i love how humans’ figures of speech and actions can translate differently to other species, and vice versa. we say and do things casually all the time, not realizing that to monsters, those same phrases and actions might mean something . . . completely different.
pairing: gn ! reader - ft. werewolves, orcs, minotaurs, succubi / incubi, dragonfolk, and vampires.
author's note: this'll be kinda messy, so sorry. just had a misunderstanding due to a language barrier today and somehow got inspired. sorry for the ramble lol.
[ pt. 2. ]
werewolves.
“so, when are you two tying the knot?”
the vicinity goes quiet. your werewolf friend freezes mid-drink, ears slowly turning red under messy, shaggy hair. “w-we’re not—! that’s . . . !”
“what?” you blink, confused at their weird reaction.
someone in the pack coughs into their hand. another is trying very hard not to laugh.
the werewolf mutters into their sleeve, mortified. “humans shouldn’t say mating phrases so casually.”
you stare. “i said marriage.”
“exactly!”
orcs.
you pat the orc who was helping you on the shoulder. "woah, you’re really strong, you know that?”
they go still. very still.
you notice the rest of the orcs nearby stop talking, too. one of them elbows another with a smirk.
the orc clears their throat, trying to look casual. “. . . you think so?”
“yeah?”
a radiant smile bloomed on their originally stoic face, a satisfied hum vibrating through their chest - their tusks seeming to be somehow glinting brighter under the sun. “you should say that again sometime,” maybe a day where the two of you weren't under the scorching sun.
now they're thinking, maybe going over to help the little, struggling human was worth it. even if they only had just been egged on by their friends to approach any human and flirt. . . . this may be a good distraction for a while.
minotaurs.
you notice a lost looking minotaur among the halls - and deciding to take pity, you approach.
“here,” you say, grabbing their hand. “the hallway’s confusing. c’mon, i’ll guide you.” asking them where they needed to go to, you lead the way once getting a shy response.
the minotaur follows quietly.
when you finally reach the exit, you turn around, tugging your hand to free it —
– and freeze upon feeling the vice grip on it.
they’re staring at your joined hands like you just handed them the world.
“ . . . what?”
their ears twitch, still staring. “in my culture,” they murmur softly. “. . . nevermind.” ignoring the fluttering feeling in their chest at being guided through the maze of hallways,
they stuff their tingling hand in their pocket. “can i have your number?”
demons.
“i promise i’ll help you tomorrow.”
the demon’s pen stops mid-signature.
“…promise?”
“yeah?”
their eyes narrow thoughtfully.
“binding or casual?”
“…what?”
“verbal promises can still count,” they say, pulling out parchment. “just for documentation.”
“IT WAS A FIGURE OF SPEECH.”
the demon sighs.
“humans are terrible negotiators.”
dragons.
you place the gold ring on the table. “i thought you might like it.”
the dragon stares at it.
then at you.
then at the ring again.
their wings shift slightly. “ . . . humans give courtship treasure very quickly.”
you choke. “WHAT.”
they gently slide the ring into their palm, inspecting it, before slipping it on their finger. it seems to be the perfect fit.
“ . . . i accept.”
“WAIT—”
incubi / succubi.
“sweet dreams.” you wave before heading to bed.
the cubi pauses in the doorway. “. . . was that intentional?”
“was what intentional?”
their smile is slow, amused. “humans wishing dream-based creatures sweet dreams.”
“. . . it’s just a goodnight phrase.”
“pity.” they lean against the doorframe. “i thought you were inviting me.”
your face burns.
they grin wider. “that blush is very convincing, though.”
vampires.
“you look delicious tonight.”
the vampire says it with complete sincerity.
you pause halfway through adjusting your collar.
“. . .thank you?”
they nod approvingly, gaze lingering just a second too long.
Daryl Dixon would go absolutely feral for a "natural woman". He's only ever seen women in Merle's magazines or women Merle paid in return for "favours" and just assumed that's what all women look like. Nothing wrong with them, he just never considered it could be any different.
First time you didn't shave your legs he almost blue screens in real time because he didn't know that was even an option and he also didn't know he'd be so turned on by it. Every stretch mark, body hair, discolouration he finds on your body, every time he sees the rolls on your back or tummy he almost loses it.
Also, while he is a rugged, feral fellow that skins rabbits on the porch and doesn't find that weird i think he would be genuinely embarrassed if he accidentally farted in front of you.
THANK YOU!! I have! I’ve aged!!
Firstly, you're so right. He'd think about it for the rest of his life with the exact same amount of embarrassment as he felt in the moment. Honestly, I don't think he'd care that much about farting in front of other people, though. It's just you. He wants you to think he's cool, sexy, and mysterious. That definitely doesn't do any of that.
Secondly, listen, I'm feral for this. I literally could not stop myself from writing this. Thank you for the inspiration! Enjoy!
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Warnings: Smut (18+), kink for body hair (?), idk if this is really sub!daryl or if he's just lowkey pathetic, oral sex (f. receiving), praise kink, cumming in pants, super, super unedited (forgive me)
Stumbling into his cell, mouths only separating long enough to gasp for breath, you fell backward onto his bed and pulled him down on top of you. The sudden weight of him made you hot all over. It had been a long time since you’d slept with anyone. A damn long time.
“Off,” you said, shoving his shirt up to his armpits.
"Yeah, fuck, a'right," he panted. You thought briefly that you heard the distinct sound of popping threads like he'd torn his shirt in his haste to get it off, but he was back on you before you could check.
You weren't sure you'd be able to stop kissing him long enough to get your own shirt off, let alone fuck him. The combination of his high little whines between sloppy kisses and the way he ground his hips into you like he couldn't help it was intoxicating. You couldn't get enough. Someday, you wanted to make him cum like that. Teeth, tongues, and your thigh wedged between his. You had half a mind to do it then, but the ache in your core was more important. You wanted him. All of him. Now. Reluctantly, you pulled away, smiling at the way his lips chased your own, and yanked your shirt over your head.
“Help me,” you said. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion until you slid your hand between your bodies and popped the button of your jeans.
“Y’sure?” he asked, voice shy and awed.
“Daryl!”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, fingers digging under your waistband and ridding you of both your pants and underwear.
Then he froze.
Jeans clenched in one hand, he slid off the edge of the bed and kneeled between your thighs. Grinning, you raised your hips in anticipation. He didn't touch you. Didn't even try. You bumped him lightly with your knee, but he didn't move. He just stared, wide-eyed and stock still like he was rooted to the spot. A sudden unease washed over you, and you looked down at yourself, following his gaze.
A thick nest of hair sat between your legs. Much thicker than you'd ever let it get before the world ended. Wild, dark curls, damp with your excitement, fanned out onto your almost equally hairy thighs and trailed slightly toward your belly button. And Daryl couldn't seem to look away, staring at it all the same way one might look at a car accident. Heat crawled up your neck and settled high in your cheeks. Drawing your legs up, you let out a self-conscious laugh.
“Sorry,” you said, awkwardly.
“Huh?” He was unfocused and weirdly unreadable. Hell, you weren’t even sure he was actually listening. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows.
“I swear I’m usually, uh,” you paused, shifting uncomfortably, “A little better groomed.”
He didn't respond. Silence hung oppressively in the air around you, settling into the pit forming in your stomach. The way he was looking at you made you want to squirm away. Deep blue, hunter's eyes roved every inch of your hairy body like he wasn't sure where he was supposed to look. The intensity of them almost burned. His hands twitched where he'd fisted them into the blankets. You tried not to pay attention to them.
Honestly, you should have expected this. The pause. The awkward silence. The staring. You looked like Sasquatch, for christ's sake. You couldn't remember the last time you'd shaved, or even seen a razor for that matter. The CDC, maybe? Before? Something ugly and ashamed bloomed in your chest. You tried to close your legs.
“Don’t,” he said quickly. You jumped, and he cringed. “Please.”
“Look, I'm sorry, I didn't even think—”
“C-can—’m I allowed—please?” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a jumble that you couldn't quite make sense of.
"Please, what, Daryl?" you asked. His face twisted like he was in pain, a bright blush spreading across his face in angry red blotches.
"Dunno," he said, sounding stressed, "Hell, dunno what 'm even askin' for.
You didn't know what he was asking for either. He wasn't walking away, but he sure wasn't jumping at the chance to touch you either. You weren't sure what that meant. You looked down at him, trying to piece together his expression. Daryl was red, still breathing hard, and watching you from between your legs like he was desperate for you to understand what he couldn't bring himself to say. Blinking, you offered him a look of awkward confusion. He swallowed thickly. Slowly, he lifted his hand from the blankets and dropped it heavily on your thigh, fingers twitching nervously.
Oh.
"C'mon, don't just stare. Touch me," you said. The moan that slipped from his mouth sounded like relief as much as excitement.
Sliding his hand up your thigh, he burried his fingers tenderly in your pubes, almost petting them. You shivered, stuck somewhere between turned on and confused. Your legs fell open again anyway. It was hard to do anything else when his touch dipped lower. It was soft, gentle even. Each brush of his calloused fingers over your slit was more reverent than the last. The whole thing was almost unbelievable. This strong, gruff man on his knees, shaking slightly while stroking over your pussy like it was precious. Like he couldn't believe you'd allow him to touch you. A little sigh of pleasure escaped you under his attention.
"Didn't know it could be like this," he said, without looking up. Your hips jerked as he grazed your clit. Whether it was an accident or he was trying to drive you crazy, you couldn't tell.
“Like what?”
“Dunno. All soft 'n shit."
“You act like you've never seen a naked woman before,” you teased, a half smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. He dragged his thumb between your lips, making you gasp. His shoulders tightened like he might have done something wrong, but you just rolled your hips into his hand.
“Not one like you,” he said. Something about the honesty of it stroked your ego.
“What? Hairy?” you laughed.
“Yeah,” he breathed. You snorted, raising an eyebrow.
“Full bush doing it for you?" you asked. He swallowed thickly, throat clicking, and rubbed his thighs together. Fuck, he was hard. Undeniably, pants-rippingly, pathetically hard. Full bush really was doing it for him.
"Ain't ever seen a girl with one. Never thought about it," he admitted.
"Wanna get a closer look?"
"Fuck."
Grinning, you threaded your fingers through his hair and tugged lightly. He shot forward so quickly, you worried you'd accidentally pulled harder than you thought in your excitement, but you didn't have to worry long. He dragged his tongue over your pussy in one firm, broad stroke, letting out a pitchy little breath before doing it again. Then all at once, he was licking into you like it was the only thing he'd ever wanted to do. Sloppy, uncoordinated, and so fucking hot in his eagerness. You groaned, throwing your head back. His answering moan vibrated against your clit, high and needy, as he bucked into the air.
With hazy, pupil-dominated eyes, Darly stared at you as if you were a deity. Like Venus herself had handcrafted you and dropped you into his bed, hair and all. He burried his nose into the thatch of hair and laved his tongue over your clit in worship. Fuck, it felt like worship. The way he swirled his tongue over you was its own kind of devotion. Every twitch, moan, and buck of your hips was his reward. He drank it all in, whining like he needed your wordless praise.
"Shit," you groaned, "Oh shit, Daryl. That's it."
"Yeah? 'm doin' it right?" he asked. The look in his eyes was puppy-like and desperate to please. Shuddering, you tightened your hand in his hair.
"Fuck yeah. Doin' so good," you purred. Hands shaking where they gripped your hips, he pressed his face into you and rutted into the barely there friction of his pants. It was like grabbing a live wire. Pleasure seared through you, lighting up your nerves everywhere he touched.
"Can-can ya keep talkin'? Please?" he whined, half muffled by your pussy.
"Doin' so good, baby," you said, thighs starting to shake. His whimper of encouragement spurred you on.
"Look how fucking wet you make me." Slick dripped down your ass, and his tongue followed, unwilling to waste a drop before moving back to the source.
"Fuck, I love your mouth." He made a wet slurping sound and pushed his tongue into you.
"You look so fucking good on your knees." His hips bucked hard enough to jolt his whole body.
Praise poured out of you. You barely recognized your own voice. Low. Wracked with pleasure. Dripping with unfiltered desire. You would have been embarrassed about how vocal you were being if Daryl hadn't somehow managed to be louder. Anyone walking by might have thought he was being eaten out, that he was teetering on the edge of an orgasm. He circled your clit again, and you let out a frustrated sound.
"I'm close. Gonna make me cum, baby," you said breathlessly.
