M☆RK'S BLOG

HI !!!! I'm mark, 21, he him, and will probably post a few drawings here ! Oh and also love norman's work, characters etc

[velvetdevastation]

Cut Scene from "Keep Lying to Me" Pt. 1

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Summary: Eugene had no clue about your relationship with Daryl. On a run with Eugene and Daryl, tensions reach an all-time high. And Daryl knows exactly how to put an end to it. Word Count: 2.2k (sorry) Warnings: 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI ✦ SMUT ✦ FLUFF ✦ Swearing ✦ Fingering ✦ Jealous!Daryl ✦ Pet Names ✦ Kissing (lips and neck) ✦ Teasing ✦ Author's Note: This is a drabble that I wanted to include in the series, but decided not to for brevity. However, the lovely @brideofvecna requested some cut scenes, I hope you like it!! There will be more of these! THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER THE EVENTS OF "Keep Lying to Me" !!! There will be other scenes that take place during the events of that story, no worries!

Daryl strutted across the community looking for you, ignoring the smirks and smug looks from other members of the community who recognized you and Daryl's relationship.

"Lookin' for your girl?" Rick's voice echoed across the lawn as he leaned over his porch railing. Rick could hardly believe how positively whipped Daryl was. Searching for you like a lost puppy.

Daryl nodded, adjusting the strap of his crossbow as he glanced up at him. "Ya' seen her? Supposed to be back by now."

You had told Daryl you were going to ask Maggie about something. He wasn't really paying attention to your words as much as he was staring at your features in a way that was more perverted than he'd like to admit.

"She's at the gate. Last I saw her, she was talkin' to Eugene". Rick eyed Daryl's reaction while suppressing a laugh.

Daryl's jaw clenched tightly as he ran a hand through his hair. The mention of that man's name made his blood boil.

Everybody knew that you and Daryl were dating.

Everybody except for Eugene.

"Talkin' about what?" Daryl asked Rick, desperately trying to save himself from having to walk over there and breathe the same air as him.

"Oh, I couldn't tell ya' Daryl. Gonna have to find out yourself." Rick snickered to himself, knowing full well what the conversation was about.

Daryl huffed and turned away, fists clenched as he strutted down the road to the gates.

"Like I said, that sorghum would really do us good. I know sorghum, and you're resourceful. Maybe we could do this together." Eugene was talking to you about the potential of a crop that he had found in the area.

But that wasn't what Daryl saw.

Eugene was too close.

His shoulder was nearly touching yours as he showed you some kind of paper with information on it, eyes raking over you with oblivious confidence.

Saying nothing as he approached, Daryl's boots alerted you of his presence, the heavy stomp making you smile. "Hey." Your eyes met his, and you could sense the anger radiating from him.

Daryl just gave you a nod and ran his hand over yours, a small but warm gesture that reminded you of how he showed affection in the early days of Alexandria.

Daryl moved in between you and Eugene, his eyes remaining glued to Eugene's boyish smile as he was chatting with you.

"What'cha got there?" Daryl pointed to the paper. "Something you wanna share?"

"Oh yes, I was just making plans with Y/n to go check out those sorghum plots I found a few miles from here." Eugene shoved the paper into his pocket as if it were a secret between you two.

As if Daryl wasn't allowed to see it.

Asshole.

You picked up on the one-sided tension right away, Daryl's breathing heavier now as if deep breaths were not going to be enough to wash away his rage. "What Eugene means to say is that I'm going on a run with him to go see it."

Oh, that was it.

Daryl felt his blood run hot with anger he didn't want to place. Jealousy, rage, whatever the hell it was.

"I'll come too, ya' need extra hands." Daryl insisted he come along, the idea of going alone with this guy making his head spin.

Satisfaction rushed through his chest when Eugene visibly deflated at Daryl's participation. "Just thought it could be Y/n and me on this endeavor." He mumbled like a pouting child.

"An' what if walkers rush ya'? Ain't gonna be able to fight em' all." Daryl crossed his arms, not missing the way your eyes flickered to watch his biceps.

"Oh, you underestimate Y/n, she's more than capable." Eugene flashed you a confident smile.

It would have been heartwarming if you weren't his.

"You're so sweet, thanks, Eugene!" You gently shoved Eugene's shoulder, relishing in the way that you could practically see the smoke coming out of Daryl's ears.

Eugene grabbed a duffel bag and glanced between you and Daryl. "I assume y'all need to grab necessities. We'll leave in about an hour?"

Daryl was about to interrupt and shut down this entire plan. But you spoke first.

"Sounds good!" Hand clasping onto Daryl's broad shoulder, you gently dragged him away from the conversation with Eugene.

Daryl's whole body was tense, brimming with utter frustration from watching a man who had no idea how to treat you right.

"Alright." You let out a quick sigh. "What's your problem?" You bit back a smile at his obviously jealous behavior. Daryl was fuming. His eyes were staring daggers into Eugene's soul.

"Don't got one." He shrugged, clenching his teeth when Eugene snuck glances your way.

"You're so jealous. Ya' gonna shoot him while we're out there?" You were joking, but then you backtracked your words when Daryl grunted.

"Might. Depends on what that dumbass tries." Daryl huffed.

Shortly after collecting the necessities in your shared apartment for the trip outside the gates, Daryl felt the pent-up jealousy fill up.

Ready to boil over.

The anger wasn't directed at you. Because it wasn't your fault. But Daryl knew that you were thoroughly enjoying teasing him because of the constant knowing smile plastered upon your face while he was getting ready.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer." Daryl was the one pouting and sulking now. You rolled your eyes as you walked over to him.

You placed your hands on his jawline and watched as he visibly relaxed. His eyes tracked yours, flickering over your features as if he were memorizing them. "You gotta be nice today." You hummed.

Daryl just grumbled in response, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly. He buried his face into your neck, letting out a heavy sigh.

What a grump.

After driving out a few miles, you made it to the sorghum processing plant, eager to see what Eugene was ranting about. Daryl had forced Eugene to drive so that he could keep an eye on him.

Exploring the abandoned plant, there were several viable resources that you could bring back to the community. Farming machinery was scattered around, waiting to be collected.

"Y/n, would you mind reaching in here to take a look at this engine? Seems perfectly suited for our food conundrum." Eugene called you over to what looked like a tractor of some kind.

You stepped up onto the wheel of the machine and bent over to glance into the large engine. Truth be told, you had little knowledge of cars and machinery. But, you were a little concerned about letting Daryl get too close to Eugene.

Daryl watched the situation, his eyes falling to your ass as you stretched over the side of the machine to glance at the engine.

And then he froze.

Eugene was looking too. Unashamedly and with hunger.

He could have shot him where he stood. God, he wanted to. Instead, his boots slammed against the concrete as he made his way over to Eugene.

"You'd best keep your eyes off." Daryl pointed a finger in his face, the warning crystal clear to Eugene.

After all, he had no idea that you were in a relationship with Daryl.

Hearing the rising tensions, you quickly popped up and shut the hood. "Looks good! We'll get somebody to help us move it in the next few days."

Jumping down from the machinery, you placed a hand on Daryl's chest. "Daryl and I will check these shelves over here if you want to go see what kind of provisions they have here." You spoke to Eugene, your finger absentmindedly drawing circles on Daryl's vest.

"Yes, ma'am. Y'know, a woman of your caliber really should have more authority around the community. Been doin' a fine job leading so far." Eugene offered you a smile before walking over in the direction you gave him.

Daryl clenched his jaw, staring off into the distance with furrowed brows. You looked up at him and snickered, hand leaving his chest as you walked over to the shelves.

You rifled through items that could be of use, searching for supplies that would benefit Alexandria. A shuffling sound from behind you made you smirk. "Can't stay away, huh?"

Daryl took a quick glance around to make sure nobody was looking. Then, his hands snaked around your hips, firmly pulling them back to press against him. "Ya' think this is funny, don't ya'?" His voice was a whisper as he pressed kisses to the back of your neck.

"Think it's funny to rile me up?" One hand ran up your shirt to feel your bare skin, the other kept you pressed against him.

"Daryl-" you whined. "He could see us!"

"Good-" Daryl sucked on your neck, leaving a prominent mark where his lips were. "Let him see."

You couldn't even focus on looking for anything; the heat of his body against yours, pushing you into the shelving, drove you insane.

"But we haven't told him about us-" Your words became a quiet moan as his hand traveled down to your clothed cunt, pressing his rough hands into the spot where you wanted him most.

"What's the big deal, sugar? S'the best way to tell him." Daryl's mind was spinning, rage and lust mixing up inside of him to the point where all he could do was manhandle you with the hopes that he could get his message across.

With one hand, Daryl unbuttoned your jeans. "Daryl, no, he'll catch us." Daryl paused at your words.

"You want me to stop?" He kissed your neck, his hand gently waiting for your response.

Taking a beat to look around, you realized that Eugene was nowhere to be seen. That was enough for you.

"No." You put your hand on his, leaning your head back to fall on his shoulder.

With your permission, his hand slid down your jeans, breath hitching at the feeling of lace underneath. "Ya' gonna show these to me later, huh?" He ran his fingertips over the fabric, sending a rush of heat down to your core.

A whimper escaped your mouth at his actions, and all you could offer him was a pathetically desperate nod.

"Good girl." Daryl's voice could've made you hit your climax right then and there, the raspy voice whispered quietly in your ear.

With two fingers, he slid your panties to the side gently. Daryl didn't even care what was happening outside the corner of this factory; his thoughts consumed by your trembling frame in front of him as his fingers teased you.

His fingers finally reached where you wanted them, slowly stroking your clit. "Fuck, this is crazy-" you moaned against his shoulder silently.

"Been teasing me all fuckin' day." He grunted against you. "Gonna show ya' who can treat you like ya' deserve." His stubble pressed against your neck as he pressed soft kisses, contrasting the way his left hand was holding your hips tightly.

He slipped one finger in, watching the way you bit back a muffled moan, your hips grinding down onto his hand as he thrusted at a consistent pace.

"Daryl please-" You shut your eyes tightly as he caught onto your need, your desperation, by adding another finger.

"Shh, I got ya'." His left hand was splayed across your torso, pressing into you as his right hand was reached around you, fingering you with his middle and ring fingers.

It was all too much. The stakes, the possibility that Eugene might just turn the corner and see Daryl's hand down your pants, making you fall apart on his fingers.

His breath tickled your neck as his breathing became heavier. "So pretty-" he let out a low hum when you pressed your hips backward into his crotch.

Your legs felt like jelly as he thrusted impossibly faster into your cunt, his thumb occasionally rubbing your clit. "Daryl-" you gasped as he adjusted his hand to get a deeper angle, hitting your spot with ease.

"S'That where you want me, sugar?" He smirked at your reaction.

"Yes!" You grabbed onto the shelf in front of you to ground you. "Fuck right there, please." You were so goddamn close, the adrenaline from the whole scenario only further leading you to your climax.

Your orgasm hit you hard, sending waves of pleasure through you as Daryl kept going, working you through it.

"Fuck-" Daryl was breathing hard now at the sight of you, fighting his hardest to keep his own arousal at bay.

Still shuddering from your powerful orgasm, clanking could be heard not far from the two of you. Daryl slowly removed his hand, his touch lingering on you before he finally pulled away.

It was Eugene coming back with bags of seed and other items. "Found some provisions that would benefit our community to the highest extent."

You were leaning against the shelving, your face flushed and your clothing an absolute mess. "Feelin' alright, Ms. Y/n?" Eugene had no idea.

"Yeah-I." Your eyes met Daryl, who threw you a wink as he walked away from the conversation. "Just feelin' a little weak. Might be time to head back home." Thank god for Eugene's gullible nature in that moment.

Standing behind Eugene's back, Daryl stared you down with hunger in his eyes as he licked his fingers.

Fuck.

[uglylittlelamb]

a knock on your door wasn't uncommon, but one in the dead of night was confusing. you were half asleep, hoping it would just go away. you’d figure it out in the morning if it was important. the knocks, however, persisted for much longer than expected. when you finally went to answer it, though, they had stopped, and you swung open the door to look.

daryl dixon was pissing in your yard. grumbling to himself, he swayed while he peed in your bushes. once he realized you had seen him, he quickly tucked himself away and cleared his throat, struggling to stay balanced. "y'didn't answer the door, i had t'piss," he slurred.

you didn't look impressed, but quickly realized he was drunk. so, instead of yelling at him to scram and leave you alone, you let the pathetic man in your house. sitting him down at the center island, you got to work grabbing him some water and bread. he felt out of place, being taken care of like this. but god, he loved being in your home. it smelled like you, made him warm and floaty. he liked your hands, small and soft, grabbing him a glass. too drunk to think, daryl’s lips moved before his brain did, and he made a fool of himself.

"you smell good," he mumbled. "y'look nice. thanks fer this. sorry i pissed in yer yard."

you sighed, tired eyes focused on getting daryl water. a shake of your head, and you shoved it in his palm. “slow sips. if you vomit on my carpet, i’m makin’ you lick it up.”

“yes, ma’am,” daryl muttered, head down in shame.

watching him take small sips begrudgingly, you kept your arms folded. “you piss on my daisies?” you asked flatly.

daryl paused, blinking slow. he didn’t fucking know. had no idea. he barely remembered doing it. a shrug.

you sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose, before making an executive decision to walk over and grab the glass. you examined his face, glassy eyes, the kicked puppy frown.

“you’re a messy drunk,” you murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

daryl flinched, before leaning into it, “yeah… i know.”

“so why’re you drunk?”

“missed you.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“it is…” daryl chewed the inside of his cheek. “was jus’… thinkin’. about’cha. wanted to… see you.”

“you drank before you got here, though,” you clarified, hand falling from his face. “so what was up before?”

daryl didn’t answer. instead, he leaned in, and let his forehead rest on your shoulder. you could’ve pried it out of him, but you couldn’t help wrapping your arms around him. “you’re an idiot,” you whispered.

“you smell nice,” daryl mumbled.

“you mentioned that,” you rolled your eyes.

a/n: here have this while i spiral into oblivion. thanks for your patience & support as always. mwah.

[hollowhuntress]

unfortunately, i have seen this with my own eyes.

(tt credit: darylisferal0.o)

[lavandine]

⸻ 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦.

It wasn’t a good book. Hell, you’d go so far as to say that it was pretty damn bad, but that didn’t matter. This shitty novel had given you a break. It was a way to escape this fucked up place that the world had become, and everyone was glad that Dale shared it.

Glenn had already read it. It had surprised you initially, since you hadn’t taken him for a reader. He seemed more like an action movie kind of guy, obsessed with fast cars as he was. Then again, the apocalypse left little options.

As he gave it to you, Dale insisted that he’d have packed better books if he had known the world was going to end. It made you laugh, and sparked a conversation between you and the elderly man. Sitting on top of the RV, keeping watch wasn’t your favorite task, no. You’d constantly worry about missing a walker approaching the farm, or worse, a horde. On top of that, you weren’t a great shot. The isolation of the whole thing left you wondering why Andrea liked it so much, but you guessed not everyone enjoyed doing laundry and cooking all day.

Now, you could understand it a little bit better. The sun was beating down on the RV, heat making it almost unbearable to stay out in the open. Luckily, it would get colder soon.

It wasn’t too bad sitting here in company. From what you could gather, Dale had an amazing taste in books. Came with 65 years of reading, probably. He seemed happy that you could match his impressive literary knowledge, allowing for a nice talk.

It really wasn’t so bad up here if you had company.

It made you think about what it would be like to keep watch with Daryl.

