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cultofdixon · 1 year ago

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Oddly Fascinating

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Can you imagine a human fucking pretzel? Well you certainly like to freak the others out unexpectedly • SFW/NSFW - Implied Sex

Requested by: Anon

It’s…fascinating. The things Y/N can do with JUST her body. Keep that noggin out of the gutter for a minute.

Y/N joined the group a little after the Woodbury infusion to the prison. She didn’t have a group and sort of ended up in Virginia because she simply didn’t stop walking from where she originated.

One day Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn were out on a run in the closest outdoor mall, which is a few hours away from the prison—so they were going to have to camp. Daryl went to check the store that looked like a miniature Home Depot thinking he could find some camping supplies but when he entered the store…said camping supplies were in use but no person.

“If anybody is here, I ain’t gonna hurt yea,” Daryl stated knowing that wouldn’t go far but to his surprise one of the storage boxes’s lids flung open. Soon a woman’s upper half popped out like a jack in the box and it was a bit unsettling to the archer.

“I had to see who I’m working with and what makes yea think I’ll trust “I ain’t gonna hurt yea” with muscles like those”

“You think I’d hit a woman?”

“It’s the apocalypse. If laws don’t exist, neither does moral code. I follow them still…but still”

“I don’t hit women.” Daryl scoffs. “How do yea fit in there?”

“I don’t know you well enough to share my skills. But I do feel a little better knowing you’re not gonna throw a left hook at my face” the woman began to fully pull herself out of the container and when she stepped out, she locked eyes with the archer’s confused yet curious ones. “Okay I trust you about not killing me but why haven’t you left?”

“Gonna ask yea a few things if that’s okay with you”

“Sure I guess” She put the lid back on the box before taking a seat and crossing her arms.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“Lost count a long time ago”

“How many people have you killed?”

“Four”

“Why?”

The woman went silent for a moment and avoided eye contact as she held herself. “They were my friends, and brother who were about to turn. They didn’t want to be taken out as a walker and didn’t want to become one so. You know…”

“I do” Daryl leaned against one of the shelves. “It’s hard to take someone you care about out after they’ve changed”

“Getting deep with me and we don’t even know each other’s name”

“Daryl”

“Y/N”

Then she joined their group right then and there. The others that came with Daryl liked her, didn’t trust her right away but given her attitude immediately when it came to them asking the same questions Daryl asked—-both Glenn and Michonne knew that they will grow to trust her. Same with the others. Returning back to the prison with a lot more than they had expected helped the initial image of the new comer. Y/N hoarded a lot of stuff so thinking that she would survive alone in there.

Some part of Daryl wanted Y/N to take the empty cell in their cellblock but given he didn’t speak up and Rick showed her one of the others, that wasn’t happening.

But she was very involved with helping around the prison.

“You good up there Y/N?” Rick calls out to her receiving a thumbs up while she continued to work with fixing part of the fence that disconnected from the gate.

The retired sheriff watches his brother pull in on his bike but stop to watch Y/N a moment. She dropped her wire cutters and as it hit the grass, Daryl hopped off his bike about to grab it when he quickly took a step back when Y/N jumped down somersaulting in the dirt.

“The hell is wrong with you?!” Daryl shouted as Y/N stood up immediately, stretching her back after her action. “Yea could’ve cracked your head open!”

“I’ve done it a million times before. Don’t worry your pretty little head”

“A million times? What, in the circus?”

“How did you know?” Y/N smiles catching him off guard at first and even more when she broke out in laughter. “I wasn’t in the circus dumbass. I’ve done a lot of risky stuff and…gymnastics. But what just happened is nothing compared to other stuff” she states while throwing herself back so she was then in a bridged position and Daryl watched her upper half lay flat on its stomach showing her crawl between her legs and hold her ankles. Exorcist shit.

“Now I think you’re an alien”

“Rude” Y/N scoffs as such action was a bit uncomfortable given her twisted position. “It definitely impressed and freaked out a few hook ups”

Now that led Rick to leave from overhearing their conversation, both knowing damn well he was there. He opened the gate once Y/N was back in the upright position and Daryl was still left appalled somewhat.

Y/N was definitely making a good impression on most. Has been on every run that was planned and no one opposed, she’s especially useful in tight situations.

“Alright, so I was thinking we break down the door and then—-“ Tyreese cut himself off when Y/N gestured for Maggie’s help to hoist her up and she happily obliged.

Next thing the group knew, Y/N was pushing herself through the small window above the locked door landing on the other side and unlocking it.

“Or that” Sasha chimes in with a laugh and smile, impressed by the woman. “Now we don’t have to almost break ourselves to get into places” she walked past her as Y/N brushes off some of the dirt checking her person carefully. Said actions didn’t go unnoticed by Daryl.

After a couple hours passed, the four returned to the prison and dispersed but as Daryl stuck by his bike a moment he noticed Y/N straggling a bit. She stood for a while glancing around and turned to Daryl with a questioning look before turning away.

“If yea need something, you can ask” He didn’t hesitate as Y/N slumped in defeat before turning around and approaching him.

“Crack my back”

“What?” Daryl scoffs confused as he wiped the grime off his hands with his rag. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Imma turn around cross my arms and you’re going to wrap your arms around me then lean back until a crack is heard.” Y/N explained in the most layman terms she could think of and it clicked instantly to Daryl but he hesitated a moment.

“Is that what yea want?”

“Yes, well. What I really want is someone to step on my back but all of y’all aren’t trained to do that and back in the day I had a friend who was a masseuse.”

“Well, I’ll do my best” Daryl grunts bringing himself over after tossing his rag on his bike watching her turn around and do what she had to do before he wrapped his arms around her. “Just lean back holding yea?”

“Yup” Y/N felt a sudden warmth rise in her chest when she was being lifted and the heat came clear in her cheeks expressing more of a red hue.

She heard the crack a bit ago but they both just. Stood there and it went from Daryl holding her to them both holding each other. Still Y/N’s back against his chest but her arms held onto his. Daryl relaxed setting her down but the way he held her for much longer and Y/N didn’t show any sign of letting go.

There was something

When the illness washed through the prison and a few were sent to get the medicine, Y/N found herself in the doorway watching Bob shove alcohol into his bag. He turned toward her realizing she was there and instead of talking first, he quickly took a bottle and threw it in her direction watching her quickly fall back then swing her body back forward.

“Jesus fucking Christ what are you? One of those inflatable car sales string cheese looking things?!”

“That’s very descriptive. Are you gonna be the same way when telling me why you have a goddamn bag of alcohol and not medicine to save our people”

“Oh for fucks sake! You and I are the newest people at the prison and you’re willing to bend over backwards—-even literally—-for people you barely know”

“So?!”

“SO?!” Bob shouted which caught another’s attention, Michonne as the conversation ended the second she joined. Bob brushed past her as she quickly gave a concerned look to Y/N.

I’m fine. Was all Y/N gave her as she stepped out.

Of course the booze was found out by Daryl and that was a more explosive mess to address than when Y/N first confronted him. But it all stopped mattering when they finally got their medicine into their people.

After getting their medicine in, Daryl went in search for Y/N who disappeared after they did such. It didn’t take long to find her because she was in her cell but she was alone in the old Woodbury cell block. Because of the outbreak.

“You alright?” Daryl asks Y/N even if she was currently hiding under her deconstructed bunk.

“Yeah”

“Don’t look like it”

A few seconds of silence. “Yeah…” she sounded defeated and pulls her entire self out from under bringing herself to sit on her bed. Daryl bringing himself to sit with her leaning his back against the wall.

“You can trust me, with whatever is on your mind”

“It’s strange…how easily it was for Bob to just. Not care about the others in the heat of the moment”

“Some people are just like that. Somethin’ or someone has to change them”

“I used to be like that. Not a warm caring person when this thing first started. I just. Had moments that changed me”

“Yeah?” Daryl gave her a questioning look that she noticed in the corner of her eye. “What changed yea?”

“Having to end the lives of people I cared for, the ones who got bit. When…” Y/N hesitated a second before looking at Daryl. “When I met you”

She’s full of surprises isn’t she? Daryl could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he never felt that feeling before.

But this moment was short lived like the many that followed after.

Until they found themselves alone weeks later…in a new place, with strange new people. Y/N stuck by Daryl’s side since they first entered Alexandria and given how the archer was feeling from all the loss, he would find himself following her if she were to stray or disappear from his side for too long.

“Can you hand me the socket wrench?” Daryl asks while under the car Aaron drives for recruiting as he was asked to check something out for the man. Y/N being there to help in any way even if it is just handing tools to the archer.

Y/N was currently repairing one of the angel wings on Daryl’s vest which led her to using her leg to reach toward the bench then her foot hooked onto the handle of the tool box. She then carefully bent so that she could grasp the box with her hands and go through the kit for what he asked for.

“Damn”

The annoyingly familiar voice caught both of their attentions as Daryl pushes out on the skateboard sitting up to look at Spencer confused. Y/N equally confused on the matter while handing the tool over.

“You know I saw you the other day doing your…morning stretches or whatever. Didn’t think you’d be THAT flexible…and limber…” Spencer was starting, or continuing to make Y/N uncomfortable as he starts to check her out making her cover herself with Daryl’s vest in her lap.