Daryl's movements turned desperate. He focused his attention on your clit, drawing tight little circles over it until your hips started to strain and jerk of their own accord. You could hardly think. Words gave way to long, wavering moans as he pushed you closer to your orgasm. You were close. So fucking close, you could taste it. Then he sealed his lips over your overworked clit and sucked. Pleasure crashed over you, and your vision went white. Hand tightening in his hair, you pulled him closer, riding out your orgasm on the tip of his tongue that he so obediently stuck out for you.
When you finally came back to yourself, you looked down at him, only to find him staring back at you. Eyes wild and unfocused, he whined up at you. You could still hear the faint sound of him thrusting his hips uselessly into nothing. The rhythm was sloppy. His whole body shook. You could see how bad he wanted to cum. And yet, he stayed on his knees, nose burried in your pubes and his hands running over the soft hair of your legs. A lazy smile crept onto your face as you held his mouth against your pussy, still grinding lightly.
"Good boy," you purred, "You close?"
"Uh-huh," he hummed.
"You gonna cum with your tongue in my cunt? Huh, baby?" you said. Your voice was warm with your recent orgasm, and the pleasure of him nursing you through the aftershocks.
"Yeah, fuck, yeah," he panted. His grip turned nearly bruising as he rutted into the zipper of his pants.
"Be a good boy for me. Cum." You shifted your leg and pressed your shin against his cock. His mouth went slack. He thrust once. Twice. Then he was cumming. A high, shaking moan echoed around you in the quiet cell. His whole body jerked and quivered for a minute before he slumped against you, boneless, eyes closed, his cheek lying on the inside of your thigh.
"There you go. Good job, baby," you said, smoothing his hair away from his face.
The second you touched him, his eyes flew open, and his face flushed an impossible shade of red. He scrambled off you, backing away as much as the tight quarters would allow. Before you could think better of it, you swept your appreciative gaze over his body. You followed the line of his body from his strong shoulders and still heaving chest, straight down to the wet spot at the front of his pants. His legs snapped closed, and he curled into himself, looking vaguely miserable. You raised an eyebrow.
"'M sorry," he said. You sat up, ignoring the uncomfortable slide from slick and saliva mixing.
"For what? Being hot and shirtless, or the orgasm?" you said.
"Cummin' s'damn...fast," he grumbled. You laughed a little. Not to be mean, but because the apology felt ridiculous. While you were a little disappointed you didn't get to feel his cock inside you, you figured there would be other times. This was not about to be a one-and-done thing.
"Don't be. I liked it," you said, plainly. He scowled at you. Though you couldn't tell if the expression was confusion or embarrassment. You took in his pink cheeks and hunched shoulders and assumed the latter.
"Don't gotta lie. 'M not good at--"
"You're so good, Daryl," you said, cutting him off. He ducked his head to avoid your eyes.
"Didn't even fuck ya. Hell, didn't even get my pants off," he said. God, he was cute. You wanted to nibble on the red tips of his ears. Instead, you reached forward, tucked your fingers into the waistband of his ruined pants, and pulled him onto the bed. Rolling him onto his back, you kissed him.
"Then be a good boy and take 'em off," you said.
"Fuck, really?" he asked, studying your face like he thought you might be making fun of him. You laughed, dragging a finger over the wet spot.
"You didn't really think I was done with you, did you?"
Daryl was sat against the car, smoking a cigarette. It had been almost three days of scavenging for supplies and food for Alexandria when he and Rick wandered upon an old warehouse.
The warehouse was surprisingly clear of walkers. They had scouted the front of the building and saw stacks of full boxes through the dark windows. It was like finding an oasis after two and a half days of finding nothing but empty cans. Deciding that luck was on their side, they crept in through the front door.
What they weren’t expecting to see on the other side of that warehouse door was a camp of men. Roughly 15 men shot up from where they were sleeping and brought their guns up to aim at Rick and Daryl.
“Think you can just creep in here while we’re sleeping? You trying to take what’s ours?” One of the men yelled as he stepped forward. The leader, Daryl assumed.
Rick raised his hands up by his head. “We didn’t know this place was occupied. We can leave.”
The man scoffed. “Why, so you can bring back more people to wipe us out? How do you think we have all of this stuff? It’s because we protect it. So we’re gonna kill you, take your stuff, and then burn your bodies.”
Daryl feels a man press a gun into his side. “Rick.”
“Yeah, I know.” Rick sighs, exasperated. “Go.”
Daryl twists the gun out of the man’s hands and knocks him out with it. He tosses the gun to Rick who starts going on a lecture about how the men should’ve just listened to them.
Gunfire from both Rick and the men causes Daryl to grab the biggest box that he could carry by himself, and run outside to where their car was haphazardly parked. He tossed the box into the back as Rick ran out of the building and jumped into the driver’s seat.
As Rick peeled out onto the road back to Alexandria, Daryl leaned over his seat to open the box.
“Hope we got somethin’ that was worth all of that.” Daryl said as he pulled the last flap of the box open.
Rick watched in the rearview mirror as Daryl’s face dropped. “What is it?”
Daryl picked up one of the pink toys and tossed it at Rick.
“S’a bunch of fuckin’ vibrators.”
When Daryl got home, Alexandria was thankfully quiet. He didn’t want to have to deal with people asking what they brought back from the run. Maybe he would sleep in tomorrow and let Rick deal with it in the morning.
However, it was you who was at the gate. You who he knows won’t stop asking until you get an answer.
After Rick parked the car and you closed the gate, you ran up to hug Daryl.
“I missed you so much, three days was too long.” You said as you kissed him.
He smiled, glad to feel some of the guilt for not finding anything on the run roll off his shoulders.
You watched Rick grab a lone box out of the back of the car. “Oh, what did you guys find?”
Daryl grunted and took the box from Rick. “What do I even do with these, man?”
Rick chuckled and opened the box. “I’m gonna take one for Michonne, I guess. Just give the rest to Olivia for her to take inventory like usual.” He grabbed one of the toys from the box.
Your eyes widened as you saw what the haul from their trip was. You waited until Rick walked away before whispering at Daryl excitedly. “You guys got vibrators for the town?”
“Was an accident. Ran into some guys in a warehouse. Took one of the boxes as they were shootin’ at us. ‘Course it was filled with damn vibrators.”
You let out a giggle at his grumpiness. “I think this is the best haul you’ve ever brought home, I don’t know why you’re so upset!” You grabbed one from the box and started walking with him to the pantry.
“Comes with batteries. We could take all of those and use ‘em.” Daryl said.
You frown. “Or we could bring pleasure to all of the women of Alexandria.”
Daryl stops walking and looks at you. “Thought I gave you enough pleasure. You were even sayin’ it was too much that night before I left.”
You blush as you think back to the night that Daryl overstimulated you before he left on his run. “Yeah you do. But not everyone has a Daryl Dixon. Plus we could try it together. Might be fun?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. We’re okay on batteries right now anyway.” He says as he continues walking to the pantry.
You grin to yourself as you clutch your new toy to your chest. “Yay! We don’t even have to refill the batteries. We can just use it until they die and then throw it away.”
“Oh my- Daryl.”
The walk to the house from the pantry had Daryl thinking about getting you home and getting you off. You had barely closed the door when he started stripping your clothes off.
You giggled as he kissed your neck. “I thought we’d at least sleep after your run before jumping in!”
“Nah, need to make you feel good.” He grunted and picked you up over his shoulder.
You squealed and held on tight to your vibrator as he started walking to your shared bedroom. The packaging was torn open in a hurry while you were still upside down on Daryl’s shoulder. You dropped the box as you yanked the toy out.
Daryl smacked your ass to signal that he was going to toss you onto the bed. You land on the fluffy blankets and pillows and laugh as Daryl finishes taking your clothes off. “You’re so eager, I thought you weren’t sure about bringing toys into the bedroom.”
He smirks down at you. You were still holding onto the bright pink vibrator with a look of excitement in your eyes. “You said ya wanted to try. So we’re trying.”
He grabs the toy from your hand and presses the button to turn it on. Your eyes light up as it immediately starts buzzing in your lover’s hand.
“How do ya want me to do this, baby?” He whispers as he trails the fluttering toy up your thigh.
You close your eyes and sigh into the feeling. “I don’t care, just need it somehow, Daryl.”
“Ya want me to eat ya out? Put this thing on yer clit?”
You nod your head at the thought. You also notice his accent getting thicker as he gets more aroused; a trait that you’ve come to admire about him.
“Okay, ‘ve got ya, honey.”
Daryl lays down on his stomach between your thighs and brings your legs up to rest on his shoulders. He licks a long stripe from your hole to your clit, making you gasp at the contact. Gently, he presses the toy onto your puffy clit. He looks up at you, assessing the situation. He smirks when he sees your head thrown back and your fingers clutching the blanket underneath you.
“That feel good, baby?”
“Would feel even better if you used your m-mouth.” You gasped out.
Daryl kissed your inner thigh. “Say please.”
You pouted at him. “Please, Dar?”
Daryl kissed just to the side of your hole, muttered something about you being a “princess” and dove in.
You moaned and tossed around in the bed. To an outside perspective, it would look like some type of weird exorcism. But it was just Daryl making you feel so good. Daryl and that “damn vibrator.”
His tongue continued to lap up the wetness that you were producing for him. Because it was always for him. He moaned into your soaked hole and tongue-fucked you into oblivion.
The continuous buzz of the vibrator kept lifting you up and up until you were finally at your peak. Daryl was mumbling praises that could barely reach your ears as you shook underneath him. Your thighs tightened around his head, but he didn’t stop until your body relaxed under his tongue and your moans turned into small whines.
Your breathing was labored and there was a ringing in your ears that sounded like the song of heaven as you lay there, recovering from the insanely intense orgasm that Daryl had just given you.
Daryl. You pulled yourself up onto your elbows and looked down at your man. He was licking the vibrator.
You both locked eyes as he pulled it away from his mouth. Smiling at each other, you said in unison;
synopsis: You took Daryl’s virginity thinking it would be sweet, slow, and maybe a little awkward. What you didn’t expect was to awaken the most dangerous creature alive: a touch-starved man with stamina, a mouth, and zero shame when it comes to getting you alone. Anywhere. Anytime.
w/c: 5.5k
warnings: horny daryl, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, semi-public sex, semi-exhibitionism, oral!f&m receiving, fingering
a/n: enjoy :)))
navigation
Your back hurts.
As well as your thighs, arms, shoulders—hell, every single part of your body aches like you’ve just gone a few rounds with a pack of walkers. You groan softly, shifting on the mattress with all the grace of a creaky door hinge. The moment you roll over, the sunlight slices through the thin curtains and straight into your squinting eyes like some divine punishment.
“Mmm… five more minutes…” your boyfriend mumbles behind you, voice gravelly and thick with sleep. His chest rumbles as he speaks, the vibration pressing warm and low into your spine. Without even lifting his head, he tightens his arms around you, dragging you flush against his body. His heat bleeds into you, wrapping around you like a second blanket.
You frown, glancing down at your bare body and the constellation of bruises blooming across your inner thighs. Deep red turning into a light purple. There’s more, too—faint, raw marks on your chest and shoulders, no doubt mirrored on your neck and probably in a few other places you can’t even check without a mirror. You blink slowly, your body catching up to the memory your brain is only now processing.
“Baby—” you start, voice low and suspicious as you slowly lift yourself up, trying to peel yourself out of his hold. “What the hell did you do to me last night?”
Daryl groans into your back, refusing to move. His lips brush your skin as he speaks, voice muffled and lazy.
“Ya really wanna ask me that?” he drawls, a smirk tugging at his words. “Maybe you oughta be askin’ what you’re doin’ to me.”
Before you can respond, he rolls his hips against your ass, grinding his very much awake erection into your cheeks. You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as your body heats all over again.
“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” you tease, amusement lacing your voice.
Before he can answer, there’s a sharp bang on the bedroom door that startles you both. Rick’s voice comes through loud and clear.
“C’mon, lovebirds! We got a whole day’s work waitin’. Let’s go!”
You sigh, already reaching for the nearest piece of clothing—Daryl’s shirt, of course—and tug it over your head, not bothering with your bottoms. You give his shoulder a pat, like waking a stubborn dog.
“C’mon,” you say, finally slipping out of his grasp. He groans again, louder this time, dramatically flopping onto his back like you just took a piece of his soul with you.