The redneck had occupied your thoughts for a while. Since his dedication in the hunt for Sophia, to be exact. He was incredible at tracking, and still, it didn’t amount to the end everyone had wished for Carol.

Of course, Carol was devastated. Pretty much everyone was. The search had been a reason to keep going, even though deep down, it was clear to you all that you had been chasing a shadow. Now that it was over, morale was at an all time low. Some doubted Rick’s leading abilities, and tension arose within the group.

It made sense that everone was affected. However, no one seemed to see the effect that this failure had on Daryl. Either that, or they simply didn’t want to. He made it easy for them to ignore him, avoiding the group in general. Kept himself holed up in his one man tent further away from the rest of the group. And that after he took a bullet, too.

You’d think he’d admit his vulnerability and accept help, but since the second he was allowed to get up after the wound was tended too, he hadn’t been back. Andrea had come to apologize, Lori had brought him food, even Carol had come by, but none of them had managed to get more than a few words out of the man.

While you understood that he was frustrated and angry at himself, you were determined to coax him out of his hardened shell.

How? Well, you had a reason now.

That was at least what you told yourself as you made your way to his tent.

Your dedication diminished with every step you took. Standing directly in front of it, you weren’t even sure if you should go inside anymore. Maybe you were overstepping. Maybe he would throw you out and feel even worse after you had talked to him.

About to turn around and forget about the whole thing, you flinched when you heard rustling inside of the tent and finally, its zipper being pulled down.

You were met with the sight of Daryl, resting on his cot inside the tent. He lowered his arm and raised a brow, seemingly surprised at the sight of you.

“What d’ya want? I can hear ya shufflin’ 'round, y’know. Didn’t shoot me, ain’t got nothin’ ta apologize for.”

You straightened, looking a little sheepish as you shook your head.

“I know. Look, I was gonna leave, but— I thought you could use a distraction. Must be boring being stuck here all day.”

He hummed. “S’pose.”

That wasn’t a direct rejection, so you pulled yourself together and kneeled down at the tent’s entrance. Threw him an experimental smile, not hesistant, but not confident either.

“Right. That’s why I wanted to give you this. There isn’t exactly much else to do in here.”

You held out your hand, offering him the book.

He eyed it, then glanced up at you. Seemed wary, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of the gesture. “A book?”

You nodded. “What, never seen one before?”

It was supposed to sound light-hearted, ease the tension between the two of you, but with your intimidated, wavering voice, it probably did a poor job. You cringed internally, cursing yourself for even trying to start a conversation with him. He probably felt bothered by you, peace disturbed and wished you would just leave already so he could—

Oh. Your thoughts went quiet when he reached out and took it, sitting up a little straighter on his dirty blanket. The surpressed wince didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you were about to ask him if he was okay, but he was faster.

“That Dale’s?”

A meek nod. “Yeah.” Unsure of what to add to this, you stayed quiet, eyes flickering up to his face.

Daryl huffed, flipping through the pages. Then looked at you. You were ready to be told off for intruding at last, but it was his turn to surprise you.

“What, no pictures?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d thought you had made out the hint of a smirk around his lips, but it was gone too quickly for you to be sure.

Your face fell, caught off guard. “You— you can’t read?” Shock must have been written all over your face judging by the roll of his eyes.

“Nah”, he scoffed, “I can read alrigh', girl. Just ain’t a fan.” He scratched his neck, eyes falling down to the book in his hands.

A faint blush spread on your cheeks. Of course he could, what were you thinking. This didn’t have to be so awkward but of course you’d go and call him an analphabet, for god’s sake…

You cleared your throat, “Oh. Sorry. I mean, I have only read half of it so far, but Glenn said it wasn’t half bad. Maybe better than being all alone with your thoughts? I’ll take it back to Dale, if you want to, I mean—"

He shook his head, interrupting your nervous babbling.

“Don’t gotta take it back”, he huffed. Curt and to the point, as always. His rough voice didn’t fail to make you feel a little silly, intimidated by the one man that had protected you for months now. And the others, of course. Not you especially.

“Sure. Okay, I’ll leave you to it.” Embarrassed, you began getting up when his head snapped up, following your movement.

Daryl frowned, brows pulled together tightly. “Wha', ya ain’t gonna read it to me?” He seemed a little offended if anything, making you stop in your tracks and falter.

“Huh? You want me to stay?” Now it was your turn to be confused. However, he ended that by patting down a spot in the tent next to him.

A shrug, “Ya said ya were only halfway through. Course I ain’t gonna take it from ya now. Ya could be dead tomorrow, fer all I know. Might as well finish that damn story.” His voice didn’t leave much space for discussion.

You were strangely touched. He payed attention to every word you were saying, apparently. Not only did he refrain from throwing you out, he wanted you further inside the tent.

Your braced yourself, smiling at him. “Oh, uh, sure. I’ll read to you.”

As you crawled inside the tent, he reached for the zipper to close the opening. You made yourself as comfortable as was possible in the small room, leaving space between you and him. Didn’t want to overstay your welcome or make him feel uncomfortable. After all, it was rare for Daryl to allow others near him at all, always the closed off hunter. Actually, you hadn't heard him talk this much in weeks.

You counted yourself lucky. Must have caught him at a good time, then.

“Okay, I’ll start with chapter one.”

“Nah, just go on from where ya left off.”

“Are you sure? You won’t understand the story if—"

“Don’t care.”

“Well, if you insist.”

And so you began reading, stealing the occasional glance at him, spread out on his blanket, arms under his head. He was staring at the tents ceiling, blue eyes trained on the worn fabric. His focus however was on you and you only. He listened to your gentle voice, losing himelf solely in the sound instead of the story. Fuck, he could care less for the story.

No, he only cared about the way the words formed in your throat, flowing out of your lips. The soft breathing, how it hitched when you reached an exciting passage. The small noise of frustration when you stumbled over a sentence and had to begin anew…

If only you knew how much he liked your presence.

Honestly, if someone had asked him anything about the content of the novel by the point you said goodnight and left his tent to return to yours, he would have been at a loss. Didn’t remember a thing about the characters, but all about the way you had invented distinctly unique voices for each of them.

That book may have not been the best, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t grateful for every single chapter.

[sc3ptre]

I would like to request a one-shot. One where Daryl and the reader have an argument, because the reader is jealous that the women of Alexandria flirt with him, And after the discussion Daryl fucked her on the table 😶 I'm sorry if it's not very clear, but my English is not good, sorry

Fuck me lucid

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-1114

☆ Keep an eye on Station Log: KINKTOBER '25 next month!!

a/n: The next five weeks are gonna be full of smut...let me know if i should be apologizing for it

Classification and content warnings: Smut +18 | established relationship, oral, three finger combo, finger sucking, nipple play, unprotected p-in-v sex, hair pulling, double creampie, several female orgasms and squirting.

Temporal setting: Season 11 / Commonwealth

Word count: 4.2k

Divider by me ;)

You weren’t the jealous type, at least, you never had been. Jealousy didn’t fit the way you moved through the world, it felt clumsy and noisy against the quiet you preferred but lately something had lodged under your ribs and refused to let go. It sat there like a stone, warm and irritating, until small things, a laugh that lingered a moment too long or a look that came back to haunt you, started to make it ache. Today, whatever you'd been swallowing finally rose to the surface and instead of speaking it, you closed off. You gave Daryl the silent treatment without intending to, like a reflex you couldn’t control.

He watched you from the counter, quiet as a shadow, washing an invisible problem into the sink with slow, steady movements. You kept circling the kitchen, accomplishing small tasks with mechanical precision while avoiding the one person who mattered most. On your third pass, his hand reached out, not rough or sudden, just a steady, knowing touch that tipped your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him. His gaze was intense, the kind that asked for the truth without shouting.

“What’s on yer mind?” he asked, voice low enough to fold around you, a steady sound that felt like a promise. “Talk t’ me.”

You brushed his hand away before the words could roll past your teeth. “Nothing,” you said, too quickly. The word landed hollow.

Daryl’s expression hardened just a fraction, patience sat in his face like a tired cloak but it wasn’t endless. He’d given you space when you needed it before but silence wore thin when it was used as a shield. He stepped closer, the scrape of his boots against the floor a small punctuation in the room.

“Ya expect me to buy tha’ ‘nothing’?” he shot back, voice edged now, not cruel but not willing to dance around it. “Ya’ve been off for a while. Dun act like it ain’t worth sayin’ somethin’.”

He called it as he saw it, blunt and direct, and the way he said it made it clear he wasn’t going away until you told him why the light had gone out of your face.

He waited, watching your face like he could read the weather there, clouds gathering, the way your jaw tightened and the little hitch in your breath that gave things away before words could. Daryl knew something was gnawing at you, a weight you weren't ready to name and it was starting to settle between you both like unwelcome dust. He didn't like the way the distance had room to grow.

When he reached out and cupped your cheek, the touch was firm and sure, not rough but not tentative either. “Talk t’ me,” he repeated. “Please. It's obviously somethin’ that's been weighing on ya, so just... tell me what it is.” He meant it. He wanted to help but couldn't do that if you kept him out of the light.

You let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a stab of annoyance. “Do you have to be so nice to the women talkin' to you? I mean… that lady at the other end of the street wants in your pants real bad.”

For a beat he simply blinked, the question landing in his slow-burn gaze. Then a soft chuckle slipped past him, not scornful or cruel, just a sound that came from somewhere that had understood. The edges of his face eased. He finally saw what your silence had been circling.

“Is tha’ what this's about?” he asked, shaking his head a fraction, the movement small but certain. There was warmth in his eyes but something steadier under it, seriousness. “Sunshine, I can't be an asshole ta everybody, not here with so much at stake. Don’t mean a damn thing.”

He held your gaze a long moment after that, like he wanted the words to sink in. His hand lingered on your cheek, it was the kind of presence that said he wasn't letting this go until you let him in.

When he spoke, his voice dropped into that low timbre that made the hair along your arms lift.

“Ya really think some woman on the street matters even half a percent t’ me?” The question hung there, not a challenge so much as an attempt to cut through the fog. “I come home t’ ya. I ride with ya. I fuck, care, kill and live for ya.”

He tipped his head making sure his eyes met yours, the pressure soft but unyielding. “There’s only one woman whose pussy owns my cock…” He paused and the easy confidence in him made something in your chest unclench. “And she’s givin’ me the silent treatment over someone who don’t even know my name.”

A rumble of laughter rolled up from his chest as he brushed his nose against yours, the sound warm and slightly surprised. “Ya wanna know how clueless that lady was? She called me ‘David.’”

He let the laugh fade and caught your mouth with a look that mixed tenderness and mischief. “Now quit bein’ cute and jealous…unless yer gonna let it turn into somethin’ we play with later.”

“Speaking of that. You haven’t touched me in…how long?” you shot back, sliding up onto the dining table like it was the only place that made sense to land.

He laughed again, that rough, affectionate sound that always lived at the back of his throat. “That’s bullshit and ya know it.” He lifted a hand, tracing a slow line along your jaw, a touch that said everything the words did not. “I’ve had m’ hands on ya every goddamn day after work, in every way I can. You know tha’.”

You planted yourself on the table, folding your arms, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. “I actually don’t know anything anymore,” you admitted, all the worry pouring out in a rush. “Besides the fact that I want that woman nowhere near you. Next thing I know, she’ll be knockin’ on our door, asking you to fix somethin’ and when you show up, she’ll be wearin’ somethin’ skimpy. How do I know that? Because that’s exactly what I’d do.”

He watched you for a long breath, thumb still moving in the same easy circle along your skin, eyes holding yours like he was memorizing the angle of your jaw, the way you argued even when you tried not to. The kitchen hummed around you both, ordinary sounds in a world that used to feel ordinary and in that small private orbit, everything else seemed to shrink until the two of you were the only things that mattered.

He stood there with that slow, dawning look sliding across his face until it landed on something softer, understanding. He’d finally put the pieces together. For all your toughness, for all the ways you pushed the world away, possessiveness lived in you too. It wasn’t something he resented, if anything, it pleased him to know he belonged to you as much as you belonged to him but you needed the truth, loud and plain and he wanted you to hear it with no room for doubt.

“She’s a stranger,” he said, stepping impossibly closer until his boots scraped the floor like a drumbeat you felt in your bones. “And I ain’t goin’ to her place to fix a damn thing.”

“It was much easier when you hated talking,” you shot back, a challenge wrapped in accusation.

His palms came to rest on either side of your thighs where you sat on the table. “I don’t look. I don’t answer. I don’t entertain,” he said, each word a small hammer striking the uncertainty out of you. His thumb wandered, catching on your lower lip until the scowl you wore softened.

“’Cause my mouth? My hands? My cock?” He let the question hang, then locked his gaze to make his point land. “They only work for one woman.” He gripped your thigh with a little more force, letting the pressure underline every syllable. “And right now” –he leaned in, so close you felt the rough brush of stubble, “she’s sittin’ righ’ here on this table actin’ jealous…wearin’ my scent from last nigh’. That’s how long it’s been and it’s killin’ me.”

There was no boast in it, only honest hunger and the plain fact of how he felt. You watched him, heartbeat picking up, every thread of you tuned to him.

“So if she shows up at our door?” he asked, almost as if testing the world. He straightened, face flat and dry. “I’ll tell her I’m busy and tha’ my woman’s waitin’ in bed waitin’ to be fucked into the mattress.”

“Show me then,” you said, cool and direct. “If that’s your plan.”

Something like surprise fluttered through him and his breath went a half-beat short. The air between you tightened, charged with the dare. He let that small pause hang before answering.

“Show ya?” he repeated, one hand sliding up your thigh to grip, a hard certainty in the motion. “Ya wanna see how much I’m yours?”

The question wasn’t a boast. It was a promise, raw and unvarnished and it landed in the space between you like a pledge you could both keep.

He moved with a single, fluid motion, quick enough to answer the hunger in his chest, careful enough that nothing tore. His fingers fumbled at the thin fabric of your panties and in a heartbeat they were bunched and pushed aside. He sank to his knees in front of you, hands working at his belt with an intimacy that made the air around you hum, allowing his cock more space to grow. When he lifted his head, his eyes were dark and unguarded.

“Open yer legs for me, baby… and then I’ll show ya exactly who this cock belongs to,” he said, voice certain.

You obeyed. The moment your thighs parted, the world narrowed to him, whole and immediate, without question. He didn’t rush you, instead he leaned in, lips trailing slow, hot kisses along the inside of your thigh, each press leaving a small wake of heat. One hand moved up, fingers finding your already slick and ready pussy, testing you with an ease that made your breath hitch.

“Feel that?” he asked, the rasp in his voice raw with claim as his fingers penetrated your walls. “Already wet… ’cause ya know what’s comin’.”

When his mouth closed over your clit, it was urgent and exacting, with no gentleness this time, only a fierce, insistent pressure that matched the curl of his fingers inside you. He drove a rhythm between tongue and touch that left you gasping and between the sounds you made came words, low and fierce.

“I’ve been showin’ ya since day one,” he assured, teeth grazing the tender skin as he steadied himself.

Each stroke of his fingers brought another moan from you. He kept a relentless pace, until the wet heat on his chin was as much proof of you as the way your back arched for him. You braced on the tabletop, breath shallow, voice breaking on a single, ragged curse. “Oh… shit” that spooled the next pull tight and bright.

He wanted you to know what you did to him, not just the way your body fit his mouth or hand but the way your taste lived on his tongue. He added a third finger, slow in its stretch and you felt the world narrow to the small, sharp pleasure that came from being taken and known in equal measure.