Daryl quickly taking note of the reaction and glaring at the man. “Beat it”

“I wasn’t talking to you” Spencer brushed him off keeping his attention on Y/N. “I bet you’re even more flexible in more intimate situations”

Y/N scoffs instantly but before she could bite the guy’s head off. She felt herself being pulled toward Daryl’s direction. Daryl having grabbed the blanket she was seated on pulling it closer to him so he could protectively wrap his arm around her shoulders as she instinctively leaned into him.

“She’s taken. Now I’d fuck off and bother somebody else before your mommy sees her little boy’s face smashed the fuck in” Daryl threats and didn’t let his guard down but it got Spencer to storm off defeated. “What a tool”

“He’s not wrong about something”

“Huh?”

“I am very flexible when we’re intimate” Y/N laughs slightly catching her own boyfriend off guard resulting in the red hue rising in his cheeks.

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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gutsby · 1 year ago

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Easy Street

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Warnings: NSFW. Attempted vehicular manslaughter. Enemies to lovers to enemies again. Hatefucking, facefucking, and a fair share of overstimulation. Age gap. Loss of virginity. Dirty talk so foul it may set feminism back several centuries. 7.5k words + this fucking song.

“You are one sick son of a bitch.”

Gripping the steering wheel in one hand and the Collapsable Hearts Club cassette case in the other, you shook your head, disturbed. Even in the sunlight, the miniature music cartridge looked sinister. You flung it to the side.

How Negan could force-feed this shit to his prisoners was beyond you.

You were barely two verses into the song and ready to swerve your Crown Vic into a ditch—it was that bad. In spite of the fiercely upbeat tempo and catchy melody, each spoken word was like nails on a chalkboard. The lyrics almost taunting in how unfit they were for the cacophony of this tune:

We’re on easy street. And it feels so sweet. ‘Cause the world is but a treat—

“—when you’re on easy street,” you finished, reflexively.

Shit. You had to turn this off. You’d drive yourself insane if you listened another minute, you were sure. Your eyes darted to the dashboard and searched for the radio dial in a frantic look. Spotting it almost immediately, you clenched your hand in a fist and struck the button. Hard. Just wanting—needing—the music to stop.

But, to your horror, your careless right hook did just the opposite: instead of shutting off the song, it simply knocked the age-old button off the stereo system. You watched with eyes the size of dinner plates as the metal knob glanced off the gearshift and disappeared into the carpet below, taking with it all your hopes and dreams of escaping this musical torment.

You let loose a string of expletives and scrambled across the seat, almost forgetting you were driving. The tires of the police cruiser you’d hijacked just hours before went veering to the left. You managed to right the car mere seconds before it went flying off the road, but not before you tried retrieving the missing dial.

And we’re breakin’ out the good champagne…

The car swung wide to the side.

We’re sittin’ pretty on the gravy train…

“Where the fuck did it go?!”

And when we sing, every sweet refrain repeats…

“SHUT UP!”

Right here on easy street.

Before you could throw another punch at the dashboard, your whole body lurched forward and your face bashed the center of the steering wheel. Your cop car, freshly dented with the impact of a body you’d just struck, went spinning for a moment before coming to a screeching halt some yards down the road. Fickle bastards that happened to be your airbags didn’t bother to deploy.

You lifted your head from the shattered Ford logo in front of you and groaned.

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror to see the bruised and bloodied mayhem that had taken the place of your face, you barely flinched. You weren’t sure why, or how, it had happened, but from start to finish you remained fully conscious. And fucking infuriated.

With a strength you hardly thought yourself capable of, you hoisted your body out of the car. Blinked hard against the rays of sunlight now searing your eyes, and made a circuit—half-limped, half-staggered in a zigzag sort of fashion—around the back of the car. You wavered on numb, unsteady feet before reaching clumsily into your back pocket.

A smile that resembled something more of a grimace made its way to your face as your fingers closed around the base of your Browning Hi-Power. Whatever dipshit walker that had crossed paths with your vehicle and caused you to wreck was about to get its head pumped full of lead, if it wasn’t dead already.

But just as you started to turn the corner and raise your gun, a strangled voice broke out:

“Hey, hey, stop! STOP!”

You stalled in your tracks and almost dropped your weapon. Either your vision had gone to shit or your mind was playing tricks, but you could’ve sworn you saw a man waving his arms in a panic. Then he stopped.

You readjusted your grip on your pistol and kept it aimed at his head.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man paused a beat to eye you up and down, incredulous.

“You kiddin’?” he retorted.

When it looked as though he was moving closer to you, you fired a shot over his shoulder. The man jumped like a cat on hot bricks and slapped a hand over his ear, yelling,

“’Fuck was that for?!”

“I said, ‘Who are you?’” Your voice steadied with the recognition of your clear advantage.

The man, on the other hand, looked redder than ever. Though he didn’t budge an inch from his place and kept his hands held up in surrender, you could sense from the look on his face he was seething.

“Daryl,” he spat.

“Daryl who?”

“Daryl the-guy-you-just-hit-with-your-car, asshole.”

This time, you were the one to give him a skeptical once-over. Scanning his body for any signs of harm, only to make out a scrape on his cheek the size of your pinky. You wiped the back of your hand over a nose that was presently spurting blood like the Trevi Fountain and frowned.

“Y’don’t exactly look like roadkill to me,” you said flatly.

For the first time, Daryl’s mouth betrayed a hint of a smirk, and he tipped his chin in the direction behind you.

You turned, following his gaze, and eventually lowered your eyes to a lump in the road down yonder. You squinted.

“Is that a—” you started.

“Deer? Yeah.” Daryl finished.

When you angled back to face him, you saw the sour look had returned.

“Was s’posed’a be my dinner ‘til yer goddamn cop car chewed it up,” he said with a scowl.

So it was the deer he’d been carrying that you’d hit and sent your car to shit, and this man was bitching over a lost meal and a busted cheek? You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing, your jaw starting to clench at the sight of him.

The man carried on, oblivious, “If ye hadn’t been blastin’ yer music so loud maybe you’d’a seen me standin’ in the road with a fuckin’ carcass on my back.”

“Well I wasn’t—”

“Payin’ attention? I figured,” Daryl bit back before you could finish.

Then, after a beat, “Who are ye anyway?”

This part was bound to be fun. The stranger looking you up and down like you were nuts didn’t have a clue who you were, but you had a feeling he knew a thing or two about your people. The Saviors had a way of making their presence known among neighboring communities. You figured by the looks of this guy, he was just another boneheaded denizen of The Kingdom—or worse yet, Alexandria.

You flashed a smile and supplied, “I’m Negan.”

You’d been a Savior all of three weeks and hadn’t yet made the proclamation to anyone outside your camp before, so this felt like a particularly momentous occasion. You were eager to see how Daryl would respond. If it instilled even a fraction of the fear in him as it did in others—you know, when Negan Negan was swinging his beloved, barbed wire bat and saying those things—you’d be happy. If he showed so much as a morsel of deference to you, this would have all been worth it.

Instead, Daryl laughed.

Not a polite laugh, either. A sidesplitting, wide grinning sort of laugh that sent shockwaves through his body and had him doubling over in hysterics. Your cheeks flushed.

“No shit?” he wheezed, “Negan’s got a—a goddamn Barbie doll doing his bidding now?”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, G.I. Jane.”

You’d heard enough of this. Had enough of him. You rubbed your blood-streaked face for the last time and turned on your heels. Stalking off in the other direction, the sounds of his laughter hardly seemed to subside, but it was apparent he wasn’t quite finished.

“I’m sorry,” he called after you, likely biting back a smile, “’m bein’ a prick, I know.”

You kept walking and pretended not to hear when footsteps bounded after you. You weren’t sure where you were going, or how you’d be getting there without a car, but you had a hunch that anywhere without Daryl was a place you’d like to be. When you felt a hand on your shoulder, you shrugged it off and told him to shove it.

“Hey— I’m tryin’ to be nice here,” he protested.

When you turned to tell him it generally wasn’t a nice person’s prerogative to remind others they were nice, you stopped. Glanced down at Daryl’s outstretched arm and saw black fabric in his hand. And, just above it, his bare chest.

He’d torn off his sleeveless shirt and was holding it out to you.

“Here,” he grumbled, “For yer nose.”

You eyed the top with mild distrust and hesitated to take it. Daryl rolled his eyes.

You felt your whole body tense when a hand reached out to grab you. Gruff and graceless as ever, Daryl tugged you closer to him.

“Don’t move.”

You couldn’t help but wince when he dragged the material over your face. Certainly wasn’t gentle with it but seemed to make quick work of the dried blood nonetheless. You watched him closely as he continued to dab the makeshift medicinal rag over your lips and nose, and for a moment, he almost looked serene.

“So you’re part of Negan’s harem, huh?”

And the moment was gone. You glared at Daryl.

“I don’t fuck old guys,” you snorted.

As soon as your words hit the air, you cringed inwardly. Why did you say it like that?

