A/N: Another little Bethyl one-shot. I imagine this would take place after they've been together for a little while. The rating went up for this. A little smutty towards the end. So press that back button if you're not into that. Hope you enjoy! :)
Beth had heard that she was pretty before. Beautiful, even. She remembers her father giving her arm a loving squeeze and calling her his beautiful Bethy after she had sang a hymn for the family four Christmases ago. She remembers her girlfriends from high school, as they hung out in front of the bathroom mirror during lunch break putting on their lip gloss, telling her she was lucky that the boys thought she was pretty. She remembers Zach, telling her he never thought he'd see something as pretty as her again in a world like theirs. It used to be something that girls like her strived for. That they wanted to hear about themselves.
Daryl had even called her pretty long before they were together, albeit a bit condescendingly. After one of his hunting lessons, Daryl was showing her how to skin and gut a kill. When she had asked him if she could try, that she learned better by just doing something, he paused and then handed over the kill, sarcastically saying, "Who knew a pretty thing like you wouldn't mind getting her hands dirty?" She remembered feeling shocked that he would ever think of her as pretty. He seemed as shocked as she was that he had let the word slip through his lips. And then he schooled his features and they brushed it off. She didn't hear it from him again for a while. She didn't mind. It wasn't important in the world that they lived in now.
But she knew he thought it. The way he would look at her when he didn't think she knew, even when she was doing something as unattractive as changing Judith's diaper. The way he would look at her as she stopped to admire a monarch that had landed on the daisies that grew right on the outskirts of their camp. She felt it in the weight of his gaze, the way he seemed to sometimes get lost in her, making eye contact a much more intimate affair than she ever thought it could be.
She knew that he loved her. He showed her when he would bring her something back from a run. Last time it had been a small ceramic owl figurine that was now wrapped up in one of her extra shirts and placed carefully in the front pocket of her backpack. Something trivial and useless in their world now, but something that reminded him of her, that he thought that she would like. Once they had a safe place to live again, she would line all the knick-knacks up in a line in her room across from her bed and they would look at her and remind her that he loved her. And he told her did sometimes. Especially after a hard day. He would wrap her up in his arms, she would mold herself up against his chest, he would bury his head in her hair. She would pull back a little and turn her head to look at him, meet his eyes, and tell him, "I love you." And he would pull her back into him, bury his head back in her hair and murmur, "Me too."
He seemed insecure that he couldn't always voice how he felt about her. Being around Maggie and Glenn constantly probably had something to do with it. They were both so openly affectionate. Kissing each other in front of everyone else, wrapping around each other before one of them would go on a run. If Daryl and Beth were alone, they would share a more romantic parting moment, but in front of everyone, he would reach over to her and give her hand a squeeze or reach his hand up and place it on her cheek. She would comfort him when they were alone, insist that she didn't need huge public gestures to show that he cared. That she knew. But he always insisted on making it up to her, showing her in the most amazing ways when they were alone that he loved her. He practically worshipped her. Some days he couldn't keep his hands off of her and he made sure that he made her feel good in the most carnal ways possible.
The first few times they had sex were a little rocky. She never had to overthink anything or feel uncomfortable, but she had to sometimes convince Daryl to do the same. It took some assuring from her the first time that she wanted to. That she knew what she was asking for. He pulled away like she figured he would, withdrawing into himself for a few days. She didn't push it, just acted the same way she always did around him, reassuring him with every kiss that he was all that she wanted. He came around eventually. She could tell she had made him see sense when the group had found a new house to stay in and after clearing the house, he threw his duffel bag of stuff onto a bed and turned to her. Asking her, "You want to stay in here tonight?"
Once they got over the initial awkwardness and his insecurities, once she convinced him she was not going to break and that she wanted this, he poured all of his emotions into it. He took his time kissing a path from her neck, between her breasts, and down her stomach. Every kiss from him was like a love letter. He took his time as he took off her clothes, making sure that he paid attention to each part of her body as it was exposed to him. She felt love in every caress and touch. Even when they were consumed with lust and heat and just wanted to fuck, he made sure that she came, that she felt good, that she was happy. The days that they couldn't make it to a bed and only made it to a desk, or a table, or a counter, his hand would slip between their bodies as he was thrusting into her, rubbing her clit, and making her come before he would let go. And when they had both come down off their post-sex high, the way he would always ask her after, "You ok?" Like he was asking for her approval. Like all he cared about was what she was feeling. And she would always smile at him and say something along the lines of, "Better than." Yeah, she knew that he loved her.
And she knew that he thought she was beautiful, but he never made her feel as beautiful as he did when she was on top of Daryl. Her pale legs straddling his hips, her palms pressing on his chest for support, her fingernails digging into his skin from pleasure, her muscles tight, and her hair down and cascading down her back, a few locks slipping over her shoulders as she moved. She would never get over the way Daryl would look up at her. Like he was in awe of her, like she was the most precious thing he'd ever seen. He would grab her hips and help her rock against him and they would both throw their heads back and he would let out a deep and raspy, "Jesus, Beth." He wasn't much for declarations of love or feelings, for romantic words whispered over pillows, but he was able to give her everything she needed through his touch, through his looks, through whatever he could give her.
And she never felt as loved as she did when afterwards, Daryl took his hands off of her hips and combed his hands through her hair, holding back the pieces that had fallen over her shoulders and blocked his view of her face. He looked at her wonderingly, and quietly, more so asking himself than her, murmured, "How in the hell did I get so lucky?"
A/N: A HUGE thank you to all the people who review, favorite, or follow this series. It honestly puts a smile on my face and makes my day when I see that. So thank you so much everyone. I'm so happy you enjoy the story. I was really nervous about this chapter. I've been holding on to it for about a week now, trying to pluck up the courage to publish it! I have a few more moments planned out, but if anyone has any ideas or just wants to chat about Bethyl, feel free to PM me!