Original Prompt: "Could you please write some sweet smut for the tiny apartment universe?"

Their days had formed a certain pattern. During the week they worked; he dropped her off at the day care in the morning and then picked her up each evening after his shift at the auto shop. They came home and napped or made dinner together, then used their remaining few hours to unwind from their long days cuddled up together with a nice book and their purring kitten. On Saturdays they did errands and went to Beth's family's farm for dinner, staying into the evening and coming home tired and happy. But Sundays? Those were their days.

In the mornings they would sleep in, a content tangle of limbs warmed by sunlight, tucked together under the comforter in their small bed. Usually Daryl woke first, accustomed as he had always been to rising when the sun did. Before Beth that had meant getting out of bed and getting a move on with his day, but now it was different. Now it meant lingering in bed, looking down at Beth laying half on top of him and studying the way her arm slung over his stomach and the fall of her blonde hair across his chest.

He would run his fingers up and down her back, just for the simple pleasure of being able to do so. Sometimes he would drift back to sleep for a bit, lulled by her warmth, but other times his light touch were draw her out of her dreams and pull her back to him.

Watching her wake up was a simple pleasure that he relished every time. First she would just hum and snuggle closer, making sounds almost like a content little cat. But soon the stroking of his fingers on her back would coax a sigh from her lips; every time without fail, as if her back were a delicate instrument he knew just how to strum to pull the sounds from her lips.

She was always all prettily flushed when she woke up, from the warmth of their room and his body. Her cheeks would be pink, her eyes hazy and dark with sleep, and a slow smile would curve across her lips as she blinked up at him.

Most days, they would get up like that and start their morning routines. But not Sundays. Sundays, they lingered. Her lips would find his in a slow kiss and soon they'd be wrapped up in each other. Sometimes he would roll her over, cover her slender body with his own and kiss her until she wrapped herself around him; hands splayed at his back, legs tight around his waist. Her hand would slip down over his side to cup his hip and tug him closer as she spread her knees in an invitation he always took.

Sometimes instead she would stay on top. She would straddle him, spreading her thighs to accommodate his, surrounding him in a curtain of hair that looked and smelled like as they kissed. His hands would follow the paths of her body, over the curves of her hips and the dip of her waist and up, to the perfect swells of her breasts that fit so perfectly into the palms of his hands.

Either way, it always ended the same; him deep within her, stroking into her tight heat and bringing them as close as they could possibly be. Their old bed would creak to their rhythm whether he was on top, hands braced on either side of his head and hips driving down, or on bottom, watching the incredible sight of her riding him, strong, soft, fierce, and beautiful at the same time.

And with the sun shining through the room and the warm air filled with their mingled gasps and moans, they would come together, her pulsing around his cock, him throbbing and spilling within her, both of them crying out each other's names in breathy gasps or low, needy growls-

"Daryl!"
"God, Beth…"

-before collapsing in a tangle of sweaty limbs.

Soon they would climb out of bed together and get 'dressed' for the day, moving in practiced rhythm through the small space; Beth putting on one of his sleeveless shirts with none of the buttons done, him tugging on a pair of boxers or briefs and nothing else. They'd laugh together at Scrap's needy meows from his box beside their bed, and Beth would scoop him up and carry him along with them for his morning feeding. Then they'd make breakfast together in their tiny kitchen, nearly as tangled up as they were between the sheets; his arms around her waist and the scruff of his beard turning the skin of her neck pink in between kisses. They'd eat and then curl up on the couch together, barely fitting on the little loveseat and yet absolutely content, with her back to his chest and his arms around her waist, Scrap curled in Beth's lap as they lazily watched TV, or a movie.

Sundays were their days. Lazy, relaxed, full of kisses and touches and tangled limbs. And they always started like this, with the taste of her on his tongue and the warmth of her body wrapped around his own.

Sundays were his favorite day to share with Beth, just the two of them in their tiny apartment.