Eris.Hugh.Whetting

Smut/fanfic writer

[kitschykryptid]

Up in Smoke

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Daryl catches you smoking weed. Instead of scolding you, he joins you. What was supposed to be your alone time turned into a mutual confession and some spicy time.

Tags: smut, daryl dixon x reader, weed usage, consensual intoxicated sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys), mutual pining, references to tragic pasts, reference to canon violence, lovely meddling Carol, non-graphic injury (reader was shot), implied slow burn

Notes: sorry guys this is probably so bad. not proofread bc i dont want to and i’m scared bc its my first time writing smut and posting it lmao. Also this is my magic little universe where pregnancy doesn’t happen and STD’s aren’t real so let me enjoy that. roughly follows canon timeline, post-prison but pre-Terminus. long live daryl dixon.

Word Count: 5.2k

“Where’d ya get that?”

You freeze and look up from where you’re sitting with your hands raised, lighter open, millimeters away from the joint between your lips. You’re leaning against the barn wall, and a small bag sits on the ground between your crossed legs, holding the glaringly obvious evidence of what you’ve been up to since slinking away from the camp.

You bring the lighter those last few millimeters, and take a small pull before coughing out,

“Daryl.”

There’s not much up in the enclosed loft. Some old boxes of long rusted tools, farming equipment, and antique furniture. Bits of hay are strewn in front of the open hay door, the actual doors long since broken off. There’s a small pile of bricks next to the door opening, likely used to prop the door open when it was functional. A disintegrating lay-z-boy type chair, a coffee table with an ashtray on it, a cracked oil lamp on the floor next to a dresser with broken drawers make it seem as if the farmer who lived on this farm before used this loft as their hideaway.

He stands, arms crossed, leaning his shoulder against the same wall you’re up against. The man certainly has a knack for creeping in the shadows. You didn’t even hear him climb up the ladder to the loft you were now hiding in. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face. The orange glow from the lighter disappears, hiding your guilty face and casting you back into shadow. 

Neither of you say anything for a moment. You bring it back to your lips and take a deep pull, not intending to let your audience impede your rare me-time. The smoke floats out the open hay door, dancing in the breeze before disappearing. 

He pushes off the wall and starts to walk towards you. You breathe out and look up at him as he stops right next to you. He suddenly bends down and snatches the bag from in front of you.

“Hey!” you make a sad attempt to reach for it, him already straightened to his full height. He holds it up, trying to use the light from the nearly-full moon to make out its contents. A grinder. Rolling papers. A second lighter. And loose flower. All items you had snuck from a nightstand in one of the houses you both had looted on a run. He turns to look down at you. You stare right back at him and take a very dramatic and over-exaggerated inhale. 

“Jesus woman,” he tosses the bag back to you. You look up at him and unceremoniously blow towards him. 

He reaches for you. You raise your hand up to bat him away but he smacks your hand down, still reaching towards you. For a second, you think he’s going to smack it right out of your mouth. You certainly wouldn’t put it past him to do such a thing. Instead, he takes it right from your lips and brings it to his own. 

You ignore the little flutter in your chest from his finger against your lip. 

Dirt. Cigarettes. Metal.

It was inconvenient. You couldn’t believe you gave it more than one thought. There was no time for crushes, not in this world. Not when death waited around every corner. Not when all hope for the future had been decimated in a day.

Not when every good thing you seemed to find ends up being ripped away from you.

But you can’t stop yourself from looking at the man next to you as he sits down against the same wall by the open hay door of the barn. The way his lips wrap around the end of the joint. The way his chest rises under his shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top buttons undone. His head tilting back as he blows the smoke up into the air, his hair falling away from his face. The faint moonlight illuminates his silhouette. The way any sleeved shirt he seems to wear looks like it’s threatening to split open when his muscles flex. The dirt on his arms that only seems to accentuate the veins that travel down to his rough hangs, hands that now gently hold-

“You’re starin’.”

You snap out of your stupid daydream and internally curse yourself, giving yourself a shake as if it would brush off the high slowly washing over you. He doesn’t acknowledge it, his hand falling towards you. You don’t look at him as you take the joint back from him. 

Silence.

“What’re you doin up here?” he asks tentatively, as if he has no business asking you anything at all. Not that you mind. You wish someone would ask you questions instead of looking at you like you’re a grenade with the pin half pulled out. 

Daryl doesn’t look at you like that though. 

You exhale. 

“Thinking.” Is all you offer. You glance over at him without turning your head. He’s looking at you, but you can’t read his expression. 

He doesn’t say anything else. 

Not much else needed to be said. 

You hold your hand out to him, purposefully ignoring the brush of your fingers as he takes it back from you. 

He had been the one to find you while he was out on a hunt. He had been trailing a deer through the woods when he found an abandoned cabin. There weren’t any signs of recent disturbance and no walkers, so he barged right in and started searching the house for anything to take back. It was already rather empty, some of the cabinets in the kitchen wide open, missing what had likely been stored in there previously. The living room was barely disturbed, a random pile of magazines on the coffee table and some ugly throw pillows on the couch. The bathroom had a layer of dust on every flat surface. It didn’t seem like anyone had been there since the end of the world.

He was only alerted to another presence when the muzzle of your handgun was pressed against the back of his skull as he had crouched down to rifle through a cabinet. He didn’t have any time to be impressed by your silence.

“Get up. Slowly.” you barked at him. You looked down at the man in front of you, crossbow slung over his back, hoping that your gall alone was enough for this. You could see his large hunting knife at his hip. Both weapons inconveniently out of reach for him, given his predicament. He put both of his hands up and slowly rose to his full height, before turning around to face you. You stood there with your gun in his face, but he wasn’t even looking at it. He was looking at your face, your fear and rage-filled eyes locked on his. He glanced down to your jaw, where a nasty bruise mottled your skin in purple and yellow, down to your bloody hand pressed on your side. Blood soaked a good portion of your shirt, some having dripped onto your pants. Sweat adorned your forehead and your neck, leaving the collar of your ragged t-shirt damp. Your clothes were dirty and torn in several places, as if you had lost a fight with a particularly vicious cat. He looked back up at you. 

“You bit?” He huffed. You didn’t blink.

You took him in. His long hair partially covering his face. The button-up shirt with the sleeves ripped off under the leather vest with the wings on the back. His large frame and muscular arms. His raised hands that looked like they could kill you with a flick of his wrist. You didn’t stand a chance. 

“Shot.” The hand holding the gun in his face shook the slightest bit with your reply.

He moved before you could even react, grabbing the gun from your hand and turning it on you. You stagger backwards and practically fall into the wall, grimacing and grabbing tighter at your side. This wasn’t a fight you were going to win. He lowers the gun, seeing that you’re obviously not a threat. Neither of you speak for a moment.

“You got a group?” he grunted.

Only yesterday had you been with other people, working together to survive this world. They were the closest thing you had to a family, but you had stumbled onto a group of raiders that took you for all your worth and left you the sole survivor. You only lived because you had pretended to be dead.

You look away from him for the first time. “Not anymore.”

He nods, not needing you to elaborate. 

“Can you walk?” you nod as your reply, not yet sure if you were lying or not. He looks you up and down before nodding again.

“I’ve got people, people that can look at ya.” 

You stare at him. 

You had your gun against his head not even 5 minutes ago. Why was he offering to help you? You searched his gaze for some hidden intention, but you found nothing. Whether that was because he was a good actor, or if he was being honest, was still unclear to you. 

“I’ll be fine.”

There’s a strange tension in the air as you both look at each other, both of you knowing that you were lying but neither of you addressing it. He takes a step towards you and you bristle, unsure of his intentions. He holds your gun out to you. You stare for a second, stunned, before snatching it back from him. He stands in front of you, not having moved. His hand shoots out and grabs at the one pressed to your side, pulling it away. You shout in pain and try to pull your wrist from his grip, but to no avail. Fresh blood is still seeping out of you and coats your fingers, running down your hand and onto his from where his grip is locked on to your wrist. 

Your vision swims, and the room starts to sway.

“You’re coming with me.” He grunts, letting your hand go to instead grab you by your bicep and pull you out the door. You stumble behind him, trying to keep up as white hot pain radiates through your entire body.

“Wait” you cry, before collapsing to the ground.

You had woken up a while later in a house with a strange man tending to your wound.

The rest was history. Fleeing the farm, the prison, all that bullshit with the Governor and Woodbury, and now you were camped in the woods again with nowhere to call home. Daryl had told your story to the rest of the group while you were getting your shit back together, and whatever he said made the rest of them keep their guard up and hold you at arms length. You didn’t mind. You were civil enough to have a transactional relationship. You’d hunt and bring back food, and they’d share supplies. Few words were spoken. Glenn at least initiated short conversations with you, seeming to be the more optimistic one. Carol was nice, but she seemed to live in her head. In fact, the only person who said more than pleasantries to you was Daryl. 

There was something about him that puzzled you. You don’t know if it was some weird trauma-bonding or if he felt that since he saved you he needed to at least acknowledge you, but he was your ghost. He’d go on runs with you. Go hunt. And he actually spoke to you. Even Carol had commented on it, poking fun at you for breaking his tough-guy act.

“You have him wrapped around your little finger and neither of you even realize it.” She had whispered to you after he had wordlessly dropped a new jacket at your feet, having grabbed it from a store after yours had ripped on your last run. You gave her a polite smile, not knowing what else to say. It was scary. Because anyone you had cared about had been so violently ripped away from you, you didn’t know if you had it in you to hold space for someone like that again. Your childhood friends, your family, the group you had before Daryl found you. All of them were people you loved, and they all were gone.

Were you even capable of loving again?

But you began to notice.

You noticed his lingering looks. The way his eyes would stay on yours for a moment too long in the context of the moment. The way he noticed little things and would do something about it without needing to be asked. He didn't treat you like some damaged girl, he'd argue with you until the sun set if he needed to. The man was usually stoic, but when you had both got into it about some trivial crap one day, you could swear he was enjoying it. You once caught him smiling after you had taken down 3 walkers in quick succession without missing a beat. 

Sometimes you’d notice his eyes raking your figure, and his normally dark stare would be shadowed by something else. His eyes would linger too long on your chest, or when you’d turn and walk away you would feel them on your ass. His hands would guide you through a building by putting his hand just slightly too low on your back. Or he’d put a hand on your waist to pull you back against a wall, a hand coming to your lips to shut you up mid sentence. Little things that added up to something you didn’t have the confidence to acknowledge. 

“Hey.”

You snap your head towards him. Wow, again?. “What?”

“Am I really that boring?” He smirks.

You blink. Your head feels fuzzy. There’s a strange warmth in your stomach. 

“No, was just thinking about when you found me.” You lie through your teeth.

He laughs. “Shoulda left your stubborn ass there. Had’ta carry you all the back back t’ the farm. Like a sack of potatoes.” You smack him in the arm, making him cough on the drag he was in the middle of taking. You grab the joint back from him, ignoring the look he gave you. 

You breathe in. You were way gone, that fluffy feeling washing over your entire body and your head finally starting to quiet. You look over at Daryl again. 

For as much bickering as the two of you did, you couldn’t deny the thrill that rose in your chest whenever he’d get in your face after pushing his buttons too hard. His face would turn red and sometimes he’d shove you around if you were being a particular problem. You didn’t think you had that fight in you right now, but it wasn’t going to stop you from nagging on him. 

“Your shirts are too small.” You fire back. He looks at you, mouth open.

“No they ain’t.”

“Yes, Daryl, they are”

“They ain’t.”

“You look like you’re about to burst out of them half the time. One swing at a walker and those seams are busting wide open.”

“If ya want to look at my muscles you can jus’ say that.”

You go silent. Tension suddenly fills the air between the two of you. He reaches to you and takes the joint back, bringing it to his mouth, his head tilted back against the wall. You watch a little too intently.

“That’s not what I was saying.” You mutter, feeling like the blood in your veins had suddenly turned to fire. You didn’t dare look at him. You instead choose to fiddle with your shoelaces, twisting them around and giving yourself any distraction possible. Your head feels like it’s stuck in a cloud.

No one says anything. 

Daryl stares out at the treeline, a hint of a smirk on his lips. 

He enjoys nothing more than nagging at you. Not that he’d ever tell you that. He found it easier to just treat you like he treated everyone else. Pushing people’s buttons in a heated moment was a strong talent of his, and never missed an opportunity to fire a remark at someone for whatever god damn reason he felt like doing it. You, however, fired right back at him.

He often had to adjust himself to hide his raging boner after you would yell at him, much to the amusement of Carol and Glenn. 

The problem with his ingenious approach is that it failed miserably, and it was obvious to everyone except him. While you two engaged in your fair share of fights, he didn’t watch out for anyone else the way he did for you. His gaze didn’t linger on anyone the way it did on you when you walked away. He would volunteer to go with you when you decided to go on a run, citing some excuse about needing supplies for a made up project he came up with on the fly. If you happened to slip away from him during said run, he’d mutter curses and clear the building in seconds to find where you had gone. He’d curse at you for being stupid and you’d yell back that you were perfectly capable of handling yourself, and he’d want nothing more than to grab your face and find a way to shut you up. 

He suddenly shifts against the wall, causing you to jump. He rolls his shoulders and sits up a little, the wood plank floor you’re both on not offering a terribly comfortable seat.

“Why are you up here?” you ask, to which he offers no reply, staring out at the trees. You continue. 

“I’m sure Glenn has some ridiculous tale he’s sharing with everyone right now. You should go enjoy it.”

“You should too.”

“I’m out here for a reason.”

“Which is?”

“To relax, unwind, find some inner peace, reach enlightenment, I had big plans before you decided to plop your old ass down next to me.”

He rolls his eyes, your jokes about his age a recurring annoyance. They’re not even funny. You laugh, though. 

“Y’know I can’t stand Glenn’s stories.”

“Could have shown Carl how to skin that deer you got earlier.”

“S’done a while ago while he was off with Rick.”

“Your bike need fixing?”

“Tuned it yest’rday.”

“Crossbow need adjusting?”

“Did it earlier.”

“Ah, so you just wanted to be alone with me.” You snark, picking up a piece of broken brick and throwing it out of the window. 

It skitters somewhere in the gravel below. 

A beat. 

“Maybe.”

The air shifts. You look up at him to find him already looking at you. He takes another pull and you watch shamelessly this time. His lips closing around the joint, his chest rising, and his eyes on yours. He exhales, hard. 

