Comic: by laceknee
With a sigh Daryl stands, rummaging through his pack to find the last of his long sleeves and goes over to Carol to drape it over her slender frame. Just like before, he sees them. Angry cigarette burns, that are a dull pink now. It churns his stomach when Daryl sees the jagged and raised lines of scars that litter diagonally across her back. It looked like she was pushed onto broken glass. Some are white, some are mixture of pink and gray—he can’t seem look away.
Anonymous asked: Carol/Daryl cuddle time before going hunting. :)
The only time they ever truly cuddle is when he has to leave.
He rubs circles on her flat belly, slowly rousing her from the warm, dark depths of sleep. She opens one eye and giggles when he starts nibbling at her earlobe, knowing that she’s beyond ticklish there. Daryl shushes her, and continues his ministrations on her stomach, content to just hold her like this before dawn fully breaks into morning.
Carol has other things in mind, and turns her body so that she’s facing him ignoring his grunt of protest. She’s fully shaken the fog of sleep, but her body is beyond exhausted from helping Beth tend to the garden yesterday. Even after months of running and narrowing evading walkers by the skin of her teeth, gardening it’s what tires her out.
She sees him clearly, all blue eyes, disheveled hair and always present dirt on his skin. There is enough light around them to tell her that it’s just minutes before dawn. He’s wearing his hunting clothes already, and she knows what this means. Daryl is going on a hunting trip with Merle and would be gone for a couple of days. With a sigh she presses a small ‘good morning thank you for waking me up before you go’ kiss on his brow.
Daryl wraps an arm around her, and tucks his head under her chin to place a little ‘good morning thank you for waking up and with putting up with my shit’ kiss of his own on her throat.
It’s his favorite spot on her body, his head fits perfectly there and it surprises her on how non-sexual this tradition—if you could call it that, of theirs is.
They don’t usually do this. Daryl isn’t one for cuddling or touching all the time—not like Maggie or Glenn are anyway. Even in the afterglow of sex, they usually just hold hands and stare at each other with lazy grins before they fall asleep.
“Think you can hunt a pastrami sandwich for me? I’ve been craving those for so long.” Carol says groggily, a grin spreading across her face when his chest wiggles and a deep chuckle vibrates on her skin.
“M’sorry, the deli is closed on Sundays.” He murmurs, the little prickly bristles of hair on his upper lip move against her skin as he talks and makes her shiver.
“Well that’s too bad.” Carol tells him, running hand from his back to his hair. “When are you going to cut this hair of yours?” she asks.
“What? Ya don’t want me to get a rattail? Me and Merle wanna be all matching and shit. ” He retorts, and she laughs when he pulls away from her staring intently at her with a slight pull of his lips.
In the back of their minds they know why he is so affectionate with her in the few minutes he has before he leaves. They will never talk about it, it goes without saying. After the way Lori and Rick’s relationship ended the way it did—their hearts can’t handle something like that ever happening to them.
So they give themselves this normalcy, because if they are ever in any pain, or lost without a way of returning. They will always have these mornings, where there is are laughter, smiles, this warmth that encompasses them with the coming dawn.
The shuffling echoes of Merle’s feet is what breaks him from his intense stare and Daryl rolls away from her to collect his crossbow and small pack. She sits up too, unwilling to leave the safe and warm confines of the bed they have been sharing for a little over a year.
Long gone is that lazy grin she adores, he hardens himself for the world outside their little cell.
He tightens his hold on his crossbow, “Stay safe.” He tells her.
She grins one more time at him and nods, “Nine lives remember?” she replies.
He reluctantly leaves then, shouting to his brother in the next cell to hurry his sorry his ass up.
It’s the closest thing to an ‘I love you’ they’ll ever get.
It’s his idea to take a drive in Burt’s new car one blistering hot summer day. It’s one of those fancy cars, glossy and black—the kind of car that a movie star might drive. It’s considered an achievement in Lima, Ohio when Burt Hummel former mechanic of those same movie star cars is finally able to afford one.
“Are we going to get in trouble Finny?” Rachel asks him, eyes wide and alight with a sense of adventure that’s contagious. He’s already driving, the windows are down and the wind is making her hair all wild.
“Of course not, Rachie,” Finn says with a dimpled grin, watching the way she rolls her eyes at the use of her childhood nickname. “I asked him before he left for D.C. Senator Burt Hummel doesn’t have a thing to worry about.”
She laughs; it’s really a wondrous sound. “Oh really? Why is it that I don’t believe you Mr. Finn Hudson?” she comments with knowing smile and he just chuckles because every rebellious little thing he’s done never gets past her.