AN: This is a bit of a nonsense one shot. It's a "just because" kind of thing.
I really wanted to write something fluffy, I'm interested in the whole post-10 situation, I'm thinking about some ways I might want to go with an eventual longer post-10 story, and a dear friend suggested writing something where Daryl wants to make Carol happy.
All that came together for this. I do hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"What'd you—what'd you do to your hair?" Daryl asked.
The question tumbled out of his mouth before he even really thought about it or accepted that he was about to ask it. He'd been looking for Carol and, not finding her in any of her usual locations, he'd finally accepted that she'd probably come upstairs to start getting ready for the shower that they always took together at just about this time, when the sun was hanging at just about this point of the horizon.
Immediately, Carol's face ran red and she reached a hand up to touch at her hair. She tugged at it like she was trying to stretch the short curls out again.
"You don't like it?" She asked.
The profound amount of sadness and concern behind those four little words hit Daryl hard in the sternum like a kick from their grumpy ass donkey.
"I didn't say that," he said quickly. "I like it. Love it. You look beautiful, Carol. You always do."
She smiled at him, but at least a touch of the damage was already done to her mood. Her chin quivered slightly. Daryl stepped forward quickly and caught her in a hug, pushing her face snug into the crook of his neck. He smiled to himself because, practically leading her to her favorite place to rest her head made her wrap her arms around him and snuggle into him.
He stroked her now-short curls.
"I love it," he assured her. "You're beautiful. I'm just—worried about one thing."
Carol backed off of him, quickly—too quickly. He hadn't been ready to relinquish the feeling of her in his arms.
"What's wrong?" She asked, dabbing at her eyes with her hands like she might hide from him that he'd carelessly extracted a few tears from her pretty blue eyes.
"It's just—I know you…you once said that you cut it 'cause of Ed. Stop him from grabbin' you. Pullin' your hair. Let it grow because—you felt safe. This mean you—don't feel safe no more? With me?"
Daryl's stomach twisted at the question, but he had to have an answer to it.
The two of them were living somewhere out west that hadn't been too heavily populated even before the turn. They had found a farmhouse—a sure sign of fertile ground. Together, they'd been spending every free hour working on their home. They had to travel decent distances for the supplies they needed, but their hope was that, eventually, they wouldn't need any supplies that they couldn't produce themselves. They'd gathered tools. They'd repaired fences and barns. They'd trapped and were working to re-domesticate some livestock. They'd found solar panels and, through some ups and downs and a few failures, Daryl had taught himself how to put their home on their own little grid. Beyond that, there was a good working hand pump on the property and they'd found themselves a wood burning stove.
They had busted their asses since they'd gotten there, but the future looked good.
And, just this morning, Daryl had seen the first heavy frost on the ground that was indicative of the fact that they had accomplished everything just about in time for a winter that would probably be great deal harsher than any they'd known in Georgia.
They had food, though—a barn full of smoked meat and jerky with cans and jars of things besides. One of their cows, too, in addition to giving them a calf they'd taken some less-than-traditional methods to get when she'd proven unfriendly with the only bull they'd managed to find, was a good producer of milk. The following year, after they'd grown a good amount of food, Daryl was certain they'd have even more laid away for the winter but, for now, they wouldn't starve at all.
They had a wood-burning fireplace, and they'd chopped and stacked wood under their little wood shelter to keep it dry. The nearby heavy woods would provide them with more than enough to replace that when it was gone.
They had found, too, other ways of keeping warm—thanks to the open road and the opportunity for Daryl to find his courage and admit his feelings to Carol. They were feelings, thankfully, that she happened to share.
It was just the two of them for now, at least of the two-legged variety, since Dog kept them both company, and if Carol was feeling insecure or unsafe, Daryl needed to know it.
"No! No!" Carol said quickly. "Oh—no!" Daryl could tell she was being sincere. She seemed almost as upset that he might feel that way as she had that he might hate her hair. "I just—I guess I was tired of it being long. And—I missed it being short. And I guess—I wanted a change. Something new." She smiled to herself and her cheeks ran pink. "A new—me? Is that OK?"
Daryl laughed to himself.
"As long as that new you is wanting the—old me," Daryl said.
Carol stepped forward and kissed him. She kissed him like she meant it and the feeling of the kiss ran the full cycle through Daryl's body—touching from his toes to the roots of his hair—or at least he always felt like it did.
Carol was soft, and sweet, and good to him—and he'd never be anything less to her if he could help it.
"I like your hair," Daryl said. "Just don't go changin' too much."
Carol laughed to herself.