He takes the joint out of his mouth. 

He reaches over to you, bringing his hand up and sliding it in between your lips. 

His fingers linger just a little too long against you, before retracting his hand, his eyes never leaving you. 

Fuck.

You take one last deep drag before you rise onto your knees, turning towards Daryl and climbing into his lap. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, clearly in the same state you were. Your knees come down on either side of his thighs, face to face with him. You reach forward and grab his face with both of your hands, bringing him closer to you. Your thumb pressing lightly on his chin pushes his mouth open. You barely close the distance, ghosting your lips against his, exhaling into his mouth. He takes a deep breath, and his hands shoot up to the back of your head to pull you into a heated kiss. The spent joint is tossed over to the side. You shift forward, unintentionally grinding right down onto his hard length threatening the fly of his pants. His hips buck up into yours at the feeling, and he lets out a quiet grunt into your mouth. You nip at his skin, relishing in the sounds it draws out of the man under you. You trail your hands down the front of his shirt and start undoing the buttons, your mouth leaving his to trail down his jaw and onto his neck. You don’t get to finish before his hands come down to your hips, pressing you down onto him and sliding you back and forth. You whine at a rather pointed roll of his hips against yours. One of his hands runs up your spine to pull your chest into his, every touch of his fingers leaving trails of fire.

He leans back from you to look to the other side of the room, making sure no one is coming up the ladder to surprise you.

Daryl’s hands are on your face, pulling you into another kiss. Your hands go up to his hair as his travel down your front, pulling up at the bottom of your shirt. You pull away long enough to let him pull your t-shirt up over your head, and it’s discarded somewhere in the room. The cold air in the open room sends goosebumps across your body. Your lack of a bra seems to pleasantly surprise him. His eyes rake down your chest, and you suddenly feel shy. Your hands come up to your chest to cover yourself, but he grabs your wrists and pulls them away. 

If you weren’t floating up in the clouds already, you certainly were now.

He leans forward and trails hot, open mouthed kisses from your mouth, down your neck, and to tops of your breasts. One of his large hands comes up to grab at the one his mouth isn’t attached to. The roll of his fingers causes you to jolt. You give a little whine and pull at his shirt. He wordlessly pulls away and tugs it up over his head, entirely forgoing the rest of the buttons. You trail your hands down his chest, hips still rolling together. He’s hot to the touch, a pleasant warmth compared to the cold of the night. You look up at him as your hand lands on his belt. He stares back at you, his equally transcended state apparent in his face. 

A hand comes up to your back, the other to your hip, as he lowers you down onto your back. He brings his weight forward, bracing himself up on his forearms on either side of your head. He crashes his lips back down onto yours, settling his weight between your legs and grinding right down onto you. The sensation makes you let out a little squeak. 

Daryl lets out a soft grunt, his head dropping to rest on your shoulder. While he’s there he licks hot stripes across your skin, nipping and sucking little marks onto you. 

There’s a soft clink as you pull at his belt, before his own hand leaves you to do it himself. In one movement, he pushes down both his jeans and his boxers. 

Wow.

The sight of him kickstarts you into motion as you reach for your own jeans and start undoing the button. Your actions are cut short by Daryl’s hands grabbing yours and putting them up by your head.

“What’re you-” you’re cut off by shock when Daryl starts sliding down your body, pressing his mouth to your skin as he trails down, coming to a stop at the top of your jeans. He presses soft kisses to your belly as his fingers work at the button, and pulls them down. You lift up your hips so he can slide them off of you, before he returns to deal with your underwear. His fingers hook around the top of them and start to pull them down, but he stops before too much of you is revealed. He looks up at you as he presses a kiss to your pubic bone, leaving a slightly damp spot on your underwear from his mouth.

You’d be lying if you said that the image in front of you wasn’t the hottest thing you had ever seen. But you’re getting impatient with need.

“Jesus Dixon, rip them off with your teeth for all I care just get a move on.” You try to make that sound snarky, but it just comes out desperate.

The last thing you expected him to do was listen to you.

He smirks and lowers his head back down. With one last kiss pressed below your belly button, he grabs the top of your underwear between his teeth and drags them down your legs. 

You nearly cum just from watching him do that. 

“S’that better?” he smirks, bringing himself back to your face to connect his lips with yours. You can only whine back at him, bucking your hips up to meet his. He lowers his hips down and slides himself against you, rubbing his length along your folds. His tip rubs deliciously against your clit, and you wriggle your hips in a silent plea. 

He lines himself up with you and slowly pushes in, letting out a strangled groan. You wince at the slight burn, which almost immediately fades into mind numbing pleasure.

Is his dick that big, or is it just that you’re high as a fucking kite?

Daryl pulls back a little and slowly sinks back in, testing,

Oh.

It’s that big,

The feeling of him fully seating himself inside you causes you to let out an obscene whine, making Daryl promptly clap his hand over your mouth. 

“I know, I know, but ya need to be quiet. This ain’t exactly soundproof.”

Once he realizes your face is no longer scrunched in a wince, he starts with a slow pace. Each drag of him against your walls sends tendrils of pleasure through your entire body. The feeling of him pressing so deep into you has you fading out of your body. 

It’s too slow.

You bring your eyes to his face and momentarily forget how words work.

His eyes are screwed shut, mouth hanging slightly open, with his head hanging down. 

The sight makes you clench around him. His eyes fly open to look at you as he groans. It’s then that you notice his arms are shaking. He’s not one to quickly tire, how could he be spent from holding himself up already?

It takes a moment for you to realize that it’s not tiredness. It’s something else.

Restraint. 

Daryl’s slow thrusts into you are tense and calculated, certainly not those of a man free to experience pleasure for the first time in who knows how long. 

He’s holding back.

You certainly can’t have that.

“Daryl,” you mewl, your hands coming up to push on his chest. “More. Please.”

He gives you a small smile and reaches down to grab your knees, pulling your legs up to fall open more as he brings himself down onto his forearms, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. 

“As you wish, darlin’.” 

Oh god.

He sets a punishing pace. 

With every thrust, he’s battering that spot you can never quite reach with your own fingers. His hands are roaming your body, pulling at your hips, playing with your tits, tracing the lines of your body as if he’s trying to memorize every part of you. The roughness of his hands leaves a trail of goosebumps as he touches every part of you. It’s remarkably gentle, coming from such a man. His thrusts are punctuated with his own little groans. It only adds fuel to your fire. 

You start to squirm, that coil in your stomach pulling tighter and tighter and threatening to snap. The wood floor is not very forgiving, and is digging uncomfortably into your back. The distraction is welcome, though, giving you something to ground you as your mind threatens to melt away completely. 

His hand cups the side of your face, brushing your hair back. 

“Look at me.”

His eyes are staring intently into yours, softer than you’ve ever seen him. The moonlight casts a soft light onto his face. The shadows from his hair dance across his forehead. His lips glisten with the evidence of your kissing. Your hands grab at his biceps caged around your head. His pace is starting to falter, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. One of his hands slithers down your body to rub at your clit. He looks at you for a moment before pressing a deep, gentle, and softly desperate kiss to your lips. 

There it is.

Your orgasm hits you harder than any one you’ve brought out of yourself. It spreads like a hungry flame licking across your fuel-covered body. Your eyes squeeze shut and your mind goes static. Your muscles contract and your back arches up and presses your chest into his. 

Your head tips back as your body writhes beneath him. He presses his mouth harder to yours, swallowing your moans. His hips become less rhythmic, stuttering to a halt as he buries himself inside of you and comes undone. You momentarily lose yourself in the cloud of pleasure, only to be guided back to earth by Daryl pressing soft kisses to your collarbones. You look up at him, dazed. A thin sheen of sweat covers his face, the hair at his neck slightly damp. There are faint marks on his neck, and red scratches on his arms and chest from where you had grabbed him. 

You grimace as he slowly pulls out of you, still slightly overstimulated. A sudden breeze blows through the hay door, and you turn your face towards it, the cool night air a wonderful sensation against your heated skin. 

“We should do that more often,” you blurt out, immediately horrified. You whip your head back to look at him, and he’s frozen in the middle of putting himself back into his pants. He looks at you for a moment before clearing his throat and smiling.

“That was kinda the plan.”

You blink.

“What?”

Daryl blushes and looks away. 

Daryl Dixon. Blushes.

He shakes his head. “Nothin” he grunts out.

You sit yourself up on your elbows and look at him. 

“Daryl Dixon, are you blushing?” you smile at him. 

His ears turn red.

“What, did ya think I just did all that stuff for no reason?” he mutters.

Your heart swells. 

“Been starin’ at ya for weeks. Though Carol was gonna rat me out at some point.” He pulls his shirt back over his head. 

You slide your pants back up over your hips.

“She kinda did,” you laugh. He turns to look at you, him now the one who looks horrified.

“And ya didn’t say nothin?” he laughs, handing you your shirt. 

“I didn’t know if I could,” you pause to pull your shirt over your head. “Thought you were just being nice and didn’t want to make things weird.”

You rub your arm sheepishly, avoiding looking at him as you stand up. 

He walks over to stand in front of you, and brings a hand up to your face to make you look at him.

“S’a good thing we got past that, ain’t it?”

You smile. 

He looks at you for a moment longer, and turns to walk back to the ladder. 

“Don’t let Rick see the weed.” He tosses over his shoulder. 

“He’ll probably smell it.”

He smirks.

“Nah, we smell like sex.”

[enfermizada]

Skipping the storyline and going straight into the fucking part..

[twd-bee3]

Fourth of July

Pairing: Shane Walsh x Reader

Summary: The annual Grimes family barbecue results in your dad’s best friend fucking you in the bathroom.

Warnings/Tags: smut with no plot, dbf!shane, grimes!reader, bunny!reader, dom!shane, female reader (she/her) with female anatomy, hair pulling, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation, BIG age-gap (reader is a college student), no outbreak!au, established relationship, no use of Y/N

Word count: 2.7k words

A/N: This is the expanded version of my drabble “Hush, bunny.” I had never written for Shane before, but I am very happy that you all seem to enjoy how I write dbf!shane. I mainly kept the dialogue and kinks from that drabble, so consider this the fleshed-out edition. I’m a fictional age gap enthusiast, so I had to write the most common trope, which is the Fourth of July barbecue. The end/bbq bit is rushed because I was nerfed by a headache, so I apologize for that!!

Masterlist | S.W. smut masterlist

You could hear the rumbling of Shane’s truck engine through your bedroom window, and you rolled your eyes. Everything about your father’s best friend was loud. The two of you hadn’t spoken since he drunkenly took your virginity, and you were still unsure of how to feel about him. There was no denying that you’d fallen for him. The question was whether or not he felt the same.

As you continued applying your mascara, you remembered the way your tears had left black streaks on his sheets and had to pause. Shane had been living rent-free in your brain for the past week. He’d been permeating your thoughts before then, but this was different. In the past, it had just been fantasies; now it was memories.

Adding to your torture, Shane had entered the house, and you could hear him laughing with your father downstairs. Part of you felt guilty about what the two of you had done. How would Rick feel if he knew what kind of man his best friend was? What kind of girl his daughter was? You pushed the thoughts from your head and refocused your attention on getting ready. That was something that you could control.

You took a deep breath and started fixing your hair. Parting it down the middle, you tied off the two sections into even pigtails. It was the Fourth of July, so you wrapped two white ribbons around the hair ties to make little bows. Your hair and makeup were finished, which meant that it was time to get dressed. You walked over to your closet and browsed your options. The second your eyes landed on your miniskirt, you froze. The image of Shane hiking it up as he fucked you on his bed flashed in your mind.

The sound of him animatedly telling a story downstairs interrupted your thoughts, and you groaned. You had to drown him out somehow. Maybe music would help? You grabbed your phone and connected it to the speaker on your desk. Bruce Springsteen started blaring, and it was at the perfect volume.

Satisfied with your choice of music, you turned back to your closet and started rifling through your options again. You couldn’t help but think about what outfit your father would loathe the most. Lori was here, so she’d stop him from getting too upset. You intended on using this to your advantage.

After what felt like ages, you finally settled on a red babydoll dress that would be paired with your cowboy boots. Underneath the dress, you’d be wearing a lacy white bra with a matching thong. Your mind drifted to picturing Shane’s reaction to the outfit, but you quickly got back on track. You were in the midst of dressing yourself when “Glory Days” started blasting. Little did you know that this would attract your dad’s best friend.

Shane had been using the upstairs bathroom when he had heard the song start. The man loved Bruce Springsteen, so naturally, he went looking for where the music was coming from. As he wandered the hallway, he realized that it was coming from your bedroom. Instead of doing the respectful thing and knocking, he waltzed right in.

As soon as the door swung open, you looked up and made a shocked sound when you saw Shane. You were about to tell him off when he closed the door behind himself and shushed you. The man had a lot of nerve, and he smirked as he spoke.

“Easy, bunny. It’s just me.”

“You need to knock.”

Despite glaring at him, you didn’t tell him to leave, and you finished pulling your dress up. He’d conveniently barged in while you were dressing. Shane’s eyes roamed your body and a cocky grin spread across his face when he saw that you were blushing. He was already being an ass today, so he had to tease you.

“You look real nice, sweetheart. Those new panties?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Your words were biting in a way that he hadn’t expected. Shit, you must still be upset about how he handled the drunken hookup. Shane would never admit it, but he hated the thought of you being angry with him. He turned up the charm and gave an earnest apology.

“Hey, I get it if you’re still mad at me. I shouldn’t have handled things like that. You deserve better than that.”

In all the years he’d been a part of your family’s life, you could count on one hand the number of apologies that you’d heard from Shane. You took a second before deciding to believe him. It might come to bite you in the ass later, but it was worth it for now. You sighed and nodded.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Thank you? That’s all I get?”

Of course, he’d gone right back to teasing you. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. He was really testing your patience. After a moment of staring at him and waiting for him to elaborate, you groaned.

“What were you expecting? Us to kiss and make up?”

“I mean, would you say no?”

Now, that was a good question. You exhaled heavily and looked him over. Shane managed to make a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans look enticing. Naturally, your attention boosted his ego, and he teased you again.

“Yeah. That’s my answer.”

Before you could come up with a witty response, Shane crossed the room and pulled you in by the waist. He kissed you with such force that it made your head spin. Your lips met his with equal hunger, and you leaned into him. His hands explored your body before settling on your thighs, and one started to slip up past your panties. You let him feel you for a moment before trying to reason with him.