His eyes never left you once he lifted his head, pupils dark. The sight of his lips, wet with the faint sheen of you on them and flushed, sent a shiver straight through your spine.

“Look at me, sunshine,” he ordered and then his mouth closed over you again, urgent and precise.

When he slipped his fingers free, he watched your face the whole time, slow and exact as he drew each finger to his mouth and cleaned you away, never once breaking that fierce gaze. “Every drop of you is mine... just like every part of me is yours,” he said, each syllable a claim.

He rose smooth and sure, trapping you beneath him. His thumb feathered over your lower lip, an almost tender insistence. “Stop questionin’ it,” he said. “Start believin’ what you already know.”

You took his thumb, sliding it into your mouth, warm and sweet, and he looked at you with something that was equal parts hunger and relief. With his other hand he fully freed himself from his jeans, the movement was quick, practiced and when he let himself loose you felt the hard length press against your wet and already swollen pussy.

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice thick as he pulled his thumb from your mouth and replaced the taste with his own lips, kissing you deep and tasting himself on you. He guided the head of his cock through your slick folds with a slow, teasing patience that made your knees tremble.

“You feel that?” he asked, breathing rough against your lips as he ground forward, just enough to pull a startled gasp from you. “All for you... always.”

He lifted your thigh, setting your leg higher around his hip and then he drove in. The motion hit hard, raw and immediate and you felt him answer every unspoken thing between you.

“Now show me who owns this cock,” he demanded.

You didn’t hesitate. “Please,” you breathed.

He echoed you as he pulled almost all the way out, the tip resting, then slammed in again, driving with an animalistic rhythm that stole the air from the room. He kept the pace brutal and steady from the first thrust, hips snapping forward with a hunger that left no space for hesitation. Each drive landed exactly where you needed it, digging into a place that erased the rest of the world and boiled everything down to one sharp truth: he was yours.

His hand fisted in the back of your hair, keeping you where he wanted you, while the other gripped your hip hard enough that you’d feel the imprint tomorrow. Between each movement his mouth found yours, breath ragged, words lost to the force of motion. “Ya want me?” he panted, the question more demand than invitation. “Then take it, take all of it.”

You let your chin rest against his shoulder, breath coming in shallow, hot bursts. Your answer came out raw and simple, dragged out by the rhythm of him. 

“Uhhh…yes.” The single syllable dissolved into a moan that answered him and nothing else.

His teeth grazed the soft skin just below your ear as you pushed deeper and when your nails sank into the muscle of his arm he shifted, angling his hips to press farther in. The change sent a shock of pleasure through you and the table trembled beneath the force of it. His now free hand mapped your spine, fingertips tracing a path of fire as your name slipped from his lips with a pleading edge that sounded almost like a prayer.

Your sounds, sharp, needy and bright, spurred him on. They landed against his chest and fed the heat building in him, pulling low, guttural responses from him that were as much claim as confession. He wrapped an arm around your waist, hauling you close until you were flush against him.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear, breath warm and urgent. “Ya gonna cum for me, beautiful?” he asked, voice hoarse and fierce, the question carrying every promise he'd been giving you with his body.

You nodded fast, eyes squeezing shut like you could prepare yourself for what was coming. Daryl caught the way you braced and his breath hitched, that last thread of control snapping clean.

“Then come,” he rasped, voice jagged, breaking against the demand. His hand slid down, pressing between your bodies until his fingers found your clit, working hard, relentless circles in time with his thrusts. His hips drove into you with punishing force, the table rattling under the weight of it, wood groaning loud enough to carry but he didn’t give a damn who heard. The only thing that mattered was you breaking apart in his arms.

And then you did. The release tore through you sudden and sharp, body locking tight as a drawn bow. Your nails dug deeper into his skin, teeth sinking into his shoulder as your mouth opened wide on a scream too big to hold.

“That’s it… yeah, that’s mine. All mine,” he ground out, his voice rough and thick with possession.

“Yes–fuck, yes!” you cried, broken, unfiltered, every wave dragging him closer to the edge with you.

He groaned, guttural, chest shaking with the sound as he felt you clamp down around his cock, pulsing hard and milking him with every spasm. It was perfect, so fucking perfect and the sight of you unraveling dragged him straight down with you. His hips slammed once, twice, before he buried deep and came undone, a raw curse spilling against your neck as his release poured into you, cock twitching hard, every throb grounding him in you.

For a while, neither of you moved, your breaths tangled, his chest pressed to yours. Only after the storm ebbed did he ease you back against the table, careful hands guiding your legs down so they didn’t cramp, so you were resting easy beneath him. He stayed buried inside, not rushing the part where the world returned. That closeness, that tether, mattered too much.

“You alrigh’?” he murmured, voice still ragged.

You shivered at the cool wood beneath your back, the contrast to the heat still flooding your body making you tremble. “Fuck yes,” you whispered back, breathless, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

A shaky breath escaped you then, faltering as his thumb traced over your entrance, the subtle pressure pushing you wide while his cock remained buried inside. Every small, tentative thrust sent a ripple through your body, making it impossible to look anywhere but at him.

“Mhm…there ya go,” he rumbled, his voice low, each word thick with satisfaction. His fingers roamed, teasing and he watched the way your muscles clenched around him with every delicate motion. “Ya take me so damn well,” he added, eyes burning into yours like a brand.

He moved slowly, almost lazily, savoring the sight of you stretched across the table, your back arching and mouth falling open with each roll of his hips. Every groan and shiver from your body was a pull, coaxing him further, reigniting the ache that never fully left him. Even as he softened slightly, watching your reactions was sure to make him hard all over again.

“Look at ya,” he rasped as he pressed forward, deeper now, the pace calculated but insistent. “Still so sensitive…but already takin’ more.”

One hand slid under your ass, lifting and angling you just right so every stroke hit that perfect spot, deep inside, sending sparks straight to your core. The table groaned beneath the movement, the sound barely noticed, drowned out by the two of you lost in the rhythm.

“Ya feel tha’?” he panted, hips rolling slow and firm. “Not done with this pussy… not even close.” His thumb teased at your clit, brushing and pressing in time with each grind, eyes locked on yours.

Then he snapped forward with one sharp, deep thrust and your gasp echoed around the room, a mixture of heat, surprise and need.

“We go again… slower, deeper,” he growled, pressing you higher, keeping you pinned, hips dragging in perfect, punishing rhythm. “Until ya get yer damn head straight.”

Your body responded instantly, whining as the head of him hit just the right spot. “Fuck…right there,” you gasped, voice tight and trembling, entirely at his mercy.

He knew exactly where to strike, that one deep, tender spot that made your muscles clench around him like a vice, each movement pulling a groan from his chest. The way your hips lifted slightly off the table to meet his thrusts, the way your fingers wished to dig into the wood, it all told him that he had you exactly where he wanted.

“Right here?” he murmured, dragging out each movement just enough before pushing in again with a sharp, controlled roll of his hips. “Feels good, don’t it? Like you could beg for it anytime…which you can.”

One hand slid up your stomach, fingers pinching your nipple with careful pressure, while the other stayed firmly under your ass, guiding your body with every thrust. He set a slow rhythm, each movement calculated to make your breath hitch, your back arch further and heart hammer in your chest.

“You’re so greedy for this cock,” he rumbled, leaning down until his lips brushed yours, a mix of heat and claim in every movement. “And I ain’ stopping… not until ya come again… or decide yer done ignoring yer husband.”

His name slipped past your lips in a trembling whisper, soft but charged and when he caught it, he memorized it instantly. Daryl slowed his pace even more, deep and torturous, letting each stroke draw out the tension, building it until it ached deliciously between you both.

Your core clenched around him, responding to every subtle push and pull. He could feel the edge of your release approaching and he used it to push you closer, each thrust timed to perfection. He pulled out slightly, letting you squirt freely with a soft, broken whine before sliding back in and repeating the motion, watching your body react in ecstasy.

A grin tugged at his lips as he took in the sight: your back arched, breath catching and body trembling and spilling across his pelvis. Every time with you was different, every reaction unique and yet this? this was the part he loved most. The one that reminded him, every single time, why you were his and only his.

“You like tha’, huh?” His voice rumbled with satisfaction, as he pulled out just enough to watch it happen all over again, your slick dripping down both of you. “So damn sensitive… can’t even handle a few deep strokes?”

Then he pushed back in, slow and hard, letting that maddening rhythm take over. He gave a few deep, precise thrusts, pulling out just before you tipped over the edge, watching you writhe and whine beneath him, before sinking back inside as if every inch of his cock belonged to you…which, in every way, it did.

“Look at me,” he growled, cupping your jaw as your eyes rolled back. “I want t’ see every second of it.”

He didn’t relent, teasing you with the same relentless rhythm, bringing you to the edge again and again. Your moans grew louder, more desperate and each time he pulled back, just in time to watch it spill over his cock and onto the table below, a raw, messy masterpiece of need.

“How could ya ever think I was anythin’ but yours?” he muttered between groans, thrusting deep one last time, burying himself fully as your body clenched around him without control. “This cock? This cum?” He leaned down, pressing his lips hard to yours. “All. Fuckin’. Yours.”

“Gonna cum,” you mumbled, legs already trembling from the tension.

His hips stilled just a moment, enough to let you register the pause, then slammed into you with punishing depth and precision. “Then come,” he growled into your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “Come around this cock again. Show me how you squeeze it.”

He didn’t slow. He didn’t stop. Every drive, every roll of his hips dragged along every swollen nerve inside you, his hand gripping your thigh to keep you open, exposed and utterly his, as he pushed you over again and again.

Soon enough, your back arched violently off the table, legs trembling so hard they nearly gave out beneath you. A broken, ragged moan tore from your throat, his name half-formed and lost in breath, echoing the intensity of the release that consumed you. He felt it, the pulse of your climax tightening around him and still, he didn’t relent, pushing deeper and chasing every last spasm of sensation and drawing out his own mounting edge.

"That's right…" he panted, voice rough and ragged. "Come all over my cock like ya were made for it."

“Ughhh… fuck!” you groaned, gasping for breath, every nerve still trembling from the intensity.

He let you ride out every pulse and aftershock, his hips moving in slow circles to prolong the sensation, to make you feel every lingering heartbeat of your release. His name was still warm on your lips, your thighs trembling against his sides as he stayed buried inside you, cock pulsing, throbbing, painting you with the thick proof of his own climax. “Attagirl,” he breathed.

"Feel better now?" His voice was rough, husky with exertion, yet threaded with quiet amusement. He didn’t pull out, not yet. "You gonna tell me next time yer jealous?" His thumb traced along your bottom lip, gentle but claiming. "Or do I have to fuck it out of ya every time?"

“Haven’t decided yet,” you replied with a small, worn smile, the heat between you still pulsing and leaving nothing unclaimed.

A/n: If you liked this piece, check out the archive for more and consider liking and sharing it! reblogs help others discover my writing and comments always brighten my day plus it encourages me to keep creating :) Thanks for reading, lovelies.

[carnivorousbites]

𝕳𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖑’𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕻𝕿 2

Probably thought I forgot about this. Nope I’ve been slowly working on it. My brain has just been consumed by the stripper reader x Daryl fanfic I’m making which hopefully will be out soon!

Part 1, Daryl’s POV

Smut ♥︎ MDNI 18+

TW: dry humping, masterbation. P in v smut, riding, praise.

🦷“Here put him in my room!” Your offer is automatic. Hershel shoots you a look but you ignore it as you slip by rushing up the stairs showing Rick to your room.

🦷Daryl, covered in dirt and bleeding from all parts of his body looks out of place in the soft colors, fluffy fabrics, and general coziness of your bedroom.

🦷You tend to Daryl every day. At first under the watchful eye of Hershel but eventually by yourself. Sit with him longer than most people. Watching with wide curious eyes because for the first time he isn’t filthy and he actually looks peaceful.

🦷Daryl who gets his wish. Waking up to your pretty face and soft touches. For a second he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. He stares at you like a newborn blinking stupidly. He watches as you continue to peel the bandage off of his side too engrossed with your task to notice that he’s conscious.

🦷 “How’d you die?” His voice is raspy from not using it, his head feels like cotton, Every part of his fucking body and head hurt like hell and yet all he can focus on is you.

🦷You freeze eyes snapping up, your breathing hitched and for a second there’s silence before you’re standing up moving faster than lightning towards your bedroom door screaming down the stairs. “DADDY COME QUICK! MAGGIE GET RICK! DARYL’S AWAKE!”

🦷You come running back to him the biggest smile on your face. Tears of joy pricking the corners of your eyes as you sink to your knees leaning against the bed. Your hand reaches out to tenderly touch his shoulder.

🦷Then he realizes he’s shirtless he immediately bristles. Shame, embarrassment, and fear fill him. Have you seen his back? He doesn’t want you to touch the raised skin. Doesn’t want to see the shocked look that turns into a sad sort of pity.

🦷 So he reacts. Reflexively pushing your hand away. “Stop fussin’ over me like a fuckin’ child.” The words are unnecessarily cruel and hit you deep. It’s ment to hurt. Ment to put you back at arms length where you’re safe. Safe from him.

🦷Daryl who watches your expression falter your hand freeze before you pull away. Before he gets the chance to explain the door bursts open and Rick, Glenn, Hershel, and Andrea all come in and you slip away.

🦷He doesn’t see you the rest of the day. Nor the next day. But he can’t escape you. He’s in your room after all. Whether he wants to or not he gets to know you.

🦷Gets to know you by the art of your walls, the trinkets on the shelves, the titles of the shitty romance books on your bedside table. At night he swears he can smell your shampoo on the pillow, hear your voice through the wind chimes, feel your skin against the cotton sheets.

🦷When you finally show up it’s with dinner. A bowl of soup and some bread. You move quickly, quietly, eyes downcast as you set down the tray. Turning to leave without so much as a glance or a word. The ache in his chest is unbearable. He can’t let you get away.

🦷Daryl who catches your wrist when you turn to leave. “Stay?” If you hadn’t held your breath you weren’t sure if you would’ve heard the plea. You swallow hard and nod.

🦷Daryl who finally works up the courage to kiss you. Soft, gentle, his hand carefully cradling the back of your head. His fingers tangle in your hair when you take control and deepen the kiss.

🦷 The kiss is anything but clean. Teeth and tongue. Whimpers and whines. Breathy moans between pants. When both finally come up for air you’re still connected by a string of saliva. Your lips are swollen bitten pink. He chews on his bottom lip nervously.

🦷 “shut the door.” You don’t have to be told twice. You nearly lose your footing as you scramble towards the door. Lifting the handle and moving it slowly in just the way that you know it won’t squeak.

🦷 “But your wounds!” You protest as one hand wraps around your wrist and the other grips your waist. You squeal as he hauls you into the bed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah wounds heal ‘n shit.” He grumbled as he hauls you up onto the bed. “Ain’t you ever heard of sexual healin’?”

🦷You hadn’t but Daryl was more than willing to teach you. His hands heavy on your waist as he helps you perch on top of him. Gently he pulls your hips forward before dragging them back. Guiding you into a clumsy rhythm.

🦷Your face flushes as you feel him harden under you. A needy whimper falling from your lips as you look down at him. Met with half lidded eyes and red tipped ears. You roll your hips experimentally. Rewarded by feeling his fingers press harder into your hips as he tries to restrain himself.

🦷Within minutes your panties are a sticky mess, Daryl is damn near whining underneath you his hips bucking up to meet the frantic little thrusts of your hips. You stead yourself on his chest desperate for more and Daryl is all too eager to comply.