It was true, Negan called you his wife—though you hardly considered him your husband—and the two of you had yet to consummate your marriage. You imagined that day would come eventually, but if you were honest with yourself, you really didn’t want to think what that night might entail. You’d barely made it to second base with your last boyfriend.

Presently, Daryl placed a hand over his heart in mock offense.

“Ouch.”

No doubt the man before you had you beat in years, too. By a landslide. He might’ve been a couple years younger than Negan, but he certainly didn’t look it. Had a hint of a youthful aura, if there was such a thing. An eternally cool fifty-something with the attitude of a man more than two decades his junior. You wondered for one brief, fleeting second if he might have the stamina of one too. You quickly regained your senses and felt the urge to barf in your mouth.

This man could be my father, you thought.

This man could be my “father,” your dirtier subconscious suggested.

“Ew,” you said aloud.

Daryl looked up from his current occupation and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I just—” You scrambled for a semi-plausible explanation for your outburst, “—just really hate the sight of blood.”

Daryl chuckled.

“Bullshit. I bet you’ve got some freaky kink for it,” he returned teasingly.

You were just then starting to suspect you might have a fetish for something else. You swallowed.

The taut, toned muscles in Daryl’s arms looked impossibly larger now that they were coated in sweat. With every forceful wipe of his hand, you saw some new bead of moisture fall from his skin or else dribble down his front, forming clusters of tiny rivulets that went trickling off his body. Like a tanned, trim stream of water you just wanted to lick—

“Clean!” Daryl announced, taking a step back to admire his work.

You suspected you still looked like shit, but you didn’t really care. You were too busy ogling Daryl’s body with a look of wanton lust to know, or care, or see much else, including the smirk that had begun to creep onto Daryl’s face.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he sneered, chucking his shirt at you.

You barely managed to catch it as you felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, a little too defensively for your liking.

You swallowed your embarrassment with a scowl and started off in the other direction.

“Where ya headed?” Daryl shouted after you.

“Sanctuary.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Can I please come?”

“Not unless you’re looking to have your head on a pike outside of it.”

Daryl grinned, “The thought might’ve crossed my mind.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Just when you came across a man with all the appearances of a perfectly aged fine wine and a killer body to boot, you find out he’s just as juvenile and dense as the rest of them. He continued to trot alongside you.

“You scared your husband’s gonna give you a whoopin’ or sumn’?” Daryl quipped.

“He’s not my husband,” you lied.

“Oh yeah?” he pressed.

“Yeah.”

“Then prove it.”

You slowed your pace to shoot him a look. He slowed a little too.

“I don’t have to prove anything,” you snapped.

Daryl raised his hands in defense, smiling just slightly.

“Never said you had to.”

You started to resume your trek again, only to halt a moment later when Daryl cut in:

“Yer a virgin, aren’t ya?”

This time the two of you came to a complete stop in the middle of the road. You saw the smug look on his face and wanted nothing more than to knock him on his ass.

“What did you just say?” Giving him a chance to fix his mistake.

Daryl did no such thing, only smiling even wider and crossing his arms.

“Just seems like you’ve never been fucked before,” he shrugged.

That was it. Without thinking twice, you shoved him hard in the chest and pushed him back a couple paces. Balled your hands into fists and nearly started pummeling his front, were it not for Daryl’s quick reflexes and frustrating ability to snag your two hands into one of his. He easily held your wrists captive above your head and squeezed them together—barely making an effort to restrain them and somehow doing it softly.

“You done?” he asked, unbothered.

You kicked him in the shin. This time he yelped, loosening his grip on you and leaving you space enough to break free. You contemplated another kick or shove for good measure, but seeing the enraged look on his face, you sensed it was in your best interest to flee. So you took off down the road.

You tore down the tarmac like a bat out of hell and chanced a quick look over your shoulder, only to see Daryl sprinting after you. Your stomach all but fell out your ass, and you kicked it into high gear as fast as you could.

“COME HERE!” Daryl bellowed behind you.

Your years outrunning walkers might finally have come in handy now. You sucked in a breath and took off like a shot, racing up the street with Daryl hot on your heels. With every second that passed, you sensed he was lagging further back. If you hadn’t been so scared he might beat you to a bloody pulp, you would’ve flipped him the bird or turned around to stick your tongue out.

The distance between you was even greater now. Your lungs were tight but breathing fine, and behind you, Daryl was audibly panting like a dog. You smirked to yourself.

Perhaps pushing your luck, you slowed down just a bit. Tried to stave off the oncoming wave of lactic acid soon to be stinging your muscles and keep the stomach cramps at bay. With your breaths growing more ragged and shallow by the second, you knew you couldn’t keep at this for too much longer. One of you would have to surrender at some point, and you knew it wouldn’t be you.

You were just then starting to regain speed when you felt something snag your waist. Before you could spare a look to the source of it, Daryl’s arm had already looped fully round your midsection and locked firmly in place. From there, his frame did the rest of the work as he took you both to the ground.

Daryl fell first. Got the wind knocked out of him and ate a face full of asphalt just in time for you to hit his body before you struck the concrete below. He let out a groan beneath you.

Together, you made a heaving, shaking mess in the middle of the road. Your body splayed over his, his arm still hooked around your hips, and the pair of you moaning and swearing and trying like hell to untangle yourselves from one another. You struggled to get upright, but your palms slipped on Daryl’s sweat-slick chest and sent you headfirst into his face. Daryl had just started to sit up when you knocked him flat on his back.

Nose-to-nose and practically panting into each other’s mouths, you shared a single, silent look—and simultaneously conjured up one of the worst ideas either of you had had to date.

“Wanna—” Daryl started.

“Yes.”

You and the man you’d just wanted to beat the living shit out of went shedding clothes like leaves off a tree. Daryl tearing the shirt off your body—so fast he damn near took your head off with it—and you fumbling at the buckle of his belt and whining at the feeling of a growing mound beneath you.

You freed belt, button, zipper, and boxers in a matter of seconds. Shocking even yourself, you started tugging his jeans down his legs, but Daryl stopped you.

“Leave it,” he grunted.

Before you knew it, he was hoisting himself off the ground with you still straddling his waist. Arms securing themselves under you and eyes searching wildly for the nearest car to fuck you on, Daryl groaned when your lips attached themselves to his neck. At length he settled on a long-abandoned Honda Civic perched on the edge of the road and dropped you onto the hood of it.

“Yer a shit driver, y’know that?” he said, yanking your shorts down your body.

You kicked them off at your ankles and inched yourself a little higher on the hood.

“Ever thought I meant to hit you?”

Daryl chuckled at that. Then he started lowering himself between your legs.

You’d been playing it unbelievably cool up until that point. Quick, witty, and nonchalant to a fault, as though you’d done this all a million times before. But inside you were panicked, fighting hard to keep your breaths in check and your stomach from twisting itself into knots. What was he planning to do with you? You’d only seen this stuff in movies, maybe once or twice in an incognito browser you’d opened years ago. You never thought you’d be doing any of it yourself—much less with a man twice your age and little more than a stranger to you—and suddenly, stupidly, you started to worry you might disappoint him.

You hadn’t even noticed Daryl had slipped down the length of your torso toward your heat. You tensed.

The next thing you felt was his hot breath fanning across your thighs, and you couldn’t help but try clamping them together, catching his head between the two of them.

“Ain’t even touched you yet,” he teased, glancing up at you.

You sincerely hoped neither your eyes nor your trembling thighs would give you away, but the look on Daryl’s face revealed just as much. Gaze still locked with yours, he offered a lopsided grin and started to bring his head even lower. Then, gently, he pressed a kiss over your panties. Then another. Then another.

You felt shivers the size of seismic waves pass over your body and he hadn’t so much as dipped a finger inside you. Slowly, you lifted your hips at Daryl’s behest and felt the fabric of your underwear disappear somewhere down your legs.

“We ain’t gotta do this if you’re—”

“Shut up,” you said, exasperated.

“Yes ma’am.”

Daryl imparted one last kiss to your aching core—this time unclothed—and groaned when he felt how wet you were before him. Almost immediately, his tongue darted out and licked a stripe up your slit. You moaned, squeezing your thighs even tighter.

Daryl didn’t mind. Just the opposite, in fact, as he delved deeper and flattened his tongue over your heat. Lapped up your juices and smirked when he felt you squirm above him.

“Dar—oh,” you began, only to break off in a semi-shriek when he found your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Wha’s’at?” Daryl’s voice came out muffled between your legs. Then lifting his head to be heard a little clearer, “You say sumn’, sugar?”

Your hands acted with a mind of their own as they hurriedly shoved his head back down.

“Don’t stop,” you hissed. You hardly knew what had come over you.

You heard one more muted, ‘Yes ma’am,’ and Daryl went dutifully back to his occupation of tongue-fucking you senseless. Coordinating a lethal combination of kissing, licking, sucking, and occasionally curling a finger inside you, he all but had you convulsing on the car with little to no hope of not cumming in his mouth. You threaded your fingers through his hair and yanked hard as the knot in your stomach started to tighten. One or two more suctioned kisses and a single lick between your folds and you’d be gone.

However, not long after that, Daryl did the cruelest thing you could’ve expected. He stopped.