“Shane, my family’s downstairs. Right beneath us.”

Shane took this as his opportunity to kiss your neck, and he attempted to leave a mark. You were quick to interrupt that. Rick was already going to be pissed about your outfit; you didn’t need to deal with an unexplainable hickey. Your voice was firm when you spoke again.

“What the fuck? Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“Oh, c’mon, bunny. It’s not a big deal.”

In disbelief, you stared at Shane and rested a hand on your hip. He was the one who’d been evasive out of the fear of being caught. He’s the one who had been guilty and was taking it out on you. Now, he wanted to mark you up? No fucking way. You groaned and shook your head.

“Stop it. We can kiss, fuck, or whatever, but you don’t get to mark me like I belong to you. I don’t.”

This stubborn, almost bratty side of you wasn’t something that Shane was familiar with. To his surprise, your obstinance made his cock strain against the denim of his jeans. He really had **to fuck you now. His tone was oozing with arousal and possessiveness when he spoke again.

“Yeah? I’ll show you who you fuckin’ belong to. C’mon.”

You should’ve known that your opposition was bound to make Shane snap, but it had happened sooner than expected. To be fair, you’d been dreaming of having him inside of you again. You were about to get what you wanted. Opening the bedroom door, he checked that the hallway was empty and pulled you into the nearby bathroom. In his mind, this was a little less obvious, and you weren’t going to object.

He’d barely locked the door before spinning you around and pressing you against the countertop. Shane’s movements were hurried, and it was clear that he was simply getting this out of his system. You’d examine how being used like this made you feel later. You were too wound up to care now. He took a moment to admire the way he’d bent you over and ran his finger along your spine. His voice was more reverent when he spoke again.

“Fuck, bunny. Look at you. Such a pretty girl.”

“You like the dress?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Fits you well.”

Eager to feel your skin on his, he repositioned you and quickly pulled the dress over your head. Shane haphazardly tossed it to the side and groaned at the sight of you in that matching set. You knew exactly what you were doing when you put it on. He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

“Jesus. You wear that for me?”

“Yes.”

You answered a little too quickly, and your cheeks flushed a bright pink. Seeing you blush was the final straw for Shane. He spun you back around and stripped you of your underwear. His lips returned to your neck, but he was being gentler this time. Maybe he’d listen to your warning about the hickeys. He wasted no time in undoing his belt and tugging his jeans down along with his boxers. He gave you a quick warning as he aligned himself with your cunt.

“You can take me, baby. You did so good last time.”

With that, he snapped his hips forward and thrusted his cock deep inside of you. His large palm was clasped over your mouth, and he drove into you from behind. He set a frantic pace and reprimanded you when you tried to cry out.

“Shhh. We have to be quiet, bunny. Ain’t want your daddy to hear you, do we?”

Hearing Shane refer to your actual father as your ‘daddy’ and not himself, you felt a twinge of disappointment. It was quickly overcome by the pleasure rolling through you. You took a ragged breath and answered him; your voice was muffled.

“N-no, sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Keep those pretty lips sealed.”

He didn’t want you to speak, so you simply hummed in agreement. Shane’s free hand was holding you in place, while he continued to thrust his thick cock in and out of your cunt. He was trying to keep it down, but low grunts kept escaping from his throat. Finding his release, he didn’t wait for you to reach yours before roughly pulling out. You cried out in frustration, but a sharp tug to your hair made you stop. His voice was firm when he spoke again.

“Hush, bunny.”

You’d been expecting Shane to make you orgasm with his cunt, but he had other plans. He didn’t give you time to start whining before he roughly shoved two fingers into your cunt with his free hand. The other remained clamped over your mouth, and it muffled your cries. You leaned into his touch and started grinding against his hand. He mocked you as he worked.

“Look at how you’re ridin’ my hand. You’re so needy that it’s fuckin’ pathetic, y’know that?”

His words stung and tears pricked at your eyes. Against your will, they began to run down your cheeks, and they were tinged dark grey with your mascara. You were pleasantly surprised when Shane tipped your head back towards him and kissed away your tears. He was still being patronizing, but his tone had softened.

“You’re a needy little rabbit, ain’t you? My bunny. Say it back to me.”

Continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you, he moved his other hand away from your mouth and stared at you expectantly. You didn’t want to disappoint him, so you were quick to answer.

“All yours.”

“Need more than that. Repeat what I said.”

He was being impossible, and you whined softly, which earned another quick yank to your hair. You whimpered and wiped at your face. It took a moment before you were coherent enough to respond.

“I-I’m a needy little rabbit. I’m your bunny.”

“Yeah, you are. Good girl.”

Satisfied with your obedience, he gave extra attention to your clit and didn’t let up until you finally reached your peak. Your whole body shook as you came apart, and he steadied you by wrapping his arm around your waist. He held you until you caught your breath.

Shane waited until he was confident that you could stay upright before letting go and grabbing a nearby towel off of the rack. He wiped himself down first before attending to you. When he was cleaning your skin, his movements were uncharacteristically tender. You reveled in it before he pulled back and redressed his lower half.

You copied his actions and put your own clothes back on. Shane watched you and felt the familiar guilt blooming in his chest. You deserved so much more than a quick fuck in the bathroom, but he wasn’t sure that he could give it to you. The fact that he was best friends with your father and he was significantly older than you further complicated the matter.

For a second, one foolish second, he allowed himself to picture a future with you. What would it be like to come to you in his bed after a rough call? For once, that thought was less about a sexual encounter and more about the intimacy of you seeing him on a bad day. He quickly shook the thought from his head and cleared his throat. You startled slightly when he spoke suddenly.

“Clean up your makeup and come out back with everyone.”

He didn’t give you time to respond before turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom. What the fuck? You still weren’t used to the way he’d emotionally shut down after sex. This time, you didn’t cry and instead did what he asked.

By the time you’d gone back to your room, Shane had already made it down the stairs and out to the backyard. Your father, your stepmother, and half-brother were outside waiting for him. Rick was too focused on grilling a rack of ribs to question where his best friend and daughter had been for the past several minutes. To his knowledge, you’d been getting ready in your room while Shane hung out in the living room. That wouldn’t be entirely out of the norm.

Lori, on the other hand, was suspicious. Her concern grew when you strolled out to join everyone and she saw the outfit you were wearing. The dress was far shorter than what Rick would’ve accepted, and it was more wrinkled than she remembered. She didn’t want to rock the boat, so she stored this information away for later.

When Rick saw what you were wearing, he cursed beneath his breath and shook his head. He wanted to give you a proper lecture on how you presented yourself to guests, but more people were starting to trickle in. He had to make a comment, though. Thankfully, he waited until you were closer and he could be sure that only you would hear him.

“Y’know how I feel about that dress.”

“Ain’t a child, Rick. I can wear a fuckin’ dress.”

Your attitude was infuriating, but Rick wasn’t in the mood to argue. He huffed and chewed at his lower lip. Tensions between the two of you had been high since he married Lori, and he hadn’t had the time to try and repair things. Besides, you were an adult now. At least, that was his excuse for not making an effort.

It was a bit juvenile, but you had to admit that you were amused by your father’s reaction. Shane was nursing a beer, sprawled out on a lawn chair, and listening to Carl ramble about his most recent little league game. You were going to have to find someone else to talk to. Looking around, you saw Beth standing beside Maggie, and you walked over to talk to her.

The Greenes had been friends of your family for years now, and Beth was closest to your age. You still had a few years on her, but the two of you got along well. As soon as she saw you walking over, her face lit up and she called out your name. You grinned and responded.

“Beth, how have you been? I haven’t seen you since I went off to school.”

“I’ve been super busy. I got a job at the local market, and Daddy’s started lettin’ me help with the animals at his clinic.”

“Really? How much are you makin’?”

The two of you went on to catch up until the food was ready. The rest of the evening was filled with conversation, good food, and an abundance of company. You and Shane kept meeting each other’s eyes, but the two of you stayed a safe distance apart. Neither of you was eager to invite any speculation.

Taglist: @vngelisse @dixondisease @angelwings-crossbowstrings @idkwthgoitmww @smuttfuelled @glennseyeball @tvduxveil @death-in-a-tar0t-card @spookysturnz @nichemint @asparagus-antics @xanaxiii @hail-yourselves @viviandarkbloom11 @softcherryvanilla @thatonewriterchick @dixons-wifey @chronic-fangirl-222 @sunkissedandseraphic @buffydixon @electroniczombieprince @local-airhead @zencherob @wallflowerwrites @daryldixonswoman @holdmytesseract @tinytownn @mickgallavich @tinytownn @shtgshdrnit @gaiestguyever-to-exist

[millermouth]

Hii I was wondering if you could please write a one shot about Daryl x Grimes!Reader (Rick’s daughter) I was thinking younger Daryl, they gotta keep their relationship secret (Rick thinks his sweet angel is too pure for redneck Daryl). It could be fluff, smut, or both!

Daryl Dixon x Reader || smut MDNI 18+, semi public sex, pinv, secret relationship, rick'sdaughter!reader, farm!daryl, idk im sure there's more tags but im tired. this is a fantasy world where creampies don't equal babies || a/n: anon requested this awhile back and just reminded me of it during my prompt giveaway! I'm sorry this took so long my love!

The wood panels at your back groan again as Daryl drives into you, the tempo of his thrusts like sweet euphoria, each one sending little shocks of pleasure rippling through your spine.

“Fuck—” he grunts into the side of your neck, “If your—” he slams up again, his hands firm under your ass, holding you off the ground with your legs tight around his waist, “If your dad catches us—”

“He won’t,” you breathe, whimpering as his grip tightens. “Just… please, Daryl. Don’t fucking stop.”

“Been waitin’ for this,” he mutters, kissing down your throat, lips dragging over flushed skin. “For so long.”

“I know, baby,” you moan, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at the short strands at his nape. “You feel so good. So, so good—”

He groans as he sinks into you, your walls fluttering around him, stretched wide by his cock. He's so thick, so deep, and hitting places you didn’t know could ache like this. Your whole body clenches around him when he hikes one leg higher, angling deeper, and the moan that leaves your mouth is ragged, sharp, completely involuntary.

And then—

“Y/N?”

You both freeze.

Rick Grimes. Your dad, your ever present, over-bearing father. His voice is unmistakable drifting from the front of the house.

Your breath catches, eyes going wide. Daryl’s head jerks up like a deer caught in headlights. His body stills inside you, every muscle tense and almost trembling.

The voice sounds far enough away—he’s gotta be in the house, maybe the porch. He hasn’t come around back yet. You’re hidden, mostly. Behind the trees, behind the house. You doubt he'd even see you, hidden behind Daryl's body. At least at first glance. Hopefully.

Daryl starts to pull out, but you catch his face, hands sliding from his sweaty neck to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Your lips press into his, warm and open and desperate. He exhales into your mouth, trying to stay quiet as he kisses you back, swallowing the sound of both your sighs.

You pull away just enough to murmur, “Please. Keep—”

“Y/N?” Rick calls again, closer this time.

“Shh,” you whisper, darting a quick glance over Daryl’s shoulder toward the oak trees. “Sh sh sh—just listen—”

Daryl’s jaw clenches, his brow furrowed. “We should stop. Now.”

“Please, Dare,” you whimper, hips rocking gently against him. Your voice is quiet, pleading. “He’s far away. Please, please just fuck me. I need it. I need you.”

His eyes find yours, and suddenly, his mouth crashes into yours again, tongue sweeping in as he starts to move. Slow and shallow at first, he's trying to stay quiet even though every part of him is shaking. The quiet thump of his hips against yours, the creak of the siding, the faint wet sound of him sliding in and out—it’s all too loud in the open Georgia afternoon.

“Christ,” he breathes against your mouth, “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

He groans, forehead pressed to yours as he fucks you deeper now, picking up speed. Every thrust drives a breath from your lungs, your legs tightening around his hips. You’re so close—so fucking close—and the fact that your dad is somewhere nearby, calling your name, just makes it worse. Better. Hotter.

“Dare, I-I'm so close—” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Please, Daryl—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah,” he pants, breath warm against your cheek, “Yeah, I got you, sweet girl. Come on my cock. Feels so good, don't it? Fillin' you up? Splittin' you open, huh?”

He shifts, angling just right as his filthy words tumble into your ear, hitting that spot that makes your whole body jolt. Your head slams lightly against the siding, eyes rolling back as heat coils low and tight in your belly. Your thighs tremble around his waist.

Daryl groans low in his throat, the sound strained and messy. “So fuckin’ tight, girl, holy shit—don’t stop squeezin’ me like that—”

You bring your head up to bite his shoulder just to keep from crying out, your orgasm hitting hard and fast, your body pulsing around him as you fall apart in his arms. He holds you tighter, fucking you through it, chasing his own end now, his rhythm going sloppy.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his head falling against your chest, “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You clutch at him, nails scraping down his back, pulling him as deep as he’ll go. “Do it,” you whisper, still breathless, still pulsing around him. “Come inside me, Daryl, come on—”

He groans into your neck, loud and broken, and you feel the twitch and heat of him spilling inside you as his hips stutter, buried deep. He holds you there, both of you trembling, breathless and flushed and wrecked in the golden light.

Your limbs go loose around him, boneless with satisfaction, and you laugh softly into his shoulder.

Daryl’s still holding you up, still inside you, his face buried against your collarbone. When he lifts his head, there’s a dazed kind of awe in his eyes. He smiles—soft and real, like he can’t believe he actually got to have you.

You giggle, light and breathy. “Told you he wouldn’t—”

The words die in your throat.

The sound of boots crunching in dry grass cuts through the quiet. You hear the swish of tall grass, the steady tread of someone rounding the side of the house.

Both of you freeze—tangled, sweaty, completely exposed.

And then Rick Grimes steps into the sunlight.

You, pinned against the back of the farmhouse, skirt bunched around your hips, legs locked around Daryl’s waist. Daryl’s pants are half-down, his hand still gripping your ass, his cock still buried inside you. Sweat clings to both of you, and your mouth is open, chest rising and falling.

Daryl doesn’t breathe.

Rick doesn’t blink.

“Oh, God,” you whisper.

Your dad's voice is low, furious, deadly:

“What the fuck—”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

daddy dearest.

it’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s… absolutely irresistible.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. cheating. age gap. declan is boyfriends dad.

word count - 2k ish maybe ??

authors note - this is a continuation of the fatherfucker universe, so you may want to read Forbidden Fruit first!! this can totally be read as a standalone though. obsessed with that moral irishman. give me 14 of him right now.

masterlist. inbox.

