Could you write something set after everyone settles into Alexandria and where the reader struggles with panic attacks but keeps them to herself? One night, Daryl catches her having one and has no idea what to do, but it ends up being comforting in a funny, awkward way. The next morning she’s embarrassed and avoids him, while Daryl keeps trying to get her attention. I haven’t thought much past that, but I’d love something soft, comforting, and a little funny between them.
a/n: yes, i do take requests! i haven’t felt particularly inspired in a while, but this one sparked something in me. so much so that i didn’t realize until i’d finished writing that i hadn’t hit every element you mentioned. i hope you enjoy where it took me, though!
after months of sleeping with one eye open in the dirt, jumping at every dry snap of a twig in the woods, and running on adrenaline, the absolute stillness of a real house felt entirely unnatural. the steady, low hum of a refrigerator, the thick plaster of the walls without decay, and the solid deadbolt on the front door were supposed to mean safety. instead, tonight, they felt like a trap. your chest had spent weeks trying to unlearn survival mode, and right now, it was violently rebelling against the sudden illusion of peace.
a single, half-melted candle sat on your nightstand, casting long shadows across the small room. the weak light spilled through the open doorway of the attached bathroom, casting a warm wash over the cold white tiles.
you sat cross-legged on the floor, your back pressed hard against the base of the bed frame. your lungs felt no bigger than marbles, dry and rattling uselessly inside your chest. in and out. shallow, ragged, fast. your vision blurred at the edges, tunneling down into a pinprick of dark grey light.
panicking, you clamped a hand hard over your mouth, biting down on the inside of your cheek until the sharp, metallic taste of copper bloomed across your tongue. you refused to let out a sound. you couldn't be the weak link, not when everyone was trying so hard to pretend they were just people living normal lives again.
get it together, you berated yourself internally, your fingernails biting crescent-shaped pain into your forearms. you survived the road. you survived the walkers. stop losing your damn mind.
the internal scolding did nothing. the walls pressed inward, squeezing the remaining oxygen straight out of your ribs. your head spun in a dizzy, disorienting vertigo. you squeezed your eyes shut, but the darkness behind your eyelids only spun faster, filled with phantom flashes of open fields, teeth, and blood.
in the next room over, daryl was lying on top of his cot staring at the ceiling. when the choked sound cut through the thin walls, he didn't even hesitate.
he hit your door with the flat of his hand, shoving it open just in time to see you crumpled on the floor in the flickering candlelight, shaking so violently you couldn't draw breath.
"hey—"
he crossed the distance in two quick strides, dropping to his knees beside you. when you only dragged in another strangled gasp, instinct took over. he scooped you into his arms and carried you into the attached bathroom, stepping over the high porcelain lip of the tub.
he set you down against the curved back of the tub, fully clothed in your cotton sleep shirt and pajama pants.
with urgent hands, he reached out and turned the handle, sending a shock of cool water over you.
a sharp gasp tore out of your throat as the cool spray came down, instantly soaking your hair and flattening your soft clothes against your skin. the spray ricocheted off your shoulders, soaking the front of his shirt and dripping from the ends of his hair. daryl crouched right down at the edge, his boots planted firmly on the dry bathroom mat just outside the porcelain rim, bringing himself low so his face was level with yours.
"look at me," he muttered, his large hands gripping your upper arms.
the sudden shock of the water broke through the dizzying spiral.
"i can't fucking do this," you gasped. "wh—what happens when this place falls too?"
"ain't happenin’ right now," he said, his voice rough and low. "look at me."
"breathe," he ordered, drawing in one slow breath. "c'mon."
the steady pressure of his hands cut through the noise, and your chest finally gave, allowing one ragged gulp of air deep into your ribs.
"there ya go," daryl urged, his voice tight. "i gotcha."
you slumped forward, your forehead resting heavily against his shoulder as he stayed crouched at the edge of the tub, drawing you forward against him through the opening.
he stayed there in the roaring spray until the full-body tremors turned from panic to the chill of the water, holding you fast until your breathing steadied into a slow, exhausted rhythm.
when he finally reached out and turned the knob off, cutting the roar of the pipes, the small bathroom fell silent, filling with the sound of dripping water and your ragged breaths.
completely drained, your legs gave out as you stepped out of the tub onto the bathmat. you slid down the wall, letting your head drop heavily right into his lap as he sat cross-legged on the floor beside you.
daryl went rigid beneath you. a stark flash of awkwardness washed over him as he stared down at you resting against his legs. for a second, his hands hovered stiffly in the air, unsure where to put themselves.
one hand moved through your hair, slow and uncertain. the other closed loosely around your wrist, his thumb settling over the frantic beat of your pulse.
"used to happen sometimes," he muttered into the quiet room, his voice barely above a whisper. "back home. all the yellin’ and shit."
you blinked through the wet strands sticking to your face, looking up at him. "you couldn't breathe?"
his fingers stalled in your hair. "sometimes."
he swallowed hard, his fingers brushing a wet strand away from your forehead.
"merle knew."
"what did he do?" you asked softly.
"cussed at me ‘til i got mad." his mouth twitched faintly. "sometimes dragged me outside. but he stayed." he looked down at you, his gaze heavy with a fierce protectiveness. "you ain't gotta do it alone."
he let out a long, heavy breath, his eyes drifting toward the tiled wall.
for a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic drip of the faucet against the wet shower. the frantic edge in your posture began to bleed out, replaced by a bone-deep fatigue.
daryl watched until the tension finally began to leave your shoulders. slowly, he released your wrist and withdrew his hand from your hair before shifting his weight, resting his hands on his knees and offering a tentative nod toward the door.
"c'mon," he murmured, reaching down to hook an arm under yours, helping pull you up from the cold floor. "gotta get you dry."
he walked you steadily back to your room, keeping a supportive hand at your elbow until you were safely sitting on the edge of the mattress. giving you space, he stepped back and grabbed the empty cup off your nightstand.
"stay put," he muttered, heading out into the hall to fetch some fresh water.
he returned a few minutes later with the full glass and a dry set of clothes folded beneath his arm. when he found you asleep, he nudged your shoulder until you surfaced long enough to change, keeping his back turned the entire time.
once you were dressed, he worked the towel he’d brought carefully under your damp hair before drawing the blanket higher to keep the night chill away.
his fingers closed around the battered pack in his vest pocket. he glanced at the candle, his expression tightening, and let the pack go. reaching over, he pinched the flame between damp fingers and watched the ember die.
the next morning, the sunlight pouring golden through the windows felt entirely too loud.
reality rushed back in a crushing wave of humiliation. every single detail of the night before came flooding back.
determined to duck out before running into anyone—specifically the one man in alexandria who had seen you come completely undone—you slipped out of bed early, your head down, aiming to slip out the front door before anyone noticed.
you kept your footsteps light, edging quietly toward the exit. somewhere behind you, daryl said your name. you pretended not to hear it.
he said it again, sharper this time. you kept moving.
before your hand could brush the latch, the low scrape of a spatula against cast iron cut through the room.
"where you goin’?"
you froze dead in your tracks. by the small stove, daryl was standing over a pan, flipping a couple of eggs with a worn spatula. he was still dressed in his usual vest and dark jeans, looking entirely too observant as he glanced over his shoulder at you. two plates were already waiting on the narrow counter.
"nowhere," you muttered defensively, keeping your shoulders hunched and your gaze fixed firmly on the floorboards as a crimson flush crept up your neck. "just... thought i'd get some fresh air. check the perimeter."
“lookin’ like that?” he asked, glancing over your bedhead and pajamas. you rarely stepped outside without making yourself halfway presentable, and he knew it.
daryl turned off the burner, setting the spatula down with a quiet clack.
“mhm.” even to your own ears, it wasn’t much of a lie.
he picked up one of the plates, carrying it over and setting it heavily right in front of the empty stool at the counter.
"sit," he said. "eat."
"i'm not hungry," you lied instantly, wrapping your arms tight across your chest.
"don't matter if you're hungry," daryl replied flatly. "already checked the perimeter."
his eyes tracked over your folded arms and lowered face. the sharpness in them eased. his gaze slipped briefly toward the spotless window, his jaw shifting as he studied the quiet street beyond it.
he rubbed the back of his neck before stepping a little closer.
"look," he muttered, clearing his throat. "thinkin’ we take the bike out past the tree line. teach ya to track proper today."
he paused, shifting his weight. "place is makin' us soft."
the knot beneath your ribs loosened for the first time that morning. before turning away, you murmured, "promise not to tell anyone about last night?"
daryl stopped, his jaw tightening at the question. he looked at you through the hair framing his eyes before nodding once.
"wasn’t mine to tell," he said. "ain’t tellin’ nobody."
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."
I love your fics! I’d like to order a thin crust with extraaaaa extra pepperoni, finish it off with a side of wings (“fuck, that was so hot”) 😊
(established relationship, Daryl making the reader squirt for the first time)
slippery when wet
pairing: daryl dixon x reader
w/c: 2229
warnings/tags: smut, established relationship, squirting, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex
masterlist // pizza party
The Savior War was over.
Negan was locked up. The communities were battered but standing. For the first time in years, the nights didn’t end with the sound of gunfire or the threat of losing someone you loved. But the silence that followed didn’t bring peace for you and Daryl. It brought something hotter. Hungrier.
Since the final battle, Daryl hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you. It was like the constant edge of death had been the only thing keeping the dam from breaking, and now that it was gone, every ounce of fear and adrenaline had turned into raw, possessive need. He touched you constantly- gripping your hip while you cooked, dragging you into his lap when no one was looking, fucking you hard and deep every night like he was still trying to convince himself you were real. Alive. His.
Tonight was worse.
The tension had been building all day. You’d caught him watching you from across the yard while you helped with repairs, those blue eyes dark and fixed like he was already inside you. During family dinner his hand had stayed on your thigh under the table, fingers creeping higher until you were squirming. By the time you got back to the small house you shared in Alexandria, the air between you was electric.
You barely made it inside before he had you pinned against the door, mouth crashing into yours, tongue pushing deep while his hands shoved under your shirt. His cock was already hard against your stomach, grinding slow and filthy.
“Shower,” you panted against his lips, fingers tangled in his hair. “We’re filthy.”
He made a low, rough sound in his throat and bit your bottom lip. “Ain’t promisin’ we’ll come out clean.”
Clothes came off in a messy trail to the bathroom. His vest hit the floor, then your shirt, his jeans, your pants. By the time you stepped under the hot spray, both of you were naked and breathing hard. The water felt good, but it did nothing to cool the heat rolling off Daryl’s body.
You soaped his chest first, hands sliding over old scars and new ones from the war, over the hard planes of muscle. He watched you the whole time, jaw tight, cock thick and flushed between you. When your fingers wrapped around him and stroked, his head tipped back against the tile with a groan.
That was all the invitation you needed.
You dropped to your knees on the wet floor, water streaming down your back and over your face. Daryl’s eyes snapped down to you, pupils blown wide. One of his hands braced on the wall above your head, the other slid into your wet hair, gripping tight.
“Fuck,” he rasped.
You didn’t tease. You were both too far gone for that.
You licked a slow stripe up the underside of his cock, tasting salt and skin and the faint trace of soap, then took the head into your mouth and sucked. Hard. Your tongue pressed against the sensitive spot just under the crown and Daryl’s hips jerked forward on instinct.
“Jesus Christ,” he growled, fingers tightening in your hair. “That’s it, girl. Open up fer me.”
You moaned around him and took more, hollowing your cheeks, working what you couldn’t fit with your hand. The water made everything messier, slicker- your spit mixing with the spray as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper each time. When the head hit the back of your throat you gagged softly, but didn’t pull back. You wanted it. Wanted him to feel how badly you needed this too.
Daryl’s other hand joined the first in your hair. He didn’t force you down, not yet, but he held you steady while his hips started to move in shallow, controlled thrusts. The thick length of him slid over your tongue again and again, stretching your lips, filling your mouth until your eyes watered.
“Look at ya,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “On yer knees for me. Fuckin’ perfect.”
You slid one hand between your own thighs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast circles. You were soaked, aching, thighs trembling. Every time Daryl thrust into your throat you moaned, the vibration making him curse and push a little deeper.
He was losing control. You could feel it in the way his grip tightened, in the rough snap of his hips, in the low, filthy sounds pouring out of him.
“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day,” he gritted out. “Every time I looked at ya. Wanted to drag y’ somewhere quiet ‘n fuck yer throat just like this. Make ya take every inch.”
You pulled off just long enough to gasp for air, lips swollen and shiny, a string of saliva connecting you to the head of his cock. “Do it,” you told him, voice hoarse. “Use me. I can take it.”
Daryl’s eyes went almost black.
He guided your mouth back onto him and this time he didn’t hold back. His hips rolled harder, fucking into the tight, wet heat of your throat in steady, deliberate strokes. You relaxed as much as you could, letting him use you, one hand still working your clit while the other braced on his thigh. Water ran into your eyes, down your chin, over your breasts. The bathroom was filled with the lewd, wet sounds of it- sucking, gagging, his rough breathing, the slap of skin when his balls brushed your chin.
He was close. You could feel it in the way his cock throbbed on your tongue, in the way his thighs tensed under your palm.
But neither of you wanted it to end here.
Daryl pulled you off his cock with a wet pop, chest heaving, and hauled you up to your feet in one rough motion. His mouth crashed into yours again, tasting himself on your tongue, while his hand shoved between your legs and two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning.
“So fuckin’ wet,” he growled against your mouth. “Y’ liked that, huh? Suckin’ me off like a desperate little thing.”
You whimpered, grinding down on his fingers. “Daryl- please- ”
He spun you around and pressed you face-first against the cool tile, one hand between your shoulder blades, the other guiding his cock between your thighs. The fat head nudged against your entrance, slick and insistent.
“This what y’ need?” he asked, voice low and dangerous right against your ear. “Me buried in this pussy? ‘Cause I ain’t stoppin’ once I start, woman. Not tonight.”
You pushed back against him, desperate. “Yes. God, yes. Fuck me.”
Daryl didn’t make you wait.
He thrust in deep in one smooth, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt inside you with a groan that sounded like it had been ripped from his chest. The stretch burned in the best way. Your forehead dropped against the tile as he started to move- hard, deep, relentless- fucking you like he’d been starving for it for weeks.
You barely made it to the bed.
Daryl had come inside you in the shower with a broken groan, hips grinding deep as he emptied himself. The second he pulled out, his cum had started leaking from your swollen cunt, thick and warm, running down your thighs in messy rivulets. Neither of you reached for towels. He just grabbed your wrist and hauled you out, both of you still dripping, stumbling the short distance down the hall like you couldn’t stand to be apart for even a second.
