Hello My dearest Darlinas, I thought we do some fluff in this chapter. Sorta like a time jump buffer.
In the car, in the car, in the backseat, I'm your baby
We go fast, we go so fast, we don't move
I believe in a place you take me
Make you real proud of your baby
In your car, I'm a star and I'm burnin' through you
In your car, I'm a star and I'm burnin' through you
Dream a dream, here's a scene
Touch me anywhere 'cause I'm your baby
Grab my waist, don't waste any part
I believe that you see me for who I am
So spill my clothes on the floor of your new car
Is it safe, is it safe to just be who we are?
Is it safe, is it safe to just be who we are?
Love Song by Lana Del Rey
Chapter 32 - Year 1999
Daryl had spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Now, he sits on the edge of his worn-out sofa bed in his trailer park home, staring at the clock. The morning sun creates waves and patterns as it peeks through the gap in the curtains. The room is silent, except for the snoring coming from the section of the trailer that housed his brother, who is out like a light after a night of heavy drinking, oblivious to Daryl's inner all-consuming thoughts.
It has been ten long days since he last saw Alie. He has been counting down the days since she left for New York on a holiday vacation with her family, and every second has felt like an eternity. Daryl misses her presence, touch, and scent. He feels like he can't function without her. Glancing at the clock again, he realizes that there are only a few more hours until she is due to arrive home.
He doesn't know why, but lately, whenever he thinks of Alie, he thinks of the ocean. He feels like a fool floating in it, pulled and pushed in a sea of emotions, with each wave crashing over him with an intensity that leaves him breathless. Or perhaps, she is like fire, her warmth spreading through his body like wildfire, consuming him completely, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. When did he become such a fuckin' romantic? When did he lose himself in a world of his own making, where nothing else matters but the overwhelming force that is her?
He knows he's in love with her, and he has been for quite some time now, even though he only had the courage to confess recently. More than that, this time apart has given Daryl a chance to reflect on his feelings. He now realizes just how much consumed he is with her, how every thought drifts back to her, how his heart races, and how his body reacts to just the mere thought of her. There is a deep connection he feels between them, something beyond the physical, something that he cannot quite put into words.
Ever since the night they spent together in the woods, Daryl has felt as if his soul was intertwining with hers. The level of trust and sexual intimacy they share is something he never thought was possible between two people, something he couldn't fully comprehend. Now, he finds himself lost in thoughts of her: the way her hair falls in soft waves around her face, the sparkle in her eyes when she smiles, her childlike laughter - that he loves so much - as she throws her head back, and the way her skin feels against his. This physical connection is so new to him, yet he can't get enough.
Sex has become a regular occurrence for Daryl now. He thinks about the way the car shakes as he thrusts his cock deep inside her, the taste of her soft skin on his tongue, and her voice whispering dirty, filthy things in his ear as she moans his name, her eyes glowing, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and how she watches him as he fucks her into oblivion.
He loves the way she rides him, her breasts bouncing to the rhythm of his cock against the backdrop of the cliff, meadow, or sunset. Her sweet, wet pussy clenches around him, her walls spasming, hot and tight, as he cums inside her.
The taste of her pussy is like a new drug for him. He loves watching her as she comes undone, her eyes rolling back and her lips parted in silent ecstasy as he flicks and sucks on her clit, bringing her to orgasm. He loves that only he can make her lose herself to his tongue like that, knowing that only he can make her curl her toes like that.
The intensity and overwhelming nature of their physical connection makes him wonder if this is what intimacy feels like for everyone. At the end of each encounter, he holds her sweaty skin as she kisses his neck, praising him. He can't help but wonder what he did right in his life to end up here. Is it normal for his cock to ache at just the thoughts of her? He knows he would do anything for her - anything to make her happy, anything to hold her, anything to have the future she promised him, anything just to see her smile.
Suddenly, a knock interrupts his thoughts and Daryl glances at the clock, wondering which one of Merle's idiotic friends is there. As he slowly gets up, he catches a glimpse of dark long hair zooming past the side window where the curtains are slightly open. His heart jumps, and he can't help but with a rapid step, yank the curtains back quickly.
"WHAT THE FUCK," Daryl mutters when he catches sight of the white BMW that he knows like the back of his hand. He sprints to the door and stumbles out of his trailer, nearly tripping over something large blocking his exit.
He catches himself at the last second, looks down, and furrows his brows at the sight of something unusual on his front porch: two beautifully wrapped gift boxes, varying in size, both adorned with a big red bow. They stand out oddly in front of his run-down trailer. He steps over them and walks around to the side, but there is no sight of his Alie or her white BMW, just fresh tire marks from a car.
