mean rick who treats fucking you like he’s conquering something. puts his entire back into it. dominance ingrained in the movement of tongue as he licks into your pliant mouth and invades all of your senses. he kisses you like he’s trying to devour you, pressing you against any surface he can find so he can focus wholly on bullying himself between your thighs and sucking on your lips. presses a knee against your cunt through your clothes and laughs meanly when you start to grind on it, even if that was his goal.
he likes when he’s completely clothed and you’re shed down to nothing, letting him undress you as he travels down the length of your body with his mouth. something about the authority of having you in your most vulnerable state while his shirt is only partially unbuttoned, his pants pulled down just enough to get his cock out. the feeling of your soft skin against his calloused hands, your cute mewls when he grabs and squeezes every inch of you. it makes his head spin.
he somehow makes missionary feel dirty, but not any less passionate. gathers the slickness drooling out of your pussy with his cock by rubbing and tapping the thick shaft against your chubby lips. he’ll insert two thick fingers in your mouth and gruffly tell you to shut up when you start begging too loudly.
when he finally sinks inside you, he’s relentless. the deep, thorough drags of his hard cock inside your tight walls is never ending. he brackets you in with his arms and legs, leaving no room for you to feel or see anything but him all over you as he plows into you like he’s trying to break you in all over again. the warmth and weight of him is intoxicating, enough to reduce your vocabulary to nothing but a constant stream of his name, over and over.
“yeah, that’s right, baby. ‘m right here.”
he punctuates the sentiment with a firm press of his palm below your navel, where he can feel himself bulging out of you.
rick still holds onto some (if not most) of his traditional beliefs, such as the act of eating a woman out being nothing but foreplay: sometimes necessary, sometimes not. in the midst of the apocalypse it’s hard to find time for it— but he grows to love unraveling you with his tongue whenever he gets a chance, whether it leads to anything else or not. feeling your warm walls clench around him, the burn of your kitten nails digging into his scalp, the squeeze of your supple thighs around his face. he knows what he’s doing, too. every flick of his tongue and glide of his fingers is engrained with intent and experience, as if he knows secrets to your body you didn’t know existed. it’s a euphoric experience for you both, no matter how long it lasts.
sometimes he’ll use it as punishment. if you’ve been especially needy all day while he’s trying to take care of his other responsibilities, rick will take you to your bedroom in alexandria and make you think he’s finally going to give you what you want… just to force your legs open and tease you for what feels like hours. he’ll pepper soft kisses along the inside of your thighs, your pulsing mound and puffy clit, purposely rubbing his beard along your most sensitive parts so you feel the burn for days after. feeling you writhe in his strong grip sends satisfaction thrumming throughout his entire body. he won’t stop until you’re crying and begging and promising to be good again.
୨୧
daryl, on the other hand, is less conservative about it, and very much less experienced (if at all.) he’s the one that brings it up first, as it’s something he’s been thinking about since the two of you got together. what you would taste like, how you smell, your reactions, the noises you’d make. he’s never felt the urge to stick his tongue inside someone so much until he met you.
after the first time, it’s all he ever wants to do, sometimes even passing up sex in favor of it when you’re on a time crunch. it’s therapeutic, in a way. he can lose himself in between the heat of your thighs, making out with your pussy until you have to push him off because you’re sore. he likes that he’s servicing you, but he’d be lying if he said you were the only one getting something out of it. he usually ends up making himself cum in his pants, humping his free hand or whatever surface he’s laying on while he listens to your noises, drinks in the taste of you.
there’s no rhythm or rhyme to his movements. no technique, just pure unadulterated enthusiasm, and he somehow manages to hit the spot every time. he’s sloppy and messy with it, and you’re always left in a pool of his spit and your juices by the time he finally lets up, all flushed and shy. he’ll ask if you enjoyed it while you’re literally unable to think because the amount of times you came has your brain mushy. pulls you into a sloppy kiss with his face still stained in your arousal just to laugh when you bat him off for being gross.
summary: dry humping. sub daryl (but he doesn’t know it) lets goo. awkward sex. probably ooc. they do everything but kiss LMAOO.