By the time your back hit the mattress you were already spreading your legs for him again, desperate, aching, his cum still oozing out of you onto the sheets.
“More,” you gasped, voice wrecked. “Daryl- fuck, I need more.”
He didn’t make you ask twice.
He crawled between your thighs, eyes fixed on the shiny mess between your legs. Two thick fingers dragged through the cum leaking from your pussy, pushing some of it back inside before he started working you open again- fingers thrusting deep, curling hard against that spot that made your vision blur. His thumb rubbed tight, relentless circles over your clit. You were so sensitive, so fucked-out already, that your hips jerked up helplessly.
“That’s it,” he rasped, watching his fingers disappear into your sloppy cunt. “Take it. Get yerself nice and messy f’ me.”
You moaned, one hand fisting the sheets, the other reaching down to grip his wrist like you needed something to hold onto. The wet sound of his fingers fucking you was obscene. Every time he pulled them out, more of his cum spilled out with them. He was getting hard again fast- his cock thickening against your thigh, heavy and flushed, twitching every time you clenched around his fingers.
When he was fully hard, he pulled his hand free, slick and shiny, and gripped the backs of your thighs. He shoved your legs up and back, folding you in half, hooking your knees over his shoulders until your ankles were near his ears and your cunt was completely exposed to him. The position was perfect- your ass lifted off the bed, everything open and vulnerable.
Daryl lined up and sank into you in one long, deep thrust.
You cried out, back arching as much as the position allowed. He was so deep like this, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every roll of his hips. The stretch burned in the best way. Your hands flew to his arms, nails digging into muscle as he started fucking you in steady, powerful strokes- long and deep, grinding at the end of every thrust like he wanted to live inside you.
You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, a soft, blissed-out smile tugging at your lips even as he fucked you hard enough to rattle the headboard.
Daryl saw it. His gaze locked on your face, something dark and tender flashing in his eyes.
“Fuckin’ look at ya,” he muttered, voice rough. “Smilin’ while I’m buried in this cunt. Goddamn.”
He fucked you harder, the angle brutal and perfect. Every thrust punched little sounds out of you. The pressure built fast- deep in your core, behind your clit, everywhere. You were so relaxed, so open, so full of him that when it finally crested, it didn’t just break. It flooded.
Your orgasm hit like a dam bursting.
Your cunt clamped down hard around him and then you were squirting- hot, sudden gushes of fluid rushing out around his cock, soaking his shaft, his balls, the sheets beneath you in a messy, uncontrollable rush. It kept coming in pulses as your body shook, your mouth open on a silent cry, eyes squeezed shut in pure overwhelmed pleasure.
Daryl’s reaction was instant and filthy.
His hips stuttered, a raw, guttural groan tearing from his chest as he felt you gush all over him. His eyes dropped to where you were connected, watching the way your release coated his cock and dripped down his balls in shiny streams.
“Holy fuck,” he growled, voice wrecked. “That’s it- fuck yes, squirt on my cock, baby. Look at ya… makin’ such a goddamn mess f’ me.”
He didn’t stop. He fucked you straight through it, the wet squelch loud and obnoxious now, his cock sliding easily through the extra slick. One hand left your leg to rub your clit in fast, rough circles, dragging it out until you were squirting again in smaller, helpless bursts, soaking his hand and the bed even more.
“S’ fuckin’ hot,” he panted, eyes wild with lust. “Y’ comin’ like that… squirtin’ all over me while I’m balls-deep in ya. Shit- gonna make me lose it.”
He kept moving, deep and relentless, your legs still pinned over his shoulders as he chased his own release. Every time you clenched around him he groaned like he was in pain, hips snapping harder. The sight of you- relaxed, happy, blissed-out and dripping beneath him- only pushed him closer to the edge.
He was close. You could feel it in the way his rhythm faltered, in the way his grip on your thighs tightened to bruising.
“Gonna fill ya up again,” he warned, voice low and strained. “Gonna pump y’ so full it leaks out for days. Y’ want that?”
You nodded frantically, still trembling from the aftershocks, another soft, happy sound slipping from your throat.
Daryl’s eyes darkened. He fucked you harder, faster, the bed creaking under the force of it, until he buried himself as deep as he could go and came with a broken moan- hot pulses flooding your already messy cunt, mixing with everything already inside you.
He stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours, still buried deep while his cum leaked out around his cock in thick, creamy rivulets.
Neither of you moved to clean up.
Daryl’s hand slid down to where you were joined, fingers gently rubbing your oversensitive clit through the mess, like he couldn’t stop touching you even now.
“Still want more?” he asked, voice hoarse but already stirring again inside you.
You smiled up at him, soft and wrecked and utterly content, and rolled your hips.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Don’t stop.”
His answering grin was all teeth and promise.
“Good,” he rasped, already starting to move again. “’Cause I ain’t anywhere near done with y’ tonight.”
content: 18+, SMUT, MINORS DNI, prison era, sub daryl, pretty vanilla (didn't wanna make it kinky as that feels pretty uncharacteristic for daryl), reader on top, let's ignore that i left daryl high and dry here, short and straight to the point, 0.9k words
While dominating Daryl, he has to stop and tell you that you're being too rough.
Daryl’s stretched out on the bed, unclothed, with his hands gripping the meat of your thighs as you straddle him.
He never thought he'd be in this position—so open, so willing, under the control of another, let alone a woman. But here he lies, face twisted into a grimace while you ride him so hard he thinks he might combust.
He's not quite sure what's gotten into you this evening. Usually speaking, yours and Daryl’s sex life is pretty tame. Not boring, just… normal.
He’s also used to being the one on top. In a post-apocalyptic world, missionary just seems to be the quickest, most convenient position.
Sex with him is satisfactory, to say the least. He doesn't have the highest sex drive, but he always gives in when you have the itch. He'd do just about anything to make you happy, which is why—
“Fuck, Daryl!” you moan above him, loud enough to wake the entire cell block. He sits up in just enough time to clamp his big hand over your mouth. You ride his dick like it's your last day on earth, like a herd of walkers is sure to lurch in and tear the both of you apart.
You're relentless, grinding against his dick at a rate he would be impressed by if he wasn't fearing for his goddamn life. Your hands slam down on his bare chest, keeping him locked in place and allowing you to maintain the rapid movement of your hips.
He’s been grinning and bearing it, which he fully intends on keeping up—until you slap him across the face.
That has his hands reaching out to seize your hips, thumbs roughly digging into the flesh. With the brute strength of his arms, you're unable to move. You're forced to sit on his dick and look him in the eyes, reminding you that you're only in control because he lets you.
“Jesus Christ, girl,” is the first thing to come rasping out from his mouth. The devastated look in your eyes is enough to make him falter over his words. He swallows hard, letting up his hold over your hips. “You're bein’ too rough.”
You frown. “I didn't mean to hurt you,” you say not so innocently. Your thighs tremble on each side of his middle, the wetness from your cunt permeating the dark patch of hair atop his pubic bone.
“You're not exactly hurtin’ me. It's just…” he trails off, looking somewhere past your face. “You're gonna break the damn bed,” he says with a laugh.
You grin stupidly at him. “Guess I got a little carried away, huh?”
“Ya think?” He tucks a strand of sweaty hair behind your ear. “Ya just wanna come so bad, is tha’ it?”
You nod.
“Go on then, sunshine.” He lightly pats your hip. “Make yourself feel good for me.”
You begin to roll your hips against his lap, only a little slower this time. He lies back down, relishing the view that is you conquering his dick. His dick hits the back of your cunt just right with every grind of your hips, eliciting soft moans to fall from your mouth.
He feels you squirm above him, knowing you must ache to pick up the pace, ride him harder, but you're obedient, careful to heed his warning.
Well, for the most part anyway.
“Careful,” he warns when he feels your hips buck forward, threatening to move at a quicker, harsher pace. “Don't wanna wear your old man out, do ya?”
You shake your head, mumbling something unintelligible in response. His lips twitch into a grin, amused that only he has this kind of power over you—and the same goes for him.
Despite his warnings, you can't help but hasten the grinding of your lower body, chasing after something he can feel approaching from inside you. He grasps your hips again, but instead of stopping you, he pushes them back and forth, guiding the movement.
He smirks. “Like a bitch in heat,” he says, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. Your newfound pace is teetering on too much for the old man, but he's far too in awe to do anything about it now. He lies under you with his mouth hung agape while you use him to get off.
“I-I’m gonna—fuck,” manages to escape from your mouth, hips jerking violently back and forth, fingers clinging to his chest. His eyes tape shut, feeling himself become overworked but too stubborn to do anything to stop it. He’s yours… and you're going to use him like it.
“There ya go, girl,” he rasps, putting his weight on his hands to sit level with you. He cocks his head back and a bead of sweat travels from his chin all the way down to his collarbone, stopping beside the tattoo on his chest. “Take what you need.”
And you do just that—folding on top of his chest when your orgasm takes control, causing you to helplessly tremble all over. He holds you in place by your ribs, gently coaxing you through your peak with that raspy southern drawl.
When your orgasm fades, you sit back up on his dick and work to catch your breath. He uses his thumbs to rub slow circles on your thighs, grinning up at you like you’ve never seen.
“What?” you ask, smiling at him.
“Nothin’,” he says, placing his hands behind his head.
“Hope it was worth it,” he adds after a minute.
“Hope what was worth it?”
“Almost killin’ me.”
“Shut up,” you say with a laugh, playfully smacking his chest. “You're so dramatic.”
He scoffs. “You're an animal, woman.”
You lean down, pressing a small peck to his lips. “And you love me.”
content: 18+, SMUT, MINORS DNI, prison era, sub daryl, pretty vanilla (didn't wanna make it kinky as that feels pretty uncharacteristic for daryl), reader on top, let's ignore that i left daryl high and dry here, short and straight to the point, 0.9k words
While dominating Daryl, he has to stop and tell you that you're being too rough.
Daryl’s stretched out on the bed, unclothed, with his hands gripping the meat of your thighs as you straddle him.
He never thought he'd be in this position—so open, so willing, under the control of another, let alone a woman. But here he lies, face twisted into a grimace while you ride him so hard he thinks he might combust.
He's not quite sure what's gotten into you this evening. Usually speaking, yours and Daryl’s sex life is pretty tame. Not boring, just… normal.
He’s also used to being the one on top. In a post-apocalyptic world, missionary just seems to be the quickest, most convenient position.
Sex with him is satisfactory, to say the least. He doesn't have the highest sex drive, but he always gives in when you have the itch. He'd do just about anything to make you happy, which is why—
“Fuck, Daryl!” you moan above him, loud enough to wake the entire cell block. He sits up in just enough time to clamp his big hand over your mouth. You ride his dick like it's your last day on earth, like a herd of walkers is sure to lurch in and tear the both of you apart.
You're relentless, grinding against his dick at a rate he would be impressed by if he wasn't fearing for his goddamn life. Your hands slam down on his bare chest, keeping him locked in place and allowing you to maintain the rapid movement of your hips.
He’s been grinning and bearing it, which he fully intends on keeping up—until you slap him across the face.
That has his hands reaching out to seize your hips, thumbs roughly digging into the flesh. With the brute strength of his arms, you're unable to move. You're forced to sit on his dick and look him in the eyes, reminding you that you're only in control because he lets you.
“Jesus Christ, girl,” is the first thing to come rasping out from his mouth. The devastated look in your eyes is enough to make him falter over his words. He swallows hard, letting up his hold over your hips. “You're bein’ too rough.”
You frown. “I didn't mean to hurt you,” you say not so innocently. Your thighs tremble on each side of his middle, the wetness from your cunt permeating the dark patch of hair atop his pubic bone.
“You're not exactly hurtin’ me. It's just…” he trails off, looking somewhere past your face. “You're gonna break the damn bed,” he says with a laugh.
You grin stupidly at him. “Guess I got a little carried away, huh?”
“Ya think?” He tucks a strand of sweaty hair behind your ear. “Ya just wanna come so bad, is tha’ it?”
You nod.
“Go on then, sunshine.” He lightly pats your hip. “Make yourself feel good for me.”
You begin to roll your hips against his lap, only a little slower this time. He lies back down, relishing the view that is you conquering his dick. His dick hits the back of your cunt just right with every grind of your hips, eliciting soft moans to fall from your mouth.
He feels you squirm above him, knowing you must ache to pick up the pace, ride him harder, but you're obedient, careful to heed his warning.
Well, for the most part anyway.
“Careful,” he warns when he feels your hips buck forward, threatening to move at a quicker, harsher pace. “Don't wanna wear your old man out, do ya?”
You shake your head, mumbling something unintelligible in response. His lips twitch into a grin, amused that only he has this kind of power over you—and the same goes for him.
Despite his warnings, you can't help but hasten the grinding of your lower body, chasing after something he can feel approaching from inside you. He grasps your hips again, but instead of stopping you, he pushes them back and forth, guiding the movement.
He smirks. “Like a bitch in heat,” he says, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. Your newfound pace is teetering on too much for the old man, but he's far too in awe to do anything about it now. He lies under you with his mouth hung agape while you use him to get off.
“I-I’m gonna—fuck,” manages to escape from your mouth, hips jerking violently back and forth, fingers clinging to his chest. His eyes tape shut, feeling himself become overworked but too stubborn to do anything to stop it. He’s yours… and you're going to use him like it.
“There ya go, girl,” he rasps, putting his weight on his hands to sit level with you. He cocks his head back and a bead of sweat travels from his chin all the way down to his collarbone, stopping beside the tattoo on his chest. “Take what you need.”
And you do just that—folding on top of his chest when your orgasm takes control, causing you to helplessly tremble all over. He holds you in place by your ribs, gently coaxing you through your peak with that raspy southern drawl.
When your orgasm fades, you sit back up on his dick and work to catch your breath. He uses his thumbs to rub slow circles on your thighs, grinning up at you like you’ve never seen.
“What?” you ask, smiling at him.
“Nothin’,” he says, placing his hands behind his head.
“Hope it was worth it,” he adds after a minute.
“Hope what was worth it?”
“Almost killin’ me.”
“Shut up,” you say with a laugh, playfully smacking his chest. “You're so dramatic.”
He scoffs. “You're an animal, woman.”
You lean down, pressing a small peck to his lips. “And you love me.”
• Young Daryl Dixon x Young Female Reader • legal age of consent • second person • inner monologue • Merle being charming as ever • no apocalypse or pre apocalypse a/u • trailer trash • underwear fetishism • inexperienced smut • oral f receiving •
Summary: It all started with your panties...
