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dix0nspretty · 8 days ago

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Skittish

Summary: Since you came back from Woodbury, you've been skittish and avoiding men- especially Daryl- like the plague.

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader, 1.1k words

Era: Prison (post-Glenn and Maggie in Woodbury)

⚠️TW FOR SA. ⚠️TW FOR SA. ⚠️TW FOR SA. ⚠️

It's discussion of the aftermath and not active SA, but it is discussion of the reader being raped/SAed. Feelings of guilt and shame from the assault, mentions of isolation, fear of men, and suicidal ideation. This is not a light read. Author is.... working through some things, to say the least. I'm, against my best judgement, engaging in this bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt.

Day 11: Sexual Assault with Daryl (whump)

When you, Maggie, and Glenn came back from Woodbury after Merle forced you there, something was different. Glenn was beat to hell, Maggie was angry, and you… you were skittish. Quiet.

Glenn has barely spoken to Daryl, Merle having driven a wedge between them right when it was starting to feel like Daryl was finally fitting in. You were a close friend. Rick trusted him with Little Asskicker and important situations around the prison. He was actually listened to and his opinion valued… until he brought Merle back with him.

Most if not all of the progress made between the youngest Dixon and everyone else was out the window, but nothing bothered him more than the way you suddenly avoided him like the plague. Skittering away any time he got even close or called your name. All of the men, actually.

If one of the men enters a room you’re in, you find the quickest reason to leave. You won’t eat meals with the whole group, either eating in your cell or secluding yourself away in a corner, back to a wall and eyes on an exit strategy.

Contrary to recently renewed belief, Daryl Dixon is anything but stupid. He recognizes these patterns and between you and Maggie… he doesn’t like the picture being painted.

So he takes the Daryl way of handling things and comes to your cell when the fewest people are in the prison, sleeping in their cells or on guard or doing god-knows-what elsewhere. He convinces himself that his heart doesn’t ache when he watches you startle, scared by the male silhouette in your doorway. You don’t relax when you meet his eyes and that is nearly as devastating as the change to your cell.

Gone are your belongings spread across the cell in a cheery attempt to make it look more as a bedroom. Your mattress has been dragged from your bed, shoved into the small nook between the wall and the head of the bunks. Your backpack, your boots, and your other belongings form a wall around the foot of the mattress, effectively blocking you in.

It’s not a bedroom anymore, it’s the equivalent of an animal trying to protect themselves in their den and he tries to ignore the faint crack of his heart breaking.

“What are y’doin’ in there?” His voice comes out gruff but attempting to be… what, conversational? He knows what he’s here to ask and it’s not about the weather outside. “Mattress goes on the bed.”

Normally that would’ve earned him a huff and a sarcastic comment dripping with easy wit, but all he gets is those scared eyes looking at him like he’s the big bad wolf. Like he’ll eat you whole.

“Just me,” Daryl softens his voice as much as he can and steps into the cell, slowly and making minimal noise. He ignores the way you flinch, stopping outside of arm’s reach, a trick he learned as a kid, and eases to sit in a mimic of your own posture. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

The way you look at him screams that no, you don’t know that, so Daryl does something very rare and completely disarms himself. Not a knife, not a bolt, nothing on him other than his clothes, and he passes the weapons over to you. “Body’s tellin’ you I’m a threat. I ain’t a threat to you an’ you know it.”

A small sniffle as you grab his weapons and pull them into your makeshift nest. “Feels like a threat,” You mumble softly and wipe at your eyes. “Everyone does.”

He takes a moment to think about that before shaking his head. “Nah. Not everyone.” You know what he’s getting at and he knows you know, but you seem determined to be stubborn. That’s okay- he’s even more stubborn and a bastard to boot. “Y’get raped?”

The freezing of each and every atom in your body and the shift in the air tells him all he needs to know. You make some strangled attempt to protest, to deny the claim out of shame or fear or guilt, but he simply nods and holds eye contact. “Was it Merle?” His brother is a misogynistic, racist, homophobic piece of shit, but he’s never gone so far as to sexually assault someone- not to Daryl’s knowledge, at least.

If he finds out Merle laid even a finger on you, he’ll skin him alive himself and let you feed the walkers with the pieces. He’ll kill him if he hurt you, if he violated you in the worst possible way someone could be hurt.

“No,” you whisper softly with a shake of your head. He can’t deny the relief he feels that his brother had nothing to do with it, but that doesn’t ease the anger and concern for you.

“Governor?” Daryl lists the second name and there you go, freezing again and avoiding eye contact. Nail on the head. “Look…”

Daryl scoots closer on the floor until his boots are close enough to brush the blanket in your lap if you shift. Close but not too close. He’s an observant person. Everybody in the prison knows how much you thrive on touch, on physical closeness. It’d practically your lifeblood and as far as he knows, you’ve gone over a week without it. He’s extending an olive branch.

“Ain’t gonna make you talk,” He promises once you relax some, body realizing that if he was going to hurt you, he would’ve done it already. “Ain’t gonna make you pretend t’be alright. That’s bullshit, you’re the furthest thing from alright.”