He knows he misses her terribly, and now he wonders if he just hallucinated that from lack of sleep. But as he glances at the boxes again, he doubts it. He wonders if her flight got home early, and if that is her, why won't she see him. He slowly walks back to his door, his eyes fixed on the boxes. With only a moment of hesitation, he reaches down to pick up the packages.
"What the fuck is goin' on?" his brother's voice greets him as soon as he walks back in. Merle stands by the curtain that separates the section of the living space and his bed.
"Now, ain't that somethin'!" He teases the moment he sees what Daryl is holding, "Did that there come from your fancy-schmancy lady friend?" He says, eyes half-open; face swollen from sleep.
Daryl gives him no mind and just places the packages on the small table, his eyes fixed on the simple white envelope sticking out to the side of one of the large boxes, which reads, "From Santa to Daryl."
"Well, ain't you gonna crack it open?" his brother murmurs, picking up a liquor bottle and taking a swig, gurgling it like mouthwash.
Daryl's eyebrows furrow even more as he pulls out the white paper from the envelope. He recognizes the handwriting before he even reads a single letter - clean, curvy, and feminine.
My dearest Daryl,
I hope this message finds you well, my dear boy. As I sit down to write to you, I cannot help but feel a tinge of regret and sadness for not being able to deliver a Christmas gift to you during your childhood years. As Santa Claus, my foremost duty is to spread joy and happiness to children all around the world. Every year, I receive millions of gift requests, and I try my very best to fulfill each one of them, especially for those who have been good and kind like you. You have always been my special boy, and I have always taken note of your kindness and warmth.
However, there have been times when even I, as Santa, have not been able to fulfill my duties. Unfortunately, you have been one of the recipients of my inability to do so, and for that, I am deeply sorry. It was never my intention to neglect you, my special boy. You see, Daryl, there are so many children around the world, and my resources are sometimes spread thin. But I knew that as my special boy, you would understand.
I know that this may not be enough to make up for all those years that you missed out on a Christmas gift, and you may think you are too old for it now. But this year, I thought I would personally hand-deliver something special, something every little boy would ask for. I hope it brings you the joy and happiness that you deserve.
Once again, please accept my sincerest apologies for making you wait all those years. I hope that this year's gift will make up for it. Merry Christmas – I wish you all the happiness and love in the world my dear Daryl.
With love and best wishes,
Santa Claus.
Daryl slowly sits back down and can't help but read the letter again, his heart clinging tightly as if it might pop at any moment. Folding the letter, he puts it in his pocket before reaching out to pick up the large gift box. He doesn't want to ruin the beautiful wrapping, so he opens the glossy paper gently to reveal a sleek, red and chrome gift box. He bites his lip to stop himself from laughing when he lifts the lid and sees what lies inside. Nestled in a bed of black velvet is a shiny RC toy fire truck, complete with a battery and remote control.
As he lifts it, the truck feels compact but solid, heavy in his hands, and is a stunning replica of a classic fire engine, with intricate detailing on every surface. Daryl reaches out to touch the smooth metal body, marveling at the precision of the craftsmanship. He would have gone berserk as a kid for something like this.
"Boy, you 'bout to shed some tears, motherfucker?" Merle's voice cuts through the warm emotions inside him. "She got all 'em riches, and she buys you a dang toy? What are you, a fuckin' baby?" Merle says as he sits in his favorite beat-up chair.
"Shut up. Ain't nobody askin' for your two cents," Daryl grumbles, placing the car back in the box. His eyes fall on the smaller unopened box, and he reaches for it.
Just before he opens it, he sees a small note on the top that says, "To Merle." He looks at his brother sitting there in his wifebeater with his head dropped back, eyes closed, as if trying to recover from a possible hangover. Part of him doesn't want to give it to him, knowing that what she had put her heart and thought into wasn't something Merle would probably appreciate.
"Hey, asshole," Daryl mutters, holding out the wrapped box. "This one's for you." Merle lets out a deep sigh, rolling his eyes in annoyance.
"Ah, what is it, another fuckin' toy for me?" he grumbles, lazily reaching out his hand. Daryl hands him the box with a sense of dismay, preparing himself to throw a punch at any insult he might hurl towards his girl.
Merle rips off the wrapping paper with little enthusiasm, his movements slow and lackluster. But as he catches sight of what's inside, his demeanor shifts. Letting out a low whistle, "Well, slap my ass and call me Sally, now we're talkin'!" he exclaims, his fingers running over the smooth glass of the bottle, admiring the rich amber color of the liquid inside. It's clear that this is no ordinary bourbon - the weight of the bottle alone hints at the precious contents within.