🦷Both of you are out of clothes in a heart beat. Daryl’s hands trailing up your body. Quick possessive movements that cause goosebumps to rise to your skin. You sit perched slightly below his pelvis your mouth going dry when you see his cock.

🦷He can’t help but smirk watching your face flush. “Ya can touch it ya know.” He teases gently his hand wrapping around yours as he guides your trembling hand towards him.

🦷The moment he feels your fingers shyly wrap around his cock his brain short circuits. His cock twitches and you involuntarily tighten your grip. He can’t help but thrust upwards fucking into your hand.

🦷You who’s sat frozen watching mesmerized until you’re pulled back to the present by the pressure of his hand wrapping around yours. It’s a silent plea but you understand.

🦷You let Daryl teach you how to touch him. The rhythm, the slight twist of the wrist when you reach the tip, the way each stroke made his cock jump. A pearly bead of precum oozing out.

🦷The second Daryl trails his hand over your thighs. His fingers dipping down between your folds feeling how wet and warm you are he can’t help but push a finger in. The little gasp you give is so sweet.

🦷He knows he’s teasing you. With every swipe, every push, every curl of his finger your hand on his cock falters. When he slips a second finger in you abandon the rhythm all together chasing your own pleasure.

🦷Neither of you can take it anymore evident by Daryl’s red leaking cock and the sticky white fluids that cling to Daryl’s fingers, webbing as he pulls them apart. He greedily shoving the fingers in his mouth sucking them clean watching with hooded eyes how you stiffen.

🦷It was agonizing for both of you. A slow descent into madness as you lowered yourself inch by inch. The walls of your pussy fluttering as you adjusted to his size. “Just like that pretty. Fuck feel so good.” He’s panting trying his best to stay still but you make it so hard. His knuckles are white from how tight he’s holding onto you. Your palms press flat against the center of his chest as you try to steady yourself.

🦷When your pussy finally takes all of him you’re a mess. Your cheeks are red, mouth open as you try to catch your breath, your thighs are already trembling on either side of him from how full you feel. It’s too much and not enough all at once. “Fuck, you’re tight. Ya need to relax pretty.”

🦷Daryl who experimentally rolls his hips. His eyes never leaving your face watching as your face scrunches trying to adjust. Finally you start to relax your own body matching the tentative thrusts. You look so beautiful like this on top of him.

🦷 “M-more. Please more.” You moan out not entirely sure what you’re asking for but Daryl understands and he picks up the pace. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix as his hands pull you down to meet him. It’s heavenly and for once Daryl lets himself get lost in something he wants. Something he needs.

🦷Your pussy drools all over him with each bounce. His gaze trailing from your parted lips that he wants to push his fingers past. To the way your nipples are pebbled so perfectly he wants to sit up and suck one, abuse the flesh between his teeth just to see what sounds you make. Finally his gaze lands on where you two are connected.

🦷Slick and fluids a ring of creamy white forming around the base of his cock nearly causing him to cum. He picks up the pace sweat starting to form on his chest, his arms, down his neck as he moves you up and down along his length.

🦷 The way your pussy clenches around him. Wet, velvet walls that suck his cock right back. He’s fucking you deeply reaching places your fingers have never felt. The way you’re looking down at him face flushed, chest heaving, a deep rooted need on your face and Daryl is nothing if not a provider.

🦷 “I’ve got ya.” His voice is wrecked as he tries to reassure you. One of his hands finally releases your hip moving down over your tummy. His thumb pressing hard against your clit as he rubs little circles watching as your whole body reacts. Fighting off the inevitable.

🦷You fall first. A wail of pleasure passing through your lips as your head falls back. Your hips stutter but Daryl is there to catch you. Fucking you through your orgasm. One hand clamped on your waist the other has the rough pad of this thumb still working frantically over your clit. He feels you gush over him, his lap becoming wet with your release and that’s all it takes before the muscles low in his abdomen coil and snap.

🦷You both fall asleep entangled in the sheets. A mess of limbs curling around each other as Daryl keeps your face tucked against his chest. The moon moves across the sky and the birds slowly start to sing as the sun climbs in the sky. Neither of you hear the floor boards groan from down the hall. Neither of you stir when your door squeaks as it’s opened. Neither of you see the shocked expression of Maggie eyes widen, body tense, jaw dropped as she stares at you.

🦷What’s worse is neither of you see Hershel behind Maggie. His face flat, brows furrowed, his expression unreadable. A few seconds pass before he turns with swift steps leaving Maggie to quietly shut the door and deal with the fall out. A desperate attempt to give the two of you a few more moments of peace before all hell brakes loose.

[sirloony]

Proud Shane hater since day one...the moment he started talking to rick abt how incompetent women are I knew this guy sucked.

[sirloony]

Proud Shane hater since day one...the moment he started talking to rick abt how incompetent women are I knew this guy sucked.

[devnmon]

𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

daryl dixon x reader

gif by michonnegrines

Warnings: penetration, riding, daryl getting the pampering he deserves

Summary: You're massaging Daryl's back after a long day, and when he starts to get worked up, you find yourself in a position to give him all he deserves.

a/n: happy thanksgiving! this fic took me so long to write (or at least it feels like that) but it's one of my favorite things i've written and i wanted this to go out today as a little treat. enjoy <3

wc: 2.2k

Daryl was currently laid across your bed, tired as all get out. His worn muscles ached, but thanks to your hands, he was able to find some relaxation.

Your hands moved carefully around the scars on his back, pressing your fingertips into the expanses of his skin. Daryl grumbles into the pillow, both of his hands underneath it, bulging his biceps and shoulder muscles out.

His pretty blue eyes have fluttered shut thanks to the gentleness of your hands and overall comfort you brought him. More so, he was amazed at how much softness you embodied even when you spent all day killing walkers or getting your hands dirty for the sake of the community.

Not many can get his guard down so easily, but with you it was like melting butter. Daryl was putty in your hands every time without fail. It had taken so long to get himself to believe there was someone in his life who wanted to care for him just as he’s cared for so many others over the years. Someone to clean his wounds and run their hands through his hair and hold him tight when he needed comfort.

Right now you were proving yourself to be one of the best things in Daryl’s life. Especially when your massaging hands were lulling him further and further to sleep. But he wouldn’t dare let himself and miss out on what you were doing.

“Y’got hands like magic…” he mumbled into his pillow. With the way he sounded, it seemed like you were doing something right.

Moving to a tighter area of his back produced some louder grumbles of discomfort from the man below you, pressing your palm in a bit harder to work out the knots.

Daryl was right, your hands were like magic, something like a spell when his figure immediately melted into the mattress. He felt that existence, or rather human nature couldn’t possibly get better than this. To be the one receiving this type of attention from someone like you, someone he would stop the world for, that made him all the more grateful to have you in his life.

When you leaned down to press kisses to the top of his back, he knew he was in heaven. He had to be, because there’s no way on this godforsaken world he lived in that someone would ever be this close to him. To share the present world’s moments with and bask in the glory of survival.

Rolling over every morning to see you warming the other side of the bed was something Daryl would never get used to. You’d been in his life for so long at that point, he can’t even think of a time where it wasn’t that way. The days came and went, good as they could get, and yet every time he thought of the reason he’d get up in the morning, it all led back to you.

But moments like this, feeling your lips on his back and your hands working his muscles over as carefully as a sculptor worked with their clay, made him feel overly euphoric in the best way possible.

Your body heat hovering over the rest of him and the strands of hair just swiping over his skin the slightest bit grounded him to reality a little bit more. Otherwise, was floating and closer to falling asleep under your hands. Daryl did his best to stay awake under the circumstances of feeling every minute of your hands on his body.

Your lips didn’t just stop their loving press at the top of his back. They floated down his warm skin, delicate yet just soft enough over his scars to leave him wanting infinitely more of you.

Daryl gave your words all the weight of the world, but in this case, it was your actions.

He was able to notice your warm breath above him right before every press, especially when you were going as slow as you could to draw every intimate touch out. With your proximity rather close, the pendant around your neck drags along his back whenever you moved to a different spot.

A coolness in the stone gliding over his skin, much different than the shared body heat and soft kisses you left. It was the proof he was alive and that you were there with him in the present moment.

He hummed in surprise still because amongst all the warm, the cool touch stood out over everything. Your hands were soft and a little worn, but Daryl would be lying if he said the callouses forming on your palms weren’t helping.

This was one of the many ways you pushed pushed out all the bad and let sunshine into his life. He swore you were one if the things he felt unworthy of, even if you had to prove it to him multiple times.

Your fingers slid down to hold Daryl at his waist, lips and the pendant of your necklace quickly following. It was all getting him much too hot out of sheer surprise of the honey-like touch you’d been giving him.

“Baby…” he groaned, “damn…”

Attempting to keep the way he was rolling his hips into the mattress a secret was very short lived.

“Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Y’re so good with your hands.”

Between his deep breathing and the way his words had that gruff of arousal, nothing was left to the imagination. The body heat you two were sharing was more than enough to make him sweat, covering his palms just the slightest as he gripped the sheets. His smaller grunts of enjoyment sounded out whenever you started on a new area of his back.

In the quiet of your room, you could hear every little noise Daryl was making. Every hitch of breath and low hum you caught making your cheeks pink.

You didn’t reply, just continued with your hands on his sides, now trailing your fingertips up and down. He huffed a breath and a slightly louder sound came with his exhale. Your kisses traveled up his spine, fingertips following up his torso and around his biceps. Daryl’s skin heat up with every peck of your lips, the way it was affecting him more noticeably with each slow grind of his hips into the mattress.

It’s when you finally reach his ear with your kisses that you swipe his hair out of the way to whisper in it.

“You’re so pretty like this, Dar…“ you muttered to him. His skin’s warm and his strands of brown hair are soft and smell like pine. His eyelashes flutter open to reveal his blues and he can almost see you out of the corner of his eye.

“You were trying so hard not to make any of those sounds I love so much… but I know for a fact you’re all worked up, doing your best to keep quiet…“

A smug smile accompanied your words, reveling in the knowledge that he was melting before your very eyes.

The world knew Daryl was set alight when you touched him, especially when you touched him like this. You know it’s over for you when you feel him start to lift himself and use his abundance of strength to roll onto his back, making sure he’s keeping you right where you are.

But he’d always been quick with his hands, proven once again to you by his firm hands gripping your waist to keep you on top of him. Daryl sat you right in his lap over the growing hardness in his pants.

“Ohh yeah, I was right. You’re already so hard,” you chuckled, your weight pushing down right over where the tent in his pants was.

“Y’dont get a prize for bein’ right…”

“Oh? Then what do I get?”

“What do you want, hm?”

“To make you feel good…” Your hips grind into his, “to hear you moan in pleasure because of what I’m doing to you.”

Daryl chews on his lip, dragging his eyes over your tousled form in front of him. Your shirt is one of his, thrown over your figure and falling past your waist, covering you in his scent. He gets a whiff of you within his own, and it overwhelms him tenfold.

Daryl pulls you down towards him, locking his lips with yours and grabbing your waist with his big hands. Your pendant falls on his chest, the stone’s coolness touching his skin.

“Wanna ride you, please, Dar…” you whimpered against his lips, your lips traveling down his cheek and to his neck. Your hands slipped downwards to his belt buckle and undid it, the clink of metal an anticipatory sound of what was to come.

“Need ya so bad, baby, can’t take it anymore.” His fingertips slide under his shirt you’re wearing and pull it upwards, tossing it to the side as soon as your head’s free. Your underwear lands somewhere beside it soon after.

His cock comes free of his boxers and you’re wrapping your hand around it before you can even think. The tip is a rosy red, worked up from dry humping the bed and he throbs in your grip. As you move your hand up his length, Daryl throws his head back. He’d been extra sensitive, it seems.

You lift yourself over him, lining up his length with your entrance.

“Jesus, baby, y’re soaked, and you weren’t even the one bein’ touched.”

Your arousal covers his tip, running through your folds that were just as sensitive as the rest of you. When it runs over your clit, you inhale sharply, letting a small moan fall from your lips.

“I can’t control how good you make me feel…”

“Without me even touchin’ you…”

“Mhm…”

Your voice lowered, sitting down on his cock and letting it stretch you out.

“O-oh my god…” you gasped, his length fitting so nicely inside you. Your hips rolled again to push him even further inside you, if just for a moment.

“There ya go, that’s it, look how good y’take me.” His palms hold your waist steady on him.

“Fuck,” you moaned, “mmm, baby…”

Your hips lifted repeatedly, finding a steady rhythm of riding him while his hips thrusted up to meet yours. Hands found their way around the nape of his neck, running his hair through your fingers a bit. Daryl hummed in content, grabbing you to kiss your lips again. He growled against your mouth, lips pressing together so he can taste you. He’s so greedy when he pushes his tongue into your mouth, already given so much of your affection in one day that taking more just felt like gluttony.

“Feels so good, darlin’, god, you’re perfect…”

The friction of his cock along your walls had you twitching with desire, his tip pressing into the deepest parts of you.

Soon enough you grew tired of lifting your hips and just let him take control. His lips peppered kisses down your neck, leaving marks of possession in his wake.

“Oh god- oh fuck, mmh…” you whined, holding yourself up around the nape of his neck, otherwise you would’ve collapsed. The sheer force of his hips pistoning themselves into yours was weakening you, along with the way he kissed your cervix with every one.

Daryl panted against your chest, out of breath and growling in your ear with every thrust of his hips.

“Jus’ a little bit more, y’can do that f’me, can’t ya?” he grumbled in your ear, to which you nodded enthusiastically. His cock twitched as your walls fluttered around him, the low voice he spoke in making a chill run down your spine.

It was all contributing to how fast you barreled towards your release, Daryl’s pace faltering a bit more with each thrust.

“‘M close, darlin’…”

“Yeah… me too…” you mumbled incoherently.

A couple thrusts more and your high was approaching fast, reaching down to swirl at your clit. First contact with the sensitive bud had you clenching around him again, orgasm reaching its peak. All of the sudden your high crashed over you, stuttering walls and loud moans of his name and curses to follow.

Daryl’s panting continued, and soon enough he was slowing down his thrusts to pull out of you and pumped himself to the brink of orgasm. Soon enough, he was painting your stomach white with his cum.

Both of you caught your breath for a few minutes in the cool air of the bedroom, then Daryl spoke.

“Shit, you look so pretty like that,” he chewed on his lip at the sight of you before him. Your flushed cheeks and messy hair and him on your skin.

“Do I?”

“Mhm…“

Daryl’s gaze lingers on every curve of you, stitching it into the backs of his eyes. Then he reaches over to grab a tissue and clean you up with it. When he’s done, you lean over and pepper kisses across his cheeks.

“Love you, Daryl…” you whispered, “so much…”

“Love ya more, darlin’. Thanks for the massage, by the way.” His hand rubs up and down your back, pulling you closer to him.

“You’ve already thanked me,” you replied, kissing his lips while your hand cups his chin.

“I can think of a couple other ways to thank ya. But for now, they’ll have to wait.”

Daryl pulls you close under the covers, and you knew you weren’t getting away from him that easily.

[rotten-biter]

mmh he’s so rockstar bf ✮⋆˙

[migs328]

daryl dixon is gay idgaf

[raewritesfiction]

Real/Touch [Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader]

Plot: inspired by a fanfic idea posted by @dixondisease

Daryl has been used and abused by almost everyone and now he has you, he can quite believe it. It’s like he’s waiting for something to go wrong and doesn’t truly believe you’re real. (Established relationship, no specific era. No descriptions of reader, no use of y/n)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader

Warnings: Fluff and Smut. Touching. Oral (female receiving). Body worship/exploration.