Straightening up and taking a step back to marvel at the mess he’d made, he felt himself getting harder. All while you cussed and whined about how unfair he was being, he was concocting the filthiest thoughts imaginable. He grabbed both your ankles and jerked you closer. Then, crawling over you with pupils blown wide in lust, he seized hold of your throat in one hand and yanked you up hard to greet him.

You gagged, dragged your fingers helplessly over the single hand that was holding you up, and nearly started seeing stars when Daryl brought his face even closer to yours.

“You don’t cum ‘til I tell you to,” he said through gritted teeth, before letting go of your neck as quickly as he’d caught it and watching you fall back on your ass.

Sprawled out on the hood of the Honda, you cursed your deep-rooted daddy issues for finding that act of aggression arousing. You feigned an angry look and pouted up at him.

Before you could mouth off just to make him even angrier, you felt yourself manhandled once more: this time, plucked off the car and into Daryl’s arms. He promptly shifted your weight to one side and freed one of his hands to start fooling with something you couldn’t see beneath you. When you heard the rustle of fabric and felt him start to strain a little, you got the picture.

Daryl returned you to the car—this time, straddling him on the hood of it.

When he’d made himself comfortable and lifted you over his hips, he said, “You didn’t answer me earlier.”

“About what?” you huffed, already antsy with impatience.

“’bout this.” Daryl slipped a hand between your bodies and grazed your cunt with his knuckle. You pursed your lips tight to suppress the moan that followed.

“What about it?” you whined, trying, and failing, to steady your voice.

The corners of Daryl’s mouth twitched at the sight of you growing flustered. Quietly, he extended one finger and dragged it up your slit. Pretended not to hear when you whimpered his name.

“Have y’ever been fucked there?” he asked casually.

You had long since lost the tolerance for games. You shook your head and told him, “No.”

“What about here?”

Daryl beckoned you with the fingers of his free hand, and when you leaned in, brought them up to your lips. He cupped your chin and tapped your mouth, as if to accentuate his question.

“Nuh-uh,” you said, quietly.

If it were possible for Daryl to get any harder, he would have. You weren’t just a virgin, but an absolute, unadulterated novice to the world of depravity that infiltrated his every desire. Something about the artlessness and innocence in an amateur like yourself sent the blood pumping straight to his cock as he imagined all the things he could teach you. He couldn’t keep from staring at your lips, imagining his member pumping back and forth between them, or at your eyes, wondering how they’d lock with his the moment he pushed inside you. All thoughts of a rough and ruthless piledriver fuck escaped his brain as he sat back and simply relished the idea of being your first. It was all he could think about.

You, on the other hand, weren’t quite picking up what he was putting down and found yourself shifting uncertainly above him. Wondering if you had done something to upset him as he continued to watch you with a thousand-yard stare and didn’t say a word.

“Is that...okay?” you asked, your voice now barely above a whisper.

Daryl’s gaze flitted to yours, and he almost groaned at the wide-eyed expression of naïveté on your face.

Instead of answering, he took your hips in his hands and dragged your lower half over his. Letting you feel, for the first time, just how swollen and erect he was beneath you. Your breath hitched a little in your throat, but you couldn’t deny the sensation was incredible. As before, your body just sort of acted of its own accord and started rubbing against him, while you hoped, implacably, that whatever you were doing was normal. Judging by the sound he let out moments later you deduced that it was.

You hardly realized it yourself, but your heat was dripping with arousal. Coating Daryl’s cock with every gyration of your body while the man below you had only to grit his teeth and hiss at the sensation. When he glanced down to watch you, he almost groaned with pleasure.

“I need to fuck you,” he blurted out, half-declaration, half-plea.

That drove the point home well enough.

You watched with some amusement as Daryl continued to clench his jaw and fight with every fiber of his being not to buck his hips up into you. You almost felt tempted to giggle when all of a sudden Daryl took your face in his hands. Then he kissed you, deeply.

You were taken aback by the gesture but kissed him back all the same, surprised neither of you had made an attempt to do it before. With no great difficulty at all, your mouths melded into one another as he gripped the sides of your face and pulled you even closer. He slipped his tongue between your lips, and you tasted a tang of yourself still lingering on it. You opened your mouth a little wider in the hopes Daryl would afford you more of it.

But then, as quickly as he’d started, he stopped. He pulled away, looked you up and down, and swallowed.

“You sure y’want to?” he murmured.

Presently, and impatient as you were, you decided to take a page from Daryl’s book and gratify his question with a wordless answer. You rolled your hips over his and pushed the head of his cock against your wet, aching hole, peering into his eyes with the purest ‘fuck-me’ look you could muster.

Daryl was already gripping the base of his cock and angling it toward your entrance. Hoping you wanted this as badly as he did, pondering with some apprehension how he might fit you and whether it’d feel good for you at first or take some getting used to—all while needing you on him, around him, filled to the brim with every inch and pleading for more. Unlike himself, he found it near impossible to make that first push inside you, still plagued with the thought he might break you in two.

Sensing this, you did something uncharacteristic of yourself too, and made the first move to ease down on his length.

Your body welcomed him with surprising ease, though the inches came slow and the stretch was something you hadn’t expected. Your eyes flickered to Daryl’s as the sting turned to a burn, and you almost couldn’t bring yourself down to the base of him without the sound of a few strangled whimpers escaping your lips. Daryl’s hands quickly worked their way around you and started rubbing up and down your back, as if to distract you from the feeling while his eyes searched yours for any signs of serious discomfort.

“Hey, you’re good,” he assured you quietly, swallowing a moan of his own as your warmth engulfed him completely, “You’re good, honey, you’re good.”

When you looked to him as if to say, ‘Holy shit, are you sure?’ he just smiled and nodded.

“Takin’ me so good,” he murmured, eyes glued on you, “Doin’ so fuckin’ well.”

His soft consolations rang clear in your ears and encouraged you to keep going. You lifted yourself in his lap and brought your body back down again, this time gratified with Daryl’s first moan. He snaked an arm around your waist and helped you gently buck your hips to his and rock them back and forth. Together, you watched your bodies grind against each other in a hot and sweaty mess, making sounds as sticky and obscene as you’d ever heard before, and right then, you swore you could have cum at the sight of that alone. The initial burn gave way with each passing moment to a sweeter sort of feeling deep within your belly. You picked up your speed just a bit and braced yourself hard against Daryl’s chest.

“My baby feelin’ good?” he said, breaths coming out in shallow puffs now as you rode him.

You bit your lip and nodded, practically bouncing in his lap with your hands still anchored on him and your eyes beginning to close.

“That good, huh?” Daryl hummed.

When you nodded again, he dropped a hand to the spot where your bodies connected and rubbed a light, lazy circle between your folds. Your eyes squeezed tighter at the jolt of pleasure, and your body moved even faster.

“Fuck, Daryl,” you whined. “I-I–”

“What?” Daryl smirked.

You ventured a look back down at him, eyes all glossy and soft. You were still writhing, still rolling up and down his shaft with a fucked-out look as his hips started to snap up into you. In a moment, you surprised the both of you as you gripped his shoulder and said:

“I want you to fuck me from behind.”

Daryl was still rutting into you and somehow unable to comprehend how a thing as lithe and naive as you looked could ever say something so coarse. When he didn’t respond for some seconds, you sighed, disgruntled.

“C’mon, Dar,” you whined, “have I gotta bend myself over this car and—”

Daryl didn’t let you finish. Flipped you over beneath him and did exactly as you hoped he would, stomach flat on the hood of the car and ass up in the air.

He didn’t waste another moment waiting for your assent as he had before. He just thrusted himself in one, sloppy drive and made you moan as he bottomed out inside you. Snatched a fistful of hair in one hand and yanked your head back to meet his gaze.

“Anyone ever taught you manners?” he growled, likely displacing dozens of strands of hair from your scalp with the way he was pulling it, “Ever heard of please, and thank you, daddy?”

Your knees buckled at the last. Stretched and stuffed with his cock, you swear you couldn’t have felt any filthier than the instant he’d uttered that final word in your ear. You watched him, mouth hanging open, and hardly knew what to say.

“You know,” Daryl started, breaking your heart when he withdrew himself from your hole, “I don’t think you deserved to be fucked like this at all.”

Heaving breath after desperate breath over the hood of the car, you turned yourself fully to face him. He wasn’t smiling, or watching you with those careful, kind eyes anymore.

“I do,” you cried, “I want you to fuck me like that, Daryl, I do.”

“I bet you do,” he snapped, retreating another step, “I said you don’t deserve it.”

You would’ve fallen to your knees if you had a fraction less sense than you did. Pleading him with wild, frenzied eyes and legs that were liable to collapse with the weight of your desire, you didn’t blink when Daryl’s hand found the back of your head again—yanking it down this time around.

“Something tells me that mouth needs fucking if it wants a lesson in etiquette,” he griped, shoving you to the ground in front of him.

You cowered on your knees as your face hovered inches from his stiff, expecting member. The problem was, you didn’t know what he was expecting, or how he wanted it done. Were you supposed to take him in both hands and rub him up and down, pepper kisses down every throbbing vein and lick him ‘til he came, tease him with your tongue like he had with you, or else swallow him whole? You didn’t know, couldn’t start, would’ve like to wait another minute or two contemplating your latest charge when all of a sudden, Daryl’s hand pushed you straight on his cock.

