.
"Not about her then?"
"No." She lied.
Daryl had been missing Michelle's help for the past few days. She wasn't grossed out by skinning the animals that he brought back to the camp. They'd work side by side, sometimes talking but usually in a comfortable silence. He liked that Michelle wasn't always trying to make small talk or get into his head. Same with Michonne. He missed her too but was pissed she took off. The two women were becoming his stability.
Sure, he missed Michelle's help but did he also miss her company? Without Michonne, Daryl figured Michelle was more important than ever.
And her cooking. She made the best venison stew he'd ever eaten.
"All right keep up and do what I say." He ordered in a gruff tone trying to get a full smile out of her. It was what he'd said on their first few runs and it had driven her crazy.
Michelle laughed to his relief and got into the truck. She closed the door and placed her pack on the floorboard. "I'll drive back okay?"
He nodded. "Deal."
"I do miss getting out like this, doing something important." She said more to herself than to Daryl. As they sped along deserted back roads, Michelle watched trees fly by as well as occasional groups of walkers. After about forty minutes, Daryl pulled into a small cul de sac of houses they hadn't yet explored. He noticed the sky growing heavy with clouds and smelled rain. The early October crunch to the air reminded Michelle of school starting. The bittersweet memory intensified as she took in the suburban sprawl. Families had lived here. The porches boasted wind chimes, welcome mats and rocking chairs. Toys scattered on once manicured front lawns, beside bikes overturned in driveways. Even a doghouse or two. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her tawny caramel locks against the light rain that had begun, feeling homesick for the home she'd never had.
"C'mon" Daryl called stopping her rumination. He motioned to the partially broken picture window of the largest house on the block. He wrapped his red rag around his fist and punched the rest of the glass out so they could climb through. He entered first and as soon as his feet hit the wooden floor he had his bow aimed and ready. He started clearing the downstairs when he heard Michelle yell "Shit!" from behind him.
Why? Why did this happen now? Daryl was the last person she wanted to appear weak in front of. She had lost her footing on the window frame and tried to brace herself, but her arm landed hard on a shard of glass still intact. It ripped through her sleeve. Her arm was bleeding profusely. No way he wouldn't notice. Damn.
"Hey, that looks bad." He didn't think, just reached over and grabbed her arm.
She tried to pull it back. " I'm fine. It's fine."
"No, it ain't, come on. Let's get somewhere safer." He didn't want to worry about any unexpected dead company while he treated her wound. He led her to a small study off of the living room and closed the door behind them. He slid the lock into place.
"I gotta stop that bleeding." He said getting annoyed. Finally after a tug of war moment with her arm, Michelle relented knowing he was right. "Okay...I..." her words were cut off by her silent gasp when, without thinking about anything other than patching up this girl, Daryl stripped off his flannel shirt. He sliced the fabric at the shoulder seams so he could tear the sleeves off. He quickly ripped the material into strips. She couldn't look away as his muscles tensed and flexed while he worked, deftly crafting makeshift bandages. He suddenly noticed Michelle staring at his chest and quickly put the altered shirt back on. He buttoned so rapidly most were askew in the wrong holes. He cleared his throat and moved toward her.
"Grab that canteen from on my pack."
She did as he asked then sat on the couch as he crouched in front of her. Daryl loved having a job to do. With focus, he was calm and always thrived under pressure. He started to push her sleeve up, but she jerked her arm away. He looked up questioningly but when he saw the panic on her face he knew. He'd seen the same look in his mirror. He shook his head and pushed the cuff up to her elbow. "You want me to help you or not?"
Michelle felt relieved that he didn't look surprised to see what she had attempted to hide. Marks of her shame. He flushed the wound with water to remove any debris, then applied pressure. The slice was deep, about four inches along the underside of her forearm. "Good thing you missed that artery." He muttered. "Herschel will need to stitch it up."
Michelle shrugged and watched him work wrapping the piece of his shirt around tightly enough to keep pressure on the wound. She knew it would scar. It would fit in with the rest.
"Should hold you until we get back." He said and stood. Michelle instinctively pulled her sleeve down over the bandage.
"Thanks" she mumbled. "I'm really sorry to be so stupid, falling like that."
"Hey," he said softly, "Don't. Don't put yourself down so much."
She looked up. "What?"
"You always do that. You shouldn't." He told her in his husky drawl. "Coulda happened to anybody."
She gazed at the dark circles under his penetrating blue eyes. His overgrown brown hair was sticking out behind his ears and plastered to his forehead with sweat. Dirt was smudged above the scruff on his cheeks. The softness in his voice, his gentle touch while he bandaged her and the memories she'd been fighting off all afternoon caused her to speak without thinking.