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: Had part of this idea brewing for a while but the fic idea gave me the rest I needed!

The sun was setting outside and the evening air was cooling. The day had been long and busy but you and Daryl had shared a cold shower — totally to save water — and now, here you both lay in bed, naked and tangled in one another.

Daryl’s head was resting against your shoulder; the fingers of one hand combing through his hair, the others were switching between stroking over the arm he had draped over you and his cheek.

You were both silent as the room darkened. His breathing was steady and relaxed but you could feel his eyelashes brushing against your skin as he blinked so you knew he was still awake and thinking. You felt his jaw tense a little as he chewed his lip but you stayed silent; Daryl would speak when he was ready.

Outwardly he was a man of few words to most people. To those he completely trusted, conversation could last for hours. You loved the nights and early mornings you’d had talking about anything, everything. Stupid things and deep conversations alike — nothing was off limits. You’d often spoken about how you’d both thought your lives would go, how things had changed and while it had all gone to shit, you had found each other.

You scratched lightly through Daryl’s hair from temple to nape and smiled as he shivered a little. He swallowed audibly and the small intake of breath preceded his words, like he had to work himself up to speaking. You listened as he started and stopped, stuttered a little but you never interrupted.

“…Are ya real?” Daryl whispered against you softly.

You smiled and nodded “I’m real, baby” you kept your voice on the same level as his.

“I feel like I made y’ up… like I’m gonna wake up sometime and ya won’t be here and reality will hit me that y’ were in my head the whole time.”

Your heart ached for Daryl and you closed your arms around him tight “you didn’t make me up, I’m real, I’m here and I’m not leaving.”

“I’m not used t’ good shit happenin’ t’ me. When it does… somethin’ always comes along to ruin it. I guess… I’m just… scared that’s wha’s gonna happen wi’ you.”

You kiss the top of his head and nuzzle his hair.

“So sometimes I… can’t believe you’d choose me. Outta everyone… you chose me… I was just some redneck with anger issues when we met.”

“I don’t blame you for having anger issues.” You smile. “Everything was shit…. Still is… just less so.”

“Didn’t know how ta talk to women… still don’t. Not the pretty ones like you.”

“You get by baby… I stumbled over my words more than a few times when we started talking.” You chuckle “remember when I served you “binced meef with spagasta sists?…”

You both laugh softly at the memory; your first official date after some months of dancing around each other. You’d meant to say “minced beef with spaghetti”, but you had actually served pasta twists - when you saw Daryl sat in the candle light watching you with those blue eyes, your brain had short-circuited and muddled up letters and words spectacularly.

Daryl nods against you and smiles, turning his head a little to kiss your skin. As he does so you feel a drop into your shoulder, followed by another. It takes a few seconds for you to realise they were tears.

“Baby…?” You try to tilt his face up to you but he doesn’t let you, instead he leans his forehead against your shoulder and sobs quietly. You shuffle a little so you can wrap yourself around him properly. “It’s okay…” you whisper and stroke his hair.

“I’ve done so much… bad shit.. I dunno what good thing is was that meant I deserved you.” He trails his hands over your naked form and slowly looks up at you with red rimmed eyes.

“You did what you needed to do, to survive baby and I’m so glad you did… because now you’re here with me and we get to share what’s left of goodness in this world.” You cup his face with one hand and gently wipe his tears with your thumb before placing a light kiss to the tip of his nose, making him smile.

Daryl squeezes your thigh lightly and continues to trail his fingers over you.

“You making sure I’m really real baby?” You smile, there’s no judgement in your question, just understanding.

He nods in answer “If I can feel ya and touch ya… ya gotta be real..”

You move to lay back for him, your arms resting comfortably above your head on the pillow and Daryl moves to immediately use both hands to map out every curve, every dip, every rise and fall.

His lips are hot and light on your skin, following the paths his hands take time to make over you. He kisses old and new scars; traces their trajectories with the lightest touch of his fingertips.

Each of your nipples are licked slowly; his tongue swirling and flicking over the peaked nubs making you arch and whine. His fingers continue when his mouth leaves them and then his hands trail over you again.

Slowly, Daryl moves lower down you; his hands circle around over your back making you arch further. He doesn’t want to miss a single part of you. He knows how much you like to feel his teeth against your skin and nips lightly across your hip bones from one to the other. He knees up between your legs and gently lifts one; his hands knead over your skin followed by his kisses from thigh to ankle to foot and toes before gently lowering your leg and lifting the other to continue; he starts from your toes but repeats his actions moving up to your inner thigh.

You’d never had your feet kissed before; not something you’d ever thought about. Truth be told now? You want him to do it again because somehow he made you feel like a Goddess being worshipped; the bed was your alter and Daryl was no mere servant; he was your God ruling by your side and protecting you.

As you got lost in your thoughts you gasped suddenly and arched off the bed, gripping your pillow. His thick fingers were slowly circling your entrance and trailing through your slick folds.

Opening your eyes just a little you see his face looking over you laid out before him. His eyes travelled down over you and came to rest on your pussy; his fingers still slowly working over you.

“Daryl…. Please…” you whisper.

He lays himself back down between your legs and replaces his fingers with his mouth; his tongue laps over you while his hands hold your hips to keep you steady. He switched between lapping over you, dipping his tongue into you, sucking your clit, uses the tip of his tongue to flick and circle. He wraps an arm over your lower stomach and pushes two fingers into you, curling them deep and thrusting slowly.

You try to move your hips for more friction but the strong arm holding you down puts a stop to that. Daryl grinds his hips against the bed, moans against your pussy as he eats you like a man starved and savouring his last meal on earth. The few times you manage to look down and catch sight of his face you see there’s still tears in his eyes.

“Oh god..” you whimper and pull at the pillow.

Daryl speeds up his fingers, moves his tongue faster and sucks harder. He’s panting against you and grinding his hips frantically as you get more worked up.

“Daryl… baby…. Just there!” Your toes curl and you call out, thighs tightening around Daryl’s head as you climax. He grunts roughly and lets out a low moan against your pussy, his own hips stilling.

He crawls up over you as your body recalibrates itself, your brain clears the fuzz and his lips meet yours — you love tasting yourself on him. You once again wrap yourself in each other and become a tangle of limbs, sheets and sweat.

Daryl holds you close against him; hanging onto you like you’re his lifeline, he kisses you slow and deep then whispers against your lips.

“I love ya…I don’t know why I deserve ya but ya make me so happy… I’m never lettin’ ya go.”

You kiss him back and drink in his words “I love you too, I’m not going anywhere.. I’m not gonna disappear. I promise. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Daryl pulls the sheets over you both and guides your head to his chest for you to relax. You both drift off to sleep within moments of one another but Daryl still finds himself waking briefly throughout the night to check you’re still there in his arms; when the sun rises and you’re still there he smiles softly in the comfort he feels and allows himself to fully sleep for a few hours before the day properly starts.

—

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[hannyhann]

sundress,, daryl dixon

cw: semi submissive daryl, slightly inaccurate daryl, cream pie, riding, virginity loss, slight age gap

description: y/n has a secret admirer and she tries to pinpoint who it might be but she can’t be so sure, however her admirer turns out to be the last person she could think of

twd, season two, hershels farm

warning!! I’m not good at writing fan fictions, especially smut so I apologize if this didn’t turn out good :c anyways I hope you enjoy !!

Y/N never expected to be on a farm, let alone in the middle of an apocalypse like this. Y/N managed to follow Rick’s group through Atlanta, the CDC, and now they were on Hershel’s farm, hoping to find Sophia and letting Carl heal from his accidental gunshot wound.

She tried not to let the new world she was living in stop her from being hygienic, in the best way she could be. Living in a tent outside of a farm house with a bunch of people wasn’t exactly the call for it. Y/N was the type where she could wear a sundress in the middle of a war zone if she could. However, this was the Georgia summer sun and muggy air so naturally it called for it.

Y/N was helping Lori with laundry in her sundress, her curves fitting it as she sat in a lawn chair. Cicadas buzzing in the background. She brushed her forehead, getting the hair out of her sweaty skin.“I hate this.”

Lori looked at her, nodding as she squeezed water out a shirt in her hands.“I hate it too…but while the men are looking for Sophia we might as well help tribute…my boys resting so this is the least I can do.”

Y/N nodded, Lori sometimes annoyed her, but she always had a way of explaining things to make it make sense. Maggie then came around, bringing a basket of peaches for everyone.“I just wanted to say thank you…I have to help daddy with some things…and go on a run with Glenn later…would you mind passing these out?” Maggie suggested, moving the basket in a semi circle between Carol, Andrea, Lori, and Y/N.

Y/N looked up, smiling softly as Maggie handed her the basket.“I got it.” She nodded, standing up and brushing herself off. She passed out the peaches throughout the camp, figuring she could give some to the boys later when they returned from searching for Sophia. She gave one to Dale, who looked her up and down.“Wouldn’t you want to change Y/N?” He suggested, coming off a little strong, but of course kind.

Y/N shook her head no, closing the basket as she brushed a piece of hair out of her face.“It’s very comfortable like this…the breeze is better…doesn’t feel very heavy.” Dale let out a hum of understanding.“Just be careful.” He yelled out as she walked away.“I will!!” She called out, waving her fingers.

Y/Ns walked to Daryl’s little camp sight he made for himself, he stayed behind today to do…whatever it is Daryl does these days. She felt the leaves and pines crunch under her shoes as she called out for him.“Hey Daryl~ I have some peaches for you…Maggie wanted me to give them to everyone.” Y/N approached him, her heart beat speeding up a bit as he locked eyes with her, but quickly turned back to fixing his bow.

Daryl scoffed with what sounded like a laugh. He could never figure Y/N out no matter how hard he tried. He never knew if her kindness was fake, or if she genuinely felt bad for him. He didn’t know…nor did he really care.“Wha is this a bed n breakfas now?” Daryl asked, his eyes looking at her quickly before paying attention to his bow.

Y/N let out a stifled chuckle, a grin on her lips as she sat the basket down next to him.“Don’t be rude Daryl…this was very nice of them to do.” Y/N said, her soft fingers opening the wicker basket.“Besides…can’t leave you out can we?”

“S’pose.” Daryl responded in a raspy voice, reaching in and taking a few, his eyes locking with Y/Ns again, before getting up to place them in his tent.“Tell em I said thanks…” he looked at her, playing with his hands nervously.

Y/N laughed, looking at her as she started walking away.“Are you sure…you're a grown man y'know Daryl? You could tell em” Which earned another scoff from him. Daryl shrugged.“Pfsh- Whatever- thanks…” he mumbled, placing his crossbow back on his lap as he sat back down. He watched her walk away, swallowing nervously as he finally felt like he could breathe. Daryl didn’t know why Y/N made him so nervous. Was it the way she looked? The way she dressed? How kind she was. He didn’t know. He’s never felt this way before, so naturally it made him confused. He can easily shut so many people out, but with Y/N? He honestly had butterflies. If Merle were here he’d definitely tell Daryl to stop being a pussy and just fuck her. Daryl had never had romantic feelings. Even a small interaction like that sent him over the edge. How could he do something like that to someone? Something he’d naturally protect? Hell he could never even strike up a conversation with her anyways if he tried…

~

Y/N woke up that next morning in her tent, her eyes blinking a few times before she sat up, stretching. She pulled back her covers, before she could place her feet on the tarp of the tent, her toe touched what felt like a wicker basket. She looked down, eyebrows furrowing, before her heart dropped to her stomach. There was a basket, a basket of…makeup? Things she liked? She reached down, her fingers brushing against the bottom as she picked it up.

In the basket was a strawberry scented lotion, a baby pink lip gloss, blush, and a strawberry scented perfume. What the fuck? She took each item out individually, admiring how pretty they were. Her heart was going a million miles per minute. This was stuff she would’ve used before…everything? She then spotted at the bottom a miniature bear with a pink bow around its neck. She felt her heart race. Whoever did this…didn’t do it as a kind gesture. This kind of stuff would’ve been left behind on a run anyways. So who would go through the trouble…just to get her something that was considered a luxury?

Y/N gently paced her tent, looking at the gifts. Was there someone at the camp who admired her? She thought of a handful of people. Rick? No he was too loyal to Lori. Shane? Maybe…but it would’ve been something less intimate and even if it was he’s not the type to give gifts, he’s more of the immediate action type. Glenn? No, too young, plus he had his finger wrapped around Maggie. T Dog? He was cute but there wasn’t really a connection there. All that she thought was left was maybe Andrea…but she didn’t have any feelings for her so no. All that left was Daryl or Dale. Definitely not Dale. So Daryl? Daryl did this? He couldn’t have…could he?

Y/N sat back down, her heart racing as she felt her entire face burn red. She hid her face behind her hands. Yes Daryl was cute and she had a crush on him, but she never thought he even likes girls…or had romantic feelings to give back anyways. Hannah was just assuming though, it couldn’t even be him. Plus, if it was, how would she even approach the idea of thanking him?

She decided she’d run an experiment tonight…obviously this was brought to her at night so maybe if she pretended to be asleep she could catch who it was? That’s even assuming they do it again and it will be at night. However it was worth at least trying. Y/N decided that’d be the best way…besides it would avoid any drama in the group. There’s already enough of that…

~

Y/N tried her best not to fall asleep, she stayed laying awake, looking at the ceiling of her tent, minutes feeling like hours. She tossed and turned, just waiting, and hoping. Maybe this was just a coincidence? Who knows. Was she overthinking?

Suddenly, she heard rustling outside of her tent, she turned in her makeshift cot and froze. It could've been a walker, however she would’ve heard it and Andreas was on watch. Y/N felt her heart race out of her chest, immediately shutting her eyes as she listened to whoever it was slowly unzip her tent.

~

Daryl was out of breath from the run he took. He managed to make it into town and sneak inside a store after dark. Thankfully there wasn’t a bunch but only a handful of walkers.“Goddamnit.” He muttered, holding the gifts close in the bag as he got back onto the farm. He felt like a creep. Sneaking into this woman’s tent just to give her gifts even though she would probably never feel the same way. Daryl kept telling himself how stupid he was, repeating it over and over in his head. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he approached her tent. He stood there for a second, wondering if he should even try. He started walking away, turning around before he sighed, walking back to Y/Ns tent. He put his crossbow on the ground, bending down to slowly unzip it.

When he stepped in, he nearly sighed out of relief, thank god she was asleep. He rustled the bag in his hands, his eyes landing on her as she slept. He swallowed, biting his lip as he fidgeted with the gifts. Daryl leaned down, placing down a soft blanket first, before placing flowers on top of it. Daryl stared at it, his mind racing with thoughts. Would this upset her? That’s what he thought the night before. He stood there for a second, expressionless before he turned to leave. He suddenly felt soft fingers grab his dirty, rugged wrist. Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin, turning back and seeing Y/N sitting up in her sleeping bag, holding Daryl’s wrist with a shocked but kind expression on her face.

~

Y/N didn’t know who to expect once they unzipped her tent. Whoever it was, however she felt, she just wanted to know. She heard them place some stuff down, feeling their presence for a moment before she heard them turn to walk away. Y/N quickly opened her eyes. Daryl ??? Daryl was doing this?? Somehow she knew but, it still made her heart race. She immediately sat up, reaching out to grab his wrist. Daryl’s face was a mix of shock and horror.“Shit-“ he mumbled, swallowing nervously.

