Summary: Your ex could never get you off, but Daryl can.
Warnings/Tags: smut with no plot, young adult!daryl, best friend!daryl, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, smoking weed, mention of healed implied SH scars, use of the term 'atta girl', daryl comes in his pants, oral (fem receiving), trailer park!au, undetermined relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 1.6k words
A/N: Disclaimer about the scars: they are a part of the reader’s body that is not fetishized, mentioned more than once or discussed in dialogue. They are completely healed. I have these kinds of scars and I wanted to represent them in this fic. If that’s still triggering to you, skip this piece. I chose to do a trailer park!au because I’ve been looking for an excuse to write it. Also, when I say young adult!daryl, I’m thinking around the age of 21.
This is for Bee's Fourteen Days of Love - day 11: Change.
Masterlist | D.D. smut masterlist
The air in the Dixon’s trailer was stale and reeked of marijuana. You and Daryl had skipped another day’s worth of classes at the local community college and were now passing a bong back and forth. Sprawled across his couch while he sat on the floor, you were rambling about your ex-boyfriend. Your hands moved wildly as you spoke and Daryl struggled to follow your train of thought.
“The guy was a total asshole, Daryl. He was so fuckin’ full of himself. You won’t believe what he told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
Daryl couldn’t care less about your ex, but he loved seeing how animated you were when you spoke. He took another deep inhale from the bong and watched as you sat up. Jesus, you were going on and on about the bastard. He blew smoke and nodded in encouragement.
“He looked me in my face and told me that he was gonna be the next George Strait.”
“The next George Strait?”
“Yeah, that country singer that your daddy was always listenin’ to.”
“No, I know who that is. I’m just confused as to why that dipshit thought he was gonna be him.”
“Pure delusion.”
Your comment made Daryl laugh so hard that he nearly dropped the glass. Reaching over, you grabbed it from him and took a hit. You blew smoke and smiled at your best friend’s reaction. The man was in stitches. Bless skunk for making him all giggly. You watched him for a moment before speaking again.
“I ain’t even told you the worst part.”
“It gets worse?”
“Yeah. The whole three months that we were together, he never made me orgasm.”
Not expecting that, Daryl’s laughter came to an abrupt halt and his mouth hung open. It was comical. You guys had talked about sex before, but this was different. The idea of you being denied that pleasure was oddly infuriating to him. He cleared his throat before asking for clarification.
“Hold on. He never made you come? Not once?”
“Nope. He wouldn’t eat me out, neither.”
“God, what a piece of shit.”
The way that Daryl was upset on your behalf was amusing, and it was your turn to burst out laughing. He wasn’t trying to be funny, though. His expression had shifted to one of pure frustration.
“Seriously, darlin’. That’s shitty. You deserved better than that.”
“I mean, it ain’t that big of a deal.”
“I could fuck you twice as good as he did.”
Now, you were the one who was shocked. Your eyes widened, and you didn’t respond for a moment. It’s not like that wasn’t something that you’d thought about before, but this was your best friend. Other than the occasional drunk kiss, the two of you had never been anything other than platonic. The look in Daryl’s eyes showed that he was serious, though. You finally found your voice and raised an eyebrow.
“You fuckin’ with me?”
“No, I’m dead serious. Can I try?”
To his surprise, you didn’t look offended, and you actually nodded in agreement. Daryl had always been pining for you, but he never knew how to show it. Those “drunk kisses” played in his mind every night before he fell asleep. Sometimes, he could still feel your lips on his. Now, you were giving him permission to get you off.
He wasted no time shifting closer to the couch and pulling you forward by the knees. Daryl had you part way off of the cushions and his hands settled on your hips. He had to double-check that you’d set the bong on the coffee table and out of the way. It belonged to Merle, but he’d insisted that he thoroughly cleaned it before sharing with you. His brother would kill him if that got broken. Looking up at you through dark lashes, he took a deep breath and spoke up again.
“Can I take your shorts off?”
“Yeah. I ain’t wearin’ underwear, neither.”
“You were expectin’ this?”
“I wish. I was just too lazy to do my damn laundry.”
“Of course. Lift your hips for me.”
Once you’d done as you were told, his fingers moved to your waistband, and he slipped off your denim shorts. Sure enough, he was met with the sight of your bare pussy. He was painfully hard now, and he shifted to conceal the growing tent in his jeans. You suddenly felt self-conscious at his staring, and you broke the tense silence.
“Is somethin’ wrong?”
“Oh, no. You’re just fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart.”
“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause my whole vagina is out.”
“No. I mean it.”
The conviction in your best friend’s voice surprised you, and you quickly stopped with the self-deprecating comments. If Daryl said that you were beautiful, you were. He wasn’t one for flattery, so he spoke with his full chest. Your cheeks flushed and you mumbled.
“Thank you.”
“Can I taste you now? I- I gotta taste you.”
“Yes, please.”
Without hesitation, he shifted you so that you were pressed against the back of the couch and hooked your legs over his shoulders. His large hands bracketed your hips, and he held you in place. You could feel the rough callouses that he’d sustained from spending hours in the shop on your smooth skin.
One of his hands shifted to rest on your right thigh, and his fingers passed over the faint lines etched into your skin. His eyes drifted to meet yours, and he checked to make sure that you were comfortable. Without lingering any longer, he bent forward and pressed a kiss to your hip. He proceeded to kiss his way down to your cunt. Pulling back for a second, he felt you squirm and murmured more praise.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
“I appreciate that, but you’re killin’ me here, Daryl.”
“Easy, darlin’.”
Not wanting to tease you any further, Daryl used his fingers to carefully spread your folds open and started lapping at your seam. The warmth of your flesh against his mouth made him groan lowly. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you tried to anchor yourself. You were doing your best to not buck your hips. His ministrations were fevered, and he could hardly breathe as he kept going.
You hadn’t been touched like this in months, so the pleasure built up quickly. The heat pooled low in your belly and a soft whimper escaped your throat. The sound only encouraged Daryl, and his mouth moved quicker. He pulled back to check on you.
“You close, pretty girl?”
“Mhm. Keep goin’.”
“Just let go and come on my tongue. I wanna feel you fall apart.”
With that, his mouth was back where it belonged and he resumed his movements. Your thighs squeezed against the sides of his head and they trembled slightly. You were overwhelmed in the best way imaginable. It took a few more seconds before you tumbled over that edge and found your release. He worked you through the orgasm and leaned back on his haunches. Wiping at his beard, he shifted to hide the fact that he’d finished in his pants and spoke gruffly.
“Atta girl. You were incredible.”
You were too breathless to speak, so you just gave him a weak thumbs up. Daryl chuckled softly and got up to go find a rag. He also needed to change his pants. While you waited, you attempted to catch your breath and wrap your head around what had just taken place. Your best friend had made you come so hard that you saw stars.
After putting on a fresh set of trousers, Daryl returned with a warm rag and began wiping you down. The intimacy of this entire experience was almost jarring. Your ex-boyfriend usually just rolled over or left the room when he was finished. The words fell from your lips before you could catch them.
“No one’s ever done that.”
“Ate your pussy?”
“No, cleaned me up after.”
That made Daryl’s chest feel tight and he exhaled harshly. He couldn’t fathom why anyone wouldn’t want to care for you. Reminding himself to loosen his grip on the fabric, he finished cleaning your skin and made eye contact again.
“You deserve nice things. Thank you for lettin’ me do that for you.”
“Are we gonna do that again sometime?”
Daryl could hear the trepidation in your voice, as if you were afraid that he’d reject your statement. He could never say no to you. Trying to keep the mood light, his eyes softened and he nodded.
“Any time that you want, darlin’.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, you made me finish in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager. It would be a crime to not do that again.”
“You what?”
Your eyes drifted to his pants, and you realized that he had swapped out his shorts to a gray pair of sweatpants. He was still half-hard, and it made you do a double take. You had made me him orgasm without even touching him. Daryl smirked at your reaction and eased you back into your denim shorts.
“Yeah. Don’t get too cocky, though.”
“Nah, I think this gives me braggin’ rights for at least a year.”
“Jesus. I shoulda never told you.”
Your best friend’s face had flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. It was actually kind of endearing. Daryl tried to deflect by rolling his eyes, but it was clear that you were still affecting him. He joined you on the couch and settled your form against his chest. Clearly, getting you off had emboldened him. The two of you stayed like this until Merle’s truck pulled into the front yard.
Pls can i order a thin crust pizza with pepperoni and
ginger ale and wings “i'm not gonna last long if you tighten up like that, sweetheart.” Reader watched Daryl play with their son or be all cute with him and is desperate for another baby. Thank you!!
undisclosed desires
pairing: daryl dixon x reader
w/c: 1.9k+
warnings/tags: smut, breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving)
masterlist // pizza party
The late afternoon light spilled across the yard like honey, catching on the blades of grass and the faded red of your son’s little t-shirt. You stood on the back steps of the house, one shoulder leaned against the railing, a dish towel still in your hands from drying the last of the lunch plates. You hadn’t meant to linger there so long, but the sight in front of you had rooted you in place.
Daryl was on his knees in the grass, crossbow forgotten somewhere inside, every bit of his attention on the four-year-old tornado currently trying to tackle him. Your son’s giggles rang out bright and wild as Daryl let himself be “attacked,” rolling dramatically onto his back with an exaggerated grunt.
“Gotcha, Daddy!” the boy crowed, small hands planted on Daryl’s broad chest like he’d just won the world.
Daryl’s rare, full smile cracked across his face, the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and turned your heart into something soft and aching. “Yeah, ya did, little man. Got me good.” He let the boy sit on his stomach for a triumphant second before gently flipping them both, hovering over your son with a playful growl. “But now I got ya.”
Squeals of delight exploded as Daryl’s fingers found the sensitive spots along the boy’s ribs, careful, always so careful, even when he was playing rough. Your son kicked and laughed until he was breathless, cheeks flushed pink, dark hair sticking up in every direction. Daryl finally relented, scooping the small body up against his chest and pressing a rough kiss to the top of his head.
“Love ya, kiddo,” he muttered, voice low and gravel-rough, meant only for the boy. “More’n anythin’.”
You felt the words settle somewhere deep behind your ribs. That was your husband—the man who had looked terrified the first time you’d placed your son in his arms. Now he moved like he’d been born for this. Patient. Steady. Fiercely gentle in ways the world had never given him credit for.
Your son wiggled free and darted off toward the little wooden fort Daryl had built him last spring, yelling something about “walkers” and needing his “weapons.” Daryl pushed to his feet, brushing grass from his jeans, and glanced up. His eyes found yours instantly, like they always did. That small, private half-smile curved his mouth—the one that said I see you watchin’ me, woman.
You smiled back, but something hotter and sweeter was already curling low in your belly.
Watching him like this—sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes, muscles shifting under the worn black tank top, that rare laugh still echoing—did something visceral to you. It wasn’t just love. It was want. Deep, aching, bone-deep want. You wanted to see him do it all again. Wanted another tiny body in his arms. Wanted to watch his big hands cradle a newborn the way they cradled your son now. Wanted to feel your own body stretch and change again because of him.
The thought hit so hard your thighs pressed together unconsciously.
You wanted another baby.
The realization settled over you warm and certain, like the sun on your skin.
Dinner was loud and messy in the best way—your son recounting every second of the “battle” while Daryl listened like it was the most important story he’d ever heard, interjecting with gruff little corrections that only made the boy giggle harder. You caught Daryl’s eye across the table more than once. Each time, something passed between you, unspoken but heavy.
Later, after bath time and the long, slow ritual of story time—Daryl’s deep voice rumbling through the pages of a worn picture book until your son’s lashes fluttered closed—you eased the bedroom door shut behind you.
The house felt smaller at night. Quieter. Just the two of you.
Daryl was already in bed when you slipped inside, shirt discarded, propped against the pillows with one arm behind his head. The soft lamplight traced every scar, every line of muscle across his chest and shoulders. He watched you undress down to your simple cotton panties and an old t-shirt, eyes dark and appreciative.
“Kid went out like a light,” he said, voice low.
You nodded, crawling across the mattress toward him. The second you were close enough, his arm hooked around your waist and pulled you in, tucking you against his side like he always did. Your head found the familiar spot on his shoulder. His fingers traced idle patterns on your bare thigh.
For a minute you just breathed him in— still your favorite smell in the world. Then you tilted your head up.
“I was watching you today,” you said quietly. “With him. In the yard.”
Daryl made a soft sound, almost a hum. “Yeah?”
“You’re so good with him.” Your fingers drifted over his chest, following the line of an old scar. “It makes me… I don’t know. It makes everything feel right. And it made me realize something.”
He waited, patient as always, thumb still stroking your skin.
You swallowed, heart suddenly loud in your ears. “I want another one.”
The words hung there for a beat. Daryl’s hand stilled. You felt the subtle shift in his breathing.
“Another baby,” you clarified, voice steadier now. “With you. I want to try for another one. I want to see you like that again—holding a newborn, teaching them to walk, all of it. I want our family bigger.”
Daryl was quiet for a long moment. Then he exhaled, slow and rough, and turned onto his side to face you fully. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.
“Ya sure?” he asked, eyes searching yours. There was heat there already, but also something softer—wonder, maybe. “Ain’t sayin’ no. Just… ya really thought about it?”
You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I have. All evening. I can’t stop thinking about it. About you putting another baby in me.”
That last part came out softer, but the effect was immediate. Daryl’s pupils blew wide. A low, gravelly sound rumbled in his chest.
“Fuck, darling…”
He kissed you then—deep and hungry, like the words had flipped a switch. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted you while his tongue claimed your mouth. You moaned into it, already melting, already wet from the sheer idea of him.
Clothes came off in a tangle of limbs and quiet curses. Daryl’s mouth moved down your throat, sucking a mark just below your collarbone that would be hidden tomorrow. He worshipped your breasts with lips and teeth and tongue until you were arching and gasping his name, fingers twisted in his hair.
When he finally settled between your thighs, he took his time. Broad shoulders pushed your legs apart. He kissed the inside of one knee, then the other, working his way up until his breath ghosted over your slick folds.
“Look at ya,” he muttered, almost reverent. “Already drippin’ for me. Just from talkin’ ‘bout me breedin’ ya again.”
The filthy words sent a fresh rush of heat through you. You barely had time to whimper before his mouth was on you—tongue dragging slow and deliberate from your entrance to your clit, then sealing around the sensitive bud and sucking. Two thick fingers slid inside you at the same time, curling just right, and your back bowed off the bed.
“Daryl—oh, God—”
He ate you like a man starved, groaning against your pussy like the taste of you was the only thing that mattered. His fingers pumped steadily, scissoring, stretching, getting you ready for him. You came on his tongue with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, but he didn’t stop until you were tugging at his hair, oversensitive and begging.
He crawled back up your body, cock heavy and flushed, dragging against your inner thigh. You reached down and wrapped your fingers around him, stroking once, twice, loving the way his hips jerked and his breath hitched.
“Want you inside me,” you whispered against his mouth. “Want you to fuck a baby into me, Daryl.”
He swore, low and filthy, and lined himself up. The thick head of his cock nudged at your entrance, then pushed in—slow, stretching you open inch by inch until he bottomed out with a shared groan. You were so full, so perfectly full, the way you always were with him.
He started moving in deep, rolling thrusts that ground his pelvis against your clit on every stroke. One of his hands gripped your hip— the other braced beside your head. You wrapped your legs high around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he rewarded you with a particularly hard snap of his hips that punched a moan from your throat.
It built fast— glistening skin, the wet sound of him moving inside you, his rough breaths against your ear. You clenched around him without meaning to, the pleasure cresting sharp and sudden.
Daryl’s rhythm stuttered. A ragged groan tore out of him.
“Fuck… if ya tighten up like that 'm not gonna last long.”
The words—strained, desperate, exactly as he’d said them—only made you clench harder, the idea of him losing control because of you tipping you right over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you in hot, pulsing waves, your pussy fluttering and squeezing around his cock as you cried out his name.
Daryl buried his face in your neck, hips snapping faster, chasing his own release. “Shit—woman—ya feel too fuckin’ good—gonna fill ya up—”
He thrust deep one final time and came with a low, broken moan, cock pulsing as he spilled inside you in thick, hot spurts. You felt every throb, every wave of heat, and it dragged another helpless aftershock from you.
For a long minute neither of you moved, just breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other. Daryl stayed buried deep, hips twitching with the last pulses of his orgasm. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were soft again, thumb brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead.
“Ya okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.
You smiled, lazy and satisfied, and pulled him down for a slow kiss. “More than okay.”
He eased out carefully, but only so he could roll you both onto your sides, tucking you against his chest. One big hand slid down to rest possessively over your lower belly, fingers splayed like he was already imagining it rounded.
“Gonna take care of ya,” he murmured against your hair. “All of ya. However long it takes. Ya want this… I want it too. Another little Dixon runnin’ around.”
You pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart. “I love you.”
“Love ya more.” His arms tightened around you. “Ain’t lettin’ go of this. Of you. Never.”
You fell asleep like that—tangled together, his cum still warm inside you, his hand protective over your stomach, both of you dreaming of the future you’d just decided to build.
In the morning, your son would wake them with excited chatter about breakfast and adventures. Daryl would grumble but smile, already halfway to the kitchen to make pancakes shaped like whatever animal your boy demanded. And you would watch them again, heart full to bursting, already wondering if tonight you’d try again.
You had time. You had each other. And soon, God willing, you’d have one more.
Hi<3 first time ordering, sorry if I make a mistake. I love ur writing!!
Can I get a thin (season 1-2) slice pepperoni, a side of wings (you used to hate me, and now you can't take your eyes off me.) with a pack of cookies on the side, (how could I not be jealous? They’re drooling over you when they know you’re mine!) and a verrrry large Pepsi. No ice😏
It was between Pepsi or Dr Pepper🙈
she fuckin' hates me
pairing: daryl dixon x reader
w/c: 4134
warnings/tags: smut! dom daryl dixon, enemies to lovers, jealousy, possessive daryl, rough sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, body fluids, blood kink if you squint
masterlist // pizza party
The farm was quiet in that deceptive way only the end of the world could manage. Crickets sang in the tall grass beyond the fence line. The occasional low moan of a walker drifted from the woods, but it was distant- background noise for now. You sat on the RV steps with your knees drawn up, picking at a loose thread on the hem of your shirt. The Georgia night air still held the day’s heat, thick against your skin.
You shouldn’t have been thinking about him. Not again.
But Daryl Dixon had a way of taking up space in your head whether you wanted him there or not.
At the camp outside Atlanta, it had been easy to hate him. He was all sharp edges and silence, disappearing into the trees for days with that crossbow and coming back smelling like blood and pine. You’d clashed constantly. He called you mouthy when you spoke up in the group. You called him a selfish asshole when he refused to share what he’d tracked. Once, you’d caught him staring while you helped Carol with the laundry and told him to take a picture- it’d last longer. He’d just sneered, spat on the ground, and walked away. Mutual. Simple. You didn’t need his approval. He didn’t need yours.
Then the night came.
The camp had been torn apart in minutes. Walkers pouring through the dark like a flood. You’d been helping Sophia and Carol shove supplies into a bag when the first scream ripped through the air. You ran. Heart in your throat, lungs burning. A walker lunged from the shadows near the tree line and you went down hard, palms scraping gravel, its dead weight crashing on top of you. Rotten breath, snapping teeth inches from your face-
A bolt whistled past your ear and buried itself in the walker’s skull with a wet crunch. Strong hands grabbed you under the arms and hauled you up so fast your feet left the ground for a second. Daryl’s body slammed into yours, shoving you back against the side of a truck. His arm banded around your waist, holding you flush against him while he reloaded and fired again. You felt every inch of him- hard muscle, rapid heartbeat hammering against your spine, the rough scrape of his vest against your back. His breath was hot on the side of your neck.
“Stay the fuck down,” he’d snarled, low and vicious, but his grip never loosened. Not even when another walker came around the truck. He killed it too, then dragged you toward the RV without waiting for you to find your footing. “Move or die. Your choice.”
Later, after the worst of it, when the group was scrambling to flee, he’d found you again in the chaos. Your knee was bleeding from the fall, a nasty scrape that stung with every step. He’d shoved you inside the RV, slammed the door, and dropped to one knee in front of you without a word. His hands were rough but steady as he cleaned the wound with water from his canteen and wrapped it with a strip of fabric he tore from his own shirt. Blood smeared across his fingers- yours and the walkers’. He didn’t flinch.
“Stupid,” he muttered, voice gravel-rough. “Coulda got yer throat ripped out.”
You’d wanted to snap at him. Instead you just watched the way his jaw worked, the way his eyes flicked up to yours for half a second too long before he looked away like he’d been burned. Something had shifted in that moment. Small. Unspoken. He still didn’t like you. But he’d saved you. And when he stood up, he’d lingered half a beat, close enough that you could smell the sweat and gunpowder on him, before turning and disappearing back into the dark.
That was the night everything started to crack.
Now, at Hershel’s farm, the cracks were widening.
The group had scattered after the camp fell- some to the CDC, others drifting away to god knows where. You’d ended up here with Rick, Lori, Carl, Shane, Glenn, and a handful of others. Daryl orbited the edges like always, hunting, scouting, sleeping in the woods more often than not. But he was around more than he used to be. Watching. And it was always you he watched.
He still didn’t like you. Made that clear every time he grunted instead of answering or rolled his eyes when you offered an opinion. But the protectiveness had grown teeth.
He left rabbits and squirrels by your RV door some mornings with a muttered “Found extra” that fooled no one. He’d fixed the loose section of fence near where you liked to sit without being asked. And when walkers got too close to the perimeter while you were helping in the garden, he appeared like he’d been waiting for it- crossbow up, bolt through the skull, a rough “Watch your six next time” before vanishing again.