Daryl sat on the steps of his trailer with his elbows on his knees, a forgotten beer by his dusty boots. A bee had done laps around the rim before dipping its fluffy body inside sometime during those minutes he left it unattended, choosing to watch you instead.
His new neighbor.
The previous tenant was an old prick with a gambling problem—if winning a third of the time still counts as a problem—who couldn't put weight on his right foot because of the missing toes, and he fought relentlessly to keep his grass tall enough to function as a fence. It never did work as one. All it managed to be was an eyesore that attracted mosquitoes.
Up to the heart attack, he fit right into this place, unlike you—his estranged grandchild.
Pretty
Quiet
Naive
Before you'd even spread his ashes, you had started making the place your own. Potted flowers and herbs, lace curtains, fairy lights, and even a radio by a foldable lounge chair outside.
It only took a couple of hours for the radio to get stolen from your little piece of trash heaven, though it only took Daryl a couple of minutes to get it back. It wasn't even a nice radio, but the fact that it was so easy to take it from you was a good enough reason to do it.
Yet god forbid some bastard steal the view from his window: You turning red as a tomato, mouthing the words to songs that were older than you both combined.
You were across from him, laundry basket propped against your hip, hauling sun-dried items from the clothingline. You never bothered removing the clothespins properly; the tugging sent little plastic clips flying into the grass, where they'd stay forgotten until your next laundry day or until you had to retrieve them before his mower turned them into confetti.
He had warned you not to whine if and when his ol' reliable shredded whatever shit you left outside, and so far, that was the longest string of words he'd said to you.
Your sandals were his first victims
Your gnomes were a close second
Last time, though, he almost mowed over your underwear.
Daryl was ready to keep his word and run over that item of clothing that fell from the basket on your way back inside—but he didn't. Instead, he found himself bending down, balling them in his hand, and stuffing them into his pocket.
Those panties with a blue bow were still in his bedside drawer, waiting for their next date with his fist and cock. If he kept watching you sweat through your tank top, a rosy blush spreading across your nose and bare shoulders, he'd be doomed to indulge every perverted movie running through his head tonight, assuming Merle didn't drag him off somewhere first.
He wondered if you missed those panties, if their absence would have you retrace your steps, leading you to him. If you saw him taking them, saw him bringing your radio back. Saw the scrapes across his knuckles, because that's the only way people kept their belongings off limits around here.
He wondered why he cared at all.
You pulled the last shirt from the line, tossed it into the basket, then glanced over your shoulder to send him a nod. It was a I've felt your eyes on me for fifteen minutes straight and I'm not making this a thing type of nod. Not that you owed him more than that, but still, it bothered him. You'd been neighborly before: small talk, weather, the usual. He'd gotten used to it, even though his dry attitude gave you the opposite impression. Guess it was a matter of time before you'd stop being friendly. That bothered him even more.
So he cleared his throat.
"I was thinkin'..." he began, his southern drawl cutting through the lulling sounds of late summer surrounding you both. The humming of cicadas, and the wind chimes hanging from your awning became background noise to whatever he was making an effort to vomit out. "Since I'm mowin' yer side, it's only fair ya do my laundry." Could've jus' talked about the heat, dumbass.
You blinked, glancing between him and the yard like you were checking if he was talking to someone else, not expecting him to start a conversation let alone make—what you assumed was—a joke. "I said I'd pay. You didn't take the money," you reminded him, thinking back at the first time he crossed the invisible line separating his side from yours two months ago.
~~~His short hair, the color of oats, stuck to the back of his neck as the lawnmower chewed through the weeds and anything in its way. You waved a couple of bucks, yelling over the motor for him to take it and asking if he wanted something to drink too. He didn't talk. Didn't even look at you; he just waved you off like a pesky mosquito buzzing too close to his face, then kept mowing. ~~~
"I ain't want ya money, girl. Maybe I jus' want my stuff to smell like roses too."
Playing along, you tilted your head as if considering it. "So you trim my grass...and in return...I have to clean skid marks off your boxers, correct?" Youd set the basket down and moved closer with a smirk. "Not sure if that's a fair labor trade."
"Watch it," Daryl snapped, but there was no real bite to it. He pushed himself off the steps to meet you halfway because, if he planned jerk-off to you later, he might as well get a good whiff—for the sake of a vivid fantasy, of course.
It was the only motive behind the conversation, at least that is what he said to himself.
"Dirt and motor oil I can own ta that," he said. "But shit? Ya leave that to my brother, Merle."
You snorted, loud and a little apologetic, your eyes crinkling as you smiled at him. The unladylike sound made the corners of Daryl's mouth twitch, but he wiped that look off fast before it got comfortable enough to stay, though not fast enough that you missed it.
You couldn't really miss much standing so close to him.
He had eyes the color of wornout denim
Two moles on the corner of his mouth
Sweaty
Earthy
He smelled like concrete after lightning
"I'll bake you something," you said, folding your arms.
He blinked. "What?"
"I said...I would bake you something." Your eyes dropped to the ground as you rocked back and forth on your heels, suddenly feeling a little silly for suggesting it. Judging by the look on his face, it was as if you’d spoken another language. "You know...as payment for mowing my poor excuse of a garden."
He felt his ears burn. This wasn't part of the plan, though he hadn't exactly had one to begin with. "Suppose that ain't a terrible trade..." he muttered, scratching the hollow under his cheekbone; his eyes avoided yours and landing on the dumpster by his trailer instead. S'many goddamn bees 'round since you got here.
You smiled, victorious. "Good. We have a deal then, neigh—"
"Daryl."
One beat
"...Daryl," you repeated with such sweetness that he could hardly believe that was his name he was hearing. You turned to retrieve the basket before heading inside, waving goodbye as the screen door shut behind you.
By the time you had crossed the distance to your trailer, his heart sped up like it had accepted something before he had.
Ah, Fuck.
He took a step back and inhaled as if he'd been underwater. How he managed to keep a conversation with you going was one thing, but getting a cake from it all? Maybe he should've played the lottery while he was at it.
Maybe things were turning around for him.
Maybe—
He sneezed loud enough to lose his balance.
He'd been so fixed on you that he hadn't realized he felt like complete and utter dogshit. He wiped his runny nose with his forearm—the fever officially welcoming summer.
You hadn't seen or spoken to Daryl in two days. In fact, the man had not stepped out of his trailer once. You knew this because you'd gotten into the habit of watching him from behind your curtains. It had started as a way to pass the time after moving in, but somewhere along the way, curiosity had turned into something you couldn't name.
You'd learned that Daryl was a creature of habit.
He woke before the mourning doves even began to coo and vanished into the woods for hours, returning either with nothing at all or enough meat to last the week. He took on odd jobs around the trailer park, fixed cars for cheap, and spent most of his time alone rebuilding an old bike he'd salvaged. At night, he would leave with his older brother, and you wouldn't catch sight of him again until the next day.
The nights when he stayed in were the ones you preferred, because he would sit outside for hours and stargaze with such an unguarded look on his face that you felt compelled to look away, but you never did.
Perhaps, like everyone else, you were only meant to see the scowl he wore for the world—and that version of him was like nightshade blooming, something rare in nature, reserved only for the crickets and the moon.
Or maybe, with proper care and patience—and cake—he would open up to you too.
The lack of rain meant the grass was brittle and dying before it ever grew past your ankles, so his mowing wasn't in the cards yet. You could bake him something for the previous mowings, though. It seemed fair, and it was an excuse to go see him. You didn't want to dwell on why you wanted to see him, so you snatched your apron and got to baking instead.
Unsure of what he liked, you decided on something safe. He wasn't picky—you'd seen him haul roadkill enough times to support your theory that he would eat anything. Just nothing with peanuts, in case he was allergic.
An hour later, the cramped kitchen smelled of lemon citrus and powdered sugar.
The bees crawled up and down the screen door, desperately trying to get inside. They had claimed your basil and lavender as their own, but this cake was off-limits.
By the time it was cool enough to dust with powdered sugar and little daisies, the sky had turned indigo, and the streetlight had beckoned all the flying insects in a mile radius with its flickering to come closer.
You skipped the short distance between trailers with the cake in your hands.
It had been a long time since you baked something for someone else. Like your parent— wherever they were—you had a persistent itch to move around with barely any money, which meant not staying in one spot long enough for strangers to turn into acquaintances. It felt nice, though, to put time and care into a place and someone else. You still weren't sure how long you'd stay at the trailerpark. The plan had been to put your time into being your grandpa's caregiver, knowing he would changed his mind and decided he would rather be alone eventually, but death took him before he ever got the opportunity to kick you out. You thanked thanked him for his timing.
You knocked on the door
Fixed your dress
The door opened
Your smile dropped
It wasn't Daryl
Merle stood there at the top of the steps instead, leaning against the frame with the same hooded yet ready-to-bite look he always carried around like a pocket knife.
"Well, well," he drawled. "What do we have here? Ya lost, little lady? Y'trailer is that way." He pointing downward with his index finger and made a small circling motion for you to turn around.
"Not lost, just wondering," you looked past him into the empty trailer, 'if Daryl is here?"
He scratched his chin. "Depends. That cake ya holdin'—is it for him?" His eyes landed on the cake, on your face, on your knees poking underneath the short dress, like he was giving his eyes enough time to decide what looked better, because for people like him, it was a sight for sore eyes.
Finding dog shit in his mailbox? Sure. Getting a brick thrown at his window because he may or may not have slept with someone's sister? Possible. A pretty youngling like yourself bringing cake to the Dixon residence? In his wet dreams.
"It is. For being helpful with mowing my side."
"That so? Quite the oasis y'got over there." He chuckled. "How about this. I will personally give it to him, alright? He’s out. Somethin' about a headache. Dunno. Might be a while." He tilted his head toward the doorway. "Unless ya wanna wait in—"
You shook your head before he could finish asking. 'Tell him thank you," you said, handing over the cake. "And that I hope he likes it."
"Will do." He smirked, lifting the cake to his nose and taking in a loud sniff. "Don' worry, buttercup. I know my baby brother appreciates such a tender gesture."
He shut the door with his boot before you could ask about the headache.
The next day, sitting hunched on a milk crate with a screwdriver in hand, Daryl worked on replacing the clutch on his bike, muttering a deflated curse every time a stubborn screw refused to cooperate.
The flu had a tight hold on him. Every time he looked up, pressure throbbed behind his eyes, and every time he looked down, his sinuses clogged until he was forced to breathe through his mouth. His body begged for a few more hours of sleep—for a bowl of chicken noodle soup, for a cool cloth pressed to the back of his neck.
Like a sissy, he thought, too stubborn to rest. He had lived his whole life without any of those things, so why expect them now? Hell, if his old man was still kicking, he would've gotten the whooping of his life for complaining or being useless.
Daryl had been so wrapped up in his own misery to pay attention to what was going on across from him. It took a loud crash to cut through that fevered haze that dulled his senses, and when his head shot up he found you getting cornered by a stranger.
The man laughed humorlessly, swinging his leg as far back as it could go before bringing it forward—boot striking the ceramic gnome, sending it flying towards the side of the trailer, missing you by an inch, and shattering into pieces like the first one.
Daryl wasn't sure how he made it to you so fast, because one second he was by his bike, then the next he was pressing the tip of the screwdriver against the man's throat, as a string of pleas came out of their mouth.
Sharin'
Whore
Relax man
Don't!
"If I catch ya 'round here again—messin' with my neighbor, I will have yer ass breathing through a custom airhole, understood?" He pressed the tip deeper, voice low, then louder. "Understood?!"
"Y-yes, yes! Understood!" The man begged, tossing his head back in a weak attempt to make space between his throat and the rusty tool.
Daryl used his last ounce of strength to hurl the man to the ground, where he stayed for a second, before scrambling back on his feet to run off. Daryl held his ground until the man disappeared from sight, and only then did his shoulders slump. He braced a hand against the trailer, visibly struggling to stay upright.
You quickly moved towards him, offering a shoulder for him to lean on. "Daryl, what is it?"
He shook his head, trying to straighten up on his own. "M'fine, girl. Just the heat."
You frowned, pressing your hand against his damp forehead. "You're burning up! Come on, let's go inside."
Daryl resisted yet somehow ended on your couch.
He groaned, watching the ceiling fan spin on the ceiling, though it was turned off. Or was it turned on? Everything in the room was spinning, regardless.
He turned to the side to find you hovering over him, messy hair spilling from your bun—brows knit together, focused on taking care of him as if he was worth the trouble. You brushed the damp strands from his forehead before pressing an ice pack against it. He flinched at the cold shock, then sighed and melted deeper into the nest of cushions.
S'comfy... smells good...
"The hell is this?" He muttered, attempting to lift his head to look around, only for you to stop him.
"You're in my place. Now stay still. Don't be difficult."
"Difficult? I jus' saved yer ass."
You clicked your tongue, both grateful and mad at him. "Well maybe next time, don't tell other people I pay manual labor with cake, alright? Apparently, that's code for something else around here..." You tried to brush it off as a minor inconvenience, as a joke even, but it was clear you were shaken up by the situation. He could feel the unsteady grip you had on the icepack—eyes darting from him to the door as if expecting another unwelcomed visitor, sent by Dixon, to show up.
Daryl wrapped his fingers around your wrist, lowering your hand with the icepack. The kicked puppy look on your face made his chest ache more than any sickness. "Not sure if it's the fever, but yer makin' no sense. I didn't say any of that, y/n."
The gentle yet firm hold he had around your wrist—the way he called you by your name made your heart flutter. You wanted to believe that at least one person had your back around here. You wanted to believe him, especially.
So that meant—
"Oh." You let out a dry chuckle at the realization. "Guess I made the wrong impression on your brother."
"Merle? What does he have ta do with this?"
"Last night, when I dropped off your cake he—"
Daryl didn't need to hear the rest to figure it out. He abruptly got up—fever be damned—ready to beat the shit out of his own flesh and blood.
~~~He'd made his way back to his trailer late at night from a walk to the gas station for painkillers. He glanced at your trailer to see if all the lights were out before heading inside. He found Merle in front of the TV—mouth open, empty cans sprawled around his feet. Nothing out of the ordinary, but then he stopped and squinted, doing a double-take when he noticed a powdery substance around Merle's mouth. Damn pig, he thought, but he was too tired to question it, let alone care.
He would not know you'd been there a few hours ago. ---
"Merle, you son of a—" He felt a flicker of disappointment for missing the cake you made for him, but it was overrun by the anger he felt towards Merle for running his mouth like that—dragging your name through dirt before you'd even settled down. He knew how fast rumours spread around here, and how hard they clung once they did.