Y/N sat up, holding his wrist gently, letting go of the pressure she had on it before. She looked down, seeing the pretty gifts Daryl left her. She picked them up.“N-No don’- don look at em.” He panicked, but Y/N shook her head. She held up the blanket, followed by the flowers.“Daryl the gifts are beautiful…”

Daryl spaced out for a moment, a deer in the headlights gaze. He shook his head.“No…no don’t-“ He looked down, avoiding her gaze.

Y/N looked up, her heart racing, Daryl looked so ashamed. She sat up on the sleeping bag, holding the flowers.“Daryl….i love it…” she held up the flowers.“you got those gifts for me?” She asked. Daryl nodded, looked down at all the gifts he got her perfectly aligned next to her sleeping bag.“I dunno why…I got the bear first…but I slowly kept goin back because I knew ya’d like it…I don’ know-“ he was afraid he might say the wrong thing or scare Y/N away.”fuckin stupid-“

Y/N leaned up, gently pressing a kiss to Daryl’s cheek. He hesitated and flinched, looking down and away from her as his heart raced. Y/N frowned, her heart breaking.”I love them daryl~ I really do…” she saw him nod.

Y/N reached out, brushing her finger slowly across his chin, making Daryl flinch at first but he sunk into the foreign feeling. He hesitated, but reached out to rest his hands on her hips. The two awkwardly held each other like that for a minute, Daryl didn’t know how to hold a woman, let alone intimately like this. Y/N stepped closer, moving her hands across his chest, feeling the fabric of his dirty clothes. Daryl bit his lip, his eyes softening as he looked into eyes.“Are you scared of me Daryl?” She brushed her hand up his neck

Daryl actually thought for a moment. He wasn’t scared of her, quite the opposite, nothing really scared him anymore. What he was scared of, however, was hurting her. Daryl shook his head, opening his mouth to say something, but quickly closing it.“N-No…jus…” he watched the way her hair moved with the gentle breeze from outside the tint.“Jus scared if I touch ya…I might hurt ya…yknow.”

Y/N slowly blinked, the realization of his fear coming to her. Daryl was naturally abrasive, volatile, defensive, and isolated himself from others. It was a survival instinct of course, and why wouldn't it be? Y/N didn't know much about Daryl's life previous to the fall of humanity but she could tell he had somewhat of a hard life. So the fact he was here and now being so vulnerable and putting himself in a vulnerable position showed he truly cared. Somewhere in that abrasive side is someone who just wants understanding and trust.

“You could never hurt me daryl~” Y/N shook her head, moving her thumb across his jaw back and forth, repeating the gentle motion”You do so much for this camp than you realise especially for Carol…” Y/N smiled warmly, tilting his head up so he could look at her.”Sure you're hot headed…” he let out a scoff at that."But that doesn't mean you're cruel, you're anything but that.” Y/N felt Daryl slowly move his hands around her back. She smiled, brushing the back of her fingers against his neck. Daryl let out a soft whimper, shaking and looking away.

Was Daryl Dixon sensitive?? The same rugged man that could track a deer for miles and get his hands dirty before anyone else…was sensitive to touch??

Y/N giggled softly, holding Daryl's hand as he tried to walk away and probably hide from everyone, especially her. She took Daryl's hand, holding it gently as her brought her knuckles back up to his neck.”Daryl~ are you sensitive…” she whispered, close to his ear. He shuttered, letting out a low, raspy moan as he moved her hand across his chest. He was so embarrassed, why did this woman make him weak? He moved his hand down the curve of her back, hiding his head in her shoulder.”Goddamnit” he whispered, taking a deep breath.

Y/N gasped softly, feeling his cock press hard against her leg and she nearly felt her stomach and heart drop at the same time.”fuck~’ she whispered, looking into his eyes. Daryl bit his lip, a flush against his cheeks. She barely touched him and she already felt his throbbing member against her thigh. Daryl shook his head.”s-sorry…i just…mm….m’sorry-” he kept trying to look at anything but her. However, Y/N quickly held his chin with her fingers, adjusting his face to focus on her.”poor baby…youre so shy and sensitive…” Daryl rolled his eyes back slightly, letting out a whimper.

Y/N smiled. She loved how submissive he was, she had barely done anything to him and he was already so overstimulated. She guided him to the sleeping bag, he straddled her, muscles shaking as she looked down at her. He cursed to himself.”fuck- mm-” he rested his forehead against hers, motioning his hips to press against hers. His cock was throbbing against his pants, just waiting to be freed. Y/N pouted, brushing her hands up his chest, his shoulder, before finally resting on his jaw. She leaned in, connecting their lips together. Daryl melted into the kiss, moaning against her lips. He had never been kissed before, ever. Her lips were soft and gentle. Daryl wasn't a good kisser, no, but she guided him anyway."Follow my lips~’ she whispered, moving her lips in a pattern Daryl could recognize. Y/N moved in that motion slowly, moaning against Daryl's lips."Good job~ there you go…” she giggled, slowly moving the tip of her tongue against his. The foreign feeling nearly made Daryl pass out. All the blood from his head was rushing straight to his cock.

Y/N pulled away, looking into Daryl's eyes as he looked down at her in disbelief. Hes never kissed a woman let alone been with one.”mm sorry..” he whispered, his voice raspy.”i don exactly know wha to do next…” he hid his face against her chest. Y/N pouted.”aww poor baby.” she whispered, moving her hand down to his pants, palming the bulge of his hard, throbbing cock. Daryl moaned, digging his hands into her sides, hiding his face in her shoulder.”why dont i make you feel good then?” she whispered.

Y/N repositioned her and down so that she was on top. She panties pressing against his throbbing clothed cock. Daryl instinctively moved his hands to her ass, squeezing the soft flesh. It was so squishy and warm. He moaned, gently thrusting his hips up, dry humping her gentle pussy.”Y/N…please…i cant…i need~” he begged, spreading her cheek as he squeezed her ass.

Daryl whimpered, he's never felt this way in his whole life. Obviously he's master bated before, looked at women's magazines that Merle had laying around, and heard Merle having sex. But he's never been with a woman like this. Let alone a woman like Y/N.

Y/N hummed, moving to unzip Daryl's pants, with his help he undid his belt, pulling them down along with his boxers. His hard cock kissed the cool air, bouncing against his stomach. He wasn't big, but he necessarily wasn't small either. Daryl was veiny and girthy in size, and average in length. The head of his dick gently leaked precum, it dripped down, tracing the throbbing veins. He whimpered softly, he was so painfully hard he couldn't bare it anymore.”Y/N…please…fore i explode.” he put his arm over his mouth, moaning raspily into it.

Y/N cursed gentle at the size”fuck daryl~’ she gently pushed down her panties, a trail of wetness that was stuck to the silk fabric of her panties broke as she pulled them down. She lifted her shirt over her head, followed by her bra. Her soft breasts laid beautifully on her chest. Daryl cursed, moving her hands up to gently feel, his cock twitching as he squeezed the soft mounds.Y/N moaned, biting her lips.”That feels so good~” she couldn't remember the last time she had someone be so gentle yet so rough with her breasts.

“Yer so beautiful.” Daryl said in a low, raspy voice. His gaze was so loving yet lustful at the same time. Y/N smiled softly, leaning forward to kiss his lips, using her hand to gently trace his cock against the wet lips of her pussy. She coated the tip in her wetness, before her hand stroked his cock, coating the member in a mixture of his precum and her slick. She slowly placed the tip against her entrance, slowly sinking into the tightness of her walls. Y/N moaned with Daryl as she sank down, taking the rest of his cock into her gentle wetness.”F-Fuck~’ Daryl moaned, squeezing her ass once more, this time harder as they both adjusted to this foreign feeling. Daryl couldn't believe his first time would feel so good. He tried everything to stop himself from coming, the feeling was so good.

“D-Daryl…its throbbing so good inside of me~’ Y/N moaned, gripping his chest. Her blood was so warm from the feeling of the tip of his cock already pressing against her sweet spot. She lifted her hips, bouncing them back down slowly. Daryl moaned, throwing his head back. This was the perfect position for their first time, riding made it so they could both feel god. Y/N moved her hips up and down slowly, bouncing on his cock and moving back and forth. She connected their lips together, moaning into Daryl's mouth. She continued this moan, shaking as the tip of his cock penetrated her womb. She bounced faster, feeling Daryl grip her hips. His confidence grew with each thrust.

Y/N gently sat up, giving Daryl a view of the rest of her body as she rode him. She bounced faster, her pussy clenching around him as she gripped her own breasts. Daryl's eyes wandered across her beautiful body, he couldn't believe this was happening. The way she felt, the way she moved against him, the way his cock disappeared into her pussy. It was all too overwhelming for his first time but it felt so good.”f-fuck Y/N…fuck im gon…im gon cum-” he moaned, thrusting his hips inside of her. She moaned louder, gripping his chest as she moved her hips with the motion of his cock.”fuck~ oh my god!!’ she moaned.

Daryl thrusted his hips up, moaning as an orgasm roared through his body, nearly making him pass out as he chased his orgasm inside of Y/N. He came deep inside of her, spilling every bit that was pent up inside of his thick, throbbing cock. He continued thrusting his hips as Y/N orgasmed, his hands rubbed her stomach and thighs, encouraging her as he watched a mix of slick and cum build at the base of his cock. Daryl gripped her hips, thrusting up one last time before she moaned loudly from her orgasm. Not even trying to be quiet anymore at this point.

Y/N collapsed on top of Daryl's chest, taking a deep breath as she came down from her high. Daryl brushed her hair, shaking as he tried to come down from his equally overwhelming high from his first time. Y/N managed to lean up, kissing his lips as he gently pulled out. He moved his lips with her holding her close. They pulled away, trying to cool down the from heated encounter. Y/N kissed his jaw and he gave her a soft smile. Which was rare.

Y/N let out a soft giggle.”i loved the gifts ~” she traced his cheek with the back of her knuckles."Promise me you'll keep bringing them?” she looked into his eyes, blinking slowly.

“I promise sunshine~”

[leonslolita]

The Sinful, The Guilty

incubus!daryl x fem!reader

monster fucking, size difference, stomach bulge, happy halloween!

summary: you get more than you bargained for when stumbling across a spooky basement in a seemingly abandoned cabin. 2.3k

It's an unnecessarily humid day, and although you had planned on covering lots of ground, you can't muster the willpower to bother. Now you're deep in the woods, trying to improve your mediocre hunting skills. You can't even remember the last time you ate fresh meat. But you're also already exhausted. It's too hot, the bugs are relentless, and it seems like a storm is brewing, so you decide to only walk as much as you can handle while searching for shelter.

Cabins this far out were few and far between, but as one appears through the trees after hours of walking, you decide maybe things aren't so bad after all. The interior is dusty and musty, but it's a better shelter than you've had ages. And you can't exactly afford to be picky. A small cot sits in one corner across from a cold fireplace. Lucky, after all.

You spend the next few minutes getting settled, spreading your belongings around, already taking advantage of having such a secluded, safe feeling place to call home for a bit. That's when you suddenly trip over something protruding from under the frayed rug. Which fucking hurts. You start rolling over the worn material, ready to give whatever inanimate object a piece of your damn mind, only to stare wide eyes once you expose a boarded up trapdoor. Immediately, it has you feeling somewhat queasy.

It takes an hour, your knife, and more energy than you'd like to admit to finally pry all the boards off. You hesitate, for the first time despite all the work it took, as an eerie feeling washes over you. This is creepily suspicious; maybe you should mind your own business. In fact, being inside the cabin at all suddenly feels… off. You sit back on your heels, biting your lip anxiously as you stare down at the latch. Just as the idea of leaving grows appealing, light rain starts echoing against the wood roof. Fuck. Okay, well… Guess you're stuck here, and you're absolutely not sleeping without knowing what's hiding underneath. With growing hesitation, you unclip the latch and open the trapdoor.

After dropping from the ladder, you shine your torch over the dark room. It's damp and stagnant inside, and mostly empty except for what appears to be a shrine on the opposite wall. Your gaze sweeps over various items, herbs, bottles, and books before noticing the faded pentacle drawn in chalk. Unintelligible symbols are written around the outside. Some freaky religious shrine wasn't exactly what you expected, although you suppose it's better than a rotting corpse.

You reach over to pick up a weathered book resting over the star, a small, broken cross resting underneath clinks at the movement. The text in the book is in another language you don't understand, seemingly different from the markings on the floor. Despite the initial creepiness, there's something oddly sad about it all. You can't help but wonder what occurred here—was this done after the world fell? An attempt at seeking answers or protection? You place the book down with a heavy sigh and a heavy heart.

The storm has picked up by the time you ascend the ladder. Dark clouds blanket the woods around you. You gaze around the cabin, something in the stale air feels like it's changed, like time has stopped. It's probably just paranoia, but you can't shake the feeling. The rain pours down harder, as if it's trying to soothe you, and you close the trapdoor with a thud.

No, something is definitely wrong. Your eyes flick around the dark cabin, a shiver creeping up your spine. You force it back down, but the feeling of someone watching you remains. The deep shadows of the room have you patting around for your flashlight, but it's not where you left it.

You practically jump out of your skin as lightning cracks overhead, briefly illuminating the tall, winged figure standing in the corner.

What the fuck.

You freeze momentarily before scrambling for your dagger, a habit the apocalypse built into you, only to remember you left it in your damn bag. The glowing outline of whoever—whatever—stains your vision, only disorienting you more.

You lunge for where you think you tossed your bag earlier, desperate for the comforting weight of your blade, but creature must realise what you're doing. A strong grip yanks you back by the ankle, dragging you along the rough floor until it has you pinned underneath its broad body. Pure terror rakes your body, your eyes wide and frantic. It's too dark to see any features on the dark mass above.

“I ain't gonna hurt ya.” The deep voice comes as another surprise, but you're not exacly reassured by it. You aren't sure how long you lay there, panting, until its hold on you eventually loosens. The moment it does, you crawl back until you hit the wall. Your flashlight bumps against your foot, and you snatch it up, quickly shining it towards the creature.

He's… surprisingly human-looking, aside from the horns poking through his hair, black wings stretching behind him, and the long, thin tail. He flinches at the bright light, still slouched on the floor. Then you notice something else, the fact he's completely naked. Breathing suddenly feels difficult again as you have to force your eyes to stay above his waistline because Jesus Christ...

“What are you?” There's a noticeable shake in your voice as you ask. The winged man just looks a little irritated, and if you're purposely bothering him with stupid questions.

“Stop pointing that thing at me,” he ignores your inquiry as he squints.

“Not until you tell me.” You can't help feeling proud about not letting your voice shake this time. Although he hasn't hurt you yet, you still feel on edge.

He just scoffs like you're an idiot. “An incubus, darlin’. You brought me here, remember?” A what? You what?

Your eyes scan over him again, inspecting his inhuman aspects as if trying to confirm. Did you hit your head? Wait, obviously this has something to do with that creepy shrine. There was likely a reason it was boarded up; seems like you found it. Your eyes fall lower, not even really processing where you're looking until you notice him smirking in your peripheral. A blush crawls onto your cheeks; that was not your intention, regardless of whatever this demon guy thinks. “Stop.”

“I ain't done anythin’.” He looks so smug at your unease, your gut coils at the sight—with anxiety, but maybe something else, too.

“You're looking at me like you wanna eat me,” his smirk widening makes you regret ever opening your mouth, “what do you even want?”

“What do I want? You summoned me here.”

“I don't know anything about that, okay?” It's getting increasingly more difficult to keep your eye level appropriate. With the initial fear simmering, you can actually take in how attractive he is—which maybe is a given considering he's a literal sex demon.