“Oh fuck, you feel good.”

His hips drive into yours, pressing you into the mattress as you screw your eyes shut.

“Look at me, gorgeous.”

You stare up at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him down to kiss you to keep him quiet.

“Shhh, these walls are thin,” you whisper, trying to fight a smile.

“They won’t mind,” he teases, gripping your hips. “God knows they’ve probably heard it before.”

“Not the point,” you scold as you slap his shoulder. “Oh, fuck-”

“That’s it, beautiful. Say my name when you come.”

It hits you suddenly, building and releasing quicker than you can blink.

“Fuck, Patrick.”

“Oh, shit. I’m coming, fuck.”

He collapses on top of you, heavy and spent.

“Do I need to gag you next time?”

“What’s that, gorgeous?”

“You were so loud, Patrick. No one needs to hear you moaning at 10pm on a Thursday night.”

“No?” he asks with a smirk, pressing kisses into your neck. “Not even you?”

“Not even me,” you laugh as you shake your head, trying to wriggle free. “Now get off so I can go and clean myself up.”

He rolls sideways, cocooning himself in the duvet as he does it. You’re about to ask him a question when you hear a gentle snore, scoffing in disbelief.

“That is record time,” you say into the room. “Fucking hell.”

You take your time washing your face and fixing your hair in the bathroom, lost in your thoughts. There’s electricity thrumming through your veins, untapped energy waiting to be released. It’s making you jittery, fingers tapping against the sink as you brush your teeth.

It’s becoming pretty frequent. Patrick has no problems making you come, in fact, he’s pretty good at it. You’ve been together long enough for him to know what gets you there. It’s just getting more and more… unfulfilling. You finish, and it’s like it’s not enough. It’s nice, and you’re grateful for it, but it’s… underwhelming. It leaves you wanting.

You’re sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been fucking his dad.

Declan makes you come so hard you see stars, trembling and gasping as your orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. It always takes you a while to recover, panting and sweating like you’ve run a marathon afterwards. With Patrick, you can get up and out of bed and go about your day.

You know it’s not fair to compare them. In fact, you know it’s inherently wrong. And yet you keep doing it, consciously or not. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, the way they say your name. Everything is a competition - one that Patrick doesn’t even know he’s been entered into.

You splash your face with cold water once more, trying to pull yourself back to reality. You figure you’ll go and get a glass of water, before crawling back into bed with your boyfriend who loves you. Your boyfriend who you love.

You pad downstairs in your socks, running the tap and filling the first mug you can find. As you’re turning off the faucet, someone clears their throat from behind you.

“Fuck,” you jump, miraculously still holding onto your water. “What are you doing sat at the kitchen table in the dark, you maniac?”

“Couldn’t sleep. It was all a bit loud upstairs.”

You bite your lip guiltily, looking down at the floor.

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. You told him to be quiet multiple times.”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Declan,” you say bashfully. “Not what you need in your own house.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have heard you. But all I heard was him, and you telling him off. Not a single moan, darlin'.”

“I’m… good at being quiet.”

“That’s a lie.”

His matter of fact tone sends heat straight through the pit of your stomach.

“He didn’t make you come?”

“He did.”

“I didn’t hear it. Usually I can’t shut you up when you’re comin’.”

“It’s… different, with him. That’s all.”

“Worse?”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It’s what ya meant though.”

Declan stands up from his chair, taking huge strides towards you through the dark. You instinctively take a step backwards, until you’re pressed up against the counter. He cages you in with both arms resting on either side of you, leaning in so he’s encroaching your personal space in a way that’s much too intimate to be between a man and his son’s girlfriend.

“I can feel it, you know.”

“Feel what?” you ask, voice shrinking more than you’d have liked.

“The buzz. The energy. You’re still high on it, aren’t ya? Still wired and ready to go.”

“Declan-”

“You want more, don’tcha? You’re still hungry for it.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes as he shuffles in so his body is plastered to yours.

“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart. Tell me that if I slide my hand into those pyjama shorts, I won’t find you still wet and waiting. Hmm?”

You start to whisper under your breath, causing Declan to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’ve gotta speak up, pretty. Use your words.”

His forehead is practically stuck to yours, breathing his orders into your mouth. You clear your throat, trying to speak as loud as possible without the sound carrying upstairs.

“He doesn’t make me come the way you do.”

“The way I do?” he asks with a cocky smirk.

“As hard as you do.”

“Ohh… that’s what it is, is it? You want more? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You’re getting greedy, these days.”

You’d like to say that you hate it when he speaks to you like this - but that’d be a lie. It’s making you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to relieve the ache.

“No,” you stutter, “he’s enough for me. He is.”

“Then why’d you keep crawling into my bed when he turns his back?”

All you can do is suck a shaky breath in, looking down at your socked feet to try and shy away from his piercing gaze. The heat is rolling off his body, blanketing you completely as he keeps you pinned in place.

“I should go to bed,” you whisper.

“Which one? His or mine?”

He’s not usually so brash with it, the whole affair thing. Sure, he loves to bring it up occasionally when he’s talking dirty, trying to rile you up and get you going. But he’s never been so arrogant, so self assured before. As if he knows who you’d rather choose. As if he knows you need him more than you’d care to admit. As if he can read your mind.

“I-”

“The way I see it,” he interrupts, “you’ve got two choices, sweetheart. The first is that you hop up those stairs and cuddle up next to Patrick, hoping that you fall asleep when really you’ll be staring at the ceiling fighting the urge to touch yourself.”

You inhale with a shudder, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.

“Or…”

“Or?” you dare to ask, as low as you can.

“Or, you slip into bed with me, and I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll struggle to walk back to his room afterwards.”

You know which one you should choose. You know exactly the correct thing to do, morally and emotionally. And yet -

“You. I want you.”

His lips are on yours before you can think, strong hands wrapping around your back to pull you into him. You can barely keep up with the frenzied pace, letting him take full control as he ravishes you whole. The countertop edge is digging into your spine, the tap is dripping slowly and your boyfriend is upstairs sleeping, blissfully unaware. But none of it matters.

The only thing that matters in this current moment, just like any moment spent with him, is Declan O’Hara.

“Upstairs,” he mumbles into your mouth.

He links his fingers with yours, pulling you to his bedroom insistently as if he’s worried you’re going to bolt the other way. You’re both tip toeing across the hard wood floors, praying the boards don’t squeak and give you away. You’d have no answer for the way you look right now. The game would be over before it’d even begun.

You’ve never been more grateful for how big The Priory is. Declan’s room is on the complete opposite side of the house to Patrick’s, which eases your mind ever so slightly. He only heard the two of you earlier because he was in the study, right underneath your floor. You should’ve known he’d be working late. As he always is.

“Strip.”

“Hmm?”

You’ve daydreamed your way to his bedroom, suddenly finding yourself in a place you’ve found yourself many times.

“Strip, darlin’. Don’t make me ask twice.”

“So bossy today,” you tease, doing what he wants anyway.

Your pyjamas hit the hard wood, leaving you stood in your socks and underwear. His eyes rove over you, looking at you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you undressed.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You wink and pull your underwear down and off, never breaking eye contact with him, despite how intense it’s getting. He’s staring at you with so much force, it’s like he can see into your soul. You’re stood bare but you don’t feel exposed. No, you feel seen.

“Do I need to warm ya up?”

He’s never one to skip foreplay, even if you’re short on time.

“Come find out.”

He practically dives at you, hands trying to sweep over any skin he can physically touch. They’re everywhere all at once, taking you in like he’s reading you in braille. Hips, tits, ass, waist… it’s like he can’t decide what he wants, overwhelmed by choices.

His fingers slip between your legs, swiping through your core to see what he’s working with.

“Oh you filthy girl.”

Your knees have gone shaky now he’s touched you exactly where you want. You grip his biceps for balance, taking a deep breath to calm you down.

“Who was it that got ya this wet?” he drawls into your ear, slipping a finger inside as he does it. “Was it him?”

You shake your head reluctantly, refusing to look at him.

“Answer me,” he spits as he crooks his finger, making your legs go jelly instantly.

“You,” you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest. “Obviously it was you.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He’s got that cocky smirk plastered to his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You wanna ride me, sweetheart? Or are you tired? Clearly he didn’t wear you out.”

The he sends a shiver down your spine, chilling and cold. Him. He’s talking about his own son, your boyfriend, while fingering you exactly the way you like it. And it’s only turning you on more.

You don’t trust your voice so you shove him backwards, pushing him so he’s laying flat on his bed. You’re straddling his hips immediately, settling into a place you’ve been many times before.

“Use me, darlin’,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”

You line him up and sink down with no hesitation, revelling in the stretch of him. He groans all low and slow, the vibrations of it rattling your bones.

“Perfect girl. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl.”

“Declan. You feel so good.”

“Yeah, I do. Remember that, alright? Maybe you’ll come harder with him if you think about me.”

You slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up, moving your hips up and down to try to find your rhythm. He’s clearly having the time of his life, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite you trying to gag him.

You jolt forwards, trying to find that spot that he knows so well. His huge, rough hands are digging into your hipbones, hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll have to lie to Patrick about tomorrow.

Declan grabs your wrist from his face and twists it behind you, thrusting up as he does it to try and get a rise out of you.

“Atta girl,” he’s humming. “Take it like you were made for it. That’s it, don’t stop sweetheart.”

You smack your hands onto his chest, trying to keep your balance as he tries to throw you off it. He gets off on this, watching you desperately take what you need as he teases you relentlessly. He likes to watch you squirm, loves it when he feels like you need him so primally, so carnally that you’re willing to throw out all your morals for one kiss, one touch, one look.

He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back so there isn’t an inch of space between your bodies. This new angle forces him even deeper, both of you groaning at the change.

“Shhh, angel. You wanna get us caught?”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.

“Quiet, then,” he retorts. “Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

“That’s not what you usually say,” you manage to pant out.

“Dirty girl. You love this shit, don’t ya?”

You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking as hard as you can to hopefully inflict some pain to stop him talking. It doesn’t work, of course. He just eats it up and carries on.

He’s thrusting up as you’re winding your hips down, the both of you finding a perfectly synchronised rhythm as always. You work together so well, as much as you’d like to deny it. It’s not like this with Patrick and you both know it.

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, grazing his teeth over it and making you shiver.

“Fuck, Declan.”

“That feel good?” he’s asking, still with his mouth full.

“So good,” you whine as he licks the sweat from your sternum. “So fucking good.”

Your thighs are burning and you’re panting for air and your foot is a minute from cramping - but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’re so close you can taste it.

“You wanna come darlin’?”

“Yes.”

“Beg for it then. Earn it.”

“Declan… please.”

He laughs at you cruelly, shaking his head.

“Oh, absolutely not. That’s not gonna cut it and you know it.”

“Declan- fuck- please. Please let me come. Please, fuck, it’s all I want.”

“Better…”

“Please, Declan. I’ll do anything, please.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says slowly, contemplating.

His hips never stop their movements, driving up into you and making you feel insane.

“Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches as your nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him as you come hard. Your vision goes blurry, dizzy with all the chemicals coursing through your veins. You’re gasping for breath, sweat dripping down your spine. It’s bliss.

Declan finds his release as soon as he’s done watching you, the sight of you totally lost in the moment sending him over the edge. He’s never seen you look more stunning.

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, gorgeous girl. Fuck, that’s it. Perfect, beautiful girl.”

You go boneless in his hold, limbs all tangled together while you sit in his lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins.

“You feel better now?” he’s asking while he traces patterns up the shape of your spine.

“I do.”

You’re muttering into his chest, your face pressed into the soft curls. He smells like musk and sweat and cigarette smoke, masculine and familiar. It isn’t boyish like Patrick’s aftershave. Declan is all man.

“I wish you could stay with me,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d love to wake up with you here, have you lying on my chest as the sun rises.”

“Don’t make me sad.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You know I would if I could, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

You raise your head to look at him, admiring the way his dark locks are all unruly and loose.

“I should get going.”

“That boy sleeps like the dead.”

“Thankfully. But we can’t risk it. Don’t need him getting up and looking for me now, do we?”

“Sensible girl.”

“Someone around here has to be.”

He chuckles, pushing your hair back from your face gently.

“At least rinse off in the shower before you go back to bed. You smell like sex.”

“And whose fault is that?” you tease as you climb off him, wincing as your feet hit the wooden floor.

“Guilty as charged. Arrest me, officer.”

“Bet you’d love that, filthy old man.”

“Who’re you calling old?” he’s laughing as he catches you around the middle with his arm, trying to drag you back into the sheets.

“You,” you giggle, writhing away and avoiding his grip.

“Excuse you young lady, but daddy dearest here just made you come so hard you saw stars.”

“I knew that got under your skin.”

He looks at you quizzically from where he’s laying.

“That comment Patrick made at the party yesterday. Calling you daddy dearest in that sarcastic tone he uses when he gets defensive.”

“You can read him like a fuckin’ book.”

“I can read you, too.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You’ve pulled your pyjamas back on over the course of the conversation, like nothing ever happened.

“He always gets defensive when you try to criticise Cameron. I think he might still have feelings for her.”

“Sweetheart,” he soothes, moving to stand in front of you. His hands find your hips, squeezing gently. “He’d be mad to have eyes for anyone but you. Don’t worry about it, alright? He’s just a young man lashing out at his father occasionally.”

You take a deep breath, trying to let his words ease the ache you feel in your chest. Perching up on your tip toes, you press a slow kiss to his lips, all sweet and honeyed and full of warmth.

“For what it’s worth, Declan… I wish I was sleeping here tonight, with you.”

“Someday,” he assures, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.

“See you at the breakfast table,” you whisper as you leave.

“See you then,” he winks, watching you pad across the landing to the bathroom.

You dare to cast a glance backwards before you close the door, finding him leaning against his doorframe with the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen in his eyes. His gaze drops to your feet, dragging up your body slowly until he meets your curious stare.

He grins at you, before retreating back into his room.

You play that exact moment over and over in your head the next time you’re in bed with Patrick.

It does the trick.