You hated how it made your chest feel tight. Hated that it was getting harder to keep the wall up.
And then there was Shane.
Shane Walsh had been circling since Rick came back and took Lori away from him. The loss had left him raw and dangerous, all false smiles and too-intense eyes. His attention had landed on you like a spotlight. At first it was small- offering to walk you to the well, brushing your lower back when he passed, telling you how “a woman like you shouldn’t be out here alone.” Then it got bolder. Lingering looks. Suggestions about “private” spots on the property. The way he said your name like he was already claiming it.
You weren’t interested. You made that clear with polite distance and short answers. But Shane didn’t take hints well. And with the way things were, pushing too hard could fracture the fragile peace the group had found here.
Daryl had noticed. Of course he had.
Tonight, the tension finally snapped.
You were still on the RV steps when you heard his footsteps- quiet, deliberate, the way he moved when he didn’t want to be heard. He stopped a few feet away, leaning against the side of the RV with his arms crossed. The last of the daylight caught the hard lines of his face, the stubble along his jaw, the way his hair fell into his eyes. He looked tired. Dirty from a day in the woods. Dangerous in that way that always made your pulse skip even when you wanted to slap him.
“Y’ shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said gruffly, not looking at you.
“I’m fine,” you answered, matching his tone. “Don’t need a babysitter, Dixon.”
He snorted, but there was no humor in it. “Didn’t say ya did. But that prick Shane’s been sniffin’ ‘round like he’s got a right. Saw him earlier by the barn. Y’ think he gives a damn about you? He’s usin’ you to fill the hole Lori left.”
Your jaw tightened. You hated that he was right. Hated that he saw everything. “I can handle Shane Walsh. I’ve handled worse.”
“Like what?” He finally turned, those sharp blue eyes locking onto you. There was fire in them. And something else- something possessive that made your stomach flip. “Y’ almost got yer throat ripped out back at camp. If I wasn't there-”
“I didn’t ask you to save me,” you shot back, standing up. The movement brought you closer than you meant to be. You could smell the woods on him, the faint metallic tang of blood from whatever he’d killed today. It should have repulsed you. It didn’t. “I don’t need your protection. You don’t even like me, remember? So why the hell do you keep acting like you own me?”
The words hung between you, heavy and charged. His eyes flicked to your mouth for a split second- so fast you almost missed it- before narrowing.
“I don’t like you,” he agreed, voice dropping lower, rougher. His hand reached out and wrapped around your upper arm, fingers calloused and firm, possessive in a way that sent heat flooding straight through you. You hated how your body reacted- how you didn’t pull away, how your breath caught when his thumb brushed over your skin like he was memorizing the feel of it. “Ain’t never said I did. Yer a pain in my ass. Mouthy. Reckless as hell. Don’t mean I’m gonna stand by and watch that son of a bitch put his hands on ya. Or any of ’em.”
He stepped in closer, crowding you back until your spine met the cool metal of the RV. His grip tightened just enough to make your pulse jump under his fingers. You could feel the heat radiating off his chest, see the scar that cut through his upper lip, the way his breathing had gone slightly uneven. Adrenaline and something darker crackled in the air between you.
“You got a problem with that?” he asked, low and dangerous.
Your heart was hammering so hard you were sure he could hear it. You hated him for this- for making your body betray you, for making heat pool low in your belly when every rational part of you knew you should shove him away. But you didn’t. You tilted your chin up instead, meeting his stare head-on even as your thighs pressed together against the ache he was causing without even trying.
“Yeah,” you managed, voice steadier than you felt. “I got a problem. Because one minute you’re telling me to stay the hell out of your way, and the next you’re acting like… like this.”
His jaw flexed. Conflict flashed across his face- anger, want, something he clearly didn’t want to name. For a second you thought he might let go and walk away like he always did when things got too close. But he didn’t. He leaned in instead, close enough that his breath ghosted over your cheek, warm and ragged.
“Get used to it,” he muttered. “Ain’t changin’.”
Then he released you like you’d burned him, stepping back fast. His eyes lingered on you one more second before he turned and stalked off into the growing dark without another word, crossbow already in hand.
You stayed where you were, back against the RV, pulse racing and skin still tingling where his fingers had been. The night air felt colder without him there. You slid down to sit on the steps again, wrapping your arms around yourself like that could hold the chaos inside you at bay.
You still didn’t like him.
He still didn’t like you.
But as the crickets sang and the farm settled into its uneasy quiet, you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.
Hating Daryl Dixon was getting harder every single day.
And somewhere out in the woods, you knew he was still watching.
The next day, you went looking for him.
You told yourself it was to clear the air. To tell him to back off, to stop with the hovering and the glares every time Shane got within ten feet of you. But deep down you knew the truth: last night at the RV had broken something open, and you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hand had wrapped around your arm, the way his eyes had dropped to your mouth like he wanted to devour you before he’d forced himself to walk away.
So you slipped into the trees while the others were distracted with chores. The woods were thick with summer heat and the low hum of insects. You followed the faint signs he always left- broken twigs, scuffed earth- until you found him near a narrow creek, crouched over a snare.
He heard you before you spoke. Of course he did. Daryl Dixon didn’t miss much.
He rose slowly, crossbow slung across his back, eyes narrowing the second they landed on you. Sweat dampened the hair at his temples. Dirt streaked one cheek. The angel wings on his vest looked almost black in the light.
“The hell are ya doin’ out here alone?” His voice was already a growl. “Told ya to stay put.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” you fired back, stepping closer instead of retreating. The argument started the way they always did- sharp, defensive, circling the same old ground about danger and recklessness. But this time you weren’t letting it stay there.
You took another step until you were right in front of him, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, close enough to smell the earth and sweat and wild scent of him.
“You used to hate me,” you said, voice low but steady. “Back at the camp you couldn’t stand me. Couldn’t wait to get away from my ‘mouthy’ ass. But now? Now you can’t keep your eyes off me. You’re always there. Always watching. Acting like I’m yours to protect. Possessive. Jealous.”
His jaw tightened so hard you heard it click. He dropped the crossbow against the nearest tree with a dull thud and closed the distance in two strides. You didn’t back up. Not even when your spine brushed rough bark.
“Accusin’ me of somethin’?” he rasped.
“Yeah.” Your chin lifted. “You’re jealous. Especially of Shane. You hate that he looks at me. Hate that he tries to touch what you think belongs to you.”
Something dark and hungry flashed across his face. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist in that same iron grip from last night- sending a jolt straight through you. In one fluid motion he spun you and pressed you back against the tree, pinning your wrist beside your head. His other arm braced above you, caging you in. His body was suddenly everywhere- hard chest nearly touching yours, thigh brushing between your legs, the heat of him soaking through your clothes.
You could feel his breath, fast and ragged. See the way his pupils had blown wide. Your own pulse hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it. Heat pooled low in your belly, traitorous and undeniable. You hated how much you liked the way he manhandled you. Hated that your body was already reacting- thighs pressing together, breath catching, every nerve ending lit up from the simple fact of him holding you there.
“Yeah,” Daryl growled, voice gone gravel-rough and wrecked. His eyes locked on yours, fierce and unflinching. “How could I not be jealous? They’re droolin’ all over ya when they know yer mine.”
The words hit like a match to gasoline.
Your lips parted on a sharp inhale. “I’m not-”
He didn’t let you finish.
His mouth crashed into yours- hard, rough, claiming. There was nothing soft about it. Nothing hesitant. It was weeks of tension and almosts and the raw, filthy need he’d been choking down since the camp attack. His lips were demanding, stubble scraping your skin, teeth nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to sting before his tongue pushed past and took. A low, guttural sound rumbled out of his chest as he pressed closer, pinning you fully to the tree with the weight of his body.
One hand stayed braced by your head. The other released your wrist only to slide down and grip your hip, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’d disappear. He kissed like he fought- like the world could end any second and he was taking what was his. Wet, deep, filthy. His tongue stroked against yours, claiming every inch. When you gasped he swallowed the sound, then bit your lip again, soothing the sting with another slow, filthy drag of his tongue.
You should have pushed him away. You should have hated this. Instead your hands fisted in the front of his vest and yanked him closer. Your back arched off the bark, pressing your chest to his. A whimper escaped you and he answered it with another growl, his grip on your hip tightening until you knew you’d have bruises. The kiss turned even rougher, more desperate, like he was trying to brand the taste of him onto you.
When he finally tore his mouth away it was only far enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting. His eyes were wild, lips swollen and wet from yours. A thin string of saliva still connected you for a second before it broke.
“Say it again,” he muttered against your mouth, voice shredded. His thumb brushed your swollen lower lip, rough and possessive. “Call me jealous. See what happens.”
You could still feel the imprint of his teeth on your lip. Could still taste him. Your heart was trying to beat its way out of your chest. Every inch of you was on fire, and the hard press of his body against yours told you exactly how much the kiss had affected him too.
You pulled him back down and kissed him harder.
You were still panting against his mouth when you said it.
“Still jealous, Dixon?”
The words came out breathless, taunting, your swollen lips brushing his. You knew exactly what you were doing. The way his eyes went black told you he knew it too.
Daryl didn’t answer with words.
A low, animal sound tore out of his chest. His hand fisted in your hair at the roots- tight, punishing- and he shoved you down hard. Your knees hit the dirt and leaves with a jarring thud, bark scraping your back as he kept you pinned between the tree and his body. The impact knocked the air from your lungs. You barely had time to gasp before he was yanking your head back by the hair, forcing you to look up at him.
“Open,” he growled.
You did.
He freed his cock with one hand- thick, flushed dark, already leaking- and slapped the heavy head against your tongue. No warning. No easing in. He pushed straight into your mouth, deep on the first thrust, until the blunt head hit the back of your throat and your eyes watered instantly.
“Fuck- there it is,” he rasped, voice wrecked. Both hands were in your hair now, gripping tight, holding you exactly where he wanted you. “Knew that mouth was good for somethin’ other than runnin’ it.”
He fucked your throat like he owned it.
Rough, relentless thrusts that made you gag and choke, spit flooding around his cock and dripping down your chin in thick strings. Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes, tracking through the dirt already smudged on your face. Every time you tried to pull back for air he yanked you forward again, burying himself to the hilt until your nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base and your throat convulsed around him.
“Take it,” he snarled, hips snapping. “Choke on it. That’s it- fuckin’ cry for me. Look at ya. On yer knees in the dirt like y’ were made for this.”
You were a mess. Spit and tears and dirt coating your skin. Your hands clutched at his thighs, nails digging in, but you didn’t push him away. You moaned around him instead- broken, wet sounds that only made him fuck your mouth harder. He used your hair like reins, controlling every movement, pulling you on and off his cock at the pace he wanted. Every gag made more spit pour out, coating his shaft, running down your neck, soaking the front of your shirt.
When he finally pulled out it was sudden. You gasped for air, coughing, strings of spit connecting your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock. He didn’t give you long.
“Up.”
He hauled you to your feet by the hair and spun you around so fast the world tilted. Your chest hit the tree, bark rough against your cheek and palms as he kicked your feet apart. One hand stayed fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so your spine arched. The other shoved your pants and underwear down just far enough before he kicked your legs wider.
“Y’ called me jealous again,” he growled against your ear, voice low and dangerous. His cock, slick with your spit, dragged through your folds- once, twice- teasing your entrance. “Now yer gonna take every fuckin’ inch while I remind y’ who ya belong to.”
He slammed into you in one brutal thrust.
You cried out- half pain, half relief- as he bottomed out, stretching you wide around him. The burn was sharp, perfect. He didn’t wait for you to adjust. He fucked you like he was punishing you for every smart word you’d ever said to him. Hard, deep, frantic strokes that drove you up onto your toes and made the tree bark scrape your skin through your shirt.
“Mine,” he snarled with every thrust, the word punched out of him. “Pussy’s mine. That mouth’s mine. Y’ don’t get to let ‘em look at ya like that. Don’t get to let Shane even breathe in yer direction. Y’ hear me?”
You tried to answer but he yanked your hair harder, forcing your back into a deeper arch, and the angle made him hit something devastating inside you. A broken moan tore out of you instead.
“Say it,” he demanded, pace brutal. One hand left your hair to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding up to wrap around your neck, pressing into the sides to choke you ever so lightly. “Say who y’belong to while ‘m balls-deep in ya.”
“Y-You-” you gasped, voice hoarse from his cock. “Daryl- fuck- yours-”
“That’s right.” He bit down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, teeth sinking in hard enough to draw blood. The sharp sting made you clench around him. He groaned at the taste, licking over the mark before biting again, harder. “Mine. Say it again.”
“Yours,” you sobbed, tears still leaking from the rough face-fucking, mixing with the dirt on your face. “I’m yours- please-”
He rewarded you by fucking you even harder. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the trees. His balls hit your clit with every thrust. One hand stayed in your hair, the other moved to your ass, spreading you open so he could watch himself disappear inside you. Every so often he’d slap your ass- sharp, stinging cracks that made you jolt and clench tighter around him.
“Gonna fill y’ up,” he panted against your ear, voice ragged. “Gonna come so deep in this cunt that you’ll feel me f’ days. Every time y’ walk past Shane you’ll remember whose dick ruined ya. Whose come is leaking down yer thighs.”
The filthy words and the relentless pounding pushed you over the edge fast. You came with a broken cry, walls fluttering and squeezing around him, vision whiting out. He didn’t slow down. He fucked you through it, chasing his own release, growling praise and possession the whole time.
When he came it was with a guttural snarl of your name, hips stuttering as he buried himself as deep as he could go. You felt every hot pulse of him inside you- thick, claiming, exactly like he promised.
Daryl didn’t pull out right away. He stayed pressed against your back, still half-hard inside you, his forehead resting between your shoulder blades. His grip in your hair loosened just enough to stroke the strands instead of yanking them. The hand on your hip gentled, thumb rubbing over the bruises he’d left.
After a minute he finally eased out, slow and careful despite everything. You winced at the emptiness and the ache. He turned you around, back to the tree again, and tilted your chin up with two fingers. His eyes were still dark, but there was something else there now- something almost soft underneath the possessiveness.
“Y’ good?” he muttered, voice rough.
You nodded, still catching your breath. Your knees were scraped. Your throat hurt. Your shoulder throbbed where he’d bitten you. You could feel his come starting to leak out of you already.
And you’d never felt more claimed in your life.
Daryl’s thumb brushed your swollen bottom lip, wiping away a smear of spit and dirt.
“Good,” he said quietly. Then, lower, almost to himself: “Ain’t lettin’ anyone else near ya again.”
He kissed you again- slower this time, but still deep, still owning. When he pulled back he rested his forehead against yours for a second, breathing you in.
Then the gruff mask slipped back into place.
“Pull yer pants up,” he ordered, though his voice had lost some of its edge. “We’re goin’ back. And if Shane so much as looks at ya wrong…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to…
You were his now. And Daryl Dixon didn’t share what was his.
pairing timeskip!streamer!kenma x fem!famous!reader
wc 7.2k
warnings / tags mdni!!! reader is a famous actress, use of (name) for reader insert like three times, model lev appearance, lev and kenma siblingism, wingman lev if you squint, reader is a global brand ambassador for MiuMiu, reader wears a skirt, dubcon, reader and kenma are tipsy, raw pinv, cunninglingus, m and f orgasm, public bathroom s ex, condescending praise, kenma gets compared to a cat when going down on reader, baby and princess used as pet names for reader, mirror sex, spit used as lube, aftercare if you squint really hard, strangers to ?, nervous-ish kenma and nervous-ish reader, mutual feelings, sm ut, fluff
note at first i was going to base this fic off of superstar by jamelia but then i got an idea for i wanna be your boyfriend by hot freaks and it somehow came back to superstar, so enjoy being famous for 7.2k words..! (my longest fic yet omds)
"Hey chat, I told you guys that I would do a quick Q&A before I started playing today and my team found some really compelling questions that you all sent." Kenma's cat-like eyes looked into the camera, a content expression was on his face while he spoke to his larger-than-life fanbase.
After answering a few questions that hundreds of thousands people had asked the most, having fun laughing along with his chat. Creating new memories with his fans, it came time for the final question.
"If you have one, who's your celebrity crush..?" Kenma paused, leaning back slightly in his chair while he pretended to put deep thought into this question. All of it was just for dramatics though. "God that one actress in that new movie, (name) right? Yeah she's cute." Kenma's lips quirked up a little on that last part, and it didn't go unnoticed by his fans.
The chat erupted into various messages of shock, laughter, and slight anger from fans who thought they had a chance with Kodzuken. All Kenma did was softly laugh while he went to start up the game he promised his fans that he'd play today.
And that was all he thought would come from that situation, just an inside joke between him and his fans that he had a ‘crush’ on you.
You were sleeping in your bed in your high-rise apartment, unassumingly. While Kenma was doing a late-night stream somewhere his fans didn't recognize, they figured he wasn't in Japan though. He was rumored to be a guest at a MiuMiu event, some suspected he was able to get in due to Lev modeling for the brand. And you were confirmed to be going to that event, so fans of yours that were also fans of Kodzuken were littered throughout his chat while he streamed, trying to put two to two together.
Kenma didn't think too much about name dropping you, sure he had a million twitch subscribers and was the biggest user on that platform and had fan pages with hundreds of thousands of followers that only focused on clipping him to smithereens. 'But there was no way this would come back to you', he thought. A harmless statement saying that he finds you attractive was nothing newsworthy, but like always. People get attached to the silliest of statements.
Kenma didn't see these videos when they first released, just a mere hour after his stream ended. And you didn't see the videos when they dropped due to being asleep. But there were ship edits of you two, the devil works fast but his fans managed to work faster. Various cute songs like Shadow by f(x), Kinky Love by Pale Saints, and even the Snuggle Song by Schnuffel Bunny were played over videos of yours and Kenma's face while their creativity decided on how those pictures were intricately presented on screen. Honestly, if you had seen the videos you would've been impressed with their editing skills.
They even made Alternative Universe edits with you and Kenma. Kenma wouldn't see any of these edits until the morning, and you wouldn't see them until after the event. But they were there, the fanbase for you x Kenma was growing quicker than the two of you or your teams could have imagined it becoming.
“Over here Miss!”
“Look this way!”
“You look fabulous tonight!’
“I love that pose!”
A collection of people with cameras that were big enough to cover their face were calling your name, demanding you to look in various directions. Your ears were already annoyed before you stepped onto the red, velvety carpet, and their unnecessary yelling made it worse. You were sporting a fashionable look for tonight’s show, something your stylist put together for you. It was an outfit that was true to you, something you'd actually wear outside of tonight. You were proud to be modeling it for tonight, happy to be looking your best before you spent the rest of your evening drinking and socializing.
Your security detail and manager helped you leave the carpet safely, guiding you into the venue of where you’d spent a majority of your night. This was one of the biggest nights of the year for MiuMiu as they'd be showcasing their Spring/Summer 26 collection. And you were one of their best, and biggest global ambassadors. Your recent modeling campaign for them did incredible numbers. They loved you, and your fans loved you with them as they showed love to all of the photos you took for the campaign. And the best part of this whole thing was that your advertisements managed to grab the attention of the general public, people who had never heard of your name before saw the photo and video ads you did, and loved them. You were showered with praise from the minute your photoshoot with them dropped as people felt it was something new, you were fresh in their eyes.
People started using your pictures for profile pictures, making edits to you with pretty songs in the background. Your favorite one was a creative edit that had gotten almost three million likes, your face and body edited to ‘How to Pretend’ by Lucy Bedroque.
And not to mention the whole reason of why you were able to get a global ambassadorship with MiuMiu. Your recent work in the Hollywood acting industry, your talent was praised by numerous professionals and critics, despite this being your first ‘hollywood’ gig. Since you starred alongside an extremely well-loved and respected actor, people had no idea how the no-name next to them was going to blend well with their talent. And you quickly shut down all of their doubts, and now all of sudden you were a media darling. Various interviews and sponsorships came your way almost immediately, and about three months after your basically overnight boom in popularity, MiuMiu had reached out to you.
It was safe to say that this year was your year, you were at the top after what felt like ages of trying to 'make it'. You felt the love from your fans, the general public, and even the media that you thought only existed to tear people down.
But some people were curious about your personal life. You knew that parasocial fans would have come along eventually, but you didn’t think that they would be so fascinated with you. So you started doing vlogs, seemingly alone in your day-to-day life besides seeing your management team and a few friends. Fans were curious if you had a partner, to which you responded, ‘no’, whenever the question came up in interviews.
So luckily, tonight was a night that you'd be surrounded by people going through the same thing. Although some fans managed to come in as they were also journalists and had to report on the fashion show, there were also designers and plenty of other celebrities who were also brand ambassadors for MiuMiu. As your security detail helped you find your front-row seat, they walked away as you started to take in your surroundings. You checked your phone, seeing your manager sent you a text to 'let me know if you need anything or want to leave, don't worry too much about networking tonight if you want to rest. It's been a long year.'
You appreciated the thought your manager had for you, she knew better than to exploit you and work you to the bone. You had been grinding for a majority of the year anyway, now it was finally September and you had no idea what the rest of your year was going to be filled with. You auditioned for some projects, and some casting directors reached out to you offering roles. So you figured the next step was to start sifting through those with your manager and casting agent.
But the biggest thing on your mind, literally, was the guy sitting next to you. You didn't know his exact height but you knew he was too tall to not be on the runway with the rest of the lengthy models.
With shiny silver hair and striking green eyes, standing out must have been something he was used to. And his outfit was a collection of pieces that MiuMiu had created, so you concluded that he was an ambassador too.
"Hey," was all that came out of your mouth before you had even thought of how to approach this situation. His slithering green eyes looked in your direction, an unreadable expression on his face. "How are you?" You asked politely.
He smiled kindly, showing off his near perfect, white teeth, "I'm doing good! How about you?"