inspired by that one s2/3 panel where norman says if someone tried to kiss daryl he’d start crying cause he isn’t ready for all that. hasnt left my head since i watched it. title from digital bath by deftones
dry humping farm era daryl :( coming out to his secluded tent one night under the guise of checking on his injuries and your playful flirting gets too real too fast somehow. you’re both pent up from what feels like months of tension that you can’t even bother to shed your clothes— or maybe daryl just isn’t ready to cross that threshold yet— it doesn’t even matter because the moment you sit yourself on his broad lap and feel the hard, thick outline of him pressed against you through your clothes, you forget to care.
he’s instantly whining at the friction, ducking his head and using your neck to shield you from seeing how red his face has grown, how embarrassed he is that simply talking to you has made him so hard. you do it on purpose, talking to him in that sweet, endearing tone that you know drives him crazy. constantly teasing him with your eyes and touches until he scoffs off your advances. in your defense, the effect you have on him is just too addicting not to play with a little.
“aw, dar, don’t be shy.” you giggle out quietly, your soft arms coming to rest on his shoulders and intertwine behind his back. “look at me.”
the defiant grunt he lets out doesn’t have the same effect when it cracks with desire. like yanking the leash on a dog, you pull the hair at the nape of his neck firmly enough to send him into action. his pupils are dilated, but his eyes remain squinted stubbornly even as he does as he’s told.
“what? we gonna make out all night like a coupla teenagers?” he attempts to be snarky, but the nervous tremor in his voice betrays him.
“why, is that the farthest you’ve ever gone?” it’s half joking, half a genuine question.
from what you’ve heard, daryl had spent most of his life following merle around like a lost puppy pre-apocalypse. you wonder if any significant others had filled some of the space in between, and a part of you is jealous just thinking about it.
he snorts. “i ain’t no virgin mary, that’s for sure.”
well, that’s too bad. you could’ve really gotten off on being his first.
“oh, okay. so you know what you’re doing then?”
he’s silent, an unreadable expression on his face.
as if to prove a point, you grind down on his bulge with one fluid motion. daryl’s jaw falls slack and a barely there whimper tumbles out, eyes widening up at you with submission, vulnerability. it makes your cunt throb, makes you want to give him everything and make him beg for it at the same time.
“feels good, hm?”
“cmon, stop… stop playin’ around.” he huffs— grits out more like. as if using his voice while he’s in such a compromising position is physically paining him. you watch his eyes drift to your chest, which is quickly rising and falling with your synchronized pants.
“oh, you can do better than that, dixon.” you chide lightly. “what happened to that smart mouth of yours?”
“i… can you…” daryl sucks in a deep breath, his gaze lowering to the spot your groins are connected. “just fuckin’ move.”
you lean back, giving him a better view of the expanse of your torso, the way the strap of your camisole has started to fall down your shoulder. daryl seems to bite the bait, tongue darting out to gather the pool of drool starting to gather around his lip. it rings a laugh out of you.
“with that attitude, i should just go back inside. leave you all alone to take care of yourself.” you threaten. his response is immediate, as his large hands that were once gripping the blankets below him come to hold your waist in place with a bearish grip. waiting, you raise an eyebrow at him.
he looks off to the side. “p…please.”
it’s faint, reluctant. still, the rush of power he’s giving you makes your head spin. he’s realistically much stronger than you, could quickly take control of the situation without breaking a sweat with that advantage alone. but he’s choosing to let you lead, to do as you say. you can’t say it’s something you expected, but you’re not gonna complain.
your lips stretch into a grin, patting his cheek like one would a puppy. “attaboy. that’s what i thought.”
you can feel daryl’s cock kick at the praise, and it encourages you to buck down into it. you both moan at the same time, hands tightening around each other as you continue to slowly drag your cunt along his cock. the heat emanating from your clothes is blossoms in below your navel and traps you in.
“you like that, don’t you? doing what you’re told?” your hips slowly gain speed, hands traveling to perch on daryl’s shoulders. his muscles flex underneath your fingertips from exertion.
he does nothing but lowly whine in response, attempting to duck his head again.