[smutbutoutofnowhere]

shoutout to all my fellow smut enjoyers

[pookiei-bookie]

Both mind and clit being stimulated so I consider it a win win

[valentinceballos]

[theteddybearxo]

omg i need to be teased like this

(from queue)

[unbotheredandunmedicated]

where is this from i can't sleep-

[florial]

[herd-reject-arts2]

Mothers love nothing more than to ask you a question saying they want you to be honest, then turning it around to make you the bad guy the second your honest answer doesn't track with the idea they have in their head that they can do no wrong

[holdmytesseract]

learning curve

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: On the road you showed the shy and reserved archer a little piece of heaven - and now he can't get enough, which results in a few risky and intimate encounters in 'public' as you and the group arrives in Alexandria...

Set in Season 5!

Warnings: MDNI! 18+! SMUT (handjob, protected sex, semi-public sex, public sex - kinda, fingering, dirty talk? sub!Daryl/inexperienced!Daryl, erections, coming too early & inside pants), suggestive things and comments, almost getting caught, Daryl is also quite a bit desperate in this, some cute moments, nicknames, unestablished relationship, friends with benefits - kinda, swear words

Word Count: 5k

a/n: You decided, I deliver. 😊

I think this is probably the smuttiest thing I've ever written. I know, I say that all thie time, but... I keep on exploring writing smut. I'm still learning and I still try to get better at it - without crossing personal borders. I think I'm getting better. Well, I hope so...

MDNI divider by @jiyascepter <3

Love In The Rearview Mirror °☆• EoH Masterlist

You had felt his eyes on you the moment you walked inside the huge living room - freshly showered and clothed. You couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Perhaps your still slightly wet hair. Or maybe because you looked like an entirely new person now that you were able to properly wash off the dirt, sweat and... guts from the past weeks - or already months? Or it was your choice of clothing. A rather too tight t-shirt and comfortable pyjama shorts, which highlighted your curves perhaps a little too well. In your defence, it was the only clothes left you found fitting for sleep. Now that you had an actual roof above your head, you didn't want to sleep in jeans, shirt and shoes. Streetwear.

Anyway, you felt heavenly after the shower and definitely agreed with Michonne... Alexandria was something good. You had a very good feeling about this place as well - unlike others who were still a bit... uncertain and maybe even sceptical. Which was more than understandable after all the shit you been through. Daryl was one of them. You could tell. But right now, the archer was distracted by something entirely else; still too busy ogling you - what only made you smirk.

Things between you and Daryl hadn't always been that... 'harmonic' and good like they were now. It had only changed about two weeks ago after a little... 'collision' in the woods. Now everything seemed to be rather intimate. Sexual tension had always been existent between the both of you. Just like a lot of pent up frustration. And you helped him find some relief. Not much more, really. And now...

You didn't know how to label what you both were, though. It was rather difficult. Best friends? Nope. Was it sexual? Absolutely. Romantic? No clue. Something between fuck buddies and dating. Perhaps.

You were just helping Rosita to get some more blankets and pillows to make sure everyone had at least something like a bed on the floor, when you saw Daryl turning his back and leaving the newfound home. Rick had decided that you'd spend the first night in Alexandria all together in one house and rather not split up. Playing it safe.

You frowned slightly at his sudden departure; wondering what was going on. For a second, you caught yourself worrying about the tough archer - and decided to follow him. Subtly, of course. Your eyes scanned the room and made sure everyone was somewhat occupied, before you snuck out the main door as well.

You found Daryl sitting on the railing of the porch; staring aimlessly but attentively at the community. As if he was taking watch - or trying to distract himself. Well, whatever this was, you were going to find out.

"Daryl," you spoke his name to get his attention - successfully. His head shortly snapped to face you, but he quickly averted his eyes again. "You okay?" He just grumbled and huffed. Your frown deepened. "Daryl?" Another huff left his lips. "Nah, 'm not," he snapped; voice filled with annoyance and something you couldn't pinpoint.

You took a step closer. "Why? What's wrong? Can I help you?" "Help me?" He scoffed. "'S yer damn fault." Now you were entirely confused - until Daryl rearranged his sitting position on the wooden railing; now facing you. "Look wha' ya do 't me, woman. You 'n yer damn looks. Ya chose 't wear this on purpose, didn't ya? Tryna get me all riled up, huh?" Your eyes followed the gesture of his hand and landed on the quite obvious bulge at the front of his rather shabby and ragged jeans. Sudden realization dawned on you. It fell like scales from your eyes. "Oh...," you stated; mouth forming into a perfect 'o'. "Yeah... Yer givin' me constant hard-on's since tha' handjob in the woods. Ain't the first time."

You listened to his words - to the sheer annoyance and yet absolute neediness in his voice. You bit your lip; trying to hide a smirk. But your body decided to compensate that with a giggle. "Tha' ain't funny." Daryl wasn't very amused - obviously. "Sorry," you apologized instantly; finding it beyond cute how one single intimate encounter lead to such an 'addiction'. He seemed to be starved - and you were more than happy to help out.

What you didn't like, though, was the rather angry scowl he casted your way. That had to change. You looked around and quickly scanned your surroundings; checking if anyone was around. Since that wasn't the case, you crossed the remaining distance between you and the archer with three strides. Before Daryl was even able to realize what was going on, were your hands already on him. Caressing the insides of his clothed thighs, to be precisely - and it didn't fail to make his breath catch in his throat.

You smiled; satisfied with the instant reaction. You loved how sensitive he was for you. One touch at the right spot was all it took to really get him going. "Y/N..." Daryl breathed; wide blue eyes locked on your hands. Watching them how they got closer and closer to where he needed your touch most. You shook your head. "Behave. Don't scowl at me. Be a good boy and I give you what you need." His gaze flickered shortly up to meet yours. He nodded eagerly. "'M good. I promise. Jus' please..."

You smiled once again and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his stubbly cheek. "That's what I wanted to hear," you praised him and finally touched him where he needed you; rubbing him over his jeans. Daryl whimpered and squirmed; visibly trying to get more. He was apparently already a mess. "Look at you, sweet boy... That desperate and needy, huh? You need me that bad?" Once again he nodded. "P-Please..." "Mhm," you hummed, "And what do you want?" and gave him a teasing squeeze. The archer growled lowly; head thrown into his neck. So sensitive. "Words, sweet boy." "A-Anything," he stammered and swallowed hard. You could see how his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "W-Wha'ever yer willin' t-to give me." You smiled again - almost proudly, "There you go." and instantly worked on getting the belt and button of his jeans undone before you were able to slip your hand inside.

Incoherent curse words tumbled past Daryl's lips as your hand finally made contact with the hot, pulsating flesh of his hardness. "Shh," you instantly 'scolded' him. "You have to keep quiet, baby. We don't want the others to hear us, right?" He nodded and bit his lip; trying his best to keep quiet. The problem was that your touch just felt so fucking heavenly. You had showed him paradise and now he didn't ever want to leave again. Daryl was an addict - and you were his drug.

Your hand worked him slowly and steadily - as best as you could inside the confines of his boxers and jeans. Nevertheless, the archer seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. His eyes were closed shut; mouth hanging open. You smiled.

"Good, baby?" All that Daryl was able to answer with was a low grunt. It was confirmation enough for you. So, you kept going; pumping him slow and steady and - hopefully, getting him closer and closer to his high.

After barely a few minutes, Daryl started to squirm again. "'M close, fuck, 'm so close," he almost whimpered and tried to rut up into your hand. "N-Need more, please, Y/N, n-need more," he begged; lower lip quivering and sweat rolling down his temple. He was so worked up and desperate - a state you didn't see him in often. Yet.

You nodded. "I know, sweet boy, I know. I want to give you more - I'd love to give you more, but I'm afraid I can't. Not here. It's too public. Too risky. Anyone could see us." Even though it sounded kinda thrilling - doing something 'risky' and knowing the possibility of getting caught any second existed, but you didn't want that for Daryl. You knew he'd probably never get over it if somebody would walk in on the both of you; of getting seen in such a vulnerable, intimate state. The archer, though, was way too far gone to care - that's why you had to do it for him.

Daryl shook his head. "Dun care, please..." Gosh, he was adorable. You wanted to give in. Really. You'd have gotten on your damn knees right in front of the man to put your mouth on him to give him more - but as a sudden voice cut through the air, you were very glad you didn't.

"Daryl, Y/N." The voice wasn't entirely familiar yet but nevertheless distinct. Deanna... You instantly stopped in your movements as you saw past Daryl's sweaty biceps how the elder woman approached the porch with a smile. "Good evening," Deanna continued and started to climb the few steps. You turned; shielding Daryl's... 'misfortunate' state from her eyes. It was a little awkward for your arm - given the fact that your hand was still shoved in his pants, but well... Anything to look 'decent'.

"Enjoying this summer evening?" The woman asked as she came to stand in front of you and Daryl. You nodded and gave her a smile; hoping the scenery didn't look too strange... Daryl, sitting on the railing with you standing between his legs - close to leaning against his body. Could be easily wrong interpreted, you caught yourself thinking. Deanna might think now we're romantically involved... But then again... Better that than her, catching me sucking him off...

"We are, yes. It's nice out here. Still very warm, though."

While you acted blazingly fast and saved the situation with casual small-talk, the archer was like frozen behind you. The sudden interruption caused at least his brain to fall from cloud nine and rather harshly come back down to earth. His cheeks were flushed. Deep red in embarrassment and arousal. The sweat was still rolling down his temples and pectorals; heart hammering in his chest. He tried so hard to act 'normal' and not let Deanna notice what was really going on here. That your hand was currently firmly wrapped around his rock hard dick and that you'd been jerking him off only a few seconds ago. And yet he was also utterly annoyed and frustrated since he was so close to reach his peak.

He didn't even register half of the conversation you had with Deanna; too lost in his own head trying to keep it together. Until he heard a door close shut and felt how your hand vanished around his throbbing erection. He whimpered. He didn't intend to, but it just happened. His eyes instantly flicked up to meet yours. You held a compassionate look. "I know, sweet boy, I'm sorry... But Deanna just almost caught us. We don't want that to happen again, do we?" Daryl swallowed and shook his head. "Nah," he whispered; voice cracking. "See?" You said and buttoned his straining jeans; not forgetting to buckle his belt as well. Daryl watched your fingers work and swallowed again. "S-So yer jus' gonna leave me like tha'? 'M still-" "Painfully hard, I know," you finished his sentence and gave his thick thigh a pat. "I won't," you shook your head, "Go inside and take a shower upstairs. I'm gonna come and visit you," and offered him with a smile and a wink.

The archer grumbled under his breath but knew he didn't have a choice and that it was better that way - even though he wanted you to finish what you started right here and now. "Fine." You smiled, "Good boy." and reached for the left side pocket of his vest in which he kept his cigarettes. You took one out, alongside the lighter and put it between your lips to light it. Then you jutted your head at the door, "Go, Daryl. I'll finish the smoke and join you." and took a drag of the cigarette; blowing the smoke right into his face. Something that managed to turn on the already riled up man even more - only God knew why. Daryl clenched his jaw to stop another needy whimper from slipping past his lips. Without another word, he adjusted his jeans and stepped back inside the house. You smiled; eyes ogling his backside.

Like promised, you finished your smoke - taking your time, and more or less snuck inside and upstairs to join Daryl in the bathroom. Scanning the hallway a last time to make sure nobody was around, you slipped inside the room, closed the door and locked it.

"Wha' the fuck took ya tha' long? Had another smoke or wha'?" Daryl snapped; standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and visibly frustrated. It looked like he had already showered, since he wore a fresh shirt with the sleeves torn off. His wild, growing curls were wet. His lower half was bare, except a very low hanging and tenting boxer shorts.

You casually shrugged your shoulders, "Had to make sure enough time passed. Wouldn't want anyone to suspect anything, right?" and started to get rid of your pyjama shorts and panties without missing a beat. When Daryl just stared at you almost speechless and didn't move a muscle, you raised an eyebrow. "What is it, handsome? We're doing this now, or not? Thought you wanted more? I'm giving you more." You gestured down yourself, then reached inside a drawer of the bathroom cabinet and threw a condom his way which Daryl caught just barely. Yeah, you came prepared. "You gonna get going now, or need an extra invitation?"

Your boldness caught the bowman a little off-guard, but it also sent a delicious spark of desire down his core. He nodded and rather awkwardly tugged at his boxers to shove them past his hips and down his legs. "Yeah, 'm- 'course..." "Good," you said with a smirk and turned to steady yourself against the lavatory; pushing your hips back. "'Cause I don't think we have much time before anyone notices that we're both gone and not on the porch either." Daryl swallowed hard; eyes stuck on the prize. The vision of you half naked in front of him was straight up overwhelming. Sure, he had a few girls in his life before. But not many. And certainly not like that. This was different. You were different.

"C'mon, handsome. Don't be shy. Take what you need. I gotcha," you almost cooed; trying to reassure the man standing like rooted to the floor behind you. He nodded - more to himself than to you. No matter how nervous Daryl was, he couldn't deny how much his body demanded this. After ripping the small quadratic wrapper open with his teeth, he took out the safety measure with slightly shaking hands. Rolling the condom over his sensitive, kinda already edged length made him suppress a moan. Instead he gritted his teeth; hoping that he was able to last at least a few minutes and give you some pleasure as well. Then he stepped closer; shy and clammy hands reaching for your hips and grabbing them gently.

Taking a deep breath, he adjusted himself and was about to connect your bodies, when he suddenly stopped with hesitation. You frowned; had been already waiting for the incoming stretch and pleasure. "What's wrong, Dar?" Daryl swallowed again. As much as he wanted to have sex with you, the least thing he wanted was to hurt you. He accidentally did that way too often when he was younger and Merle made him 'screw sum' hot bitches he knew'.

"A-Are ya, uh...? C-Can I...? D-Dun wanna hurt ya," he whispered - feeling like a young, inexperienced man who had his first time. You gazed over your shoulder to look at the archer. Face flushed, a few damp strands of hair in his face. He looked so cute being all shy and embarrassed. You gave him a nod. "Yes, sweet boy. I'm ready. Was since I started to jerk you off. Get going."

"'Kay," he mumbled almost inaudible and finally slipped inside; slow and gentle. "Oh my gosh, yesss," you giggled - already enjoying yourself very much, while Daryl tensed. He had such a hard time keeping it together and not blow his load already. It took him all his willpower to not start rutting into you like a wild animal. It had been so long and he was so damn sensitive.

"You can move, Daryl." You told him; having adjusted to his size. To hear you say that was utterly reliving. Now that you officially gave him the go, there was no holding back. Daryl was so desperate for you. He needed this. Otherwise he might as well drown and die in his own unanswered pleasure.