"I'm fine, are you an ambassador as well?" You asked, his face looked way friendlier now that he wasn’t caught off guard.
"Yeah, I am. I've modeled for them for quite some time now.. my friend Kenma hasn't though, he's not too into fashion." The tall man glanced beside him, leaning back slightly so you could see his friend.
You leaned forward despite his efforts, and saw one of the most beautiful men you had ever seen. His medium-length black hair had blond tips at the end, his golden cat-like eyes seemed so bored as he looked into his phone. You looked at his plush, pink lips, two silver rings adorned his bottom lip. Something that made you wonder how people tolerate the pain for certain piercings.
"Kenma, say hi man." The tall man, whose name you realized you didn't know, nudged his friend to look up from his phone.
As ‘Kenma’ lifted his head up, turning off his phone which looked to be pretty new. His eyes had a slight shock in them, his mouth agape, as if he wasn't expecting to see you.
"Hi.." Was all the shorter man could spit out.
"Hi!" You introduced yourself to him with your name.
"I'm Lev by the way." The tall man shot in, you gave him a smile and started up a conversation with him.
But 'Kenma' interrupted, "I'm Kenma," he said. "It's nice to meet you," he smiled softly while extending his hand to you, his eyes blinking slowly as he looked you up and down.
You took his hand, shaking it gently, "it's nice to meet you Kenma." The way you said his name with the sweetest look on your face, the soft grasp of your hand. He could feel himself getting harder by the second. Kenma knew he had to find a way to talk to you at the brand-sponsored afterparty, there was no way he was letting his opportunity go.
Before the show started, Lev started to show you something on his phone, some pictures from a recent trip he took with his sister. You leaned over to see it better, and no doubt that the two of you conversing together would become a viral moment later on as your every move was being recorded.
The large room was dim, with flickers of light scattered around it. It was decorated in sleek blacks, greys, and whites with the occasional pop of tan brown and light blue, and the words ‘MiuMiu’ were littered throughout the afterparty. For promotional photos no doubt. Most of the color in the room came from the outfits other ambassadors and partygoers were wearing. The bass from the music thumped against the floor and walls, you looked over towards the dance floor to see various celebrities around your age recording themselves dancing on their phones.
You rested your arms on the tall, black table, wondering where you should start for your evening of socializing. You were alone for the night as your agent thought it would do you some good to be solo for an evening as she was often by your side. But you preferred having a familiar face against a sea of unknown ones. I mean you knew who these people were, some of the most famous young people in Hollywood today. And judging by the statistics, you were the biggest at the current moment. So it shouldn't have been so difficult to find the courage to introduce yourselves to others.
But it was. So you stood at the table with a tall flute of champagne, wondering if you were able to go home early after shooting some promotional reels and tiktoks for the brand.
"Hey! I remember you!" You heard a familiar voice shout out, you saw the silver-haired model from earlier, Lev.
You sighed out of relief, seeing a face you recognized, "hey! I didn't know you'd be here."
"Yeah, they invited me to go and my agent wanted me to get some pictures at this party. You wanna take a few?" He suggested, his kindness was so strong you could almost see it radiating around him.
"Sure!"
As he walked closed to you, placing his large hand on your shoulder. You saw Kenma from earlier, standing at the other end of the small but tall table.
He caught you so off guard you weren't able to properly pose for the picture Lev had quickly taken. You didn’t notice, but Kenma’s fingers were moving by his side. As if he was trying to regulate himself.
"Oh that is not a good one.." Lev murmured while scrolling through the three pictures he took.
"How about we take one together?" Kenma's gold eyes looked into yours as he took a sip from his own flute of champagne, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Yeah sure," you said breathlessly, you had no idea why you were all of a sudden so nervous.
Maybe it was the lack of emotion behind his eyes, everything seemed so causal for him. He was nonchalant! That's what made you nervous about him, you couldn't tell what he was thinking. His stare was intense, in a good way.
And it didn't help that he was obviously, very attractive. And more importantly, exactly your type.
Kenma walked over to you, placing his cold hand on your shoulder, just how Lev did, but this time it felt right considering Kenma wasn't completely towering over you.
"Say cheese," Kenma's smile was cheshire adjacent, his eyes looked like he was up to no good. As if his body was one place, but his intentions with this photo were somewhere else.
And you smiled, making sure to keep your eyes open as the back of his phone camera flashed. The sudden burst of bright light stood out in the dim room, a few heads turned in your direction before turning back.
"We should all take some pictures together then!" Lev suggested, you don't think you've ever seen someone look so happy from a mere idea.
You nodded your head, as you were already in between Kenma and Lev there wasn't much adjusting to do besides smiling and using your hand to create various poses that one of you would eventually post.
The next hour or so went pretty well, you talked to Lev and Kenma in the meantime. You discovered that they both knew each other from high school, playing volleyball together on a relatively successful team. You had wondered why they had such sibling-like interactions, you supposed knowing someone in their adolescence could have that same affect though.
You learned about how Lev got his start in modelling, his older sister, Alisa modeled and decided to force him to a casting call in which he swiftly passed. That being the start of his successful career.
"So what do you do, Kenma?" You inquired as you took a sip from your second champagne glass of the night.
"Nothing too much," he downplayed. "But uh, I go to college, I play games for a living- I'm a streamer."
Lev narrowed his eyes at the shorter man, looking at him as if he was guilty of something. Lev opened his mouth, "he also owns his own company! And he trades stock from time to time, he's a busy man!" Lev boasted for Kenma.
Your eyes widened after hearing all of that, what Kenma presented on his own was already impressive. But hearing everything else he did was the cherry on top.
"You like to keep busy?"
"Something like that.." Kenma trailed off, trying his hardest not to punch Lev in his gut like Yaku would've done.
You all continued to converse, Kenma tried to act causal while Lev wasn’t allowing him to do so. As you were speaking to Kenma, his gaze made your stomach flip, his gold eyes were so intense you felt as if you were being investigated for a crime. Kenma looked at you so intently as you explained how you interpreted your character’s morality.
“And the most interesting thing about her is that her father was a huge influence on her morals, but he’s never been shown on screen. So viewers just have to infer on what her father believed in through her, somewhat butchered, perspective on his teachings.” You explained.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!”
Kenma laughed softly at your enthusiasm, “that’s cute. Seems like your character is deeper than people thought.”
His eyes were doing that thing again, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking but you knew he was thinking something. All you could make out was a glint of condescension, but he seemed like he was genuinely interested in hearing your interpretation of your character. But you two continued to talk, he asked questions about you, you asked questions about him. It felt easy to talk to Kenma, it was natural how your conversation flowed. Like how airy curtains flowed on a windy day after a window was opened.
You were feeling tipsy after three flutes of champagne but that just meant you could keep the party going without having to worry about what you were doing at the moment.
Without any reasoning, you grabbed Kenma's hand, the coldness of his palm sent chills up your spine. Kenma's cat-like eyes observed you as you guided him to the dance floor, your backside pressed up against him as you swayed to the beat. Kenma did his best to match you, his hands were placed upon your waist trying to follow your lead. You rested the back of your head on his shoulder, messing up your hair a little. But your somewhat disheveled appearance was worth the feeling of Kenma’s breath softly hitting your neck.
And as the two of you swayed, you had no idea another global ambassador was live-streaming. Her phone propped up on one of the tables as she stood there casually eating the 'food' the brand had provided. Conversing with some of her celebrity friends in a joyful manner, even if she took up the majority of her phone screen. You and Kenma were perfectly placed in the background of her live stream, the two of you looked real comfortable with each other too as people started to notice you two in the background.
"I lovee this song," you slurred, trying your best to grind up against Kenma. Even if his hands were cold, the rest of his body felt warm pressed up against yours.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm!" You just smiled, letting the bass thump in your ears.
It felt like you were on that dance floor for an eternity before you turned around to face Kenma. His face looked so beautiful under the pale, blue light the room was now covered in. You were so close to his face you were practically breathing in the air he was breathing out.
His golden eyes stared directly into yours, no longer emotionless but something else took over. He looked as hungry as a stray cat, one that hadn’t eaten in days. And you were the first piece of food he had stumbled across. As you continued to gaze into each other's eyes, the music sounded like it was muted. The various chatters of conversation that had surrounded you minutes ago ceased to exist in your world. It was only you and Kenma now, and you intended to make the best of your new reality. You stumbled into the bathroom before you could even realize you had walked over there. The bright, white light was a stark contrast from the dim, blue light from the party.
And luckily for you and Kenma it was a small, one stall bathroom with a lock that guaranteed nobody else could get in.
Kenma's cold hands cupped your hips as his plush lips pressed up against yours. Your lips combined made various smacking sounds as the kiss deepened, you couldn't tell if it was your spit or Kenma's dribbling down your chin as he lifted you onto the sink.
His hands traced pictures onto your thighs, you felt little x's and o's as his fingers danced on your skin.
"You know I'm an Emmy nominee?" You breathed out as you felt Kenma's hand itching towards your inner thigh.
"Yeah I do," he responded, looking at you, wondering why you broke the kiss.
"Just thought you should know.." You continued, "y'know I also have had multiple, successful global campaigns with brands people can only dream of working for?" You were nervous, rambling to soothe yourself.
"Because you're just soo great and amazing, right?" Kenma's eyes bore into yours, your stomach clenched from his stare.
You had never imagined that your type, on paper, and print, would be into you. No matter how successful you became, but here reality was, proving you wrong in the best way possible.
It felt as if the world was rewarding you for being wrong for once.
"You're just so successful aren't you?" His condescending tone made your thighs press together, his salty praise lightly coated little fires across your skin, you felt yourself burning up.
"I am."
"You are." Kenma's smirk was something you had deemed dangerous from this moment on, that sly look you remembered from earlier. Like he knew something you didn't.
Kenma breathed out before going back in to kiss you, the sloppy kiss was filled with combined spit, and tongue sliding on each other.
His hands inched up further, pulling at the edges of your skirt.
Kenma broke the kiss, staying as close to you as possible. Your lips brushed up against each as he spoke, "can I?"
You pulled your head back to really look at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking. But as you searched into the golden abyss of his eyes, you weren’t able to come back out with a solid conclusion or theory for what was going on in that mind of his.
And that was all Kenma needed to hear before pulling you off of that poor sink and turning you around. His cold hands made contact with your warm skin, his chilled fingers grasped desperately at your thighs as if he’d die if he didn’t.
He got on his knees, placing his face right where your underwear was soaked with your juices, and smelt you. Kenma’s little sigh of relief made you bite your lip as you turned around to see the lewd position he was in.
“Now what?” You asked.
All Kenma did was smile, “what do you want me to do?”
“What were you planning on doing?” You pushed.
“Hm.. what did you think I was going to do?” Kenma pushed back.
You bite your lip, now too nervous to explicitly say what you knew he was going to do. You were starting to regret opening your mouth to challenge him.
“I want you to.. eat me out?” That didn’t sound as confident as you wanted it to.
But that didn’t matter, all Kenma did was chuckle at your sudden shyness as both of his hands gripped the sides of your laced underwear, pulling them down to your ankles as his face disappeared under your short skirt.
You looked into the mirror, wondering what Kenma was going to do now. All you could feel was his hands caressing your thighs, it felt like forever before you actually felt something.
But when you did feel something, it caught you off guard, just a little lick near your clit. Like a cat tasting new food its owner brought it, cautious to go all of the way. And another lick, this one was more daring, going from your clit to your hole. You shuddered as Kenma’s licks were starting to get to you, the sensation of his rough but gummy tongue up against your clit was giving you subtle pleasure. And you started to crave more.
You whined as you poked your ass out, hoping to inch your pussy closer to his soft lips. You felt the vibrations from Kenma’s laugh as he decided to stop teasing you and put his lips around you clit, and started to suck.
“Mmmh,” You moaned out as his tongue flicked back and forth on your clit, no longer kitten licking you for a mere taste test. Kenma decided that he liked the new food his owner brought him, hoping that they would remain loyal to this brand.
You leaned over on the sink, using it for support as your legs shivered from Kenma’s stimulation.
"Ha~ you taste so good baby," you felt Kenma's lip curl into a smile over your clit. His lips, now coated with your slick, continued to kiss your pussy, as if he was a cat grateful for the meal his owner granted him.
A knot in your stomach started to form, feeling ready to burst at any moment as Kenma sucked on your clit like his life depended on it.
"Kenma!" You squealed out as he switched between flicking his tongue and sucking on you.
You looked behind you to be greeted by the lewd scene, the streamer down on his knees, pleasing you.
"M'gonna cum!"
"Come for me baby," the vibration from Kenma’s groan was enough to send you over the edge.
His hands gripped at your thighs, keeping you up as leaned over the sink as the build-up of pleasure all came crashing down on you at once.
You were panting while looking at yourself in the mirror after coming down from your brief high. Kenma appeared behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he placed soft kisses on your neck.
"Wow," was all you could say. The warmth that was radiating from Kenma felt overwhelming, like you were burning up from a fever that there was no cure for.
"Was I good?" His lips felt so warm against your sensitive neck it felt like he would’ve left an imprint on you.
You hesitated to answer, even if you already knew how you were gonna respond, "you were good."
Kenma's cat-like eyes scanned over you, trying to observe how you were feeling. Seeing if it was okay to go further. Like a kitten trying to analyze an adult cat, stalking around it, softly placing its paws on the ground as it circles around it.
"Can I fuck you?" Kenma's blunt question took you quickly out of your post-nut clarity trance.
You looked at him in the mirror, just to see his eyes staring back at you. His pupils were so blown out you could barely see the gold in his eyes, his natural eye color was reduced to a small ring.
"Yeah,” was all you could say.
Kenma hiked up your skirt, your ankles still bound by your underwear. Your eyes focused on him, his long black hair that was tied in a bun looked cuter than it did two hours ago. His black strands acted as a curtain for his ears, but under the sterile, white lights you could see some of his silver ear piercings shining underneath the brightness.
You couldn't see what he was doing behind you, all you could see was him moving his arms around and the sound of a belt unbuckling and zipper going down.
"You ready?"
You nodded your head yes.
Kenma whimpered as his pink tip grinded on your pussy, his hand gripped his dick making it go back and forth. The only thing you could hear was 'shlick shlick shlick' as he tried to gather enough of your juices to use for a makeshift lube.
And you then felt it, a ‘ptuh’ sound came behind you. You could see the remnants of Kenma’s spit dribbling down his lip. He used his thumb to rub his spit on your slit.
You gasped softly as you felt yours walls being split open, Kenma slid inside of you slowly, savoring the feeling of your wet pussy inviting him in so sweetly.
"You feel amazing," he said as he bottomed out inside of you.
He took a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size before he started to move. His dick was bigger than you had expected it to be, it filled you up so nicely, as if it was meant to be there inside of you.
"Mmmh," you sighed, leaning your head back on his shoulder.
The way Kenma dick was bullying your insides, you felt your body start to falter. Your head hung over the sink as he pounded into you, unable to look at yourself in the mirror.
"Look at me while I fuck you princess," Kenma's voice filled your ear. But you were too overwhelmed to follow his orders, his dick thrusting in and out of you hitting that sweet spot inside of you so brutally. You whined as he used one of his hands to grab your face, guiding you to look in the mirror.
You took one of your hands off of the sink, and pressed behind you at Kenma's stomach. The pleasure covered you like a suffocating blanket, you couldn't take it anymore. Kenma's dick felt too good, you had to find some way to elevate the intensity of the pleasure.
But Kenma didn't care, "move your hand baby."
You just whined in response, not wanting to move the only thing that was keeping you from screaming from ecstasy.
"I asked you to move your hand, come on." Kenma's sickeningly sweet voice travelled from your ears, right to your pussy. The tone of his voice turned you on in a way you didn't think was possible.
Kenma grunted, grabbing you by your wrist and placing your hand on your stomach.
"Oh my god!" You squealed as Kenma pressed your hand into your stomach, the feeling on his hand on yours was enough to make you almost ask, 'what are we?'.
"Fuck," Kenma whispered as his tip kept colliding with your sweet spot. His thrust grew sloppier as he felt his release coming soon.
Kenma used his other hand to start rubbing circles on your clit, not wanting to cum first on your first encounter together. He couldn’t leave a bad impression for your first time together.
"Kenma you're fucking me so good ohmygod," tears threatened to fall from the corner of your eyes, you genuinely couldn't how well he already knew your body and you had just met.
But you were too lost in pleasure to see his catty eyes observing you so intently, his eyes and ears paying attention to what got the biggest reaction out of you as his dick was grinding up inside of you.
"Fuckfuckfuck," Kenma sputtered out, whining right into your ear as his clothed hips continued to meet your ass. "M'so close," Kenma whimpered.
And after the buildup of his dick hitting you that spot inside of you over and over again and his long fingers circling your clit, you came. You came hard, your legs were shaking as Kenma continued to thrust inside of you.
"Kenma please!"
"You're doing so good for me ha~" Kenma praised, now chasing his own release.
Kenma came with a loud whimper, but you sure were nobody heard it over the loud music. He pulled out, deciding to cum on your thigh rather than inside of your warm pussy.
You felt his torso meet your back, one of his arms wrapped around your waist and the other one was around your hip. In hopes of keeping you up as you tried to balance in your heels.
"Mm," you sighed, the sleepy smile on your face was enough for Kenma to know that he satisfied you fully.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Kenma's rhetorical question made your lip quiver, you liked this side of him.
"No.. it wasn't."
"That's what I thought."
Kenma let go of you to grab some paper towel to clean up the cum that was now dripping down your leg. You pulled your panties up and looked over at Kenma.
"I'm gonna use the bathroom now.." You spoke out.
"Oh yeah, right." Kenma walked out of the bathroom, leaning against the wall. Waiting for you to come out.
After you used the bathroom, you washed your hands. And as you grabbed a paper towel to dry your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Like really looked at yourself, wondering if any feelings of guilt were to arise. But they didn't, you felt good about this. About Kenma.
You felt confident in your decision in allowing Kenma into your world. You didn't know too much about him, so maybe it wasn't your proudest moment to sleep with a stranger. But he was cute, and you were both young and successful so why not?
You walked out of the bathroom, not expecting to see Kenma leaned up against the wall. Your eyes tried their best to adjust to the dim lighting of the party, a stark contrast from the surgical lights in the sterile bathroom.
"Wanna get out of here?" Kenma asked.
"What about Lev?"
"Right.. I'm sure he'll find his way back home."
"I think I'll just go home actually, I had a good time tonight though." You didn't know why, but you just wanted to go lay in your bed now. Most likely due to being up longer than you would have liked. And most of the energy you had left for the party, was spent on fucking Kenma.
"Can I walk you out, if that’s okay?" He suggested, like a gentleman.
"Sure-!" You cut yourself off, your legs suddenly fell weak.
Kenma's hands caught your waist, he wrapped his arm around your waist as he led you out of the venue. He decided that he would text Lev in the morning where he went for the night after unintentionally leaving Lev by himself.
And neither of you knew that Kenma's arm wrapped around your waist and your wobbly legs were in the background of that same girl's live. The small moment between you the two of you was to be picked and prodded at by tens of thousands of people on social media before the sun rose tomorrow.
You made it home safely that night. It was now 1pm, your eyes fluttered open as they adjusted to the light. You were just waking up after your satisfying night. Cuddled up in the warmth and unbelievable comfort of your luxury couch, in your well decorated living room.
You hadn’t heard anything from Kenma since that night, although it had only been a few hours since your encounter. You wanted some form of communication, but you didn’t want to reach out first. So instead of contacting Kenma like a normal person, you decided to obsessively look at all of his social media pages. His instagram, his twitter, his tiktok account (and even a few fan pages). Before you landed on his youtube account, where his profile picture had a thin, red circle around it with white letters that spelled out "LIVE" at the bottom.
You figured that you would click on it, see what he was up to since you were ‘clearly’ not on his mind.
"I mean yeah, those events are just usually like that, no? You just take pictures and talk and do interviews about yourself so it was chill, I met some cool people that night so I don't think those events are useless." You heard his calm voice from the other side of the screen, he was sitting at his desk. Nothing else on the screen but his attractive face, his microphone in the corner of the screen, and the chat filled with adoring fans.
"God you guys are running these piercings into the ground, I thought this ear map would suit me. You all voted on it," his laugh was soft and raspy, that kind of laugh that made you smile unintentionally.
"But did I have a good night?" Kenma's cat-like eyes had found a new emotion to display, anyone could tell he was reminiscing on something. "Oh I had an incredible night, I was in the bathroom for most of it though." He smirked while the chat exploded.
As you wondered what he exactly meant by, ‘Oh I had an incredible night,’ you skimmed the chat for clues.
"OMG SO THE RUMORS ARE TRUE"
"Kodzuken getting play before GTA 6 😭😭"
"bro linked up with (name) and it's all he can talk about now"
"stop you guys would be such a cute couple"
"You should invite her on stream!!"
The various messages made you conclude that people had known that you two had hooked up at that gala. But how? I mean sure, it's not like you two were super discreet, both heading off to the bathroom area at the same time. And you were a little tipsy so you might have misremembered a few details, but nothing was completely omitted from your mind.
You knew following your dreams of being on screen meant that all eyes would be on you, but not like this. And you could tell that Kenma hadn't said anything too explicit, so how the hell did everyone seem to know?
You decided to go back on twitter, since they usually had most of the 'drama' in the most straight-forward way. You scrolled, seeing various tweets with your name and Kenma’s.
"Did you guys see Kenma with (name) at the MiuMiu party last night??"
"I can't believe we saw Kenma and (name) in the back of her live"
"the way they snuck off to the bathroom after grinding on each other.. this buzz!!"