Not an easy couple inches or a light, gentle thrust to get you used to his size in your mouth. A full-forced thrust to the back of your throat, causing your mouth to convulse, contract, and gag around him in response. Your eyes welled with tears and ventured a look to the man with his fingers still threaded through your hair. The scowl hadn’t ebbed from his features, and the eyes were hardly more sympathetic. He dragged you back up his length so there was just enough space for you to speak, and uttered, almost mockingly:

“What do we say when we want something, sugar?”

Your mind was buzzing, but the answers came quicker than you thought.

“Please,” you spluttered, drool leaking down your chin, “I say please.”

“Wrong,” Daryl declared.

Without another word, he shoved your face down the length of his cock and pulled it back even faster. You were still reeling with the force of your gag reflex and sucking in a breath when he began again.

“Please what?” he pressed, tilting your head up to face him.

“P-Please, daddy. Please, daddy,” you supplied in an instant.

A marginally gentler touch massaged the back of your head with his fingertips, and for a second, you thought you were clear. Then Daryl went pushing your mouth back onto him, albeit slightly less harsh, and you readily closed your lips around him and bobbed on his cock. You sucked happily and with more enthusiasm than you thought yourself able, just wanting to make Daryl happy and keep him guiding you over his length with a more tender grasp.

And he did just that. Seemingly appeased by your obedience and more than pleased to watch you slide up and down him as you were, he ran a more considerate touch over your head and let you do most of the work.

You flattened your tongue on the bottom and curled your lips around your teeth to keep the friction minimal. Almost amazed how natural it felt to be servicing his cock and wanting, more than anything, to know you were making him proud. When a long, protracted moan graced your ears the moment you reached the base of him, you held him there as long as you could and hummed a quiet, muffled whimper of your own.

When Daryl pulled you off a second later, you were disheartened, to say the least. You parted your lips and leaned in to take him in your mouth again, only to feel yourself being gathered back up in Daryl’s arms and brought to your feet.

“Go on,” he murmured, pacing forward and nudging you gently to the point the backs of your knees hit the grill of the car behind you, “Tha’s my good girl.”

You fell back and watched Daryl’s body trail close behind. By the time you were flat on your back, he was wedged between your thighs with a hand planted on either side of your head.

If wanted him any more, you’d probably be blue in the face, unable to breathe, and on the brink of seeing stars. Your chest rose and fell with the shortest, shallow breaths, and it seemed each passing moment brought you nearer to your fear that they might stop altogether if Daryl didn’t touch you soon. You gladly parted your legs further to accommodate his frame, and when you felt him above you, poised inches from your aching heat, you wrapped your legs around him. Tight.

“Tell me how ye want it,” Daryl grunted.

“Want you deep inside me, daddy, please,” you answered, taking care not to neglect your “manners.” Then, more softly, “Want you to fuck me ‘til I can’t walk, daddy, pretty pretty please.”

Daryl moaned at the sounds of your excitement, feeling you dig your heels in his ass and tug him even closer. His cock twitched at your entrance.

“Tha’ what you want?” he hummed, grazing his lips along your cheek, “Tha’s what my baby needs?”

You nodded frantically. Daryl nodded too, as if commiserating with you, but then felt unable to suppress the smirk that was threatening to grow on his face. He reveled in your pleasure and your pleas all the same and wanted to make this good for you. He couldn’t make you wait.

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he sank his cock between your folds and gratified you both with a familiar, filling stretch. You clenched around him and earned another low, guttural moan as Daryl pushed deeper inside you. It didn’t take long for the pace of his thrusts to pick up, impatience and desperation practically tangible in the air between you. You let your head loll back and felt Daryl’s own fall into the crook of your neck, breaths hot on your skin as he continued to pound you into the metal surface below.

“’s a shame ya don’t— fuck older guys,” Daryl whispered, punctuating his words with another thrust. Ridiculing you for your comments earlier and making you squirm as he did.

If you weren’t so close to climax you would’ve told him to fuck off—probably made yourself look a little stupid as a man twice your age was currently balls deep inside you, giving you dick like no other on the front-end of a Honda Civic. Instead, you swallowed your pride and smiled.

“Glad you could get it up when I did, daddy,” you managed quietly, cloyingly. Almost wanting to slip a sly Cialis joke at the end but thinking better of it.

Daryl took one of your legs over his shoulder then, pounding you at a vicious speed.

“Anything for my favorite Savior,” he returned, just as caustic and cruel as he relished the squelching sounds between you.

Your head fell back with the new, nearly unbearable sensation radiating from your core, and Daryl quickly cradled you between his arms. Hunched over you now and fucking you faster than ever, he wanted—no, needed—to see you cum, and he’d stop at nothing to see it happen.

He hauled your other leg to rest flat on his shoulder and thrusted even deeper. With both ankles above your head and your eyes practically rolled back in pleasure, it took him all of ten seconds to find your clit and make you scream. Not a moan or a shriek or a half-hearted whimper, but a scream that went echoing down the road and through the woods and likely in the ears of every walker within a five mile radius. Neither of you cared.

Your eyes locked on Daryl’s and glazed over with desire, all you needed was release.

“I-I’m close,” you managed, breath hitching with every snap of Daryl’s hips.

“Fuckin’ show me then,” Daryl bit back, “Show daddy how good his cock’s makin’ ya feel.”

What little you could show him came in the form of a strangled moan and a sigh, and Daryl didn’t seem satisfied with this in the slightest. Rather than take you at your word, he grasped your face in one hand and jerked your head toward him. Heart racing and chest shaking with every breath, he drove himself a little deeper and felt you clench him around him even tighter when he hit your sensitive spot.

“Wanna cum for daddy, is tha’ what y’want?” he prodded. Pretending not to hear when you squealed his name and writhed with every graze against your g-spot.

“Yes, daddy, please let me cum— a-all over your cock,” you stammered.

Daryl smoothed the hair out of your face and caught a glimpse of the cockdrunk expression painted on it, and almost shot his load on the spot. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t cum ‘til he had your own release spilling down his member, that much he knew. You were being so good for him, taking him so well, and on top of it all, calling him daddy left and right like your life depended on it. Daryl was smitten.

Sensing your orgasm was fast approaching, he dropped a hand between your legs and took care to keep it gentle. Watched your lips form an “o” and a hand reach for his, hurriedly, while an old, familiar feeling just then started to twist in your stomach.

“Daryl,” you shrilled, squeezing his hand as tight as you could.

“Right here, honey,” Daryl murmured, eyes steady on yours, “I’m right here, you can cum for me.”

He clutched your fingers right back and felt them tighten as a new wave of pleasure broke over you. Your moans came quick and took a higher pitch, your legs wrapped around him like a vice, and the best, albeit maddening, part for Daryl came when your muscles started to pulse around him, nearly sending him over the edge himself. You dropped your head back into his hands and simply felt him—in you, and on you, and at your ear with the gentlest words of encouragement. You breathed out a sigh when the pleasure started to subside.

Daryl didn’t stop. His eyes stayed locked on yours, and the soft, earnest grunts stayed constant as he continued to rut into you and circled a thumb over your clit.

You whined with your sharply heightened sensitivity and pressed your hands to his chest, bewildered by this feeling and why the hell Daryl had kept going.

“Dar—”

“One more, darlin’,” Daryl urged, as delicate as he was adamant.

Your eyes widened, every nerve ending in your body on the fritz. Your fingernails carved bright red crescents in his skin with the force of every thrust, and for a time, it seemed you were riding out the longest orgasm of your life. You clung to Daryl and let your pleasure overtake you. You scarcely understood the sensation more than you did Daryl’s intentions, but the longer he fucked you, the more intense the feeling grew, and within a matter of seconds you were coming undone again, the swell of your second climax washing over you with a mind-numbing fury.

Eager as he was to fuck you into your third, Daryl just couldn’t resist the sights and sounds and unbearable sensations beneath him any longer, and he felt his own orgasm tearing through his body moments later. You felt a spurt of warmth within you and a set of lips finding yours in a frantic, clumsy kiss, and you relished the noises Daryl made as he rode out his high.

You were still kissing in between delirious gasps for air and all but shaking on the sweat-soaked hood of the car. Daryl’s hips slowed before coming to rest comfortably between your thighs, still inside you.

Wide-eyed and smiling, Daryl raised a hand to your head and was just then brushing some hair from your face to plant a couple more kisses, when a voice broke out across the way:

“Ho-ly shit!”

You and Daryl jumped at the intrusion and glanced behind you. Your blood ran cold.

You spotted a familiar salt-and-pepper speckled head of hair and a set of eyes glinting with amusement. Standing off to the side with his attention fastened to the two of you and a head shaking back and forth, slowly, as if in disbelief.

“Daryl Dixon, you dirty, dirty dog!” he chided, “How’s it feel to pop my wife’s cherry before me, brother?”

At the last, Negan tightened his grip on Lucille and smiled.

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 1 year ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄: Shower Sex w/ CDC!Daryl Dixon

a/n: omg y'all's tags on your reblogs of my posts make me giggle. there's an equal amount of thirst to y'all just being plain old funny! i love all my silly little gooses!! thank you for the support!