He wasn't sure if it was the fever that made him want to vomit on the carpet in that moment. No. It was the guilt in his stomach trying to claw its way out.
He had stolen from you.
Fantasized about you.
Like his brother, like that bastard moments ago...
He wasn't any better.
You pressed a hand to his chest, easing him back onto the couch before he could throw himself into a fight you knew he had no chance of winning in his condition. "Did you at least get to try the cake?"
Daryl just turned his head away.
You took that as a no and walked to the stove to make tea—something with ginger and honey for him. His voice was still charmingly rough, but you could tell each word scraped at his sore throat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you were the one who said those things about me," you said, grabbing two of your silliest mugs, hoping it would lighten the mood.
Daryl winced. "The hell are ya apologizing for? The only thing y'done wrong is move into this dump," he muttered, eyelids becoming too heavy to keep open.
Christ, if it was easier when the only thing I wanted was to jerk-off to yer panties.
The realization landed like a punch. He wanted you to bake for him—to fuss over him when he got sick. He wanted to stay on your couch, drink tea from that ridiculous mug with boobs on it... He wanted to know how your days went. He wanted to keep you safe, help you with your garden tomorrow, then the next day, and the day after that, for as long as you'd let him.
Daryl wanted whatever this was with you.
You sat down on the coffee table in front of him and set the mugs aside. Sometime during those minutes you were making tea, he'd stretched out, muttered something about you living here being a mistake, and then closed his eyes.
You knew better than to take anything he said in his state personally, yet you still found yourself sitting alone with your thoughts, and the possibility of staying or going.
You leaned forward to trace the slope of his nose with your fingertip, getting a twitch from him before he swatted lazily at your hand.
"You saying I should move away, Daryl?" You whispered it more to the room than to him, but still, you hoped he would wake up and tell you what you wanted to hear.
You could move away as many times as you wanted, but loneliness waited for you everywhere you went. It had become a sort of entity that, in its attempts to protect you from other people and the heartache that came with them, only made things worse.
Daryl saying that you being here was wrong felt like waking from a dream before the good part happened. Deep down, you were just a lonely girl who always kept a suitcase within reach, never stopping her dreams of the day she would turn around and find she was worth chasing after.
Maybe it was time for you to wakeup for good.
smut below the bow
You sighed, getting up to leave when a hand reached out for you.
Daryl's calloused fingers found their way to the back of your neck, pulling you in until his mouth crashed against yours, drawing a gasp out of you.
The kiss was messy. Salt from his fever mixing with the lingering sweetness from the tea on your tongue. Inexperienced. Teeth crashing. Noses in the way. Desperate. In its attempt to keep and possess something too precious to let go of.
He pulled you onto the couch, rolling on top of you, tossing cushions out of the way to make space. He wasn't sure if this was a fever-induced dream, but he couldn't stop kissing you—not when you were finally within reach, yet talking nonsense about leaving.
He felt your hands ball in his shirt, struggling to push him off. He groaned, unlatching from your mouth unwillingly, but with enough restraint left to do so.
You looked wrecked trying to catch your breath—eyes glossy, bottom lip swollen, a string of spit that could've belonged to either one of you on your chin, and sweat pooling in the hollows of your collarbone due to his fevered body heat. He cradled your face with his hand, and you melted into it—breaths evening out and eyes fluttering shut to take in what just happened.
You looked so sweet that he couldn't believe it, so he pinched your cheek hard enough to make you yelp.
"Mm! What was that for?!"
He shrugged. "Jus' Checkin' if I'm dreaming.'
"That's not how that works, idiot!" you snapped, then turned your head away when he didn't break eye contact, like you were used to. Oh, and now he kissed you? The fever must've melted something in his brain, you thought, looking for an explanation for your dreams becoming tangible.
"You're not thinking straight. We shouldn't b—"
"Not like I'm drunk, girl."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smile.
Then you noticed the hollows under his eyes and the tremors in his arms on either side of your head. Clearly, he was fighting to keep from collapsing on top of you, and you couldn't just ignore it.
"You need to rest, Daryl."
"Nah, I need..." He signed hard. "I need ya, please."
You swallowed the lump in your throat—heart racing, resolve crumbling just from a plea and from the way he looked at you, like you were the night sky. It made your hands reach for him before your brain decided otherwise. "Just go slow."
"Slow's alright."
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing the flush across his cheeks, before drawing him closer—his eyes closing. The meeting of lips was slower this time, but just as needy. He let out a whine against your mouth, and the sound made heat pull between your thighs until you felt a heartbeat there. Your hands moved across his shoulders, tracing the curve of his strong biceps before sliding down his toned back. You found the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to slip your hands underneath the fabric—fingertips mapping the line of his spine, tracing the unexpected ridged scar tissue that made your brows knit together in wonder.
He tensed.
"Don't." The word came out harsher than he intended, but the vulnerability under it didn't escape you. "Jus' keep 'em on my hair."
"O-okay."
When he felt your hands settle in his hair again, he relaxed then kissed your neck, the space between your breast, your belly. His decent continued until he settled between your thighs, hoisting them so they would rest over his broad shoulders. He pushed up your dress, exposing another exact pair of the panties he took.
He cursed under his breath or maybe it was a prayer; you couldn't hear clear enough over your own breathing.
He leaned forward and tugged at the little blue bow with his teeth, the elastic snapping back against your skin with a sting. You giggled, nervously, and ruffled his hair. He smirked, nuzzling the damp spot forming in the center of your panties.
You gasped, lifting your hips to chase the teasing friction. He gave your clit a kiss over the cotton, then another. It felt better than you could've imagined, but it wasn't enough. You didn't want him to go slow after all. "More, faster—anything," You whined, impatiently. "Please, it aches."
"Mm, that right?" He teased, hooking his finger around your panties to pull them to the side, exposing your drenched pussy. "Look at ya, S'pretty." He drawled, before he licked a stripe from your entrance to that engorged, pink button. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste and those shy little sounds you made after each kitten lick.
His poor cock was strained and leaking precum inside his boxers, so he couldn't help grind against the couch—desperate to ease his own ache. If it wasn't for the fever he would've carried you to bed and fucked you properly by now. Make every fantasy he once poored into your panties a reality.
He tried not to think about it too much for the sake of keeping his load in, but it was easier said than done.
his cock bulging in your belly, cum spilling out when he was finished, only to go at it again and again, until you got knocked up with his redneck babies—trapping you forever.
Breathe, dammit. Gotta make her finish 'fore I pass out or cum, he thought, and then the possibility of just dying while eating you out made a delirious, gravelly laugh rumble in his throat.
The never-before-heard sound made your head clear up abruptly. You knew he wasn't in his right mind, but still, you felt your face burn from whatever it was he found so funny. Without so much as a second thought, you flicked his forehead hard, just in case he was laughing at you.
Daryl sent you a glare—giving your hip a sharp smack in return, before he gave you something better to blush about. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on it until your eyes rolled back into your skull and your fingernails clawed at his scalp.
"Ohmm—fuck!" You cried, squirming under him—shyness out the window.
He groaned against your skin, his mouth relentless. That' more like it.
He swirled your clit over and over, guessing you were close by the drunk look on your face, and the way you began to fuck youself up into his mouth with short rocking motions.
"Ya like that, huh?"
"Y-yeah, baby, so good," you whimpered, the petname nearly undoing him on the spot.
Baby? Shit, I ain't gon' last.
Daryl lifted his head, replacing his tongue with his thumb, drawing tight circles around your clit, while he waited for saliva to gather under his tongue. "Fuuck—Come on, sweetheart." He spit right on your pussy, thumb speeding up and mixing all the fluids together. "Y'can do it."
That definitely did it.
You cried out as the tight knot in your belly finally snapped. Insides spasming. Vision blurring. Heat spreading from your core to your limbs, until you trembled.
He groaned against your pussy as a warm gush of juices hit his tongue. He lapped every drop, like the parched mutt he was, until his poor cock couldn't take it anymore. He dropped his head on your lower belly cursing through gritted teeth as he drove his hips against the couch hard, until thick ropes of cum shot out, leaving a pathetic mess in his jeans.
The room fell silent as you both went slack, leaving only the electric hum of the old appliances and the patter of rain against the windows fill the space was once occupied by ragged breaths and pleasure-slick skin.
Then Daryl's breathless voice cut through the silence. "You move away, sweetheart...I'll hunt ya down."
The tender threat pulled you out of your dazed state. Your opened your mouth to say something—you needed to—but then you heard it. You lowered your gaze toward the sound, expecting blue eyes to be waiting for you. Instead, you found his cheek smooshed against your belly, brows relaxed, and his lips slightly parted.
Snoring
You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh, then ran your fingers through his hair—gentle enough not to jostle him awake, though even in sleep, he frowned and tightened his hold around your middle.
He could sleep for as long as he wanted, you thought, because for the first time in a long time, staying exactly where you were didn't feel like such a bad idea.
🐝 FIN 🐝
Note:
I love old Daryl, but I had this scenario of young 20's Daryl living in a trailer park snatching panties, and yup.
This is my first time writing smut, so have mercy on me!!!
The word clit doesn't sound like a real word anymore.
Anomia will forever kick my ass. It took me 10 minutes to remember the word curtain.
Hope ya'll liked it! This was so far the longest fic in my drafts. Never again. Gon' stick to shorter ones for a while. My poor brain.
(Dividers by: @uzmacchiato and @kthice )
Some little fun facts:
• Concrete after lighting is a perfume that exists.
• The title of the fic is the song reader was listening to while tanning.
• Read an article on autism symptoms improving amid a fever. Being sick = clarity of mind, better eye contact, less anxiety. That influenced how I wrote Daryl. I just noticed.
• Merle is an ass (Gotta love him though)
Why do I get the feeling that reader will not only get sick after this, thanks to Daryl, but get knocked up embarrassingly quick, like after their first time, and become young parents?? Uncle Merle is just relieved that his baby brother isn't a fairy, like he suspected for a second there. Pfft funny.
Bonus! perfume moodboard:
This work of fiction was written while listening to...
Summary: After catching Daryl sneaking into your room and stealing from you, you confront him in the watchtower. The argument turns into a heated encounter, but when Daryl becomes cold afterward, you punch him. He covers for you back at the prison, leaving you conflicted and emotionally drained.
Warnings: 18+, suggestive content minors dni, swearing, creep!daryl, stalking/watching, fighting, physical violence, obsessive!daryl, oral sex (reader recieving), p in v sex, dirty talking, rough sex, daryl is an eater, daryl is also an absolute asshole
Word Count: 4,524
A/N: OOOH! Did I have fun writing this one! It's long, but it's definitely worth it. It's definitely not the end btw!!!
I've been gaining a bit of traction recently. Thank you all for the support. I'm just getting into this as a hobby, so if you have suggestions for my writing style, or things you want me to write about, please let me know!
As you drive back towards the prison, the sun starts to set, streaks of gold against the trees.
Daryl didn’t say much. He just watched you, tongue pressed to the side of his mouth.
“Oh shit.” You mutter. The check engine light blinks to life, a second later smoke billows from the hood. You coast to the shoulder and park. “Nice job.” Daryl snickers to himself from the passenger seat.
You pop the hood, staring at the thin steam of smoke. “Not much point in fixing it.” You shrug, “Barely had enough gas in it to get us back.”
Daryl climbed out, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. He tosses your pack to you.
“Guess we’re hoofing it.” He grunts and starts out.
The walk started in silence, your boots crunching against the rocks on the road.
“What did you do before the apocalypse?” You tilt your head at him.
“Nothin’.” He walks next to you. “Hunted. Some odd repairs. I got into a lot of shit with my brother… Merle.”
“I didn’t know you have a brother.” You search his face, his blue eyes sinking
“Had.” Daryl takes a quiet breath.
“Oh.” You pause. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Daryl shifts his crossbow.
You both walk in silence for a while.
“So…” You glance at him. “You always keep people at arm’s length?”
He snorts, fiddling with his knife in his hand. “Most folks keep themselves there.”
“I didn’t.” You face away from him. “I tried to be your friend.”
“Don’t need friends.”
Your cheeks feel warm. “Then why do you watch me all the time?” It comes out before you even think about it.
Daryl pauses, a small grumble escaping his throat. “I just….” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck.
“Daryl.”
“Just kept endin’ up where you were.” He watches the ground fall under his boots.
“Bullshit.” You can feel the frustration.
‘How can he spend weeks pretending you don’t exist… and still know exactly where you are?’
Daryl clears his throat. “Almost there.” His hand is tight around the crossbow strap.
You swallow an uncomfortable lump sitting in your throat.
The gates to the prison come into view, and you both go in. The moment you pass through, Daryl peels away from your side, as if the whole interaction had never happened.
Like he didn’t want anyone seeing you two together.
Nearly a month goes by, Daryl avoiding you completely. You saw him around, but his face was always turned away from you. It was impressive how good he was at avoiding you.
‘Keep ending up where you were, my ass.’ The thought lingered as you lay awake one night.
As you lay there, eyes barely open, unable to sleep from the stifling heat in the prison, you hear a quiet shuffling, someone's light footsteps across the concrete. They get closer to your cell, until they stop right in front.
A hand slowly pulls the makeshift door away, only slightly. You froze, making slits with your eyes, just enough to see out of. Your breath slowed, but your heart beat so fast you thought it might jump out of your chest.
Daryl’s face slipped through. For a long moment, he stood still, watching you. Watching the way your chest rose and fell, the soft parting of your lips. Finally satisfied that you were asleep, his gaze turned to the floor.
A pile of clothes from today and the day before, sat on your floor. He crouched, extending his arm over the pile, feeling around. His jaw tensed the moment he found it.
He balled it up in his fist, slipping it into his pocket before he stood again. Your pulse hammered harder.
He watched you for a moment longer, tongue working the corner of his mouth, before he backed away, out of the room, eyes only leaving you once the curtain fell again.
You waited, until you heard his footsteps stop, the light shuffling of him getting back into his sleeping bag.
Only then did you roll onto your side, curling into the corner of your cot. Your heart refused to slow.
‘What the fuck…’
He'd come into your room. He'd been watching you sleep. And he'd taken something.
‘What did he take?’
Your eyes darted to the pile of clothes on the floor, trying to remember what had been there.
‘Do I tell Rick? Do I wake somebody up? What the fuck was that?’
You squeezed your eyes shut.
Sleep didn't come for a long time.
As soon as you woke up, you reached for the pile. You tore through them.
Shirt. Pants. Socks. Your breath caught. The underwear you wore yesterday.
Gone.
Your stomach dropped. You stood up, dressed yourself quickly and went out, in search of Rick.