"Streamer x Actor strikes again, hope this goes well for (name) streamers are gutter though im ngl"
"THIS (NAME) AND KENMA EDIT GET INTO THIS BUZZ OMG"
“Bye why do they look like they’re in a movie”
You closed out of the app, throwing your phone across the room, upset that you apparently weren't as discreet as you thought you were. You were lightly embarrassed at the fact that it seemed like everyone had the information to infer that you and Kenma had slept together. But luckily your phone landed on a pair of one of your shoes, so it wasn't damaged.
You turned around and buried your head in one of your too-comfortable pillows thinking, 'this could not be happening right now.'
It seemed like individual fan accounts were responding well to you 'allegedly' hooking up with Kenma at a party though. But what would the commercialized media have to say, would there be articles about this situation. Were people going to think that you were a whore, would Kenma's fans start attacking you for 'stealing their man'?
You had so many questions swirling around in your mind, it felt as if a mini tornado was running rampant in your brain. After being a media darling for so long, you had no idea if you were going to keep that image up after this 'incident', if you could even call it that.
As you started to become trapped by your thoughts, you heard your phone softly vibrate in your shoe. You looked up from the pillow, deciding to see what the notification could possibly be. Even though it was probably just your phone telling you if your screentime percentage was down or up from last week. You got up from the couch to grab your phone, just to sit back down on the couch to read the notification.
[kodzuken] Kenma
hey, how are you today?
A simple message showing interest in you, you started at the notification for what felt like hours before you unlocked your phone and went straight to instagram.
You wasted no time in thinking if you should respond, you didn't want him to know but you had been waiting for something from him. Whether it was a text or seeing that he had blocked you on all platforms. Any reminder that he remembered your existence would have made you content.
[you]
I'm doing fine, how about you?
[kodzuken] Kenma
i'm a little tired but i promised my fans a stream tdy
did you see anything about us from that party last night?
[you]
Yeah I did actually.. you didn't say anything explicitly about what went down that night did you?
[kodzuken] Kenma
nah i didnt, figured it wasn't my place.
i wanted to talk to you about it though
[you]
what's up?
[kodzuken] Kenma
i was wondering if i could take you out on a date? i'm still in LA for another week or two, are you busy saturday?
[you]
not that i can remember.. but i'll have to check in with my manager.
[kodzuken] Kenma
cool, just let me know
i'll set something up :)
You still thought the tone in which he said he had an 'incredible night' was weird, so you knew not to forget to bring it up whenever you two eventually went out on Saturday.
And you knew you had nothing going on this Saturday, it was one of your only free days this week. Courtesy of your agent and manager who decided you deserved the weekend off after months on end of promotions and filming, not only on set, but commercials and interviews too.
You laid your back on the couch, gazing at your too-white ceiling. You took a deep breath in as the blue sky was in the corner of your eye, the light shining through your living room was natural, a gift from the sun.
And you couldn't help the smile that was forming on your face after replaying Kenma's texts in your head, how he ever so causally asked you out on a date. Being gentleman enough to set something up for the two of you, and hopefully it wasn’t a scheme to use you for your fame.
You hoped he genuinely wanted to get to know you, not the you who had countless billboard ads across the country. Not the you who was an Emmy nominee off of her acting debut, the you who modeled for high-fashion brands, and the you who went viral every other week,
But the you who liked sitting in a moving car just for the sake of going on a drive, the you who liked going to countless museums and admiring the artwork of the talented individuals. The you who posted on your instagram story of you trying out cafes in different cities, the you who had a genuine passion for acting and who decided to audition for the role of the lifetime.
And you decided then that you wouldn’t want Kenma if he didn't want to get to know the real you. After your interaction with Kenma last night, you hoped he understood that you were interested in getting to know Kenma. Not just the Kodzuken everyone ‘seemed’ to know.
hi there!! could i get thin crust pepperoni AND chicken pizza with some veggies along side if that’d be ok? i would also like some salad(young daryl, early 20s with the reader as his gf basically while he’s extremely inexperienced romantically and in other ways..) and finally a root beer and sprite thank you
lips of an angel
pairing: daryl dixon x reader
w/c: 5975
warnings/tags: smut! inexperienced daryl, drinking, smoking, cursing, no outbreak au, trailer park daryl, light choking, oral (f receiving), fingering, premature ejaculation, unprotected sex, soft dom daryl
masterlist // pizza party
The trailer park baked under the Georgia sun like it had something to prove. Gravel lots, rusted awnings, the low hum of window units fighting a losing battle. You’d been here four months— long enough to know which trailers leaked when it rained, which dogs would bite, and exactly which Dixon brother made your stomach flip every time he walked by.
Daryl was twenty two. Same as you. Lived in the last trailer on the left with Merle, though half the time it seemed like he was trying to live outside it. You saw him most evenings, hunched over the open hood of that beat-up Chevy or sitting on the cinder blocks out back with a cigarette and a knife, carving little wooden figures he never showed anyone.
You’d been trying since week two.
First it was small. Nice. You brought him a cold beer one evening when he was wrist-deep in engine grease, tank top sticking to your back from the heat.
“Figured you could use this,” you said, holding it out. “You’ve been out here since lunch.”
He looked up quick, then away just as fast. Took the bottle with a grunt. His fingers brushed yours— rough, oil-stained, warm.
“Thanks.”
You leaned against the fender, letting your hip rest near his shoulder. “You’re good with your hands. Must be nice, knowing how to fix things.”
Daryl made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a cough. Took a long pull of the beer and didn’t answer. But his ears went pink under the mess of brown hair, and he didn’t tell you to leave. Progress.
A week later you tried again— more flirty this time, just to see if he’d bite.
It had rained that morning. You “accidentally” needed help with a stuck window in your trailer. He showed up with a toolbox and that same quiet frown, shoulders filling the narrow doorway.
You stood close while he worked, close enough that your bare thigh brushed his jeans when you shifted. The thin cotton of your sleep shorts rode up. You didn’t fix it.
“Appreciate this,” you said softly. “Feels like everything’s falling apart lately. Except you. Thank you for helpin' me Daryl.”
Daryl’s jaw flexed. He kept his eyes on the window frame like it had personally offended him. “Ain’t nothin’.”
When the window finally slid open, you reached past him to test it, letting your chest press lightly against his arm. “Bet those hands could get anythin' to open up if you wanted.”
He dropped the screwdriver.
It clattered on the linoleum. Daryl stared at it like it had betrayed him, ears burning crimson all the way down his neck. He muttered something about needing to get back, grabbed his toolbox, and was gone before you could say another word.
You smiled to yourself anyway.
He never pushed you away. Never told you to stop. It was like he didn’t… see it. Like the idea that someone might actually want him was so far outside his universe he couldn’t even register the signal.
Merle noticed, though. You caught him watching once from the porch, smirking around a cigarette like he was watching a particularly slow episode of The Jerry Springer Show.
The night of the party, the whole lot smelled like weed and cheap beer. Merle had dragged out speakers, a couple of folding tables, and what looked like half the county’s supply of Bud Light. Music thumped hard enough to rattle windows. People danced in the gravel. Someone had started a bonfire in an old tire rim.
You showed up in cutoff shorts and a faded band tee knotted at the waist, hair loose, a little lip gloss you almost never wore. Liquid courage in a red solo cup.
Daryl was nowhere to be found.
You found Merle holding court by the fire, one arm slung around a girl you didn’t recognize.
“Hey,” you said, already two beers deep and feeling it. “Y' seen Daryl?”
Merle’s grin split wide. “Well, well. Look who came lookin’ for my baby brother again. He’s hidin’ in his room like always. Can’t handle a little fun. Or maybe he just can’t handle you.”
Your face went hot. “I’m not—”
“Sure you ain’t, sugarplum.” Merle raised his voice, turning toward the trailer. “DARYL! Get your dumb ass out here! Girl’s been throwin’ herself at you for months and you still ain’t figured it out? Christ, boy, you dumber than a sack of hammers!”
Your stomach dropped. People nearby laughed. You wanted the ground to open up.
The trailer door creaked. Daryl stepped out, shoulders hunched, eyes scanning until they landed on you. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. His gaze flicked over your legs, your mouth, then away so fast it almost hurt.
Merle clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him. “This one right here? Been flirtin’ since she moved in. Bringin’ you beer, wearin’ them little shorts, talkin’ sweet. And you? Standin’ there like you got shit for brains. Ask her out or I’m gonna do it for you.”
Daryl’s face went scarlet. He opened his mouth, closed it, then shoved Merle’s hand off and disappeared back inside without a word.
You stood there, cup crushed in your fist, heart hammering. The music felt too loud. The fire too hot. You drank the rest of your beer in three long swallows and went looking for something stronger.
By the time the world started tilting, you’d lost count.
You needed quiet. Needed to pee. Needed him, even if he didn’t want you back the same way. Your feet carried you toward the trailer on autopilot, past the crowd, up the rickety steps. The door was unlocked. Inside, the bass still thumped through the walls but it was quieter. Dim.
You knew which room was his.
You didn’t knock.
Daryl was sitting on the edge of his bed, back against the wall, knees drawn up. A small lamp on the nightstand threw soft light across the neat space— hunting magazines stacked, a half-carved piece of wood on the dresser, his crossbow hanging on the wall like it belonged there. He looked up when the door opened, eyes wide.
“What the hell—?”
“Too loud,” you mumbled, kicking off your shoes. The floor swayed. “Merle said… he said I was throwin’ myself at ya. That true?”
Daryl’s throat worked. He looked cornered. “Yer drunk.”
“Yeah.” You crawled onto the bed anyway, graceless and warm from the alcohol. Your knee bumped his leg. You didn’t stop until you were half on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest, one arm slung across his stomach. He smelled like sweat and pine and the faint smoke from the bonfire outside. “Yer warm. Don’t make me move.”
His whole body went rigid. You felt his heart kick hard, fast and panicked. His hands hovered in the air above you like he didn’t know where they were allowed to land.
“Y-ya can’t just… this ain’t… Merle’s full of shit, alright? You don’t gotta—”
“Shhh.” You nuzzled closer, drunk and brave and so tired of trying to be subtle. “I like you, Daryl. Been tryin’ to show you for weeks. You really didn’t know?”
He made a strangled noise. One hand finally settled—light as a moth—between your shoulder blades. The other stayed frozen.
“Yer drunk,” he said again, voice rough. “Ain’t fair.”
You were already slipping, the steady rise and fall of his chest pulling you under. “Still like you tomorrow too…”
Your words dissolved into a soft sigh. Sleep took you fast—head heavy on his chest, leg tangled with his, body loose and trusting in a way you never let yourself be when you were sober.
Daryl didn’t move for a long time.
The party noise swelled and crashed outside like waves. Inside the small room it was just the lamp, the faint creak of the bed, and your breathing—slow now, warm against his shirt.
His hand on your back trembled once, then steadied. Carefully, like you might shatter, he shifted down the bed until he was lying flat, bringing you with him. Your head stayed on his chest. He pulled the old quilt over both of you with his free hand.
The arm around your waist tightened, just a little. His thumb brushed the bare strip of skin where your shirt had ridden up. Once. Twice. Testing.
You made a small content sound in your sleep and pressed closer.
Daryl stared at the ceiling, heart still racing, face burning. No one had ever done this. Not like this. Not wanted to be this close to him without expecting something ugly in return.
He didn’t know what to do with the feeling swelling in his chest—too big, too soft, too dangerous.
He didn’t push you off.
Instead, he let his eyes close. Let his cheek rest against the top of your head. Let himself hold you the way he’d wanted to since the first time you brought him that stupid beer and smiled like he was worth smiling at.
Two weeks.
That’s how long it had been since you woke up in Daryl’s bed with your face tucked against his chest and his arm heavy around your waist. Two weeks since you’d slipped out at dawn, hungover and flustered, while he pretended to still be asleep. Two weeks of catching only glimpses of him — early mornings when he was already under the hood of his truck, or late evenings when he came back from the woods with dirt on his boots and that same unreadable look on his face.
He wasn’t avoiding you. Not exactly. He still nodded when he saw you. Still mumbled a “hey” if you passed close enough. But the easy awkward moments from before the party were gone. He kept his distance like he was afraid one wrong step would break whatever fragile thing had started between you that night.
You missed him more than you wanted to admit.
Tonight sleep wouldn’t come. The air in your trailer felt too thick, your skin too warm. So you pulled on an old t-shirt and shorts, grabbed your cigarettes, and stepped out onto the narrow porch. The night was quiet except for the crickets and the occasional bark of a dog somewhere down the lot. The sky was clear — stars scattered thick and bright above the trees.
You lit up, took a slow drag, and let the smoke curl into the dark.
Footsteps on gravel made you look up.
Daryl.
He was walking with his head down, hands in his pockets, like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts. He glanced up when he heard your lighter flick and froze for half a second, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Hey,” you said softly, before he could bolt. “Can’t sleep neither?”
He hesitated, weight shifting like he might keep walking. Then he shook his head once. “Nah.”
You patted the spot beside you on the top step. “Stars are nice tonight. Come sit with me?”
Another long pause. You could almost see the war happening behind his eyes — the part of him that wanted to keep running versus the part that had held you all night two weeks ago and hadn’t wanted to let go.
Finally he came over. Sat down a careful foot away, boots planted on the step below. Close enough you could feel the warmth radiating off him. He smelled like tobacco and pine and the faint trace of motor oil that never seemed to leave his skin.
For a minute neither of you spoke. You passed him the cigarette without asking. He took it, fingers brushing yours, and took a drag. The cherry glowed between you.
“You been… alright?” he asked eventually, voice low. Rough from disuse.
You smiled a little. “Been wondering where you disappeared to.”
He exhaled smoke and handed the cigarette back. Didn’t look at you. “Ain’t disappeared. Just… been thinkin’.”
“'Bout the party?”
His ears went pink even in the dark. He rubbed the back of his neck. “About wakin’ up with y' on me. About how I didn’t… I didn’t hate it.”
Your heart kicked. You shifted closer, thigh pressing against his. “I didn’t hate it either. Kinda the opposite.”
Daryl went still. The cigarette burned down between his fingers. You took it from him, stubbed it out on the step, and let the silence stretch until it hummed.
Then you leaned in.
Slow. Giving him time to pull away.
He didn’t.
Your lips brushed his — soft, testing. He tasted like smoke and a faint sweetness of whatever he had eaten last. For a second he was frozen, breath caught. Then his hand came up, rough palm cupping the side of your neck, and he kissed you back like he’d been waiting forever to do it.
It started careful. Awkward in the best way — his nose bumping yours, the angle not quite right. But then you tilted your head and opened for him, and something in Daryl clicked. He made a low sound in his throat and kissed you deeper, hungrier. His other hand found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to pull you closer.
You climbed into his lap without thinking, knees on either side of his hips on the narrow step. The position pressed you flush against him. He groaned into your mouth when your chest met his, when your hips settled over the growing hardness in his jeans.
His hands were everywhere and nowhere at once — sliding under the hem of your t-shirt to touch bare skin, then retreating like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. You grabbed one and pressed it higher, encouraging. “'S okay,” you whispered against his lips. “Touch me.”
That seemed to break something loose in him. His hands grew bolder — one splaying across your lower back, the other cupping your breast through your thin shirt, thumb brushing your nipple until you gasped. You rocked against him once, slow and deliberate, and felt him twitch beneath you.
The kiss turned messy. Wet. His tongue sliding against yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You threaded your fingers into his hair and tugged gently. He made another one of those rough, helpless sounds and kissed down your jaw, your neck, sucking lightly at the spot just below your ear.
“Daryl…” Your voice came out breathy. Your hips rolled again, chasing friction. “Come inside with me.”
He froze.
Pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen, chest heaving. There was panic there — real, raw panic — mixed with so much want it made your stomach flip.
“I…” He swallowed hard. His hands were still on you, one under your shirt, thumb stroking absent circles on your skin like he couldn’t stop touching even while his brain screamed at him to run. “Y' sure? I ain’t… I don’t know what I’m doin’. Don’t wanna fuck this up. Don’t wanna… disappoint ya or nothin’.”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “You’re not gonna disappoint me. I want you. Been wantin' you. And I’m sober this time.”
He searched your eyes for a long moment, breathing ragged. You could feel how hard he was beneath you, how his body was screaming yes even while his inexperience and fear tried to drag him back.
Then something shifted.
His grip on your waist tightened. He nodded once, jerky but certain.
“…Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, alright. I’ll come in.”
You smiled, kissed him once more — slower, sweeter — and climbed off his lap on shaky legs. Daryl stood up after you, adjusting himself with a muttered curse that made you laugh softly. He followed you to the door like a man walking toward something he both wanted and feared in equal measure.
Your hand found his as you pushed the door open. His fingers laced with yours, rough and warm and a little unsteady.
He stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind you and the rest of the world disappeared.
Daryl’s mouth was on yours again before you even made it two steps inside — hungrier now that there were no porch steps or party noise or Merle to interrupt. His hands were shaking a little when they slid under your shirt, palms rough and warm against your bare back. You walked him backward down the short hallway toward your bedroom, never breaking the kiss, bumping into the wall once and laughing breathlessly against his lips.
Your room was small. Just a bed, a dresser, and the soft glow of a lamp you’d left on earlier. The second the backs of his knees hit the mattress he sat down hard, pulling you with him. You straddled his lap properly this time, no porch step limiting you, and ground down against the thick line of him in his jeans.
He groaned — low, broken — and his hands flew to your hips like he didn’t know whether to stop you or help you move faster.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your neck. “Y' feel… Jesus.”
You rocked on him again, slower, letting him feel how wet you already were through the thin layers of fabric. His thigh was solid beneath you. You shifted, straddling just one of his thighs instead, and rolled your hips in a deliberate grind. The pressure against your clit made you gasp softly.
Daryl’s eyes went wide. He watched your face like it was the only thing in the universe worth looking at.
“You like that?” you asked, voice husky, doing it again. The drag of denim and the flex of muscle under you was perfect.
He nodded, throat working. His hands tightened on your hips, not pushing, just holding. “Yeah. Yeah, I… fuck, keep doin’ that.”
So you did.
You rode his thigh in slow, filthy rolls, chasing the friction while he sat there stunned and turned on, breathing hard through his mouth. Every time you moaned or your head tipped back he made this quiet, wrecked sound like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to witness it. His thigh flexed under you once — tentative — then again when you whined and did it harder.
“That’s it,” he rasped, voice cracking a little. “Just like that. Look so fuckin’ pretty like this.”
The praise slipped out of him before he could stop it. You saw the moment he realized he’d said it out loud — ears going red — but he didn’t take it back. His hands started guiding you, helping you grind down harder, and the nervous boy from the porch was slowly being replaced by something steadier.
You leaned in and kissed him deep, then reached between you, fingers finding the button of his jeans.
“Wanna taste you,” you whispered against his mouth. “Wanna get on my knees for you, Daryl.”
He went rigid.
His hands caught your wrists — gentle but firm — stopping you before you could pop the button.
“Nah,” he said quickly, voice strained. “Can’t. Not yet. I’ll… fuck, I’ll finish in two seconds if y' do that. Ain’t ready for that. Not with how you’re lookin’ at me.”
You blinked, surprised, but the honesty in his face made your chest ache in the best way. He was nervous again, but trying so hard to be good for you.
“Okay,” you said softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Then what do you want?”
He swallowed. Looked at you like he was drowning and you were the only air. Then something shifted behind his eyes — a decision.
He moved.
One second you were in his lap— the next he was flipping you onto your back on the bed with surprising ease, crawling over you. His hands shook as he pushed your shirt up and off, then hooked into your shorts and panties, dragging them down your legs in one clumsy but determined motion. He tossed them somewhere behind him and just… stared for a second, breathing like he’d run a mile.
Then he dropped to his elbows between your thighs.
The first lick was tentative. Broad and slow, like he was tasting something he’d been craving for years. You gasped, hips twitching. He did it again, eyes flicking up to watch your reaction. When your hand slid into his hair he leaned into it, licking deeper, finding your clit and circling it with the tip of his tongue.
He was clumsy at first. Eager but unsure. You started to reach down to guide him — show him the angle you liked — but he caught your wrist again, pinning it gently to the bed.
“Let me,” he mumbled against your cunt, voice already wrecked. “Wanna… wanna figure it out.”
And he did.
He listened to every sound you made. Every time your breath hitched or your thighs tried to close around his head he adjusted — sucking softly, then firmer, sliding one thick finger inside you while his tongue worked your clit. He moaned when you clenched around him, the vibration making your back arch.
You didn’t have to tell him a single thing.
When you came it hit hard — sudden and bright, your free hand fisting the sheets, his name breaking on your lips. Daryl didn’t stop. He kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, until your hips stopped jerking and you were whimpering from oversensitivity.
Only then did he lift his head.
His mouth was shiny. His eyes were dark. And something in him had changed.
He crawled up your body slowly, caging you in with his arms, and kissed you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue. When he pulled back he was still breathing hard, but there was a new steadiness in the way he looked at you.
“Y' came so pretty for me,” he said, voice low and rough. Not a question. A statement. His hand slid down your side, possessive. “Y' liked my mouth that much, huh?”
You nodded, still floaty, thighs trembling.
Daryl’s thumb brushed your bottom lip. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower.
“Spread your legs for me again.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh. But there was no hesitation in it now. A soft command. The kind that made heat pool low in your belly all over again.
You did it.
He watched you obey and something hungry and proud flickered across his face.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and the words went straight through you. He kissed your jaw, your neck, nipping lightly. “Been thinkin’ about this for weeks. Y' on my chest that night… how warm ya were. How bad I wanted to touch y' but didn’t know if I could. Now I got ya under me and you’re shakin’ for me.”
His hand slid between your legs again, two fingers pushing inside you easy and slick. He curled them just right and your whole body jolted.
“There she is,” he breathed, almost to himself. “Knew you’d feel good. So fuckin’ wet fer me. Y' gonna cum again if I keep talkin’ to ya like this? Or y'need my mouth again?”