You make it to your feet, stretching with a hiss, and start toward the door. But before you can open it, you glance back. Daryl’s lying there under the thin sheet, staring up at the ceiling like it personally insulted him.
“Problem?” you ask, hand on the doorknob.
He looks at you like you’re the idiot—like there’s something blindingly obvious and you’re just not getting it. He doesn’t say a word. Just holds your gaze for a beat… then drops his eyes meaningfully to the tented sheet barely covering him.
You raise an eyebrow, slowly. The silent question hangs between you: What the hell do you expect me to do about it?
He lets out a low chuckle and smirks like the devil himself. “C’mon, babydoll… don’t leave me hangin’.”
You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “No, you come on,” you snap back. “Help me with breakfast.”
And with that, you stomp off toward the kitchen, the hardwood floor cold against your bare legs. You start brewing coffee on autopilot, reaching into the fridge for prepped ingredients. There may be undead clawing at the gates of Alexandria, but you will have your avocado toast. You will sprinkle your chia bowl with banana slices and a drizzle of honey. The world might’ve ended, but your standards haven’t.
Daryl, of course, gets bacon-wrapped hotdogs. Because he’s a gremlin.
As the bacon starts to sizzle in the pan and the scent of roasted coffee fills the space, you let out a soft sigh. Mornings like this are rare—quiet, domestic, a little absurd.
Then you feel him.
Strong arms snake around your waist, slow and heavy, pulling you back into his chest. He dips his head, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, then another along your neck, up behind your ear, each one slower than the last.
“Mornin’,” he mumbles, voice thick and husky.
“Good morning, baby,” you reply, feeling him twitch slightly at the petname. He hates them—claims it ain’t his style—but as long as you don’t use them around other people, he lets it slide.
For now.
“You want hotdogs?” you ask, turning slightly toward him. “Not that it matters. They’re already in the pan. And if you start actin’ like a spoiled brat again, I swear to God I’ll hang you by your nuts.”
You feel his grin against your neck more than you see it. He doesn’t even bother looking at the food. Instead, he just buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in deep.
“Mmm…” he drawls lowly. “Do you want hotdogs?”
And just like that, he presses his hips forward again—grinding his now fully clothed erection into the curve of your ass. Your hands shoot out, gripping the edge of the counter just to stay upright.
“Daryl,” you warn.
He doesn’t answer. Just chuckles, warm and low, before muttering against your skin:
"One last time?"
You feel like an idiot believing his pretty little lies. He had pushed the edge of his shirt up, exposing your bare ass before lightly slapping it once—twice, three times.
"Fuck, can't believe this' all mine..." He sucked in a breath before squeezing your hips, simply admiring your ass. Before you could complain, he had pushed two fingers inside you. A soft whimper slips past your lips at the feeling of his fingers immediately being coated in slick.
"Ya really kept me inside you? Didn't even wash up?" He whispers, pumping his fingers softly as his cum from last night lubricates his digits. "Mmmm, that's so fuckin' hot."
You arch your back at him, throwing your head back onto his shoulder as your breathing turns labored, eyes tightly shut and hands squeezing the cold counter.
"Turn off the stove." He commands, you immediately follow his order before he's pulling you to the side, harshly pushing your torso down on the counter.
"Fuckin' love it when my bitch is obedient." A deaperate moan slips past your lips, feeling his fingers pumping faster and harsher inside you.
Early in the morning, before the clock even struck eight, you're already nearing a soul-shattering orgasm. What the hell is up with your boyfriend and why is he getting so insatiable?
Before you could jump over the edge, he pulls his fingers back, earning a needy whimper from you. You're met with a chuckle as your leg is being lifted up, knee resting on the counter.
You're left with no time to think about what comes next when Daryl pushes himself inside you, moans slipping past both your lips. Well—slipping from yours. Daryl grows like he's angry he even pulled out.
Hips squeezed and cunt fill of him, the both of you take a moment to just feel each other. Him with your warm, slick walls and you with his hard, thick, pulsing member. And then he moves, still tightly squeezing your hips. And then he moves again. And again. And again, and again—
Skin slapping fills the room as he grabs onto your shoulder, driving deeply inside and out of you. Daryl's grunts join the noise, until the both of you are moaning the walls down, desperately trying to claw at your orgasms.
"C'mon, baby. Fuck—c'mon," He breathes out, thrusts becoming more desperate, more erratic as he chases his own high. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you push yourself up, leaning against his chest as he bites and nips on your neck, for sure leaving marks.
"Oh yes, fuck yes!" His moans come from his chest, deep and rumbling. His hips shake as he bottoms out inside you, digging his nails onto your hips, finish his load. The simple act of him giving you a creampie has you reaching your own high, walls clamping down on his throbbing member.
"Fuck, yer' squeezin' me too well babydoll..." He pants, thrusting inside you laborously one last time before pulling out, letting his load drip down your thighs.
"Fuck yeah." He slaps yout ass before kneeling down to press a kiss on it. "Come on, let's get you fed."
You glare at him, buy his stupid flushed face makes you break character, a smile slowly stretching across your face.
By 10 a.m., you’re in the storage room, crouched beside the weapons locker with a clipboard in one hand and a pencil tucked behind your ear—just like Michonne asked. You’re doing inventory: logging the number of guns, the different models, their calibers, matching them with the right ammo, and counting every last knife, machete, and crossbow bolt in the room.
It’s your favorite task.
Mostly because it’s quiet. No chatter, no drama, no one breathing down your neck. Just you, the scent of gun oil, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. You take your time with it, relishing the rare peace Alexandria offers these days.
Which is exactly why, when the door creaks open behind you, your shoulders stiffen in annoyance.
“Who is it and what do you want?” you call out sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation.
“’S me.”
That voice. Your lips curve into a smile before you even see him.
Daryl steps around the corner, eyes already on you, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s about to do. “And I want you.”
“Babe,” you giggle, not even trying to sound scolding, “I’m busy.”
That doesn’t stop him. He takes three long strides across the room and wraps himself around you from behind, pressing hot kisses along the side of your neck. His hands settle low on your waist, pulling your back tight against him, his breath warm at your ear.
“I oughta hit ya in the head for leavin’ all them marks on me,” he mutters, nuzzling into your skin. “Carol saw ’em.”
You tilt your head to the side anyway, offering more of your neck to his mouth because you’re hopeless. His lips graze your pulse, followed by a bite that makes your knees weaken just a little.
“One more,” he breathes, already palming you through your pants, fingers moving with intent. Desperation radiates off him, thick and unmistakable. You know it’s stupid—dangerous even. This room has one door. No lock. Anyone could walk in.
But Daryl smells like sun, and leather, and sweat, and something feral. His breath is ragged, and his hips are already grinding against your ass like he doesn’t have it in him to wait another minute.
“You said that exact same thing less than three hours ago,” you moan, smirking as you glance over your shoulder. “You lyin’ to me, Dixon?”
He looks you dead in the eye, voice low and rough. “Ain’t that I like doin’ it, sweetheart. But it sure as hell ain’t simple keepin’ my hands off ya.”
You narrow your eyes at him, biting back a grin. You fully turn to face him, crossing your arms—but it doesn’t help. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever craved.
“Less than twenty-four hours ago,” you remind him, “you told me you were a virgin. And now you’re actin’ like you’re in heat.”
Daryl chuckles, low and throaty. “Pardon my language, sweetie, but any man in his right goddamn mind would have a real hard time keepin’ his hands off ya once he’s had a taste of this,” he mutters, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip. “And this.”
His hand cups you between the legs again, firmer this time. You suck in a breath, hands already finding their way to his neck, tangling into his messy hair at the nape.
“I have a busy day today,” you whisper, even as your fingers fumble to undo your belt. “So let’s make this fast.”
Both sets of hands are shaking and impatient as the both of you help strip each other, the redneck clearing the table of the knives as he sets you on top of the cold aluminum.
"You're picking them all up." You pant before pulling him into a deep kiss, letting his tongue guide yours in a dance of dominance and passion. He sucks harshly on your lips as he pulls your shirt off of you, fumbling multiple times with your bra before he's pulling it off of you too.
Once the cups touch the ground, his lips travel downwards, taking his time with each areola as his hands busy themselves with pulling your pants off. Once naked, you're undoing his belt and jeans, slipping your hand inside his pants, giving him teasing pumps.
"Yer touch's too perfect, doll." He breathes out, pushing his pants down, petting them pool at his ankles.
"If Rick finds out about this—"
"He'll gimme a high five at most." He looks dead into your eyes as he strokes himself slowly, "Rick shouldn't give a fuck how I get my dick wet. Why're you so concerned with him anyways? Got a thing for him? Hmm?"
You roll your eyes at his words, pulling him closer as you lay on the cold table. "You gonna keep being a jealous dick or are you gonna ruin me for the next man?"
You see how his feature steel at your joke, his eyes hardening, jaw clenching, and corners of his mouth pulled slightly downwards in disapproval. His fingers find their way on your neck, squeezing lightly.
"'M gonna make ya regret that, little girl." Was all he said before he pushes himself inside you, the table scraping on the floors as you arch your back towards him.
Daryl's arm snakes around your waist, pilling you closer as his hips snap with unrelenting force. His thrusts are deep and punishing, your cunt squeezing him greedily as he uses you for his own pleasure.
Your moans bounce of the walls as your boyfriend's grunts fill your head, keeping it high and light as you focus on your nearing orgasm. Daryl's drive to pleasure you before himself is the biggest turn on ever. Last night, he refused to give you a break.
He ate you out until your legs shook, fucked you until you left scratches red and bleeding across his back, and fingered you until you had ti push him away, eyes teary and heartbeat in your head.
Even then, he gave you a maximum of thirty seconds before he begged to fuck you again. And you let him. Cause he looked so good when he begged. Too good.
Daryl's hands move from your hips, down to your thighs, pulling them apart to give himself more room in between them.
"Yer little cunt's heaven, sweetheart." He moans, craning his head back.
You love seeing him like this—using you for his own personal pleasure, greedily taking from you. And you can't help but give anything and everything to him. Can't help but let him take from you.
His teeth on your nipple pushes you out of your own world, the pain electrifying. Pleasure zips up your spine and you can't help but push your breasts into his face, rocking your hips, grinding onto him.
"Fuck 'm close." He hisses, one hand grabbing onto the table. Grabbing at it—why? You have no idea, but looking down at his hand, you're thankful he's squeezing the table instead of you. His veins are prominent, obvious he's holding himself back.
"Come in me." Your little whisper is all it takes for him to blow his load inside you. He doubles over on you, gasping pathetically in your ear, fingers flicking at the sensitive nub of nerves in between your legs.
It doesn't take long before you're pushing him off of you, thighs squeezing together as your cunt grips and throbs around him, forcing another orgasm out of him.
"Fuck!" He groans, filling you up a second time, his thrusts slowing down as he comes down from his high. Daryl rests his forehead on your collarbone, breathing heavy and nape starting to sweat before he slowly gets off of you.
He pulls out, thumb parting your lips and seeing his load slowly drip out of you before he pulls your underwear back up.
"Daryl—" You start, watching him pick up your fallen clothes and slowly put them back on you. First your underwear, then your pants, then your shirt. "Daryl I gotta clean up—"
He ignores you, buttoning-up your pants before he starts with your belt. You place a hand on his, stopping him. "Daryl." He finally looks up at you. "I have too much to do today."
He holds your gaze, tilting his head to the side as he tightens your belt. "Then get back to work." He mutters before pulling you off the table and on your feet, pressing a deep kiss on your lips before he pulls away. Without another word, he bends over to pick up his shirt before walking out the storage room, as if he hadnmt just rocked my shit in under ten minutes.
By lunch time, you and Daryl are in the confines of your own home, and he's eating his favorite thing your mother made.
You.
Back arching, fingers digging into your living room coffee table, and noises you're sure are prominent outside. He's lapping up at you like a man starved, unable to quit you.
"Fuck, fuck!" You whine, hands flying onto his full head of hair. You tug and squeeze and pull at him, wanting him closer but needing him to stop.
Your legs are shaking, your back incredibly wet and your cunt sensitive from the overstimulation. Tears wet your face as nonsense and babbling leave your lips.
"No, no, no more!" You beg, pushing him off of upu but the second he stops licking to start sucking, you're pulling him closer to chase after your own pleasure. "God, yes! Yes!" You scream, grinding your cunt all over his face.
He sticks his tongue out, flat, as he moves his head from side to side before he resumes making out with your sensitive cunt. The second he begins to suck once more, your orgasm rolls over you, like a tidal wave taking over your body.