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

At first the CDC just felt like a fantasy, a great idea, but unreachable. But there was something about the way in which Rick spoke about it that sparked the last bit of hope that had been residing in your chest.

The fall had taken everything from you: you parents, siblings, relatives, a job that you had worked your ass off to get; but the worst part is, it put your relationship with Daryl on hold. You knew it was only because he was afraid of losing you, but it was like you missed him even though he was right there. So, when an opportunity to be a couple again arose, you took it.

"Why haven't ya showered yet?" He asked while walking in your shared quarters — which had been Daryl's insistence when you tried to claim one for yourself.

You looked up from the book you were reading on the miniature sofa in the room. "I figured we could shower together. I tried to find you while everyone else was, but I didn't know where you were." He only grunted, chewing on a hangnail nervously.

"Ya wanna shower with me?" He asked sheepishly. You smiled softly, setting the book face down and standing up to take his large, callused hands in yours. "Of course, babe. Why wouldn't I?" He just shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno… figured ya wouldn' want me to see ya… ya know… like tha'."

"Just because it seems like we aren't dating doesn't mean you're not my boyfriend." You reassured the archer. "Now c'mon before there's no more hot water left."

He allowed you to lead him to the showering quarters where you had begun to remove your clothes. He looked away bashfully, the tips of his ears turning red.

"D!" You giggled. "It's nothing you hadn't seen before. Now strip!" You commanded playfully. You kicked off your pants and panties, stripping off your shirt and sports bra before standing bare before him.

He had stripped down to nothing as you approached one of the enclosed showers. You twisted the knob and hot water sprayed down your sweat and dirt covered skin, drawing a blissful sigh from between your lips.

"Oh, Daryl! This is wonderful! You gotta get in here!" You cheered, standing under the head of it. You allowed the water to soak the front of your body, your head tipped back in relaxation.

You felt his warm body before you heard the door slide shut. You smiled gently when you felt his hands land on your plush hips, the hunter placing his chin in the crease of your neck. You squirmed at the feeling of his beard tickling your skin.

"It's been too long since we've been alone, huh?" You asked carelessly. You reached up an arm to massage at his scalp and he purred in delight. "Mhm." He agreed with a hum.

He let his hands wander up and down your body, his fingertips skimming over your nipple. You knew he didn't mean too, that he was just simply worshiping your body without any lustful intent behind his touches, but God, it's been so fucking long.

"Do that again. Please." You plead breathlessly. "Okay." His voice was gruff and deep as his palms cupped your breasts, twisting your nipples and teasing them just the way he remembered you liked.

You moaned softly, head falling back on his shoulder as he placed sweet kisses all up and down your skin. Your body heated up unashamedly, core dampening with each twist of his skillful fingers.

"'Missed you so much. Missed this."

"Missed ya too, sunshine." His hands descended down your torso to your weeping cunt. The rough pads of his fingers teased your labia, stroking it up and down in fluid motions before sinking two digits into you slowly.

"Ah! — shit." You gasped at the stretch of the intrusion. Your hips jolted out in an attempt to fuck yourself on his fingers; but with him, you never had to beg. He'd give you anything you'd ask for and tenfold.

"I gotcha, I gotcha." He cooed, lips settling near your ear so you could listen to his ragged breathing.

The only thing that could be heard over the splashing of the water was the squelch of your cunt followed by your ecstasy ridden moans. His fingers continually curled against your g-spot. You felt your stomach tighten, your grip on his hair tightening as well.

"I'm gonna cum, Daryl!" You gasped. You were on the precipice of pleasure, but you needed just a little bit more to push you over the edge. As if reading your mind, he inserted a finger and the pad of his thumb circled your clit.

"Cum f'me, sunshine." He demanded softly, a light rasp following his words. "Fuck!" You cried out, body quivering as your orgasm overtook you.

You could feel his hardness poking your back as he resumed his soft kisses to help bring you back down from your high.

"Don' gotta keep goin' if ya don' wanna."

"I wanna keep going, D. Please. 'S been too long." You begged, pressing your ass on his hard-on. He choked on a grunt, palms squeezing your wide hips. "Okay." He said thickly.

He turned you around, your arms instantly wrapping around his neck. He walked you back barely even a step before your back touched the surprisingly cool tile.

"'Wanna see ya." There was a sheepish look on his face at his own admission. "I wanna see you too, baby." You agreed, bringing your lips to his as they joined together in an amorous embrace.

He wrapped one of your legs around his hip, his tip poking at your folds. He reached a free hand down to guide his cock to your entrance where he slowly penetrated you.

You broke the kiss by your head falling back, your jaw slightly dropping at the intrusion.

"Fuck." You both called out in tandem when he bottomed out inside of you.

You spent a few moments catching your breath, but as need twisted in your gut, you squeezed down on him, pulling a bellowing groan from him.

"Please move, Dar."

You didn't need to tell him twice. He pulled out, before slamming into you, a loud slap resounding throughout the showers. You were glad that you decided to wait for him.

He tried to keep up a slow pace, but your noises and gummy walls beckoned him, sucking him greedily in an attempt to take him for all that he was worth.

You knew you'd be sore later with every smack of his toned hips to the insides of your plush thighs.

"Ya feel so good, sweetheart." He growled, his tip prodding at your g-spot with each thrust. "You feel good too!" You repeated back to him. "God, I missed you so much." You recalled once more, pulling the man to your body so there wasn't an inch of space left between the two of you.

"Missed ya too, sweetpea. 'Gonna make you cum real good, alrigh'?" You nodded fastly in excitement. "Need it." Your response was simple, but he knew it held a heavier meaning behind it.

You knew that you were going to cum soon, and if Daryl's dick twitching was any consolation, he was right behind you.

"I want you to cum with me, baby." He nodded, "I will, I will." He repeated breathlessly.

Your bodies worked in sync to bring the other to their climax, and when they were successful, Daryl was quick to pull out of you, jerking off before he exploded on the floor; whilst you rubbed your clit to completion.

"You okay sweetheart?" He asked. "Yeah," You responded with a heaving chest. "Just a little worried about the fact that the water feels a little chilly."

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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I can predict with safety that the prosecution of 700 innocent postmasters and mistresses will be remembered for decades.

It was not just that when the Post Office jailed employees and drove them to suicide it presided over one of the gravest miscarriages of justice in modern British history.

It is that the injustice will be remembered far beyond the UK. The technology said the postal workers were guilty of stealing from their tills, and everyone – judges, juries, police officers and government ministers – believed the faulty software rather than innocent men and women.

As facial recognition technologies take over police work and AI determines job prospects, the story of how the Post Office computers got it wrong will be a part of 21st century folklore.

But this terrible scandal deserves to be remembered for one other reason: the attitude of managers, who did not for a moment think there was something wrong in believing that hundreds of their colleagues were criminals.

The notion that the accusations must be flawed because the scale of the alleged fraud and the numbers of suspects beggared belief never occurred to them. They justified their salaries and bonuses as a legitimate reward for presiding over underlings who were no better than common criminals.

Chris Dillow, the author of the Stumbling and Mumbling economics blog, is one of the best critics of the managerialist ideology that drove the Post Office scandal. You can listen to my Lowdown interview with him via the links above.

I thought it would be worth going through the evidence we discuss on the show as we look at the dictatorial attitude of so many managers.

We are not making an argument for anarchism. Successful organisations have successful managers.

They tend to be modest managers who understand that it is impossible for the people at the top of complex organisations to know all they need to know. They have genuine consultations with their staff to fill the gaps in the knowledge. They do not behave like dictators by insisting on subservience and by refusing to allow criticism.

However many managers, perhaps most managers, are not like that. And here is the main reason.

They have been imbued with the ideology of managerialism, which holds that organizations in the public and private sector can be run from the top down by an elite of experts.

Instead of valuing specific knowledge about a company or organisation they believe in a generalist skill of “management”; and that a managerial elite can move from company to company, public body to public body, without losing effectiveness.

In place of specific, practical knowledge about the institutions they are meant to control, they offer “visions” and demand obedience.

Paula Vennells, was the chief executive of the Post Office as the number of false imprisonments rocketed. She had not spent a working lifetime getting to know her colleagues. She had flitted between Unilever, L'Oréal, Dixons Retail, Argos, Whitbread, the Cabinet Office and the Anglican Church.

If the people at the top of organisations cannot know all they need to know, and if their subordinates know they must suck up to the boss and tell him what he wants to hear rather than what he needs to hear, then you have miniature versions of Vladimir Putin’s Russia where no one dares contradict the big boss.

The type of people who thrive in these conditions are, frankly, psychopaths. By which I do not mean mass murderers but egomaniacs with no capacity for empathy or remorse.