“Hey Y/N! How was going out yesterday?” Sasha calls out to you.
“Sorry Sasha, not now.” You keep walking towards the door.
Sasha gives you a puzzled look, following after you. “Are you ok?”
The lie came quickly. “I’m fine. Have you seen Rick?” You go to push open the door.
“He left this morning, took Carol and Michonne with him. Some scouting thing.” Sasha caught up with you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Really, you don’t seem ok. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I… he…ugh.” You sigh. “If they are all gone, who’s in charge?” You try to act calm. “Daryl, he..” You pause, eyes moving past Sasha’s face to behind her, where Daryl is sitting at a table.
Your eyes meet for a second before he turns away like he’d been caught.
“Rick left Daryl in charge.” Sasha nods. “I saw him earlier, do you want me to help you find him?”
You looked at Daryl but he kept his head down.
Daryl can see the upset in your face, the fear. He knows you know.
‘Dirty girl, probably wants her panties back.’ He snickered to himself, thumbing the fabric of them on his pocket.
You snap back, acting much more calm. “No, no, it's ok. I just.. I needed to talk to Rick about going out again.” You brush it off completely.
“I wanted to try to get an early start, but I slept in so I was upset. I’ll just go out tomorrow.” You force a slight smile.
You made it out the front doors before you let yourself breathe. You sat down on the ground, boots digging into the dirt.
You replayed the scene in your head. Him in your room, watching you. Taking your underwear.
It sent shivers up your spine.
You shut your eyes. It feels like yesterday, you were both laughing, walking together. Now it's like it never happened.
“Hey.” Someone stood over you. “What’re you doing out here?”
“I just needed some air.” You looked up at them “What’s up?”
“Well, Tyreese is in the tower, but he’s not feeling good. Would you be willing to take over tonight?”
The thought of spending a few hours alone sounded better than going back inside. “Yeah.” You stood up, brushing the dirt from your pants. “I can do that.”
You made your way up the tower. Tyreese thanked you and went down. You sat, binoculars pressed to your face for hours until the sun dipped in the west. Then under darkness, you watched as Sasha and a few others came out and worked at the walkers on the fence, thinning the herd. Once they were satisfied, they moved back inside.
Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about Daryl. You had just started to like him again and then he turned around and acted that way again. It hurts worse now. You mulled over his actions in your head again and again.
He was a creep, sure. But he was also funny. And attractive, which you hated thinking about.
The apocalypse hadn't afforded you many opportunities for romance, or even hookups. At this point, you had forgotten what any of it felt like. Sometimes, when things got too quiet, or you got too bored, you could get off on just the thought of someone.
You bit your lip, remembering what you did last time you were up here.
The thoughts of him came back again too, coupled with new ones. His rough laugh, the way his eyes looked as he lit your cigarette. You missed being touched, held, wanted. And you despised that you wanted that from Daryl of all people, even if it was only a little bit.
Below, the tower door thudded shut, footsteps up the stairs. You turned around. Daryl stood on one hip in the doorway. He held a plate with food on it.
“Brought ya dinner.” He held it out to you.
“How do I know it's not poisoned?”
One corner of his mouth twitched.
“It ain’t.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
He lifted a piece of the food to his mouth and took a small bite, swallowing it.
“There.” He extended it to you again.
“I’m not hungry.” You folded your arms. “Just go away.”
His eyes drifted over you before they settled again on your face.
‘Looking at me like she doesn’t want me, yea fuckin’ right.’ Daryl’s mind rolled in the sight of you.
“Been up here all day. Ya need to eat.” He steps towards you.
You step back in response
“I don’t get it.” You shake your head
He stares at you.
“How can you be so nice…” You can feel the heat rising in your face.
“So friendly to me…”
Your voice cracked.
“And then turn around and be such a fucking creep?”
Daryl didn’t answer.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” You continued. “One minute you're making me laugh…” You swallow. “The next you're sneaking into my room. Stealing my shit.”
Daryl takes another step towards you.
‘I should take her right now.’ His thoughts snap, ‘The way she’s looking at me.’
“I know you took them.” You shift your weight. “Just give them back. I won’t tell anyone.”
Daryl places the plate on the floor, still locked on you.
“Can you please just give them back?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept walking until there was nowhere for you to go.
Your back hit the cold railing behind you. “Fucking say something Daryl.” Your voice comes out rushed.
His body tensed. His eyes searched yours like he was looking for words he didn’t have. Instead, he reached up, his rough hands brushing your face slowly.
You froze.
For a long second, neither of you moved.
‘Fuck it, nows a good enough time as any.’ Finally his thoughts and body connect.
Then, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours.
It was rough. You smelled sweat and pine on him.
You pulled away, face twisted in confusion.
“If you… you can’t just...” Your eyes wanders across his face, heart pounding against your chest. His hand rested against your face still.
“Fuck you Daryl.” You go to move his hand away. “That’s not fair.”
He slides it down, meeting your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, instead running his thumb over your vein, feeling the rush of your pulse, before he moves it to the back of your neck.
He leans in again, pressing his lips against your ear. You raised your hands against his chest, feeling the muscle there. You softened at the feeling of him so close to you.
“ ‘M sorry.” His voice was gentle and rumbling. “Actin’ the way I was.”
He paused. He slid his other hand to your waist, keeping the touch soft. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, just as quick as yours. You suck in a breath. You hated how quickly your body reacted to it, the warmth of him, the closeness.
“You don’t get to just…” you started, but your voice didn’t come out as strong as you wanted it to. It wavered too much.
“Was wrong.” He kept his body still. “I know that.”
You started again, trying to steady your voice. “You don’t get to do that and then kiss me.” His thumb shifted at your waist, playing with the hem of your pants.
You didn’t flinch. Instead, you moved your hand down slightly, letting him lean into you more.
His eyes flicked to your lips for a brief second, thumb moving across your waistband again.
He kept his voice low, “I can make it up to ya.”
You shivered at his words, his hands across your body. He was so… frustrating.
Heat creeped at the edges of your face, causing you to blush slightly. You took a slow breath.
“D’ya want that?” His face came closer to yours again. Your body reacted before you could say anything, kissing him again. The question answered without words.
‘Fuck this isn’t fair.’ You try to will yourself back, but the rush of everything, of him, is too much.
His hand snaked up into your hair, grabbing a fistfull, holding your head as you kissed. Slowly your hand fell, finding his waistband, curling your fingers into it. The kiss became more rushed, mouths mashing into each other, tongues meeting.
He groaned into the kiss, finally pulling away. Your face was fully flushed, mouth wet. He tilted his head and placed a row of kisses down your neck, using his hand in your hair to pull your head back. He reached the hem of your shirt before he stopped, sticking his tongue out, licking back up to below your ear.
You shuddered at the feeling, heat coursing through you now. Your fingers clawed at his waistband, sliding in. You gripped it, using it to pull him into you. He reacted to the touch, following your lead.
His hand thumbed your hip again. You pushed your hips into his, letting out a soft moan. You slid a finger under his waistband, against his skin, still gripping it. He kissed you again, turning away from the railing.
You moved backwards, still caught with him, towards the open room, until you caught against another wall. You can feel how bad he wants you in the way he kisses you, desperate and hungry. He slides his hand from your waist to your pussy, pressing his palm against it through your pants. The warmth and pressure of it is enough to force a low moan from your throat.
He catches this, pressing in harder, pulling it up and down slowly.
Your hand inched further under his waistband, feeling the toned muscle underneath. He goes back to your neck, leaving kisses, then small bites, across your skin. You moan again, hips bucking against the agonizing pace he set with his hand.
His other hand lets go of your hair, finding your breast, palming it through your shirt.
“Please.” You whisper.
“Ya want this?” His voice is rough in your ear
You nod, hand finding his dick under his jeans finally. He sucks in a breath, feeling you start to stroke it before he reaches down, grabbing your wrist. He pulls your hand out of his pants, meeting your eye with his.
“You don’t need to do a thing darlin’,” He pauses. “Not yet.”
He steps away slightly, grabbing your shirt with both hands before he pulls it off of you. Then your bra. His eyes fall over your tits, a hand grabbing one, fingers pinching your nipple. He kisses you again, leading you down to the concrete floor.
He makes quick work of your pants, unbuttoning them with just one hand, helping you slide them off. He presses his palm against you again, making rough circles against your clit. His mouth finds your other nipple, licking it before taking the whole thing in, sucking on it. He grazes his teeth against it lightly as he sucks. The feeling finally causes you to break, a loud moan escaping your mouth.
His hand shoots up from your breast, covering your mouth. He lets your nipple leave his mouth with a pop, the cold air making it harden more.
“Keep quiet.” He says, trailing kisses down your stomach.
You moan again, hips rising to meet his palm. He pulls his hand away, hooking a finger into your panties, tugging them down. He presses his face between your thighs, stopping just before he meets your pussy. You can feel his hot breath on you, his rough beard against your inner thighs. You arch your back, begging to be touched.
He slides his hand off your mouth.
“Are ya goin’ to be quiet for me?” His voice vibrates into you
You nod again.
“I need words.” He grumbles, sending electricity up your legs
“Yes, yes. I can be quiet.” You let out quickly.
He kisses one thigh, and then the other, dragging it out as long as he can.
“Fuck,” You moan lightly, keeping a whisper, “Fuck…Please.”
At this, he buries his face between your legs. He gives a short few licks at your sensitive spot before he wraps his lips around it, sucking hard. You buck your hips into him, feeling the roughness just right. As he sucks, he runs his tongue over your clit slowly, up and down. It sends shivers up your spine. You shoot a hand down, burying it in his hair, gripping it tightly.
He groans at this, the feeling of pain just right, speeding up his tongue in response. He slips a hand around your leg to hold you in place. You moan again.
He releases his mouth gently, licking down your folds until he reaches your entrance, then he licks up again.
“So wet for me already.” He grumbles into your clit as he licks. Your hand tightens on his hair, shoving his face into you. He places a finger on the outside of your entrance, rubbing it lightly. You arch your hips, whining for it.
He slides his finger in, knuckle deep, and draws it out slowly. You whine again, before he shoves it in and pulls it out faster. His tongue keeps going, finger pushing in and out of you harder and harder. You can feel your climax starting to build.
“I’m…unghh I’m…Fuck…” It comes out strangled. He lets go of your leg, finding your nipple again with his fingers. Pinching and rolling it between them in rhythm with his tongue.
“Gonna cum for me?” His voice vibrates against you.
He slips another finger in, thrusting harder. He can feel you fluttering against them, the heat rising in your core.You arch your back into him, hand pressing him against you. You dig your heels into the ground, moans escaping you louder and louder. He curls his fingers inside you, rubbing them against your spot.
You throw your head back, seeing stars as you shut your eyes. Moans come out strangled as you orgasm on his face. He groans with you, feeling you clench and release on his hand.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” The words spill out of you, chest heaving
“You wanted it bad, didn’t ya.” He gives you short licks, letting you ride it out.
Your breath stutters, hand gripping his hair so hard your knuckles turn white, before you go limp, knees meeting. He licks down once, thrusting his tongue into you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm against it, tasting you. You shudder against him, feeling how slick you are on his tongue.
He pulls it out slowly, dragging upwards again. You wince at him against your sensitive clit.
He lifts his head, eyes meeting yours, half lidded, dark.
“Up.” He pats the underside of your legs as he shifts, laying down on his back next to you. You stand up and go to sit down on his waist.
He grabs your hips and pulls you up to his face again, using his arms to drag you down to it.
“Not done yet.” He tugs at you as you resist, pulse still thudding in your clit. He orders, “Sit.” and pulls you down onto his face again.
He starts slowly, tongue at your entrance, in and out gently, bringing you back into it again. His nose bumps against your clit, once, twice, sending shocks through your body. You whimper.
“Please…don’t..no…stop..nnnuh.” You cover your face with your hands.
He pulls away just enough, “Don’t stop?” You can feel his grin through his words. Your hips buck uncontrollably, hitting your clit again which causes you to moan.
At this he plunges into it again, licking rough, messy lines up you. You whimper again and again, fighting him to sit up. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, pinning you to his face.
Slowly the overstimulation fades into pleasure again, your resistance weakening. He loosens his grip as you twitch on his face. Your breath is ragged, hitching each time he licks across you again.
“Nnngh, please…” It's too much, all at once.
His hand slides down, pulling his thick cock from his jeans finally. You turn your face at the motion behind you, just in time to see a thick drip of precum falling onto his stomach. Your core tightens at the sight, hips grinding against his face harder.
For a split second you imagine him sliding his dick into you, fast and rough. It's enough to make you moan again, begging for the touch.
He responds, burying himself further into you, fucking you with his tongue.
He uses his hand to stroke himself, fast and hard, bucking his hips with it. It bounces you slightly on his face, making you both moan. He continues like this for a while, moaning into you, switching from your clit to your opening until he can hear that you’re about to cum again. You grind against his face, trying to will your release against him again.
He growls, feeling your desperation. “Not yet.”
He lifts you up with both hands, sliding you down. You sit instinctively, his hard cock pressed between you and his stomach. You grind on him, before tilting your hips, letting him spring up, hitting you in the ass.
You reach behind you, sliding him into you.
“Fuck.” He grunts, feeling you tighten around him.
You move slowly, gauging his size as it stretches you out. You let out a moan, hands pressed against his chest. You bounce a few times, keeping an agonizing pace.
His hands shoot up, gripping your hips before he starts thrusting inside of you. His pace is so fast you can’t keep your balance, arms pressing against him for leverage. He grunts wildly, a string of curses coming out.
“You wanted me so bad, fuckin’ slut.” He spits, eyes glossed over with pleasure. “Watched you fuck yourself, moanin’ my name, right here.”
He sits up, hands holding you firmly against him, and rolls you over, so your back is against the floor. His thrusts are harder, more drawn out, as he holds you up by your hips and ass, legs dangling at his waist. He's on his knees, sitting up, fucking you so hard your moans come out in gurgles.
“Take it.” He growls again.
Your back is arched off the floor, arms extended up, dragging the harsh concrete against the tops of your hands, legs limp at your sides. He pounds into you, only his thick, corded arms holding you up. His grunts become rougher, hips rolling sloppily now.
“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” He growls, pressing you into the concrete.
“Mmmhp yes, yes, yes.” You can barely think enough to talk. You feel your walls tightening around him as the thrusts, each movement sending you closer to the edge.
He senses the pleasure starting to course through you, pushing deeper with every thrust, chasing both his and your climax. You pound a fist into his arm, the feeling overtaking self control, as you orgasm around his cock. He moans, biting his lip, watching you greedily before he hits it too. His hips stutter, breath hitching. He presses his forehead into your breast and exhales. You feel his cock twitch, cum seeping out inside of you.
