I'm rewriting a few of my smut chapters so I can feel less embarrassed everytime I reread them. Plus, this'll actually make me feel better about it as it shows my progress. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.
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I had just finished making the tent while Daryl, my survival partner and crush, set up some cans on wires so we'd hear if any walkers came by our temporary camp.
The two of us were on a run, looking for more weapons and medical supplies for the group and it's been pretty successful so far; hell, we were on our way back! We just had to double check some of the houses we haven't raised yet a couple miles from the base. And knowing Daryl, this was probably going to be the only night break we get as we weren't that far from our survival grounds or the un-sacked neighborhood.
My thoughts were cut short when I saw the tall, muscular, imitating, sexy redneck come into view and start to make a fire. He glanced at me before he started his task, but that was it.
Daryl was a man of little words. He didn't talk much unless he had to. The man was a loner and preferred to do things on his own unless it was far too dangerous and he knew he wouldn't manage on his own.
He was a soloist, he had a rough start to his life and preferred to be left alone. He had severe trust issues and naturally acted like he was from the military when he wasn't.
But deep down, I knew he was a sweetheart. He was kinda like an abused rescue dog, always growling, always wanting to be left alone, but he was loyal and stuck to your side and hated to see you in pain. He very much reminded me of a German Shepherd.
I s ymiled to myself at the comparison before sitting down on the ground, watching as he ignited the fire with a match before he put out the small wooden fire starter and sat near me, instantly pulling out one of his machetes and wiping it off with a rag from his tool belt.
How did he manage to make everything seem so fucking sexy?
I've always found him attractive, ever since I showed up at the camp in Atlanta, well, what was left of it, anyway. His hair was so short before, now, it was really long and his muscles seemed broader but he's barely changed in personality. I've seen him do this kind of thing hundreds of times before and it still gets me weak in the knees.
And to be quite honest with you, I was sick of it. I was straight up horny and my left hand was getting really boring even though the thought of my survival partner made those private moments exciting. I was so sick of just sitting still and waiting for him to realize and do something about it.
"Hey, Daryl?" I called, making the redneck glance at me, letting out a soft hum to signal that he was listening before he returned his gaze to the blade in his hand, "Y'know, this could be my last night on earth," I pitched, making him glance at me again and raise a brow, showing he was slightly intrigued, "And if it turns out to be," I made my way over so I was sat next to him, "I would like to end it with a bang," I rested my chin up his shoulder, "That being said, wanna fuck?" I finished, making him scoff and shove me off with a nudge of his arm.
I pouted before gently grabbing the knife from his hand, stroking the handle like it was a dick getting a handjob. "Stop." Daryl grumbled, snatching the blade back, making me reach for it again, but he moved it out of the way, accidentally slicing my palm open in the process. "Ow! Fuck!" I gasped with a wince, yanking my hand back towards my body, me free one wrapping around my wrist instinctively as pain filled my hand.
Daryl just sighed heavily, "Stupid bitch." He said frustratedly, grabbing my arm aggressively and forcing me forward and pressing a new cloth from his tool belt to my injured palm, causing me to cry out in pain through gritted teeth. My survival partner huffed in annoyance, making me look up at his face while he kept deep pressure on the bleeding wound.