You whimpered. He smiled — small, crooked, a little awed at himself.
“Yeah,” he said softly, almost tender. “Think y' do. But this time I’m gonna make you ask for it.”
He kissed you again, slow and deep, fingers still working inside you with steady, confident strokes.
“Say it, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “Tell me what y' want. I’ll give it to ya. Just gotta use your words.”
Daryl’s fingers were still curled deep inside you, slow and steady, when you grabbed his wrist and looked him dead in the eyes.
“I want your cock,” you breathed. “Please.”
He went still. Blinked like the words had short-circuited something in his brain. His cheeks flushed dark, but his eyes dropped to where his fingers were buried in you and he swallowed hard.
“Ya sure?” he rasped. “I mean… I ain’t got nothin’ on me. No condoms or—”
“'M on the pill,” you cut in, voice soft but certain. Your legs shifted wider around his hips. “I want you. I want to feel you.”
The sound he made was somewhere between a groan and a prayer.
He pulled his fingers out slowly, brought them to his mouth without thinking, and sucked them clean while he stared at you. The sight made your stomach flip. Then he was shoving his jeans and boxers down just far enough, kicking them off the rest of the way with clumsy urgency. His cock sprang free — thick, flushed— he had no idea what he had between his legs. He looked almost embarrassed by how hard he was.
You reached for him but he caught your hand again, that same gentle but firm grip from earlier.
“Slow,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Gonna go slow. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”
He lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock dragging through your slick folds. You both watched as he pushed in — inch by careful inch — until his hips met yours and he was buried to the hilt. The stretch punched a broken sound out of your throat. Daryl’s arms shook where they bracketed your head.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Yer so fuckin’ tight. S' warm. Jesus Christ…”
He stayed there for a long moment, forehead pressed to yours, just breathing. Letting you adjust. Letting himself adjust to the overwhelming heat of you around him with nothing between you.
Then he started to move.
Slow, deep rolls of his hips. Chest to chest, every thrust dragging against that perfect spot inside you. Your legs came up on instinct, wrapping around his back, ankles locking just above his ass to pull him closer, deeper. He groaned loud at that — the sound ripped out of him like he hadn’t meant to let it go.
“Yeh,” he panted against your mouth. “Jus' like that. Wrap those pretty legs 'round me. Want y' close. Want all of ya.”
His pace stayed unhurried but every thrust was deliberate, grinding at the end so his pelvis dragged over your clit. One of his hands slid under your thigh, hitching your leg higher. The other braced beside your head, fingers threading into your hair.
“Look at me,” he said softly when your eyes started to flutter shut from the pleasure. “Wanna see yer face when I fuck y'. Been wantin’ this for so long… y' got no idea.”
You moaned his name and he rewarded you with a deeper thrust, hips snapping just a fraction harder.
“Tha’s it. Say my name again. Sound so good when yer full of me.”
Your hands roamed his back, nails dragging lightly over muscle and scars. He shivered but didn’t stop. If anything, the touch seemed to steady him.
You were close again — the slow grind and the weight of him and the filthy-soft things he kept murmuring against your skin pushing you right to the edge.
Then the words slipped out of you, honest and wrecked—
“You can do whatever you want with me, Daryl.”
He froze.
For half a second he just stared down at you — eyes wide, pupils blown, chest heaving like he’d been running. The permission, the trust in your voice, the way your legs were still locked around him like you never wanted him to leave… it hit him like a freight train.
“Fuck— baby—”
His hips stuttered. Once. Twice. Then he was burying his face in your neck with a broken groan, hips jerking as he came hard and sudden inside you. You felt every pulse of it — hot and deep — while his whole body shook above you. He kept thrusting through it, shallow and desperate, like he couldn’t stop even if he tried.
When it was over he stayed there, panting against your throat, still half-hard inside you. Shame crept into his voice almost immediately.
“Shit. 'M sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Came so fast… didn’t mean to. Y' didn’t even— I wanted to make it good for ya and I—”
You cupped his face and pulled him up so you could kiss him, slow and reassuring.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “It was good. You were perfect.”
But Daryl was already pulling out carefully, eyes flicking down to where his cum was starting to leak out of you. The sight made his spent cock twitch. He looked guilty and turned on all at once.
“Nah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Ain’t leavin’ ya like that.”
Before you could argue he slid down your body again, settling between your thighs. Two thick fingers pushed back inside you — easy with how wet and messy you were now — and he curled them just right while his mouth found your clit again.
This time there was no hesitation.
He licked and sucked with focused intent, fingers pumping steady and deep, his free hand pinning your hip down when you tried to squirm. Every time you moaned he doubled down.
“Gonna make it up to y',” he said against your cunt, voice rough. “Keep those legs open. Tha’s it. Good girl. Let me hear how much y' like my fingers in this pretty pussy.”
You were already sensitive from before. It didn’t take long. Your back arched, thighs trembling around his head as you came again — harder this time, clenching tight around his fingers while he worked you through it with soft praise and filthy encouragement.
Only when you were whimpering and pushing weakly at his shoulder did he ease off. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then crawled back up, settling beside you and pulling you against his chest.
His cock was already starting to fill out again against your hip.
Daryl pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in, one big hand stroking slow down your back.
“Gimme a minute,” he mumbled, almost shy again now that the urgency had passed. “Then I’m fuckin’ ya proper this time. Ain’t rushin’. Gonna take my time with y'… if ya still want that.”
You felt him get even harder.
He noticed you noticing.
His hand slid down to grip your ass, squeezing once, testing. Then he rolled you onto your stomach with surprising ease, following right behind you so his body blanketed yours. His mouth found the back of your neck, kissing, then biting lightly.
“Y' still want it?” he asked, voice low and rough against your skin. “Want me to fuck ya again?”
You nodded into the pillow, already pushing your hips back against him. “Yes. Rough this time. However you want. Please.”
That was all it took.
He groaned like the permission physically hurt him, then sat back on his knees and hauled your hips up until you were on all fours. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down so your chest met the mattress and your ass stayed high. The position made you feel exposed and owned all at once.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself. His hands roamed — squeezing your ass, spreading you open so he could watch his cum from earlier still leaking out of you. He dragged the head of his cock through it, coating himself, then pushed back inside in one long, smooth thrust.
You cried out at the sudden depth. He didn’t give you time to adjust this round.
Daryl set a brutal pace from the start — hips snapping hard, skin slapping loud and filthy in the small room. Every thrust punched a moan out of you. His hands gripped your waist hard enough to bruise, pulling you back onto his cock like he couldn’t get deep enough.
“Take it,” he growled, voice thick. “Tha’s it. Good girl. Takin’ me so deep like this.”
One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass — a sharp, stinging slap that made you jolt and clench around him. The sound cracked through the air. Daryl groaned at the way your pussy fluttered.
“Shit— look at that. This ass was made for me.” He spanked you again on the other cheek, then rubbed the sting away with his palm before doing it a third time, harder. “Mine now. Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasped, pushing back to meet his thrusts. “Fuck— Daryl—”
He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm sliding under your throat. Not choking — just resting there, heavy and controlling, while his hips kept driving into you at that relentless pace. His other hand found your clit and rubbed tight, fast circles.
“Y' can take it rougher, can’t ya?” he panted against your ear. His voice was wrecked but still so fucking soft underneath the filth. “Been so good for me. Lettin’ me use this pussy however I want. Gonna make y' cum again just like this.”
The arm across your throat tightened — not enough to cut off air, just enough to hold you still, to make you feel owned. Careful. Dominant in a way that made your brain go fuzzy and warm.
You moaned loud and broken. He felt you getting close and slowed his thrusts just enough to grind deep on every stroke, hitting that spot inside you over and over while his fingers worked your clit.
“Thas it,” he coaxed, lips brushing your ear. “Cum on my cock. Wanna feel y' squeeze me. Be a good girl and cum for me.”
You shattered.
Your whole body locked up, pussy clenching hard around him as the orgasm ripped through you. Daryl fucked you through it — slower now but still deep, still rough enough that the slap of skin stayed loud. He kept that light pressure on your throat and praised you the whole time, voice shaking.
“So fuckin’ pretty when y' cum. Fuck— yer squeezin’ me so tight. Tha’s my girl. My good girl.”
He didn’t last much longer after that.
His rhythm faltered. His grip on your throat tightened just a fraction as he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural groan, flooding you again. You felt every hot pulse of it. He stayed there for a long moment, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, breathing hard, hips giving tiny involuntary twitches like he didn’t want to pull out.
When he finally did, he was gentle about it. He rolled you onto your side and pulled you back against his chest immediately, one arm banded around your waist, the other hand stroking your hair away from your sweaty face.
“Y' okay?” he asked quietly, the rough dom voice gone, replaced by the soft, worried one you were used to. His thumb brushed your throat where he’d held you. “Wasn’t too much? The… the choking and the slappin’? I didn’t hurt ya?”
You turned in his arms and kissed him slow, reassuring. “It was perfect. I liked it. A lot.”
Daryl let out a shaky breath and tucked your head under his chin. His hand kept petting your hair, your back, your hip — everywhere he could reach. Still hard enough that you could feel him against your stomach, but he made no move to go again.
“Just… stay here a minute,” he mumbled, voice sleepy and content. “Wanna hold ya. Make sure yer alright.”
You smiled against his chest and let him.
The trailer was quiet except for your breathing and the distant sound of crickets outside. Daryl’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin like he was memorizing you.
After a while he spoke again, quieter this time.
“Never done nothin’ like that before,” he admitted. “Never wanted to. Not until you.” His hand slid down to squeeze your ass again — gentle this time, almost reverent. “Y' make me… wanna be like that. Wanna take care of ya.”
You pressed a kiss to his sternum.
“I like you Daryl Dixon,” you whispered. “Exactly how you are. ”
Daryl made a low, pleased sound and pulled you even closer.
“Good,” he said simply. “’Cause I think I like ya too crazy woman."
hi there!! could i get thin crust pepperoni AND chicken pizza with some veggies along side if that’d be ok? i would also like some salad(young daryl, early 20s with the reader as his gf basically while he’s extremely inexperienced romantically and in other ways..) and finally a root beer and sprite thank you
lips of an angel
pairing: daryl dixon x reader
w/c: 5975
warnings/tags: smut! inexperienced daryl, drinking, smoking, cursing, no outbreak au, trailer park daryl, light choking, oral (f receiving), fingering, premature ejaculation, unprotected sex, soft dom daryl
masterlist // pizza party
The trailer park baked under the Georgia sun like it had something to prove. Gravel lots, rusted awnings, the low hum of window units fighting a losing battle. You’d been here four months— long enough to know which trailers leaked when it rained, which dogs would bite, and exactly which Dixon brother made your stomach flip every time he walked by.
Daryl was twenty two. Same as you. Lived in the last trailer on the left with Merle, though half the time it seemed like he was trying to live outside it. You saw him most evenings, hunched over the open hood of that beat-up Chevy or sitting on the cinder blocks out back with a cigarette and a knife, carving little wooden figures he never showed anyone.
You’d been trying since week two.
First it was small. Nice. You brought him a cold beer one evening when he was wrist-deep in engine grease, tank top sticking to your back from the heat.
“Figured you could use this,” you said, holding it out. “You’ve been out here since lunch.”
He looked up quick, then away just as fast. Took the bottle with a grunt. His fingers brushed yours— rough, oil-stained, warm.
“Thanks.”
You leaned against the fender, letting your hip rest near his shoulder. “You’re good with your hands. Must be nice, knowing how to fix things.”
Daryl made a sound that might’ve been a laugh or a cough. Took a long pull of the beer and didn’t answer. But his ears went pink under the mess of brown hair, and he didn’t tell you to leave. Progress.
A week later you tried again— more flirty this time, just to see if he’d bite.
It had rained that morning. You “accidentally” needed help with a stuck window in your trailer. He showed up with a toolbox and that same quiet frown, shoulders filling the narrow doorway.
You stood close while he worked, close enough that your bare thigh brushed his jeans when you shifted. The thin cotton of your sleep shorts rode up. You didn’t fix it.
“Appreciate this,” you said softly. “Feels like everything’s falling apart lately. Except you. Thank you for helpin' me Daryl.”
Daryl’s jaw flexed. He kept his eyes on the window frame like it had personally offended him. “Ain’t nothin’.”
When the window finally slid open, you reached past him to test it, letting your chest press lightly against his arm. “Bet those hands could get anythin' to open up if you wanted.”
He dropped the screwdriver.
It clattered on the linoleum. Daryl stared at it like it had betrayed him, ears burning crimson all the way down his neck. He muttered something about needing to get back, grabbed his toolbox, and was gone before you could say another word.
You smiled to yourself anyway.
He never pushed you away. Never told you to stop. It was like he didn’t… see it. Like the idea that someone might actually want him was so far outside his universe he couldn’t even register the signal.
Merle noticed, though. You caught him watching once from the porch, smirking around a cigarette like he was watching a particularly slow episode of The Jerry Springer Show.
The night of the party, the whole lot smelled like weed and cheap beer. Merle had dragged out speakers, a couple of folding tables, and what looked like half the county’s supply of Bud Light. Music thumped hard enough to rattle windows. People danced in the gravel. Someone had started a bonfire in an old tire rim.
You showed up in cutoff shorts and a faded band tee knotted at the waist, hair loose, a little lip gloss you almost never wore. Liquid courage in a red solo cup.
Daryl was nowhere to be found.
You found Merle holding court by the fire, one arm slung around a girl you didn’t recognize.
“Hey,” you said, already two beers deep and feeling it. “Y' seen Daryl?”
Merle’s grin split wide. “Well, well. Look who came lookin’ for my baby brother again. He’s hidin’ in his room like always. Can’t handle a little fun. Or maybe he just can’t handle you.”
Your face went hot. “I’m not—”
“Sure you ain’t, sugarplum.” Merle raised his voice, turning toward the trailer. “DARYL! Get your dumb ass out here! Girl’s been throwin’ herself at you for months and you still ain’t figured it out? Christ, boy, you dumber than a sack of hammers!”
Your stomach dropped. People nearby laughed. You wanted the ground to open up.
The trailer door creaked. Daryl stepped out, shoulders hunched, eyes scanning until they landed on you. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. His gaze flicked over your legs, your mouth, then away so fast it almost hurt.
Merle clapped him on the back hard enough to stagger him. “This one right here? Been flirtin’ since she moved in. Bringin’ you beer, wearin’ them little shorts, talkin’ sweet. And you? Standin’ there like you got shit for brains. Ask her out or I’m gonna do it for you.”
Daryl’s face went scarlet. He opened his mouth, closed it, then shoved Merle’s hand off and disappeared back inside without a word.
You stood there, cup crushed in your fist, heart hammering. The music felt too loud. The fire too hot. You drank the rest of your beer in three long swallows and went looking for something stronger.
By the time the world started tilting, you’d lost count.
You needed quiet. Needed to pee. Needed him, even if he didn’t want you back the same way. Your feet carried you toward the trailer on autopilot, past the crowd, up the rickety steps. The door was unlocked. Inside, the bass still thumped through the walls but it was quieter. Dim.
You knew which room was his.
You didn’t knock.
Daryl was sitting on the edge of his bed, back against the wall, knees drawn up. A small lamp on the nightstand threw soft light across the neat space— hunting magazines stacked, a half-carved piece of wood on the dresser, his crossbow hanging on the wall like it belonged there. He looked up when the door opened, eyes wide.
“What the hell—?”
“Too loud,” you mumbled, kicking off your shoes. The floor swayed. “Merle said… he said I was throwin’ myself at ya. That true?”
Daryl’s throat worked. He looked cornered. “Yer drunk.”
“Yeah.” You crawled onto the bed anyway, graceless and warm from the alcohol. Your knee bumped his leg. You didn’t stop until you were half on top of him, cheek pressed to his chest, one arm slung across his stomach. He smelled like sweat and pine and the faint smoke from the bonfire outside. “Yer warm. Don’t make me move.”
His whole body went rigid. You felt his heart kick hard, fast and panicked. His hands hovered in the air above you like he didn’t know where they were allowed to land.
“Y-ya can’t just… this ain’t… Merle’s full of shit, alright? You don’t gotta—”
“Shhh.” You nuzzled closer, drunk and brave and so tired of trying to be subtle. “I like you, Daryl. Been tryin’ to show you for weeks. You really didn’t know?”
He made a strangled noise. One hand finally settled—light as a moth—between your shoulder blades. The other stayed frozen.
“Yer drunk,” he said again, voice rough. “Ain’t fair.”
You were already slipping, the steady rise and fall of his chest pulling you under. “Still like you tomorrow too…”
Your words dissolved into a soft sigh. Sleep took you fast—head heavy on his chest, leg tangled with his, body loose and trusting in a way you never let yourself be when you were sober.
Daryl didn’t move for a long time.
The party noise swelled and crashed outside like waves. Inside the small room it was just the lamp, the faint creak of the bed, and your breathing—slow now, warm against his shirt.
His hand on your back trembled once, then steadied. Carefully, like you might shatter, he shifted down the bed until he was lying flat, bringing you with him. Your head stayed on his chest. He pulled the old quilt over both of you with his free hand.
The arm around your waist tightened, just a little. His thumb brushed the bare strip of skin where your shirt had ridden up. Once. Twice. Testing.
You made a small content sound in your sleep and pressed closer.
Daryl stared at the ceiling, heart still racing, face burning. No one had ever done this. Not like this. Not wanted to be this close to him without expecting something ugly in return.
He didn’t know what to do with the feeling swelling in his chest—too big, too soft, too dangerous.
He didn’t push you off.
Instead, he let his eyes close. Let his cheek rest against the top of your head. Let himself hold you the way he’d wanted to since the first time you brought him that stupid beer and smiled like he was worth smiling at.
Two weeks.
That’s how long it had been since you woke up in Daryl’s bed with your face tucked against his chest and his arm heavy around your waist. Two weeks since you’d slipped out at dawn, hungover and flustered, while he pretended to still be asleep. Two weeks of catching only glimpses of him — early mornings when he was already under the hood of his truck, or late evenings when he came back from the woods with dirt on his boots and that same unreadable look on his face.
He wasn’t avoiding you. Not exactly. He still nodded when he saw you. Still mumbled a “hey” if you passed close enough. But the easy awkward moments from before the party were gone. He kept his distance like he was afraid one wrong step would break whatever fragile thing had started between you that night.
You missed him more than you wanted to admit.
Tonight sleep wouldn’t come. The air in your trailer felt too thick, your skin too warm. So you pulled on an old t-shirt and shorts, grabbed your cigarettes, and stepped out onto the narrow porch. The night was quiet except for the crickets and the occasional bark of a dog somewhere down the lot. The sky was clear — stars scattered thick and bright above the trees.
You lit up, took a slow drag, and let the smoke curl into the dark.
Footsteps on gravel made you look up.
Daryl.
He was walking with his head down, hands in his pockets, like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts. He glanced up when he heard your lighter flick and froze for half a second, like a deer caught in headlights.
“Hey,” you said softly, before he could bolt. “Can’t sleep neither?”
He hesitated, weight shifting like he might keep walking. Then he shook his head once. “Nah.”
You patted the spot beside you on the top step. “Stars are nice tonight. Come sit with me?”
Another long pause. You could almost see the war happening behind his eyes — the part of him that wanted to keep running versus the part that had held you all night two weeks ago and hadn’t wanted to let go.
Finally he came over. Sat down a careful foot away, boots planted on the step below. Close enough you could feel the warmth radiating off him. He smelled like tobacco and pine and the faint trace of motor oil that never seemed to leave his skin.
For a minute neither of you spoke. You passed him the cigarette without asking. He took it, fingers brushing yours, and took a drag. The cherry glowed between you.
“You been… alright?” he asked eventually, voice low. Rough from disuse.
You smiled a little. “Been wondering where you disappeared to.”
He exhaled smoke and handed the cigarette back. Didn’t look at you. “Ain’t disappeared. Just… been thinkin’.”
“'Bout the party?”
His ears went pink even in the dark. He rubbed the back of his neck. “About wakin’ up with y' on me. About how I didn’t… I didn’t hate it.”
Your heart kicked. You shifted closer, thigh pressing against his. “I didn’t hate it either. Kinda the opposite.”
Daryl went still. The cigarette burned down between his fingers. You took it from him, stubbed it out on the step, and let the silence stretch until it hummed.
Then you leaned in.
Slow. Giving him time to pull away.
He didn’t.
Your lips brushed his — soft, testing. He tasted like smoke and a faint sweetness of whatever he had eaten last. For a second he was frozen, breath caught. Then his hand came up, rough palm cupping the side of your neck, and he kissed you back like he’d been waiting forever to do it.
It started careful. Awkward in the best way — his nose bumping yours, the angle not quite right. But then you tilted your head and opened for him, and something in Daryl clicked. He made a low sound in his throat and kissed you deeper, hungrier. His other hand found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to pull you closer.
You climbed into his lap without thinking, knees on either side of his hips on the narrow step. The position pressed you flush against him. He groaned into your mouth when your chest met his, when your hips settled over the growing hardness in his jeans.
His hands were everywhere and nowhere at once — sliding under the hem of your t-shirt to touch bare skin, then retreating like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. You grabbed one and pressed it higher, encouraging. “'S okay,” you whispered against his lips. “Touch me.”
That seemed to break something loose in him. His hands grew bolder — one splaying across your lower back, the other cupping your breast through your thin shirt, thumb brushing your nipple until you gasped. You rocked against him once, slow and deliberate, and felt him twitch beneath you.
The kiss turned messy. Wet. His tongue sliding against yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You threaded your fingers into his hair and tugged gently. He made another one of those rough, helpless sounds and kissed down your jaw, your neck, sucking lightly at the spot just below your ear.