"I'm..I'm tired of being a fighter." She couldn't believe she'd said that to him. She looked away.
"Doesn't mean you're not one. Maybe tired but you won't give up. Not in you."
"Shit!" She exclaimed suddenly and pulled herself up onto the back of couch protecting her legs. "Get it!"
"What?" Daryl stopped and whipped around expecting a walker, but she was pointing to a spider. A large one but still, a spider?
He looked at her with disbelief. "That? It's nothing but a damn spider."
"Please! Don't even say the word!" She was trembling. "Just kill it!" She squeezed her eyes shut. After Daryl had stepped on the offending insect, Michelle let out a shaky breath and focused on the floor. "You must think I'm crazy. People who don't have real phobias never understand. It isn't just being afraid, it just blanks out your mind. You can't think, you just go haywire, total panic."
"It's just that I seen you take on walkers without blinking...seems like a spider would be nothing. I mean a spider compared to dead people walking around…seems kind of ...girly for you that's all."
"So you don't think of me as a girl?" She said teasingly.
"No...yeah. I do, I mean you're just not a normal girl." He paused. "This ain't coming out right. You ain't like Beth okay? That girl is afraid of her own shadow. I'd bet spiders, snakes all that. She's well...I wouldn't want her watching my back but you...Michonne that's different." Daryl stopped realizing he'd mentioned Michonne. He saw the pain flash in Michelle's eyes for a moment.
Michelle sank down into the couch and drew her legs up to her chest. Their silence made the rain beating on the roof thunderous. She sighed. "When I was little, a very little girl, my father would shut me in a small cupboard. He would tell me I'd been bad, naughty, shut me in for hours. They were in there Daryl, I could feel the webs. I would think I could feel them crawling over me. I would scream and cry and kick the door, but he'd leave me there for hours. Sometimes I'd piss myself with fear, then he'd think of some punishment for that too. He did other things to...you can probably guess. My mother knew, but she did nothing, just turned a blind eye. It went on for years until someone noticed. They took me away from my parents then, I never saw them again. I don't even know if they are alive or dead, and I don't care. I spent the rest of my childhood in a foster home until they threw me out at sixteen to sink or swim. And here I am. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you. You can't know. You can't understand."
"I do know." He said.
"No, you can't know. Nobody really knows." Her voice was on the edge of breaking.
"When I was a kid," he said, "My father would hit me and my brother. Not for any good reason, just because he was a drunk. Real whippings. He never held a job down for long because he was a sorry ass, lazy drunk. My mom had to work just to put food on the table and he drank half of what she made too. After a while, she gave up started drinking herself. My brother ended up leaving. I didn't have nobody either. I know. Sink or swim huh? I get it."
She was staring at him now, her eyes were soft. "I'm sorry. The beatings. I...I made my own marks when I was a kid, cutting myself. I needed to feel something, some kind of a physical pain to make me forget all the shit in my head."
"That's fucked up…" he stated without judgment.
Michelle nodded vigorously. "It is, but ….it worked. Sometimes the coping skills we have are, well, yeah fucked up. But they work." She paused. "Until they don't."
She looked at him and took a deep breath."I was fine, really pulled it together with Mich here. I felt like I was making the right decisions, contributing. I wanted to fight, I had dignity. God, I had dignity. Mich, she...was like a sister and when she left I felt abandoned like I'd lost a best friend. I don't want to do this without her."
Michelle couldn't believe she was telling him all this. "I got so angry and for the first time in years I wanted to cut. Shit, I don't know what to do. The anger you know? What do you do?"
She hadn't cut in years. It was a habit she'd stopped. But now the urge came back with strength. He saw it in her eyes.
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm pissed at her so I want to hurt myself."
"No.," he said sternly.
"I know, I know.."
"I mean it Michelle. That shit is fucked."
"I know..." She said meekly. Her right hand was rubbing her injured left forearm through her hoodie. He grabbed her hand softly, moving it away, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Show me." he whispered.
"Show you what?"
"Show me your scars."
Her heart stopped. She was not one to flaunt her scars. She'd tried to keep them as hidden as possible; even in summer wearing long sleeves.
"How do you know?" She asked even though she knew he'd seen them when he treated her wound.
"I know." He replied quietly. He turned his back to her and pulled his shirt up revealing long faded red marks. Years old but always a reminder. He was showing her, revealing the dirty secret of his past. The secret was not the abuse itself, but that he felt deserved it because he'd let it happen. Even now, it shamed him, and there were times when he felt hideously ugly, as though the scars that had been left behind were visible to everyone. He somehow knew she felt the same way. He knows she'd understand and that she needed to know.