His body goes limp for a moment, before he pulls himself out of you slowly.
He grabs your nipple again, pinching hard, pulling down. You yelp and wince at it, scrabbling to scoot away from him. His grin spreads wide across his face.
“What the fuck?” Your voice is choked, the sharpness of it still stinging.
“Shut up.” His voice comes out mean now. He stands up, pulling his jeans into place. “Ya got whatcha wanted, don’t go bitchin’ about it now.”
You're still sitting, clothes strewn around the tower. The air feels cold against your sweaty skin.
“You mean you got what you wanted, asshole.” Your voice cracks.
“Don’t act like you didn’t beg me for it.” He grumbles.
You shoot up, stepping over to him. He’s fastening his belt, head shooting up just in time.
Your punch lands perfectly.
Blood drips from his nose, little spatter sounds against the floor.
He raises a hand to his face, catching the blood. His eyes are wild, whites showing.
“What the fuck?” His voice wavers slightly.
“Shit shit, sorry.” Your anger dissipates quickly, hands raising.
You didn’t expect to hit him so hard.
“Really I’m sorry.” You scrabble for your shirt on the floor, balling it up. “Here.”
You press it against his nose, enough pressure to keep it from spilling, not enough to hurt him again.
He just stares at you, eyes wide, watching.
“Fuck, Daryl,” You pause. “I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”
He lets out a laugh.
“What?”
“I got what I deserved fer sure.” His eyes squint with pain again as he takes the shirt in his own hand.
“We should go.” You're already pulling your clothes on.
“Your shirt.” He grunts, pain still coursing through his head.
“Doesn’t matter.”
You both make it down the stairs slowly, him wincing at each step. Out into the night and then into the prison.
There's a few people still inside the common area, dim candles lighting the room as they chat or play cards. When the door flings open, to reveal you and Daryl, heads whip around.
Daryl’s shirt and pants are dripped with blood, hands covered. Your once grey shirt is now a bright shade of red. Streaks of it are on your own hands and waist. Your chest heaves against your bra, cheeks flushed, face red.
“Jesus Christ! What happened?” Sasha shoots up.
Others in the group rush to grab towels, water, and first aid.
You look at Daryl, his eyes still scrunched.
“Did you get bit? Attacked?” Sasha’s face is twisted with worry.
Daryl pulls the shirt hesitantly from his face, the blood finally stopped.
Your chest is tight and painful, guilt still seeping.
He looks over at you, before turning to Sasha.
“I ate it on the gravel.” He gives a short chuckle. “Serves me right for being a dumbass.”
Sasha looks you both up and down, before she turns back to Daryl.
“Let's get you cleaned up.”
As the group descends, working quickly to help him, you shrink back, into the cellblock, and into your cell. You curl up on your bed, head reeling from the day, and exhaustion sets in.
summary: You find Daryl after he had to kill Merle. Daryl wants to forget, to quiet his thoughts. When you come to check on him, only one thing crosses his mind.
warnings: Smut 18+ MINORS DNI, sub!daryl, softdom!reader, panties as a gag, riding, handjob, swearing, mentions of blood and violence, daryl is very vulnerable, dub-ish con, aftercare, unprotected sex (wrap it y'all), kissing, little bit of hurt/comfort, subspace
author's note: A request by the lovely @rafeysgirl5, I hope that you like this because I had a blast writing this!! It was my first time trying to write subspace and clear sub/dom dynamics, and I tried my best! Sub!daryl is so hot to me, so I was very happy to see this request!
The prison door slammed shut, echoing across the prison hall as Daryl stormed in. His breathing was shaky, eyes blankly staring ahead as he made his way to his own prison cell. The block was empty, as most of the group had left to go looking for Michonne and, coincidentally, Daryl.
You stood on the second floor watching him, leaning curiously against the metal railing. "Daryl?" His lack of response made you furrow your brows.
It wasn't like him to ignore you.
The truth was, he hadn't even heard you. His head pounded incessantly, pain shooting through his brain as he tried to grasp what had happened.
What he had done.
Daryl exhaustedly collapsed into his bed, pulling out his knife from the holster. He scrubbed at it with the side of his shirt, his brother's blood soaking into the fabric.
The sight was not pretty. He was covered in blood, and his clothing was dirty as if he had walked through mud for hours out there.
You approached his cell as you had many times before during those late nights when the prison was all asleep in their cells. Daryl was your boyfriend and had been since you got settled in at the prison a few months ago.
"Why're you ignorin' me?" You slid the curtain open suddenly, hand firmly on your hip. It was then that you saw his expression.
Numb, and just plain tired.
It was a look that you couldn't mistake for anything else. It was loss.
Your face fell as you came to the realization, dropping the curtain.
Stepping into his cell and moving to sit next to him, you grabbed the sharp knife from his shaky hands.
His grip on the handle had slowly loosened as you slipped your hand under his, reminding you that he was still there, just a little out of it.
Wetting a cloth with some water that Daryl had lying around, you let out a small sigh. The whole group had already been out for a couple of hours now, looking for him.
"Daryl, look at me." You spoke softly to gently grab his attention, but his face hadn't turned. Instead, his eyes were glued to the floor in a state of shock.
Moving between his legs, your eyes met with his. If he wasn't gonna look at you, then you'd move to make him look.
"That's better. Just wanna clean you up a little bit. Is that okay?" Your tone of voice was calm, solid ground among an uncontrollable river that was Daryl's life.
He gave you a nod.
With his permission, you gently swiped at the blood on his face. You had an inkling of who the blood belonged to.
He went to find Merle just hours earlier. Perhaps it was too late.
It didn't matter right now. You had to help him get out of his head before he'd hurt himself or do something he'd regret.
You moved to his hands, collecting the red stains onto the cloth until his hands were free of the grime and blood that he had been sporting earlier.
With every wipe, you were washing away the moment, the horrific things that Daryl had to do to survive.
Because he had to.
"You're doin' so good for me. Just a little longer." You ran the cool cloth up his arms, clearing the dirt and debris that he had collected on his trip. His shoulders dropped slowly as the cool water washed over him, his eyes practically looking through you.
"Keep your eyes on me. You can do that." Your firmness guided his eyes back into focus, watching the way you glided the cloth along his rough, sun-kissed skin.
"Listen, you don't have to tell me what happened." You started to sympathize with him, pausing when his jaw clenched tightly.
In an instant, your hand cupped his cheek. You tapped his jaw lightly, feeling the muscles in his jaw ticking. If he had clenched any tighter, he would have damn near cracked his teeth.
A shaky exhale left his lips as he reluctantly relaxed his jaw, his eyes searching your expression for any hint of a lie, an unkept promise.
"I'm here for you. Whatever you need, I'm here." You pressed a light kiss to his forehead.
And Daryl just about melted into your touch. His head fell onto your shoulder, pressed against the side of your neck as he took attempts at slow breaths. Your eyes widened a little at his sudden movement.
Daryl wasn't one to show a whole lot of affection in the few months you'd taken the next step with him. This must have really hit him hard.
He exhales shaky breaths, hands falling to his sides in resignation, still twitching with the memory of what he did, what he had to do.
He was just so done. If he could just have a moment where he didn't have to think.
Where he could just feel.
The warmth of his head on your shoulder began to spread as he lightly played with the bottom hem of your shirt. As you sat on a stool between his knees, you ran your hand over his back soothingly, feeling the way his breathing slowed.
Daryl closed his eyes tightly, his brain still flooded with images of Merle and of all the people the group had lost.
He needed to forget. If just for a little while.
Hands tightening around the hem of your shirt, curling the fabric, Daryl cleared his throat.
"Need you." He mumbled, voice broken and desperate. You briefly paused your soothing movement along his back.
"Need what, baby?" You hadn't called him that name yet, the surprise sending a wave of heat down Daryl's spine.
He should be calling you baby. He should be the one who's comforting you, protecting you.
"Touch. Need to feel." He stuttered out the words, placing messy, open-mouthed kisses against your neck in an attempt to show you how much he needed you, his breath hitching and shaky.
How much he wanted your touch.
"M'already touchin' you. Show me where ya' want me." You let out a quiet hum at Daryl's actions, one hand coming up to run through his hair.
Daryl pulled away from the crook of your neck and leaned into your light grip on his head. His eyes drifted downward towards his growing bulge. Words escaped him, his desperate eyes saying all that he needed.
Except that wasn't enough for you. You wanted to hear him, needed to know that he was letting you help him.
You slipped into his lap, smiling fondly at the way his breath hitched loudly in his throat, his eyes slowly blinking up at you.
"You need me to help you?" You cupped the side of his face. "Want me to help you let it all go?" Daryl nodded frantically, his chest heaving as his tired blue eyes watched your lips.
Just as you were going to ask him to speak, he did.
"Please."
Slipping your own shirt off and tossing it onto the floor, you pulled away from Daryl. "You've gotta be quiet f'me. Can you do that?" You grabbed Daryl's chin gently, watching his eyes frantically search you for validation.
He nodded against your hand.
"Good, take everything off." You helped him lazily slide off his vest and shirt. "Doin' so good." You whispered.
The praise made Daryl's head feel dizzy. His shoulders dropped as the anger and sadness melted with pure adoration and love.
His eyes traced your figure, absentmindedly shoving his pants and underwear off as he watched you do the same. He'd seen you naked a few times since you started dating.
Each time you undressed felt like the first time, the feeling of awe still pushing through.
Even now.
"Still okay with this?" You stood above Daryl, waiting for his words before you would touch him. Before you would give him what he needed.
"Need it, please." He begged, his eyes teary as he looked up at you from where he sat on the bed. His cock twitched at the sight of you, the way you looked as the sunlight just barely poked through the curtain that stood between the two of you and the rest of the group.
You were thankful that most of the group was out looking for Daryl, supplies, or farming.
Regardless, all sounds echoed in these prison walls.
"Good boy, thank you for using your words." You motioned for him to lie down, the heat between your legs growing by the second. He was so vulnerable, but he trusted you to help him forget everything.
And it was evident that it was working at least a little bit by the way his breathing was quick, and his hands moved to jerk his unbearably hard erection slowly.
"Thought ya' wanted me to help you? Your hands stay at your side." You climbed over him in one swift movement. Daryl, eyes closed in pleasure at the contact of your hands on his wrists.
You pushed his wrists down onto the bed to signify that he was to keep them there.
"M'sorry-" His voice was raspy, broken by desperate pants. "Please help." His body was stiff, like he was holding back every muscle from reaching up to take what he needed.
Any other day, you probably would have let him.
In his shaky attempt to keep his hands off of you, his attention waned. You noticed the way his eyes stared through you again, almost like he was lost in thought.
Daryl's mind wandered, replaying the day's events like he was living through it all over again. Jaw clenched tightly, you could see him becoming distant.
His brows furrowed in frustration, in fear.
You cupped his face in one hand. "Daryl, come back to me." Your voice echoed in his mind, pushing away the image of the blood, the horror.
In your other hand, you took a calculated risk and grasped his cock firmly. A low hum left his lips, his stomach tensing. "Gotta keep your focus on me, baby."
You give him what he wanted, and you start pumping him in your hand. Your hand dragged up and down his length slowly.
Daryl gasped softly at your actions, his hands clenched into fists. You silenced him by pressing your lips to his, kissing him hungrily.
Daryl's hips bucked up into your fist wildly, his moans muffled by your mouth on his. You were growing impatient yourself, your cunt practically dripping at the sight of him falling apart in your hands.
Your free hand reached up to run through his hair, which was sticking to his forehead as a thin sheen of sweat began to appear.
It wasn't exactly cool in the prison block, especially in Georgia.
When you finally pulled away from the kiss for some much-needed air, your hand sped up, thumb swiping the precum that was dripping from his cock.
A strangled moan left his lips at the sight, hips jolting up to meet your hand again.
"Fuck-" He bit his lip to muffle his groan, eyes glued to you, the pleasure pushing away the thoughts that plagued him. "Want to-" He was cut off by his own pathetic moan.
Daryl didn't have the energy to even be embarrassed; his full attention on you and how good you were making him feel with just your hand.
"Want what, baby? You want inside me? Wanna fill me up?" You purred as your hand paused its motion. He shivered at the loss of your movement, a pout spreading across his pretty pink lips.
Your voice was sweet and patronizing, but he groaned at your words anyway. God, he wanted it so bad he'd do anything.
Anything.
"Please, please-" The words died on his tongue as he watched you pull your hand away from his cock, swiping the precum at the tip of his cock that had collected from your delicious movements.
You gathered it onto your finger and placed it into your mouth, humming as you tasted him. Daryl turned into a whimpering mess, lolling his head back in frustration.
"Poor guy. You just don't know what to do with yourself." His eyes weren't on you as you spoke, shut tightly to try and get some sort of relief.
You'd soon fix that.
Lining yourself up with his cock, you sank down onto him, soaking cunt taking him inch by inch. Daryl's eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth letting out a drawn-out, pathetic groan.
One that echoed across the walls and outside into the cell block.
He was wrapped around your finger, just completely gone under you as you sank onto him languidly.
"Shh, can't keep your voice down, can you?" Your voice was a little more shaky than you'd like to admit, his large cock stretching you as he was buried to the hilt.
You hardly moved your hips, a small adjustment to make yourself more comfortable. Daryl let out another whine, his hips thrusting up without thinking.
His brain was numb, the only thoughts were his own as he silently begged you to move.
Daryl felt comfort in that fact. He was relieved that his thoughts were consumed by you, and that everything else in the world had faded away into dust.
"Should shove somethin' in there. Maybe you'll be quiet then, huh?" You felt the way his hips bucked slightly at your words. "Yeah? You like that?" A sense of confidence surged in you at his reaction.
Daryl let out a loud whimper at the sight of you grabbing your panties, the ones that you had tossed aside haphazardly.
You gently shoved them into his mouth, the taste of your pussy on them making him close his eyes and hum around the lacy fabric.
Excitement rose in Daryl as you placed your hands onto his abdomen, holding onto something before you braced yourself.
He could taste you on his tongue, the wet fabric now muting his broken moans.
You moved slowly on him, only moving about halfway up before taking him all the way back in your heat. The burning sensation only lasted a little while; the stretch of his cock was inviting and warm.
That was all Daryl needed to make his head tilt back, hair a wild mess from the way you ran your hands through it earlier.
Biting back a smirk, you continued your slow movements, watching quiet whimpers escape his clothed mouth. "Need it faster? S'that what you want, baby? God, you're so needy for me."