“Daryl…” Your voice came out breathy. Your hips rolled again, chasing friction. “Come inside with me.”
He froze.
Pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen, chest heaving. There was panic there — real, raw panic — mixed with so much want it made your stomach flip.
“I…” He swallowed hard. His hands were still on you, one under your shirt, thumb stroking absent circles on your skin like he couldn’t stop touching even while his brain screamed at him to run. “Y' sure? I ain’t… I don’t know what I’m doin’. Don’t wanna fuck this up. Don’t wanna… disappoint ya or nothin’.”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “You’re not gonna disappoint me. I want you. Been wantin' you. And I’m sober this time.”
He searched your eyes for a long moment, breathing ragged. You could feel how hard he was beneath you, how his body was screaming yes even while his inexperience and fear tried to drag him back.
Then something shifted.
His grip on your waist tightened. He nodded once, jerky but certain.
“…Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah, alright. I’ll come in.”
You smiled, kissed him once more — slower, sweeter — and climbed off his lap on shaky legs. Daryl stood up after you, adjusting himself with a muttered curse that made you laugh softly. He followed you to the door like a man walking toward something he both wanted and feared in equal measure.
Your hand found his as you pushed the door open. His fingers laced with yours, rough and warm and a little unsteady.
He stepped inside.
The door clicked shut behind you and the rest of the world disappeared.
Daryl’s mouth was on yours again before you even made it two steps inside — hungrier now that there were no porch steps or party noise or Merle to interrupt. His hands were shaking a little when they slid under your shirt, palms rough and warm against your bare back. You walked him backward down the short hallway toward your bedroom, never breaking the kiss, bumping into the wall once and laughing breathlessly against his lips.
Your room was small. Just a bed, a dresser, and the soft glow of a lamp you’d left on earlier. The second the backs of his knees hit the mattress he sat down hard, pulling you with him. You straddled his lap properly this time, no porch step limiting you, and ground down against the thick line of him in his jeans.
He groaned — low, broken — and his hands flew to your hips like he didn’t know whether to stop you or help you move faster.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your neck. “Y' feel… Jesus.”
You rocked on him again, slower, letting him feel how wet you already were through the thin layers of fabric. His thigh was solid beneath you. You shifted, straddling just one of his thighs instead, and rolled your hips in a deliberate grind. The pressure against your clit made you gasp softly.
Daryl’s eyes went wide. He watched your face like it was the only thing in the universe worth looking at.
“You like that?” you asked, voice husky, doing it again. The drag of denim and the flex of muscle under you was perfect.
He nodded, throat working. His hands tightened on your hips, not pushing, just holding. “Yeah. Yeah, I… fuck, keep doin’ that.”
So you did.
You rode his thigh in slow, filthy rolls, chasing the friction while he sat there stunned and turned on, breathing hard through his mouth. Every time you moaned or your head tipped back he made this quiet, wrecked sound like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to witness it. His thigh flexed under you once — tentative — then again when you whined and did it harder.
“That’s it,” he rasped, voice cracking a little. “Just like that. Look so fuckin’ pretty like this.”
The praise slipped out of him before he could stop it. You saw the moment he realized he’d said it out loud — ears going red — but he didn’t take it back. His hands started guiding you, helping you grind down harder, and the nervous boy from the porch was slowly being replaced by something steadier.
You leaned in and kissed him deep, then reached between you, fingers finding the button of his jeans.
“Wanna taste you,” you whispered against his mouth. “Wanna get on my knees for you, Daryl.”
He went rigid.
His hands caught your wrists — gentle but firm — stopping you before you could pop the button.
“Nah,” he said quickly, voice strained. “Can’t. Not yet. I’ll… fuck, I’ll finish in two seconds if y' do that. Ain’t ready for that. Not with how you’re lookin’ at me.”
You blinked, surprised, but the honesty in his face made your chest ache in the best way. He was nervous again, but trying so hard to be good for you.
“Okay,” you said softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Then what do you want?”
He swallowed. Looked at you like he was drowning and you were the only air. Then something shifted behind his eyes — a decision.
He moved.
One second you were in his lap— the next he was flipping you onto your back on the bed with surprising ease, crawling over you. His hands shook as he pushed your shirt up and off, then hooked into your shorts and panties, dragging them down your legs in one clumsy but determined motion. He tossed them somewhere behind him and just… stared for a second, breathing like he’d run a mile.
Then he dropped to his elbows between your thighs.
The first lick was tentative. Broad and slow, like he was tasting something he’d been craving for years. You gasped, hips twitching. He did it again, eyes flicking up to watch your reaction. When your hand slid into his hair he leaned into it, licking deeper, finding your clit and circling it with the tip of his tongue.
He was clumsy at first. Eager but unsure. You started to reach down to guide him — show him the angle you liked — but he caught your wrist again, pinning it gently to the bed.
“Let me,” he mumbled against your cunt, voice already wrecked. “Wanna… wanna figure it out.”
And he did.
He listened to every sound you made. Every time your breath hitched or your thighs tried to close around his head he adjusted — sucking softly, then firmer, sliding one thick finger inside you while his tongue worked your clit. He moaned when you clenched around him, the vibration making your back arch.
You didn’t have to tell him a single thing.
When you came it hit hard — sudden and bright, your free hand fisting the sheets, his name breaking on your lips. Daryl didn’t stop. He kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, until your hips stopped jerking and you were whimpering from oversensitivity.
Only then did he lift his head.
His mouth was shiny. His eyes were dark. And something in him had changed.
He crawled up your body slowly, caging you in with his arms, and kissed you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue. When he pulled back he was still breathing hard, but there was a new steadiness in the way he looked at you.
“Y' came so pretty for me,” he said, voice low and rough. Not a question. A statement. His hand slid down your side, possessive. “Y' liked my mouth that much, huh?”
You nodded, still floaty, thighs trembling.
Daryl’s thumb brushed your bottom lip. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower.
“Spread your legs for me again.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t harsh. But there was no hesitation in it now. A soft command. The kind that made heat pool low in your belly all over again.
You did it.
He watched you obey and something hungry and proud flickered across his face.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and the words went straight through you. He kissed your jaw, your neck, nipping lightly. “Been thinkin’ about this for weeks. Y' on my chest that night… how warm ya were. How bad I wanted to touch y' but didn’t know if I could. Now I got ya under me and you’re shakin’ for me.”
His hand slid between your legs again, two fingers pushing inside you easy and slick. He curled them just right and your whole body jolted.
“There she is,” he breathed, almost to himself. “Knew you’d feel good. So fuckin’ wet fer me. Y' gonna cum again if I keep talkin’ to ya like this? Or y'need my mouth again?”
You whimpered. He smiled — small, crooked, a little awed at himself.
“Yeah,” he said softly, almost tender. “Think y' do. But this time I’m gonna make you ask for it.”
He kissed you again, slow and deep, fingers still working inside you with steady, confident strokes.
“Say it, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “Tell me what y' want. I’ll give it to ya. Just gotta use your words.”
Daryl’s fingers were still curled deep inside you, slow and steady, when you grabbed his wrist and looked him dead in the eyes.
“I want your cock,” you breathed. “Please.”
He went still. Blinked like the words had short-circuited something in his brain. His cheeks flushed dark, but his eyes dropped to where his fingers were buried in you and he swallowed hard.
“Ya sure?” he rasped. “I mean… I ain’t got nothin’ on me. No condoms or—”
“'M on the pill,” you cut in, voice soft but certain. Your legs shifted wider around his hips. “I want you. I want to feel you.”
The sound he made was somewhere between a groan and a prayer.
He pulled his fingers out slowly, brought them to his mouth without thinking, and sucked them clean while he stared at you. The sight made your stomach flip. Then he was shoving his jeans and boxers down just far enough, kicking them off the rest of the way with clumsy urgency. His cock sprang free — thick, flushed— he had no idea what he had between his legs. He looked almost embarrassed by how hard he was.
You reached for him but he caught your hand again, that same gentle but firm grip from earlier.
“Slow,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Gonna go slow. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”
He lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock dragging through your slick folds. You both watched as he pushed in — inch by careful inch — until his hips met yours and he was buried to the hilt. The stretch punched a broken sound out of your throat. Daryl’s arms shook where they bracketed your head.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Yer so fuckin’ tight. S' warm. Jesus Christ…”
He stayed there for a long moment, forehead pressed to yours, just breathing. Letting you adjust. Letting himself adjust to the overwhelming heat of you around him with nothing between you.
Then he started to move.
Slow, deep rolls of his hips. Chest to chest, every thrust dragging against that perfect spot inside you. Your legs came up on instinct, wrapping around his back, ankles locking just above his ass to pull him closer, deeper. He groaned loud at that — the sound ripped out of him like he hadn’t meant to let it go.
“Yeh,” he panted against your mouth. “Jus' like that. Wrap those pretty legs 'round me. Want y' close. Want all of ya.”
His pace stayed unhurried but every thrust was deliberate, grinding at the end so his pelvis dragged over your clit. One of his hands slid under your thigh, hitching your leg higher. The other braced beside your head, fingers threading into your hair.
“Look at me,” he said softly when your eyes started to flutter shut from the pleasure. “Wanna see yer face when I fuck y'. Been wantin’ this for so long… y' got no idea.”
You moaned his name and he rewarded you with a deeper thrust, hips snapping just a fraction harder.
“Tha’s it. Say my name again. Sound so good when yer full of me.”
Your hands roamed his back, nails dragging lightly over muscle and scars. He shivered but didn’t stop. If anything, the touch seemed to steady him.
You were close again — the slow grind and the weight of him and the filthy-soft things he kept murmuring against your skin pushing you right to the edge.
Then the words slipped out of you, honest and wrecked—
“You can do whatever you want with me, Daryl.”
He froze.
For half a second he just stared down at you — eyes wide, pupils blown, chest heaving like he’d been running. The permission, the trust in your voice, the way your legs were still locked around him like you never wanted him to leave… it hit him like a freight train.
“Fuck— baby—”
His hips stuttered. Once. Twice. Then he was burying his face in your neck with a broken groan, hips jerking as he came hard and sudden inside you. You felt every pulse of it — hot and deep — while his whole body shook above you. He kept thrusting through it, shallow and desperate, like he couldn’t stop even if he tried.
When it was over he stayed there, panting against your throat, still half-hard inside you. Shame crept into his voice almost immediately.
“Shit. 'M sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Came so fast… didn’t mean to. Y' didn’t even— I wanted to make it good for ya and I—”
You cupped his face and pulled him up so you could kiss him, slow and reassuring.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “It was good. You were perfect.”
But Daryl was already pulling out carefully, eyes flicking down to where his cum was starting to leak out of you. The sight made his spent cock twitch. He looked guilty and turned on all at once.
“Nah,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Ain’t leavin’ ya like that.”
Before you could argue he slid down your body again, settling between your thighs. Two thick fingers pushed back inside you — easy with how wet and messy you were now — and he curled them just right while his mouth found your clit again.
This time there was no hesitation.
He licked and sucked with focused intent, fingers pumping steady and deep, his free hand pinning your hip down when you tried to squirm. Every time you moaned he doubled down.
“Gonna make it up to y',” he said against your cunt, voice rough. “Keep those legs open. Tha’s it. Good girl. Let me hear how much y' like my fingers in this pretty pussy.”
You were already sensitive from before. It didn’t take long. Your back arched, thighs trembling around his head as you came again — harder this time, clenching tight around his fingers while he worked you through it with soft praise and filthy encouragement.
Only when you were whimpering and pushing weakly at his shoulder did he ease off. He kissed the inside of your thigh, then crawled back up, settling beside you and pulling you against his chest.
His cock was already starting to fill out again against your hip.
Daryl pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in, one big hand stroking slow down your back.
“Gimme a minute,” he mumbled, almost shy again now that the urgency had passed. “Then I’m fuckin’ ya proper this time. Ain’t rushin’. Gonna take my time with y'… if ya still want that.”
You felt him get even harder.
He noticed you noticing.
His hand slid down to grip your ass, squeezing once, testing. Then he rolled you onto your stomach with surprising ease, following right behind you so his body blanketed yours. His mouth found the back of your neck, kissing, then biting lightly.
“Y' still want it?” he asked, voice low and rough against your skin. “Want me to fuck ya again?”
You nodded into the pillow, already pushing your hips back against him. “Yes. Rough this time. However you want. Please.”
That was all it took.
He groaned like the permission physically hurt him, then sat back on his knees and hauled your hips up until you were on all fours. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down so your chest met the mattress and your ass stayed high. The position made you feel exposed and owned all at once.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself. His hands roamed — squeezing your ass, spreading you open so he could watch his cum from earlier still leaking out of you. He dragged the head of his cock through it, coating himself, then pushed back inside in one long, smooth thrust.
You cried out at the sudden depth. He didn’t give you time to adjust this round.
Daryl set a brutal pace from the start — hips snapping hard, skin slapping loud and filthy in the small room. Every thrust punched a moan out of you. His hands gripped your waist hard enough to bruise, pulling you back onto his cock like he couldn’t get deep enough.
“Take it,” he growled, voice thick. “Tha’s it. Good girl. Takin’ me so deep like this.”
One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass — a sharp, stinging slap that made you jolt and clench around him. The sound cracked through the air. Daryl groaned at the way your pussy fluttered.
“Shit— look at that. This ass was made for me.” He spanked you again on the other cheek, then rubbed the sting away with his palm before doing it a third time, harder. “Mine now. Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasped, pushing back to meet his thrusts. “Fuck— Daryl—”
He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm sliding under your throat. Not choking — just resting there, heavy and controlling, while his hips kept driving into you at that relentless pace. His other hand found your clit and rubbed tight, fast circles.
“Y' can take it rougher, can’t ya?” he panted against your ear. His voice was wrecked but still so fucking soft underneath the filth. “Been so good for me. Lettin’ me use this pussy however I want. Gonna make y' cum again just like this.”
The arm across your throat tightened — not enough to cut off air, just enough to hold you still, to make you feel owned. Careful. Dominant in a way that made your brain go fuzzy and warm.
You moaned loud and broken. He felt you getting close and slowed his thrusts just enough to grind deep on every stroke, hitting that spot inside you over and over while his fingers worked your clit.
“Thas it,” he coaxed, lips brushing your ear. “Cum on my cock. Wanna feel y' squeeze me. Be a good girl and cum for me.”
You shattered.
Your whole body locked up, pussy clenching hard around him as the orgasm ripped through you. Daryl fucked you through it — slower now but still deep, still rough enough that the slap of skin stayed loud. He kept that light pressure on your throat and praised you the whole time, voice shaking.
“So fuckin’ pretty when y' cum. Fuck— yer squeezin’ me so tight. Tha’s my girl. My good girl.”
He didn’t last much longer after that.
His rhythm faltered. His grip on your throat tightened just a fraction as he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural groan, flooding you again. You felt every hot pulse of it. He stayed there for a long moment, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, breathing hard, hips giving tiny involuntary twitches like he didn’t want to pull out.
When he finally did, he was gentle about it. He rolled you onto your side and pulled you back against his chest immediately, one arm banded around your waist, the other hand stroking your hair away from your sweaty face.
“Y' okay?” he asked quietly, the rough dom voice gone, replaced by the soft, worried one you were used to. His thumb brushed your throat where he’d held you. “Wasn’t too much? The… the choking and the slappin’? I didn’t hurt ya?”
You turned in his arms and kissed him slow, reassuring. “It was perfect. I liked it. A lot.”
Daryl let out a shaky breath and tucked your head under his chin. His hand kept petting your hair, your back, your hip — everywhere he could reach. Still hard enough that you could feel him against your stomach, but he made no move to go again.
“Just… stay here a minute,” he mumbled, voice sleepy and content. “Wanna hold ya. Make sure yer alright.”
You smiled against his chest and let him.
The trailer was quiet except for your breathing and the distant sound of crickets outside. Daryl’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin like he was memorizing you.
After a while he spoke again, quieter this time.
“Never done nothin’ like that before,” he admitted. “Never wanted to. Not until you.” His hand slid down to squeeze your ass again — gentle this time, almost reverent. “Y' make me… wanna be like that. Wanna take care of ya.”
You pressed a kiss to his sternum.
“I like you Daryl Dixon,” you whispered. “Exactly how you are. ”
Daryl made a low, pleased sound and pulled you even closer.
“Good,” he said simply. “’Cause I think I like ya too crazy woman."
feral!daryl who has his eyes set on you the minute he walked into Alexandria, not creepily—just curious, observant.
feral!daryl who knows exactly when and where you were looking at him from, he knows when your eyes were on him.
feral!daryl who gifted you a dead possum and gutted it for you and left it on your porch as he watched in a distance to see you enjoying his gift.
feral!daryl who follows you to protect you once you started enjoying his company even though the alexandrians thought he was weird and off-putting.
feral!daryl who looks into your window at night, to see if you’re safely sleeping but instead he found you with your hands in between his legs moaning his name.
feral!daryl who runs into the woods and leaned against a tree as he desperately took his pants out to take out his fat hard cock after seeing you pleasure yourself with him on your mind. he would grunt and growl with nothing but you in his mind.
feral!daryl who starts sniffing you, your hair, your neck when you hug him, he would do it subtly—not in a way that it would seem weird because he was addicted to your scent.
feral!daryl who was so addicted in smelling you as he starts stealing your dirty panties, clothes, anything that would remind him of you.
feral!daryl who sniffed your panties every night, growling into the material as he pumped his cock, cumming to just your scent and your scent alone. now even the smell of your hair gets him hard.
feral!daryl who didn’t get scared when you caught him. instead he told you to run.
feral!daryl who hunted you down in alexandria, seeing your tracks easily for him to follow, almost like you wanted him to find you.
feral!daryl who found you and tied your hands behind your back as he pushed you against the tree because he knows how long you wanted him.
feral!daryl who would kneel, breathing in the musky scent of your pussy as you desperately begged him to do something.
feral!daryl who fucked you hard against the tree, keep grunting in your ear about how you were begging to be bred by him.
feral!daryl who would carry you back to your home taking care of you after he just fucked you so hard you could barely walk.
feral!daryl who would just sit there in between your legs watching the cum inside your pussy drip out because he knows he had marked you as his territory.
summary: Daryl has never given you a second thought, so when you go on a run together for the first time, he's expressly impressed with your skills, and maybe a little turned on
Daryl has always seen you as fragile, not in a cruel way exactly, he'd only known you within the prison walls once they welcomed new people in. He'd always taken you for a delicate, helpless girl. He honestly didn't see how you made it that far, based purely of his first impressions and how you ported yourself on the community, eyes too soft for the world outside.
You kept your distance from the fences, made your tasks focused exclusively on helping Hershel with crops or other people with inventory. You didn't mind spending most of your mornings in the courtyard garden with dirt beneath your nails that were once neatly painted with a thoughtfull design, but you never vontunteered on runs, made it your thing to be within the limits of that property at all times.
Your lack of movement bothered him for some reason. How you never stood near the arsenal tables when people cleaned guns, and every time he'd catch sight of you, you'd be slithering between the rows of crops carrying a bucket against your hip, sunlight warming your skin and humming a good old song like the whole ugly world hadn’t rotted itself to pieces.
Then the sickness spread through the cell block like wildfire.
One day Glenn was coughing into his sleeve, sweating through his shirt while Maggie fussed over him, then Sasha got sick, then two more, then suddenly Hershel was running himself ragged trying to keep everyone alive while Rick scrambled for antibiotics they didn’t have enough people to retrieve, because half the group was either sick or refusing to leave the prison in case things got worse, and tensions sat thick in the air for days, heavy and ugly and exhausting.
Daryl was checking bolts at one of the tables when Rick approached him with that look already on his face, the one that meant he was about to suggest something Daryl wouldn’t like.
"She's riding with you."
Daryl barely looked up. “Who?"
Rick nodded over his shoulder.
You stood near the fence with Carol, arms crossed tightly over yourself against the cold morning air, the morning sun shining against your skin. Irritating. Immediately, his jaw tightened. "Ain't happening."
“She volunteered.”
“She ain’t been outside those fences once. What happens when we get back with one more casualty and someone less to take care of things?"
“She said she can handle herself."
Daryl finally looked at Rick fully then, irritation crawling sharp beneath his skin. “And ya just believed that?”
Rick’s mouth twitched slightly, tired more than amused. “We don’t exactly have options right now.”
"She's going on the car. Carol rides with me."
Daryl looked back toward you again, watching you shoot Tyreese another one of your stupid smiles. Your movements were calm, steady, not nervous enough for someone about to leave the prison after months inside.
Still, he scoffed under his breath. Great, now we carry dead weight.
He did as he said, childishly refusing to ride with you. He expected you to start panicking the second things got serious. Daryl was previously annoyed as he expected hesitation, fear, freezing up at the wrong moment and forcing him to step in before you got yourself killed, because he couldn't have it on him.
The pharmacy had already been picked half-clean by previous scavengers, shelves overturned and glass shattered beneath their boots while dust drifted through weak sunlight spilling from broken windows overhead, Daryl motioned for everyone to spread out while he checked the back storage rooms, crossbow loose in his grip.
Daryl lost his track of you, who had disappeared somewhere down the next aisle without a word. Ten minutes passed quietly, then came the growl, Daryl spun toward the sound, a walker stumbled from between collapsed shelves directly behind one of the others, jaw snapping open, rotten hands reaching‐ thunk.
The rotten body collapsed to the ground immediately, a bolt protruded clean through its skull. Daryl just stared.
The shot had come from halfway across the store. Slowly, his eyes tracked upward. You stood balanced on a fallen rack with another bolt already notched into your crossbow, poker face, breath steady. Daryl genuinely thought maybe he’d imagined it because he had never, not once, seen you carrying that thing around the prison.
“What the hell?" he muttered before he could stop himself.
You blinked down at him. “What?”
