#Daryl x reader

[xmiaacxio]

twd s2 aesthetic..

[b1eedthefreak]

There’s no way I’ve been checking every day for my request and I never fucking sent it for fuck sake.

Okay I requested sumn about reader being obsessed with Daryl hips and stomach and they love grabbing em. Like the way he has his jeans hanging so low with his belt and every time he reaches up you can see his slutty little man waist ugh.

Idrk how you’d write it but I like my Daryl Subby yum.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Hips Don’t Lie

⌇daryl dixon x reader

summary⌇daryls hips are slutty what else is there to say

warnings⌇smut, oral (m revecing), sub daryl

word count⌇1.0k

a/n⌇this one goes out to my goat darylsdelts :3 idk man daryl’s lowkey a slut why r u showing off ur hips like that 😑😑

A stretch.

Just a simple, thoughtless movement, Daryl lifting his arms above his head, shirt riding up just enough to show the barest sliver of hip, pale and sharp, lined with soft hair that trailed down and disappeared into his waistband.

You nearly choked.

Because no one told you the sight of Daryl hips could short circuit your brain. No one warned you that that would be the thing to break your restraint, not the way he grunts when he lifts something heavy, not the way his voice rasps when he murmurs in the morning, but his hips.

Lean and narrow. Sloped. Pretty. Slutty.

You couldn’t unsee it after that. Bending over to pick something up? Gone. Stretching after a long day? You’d practically foam at the mouth. That little line of hair leading under his jeans? You’d have dreams about it, wake up sweating.

And Daryl had no idea.

He’d mutter a distracted “what?” when you stared too long. Furrow his brow like you were crazy. You’d wave him off, pretend you were fine, but inside you were feral. It wasn’t just how he looked, it was that he had no clue what he was doing to you.

It was hot.

—

The two of you were holed up in an old safehouse. Just you and him. The fire was dying down, throwing soft light over the little mattress laid out on the floor. Daryl had just taken off his jacket and was standing near the window, tugging his shirt over his head to change.

That’s when you saw it again. That little V. The narrow jut of his hips, skin and soft hair catching the firelight. And the waistband of his sweats dipping low, too low, and—

You sat up too fast.

Daryl turned around, blinking. “What?”

“Come here.”

He hesitated. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

You didn’t answer. You just reached out, fingers curling around the waistband of his sweats, tugging him forward until he was standing between your knees.

“Your hips,” you said simply, voice low.

He blinked, like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. “My what?”

“Your hips.” Your fingers dipped under the elastic of his waistband, just a little. “I think about ‘em too much.”

His face burned. “Don’ know what you’re talkin’ about.”

But you didn’t. You leaned in, pressed a kiss just above his hipbone, watched him twitch.

“Y’always go for my shoulders,” he mumbled, flustered. “Why now—”

“Because your hips are…beautiful,” you murmured, letting your lips trail lower, brushing along the soft trail of hair. “Can’t stop thinking about them.”

He whimpered.

You looked up at him. “Lie down for me baby.”

He hesitated for half a second before obeying, cheeks pink, breath already uneven. You climbed over him slowly, dragging your hands over the plane of his stomach, thumbs sweeping the slope of his hips. He watched you, eyes blown wide and lips parted, so damn pretty like that.

You leaned down, mouthing at the curve of his hip, kissing every inch of exposed skin until he was trembling beneath you.

“Feel good?” you whispered.

His head tipped back. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Feels real good.”

Your hands slid under his sweats, palms firm on his thighs. You kissed his hips, lower now, tongue teasing over skin, and he groaned—a deep, broken sound that had you clenching your thighs together.

“You’re always so strong,” you murmured. “But I love you like this, too. Soft. Quiet. Letting me take care of you.”

His breath hitched. “I ain’t—fuck—ain’t quiet.”

“No?” you teased. “Sounded like a whimper to me.”

He made that sound again, all helpless and sweet, and you smiled against his skin.

“I’ll stop teasing,” you promised, though your voice was too full of heat to mean it. “Just wanna worship you.”

You slid his sweats down slow. Let your fingertips brush over the creases of his hips. He was half hard already, twitching under your touch. You kissed your way down, every movement slow and reverent. Your hand wrapped around him, stroking gently, and his hips lifted into your palm.

God, he was so good like this. Writhing. Breathless. Letting you lead.

Your mouth followed your hand, tongue licking a stripe up the underside of him before taking him in, slow and wet and soft.

“Shit—” he choked out, hips bucking. One of his hands tangled in the sheets. The other came up to your shoulder like he didn’t know what to do with it—like he wanted to pull you closer, but couldn’t bring himself to interrupt the heaven you were giving him.

You sucked slow, shallow at first, just to watch him squirm. You moaned around him and felt him shiver, felt his hips tremble beneath your hands.

“Yer doin’ this on purpose,” he whispered, barely coherent.

You looked up, eyes dark. “Of course I am. Look at you, Daryl. You’re so good for me.”

He blushed, lips parted, trying to hide his moans.

And when you started to move faster, when you let your hand slide back to those perfect, narrow hips and hold him there while you sucked him deep, he gasped loud, let himself go.

He came with your name on his lips, hips stuttering under your hold, muscles drawn tight and trembling as he gave in completely.

You didn’t let go until he was breathless and boneless beneath you, hips twitching, thighs shaking.

When you finally crawled back up to kiss him, his arms came around you fast, pulling you in like he couldn’t bear to be apart.

“You’re dangerous,” he mumbled into your shoulder, voice wrecked.

You grinned. “Yeah?”

His breath hitched again, body twitching under yours.

Yeah. You were definitely not done worshipping those hips.

[tinysunshine]

━━━ ✧˖° 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍

‎ ‎ [ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

kinks: protective daryl, reader is extremely girly and feminine, fingering, very light dom/sub, fucking on a motorcycle, daryl sucks his fingers, pet names, oral sex, cum swallowing, slightly rough sex, some dirty talk, true love

warnings and triggers: age difference, reader is a former sex worker, trauma bonding, violence, death, slut shaming, bullying

word count: 13.4k

plot with porn, slight alternate universe.

you’re known as the princess of your group - soft, feminine, a girly girl who doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. despite the cruel new world you’re living in, you still hold on to whatever remnants of beauty you can find, hoping for a better tomorrow.

daryl is the opposite of everything you stand for. he’s hardened, rugged, ruthless - he’ll do whatever it takes to survive. despite your differences, you find yourselves drawn to each other in ways nobody, not even you two, can really understand. you bring softness to his strength, and in daryl you find a friend, a lover, a protector.

he’s everything you find warm and safe in this cold, scary world. you cling to him, and the best part?

daryl clings back.

“Cookies?”

The look Daryl gives you actually makes you crack a smile, and it’s a nice feeling. It’s been a long time since you smiled, now that you think about it - but it’s not like you’re keeping score. 

Because if you were - you’d probably be able to count the amount of grins that’ve graced your face in the last eight months on one hand. Life has been brutal to everyone this year.

“I know it sounds weird,” you explain, crossing your legs on the rock you’re sitting on. Daryl’s supposed to be keeping watch of the camp while Rick and a few other men from the group make a run into the neighboring town for supplies. The plan was, because even the smallest things need well thought out plans in this world, that the women and children of the camp would rest, and if Daryl saw any walkers, he’d wake everyone up. 

Sort of dumb, in theory, with how fast things happen when walkers are added to the equation, but it’s all this group has got. 

Plans and Rick’s hope. 

You’re supposed to be resting too, since yesterday was a travel day - long and exhausting. But you can’t sleep. You’ve got a headache, you’re hungry, and your sleeping bag is still a little damp from your water bottle, the plastic gone thin from having been dropped too many times, breaking while you drove from your last destination. Your tent is cold and you’re sharing it with a single woman who has a child, and their crying is really starting to bum you out. 

So you decided to join Daryl keeping watch. He’s perched on a little ledge that overlooks the rest of the camp, able to see anything coming or going before anyone on the ground can. You’re not great with a gun, but since the world went to shit, you can handle yourself pretty well.

You want to help protect the camp and everyone in it, especially since you asked Rick to pick up another reusable water bottle for you while he was in town. The look on his face was so priceless it actually made you a little sad. 

“Doesn’t just sound weird,” Daryl replies, shifting to get more comfortable on the grassy ground. There’s another rock for him to sit on, but it’s something you’ve noticed about him - Daryl always chooses to sit close to the ground, even if there’s a proper place for him to sit. “It is weird,” he grumbles the last part, busying himself with chucking a rock a few feet away while a squirrel scampers up a tree. He curses under his breath, no doubt pissed at himself for not securing another meal. 

You’re distracting him. You should feel bad, but you don’t. 

Before walkers and the end of the world as you knew it, you used to be so concerned with manners. Worried about what others thought about you more than you worried about your own well being. You’re not like that anymore. It’s a dark, although funny thought - that it took something as drastic as an apocalypse to finally rid you of your people pleasing habit. 

There’s a crunching sound a few yards away that has the both of you tensing up, frozen while you listen for the sound of growling, but it never comes. Daryl visibly relaxes after a minute, which is your cue to start talking again. He just listens, although from the angle you’re sitting at, you swear you see him roll his eyes. 

“You ever think about how weird it is, the stuff we miss?” You ask, but you already know he’s not going to reply. Daryl rarely replies, but you know he’s listening. You don’t have any real proof that he is - but what else would he be doing while you chat his ear off? He can stand up for himself, doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do - if he didn’t want you talking to him, he’d tell you to fuck off. 

It’s a small victory you hold close to your heart - the fact that he just puts up with you. You continue. “I mean, everyone always says they miss things like hot showers, electricity, or whatever. I do, but I guess it’s not the thing I miss the most. For me, it’s cookies. But not bakery cookies. The kind of cookies you get from the store, the cheap ones. When you flatten the cookie dough yourself, and no matter what, always burn them or undercook them,” as you talk about it, you can taste the ghost of cookies past on your tongue. It waters a little, your mouth, which goes to show you just how hungry you are. 

All you eat these days are protein bars and uncooked cans of whatever food the group can find. Sometimes, with your eyes closed and your breath held, you’ll try bits of squirrel or owl or whatever other animal Daryl hunts and shares with the group, but even the thought makes you nauseated. You never knew you’d be able to have preferences when the other choice is starving to death, but the difficult human spirit prevails, you suppose. 

Daryl glances at you, and although it’s pretty dark, the moon shines light enough that you can see his expression. You’d expect his face to be mean, aggravated - tired. Listening to a young woman ramble about baking cookies while his body is on high alert to protect an entire fucking camp - but instead, Daryl’s expression is soft. He lets you continue, although his reaction does remind you that you’re also on guard. But aren’t you always?

The gun strapped to your hip and the knife in the pocket of your boot feel extra heavy at the reminder. 

You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice low. God forbid a fucking walker kills you or anyone else in this group because you couldn’t shut up about cookies. 

“Maybe it’s stupid, you know? I just,” you look down, playing with the zipper on your jacket. Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed. On the spot. Daryl probably thinks you’re a fucking idiot. Your face heats up. 

But it’s not just the cookies. You leave out the part where the cookies remind you of your parents. How your mom, when she was alive, used to make them for you after a rough day. That those cookies were the staple of every sleepover you’ve ever had with your best friends. How those cookies were -

“It ain’t,” Daryl’s voice takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him, brows furrowed. You catch his eyes for only a second, before he looks away quickly, pretending to be occupied by something on the dirty ground. “It ain’t stupid,” he finishes. 

You wonder that night, after Rick and the others come back to relieve you and Daryl of your duty, while you’re laid up in your sleeping bag that hardly protects you from the cold - what does Daryl miss? Sure, out of everyone in the group, he’s most equipped at living this kind of life. Knows how to hunt, can stomach raw fucking meat, isn’t scared of anything, or so he says. What reminds him of home? What thoughts comfort him?

Surely, whatever those thoughts are, they’re not as dumb as store bought cookie dough. 

But what Daryl said stuck with you. Not stupid. You fall asleep, albeit with one eye open, feeling a little less cold. 

Because for a moment, Daryl’s understanding?

It made the world feel a little less broken.

────

“Gross,” you mutter, blood slashing on your face. You just shot a walker in the head, and your ears are ringing from the loud noise of the gun. You’ll never get used to firing that thing. How loud it is, the way your hand shakes even minutes after you pull the trigger.

Daryl comes from behind you, and he lets out a laugh. It’s low, short - if you weren’t trained to hear the noise, you’d miss it. Because really - it’s like you’ve literally trained yourself to look for little cues that Daryl is having a good time. Or, since you doubt anyone these days is having a good time, at least that he’s alright. That he’s not annoyed at you for hanging around him or talking to him or irritated at your presence in general. 

“Blood on your face grosses you out, but you’ll pick through walker guts for a bottle of nail polish,” he shakes his head, but it's not like he’s judging. In fact, Daryl actually seems a little…fond? He’s teasing you, and normally the reputation you have in this group as a girl that’s afraid to get her hands dirty, too girly to do anything for yourself - it stings. 

But not when it comes from Daryl. You can tell he’s teasing, and you roll your eyes playfully. 

“Didn’t dig in walker guts for that nail polish,” you remind him, even as he walks past you to lead the way. You glance at his back, the angel wings on his leather vest, and will yourself to stop the heat rushing to your face and the arousal pooling in your belly at how fucking strong he is. Big arms, muscles that look like he should be on the cover of a body building magazine instead of in these creepy woods with a crossbow. You gulp. “There was a little blood in the nail polish section when we did a run the other day. I cleaned it off the bottle I wanted. No biggie.”

Daryl scoffs, and you smile. “Yer crazy, girl,” he replies, and at that you look down at your nails. Baby pink, the same color you always used to choose when you’d get your nails done back at home. You could shiver with pleasure, just from thinking about the feeling of warm water on your hands, someone paying special attention to your cuticles - lotion, that you don't have to share with every other woman at the camp. The polish you’re wearing, painted just two days ago, is chipped and stained red with walker blood, but it’s better than nothing. 

Makes you feel a little more human. A little more like a woman. A little more like yourself.

Now, if only you could find some hairspray and a razor. 

You’ve been joining Daryl whenever he lets you - or, more truthfully, whenever Rick tells Daryl it’s okay for you to join him. Rick still doesn’t believe that you know what you’re doing, thinks of you as a liability, but you’re determined to prove yourself. You got to go on a run the other day, and today, Daryl went to check out the perimeter of the grassy hill the group is currently camping in, and you volunteered to go with him. 

“You sure?” Rick had asked when the plan was originally made, looking at Daryl with squinted eyes. He pretended like you didn’t exist, even as you were standing right next to him. Daryl nodded. “S’okay with me. I’ll look out for her. Bring yer gun,” he told you, and you nodded, skipping after him down the trail. 

Around Daryl, and maybe this is why you like him so much - it’s easy to feel like a woman. Easy to feel safe, too. Daryl just knows what he’s doing, and he’s so strong, big, can handle so much. Being around him feels good, but you know it’s all just a farce. 

You’re not safe and neither is Daryl, a fact that becomes even clearer when you almost trip on a dead body by a stream you’re both passing on the way back to camp, alerting a walker that was only a few yards away. Daryl was able to kill him with an arrow, but it was a close call. 

One minute, laughing and talking. The next, like you’re begging death to open the door after ringing his doorbell a few too many times. 

You walk back to camp in silence, walker blood splattered on the both of you. When you get back, it’s nearly dark, and you help a few of the other women finish some laundry and keep an eye on a few restless kids. Life sucks in this world as an adult - but you can’t imagine living like this as a kid. Although, you think, watching them throw dirt at each other and believe the food their mothers are giving them really tastes just like chicken nuggets, maybe being so clueless is for the best. 

After dinner, on your way to your tent, you see Rick and Daryl talking. You try to listen in, pretending that you’re just getting your sleeping bag ready for bed, but you don’t hear anything of importance. Meaning, you don’t hear either of them bring up your name. You feel like a highschooler, desperate for friends, eager to belong - hoping your crush notices you. 

Because that’s what this is with Daryl, isn’t it? You’ve got a crush on him. Butterflies, wanting his attention, looking for excuses to be around him. It’s pathetic but a little beautiful, you admit - that even in a situation like this, where death surrounds every person, no matter who they are - there’s room in the human spirit for a little love. 

A crush, you think again, fixing your nails in your tent. You can almost convince yourself that life isn’t so horrible, just for a minute, until the woman you share your tent with comes in for bed and complains that the smell of the polish is too strong and makes it hard for her to sleep. 

Okay, bitch, you say in your head. It’s not like the walker guts and dead bodies beyond our tent smell any better. You bite your tongue and walk out of the tent, making your way to the empty clearing a little ways away from the tents. It’s so quiet, there’s no way you wouldn’t hear a walker if one was to come around you, but you have a knife on you just in case. No gun, since the noise would just draw more to you. 

You think these things through. You just wish Rick, and the rest of the group, would see that too. 

It’s dark, except for the moon and the stars shining pretty above you. Maybe the little fact you read online years ago about the environment is true - people are the cause of everything bad and all the pollution. A little more than half a year into the apocalypse, and there’s no smog clogging up the skies. It’s a gorgeous night. 

You sit with your hands flat on the ground, waiting for your nails to dry. You get a good few minutes of silence, until the noise of footsteps has you nearly jumping out of your boots, reaching for your knife, only to realize that it’s not a walker, but Daryl coming to plop down next to you.  

“Gosh, Daryl. You scared me,” you complain, letting out a whine. He doesn’t say anything, just sits next to you on the ground, although he moves so his back is facing your back. Makes sense, so you're both safe from all angles. Daryl always thinks about little things like that. 

He’s quiet for long enough that you start to think of something to fill the silence. “Damnit,” you mutter, letting out a huff. “I ruined my nails.”

“Oh, quit it,” Daryl replies. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yerself? You got a death wish, girl?” You’re mortified that Daryl is scolding you like you’re a kid, like you’re an idiot, and coming from him it just hurts even more. 

You’ve always had an even temper, but in this new world, you lose it more often than you used to. It’s probably just the way life is now - the stress, the hunger, the cold and the dirt and the sweat and the lack of anything that used to bring anyone joy. It makes everyone crazy. 

“Yeah, well - ‘m sure your buddy Rick hopes a walker gets to me. Know he was talking shit about me earlier.” You sniffle, but you’re not crying yet - it just really hurts, that you feel like such dead weight at this camp. You’ve never really been insecure, but you feel like nobody likes you. Nobody understands you. And yeah, surviving is more important than being miss popular with a group of people in the apocalypse, but everyone’s always talking about this group being family. Does that include you? It doesn’t feel like it these days. 

Daryl is silent, as you expected. Normally you don’t mind the company, even if it’s a mute one, but tonight you’re feeling on edge. Until Daryl speaks. “Rick ain’t my friend. No one wants you to die, kid. Yer too much,” he mutters, and then you stand up, aggravated and not wanting to take it out on him. 

You begin to walk away when Daryl reaches out and grabs your ankle to stop you. “Daryl,” you warn, as if you’d do anything to retaliate even if he pulled you on the ground with him. But you keep up the hard ass attitude - it feels good, you admit, being difficult for once. You don’t get to be anything but accommodating at camp. 

“Rick and I were sayin’ how valuable you are to the group. How much you’ve grown,” he explains, and you roll your eyes, make a show of stomping away, knowing, loving that Daryl is right on your heels. Because there’s no reason for him to stay in that clearing - he’s not on watch tonight. He was only hanging around there for you. 