You open your mouth to moan but no sound comes out as the orgasm washes over your body again and again, leaving you euphoric and light-headed.
The second the feeling subsides, Daryl leaves wet kisses on your inner thighs before he stands up, helping you put on your clothes.
"Dare—" You gasp, "You know I'm not an actual meal, right?" You're lightheaded and probably don't understand half the things that left your mouth.
"Yeah, you ain't makin' sense right now." He wraps his arms around you, picking you up.
He brings you up to your bed room, laying you gently before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. "Get some rest, doll." Is the last thing you hear before darkness takes over you.
You’re jolted awake by sharp, insistent pounding on your front door.
It’s not the kind of knock you can ignore—the kind that demands your attention, frantic and full of panic. Your heart immediately kicks into overdrive. You sit up, blinking sleep out of your eyes, instincts taking over before your brain can catch up.
You glance out your bedroom window. The streets of Alexandria are quiet. Too quiet. No walkers. No screaming. No fires. No reason, at least on the surface, for someone to be knocking like the world’s ending—again.
Still, your gut twists.
You grab the pistol from your dresser drawer, clicking the safety off with muscle memory. Barefoot and tense, you creep toward the front door, your heart hammering in your chest as you lift the gun and take a steadying breath.
Then—one swift move—you swing the door open, weapon raised and ready to shoot.
“Hey—oh shit!”
Glenn stumbles back, hands shooting up instinctively. You drop your aim with a shaky exhale, jaw clenching as the adrenaline crashes into your bloodstream.
“Jesus, Glenn,” you snap, lowering the gun to your side. “You tryin’ to get yourself shot? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I—I know, I’m sorry,” he says quickly, eyes wide, breath shallow. “But you need to come with me. Now.”
You stare at him for a beat. “What time even is it?”
“Two a.m. But listen—” he swallows hard— “I think it’s about Daryl.”
Your stomach drops like a stone. Your mouth suddenly feels dry.
“What happened to him?” you demand, voice sharper than the edge of your blade.
Glenn raises his hands again, trying to keep you grounded. “He’s fine. Carol’s with him, she’s patching him up but—”
You don’t wait to hear the rest. You slam your gun against Glenn’s chest, gripping his shirt with your free hand, rage and fear boiling up all at once.
“Where is he?”
Glenn doesn’t argue. He just nods toward the clinic and turns on his heel.
You follow him like a storm, armed and ready to burn down the whole damn town if it means finding Daryl. When you reach the clinic, you’re barely restrained—you shove past staff, weapon drawn, demanding answers from every nurse and doctor who crosses your path.
They take one look at your face and get out of your way.
You reach a door near the end of the hall and push it open hard enough to rattle it on its hinges.
Rick and Carol are inside, both standing beside the bed like sentinels. And on that bed—
Your heart cracks.
Daryl’s lying there, bloodied and pale, eyes half-lidded, chest rising in slow, heavy breaths. His shirt is gone, his torso wrapped in thick bandages. There’s dried blood on his skin and fresh gauze on his shoulder.
“What the hell happened?” you demand, voice shaking as your eyes snap to Rick.
He runs a hand over his beard and sighs like it’s nothing. Like Daryl being shot is just another Tuesday. “He went out with a crew. Emergency at the south wall. Some teenagers—new ones—thought he was a walker. Took the shot before anyone could stop ’em.”
Your fingers curl into fists, white-hot rage pouring into your bloodstream. You start looking around the room, eyes wild, looking for someone to blame. Someone to bleed. You don’t know who these “kids” are, but if you find them—
“Who—”
“Sweetheart…”
His voice stops you cold.
You turn toward him. His voice is weak and low, rougher than usual, but it’s him. Still him. Still breathing. Still yours.
You rush to his side, dropping your gun on the floor without a second thought. Your hands cradle his face gently, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as your eyes search every inch of him. He looks rough—too pale, too still—but he’s alive.
Your voice cracks. “Jesus, baby…”
He just grunts, smirking the tiniest bit. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle, darlin’…”
You look down at his shoulder, eyes drawn to the blood seeping through the gauze. Carol’s voice cuts through the haze beside you.
“It was a shallow hit,” she explains, voice calm. “Bullet went clean through, but he lost more blood than we liked. They took too long getting back.”
You hear her—but you don’t really listen. Not anymore.
You press a soft kiss to Daryl’s forehead, breathing him in. He’s clammy and warm and smells like antiseptic and blood and sweat, but he’s here.
“I’m fine,” he mutters again, eyes slipping shut for a moment.
You don’t move. You don’t look away. Your fingers gently run through his messy hair, brushing it away from his face.
Then you speak, soft but firm: “Everyone out.”
No yelling. No snapping. Just enough command in your tone to let them know you’re not asking.
Carol gives Rick a look, and the two of them quietly exit without another word. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone with him.
You keep stroking his hair, heart slowly beginning to calm now that the adrenaline is fading.
“I hate seein’ you like this,” you whisper. “Hate it.”
He opens his eyes again, looking up at you with that sleepy, stubborn gaze. “Didn’t mean to scare ya…”
“You didn’t scare me,” you lie, smiling faintly through your tears. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Daryl chuckles weakly, one corner of his mouth curling. “Guess I owe ya flowers or somethin’, huh?”
You lean down, kiss his cheek. “Flowers and breakfast. And you’re not going on another run without me, I swear to God.”
“Deal,” he mutters.
He shifts slightly, groaning at the pain, but his hand finds yours under the blanket—big, warm, calloused fingers squeezing yours like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he’s the one needing reassurance now.
You lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes.
“You scared the shit out of me,” you whisper again.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I’m right here, baby.”
You rest your head gently on his chest, mindful of every breath he takes. The steady rise and fall under your cheek is reassuring, but you’re still afraid of hurting him. Your fingers trace slow, featherlight circles along his uninjured arm, your touch soft and careful.
“How can I help?” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes.
He smirks the second your eyes meet his.
“Well, uhh…” he drawls, the sound lazy and familiar. His hand drifts from your shoulder, down the length of your arm, until his fingers wrap loosely around your wrist. Slowly, deliberately, he guides your hand from his chest, down his torso—his eyes sparkling with mischief the whole way.
You shoot him a look as he settles your hand over the very obvious hardness beneath his pants. “Seriously? Daryl, you’re injured.”
He shrugs with his good shoulder, completely unbothered. “Ain’t like I gotta move much.”
You hold his gaze, deadpan. He just grins at you, that smug, teasing glint never leaving his eyes. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Like he always does.
You glance back at the bandages on his shoulder, sighing in disbelief.
“What is going on with you?” you mutter, more to yourself than him. “Ever since the other night, it’s like you forgot how to not touch me.”
He hums, thumb brushing over your cheek.
“Have you seen yourself, sweetheart?” he murmurs. “Prettiest damn girl in the world.”
And just like that—he’s in your head again.
Daryl Dixon, with a bloody bullet wound and a busted shoulder, somehow still manages to make your knees weak without even standing. He looks at you with that quiet hunger, that low-burning intensity like you’re the only thing worth worshipping in this godforsaken world.
You look into his eyes, and there’s so much want in them—so much raw, aching need—you can feel your resolve cracking by the second.
God help you.
He knows how to get into your head.
He also knows exactly how to get into your pants.
You sigh, dramatic and defeated, but your fingers are already moving. Already working on the buckle of his belt. Already sliding down the zipper.
How bad would it really be to fuck a patient, anyway?
Because with the way Daryl’s watching you right now, like you hung the moon and lit it on fire—you’re already pulling his pants down.
Daryl's cock is already standing in attention by the time his jeans are pooling at his knees. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight of his curved member, tip oozing with precum.
You begin with a soft kiss on the tip, tasting his salty drippings. Then your tongue darts out, lapping at his member, tracing his veins, pushing at his tip. Your lips suck on his sides, bobbing your head up and down before settling on his balls, taking one in your mouth, sucking before taking the other one on your tongue. Upu suck softly, batting your lashes up at him as he groans, breathing labored.
"Fuck—just fuckin' fuck me, woman!" Daryl groans out, head falling back onto the pillow. You quickly get on your knees, crawling up at him before undoing your jeans and pulling them off. You stop right where his cock meets your clothed folds.
"C'mon, sweetheart. Don't tease me like this..." He breathes, his good hand squeezing your thigh. You pull your panties to the side, exposing your soaked cunt. "Lemme feel that sweet cunt, c'mon... 'Ve had the worst night, help me turn my mood around, yeah?"
His desperately pathetic smile has your hips moving on their own, lowering until his member is pushing inside you, filling you up. You throw your head back, closing your eyes as you completely bottom out, taking all eight inches of him.
Daryl whimpers and curses under his breath, smiling at my expression. You raise yourself before quickly lowering yourself back down, drawing out a pained expression from him.
"Yeah? You like that?" You pant, riding him while you take your shirt off. Your fingers make quick work of undoing your bra, throwing it on the floor.
"God, I love watchin' yer tits bounce." He grits in between his teeth, taking a handful, squeezing it. Moans slip past the back of your throat, your thighs and hips moving faster and faster. The hospital bed creaks under the pressure of two people, scraping against the tiled floor.
"Fuck yeah, ride that cock sweetheart." Daryl's breathing is laborous as he nears his peak, gaze stuck on your breasts as you bounce on him.
You change your angle, leaning forward as you wrap a hand around his neck. Your hips snap back and forth quickly, heavy breathing filling the air as you chase after your orgasm.
"Oh God, oh God!" You chant, right at the edge. And by the way Daryl is gripping you, you can tell he's right there with you as well. But something's missing. Something to make your orgasms...better.
"Dare, the doc said to- what the fuck." Rick drops the many pills he was holding, eyes on the both of you.
Everything happens in slow motion for you. The moment Rick's eyes fall on both you and Daryl, the way Daryl turned to him—his eyes widening, and the way your orgasm just explodes. Your cunt greedily clamps down on Daryl and the man, God bless him, looks at you with curiosity for a moment before joing your orgasm. He spills his seed empty inside you as you slowly rock your hips back and forth, riding out your high.
"I–I'll just..." Rick starts, backing up. He doesn't even bother picking up the fallen medicine. He doesn't say anything else and instead exits the room, leaving you with Daryl panting heavily underneath you.
You turn to your boyfriend who already has his eyes on you. Your eyes widen, basically seeing the wheels turn in his head.
Daryl narrows his eyes at you, thumb moving back and forth on your hip. "Wanna talk about what the hell that was?"
You part your lips, ready to say something—anything, but you're left with silence. You have no idea what to say to him, you have no idea how to say it. Daryl comes to uour rescue, sitting up and pulling you close by your nape. He presses your lips together, kiss filled with such warmth and love.
He pulls away, looking into your eyes, down to your lips, before looking back up into your orbs. "Let's talk to him first, hm? See what he thinks about it."
Your cheeks and ears burn, but you don't try denying it. You simply nod, wrapping your arms around his waist, trailing kisses up and down his neck.
"You know, I've been thinking..." You start, "I feel like I've ruined you."
Daryl gives you a side eye, raising a questioning brow at you.
"Well, I just—I just thought that...you were never this..." You swallow thickly, unsure if you have to watch your mouth with him. "...horny." You force out, "Before we had sex. Did—did taking your virginity...change anything?"
Daryl stares at you for a moment before chuckling, pressing a kiss on the corner of your mouth.
"Let me tell you this, instead..." He starts, your shoulders tensing with anticipation. "Ever since we saved your ass in that highway, my hand's been working overtime."
Your eyes widen at his confession, heat pooling once again in your lower belly. "Really?" You ask, curiousity piqued.
Daryl smiles, nodding his head passively.
"Can I..." You start, licking on your lips, "Can I watch?"
Daryl's smile is wiped from his face, lips parted and features cool. He looks down at your hips slowly rocking, your cunt grinding on his thigh. He looks up at you, smug, before his hand wraps around his hardening cock.
it was no surprise when daryl avoided you after your last interaction. what a blow to the ego, being humiliated like that. but fuck, neither one of you could stop thinking about it.
the way he melted in your hand, the pathetic whines escaping his lips—they haunted your brain like a demon in your ear. and daryl? boy, was he fucked. the man couldn’t shut his eyes without picturing your snide grin, that cheeky fuckin’ face. couldn’t get himself off without longing for your hand. shit, when did i get so weak? he thought.
naturally, the next time you two spoke was awkward. a community campfire, though somber and bittersweet, was a nice change from fighting, eating, sleeping, repeat. despite the fact that either of you could’ve gotten up, sat somewhere else, you both chose to side eye each other like middle school enemies.
the group went off on tangents, old stories from before the fall. chuckles, even a few bouts of real, raw laughter escaped them. the booze helped, of course, but for once, everyone was calm. it almost felt normal.