"Since when ya know how to use that thing?" You only shrugged in response, like it was obvious, and he is stupid for asking.
Daryl stared another second too long before scoffing quietly and turning away again, but something uncomfortable shifted beneath his ribs, something hot and strange and sharp enough to irritate him immediately. Suddenly, all those months replayed differently in his head.
He reflected on the way you never looked scared, only purposefully distant. On the way you moved quickly and how your eyes constantly tracked exits. He'd mistaken your distance for weakness, but it hit him like a bolt when he realized, you didn't want to get too close. Close was dangerous.
Another walked bursted from the stockroom a few minutes later and before Daryl could lift his weapon you stepped forward smoothly, knife flashing once beneath flickering fluorescent light before the corpse even hit the floor properly, efficient and clean, enough that Tyreese let out a low whistle.
“Well damn.”
Daryl couldn’t stop watching you, you shifted completely under his eyes. It was like outside the perimeter of the prison you were a different person entirely. Seeing how lifeless your gaze looked when you moved there, he started to understand why you wanted to keep your distance.
You were afraid, yes. But it was of how far you'd go to survive.
Outside, things got worse.
A small herd wandered through the parking lot before they reached the truck, forcing everyone to move quickly between abandoned vehicles while the sound of groaning echoed off storefronts around them, Daryl automatically moved closer to your side, ready to intervene the second you slipped up.
Except you never did.
You moved like this was your second nature, retrieving bolts with quick practiced movements, conserving energy instead of wasting it, and every time Daryl thought he understood you, another contradiction surfaced.
At one point he caught you kneeling beside a dead deer near the edge of the woods, fingers pressing briefly against the carcass before quietly muttering, “Too stiff. Been dead for a while.” Daryl stopped walking.
“You hunt?”
“I used to." Jesus Christ.
He wondered what else you had to uncover. Then came the shot that finally lodged itself under Daryl’s skin for good.
You and Daryl were further from the vehicle, as Carol carried it with supplies, she missed a walker almost sneaking in behind her, and before anyone else could think to react. You fire hit a bolt straight through the walker’s eye socket.
You smiled a little, embarrassed more than proud when you picked up you had audience.
“Shit," he whispered, grinning openly now "that was hot as hell."
The last part was something nearly above a whisper, but still, it was enough for you to hear. Something ugly twisted in Daryl’s stomach instantly, the words echoed louder than it should’ve, slipping his tongue by mistake. Even he was surprised.
You ducked your head slightly at the compliment, cheeks warming just enough for him to notice, though that moment kept a silent agreement you'd not acknowledge you'd heard it. Daryl hated the strange irritation that flared through him.
“Lucky shot.” he muttered sharply, shrugging and slinging his crossbow over his shoulder harder than necessary, something insisting to bug on his chest and make his heart hammer on his ears.
Y/N, wiping sweat from her forehead: I’m sweating in places I didn’t know I had sweat glands.
Daryl, aggressively shoving a water canteen into her chest: Drink.
Y/N: You just gave me some three minutes ago.
Daryl, squinting through sweaty hair: I said drink. If ya drop from heatstroke out here, s’me that’s gotta carry your ass back to camp, an’ s’too damn hot for all that. Drink the damn water.
Y/N, smiling softly: I love you.
Daryl, grumbling: Love ain’t gon’ haul ya back through this heat. Drink.
Y/N, still smiling: Mhm.
Daryl, mumbling ever so quietly: Love ya too.
(I’m melting in this heat. Daryl, I need water too)
Summary: You and Daryl have sex for the first time.
Warnings/Tags: 18+ mdni, smut with no plot, protected p in v sex, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, sub!daryl, experienced!reader x inexperienced!daryl, praise, allusion to previous experience with SA (if you squint), season 3, pre-established relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 2.2k words
A/N: I'm obsessed with writing submissive Daryl, so I had an even better time writing him being inexperienced. This was already partly finished when I saw it, but I was further motivated by a prompt from my mutual @dixondisease.
This is for kinktober day 12 - First time.
Masterlist | D.D. smut masterlist
It wasn't that women hadn't been interested in Daryl when he was growing up, they had been. He had just never had the courage to pursue any of them. Obviously, his upbringing had an effect on his self-esteem. That changed when he met you, though. You were beautiful and part of him still felt like you were just settling for him, but you constantly reassured him. For the first time in years, he actually had some confidence.
As the two of you laid in Daryl's cell, his fingers traced nonsensical patterns on your arm, and he seemed lost in thought. He was always quiet, but this seemed different. You couldn't tell if it was the stress of the apocalypse or if something was wrong. Letting him sit with his thoughts for a moment, you rolled over to face him and spoke softly.
“Are you okay, baby?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine.”
Your man had always been a locked vault, so his response wasn't surprising. You didn't let him shut down on you, though. Pausing for a moment, you moved a piece of dark hair out of his eyes and pushed a little further.
“You can tell me anythin', you know that, right?”
“Yeah. I know.”
Despite your constant reassurances, Daryl was always a bit insecure about his inexperience. He felt like a confused teenager whenever the two of you were together. You'd gone further than kissing, but it never reached the point of penetrative sex. He always got anxious and made up an excuse. You didn't mind, though. How did he get so lucky? He pushed the pang of anxiety away and brought up what he'd been thinking about.
“Do you want to, like, actually have sex?”
Daryl winced slightly at the tone of his voice. He sounded like a fucking teenager. His question surprised you, and you tilted your head slightly. He'd never brought this up before, and you weren't the type to pressure someone. You recovered quickly and answered him.
“Is that somethin' you're wantin'?”
“Yeah. I mean, I think so.” Daryl's tone was uncharacteristically hesitant, and he was refusing to meet your eyes. He'd taken a sudden interest in the concrete wall of his cell. It didn't help that a pinkish tone had blossomed across his cheeks. God, this was embarrassing.
Finding his shyness sweet, you smiled softly and ran your fingers through his hair again. Daryl always looked softer when he got like this. Less of a hardened man and more of a nervous boy. You leaned forward and gave him a chaste kiss. He returned it immediately.
“We can go slow, baby. Start with kissin' like we always do. There's no rush, and we ain't gotta do anythin' you don't want to.”
“We can stop at any time?”
You wanted to reassure him and nodded again. Consent should be important to everyone, but it meant even more to you. The last thing you wanted was for any lines to be blurred. You were excited to take this step with Daryl, but you wanted to take your time.
“We can stop at any time. If you don't like somethin' or want to try somethin' else, just tell me. I want this to feel good for you.”
“I want this to feel good for you, too, though.”
“It will. Makin' you feel good always makes me feel good.”
Reassured, Daryl nodded and placed his shaking hands on either side of your face. He pulled you closer and pressed his lips to yours. His movements were uncertain at first, but his confidence quickly grew. He was always a little awkward at first, and it took him a moment to get comfortable. The two of you fell into a steady rhythm.
He wanted to get closer, so he helped you into a sitting position. The two of you were propped up against the cell wall. Daryl's tongue brushed against your lips, asking permission. You parted your lips a little more, and he slipped it in. You'd made out with him many times before, but this felt different. He was more sure of himself this time.
Deepening the kiss, you moved into his lap and tangled your hands in his hair. He groaned low against your mouth. Your hand palmed him through his jeans, earning a small gasp. His large, calloused palm reached up and groped at your chest. Daryl pulled back for a moment and caught his breath before speaking.
“Can we do more?”
“Sure, baby. Where do you want me?”
He was still a bit nervous to go further, but he really wanted this. Stopping for a moment, he fished in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He'd been keeping a condom in there - per Glenn's suggestion, but he'd been too shy to use it.
Seeing him take the condom out of his wallet, you took a deep breath and nodded encouragingly. He soaked up all of the reassurance that you had to offer. You stroked his hair again and smiled.
“You know how to put it on?”
Your tone was light, and you were careful to not sound patronizing. Daryl was visibly tense, and you wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible. He was so eager to please you that it made him feel pathetic. He was a grown man, for fuck's sake. His cheeks flushed again at your question and he shook his head.
“Not really. Could- could you help me?”
“Of course, baby. Can you take your pants off for me?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Doing what you said, he undid his belt buckle and slipped out of his jeans. Daryl lifted his hips again and pulled off his boxers. His hard cock sprung out, and he was slightly embarrassed by how worked up he'd gotten from just kissing you.
“There we go. Do you want me to tell you how to put the condom on or do it for you?”
“Could you do it for me, but still tell me how?”
“Yeah, that works.”
Taking the condom from Daryl's hand, you tore open the package and pulled out the rubber. You moved closer and guided his dick into the latex. His skin prickled with goosebumps at the contact, and he shifted a little.
“See how I just slipped it on? It shouldn't be difficult. Does that fit well, baby? Not too tight?”
“Fits good. Feels… weird.”
“I'm sure it does. Kinda like a glove, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Your comment had lightened the mood and eased Daryl's anxiety a bit. He was trying not to get too in his head. He wanted to be present for every moment of this experience. Taking a trembling breath, his hands rested on your waist, and he looked you in the eyes.
“How do you wanna do this?”
“It's up to you, Daryl. I could be on top, or you could. Whatever feels more comfortable for you.”
“Could I be on top? Would that be okay?”
“Yeah, baby. That would be okay.”
Daryl nodded and ran through the steps in his head. The last thing he wanted was to mess this up. He helped you out of your denim shorts and looked you over. Seeing the damp spot in your underwear, his brain short-circuited and his breath caught in his thought. You were this wet from just kissing him? He'd been missing out. He spoke up again in a slightly awe-struck tone.
“I made you feel like that? Just from kissin' you?”
“You always make me feel like this, baby.”
His cheeks flamed hot, and he ran a hand over his face. You were so perfect that it bordered on being overwhelming. Daryl extended his hands and set them at the hem of your shirt.
“Can I take your shirt off?”
“Yeah. Thank you for askin'.”
Despite his tough exterior, Daryl was always surprisingly soft with you, and he slowly pulled your shirt over your head. He even took the time to make sure that your hair didn't get caught on anything. You'd stopped wearing a bra when the outbreak hit, so your bare chest was on full display. With the way Daryl's eyes widened, you would've thought he'd never seen a pair of tits before. You were flattered and teased him lightly.
“Like what you see?”
“You're so fuckin' gorgeous, sweetheart. I can't believe you're letting me see you like this.”
“Thank you, baby. Are you gonna leave your shirt on?”
You wouldn't have minded either way, you just wanted him to feel secure. Thinking about his scars, Daryl hesitated and couldn't hold eye contact anymore. The shame he had surrounding the previous injuries had never gone away. You picked up on this and rested a hand on his unshaven jaw.
“Hey, you don't need to do anythin'. I want you to feel comfortable.”
“Is- is it okay if I leave my shirt on? Maybe just this time.”
“Of course.”
Sighing in relief, Daryl nodded and smiled nervously. This was all so new to him, and it was hard to keep it together. What if he did something wrong, and you didn't want to be with him anymore? Your soft voice broke his train of thought, and he looked back at your face.
“You're gonna do fine, baby. Let's just take it slow.”
“Okay. Slow.”
Lying on your back, you felt Daryl's rough palm glide across your skin and watched as his breathing grew heavier. You were letting him set the pace, but it was difficult to not want him to go faster. Your panties were already soaked and squeezed your thighs together. This made him raise an eyebrow.
“Why are you doin' that? Did I do somethin' wrong?”
“Oh, no. I'm just gettin' worked up.”
Your words reminded Daryl that you wanted this just as much as him, and he was in slight disbelief. You wanted him. He wasn't stupid enough to think you weren't attracted to him, the two of you had been together for months. It was still a pleasant reminder, though.
“Should I get started?”
“If you're ready. Kiss me like you were before and then let your body do the rest. You'll know what to do, but you can still ask questions.”
His body knew what to do? Daryl felt like his body didn't know shit. He didn't question your words, though. Moving on top of you, he made sure that he wasn't using his full body weight and started kissing down your neck. He was doing his best to listen to his body and lined himself up with your entrance. He still felt the need to ask for permission.
“Is this okay? Can I push in now?”
“Yeah, just go slow. You want to give my body time to adjust.”
Your tone was breathy, and you resisted the urge to move your hips. Daryl could feel the way you were holding back, and it encouraged him more. He took a deep breath and slowly buried himself inside of you. He stretched you inch by inch until he fully bottomed out. Small gasps and grunts escaped his throat the entire time. The feeling of your tight pussy wrapping around his cock was intoxicating. He had never felt anything like this.
You whimpered softly and adjusted, so that he was at a different angle. You felt comfortably full, and a dazed smile spread across your face. Daryl noticed it, and his own lips tugged into a small grin.
“That feels good for you, too? Am I doin' okay?”
“It feels so good, Daryl. You can start movin', if you want.”
Having been given the go ahead, Daryl started rocking in and out of your core. You were slick, and he could feel the warmth of your walls even with the condom on. With every thrust, you moaned quietly, and your legs began to quiver. For someone without much experience, Daryl found your clit and was sure to focus his attention on it.
Daryl muffled another loud moan by biting down on his bottom lip. He didn't want to bring any attention to it, but he had just reached his peak. If it didn't feel so good, he would've been mortified. He pressed against your sweet spot again, and you suddenly cried out. Your orgasm tore through you, and even you were surprised by the intensity. The sound startled Daryl and he froze.
“Shit. Are okay, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”
Catching your breath, your chest heaved and you quickly shook your head. You did your best to reassure him and laughed softly.
“You didn't hurt me, baby. I just came all over your dick.”
“Oh. So, I'm doin' good?”
Daryl was surprised and felt sheepish when he realized that was a sound of pleasure, not pain. You lifted your head and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw.
“You're doin' great, my love. Keep goin' until you finish.”
“I kinda already did.”
His face turned a deeper shade of red, and Daryl looked away again. He couldn't help, but feel guilty of how quickly he'd ejaculated. He'd wanted to make you come first. You gently turned his face and made him look at you.
“Hey, it's okay. I wanted you to feel good. You made me come, too.”
“Right. Could we stay like this for a little while?”
“Sure.”
With how spent the two of you were, you both drifted off and remained like this for the rest of the night. Daryl's cock stayed nestled inside of you and his head rested against your chest.
Summary: Your ex could never get you off, but Daryl can.
Warnings/Tags: smut with no plot, young adult!daryl, best friend!daryl, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, smoking weed, mention of healed implied SH scars, use of the term 'atta girl', daryl comes in his pants, oral (fem receiving), trailer park!au, undetermined relationship, no use of Y/N
Word count: 1.6k words
A/N: Disclaimer about the scars: they are a part of the reader’s body that is not fetishized, mentioned more than once or discussed in dialogue. They are completely healed. I have these kinds of scars and I wanted to represent them in this fic. If that’s still triggering to you, skip this piece. I chose to do a trailer park!au because I’ve been looking for an excuse to write it. Also, when I say young adult!daryl, I’m thinking around the age of 21.
This is for Bee's Fourteen Days of Love - day 11: Change.
Masterlist | D.D. smut masterlist
The air in the Dixon’s trailer was stale and reeked of marijuana. You and Daryl had skipped another day’s worth of classes at the local community college and were now passing a bong back and forth. Sprawled across his couch while he sat on the floor, you were rambling about your ex-boyfriend. Your hands moved wildly as you spoke and Daryl struggled to follow your train of thought.
“The guy was a total asshole, Daryl. He was so fuckin’ full of himself. You won’t believe what he told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
Daryl couldn’t care less about your ex, but he loved seeing how animated you were when you spoke. He took another deep inhale from the bong and watched as you sat up. Jesus, you were going on and on about the bastard. He blew smoke and nodded in encouragement.
“He looked me in my face and told me that he was gonna be the next George Strait.”
“The next George Strait?”
“Yeah, that country singer that your daddy was always listenin’ to.”
“No, I know who that is. I’m just confused as to why that dipshit thought he was gonna be him.”
“Pure delusion.”
Your comment made Daryl laugh so hard that he nearly dropped the glass. Reaching over, you grabbed it from him and took a hit. You blew smoke and smiled at your best friend’s reaction. The man was in stitches. Bless skunk for making him all giggly. You watched him for a moment before speaking again.
“I ain’t even told you the worst part.”
“It gets worse?”
“Yeah. The whole three months that we were together, he never made me orgasm.”
Not expecting that, Daryl’s laughter came to an abrupt halt and his mouth hung open. It was comical. You guys had talked about sex before, but this was different. The idea of you being denied that pleasure was oddly infuriating to him. He cleared his throat before asking for clarification.
“Hold on. He never made you come? Not once?”
“Nope. He wouldn’t eat me out, neither.”
“God, what a piece of shit.”
The way that Daryl was upset on your behalf was amusing, and it was your turn to burst out laughing. He wasn’t trying to be funny, though. His expression had shifted to one of pure frustration.
“Seriously, darlin’. That’s shitty. You deserved better than that.”
“I mean, it ain’t that big of a deal.”
“I could fuck you twice as good as he did.”
Now, you were the one who was shocked. Your eyes widened, and you didn’t respond for a moment. It’s not like that wasn’t something that you’d thought about before, but this was your best friend. Other than the occasional drunk kiss, the two of you had never been anything other than platonic. The look in Daryl’s eyes showed that he was serious, though. You finally found your voice and raised an eyebrow.
“You fuckin’ with me?”
“No, I’m dead serious. Can I try?”
To his surprise, you didn’t look offended, and you actually nodded in agreement. Daryl had always been pining for you, but he never knew how to show it. Those “drunk kisses” played in his mind every night before he fell asleep. Sometimes, he could still feel your lips on his. Now, you were giving him permission to get you off.
He wasted no time shifting closer to the couch and pulling you forward by the knees. Daryl had you part way off of the cushions and his hands settled on your hips. He had to double-check that you’d set the bong on the coffee table and out of the way. It belonged to Merle, but he’d insisted that he thoroughly cleaned it before sharing with you. His brother would kill him if that got broken. Looking up at you through dark lashes, he took a deep breath and spoke up again.
“Can I take your shorts off?”
“Yeah. I ain’t wearin’ underwear, neither.”
“You were expectin’ this?”
“I wish. I was just too lazy to do my damn laundry.”
“Of course. Lift your hips for me.”
Once you’d done as you were told, his fingers moved to your waistband, and he slipped off your denim shorts. Sure enough, he was met with the sight of your bare pussy. He was painfully hard now, and he shifted to conceal the growing tent in his jeans. You suddenly felt self-conscious at his staring, and you broke the tense silence.
“Is somethin’ wrong?”
“Oh, no. You’re just fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart.”
“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause my whole vagina is out.”
“No. I mean it.”
The conviction in your best friend’s voice surprised you, and you quickly stopped with the self-deprecating comments. If Daryl said that you were beautiful, you were. He wasn’t one for flattery, so he spoke with his full chest. Your cheeks flushed and you mumbled.
“Thank you.”
“Can I taste you now? I- I gotta taste you.”
“Yes, please.”
Without hesitation, he shifted you so that you were pressed against the back of the couch and hooked your legs over his shoulders. His large hands bracketed your hips, and he held you in place. You could feel the rough callouses that he’d sustained from spending hours in the shop on your smooth skin.
One of his hands shifted to rest on your right thigh, and his fingers passed over the faint lines etched into your skin. His eyes drifted to meet yours, and he checked to make sure that you were comfortable. Without lingering any longer, he bent forward and pressed a kiss to your hip. He proceeded to kiss his way down to your cunt. Pulling back for a second, he felt you squirm and murmured more praise.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
“I appreciate that, but you’re killin’ me here, Daryl.”
“Easy, darlin’.”
Not wanting to tease you any further, Daryl used his fingers to carefully spread your folds open and started lapping at your seam. The warmth of your flesh against his mouth made him groan lowly. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you tried to anchor yourself. You were doing your best to not buck your hips. His ministrations were fevered, and he could hardly breathe as he kept going.
You hadn’t been touched like this in months, so the pleasure built up quickly. The heat pooled low in your belly and a soft whimper escaped your throat. The sound only encouraged Daryl, and his mouth moved quicker. He pulled back to check on you.
“You close, pretty girl?”
“Mhm. Keep goin’.”
“Just let go and come on my tongue. I wanna feel you fall apart.”
With that, his mouth was back where it belonged and he resumed his movements. Your thighs squeezed against the sides of his head and they trembled slightly. You were overwhelmed in the best way imaginable. It took a few more seconds before you tumbled over that edge and found your release. He worked you through the orgasm and leaned back on his haunches. Wiping at his beard, he shifted to hide the fact that he’d finished in his pants and spoke gruffly.
“Atta girl. You were incredible.”
You were too breathless to speak, so you just gave him a weak thumbs up. Daryl chuckled softly and got up to go find a rag. He also needed to change his pants. While you waited, you attempted to catch your breath and wrap your head around what had just taken place. Your best friend had made you come so hard that you saw stars.
After putting on a fresh set of trousers, Daryl returned with a warm rag and began wiping you down. The intimacy of this entire experience was almost jarring. Your ex-boyfriend usually just rolled over or left the room when he was finished. The words fell from your lips before you could catch them.
“No one’s ever done that.”
“Ate your pussy?”
“No, cleaned me up after.”
That made Daryl’s chest feel tight and he exhaled harshly. He couldn’t fathom why anyone wouldn’t want to care for you. Reminding himself to loosen his grip on the fabric, he finished cleaning your skin and made eye contact again.
“You deserve nice things. Thank you for lettin’ me do that for you.”
“Are we gonna do that again sometime?”
Daryl could hear the trepidation in your voice, as if you were afraid that he’d reject your statement. He could never say no to you. Trying to keep the mood light, his eyes softened and he nodded.
“Any time that you want, darlin’.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, you made me finish in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager. It would be a crime to not do that again.”
“You what?”