She stood when he lowered the shirt and turned to face her. Taking a step back, she unconsciously rubbed her wrist until she noticed him watching so she stopped with a tentative smile.
He stepped forward, leaning down and pressing his forehead to hers said "My scars haven't exactly gone over good. Figure most girls ain't into guys with zippers. Scares 'em."
"Why did you do that? Show me...You never act like this. Daryl, what's going on? "
"I"m no good at saying things…. I needed to show you."
Michelle read his expression and reacted accordingly. She stepped toward him and slid her hands along his arms to his shoulders and tilted her face upward, her lips inches from his. "Is this what you're trying to say?"
She felt his shoulders drop as he let out the breath she didn't know he'd been holding. He nodded urging her on so she moved her hands down his arms to his sides until they were just below the hem of his shirt. Closing her eyes, she slipped her hands under his shirt and around to his back, where the smooth bumps of his scars rippled the base of his spine. It was like reading Braille as she ran her fingertips over his warm skin. When she noticed him flinch and tense under her fingers, she whispered, "They don't bother me. Not scary at all."
Daryl's hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her lips the last inch closer until they were pressed against his. He tasted hot and slightly dangerous when he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and her breath caught as he nipped at her lower lip. His other hand moved under the hem of her sweatshirt, brushing the skin of her stomach. She gasped.
"Scared yet?" he asked, his mouth moving to her ear.
She let out a husky laugh that became a moan as his mouth moved lower down her jaw to her neck, his tongue and lips working deftly until her arms slid off his shoulders, boneless.
"Wait. Really?" She asked, "Is this really happening? Do you really want…."
He nodded into her neck. "Been wanting this for a long time. Real long time."
"Me too. But is this too fast?"
Without thinking or speaking, they were asking questions to see if they could have a future. They had so much in common. They had the same look in their eyes. It was a look of more than just passion. It was understanding and shared experience.
He pulled back, respecting her hesitation.
"Your turn," he stated.
"My turn to what?" She asked, confused.
"A scar. You've seen mine, so now I get to see yours." He touched the cuff of her hoodie and he slowly pushed up the sleeve. She watched him as he revealed her scars and waited for his reaction. They had faded after several years but were still visible.
He ran his fingers over them lightly making her tremble. Daryl leaned down, his lips barely touching her skin, and began kissing them. One by one.
Michelle watched in awe as his lips worked up from her wrist to the bend in her arm. His unexpected, caring gesture brought tears to her eyes. When the last scar on her arm was kissed, he looked up.
She ran her finger behind his ear and trailed it along the line of his jaw. "Broken birds."
"What?"
"I went to a therapist for a while. She called people like me, like us, broken birds. She said that they could see the sky but without a lot of healing they could never fly there."
He winced and considered the image. "Any more?"
She bit her lip and took a nervous breath, sitting on the sofa. She pulled the zipper of her hoodie down. She opened it slightly, pointing to just below her breasts to her belly. Watching her face, he moved closer, repeating what he'd done with her arm. Not only was this the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her, but also it felt amazing. She ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed the scars on her belly leaning her head back slightly sighing with enjoyment at the feeling of his lips on very sensitive skin. He looked up at her encouraged that she was enjoying it.
Softly, he brushed the aside her open jacket, revealing her breasts. She blushed slightly but didn't resist. Watching her face, his hand traveled under her bra pushing it up to expose her left breast gently pinching the nipple. She moaned quietly as his tongue slid out, flicking over her nipple, instantly hardening. He continued on her right breast, as she scratched his scalp lightly making him moan a little. She slipped the jacket off and unhooked her bra.
He made his way up, kissing her chest, neck, ear and finally her lips. Michelle kissed him back like she was suffocating and Daryl's breath was the only thing keeping her alive. She reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Raking her fingernails down his chest lightly he moaned and she felt powerful. He kissed her again, this time more deeply. His hand traveled down to the waistband of her jeans hooking inside her panties and she whimpered in anticipation her thighs trembling.
He slid his hand into her underwear, his finger brushing her clit as he ran his finger up and down her slick ravine.
He looked up questioningly. When Michelle nodded with half-closed eyes, he opened her jeans and began tugging them down. She kicked off her boots and he laid her back on the couch.
She moaned louder, scratching his shoulders, which in turn, enticed a groan from him. He slid one finger inside her, his lips crashing down on hers once more. He caught her moans in his mouth as he slowly moved his finger in and out of her wet hole. She bit his lip lightly and he pulled his finger out, replacing one with two. She arched her back as he moved those two fingers inside her quickly. He curved them forward and gently rolled the knuckles of his other hand over her belly.
She squirmed violently beneath him. "Oh shit…" she breathed as the rolling heat began to surge from below.