"Maybe—just a little."
"Changin' just a little is fine," Daryl assured her. "Necessary, even," he added. "You ready to shower?"
"Stew's done," Carol offered. Her expression was a bit absent-minded. Daryl was used to that, though. Lately, every now and again, she would seem to switch channels for just a second. Then she would realize it and go pink-cheeked before she drew herself back. Daryl might have been concerned and, really, he had been concerned, but then he'd taken the opportunity to expand their library just a bit on one of his trips to one of the larger places he sometimes visited for runs.
The books he'd chosen were, currently, tucked away in one of the boxes in his shop. He'd bring them in the house later, when he was ready. What he'd read had been enough to calm his concerns and, upon flipping through one of the books about psychology for uneducated people—which was just about Daryl's speed when it came to these kinds of things—to give him some ideas about moving forward.
"You wanted to eat first?" Daryl asked. "You hungry?"
"I'm hungry," Carol said. "But I'm not that hungry."
"Shower first?" Daryl asked. "Then we'll be comfortable while we eat."
Carol smiled at him and nodded her head.
"I'd like that," she confirmed.
Daryl watched her strip out of her clothes. He loved everything about her body. He loved everything about her. It was a private show just to watch her stepping out of her clothes and tossing them to the side to be washed the next day, or whichever day ended up being designated the day for scrubbing clothes.
Today, she'd spent much of her day with the animals. She was excellent at caring for them, and the ones they'd managed to tame the most loved her most of all. She was good to them, and they were good to her. They all seemed to gravitate to her.
Daryl didn't really like her around the wilder ones, and she stayed away from them, out of respect for his wishes, unless they were together and able to look out for one another against the more unpredictable beasts.
Still, it was nice, some days, to realize that an irate bull was the biggest threat you'd seen in ages.
The relatively low population of the area, along with the natural elevation of the land, meant that there were few Walkers. There were, as far as Daryl had seen, no people. He was sure there were other people—and he had all ideas that they lived closer to some of the larger places they slipped in and out of for supplies—but they hadn't ventured near and, really, Carol and Daryl hadn't felt the need to seek anyone else out, either. Maybe, someday, they'd look to become part of a community in some way but, for now, they were fine being on their own.
"What have you been doing?" Carol asked. She was smiling at him. It was that crooked, mischievous smile that she had. Daryl realized she was smiling it because he was staring at her—simply staring—and she was naked while he was clothed. He also realized that she wasn't exactly asking him about the staring as she plucked a wood shaving from his shirt. "You're a mess."
Daryl laughed to himself and focused on quickly shedding his own clothes to match her.
"I was workin' in my shop," he said.
"What are you doing out there, anyway?" Carol asked.
"I told you before, it's a surprise," Daryl said. "Stop tryin' to ruin it."
Carol smiled at the thought of a surprise, and accepted Daryl's hand as he offered to help her into the shower. He followed after her, arranged the curtain, and turned on the water. He hovered, her warm body against his, just out of reach of the cool spray while they waited for the water to warm. He eased back under the warm spray to test it as it picked up heat, and then he practically turned her in a dancing motion to guide her under the water.
She groaned in satisfaction at the warmth and, for just a moment, the surprise was forgotten.
She washed her hair—a much faster process now—and pulled Daryl against her. He kissed her even as she shampooed his hair. Later, she would condition it, just the same as she did her own.
They took turns washing each other. She had even trusted Daryl, on more than one occasion, to shave her legs and, once, even to shave her pussy with the straight razor that he'd found and kept in pristine condition. She still allowed him to shave her legs, because he was monumentally careful with anything involving Carol and a sharp blade, but he'd requested that they not shave her pussy so clean—discovering that he did not find it as aesthetically pleasing when it was bald as he did when there were attractive and soft curls there, which was something he didn't know he cared about before, since Carol's pussy was the only one he'd seen up close and personal— and she'd obliged him by allowing the hair to grow more and only trimming it with scissors when the length bothered her.
Their shower time was sacred. It was one of Daryl's favorite times of the day. It was only followed by the time when they went to bed together, and when they woke up in the morning together, and when they had coffee together in their kitchen, and when they—well—when they did anything together, really.
But the showers were special.
Many days, Daryl and Carol both had left the showers shivering because they'd spent too much time in their—perhaps odd—type of cleanliness foreplay. Of course, they could often think of ways to warm each other up after cold showers, even if they only spent a few minutes holding each other and kissing—swapping promises for what would come later, when their supper was eaten and their final chores were done.