Despite acting like Rick’s comment meant nothing to you, on the inside, as you walk to your tent, you fight a smile. So Rick has noticed your effort. That’s all you wanted, except - 

You realize that maybe approval you wanted so badly never needed to come from Rick - 

Because the approval from Daryl feels pretty damn good.

────

Daryl fixes you with a look that makes you burst out laughing. 

You’ve only been at this spot in the woods for a few weeks, but so far, quality of life among the camp has improved. Almost a year in this new world, and this is the first time anyone’s ever slept with both eyes closed since before people turned into the living dead. There’s a river nearby perfect for fishing, and tonight at the campfire, you had your first taste of - what did Daryl call it?

Sushi.

“Just so you know,” you say, crossing a leg over the other on the little log you’re sitting on. The sun is going down, and the sky is a pretty shade of pink and even a little purple. You wonder if nature has always been this beautiful - you’d always just been too preoccupied to see it. You put a tiny piece of the fish Daryl caught and cooked into your mouth, surprised at the taste. You don’t have to fake your reaction. It’s not bad at all - but you wouldn’t necessarily say it’s good. Tastes better than another can of old spaghetti rings though, that’s for sure. 

Still, you can’t help teasing. You finish your original statement. “Sushi tastes much better than this.”

Daryl smiles, just slightly. And not the fake kind of smile he does when he’s just trying to be polite. Like when an elderly man from the group tells a joke no one else laughs at, or when the strap of your last bra broke and you started crying until Rick promised, cheeks red, that he’d look for your size on the next run.

Right now, it seems like Daryl’s actually having a good time. 

The thought makes you smile.

“Thank you,” you tell Daryl, and you swear you see him blush. “It's better than sushi, really.” 

“Yeah,” Daryl says, nodding. He’s grown uncomfortable with the compliments already. “It’s the best yer gonna get.” Others from the group join you around the campfire, and then Daryl takes off, but not before giving you one last lingering gaze. He has small eyes, you’ve noticed - a little hooded, but so beautiful. He’s incredibly handsome, in a unique way. A pretty, no, beautiful man. His stare burns you, warms you up even with the chill in the air.

It’s only later, when the rest of the group clears off and you and Daryl are alone again, that he speaks. He’s sharpening a knife, leaning on the side of a camper van for support, and you’re at a makeshift sink (bucket) washing the dishes. It was your least favorite chore before this new world, and it’s still your least favorite after. 

But, if you let your mind go there - something about the dynamic between Daryl cooking dinner and you cleaning the dishes up has you - 

No. You’ve got to stop acting so juvenile. 

On one hand, this little crush you have on Daryl is something positive that gets you through the day. Waiting to talk to him, excited to be around him - it shines light on a dark, terrible reality. On the other hand, getting attached to anyone at this camp is a bad idea. You just lost someone else a few days ago. 

The reality, that death really is lurking everywhere - that something could happen to you, or Daryl…it makes your palms sweat and your breathing become erratic. The reality of this new world is just so scary and cruel.

You’re done with the dishes and you dry your hands on an old flannel that the camp uses as a dish towel. You feel Daryl watching you, and you like it. 

“What are you looking at?” You tease, pushing some hair away from your face. “There a walker behind me or something? 

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t look at no walker like that,” he grumbles, but then he must realize what he said - what it really means. You’re so excited you’re almost vibrating, wondering, realizing now - that maybe this crush isn’t one sided. But you still try to play it cool, even as Daryl shakes his head, says, “Wasn’t lookin’ at nuthin.’”

You don’t know what to say to that. You begin to walk away, excited to spend the rest of the night in your tent going over this interaction until you fall asleep, but what Daryl says next stops you in your tracks. You freeze.

“Gotta get you a bra on the nex’ run,” he says, and your knees feel weak. “Those things almos’ poked me in the eye. You cold or sumthin’?’”

You fast walk to your tent, nearly crying from embarrassment - but your entire body is dizzy with excitement. It’s adrenaline, but not the same kind you get when you’re running or kill a walker and make it out alive - a different kind, one you haven’t felt since maybe even before the walkers. It lights you up inside, makes it hard to breathe - and the funniest part?

Daryl has no idea your nipples are hard because you’re aroused - all from watching him sharpen a knife. What can you say? A man who can handle a weapon like that can surely handle…other things.

────

The fire crackles as you sit back, the warmth from the flames doing little to ease the chill in your bones. It’s freezing outside, but you’re under a warm blanket, and if you delude yourself enough you can almost convince yourself that this is just a toasty evening with friends and not a risky fire that could very well lead walkers directly to the camp.

But there’s nothing the group can do - it’s simply too cold to go without a fire tonight. Even Daryl, king of having his arms always showing, is in a jacket tonight. Which sucks, because you really love looking at his arms…but this is survival.

There’s hushed conversation while Rick tells a story, a few pairs to the side chattering, and you feel left out until you notice that Daryl isn’t talking to anyone either. He’s just looking at the ground, then the fire, gaze flickering to you every few minutes. 

And you only notice that because your eyes can’t stay off of him. You can’t help it - it’s like you’re always looking for him. There’s something about that man, as dumb as it sounds, that makes him feel like your own security blanket. Even seeing him from across the camp, just a glimpse, can settle your nerves like nothing else. 

Suddenly, a voice from next to you tries to get your attention. It’s Derek, a decent looking guy about your age - but he’s pretty useless, as far as skills go. He accompanies the rest of the men for runs into town, can kill a walker if necessary, but he’s selfish and all about himself. Won’t even take watch at night, says it interferes with his sleep. You can’t stand him. 

You try to avoid his gaze and pretend to be busy, picking at your cuticles and hoping he leaves you alone, but no such luck. 

“Look at you, princess,” he teases, and you cringe so hard you wonder if it’s visible. It’s embarrassing, being referred to like that - so what, that you like the color pink and happen to be attractive? You’re not hurting anyone. The clothes you’re wearing, the pink clips you have to hold your hair back, the floral printed pillow case - those were all things you had before the world went to shit. 

You didn’t know the apocalypse had a dress code. 

You’re sick of being teased. Of being reduced to this overly feminine character - as if you don’t keep watch just as much as the men. As if you don’t kill walkers when they get close to the camp, while the other women hide. As if you don’t cook, and clean, and - 

Derek is still talking.

You sneak a glance across the campfire at Daryl, who holds your gaze for a minute before dropping it. You look back down too, play with your fingers on your lap. You’d go to your tent right now if you weren’t scared about the safety of falling asleep with no one actively on watch. 

“So, what’d you all do before this?” Derek asks, leaning forward. He’s asking the group, but he’s looking at you, which means - you’re supposed to go first?

You wonder if this has anything to do with what you told Cindy, someone you used to share a tent with before she found room in another one. There’s not much to do these days when you’re not cooking or cleaning or hunting or moving - lots of time to sit and talk. The apocalypse is so much more boring than you ever anticipated. You shared a lot about your past with her, but surely she wouldn’t gossip about you to the others in the camp?

You thought girl code was still a thing, even in these trying times. 

Everyone is silent, waiting for your answer. Even Daryl and Rick seem interested, which makes you feel even worse. You wanted to fit in, not be the center of attention.

You shift uncomfortably, before clearing your throat. You can feel Cindy’s eyes on you, sitting just a few people down. “Nothing special. Just,” you pause and shrug, unsure of what to say. “Whatever I had to. To survive.” 

Back then, surviving was all about money, and ever since your parents died when you were a teenager, money is the one thing you never had enough of. One thing you did have though, is your beauty. So you used it, to get the things you needed, and sometimes a little more - but it all boiled down to one thing, just like it does now - to survive. 

That’s all life is about, really? Take away the frills, the fun - people just want to stay alive, no matter how rough things get.

So - you had a boyfriend to pay your rent. A man that loved to take you shopping. A lonely guy who paid off your car. You’ve never lived in luxury, but you always made it. Always got by. Had the things you needed and a little bit more. Always -

“Yeah, well, we all knew you were a whore.”

The words leave Derek’s mouth and you’re frozen. Speechless - and that never happens to you. You’re so shocked at what he said that your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and it’s only then that you realize the bottle of hard liquor on his lap. 

You glare at Cindy, who quickly gets up and runs to her tent, more scared of you than walkers apparently - good, you think, because she’s such a bitch for talking about you behind your back. You try to be cool about it, to laugh it off like Derek is so wrong it doesn’t even deserve a reaction, but you’re so embarrassed you feel your chest aching. 

Has everyone known about your history the entire time you’ve been at camp? You shared those stories with Cindy in the beginning, one of the first nights you arrived, desperate for some comfort. Is that why everyone treats you so differently from the rest? Is that why you’re the black sheep of a fucking camp formed during the apocalypse?

Does Daryl know?

You’re ready to defend yourself, but you don’t get to. Because Daryl is around the fire so fast you don’t even have time to blink, grabbing Derek by the collar of his shirt and pounding his fists into his face. 

The sound of knuckles against bone is excruciating, makes you want to hurl - but you don’t tell him to stop. You’re frozen, and anyway, Derek deserves it, doesn’t he? 

It’s Rick, and a few other men that pull Daryl off of Derek, who’s sporting an eye so swollen it won’t shut and a busted lip, a cheek that’ll be purple for the next few weeks for sure. “Whore,” he spits, still able to talk, even as someone drags him away. “Man, shut up already,” one of the guys says to him, but nobody eases the sting of what he says. 

Daryl wipes sweat from his brow while Rick walks off to talk to Derek, but he can’t get a word in with the shit the other man is spewing. “Fucking whore,” he keeps grumbling. “There’s no money to milk from men anymore, is there? Bet you put out for that fish Dixon caught for you. Did you do the same for that new bra? Or that water bottle Rick brought back for you? Almost died you know, getting that shit for you, maybe you can thank me with,” Rick kicks him in the ribs before he can finish and tells him to shut up in that leader voice of his. 

You run off, now that the rest of the group has scattered, but you hear Daryl yell out, “Yeah, man, you should’ve died,” with a string of curse words. “All you fuckin’ people looking’ at her. Yer all whores in your own way. Useless too,” he continues, but you don’t hear it because you get into your tent and zip it up.

Great. All this drama, and now nobody is ever going to fucking like you now. You’ll be the black sheep forever, won’t you? It’s a harsh wake up call, and you’re thankful you’re alone. Your tentmate must’ve taken her daughter out to be with the other kids, away from the rowdiness at the fucking campfire. You sniffle, and climb into your sleeping bag. 

A minute later, before you’ve even had time to process what’s happening, Daryl enters the tent. He’s so big, it’s hard for him to fit, but he manages - cursing and crouching in a way that would make you laugh if this wasn’t such a depressing situation. 

He sits next to your sleeping bag. Knees bent, arms around his legs. He just sort of watches you. You look anywhere but his face, but you notice his knuckles are bloody red and torn, all because of you. 

“Didn’t have to defend me,’ you say, instead of thank you. “I wasn’t a whore, so,” but Daryl cuts you off. 

“Don’t matter what you were. He shouldn’t talk to you like that. Little prick deserves his ass kicked anyway. Can’t even shoot straight,” it’s like this moment is as uncomfortable for him as it is for you. You share a look, but you look away first, afraid of the intensity. You’ve never had someone stand up for you before - not like this. What are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do? 

You say nothing at all. A few more minutes go by, with your vision blurry as you stare at Daryl’s knuckles and he stares at the hole that shows the grassy ground in the bottom of your tent. Finally, he sighs, annoyed, and even though you’re not talking you’re still worried he’s going to leave. He’s your teddy bear after all, right? Your security blanket. Maybe you’re selfish - but you don't want him to go. 

And he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl adjusts his position so he can reach into his pocket and pull something out. It’s bright pink, satin looking - you wonder if he’s going to hand you a pair of racy panties just to seal the deal that he thinks you’re a slut. A whore. 

But is he wrong? The look of the muscles in his arm, at his sheer size - at the smell of him, so masculine and woodsy in this little tent it almost makes you dizzy with want. 

After what just happened, how can you be thinking about sex? Maybe you are a slut. A whore. You’ve done things for money before, but -

Daryl hands the piece of pink satin to you. “S’posed to be a ribbon,” he says, shrugging. He’s embarrassed you realize, and it’s cute. “Found it on a toy, er, teddy bear, thought you might like it. If you don’t, I,” but you cut him off, scoot closer to him as you tie it around your wrist. 

“Thank you, Daryl,” you say softly, sweetly - and it feels so natural to lean in and press your lips against his cheek. His body is warm, and when you grip his bicep every cell in your body is on fire with desire. He must’ve taken his jacket off after the fight. If it could even be called that, with the way Daryl jumped Derek. Fights are usually a two way street.

Your heart swells, at the fact that he protected you. Thought about you on a run. Saw something and thought of you. Men have bought you things before, of course - but never something personal like this. Never something you didn’t have to ask for beforehand, for nothing in return.

Daryl, he - he gives you feelings so fuzzy and pure in your chest that you almost forget you’re sleeping just a few feet away from a forest of dead bodies. 

He doesn’t wipe his cheek when you pull away after the kiss, which is a step in the right direction. You’ve seen Daryl lose his shit over the intimacy of a simple thank you hug with someone else from camp before.

You feel special.

“Was nothin,’” he says, before pausing. He looks at you, then away again, wringing his hands before continuing. “Don’t feel any typa way about doin’ what you had to do to survive, ya hear me? I know what it’s like to do what you hav’to to live, ya know? That fucker. He doesn't have a clue about makin’ it on your own. How tough it can be. Don’ listen to the shit he’s got to say. Don’t listen to none of these people,” he won’t look at you, but you look at him, the side profile of his face so handsome you want to reach out and touch him. But you refrain. 

Instead, you squeeze his arm, bicep tan and bulging. You lick your bottom lip. “Daryl,” you interrupt him and he looks at you, gaze on your eyes, then your lips, then to the pretty ribbon tied around your wrist. He visibly swallows, before looking back at your eyes. His eyes are blue, pretty. Too pretty for a man as rugged as him, but what’s the saying? 

A person who is good on the inside - their beauty shines through. You think that’s true about Daryl. At this moment, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man as beautiful as him. You breathe him in, going crazy over his pheromones - his smell. You can feel your body getting aroused at his closeness, and he’s not even doing anything sexual.

“Next time,” you say, teasing tone in your voice, “Can you bring the whole bear?”

────

“Look at us,” you say, trying not to skip beside Daryl. A mood this good feels eerie in this new world, but you can’t help the way you feel.

Daryl asked you to join him for a walk, and ever since that night when he gave you the ribbon in your tent - you’ve been closer than ever. You wear the ribbon around your wrist every single day, except for right now, when you’re wearing it to hold some of your hair back. 

You’re not sure what’s going on with you and Daryl, but there’s a freedom about it that fills you with joy. Helps you exhale easier in this crazy, cruel world - because he’s safe, and you like being around him, and he obviously likes you too, right? Or he wouldn’t ask you to go for a walk every single day, wouldn’t pay special attention to you during meals, making sure you’re eating enough - 

And he really wouldn’t have kissed you against a tree during his watch last week if he had any bad feelings towards you. 

Things at the camp are complicated, because that stunt Derek pulled separated the group. There’s people that hate you, because they’re really mad at Daryl - but nobody can be actually mad at Daryl, since he does so much for the entire group. Catches animals for food, is one of the strongest men besides Rick. You’re not exactly his girl, not even close, but you know that the only reason you haven’t been used as walker bait is because of Daryl’s status at the camp. 

When he kissed you, just a few weeks after that night in the tent - it was so much softer than you imagined. Because, yeah - you imagined what it would be like to kiss Daryl Dixon. Ever since you met him, really. He’s so tough, so crass, such a force. It’s always been an opinion of yours, that the toughest people really just need some softness. You wonder now, when he smiles shyly at you as you walk past a stream, if you’re that softness for him these days. 

“Look at us, what, girlie?” He asks, and you stifle a giggle, trying to remain serious for the bit of the joke. You brush your hand against his as you walk, wondering when he’ll grab it. Wondering when, if, he’ll ever claim you. But you’re trying not to rush things. It’s easy to get worried about time, when every single day is life and death - but there's something kind of beautiful about just going with the flow of what feels good. 

Living in the present, which is literally all you have now. All anyone has. And right now, your goal in the present, is to make Daryl laugh. 

“You’ve got your bow,” you say, gesturing to his weapon, “And I’ve got mine.” You flip your hair, showing off the pink, satin ribbon holding your hair away from your face. Daryl chuckles and shakes his head, but it only lasts for a second. 

Your face heats, pleased with yourself for making him laugh, and then your breath hitches when he grabs hold of your hand. 

“Yer sumthin’ else, girl,” he says fondly, and you walk into an area dense with trees before he nudges you against the trunk of one.

You don’t know what life was like for Daryl before walkers took over the population. You’re not sure if he had a lot, or a little, experience with women before this all happened. In fact, you don’t know a lot about Daryl at all. He’s closed off, he’s a little mean sometimes, too tough for his own good -

But god, the way he kisses. 

Hesitant, like he’s scared to take something he didn’t earn. You want to tell him that every single part of you, he has earned. You’ve known him for more time than your longest relationship. You’ve seen each other filthy, desperate, depraved. Covered in blood, covered in guts - starving, dirty, depressed. For a man that hardly talks, Daryl somehow knows you better than any man, maybe even any other person, ever has. 

He stood up for you. He tries to take care of you. He’s a good friend, he’s -

When he slips a hand to your hip and drops his crossbow on the ground, squeezes at your skin in a way that’s so possessive it makes your breath hitch, you literally let out a cry. Against your lips, Daryl murmurs, “Quiet, ‘less you wanna have a threesum with a walker.” His tongue tastes like cigarettes, a little bit like the apple juice one of the kids at the camp wanted him to try, because he’s a good sport, even if his resting bitch face might suggest otherwise. 

There’s something about him ordering you around that does it for you. You let him take charge of the kiss, but you grab his roaming hand and move it to your breast. He squeezes, but in your new bra, you don’t feel the friction you’re so desperately craving from him rubbing over your nipples. You want more, and you whine, trying not to be greedy but it’s just so damn hard. 

Against the tree, Daryl slips a leg between yours, and you shamelessly bend down to try to rub your aching core against it. “Daryl,” you whine, and he laughs, pulling away to look at you, his hair that’s getting longer plastered against his forehead with sweat. Everything about him is overwhelming. His smell, intense, his lips, delicious, his strength and size, so fucking hot you just want to curl up in the pocket of his shirt and stay safe forever. 

Because you don’t have a doubt in your mind - Daryl would keep you safe. You wonder, why you wasted your time with finance guys and entrepreneurs and men who’d never gotten their hands dirty, back when life was normal. Daryl, with calloused fingertips and his thick accent, a country boy through and through - he pleases you, makes you happier than anyone you’ve ever met before. 

Yeah, even in the apocalypse, you can find the romance. You kiss Daryl deeper. 

He moves his hand down from your breast to slip it into your pants, and he lets out a low noise in his throat at the feeling of your wetness already. Just from kissing him. You’re not ashamed - it’s been a long time since anyone touched your pussy like this, a long time since you even touched it yourself. There’s just no time alone, and you share a tent, and -

“Yer soakin,’” Daryl comments, and your entire body flushes with humiliation. But the good kind. You nod. “For you,” you whisper, and he leans his forehead against yours before capturing your lips in his again. 

Just as you expected, Darly is good with his fingers. He positions one of your legs over his hip so he has better access to finger you, rough hands, the calloused pads of his thumb dragging over your clit, so swollen after so long without cumming. It’s not going to take long, you know, to completely fucking burst. You want it so bad, to come apart on his fingers, to show him just how good you can be. He’s knuckle deep inside of you while still also putting pressure on your clit when you let out a screech, thankful you opened your eyes in time to see the walker coming from behind Daryl. 