"Ya notice that there wax seal right there?" Merle says, leaning over to show Daryl. "This here's the kind of fancy stuff that you can't even find in the stores." His excitement shines through his gruff exterior.
Daryl watches with a mix of amusement and disbelief as Merle carefully breaks the wax seal on the bottle and unscrews the cap. The aroma of the bourbon fills the air, and Merle's excitement is palpable as he gets up and grabs a clear glass. Pouring himself a generous measure, he holds the glass up to the light, admiring the way it glows like rich molasses. He lifts it to his nose and breathes in the rich aroma of oak and vanilla, with a hint of smoke.
"Oh yeah," Merle says, taking a sip and closing his eyes in pleasure. "Mmm mmm, this is so good it'll make you wanna slap yo' mama!" He smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, savoring the silky smoothness of the bourbon as it coats his tongue.
Daryl can't help but shake his head at his brother's enthusiasm. With a sigh, he gets up, knowing that his brother isn't going to offer him a taste of the bourbon. Picking up the gift box, he steps out into the cool morning air. When the door closes behind him, he picks up the remote control and quickly inserts the battery, flipping the switch. The toy springs to life, flashing its lights and emitting a cheerful siren sound.
As Daryl maneuvers the car around, he can see kids peeking their heads out from behind doors and slowly walking toward him, drawn by the sound and the sight of the flashing lights. They are kids much like himself, who have never had a toy like this before.
The car jolts and shakes with each forceful thrust, the window fogging up from the collision of the cold winter air and the hot gasps of breath escaping your lips. Daryl grips your ass cheeks tightly, his hands holding onto you as you straddle him, one knee on each side of his thighs, in the crammed space of the car. His hips meet yours with a powerful force, pushing deeper inside you, and your breath catches as your gaze locks with his. His lips are parted and his eyes are wild with lust.
His grip on your ass tightens as he spreads your cheeks wider, and you fight the urge to let yourself get lost in the pleasure. You force yourself to keep your eyes open, watching him below you as you bounce on his cock, meeting his thrusts with equal force. His movements are hard and fast, the sounds of his grunts mixing with your gasps, and the loud slapping of skin against skin echoes all around you.
You reach up and yank him by his hair, pulling him towards you, your lips connecting with his, your tongues tangling in a frenzied dance. His hands move up, running over your half-naked body, and the strap of your top falls down your shoulder, revealing more of your skin that he eagerly explores with his touch. Your jeans and underwear are long gone, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to his every touch.
His tongue frantically fucks your mouth in sync with his cock, and you know he's close to the brink. You've learned how to read his body, and you can feel the tension building in him. Suddenly, you yank back from him, lifting your ass off his cock with a wet noise, and he spills from you twitching and throbbing, delaying the inevitable orgasm.
"Oh god," he whispers, trying to pull you back down. But you feel a sense of power and control as you press your hand down on his naked chest, pushing him down. You look down at him with half-closed eyes, and he looks up at you like a man ready to die.
"You belong to me, Daryl Dixon," your voice is breathless and raspy. "You understand that, right?" You lean back, exposing your wet pussy to him. "See what you do to me," you slide back and forth on his cock, the head of his cock flicking against your clit, the wetness of you leaking and glistening on his hard shaft. "I belong to you, only you can make me feel this way."
The fire between you and Daryl burns hotter and hotter, threatening to consume you both. With a slight lift of your ass, your whole body shudders as he slides back inside you, oh-so-slowly. His hand moves from your waist to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your soft throat gently, while the other glides down to your clit, his thumb rubbing it in a way that sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your entire nervous system.
His eyes dilate, and his hand slightly tightens around your neck in a way that is both possessive and controlling. As he slowly slides in and out of you, your moans blend together, everything is wet and loose, and his cock stretches you, filling you so hard and hot.
As you move together in perfect unison, slow and gentle, the world around you fades away. His hand moves from your neck to your hair, and his lips latch onto your neck, trailing down to your earlobe. Daryl builds his rhythm, and you can feel him deep inside you, moans and wet slap noises reverberating all around you like a music to your lovemaking.
As the pace quickens, the car becomes a blur of movement and sensation. Daryl's fingers dig into your skin, leaving marks that will remind you of this moment for days to come. You can feel the car shaking and bouncing with each thrust, and your body responds with an equal intensity, bouncing against his in perfect rhythm.
With one hand on the glass window to steady yourself, you cling to him with the other, feeling his body tense and writhe with pleasure. You're lost in a haze of lust and sensation, consumed by the fire that burns between you.