“Well that's obvious, haven't had a human pass through in a while. I'm pretty hungry.” You can see the truth to his claim, something sinister swirling within his irises. He chuckles as you get lost in them for a second.

“I don't... I'm not…” You don't even know what to do or say next, torn between the urge to flee and being frozen in place. For now you focus on getting to your feet. “Okay. Shit, fuck, okay… Do you have a name?”

The incubus raises an eyebrow but nods, “Daryl.” Less biblical than you were expecting, but you return his nod. You attempt to reassure yourself; this situation didn't have to be weird or dangerous. But once you close your eyes to take a deep breath, Daryl is nowhere to be seen once you reopen them. Your heart drops into your stomach again as you stumble forward a few steps. Were you actually hallucinating? Maybe you really fell down the ladder and received a nasty head wound. Right as you place the flashlight hesitantly on the table, an arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back into a broad, muscular chest. Your breath hitches, and you tense as one of Daryl's hands firmly grips your chin.

You don't even realise you're whimpering quietly in fear until he shushes you. One of his fingers slides between your lips to rest against your tongue. “Fuck… I'm so hungry,” his voice is a raspy whisper against your ear. “Can ya be a good little girl for me?” Despite your unease, you feel yourself throb at the words. Not that you're to blame. He is an incubus, after all. Nothing wrong with giving in, you tell yourself.

The feeling of his cock pressing against your back makes you bite down slightly on his finger. This was kinda fucked up, if you thought about it for too long. But you were already tempted to throw caution to the wind. Maybe it's curiosity, frustration after being pent up for so long, or maybe he's got some crazy demon powers. Did you even care? His finger presses more firmly against your tongue as his free hand trails upwards, tugging and tearing at your top until he exposes your chest. His tail curls around your thigh, trapping you close. The way his thumb rubs and pinches at your nipples makes you squirm instinctively as his hips grind against yours. He continues until you're aching, desperate for any amount of friction, your knuckles turning white with how hard you're clutching the table in front of you.

Eventually, he removes his finger from your mouth, stepping back only long enough to yank your pants down. He drags the moistened finger over your clit, chuckling gruffly as you buck up against his hand. A strangled gasp escapes your mouth. “Yeah, baby girl, ya like that?” He presses himself against your back again, this time sliding his dick between your squeezed, wet thighs. His length presses hotly against your cunt, and you can practically feel him throbbing against you.

You feel any remaining hesitance crumble, giving way to complete desperation as Daryl fucks your thighs. He's massive, bigger than any human you'd seen. Right as you feel your orgasm building, he pulls away again to drag you towards the small cot in the corner. You nearly trip trying to kick off your pants completely on the way. The incubus practically throws you onto the bed, immediately climbing over you to capture your lips in a messy, heated kiss.

His taste is enchanting, distracting you until you feel the head of his dick push into your entrance. You reluctantly pull away with a whine at the stretch. “W-Wai..t,” but he doesn't stop, only pushing in further as he holds your chin. “I got ya, baby girl.” Your head falls back as he thrusts deeper, pulling drawn out moans from your lips. He grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to your stomach. Your confusion dissipates to disbelief as you feel the outline of his length press against your palm with each thrust. You're surprised you don't come right then and there. “H-Holy shit,” you barely manage to pant out.

“Takin’ it so well, it's like ya made for me,” the incubus grunts out. He buries his head into your neck, his fangs dragging shyly across your sensitive skin, as if he's holding back from hurting you. His grip on your hips is firm, dragging you down in time with his thrusts as they grow rougher. Your own hands slide up his body, exploring his strong chest and large biceps. His horns intrigue you, curiously wrapping your hands around them like they're handles. Daryl grunts in pleasure, pushing against you even more. He holds you down, fucking you hard until you're squeezing around him and coming with a yell. A deep, satisfied sigh leaves your lips as he pulls away. Your body already feels weak from the effort.

Before you can relax fully, a hot wetness slides up your folds. “Daryl!” Your voice quivers with sensitivity. You struggle to sit up on your elbows to look where his head is buried between your thighs. His tongue is precise, lapping up your juices and circling around your clit with practised perfection. It seems he's larger than a human in every aspect. He presses kisses up your stomach to your chest, long tongue sliding over your nipple before reaching your mouth. “Ya taste so good,” he whispers against your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, fingers roaming over his wide shoulders as he kisses you.

His strong arms flip you over without warning, pressing your face into the pillow as he shoves back inside you with a grunt. The cot shakes with force as he ruts against you, his chest pressing against your back. You feel caged, completely at this monster's mercy, and it's the hottest thing you've ever experienced. His wings fall around you like some kind of dark waterfall, and his tail snakes up to press against your clit. And fuck, if it isn't the most intense pleasure you've felt in your life—it's overwhelming. Daryl angles deeper, harder, and your mind completely blanks. His fingers slide into your mouth again, holding your jaw open as he fucks with animalistic thrusts. You come so hard the room spins.

Then you jolt awake, not even remembering falling asleep. The cabin is empty, void of any sign of the incubus. Your eyes scan the room as you struggle to sit up. Every inch of your body aches. An acute tiredness spreading through your limbs. As you glance down at your nakedness, at least you can be sure what happened wasn't your imagination.

[millermouth]

hiii, would it be okay if you made a daryl x reader fic where daryl finds out you used to have a crush on him? like someone accidentally reveals it to him and he comes to find you as soon as he finds out just to confirm it?! i just think the concept is so adorable 🥹

Daryl Dixon x Reader Dibs

hehehe this is so cute! It's been sitting in my drafts for a few days, just needed to make the banner!! Thank you bb! enjoy your fluffy daryl drabble

The woman had been lingering too close for most of the run, and Daryl had noticed. It started when they stepped through the shattered doors of the abandoned corner store, picking their way through stripped shelves and broken glass. She wasn’t searching for supplies like the rest of them, wasn’t even watching for trouble—just watching him.

"You’re pretty quiet," she finally said, stepping a little closer.

Daryl shifted, adjusting the strap of his crossbow, eyes scanning the dimly lit aisles. "Guess so."

She let out a soft laugh, twirling a loose thread from her jacket between her fingers. "I think that’s kinda hot. The whole broody, mysterious thing."

From a few feet away, Glenn made a noise—half-choked cough, half-laugh—and Daryl instantly shot him a glare. He wasn’t in the mood for this. He barely acknowledged the woman as he stepped past her, brushing her off without a word. "Sorry I uh...I gotta check back here. Ain’t got time."

He heard Glenn snicker as he caught up with him by the registers, rummaging through drawers for anything useful. "That was painful to watch," Glenn said, smirking as he tossed aside a handful of expired coupons.

"Shut up," Daryl muttered, yanking open another drawer a little harder than necessary.

"You better get used to it," Glenn teased. "Now that we’ve got all these new people from Woodbury, you’re the guy everyone’s whispering about."

Daryl frowned. "The hell’s that mean?"

Glenn shrugged, looking far too amused. "Just saying, a lot of them think you’re some kind of survivalist badass. The strong, silent type." He smirked. "Which I guess is hot, apparently."

Daryl rolled his eyes, grabbing a pack of matches and shoving them into his bag. "That’s stupid."

"Well, Maggie thinks it’s hilarious."

Daryl gave him a wary look. "How’s that?"

Still grinning, Glenn leaned against the counter. "Because Y/N had dibs first."

Daryl froze, his grip tightening on his crossbow. "The hell does that mean?"

Glenn snorted. "She’s had a crush on you for the longest time."

Daryl felt something tighten in his chest, but his face stayed impassive. "Bullshit."

"Nah, man. She did," Glenn continued, totally casual, as if he wasn’t throwing Daryl’s entire world off balance. "Way before all these new people started fawning over you. Maggie says Y/N was into you for ages, she just never said anything. Thought you’d never be interested."

The words settled in his stomach, heavy and unexpected. He clenched his jaw, shifting uncomfortably. "Used to," he said after a pause.

Glenn glanced up, brow raised. "What?"

"You said ‘had’—past tense," Daryl muttered, voice gruff. "Means she don’t feel that way no more."

Glenn just looked at him, a knowing glint in his eye. "I mean… you could always ask."

Daryl didn’t answer. Instead, he adjusted his crossbow and walked out, ignoring the way his heart was pounding.

🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻🌷🌻🪻

You were curled up in your bunk when you heard boots stop just outside your cell door. Looking up, you found Daryl standing there, shifting from foot to foot like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

"Hey," you said, surprised. "Everything okay?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he held something out to you. A small bundle of wildflowers.

You blinked. "Uh… what’s this?"

He shoved them closer, looking anywhere but at you. "They’re flowers. What’s it look like?"

You stared at them, then at him. "Yeah, but—why?"

Daryl shifted, ears burning red. "Glenn said somethin’."

Your stomach dropped. "Oh god."

"'Bout you," Daryl muttered, clearing his throat. "Said you—you used to—" He hesitated, almost like he wanted to take it back, then forced the words out. "Had a thing for me."

Your breath caught.

Your mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. You wanted to kill Glenn.

Daryl watched you struggle, something tense in his expression. "That true?"

You swallowed, debating whether you could somehow dodge the question. But this was Daryl. You couldn’t lie to him.

"…Maybe," you admitted, feeling your face heat.

His blue eyes flickered down to the flowers in your lap, then back to you. His voice was quieter when he asked, "Still?"

Your chest tightened.

Your fingers curled around the stems of the flowers, slightly crushed from how tightly he must’ve been holding them. That alone made your heart clench. He’d picked them for you.

Slowly, you nodded.

Daryl exhaled, shoulders dropping just slightly, like that was the answer he’d been hoping for but wasn’t sure he’d get. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to do something—maybe reach out—but wasn’t sure how.

Instead, he just stepped closer. "Okay," he muttered.

You bit your lip, hiding a smile. "Okay?"

"Y-yeah, good. I'm...That's good."

The two of you just sat there for a beat, the air thick with something neither of you had the words for. Then, before he could overthink it, Daryl leaned in, pressing a rough, hesitant kiss to your cheek. It was brief, just long enough to send your heart racing, but it lingered in a way that felt intentional.

When he pulled back, both of your faces burning, and your fingers tightened around the flowers.

He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. "G’night."

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall before you could even respond.

You touched your cheek, grinning like an idiot as you pressed your nose to the flowers.

[belleeebelleee]

Where Ink Meets Petals

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead) x fem!reader

Modern, non-apocalyptic AU

In a world where events of The Walking Dead didn't happen, Daryl Dixon becomes a tattoo artist in the shop next door to you. You're a florist with your own store next door to a tattoo parlor. Accross the road, there's a cute little cafe. You and one of the tattoo artists, Daryl you come to learn, take your lunch breaks at roughly the same time every day. Slowly a friendship blossoms between you and the gruff but sweet artist.

love me a tattoo artist/florist AU

The first time you notice him, it’s because he doesn’t look like he belongs anywhere soft.

Your shop smells like peonies and eucalyptus, sunlight pooling warm across the wooden floorboards, glass vases catching it like little prisms. Everything is gentle here—carefully arranged, thoughtfully chosen, alive.

Next door is the opposite.

Black-painted windows. Low, buzzing music. A neon sign that hums even during the day. You’d watched them set it up weeks ago, arms crossed in your doorway while pretending to trim stems, curiosity getting the better of you.

That’s when you first saw him.

Leaning against the brick wall outside, cigarette between his fingers, head ducked like the world was too loud even when it wasn’t.

Daryl.

You don’t know his name yet—not then—but you remember the way he flicked ash to the ground, boot grinding it out like it offended him. You remember the scars on his arms, the ink that crawled over his skin like it belonged there. You remember thinking—

He looks like trouble.

You’re wrong.

It starts with routine.

Your lunch break is never fixed. Floristry doesn’t allow for that—customers come in waves, weddings don’t wait, flowers wilt if you ignore them too long. But somehow, despite the unpredictability, you find yourself locking up your shop around the same time most days.

And he’s always there.

Across the street. Same table. Same posture—leaned back just enough to look relaxed, but not enough to actually be comfortable. A takeaway coffee, black. Something small to eat he barely touches.

The café is tiny, tucked between two older buildings, with mismatched chairs and chalkboard menus that change daily. It smells like fresh bread and roasted beans, like something warm and familiar.

You start going there because it’s close.

You keep going because of him.

The first time you speak to him isn’t intentional.

You’re juggling too many things—phone tucked between your ear and shoulder, wallet half-open, trying to order while confirming a delivery—and it all goes wrong at once.

Your coffee tips.

Not completely, but enough to spill over the edge, hot liquid threatening to cascade onto the counter.

A hand moves faster than you do.

Rough fingers steady the cup.

“Careful,” he mutters.

His voice is low, scratchy, like he doesn’t use it unless he has to.

You blink, phone forgotten.

Up close, he’s… different.

Not just “tattoo artist next door” different—something quieter, more contained. His eyes are sharp but not unkind, blue-grey and watching everything at once. There’s a tension in him, like a coiled spring that never quite relaxes.

“Thanks,” you say, a little breathless.

He shrugs, like it was nothing.

You notice the ink on his hands, dark lines curling over his knuckles. A small scar cuts through one of them.

“You work next door,” you add, before you can stop yourself.

His gaze flicks to you properly then.

“Yeah.”

“That shop just opened, right?”

Another shrug. “Few weeks.”

You nod, like that explains anything, like you haven’t already been watching from your window.

There’s a pause.

It’s not awkward, exactly—but it’s not smooth either. He doesn’t fill silence. He just lets it sit there, like it’s not his responsibility to fix it.

You surprise yourself by smiling.

“I’m the florist,” you say, gesturing vaguely across the street. “Next door.”

He follows your motion, glancing toward your shop.

“Seen it.”

Something about that makes your stomach do a small, unexpected flip.

“Yeah?”

He nods once. “Nice place.”

It’s simple. Flat. But it doesn’t feel like a throwaway comment.

“Thanks,” you say again, softer this time.

Your order gets called. His too.

You hesitate.

“So… you come here a lot?”

He gives you a look—brief, almost amused, like he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“Lunch,” he says. “Same time.”

You huff out a small laugh. “Right. Me too, apparently.”

That almost-smile flickers again. Barely there.

“Guess so.”

After that, it becomes… something.

Not planned. Not official.

Just—something.

You start sitting at the same table.

At first, it’s coincidence. Then it’s habit.

You don’t ask if you can join him. You just do.

The first few times, he doesn’t say much.

Actually—that’s not true.

He doesn’t say anything unless you speak first.

But he listens.

Really listens.

You notice it in the way his eyes stay on you, not wandering, not distracted. In the way he nods slightly, like he’s filing things away. In the occasional quiet hum he makes when he agrees with something.

You fill the silence easily enough.

You talk about flowers, about customers, about the woman who insists on rearranging your displays every time she comes in. You talk about the weather, about the café’s terrible playlist, about anything and everything.

He answers in pieces.

Short sentences. One-word replies sometimes.

But slowly, it shifts.

“Y’ever get bored?” he asks one day.

You blink, mid-sip of your drink. “Of… flowers?”

He shrugs. “Same stuff every day.”

You grin. “You think flowers are the same?”

“They ain’t?”

You lean forward, elbows on the table. “Okay. What’s your job?”

“Tattoo artist.”

“Right. So—do you get bored? It’s just… ink, right?”

He snorts softly. “Ain’t the same.”

“Exactly,” you say, pointing at him. “Neither are flowers.”

He studies you for a second.

Then—just slightly—his mouth curves.

“Alright,” he concedes. “Fair.”

It feels like a victory.

You learn things about him in fragments.