You push him off of you until he curses and tries to pick up his crossbow, fingers still slick with your pussy, but you beat him to it. You grab the knife out of your boot, even though your body feels like jelly, and you slam it into the walker’s forehead as hard as you can. You huff and puff, because it takes a lot out of you, and when the walker is on the ground you slam your boot into its face a few too many times until the bottom of your shoe is covered with walker brains. 

“He’s dead,” Daryl says behind you. “Don’ waste yer energy.” You roll your eyes, wiping sweat from your face with a bandana you had in your pocket. 

“I know. That’s for him ruining my orgasm,” you say out loud, and behind you, Daryl lets out a low whistle. You’re really humiliated now, but what are the chances? A fucking walker trying to eat Daryl while you’re trying to get him to eat you? Some fucking luck. 

There’s still blood splattering on your face, and you turn to Daryl, wiping it with your sleeve. “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” you say sheepishly, unsure of how to read his bland expression. But just because a walker interrupted, doesn’t mean you don’t want to continue your little fingering session. Just in case, shame out the window, you reach for him. Daryl backs away slightly. 

“Slow down,” he says, pulling away from you. “Don’ wanna fuck you in the forest,” and you understand, but also - where else can you have sex? Everyone’s always watching each other. When else can you get some time alone? 

Daryl looks down at the bulge in his pants, and you reach down and grope him, like some kind of horny harlot. Maybe you are. He watches you, the color of your nails, your tiny hand - and he lets out a groan himself. 

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says, leaving you speechless and wet in the middle of the woods. He starts to walk away, but his head is turned to you and his eyes never leave you. You know it’s because he’s making sure you’re safe, watching over you, even with his dick chubbing up in his pants. He tugs his weapon up to rest on his shoulder. 

If that’s not a man, you don’t know what is. 

“Daryl,” you start to say, following him, about to beg him for something more, but he just throws an arm around your shoulders and tugs you along. You use the opportunity with his hand on your shoulder to tie the ribbon around his wrist, a small mark of your ownership. You wonder what he’ll say about that, if he’ll be mad -

He just squeezes your shoulder. “Not tryna deny you. I want you. Me and the little guy,” he looks down to his cock in his pants, obviously referring to that. “Yer just too pretty to do somethin’ like that in the woods. My tent, tonight?” You know that his tent mate is keeping watch tonight, so you’ll be alone for a good amount of time. Enough time to - you shiver just thinking about it. 

You nod eagerly. 

“You sure you’re not just disgusted at what I just did?” You phrase it like a joke, gently rubbing your lips on the healing cuts of his knuckles, but you’re serious. Maybe seeing a woman behave greedy, wanting, desperate - violent - maybe it was a huge turn off. 

Daryl shakes his head and tugs you closer, presses his lips to the top of your head. “Nah,” he assures, looking back down to the bulge in his pants. It’s even more noticeable than before. He takes the hand he used to finger you and sucks the digits, covered in your slick, into his mouth. The muscles in your cunt clench, at the way his cheekbones look, the level of lust in his eyes aimed at you. 

“That was fuckin’ sexy,” he assures, popping his fingers out of his mouth.

────

At dinner that night, which is squirrel - so you settle for half a protein bar and a bruised apple, Rick sits down beside you. You’re eating away from everyone else, because Daryl’s helping someone with something like he always is, but it’s alright because you’re in your own world, thinking about what’s to come later tonight with him. 

You’re in a trance, remembering the way he scratched at your scalp fondly when he walked you to your tent and watched you bend down to get inside. “Don’t sprain yer wrist before tonight,” he joked, insinuating you’d be finishing yourself off. He went off with a wink, leaving you reeling - because since when did Daryl Dixon joke around? 

You’ve been riding on a high for the rest of the night. 

Rick sitting beside you takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him and swallow the bit of stale protein bar you’ve been chewing for probably ten minutes, quirking an eyebrow at him. He’s so serious, it’s annoying. 

Don’t get it wrong - you like Rick. Appreciate everything he’s done, does for the camp - he’s just so intense, but he’s handsome in his own right too. Not your normal type, but then again - neither is Daryl. You just don’t understand a man like Rick, and he doesn’t get you. But he’s the best thing this group has, because he has everyone's interest at heart. Even someone like Daryl, well - 

He puts himself, and you by extension now, maybe - first. It’s not a bad thing, in fact, you find both sides of the coin admirable in their own way. 

“What’s up, Rick?” You finally ask. He looks down to his hands, before nodding behind you, and you turn and look at what he’s referring to - it’s Daryl, looking angrily at Derek, who’s by the fire drunkenly talking shit about everything while people try to calm him down. You sigh. 

“You and Daryl,” Rick says, and you’re not sure what to say to that - statement? Accusation? You just nod. “What about us?” You ask, and you really don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not sure why whatever you’re doing with Daryl is any of Rick, or anyone’s, business?

You expect a lecture. Something about needing to earn your keep, to stop distracting him, to make things right with Derek. Instead, Rick just pats you on the back, literally. 

“You’re good for him,” he says, before awkwardly walking off when someone calls his name. No doubt for a crisis that could easily be solved without his help. You feel sorta bad for Rick - people are so stressed, so traumatized in this new world, that they don’t want to use their brains at all. They put all their problems, no matter how small, on Rick, and that’s gotta be hard. 

You want to call out some sort of acknowledgement for all he does as he walks away, but Daryl begins walking towards you before you get the chance. You’re still looking towards Rick. “You checkin’ the boss out?” Daryl jokes, with something like possessiveness or jealousy in his tone. It burns you in the best way possible - that Daryl might worry about something like that. 

What can you say? You’ve always thought a possessive man was hot. 

Daryl plops down beside you. You’re sitting on a log, but he’s on the ground. Typical Daryl behavior. He wraps a hand around your ankle - and suddenly you’re very glad you got a chance to shave with the razor you stole from someone’s pile of toiletries after the last run. 

“That all yer eatin?’” He asks, referring to the empty wrapper in your hand. You shake your head and show off your sorry apple, but Daryl just shakes his head and scoffs. “Tha’s not enough. You can’t be picky about,” but he stops when he sees the expression on your face. 

You’ve talked to him about this before. He didn’t reply, but you know he was listening. Food - it’s the only thing you can be a little picky about. Everything else, you don't have any choice over. Where the camp goes, who you share a tent with. Food and now, this thing with Daryl - that’s all the power you have. Daryl nods, like he gets it but doesn’t like it, and then changes the subject. 

“Are you cold?” You ask, and Daryl laughs. As kind as he is to you, you know that he’s uncomfortable when you, or anyone, tries to show any kind of care for him. He nods his chin towards the ratty blanket you’re using. “You gon’ share with me, girlie?” You shake your head, a grin spreading across your face.

“No,” you say, tossing the blanket, the apple, and the wrapper into a duffle bag next to the log you’re sitting on. “Just thought I could warm you up in your tent.” Daryl looks like a deer caught in headlights as he peaks over your shoulder to where the rest of the group is getting ready for bed, his tent mate grabbing a gun before heading to the area where he’ll keep watch while everyone sleeps. 

Daryl nods. “Yer dirty,” he grumbles, standing up, but he runs his hands up and down his bare arms like he’s feigning being cold. “C’mon then. You gunna warm me up or what?”

────

The first time Daryl fucked you, he went slow. Took his time, opening you up with his thick fingers, even though you didn’t need the extra time. You were aching, wet - desperate for him to shove his cock inside of you, because you’d been thinking about it for too long. Too much kissing, humping, friction between the two of you - all you wanted, could imagine, was how his cock would feel against your throbbing center. 

When he finally thrusted inside of you, stretched you out and began to fuck into you, he didn’t let himself go like you always imagined. Insecurely, you narrowed your eyes, even as your back arched off of his sleeping bag. “When’s the last time?” You asked, referring to the last time he had sex. Daryl just let out a shaky laugh and calmed your fears with a thrust that made your toes curl and a moan escape your lips. 

“Long enough, pretty girl,” he assured, all while you huffed in brat and dug your nails into his shoulders. “Jus’ wanna enjoy it. We’ve finally got the time.” And Daryl was right, but really, when is he ever wrong?

The first time you had sex you got to enjoy going slow. But the rest of the times after that - and there’s been a lot now, it’s always a quickie. A rush, because shit hit the fan at your current camp soon after the first night together. The entire group had to move, you lost people to walkers (though not Derek, unfortunately), and now getting off with Daryl only happens in quick spurts whenever you’re alone. 

In a way, the drama surrounding the camp has made the two of you closer. 

When the entire group has to drive down a walker infested highway, normally you’d be in a camper van with the other women and children, but Daryl has your back. 

“You’re ridin’ with me,” he says, shooting Rick a look before anyone can object. As he walks off, he purposely bumps his shoulder into Derek, who scoffs and does the same to you. Daryl doesn’t notice, but Rick does, and he tells Derek off before Daryl can do anything drastic like beat his ass again. 

“Hey,” he warns, shoving Derek away from you. “Watch it,” Derek grumbles, glaring at you before hopping into the back of a truck with a few of the other men. “What?” He asks mockingly, because you’re frozen, watching him in a trance while Daryl starts up his bike. 

Derek just can’t leave you alone - he picks on you every single chance he gets. “You got Rick standing up for you now too, huh?” He says, shaking his head in disgust. “You let him fuck you too?”

It’s not his words that hurt so much, but it’s the fact that he’s saying them at all. You’ve never done anything to Derek, have only been nice, yet he looks at you like a target and it hurts so bad your eyes threaten to spill tears. Thankfully, Daryl comes for you, and you get on the back of his bike with ease. 

“You okay?” He asks, even though it’s hard to hear with the sound of the rumble from the motorcycle. You nod, and press your face into his back. Daryl takes off down the highway, leading the way while Rick follows behind, and you selfishly let yourself doze off against him. You trust Daryl, more than you’ve ever trusted another man - and that’s a lot of pressure. 

Trusting anyone these days means you’re putting your life in their hands. It’s exhausting. When you tell the women at camp you’ll watch their kids while they go to the restroom, or go for a walk - essentially what you’re saying is you’ll protect their kids if shit was going south. Even just the thought, being responsible for someone else - it makes your chest heave. 

Your arms are tight around Daryl as he drives. You’re not sure how long you’re on the road for when the motorcycle stops, but you know you’re much farther ahead then the rest of the group. In another life, you imagine Daryl happy and free - driving to a city, or another town on a brand new motorcycle. Maybe working in a shop. You feel a pang of sadness, that he’ll never get that. 

He deserves so much more than this shit. You all do. 

Except maybe Derek. 

And Cindy. Fuck that bitch.

Daryl stops the bike and you get off, stretching your legs. 

“You good, dolly?” He asks, and you wrinkle your nose at the nickname. You’re pretending not to like it, when in reality, it makes you tingle all over. You nod. 

“You go fast,” you say, and he laughs, steps off of the bike and walks to an empty field off to the side of the highway. “‘S the only way to go. Stay here,” he orders, before walking off. He grumbles something about taking a piss and you stifle a laugh, pretending to salute him. You see his hand twitch, like he wants to jokingly flip you off, but he stops himself. 

Something about that, that he won’t play rough with you, has your knees feeling wobbly. You feel like you can breathe, without the rest of the group breathing down your back, insulting you, accusing you of doing sexual things just to be treated like a human being. You try not to think about it, because you want to have a decent day and don’t want Derek to be the cause of tears when you’ve been through worse circumstances without crying. It’s hard though. 

You walk around the motorcycle, eyes on the ground. You catch a glimpse of your shoelace, pink against the black of your boot, because you used the ribbon for added flair when you gave your shoelace to someone at the camp who needed a belt. 

Daryl saw you, and promised you that night with his cock buried deep in your throat, “I’ll get you some more ribbons, pretty girl,” he assured, while you gagged and spit dribbled down your chin. “Too hard to hold your hair back when yer suckin’ me off like a pro.” 

That comment should’ve stung, but you know Daryl didn’t mean it like that. In fact, it was so hot that you did your best, until he spilled down your throat and you licked the mess you made off of his cock and balls and thighs. 

You’re lost in your thoughts, busy giving your pussy a heartbeat when you notice a little gold, bullet shaped thing on the ground. You’re not sure what it is, but if it is a bullet, you know having extra is always good. You reach down to grab it, only then realizing that it's a lipstick. 

You pop open the lid. It’s a pretty pink color, and while it’s used - you can’t even remember the last time you wore makeup. You wipe the top layer off before dabbing some with your finger and putting it on, trying to check yourself out in the mirror of the motorcycle when Daryl comes back. 

“The fuck are they?” He asks, zipping his pants up. He’s so, so, so - crass sometimes that it’s endearing. You shrug, and that’s when he notices the lipstick you’re wearing. His eyes are hooded, heavy with tiredness, and it makes him look all the more handsome. “There a makeup store aroun’ here I shud know about?” He teases, and you shake your head and hold up the lipstick tube. 

“Found this. How’s it look?” Daryl just nods, looking at you with a strange expression. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, until he tugs you closer to him by the wrist and tentatively presses his lips against yours. 

“Don’ care about the gloss,” he comments, and you resist the urge to explain it’s not gloss, it’s lipstick. “But I don’ call you pretty girl for no reason. Always pretty,” he says shyly, and Daryl is a perfect guy, but he never opens up. Hardly ever says how he feels, or what he thinks - but he’s being clear now. That he wants you, verbally, even though his actions in everything he do is always proving that to you. 

It’s crazy, the feeling of happiness bubbling in your chest, all thanks to Daryl Dixon. On the fucking highway filled with walkers probably silent in their cars, with flat tires and blood stains and ramsacked belongings, you stand on your tip toes and nudge the toe of your boots against his, grabbing hold of his handsome face and peppering kisses all over. You leave pink lipstick marks, but he doesn’t know that yet - and it makes you giggle. 

Putting your mark all over Daryl - you’ve never been possessive, but wow does it feel good. When you finally pull away, Daryl looks at you like you’re crazy. Then he takes a look down the highway to make sure nobody’s coming, before bending you over the front of his motorcycle. 

“Grab the handlebars,” he orders, a hand on your back before roughly pulling your pants down your ass. It’s risky, knowing that the rest of the camp could drive up at any minute, but who really cares? They already think so low of you. They already -

Your eyes shut as Daryl shoves his half hard cock inside of you, and your walls clamp down around him, so tight you feel him growing. It happened so fast he wasn’t even fully hard, but now he is, small thrusts so the both of you can get used to the feeling. Your hands are cramping where they grip the bars of his bike, so tight, until it almost starts to tip. Daryl has an idea. 

He pulls out, cock in hand with his fucking pants not even pulled all the way down, and he sits himself over his bike like normal. “Take em’ off,” he says, nodding towards your pants, and you obey, stripping them off until it takes too long because of your boots and Daryl just hauls you over to him. 

You almost trip as he lifts you onto the bike, bent over the handlebars, eyes on the road, before he slips his cock into you. It’s like you’re sitting on his lap, and he reaches around you, fully supporting your body while rubbing your clit. 

“Can you move?” He asks roughly, and you whine, trying to go up and down on his cock but it’s too hard at the angle. Daryl presses a kiss to your head, moves some of your hair back while he takes hold of your hips and ruts you back and forth over his dick. You know he’s strong, but feeling it first hand is something else entirely. It’s like you’re a doll with the way he easily controls your body, dick so thick it feels like he’s stretching your pussy into the perfect mold just for him.

“Don’ worry,” he assures, letting out a breath of pleasure right by your ear. “I got ya. Only time yer quiet ‘s when you got my cock in you, huh?”

He’s not wrong. You wish you could see his face, but this position, your back to his front, is pretty hot too.

It’s only a minute later, when his hand slips while you try to pull your body up to do some of the work, that he nearly pinches your clit and it’s the pain that sends you over the edge. You cum, that easily against him, and you cry out his name just as you both hear the sound of an engine in the distance. Daryl curses, throws his head back at the feel of your tight pussy squeezing him, and quite literally picks you up off his cock and puts you on your feet. 

“Knees,” he says quickly, and you obey, because of course you do, even though the gravel of the road is a little painful on your knees. He grabs you by your hair, and forces your mouth onto his cock where he spills his load down your throat. You swallow it down and kitten lick the head of his cock clean after, admiring the pink lipstick marks all over his perfect dick as he quickly zips tucks his dick in his pants and zips up, but not before helping you get your pants back up too. 

“If we live another day,” Daryl says, helping you straighten out your pants when the other cars pull up. He snaps the band of your panties, white cotton and floral print, against your skin while the rest of the group gets out of the cars to have a meeting over some bullshit, you’re sure. “I’ll return the favor,” he finishes. 

You don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you pull up his arm and cuddle into his side as he stands up, his tongue on your mind even though you just came all over his cock. You wish you could’ve had time to ride your orgasm out, but you’ll take what you can get.

Rick nods to Daryl as he gets out of his truck. He looks between the two of you, and for the first time, maybe ever, - you see him smirk a little. 

“‘S your color, man,” he says, closing the car door. Daryl is confused, and takes a look at himself in the rearview mirror of his motorcycle, notices all the kiss marks and another first happens -

Daryl Dixon blushes red.

────

“I wanna come,” you say, resisting the urge to literally stomp your foot as Rick and Daryl and a few other men head out on a run. 

It’s not like you actually want to go, but you can’t bear the thought of Daryl leaving without you. You know he can take care of himself, but the thought of him not returning - it literally makes you feel sick. You tug on the sleeves of your sweater while Daryl loads a bag of guns into the back of Rick’s truck, the other men exchanging glances that you know are them hoping Rick puts you in your place. 

Ever since people caught on about you and Daryl, they’ve kept their mouths shut in regards to you. Which is good. You’re still ignored, like before - but at least you’ve got a little respect. You cross your arms as Rick and Daryl walk towards you. 

“It’s dangerous out there,” Rick says, as if you’re an idiot who’s head has been buried in the sand for the past year. He sighs. “Look - we need you here. This is your role,” he looks like he wants to continue, but Daryl places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a look that Rick knows means let me handle this.

But you already know what Daryl is going to say to you, and you don’t want to fucking hear it. “I want to come, Daryl,” you say, trying not to whine. “I’m good with a gun, and since Derek can’t go,” you lower your voice, but Derek must’ve been slinking around. He pops up next to you, and Daryl tenses. 

“You,” Daryl warns, mood gone sour just from Derek’s presence. “Fuck off.”

Derek laughs, but he’s obviously pissed. He can’t go on anymore runs, at least not for a while - he’s too scared, after a walker almost bit him the last time. 

It’s only when you tense up, that Daryl realizes the other reason you don’t want to be left alone. 

You don’t want to be alone with Derek. Yes, there’s other women at the camp and a few other men, but Derek is a scary, loose cannon. He’s the last person you want to be around right now. Daryl’s jaw locks, and he looks between the two of you, at the way you’re uncomfortable. Someone in Rick’s truck blares the horn, and he turns around, stressed out, not knowing what to do. 

“Fuck face,” Daryl grumbles, running a hand down his face. He’s addressing Derek with a glare. He walks closer to him, chest to chest almost, backing Derek almost onto his ass. Derek can pretend to be tough all he wants - but he’s a bitch in comparison to a man like Daryl. 

“Stay away from her. Don’t even look at her. If I come back and you so much as,” but Derek smirks. “If,” he emphasizes, until Daryl literally shoves him. Rick calls his name, and Daryl backs off. 