“what about you, daryl?” rick finally asked, a sloppy smile on his face. “best memory of the old world. go.”
you snorted, causing daryl to shove you. a million ideas came to mind, ones that would no doubt stab daryl’s ego. he eyed you suspiciously, before waving his hand.
“nah, ain’t got nothin’ y’ain’t heard before,” he muttered.
“oh, come on, daryl,” carol nudged him. “don’t be a wuss. share a damn story.”
you smirked, watching him flounder. of course, on the outside, he just looked spaced out, lost in thought. but oh, you knew. he wasn’t one for fond memories, or old tales of his past.
“bet i know what ‘is favorite pastime was,” you mumbled, eliciting a couple snickers.
“ah, yeah? go on, ‘en. say it,” daryl growled back, voice slightly slurred. “since you seem t’know so much ‘bout me.”
you paused, wondering how mad he actually was. worth it, your brain replied. a big, sick grin painted your face, and you sucked in, waiting to say it. “jackin—“
daryl didn’t let you finish, grabbing you by the collar and dragging you along the dirt. “yeah, we’ll see jus’ how much you know ‘fore sunrise,” he snapped.
rick hollered something at daryl, but it was ignored. the group glanced around as daryl yanked you along the ground, wondering if this was the time to step in. “leave ‘em,” carol scoffed.
“umph,” your back hit the ground as daryl dropped you onto the yellowing grass. “jesus, man, whiskey don’ fuck around with you, ah?”
“y’wanna make a fuckin’ fool’a me?” daryl grunted, towering over you with glazed eyes. “you think you know me?”
your shit-eating grin dropped slightly, your confidence waning as his anger seemed more and more dangerous. “not like i’s gonna actually blow your cover,” you snorted, hiding your nerves. “can’t have big man rick thinkin’ you’re a softy, now can we?”
“shut up,” daryl snarled, hit boot stomping dangerously close to your thigh. “jus’ shut the hell up. you dunno nothin’.”
“i know that you absolutely fell apart with my hand around your cock,” you replied, unable to help being snarky.
the wind blew some leaves up from the dirt, an unsettling chill running through the air. daryl huffed, before slowly crouching down to be eye level with you. he didn’t speak for a moment, his heavy glare boring holes into your skull.
“you made me beg once,” he finally grumbled, voice low and dark. “don’ make me a bitch.”
your eyes went wide, unsure of where his head was at. you couldn’t gauge his next move, and that alone made you hesitant to give a mocking comeback. instead, you shook your head. “never called you a bitch,” you said, voice much smaller.
his brow went up, as if searching your features for deceit. he found none. “don’t have to,” daryl replied, calmer that time.
his hand came up, stroking your cheek gently, carefully. his eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the icy blue of his gaze.
“you’re easy to make fun of,” you smirked, voice breathless.
daryl chuckled at that. he supposed he was a bit of a hot head. leaning in, his breath was hot against yours, stare becoming more intimidating. you shuffled back until you were propped on a large rock. the angles cut into your back, but you ignored it.
daryl bit back a smirk, sensing your discomfort. he wondered if you were nervous, scared, aroused. “go on, then,” he jerked his chin at you. “say what you wanna say.”
you didn’t move. didn’t breathe. you said nothing. he raised a brow.
“…i liked it,” you admitted.
daryl scoffed. like that was news to him. his hand shot out, holding your throat. gentle, not squeezing, just holding you still. “you’re a freak,” he muttered.
“you liked it,” you spat back, a dusty pink blotching your cheeks.
“says who?”
“the cum in the dirt,” you smirked.
he snapped. maybe it was the booze on his breath, your incessant taunting, or his underlying attraction to you. maybe all three. but daryl kissed you, teeth and tongue, not gentle or sweet.
“fuckin’ bitch,” he grumbled against your mouth, biting your bottom lip and tugging.
you choked back a whine, hips jerking instinctively. “pussy,” you snapped back.
that’s how daryl ended up straddling you, hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back, claiming your neck. how his belt came unbuckled by your nimble hands, cock out with your familiar fingers wrapped around it.
“fuck,” daryl bit your shoulder, bucking into your strokes.
“see?” you smirked. “you like it.”
“i’ll kill ya,” he growled, hand gently squeezing your neck just to hear you squeak. “keep strokin’.”
your smile never faded. god, you were such a freak. daryl wouldn’t say it, sure, but he was finding himself just as enthralled as you.
“you act like—ack—no one’s ever made ya cum ‘fore,” you giggled, strained from daryl’s hand. “like a virgin.”
“shut up,” daryl snarled, panting heavy from your tight grip of his dick. “you talk too much.”
“prove me wrong,” you dared, pupils blown wide.
daryl’s hands pressed against the rock, just beside your head. he caught his breath as your hand devilishly slowed. you caught a glimpse of those canines, almost a smirk.
“yeah,” he nodded. “alright.”
and then your back was in the dirt.
his tongue trailed down your body, not even bothering to take off your shirt, just shoving it out of the way. he nipped your hips, making you squirm and loving it.
when daryl got to your abdomen, he undid your jeans with his teeth, yanking them down just enough to tease.
“fuck off,” you groaned, arching your back in need. “don’t tease.”
“no?” daryl grumbled. “you don’t think you deserve it?”
he went down on you first, sloppy and wet, like a cannibal devouring human flesh for the first time. he groaned and slurped—disgusting if not for how good it felt. your hands came down, tugging his hair desperately.
“holy shit, daryl, slow down—“
he paused, lips shiny and eyes glossy. “can’t take it?”
you whimpered, a small noise that escaped your lips without permission. “jus’…. fuck me?”
daryl tilted his head. got ‘em.
pants discarded onto the forest floor, he lined himself up, yanking your hips up to meet his. you stared wildly, wondering if he’d even fit.
for the first time, daryl paused. his expression turned gentle, and his hands hovered over your stomach. “you good with this?” he asked.
you didn’t hesitate, nodding yes.
“m’kay,” daryl mumbled, before he pressed the tip against your entrance. “gon’ go slow. don’t scream.”
“hah,” you let your head fall back. “please. jus’ tell me when it’s in.”
“right,” he rolled his eyes, pressing in.
one inch. two. three. you grit your teeth and sucked in. your nails dug into the dirt.
“good still?” he asked, eyebrow raised. “or can you not feel it?”
“fuck you,” you spat. “keep going.”
so he did. slowly, daryl pushed himself to the hilt, groaned as he let himself sit there. your breaths came heavy and uneven, getting used to the stretch. “jesus…” you breathed.
“go on,” he rasped. “tell me i got a tiny virgin dick.”
“shut up,” you whined. “move.”
daryl chuckled, slowly pulling out, the tip catching, before sliding back in with a grunt. “fuuuck, so tight,” he grumbled.
your voice got weaker as he gained rhythm. god, it was good and you couldn’t even deny it now.
“christ,” daryl shook his head, hand moving to cover your mouth. “keep quiet, idiot. ‘less you want an audience.”
but he kept going, picking up the pace. the way you clenched around him had daryl reeling, cock throbbing inside you.
you continued rambling under his palm, begging mindlessly. it was cute, how quickly you’d fallen apart. he smirked, leaning in close. “what’d i tell ya? got me to beg once, only fair i do the same t’you.”
then his hips snapped forward, sharp and purposeful. you squeaked under his hand, eyes wide.
“don’t scream,” he reminded you softly.
daryl was fucking you now. pounding, head nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he thrust in and out with fervor. boom, boom, boom, you were close, crying into his skin.
“don’t,” daryl growled. “gon’ draw ‘tention. gon’ make me cum quick if y’don’t shut it.”
“mmn’fair!” your moans muffled.
“nothin’s fair,” daryl grit, coming to a sharp halt. “jus’ wait… jus’ wait.”
you whined pathetically, body aching for release.
“you can wait,” daryl whispered sternly.
you shook your head, pouting with your eyes.
daryl scoffed, “i can keep goin’, but we’ll be done quicker.”
he finally let his hand fall from your mouth, hearing you gasp, admiring the sticky drool on your chin.
“don’ care,” you panted. “close, please.”
“what?” daryl leaned in, grinning darkly. “what’d you say?”
you groaned, grabbing his collar and pulling him against you. “i said please. wanna cum, damnit.”
daryl rumbled low in his throat, a pleased sound, before leaning back. “alright. where you want me?”
you paused, confused.
“stomach? face? ain’t stuffin’ ya. don’t like ya that much.”
“don’t care,” you whined.
“fine. dealer’s choice,” daryl shrugged, before grinding his cock in again.
your noises were too loud, though. he couldn’t let go without risking a hoard to come watch the show. so daryl flipped you over briskly, shoving your face in the dirt.
“smack me for air,” he growled, before forcing his way back inside you.
with your cries now muffled into the ground, the new angle had daryl struggling to keep quiet. so tight, so deep.
“fuck, you’re fuckin’ milkin’ me,” he grunted. “gonna cum soon, you better be close.”
he slammed home over and over, the slick sound of flesh on flesh echoing through the forest.
“breathe,” daryl snapped, yanking your head up by your hair to hear you wheezing. “gonna cum?”
“mhm,” you croaked. “please!”
“gonna give it to ya,” daryl spat between breaths. “gonna fuckin’ cum fer me, ah? do it. do it, fuckin’ cum—“
“daryl?!” a familiar voice rang through the forest.
do you ever look at a man and think i need you in the most disgusting, vile, pathetic, animalistic, disturbing, vulgar and morally questionable way possible
Daryl is definitely one of those people who gets the desperate ‘I want to go home’ feeling if he’s hurt, sick, or scared enough. It probably started when he was a kid curled up under his blanket with his eyes squeezed shut, listening to his dad kick the shit out of Merle or something. Just a stab somewhere deep in his gut that told him he wanted to go home even though he was already there. As he got older he got better at tamping it down, pretending it didn’t matter, but in his darkest moments he finds himself begging for home with tears burning the backs of his eyes. Poor thing is always searching for home, but has literally no idea what that’s supposed to feel like.
Daryl Dixon x F!Reader Smut: Teasing will get you Somewhere
Gif found on Pinterest unknown credit
Warnings/Mentions: Blue balls, Dark/Rough!Daryl, sexual teasing (Daryl receiving) rough sex, spitting, choking, manhandling, biting, blood blisters, spanking, bruising, it might smell like dubcon but it's not
Summary: Reader wants to see Daryl at his breaking point, teasing and depriving him of release until he gets there.
Notes: I loved writing this so much. While trying to think of a plot for dark!Daryl I remembered this idea/prompt someone had like 5 years ago where the reader teases a guy until he cracks and just goes crazy. I think it was a fanfiction, but I looked through my bookmarks and ao3 history and couldn't find anything like this so if you know what I'm talking about please let me know!!
All you wanted from the start was to see Daryl snap. He was such an aggressive loudmouthed man, but not in the way you wanted him to be.
He'd started flirting with you to appease Merle, the man who'd instantly noticed how you swooned around Daryl. The younger Dixon didn't believe him, of course, but he approached you to avoid the harsh blows of Merle calling him a ‘belly-up pussy’ along with more distasteful slurs.
His way of “flirting” was a lot like Merles at first. Offensive, inappropriate, you know the rest. You'd been patient enough to politely explain that you weren't like the type of women that would fuck Merle after he called them a 'sweet piece of Georgian ass', and he took the hint.
Daryl was shockingly sweet after that. He was less verbal after learning vulgar compliments weren't the way to go, but it turned out alright for you in the end. He began looking after you like you were his full responsibility. Making sure you were fed first, bringing home clothes specifically for you, along with any other treats he thought you might like.
It was great, aside from him never making a move on you. He gawked like you were an alien when you started dressing for his gaze, Bobby Brooks shorts, pretty tank tops, even shaving your legs once in a while. But he never made a move.
That simply wouldn't do.
It was late one night and you'd slipped into his tent.
“The hell you doin'?” He cursed, wiping the sleep from his eyes as you zipped up the flap behind you.
“Can't sleep, Carl won't stop coughing.”