The archer started to move. It wasn't perfect. Rather clumsy and... wild. So, you pushed your hips back; trying to guide him a little. With success. He was a quick learner and fell into rhythm fast.

"T-Tha' okay?" Daryl asked in between thrusts; wanting to do it right. "Mhm," you hummed. "Making me feel very good, sweet boy. Don't stop." The man behind you whimpered at your praise; hips stuttering a little. "D-Dun wanna stop, b-but 'm so close. D-Dunno how long I can hold-" You unintentionally clenched around him. "O-Oh fuck," Daryl whined, and you instantly felt his rhythm falter before he entirely came to an halt. Panting hard and with satisfying pleasure running through his veins, he almost collapsed on you; forehead pressed against your back. Daryl's palms were still holding on tightly to your hips; grounding him.

You looked once more over your shoulder; watching the spent archer. Another smile darted across your face. Yes, he didn't last long and came prematurely. Yes, you didn't get to reach your peak. But right now in this moment, you couldn't care less. This had been about him. Not you. He was going to get better at this - with time and patience.

Daryl had barely caught his breath when you started to move 'beneath' him to slip away. You could've sworn he winced a little at the sudden loss of body contact. Almost dazed, the archer watched you getting dressed again - rooted once more to the ground and his lower half still entirely exposed.

When you came up to him and pressed a kiss against his cheek, he instantly blushed - as if flipping a switch. "See you, handsome." You walked to the bathroom door - which seemed to 'wake' him finally up from his trance like state. "Y-Yer goin'?" The man whispered; looking at you like a puppy in the rain. Cute.

You nodded. "Have to. Don't want our cover blown." Daryl chewed on the inside of his lower lip and nodded as well; another few wild chestnut bangs falling into his face. You gave him another smile as you unlocked the door. "Great sex, sweet boy," you added with a wink and left the still utterly dazed archer behind.

Daryl spent almost the whole night on the porch to keep watch. It felt safer that way. He and Rick still didn't trust this place entirely. Being on his own for several hours gave the archer a lot of time to think. Too much. No matter what he tried to think of, his thoughts always ended back on you and especially all the things you were able to make him feel. Your hands all over him. Your lips. Your mouth. How heavenly you felt wrapped around him - as if you were made for each other. He swallowed hard and cursed under his breath as he noticed how much he had been drifting off again. Daryl felt like a horny teenager. "Damnit," he whispered; noticing the tightness of his pants again. What was wrong with him? What had you done?

The archer desperately tried to redirect his dirty mind and think of anything - just not you. But without much success. The seed had been planted and now the plant grew.

Since it was in the middle of the night and therefore quiet and especially dark, he grabbed his junk with one big palm; trying to give himself some relief and get his 'little friend' to calm down again. The problem? His hand just wasn't yours. It was not enough - and he soon learned that he needed more. He needed you.

So, with a rather frustrated, needy growl, he made his way to you; tiptoeing around all his sleeping family members. The only good thing was that you were sleeping at the far end of the room but at the edge - so if anyone would wake up, he could easily just roll away from what he had planned to do. Hopefully.

The archer carefully laid down behind you - not to startle you awake and pressed his pelvis against your behind; hand on your hip. "Y/N," he whispered gruffly. "Y/N, c'mon." His hand squeezed your hip as he tried hard to not grind against you. He certainly wouldn't do anything before you didn't give him his go. "Wake up," he whispered a notch louder. "Please..."

That seemed to do the trick. You stirred and shifted. "Daryl?" You mumbled; voice thick with sleep as you lifted your hands to your face in order to rub the sleep out of your eyes. "What's wrong? You okay?"

He straight up whimpered at your kind and caring words; shaking his head - something you weren't able to see. "N-Need you," he whispered in a hoarse voice; "Please..." proving his point by grinding his hips against your ass and making you feel him. You gasped; certainly not having expected this. "Oh, Daryl... Got yourself worked up all over again?" He just whined - and it was all the confirmation you needed. "Okay, okay, I gotcha. What do you need, handsome?" You turned your head to look over your shoulder at him. "My hand? Mouth? Sex?" He shook his head - at all the three options you gave him. "What then, huh?" The bowman swallowed hard; Adam's apple bobbing. "W-Wanna play," he rasped out. "Lemme play. With ya." You raised your eyebrows - a little surprised. "You want to...?" He nodded. "Please. I-I know I didn't make ya come when we... I know I blew 'm load too early 'n... I wanna make it up 't ya. Please. Let me try."

His words and almost sheer desperation sent a delicious tingle straight to your core. Who were you to deny him? Especially when he asked so sweetly. "Okay, sweet boy - but as always... We have to keep quiet, yeah?" He nodded quickly against your shoulder. "'Kay," you whispered. "Give me your hand. I'll show you how you can make me feel good." Another soft whimper left the archer's lips and within seconds slid his palm from your hip into your hand. You lifted the blanket to tuck it over his arm and then guided his hand southward until his big palm was cupping your crotch. "Rub me like you'd rub yourself over your pants. Go ahead. I know you can do it. You know how that works, handsome."

You felt him nod again before he cautiously started to do as you asked. It felt... different. Jerking himself off was one thing, but jerking you - a woman off was something entirely different. It wasn't his body and so, of course, he didn't know exactly the... mechanics. He never did it before. This was a first for Daryl. That's why he asked you to teach him. He was familiar with your anatomy - but not with the buttons he had to press.

"T-Tha' good?" He asked after a few moments; keeping his voice down. "Mhm," you hummed and started to slowly grind against his hand. "Keep going." Daryl kept going - until you tapped your fingertips against the back of his hand. "Need more, handsome. You ready to learn more?" "Please," he pleaded; voice strained and husky. "So eager..." There was an audible smile in your voice as you rearranged his hand again; slipping it inside your shorts and panties this time. The moment Daryl's fingers connected with your heat, a low moan escaped both your lips. You shifted your leg a little for better access and guided his hand; letting his fingers glide through your folds.

"F-Fuck, sunshine... Y-Ya always tha' ready?" You had to suppress a giggle. "Only for you, sweet boy." He whined; hips rutting involuntarily against you. You smiled and bit your lip; his desperation turning you on even more. "Concentration, baby, c'mon. Keep your hand were I want it. You said this is about me - not you." "S-Sorry," he whispered hoarsely and kept going; rubbing you. It was delicious - especially once Daryl got the nick of it, with the calloused, rough pads of his fingers caressing your most sensitive part as well.

"You're doing so good, sweet boy. Just keep it up a little." At your praise, the archer had to suppress a moan and did his utmost best to keep doing it right. But with Daryl helping you climb the ladder higher and higher, the need for more got more urgent as well. So, you grabbed his wrist again to slow his movements down and to reposition yourself once again a little. "A-Ain't good anymore?" The man behind you mumbled; slight worry swinging in his voice. "No, baby. It is good - just not enough. Need your fingers inside. Now."

Daryl swallowed hard at your words; feeling himself blush but also twitch in his way too tight boxers. "I-I ain't ever..." He started; too shy to spell it out entirely. "That's what I thought, Dar. Don't worry, you got this. I promised I'd teach you." The man nodded and let you reposition his hand again; sliding two of his thick fingers inside - which caused you to audibly gasp. "Fuck, sweet boy, that's it," you breathed and started to guide his hand; teaching him the right movements. "Just like that. Just like that." Daryl was a fast learner. And oh, boy was he good with his fingers. To he honest, you assumed nothing less - since he just was good with his hands in general, but that... You thought you unlocked a new skill of his.

"U-Use your thumb, too, handsome." You didn't need to explicitly tell him what to do with the digit. He connected the dots and added pressure to the bundle of nerves; rubbing in tight circles. You had to slam a hand over your mouth to not moan out loud.

From time to time you had to redirect his thumb a little, since he was going a little too hard, but beside that... He treated you so good and gave you so much pleasure - especially for a man who had never done this before. So, it was no wonder that you reached your peak quite fast.

"I-I'm so close," you whimpered. "J-Just a little more, handsome ." Daryl groaned lowly into your neck and pumped his fingers a little faster; hitting that one delicious spot repeatedly. The wet, obscene sounds this intimate encounter resolved in, got luckily mostly muffled by the blanket around you. But nevertheless, you tried to keep an eye on your surroundings in case anyone of your found family woke up.

"S-Shit," you cursed; feeling yourself tipping over the edge. "G-Gonna-" Your word morphed into a breathless moan. You squirmed against Daryl as you got swallowed by pleasure; hands gripping his wrist and forearm - probably leaving marks.

To feel and watch you fall apart didn't leave the archer unbothered. His hips rutted against you, before they came to an halt - just like the hand which was pleasuring you, with an incoherent curse that tumbled from his lips.

"O-Oh my..." You breathed in the dark room; recovering from your high and feeling Daryl's hand retreating from your heat. "W-Was it... 'kay?" You turned in his 'embrace' to face him. "Okay? Dar... I think that was one of the best orgasms I ever had." You could barely see the blush creeping up on the archer's face, since the huge room was only a little illuminated by the moonlight shining through the windows. "R-Really?" "Really. You did so good, sweet boy," you praised him and brought his hand up to your lips; licking and sucking his fingers clean and tasting yourself on his roughened skin. Daryl had to suppress a load moan as he felt your hot tongue against his fingers.

You giggled quietly and were more than ready to give him some relief you know he needed as well - but when your hand slid inside his jeans, you could feel a warm, sticky wet patch at the front of his boxers. "Daryl, did you...?" He nodded - ashamed. "C-Creamed 'm pants, yeah." You shook your head and retrieved your hand to cup his stubbly cheeks again. "Don't. Don't be embarrassed or ashamed. It's okay, handsome," you whispered with a small smile. "And actually beautiful. Because you felt so much pleasure by giving it to someone else that you were able to immerse yourself in it, too. It's so selfless and actually quite sexy." Daryl blinked and chewed on the inside of his bottom lip; mulling over your words. "Yeah?" You smiled at his absolute cuteness and nodded. "Yes." To proof your point, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. His cheeks became redder - and before things could get more intimate between you two, he carefully shifted and slowly got up. You let him, of course; didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable or something. "I-I, uh, should get into a fresh pair 'a boxers..." Daryl mumbled; rubbing his neck. "Sure thing, handsome. And thank you for this." He shook his head, "Gotta thank ya." and turned to tiptoe upstairs. "Daryl?" You whisper-shouted after him. "Yah?" "We're doing this again, right?" "Please."

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @levislolita @angelicarlert @bigbaldheadname @erebus-et-eigengrau @making-the-most-0f-it @imadisneyprincessiswear @vngelisse @dixonsstinkysock @darylandbethfanforever9 @loz-3 @smuttfuelled @yas-yas-mimi @freakenste1n

FYI? @twd-bee3 @baseballbitch116 @dixons-wifey

[poemsforparker]

can you write about secretly dating daryl and reader where reader has this admirer in alexandria who started off nice but then gets more obsessive, then one night he knocks on her door only to be met with a (shirtless 🤤) daryl? thankyouu!

Unexpected company - Daryl Dixon

pairing: Daryl × f!reader

word count: 1.1k

♥︎ daryl dixon taglist: @taliapotter @bedshrooms @little-mops-booknook | dividers by @chrisssiren

When you first arrived in Alexandria, you deeply appreciated the company. Everybody had been trying to adjust to the strange luxury of normality, and Spencer, who's been the first to help you within those walls, had seemed harmless enough. He'd help carry groceries when supplies came in, offer to walk you home at night after community meetings, and stop by every now and then to chat. It had all felt innocent, if perhaps a little excessive, but harmless still.

Then the compliments had become more frequent, then the gifts, and then the questions.

Who had you spent the afternoon with? Why didn't I see you at community dinner the other night? Had you really gone outside with Aaron, or had somebody else been with you?

At first, you laughed it off, then the nosiness really started to bother you.

In truth, you and Daryl had been together for months now, though neither of you had felt any particular urge to announce it to the world. It wasn't secrecy born of shame, Daryl simply hated any attention, and you had found that keeping something so precious between the two of you felt strangely intimate.

It belonged only you. And that was enough. At least, it had been.

Because Spencer had mistaken your politeness for encouragement.

Daryl had been away on a run with Rick and Aaron for nearly two weeks, and though he had left with his usual grumble and a promise to be back before you had the chance to miss him too much, you knew better. You missed him the moment he walked through the gates.

Besides, there were some things easier dealt with when your boyfriend happened to be terrifyingly competent with a crossbow and a permanent scowl.

You hadn't told him. Partly because you didn't want to worry him, and partly because you knew exactly how he'd react.

The mere thought of Daryl discovering another man had been making you uncomfortable was enough to picture the storm cloud that would settle over his face, so you tried to handle it yourself before he arrived.

"Spencer, seriously, quit it. I'm not interested."

"Not interested right now?" he'd asked hopefully.

"No. Not interested. Period."

And he smiled. Actually smiled.

As if his persistence would somehow change your mind.

"I get it, you're difficult."

"No, Spencer, you're being difficult. I don't want you." you pause between every word like you're speaking to a toddler.

His expression changed to something like disappointment for only a second before that easy smile returned, making your skin crawl for reasons you couldn't explain.

"Guess I'll keep trying then."

You'd stopped even replying to his greetings after that, not wanting to give the man any reasons to think he had a shot with you.

When Daryl arrived, you took a mental note to explain him everything. How annoying Spencer had been these last couple of weeks, how scary it was starting to look for you. But you waited the first day to pass, enjoying a peaceful time with him before throwing the bomb when things were calmer.

The next day, you woke up earlier than him, it had rained the night before, leaving the air cool and smelling faintly of wet earth. You had changed into one of Daryl's old shirts, the oversized sleeves hanging past your wrists, curled them up to make him breakfast, while your head wondered how you'd approach the subject without him storming out of your house immediately and stamping his fists directly onto Spencer's nose.

A knock woke you from your thoughts. You sighed deeply.

"Come on, I know you're home." the known voice said from the other side of the wall.

You closed your eyes.

Of course ignoring him had apparently encouraged him. Wonderful.

"Can we just talk?" his voice called through the door. "You've been avoiding me.". No shit.

You remained frozen on your spot. Then came another knock. Louder this time.

"Seriously?"

You were just beginning to gather your voice to yell at him to leave when footsteps sounded behind you and strong arms slid around your waist.