According to a study dating back to 2010, there were at least three times as many psychopaths in executive or CEO roles than in the overall population. More recent data estimated that psychopaths filled 20 percent of executive posts

The Dutch management scholar and psychoanalyst Manfred F.R. Kets de Vries described managers who were

“Outwardly normal, apparently successful and charming, [but] their inner lack of empathy, shame, guilt, or remorse, has serious interpersonal repercussions, and can destroy organizations. Their great adaptive qualities mean they often reach top executive positions, especially in organizations that appreciate impression management, corporate gamesmanship, risk taking, coolness under pressure, domination, competitiveness, and assertiveness. The ease with which [they] rise to the top raises the question whether the design of some organizations makes them a natural home for psychopathic individuals.”

Shareholders may think that psychopath bosses will benefit them by keeping the profits flowing. As one business theorist put it in 2022

“Being a CEO or in a position of true power requires certain skills and abilities that psychopaths exhibit with ease. Making objective, clinical decisions entirely void of emotion, planning meticulously and in great detail, being patient, restless and confident, having a need to be in control… are all characteristics that psychopaths and prominent leaders share.”

And it is true that I have never heard of a CEO or head of HR refusing to fire subordinates because they could not bring themselves to ruin the lives of people less fortunate than themselves.

For all the talk about woke corporations and management diversity and inclusion initiatives, when it comes to mass sackings the new boss is much the same as the old boss. And you can see why that might please the shareholders.

Chris Dillow explains it thus

“People who are unusually concerned with status and power are precisely those who aim for the top of hierarchies (whereas many others of us just want to get on with our jobs), and psychopaths' superficial charm and fluency appeals to hirers. As David Allen Green says, "the likes of Paula Vennells are always with us and will always somehow obtain senior positions." This is consistent with a finding by Luigi Zingales and colleagues, that a lot more corporate fraud occurs than is actually detected. What's more, companies also select for over-confidence as they mistake ‘competence cues’ - the right body language or the illusion of knowledge - for actual ability. (All this might also apply to politics).”

You might think shareholders have nothing to complain about because vicious management protects dividends. But, as I have seen happen many times in the media, brutal managers can destroy businesses.

Chris explained the tension

“Often a company needs to cut costs and a psychopath who doesn't care about making people redundant, might be better at cutting costs than someone who's more empathetic. On other hand, we know that, psychopathic tendencies, can be very corrosive to an organization because it leads to managers who don't listen, managers who are so determined to make cuts to their organization that they end up cutting not just the fat, as they like to think, but, but cutting the meat and the muscle as well.”

If you listen to the podcast, you will hear a long discussion on why checks and balances don’t work. In theory shareholders are in control. In practice, as economists have recognised since the 19th century, they do not have day to day power. Managers can enrich themselves and follow disastrous policies without being stopped.

In the case of the Post Office, all checks and balances failed including, and most ominously, the checks of the legal system.

Dismal though that picture is, I will not end with it. One point that is not made often enough is that today’s full employment in the UK and the US is freeing workers. People who are stuck in terrible organisations with psycho bosses can just walk out and walk into other jobs.

Full employment is not high up on progressive wish lists. But for millions it is a liberation.

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boygiwrites · 1 year ago

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Harley D. Dixon 10

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. Stressful chapter below! Enjoy!

"Is that—? Are those Pokémon cards?!"

I'm holding hands with Sophia, wandering down the highway, when Carl suddenly runs ahead of us. He presses his hands and his face against a random car window with a painful clunk sound, but he continues grinning wide, from ear to ear. Me and Sophia catch up and stand on our tip-toes on either side of him, peering inside. They're both four years older than me, and taller, so I have to hop a little to see what they're seein', like a little piece of popcorn, but wow — He's right! There they are!

A book filled with Pokémon cards, tossed open on the back seat.

They shimmer rainbow-colors under a honeyed beam of sunlight, like little gems.

"Woah!" I exclaim, pointing at the magical display. "They're all rare, too! Look!"

Carl squeals, "That one's a GX card!"

T-Dog chooses this moment to stroll past us, muttering, little nerds, under a small smile.

We continue ogling at the cards.

"How do we get in?" I ask, tugging on the locked door.

Sophia hums contemplatively, looking around. She spots something. "Hey," She points, "There's a sun-roof!"

Ooooooh.

"Good idea."

"It'll open, right?" Carl grins at us. "We can climb in!"

Sophia asks, "Who's gonna do it?"

"Harley, you're smallest." He says, turning to me. "I think you should do it."

"Yeah." Sophia nods.

They stare at me expectantly, with big eyes, like puppies.

"I don't got a choice, do I?"

Sophia giggles. "Nope! Get in there!"

I start walking to the front of the car.

"And if you find a Bulbasaur, I call dibs!" Carl adds.

Rolling my eyes, I clamber up onto the hood of the car. The hot metal reflects the bright ball of the sun back into my face like a little laser-beam, and I avoid touchin' it for too long 'cause it burns. Carefully, I balance one foot in front of the other all the way up the windshield. I crawl over it, onto the roof. I stand up on wobbly legs, excited. Sophia and Carl cheer from down below. I take in the miniature trees sitting on the horizon, and the cooling breeze, and then I slide the glass panel back and scoot myself over the sun-warmed edge.

I land with a soft plunk on the glove compartment.

I duck down. I scoop up the giant booklet of Ultra Rare Pokémon cards with some effort. It's real heavy.

"Yes." I celebrate to myself.

One of 'em is a Lugia card. He's one of my favorites, 'cause he's real big and strong. I decide to pull the card out its sleeve and stuff it for safe-keeping in my jean-short pocket to look at later. I see Eevee, too. I bet Sophia will love that one.

I hear a dry hiss. Looking up, I realize there's a walker buckled into the driver's seat.

Time to get out, I reckon.

I chuck the folder onto the roof and climb back out, sliding the sun-roof closed behind me.

"Guys, I got it." I pant lightly as I sit down. "I got it!"

I did it.

"Guys?"

What's bizarre about this next moment is that they don't answer me.

My ears start ringing.

"Guys?"

They're gone.

I look out across the scattered highway, struck by the sudden silence. I have a good view from up here and yet all I can see are cars and tarmac and trees. There's no Carl or Sophia. There's no Dad, or Shane, or Rick. There's no Jacqui, or Carol, or Lori. There's no man-made ambience, no movement, no nothing. The forest rustles plainly on either side of the highway as if it's swallowed everybody up.

The whole group has disappeared.

"Sophia?"

Nothing.

"Carl?"

Nothing.

"Dad?"

And again, nothing.

For a horrifying moment, I think I've been left behind. It don't make no sense, 'cause I know they'd never leave without me, but I'm scared, and it don't gotta make sense. Freshly panicked, I lean over the roof and peer down the aisle of cars, searching, searching, searching, praying, praying, praying. People don't just vanish outta thin air. What the Hell is goin' on? Where did everyone go so quickly?

This is when I spot Glenn, just by chance, crouched behind a distant car.

Wait, no, he's hiding behind it.

What's he doing?

Then I spot Carl and Sophia, and then Lori and Jacqui, and Rick, and my Dad, too, all huddled underneath different cars.

Oh, that's where they were. They were hiding?

Is that what's happening? Everyone's... playing hide and seek?

"What're you doin'?" I whisper-shout.

Glenn pops his head out. He spots me right away. When he sees where I am, his eyes widen. I start to stand back up again, wanting to go over to him, but he frantically gestures for me to get down. Is this—? Is this part of the game? Confused, I kneel back down, but he keeps waving his hand, get down, get down, so I guess I have to keep going. I slide onto my stomach. My chin rests against the roof. He nods. This is good. I stay like this. I watch as he glances from me, to behind me, from me, to behind me. He rocks nervously, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Sophia cups both her hands over her mouth, her eyes shining with tears. Carl trembles, crying. Rick breathes heavily.

What is goin' on?

They're all looking behind me.

I follow the direction of everybody's panic, craning my neck to look over my shoulder.

My skin drains all at once when I see it.

It's the herd.

It moves up the highway in a mingling throb of decaying bodies. I try to count, but— but I can't. I go up by twos until I hit fifty — Fifty. That's three classrooms worth of people — and this is when I realize something far worse is happening than what I was imagining.

I face forward again, suddenly matching everybody's sweaty, papery complexion — suddenly understanding.

They are playing hide and seek.

But just not with each other.

The herd continues its slow decent upon us, groaning together as one.

We make ourselves as still as possible.

One by one after Glenn, the rest of the group spot me, and one by one, they all go pale. I know why. Oh God, I know why. This is the worst place to be. If I was under a car like they are, the herd might be able to sniff me out, but at least they wouldn't be able to see me. Up here, I'm on full display. I'm on eye-level. I'm on nose-level. I have absolutely no protection on any of my sides. I'm basically a prime steak in a butcher's display window, singing, come here, eat me first.

I am in so much danger right now.

The group realize this and immediately start trying to help me.

They gesture and mouth different things to me, unable to move from their spots. Rick and Lori are wildly waving, come here, come here right now. Should I? My Dad and Shane, they're waving just as wildly, do not come here, stay right there. I try very hard not to cry. I have about three seconds to decide what to do before the herd reaches us. Half of the group are nodding and half of them are shaking their heads.

I end up freezing. I don't know what to do.

Live or die.

Stay or climb down.

I— I don't know which one is live and which one is die!

Carl and Sophia cry even harder, shushed and coddled by their terrified mothers.

Three.

My Dad makes a sawing motion over his neck, mouthing furiously, do not move.