You end up dropping whatever you’re saying, hating the position you’re putting Daryl in - like you’re a kid who has to have your way. Daryl is just trying to help the group, he has responsibilities - you don’t need to make his job harder than it is, so you wave him off. “I’ll be fine, Daryl. Just - come back safe.” You kiss his cheek and then he’s off.

You go to your tent to avoid Derek when the men going on the run are gone, but as you walk away you hear him speaking to you. “What’re you doing with that white trash? You might’ve been a whore, but you’re no trailer trash. You wouldn’t be with him if this was any other world.”

You stop in your tracks. “Don’t talk about Daryl like that,” you say softly, but firmly. For all Daryl does for everyone - you can’t believe Derek has the fucking nerve to talk shit. You want to flip him off, but he walks closer to you, and you freeze. You’re more scared of this man than a fucking walker, and your stomach flips with anxiety at his nearness.

“I worked in finance,” he says, like it matters. You actually have to stifle a laugh, confused at why his past matters - he’s so worthless that this is all he has to brag about? He thinks you care? Is he trying to relate to you, by putting Daryl down? He’s an idiot.

You smile sweetly, as if that’s anything to brag about. All the finance guys you knew in the city before all of this - they were horrible people. Of course that’s what Derek used to do. 

“Trust me, Derek,” you say, hoping it stings. “I know.”

You walk away again, but just as you do, he grabs you by the arm. You try to pull your arm out of his grasp, but he won’t let you go. He tugs you closer to him, and you wish anyone cared about you enough to help you. 

“Let go of me,” you spit, but Derek just shakes his head.

“You’re such a stupid bitch, you know that? Acting too good for any of us, treating all of us like shit. But you put out for fucking Dixon - let all of us hear you letting him fuck you in his tent and the woods. We saw you on your knees that day on the highway. I mean, it’s not a secret you’re a slut, but it’s another thing to see it. And now Rick is defending you? That why you were talking to him the other day for dinner? Offering yourself up for more rations or something? You’re sick,” Derek rants and raves, bruising your arm with his grip.

“Let me go,” you say, trying not to show how scared you are. “Or I’ll fucking scream.” 

Derek actually laughs, shaking his head. You’re disturbed to know that he’s been watching you? Following you and Daryl? Because the both of you know - you only ever fooled around with Daryl when nobody could listen and see unless they were trying to. You wouldn’t do that, and neither would Daryl.

“If I’m such a stupid slut, that must make you pretty bad, huh? That I won’t even put out for you,” you hate that you even say those words, like you’d ever consider having sex with this man, but you want to hurt him. To get him to see that he's wrong about you - you want him to leave you alone.  

“You fucking bitch,” Derek says, pushing you to the ground.

You let out a cry. You should’ve never told Daryl and Rick you’d be okay, you should’ve -

Suddenly Derek is off of you. You’re frozen for a second, before you hear screaming and someone calling out your name. 

You’re in shock as someone helps you up. You know it’s Rick, because you notice his watch. “Damnit,” he curses, and you register the sound of Daryl’s voice. You look around for him, and when you find him, you see Derek on the ground, an arrow in his head. 

He’s dead - for now. That fast. Until he turns into a walker. 

Daryl walks to you, pulls you into his arms. “What happened?” He asks, and you’re worried he’s going to blame you, because you provoked him, and you stupidly left your weapons in your tent. You’re worried he’s going to think differently of you, that Rick will be mad that Derek is dead, and all these worries start swirling in your head until you can’t be strong anymore. You start crying so loud that you know you’ll be responsible for any walkers coming into camp tonight. 

Rick starts to talk, but Daryl, for the first time ever, shuts him down harshly. “No, man. I ain’t sorry. He had it coming,” he says sharply, and Rick just swallows, holds his hands up like he agrees. 

“Jus’ was gonna say to finish the job,” and you know he means, kill the fucker before he turns. 

But you don't want Daryl to do it.

No, this is a job you can do. 

Wordlessly, you pull yourself out of Daryl’s arms and walk towards Derek’s corpse. Everyone at the camp has gathered around now, too little too fucking late, but Rick tries to stop you from getting closer. You smack his hand away, and hold your palm out. It takes a minute, until Daryl finally orders Rick to give you what you want. 

Rick hesitantly places a gun in your hand - and you shoot Derek in the head.

────

You’ve never killed someone who hasn’t turned yet. Derek was the first.

What scares you the most, is how little you care. 

After what happened, you told Daryl everything that Derek said. You learned that night, from both Rick and Daryl, that the reason Derek was so horrible is because he wanted you - and how scary is that? What if he hurt you in another way once he had you on the ground? You’re lucky Rick forgot his gun and backpack on the run, that they had to turn around and come back to camp - the reason they got to you in time.

Rick assured you that you did the right thing. Which felt good, coming from the moral compass of the group. Everyone else was kind too, apologetic - you guess Derek scared more people into submission than you thought. 

But Daryl was just pissed. More angry than you’d ever seen him. Throwing shit, breaking stuff - burning Derek the minute he dragged him a far enough distance from camp. Derek never even got a chance to turn. 

Daryl threatened to leave the group with just you. It seemed like a good idea at first, until the reality that two people can’t survive on their own. No matter how resourceful, strong, and brave Daryl is. 

But that meant a lot, that Daryl was trying - but the important thing is to survive. 

The last few weeks, you’ve kept your head down. You clean, you help cook, you even take a few bites of whatever Daryl cooks because he pretty much forces you to - and because, secretly, you like how proud of you he looks when you try something new. 

You just wish the world was different. But Daryl’s been amazing. 

Rick’s been kind too. Everyone has, and maybe -

The sound of the zipper on your tent takes you out of your thoughts. You’re braiding your hair since you just washed it, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. You’re thankful for the distraction.

It’s Daryl.

“I already ate,” you tell him, worried that he’s bringing you some rodent that’s badly cooked. But you’re trying to be nice - he’s the only good thing in your world these days, so you soften your words. “Come inside and cuddle.”

Daryl squeezes inside the tent, and he leans on his side by your sleeping bag, just watching you. His head balanced on his hand, propped up on his elbow.

“Have somethin’ for you,” he says, not waiting for you to reply. In his hand is something wrapped in a tissue and you wonder what it is. He places it on your lap, and you look at him, excited but also a little upset. 

“I told you to stop risking your life to get me things,” you scold, because everytime Daryl goes on a run, he finds things for you. Ribbons, hair clips, a pink toothbrush the other day. Lip gloss and lipstick (he knows the difference now), a pair of socks with little bows on them that are a size too big but still your favorite. He’s always saying how cute you are, how he thinks about you whenever he sees something pink.

It’s the best compliment ever.

You look to the other end of your sleeping bag, where a teddy bear Daryl found for you on a run a few weeks ago faces you both. It’s missing an eye, has the ribbon, the first gift he ever gave to you tied around its neck, and you love it so much that you sleep with it every night.

It’s definitely seen better days, and you don’t really know where he found it, but it’s so special to you - partly because Daryl gave it to you, and partly because it’s a little part of him that’s always with you. Part teddy bear, part security blanket - just like him.

It’s also a little scraggly. Sort of rough, dirty - but cuddly just the same. Kind of like Daryl. You move it a little closer.

Daryl groans in frustration and you almost roll your eyes at the dramatics. “Hush, lady, y’know I can take care of myself. ‘S nothing,” he nods to the thing on your lap, and you sigh and open the tissue. 

It’s a cookie. 

Your brows furrow, and you look at Daryl, all confused. “What,” you start, and he shrugs, sitting up. He rubs a hand down his face. 

“Remembered what you said, about the cookies,” he’s sheepish, as if this isn’t the sweetest thing in the world. You gulp, trying not to cry at how touched you are, but you can’t help it. Tears brim at your waterline, and you wipe your eyes. 

“Oh,” he scolds, letting out a huff. “Don’ cry. I just remembered what you said, is all. It’s probably not good anymore, but you’re my girl, and I want,” you smile even as tears run down your face. 

“Your girl,” you hold that close to your heart, and Daryl nods, avoiding eye contact. You don’t care. You throw yourself into his arms. 

His hug is warm, strong, and you feel the stress leave your body as he kisses your temple. He was listening, all those times you were talking. 

Daryl Dixon, you think, the man that you are. 

Your silence must be unexpected. He pulls away, watches your thumb brush over the most likely stale cookie he probably found on a run. You’re not really gonna eat it - but it’s the thought that counts. 

“You talked about what ya miss, from before. But when I look back,” pretty blue eyes look at you. He cups your chin, presses his lips against yours. 

You make a note to ask for chapstick for the both of you on the next run. 

“Don’ cry, c’mon. You’re makin me soft,” he complains, even as he holds you closer. You want tell him that you can’t make him something he already is, but what he says next throws the sass right out of you. “When I look back, before I knew you,” he finishes shyly, “I just miss you, ya know?” 

Daryl says that he’s not romantic, but he’s the most romantic man you've ever met. He’s a good person. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and even though he’s vague sometimes, too quiet for his own good - you know what he means. 

You can’t believe there was a time you didn’t know - a time you didn’t love - this man. He’s everything to you.

And maybe, yeah - this world is hell. There’s death and decay and too much sadness to catch a break, but there’s one good thing in all of it. One thing so important to the both of you, that gives a little bit of meaning to this shitty, shitty world. 

You found each other. You have each other. 

You sniffle and nod, holding the cookie close, but Daryl even closer.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek softly. You feel him relax at your touch. “I’ve always missed you too, Daryl.”

[bees-library3]

Learning to Breathe Again

Summary: Daryl and you have to cross a freezing river to escape a herd. You get pulled under, and he has to fight to bring you back.

Warnings/Tags: hypothermia, drowning, descriptions of performing CPR, near-death experience, trauma, HEAVY angst, established relationship, female reader (she/her), season ten, no use of y/n

Word count: 1k words

A/N: I warned y’all that I like writing angst in my introduction post, and I delivered. Also, this is my first time writing in almost five years, and I'm still getting into the groove of things. Don't say anything if it's ass lmao. I promise that I will get better as I keep writing. Thank you @b1eedthefreak for being so sweet and encouraging me to post this. I would’ve been way too nervous on my own. Sorry for this being fucking depressing.

As the herd was closing in, the couple approached the river, and Daryl knew what you guys had to do. He understood that you were not a strong swimmer, and he was reasonably concerned, but you had no choice. The two of you needed to cross before it was too late.

“Baby, we gotta cross.”

Your facial expression immediately turned into one of panic, and Daryl instinctively grabbed your hand. He could tell that you were afraid of crossing, but there was no other option.

“We ain't have a choice. They're closin' in and I ain't losin' you to the dead. You trust me, yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and focused on his eyes. The fear was written all over your face, and you were trying your damndest not to shut down. You knew that you couldn't swim well and the idea of having to travel through the river had you scared shitless.

“I trust you, but I'm fuckin' terrified.”

“I know, sweet girl. I know. We have to move now, though. Just keep holdin' my hand.”

Daryl was speaking softly to keep his girl calm, but his tone held a sense of urgency. The walkers were getting closer, and it was only a matter of time before they reached the pair.

Not bothering to wait for your response, he kept holding your hand and pulled you into the river. The icy sting of the freezing water hit you guys fast, and it was a cold that could be felt in your bones. Both of your bodies were shivering, and it was so frigid that it was almost painful. He could tell that you were still nervous, so he continued offering gentle reassurances.

“You're doin' so good, baby. We're almost there. Just keep goin'.”

You had made it halfway across the river before the unexpected happened, and you were pulled under. Daryl tried to maintain his tight hold on your hand, but his grip faltered. You were submerged in the water, and he no longer had eyes on you. Ignoring the heavy chill, he took a deep breath and dove into the water. He could hardly see, but he felt around until his hand brushed against the fabric of your shirt.

He grabbed on and pulled you to him. His girl felt heavier, and it was taking all of his strength to get you both to the surface. Finally, Daryl was able to get his head above water, and he lifted you to allow you to get some air. You were coughing and gasping, but you kept slipping under. He fought hard to keep his hold on you, but he was quickly losing strength.

“Fuck. Baby, c'mon.”

Daryl continued to tug you up every time that you disappeared beneath the water, and he was moving the two of you the entire time. His vision started to go black around the edges, but he pushed on. After what felt like forever, you finally reached the riverbank. He hauled both of you onto land. He coughed and tried to catch his breath. He was exhausted, but he couldn't let himself fall asleep. Not yet.

After taking a few seconds to steady himself, he realized that you were eerily quiet, and he looked over at you. You were completely still, and Daryl felt the weight of dread build in his chest. He quickly sat up and moved over to you.

“No, no, no. Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

There was no response, and he panicked. Reaching over, he frantically shook your shoulder and waited for a reaction. Your face remained slack, and he saw that your chest was unmoving. Your lips had also taken on a bluish tint. Quickly, he moved you flat on your back and checked your pulse. There was nothing.

He had never performed CPR before, but he had seen it done. With shaking hands, he interlaced his fingers and pressed his palms against the center of your chest. He wasn't even sure if he was doing it correctly, but he was putting all of his remaining energy into the rhythmic chest compressions. The forest was quiet, save for the sound of Daryl's ragged breaths and his soft muttering.

“Breathe, baby. C'mon. Don't you fuckin' do this to me.

He was rambling, but he had never felt fear like this before. Daryl Dixon had fought walkers, experienced his fair share of loss, and been tortured. Nothing compared to the terror and adrenaline filling his body as his hands thudded against his baby's chest. The audible cracking of your ribs made him feel sick to his stomach, but he couldn't afford to quit now.

“I need you, baby. Please breathe. You gotta take a breath.”

At some point, he had started crying, and he could feel the hot tears as they ran down his face. His muscles were strained, and his whole body was shaking from the cold. Daryl was a stubborn motherfucker and he had no intensions of stopping. Continuing to press down on your chest, he remembered that he also needed to breathe for you.

Pausing compressions, he tipped your head back and made sure that your airway was clear. He then put his lips over yours and gave two quick breaths. Your chest rose slightly, but it was obvious that it was only because of Daryl's actions. His body was trembling, and he couldn't stop his teeth from chattering, but he refused to stop. Placing his hands back on your chest, he began chest compressions again and kept begging you to stay.

“Baby, you need to take a breath. Please, sweetheart. Just one.”

He gave you another round of rescue breaths and waited for something to happen. After what felt like hours, but was likely only a minute, you finally started coughing. As the water spilled from your mouth, Daryl quickly rolled you onto your side and gently rubbed your back. He was still sobbing and shaking, but it was out of relief.

“There's my girl. You're okay, baby. Just breathe. I got you.”

[dixonsdarkelf]

It's always such an honor to get to read your work early and give it the hype it deserves. You already know how much I love this, but allow me to share some of my reactions with the people 😉

“It’s not stupid. I want you to put a baby in me, Dixon.”

I love how forward Reader is. Good for her.

Daryl pulled his fingers from your walls, got up onto his knees and placed his fingers in his mouth. He sucked each of his digits clean of your juices, closing his eyes at the taste and letting out a huff of breath through his nose, one that clearly conveyed his satisfaction.

The visual omg help me...🫠

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he grunted, his voice dropping several octaves. He pulled back slowly, before thrusting back in, and his eyes screwed shut, his face contorting with pleasure. “So fuckin’ good. Fuck.”

😳🤭😩

“Daryl,” you started, breathless and gasping, pleasure coursing through your body. “Daryl, do you wanna get me pregnant?” Daryl was listening with half an ear. “Mhm.” “Well, then you’re gonna have to do a little better than this.”

OPE...I--OKAY 🤯

“M’gon’ put a baby in your belly.” There was no doubt in his words, no room left for “what ifs”. He spoke with such certainty that it made your head spin. “Bet you’re gonna look real pretty carryin’ my baby.” Thrust. “All round ‘n swollen, absolutely glowin’ ‘cause your pregnant.” Thrust. “Pregnant with our child.” Another thrust. “You’re gonna be the prettiest mama.” Another thrust. “All beautiful and pregnant ‘cause’a me.” Yet another thrust. “Gonna give ya all the babies you want. Gonna make you a mama.” Thrust. “You gon’ make me a daddy?”

You know how much I love the dialogue between thrusts and JESUS this hit the spot (no pun intended).

A fucking fantastic fic, as always 🤌🏻

Just A Little Baby Fever | Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader

Summary: The baby fever you felt was strong after starting to babysit little Judith. Seeing your partner be so good with the toddler stirred emotions in you that you hadn’t felt before. Finding out that Daryl felt the same was unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome.

Genre: Smut.

Era: Alexandria, post saviour war.

Warnings: Smut, swearing, soft!dom Daryl, breeding kink (I think), porn without plot, oral (f!receiving), fingering, pet names (baby, etc), unprotected p in v, mentions of pregnancy.

Word count: 2k.

A/N: There is no plot here. We jump straight into smut under the cut. As always, thank you to my angel @dixonsdarkelf for hyping this up!

“Oh, fuck! Daryl, oh my fu—shit!”

Your moans echoed off the walls of your shared bedroom with Daryl. The man in question—your partner—was lying on his stomach in front of you, his tongue vigorously lapping at your clit whilst his middle- and index fingers were pumping into your inner walls with a pace that had you seeing stars.

To say your day had taken an unexpected turn would be an understatement. One minute, you were happily babysitting little Judith, coaxing giddy giggles from her and entertaining her until Rick had come to pick her up. The next minute, Daryl had you in his embrace, his mouth on yours, his tongue in your mouth, with you against the wall of the living room. It had been an unexpected turn of events, one that you did not particularly hate. Quite the contrary, you very much enjoyed it. However, you knew that this animalistic urge to claim you was not like him. Daryl was quiet and reserved, and more often than not, you were the one that had to initiate sex. However, when you had pulled away and asked him what was up, his whispered, bashfull words more than explained the unexpected shift in his behaviour.

“S’amazin’, you takin’ care’a lil’ Asskicker like that. Made me think, y’know, ‘bout—‘bout maybe startin’ a family. You’d be such a good mama. S’jus’... I don’t know. S’stupid, but yeah.”

And who were you to deny the man you loved more than life itself something he so clearly wanted? It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about starting a family with him. In fact, regularly babysitting Judith had essentially given you baby fever as well. You just had not expected Daryl to feel the same way as you. So with the knowledge that you were both on the same page, you had leaned forward and whispered in his ear:

“It’s not stupid. I want you to put a baby in me, Dixon.”

Those whispered words of consent was what led up to your current predicament: you on your back, naked, with Daryl’s head between your thighs, his mouth devouring you like he had been sentenced to death and you were his final meal. His mouth and fingers had coaxed your first orgasm from you, and they were about to successfully pull a second one from you as well.

The coil in your stomach was close to snapping for the second time that night. You threw your head back against the pillows and your eyes screwed shut. Your hands abandoned their hold on the sheets beneath your body and instead disappeared into your partner’s chocolate-coloured locks. You gently gripped Daryl’s hair and lightly yanked on it, successfully eliciting a guttural groan from him. The sound vibrated against your clit, and that finally sent you over the edge.

“Daryl!”

You came undone on Daryl’s tongue for the second time that night. Loud, downright pornographic moans escaped your mouth as waves upon waves of pleasure crashed over you. Daryl helped you ride out your orgasm, his fingers slowly thrusting in and out of you, only stopping when you twisted your body to the side.

Daryl pulled his fingers from your walls, got up onto his knees and placed his fingers in his mouth. He sucked each of his digits clean of your juices, closing his eyes at the taste and letting out a huff of breath through his nose, one that clearly conveyed his satisfaction.