Your eyes drifted to his pants, and you realized that he had swapped out his shorts to a gray pair of sweatpants. He was still half-hard, and it made you do a double take. You had made me him orgasm without even touching him. Daryl smirked at your reaction and eased you back into your denim shorts.
“Yeah. Don’t get too cocky, though.”
“Nah, I think this gives me braggin’ rights for at least a year.”
“Jesus. I shoulda never told you.”
Your best friend’s face had flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. It was actually kind of endearing. Daryl tried to deflect by rolling his eyes, but it was clear that you were still affecting him. He joined you on the couch and settled your form against his chest. Clearly, getting you off had emboldened him. The two of you stayed like this until Merle’s truck pulled into the front yard.
the other day i showed my friends some random daryl gif and said "i would def eat those biceps up" and they looked at me reconsidering their life choices of being my friend but i know very well that my tumbrlr girlies would've gone wild and agreed w me instantly, i love my tumblr girlies who won't judge and are just as crazy as i am 💓💓💓
hii dear can you write something with daryl x reader where daryl realizes that he is a clingy partner but he is shy and afraid that he could come as possessive but his girlfriend doesnt mind one bit bc she is clingy too?
Distance
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female reader
Era: Early Season Six
Summary: Daryl has been acting distant lately, causing you to worry that he no longer likes you. However, when the truth is finally revealed, the actual reality is much more emotional.
Warnings: Fluff, protectiveness, swearing, hugging, crying, and mentions of both dangerous/upsetting situations and kissing.
Word Count: 4,155
Daryl had always been a rather clingy partner. Of course, never within a controlling or demanding manner. He was certainly not the type to dictate what you wore, who you were friends with, or any of your own decisions. He had always allowed you to be your own person, to make your own choices, and live your own life. In fact, he had honestly enjoyed how self sufficient, strong, and determined you truly were.
Instead, he was much more protective, needy as a result of his own concerns and fears. No matter where you went, Daryl would often accompany you. If you had ventured outside the barrier of the community in order to scavenge for resources, he would never fail to join you. If you had been armed with some sort of weapon, prepared to hunt and forage, he would often accompany you. Even if you had just enjoyed a simple walk around Alexandria, savoring both the peace and quiet provided by such a secure town (which was certainly rare within today's world), Daryl would always be by your side.
Of course, he was well aware of the reality that you were a smart, strong, and extremely capable individual. Upon various different occasions, Daryl had observed as you successfully defended yourself against a group of walkers, very proficient in regards to protecting yourself. You were never afraid to express your own opinions and beliefs concerning the safety of the community, often confident enough to challenge Rick when it regarded the process of decision making. Obviously, you were an extremely assure, strong, and secure person, which were all very important qualities when you were constantly forced to worry about your own survival. However, his rather loyal behaviors were simply the result of his own concerns.
Daryl just couldn't help but worry. He had experienced many different deaths and a wide variety of heart break throughout his life, both before and during the apocalypse. Even if it was hard to believe, Daryl was a very caring individual, especially in regards to those he cared for. And he acted the exact same way towards everyone he loved: Both protective and concerned. He would have literally risked his own life if it successfully secured the safety of those he cared for.
He just always wanted to confirm that you were okay, and the absolute best way to verify such a reality was to never leave your side.
In all honesty, Daryl wasn't exactly worried about the walkers, concerned that you may have been accidentally attacked by one whilst he was absent. Obviously, he was well aware of the reality that you were extremely capable of properly protecting yourself within such dangerous situations. Instead, he was much more apprehensive regarding people.
You were a very attractive and gorgeous woman, and he often wondered how someone such as himself had managed to successfully obtain your affection. Not only were you both pretty and extremely captivating, but you were also very confident as well. And as a result, Daryl often feared that a rather disgusting and immoral group of men may accidentally discover your existence during some sort of solo scavenging mission. He imagined that they would become hypnotized by your beauty and desperate to obtain your affection for themselves, through any means possible. Additionally, the men of todays world were often amused by a confident woman, such as yourself, typically attempting to destroy every remaining ounce of self assurance that had existed within their victims, to prove that they had still remained the dominant sex. And protecting yourself against a bunch of decaying walkers was a lot different compared to successfully defending yourself against a group of healthy and able men.
Daryl was still even a bit hesitant regarding the remembers of Alexandria as well. Prior to the apocalypse, he had been forced to behave rather weary around others, the idea that everyone was an enemy had been instilled within his mind since basically the moment he was born. And now, with the sudden lack of a proper government, rules, and legal punishment, such beliefs had only been further intensified. Daryl trudged through the community like a stray dog, constantly weary of everyone who had even managed to glance within his general direction. And he certainly wasn't ignorant regarding the many different men who would consistently gaze towards you, hungry for the new, attractive, and young woman who had just arrived within the town.
Therefore, what a better way to scare off the competition than to constantly follow you around like some sort of big and scary guard dog?
You had grown rather accustomed to Daryl's intense form of loyalty, familiar with him often accompanying you everywhere you went. In fact, you had honestly enjoyed it. You savored his company, cherishing every occasion in which the two of you had spent together. Even if you had just been relaxing within silence or actively battling a hoard of walkers, his general presence was extremely comforting.
Furthermore, his constant worrying had been almost reassuring. The evidence of his concern had confirmed that he truly cared about you, loved you enough to repeatedly risk his own life in order to protect your own. Whenever he had wrapped a rather possessive arm around your waste or collected you within his grasp during some sort of tense encounter, it only further proved that he cared for you just as much as you cared about him.
Sometimes, you worried he may have took on more responsibility than he could reasonably managed. You often envisioned him venturing into the outside world during some sort of mission and never returning. At least when he was constantly by your side, you were never forced to worry about his safety.
However, as of recently, Daryl had been acting rather odd. Suddenly, he had become a lot more reserved and almost distant; whenever you would exclaim that you were going to visit one of your companions, such as Maggie or Michonne, he would simply just release a grumbled hum of acknowledgement within response. Daryl no longer joined you upon your journeys around town or accompanied you during each occasion in which you visited Carol. In fact, he had even stopped offering to join you during scavenging missions as well, suddenly allowing you to actually both hunt or search for resources all alone.
As a result, you had started to worry. Due to his sudden unavailability and blatant lack of concern, you feared that maybe you had managed to accidentally upset him. Had he become distant in response to a lack of connection with you? Had he become bored, annoyed, or revolted by you? Was this just the first stage of a future break up, starting as just silence before slowly evolving into general distain? In all honesty, the constant concern and emotional distress was driving you absolutely insane.
You had even resorted to rather immature attempts to provoke him, to regain his previous jealousy and protectiveness through the usage of rather childish forms of taunting. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, your efforts never appeared to succeed.
"Im going to visit Abraham." You would suddenly declare, covertly attempting to somehow agitate him.
Daryl had never been a big fan of you visiting other men. However, such protectiveness wasn't some form of jealousy, simply rejecting each occasion in which you had attempted to visit a male companion, due to his own insecurities. No. Instead, it was the result of his own fears, worried that something bad may happen during his absence. Daryl was aware of your general intrigue, and he certainly wasn't ignorant to the many others who were obviously captivated by you as well. There were only a few men in which he had actually trusted, including both Rick and Glenn, but other than that, he had remained rather skeptical of the others.
"Mhm." He had simply grumbled, failing to offer any sort of company or companionship during the visit, as he previously would have. In fact, he had barely even glanced within your general direction, which had only managed to even further intensify your own distress.
One morning, once you had prepared for the advancing day and finally ventured outside, you had soon discovered Daryl repairing his motorcycle within your respected driveway. The hot Southern sun was relentlessly baking him, causing a thin sheen of sweat to glaze his flesh as his muscles visibly strained beneath the force of each motion.
"Hey." You had stated as you ventured towards him, voice both low and rather quiet, due to your increasing sorrow. However, when he had failed to even glance within the direction of your voice, continuing to basically ignore you as he remained completely focused upon repairing his bike, you worried that the current strain within your relationship would only become worse.
Instead of rewarding you with a proper response, Daryl had resorted to releasing a simple grumble of acknowledgement, as he had become so prone to doing as of recently. Of course, he had always been a rather reserved and quiet individual, a man of few words as he remained both distant and even isolated from others. Yet, you had always been the singular exception to such a rule. Daryl often became almost outgoing when located within your company, talking, laughing, and joking with you in a manner in which he had never done with anyone else before. Well, up until recently that is.
"Im gonna visit Spencer." You added.
Obviously, you desired absolutely nothing to do with Spencer Monroe. You had regarded him as spoiled, annoying, and typically irritating. He was a protected child, his parents often shielding him from the reality of today's world, a reality that had caused him to become both arrogant and ignorant. Of course, you weren't actually prepared to spend any time with him. Instead, this was just another one of your childish attempts to somehow revive Daryl's previous protectiveness.
In all honesty, you had mourned the manner in which he had behaved so concerned regarding you, especially around other men. The evidence of his worry had remained you that he was absolutely infatuated with you, revealing the fact that he truly cared for you, within his own way of course.
However, Daryl had remained distance one more. He had failed to offer to join you or state that he did not trust Spencer, as he would have previously done. No. Instead, he had just rewarded you with a silent nod of approval, as if he didn't even care.
You had instinctually released an annoyed sigh in response to his dismissive demeanor, rather irritated by his ignorant behavior recently. You had remained dormant for a moment, silent as you simply stared towards Daryl, utterly astonished by his blatant carelessness.
"Can I ask you something?" You had eventually inquired, voice piercing the thick silence as you executed a lengthy stride within his direction.
Daryl peered towards you from over his shoulder, eyes squinting beneath the bright illumination of the sun. Finally, he had simply nodded once more, wiping his grease glazed palms against the fabric of his pants before he slowly rose to his full height.
"Are you..." You hesitated, almost too nervous to successfully ask, worried you might accidentally vomit if the words had managed to exit your mouth.
By actually inquiring, you were risking everything: Your happiness, relationship, and even your own ignorance. You were gambling with the possibility that provided with the proper opportunity, Daryl might end things right then and there. You were practically setting the stage for him to execute what he had been obviously delaying for so long.
Yet, you were aware of the reality that you would have to finish what you started. You had initiated the entire conversation, and there was certainly no retreating now. As much as it might have hurt, you would much rather know the truth than continue living amongst lies.
You consumed a large inhale of courage, and during the following, lengthy exhale, you had swiftly inquired:
"Are you gonna break up with me?" You had spoken so quickly, the entire sentence had basically morphed into one big word, much too scared to even consider pausing for a moment.
Suddenly, it was completely quiet, as if the entire world had become deaf from around you. In fact, it was so silent, you worried he could possibly perceive the audio of your rapid heart beat hammering against your ribs, due to just how nervous you truly were. This was it, wasn't it? The moment in which Daryl would declare that he no longer loved you, that he wanted to break up, and desired absolutely nothing to do with you. As the two of you remained completely dormant, atmosphere thick was tension, and surroundings almost terrifyingly silent, you worried that you might start to cry.
However, your previously frantic emotions, along with each of your concerns, were soon replaced with utter confusion once you had wearily glanced towards Daryl's features. You had expected him to be scowling towards you, within the same manner he had regarded everyone else he disliked. You assumed he would declare that you had been correct, and in fact, he did desire to break up. Yet, instead, as you awkwardly peered towards him, you soon discovered that a visible expression of confusion was now etched across his features, brows furrowed, head slightly tilted, and a glimmer of puzzlement flickering across his vision.
"What?" He asked, sounding completely bewildered. In all honesty, you were almost certain that this was the first occasion in which you had actually perceived him speak a proper word towards you within at least a week.
You had hesitated beneath his scrutiny. With his unfaltering vision and rather mysterious tendencies, you had become both frightened and embarrassed, no longer worried that your relationship was about to end, but now concerned that you had just accidentally upset him.
Daryl was a rather confusion individual, his enigmatic demeanor often causing his emotions to become disoriented. He might have been situated upon the couch beside you one evening, the two of you simply enjoying each others company, all whilst supporting an expression typically induced by anger. However, when you would eventually inquire about his blatantly unfavorable mood, he would swiftly respond with "What are ya talkin' 'bout? Im havin' a good time." As if it was the most foolish question upon planet Earth. Yet, in comparison, he might have appeared entirely unfazed during some sort of argument between himself and another civilian of Alexandria, features rather blank and impassive. However, as soon as the two of you would return home, he would immediately declare something along the lines of "They just piss me off so much! Im so fuckin' angry!" And the current situation was no different.
"Its just..." You paused once more, a thick lump of shame forming within the depths of your throat as you squeezed your vision shut, unable to bear his scrutiny any longer "You've been acting so different lately, like you don't like me anymore, and I was worried you might end things soon."
At that point, you were now slightly trembling, your breath both rapid and quaking as tears began to blur your vision. You felt like a little kid once more, upon the verge of sobbing following a rather upsetting argument shared between yourself and your parents. You felt like a fool standing before him, no longer able to tolerate his scrutiny and the extremely intense silence.
"Why would I ever do tha'?" He had finally responded, an audible hint of confusion actively lacing his tone.
You had released yet another, trembling exhale, now completely embarrassed. Had you just been over reacting this entire time? Was absolutely nothing different and you had just been over analyzing the entire situation? Due to his rather perplexed and somewhat condescending response, you began to worry that you had been acting utterly foolish. Had you honestly allowed yourself to get so worked up over absolutely nothing?
"I don't-don't know." You stuttered, the mass amount of anxious saliva currently accumulating within your mouth causing your words to falter "You've j-just been so distant and q-quiet lately, it makes me worry."
As you remained idle before him, vision basically transfixed by your own shoes as you nervously avoided proper eye contact, the sudden sensation of his warm palm cupping your cheek had caused you to involuntarily flinch. In all honesty, it had been many days since Daryl had last caressed you so tenderly, grasping you within his hands as if you were the most gentle object upon planet Earth, the sensation was almost foreign now.
"I promise, darlin', I ain't never gonna break up with ya." He had whispered, voice both gravelly and soft at the same exact time. He had spoke so quietly, it was obvious that his words were intended entirely for you, and absolutely no one else.
You couldn't help but melt into his embrace, further burrowing your features against his large palm, completely unconcerned regarding the reality that he had just been fiddling with his oil glazed motorcycle only moments prior. You were sure to discover some sort of grease etched across your flesh later on, but in all honesty, you couldn't care less. All that mattered was that he was holding you, the sensation of his hands grasping your features causing an affectionate warmth to suddenly infiltrate your chest.
"Then why have you been acting so... Weird?" You whispered, aware of the reality that if you had spoke any louder, you would certainly burst into tears.
In response, Daryl had released a rather heavy sigh from above you, exhale so intense, it was as if he had been holding his breath since the moment you had initially arrived.
"I was just worried I was bein' clingy, scared I might annoy ya or be too needy. I didn't want ya to get fed up with me always followin' ya round like a lost puppy. Thought Id just give ya yer space." He had grumbled, an obvious hint of embarrassment now glazing his tone as well. Just as you had been nervous to express your true emotions, afraid of accidentally humiliating yourself, Daryl was obvious anxious as well. And for some reason, such a reality was rather comforting.
You glanced towards him, observing Daryl through your tear fogged vision. You were searching his features for any sign of hesitancy, worried that he might have simply been lying in an attempt to comfort you. However, the reality that he was being completely sincere was soon enforced once Daryl had returned your gaze, discovering the evidence of your own fear. In response to your tear glazed irises, the small frown of sorrow actively quivering across your lips, and the fact that you were currently trembling like a leaf, he had started to gently stroke your cheek with the usage of his large thumb. Such a seemingly minor detail had managed to successfully solidify the fact that he was being completely honest.
"Oh Daryl," you sighed, somewhat shaken by his rather intimate confession, his sincere words causing your heart to flutter "you could never annoy me."
Just as you had been skeptical of his previous claim, Daryl appeared rather hesitant from above you, almost as if he didn't believe such a statement. A small smile of delight failed to explode across his lips. He did not scoop you into his arms due to pure relief. No. Instead, Daryl had continued to silently peer towards you, scrutinizing your general existence as if you were some sort of riddle he was forced to decipher.
"Im being serious. I like when you're so protective, it makes me feel cared for. At least then I know you love me." You had continued, attempting to properly reassure him and successfully gain his trust.
Of course, Daryl had still failed to completely accept such a claim without some form of further confirmation. He had always been the skeptical type, not exactly believing something right away. Even when you had first confessed your feelings towards him, extremely nervous and scared that he might possibly reject you, Daryl had failed to believe you at first. Instead, he had repeatedly asked "Are ya serious?" And "Is this some kinda joke?" In fact, he didn't completely trust such an admission until you had leaned forward and softly connected your lips. And even then, he had still remained a bit skeptical for a while, even though you had spent the following weeks constantly reassuring him.
"Ya sure? I don't like... Smother ya or anythin'?" He had further inquired.
You frantically shook your head.
"Yes, Im sure, Daryl." You giggled, wiping at your blurry vision in an attempt to successfully dismiss the accumulating tears, now worried that you appeared somewhat pathetic for actively crying over such a minor situation "You could never smother me. Trust me, if I could spend every waking moment with you, I would."
It was silent for a moment as the two of you remained completely dormant. A subtle jolt of anxiety had infiltrated your system once more as Daryl had continued to survey your features as if you were similar to that of a tricky exam, seemingly searching for some sort of hidden detail. In all honesty, you were worried that he was about to alter his previous decision, that your rather hasty confession (admitting that you would practically conjoin yourself to him if you could) had accidentally unsettled him. Were you now the one behaving much too clingy?
However, once Daryl had suddenly captured you within his strong grasp, compressing you firmly against his chest as he slightly swaying you within his arms, you couldn't help but release yet another yelp of laughter. His rather unexpected response, embracing you as if the two of you had been apart for months, had been rather amusing and extremely relieving.
The two of you were silent for a few moments as you simply hugged one another, slightly rocking within each others arms whilst you embraced within the drive way, completely unconcerned regarding what your rather judgemental neighbors may assume. After days of being both emotionally and physically distant, it currently felt as if you had just been reunited after months of no contact. You had become so accustomed to occupying basically every moment alongside Daryl, being apart for even a second was comparable to that of literal torture.
"Okay, good. 'Cause I don't want ya seein' that Spencer freak without me." He had grumbled against your flesh, features now buried against the junction in which your shoulders encountered your neck.
Daryl released a rather dry chuckle against your skin, as if successfully expressing such a possessive confession, after a week of restraining himself, was both amusing and rather relieving at the same exact time. And you couldn't help but release a giggle of your own, the return of his rather territorial tendencies causing your heart to flutter once more.
"Honestly? I don't really wanna see him at all. I just wanted to make you jealous." You confessed with a sigh, further relaxing into his grasp as if an intense weight had just been lifted from your shoulders.
With that, Daryl withdrew his face from the junction of your neck. You were still captured within his firm grasp, figure pressed tightly against his sturdy form, but he had recoiled just enough to create proper eye contact with you once more.
"You ain't never gotta make me jealous for me to care 'bout ya, darlin'. Id kill any man who even dared to look in yer direction." He had exclaimed, causing a soft and affection smile to instantly grace your lips "Bein' away from ya so much has been driving me crazy as it is."
Once again, you had released a rather tender giggle, amused by his serious words. Such a statement was obviously genuine, yet extremely silly at the same exact time.
"Then stop pushing me away so much." You exclaimed through laughter.
Daryl compressed his features against the junction of your neck once more, as if that specific location was comparable to that of some sort of comfort space.
"Well Christ, now that I know ya don't mind, you wont ever be able to get rid of me." He declared, gravelly voice muffled against the flesh of your throat.
Of course, such a statement could have been received as some kind of joke. However, due to the manner in which Daryl was currently embracing you, caging you within his grasp as if he didn't plan to ever release you, you were well aware of the reality that he was being completely serious. And in all honesty, you weren't the slightest bit upset.
Even though his vision was currently obstructed as he further nuzzled his features against your skin, you couldn't help but smile once more, the warmth currently pooling within your chest only further intensifying.
you find an old digital camera from 2005 that somehow still works while on a supply run with daryl. he shakes his head at you and mutters under his breath every time you take that damn camera out. whether it’s pics of maggie or a pretty tree or a rabbit scurrying by, he acts like it’s a waste of time. but he doesn’t hesitate for even a moment to grab the camera from you and snap a quick picture of you when u ask. he’s more shy when its of him. but of you? he rolls his eyes but he makes sure to get the best picture of you possible.
he starts snapping candids of you when you don’t notice. you do, but he doesn’t have to know that. you also get a lot of him from afar. the pictures are pixelated and dated but you cherish them.
then u and maggie and michonne and carol start loving the girl pics together and he ends up being yalls photographer against his will
the group is settling into alexandria. well...most are. daryl is still trying. the community holds a welcome party for you all, including bonfires, live music, drinks, and nice clothes. clothes that no one in the group thought they'd be wearing ever again.
daryl's sitting a good few yards away from the crowd of alexandrians, chewing on a toothpick to avoid talking to anybody. he's thinking to himself this is some bullshit, everyone dressed in suits and dresses acting like the world ain't over outside these walls. just moaning and groaning under his breath like always.
but then you walk into the crowd. you're wearing a flowery strappy sundress that falls mid-thigh on you. you're no longer in your disgusting, bloodied up clothes and your hair is no longer matted and gross. you're clean, glowing, and beautiful. daryl's mind goes silent for the first time in a long time.
he watches you make your way through people, before taking a seat beside maggie as she hands you a drink with a smile on her face.
carol interrupts daryl's wandering eyes.
"not complaining anymore, huh?" the small smile on her face grows into a knowing smirk.
daryl sits up immediately, swatting her away with his arm in the air.
"man shut up. dunno the hell you talkin' about" he mutters under his breath.
carol walks away cackling. daryl pretends to not look at you the rest of the night.
you definitely notice. the blush creeping on your cheeks gives it away.