As the pleasure builds to a fever pitch, you know that you're both on the brink of an explosive release. Your body tenses up, and you can feel the muscles in your thighs and core clenching with each passing moment. You're so close, so close to the edge, and you can feel Daryl's cock throbbing inside you, signaling that he's just as close as you are.
When his teeth bite hard on your neck, and your thighs clench around him, you're swept away into ecstasy as you cum tightly. But Daryl doesn't stop. He moves harder and faster, and as you bounce on his cock mindlessly, you watch something creamy and white leak from you, foaming around his cock like a warm, wet embrace, as you creampie all around him. With one final, hard thrust, he arches himself, burying himself deep inside you all the way to the hilt, his cock spasming as he shoots his hot load deep inside you.
As you collapse on top of him, panting and spent, you feel his strong arms wrap around you, holding you close, as he pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty yet full. "I missed ya so damn much," he whispers, his voice filled with exhaustion. You let out an exhausted giggle, closing your eyes, savoring the moment as he reaches to the back seat for the hand towel that you've started keeping there for moments like this.
"Yeah, I noticed," you tell him with a smile. With gentle care, he slides the towel between your legs, wiping away the remnants of your passion and cleaning you up. "For the record, I missed you too," you add, feeling his touch on your skin as he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. With a contented sigh, you snuggle into his embrace, feeling his heartbeat against your chest.
"How'd your trip go?" he asks once you're both settled, still half naked. You had arrived a little earlier and were waiting, leaning against the car with a warm scarf around your neck, enjoying the setting sun, casting a warm orange glow over the deserted parking lot. The moment he saw you, he kicked off his bike and jogged towards you, scooping you off the ground, in one quick sweep. You laughed and wrapped your legs around his waist as he held you tightly. Without exchanging a single word, his lips met yours fiercely, and you both stumbled into the car, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his jacket.
"It was good," you reply. It's a tradition in your family to spend Christmas and New Year's in the Big Apple, in your grandfather's old vacation home. On New Year's Day, you always spend the evening in a fancy hotel in Times Square, watching the ball drop.
"I got to tour a possible college if I end up going there. And I also got a chance to see where we might live." This year, your father took you to Colombia and reached out to one of his old contacts to get you a handshake with the dean.
"We?" he questions, glancing down at you, his hand running down your naked thigh.
"Yeah," you reply happily. "I convinced my dad to let me stay in one of those outside-of-dorm housing options. It's small, but it will fit us, and it has a cute little patio." It's a one-bedroom apartment, the size of your bedroom, with a small studio kitchen.
"You will love it," you tell him happily, looking up, and he hums in response. There's a moment of pause, and you slowly reach over to fiddle with the car radio. A Christmas song comes on, even though it's been over a week since the holiday. "Sorry I missed Christmas and New Year. I wish I was here with you," you say wistfully, thinking of the missed opportunity to share a New Year's kiss.
"Oh, it's all good, Santa done paid me a visit," Daryl says, and you can't help but giggle.
"Oh yeah?" you ask, with feigned intrigue. You remember walking down Times Square with your mother, looking for a Christmas gift for your father when you passed a Toys "R" Us store. There were young boys leaning on the front window, looking at a display of toy cars. The fire truck was attracting all the attention. You imagined Daryl as one of those boys, wanting a toy he knew he would never get. You just walked in and made an impulsive purchase.
But as you sat in your room wrapping the gift, your thoughts drifted to Daryl's older brother, who may have never received a Christmas gift before as well. Despite your dislike for the man, it felt strange to gift one brother and not the other. So, you decided to sneak into the basement and grab a bottle from your dad's reserve delivered from a distillery in Scotland, praying that he wouldn't notice.
"I got somethin' for ya', it ain't nothin' nice or fancy," Daryl said, bringing you out of your thoughts. He reached into the backseat and pulled on his jacket, digging into the pocket to pull out something shiny. "I picked it up when we went down to the beach."
In his hand, he held a small seashell fashioned into a necklace. The saltwater had stained the shell a dark blue and purple, with golden wire woven into a chain, hooked into a small hole on the shell. "You made this for me?" you asked in awe. It was delicate yet beautiful, and as his fingers fumbled with the lock, you noticed the small nicks and cuts on his fingers, which made you feel warm inside.
"It's just some wires and a seashell, nothin' much," he said, as you leaned in so he could lock it around your neck. As the necklace fell between your breasts, you couldn't help but admire how uniquely simple it looked.
"It's very pretty. I love it," you said, feeling touched by the gesture, and the effort and creativity he put into it.