You watched him lick his fingers clean through half-lidded eyes, your body going into overdrive from the alluring sight. Once he was done, he pulled his fingers from his mouth with a lewd, loud pop, before slowly getting moving on top of you, a small, lopsided smirk on his face. You watched as Daryl moved to hover over you, his body pressing up against yours, feeling broad, strong and warm against you.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, before slanting his lips across yours.

You could taste yourself on his tongue clearly, and you moaned into his mouth, your arms looping around his neck and your hips bucking up against Daryl’s. Your body was already rearing to go again, despite still coming down from the second high you experienced only moments prior. As Daryl’s body pressed harder against yours, you thanked whatever entity was listening that you had managed to rid Daryl of his clothes when he had begun removing yours, because you were not sure how patient you would have been if he still had to remove his own articles of clothing.

Daryl groaned at the feeling of you pressing up against him, your lower body just barely grazing against his hard erection. He pulled back from the kiss slightly, his cerulean eyes boring down into your own irises.

“Someone’s eager, huh?” he mumbled with a small smirk, his left hand trailing up your hip, your waist, before settling on grabbing a handful of your breast, gently kneading the soft, supple flesh.

The whine that escaped your chest was downright sinful. “Daryl,” you began, gasping when he ground his pelvis against yours, withholding what you both so desperately wanted. “Daryl, please.”

Humming in acknowledgment, the crossbow-wielding archer slid his hand from your boob to the space beside your head to hold his weight up. He pressed one final soft, tender kiss to your kiss-swollen lips, before finally lining himself up with your entrance, the tip of his dick deep red and leaking precum. He was going slow, tantalizingly so, barely pushing the tip in before retracting again, and repeat.

He was teasing you, and you were losing your mind.

“Daryl, please” you practically begged, your voice heightened in pitch and breathless. “Please, please, just fuck me.”

The smirk that spread across Daryl’s face sent shivers up your spine. It was a look that said more than words ever could. Daryl Dixon was a man of few words. Daryl Dixon was a man of action.

And he proved that to be true by responding to your pleas with no words of acknowledgement, but instead by pushing his rock hard cock into you, your walls—warm and inviting—drawing him in closer. His eyebrows furrowed together, and he grit his teeth, gripping the sheets beside your head.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he grunted, his voice dropping several octaves. He pulled back slowly, before thrusting back in, and his eyes screwed shut, his face contorting with pleasure. “So fuckin’ good. Fuck.”

The rhythm started slow at first, moving at a steady pace. Thrust, pull back, thrust back in, and repeat. However, you wanted more. You craved more.

“Daryl,” you started, breathless and gasping, pleasure coursing through your body. “Daryl, do you wanna get me pregnant?”

Daryl was listening with half an ear. “Mhm.”

“Well, then you’re gonna have to do a little better than this.”

Daryl’s pace faltered for a second, but he didn’t let up. Opening his eyes, he gazed down at you, the normal, beautiful blue of his irises swallowed by the black of his pupils, a clear indication of his lust. He didn’t say anything at first, didn’t do anything except keep up the pace he had set, and for a moment, you wondered if he had even heard you at all.

“I gotta do better, huh?” Daryl replied gruffly. “This ain’t good enough?”

So he had heard you. “I—”

Before you could get any further than that, Daryl drove his hips forward unexpectedly, knocking the air from your lungs. Letting out a choked off moan, your hands flew to his arms, your fingers digging into his biceps in an attempt to ground yourself. However, your attempts were proven to be futile when Daryl repeated the action, and then again, and again, and again. He was setting a brutal, unforgiving, absolutely delicious pace, and you loved every second of it.

“Daryl!” you moaned loudly, throwing your head back against the pillows. “Oh, god. Fucking—oh.”

“Ain’t this whatcha wanted?” Daryl asked smugly. “Thought I had’a ‘do better’.”

Your heart was practically pounding in your ears. Your vision was blurry, unfocused, the only thing on your mind how amazing your partner was making you feel. “Dar—”

“M’gon’ put a baby in your belly.” There was no doubt in his words, no room left for “what ifs”. He spoke with such certainty that it made your head spin. “Bet you’re gonna look real pretty carryin’ my baby.” Thrust. “All round ‘n swollen, absolutely glowin’ ‘cause your pregnant.” Thrust. “Pregnant with our child.” Another thrust. “You’re gonna be the prettiest mama.” Another thrust. “All beautiful and pregnant ‘cause’a me.” Yet another thrust. “Gonna give ya all the babies you want. Gonna make you a mama.” Thrust. “You gon’ make me a daddy?”

Daryl’s words were laced in absolute filth. You never would have thought that he would be capable of saying anything even remotely like this. However, there he was, his body hot and sweaty and pressed against yours, his cock pounding into you like it could be the last thing he ever does, promising to knock you up.

You knew this was probably a bad idea. Neither of you had properly talked about this yet. You had established you both were on the same page and got right down to business, but neither of you had actually discussed what it meant. Having a child was a big step, a lot of responsibility, and a lot of planning had to be made.

However, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at that moment in time. Not while Daryl was making you feel so good you were seeing stars. Not while Daryl was grunting and groaning above you, clearly immersed in his own pleasure as well. Not when you could feel another orgasm approaching at the speed of light, so close to diving over that edge once again.

The thousandth moan of the night slipped past your lips, loud and sinful and comparable to the sound of a pornstar. You were so close, practically dangling over the edge, begging to be let go and to fall into oblivion. And with one final thrust, the coil in your stomach snapped, waves of pure, unadulterated bliss washing over you.

“Daryl!”

The archer could feel your walls clenching around his cock, and he gasped, his jaw clenching as he felt his own release about to happen. “Fuck, baby. Squeezin’ ‘round me like that, I can’t—fuck—fuck!”

With one, two, three final thrusts, Daryl’s release washed over him like a tidal wave, hot spurts of cum coating your inner walls, something that hasn’t happened before. Before this, he either had to wear a condom or make sure to pull out, neither of you wanting to risk a pregnancy.

Oh, how things could change.

Daryl almost collapsed on top of you, his head dropping to your chest. His breathing was hot and heavy, laboured from the exertion. You weren’t much better, sounding like you had just run a marathon. However, you were content, peaceful, happy.

Bringing a shaky hand up to card through Daryl’s hair, you giggled in pure ecstasy, amazed by the threshold you both had just crossed. That managed to draw a weak, breathless chuckle from Daryl, but neither of you said anything, instead just basking in the afterglow of the moment.

There was a lot you both had to talk about, that much you knew. The spontaneity would wear off and you both would realize the full extent of the line you just crossed. However, all of the logistics would come later. For now, you’d enjoy the moment for what it was, and not taint it with worries.

Everything Taglist: @francisofthespook @angelsanarchy @negansbestie @holdmytesseract

Daryl Dixon taglist: @mayday2007

(Comment/DM/inbox me to be added/removed!)

[r66dusthewriter]

New bruises, old stories.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader.

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Era: Early Prison. Season 3

Word count: 1.3k

It had been your dumbest mistake to date but if you’d known it would end this way, you would’ve done it the minute the group found the prison. You and Daryl had been clearing rooms, trying to carve some semblance of safety out of the ruins, when you stepped into the old engine room and the door slammed shut behind you. It took hours to force it open, hours filled with bickering and blame, long silences thick with frustration and moments of rest that somehow softened into tired laughter from you. Giggles that made his heart race in a way he wasn’t sure he hated.

His deadpan muttering, always right on the edge of sarcasm, made something in your chest relax when you least expected it and then there were long stretches where you didn’t even try to get out. Not because you couldn’t, but because something about the situation felt unusually right.

A few nights later, unable to sleep, your feet lead you back to that room and there he was, sitting in the dark like he'd been waiting for you. After that day, it became a thing. Not out of restlessness, but out of choice. It became a sacred hour carved out of the daily chaos that no one knew about, where nothing was demanded of you except that you be.

Daryl was still hesitant in all the ways that mattered. Rough around the edges, unsure of the softness he deserved but you kept testing the lines, inching closer, teasing gently and the strange part was that he let you. Maybe even needed you to.

He’d been out scouting the day before and didn’t come back until well into the afternoon. He had spent the rest of the day fixing things, shadowing Rick, saying very little like always but when night came and the world went still, you knew exactly where to find him.

The moonlight painted silver lines across the floor, softening the shadows as rain fell, steady and heavy yet not loud enough to pop this bubble you were in. Daryl sat still at the top of some steps, your weight against him a kind of tether, grounding him more than he’d ever admit out loud.

Your head rested on his thigh, your fingers working slow, practiced strokes against the blade you were sharpening.The candle next to you both flickered in the breeze running through the room, casting soft shadows across the cold concrete and dancing light on your face. It was just enough for Daryl to see it, a thin line of raw skin and crude stitches breaking the familiar curve of your brow. He leaned forward slightly, squinting as his eyes adjusted in the dim glow, the hand that had been resting behind him now reaching toward you. His rough fingers brushed your hair back with more care than you expected, as though afraid you’d shatter beneath his violent touch. He didn’t say anything at first, just let his thumb hover near the wound like the skin there might burn him.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet like he didn’t want to wake the moment.

“Wha’ happened?” 

You didn’t look up, didn’t stop running the blade over the whetstone, only let out a soft breath through your nose before muttering “Fell of the bed”

The corner of his mouth twitched, not with amusement but disbelief. 

“We lie t’ each other now?” He asked, eyes never leaving your face. There wasn’t anger in it. Just a quiet kind of hurt, the kind that grows in the space where trust used to sit too comfortably. The silence stretched, only broken by the sharpening stone, the rain and the candles’s fragile flame next to you.

You chuckled quietly.

“We?” you repeated, eyebrow raised. It was the first time you ever heard him say anything like that “I’m already here Dixon. I don't know what else you want”

“The truth, for starters”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk pulling at your lips “Come to me tomorrow with some kind of list and you’ll find out why i spend so much time sharpening this” 

You tilted the knife, letting the candlelight glint off its edge, more in a teasing manner than a threat. 

Daryl didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “Quit it with the threats ‘n start talkin’”

“It’s stupid”

He shrugged, like he had all night and you sighed, finally setting the knife and stone aside, letting the weight of it all settle in your chest. Slowly, you looked up at him and he looked down at you. His icy blues locked in, steady and relentless like they always were with you. 

“‘M sure whatever ya accidentally hurt yourself for was important t’ you.” he said, his voice low, even. “And we both know y’ain’t stupid”

Your lip curled. “‘We’, first and now compliments? Wow, you must be high”

He snorted, one of those quiet laughs that never made it past his throat “Talk”

The word was simple but it carried weight. Not a demand nor a plea, just a space. One he’d cleared for you.

“When I was little, I loved witch movies and one day I stole a rune book from the library…it wasn’t allowed for my age range. I must have read it a thousand times ... .So I started drawing runes on things wherever I thought it was needed” You wanted to stop there, but when you met his eyes, he was intently listening. You sighed “Anyway, I stopped at some point when I thought common sense should’ve kicked in but lately, I've been having some nightmares about being ripped apart by walkers—I said ‘fuck it’ and did what I used to when I was younger as my last resort. I got under my bed and drew one” You paused but Dayl didn’t speak, knowing there was more.

“Might’ve doodled something under yours too.” 

He blinked but his expression didn’t change much, just a slight lift of his brow, the faitest twitch at the corner of his mouth. You continued.

“Glenn caught me. I panicked and smacked my head on the metal bed frame trying to get out from under it like a damn racoon”

“Let me get this righ’,” he said, that gravelly voice coated in something between amusement and something far softer. “Ya got under m’bed t’ draw…magic symbols…’cause you were scared I migh’ die?”

“Well, when you say it like that it sounds bad…”

He chuckled, a real one that travelled through the room and over the rain hitting the outside walls. “Ya know, coulda just said somethin’. Like a normal person”

You groaned when he didn’t stop.

“Magic symbols…now I gotta get under there t’ see. Might lose an eye in the process”

“They’re called runes” You corrected, almost out of habit, voice soft. You sat up beside him, knees pulled close, the chill of the concrete floor seeping through your clothes. “Told you it was stupid,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

He didn’t respond right away. Just leaned back slightly, arms draped loosely over his knees, his expression unreadable. The quiet stretched thin between you, until even the rain seemed to hush, waiting. Then he shrugged, mostly to himself.

“Dun care if it’s runes or rabbit’s feet. If it helps ya sleep…if it means somethin’ t’ ya…’s good ‘nough for me” he paused “It still don’t mean it ain’t gonna take a lot fer ya t’ get rid’o me…” he turned to face you, his voice impossibly lower “Ya know tha’, righ’?”

You didn’t realize how close you’d moved until your eyes locked again, breath catching in the space between you. ALL you could offer was a short, hesitant nod. Your faces seemed to inch closer, the quiet moment stretching taut.

Then, like a whispered sigh, a sudden gust of wind swept through the room, cold and unexpected, raising goosebumps along your skin and snuffing out the candle’s gentle flame. The warmth vanished, leaving the shadows to hold onto that moment, that fragile secret, for a while longer.

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression @timebomb1101 @inejghafasdagger @koshkahhh @juliperezsilveira @pandaofsilentdeath

-------------------------------------------

TW: Cussing, Walkers (Zombies), tension, kidnapping, helplessness, coercion, lecherous behavior, predatory behavior, angst, Negan is a Villan, SA (Implied, offscreen)

Part 44

Dead Weight - Part 45

The sight of Alexandria's gates feels like a mockery as Negan's convoy rolls through them. You're sitting stiffly in the passenger seat of the lead truck, your hands clenched in your lap, trying not to think about how wrong this all feels. Carl is in the back with some of Negan's men, and you can feel the tension radiating from him even without looking back.

This should be home.

This should be safety.

Instead, it feels like just another violation.

"Well, would you look at this place," Negan says cheerfully as he climbs out of the truck. "Suburban paradise. Makes a man want to settle down, raise a family." His eyes find you as you reluctantly follow. "What do you think, sweetheart? Could see ourselves with a little white picket fence?"

The casual way he includes you in his fantasy makes your stomach turn. You don't answer, focusing instead on Carl as he leads you toward his house. The streets are too quiet—everyone hiding, probably, which is smart.

In the kitchen, Negan makes himself at home with disgusting ease, rummaging through cabinets and commenting on everything like he owns the place. When Olivia appears, clearly terrified but trying to be helpful, you watch Negan's face change as he looks her up and down.

"Now, Olivia, right?" His voice has that false friendliness that makes your skin crawl. "You and I need to have a little chat about your... inventory management. See, I'm looking at you, and you look like you've been eating pretty well. But my men outside? They're telling me people here are starving."

Olivia's face crumples, and you can see her fighting back tears. "We... we are. I have diabetes, I'm not... it's not because I'm taking extra—"

"Hey," you step forward before you can stop yourself. "Leave her alone."

Negan's attention swings to you, and his smile sharpens. "Well, look at that. My little wife's got some fire in her. I do like that in a woman."

The word 'wife' hits you like a slap. You hate yourself everytime he uses it. You agreed to go with him to save Daryl's life, and he took Daryl anyway. The betrayal still burns in your chest.

Judith's crying starts from upstairs, and Olivia moves to go get her, but Negan holds up a hand. "Now hold on there, Olivia. I'd like to meet the little princess."

"I'll get her," you say quickly, already moving toward the stairs. The last thing you want is Negan's hands on Lil Asskicker. You climb the stairs quickly, your heart pounding with a mixture of protective instinct and dread.

In the nursery, you find Judith standing in her crib, her little fists gripping the rails as tears stream down her red cheeks. The sight of her distress makes your chest ache.

"Hey there, Lil Asskicker," you whisper softly, using the nickname that always makes you think of Daryl.

Your throat tightens as you lift her into your arms, remembering how gentle he always was with her.

God, you miss him.

The not knowing is eating you alive - is he hurt? Is he eating ?

You've heard whispers, but its just whispers and the uncertainty is torture.

"Shh, it's okay, sweetie I've got you," you murmur against her soft hair, trying to push down the grief that threatens to overwhelm you.

Judith's crying subsides as you rock her gently, her tiny hand fisting in your shirt. She's always been easy to settle, maybe because you've been there since the day she was born, through every sleepless night and fever scare.

You've changed her diapers, sung her lullabies, and promised her that her family your group would always protect her.

Now that promise feels heavier than ever.

When you return downstairs, Negan's eyes immediately lock onto you and Judith with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

Negan's grin turns predatory, and he leans back against the kitchen counter like he owns the place. "You know, having babies around always gets me thinking," he says, his eyes roaming over you in a way that makes your skin crawl.

"All this responsibility, all this... domestic bliss. Course, making them is the fun part, if you know what I mean." He chuckles at his own crude joke, completely unbothered by the fact that there are children present.

"Nothing quite like a woman who knows how to handle the little ones. Shows she's got all the right... instincts."

There's something predatory in his gaze as it moves between you and the baby, and when he speaks, his voice suggestive in a way that makes you want to scrub your skin clean.

Carl steps closer to you, his jaw set in that stubborn way that reminds you so much of Rick. "Leave her alone," he says, his voice steady despite his age. His hand hovers near his gun, and you can see the protective anger burning in his eyes. "She said no."

Negan raises an eyebrow, amused rather than threatened. "Easy there, Carl. I'm just making conversation." He moves toward the stove, opening cabinets like he's been living here for years.

"How about we all just relax? I'm thinking spaghetti for dinner. Nothing says 'getting to know each other' like a home-cooked meal." He pulls out a pot with theatrical flair, but his eyes keep drifting back to you holding Judith, that same unsettling hunger never quite leaving his expression.

The smell of garlic and tomato sauce fills the kitchen as Negan hums while stirring the pot, acting like this is the most natural thing in the world.

He's made himself completely at home, opening cabinets and drawers like it was his home, instead of the truth of him being an unwelcome invader.

"This is nice, isn't it?" Negan says, glancing over his shoulder at where you sit at the kitchen table with Judith on your lap and Carl beside you, both of you tense and watchful. "Just like a real family dinner. Carl, you're the man of the house while Rick's away. And look at this beautiful little setup we got here." His eyes linger on you holding Judith.

You bounce Judith gently, trying to keep her calm while your own heart races. "There you go, Lil Asskicker," you whisper, and the nickname brings another sharp pang of missing Daryl.

You can imagine his presence in the room - the way he'd be standing between you and Negan right now, that protective tension in his shoulders, ready to fight even if it meant getting hurt. The memory of his arms around you feels like a different life.

Negan continues his performance, tasting the sauce with theatrical flair. "You know, this reminds me of before. The first of my wives, she used to cook for me just like this. Course, that was before I learned how much more... efficient it is to have multiple wives. Spreads the workload around, if you catch my meaning." He winks at you, completely ignoring Carl's disgusted expression.

"That's sick," Carl mutters under his breath, but loud enough for Negan to hear.

"Sick?" Negan laughs, turning around with the wooden spoon still in his hand. "Carl, my boy, that's just practical. Why limit yourself to one when you can have your pick? Speaking of which..." His gaze slides back to you, predatory and patient. "My offer still stands. You threw yourself over that redneck boyfriend of yours real pretty-like. Showed real loyalty. I can respect that. But he's not here anymore, is he?"

The words hit like a physical blow, and you instinctively hold Judith tighter. Carl's hand moves toward where his gun wpuld be again, but you catch his eye and shake your head slightly.

Not with Judith here.

Don't make things worse.

"I remember that night," Negan continues, seemingly oblivious to the tension he's creating. "The way you begged for his life. Real touching stuff. Course, it didn't change anything - I still needed to make my point. But it showed me something about you. Showed me you know how to be devoted to a man." He stirs the pasta with slow, deliberate movements. "Question is, are you ready to be devoted to the right man now?"