“say it.” you push. “say it or i’ll stop.”
“fuck. yeah. i don’t know.” he grunts, his hips canting to chase your warmth. “i like hearin’ you say it.”
“that you’re being so good for me? letting me get off on your lap?” you tease meanly, lifting forward to talk in his ear. “that your cock feels like heaven right now and it’s not even out of your pants?”
the groan that emits out of him is followed by a frustrated sigh. daryl’s hands shakily run under your shirt, up to your waist. you can tell he’s unsure of his movements.
“you can touch me.” you allow graciously.
building up to it, his hands travel slowly. you almost start to believe he’s purposely teasing, but the clumsiness of it all makes you think otherwise. its like a dam breaks when daryl finally reaches your breasts, the fabric of your top bundling up on your chest. he squeezes hesitantly, then his calloused thumbs circle around your areola as your hips draw circles in his lap. daryl watches your nipples harden in unadulterated fascination, his breathing heavy. either he does know what he’s doing or he’s aimlessly exploring and just so happened to make the right move.
he looks up at you for permission and your nod is all he needs to lean forward, catching one of your supple titties on his tongue. it sends your back arching, nearly knocking him back onto the ground.
“fuck, yeah. just like that, baby.” you feel his spiky hair underneath your fingertips as you tug on the roots for stability, which earns a distinct noise from the man below you. the pleasure curling at your spine from his tongue spurs your movements on, beginning to hump into him with all your effort. his bulge keeps knocking against your clit in a way that has you on the verge of seeing stars. “feels so good, daryl.”
“oh, shit. y’gonna… i’m about to…” his voice splits on the last part and it makes your heart clench, disbelieving as you lift his head up to meet his eyes. sure enough, they’re glistening with unshed tears in the dim light.
“already?” your smile and voice are dripping with sympathy. “it’s okay, let it out. i want to feel it.”
you’re bound to have bruises from how hard daryl squeezes you when he releases. it’s a sight to be seen; his face twisting up, strong muscles bulging as he struggles to stifle the cry that’s ripped out of him. his hips drive up into yours, and you swear you can feel it paint his pants, his cum mingling with the damp spot you’ve left.
“you’re so sensitive. god, that’s hot.”
he’s too high on his orgasm to come up with a retort to that. to his surprise, you continue chasing your own pleasure, paying no mind to the fact that he’s rapidly softening. your hearts racing, body tingling with warmth as you reach the brink.
“wait,” his voice is watery. “s’too much.”
“don’t be selfish, dar. i’m not finished with you yet.” you’re breathless at this point, just barely expending the last of your mental energy to respond to his whines. “you can take it a little longer, can’t you?”
his head falls back, and you’re not sure if the noises come from his mouth are from pain or pleasure or both. he nods anyways, watery eyes flicking down to watch your supple tits bounce.
you squeeze onto his biceps. “you’re being so good. gonna make me cum so hard.”
daryl’s whining and squirming underneath you, fingertips piercing your thighs exposed by your shorts.
“you’re so pretty.” he sniffles, whispers in a way that seems subconscious. “how … how can i help?”
ironically that question, of all things, is what sends to the edge. your orgasm is wrung out of you, rippling through your body like a wave as you spasm on his lap. daryl’s noises rival your own in volume, the overstimulation becoming painful.
you both pant together as the last of the aftershocks fade.
“are you okay?”
“my dick is sore.” daryl says at the same time. his voice is raw, vulnerable.
“i’m sorry.” you giggle breathily, going to stand up. his hands hesitate in letting you go, but eventually he drops them to his sides again.
he scratches the back of his neck as you straighten all of your clothes out.
“where’d you learn to… talk like that?”
a smile makes its way back onto your face as you shrug. “you kinda just brought it out of me. seems like you liked it.” you pointedly glance at the large stain on the front of his pants.
“shit. gonna have to burn these in the walker pit. don’t want carol clutchin’ her pearls at me on laundry day.”
“nuh uh. save ‘em for next time.” you joke.
he squints at you again in true daryl fashion. his face is red and his hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat. the sight is almost enough to make you want round two right there and then. maybe with a little less clothes.