But it wasn't enough. She needed more. And he knew that. As he got comfortable, he could read her body. He pulled his fingers out and brought them to her lips.
She eagerly took them in her mouth, licking them clean.
He stood up and she almost wept for the loss of contact, but as soon as she saw his hands go for the button and zipper of his pants, her anticipation rose. He pulled his pants off, and she saw his arousal hard and bulging in his boxers
He walked back to the couch and she pulled the boxers over his hips while his cock bounced to life in her face. Her eyes sparkled with need when she looked up at him and licked her palm. She took him in hand and pumped slowly up and down using her wet palm and his precum for lubrication before leaning her face up to lick the head of his throbbing dick. He growled, grabbing the back of her head. She smiled, swirling her tongue around, then opening her mouth to take him inside. He groaned as she sucked hard, still using her hand on the base of his shaft. The combination was almost too much. The coil in his belly unwound and a white heat surged through his groin as he struggled to hold on. She continued, his hand gripping the back of her head until his thighs were trembling.
"Stop." he said quietly, his breath labored.
She pulled him out of her mouth, still holding him in her hand. She looked up at him and he moaned quietly. "God your eyes kill me...gunpowder eyes."
She smiled slightly. He joined her on the couch kneeling below her feet. "Sit up," he said.
She did as he asked.
"'Come here," he ordered more forcefully. She smiled again and crawled over to him. He pulled her on his lap kissing her, his hands running up into her hair. He pulled her ponytail loose from its rubber band letting hair cascade down her bare back. He kept his mouth on hers while his hand traveled down again to stroke her overly sensitive pussy. She gasped as his finger brushed over her clit again. He could feel how wet she was and knew how badly she wanted him, how badly she needed him. It gave him confidence. "Lean up, baby." He whispered low and graveled in her ear, sending chills through her body.
Her hips rose and he took his cock in hand, rubbing it against her moisture. She whimpered, gripping his shoulders hard. "Need to fuck you." He muttered with half-closed eyes as she felt the tip of him at her entrance and she moaned, lowering herself down onto him slowly. He groaned quietly as she took him inside.
He began to move inside gently but enough to make her breath come quicker and her body shake. She rolled her hips to match his pace.
Everything was quiet in the room except for their breathing, moans and rain on the roof. They began to pick up speed. Michelle couldn't stop whimpering and her breath was coming in gasps. Her fingers tangled in his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp. His hands were on her hips, his fingertips digging into her skin. She moved her hands to his back, scratching him harder and he growled, starting to thrust into her harder and faster, making her breasts bounce and her breath catch.
"Daryl…" She moaned, "Fuck me harder it's...its okay...I want…"
This made him lose his mind. He flipped them over. He grabbed her legs, bending them at the knees, raising them up. This brought him even deeper into her and she cried out a little, arching her back. He pounded in and out of her making her produce incoherent sounds and words. He relentlessly thrust as fast and hard as he could, almost bringing her to tears because it felt so good. He needed this release as much a she did. She could feel that she was close and he was pretty sure he was too going by the intense look on his face and the sweat that covered both their bodies.
Suddenly he slowed down and pulled out of her completely.
"Hey.." she gasped a begging look in her eyes. He smiled slightly, leaning down, lowering her legs. He kissed her deeply, their breath tangling as he guided himself inside her again. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her hands went straight for his back. She moved her hips with his once again, speeding up gradually, building that pressure. His breath in her ear sent more chills and tingles through her body. She kissed his neck, scratched his back, licked his ear. Everything was intensifying rapidly. It was like they weren't even on Earth anymore. Like nothing but what they were doing made sense. Nothing else mattered except for the feel of his skin against hers; the feel of him inside.
He rammed inside her over and over again. She was moaning his name, moaning things that didn't even make sense. She could hear his groans, his breath, his growls. They were both near the edge.
They were consumed and both moaning as loudly as they came at the same time. Her hips rising up for the few final thrusts to catch all he had to give. Her breath was coming fast, her hair plastered to her skin and her face was flushed. She couldn't see straight. All the pleasure coursing through her veins made her feel like she was floating, and his sounds indicated he felt the same way.
Finally they began to come back down to earth again, he lay beside her and she stroked his cheek. He spoke first.
"Look, I miss her too. But we still got us." He whispered in her ear.
"Us? So...this means there is an us?"
He nodded seriously. "If you want there to be."
"Yeah I do. " He made her feel less broken more like she might fly some day. "I do. Us. I like that word."
He looked relieved. "Your scars are beautiful…"
"So are yours. You know what they say?"
"What?"
"Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory lasts forever." *
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*Vince McKewin