It’s over 10 minutes of silence before the words slowly start to spill from your lips, a slow trickle at first before pouring out in a waterfall. How Merle got the drop on you. Being dragged into a room by myself. Having to listen to Maggie and Glenn scream while not knowing what’s happening, if they’re okay.

How the Governor tried to play good cop before forcing you to undress, making you bend over the cold table.

You’re sobbing in Daryl’s lap, face buried into his neck by the time you admit aloud just what the Governor did to you. The extent he forced you to take, the pain and the shame and the need to get away from everybody your brain deems a threat, which is everyone.

He lets you sob and wail, lets you grieve and work through your emotions silently. He knows you need someone to listen to you, not to pacify you. You need the physical comfort you’ve been lacking and the sensation of being safe. Daryl would kill a hundred men to keep you safe. To take this experience away from you, to take it for you.

And god help the Governor if Daryl ever, ever sees him again.

#author is working through some things #daryl dixon #the walking dead #norman reedus #norman fucking reedus #twd daryl #mdni #daryl dixon x reader #trinket's cause of death #dix0nspretty fics #tw sa #tw sa mention #tw abuse #TCoD #dead dove do not eat

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daryltwdixon · 4 months ago

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murphy x reader one shot

crying screaming over murphy calling you an angel brb

warnings: smut :)

word count: 1.8k

The late morning sun filters through the blinds, casting soft shadows across Murphy’s small, cluttered apartment. The smell of coffee fills the air, warm and grounding, mixing with the faint scent of smoke as he leans against the doorframe, watching you. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a curl of smoke as he lets his gaze linger on you, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

You’re at the counter, barefoot and clothed in only his shirt that barely covers the cheeky lines at the juncture of your thighs, your hair still a little messy from sleep. There’s something peaceful about the scene, the simple routine of pouring coffee into chipped mugs, as if the world beyond these walls doesn’t exist for a moment.

“You’re somethin’ else, angel,” Murphy murmurs, his voice low and warm, breaking the quiet. The way he says it—like he can’t quite believe you’re really here—sends a flutter through you.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the softness in his expression, the way he’s looking at you like he doesn’t want to look anywhere else. “It’s just coffee,” you say, smiling as you hand him a mug.

He takes it from you, setting his cigarette aside before reaching out to pull you close. “Nah,” he whispers, his fingers brushing along your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek. “It’s you, bein’ here, love… feels like I don’t even need to die to get to heaven.”

Your breath catches, his words wrapping around you, and he leans in, eyes holding yours for a lingering beat before he closes the last bit of space between you, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is gentle at first, warm and unhurried, as if he’s savoring the moment, letting it sink in.

You hear him set down his coffee mug and his other hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth fresh with the taste of coffee and cigarettes. You blindly set yours down on the counter beside him, both of your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, threading through his hair as he holds you steady, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that leaves you feeling completely lost in him.

Before you know it, he’s lifting you just slightly off your toes as he walks you backward, guiding you toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. You smile against his lips, a giggle escaping you as you're blindly led to the other room.

You feel the edge of the mattress against the backs of your knees, and with a gentle nudge, he eases you down onto the bed. He follows, his weight settling over you as he props himself on his elbows, careful not to crush you but close enough that his warmth surrounds you. His lips find yours again, this time with a little more urgency, a softness tempered with a raw need, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you in every kiss, every touch.

You lose yourself in him, your hands wandering over his back, pulling him closer, feeling his heartbeat against you as he deepens the kiss, lips tracing down to your jaw and lingering along your neck, leaving soft, reverent kisses that make your breath hitch. His fingers thread through your hair, holding you gently as he looks down, taking a moment to soak in the sight of you lying there beneath him.

“An angel,” he whispers, bringing his lips back to your neck, his kisses soft and warm, with his teeth grazing sensitive places that send goosebumps across your skin. His hand slips from your hair and slides under the shirt you stole from him, your bare body arching instinctively to meet his touch. His hand rests on your waist, memorizing every curve, and he groans as he leans into you, desperate to be closer.

Your hands are hurried as you tug away the last of each other’s sleepwear, bodies heated and hungry against one another. He pulls you on top of him, your hips straddling him as he looks up at you with reverence.

"Beautiful," he says, accent always thicker when he's full of desire.

“Could say the same thing,” you whisper, slipping off him to lie between his legs, your hands finding his warm, ready cock. He sucks in a sharp breath as your fingers wrap around him, his head falling back against the pillows when you brush your thumb over the tip. Your other hand stretches along his stomach, resting along the trail of hair that curls there. You press soft, wet kisses along his length, his whimpers growing needier as you tease him until finally, you bring him to your mouth, tongue tracing over the precum. Murphy’s head lifts, his stormy blue eyes fixed on you, filled with raw need. A small smirk plays on your lips before you take him completely, cheeks hollowing as you pull him deep.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his gaze locked on your face, taking in every detail. You moan around him, loving the weight of him between your lips, eager to draw more sounds from him. Your hand moves where your mouth doesn’t reach, mirroring the motion of your head as you glide along his cock. His fingers tangle in your hair, gently guiding your pace, and you let him, loving his control even in its gentleness. With a sudden movement, you surprise him, taking him to the back of your throat, and his hips buck as you gag slightly around him.