Before you can respond, there's a knock at the front door. Negan's expression shifts, irritation flashing across his features at the interruption of his twisted domestic fantasy.

"Well, shit," he mutters, setting down the spoon. "Hold that thought, sweetheart."

Spencer stands on the porch when Negan opens the door, looking nervous but trying to project confidence. You can hear every word from the kitchen, and your stomach drops as you realize what Spencer is about to do.

"Negan, right? I'm Spencer Monroe. I was hoping we could talk."

"Spencer fucking Monroe!" Negan's voice booms with false cheer. "Rick's told me absolutely nothing about you. Come on in, buddy."

You watch in growing horror as Spencer enters, glancing nervously at you and Carl before focusing on Negan. He's trying to stand tall, but you can see the fear underneath his bravado.

"I wanted to talk to you about Rick," Spencer begins, and immediately you know this is going to end badly. "About his leadership. I think there might be a better way to handle things around here."

Negan's smile turns sharp and dangerous. "Oh, is that so? You think you could do better than Rick? You think you got what it takes to lead these people?"

Spencer nods, clearly misreading Negan's tone. "I do. I was born here. These people trust me. And I think I could make things run more smoothly between our communities."

"Well, Spencer," Negan says, his voice dropping to that quiet, deadly tone that makes your blood run cold. "You know what I think? I think you're a gutless piece of shit."

The temperature in the room plummets. Carl tenses beside you, and you pull Judith closer, covering her ears instinctively.

"I think you're the kind of man who waits for another man to go out and risk his life, and then comes to me to undermine him. You want to take over? You want Rick's job?" Negan's hand moves to his belt, and you see the glint of his knife. "You got to earn it. But you know what? I don't think you got the guts."

"I... I do have the guts," Spencer stammers, but it's too late. You can see it in Negan's eyes - Spencer's already dead, he just doesn't know it yet.

"Really? Let's see them."

The knife moves faster than you can blink, and Spencer's scream cuts through the air. You turn away, pressing Judith's face against your shoulder, but you can't block out the wet, horrible sounds that follow.

"Yep," Negan says conversationally, as if he's commenting on the weather. "No guts."

When you finally look back, Spencer is on the ground, and Negan is wiping his knife clean on a dish towel - one of the good ones that belonged to Rick's family before all this started.

"Well," Negan says, turning back toward the kitchen like nothing happened. "Now that that's settled, who's hungry? That spaghetti should be just about ready."

Back at the Sanctuary, you feel like you're suffocating. The place reeks of fear and submission, everything you've spent years fighting against.

Time had become meaningless at the Sanctuary - weeks blending together in a haze of fear and survival. Six weeks? A month? You'd stopped counting. The black dress they'd given you - one of his "wives'" dresses - hung on your frame, a constant reminder of what you were.

You're standing in what used to be someone's office, now converted into one of the "wives'" rooms, when there's a soft knock at the door.

Sherry slips inside, glancing around nervously before closing the door behind her.

She found you, staring out the window at the courtyard where Walkers were chained to the fence. She sat down beside you without a word, her own black dress a mirror of your captivity.

You'd been jumping at shadows lately, flinching whenever footsteps came too close, your hands shaking when anyone raised their voice.

"I have something for you," she says quietly, pressing a set of keys into your hand. "Level B, end of the hall. The bikes are in the loading dock on the east side."

Your heart stops. "Sherry—"

"There's going to be a distraction in about ten minutes. Some new guy causing trouble in the main hall. You're going to get out, both of you, Dwight will help you."

"Why ... are you helping us?"

Her smile is sad and tired. "Because I remember what it was like to love someone that much. And because maybe if you get out, it means there's still hope for the rest of us."

She stood up abruptly. "Come with me. Now."

"I cant he'll kill him I—" you stammered, but she was already walking away.

"Just trust me," she said over her shoulder. "For once in this godforsaken place, just trust someone."

You followed her through corridors you'd never seen before, your heart hammering against your ribs. Every turn could be a trap, every step could lead to punishment.

But something in Sherry's voice made you believe her.

She stopped in front of a heavy door, checking both ways down the hall. "Dwight's in there with him," she said quietly.

"Don't ask me why he's doing this. Don't ask me anything. Just run." She squeezed your hand.

"Third bay from the left."

"Sherry, what-"

"No questions." Her voice was firm but not unkind.

She unlocked the door. "Go. Before I change my mind."

They think they broke me, Daryl thought, sitting in the corner of his cell as footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Think all that music and dog food sandwiches gonna make me roll over like some bitch.

But every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. Throwing yourself over him, begging Negan to spare his life. The way you'd looked at him in those last seconds before they dragged him away - not with pity or fear, but with something he still couldn't quite believe was real.

The cell door was already open when you approached, and you could see two figures inside - Daryl backed against the wall, and Dwight standing near the entrance looking conflicted.

"Time to go," Dwight said simply when he saw you. He didn't look at either of you directly. "You got maybe three minutes before the next patrol."

Daryl's eyes found yours across the small space, and for a moment, neither of you moved. He looked thinner, paler, but his eyes... his eyes were still the same. Still looking at you like he couldn't quite believe you were real.

"What the hell are you doin' here?" he breathed, moving toward you with his arms already reaching out for you.

But when he moved to pull you into his arms - the same instinctive embrace that had always comforted you - you jerked backward, your whole body recoiling from his touch.

The rejection hit him like a physical blow. You stood there in that black dress, trembling, avoiding his eyes completely, and everything about your posture screamed don't touch me.

Somethin's wrong, Daryl realized, his hands dropping to his sides. Somethin's real wrong.

"Are we really getting out of here," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you wouldn't look at him directly.

Daryl's protective instincts flared to life, stronger than they'd ever been. The way you kept your distance, the shadows under your eyes, the way you flinched when he'd tried to touch you...

"We're leavin'. Right now," he said, his voice hard with determination. He looked at Dwight. "How long we got?"

"Two minutes, maybe less."

Whatever happened to her in this place, I ain't lettin' it happen again, Daryl thought grimly. Never again.

Moving through the Sanctuary's corridors felt like a nightmare. Every shadow could hide a Savior, every sound could mean discovery.

Daryl stayed close behind you, but not too close - he'd learned his lesson in the cell. You walked with careful distance between you, your arms wrapped around yourself defensively.

This is wrong, he thought. All wrong. She used to trust me to keep her safe, used to let me guide her.

But now you navigated the hallways like you were afraid of him, like his presence was just another threat to manage.

Get her out first, he told himself. Questions later. Just get her safe.

His protective instincts were screaming now, every fiber of his being focused on one thing, getting you away from this place, away from whatever had put that, that fear into your eyes.

Shoulda never let Negan take her in the first place.

They reached the exit Sherry had told you about, a service door that led to the bikes. Daryl pressed his ear to the door, listening. Nothing.

"Once we're out there, we don't stop," he whispered. "No matter what happens, y'keep runnin'. You hear me?"

You nodded, but he could see the fear in your eyes. The same fear he'd seen that night with the claimers when you'd curled up against him, trusting him to keep you safe.

The garage was eerily quiet, their footsteps echoing off concrete walls. Daryl found the bike in the third bay - that would get them out fast if they could make it to the perimeter.

"Y'good?" he asked quietly, swinging his leg over the seat.

You nodded, but when you approached the bike, you hesitated. You positioned yourself carefully on the seat, leaving as much space as possible between you.

Is she's afraid of me ? Afaird to touch me, the thought hit him hard.

"Y'don't gotta..." he started, then stopped.

Whatever he was going to say - that you didn't have to be afraid, that he'd never hurt you - the words felt hollow. Something had changed, and empty reassurances weren't going to fix it.

Just get her home, he told himself. Get her safe first. Everything else can wait.

When you finally put your hands on his sweatshirt - light, barely there, like you were ready to let go at any second - Daryl felt his jaw clench with renewed determination.

Never again, he thought as he started the engine.

Whatever he did to her, it ain't happenin' again.

The bike purred to life, and Daryl felt a moment of pure relief. This was freedom - the road, the machine beneath him, and you behind him. This was how it was supposed to be.

The gate was unmanned - Dwight's doing, no doubt. They rolled through slowly, waiting for shouts, for gunfire, for the sound of pursuit.

But there was only silence and the road stretching ahead toward Alexandria.

You sat behind him on the bike, still in that black dress, and every time he felt you tense up or heard your breath catch, his chest tightened. The way you held onto him was sp different now - careful, hesitant, like you were afraid of getting too close.

She's hurt, he realized. Not just physically. Something deeper. Something that bastard did to her while I was locked up, useless.

"Y'alright?" he called back over the engine noise.

"Yeah," you replied, but your voice was tight, controlled. The same voice you'd used in the early days after the prison fell, when you were still learning to trust him.

Time had become meaningless in that cell, but he knew it had been too long. Too long for you to be in Negan's hands, too long for him to be helpless to protect you.

The bike ate up the miles, but Daryl couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had changed. Ever since that cabin after the claimers, you'd fall asleep together, you used to fall asleep against him, even on runs sometimes. Now you sat rigid, alert, like you were ready to run at any moment.

Merle's voice uncurled from his skull and whispered in his head "Look what you did to her, little brother. Look what your weakness cost her."

When you reached over and touched his arm - just briefly, like you were checking he was still there - Daryl felt something crack in his chest. Whatever had happened at the Sanctuary, whatever Negan had done to put that careful distance in your touch, he'd find a way to help you heal from it.

He had to.

"Almost home," you whispered, and for the first time in a weeks, Daryl allowed himself to hope.

--------------------------------

The bike sputtered and died about twenty miles from Alexandria, the engine finally giving up after running on fumes. Daryl cursed under his breath as he guided it to the side of the road.and hid it in the underbrush, the silence suddenly deafening after hours of engine noise.

"We gotta camp tonight," he said, scanning the treeline for somewhere defensible.

You nodded without speaking, and he noticed how you hugged your arms around yourself again. The black dress offered no protection against the chill, and he could see you shivering.

He found an old hunting cabin about a half mile into the woods - abandoned but sturdy, with a fireplace that still worked. Daryl got a fire going while you sat on the opposite side of the small room.

She used to sit right next to me, he thought, poking at the flames. Used to curl up against my side without even thinkin' about it.

"Come closer to the fire," he said gently. "You're gonna freeze over there."

You shook your head, pulling your knees up to your chest. "I'm fine."

But you weren't fine. He could see you shivering, could see the way you kept your eyes fixed on the door like you were planning an escape route. When he moved you flinched backward so hard you hit the wall.

"Hey," he said, freezing mid-motion. "Hey, it's just me."

The look in your eyes - wide, startled, afraid - made his stomach twist. In the attic room you'd shared back in Alexandria, you used to wake up in his arms almost every morning. Soft and warm and trusting, your face peaceful in sleep, your small hand usually curled against his chest.

Those quiet moments before the others woke up had been the closest thing to peace he'd ever known.

What did that bastard do to her? The question rose in his throat, desperate to be voiced. What did Negan do while I was locked up in that cell, useless, unable to protect her?

But just thinking about asking made his stomach turn, made bile rise in his throat. Because if you told him, if you said the words out loud, he'd have to hear them. He'd have to know exactly how he'd failed you, exactly what his reckless fists had cost.

--------------------------------

The cold was getting worse, and eventually survival won out over fear. You watched him for a long moment, studying his face in the firelight. This was Daryl. The man who'd held you, who'd kissed you so carefully he'd trembled. The man who'd never once made you feel unsafe.

But everything feels different now, you thought, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. Everything feels dirty.

Slowly, carefully, you moved closer to the fire. Not close enough to touch him, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from the flames. Daryl didn't look at you directly, didn't make any sudden movements. He just kept feeding small pieces of wood to the fire, giving you space to decide what you could handle.

After what felt like hours, you shifted slightly closer. The cold was seeping through the thin black dress, making your bones ache.

You trusted Daryl - that hadn't changed. It was your own body that felt like a stranger now, your own skin that felt contaminated.

He's safe, you reminded yourself. Daryl would never... he's not like that.

Tentatively, you moved your hand across the small space between you. Your pinky finger brushed against his where it rested on the cabin floor, and you linked them together - just barely, just the smallest possible connection.

Daryl went very still, like he was afraid any movement might spook you. But he didn't pull away. He let you control the contact, let you decide how much you could bear.

"It's okay," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever happened... it's okay. Y'safe now."

The words made your throat tight, made tears threaten to spill over. Because you wanted to believe him, wanted to feel safe again. But Negan's hands were still burned into your memory, his voice still echoing in your head, and you didn't know how to make it stop.

But Daryl's pinky stayed linked with yours.

"I ain't ever gonna hurt you," he said instead, his voice rougher than he intended.

"You know that, right?"

You nodded, but you didn't move closer.

You watched him across the firelight, this man who had kept you safe through so many nights. Daryl - who had never taken anything from you, never demanded anything, never made you feel like you owed him something just for existing.

The memories of gentle mornings and careful kisses felt like they belonged to someone else now, someone who hadn't been broken down.

But this was Daryl. And despite everything Negan had tried to steal from you, despite how the very thought of touch made your skin crawl now, you trusted him completely. You always had.

Daryl slowly so very slowly, turned his hand so his pinky could properly link with yours. Such a small thing, but it felt monumental - this tiny bridge between you both.

You sat like that for a long time, pinkies linked, watching the fire burn down. When Daryl finally spoke, his voice was rougher than usual.

"Can I..." he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. His hand was trembling slightly where it connected with yours. "Would it be okay if I... if I Just... just ... please."

The request was so gentle, so carefully asked, that it almost broke something inside you. He was trembling - actually trembling - with the effort of not doing anything that might hurt you further.

"You don't have to ask," you said quietly, but even as you did it, you were grateful that he had. That he understood how fragile everything felt now.

"Yeah, I do," he said simply. "M'always gonna ask."

You nodded, as he leaned forward with infinite care. His lips pressed against your temple - soft, reverent, nothing like that man.

This was Daryl giving you something instead of taking it away.

When he pulled back, you were both crying - silent tears that caught the firelight and spoke of things too broken to put into words yet.

[lynhub]

₊⊹garage assistance ── FT. DARYL DIXON

✎ᝰ.daryl's library ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤㅤㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤㅤㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤㅤㅤ

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤㅤㅤ. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ intro.ᐟ ࿐ྂ

⋆˚࿔ENTRY FROM LYN.ᐟ this was supposed to be a work for something else and you can tell at the start but it ended up in a whole other direction, hopefully you guys enjoy! i also didn't proof read so ignore mistakes and errors. ━love, lyn

⋆˚࿔OVERVIEW ━ you were supposed to be helping daryl fix up his bike, but your outfit choices distracts him from the task at hand.

⋆˚࿔WARNINGS ━ smut per usual, mention of public sex, there is no foreplay if that is in need of a warning, no protection, piv, i think that's it?, kind of off script for daryl but also kind of not, he's sweeter in this

mature content, 18+

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤㅤㅤ. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ enjoy.ᐟ ࿐ྂ

you can’t remember the last time you wore a dress, definitely some time before the world went to shit. there hadn’t been a reason to since. but alexandria is experiencing a rare moment of peace; the weather is warm, the sun is out, and things feel as normal as they can be. you find the sundress tucked away in a bin at the back of your closet. the soft cotton, patterned with little yellow flowers, a flickering memory of summers passing through your mind.

you can’t resist sliding the fabric over your body, letting the cotton drape against your skin the way it was meant to. the dress fits — maybe a little short, but that’s alright. it’s hot as hell outside anyway. you pause in front of the mirror, giving yourself a once over. everything’s in place. 

once you’re satisfied, you head downstairs, offering a quick goodbye to carol, who is once again stress baking again. the smell of something sweet wafting through the air. you’d offered to help daryl with the bike repairs today. not that you actually know a damn thing about bikes, but it’s an excuse to hangout with him. alone.

your tattered sneakers scuff against the pavement as you make your way through alexandria, following a familiar path toward the garage. a path you have taken countless times, one just to see him. the streets are fairly busy, others passing you polite greetings and nods. 

the garage comes into view, the wide open door indicating someone’s inside. you can hear the clatter of tools hitting metal, the low grunt of frustration, definitely daryl.

“darly?” you call out, stepping closer, eyes scanning the garage. you don’t see him at first, just the motorcycle he’s been working on, it’s bulk blocking the view.

“here.” he mutters, voice is low and rough. he doesn’t bother looking up because he doesn’t have too. he knows your voice better than he would care to admit.

you round the bike to stand on the same side, his back to you, allowing you the opportunity to check him over unnoticed. his hair clings to his face, damp with sweat, strands curling at the nape of his neck. his hands and arms are covered in grease, fingers filthy from the work. that signature angel wing vest snug to his shoulders.

he looks good. but then again, daryl always looks good.

“you been out here long?” you hum, settling onto a rolling stool behind him.

“yeah,” he grunts in reply — low and simple, like him.

he knows damn well you aren’t here to fix bikes. you won’t be much help and he knows that. but he doesn’t care. in all honesty, he wants your company more than anything.

you knock something over on the table by accident, a can of nails toppling over to the ground in a loud, clattering mess that rips through the quiet of the garage.

he finally glances over — eyes drawn to the sound, to you now couched down, turned away, picking up the nails scattered across the floor. that’s when he sees it.

the sundress.

his breath catches. daryl swallows hard, throat bobbing as his gaze roams slowly over you. bare shoulders, the dip of the dress at your back, the hem swaying just above your thighs. it seems like he no longer has any thoughts in his head except for you.

he shakes himself out of the daze, his voice sounding out through the noise of metal nails clattering into the can. “i didn’ invite you ‘ere to make a mess,” despite the gruffness there’s a hint of affection in his words.

“it’s not like i was trying to make a mess,” you mutter as you quickly finish gathering the nails and brushing your hands off on your dress. turning back around to find him looking at you. his gaze is heavy and intense, as if he’s trying to read your mind. you can’t help as your brow furrows, caught off guard. “what?” you ask.

“nothin’,” he shakes his head, eyes trained on you. “jus’... yer wearin’ a dress.” 

“well i’m glad you know what a dress is,” you say teasingly, a smile spreading across your face. “do i look bad?”

“definitely not,” he grunts, turning back to his bike already as if he didn’t just knock the air out of you with two simple words.

“so… you like the dress?” you ask, prodding slightly, trying to not sound too eager. the desire to crawl into his head for just a second, to figure out what he’s actually thinking.

he just grunts, a low sound from the back of his throat, but you know what it means. an affirmation. after all the years, you’ve gotten good at translating his silences.

“you know not everyone speaks caveman, right?” you grin, stepping closer until you’re directly behind his knelt down position, peeking over his shoulder at the bike like you have any idea what you’re looking at.

“yer distractin’ me,” he gruffs, voice low and rough. he glances at you over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours, they’re darker than usual — bluer, more eager, like you’ve done more than just bother him while he works.

“and what are you gonna do about it?” you hum, the words bolder than you intended, an unmistakable challenge. 

you watch as daryl’s eyes darken even further, the cogs in his brain visibility turning as he weighs his next move. his gaze seems to sharpen, assessing you like the hunter he is. 

“yer sure you wanna find out?” his words drawl thicker now, low and slow, heavy with a promise.

“i think i do, dixon,” you mumble, there’s no going back now.

daryl’s eyes flash —- wild, unrestrained. the tools drop from his hands with a loud clatter. he’s across the garage in a heartbeat, standing in front of you, close enough to practically steal the air from your lungs. he towers over you, gaze sweeping over your face like he’s searching, or rather checking for any trace of doubt.