“ain’t gon’ be a next time.”
you snort, bending down to grab your forgotten flashlight. “right.”
he watches you unzip the tent, eyebrows pulled together pathetically. there’s definitely going to be a next time.
Hi! I made a blog that's kind of like a digital library/ just an account that's dedicated to my reading, I guess? I literally made it within the last week but I'm making a page that has a list of my favorite writers on Tumblr for different Fics and things like that and I was wondering if it's okay if I listed you on it? totally okay if not I just wanted to make sure I asked first!! :) <3
whatttt really… little old me. .. i’d be super honored!!
GLENNS DEATH IS SM WORSE THAN HOW ANYBODY WILL EVER DESCRIBE IT. the image is engraved in my brain it’s actually horrific
SEEEE im NOT prepared. especially because of maggie doesn’t it happen right in front of her??? & shes pregnant too like omg can the writers let her breathe for once..
getting scared negans gonna piss u off past season 6 is too real but at least he develops into a better ish person over time 🫠
im dreading the moment his smug ass appears on my screen 😭 ive been on s6 ep 13 for soo long bc of all the spoilers & i already know glenns death is gonna destroy mee. him and his character arc can go to hell for that idc how cunty he is
steamy sex with rick who'll lay you down on any flat surface to thrust into you while your legs are wrapped around him, pulling him more inside as he stands up.
he'd carry you on his lap, on a late night at the prison.
he'd shove you against the cold wall in one of the cells, sending shivers down your spine.
you'd squirm under his balmy lips, curling up against his body as he slides hand down your bra's clasp and undoing it over your shirt.
then your hands would move down his crotch, unzipping his pants and freeing his twitching cock. he'd smirk against your lips, letting you feel up his dick.
then all of a sudden, he'd cut off the kiss and lay you down on a metal table that happened to be there, taking off your shorts eagerly.
you'd shiver at the metal against your skin, your teeth chattering lightly.
his hand would rush to your face, caressing it gently. his hands would travel down your nipples and he'd leave a passionate kiss on your chest. you'd be on fire against his fierce touch.
he wouldn't even take your panties off, instead he'd move your dumped panties to the side and take you while the cloth would brush against his cock.
he'd sigh audibly and throw his head back out of pleasure, getting dizzy at your warm embrace and the way he'd feel your cunt stretching more and more.
one of his hands would be on your waist while the other wouldn't leave your mouth alone. he'd make sure you suck them, sliding his middle finger down your throat along with his index finger.
with those wet fingertips, he'd play with your nipples, making sure they stayed hard as ever.
he wouldn't even let you break the eye contact, making sure that you listen his heavy breathing, heavy grunts that left his mouth.
if you write anything for daryl, i’d love to see something along the lines of your “dating rick means” post, but for daryl!
dating daryl means 24/7 acts of service because if he can’t express his love for you with words he’s gonna make up for it in other ways. needless to say he wasn’t brought up with any healthy relationship dynamics to go off of, but this is something that comes as naturally as breathing to him.
a day doesn’t go by that he isn’t bringing you home roadkill food and some flowers he spotted on his hunt. you want him to try to pick you up something from the store on his run? doesn’t matter how small or unnecessary it is, he’s turning the place upside down to find it because you want it and that’s all the reason he needs. your back aches from standing watch all day? he’s good with his hands and knows his way around a tense muscle. (after he makes fun of you for not being able to handle a job even judith could’ve done of course.)
not to be confused; he’s hardly romantic by any means. usually hands you your gifts with nothing but a caveman-esque grunt. twists his face up when you squeal and kiss him on the cheek with upmost gratitude but he secretly loves it. being able to make you happy — to see you excited and smiling because of him in the midst of all the chaos and destruction is what keeps him going everyday.
the fulfillment he finds in servicing you also translates to when he slots himself between your thighs at night. he could stay there for hours, lapping up all you have to offer while you whine and convulse on his tongue over and over. sore jaw be damned if it means you can feel good and take your mind off the state of the world for a while. not even a walker could pull him off of you in these moments. (true story; he once slung a knife at one like he was playing darts while his other hand was still inside of you)
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