You nearly jumped out of your skin before a familiar warmth pressed against your back.

"Who the hell's bangin' on your door?"

"Good morning, sleepyhead." you dodged the question, turned to face him and press your lips to his. "Missed you so much these days."

"I missed ya too."

He wore only a pair of overused sweatpants, his exposed chest was marked with scars colored differently, some old and some new ones, his hair was a mess, falling over eyes still heavy and swollen with sleep, and there were faint marks from the pillow pressed against one side of his face. Confusion had settled into a frown as he glanced toward the front door and then back at you.

The knock came again. Daryl frowned.

"Seriously, hun, who's that?"

You stiffened, and immediately, he noticed.

"Who is it?"

"Promise you won't get into a fight for this."

That answer earned you a look.

"The hell's going on?"

"Spencer's been bugging me like an asshole but's gotten worse now. He's been knockin trying to get me to talk to him."

"He's-" Daryl looked between you and the door. "He's been coming to your place?" you nodded.

"I told him with all the letters I wouldn't want him painted gold but he won't listen."

Daryl's eyes darkened.

"That little prick–"

"Y/n?" Spencer called from outside.

Silence. You felt Daryl go completely still.

"Daryl?"

His head turned very slowly toward the front door.

"Daryl–" you repeated weakly.

"Sweetheart."

Another knock interrupted you.

"I know you're in there!"

Daryl released you with alarming slowness, you had witnessed walker hordes that looked less threatening. He wasn't angry at you, not even close.

But there was a very particular expression on his face that usually preceded somebody making poor life choices.

"Daryl."

"Mhm."

"Behave."

"Mhm."

"That wasn't convincing."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead so absentmindedly it nearly distracted you from the fact that he was marching toward the front door with absolutely no shirt on. He opened the door.

Spencer's confident smile vanished so quickly you wished you had recorded to replay it later.

Because as the door opened and he expected you, finally deciding to give him a chance or invite him in, stood instead Daryl Dixon, looking thoroughly unimpressed with existence itself, broad-shouldered and shirtless, like he owned the place.

And behind him, visible over his shoulder, stood you. Wearing one of Daryl's shirts.

Spencer blinked.

Daryl blinked back. Then, with all the warmth of a man discussing the weather, he asked.

"Can I help ya?"

The poor fool actually opened his mouth.

"I uh... I was looking for–"

"For my girl?"

Daryl's eyebrow lifted, he sounded calm — which made things worse.

"She's busy, pal."

Spencer's eyes widened.

My girl. The words settled warmly in your chest despite the embarrassment threatening to kill you.

"Didn't know y'all were together."

Daryl's expression got heavier.

"Well, now ya do." The message was, thankfully, finally received.

Spencer muttered something that sounded like an apology before retreating down the street with remarkable speed.

Daryl watched him until he was far enough, then closed the door, turned around and looked at you smiling like a child who just got cotton candy.

"I guess the secret's out."

[erishughwhetting]

What is everyones favourite twd era?

Mine is definitely the prison. (Collage made by me on canva)

[erishughwhetting]

Season one Rick was something else.

[thewalkingdilf]

quick 3am thought!!! this def isn’t polished so don’t expect any literary masterpiece😭 maybe i should elaborate and write something fr about this later

BUT,,,

thinking about old man daryl with a younger reader who is extremely eager and being an absolute brat about it !!

he isn’t exactly as young as he used to be, and his stamina clearly reflects that. so his new method? trying to tucker you out early on so he can finally take his time with you. fingering you, making you ride his thigh, anything to drain some of this energy from you— and boy, was he getting a mouthful for it.

“daryl pleaseeee”

“c’mon gimme your cock already… need it so bad”

“been waiting forever dare…”

“hmph. such an old man… didn’t realize you couldn’t handle me anymore…”

oh. that was enough for him alright. you think he can’t handle you? he’s starting to think getting a head start on wearing you out wasn’t such a bad idea.

—

after getting his cock driven into you at a brutal pace for what felt like forever, you finally begin to plead with him.

“p-please, dare… ‘m sorry… so sorry- mphhh, fuck, i can’t take anymore!”

daryl grips a fistful of your hair— not tight enough to hurt, but enough to pull you back toward him, his warm breath tickling your neck, “oh c’mon, doll. you needa watch your mouth with all that running its been doin’. the least you can do is take my cock real nice for me, yeah? ain’t no one teach you to respect your elders?”

[hollowhuntress]

ain't right, wantin' ya.

⌖part two⌖

daryl dixon x fem!reader

➶➴ summary: somewhere between meetings and stolen glances across the courtyard, daryl finds himself unravelin' over a girl he knows he shouldn't want.

➶➴ tags: nsfw/mdni/18+, prison era, slow burn, age gap, jealous daryl, protective daryl, mutual pining, forbidden romance, sexual tension, apocalypse romance, emotionally repressed daryl, inexperienced daryl / reader

wc: ~ 1,332

⌖part one⌖

the heat from the road rose in shimmering waves, but it was nothing compared to the sweltering, suffocating silence hanging between the two of you on the bike.

the asphalt gave way to cracked dirt and overgrown weeds as the motorcycle tore down the old logging trail. the canopy of oak and pine closed in overhead, blocking out the harsh midday sun and swallowing the both of you in shifting, green-tinted shadows. every bump in the road was a deliberate torment. each time the bike hit a rut, your body was thrown hard against daryl’s back, your breasts flattening against his spine, your thighs tightening around his hips to keep your balance. under your palms, daryl’s stomach muscles were hard as iron, flexing and rippling with every micro-adjustment he made to the handlebars. he wasn't easing up on the throttle. he was riding fast, reckless, driven by a raw kinetic energy that felt less like traveling and more like running away from the edge of a cliff.

you leaned your cheek against his shoulder blade, inhaling deeply. the scent of the lye soap was fading, giving way to the heat of his skin, the familiar musk of stale tobacco, and the hot grease of the engine. he felt immovable beneath you, an unyielding wall of heat that seemed to vibrate in sync with the roaring machine between your legs.

after endless miles, the trees broke. daryl killed the engine, coasting the bike into the dense brush behind a collapsed barn. the sudden silence of the woods was deafening, save for the ticking of the cooling exhaust.

for a long moment, neither of you moved. you were still wrapped around him, your chest rising and falling against his back. daryl sat with his hands still gripping the handlebars, his knuckles white, his head bowed. his breathing was deep, his shoulders rising and falling in uneven cycles.

"get off," he muttered, his voice so thick and gravelly it sounded like it had been dragged through the dirt.

you let your arms drop, sliding off the back of the seat. the moment your boots hit the ground, your knees felt weak, the residual vibration of the bike still humming through your thighs, keeping the deep, throbbing ache between your legs intensely alive.

daryl swung his leg over the bike and stood up, refusing to look at you. he immediately reached for his crossbow, slinging it over his shoulder.

"pharmacy is just through that tree line," he said, his voice tight, his southern drawl cutting sharp through the quiet air. "we do this quick. we do it right. keep your eyes on the tree line while i get the bag. understand?"

"daryl," you said softly, stepping into his space.

"i said, keep watch," he snapped, finally spinning around to face you. his eyes were dark, bloodshot from lack of sleep. the fake composure he’d maintained in front of rick was gone, replaced by a raw, feral frustration. "don't start. not out here. i'm tryin' to keep us alive, and you're—" he choked on his own words, his gaze dropping involuntarily to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. "just do what i tell ya."

you stood your ground for a second, the heat radiating off him nearly enough to push you back, before you finally nodded and turned toward the thick wall of pines. you kept your eyes on the shadows of the tree line, your ears straining for the sound of snapping twigs or the wet, dragging footsteps of the dead. behind you, you heard the rough canvas of his duffel bag rustling, the thud of his boots against the dirt, and the frantic, shallow rhythm of his breathing. he was working too fast, his usual meticulous tracking discipline shot to hell by the sheer proximity of your body.

"alright," he grunted after a few minutes, the leather of his vest creaking as he stepped up behind you. "move out. stay on my heel."

he bypassed the main road entirely, cutting through a rusted section of chain-link fence behind the small-town pharmacy. the glass on the back door was intact but caked in decades of grime, looking dark and ominous. daryl didn't hesitate. he jammed the blade of his hunting knife into the old lock mechanism, giving it a fierce, sharp twist until the ancient brass gave way with a loud, echoing crack that made you both freeze.

he waited, counting the seconds in the dead silence, before pushing the door open and slipping inside.

the air inside the pharmacy was cool, smelling of damp paper, old dust, and stale plastic. it was a small independent clinic, the shelves half-ransacked but mostly intact. daryl moved with his usual lethal efficiency, clearing the two short aisles with his knife drawn, his boots making no sound on the linoleum. once he satisfied himself that the place was empty, he sheathed his knife and ripped the list from his pocket, his eyes scanning the crumpled paper with a fierce, almost frantic focus—anything to keep from looking at you.

"start on that side," he grunted, nodding toward the shelves labeled ailments & pain relief. "look for the amoxicillin. anything in a sealed bottle."

you nodded, stepping into the narrow aisle. the space was incredibly tight. when daryl moved past you to check the back counter, his broad shoulder brushed against yours, a sharp, deliberate friction that sent a spike of heat straight down your spine. you both froze for a fraction of a second, the air between you turning thick and heavy, before he ripped himself away, his boots scuffing hard against the floor.

you tried to focus on the bottles, your fingers trembling slightly as you moved them aside, but your eyes kept tracking him. he was tossing bottles into his duffel bag with too much force, his breathing shallow and loud in the quiet store.

then, you saw him stop dead in front of a small, rotating display right next to the pharmacy register.

through the dusty plastic dividers, the bold lettering of the condom boxes practically screamed in the dim light. daryl stared at them. his entire back went dead silent, his broad shoulders locking up. from behind, you watched the tips of his ears turn a deep, furious crimson.

he stood there for five agonizing seconds, his head bowed, fighting a war with himself. with a sudden, sharp jerk, he reached out, his thick, grease-stained fingers wrapping around a couple of boxes. he didn't look at the labels, didn't check the sizes—he just snatched them off the hooks and shoved them deep into the bottom of his duffel bag, throwing a handful of gauze rolls over them to bury them out of sight.

he let out a sharp, shallow breath, his jaw working as he spun around, finally catching you watching him. his dark eyes flared with a wild, cornered heat, his chest heaving under his vest.

"got what we need," he snapped, his voice dropping into a harsh, warning whisper that cut through the aisle. "let's go. now."

the short ride from the pharmacy to the abandoned house was a blur of raw nerves. by the time you reached the house, the woods had darkened into late evening gold.

daryl was a total mess on the bike. he took the turns too hard, his boots skimming the dirt as he navigated the final stretch of the old trail. his mind was spinning. the memory of what he had done in that dark hallway just twenty-four hours prior—the rough way he had gripped himself, the noises he’d made while panting into the dust—was flashing behind his eyelids in agonizing detail. his skin felt like it was on fire under his leather vest.

more than that, a deep, clawing anxiety was eating at his stomach. what if you hated the house? what if you thought he was crazy for dragging you out here? he was a tracker, a redneck drift-away who slept on dirt and lived off grease; he didn't know anything about romance or what a woman like you wanted. the thought that he might look foolish, or worse, that his clumsy attempt at giving you something nice would make you pull away, had his heart hammering against his ribs.

when the motorcycle finally idled down in the overgrown driveway of the secluded craftsman home, daryl killed the ignition and sat dead still. his hands were shaking so badly he had to keep them balled into fists against the handlebars.

"it's... it's up here," he muttered, his voice a low, strained rasp. he got off the bike, grabbing the duffel bag, keeping his eyes locked on the porch steps, his broad back rigid as he led the way inside.

the front door creaked open, and the preserved silence of the house swallowed you both. the air smelled of decay mixed with old cedar, candle smoke, and a faint hint of mildew. daryl walked down the narrow corridor, his eyes deliberately avoiding the dark hallway where he’d lost his mind the day before, though his neck flushed a deep, telltale red as he passed it. he pushed open the bedroom door and stepped aside, his breath catching in his throat as he waited for your reaction.

you stepped into the room, and the breath left your lungs. the setting sun filtered softly through the delicate, dusty lace curtains draped over the antler mount on the wall. dust motes danced in the shafts of light, disturbed by your movement. the deep mahogany of the bed and dresser set looked rich and dark in the dim light, the faded lace doilies and clusters of burnt candles giving the space a holy, untouched atmosphere. a few faded family photos sat on the mantle, turned face down. it was beautiful. it was safe.

you let out a soft, breathless sound of absolute wonder, walking over to the bed, your hand reaching out to trace the smooth, dark wood of the footboard before you sat down on the edge of the mattress. "it’s... it’s perfect. you found this for me?"

hearing the genuine sweetness in your voice, the sheer relief that washed over daryl was so physical his shoulders dropped. he let out a long, shuddering breath, his head shaking slightly as he tried to process that he hadn’t screwed it up, setting the duffel bag down with a thud.

"yeah," he muttered, his voice thick and rough. "thought... thought you'd like it."

to cover the overwhelming wave of vulnerability crashing over him, daryl immediately reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. his hands were still trembling slightly as he struck his plastic lighter, the small flame illuminating the sharp, nervous angles of his face. he took a deep, dragging pull, the blue smoke curling around his messy fringe as he leaned his hip against the heavy mahogany dresser.

before dropping the lighter, he kept the flame sparked. with a tense energy, he moved across the room, using that exact same lighter to bring the room to life. one by one, he touched the flame to the clusters of candles gathered on the dresser, watching the small wicks catch and cast a warm glow, candle wax dripping softly onto the old wood. then he stepped over to the nightstand, leaning down to light the remaining candles there. the small, golden flames flickered into existence, bathing the dark wood in warm light and illuminating the soft curve of your throat. he blew out a stream of smoke, his dark eyes locking onto yours through the haze as he finally snapped the lighter shut and set it down.

as you sat on the edge of the mattress, your eyes drifted to the dresser drawers. poking out from the top seam of the dark wood was a sliver of white fabric. curiosity pulling at you, you stood up and walked over, sliding the drawer open. an old perfume smell, trapped in the drawer for years, wafted out as your fingers pulled out a vintage, white lace nightgown. it was delicate, completely sheer, and beautifully preserved.

you looked up at him, a sudden spark of courage cutting through your nerves. "i'm going to wash up," you murmured, holding the lace against your chest. "and put this on."

daryl choked on his smoke, coughing as his eyes locked onto the fabric in your hands, his face turning an instant, burning crimson again. he couldn't even form a coherent word, merely nodding as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

he cleared his throat, looking away. "i’m gon’ clear the rest of the house."

in the small, adjoining bathroom, you used a clean rag and a basin of water to wash the grime of the road from your skin. you could tell daryl had already done the exact same thing before he brought you here. slipping the nightgown over your head, the sheer material fell softly against your skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

the room went humid with tension. you stood in front of the large mirror attached to the mahogany dresser, the candles daryl had just lit casting a warm, golden glow across your skin and illuminating your reflection. the sheer fabric showed every curve of your body, the tight, dark peaks of your nipples clearly visible beneath the lace.

a floorboard creaked behind you. daryl had approached silently, but the sight of you in the mirror made him stop dead. his chest rose and fell in deep, uneven cycles.

he didn't have his cigarette in his mouth anymore; he had set it smoldering on a porcelain dish to keep his face completely free for you. slowly, he closed the distance until he was towering right behind you, his heat enveloping your bare shoulders. he looked at your reflection, his dark eyes wide and consumed. he reached up, his rough hands coming down to rest on your waist. his thumbs dragged against your hip bones, his fingers trembling under the weight of his own conscience. his skin still smelled faintly of gasoline and grease, even after washing.