“you sure?” he mutters, his voice on the cusp of a whisper.

“i want you, daryl.”

that’s all it really takes for daryl’s lips to be on yours. he’s never been one to be so brazen in his actions, always guarded and calculated, but now there’s nothing careful about him. he hoists you up onto the dusty table like it’s instinct, like he’s done it a million times in his head. tools scatter to the floor with harsh clanks, but he doesn’t stop.

his mouth crashing against yours with a bruising intensity, as if he’’s trying to make up for lost time. your arms loop around his shoulders, fingers tangling in the damp locks. you can’t resist pulling him closer. 

rough hands grip your thighs, sliding up the hem of your short dress without hesitation. you shiver under his touch, goosebumps rising where his calloused palms touch. there’s a need that’s been building, restrained for too long.

in this moment, you don’t care about the dust, or grease, or the open garage door. all you care about is him. 

“daryl please,” you whine at him, voice desperate and breathy, the words falling from your lips before you are able to stop them

something in him snaps. the restraint he always displays starts to slip away from him. his hands move with a different kind of urgency, one that is rougher, needier. it’s like he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t touch every single inch of your body. his lips leaving yours only to trail lower, dragging along your jaw before finding that sensitive spot at the junction of your neck. his mouth presses there hard, sucking until a red mark blooms, claiming you without saying a word.

his hands finally drift from your thighs, moving to the waistband of his tattered, faded jeans. his fingers fumble with the button and zipper, clumsy in a way that makes a tingle shoot through your spine – simply because it’s not hesitation, it’s desperation. 

you can’t help but watch, breath caught in your throat as he finally shoves them down enough to free himself, the fabric bunching chaotically at his hips. he doesn’t care, doesn’t need to undress all the way. he just needs to be inside of you the way he’s imagined almost every night since the day you met. 

his rough fingers slide beneath the hem of your dress, finding the waistband of your panties. he drags them down slowly, teasing you and himself as he barely holds it together. the fabric hits the ground in a pile of forgotten fabric. both hands return to your hips, his grip firm as he yanks you forward, your ass resting right on the edge of the table, thighs spread around him. 

his eyes flick down between your thighs, a low groan vibrates through his chest.

he doesn’t even bother trying to hide it — he’s mesmerized, caught between awe and need, his eyes locked like he’s scared to blink and miss the view. 

it takes real effort to pull himself away, to tear his eyes from the sight that has his jaw clenched and hands twitching. but he does. his gaze drags back up, landing on your face. his eyes roam your face, checking to make sure you are still okay. you can see it in his eyes, the silent question. 

you okay?

all offer him a firm nod, your bottom lip between your teeth. 

he takes your nod as his sign to continue. without a word, he steps closer, guiding himself to your entrance — the blunt head of his cock presses against you, slow and careful. his eyes never leave your face. 

as he begins to push in, it’s with a gentleness that doesn’t fit his rough exterior. he’s always been all grit and bark, yet this? this is a whole other side of daryl. he’s patient. intentional. like he’s afraid you’ll break if he’s not careful. his hands grip your hips, keeping you steady and grounding himself, his jaw clenched with restraint as he sinks in inch by inch.

the stretch stings at first, your body working to accommodate him. your fingers tightening around the edge of the table, but you don’t stop him. your legs fall wider in invitation, offering him more space, more of you. 

he groans, low and deep, as he sinks deeper, eagerly accepting the silent offer.

once he bottoms out, he doesn’t move. he stays still, rooted deep inside you, his hands keeping you in place. a silent display of respect for you as he waits patiently for you to adjust to him. his chest rises and falls as he exhales slowly, jaw clenched tight with restraint.

“you okay?” he grunts, voice laced with something soft — concern hidden beneath the gruffness. his gaze roves over your face, watching every flicker of your facial expressions, waiting for a sign that you’re ready for me.

after a long moment, your hips grind against him—a clear signal that you finally want more. And he’s more than willing to oblige.

his hands grip your hips tighter as he slowly pulls out, the drag of his cock against your tight walls sending a ripple of pleasure through you both. a breathless whine leaving your lips as he settles into a slow, deliberate pace. 

every thrust made to draw out your pleasure — measured and purposeful. he wants you to feel good, to feel how much he needs you. 

he finally picks up his pace as your whines shift into moans, head tipped back in ecstasy as he focuses solely on you. his hands keeping your hips in place as the sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the garage. your fingers gripping at his shoulders as he hits that spot inside of you just right. “right there, daryl,” you gasp, and he just groans.

his hands grip tighter, like he can’t bear a second away from you. his thrusts are steady but rough, fueled by the way you moan his name. “yeah?” he gruffs, voice tense. “that feel good, sweetheart?”

you nod, barely able to catch your breath from his repeated thrust. “so good, feels so good, daryl.”

he groans at your words, his forehead brushing against yours gently. “ain’t never wanted anythin’ like this,” he mumbles, more to himself rather than to you — but you heard it, and your chest ached. 

your arms move to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. “then take it daryl,” you mumble to him, lips brushing against his. “i’m yours.”

his breath stutters before he crashes his lips on yours — the kiss is messy, rough, consuming. his hips snap into yours with vigor, every thrust driven by one goal: to make you cum around him. he’s desperate for it, aching to see you fall apart on his cock, to know he’s the only one driving you to the edge of release.

you’re close — and he feels it. he can feel the way your walls tighten around him, practically trying to drag him in deeper. he can feel the way your moans turn breathless and broken, almost as if you were losing yourself to the pleasure. his thumb dibs down between your thighs to find your clit, rubbing tight circles with just enough pressure to send you barreling over the edge.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he groans against your lips. “wanna feel you. know it’s me makin’ you feel this damn good.”

your fingers go back to digging into his shoulders, back arching into him as the tension in your stomach seems to tighten even more.

“daryl,” you gasp out, your voice cracking as pleasure rips through you.

“let go for me,” he grunts, hips stuttering as he practically edges himself closer. “need to feel you cum, sweetheart. need it so damn bad.”

his words send you over the edge. the world practically goes white behind your eyes as you cum around him, walls clenching hard as waves of pleasure crash over you — practically drowning you. you cry out his name, voice thick with pleasure, with emotion that sends daryl over the edge with you. 

with a ragged groan,, he buries himself as deep as he can in you, hips jerking one last time as he follows you over the edge. his head drops to your forehead, breath hot and uneven, as he lets himself spill inside you.

your eyes drift lazily to the wide open garage door, a grin tugging at your lips. “you forgot to shut the door.” you hum, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care.

“guess we put on a hell of a show,” he huffs… “ain’t sorry about it.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ㅤ. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ finished already? ࿐ྂ

check these out. ➢ main masterlist | twd masterlist | join my taglist

˗ˏˋ taglist ˎˊ˗ @tinas111 | @f411en-ang3l

[kaayyyys]

he's so cute when he's goofy

[escapisms-posts]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝑫𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒍 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

When you're alone, Daryl loves picking you up for absolutely no reason. He’ll throw you over his shoulder without saying a word. It pleases him knowing he can pick you up without breaking a sweat. 

When Daryl first finds out you're pregnant, it scares him A LOT. It will take him a while to gather his thoughts, because he has never had a good role model. The only thing going through his mind is all the mistakes he’s going to make. You reassure him that you see how he connects with the others. That he is a caring and loyal person.

Once the fear clears from his body, he becomes obsessed with the idea of you carrying his child. Before your bump is even visible, he’s holding you by the stomach. He’ll come up behind you and start rubbing your belly, reminding you of how beautiful you are. 

Daryl knows you're capable of taking care of yourself, even while pregnant. But he can’t help but make your life as easy as possible. He’ll walk with you to work and help you complete your tasks, even after being tired of doing his. Daryl begins to go on runs a little less often because he wants to be near you and the baby more. He loves taking care of you so much.

As your body begins to change due to you growing a whole new person, you can’t help but feel a little insecure. Staring in the mirror every night since you’ve noticed the first changes. Stretch marks are beginning to form around your stomach, your chest becomes heavier, and the fatigue that wears you down after a long day. You miss your old body. Daryl is there, telling you how ridiculous you sound. Telling you that it's normal for your body to go through this. His in your corner, cheering you on, telling you how sexy you are to him. Nothing's more beautiful than you creating his child.

Since you don’t have a pregnancy pillow, Daryl holds your stomach while you sleep. It doesn’t even bother him, all he wants is for you to be comfortable. This late into the pregnancy, he can feel the baby react to his touch. 

Worry-free creampies ꨄ︎

Sometimes his mind can’t help but wander, Pregnancy is incredibly risky during an apocalypse. Though you’ve talked about the risks, you still decided that you wanted this baby. It's not impossible, just difficult. Even understanding all this, he can’t bear the thought of losing you. Which is why he wants this pregnancy to be as easy as possible for you. 

Lying in bed together, Daryl talks to the baby about his day. It's the most he says all day. Pregnancy is almost coming to an end, the baby jumps, everytime they hear their father's voice. Daryl lies between your legs, planting kisses along your stomach. You don’t know if it's because you're hormonal or straight up dramatic, but every time he says, “I can’t want to meet you,” it makes you want to cry.

[b1eedthefreak]

Pookie hear me out..

The group is in Alexandria (Daryl and reader are in a pre established relationship) and there is a party happening that night because of whatever reason. Reader is worried about wearing a particularly short flowy dress but Daryl says she looks pretty/hot and readers like “yeah but it’s a bit too short don’t you think?” And Daryl’s like “yah but I can fight so wear the fuckin dress”

And then maybe they get to the party and reader is having fun when someone hits on her and when she rejects them they make a comment about her dress then Daryl comes in and blah blah blah

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Claimed

⌇daryl dixon x reader

summary⌇while attending a party in alexandria, one of the alexandrians take an interest in you and daryl’s not happy

warnings⌇daryl punches somebody…

word count⌇0.9k

a/n⌇pookie i am absolutely hearing you out because possessive daryl?? yes.

The dress felt like a mistake the moment you walked into the party.

Sure, it was cute, thin and flowy, the fabric soft against your skin, the hem brushing high on your thighs every time you moved. It had felt like a good idea when you’d slipped it on in the mirror, Daryl standing behind you, eyes dark and jaw tight, telling you with that low, gravelly voice,

“Wear the dress. I like it.”

“It’s too short don’t you think?” You added.

He pulled you in by the hips, whispering, “Ain’t nobody gonna touch ya. Ain’t nobody gonna look at ya the wrong way. I’ll make sure of it.”

You believed him. You always believed him.

But now, under the dim glow of string lights and the hum of quiet music, you felt eyes on you. Not Daryl’s, his were a constant, warm weight on your skin, always trailing over you like you were the only thing in the room.

No, these were the eyes of people who didn’t know.

The Alexandrians didn’t know what it meant, the way Daryl’s hands lingered on your hips, the way his arm hovered protectively behind you. They didn’t know how he pulled you in at night, tucked you against his chest, or how his lips brushed softly over your hair when you fell asleep.

They didn’t know you were his.

Which is why, when the man approached you, the grin on his face lazy and sharp, you felt your stomach sink.

“Hey,” he drawled, slurring slightly from the beer in his hand. “Lookin’ real good tonight.”

You shifted uncomfortably, taking a small step back. “Thanks.”

“Dress like that, you tryna kill us all or somethin’?” His eyes dragged down your body, slow and unashamed. “Bet you’re killin’ him, huh? Gonna make him lose his mind the way you’re showin’ off like that.”

Your throat tightened, but before you could open your mouth, he leaned in closer, voice dropping.

“Bet you like that attention. Walkin’ around lookin’ like a fuckin’ whore—”

“What the fuck did ya say?”

The voice snapped through the air like a whip.

You turned just as Daryl stormed in, shoulders tense, fists clenched tight at his sides. His eyes dark, dangerous, were locked on the man like a predator ready to pounce.

The guy chuckled, raising his hands like it was all a joke. “Relax, man. Just sayin’, if she’s gonna dress like that, what’s she expect? Walkin’ ‘round like a slut when she’s got a man?”

You barely had time to register the words before Daryl lunged.

His fist connected with the guy’s jaw in a sickening crack, sending him stumbling back into the table with a crash. Gasps erupted around the party as drinks spilled and chairs clattered.

But Daryl wasn’t finished.

“Fuckin’ bastard!”

He surged forward, grabbing the guy by the shirt, slamming him down onto the ground as his fists rained down, over and over, the sound of knuckles on bone brutal and raw.

“Call her that again, I fuckin’ dare ya!” Daryl roared, voice ragged, spitting the words through clenched teeth.

“Daryl!”

Rick’s voice barely cut through the chaos. You could feel the energy shift, everyone was staring, frozen, unsure whether to intervene.

“Daryl! That’s enough!”

Rick grabbed Daryl’s shoulder, trying to pull him off, but Daryl shrugged him off, slamming his fist into the man’s face one last time before Rick physically yanked him back, holding him tight.

Daryl’s chest heaved, his breathing ragged as he glared down at the man—a broken, bloodied mess on the ground. His hands trembled, knuckles raw and bleeding, but his eyes…

His eyes were on you.

Your breath caught. The fire in his gaze wasn’t just rage, it was possession, fierce and unrelenting. He looked at you like you were the most important thing in the world. Like he’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.

“You okay?” he rasped, voice hoarse.

You nodded. Daryl’s hands, bloody, reached for you, and you met him halfway, your fingers wrapping around his wrists as he stared down at you like you were his whole world.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, trying to steady your breathing.

Daryl’s chest heaved once, twice—and then his hands cupped your cheeks, rough palms cradling your face like you were something fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice breaking. “Didn’t mean—he just—”

“I know,” you said softly, “I know baby.”

“He called you a fuckin’ whore,” Daryl growled, voice low, like he was still ready to kill for you. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, and he leaned in, so close you could feel his breath against your lips.

“Ain’t nobody calls you that,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody talks ‘bout my girl like that.”

You melted.

Right there, in front of everyone, you reached up and kissed him—slow, soft, a silent thank you. A promise. Daryl groaned against your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

And when you pulled back, just barely, his forehead rested against yours, and his voice was a whisper, rough and aching.

“Let’s get outta here. Can’t stand people starin’ at ya like that.”

You nodded, a small smile curling on your lips.

And as he led you away, his bloody knuckles warm against the small of your back, you couldn’t help but think—God, you loved that man.

[renren-006]

Immunity | Daryl Dixon x fem (immune) reader

plot: what if the reader was immune...and the truth came out

a/n: just an idea bc i was watching the last of us also thank you to everyone who voted for this to be the next story posted!!

You didn't like lying to them; it was practically the opposite of what you wanted to do. You tried to tell them when they first found you, but you didn’t. The words fell from your lips the moment your eyes met his. 

The group found you when you had escaped from the doctors who had you captive. You were tired, rabid, and scared. You had quite literally run into one of the members of this new group.

 As you later found out, Carol instinctively wrapped her arms around you after you bumped into her. The conversation after that was lost on you; all you knew was that this new group was happy to let you join once they made sure you were alright. They tried asking you about your past group, but you refused to answer. A few of them were cautious of you, including the man who had caught your eye.

You did your best to help the group out on the road before finding the prison. You did what you could. Beyond helping them, you also stuck to Carol's side. Unknowingly, Carol had a habit of making a small family of people with whom she felt a connection. You almost expected her to be wary of you and push you away, but seeing you scared and desperate for comfort, she let you inside her heart.

“You can bunk with me” Carol had said to you, motioning to the top bunk. You smiled at her kindness and her comfort. 

Daryl, however, took the most time to warm up to you. He let you have his share of food, medical supplies, and an extra gun, but he also kept you at arm's length. He would grunt when you didn't eat, shove the rest of his surviving food into your bowl, and then leave, saying he was going on watch. This didn't stop in the prison, either. He always made sure that you got more food than what was portioned for you. 

You kept everyone else at arm's length, never fully letting them in. You couldn't let them know the reasons why those people had you locked up or why you wore long sleeves. They didn't know about the doctors or the lockup, but you felt that at least a few suspected some dire situation.

The real issue was you were somehow immune to the virus. The thousands of bite marks that scared your skin were hidden underneath your long sleeves and jeans, proving this.

Even in the heat of Georgia, your thin long sleeve was still on.

“You know you don't have to wear long sleeves now?” Maggie said to you as she rounded towards you. You were watching the yard, leaning slightly on the brick prison walls. 

“I know. Just more comfortable…” “Beth wears long sleeves, too,” Maggie said after a moment. You had heard the stories about Beth's attempts early on and how she's ashamed of them now. You knew Maggie was assuming, so you merely nodded your head. “We don't have to talk about it. I'm here for you.”

You smiled. Maggie was around your age, so for you to say she was treating you like a big sister would be a little off-topic. She was treating you like family, however.

“Now. Are you going to keep just staring at Daryl, or will you ever try?” she asked you. You laughed slightly and moved down the wall so she could share your spot. It was one of the few spots with good sun without the glare. As you both watched over the yard, you realized just how much you liked Daryl.

“Well…Shit,” you said, “Maybe you're right,” Maggie burst out into laughter. It slowly developed over time the subtle things Maggie would do to get you closer to the man. 

It started with sitting next to Darly and moved over to make you sit there instead. Daryl would give you a once-over nod and turn back to his food. Then, the conversations slowly started.

“You went on that run this mornin’, right?” he asked you when you sat down. You nodded your head. It was just the two of you at the table, eating early before everyone else. Darly had a night watch. 

“I did,” you told him, “didn't find too much; everything has been picked over” 

“Seems ‘bout right,” he said before standing. “I got to watch”

Slowly things started to become easier and more comfortable between the two of you. 

“Ya going with them?” Daryl asked as he moved next to you. You watched the group pack up the car for another run into a nearby town you felt would be the same as the last. You shook your head and absently scratched at your arm. 

“Not today.” Another bite rested there on your left arm, freshly bandaged from yesterday's run-in. Thankfully, no one saw or noticed how you found a jacket and threw it on even though it was almost 100 degrees. When you got back, you found a quiet spot and patched yourself up, changed your shirt, and made it back for dinner, saying you wanted to change out of your sweat-ridden shirt. Daryl noticed the scratching. 

“Ya good?” he asked. You looked up and smiled.

“Oh yeah. Mosquitoes are a bitch” you said with a laugh. Darly nodded his head, shook it, and put the thought swarming his head out the window. You were not Beth; he shouldn't worry about a little itch. 

“I was going to go on a run tomorrow. Do you want to come?” he asked, and you smiled.

“Only if I get to ride the motorcycle,” you said with a smirk. Daryl had never let anyone ride on it since getting to the prison, but somehow, you knew he would let you. Darly smiled.

“Sure,” you knew at that moment that all those months of getting extra food, supplies, and small talk were Daryl's way of showing he cared. Now, you wondered if he ever would express it to you or if the two of you would continue this known unknown thing forever. 

When you joined him on the run and tried your hardest to keep calm while you hugged him on the motorcycle, you managed to get closer to Darly in that small little run. You cleared houses, found hidden supplies, and he even found you some hidden jewelry in a box under a floorboard. “You want it?” he asked, handing you the old jewelry box. Inside were lots of silver treasures. You smiled. It had been a long time since you had worn any or had a guy bring you a whole box and almost demand you take it. 