You'd been sharing a tent with Lori and Carl ever since you arrived with T-Dog. It wasn't a complete lie, Carl was coughing up a storm, sick with some chest cold, but that wasn't the reason for your lack of sleep.
“I got some earplugs.” He sat up and began shifting through his bags.
“No, it's okay. Can I crash here tonight?” You asked innocently, kicking off your casual flip flops that you saved for night time piss breaks or trips to get water.
Daryl tried hiding his surprise . The stutter in his voice gave him away. “Uh, sure, I guess. S’long as ya dun snore.”
You behaved for an impressive amount of time. Lying in silence, not moving an inch, waiting for him to loosen up before quietly shifting backwards until your back was pressed up against his chest.
His heart felt seconds away from collapsing in on itself when he felt you. He'd popped a semi when you'd taken off that big T-shirt he'd given you, and now it was bordering on a full on erection.
You waited until you felt his body relax, which took longer than you originally estimated, and then wiggled your hips.
The reaction was immediate. He sucked in a breath through his nose and made this choking sound. He grabbed your hips, only for a split second before yanking his hands away like he'd been burned.
You wiggled again, pushing back until the feeling of the outline of his dick against your ass was ingrained into your memory.
It didn't take long to wear him down, not at all. He let out a strangled groan and rocked into you, his self restraint long since thrown out the window.
And then you stopped.
He nearly gasped at the loss of friction. The feeling was so devastating that it sobered him, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“Wha-” he panted. His fingers loosened their hold on your hips and twitched against the fabric of your pajama shorts. “Why'd ya stah- stop?”
“I'm sleepy.” You said plainly, pulling the thin sheet up to your shoulders in emphasis.
Daryl caught his breath behind you, struggling to make sense of it all through his confusion and disappointment. He grumbled something that sounded like it held an attitude, though sadly that was the extent of his protests.
You needed more. You needed him to tear your clothes off and ravish you like the animal you knew he was. The Daryl that feverishly humped you like his life depended on it was cute, but you needed the Daryl that he was in his daily life.
The only way you could think of was to force it out of him, even if it did torture the poor man in the process.
You kept up the innocent teasing for a while. You took a break after Merle went missing, you knew your limits and his. You weren't a total selfish piece of shit. Only when you arrived at the farm and he began talking to you again did you resume your game of “teasing Daryl until he cracks”.
“How's it look?” You gave a cheeky smile as you turned in a circle with your hands on your hips.
You'd put on the pair of green cargo shorts he'd found you. They weren't very practical, holding only four pockets, which was less than normal cargo shorts, but they were scandalous. The fabric hugged your ass tight enough to look damn near pornographic.
“Didn't realize they were that tiny. Christ.” Daryl muttered with pink cheeks. “Jus’ give ‘em ta Beth.
“Oh god. Can you imagine her face? That girl is still wearing pants in late summer. Her daddy would kill me.” You snorted and turned back to face him. “I'm keeping these bad boys. The fabric is soft. Wanna feel?”
“Already felt em when I took em.” Despite his words, he set down his knife to free up his hands.
“Give me your hand.”
The poor boy was so eager to feel you that he practically threw his hands in yours. When you placed his palms on the sides of your shorts he seemed to snap to life, dropping the nonchalant attitude to rub his thumbs over the fabric covering your hips and thighs.
You tried to keep the smug smirk off your face, and failed miserably. He was turning himself on just by touching the clothing that covered your pelvis.
Suddenly, you pulled away, feeling your heart lurch in your chest at the way his face dropped.
“Thanks again. I've been needing new shorts.”
“Yeah. Uh-huh. S'nothin.”
It went on like that for a while.
One night you climbed into his tent again with the ruse of being cold, and he didn't mention the fact it was a warm seventy degrees that night. You were wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and panties, and made sure to make Daryl aware of this when you slid your knee over his thigh.
Nothing happened that night either, nothing other than pretending to sleep while he palmed himself through his jeans.
Another time you put on those green cargo shorts and offered to tidy up his camp, an offer he was quick to accept just so he could watch you needlessly bend over to grab random objects to place somewhere else.
Once you even made out with him. Late at night in his tent, things got hot and heavy and you straddled him, wearing the same oversized T-shirt and panties, washed since then, of course.
He was nervous at first, you could tell by the way his hands trembled on their way up your sides. You kissed him slow and sweet, nothing too extreme, not until he pushed his hot tongue against your lips.
You let him in and groaned at the enthusiasm he showed. He kissed you like you were still teenagers, up in the loft of some barn hiding away from Daddy.
“Shit.” He panted against your lips. He moved his hands down to your waist and pulled you down hard, groaning when he got that first taste of friction he so desperately craved.
“Slow down.” You breathed. Your body betrayed your words, your hips rolling down gentle and slow, just enough to feel the outline of his aching cock through your clothing.
“Why?” He muttered before pressing another kiss against your lips. “Wha's stoppin’ ya? I got condoms. Glenn's got the pill. S'fine.”
You pulled up and away from his lips. He looked so pretty beneath you all desperate like that. It still wasn't what you wanted.
“I don't know, Daryl-” Your voice choked into a whine when he moved under you, the friction momentarily rendering you speechless.
“Can't ya feel what yer doin’ to me? Huh?” He snapped his hips again, forcing out another whine. “S’all for you. C'mon now.”
“Not here Daryl.” You tried to keep your voice level and firm. “Not in some tent where we have to be quick and quiet.”
“Le’s go somewhere then. Anywhere ya want, don't care. Tell me. I'll take ya.”
Truthfully, that almost made you give in. But it still wasn't the Daryl you wanted to experience. He was desperate, but not desperate enough.
“Not tonight, Daryl. It's too late and Shane's on watch. He'll have my ass if he catches us sneaking out.”
Daryl growled in frustration, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. “Won't get caught.”
“Yeah, sure. Let's just wait another night.” You pressed a kiss against his cheek, innocent enough, contrasting painfully with the way you ground down against him one last time before sliding off.
Part of you started doubting your plan. Daryl was too reluctant, too full of self doubt, too terrified at the aspect of losing whatever fun thing you had going on by pushing your limits. Even though you had no problem pushing his.
His patience amazed you. Any other man would've thrown you to the side after the first few times, or ignored your “wishes” and dove right in. He didn't know that's what you wanted. You couldn't blame him.
How could you tell someone like Daryl “I want you to fuck me with enough desire and aggression to give a nun a heart attack”? He'd been too gentle during foreplay, too submissive, you were beginning to think he was a virgin.
Maggie gave you a dress. You didn't know who it once belonged to, her or her sister, but it was one of the cutest things you'd ever laid eyes on. A pretty moss green that went right below your knees, laces up your stomach the same color as the dress, and thankfully, no sleeves.
The domestic look had Daryl in shambles. You looked like a farm wife from a damn magazine, it took everything he had in him not to fuck you behind the barn like he wanted.
He took you out that day. On a ‘food supply run’, as he called it. You weren't anyone's first pick for runs, which you understood, you were easily distracted. It was your biggest fault.
So when he asked you specifically, and you alone, you were barely able to contain your excitement.
The first place you stopped by was an old farmers corner store to pick up enough food so you didn't come back empty handed. A few canned goods, stale snacks and three cans of soda.
He left that in the back of the truck when the two of you stopped by a house. A very nice house, to your surprise.
“Can't believe this place hasn't been trashed.” You commented while rummaging through the kitchen. “No more food, but there's some lighter fluid.”
“Hm.” Daryl grunted. After securing the front door he found you still in the kitchen, chewing on a mouthful of gum.
You'd shoved about three long sticks in your mouth. “Want some?”
He eyed the gum wrapped in silver paper before taking it from your outstretched hand with a gruff thanks.
It was hard to focus on, his heart felt like it was in his throat, it was hard to swallow, and his jaw ached from his aggressive chewing. He'd done everything you wanted, got birth control; condoms and plan B. He found this nice house that same morning, almost immediately after seeing you walk outside in that dress. He even cleaned up the master bedroom for you, dusting off the sheets and beating the pillows, opening the windows to air out the room.
There was no way you could wave him off now.
Oh, but you found a way. It was a talent that needed to be fucking studied.
You were digging through the dresser in the upstairs bedroom when he approached you. You ignored the sound of the door shutting and locking behind him, pretending to be very interested in the contents of the bottom drawer.
His hands found your sides. Your skin tingled as he pulled you to your feet and pressed you against the dresser with his palm on your lower back.
He went to kissing the back of your neck. His lips were light and soft, contrasting the anxiety bubbling in his gut.
“Hmm.” You hummed. He brushed your hair over your right shoulder and went back to kissing your neck, peppering them all the way to the point of your left shoulder.
“Missed ya'.” He muttered, pushing his hips forward to drive home his point.
You tried not to laugh with pity at the feeling. He was already hard? Poor thing.
“We're supposed to be looking for food.” You chided playfully. You shifted your ass and earned a low grunt of appreciation for the friction.
“Then why’re ya in the bedroom?” He challenged. When you didn't respond he smirked against the skin on your neck.
His hands didn't wait for permission. He bent his knees so he could grab the bottom of your dress, gathering it in his fists and pulling it up and over your ass. He sighed at the sight, you were wearing the type of panties he'd only ever seen on a clothing rack or behind a screen. Black soft fabric, tight and with lace around the hem, hugging your curves just right.
“Daryl, come on.” You chuckled, but made no attempt to move. “They're gonna wonder where we went.”
He laughed, the sound dry and humorless. “Don't give a shit. They'll survive.”
“And what is it you wanna do so bad that's more important than feeding our people, huh?” You mused, placing your palms on the dresser he was pushing you harder up against.
“Ain't my people.” He quipped and ground into you, dying to make you feel how desperate he was for you.
You choked back a moan. “You didn't answer my question.”
“Want ya. Right here.”
“Want me to what?”
Daryl sighed and released his hold on your dress to grip your waist. “Wanna fuck ya nice an’ good. Make y’feel what y’been missin’.”
You groaned. Your grip on the dresser turned white-knuckled as he pushed against you again.
“Yeah?” Your breath trembled past your open lips. “What else?”
Daryl pressed himself closer, until his mouth was right at your ear. “Wanna feel what ya’ been keepin’ from me. Taste ya'. Shove my dick in that pretty lil’ mouth n’make ya sorry.”
His words had an obvious effect on you. Your knees trembled and your breathing was louder, more shallow.
But he still hadn't cracked.
The curiosity was eating you alive. You couldn't give in now, not when he was so fucking close. You turned to face him and gave a ghost of a smile, trying your best to look sympathetic.
“Maybe some other time.”
His eyes widened and his eyebrows scrunched tightly together. His nostrils flared as his pupils darted over your face, looking frantically for the slightest sign telling him it was a joke. He looked hurt, confused, like you just slapped him in the face and called him a slur.
There it is.
“You-” he choked out, “Y’aint serious?”
You forced a nod.
“Why?” The way he raised his voice sent a bolt of pleasure through your core, and you had to fight back a whimper. “Got everythin’ ya needed. Went through the trouble’a findin’ this place, ain't gotta be quiet, ain't gotta worry ‘bout walkers or someone hearin’, the hell else you want from me woman?”
You couldn't stop yourself from whimpering. You bit your bottom lip and tried to steady your breathing, but when you stole a glance at his face and saw the expression held there your lungs shifted into overdrive.
He looked so fed up.
“What are you gonna do about it?” You whispered.
Daryl sneered in contempt. “The hell can I do ‘bout it? Not gonna beg.”
You swallowed hard. You slowly shook your head, your chest rising and falling dramatically, your body still trapped between his arms, his hands on the dresser behind you.
“Don't want you to beg.”
You pressed a hand between his legs and he let out a strangled groan, his elbows swaying as they threatened to give out. You flexed your fingers to massage his length, and pulled away.
His eyes shot open and just as quick his hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back to his bulge and nearly breaking your fingers in the process of shoving them down the waistband of his jeans.
After unbuckling his belt he was able to cram your hand down deeper, forcing you to feel him.
You gasped when your fingertips made contact. You didn't know a dick could get that hard. It felt just as firm as any other extremity.
“Daryl.” You let out a long sigh as you gave a half assed attempt to pull your hand out. His grip on your wrist tightened.
“Hmm?” The teasing tone of his hum made your clit throb.
“We can't-” You didn't get to finish your sentence before he scoffed and picked you up. Like actually picked you up in his arms, bridal style. He threw you on the plush bed where you bounced a few times, and dove into you.