"Christ, I’m sorry, angel,” he says breathlessly as you lift your mouth from him, cracking a smile,"Lord's name in vain, Murph--"

His hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb grazing your swollen bottom lip. “Tha's what confession's fer, now c'mere,” he murmurs, sitting up and drawing your face to his. His lips crash into yours, tongues sliding together as your moans mix with his. He presses you down onto the bed, settling beside you. One hand cups your face with reverence, while the other glides along your body, tracing the sensitive skin of your breast. His touch makes you shiver, and he gently twists your nipple, pulling a soft whimper from your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as his mouth replaces his fingers, his tongue soothing the sensitive bud while his hand wanders further down. His fingers trail along your thigh, encouraging your legs to open and he brushes the pads of his fingers along the inside of your thighs, teasingly close, making you arch toward him.

"Murph," A soft, breathy moan escapes your lips, barely a whisper, but it’s filled with everything you're feeling in that moment, an aching need for him. Your back lifts from the bed, hips just barely undulating in the air, desperate for anything.

“Yes, my angel?” he murmurs, releasing your other nipple he had moved to.

“Please,” you whimper, but he stills his fingers, drawing a soft whine from you.

“Please what, my love?” he teases, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I need—I need…” you struggle, voice trembling with need.

“Use your words,” he chuckles, low and rough, letting his fingers barely graze closer.

“Murphy, I swear to god—”

"Lord's name is vain, sweetheart," his smirk twitching his cheek, and as you're about to snap back, your words cut off as he presses two fingers against your wet heat, your eyes rolling back as he groans, feeling your arousal coating his fingers. His fingers return, gliding over your clit in slow circles, moving at a maddening pace that leaves you breathless. Your hand grips his face, pulling him in for a kiss as you whimper and moan against his mouth. He slips his fingers inside you, hooking them just right, and you gasp, your mouth falling open as his tongue brushes along your top lip, coaxing every reaction out of you.

“My God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with raw need as his gaze locks on your flushed face. You pull yourself together long enough to deepen the kiss again, rocking your hips against his fingers. He hooks and scissors his digits, working you with precision as his thumb grazes your clit, making your entire body tremble.

Just as you feel yourself nearing the edge, he pulls his fingers out, and you whine, your body thrumming with anticipation as he moves between your legs.

“Can’t wait any longer,” he says, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close. His hands slip beneath you, holding you tightly as he pushes inside, his cock meeting no resistance against your wetness. He groans deeply, his voice roughening into a growl as he bottoms out and his teeth find the sensitive juncture of your shoulder and neck. He bites down as he withdraws almost to the tip, then thrusts back in with a force that has you crying out. His lips travel along your neck, leaving a trail of wet, hot kisses as he moves against you. Every thrust feels like more than just the physical; it’s as if you’re weaving into each other’s souls, binding in ways words could never capture.

"My beautiful fuckin' angel," His breath catches, a low, throaty sound escaping him as his lips hover close to your ear, rough and heated. "So fuckin' perfect, like your cunt was made fer me, eh?"

“Oh god, Murph—” you gasp, a desperate sound slipping from you as he groans, and your hips lift to meet his. His hand moves from around your back to slide between you, his fingers finding your clit again. He pulls the hood back, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in circles that make your eyes widen. He smirks, almost blasphemously, as he watches you, his fingers working expertly. You let out a shuddering sigh, every nerve on fire, your hands pressing against his chest as you feel yourself cresting. I's too much, too overwhelming, too much too much too much as pleasure skyrockets in you, and you're moaning his name as he continues his thrusts, slower now to let you concentrate.

"Come on, dove, let me see you. Let me feel tha' sweet pussy cum all over me cock," he says, almost under his breath he is breathing so hard. Your fingers dig into his flesh as he sucks in air, "Tha's it, right there, come on,"

Your body obeys, arching against him as the first waves of your climax hit, your muscles tightening around him as stars burst behind your closed eyes. He groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release, pulling out just in time. He strokes himself, and with a low growl, he spills over your thigh, his voice a hoarse, reverent chant of your name.

As the euphoria settles, he collapses beside you, drawing you close, his breath warm against your skin. The two of you lie there, tangled together, the world outside forgotten.

"Gonna need to put on another pot of coffee," you groan, a breathy laugh against his chest as you roll over onto him.

He lets out a contented sigh, his fingers running through your hair. “As long as you bring that coffee right back here, I’ll allow it.”

#take a shot every time he says angel #dont actually do that #sorry I got a little hyperfixated #murphy macmanus x reader #murphy x reader #murphy macmanus #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #boondocks saints #murphy one shot smut #murphy x reader smut #murphy macmanus smut

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