Daryl's cock twitched at your words, dripping with that condescension that made his heart beat faster. The feeling of your cunt wrapped around him, warm and squeezing him like that.
If you kept it up, he'd cum in a heartbeat.
Daryl nodded quickly, his brain barely registering his own thoughts, a fuzzy feeling settling in his body. "Please-" It was muffled, but you could clearly hear the word come through the fabric.
"Since you asked so nicely -" You leaned down to his ear, hearing a whimper from the man as your tits pressed up against his chest. Fuck, he was so sensitive to your touch.
"I'll even let you touch me." You whispered into his ear, and Daryl just about died right there. His breath hitched loudly at your words. Seeing you like this was one thing, but being able to touch you was another.
He was a wreck, a pretty pink blush spread across his face and down his neck as he let out a low groan.
And then you started riding him, your hips lifting up and then slamming down back onto him, your moans slipping out despite your efforts to hold them in.
Daryl's hands flew to your hips, fingers ghosting over your soft skin, his eyes fluttering shut as loud whines left his lips. His hips squirmed as you rode him faithfully, shaky hands finding your breasts and running his thumbs over your nipples.
You whined at his touch, your hands pressing over his. Daryl closed his eyes tightly, the pleasure driving him insane.
He'd been so pent up, so frustrated. God, he needed this so bad. Needed you.
And now. It was all gone; his worries had blown away. Each time you said his name, dragged your nails across his torso, or put your hands in his hair, he just melted.
Your hips slammed into him, watching how his stomach tensed with each drag of your cunt against him.
Slack-jawed, muted and pathetic moans slipped from Daryl's mouth without abandon now, his mind now completely dumb for you.
"You feel so good, baby. Doin' so good for me." You were shaking above him, your legs sore and screaming at you to stop. You leaned forward, adjusting your position to give yourself some more stamina.
That position only buried him deeper inside your cunt, earning a shudder from the man below you. "I can tell you're close. Let me have it-" Your words were broken, cut off by your own quiet moans as your own orgasm was quickly approaching, the familiar heat and anticipation forming.
"Gonna give me your cum? S'that what you want?" You could feel him tensing up, his orgasm building up. His eyes were tightly closed as his hands roamed your body, feeling up his favorite parts of you.
Your tits, your thighs.
The old mattress creaked underneath the two of you as you rode him, the bed shaking against the frame.
Daryl was so lost, so fucked-out, he hadn't even thought of a response.
You cupped his face in your hand. "Open those pretty eyes f'me." You were slowly losing it, low hums escaping your lips as you rode him, pussy taking every inch of his large cock.
He finally opened his eyes, glazed over and teary from the immense pleasure you were giving him. The experience of just feeling.
"Good boy, such a good boy. Wanna see these eyes when you cum f'me. Can you do that?" You watched Daryl squirm and buck underneath you, his eyes just barely fluttering open as groans poured out of him.
Daryl nodded, his eyes silently begging you to take it from him, to let him. Normally, he'd want you to cum first. He'd want to feel how your cunt squeezed him, milked his cock.
But he couldn't think straight, brain foggy and clouded as you took what you needed, as you used him.
Your pants became heavier as your orgasm came closer, fighting off the urge to cum for as long as you could. You wanted to see him get his release first, wanted to see him fall apart.
And fall apart, he did.
Tears slid down Daryl's face as his orgasm washed over him.
His jaw was wide open as his hips bucked up wildly into you, fingers pressed hard into the skin of your hips. You pressed your hands against his, holding them as his orgasm crashed through him and made him shudder as pleasure kept him a whimpering mess.
You rode him through his release, feeling the way his stomach flexed erratically as his cum spilled into you, quick sobs falling from his lips.
"That's it, baby-" You couldn't hold back anymore, your own climax hitting you from the sight of him utterly falling apart underneath you.
You grasped his shoulders firmly as you found your own release, legs shaking and spasming uncontrollably as a moan left you.
Daryl watched you with a clouded, distant expression, his moans matching your own. He looked beautiful like this, all teary and desperate for you.
"Fuck-" You whimpered, the feeling of his seed leaking out of your made you shudder as you held your hips down on him, grinding to ride through your orgasm. The sensation brought out pathetic whines from both of you.
When you came out of your orgasm, you gently slid off of him, hissing at the feeling of emptiness that followed. "You did such a good job for me, baby." You pulled your panties out of his mouth and set them aside, gently rubbing his jaw.
You wiped away his tears with your thumb, smiling at the way he watched you with puppy eyes.
Daryl melted into your hand, still shaking from the way you wrecked him. He was beyond words; the need for you to be close was overwhelming.
You grabbed the water bottle that was lying around his room and brought it to his lips. "Drink first, then I'll take care of you." You let him take a few long sips from the water and put it back onto the floor where it was sitting.
Daryl felt weak, as if he were weightless and completely under your spell.
You slid back into the bed with him, pressing your body against his. A thin layer of sweat lay on his forehead, hair sticking to it.
You gently wiped his forehead with the back of your hand, pushing his hair out of his face. "Ya' don't need to tell me what happened. But you need to know that we're going to get through it together."
Daryl pressed his face into your chest, not sexual, but in a comforting manner, breathing in the scent of your skin.
The sound of the doors opening in the cell block reminded you of the group's presence. They'd surely be coming in at any moment to ask a favor of Daryl.
You wouldn't dare let them. He'd done enough for today.
As the sun shifted across the concrete floor, you thought about how to move forward.
You just absently ran your fingers through his hair, brushing the knots out with your hand. "I love you." Pressing a kiss to his head, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist tightly.
"Love you. Thank you." He managed to mumble, eyes fluttering closed as sleep began to seep into him.
His head was empty, no longer replaying one of the worst events of his life over and over. For the first time since they'd even approached the prison, his head was quiet.
pairing: uptown girl! reader vs pre-apocalypse! Daryl
Chapter One - Encounter
By all accounts, your day should have gone perfectly. Nothing about it had suggested otherwise when you'd left home that morning. You'd spent the morning attending to meetings on your dad's company, that he insisted you to be a part of everything even when you hadn't even finished college yet. The weather had been beautiful and your car –a sleek black Mercedes your father maintained was more reliable than most marriages– performed with the sort of effortless grace one expected from something whose monthly payment rivaled many people's rent.
You were dressed neatly, cream slacks and a silk blouse, every detail carefully considered, every strand of hair obediently in place. It wasn't vanity, exactly. You had simply grown up in a world where appearances mattered, where composure was treated as both virtue and armor, and where being caught unprepared felt like a moral failing. Which was precisely why standing on the shoulder of an isolated Georgia highway in four-inch heels while smoke rose rather alarmingly from beneath your hood felt less like a normal inconvenience and more like a personal humiliation.
"Awesome." you grunted, shoving the door with much more strength than necessary when you got out out of the car to look call out for help, and the cherry on top of your day was put right there. On the top left of your phone you read 'no signal'. "Fucking great."
After fifteen frustrating minutes spent pretending to understand anything you were looking at, you had finally accepted the uncomfortable truth that your expertise with automobiles began and ended with knowing which button started them. You had stared helplessly into the engine compartment, hoping that if you looked concerned enough, mechanical knowledge might somehow manifest itself through sheer determination.
Unfortunately, cars appeared unimpressed by wishful thinking, and the Georgia heat had begun slowly dismantling all the effort you'd put into your appearance that morning. By the time you heard the low rumble of a motorcycle approaching in the distance, you had already composed three separate speeches in your head regarding the unfairness of the universe.
The motorcycle slowed as it approached your stranded vehicle before eventually pulling a few feet ahead of you. You braced yourself for either an overeager man who would mistake basic politeness for encouragement, or a well-meaning retiree determined to explain your own car to you while addressing you exclusively as sweetheart.
You weren't ready to face the rider who removed his helmet, revealing slightly overgrown dark hair and eyes so startlingly blue that they nearly distracted you from the fact that he was, quite frankly, unfairly handsome, not like the men you were used to, there was nothing polished about him. His clothes were worn, his boots scuffed, and the leather vest hanging over a faded shirt suggested a man far more interested in practicality than fashion, yet the overall effect was annoyingly attractive in a way the carefully groomed men who attended your father's charity dinners couldn't dream to be. He looked first at the smoke escaping from your engine, then at you, then at your shoes, and though the corner of his mouth twitched faintly, his expression remained overall unreadable.
"You break down?" he asked.
You glanced pointedly at the engine.
"Nah, I like to stand beside highways in expensive shoes and contemplate my terrible decisions."
To your surprise, amusement softened his features, and the small smile that appeared transformed his entire face in a way that felt almost unfair.
"Weird pick for a hobbie."
There wasn't a trace of mockery in his voice, only quiet humor, and immediately you felt a twinge of guilt for your sarcasm. "Sorry," you sighed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "It's been a day."
He simply grunted, then, without fanfare or unnecessary questions, he stepped forward and peered beneath the hood. You watched him for several moments before raising an eyebrow.
"Shouldn't you ask before touching things?"
"If ya want I'll just take off and leave ya where you are." He grunted.
"Sorry, do your thing."
"Mhm."
After another few moments spent muttering incomprehensible mechanical phrases beneath his breath, he straightened and wiped his hands against a rag he seemed to have produced from nowhere. "Radiator's shot. You ain't drivin' this."
You stared blankly.
"Wonderful. That means absolutely nothing to me."
"Means no driving. Car bad." he repeated as if speaking to a toddler.
"Ah," you nodded solemnly. "now you're speaking my language."
To your immense satisfaction, a small grin showed. Brief and quiet, gone almost before it arrived, but unmistakably there. And suddenly you found yourself absurdly pleased with the idea that you'd managed to make this handsome stranger smile.
"I got a shop in town," he offered after a moment. "Can have it towed there. Fix it up."
You blinked. "You own a repair shop?"
"Mhm."
"Ya stop to rescue strange women on the side of the road often?"
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "You looked miserable." The simplicity of the answer caught you entirely off guard, you were expecting something along the lines of "Only the pretty ones" – you got that often. But there was something deeply refreshing about a man whose motivations appeared to begin and end with simple kindness rather than the expectation of reward. You glanced down at your ruined afternoon, your ridiculous shoes, and the expensive car currently attempting to expire, and despite everything, you smiled.
"Well," you said softly, "I appreciate your concern for miserable women, uh–" you stopped, realizing you hadn't asked for his name.
And for the first time since he'd stopped, the stranger smiled fully, the expression warm and so stupidly beautiful.
"Daryl."
You smiled back.
"Daryl" you repeated, already suspecting that your busted radiator might end up being the luckiest disaster of your life. You presented yourself too, motioning your hands to shake his. His hands were calloused and permanently stained from keeping them on engines so often, and yet the contact of his skin to yours so slightly made you shiver.
The tow truck took about an hour to arrive, by the time it did, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't feel a sting of disappointment from having to say goodbye to the redneck you'd practically just met.
During the waiting time, he sat with you on the sideway, mostly just listening to you, at least at first, then gradually revealing small details of himself. You found out he had a brother, and that overall, your lives were very different. As your car was getting towed, you handed him a small paper with your number written in tidy handwriting to which he took in suspicion.
"What's this?"
"My number?..." you answered, unsure, and suddenly embarrassed. "I don't suppose your shop operates entirely on telepathy? So you call me when it's done." you nervously added.
"Oh–" understanding dawned across his features. "right, yeah, I'll call." he lifted the small piece of paper and awkwardly scratched his neck, and to your immense delight, the tips of his ears turned pink. Suddenly that intimidating, broad-shouldered biker looked shy. The sight was so endearing you nearly smiled yourself silly.
"I hope so."
Neither of you knew then that the repair would only take three days. That you'd spend those three days thinking about a man you'd known for less than two hours, and by the third day, you had become thoroughly annoyed with yourself.
It was absurd, really. You found yourself wondering ridiculous things while sitting through meetings and answering e-mails. Had he always been so quiet, or had you simply done enough talking for both of you? Did he smile like that often? Was he thinking about you too?Most embarrassingly of all, after you picked up his call letting you know that your car was ready, you caught yourself changing outfits twice before reminding yourself, quite sternly, that you were only picking up your car. Nothing more.
The bell above the door jingled softly as you stepped in, and immediately you were struck by how perfectly the place matched its owner. It wasn't polished or modern, and it certainly lacked the sleek professionalism your father would have preferred, but it felt lived in. Tools hung neatly on pegboards, old photographs occupied the walls, and somewhere in the background, classic rock played softly enough that it blended with the hum of the ceiling fan.
When your eyes found him you automatically smiled. Daryl was bent over the hood of a truck, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged across his forearms, entirely absorbed in whatever he was doing. You doubted he had even heard the bell. Which meant you had several uninterrupted seconds to appreciate the view.
"Daryl." you greeted nervously.
He looked up, then smiled.
Not the polite little smile he'd given you on the side of the road. Not the amused smirk that seemed to appear whenever you said something ridiculous, this one happened before he could stop it, and the sight of it softened something inside you immediately.
"Hey."
"Hello to you too." you couldn't help but to smile back.
He wiped his hands on a rag, though the effort seemed largely symbolic considering the amount of grease currently decorating him. "Car's ready."
"I had hoped so! Otherwise this would've been a very expensive social call."
That earned a quiet snort.
"Thought I would understand if you called just to see me." you half-joked, his ears turning pink again.
"Ya very convinced for someone I found basically abbandoned on the side of the road." this time, you were the one who laughed.
As Daryl disappeared into the office to retrieve your paperwork, you found yourself wondering whether he seemed disappointed, the thought appeared out of nowhere and settled itself squarely in your chest. Because suddenly it occurred to you that this was it.
You'd pay him, drive away, and if it depended on life's odds only, you'd most likely never see him again. The idea left a strange heaviness in your stomach.
Daryl returned with the keys in one hand and several forms in the other. He explained what had been wrong with the car, and you nodded along with all the enthusiasm of someone pretending to understand a foreign language.
"So she's healthy again?" you asked.
"Mhm."
"And she won't explode?"
His mouth twitched. "Shouldn't."
"Excellent. I've always hated surprises."
He smiled again.
God.
The full transaction lasted less than five minutes, still, neither of you moved, a strange reluctance hung in the air.
Daryl shifted awkwardly, and you adjusted your purse strap.
"Well–"
"I uh–"
You overlapped eachother. You both smiled awkwardly.
"Ya can go first." he motioned for you to say. The poor man looked genuinely uncomfortable, as though he wanted to say something and had absolutely no idea how, perhaps that was what gave you the courage.
"Can I ask you something?"
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"Mhm."