“S’enough.” He muttered. He pulled your dress up over your waist and looped his fingers through the sides of your panties. You thought he'd hesitate, take a look at the expression on your face and back off, but he didn't. He tugged them down your legs and tossed them off the bed in a random location.
“Ain't some pussy ya’ got on a leash.” His fingers snaked between your legs, beelining for your cunt. He groaned in surprise, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. You were beyond wet at this point, his aggression had your folds like a slip n slide with lube instead of water.
You bit back a moan. His fingers spread your folds, smearing your wetness around, his thumb pressing down against your clit.
“Fuck!” You gasped. Your hips instinctively shifted to the side from the overwhelming sensation, but a firm grip on your waist quickly snatched you back.
“Think y'can do whatever the hell ya’ want, and I'll jus’ sit back an’ let ya’?” He didn't give you time to answer. He pushed a finger inside you, and both of you hissed at the feeling. “Ffuck. Shit ain't like that no more, princess.”
Any other time you would've snapped at the insult, but his finger digging around inside you had your mind blank.
“Wha’s wrong? Huh?” He twisted his finger and you cried out. His voice was sickly sweet, something that should've pissed you off but only fueled your arousal. “Got nothin' to say?” His finger curled, a movement that held no thought behind it, though the way you gasped and arched your back had him repeating the action.
Then he started mocking you. “Oh no, not now, it's not right, I'm not ready!” He scoffed in disgust. “Like ya’ a lot better when ya’aint speakin’.”
Oh, god. You should be fuming. You should be spitting venom right back at him, but this is everything you'd wanted from him. It was all going according to plan.
Maybe he knew that, or maybe he didn't. Either way he was behaving just as you'd imagined countless times, rough, mean, cruel and demanding.
“C'mon, try a little bit.” He growled after leaning down to bite at your open neck. “Go on. Tell me it ain't the time. Tell me.”
You were nothing but a puddle under him. Your hands became too restless and reached up to grab at him, balling your fists in the back of his shirt.
Never in your life had a man treated you like this. No matter how bad you teased and gave subliminal signals. They would either indulge in your teasing, respect your wishes and back off when told to, or kiss and plead until you relented.
Finally someone was fucking you like you had always wanted. Or, they were about to.
The knuckle of his thumb had been digging into your clit for a good minute now, and despite how uncomfortable it could feel at times, you came quickly.
You sucked in a sharp gasp and locked your legs around his waist, trying to pull his finger in deeper, or make his knuckle grind harder.
Daryl groaned into your neck as you came around his finger. His hips jerked forward and bumped against his hand between your thighs, knocking his digit in deeper. You yelped, not expecting such a sharp sensation during your warm and soft climax.
He withdrew his finger and you whined.
“Sh-sh-sh.” You didn't think a hush could sound so condescending. “Got somethin' better. Gonna make you regret not takin’ it sooner.”
You said it before you could stop yourself. “You don't have it in you.”
His eyes flicked up to your face as he pulled his zipper down, a look on his face that sent chills across your bare legs.
There was slight amusement, slight relief, as if someone finally gave him permission to show off and prove himself. Lips parted into a breathy smirk, tongue peeking between his teeth, and one eyebrow raised.
Your eyes dropped to his pants when he pulled his cock free. It looked just as you imagined when you'd touched it only minutes ago, standing at full attention against his lower stomach.
You let out a sigh when you saw it reached his navel.
Daryl leaned down until he was level with your pussy. You heard it before you felt it, the sound of him spitting, and then warm drool dropping right on your sensitive clit.
You squealed in protest, trying to raise yourself on your elbows, but he stopped you with a hand on your chest. With his free hand he smeared his spit over your already soaking folds, even going as far as to push some inside you with his finger.
“Ew!” You gasped.
You felt a tingle. Subtle at first, you just assumed it was the salinity of his saliva, and then more prominent. You were close to panicking until you saw the wad of white gum shoot out of his mouth, landing with a smack against the hardwood floor.
At least you knew the source of the tingling. You swallowed your own gum, the same way you'd completely forgotten about.
The skin around your cunt buzzed when he slapped the tip of his dick on your clit, and you squirmed beneath him. He steadied you with the same hand on your chest.
“Wait.” You inhaled deeply. He didn't wait though, he just pushed into your clenched hole, ignoring your whines.
“Ssss-shut up.” His voice trembled. He used his free hand to wrap around the base of his dick, holding it straight as he slowly pushed in further.
“Y-you said you had condoms.”
Daryl let out a loud groan as he sank into you. His right hand on your chest increased in pressure as more and more of his upper body weight bore down on it, forcing the air from your lungs.
He was so thick, and it had been years for you. The burn was incredible, in such a pleasurable way that you should've felt ashamed to enjoy. You tried to moan, but nothing came out aside from a strained breath.
“Ain't nothin' gonna make me feel rubber instead’a this.” He grunted. He rolled his hips forward and finally pulled his hand off your chest to roll the dress up and over your body.
“F-Fuck.” His whimper was strangled in his throat. Being completely naked under someone who was fully dressed had you clenching around him, earning another whimper from said man.
“Should feel ‘shamed, keepin' all this from me.”
You didn't. Not one bit.
“But I know ya'aint.”
You furrowed your brows, momentarily stunned by his apparent mind reading abilities. He jerked his hips forward and your face fell slack, your jaw dropping and your eyelids falling shut.
His thrusts were harsh, but far too slow for you to get anywhere. You grabbed his shirt and used it to pull him down, desperate for more stimulation.
Daryl happily obliged. His breath was hot on your ear before he took the lobe between his lips, sucking and licking the flesh. You gasped as he bit down on it, and you could sense the smirk on his lips.
“Daryl?” You breathed, the name breaking on your tongue with another thrust.
“Jesus.” He groaned, thoroughly annoyed. He released your ear and pulled back to look at you, frustration evident on his face. “What?”
“Thought I was gonna regret it.”
Your words had his upper lip twitching and his eyes widening ever so slightly.
“Yeah?” He huffed. “S'gonna be like that?”
He rose from your chest, shifting until he was sitting on his boots. His hands grabbed onto your hips and yanked you down on his dick, forcing a cry from your dry throat. It took him a few seconds to position himself, leaning back just a bit, his grip on your hips tight, and then he started fucking you in a ruthless pace.
It wasn't what you were expecting. Your mouth dropped into a long gape and your eyes shot open as he pounded his pelvis against yours, driving his dick so deep it reached places your fingers never had.
Each thrust had a gasp burning in your lungs, and those gasps quickly grew to embarrassing moans. Now that you were ashamed of. If you had the ability to stop it you could, but the way he was thrusting into you rendered you utterly unable to control yourself and the sounds you made.
“Get up.”
You weren't sure why he even spoke, because he was moving your body by himself before you could process his command. He pulled you to the side of the bed and turned you over on your stomach, bending you over and shoving his dick back inside you so fast you shrieked.
Your feet flew up behind you, smacking against the back of his thighs. If you could've seen it you would've laughed.
The new angle was paralyzing. His dick was no longer tilted against the spot under your stomach, the spot that had you a drooling mess seconds ago. Now it smashed against a deeper part of you, a part that had you groaning with each frustration fueled thrust.
“Fuck.” Daryl groaned, his pace slowing to give momentary reprieve. He wasn't as young as you, and even though he was always out there doing a hundred times more labor intensive activity, he needed a second to catch his breath.
There was still an itch yet to be scratched. While he regained his bearings you fought to think of a way to say it without actually saying ‘i want you to hurt me and fuck me till I cry’. You'd already humiliated yourself enough.
When he began picking up the pace again, you reached for the hand beside your head and bit down on his knuckles. Not gently, either. You bit down so hard he could've ripped a tooth out with the way he yanked his hand away.
“The fuck?” His voice was barely below a shout. “Ya’ crazy bitch!”
There was no retaliation besides a particularly forceful thrust, to your irritation.
“You baby.” You managed to grunt out. “Barely bit you.”
“Barley bi-” he scoffed, looking down at the hand he now had splayed across your lower back. There were deep pink imprints from your teeth over his index finger knuckle, and the skin around it turned a bright red.
You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away from its grip on the bed sheets. Your heart hammered quicker than his thrusts when his breath tickled your skin, and then he bit you. In the same spot you bit him.
It wasn't nearly as hard as you bit him, but you still whimpered at the ache.
“Point stands.”
Daryl couldn't believe what he was hearing. His jaw set and he dropped your wrist.
The smug smirk you'd been keeping to yourself fell when your hair was suddenly twisted in the fist of his right hand. With just that leverage alone he pulled your upper body up, and his left arm snaked around your torso to keep you flush against his chest.
He yanked your head to the side. You gasped.
“This what ya’ wanted, huh sweetheart?” He breathed against your ear and drew back until his dick nearly slipped out before slamming back in.
“Mmm-oh god yes.” You blurted out between moans.
“Jus' had to ask.” He managed a chuckle.
“More.”
He furrowed his brows, but kept up the slow and deep pace. He couldn't imagine what else he could give you. He was fucking you hard enough to bruise, he was pulling your hair, what, did you want him to start beating you?
He dipped his head down to bite your shoulder, holding back just enough so that he wouldn't give you an actual wound.
You have to consider that biting someone with enough force to actually break the skin takes a lot. Skin isn't like the flesh of a fruit. It's tough, and would require chewing to break through. So for him to stop right before that point meant he was biting you so hard you got blood blisters, and the pain was all you could focus on.
Your wail of genuine pain had him pulling back like he'd been shocked. His thrusts slowed, and through ragged breaths he spoke, “Shit, m'sorry. M'so sorry.”
“No.” You gasped. Your shoulder felt like it was on fire, and your walls cleaned around him in response. “So good. Feels so good.”
Daryl let out a huff in relief. “Ya’ weird as shit, yanno that?”
“Mhmm.” You groaned, pressing your ass back tightly against him. “More.”
He took a deep breath to steady himself and pushed you back down on your stomach. He had to work himself up to it, the idea intimidating. Once his thrusts were back to their former sharp pace he raised a hand in the air.
You tilted your head to the side so your cheek was pressed against the blanket. When you saw his right hand held up, your heart leapt. You never nodded so quickly.
Daryl ground his teeth together, glancing down at your ass, your face, and back to your ass again before smacking his hand against it.
It was barely a love tap.
You groaned, wiggling your hips and earning a moan from him in response to the feeling on his dick.
He took the hint and gave another smack, harder, but still not giving that burn or satisfying ‘smack’ sound you wanted.
“Daryl, please.” You whimpered. “Hurt me. I'm not made of glass.”
You barely got the last word out before he slapped you. Open handed, fingers spread and slightly curved to mold perfectly against your asscheek. You yelped and instinctively tried scooting up the bed, held back by his left hand on your hip.
It clicked in his head then. No wonder people liked spanking so much. His palm tingled and he could see a faint handprint start to color your skin. And the way you reacted, that sound you made, your body trying to get away from him, it made his dick twitch.
“Fuck!” You cried out after another hard slap. The pain fully distracted you from the ache in your shoulder, white hot pain spreading across your ass and up your spine.
“Such a baby.” He meant it to sound patronizing, but he was still too amazed by the new turn on he'd discovered, and the words came out breathless.
Your whimper bled into another cry as he spanked you again.
And again.
Again, again, until you were on the verge of tears, sobs bubbling from your wet lips as you tried to squirm away from him.
As if you actually wanted to. Which you clearly didn't. You were practically gushing around his dick.
He rubbed his palm over the deep red skin, barely soothing the blinding burn he'd left behind. “Goddamn.”
“M'gonna cum.” You were literally drooling.
He snapped his attention away from your ass and back to you. “Whaddya want, huh?” He quickened his pace once again, jolting forward to press his body against your back. You whimpered at the way he moved, his dick pushing deeper inside you.
“More, please,” you stuttered, trying desperately to work your hand under your body, which proved to be difficult due to his weight on top of you.
Daryl noticed and lifted your hips with his hands. He shoved your eager arm out of the way and rubbed your clit with his own fingers, fast and deep in a way he assumed you'd like.
You moaned under him, arching your back, feeling him slip in further. It was as if he grew another inch every five minutes. Or you grew another inch deeper, and he was staying the same. Either way he was deeper, and it felt immaculate.
The rise to your climax was slow, but powerful. You were fully prepared to gently tip over the edge and slide down in bliss.
That was before he slapped your pussy. Then you fell down gasping.