Tonight, in the shower, Carol bathed Daryl first. She washed him carefully, making him shiver as she teasingly took him into her mouth after licking off the water that ran down his body and slipped down the length of his dick. He protested with little more than a growl, unable to articulate any other reasons she shouldn't do what she intended, and then he closed his eyes to enjoy what she was determined to give him.
To enjoy her favors was, really, the least he could do.
When she was done, and the water was running much colder than Daryl wanted when he knew that she still had to rinse her body, he washed her quickly—much more quickly than he wanted—and he turned her out of the water, sure that the air would be warmer than the spray as he took a quick trip—much quicker than he wanted—down her body with his tongue and lips.
She closed her eyes to the sensation of his kisses, appreciating ever tender touch, and he teased her nipples, which were either standing at attention because of her arousal or the cold, but Daryl couldn't be sure which. He kissed his way down her body, his lips tripping over a well-worn trail of fondly remembered freckles, and stretchmarks, and soft skin.
Just before he dived in for what he knew she would most enjoy, he planted a series of soft, quick kisses around her navel and down the little trail heading toward her pussy. She counted them among all the other kisses, more than likely, but Daryl knew why he left them there.
Finally, he latched onto her and her fingers immediately twined in his hair and tugged.
She gasped with pleasure and Daryl's dick wanted desperately to wake from its current coma, but found itself unable to do much without a rest.
"It's cold," Carol said. "Aren't you cold?"
Daryl hummed at her in the negative, letting the vibrations be added sensations against her clit. He continued his work, ignoring her. She would often try to talk him out of it, much like he always tried to talk her out of it, but they both enjoyed the other's favors. She proved it when it took little more than the gentle stroking of his fingers against her to get her spread her legs and allow him to slip those same fingers inside of her, just like he knew she liked.
She came quickly and hard against his tongue and his hand, and Daryl couldn't help smiling in satisfaction at his ability to do that. He'd never done it before he met Carol, but he was a quick study—Carol had assured him of that, herself.
And he must be doing something right—he had a decent amount of proof that he wasn't failing her entirely when he laid her down and enjoyed her body.
The same thing that occasionally made her mind a little foggy and made her quick to forget something or change gears a bit too quickly in a conversation made her absolutely starving for his touch. These days, he could practically tease her with just the slightest brush of his fingertips against her clit and she was already halfway there. Daryl knew, though, that such things were to be expected, and he simply responded to it by doing his absolute best to keep her sexual hunger satiated just the same as he might her literal hunger.
As they got out and dried off, Daryl gathered up the dirty clothes and moved them to the basket where she preferred them to be. Then he dressed in his warm pajamas while she dressed in hers. Her pajamas were oversized, but Daryl had noticed that today, she'd silently solved the problem of her tight work pants with one of the hair elastics that she kept on hand.
She knew—she had to know—but she wasn't in the mood, just yet, to acknowledge the truth.
Her mood, these days, was ever-changing, though, and Daryl accepted that, too. His book, after all, had counted such a thing among the signs and symptoms that he should probably expect.
Still, tonight it looked as though her mood was good. It was much better than it had been when he'd found her in the bathroom and nearly ruined her night by not complimenting her hair quickly enough. He walked toward her, overtaken by the moment, and pulled her close to him. He turned her and kissed the back of her neck. He kissed the crook of her neck. He turned her and kissed her lips, letting his fingers tug at her short curls.
"You're sure you don't mind my hair?" She asked, pulling away from the kiss.
"Sexy," Daryl assured her. "Just like every damn thing else about you."
She smiled and threaded her fingers through his. She tugged his hand like he wouldn't follow her downstairs without the prodding.
"I hope you'll like the stew," she offered.
"I'ma love it," Daryl assured her.
"Daryl—what are you making in the shop?"
Daryl swallowed back his laughter.
"I told you, I'ma show you later."
"When?" Carol asked.
Daryl wasn't sure when she would be ready to see the crib he'd been working on for a couple of weeks now. His book on why people do some of the things that they do had a whole section on it—trauma and, in particular, maternal trauma. It suggested that she might not be ready, right away, to accept her reality, but it would likely come—and Daryl would help her any way he could. But he was pretty sure that one of the best ways he could help her was just to be sweet, and patient, and accepting.
And, someday soon, he was sure they'd be ready to talk about it a bit more, and she'd be in the mood to see the crib and to accept that Daryl had other reasons for clearing out extra bedroom and moving in a rocking chair besides some strange need to take up interior decorating.
For now, though, they had time.
"I'll let'cha see," Daryl assured her. "When the mood's right."