Two.

Rick flicks his fingers, mouthing urgently, come here, honey.

One.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

They've reached the car.

The three seconds are up.

Everybody is forced to retreat further into their hidey holes. I lay my head down, plastering myself against the metal. I see Rick soundlessly growl to himself in frustration, and my Dad watching on in bated, controlled horror as the herd begins to seamlessly merge with us.

The first walker is a skinny lady with teeth-colored eyeballs, leaking clear gunk down her rotten cheeks. She bites at the air, twitching her face in my direction. I watch as she recognises a whiff of my scent on the breeze, tastes it with her open mouth, and then croaking dryly, decides to continue lumbering past. I'm relieved, but not for long. This is only one win. It has to happen at least forty-nine more times, and we all know the chances of that are grim. One of them is going to find me. There's just no way they won't.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

The walkers palm their way down the car, ambling by in hungry clusters.

From underneath me, inside the car, there's another thunk, thunk, thunk-ing.

I glance through the sun-roof.

The driver's managed to wiggle himself outta his seat-belt. He paws at the glass, tickling my belly through it.

I make an awful squeak noise.

I slap my hand over my mouth.

Terrified, I watch as the closest walkers swivel their heads in my direction. They break off and begin to shuffle their way over to me, oh God, against the flow of the herd. I can do nothing but squirm a few inches away as they bunch up along the left side of the car, feeling it out. They bulge their eyes wide open, desperate to see what made the sound. Their chipped and wrinkly fingers slither their way onto the roof. Oh, no. They pad around, bumping into the Pokémon folder. It gets knocked close to the edge, ready to fall.

On reflex, I smack my hand down onto it.

In my peripheral, I can see Rick, Shane, and my Dad all watching, all itching to help me.

One gray hand and two blistered, yellow ones curl around the book, pulling on it. I pinch the corner of the cover, the only thing I can really reach now, and I try pulling it back. Thunk, thunk, thunk. As I contort myself, my shirt raises above my belly-button.

I hear someone hiss in pain nearby.

I almost let the book slip but catch it at the last second.

Straining, I look up, worried. Through the mess of necks and arms and ankles, I glimpse T-Dog, clutching his bleeding hand.

Oh, God. Is he okay?

Fingers prod at my bare belly.

I almost burst a lung trying to repress my scream, but it works. I don't scream. I moan uncomfortably as the driver pokes and swipes his finger pads against my skin, through a crack in the sun-roof. I arch away from him, and away from the herd. Inevitably — Away from the book, too. The corner of it slips from my fingers, and I have exactly half a second to process the feeling of my stomach dropping like a sack of bricks, right before the entire folder careens over the edge. Splat. I hear every last crinkly, plastic page hit the ground.

And so do the herd.

Like one big choir, they groan with delight, turning in my direction.

Carol tucks Sophia's face into her neck as she cries.

Carl hides his face in his arms.

I wish I could tell them that this isn't their fault. I wanted the cards, too.

Suddenly, the small crowd of walkers becomes a big one, and then an even bigger one. They lump in together until there's at least twenty of 'em groping at me, rocking the car underneath me, growling and snarling and spitting and gnashing ferally. I scuttle backwards, but they're on the other side now, too. They're smacking the trunk. They're leaning over the hood. Their forearms stretch out over the roof from every side, and I'm forced to stand, now, my feet corralled into the tiny square of the sun-roof. The driver licks at my shoes. I can't even jump off. I'm surrounded.

I look up, panicked.

Immediately, I see that Rick has been stalking toward me under the cover of nearby cars. He's reached T-Dog, half-way to where I am. He's helping wrap a scrap of cloth around his bleeding palm, glancing at me nervously. A walker brushes past them both.

My Dad, he's been movin' closer, too. He cranks a bolt into the string off his crossbow, kneeling in the crevice of an open car door.

Shane drives his knife into the soft nape of a walker, laying it down onto the tarmac after, creeping forward.

They look vaguely synchronized, as if they've made a plan and are executing it.

Whatever it is, I sure hope it works.

The car rocks harshly, like a mechanical bull.

I nearly lose my footing.

Fwip!

Thump!

A walker slumps onto the hood, an arrow sticking up through its scalp.

Fwip!

Another walker on the hood is shot.

The main crowd of walkers grope at my ankles.

Why's he not shootin' these ones?

I point down at them, pleading silently, please, Dad, 'cause these ones are closer to biting me.

Fwip!

He chooses to shoot another hood-walker, instead.

Rick silently approaches, just a few feet away. He gently smacks a car door, emitting quiet clap-clap-clap sounds. Some of the walkers all sprawled across the hood turn their attention away from me and onto him. This is where I start to piece together what they're doing. They're targeting the walkers on the hood to clear me a path, so I can— I can what? Run? Rick stabs the closest walker through the eye socket, gesturing once more for me to climb down. I glance at my Dad, and this time, he's gesturing the same thing, and so is Shane, who sneaks closer and downs another one of the hood-walkers.

He and Rick are pushed back. They continue smacking cars and drawing 'em away.

Fwip!

The last walker on the hood is silenced.

"Run!" My Dad suddenly whisper-shouts, pointing frantically at the woods.

Wh—?

Run?

Is that the plan?

Rick whispers what I think is, "We'll find you!"

"Go!" Shane hisses.

It is the plan.

They've given me an opportunity to run.

I did it at the quarry.

I can do it again.

This is how I end up sliding down the windshield, leaping over the guard-rails, and sprinting for my life across a grassy field, headed for a dark forest filled with even more walkers. This is crazy, this is crazy, I chant in my head, dodging a walker that lunges for me. I duck, trip; pick myself back up, covered in grass and dirt. I barrel toward the forest. The sun beams overhead. Behind me, I hear the herd growling, breaking off into little chunks that stumble after me down the hill. I swerve around one, two, and oh God, three more pairs of walker-hands. My brow drips with sweat.

I am running away from everything I know.

I don't have a choice.

The shadowed thicket swallows me whole, and I just keep running, running, running, over rocks and logs and ditches and walkers.

Everything is a blur of brown and green and death, and I hear a river — water, mud, that'll leave clear foot-prints, and my Dad'll find those — and so I veer off down a shallow incline, surfing the dry leaves and cutting my skin on pointy rocks, until I reach the bottom. My shoes smack into the mud — Yes, good — and I keep goin', scraping by walkers that cling to the trees and walkers that come crawling up out of the water. I break as many twigs and branches as I can to leave behind a trail — a bread-crumb trail like in Hansel and Gretel — so that I can be tracked.

I follow the river for what feels like ten minutes, and then fifteen, and then twenty.

How far have I ran?

Where am I?

I run, and I run, and I run, skirting the weak river, wheezing, coughing, burning, and dodging stray walkers.

We'll find you.

They'll look for me, but maybe I can look for them, too, if I don't lose the river. I can follow it back to the highway.

My Dad knows all about tracking. Whenever my family went camping, which was basically every weekend, I's never allowed to skip stones or play hop-scotch like my cousins were. I always got dragged away, instead, by my Dad and the other men so we could go track turkeys in the woods for hours on end. They'd point to a pile of droppings, or a talon-shaped imprint in the ground, or even a twig that weren't placed right, and they'd whisper, 'cause we had to be quiet, Wow, ain't that interesting, Harley? Alone, the clues were useless. But together, like pieces of a puzzle, they formed an intricate map that only they could see. My Dad once tracked one'a those turkeys for seven miles. He could track a darn ant, if he wanted.

I'm not sure if I've covered seven miles yet, but I know even if I covered a hundred, my Dad would still find me.

I run until my lungs feel like empty paper bags and my muscles sing with pain.

Exhausted, I come to a stop at the base of a thick tree with giant, snaking roots, and I crawl underneath, into a nook in the dirt.

I look up at the sky through the gaps, feeling like a trapped bunny in a burrow.

I hear frogs playing in the stream.

I start to cry.

All I can think about is whether or not everyone back at the highway made it out safely.

I wonder if the herd has passed by now, and if T-Dog's hand is okay.

I wonder if anybody got hurt tryna save me, and I cry even harder, 'cause I really, really hope not.

I wonder what's gonna happen next.

Like a golden cough drop, the sun begins to sink down through the canopy in a syrupy glow, its light sliding over me. West. Okay, that direction is West. I'll remember that. I watch as the sky envelops the setting sun, replacing it with purples and oranges and reds. Slowly, the crickets come out, flickering songs into the warm air all around me. It gets darker. The purples bruise into blacks. The stars come out, and then the moon. A distant coyote howls at it.

The frogs continue croaking and splashing.

A mosquito bites my neck.

I slap it, cringing.

This is going to be a long night.

Author's Note.

If you're wondering about what's going to happen to Sophia... don't get your hopes up 😭

I changed this around a little bit, and there's more changes to come, but overall it will be the same.

I hope you were sufficiently stressed out while reading this chapter, and that you enjoyed it, haha. It was a little short but I was just so excited to post it, and I couldn't help myself.

Thanks for reading, everyone :)

Sending love! <3

#the walking dead #twd fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon daughter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daddy issues #angst #rick grimes #shane walsh #fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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