"You don't... happen to drink whiskey, do you?"
The question seemed to catch him entirely off guard.
"Huh?"
"As a thank-you," you clarified quickly. "For rescuing miserable women stranded on highways and saving their outrageously expensive cars." Immediately, he shook his head.
"You ain't gotta do that."
"I know."
"Really."
"I know."
"So don't."
You smiled.
"Daryl."
"Mhm?"
"I'm asking because I want to."
If he was a cartoon, his head would've shaped into a question mark, because men like Daryl Dixon didn't spend much time being pursued.
The tips of his ears burned hot again, and to your immense delight, he looked down. He was adorable.
"Just a drink?" he asked quietly.
You smiled.
"Just a drink."
It turned out that "just a drink" became one too many.
And then dinner.
Because once Daryl relaxed enough to stop worrying about saying the wrong thing, you discovered that beneath the shyness and quiet grunts lived a man with a dry sense of humor and a kindness so effortless that it almost hurt. He listened when you spoke. Really listened. He remembered things you mentioned in passing. He laughed softly at your jokes, even the terrible ones, and whenever you caught him looking at you, there was always that same expression in his eyes.
Like he couldn't quite believe you were real. By the time the bartender announced last call, neither of you had noticed the hours passing.
Outside, the air had cooled considerably, and the streetlights cast soft pools of gold onto the sidewalk.
"Thanks." Daryl murmured as the two of you lingered beside his bike.
You blinked.
"For what?"
He shrugged.
"Tonight."
It was palpable neither of you were eager to say goodbye. You stood there smiling like idiots, no one willing to leave first.
"You know," you said softly, "for a man who can rebuild an engine, you're surprisingly bad at this."
His brow furrowed.
"Bad at what?"
"Taking signs."
And with it came the most endearing blush you'd ever witnessed. "Never said I was good at it."
"No?"
"No."
You stepped closer.
"So what exactly are you waiting for?" he swallowed dry. Then, with all the caution of a man handling something precious, Daryl reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His fingers trembled slightly, and your hands traveled one to his arm and the other to the nape of his neck, pulling him in to close the distance you couldn't wait for him to do so anymore.
His lips were warm, a little dry, tasting faintly of beer and whiskey. One hand settled lightly against your waist, hesitant enough that it made your chest ache, and you found yourself smiling against his mouth because somehow, impossibly, the intimidating mechanic with the beautiful eyes seemed far more nervous than you were.
When you finally pulled away, Daryl looked slightly dazed. His cheeks were red and eyes impossibly soft.
"You got any idea what you're doin' to me?"
You smiled innocently.
"No."
His laugh was soft and helpless.
"Imma need more of this." and he leaned to kiss you again, for the second of so many times you'd loose count on that night.
"back to you" taglist: @leslierabbit @t0xicsl33p @taliapotter @moss4brainss @saintloverie @little-mops-booknook @firefirefeline @babycheech @dixonangel
pairing: uptown girl! reader vs pre-apocalypse! Daryl
Chapter One - Encounter
By all accounts, your day should have gone perfectly. Nothing about it had suggested otherwise when you'd left home that morning. You'd spent the morning attending to meetings on your dad's company, that he insisted you to be a part of everything even when you hadn't even finished college yet. The weather had been beautiful and your car –a sleek black Mercedes your father maintained was more reliable than most marriages– performed with the sort of effortless grace one expected from something whose monthly payment rivaled many people's rent.
You were dressed neatly, cream slacks and a silk blouse, every detail carefully considered, every strand of hair obediently in place. It wasn't vanity, exactly. You had simply grown up in a world where appearances mattered, where composure was treated as both virtue and armor, and where being caught unprepared felt like a moral failing. Which was precisely why standing on the shoulder of an isolated Georgia highway in four-inch heels while smoke rose rather alarmingly from beneath your hood felt less like a normal inconvenience and more like a personal humiliation.
"Awesome." you grunted, shoving the door with much more strength than necessary when you got out out of the car to look call out for help, and the cherry on top of your day was put right there. On the top left of your phone you read 'no signal'. "Fucking great."
After fifteen frustrating minutes spent pretending to understand anything you were looking at, you had finally accepted the uncomfortable truth that your expertise with automobiles began and ended with knowing which button started them. You had stared helplessly into the engine compartment, hoping that if you looked concerned enough, mechanical knowledge might somehow manifest itself through sheer determination.
Unfortunately, cars appeared unimpressed by wishful thinking, and the Georgia heat had begun slowly dismantling all the effort you'd put into your appearance that morning. By the time you heard the low rumble of a motorcycle approaching in the distance, you had already composed three separate speeches in your head regarding the unfairness of the universe.
The motorcycle slowed as it approached your stranded vehicle before eventually pulling a few feet ahead of you. You braced yourself for either an overeager man who would mistake basic politeness for encouragement, or a well-meaning retiree determined to explain your own car to you while addressing you exclusively as sweetheart.
You weren't ready to face the rider who removed his helmet, revealing slightly overgrown dark hair and eyes so startlingly blue that they nearly distracted you from the fact that he was, quite frankly, unfairly handsome, not like the men you were used to, there was nothing polished about him. His clothes were worn, his boots scuffed, and the leather vest hanging over a faded shirt suggested a man far more interested in practicality than fashion, yet the overall effect was annoyingly attractive in a way the carefully groomed men who attended your father's charity dinners couldn't dream to be. He looked first at the smoke escaping from your engine, then at you, then at your shoes, and though the corner of his mouth twitched faintly, his expression remained overall unreadable.
"You break down?" he asked.
You glanced pointedly at the engine.
"Nah, I like to stand beside highways in expensive shoes and contemplate my terrible decisions."
To your surprise, amusement softened his features, and the small smile that appeared transformed his entire face in a way that felt almost unfair.
"Weird pick for a hobbie."
There wasn't a trace of mockery in his voice, only quiet humor, and immediately you felt a twinge of guilt for your sarcasm. "Sorry," you sighed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "It's been a day."
He simply grunted, then, without fanfare or unnecessary questions, he stepped forward and peered beneath the hood. You watched him for several moments before raising an eyebrow.
"Shouldn't you ask before touching things?"
"If ya want I'll just take off and leave ya where you are." He grunted.
"Sorry, do your thing."
"Mhm."
After another few moments spent muttering incomprehensible mechanical phrases beneath his breath, he straightened and wiped his hands against a rag he seemed to have produced from nowhere. "Radiator's shot. You ain't drivin' this."
You stared blankly.
"Wonderful. That means absolutely nothing to me."
"Means no driving. Car bad." he repeated as if speaking to a toddler.
"Ah," you nodded solemnly. "now you're speaking my language."
To your immense satisfaction, a small grin showed. Brief and quiet, gone almost before it arrived, but unmistakably there. And suddenly you found yourself absurdly pleased with the idea that you'd managed to make this handsome stranger smile.
"I got a shop in town," he offered after a moment. "Can have it towed there. Fix it up."
You blinked. "You own a repair shop?"
"Mhm."
"Ya stop to rescue strange women on the side of the road often?"
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "You looked miserable." The simplicity of the answer caught you entirely off guard, you were expecting something along the lines of "Only the pretty ones" – you got that often. But there was something deeply refreshing about a man whose motivations appeared to begin and end with simple kindness rather than the expectation of reward. You glanced down at your ruined afternoon, your ridiculous shoes, and the expensive car currently attempting to expire, and despite everything, you smiled.
"Well," you said softly, "I appreciate your concern for miserable women, uh–" you stopped, realizing you hadn't asked for his name.
And for the first time since he'd stopped, the stranger smiled fully, the expression warm and so stupidly beautiful.
"Daryl."
You smiled back.
"Daryl" you repeated, already suspecting that your busted radiator might end up being the luckiest disaster of your life. You presented yourself too, motioning your hands to shake his. His hands were calloused and permanently stained from keeping them on engines so often, and yet the contact of his skin to yours so slightly made you shiver.
The tow truck took about an hour to arrive, by the time it did, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't feel a sting of disappointment from having to say goodbye to the redneck you'd practically just met.
During the waiting time, he sat with you on the sideway, mostly just listening to you, at least at first, then gradually revealing small details of himself. You found out he had a brother, and that overall, your lives were very different. As your car was getting towed, you handed him a small paper with your number written in tidy handwriting to which he took in suspicion.
"What's this?"
"My number?..." you answered, unsure, and suddenly embarrassed. "I don't suppose your shop operates entirely on telepathy? So you call me when it's done." you nervously added.
"Oh–" understanding dawned across his features. "right, yeah, I'll call." he lifted the small piece of paper and awkwardly scratched his neck, and to your immense delight, the tips of his ears turned pink. Suddenly that intimidating, broad-shouldered biker looked shy. The sight was so endearing you nearly smiled yourself silly.
"I hope so."
Neither of you knew then that the repair would only take three days. That you'd spend those three days thinking about a man you'd known for less than two hours, and by the third day, you had become thoroughly annoyed with yourself.
It was absurd, really. You found yourself wondering ridiculous things while sitting through meetings and answering e-mails. Had he always been so quiet, or had you simply done enough talking for both of you? Did he smile like that often? Was he thinking about you too?Most embarrassingly of all, after you picked up his call letting you know that your car was ready, you caught yourself changing outfits twice before reminding yourself, quite sternly, that you were only picking up your car. Nothing more.
The bell above the door jingled softly as you stepped in, and immediately you were struck by how perfectly the place matched its owner. It wasn't polished or modern, and it certainly lacked the sleek professionalism your father would have preferred, but it felt lived in. Tools hung neatly on pegboards, old photographs occupied the walls, and somewhere in the background, classic rock played softly enough that it blended with the hum of the ceiling fan.
When your eyes found him you automatically smiled. Daryl was bent over the hood of a truck, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged across his forearms, entirely absorbed in whatever he was doing. You doubted he had even heard the bell. Which meant you had several uninterrupted seconds to appreciate the view.
"Daryl." you greeted nervously.
He looked up, then smiled.
Not the polite little smile he'd given you on the side of the road. Not the amused smirk that seemed to appear whenever you said something ridiculous, this one happened before he could stop it, and the sight of it softened something inside you immediately.
"Hey."
"Hello to you too." you couldn't help but to smile back.
He wiped his hands on a rag, though the effort seemed largely symbolic considering the amount of grease currently decorating him. "Car's ready."
"I had hoped so! Otherwise this would've been a very expensive social call."
That earned a quiet snort.
"Thought I would understand if you called just to see me." you half-joked, his ears turning pink again.
"Ya very convinced for someone I found basically abbandoned on the side of the road." this time, you were the one who laughed.
As Daryl disappeared into the office to retrieve your paperwork, you found yourself wondering whether he seemed disappointed, the thought appeared out of nowhere and settled itself squarely in your chest. Because suddenly it occurred to you that this was it.
You'd pay him, drive away, and if it depended on life's odds only, you'd most likely never see him again. The idea left a strange heaviness in your stomach.
Daryl returned with the keys in one hand and several forms in the other. He explained what had been wrong with the car, and you nodded along with all the enthusiasm of someone pretending to understand a foreign language.
"So she's healthy again?" you asked.
"Mhm."
"And she won't explode?"
His mouth twitched. "Shouldn't."
"Excellent. I've always hated surprises."
He smiled again.
God.
The full transaction lasted less than five minutes, still, neither of you moved, a strange reluctance hung in the air.
Daryl shifted awkwardly, and you adjusted your purse strap.
"Well–"
"I uh–"
You overlapped eachother. You both smiled awkwardly.
"Ya can go first." he motioned for you to say. The poor man looked genuinely uncomfortable, as though he wanted to say something and had absolutely no idea how, perhaps that was what gave you the courage.
"Can I ask you something?"
His eyebrows rose slightly.
"Mhm."
"You don't... happen to drink whiskey, do you?"
The question seemed to catch him entirely off guard.
"Huh?"
"As a thank-you," you clarified quickly. "For rescuing miserable women stranded on highways and saving their outrageously expensive cars." Immediately, he shook his head.
"You ain't gotta do that."
"I know."
"Really."
"I know."
"So don't."
You smiled.
"Daryl."
"Mhm?"
"I'm asking because I want to."
If he was a cartoon, his head would've shaped into a question mark, because men like Daryl Dixon didn't spend much time being pursued.
The tips of his ears burned hot again, and to your immense delight, he looked down. He was adorable.
"Just a drink?" he asked quietly.
You smiled.
"Just a drink."
It turned out that "just a drink" became one too many.
And then dinner.
Because once Daryl relaxed enough to stop worrying about saying the wrong thing, you discovered that beneath the shyness and quiet grunts lived a man with a dry sense of humor and a kindness so effortless that it almost hurt. He listened when you spoke. Really listened. He remembered things you mentioned in passing. He laughed softly at your jokes, even the terrible ones, and whenever you caught him looking at you, there was always that same expression in his eyes.
Like he couldn't quite believe you were real. By the time the bartender announced last call, neither of you had noticed the hours passing.
Outside, the air had cooled considerably, and the streetlights cast soft pools of gold onto the sidewalk.
"Thanks." Daryl murmured as the two of you lingered beside his bike.
You blinked.
"For what?"
He shrugged.
"Tonight."
It was palpable neither of you were eager to say goodbye. You stood there smiling like idiots, no one willing to leave first.
"You know," you said softly, "for a man who can rebuild an engine, you're surprisingly bad at this."
His brow furrowed.
"Bad at what?"
"Taking signs."
And with it came the most endearing blush you'd ever witnessed. "Never said I was good at it."
"No?"
"No."
You stepped closer.
"So what exactly are you waiting for?" he swallowed dry. Then, with all the caution of a man handling something precious, Daryl reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His fingers trembled slightly, and your hands traveled one to his arm and the other to the nape of his neck, pulling him in to close the distance you couldn't wait for him to do so anymore.
His lips were warm, a little dry, tasting faintly of beer and whiskey. One hand settled lightly against your waist, hesitant enough that it made your chest ache, and you found yourself smiling against his mouth because somehow, impossibly, the intimidating mechanic with the beautiful eyes seemed far more nervous than you were.
When you finally pulled away, Daryl looked slightly dazed. His cheeks were red and eyes impossibly soft.
"You got any idea what you're doin' to me?"
You smiled innocently.
"No."
His laugh was soft and helpless.
"Imma need more of this." and he leaned to kiss you again, for the second of so many times you'd loose count on that night.
"back to you" taglist: @leslierabbit @t0xicsl33p @taliapotter @moss4brainss @saintloverie @little-mops-booknook @firefirefeline @babycheech @dixonangel
M☆RK'S BLOG @electroniczombieprince - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