He doesn’t offer information freely. You have to earn it, piece by piece.

His name comes first.

“Daryl,” he says, like it’s obvious, like you should’ve known already.

You tell him yours, and he repeats it once, quieter, like he’s testing how it feels.

You learn he prefers black coffee. No sugar. No milk.

You learn he doesn’t like crowded places.

You learn he works late, sometimes closing the shop long after everyone else has gone home.

You learn he’s better with his hands than his words.

That one you figure out on your own.

It happens on a Tuesday.

Your hands are a mess of tiny cuts—rose thorns, mostly—and one of them finally decides to protest.

You’re sitting at the café, wincing as you try to peel open a stubborn packet of something, when he notices.

“Lemme,” he says.

You pass it over without thinking.

He opens it easily, but his eyes don’t leave your hands.

“Hold still,” he mutters.

Before you can ask, he reaches across the table.

His fingers wrap around your wrist—gentle, but firm.

Your breath catches.

He turns your hand slightly, examining the small cuts, the redness around one of them.

“Y’clean this?”

“…I rinsed it?”

He gives you a look. Not impressed.

“Gonna get infected.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, but it comes out weaker than intended.

He sighs.

“Wait here.”

You watch him stand, cross the street, disappear into the tattoo shop.

When he comes back, he’s carrying a small kit.

“You carry that around?” you ask, amused.

“Work,” he says simply.

He sits, takes your hand again.

This time, you’re ready for it—and somehow, that makes it worse.

Or better.

You’re not sure.

He cleans the cut carefully, movements precise, practiced. His touch is surprisingly gentle for someone who looks like he could break things without trying.

You watch his face while he works—focused, intent, brows slightly furrowed.

“Y’gotta take care of your hands,” he mutters. “S’what you use all day.”

You smile softly. “You too.”

He glances up at that.

For a second, something passes between you.

Something quiet. Something real.

“Yeah,” he says, almost to himself.

It doesn’t happen all at once.

There’s no big moment. No sudden realization.

Just small things.

He starts saving you a seat.

You start bringing him little things from your shop—an extra flower tucked into a napkin, a sprig of something that smells good.

He pretends not to care.

He always keeps them.

You notice.

One day, you don’t show up.

It’s not intentional. A last-minute order keeps you late, and by the time you close up, the café is already winding down.

You don’t think much of it—until the next day.

You walk in, scanning for him out of habit.

He’s there.

But he’s not sitting back like usual.

He’s leaning forward, elbows on the table, gaze flicking to the door every few seconds.

When he sees you, something shifts.

Subtle. But there.

You approach slowly.

“Miss me?” you tease, setting your bag down.

He huffs, leaning back again, trying to look unaffected.

“Thought somethin’ happened.”

Your chest tightens.

“Nothing that dramatic,” you say softly. “Just work.”

He nods.

But his eyes stay on you a second longer than usual.

“Alright.”

It’s quiet.

But it means something.

The first time he comes into your shop, it’s… unexpected.

You’re arranging a bouquet when the bell above the door rings.

You look up automatically—and freeze.

Daryl stands there, looking wildly out of place among the soft colors and delicate displays.

He shifts slightly under your gaze.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you echo, blinking. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, glancing around.

“Needed somethin’.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Flowers?”

“Yeah.”

You grin, setting your tools down. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”

He huffs, but there’s no bite to it.

You guide him through the shop, showing him different options.

He listens the same way he always does—quiet, attentive.

“What’s it for?” you ask.

He hesitates.

“…Just ‘cause.”

You pause.

Then you smile.

“That’s my favourite kind.”

In the end, he picks something simple. Thoughtful.

When you hand it to him, your fingers brush.

He doesn’t pull away immediately.

Neither do you.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Anytime.”

He lingers a moment longer.

Then he leaves.

You watch him go, heart doing something strange and unfamiliar in your chest.

It keeps building.

Quietly. Steadily.

Like something blooming.

And one day, sitting across from him with coffee between you and sunlight catching in his hair, you realize—

This isn’t just routine anymore.

It’s not just lunch.

It’s him.

And you.

Something growing in the space between.

Something soft, and steady, and real.

It happens so quietly you almost miss the moment it changes.

There’s no grand declaration. No dramatic confession spilling out into the street.

Just a Tuesday.

You’re halfway through telling him about a bride who cried because her bouquet wasn’t “romantic enough” when you realize he hasn’t interrupted you once.

Not unusual.

But he’s not just listening.

He’s… staring.

Not in that distant, half-there way he sometimes does when he’s tired—but focused. Intent. Like he’s trying to memorize something.

You falter mid-sentence.

“What?”

He blinks, like you’ve pulled him out of something.

“Nothin’.”

You narrow your eyes. “Daryl.”

He huffs quietly, glancing down at his coffee, then back at you.

“Just—” He pauses, jaw working slightly. “You talk a lot.”

You gape at him.

“Wow. Rude.”

But there’s no heat in it. Not really.

He shakes his head, a ghost of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Ain’t a bad thing.”

Something in your chest stutters.

“…No?”

He looks at you again.

“Means I don’t gotta,” he mutters.

It shouldn’t feel like that much.

But it does.

Because you understand what he’s saying without him needing to spell it out.

He’s comfortable.

With you.

The realization sits with you all afternoon.

It lingers while you trim stems, while you wrap bouquets, while you sweep the floor at closing.

Comfort.

It’s such a simple thing.

But with Daryl, it feels… rare.

Earned.

And maybe—that’s why your heart starts racing when you think about it too long.

The next day, you’re the one waiting.

You get to the café first, settling into your usual spot, fingers tapping lightly against your cup.

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

That you’re just early.

That it doesn’t mean anything that you keep glancing at the door.

It definitely doesn’t mean anything that when he finally walks in, your entire body relaxes without your permission.

He spots you immediately.

Of course he does.

His gaze finds you like it always does—quick, certain.

He walks over, dropping into the seat across from you.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There’s a beat.

Then another.

Neither of you start talking.

And it’s not uncomfortable.

It’s just… different.

Charged, maybe.

You clear your throat. “You’re late.”

“Was workin’.”

You nod. “Right.”

Silence again.

But this time, it hums.

You don’t know who moves first.

Later, you’ll try to piece it together—whether it was you leaning forward or him shifting closer—but in the moment, it just… happens.

Your hand is on the table.

His is too.

And then they’re touching.

Not accidental.

Not brushing past each other like before.

Just—resting there.

Fingers against fingers.

Still.

Your breath catches.

You look up.

He’s already looking at you.

There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen before—not fully.

It’s not sharp or guarded.

It’s… open.

Tentative, even.

Like he’s waiting.

Giving you the chance to pull away.

You don’t.

Your fingers curl slightly, threading with his.

His breath hitches—barely noticeable, but you feel it.

“Daryl…” you murmur.

He swallows.

“Yeah?”

You don’t know what you’re asking.

You don’t know what you’re about to say.

All you know is that this—whatever this is—has been building for weeks, maybe longer, and it feels too big to ignore now.

“I—”

You stop.

Because suddenly, words feel useless.

He seems to understand.

He always does, in these quiet ways.

His thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles.

Slow. Careful.

“Y’don’t gotta say nothin’,” he says softly.

Your heart aches at that.

At him.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

He stills.

You take a breath.

“I like you.”

It’s simple.

Terrifying.

Honest.

His gaze drops briefly to your joined hands, then back to your face.

“…Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “I know.”

You blink. “You—what?”

A faint, almost embarrassed huff leaves him.

“Ain’t blind.”

You laugh, a little breathless. “Okay, fair.”

There’s a pause.

Then you tilt your head slightly.

“And you?”

He exhales slowly, like the answer’s been sitting in his chest for a while.

“Been likin’ you,” he admits. “Didn’t think you’d… want that.”

Your chest tightens.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs, but it’s not dismissive—it’s defensive.

“Look at me.”

You do.

Really look.

The scars. The ink. The rough edges he wears like armor.

And then—you look closer.

At the way his hand hasn’t let go of yours.

At the way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

At the way he showed up in your shop just to buy flowers for no reason at all.

“I am,” you say gently.

His jaw shifts.

“You deserve soft things too, you know.”

Something in his expression cracks.

Just a little.

Enough.

You’re the one who leans in.

Slowly.

Giving him time to stop you.

He doesn’t.

If anything, he meets you halfway.

The kiss is… careful.

At first.

Like neither of you quite believe it’s real.

His hand tightens around yours, the other coming up—hesitating for just a second—before settling at your jaw.

Warm.

Steady.

You melt into it.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate.

It’s something softer.

Something that fits.

His lips are a little rough, a little unsure—but when you respond, when you press closer, he exhales against you like he’s been holding that breath for a long time.

And then it deepens.

Just slightly.

Enough to make your head spin.

Enough to make his grip on you firm, grounding.

When you pull back, it’s only because you have to.

Your forehead rests against his.

Neither of you speak.

You don’t need to.

“Guess that answers that,” you murmur.

He huffs quietly, thumb still brushing over your skin.

“Yeah.”

You smile.

“So… what now?”

He considers that.

Then his gaze lifts to yours, steady.

“Keep doin’ what we been doin’,” he says. “Just… more.”

Your heart flutters.

“More?”

His lips twitch slightly.

“More this.”

He squeezes your hand.

You grin.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I like the sound of that.”

After that, not much changes.

And everything does.

You still meet for lunch.

Still sit at the same table.

Still talk—well, you talk, he listens, and sometimes answers.

But now—

His hand finds yours without hesitation.

Your knee nudges his under the table, and he doesn’t pull away.

He walks you back to your shop.

Sometimes, he lingers.

Sometimes, he kisses you again before heading back next door.

Soft.

Certain.

Like he knows now.

Like you both do.

And slowly, steadily—

What started as something accidental becomes something real.

Something rooted.

Something that grows.

Being with Daryl doesn’t come with a big shift.

There’s no sudden whirlwind, no dramatic sweep-you-off-your-feet moment.

It’s quieter than that.

Better than that.

You’re locking up your shop, keys jingling softly in your hand, when you feel him before you see him—presence settling beside you like it always does.

“Hey,” he says.

You glance over your shoulder, smiling. “Hey.”

He’s got that same look he always does at the end of the day—hair a little messier, shirt sleeves pushed up, ink smudged faintly along his fingers. There’s a tiredness to him, but it’s softened when he looks at you.

“Done?” he asks.

“Finally,” you finish, turning the key and giving the door a firm push to make sure it’s locked.

He lingers close. Closer than he used to.

You notice these things now—the way he stands just within your space, like he belongs there. Like he’s still a little unsure of it, but he wants it anyway.

“Y’ate?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Didn’t get the chance. Busy day.”

He nods once, like he expected that.

“C’mon.”

You blink. “Where?”

He jerks his chin down the street. “There’s a place—does burgers.”

You smile, a little softer than usual. “You asking me out, Dixon?”

He huffs, already starting to walk. “Ain’t I already done that?”

You laugh, falling into step beside him. “Not officially.”

He glances at you, eyes flicking over your face like he’s checking something.

“…This official enough?”

Before you can answer, his hand finds yours.

Not tentative anymore.

Sure.

Warm.

You squeeze his fingers, grin tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I think it is.”

Dating Daryl looks like this:

Late dinners after long days.

Sitting side by side instead of across from each other.

His arm slung loosely over the back of your chair, like he’s not touching you—but always is, just a little.

Walking home together.

Always together.

It becomes routine in the best way.

He starts stopping by your shop in the mornings sometimes, coffee in hand—one for him, one for you.

Never says much when he does.

Just sets it down beside you while you’re working.

“Thought you’d need it.”

You start saving him things without even thinking.

Not just flowers anymore.

Little things.

A snack you know he likes. A note tucked between the stems of a bouquet you know he’ll take back to the shop.

He never comments on the notes.

But he keeps them.

You see it one night.

You’re in his space for the first time.

The tattoo shop is quieter after hours—no buzzing machines, no music, just the low hum of the city outside.

It smells faintly of ink and antiseptic, something clean beneath something darker.

It suits him.

He’s showing you around, a little awkward about it.

“This’s my station,” he says, gesturing.

You nod, taking it in—the organized chaos, the sketches pinned up, the careful layout of tools.

“You’re really good,” you say, tracing your eyes over one of his designs.

He shrugs. “S’my job.”

You glance at him. “It’s more than that.”

He doesn’t argue.

That’s how you know you’re right.

You wander a little, curiosity getting the better of you, until something catches your eye.

A small corner.

Tucked away.

There’s a dried sprig of eucalyptus tied carefully with twine.

A pressed flower.

Another one.

And another.

Your breath catches.

You recognize them.

All of them.

“Daryl…” you say softly.

He stiffens slightly behind you.

You turn, holding one up gently. “You kept them?”

He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little… unsure.

“Didn’t wanna throw ‘em out.”

Your chest aches in the best way.

“They’re dead,” you tease lightly.

He shrugs. “Still yours.”

That does something to you.

Something warm and deep and a little overwhelming.

You step closer to him.

“C’mere,” you murmur.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He never really does with you anymore.

Your hands come up to his face, fingers brushing over the scruff of his jaw.

His hands settle at your waist, grounding, steady.

You kiss him.

It’s different from the first time.

Less careful.

More certain.

He leans into it like he’s allowed to now—like he’s learned the shape of you, the rhythm of you.

One of his hands slides up your back, pulling you closer.

Not rushed.

Just… wanting.

When you pull back, you’re smiling.

“You’re soft,” you whisper.

He huffs, forehead pressing lightly to yours.

“Don’t tell nobody.”

You laugh quietly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

It builds from there.

Naturally.

Effortlessly.

You start spending nights together.

Not all at once.

At first, it’s just staying late at his shop, talking until the clock runs too far forward.

Then it’s him walking you home… and not leaving right away.

Then it’s falling asleep on the couch, his arm heavy around you, your head tucked into his shoulder.

He’s warm.

Always warm.

The first time you properly stay over, it’s unspoken.

You’re curled into him, half-asleep, when he murmurs, “Stay.”

You don’t even open your eyes.

“Okay.”

That’s it.

Daryl isn’t big on words.

You know that.

But he shows up.

Every day.

In every small way.

He fixes things in your shop without being asked.

Carries heavy deliveries.

Stands a little too close when customers linger too long, just enough to make them think twice.

He never says he’s protecting you.

He doesn’t have to.

And you—

You soften the edges of his world.

There are flowers in his shop now.

Not overwhelming.

Just… present.

Little touches of you.

He pretends to complain.

“Gonna make the place look soft.”

You grin. “Good.”

He doesn’t take them down.

One evening, you’re back at the café.

Your café.

Your table.

The sun’s dipping low, casting everything in gold.

His hand is in yours, thumb brushing lazily over your skin.

You watch it for a moment.

Then you look at him.

“You know,” you say, “I thought you were scary when I first saw you.”

He snorts. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. Thought you were trouble.”

He glances at you, something amused flickering in his eyes.

“And now?”

You smile.

Now, it’s easy.

Now, it’s certain.

“I think you’re my favourite part of the day.”

He goes still.

Just for a second.

Then his grip on your hand tightens.

Not hard.

Just enough.

His way of saying something he won’t put into words.

You squeeze back.

And that’s enough.

More than enough.

Because this—

This quiet, steady, growing thing between you—

It’s not loud.

It’s not fleeting.

It’s rooted.

Like something carefully tended.

Like something that’s meant to last.

And sitting there with him, your hand in his, the world moving around you like it always has—

You realize—

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[pukethroats]

16 hour flight. which seat are you in

which seat

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Voting ended onMay 11