“I'd be crazy not to take it,” you said, looking through it and then delicately placing it into your backpack. If you find more treasures, I want to see them,” you told him. Darly looked at you with an oddly calm calculation. “What?” “Nothin’,” he said, “you finally seem like yourself,” and left the room without another word. You stared at the spot he had been. Daryl not only noticed your slow transition to finally being a part of the group and feeling good again, but he commented on it to let you know he did. You found him waiting by the bike.

“Tell me I'm wrong,” you said, not mentioning what, but the look you gave him and the way he lowered his head and nodded told you enough.

“You're not,” he said, reaching out to help you into the bike. That spoken, unspoken thing was there, and now it wasn't so much spoken. 

When the prison fell, and you escaped with him and Beth, you traveled together like a family, lost Beth, and fought against bikers like a couple. Daryl did everything he could in those months to keep you safe. Daryl was only a man, however. 

Blood dripped down your arm, and another bite tore your skin open. The old warehouse seemed like a bad place to be in now.

“Shit,” you hissed as you looked at the bite. The walker was dead on the floor before you now, but Daryl had his eyes trained on you. 

“y/n…” Daryl spoke with a heartbroken emphasis. Your eyes met his and returned to the bite you knew you couldn't hide this time. 

“I'm fine,” you said. Quickly pulling out a bandage and trying to wrap it. Daryl stopped you, standing over you. 

“We have to..” he started. “Im fine” you said, you didn't dare look up at him. “Nothing's going to happen..” “The hell you mean nothin’ gonna happen,” he said, scoffing a bit at the end. “You got bit”

“And I promise nothing's going to happen,” you said, staring into his eyes. “I…”

“What?” he said, clearly annoyed.

“I'm immune,” you said looking up at him. 

“You can't be…” “I am…It's why I was out on the road when you met me. The people that had me before…they were doctors…testing me and my immunity,” you told him. Darly stood frozen as he watched you put your backpack down. You tore your shirt off, letting him see you fully. Bite marks scarred your upper arms and stomach. Daryl took it all in. “I…can't get the infection.”

“Why?” he asked, moving to you and letting his hands touch your skin. He felt the bumps, saw how the infection tried to spread from them but faded out, and even saw how some of the bite marks went below your jeans. 

“I never stayed long enough to figure it out,” you said, your voice sounding small. “I would have died…if I had stayed any longer.” Daryl just nodded. He put your shit back on, bandaged your arm, grabbed your back, and wordlessly walked out of the building. That night, you sat by the campfire, cold and uncertain. The air around you felt like it, too, was holding its breath. 

“Imma kill em,” he said, breaking the silence. You looked over at him. “They hurt ya like this. would have killed ya to figure it out…” He looked as if he wanted to fight the world for you. Daryl's eyes mirrored the fire that roared in front of you. 

“They didn't” you told him.“You saved me remember, you took me in”

“You saved yourself,” he said. I wish you had told me so I could have gone and killed them.” Darly sounded small at that moment, as if he had not done enough to help you. You felt it, the way Daryl blamed himself for not being able to rid the world of the men who hurt you. “That wouldn't have fixed anything,” you told him. They weren't anywhere close to figuring out what was wrong with me.” “Nothings wrong with ya,” he told you, speaking only seconds after you. This makes you resign if there is ever something wrong with you. Daryl moved to your side, sitting next to you. He fiddled with your hand, bringing your sleeve down a bit to see the marks, “Something wonderful is wrong with you, and I'm glad you can't leave me.”

It was a declaration to the world. The wind swept through you, rustling the leaves, the cans, and the wire. The fire slowed down from its roar. Daryl didn't move from your side from that night on, always sleeping with you beside him. He became your shadow, always there, always protecting, always loving.

[ddixonsangel]

⟢ just thinking about how fucking desperate needy!daryl would be for you.

he’d be a total wreck — sweaty, breathless, already whining before he even got his pants down. his cock, flushed an angry red, would be leaking precum like a damn faucet, his slit glistening, pulsing, begging for a touch that wasn’t his own. his hand would wrap around himself in a tight, punishing grip, pumping with fast, frantic strokes, but nothing he did would ever match the heat of your skin, the softness of your thighs, the sweet little sighs you’d make. he hasn't had the opportunity to taste your delicious body, but he's damn sure it would feel like heaven on earth.

his breath would hitch, stuttered gasps falling from parted lips as his hips bucked into his fist like an animal in rut. his balls ached, heavy and tight, and every nerve in his body screamed for release, but it still wasn’t enough. not without you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” he'd mumble, voice hoarse and ruined. forehead pressed to the mattress as he fucked his own hand like it could somehow feel like your tight warmth.

you were all he could think about — the way you said his name, slow and syrupy like it tasted good on your tongue. those little sundresses you wore around the porch, your thighs peeking out just enough to make his stomach twist. your damn smile, the way it lit him up like he was worth a damn. like he wasn’t just some broken, redneck man jerking off alone in the dark.

god, you had no clue the chokehold you had on him. no clue how he’d gone back home after passing you in the street, cock already half-hard from the sound of your laugh alone. like some needy, shame-ridden teenage boy who couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty girl next door.

his strokes would get faster, rougher, as shame curdled low in his belly — but it didn’t stop him. he couldn’t stop. he wanted to drown in the filth, to let your name fall from his lips as he came like a fucking mess.

and when it hit — god, it hit hard. his body jerked as thick, hot ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles, his thighs, dripping down his wrist while he moaned your name like a damn prayer. he didn’t stop. couldn’t. even as he whimpered from overstimulation, hips jerking, cock sensitive and twitching in his sticky grip — he kept going, like he was trying to squeeze the last drop of you out of his ruined body.

only when his head finally dropped back to the pillow, chest heaving, did the guilt hit — but even then, all he could do was imagine what your cunt would feel like if you ever let him fuck you for real.

✧ a/n: writing this before going to bed. good night everyone, love y'all. ᡣ𐭩

[daryltwdixon]

Hii I was wondering if you could please write a one shot about Daryl x Grimes!Reader (Rick’s daughter) I was thinking younger Daryl, they gotta keep their relationship secret (Rick thinks his sweet angel is too pure for redneck Daryl). It could be fluff, smut, or both!

Daryl Dixon x Reader || smut MDNI 18+, semi public sex, pinv, secret relationship, rick'sdaughter!reader, farm!daryl, idk im sure there's more tags but im tired. this is a fantasy world where creampies don't equal babies || a/n: anon requested this awhile back and just reminded me of it during my prompt giveaway! I'm sorry this took so long my love!

The wood panels at your back groan again as Daryl drives into you, the tempo of his thrusts like sweet euphoria, each one sending little shocks of pleasure rippling through your spine.

“Fuck—” he grunts into the side of your neck, “If your—” he slams up again, his hands firm under your ass, holding you off the ground with your legs tight around his waist, “If your dad catches us—”

“He won’t,” you breathe, whimpering as his grip tightens. “Just… please, Daryl. Don’t fucking stop.”

“Been waitin’ for this,” he mutters, kissing down your throat, lips dragging over flushed skin. “For so long.”

“I know, baby,” you moan, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the short strands at his nape. “You feel so good. So, so good—”

He groans as he sinks into you, your walls fluttering around him, stretched wide by his cock. He's so thick, so deep, and hitting places you didn’t know could ache like this. Your whole body clenches around him when he hikes one leg higher, angling deeper, and the moan that leaves your mouth is ragged, sharp, completely involuntary.

And then—

“Y/N?”

You both freeze.

Rick Grimes. Your dad, your ever present, over-bearing father. His voice is unmistakable drifting from the front of the house.

Your breath catches, eyes going wide. Daryl’s head jerks up like a deer caught in headlights. His body stills inside you, every muscle tense and almost trembling.

The voice sounds far enough away—he’s gotta be in the house, maybe the porch. He hasn’t come around back yet. You’re hidden, mostly. Behind the trees, behind the house. You doubt he'd even see you, hidden behind Daryl's body. At least at first glance. Hopefully.

Daryl starts to pull out, but you catch his face, hands sliding from his sweaty neck to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Your lips press into his, warm and open and desperate. He exhales into your mouth, trying to stay quiet as he kisses you back, swallowing the sound of both your sighs.

You pull away just enough to murmur, “Please. Keep—”

“Y/N?” Rick calls again, closer this time.

“Shh,” you whisper, darting a quick glance over Daryl’s shoulder toward the oak trees. “Sh sh sh—just listen—”

Daryl’s jaw clenches, his brow furrowed. “We should stop. Now.”

“Please, Dare,” you whimper, hips rocking gently against him. Your voice is quiet, pleading. “He’s far away. Please, please just fuck me. I need it. I need you.”

His eyes find yours, and suddenly, his mouth crashes into yours again, tongue sweeping in as he starts to move. Slow and shallow at first, he's trying to stay quiet even though every part of him is shaking. The quiet thump of his hips against yours, the creak of the siding, the faint wet sound of him sliding in and out—it’s all too loud in the open Georgia afternoon.

“Christ,” he breathes against your mouth, “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

He groans, forehead pressed to yours as he fucks you deeper now, picking up speed. Every thrust drives a breath from your lungs, your legs tightening around his hips. You’re so close—so fucking close—and the fact that your dad is somewhere nearby, calling your name, just makes it worse. Better. Hotter.

“Dare, I-I'm so close—” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Please, Daryl—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah,” he pants, breath warm against your cheek, “Yeah, I got you, sweet girl. Come on my cock. Feels so good, don't it? Fillin' you up? Splittin' you open, huh?”

He shifts, angling just right as his filthy words tumble into your ear, hitting that spot that makes your whole body jolt. Your head slams lightly against the siding, eyes rolling back as heat coils low and tight in your belly. Your thighs tremble around his waist.

Daryl groans low in his throat, the sound strained and messy. “So fuckin’ tight, girl, holy shit—don’t stop squeezin’ me like that—”

You bring your head up to bite his shoulder just to keep from crying out, your orgasm hitting hard and fast, your body pulsing around him as you fall apart in his arms. He holds you tighter, fucking you through it, chasing his own end now, his rhythm going sloppy.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his head falling against your chest, “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You clutch at him, nails scraping down his back, pulling him as deep as he’ll go. “Do it,” you whisper, still breathless, still pulsing around him. “Come inside me, Daryl, come on—”

He groans into your neck, loud and broken, and you feel the twitch and heat of him spilling inside you as his hips stutter, buried deep. He holds you there, both of you trembling, breathless and flushed and wrecked in the golden light.

Your limbs go loose around him, boneless with satisfaction, and you laugh softly into his shoulder.

Daryl’s still holding you up, still inside you, his face buried against your collarbone. When he lifts his head, there’s a dazed kind of awe in his eyes. He smiles—soft and real, like he can’t believe he actually got to have you.

You giggle, light and breathy. “Told you he wouldn’t—”

The words die in your throat.

The sound of boots crunching in dry grass cuts through the quiet. You hear the swish of tall grass, the steady tread of someone rounding the side of the house.

Both of you freeze—tangled, sweaty, completely exposed.

And then Rick Grimes steps into the sunlight.

You, pinned against the back of the farmhouse, skirt bunched around your hips, legs locked around Daryl’s waist. Daryl’s pants are half-down, his hand still gripping your ass, his cock still buried inside you. Sweat clings to both of you, and your mouth is open, chest rising and falling.

Daryl doesn’t breathe.

Rick doesn’t blink.

“Oh, God,” you whisper.

Your dad's voice is low, furious, deadly:

“What the fuck—”

[mayday2007]

Maturing is realising that subby! Daryl would be a brat like 85% of the time, and a good boy for you the rest of the time.

Like, I can go on for days and days about how he begs to touch you while your riding him only to be told no and to earn it, only to completely disregard what you just said, not even giving it a thought before waiting until your nearing your high and less likely to notice before gripping your hips in his rough hands, squeezing the supple fat there.

Your eyes would snap on and stare down at his smug face, still not even taking notice of the fact that he's disobeying you for the umpteenth time that day. You knew why he didn't listen, and he knew that you knew. He wanted the punishment.

After he'd have his orgasm, you would lift yourself off of him and play it sweet. "Close your eyes for me, handsome." You'd say, voice like honey, sweet and thick as he obeyed your command, closing his eyes as you raised yourself off of his manhood and walked to the other side of the room, to your dresser.

He peeked his one eye open to see what you were doing, though. The brat. You reached down into the bottom drawer, giving him a perfect view of your ass while you bent down to reach in for something. He knew the contents of that drawer all to well, so he wasn't surprised when you pulled out a long piece of red ribbon, a small but powerful vibrator don't ask how he knew that, and something else that he couldn't quite see, obviously tucked under the ribbon.

He closed his eye again before you turned around and walked back over to the bed, straddling his lap before giving him another command. "Hands up." He obliged, raising his arms above his head, his hands touching the bedpost where you tightly secured them there with the ribbon.

"You already know the safe word, sugar. Just lemme know if anything goes wrong, kay?" He nodded. You then picked up the silver cock ring you found him for his birthday the first year you settled in Alexandria. "You remember this, don't you love? Haven't managed to use it yet, n'till now."You said menacingly as you slipped the ring onto his re-hardening cock, him shamelessly moaning at the sensation. You started to stroke him softly, your hand barely touching him as you sloppily kissed him, your tongue entering his mouth and claiming dominance within mere seconds of having kissed him.

You added more pressure to his cock, now stroking him faster and harder as his hips began to thrust up into your hand uncontrollably, whining and moaning lewdly as you made him feel good, his cock leaking precum. "God, fuck! Momma, m-makin' me f-feel s-so good! 'M gonna- gonna cum! Oh god, 'm gonna cum!" He moaned as his hips began thrusting into your hand faster as you stroked him, adding more pressure to his cock as you twisted your hand around his tip.

Then you took the tip into your mouth, still brutally stroking him but sucking the tip so hard he thought that it would explode the amount he was going to cum. The noises he made spurring you on even more, and just as he though he was going to tumble over the edge–

There was no cum, nothing. He was still laying there, confused as he didn't cum but was still feeling immensely good, you sucking his tip while stroking him fast and aggressively. Then you smirked around his cock and he could have sworn that he died and went to heaven. You released his tip with a very audible and lewd 'pop' sound and sat up, your bare tits bouncing and making his cock twitch with anticipation.

You then reached for the vibrator and turned it on, placing it on his tip. He threw his head back and moaned so loud you just knew the people that lived across the street would be asking questions the next day. You could care less, however, as you leaned down, the vibe still on his tip as you began to kiss and suck at his cock, giving it the occasional kitten lick to keep him on his toes.

This went on for a while, him moaning and thrusting his hips and almost cumming, only for nothing to come out. He was starting to get really sensitive, every touch, every kiss and lick almost sent him over the edge, but nothing did. He was actually getting really frustrated, grunting loudly whenever he almost came but nothing happened, leaving him more and more sensitive with every non-orgasm.

"What's wrong, baby?" You asked with faux innocence, as you knew damn well what was wrong with him. "Can't, I-I can't cum. Dunno, w-wha's wrong with me." His breath hitched as you licked him from base to vibrating tip. "Aww, baby boy. Ya can't cum because this" you slipped a finger between his cock and the ring at the top and tugged slightly "makes it so that can't cum by squeezin' the bottom of your cock. Pretty cool, right?" You asked rhetorically. He huffed and continued to buck his hips as the vibe almost brought him close to the edge, but yet again, he couldn't cum.

"God, can ya- can ya take it offa me? Please?" He asked, looking you in the eye with a loom of desperation. "I jus' need ta cum! Tha's all I wan'!" "You're gonna have to beg me better than that." You laughed, tracing his jaw with your index finger and booping his nose. "Aw, mama please! Please lemme cum! I'll be a good boy, I will! Jus' lemme cum! Please, please 'm beggin' ya, mama." He writhed in his restraints, bucking his hips up once more before your facade broke.

You took the vibe from his tip and slipped the cock ring off, a hefty sigh of relief coming from your husband. You then slid down easily on his manhood,settling for a second before bouncing rapidly in him, moaning freely at the feeling of being so full of him. He was a babbling mess, his hands aching to be at your hips, and you saw. You leaned down, your boobs in his face and you began to untie the knot. He quickly took one of your nipples in his mouth, moaning around you as you continued to bounce on him, even after his hands were released.

You sat up, Daryl following suit as he continued to suckle on your pebbled bud. His hands were on your hips and he was bouncing you on him, moaning into your chest lewdly as he was getting closer to his orgasm. "Cum in me baby, want you to cum in me so fuckin' bad!" You moaned as your hands flew into his hair as you took were nearing the edge of your long awaited orgasm.

He came with your name on his tongue as you convulsed around him, milking his cock dry, your juices mixing with his. As he came down from his high, you got off of him before going to the bathroom and wetting a washcloth under the warm tap, wringing it out before re-entering your shared bedroom and cleaning up your absolute mess of a man.

Once you had finished cleaning both you and him up, as well as the vibe and putting everything in it's rightful areas, you got him a drink of water, which he was barely awake to drink. After that, you snuggled next to him, laying on your side facing him and he nuzzled his face in between your breasts. "Love you, baby." You said, carding your hands soothingly through his chocolate locks. He mumbles out a "love ya, too" before falling soundly asleep, you following suit not long after him.

[deansapplepie]

Dear Readers,

It’s me, Pam or deansapplepie, or Moonie if you know me like this.

I’ve thought about it many many times during the past months and I always put those thoughts aside. So now I came here to communicate that I’m putting most of my Daryl Dixon Series on Hiatus, this includes: Till THE DEAD do us part, Inherited, The Spitting Image and Dr. Dixon (which I barely started).

I hope I mentioned it all, I’ll just keep with the mini series of drabbles The Staring Contest out of the status, but I’m not promising anything. Also, I hope I’ll write for my OC in the future, but also not promising. I’ll write what comes easy for me.

I’ll probably come from time to time with an imagine or short story as I’ve been doing in the last months, but for now I need to do this.

Before I felt that if I put the stories on Hiatus I’d be giving up, I’d be giving up on this little world that made me so good. But the truth is my Daryl and his readers stories are forever with me, I think about them all the time and about their story, things that unfortunately you didn’t read it and that I don’t know if you’ll ever read. So as I can’t bring myself to write those series anymore, and as I re-read them I don’t identify with the way I wrote it anymore… I’m putting them on hiatus.

Who knows me, probably knows how difficult it’s being to do this right now, specially with Till THE DEAD do us part, the story that made me go back to writing. It’s my baby and I love it so so so much.

Thank you so much!

Below I’m mentioning all my taglists because you guys deserve to know.

Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325 @hayley1998 @vaniniweenie @cupidelocke @avabh12 @whore4romance @dixondystopia @dixons-sunshine @bigbaldheadname @negansbestie @gabriella-aesthetic @fluffy-dixon @lunajay33 Inherited Taglist: @angelbunny222 @lightningyummy @maggie-atwood @ryoujoking Till THE DEAD do us part Taglist: @sunnybunnyy2 @royaltysuite @isakyakiisak @milopenne @angelwings-crossbowstrings @mel-wcst @gabriella-aesthetic @duckybird101 @the1eyedmonster16 @iixchloee @daryldixmedown @bloommart @marsmallow433 The Spitting Image Taglist: @minaxcarter @carlyi @daryldixmedown @argentinian-witch @xmaeyonaiise @poetryhazel @blackvelveteen1339 @queenmizuki @crashlyrose @the1eyedmonster16 @jasminocano @sm4-rty @duckybird101 @she-could-never @snailss @maggie-atwood @abbiesxox @slutcoresblog @yondus-girl @akanecchiisblog Dr. Dixon Taglist: @daryldixmedown @princesssparkle2024 @hypeerinee @thestonedwriter The Staring Contest Taglist: @diffidentphantom