"ain't right..." he trailed off, his voice dropping into a register so low and gravelly it vibrated straight through your skin. he stared at your reflection, his jaw tight. "wantin ya. shouldn't be thinkin' 'bout you like this."

you turned your head slightly, looking back at him through the glass, a sudden, fierce certainty anchoring your voice. "why? i know what i want."

daryl let out a sharp, ragged hitch of a breath. his large hands instantly gripped tighter on your hips, pulling your lower body back against his denim-clad thighs with possessive suddenness.

"and what i want is you," you added softly, your eyes locked onto his in the mirror.

his grip remained solid, anchoring you to his chest, but the finality of your words seemed to throw him completely off-balance. his breathing was shallow and hot against your neck as he leaned down, his forehead dropping against your bare shoulder blade for a split second.

his jaw flexed, his eyes darting away before he rasped out, "gon’ be clumsy."

his bare lips finally found your skin, beginning to pepper slow, sharp kisses along your jawline.

"it’s okay," you whimpered back, your eyes closing as his lips pressed into your neck.

hearing your shaky, nervous confirmation seemed to snap the last thread of his restraint. daryl let out a low, defeated growl, reaching for his clothes with a frustrated, impatient urgency. first, he yanked his leather vest down with a rough jerk, shrugging it off his shoulders and tossing it to the floorboards. next, he grabbed the hem of his sleeveless shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift, sharp motion, his messy fringe catching briefly on the collar before falling wildly into his eyes. the shifting candlelight caught the pale, heavily scarred skin of his back and the corded muscle of his torso. he was completely shirtless, his chest heaving, but he still had his heavy denim pants and boots on.

he turned you around, his grip moving from your hips to your waist, and effortlessly lifted you onto the high mattress. the old wood groaned and the bedframe tapped softly against the wall under his weight as he climbed up after you, his movements driven by a frantic desperation to touch you everywhere at once.

shifting his weight, daryl pressed his clothed knee right up against your core, the rugged denim of his jeans creating a blunt, grounding pressure against your panties through the sheer fabric of the nightgown. the solid weight of his knee anchored you to the mattress, and he immediately leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck. his mouth was wet and completely uncoordinated as he began to leave frantic kisses along your collarbone and up to your jawline, his rough chin scratching your soft skin. at the same time, his thick, grease-stained hands came up to your chest. his thumbs began to lightly circle your nipples over the thin white lace of the nightgown, the friction making the peaks harden instantly beneath his palms.

the pressure of his denim-clad knee against your core was overwhelming. instinctively, your hips tilted upward, and you began grinding against his leg, seeking relief from the agonizing ache building between your thighs.

the moment your body began grinding against his leg, it absolutely killed him. daryl let out a sharp, broken groan, his whole body locked, hips jerking involuntarily. he stopped dead, burying his face hard in your shoulder as he fiercely fought his own anatomy. he was breathing like he’d been hunted, his chest heaving against yours.

he paused, he went rigid for a second. a sudden look of severe self-consciousness flashed across his face, his eyes searching yours with a raw, panicked vulnerability. he misread your breathlessness, assuming he had overstepped or hurt you.

"i... i'm sorry," he choked out, his voice a ruined scrape into your skin as he started to pull back. "pushed too hard. i didn't mean to—"

"daryl, no," you interrupted, reaching up to clasp his face, pulling him back down. "you didn't. don't stop."

relief washed over his features, though his jaw remained tight. "damn it," he gasped, his forehead resting against yours for a brief second. "hold up... just hold up. i ain't..."

knowing he was right on the brink and wanting to make it good for you first, daryl forced himself to shift down. he lowered himself down the mattress, his hands sliding down your thighs to gently pull the sheer lace nightgown up, bunching the white fabric around your waist. he leaned down, pressing a string of kisses down the center of your tummy, his breathing hot and shallow against your skin.

he moved lower until his lips reached the damp cotton of your panties. resting his jaw heavily against your inner thigh, he paused, his dark eyes looking up at you through his messy fringe, wide and completely intense in the candlelight.

"gotta tell me if it's right," he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, rough growl that shook with raw nerves. "if it hurts. any of it. don't go hidin' it from me."

you nodded breathlessly, your fingers clutching the old quilt beneath you.

daryl didn't waste another second. he hooked his thick fingers into the elastic of your panties, sliding them down your legs and tossing them onto the floorboards before parting your knees wide. he slid down between your thighs, his denim pants frictioning against your skin while his boots remained securely on, dangling off the foot of the bed. he buried his face directly between your legs.

"you’re soppin’," he growled, the unfiltered observation slipping out of him before he ate you out with a fierce hunger. his tongue lapped at you with a messy desperation before finding a steady, relentless rhythm against your sweet spot. his hands dug hard into your hips, anchoring your lower body to his mouth as he worked.

he didn't rush it.

"good?" he choked out, the word muffled and breathless against your clit.

"so good," you cried out, your hands shooting directly into his messy hair, holding him close.

he stayed down there for minutes on end, entirely focused on the way your body responded to him. he listened to the gradual shift in your breathing, waiting out the slow, steady build of heat and moisture as your body climbed. he tracked every tiny twitch of your thighs, keeping a constant, wet pressure on your core until the tension in your hips became completely coiled. he didn't stop until your breath caught in a high, sobbing gasp and your body began to shake, your core throwing off a wave of intense heat as you finally broke, finishing completely against his mouth.

daryl drank in your high, shattering release, his jaw slick with you as he finally slid back up your body. his chest was heaving, his dark eyes completely pitch-black as he hovered over your trembling form.

his hands were shaking so badly he could barely control them. he leaned over the edge of the high mattress, practically diving into the canvas duffel bag resting on the floor. his large hands frantically fumbled through the supply of medical gear, knocking pill bottles and gauze rolls aside as he desperately rummaged through the dark bottom of the bag to find the boxes of condoms he had snatched from the pharmacy. he pulled one out, squinting hard at the tiny lettering on the box in the dim, flickering candlelight, his brow furrowing with a severe, almost comical intensity as he tried to figure out what the hell it said.

watching his fiercely focused expression over something so domestic, a soft, involuntary giggle bubbled up from your chest, breaking the heavy tension in the room.

daryl’s head snapped up. a deep flush bloomed across his cheeks and rushed down his neck. a rare, genuinely light smile tugged at the corner of his lips, softening the hard, gritty lines of his face in a way you'd almost never seen.

"quit," he muttered, his voice a quiet, embarrassed huff as he shook his head and looked your way, tossing the box aside into the blanket to grab a loose wrapper instead.

still kneeling over you with his boots dangling off the mattress, he reached down to his waist. he didn't take his jeans off entirely—he just popped the metal button, his belt buckle catching briefly on the quilt with a dull metallic clink as he violently jerked the heavy denim and his underwear down past his hips, keeping them bunched around his upper thighs so he wouldn't have to deal with kicking his heavy boots off. he tore open the foil wrapper with his teeth, his jaw tight and a lingering, fond warmth creeping up his neck as he fumbled to unroll the protection over his length, his breath hitching in a harsh rattle of pure concentration.

when he settled back between your legs, the weight of his heat pressing against your core, he paused one last time.

"get your legs 'round me," he commanded softly, the gravel in his voice dropping into a deep, possessive register. "hold on."

you instinctively brought your knees up, wrapping your thighs tightly around his thick waist. he let out a broken, tortured sound at the contact, his forehead dropping against your neck as he slowly, deliberately pushed himself inside you.

as he drove in deep, his large, heavy palm flattened right back over your lower tummy. he pushed down firmly against your stomach, anchoring your hips to the high mattress with a dominant pressure that forced you to feel the absolute fullness of him inside you. the hard, grounding weight of his hand against your abdomen sent an electric spike of pleasure straight to your core, making you gasp loudly against his shoulder.

the sudden, stretching fullness made your body stiffen under his weight. he forced himself into slower strokes for a minute, jaw tight with concentration, his frame tightened like iron, his hand still pressing firmly against your tummy. "hurt ya?" he choked out.

"no, no," you breathed, your hips making a small, upward adjustment against his palm to welcome him deeper. "don't stop. just stay still for a second."

he listened, suppressing every primal instinct inside him just to give your body time to adjust. only when you began to move against him in a slow, inviting rhythm, did he allow his hips to shift, beginning a deep, agonizingly deliberate pace, his palm keeping a steady pressure on your stomach with every stroke.

the friction built to a shattering crescendo. "fuck... please," you sobbed out, your head rolling back against the pillow as the wave of your release began to crest.

suddenly, a sharp, distinct *creak* echoed from the floorboards directly down the narrow corridor outside the bedroom. it wasn't an aimless scrape. it was a heavy shifting of weight inside the house.

daryl froze instantly, buried deep inside you. the weight of his body turned to solid stone, his chest completely still as he held his breath.

his head snapped toward the open bedroom door. before a panicked gasp could escape your wet lips, his large, rough palm collapsed firmly over your mouth, sealing it completely.

his other arm wrapped like a steel band around your waist, pinning your lower body flush against his hard hips, anchoring you so deeply beneath him that you couldn't move an inch.

"shut up," he breathed against the crown of your head.

the dynamic was instant, unexpected, and entirely intoxicating. the sheer force of his hand pressing you flat into the mattress while he remained buried inside you sent an electric shock straight to your system. blind panic and scorching arousal fused together.

desperate for an anchor, your hand flew upward, your fingers raking blindly against the dark mahogany headboard. your hand vanished against the wood, your fingers clamping tightly around a heavy wooden rosary that had been wrapped around one of the bedposts. you pulled on it with a wild, trembling force.

the old twine snapped.

the silence shattered as dozens of wooden beads spilled free, bouncing and rattling across the hardwood floorboards like a handful of gravel.

daryl’s eyes flared with a wild, dangerous heat. his grip on your mouth tightened, his jaw stone-rigid as he stared out into the pitch-black hallway, his ears straining so hard for any reaction to the noise that the veins on his neck were bulging. he held his lower body completely still inside yours, ensuring the old mattress springs didn't make a single peep.

beneath his heavy palm, your breath hitched sharply. the absolute vulnerability of the moment made your pulse race. your lips parted slightly against the calloused meat of his hand, tasting the faint salt of his skin, your hips hitching up involuntarily against his frozen length in a desperate, silent plea for him to move faster.

he felt the tight, twitching squeeze of your body around him. his eyes cracked down to yours, catching the wide, eager dark of your pupils. a sudden heat flared in his own chest. he didn't pull out; instead, he subtly leaned his hips harder into yours, a silent warning to stay still that only made the ache between your legs flare hotter.

another long silence stretched through the house.

a small, frantic scratching sound echoed from the kitchen down the hall, followed by the tiny thud of a raccoon dropping from a broken window pane.

a long, slow, chest-heaving breath finally escaped his lungs. the rigid, lethal tension in his shoulders eased. slowly, tentatively, his fingers slid away from your mouth. his rough thumb lingered on your lower lip, dragging across the wetness left by your breath, pressing down just hard enough to make you whimper in the quiet room.

his jaw flexed as he looked down at you, the dark heat in his eyes tightening. "told ya to stay quiet."

"no," you gasped out, your voice trembling as you arched up against his leg. "i need it. daryl, please."

his jaw flexed hard. “damn right,” he growled, the praise low, rough, and thick with his heavy accent.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his movements becoming rough, hurried, and fueled by a desperation he could no longer contain. he drove into you with a fierce, frantic urgency, his heavy denim bunched around his thighs as he anchored himself to you, his large hand pressing down hard against your tummy to drive himself as deep as possible. he hit your sweet spot again and again, his strokes heavy and relentless until you sobbed aloud against his neck, your body scrambling as the release finally broke over you. seeing the complete surrender in your eyes, he let out a broken, ruined sound as he came, the intense release racking his shoulders, his hips stuttering forward against yours as he spilled himself completely into the protection, holding you so tight against his chest you could barely draw a breath.

the silence of the room returned slowly, filled only by the frantic, synchronized rhythm of your heavy breathing and the quiet ticking of the candles on the nightstand. he didn't roll away immediately. he lay buried in your shoulder, his heart thumping hard against your ribs, his large hands still securely locked around your waist.

after a long, quiet moment, he carefully withdrew and disposed of the protection, finally working his clothes back up over his hips and buttoning them. before settling back down, he stood up on trembling legs, walking quietly to the window to peer through a slit in the lace curtains, scanning the overgrown yard one more time to ensure your safety.

satisfied, he returned to the bed and slid onto his side on the mattress, keeping you pulled securely against his chest. he reached down, pulling the dusty, faded quilt up over both of your flushed bodies, shielding you from the cooling air of the room, and reached out to adjust the pillow beneath your head.

his fingers gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his dark eyes, soft now, finally clear of the anxiety that had tortured him all day, searched yours in the fading candlelight. he shifted closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his rough, unshaven chin scraping lightly against your skin as he let his whole weight settle into your side. his thumb moved slow against your hip beneath the blanket while the old mattress creaked softly beneath the both of you. outside, the world still groaned and clawed at the fences, but in that small room, with his heartbeat steady against your chest, daryl was at peace.

[lilratbb]

his arms. okay that's all byeeee