Daryl held onto your body like you were a wild mustang, trashing and twisting under him in ecstasy. He withdrew his hand and grabbed your hips again, resuming his brutal pace, clamping his teeth down on the back of your neck to keep your bodies anchored together.
It took a while for you to come down from your high. When you did it was violent, the pure bliss smashed away by burning overstimulation.
“Fu-uck!” You heaved in deep breaths. “Daryl s’too much, can't, wait!”
“Ever since that night ya’ came in my tent, blue ballin’ me like that,” he growled against your neck, “-been dreamin’ ‘bout havin ya’ like this. Fallin’ apart. Face full’a tears. Ain't stoppin now.”
He wasn't bluffing. He didn't stop. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, ramming into your abused cunt, only slowing to shift in positions so you were on your back.
The air felt amazing against your chest. Daryl ripped that feeling away with gnashing teeth, biting your hard nipples and alternating between sucking and pinching.
The house had to be surrounded by walkers by now. There was no way it wasn't, you were crying and moaning like you were getting paid for it.
“Oh, god.” You wailed as another orgasm built up quicker than ever inside you. “Oh please, fuck, god!”
A jolt of pleasure shot through your core when Daryl's hands wrapped around your throat.
Now, Daryl was no stranger to strangling someone. He'd choked plenty of people out before.
In fights.
He was unaware there was a different type of choking for pleasure. Instead of squeezing the sides of your throat with his thumb and fingers, he wrapped both hands around your neck and fucking strangled you.
You squeezed your eyes shut so tight they ached as you came. Your orgasm had started off blinding, overwhelming every inch of your body, but Daryl's crushing grip soon muted the tail end of your climax and filled your ears with a deafening ringing.
Daryl pulled his teeth off your nipple and panted against your ear. “Lemme cum inside ya’, sweetheart.”
You could barely process what he'd said. You forced your eyes open against the pressure induced burn, trying to find his face, only to see the side of his head.
“Can't pull out.” He growled and released some of the pressure around your throat. Oxygen and blood flooded your head, leaving you dizzy and with black around the edges of your vision.
“Can't, m'sorry. Oh, huh- fuck!” His voice was strained as every muscle in his body tensed up. His hips surged forward, stuffing his dick balls deep to coat the end of your walls in his cum. “Mmm-fuck s’good. So good. Ohhh, Hah-”
He choked on his moan. He moved his head, replacing his hands around your neck with his mouth, kissing and biting at the tender skin as he spurted ropes of hot cum inside you.
Your body broiled under his crushing form. Your thighs relaxed from their clamped position, falling off his waist and dropping to the bed beneath you. Your lungs ached and your throat was raw, but your pussy buzzed so intently it felt like you had a vibrator pressed against it.
“Oh, god.” The tone was full of dread and you forced yourself to focus on Daryl.
“What?” You croaked. There was a stabbing pain in your neck from Daryl choking you out like you were a man his size.
“Yer all fucked up.” He whined. He traced his fingers across your throat. “S’bad. Oh fuck.”
“Calm down.” You sat upright after he pulled back enough for you to do so, his dick dragging out against your trembling walls in the process and making you hiss.
“It's okay. I'll just tell em a walker got the jump on me. We've all seen them grab throats. It's fine.” You pressed a kiss to his worried lips.
“Gonna tell em a walker did that too?” He pointed an exhausted finger at the bite mark on your shoulder, which was now in the early stages of a deep bruise, not to mention the blood blister in the shape of his teeth.
You laughed softly. “Fuck no. I'll just skip the tank tops for a week or two.”
That seemed to settle him enough and he nodded, moving to lay on his back.
“That was amazing.” You broke the long silence. “Seriously. You're the first man to ever… you know.”
Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at you. “Huh? Y’never…?”
“No! I mean…” you sighed. “Never had a man make me come.”
Now he was at full attention, sitting upright and leaning back on his palms. “Nah, no shit.”
“I'm serious.”
He let out a light scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched you climb off the bed to grab your thrown panties. “Me too.”
You glanced over your shoulder as you stepped into them. “Really? You never…?”
He nodded, going back to biting his cheek.
“How'd you last so fucking long?”
A cocky grin crept across his lips at the compliment behind your words. He was worried he didn't last long enough. And you just asked him how he held on so long.
“Jerked off like, ten fuckin’ times today.”
That meant he knew he was going to fuck you today. Heat spread through your core again, despite how worn out you were. You smiled and climbed back on the bed to smother him with kisses.
“You're so fucking hot.” You mumbled against his lips, which were moving weakly against your own.
“Says the bitch that wouldn't fuck me.” He chuckled.
“Just wanted you to make the decision for me. It's a lot hotter that way.” You hummed, pulling your swollen lips away from his. “It worked.”
“Psh.” He rolled his eyes and began stuffing his soft cock back in his jeans. “Put yer clothes on. Place is probably crawlin' with walkers. Le’s get the hell outta dodge before anymore show up.”
Now that Daryl was in on your little game, you couldn't wait to play again.
Summary: You always love staying with Daryl up in the watch tower during his shifts to 'keep him company'... That is, until you noticed the CCTV cameras were on...
Genre: Fluff. Smut. Crack
Warnings: Sex tape, unconsented videoing of intercourse, Daryl is a munch, SMUT (cunnilingus), suggestive, teasing, banter.
Main Masterlist
Author's note: got this lil idea from writing the last one-shot. This is surprisingly short considering my fics usually take half an hour to read. Enjoy whatever this is 🙈.
It was still dark when you stirred—the kind of deep blue early that meant the sun hadn’t even considered rising yet.
The watchtower was warm in a way the cells never were, the little propane heater purring low in the corner, just enough to chase the chill off your bare arms. The cot creaked softly beneath you, still tangled in the wool blanket that smelled faintly of smoke, pine, and Daryl. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep—just came up after your patrol like you always did, claiming you were too wound up to sleep and wanted to keep him company on his shift.
He never argued. Just looked at you with that knowing little squint, like he saw right through it.
You’d kicked off your boots. Tossed your jacket somewhere by the stairs. Maybe stretched out on the cot a little too slow, knowing damn well how his eyes lingered when you wore that old tank and those musty shorts which drove him crazy. It wasn’t exactly a ritual. But it wasn’t not, either. You’d lost count how many nights ended this way—passed out in the nude after he couldn't keep his grubby hands to himself. Not that you complained.
Now, hours later, your eyes blinked open slowly at the quiet shuffling nearby.
Daryl.
He was by the window, crossbow in arm’s reach, body caught in the pale flicker of moonlight through the foggy glass. His back was to you—bare, tan, and scarred in ways you’d long since stopped counting. The rise and fall of his shoulders told you he hadn’t heard you stir yet. He was watching the tree line, still, quiet, and shirtless, like the cold didn’t touch him the same way it did you.
You stared.
Because how could you not?
Even half-asleep and aching, it was hard not to drink him in like that—slouched against the frame, hair mussed from sleep, that X shape scar on his back catching in the moonlight just right. He had no business looking that good at this hour.
You stretched your leg, letting the blanket rustle just enough to tip him off.
He turned, and the faintest smirk curved his mouth.
“Didn’t mean to wake ya.”
“You didn’t,” you mumbled, voice still fogged from sleep as you pushed up on your elbow. “I just couldn’t stay asleep with all that brooding radiating across the room.”
He grunted—something close to a laugh—and turned fully to face you, arms folding across his bare chest.
“I ain’t broodin’,” Daryl muttered without turning, eyes still fixed on the horizon.
You pushed yourself upright on your elbows, squinting through sleep and morning light as you scrubbed a hand over your face. “Oh no? You got that real pensive, ‘watchin’ the horizon like you’re Clint Eastwood’ look going on.”
He huffed through his nose. “If I’m Clint Eastwood, who does that make you, huh?”
“Your filthy little saloon girl,” you drawled, throwing on your thickest fake accent as you tilted your head and batted your lashes. “Waitin’ upstairs with the whiskey and no drawers on.”
A wicked grin tugged at your lips as you stretched, deliberately slow, the blanket falling just enough to remind him you hadn’t exactly come up here to stargaze.
Daryl finally turned, mouth twitching like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pounce on you or jump of the watchtower because of how smitten he was over you. It was stupid really. “Jesus.”
“You love it,” you sang, curling the blanket tighter around your waist like you were making some tragic virtue out of modesty. “You gonna finish your brooding or come upstairs to my quarters - you've paid for the hour, you know.”
“There ain’t no upstairs in a watchtower,” he grumbled, but he was already moving toward the cot—already losing the war with that smirk.
“Then I guess we’ll have to improvise, cowboy.”
His chest was bare, worn jeans slung low, belt half undone like he’d gotten comfortable up here hours ago and didn’t see the need to dress again. His eyes tracked over you slowly, landing on the way the blanket dipped between your thighs, the moonlight painting over your bare figure like some Da Vinci painting.
You didn’t bother to hide your smile, or your nakedness.
He shook his head like he was scolding you, but the smirk betrayed him. "Earlier wasn't enough for ya woman?”
You shrugged, stretching again, letting the blanket fall a little lower, exposing your hip bones. “Nope.”
He was at the edge of the cot in a heartbeat, crouching low with one hand braced near your knee. He didn’t pounce, not yet. Just stared at you through his hair, wild and loose from sleep, eyes glinting with something hot and half-feral.
Daryl huffed a soft laugh, and before you could tease him again, he was moving—tugging the blanket down and settling between your thighs without a word.
Your breath caught.
He pushed your legs open with steady hands, slow and sure like he had all the time in the world. And maybe he didn’t, not really. But it didn’t matter. His mouth was already pressing hot kisses to the inside of your thigh, the scrape of stubble making your toes curl against the sheets.
“Damn cowboy,” you whispered, voice cracking as you tipped your head back.
His hands gripped your hips, thumbs stroking firm circles, grounding you, dragging you closer to the edge of the cot. He looked up once, the faintest smirk on his mouth.
And from his angle—hair shadowing his eyes, warm breath ghosting over your skin, the tower heavy with the hush of dawn—you couldn’t deny it.
Somewhere above, tucked behind a dusty grate near the ceiling, a tiny, long-forgotten red light blinked awake. The camera, recently restored and humming to life thanks to one of the Woodbury techs, had a perfect angle of the cot.
Neither of you noticed.
You only noticed the drag of his tongue. The grip of his hands. And the way your whole world narrowed to the feel of him between your legs, worshipping like the sky hadn’t turned yet and time didn’t matter, like it was the only thing tethering you to the earth—but there was no controlling it. Not when Daryl fucking Dixon got like this. Not when he was focused, silent, deliberate. Not when his shoulders pressed firm between your knees and his mouth sealed over you like he meant to disappear into the taste.
He groaned low in his throat the moment he tasted you, the sound vibrating against your cunt so hard it made your whole body shudder, your heels sliding along his back search of something to anchor yourself to. But there was nothing—nothing except him, all heat and stubble and damp breath, buried between your thighs like he’d die if you told him to stop. You tried to lift your hips, to ease the intensity, but he chased you—greedy and focused, mouth open and messy, tongue rolling in fast, tight flicks until you cried out his name without meaning to.
You lifted your head just barely—half-lidded and dazed—and caught the sight of him: shoulders flexed, forearms braced against your thighs, the muscles in his back taut beneath sun-worn skin as he rocked gently, like this wasn’t for show, wasn’t even about the sex, just about the simple need to make you come apart beneath his tongue. Or maybe it wasn't even just for your pleasure but because he loved the taste of you. Probably a mixture of both
The cot creaked beneath you, the cheap mattress groaning with every shift of your hips, but Daryl didn’t notice—couldn’t have, not with the way he was clinging to you, like the rest of the world had gone silent and your body was the only thing still making sense. He was muttering something against your skin, too quiet to catch, too frantic to repeat, and you could feel his shoulders shaking faintly from the effort of holding you still as your thighs trembled and clenched around his head.
There was nothing delicate about it—nothing soft or slow. Just the slick, obscene sounds of his tongue dragging through your folds, the constant rasp of his stubble leaving heat trails in its wake, and the burn building so fast it made your toes curl and your fingers scrabble for purchase against the cot.
One of his hands slid up, tracing the curve of your side with a reverence that burned, thumb brushing over the softest patch of skin just beneath your ribs. His other hand stayed at your hip, holding you still, holding you open. He tilted his head, licking slow and deep, and then sucked your clit into his mouth with such maddening gentleness you swore the cot lifted from the floor.
You weren’t quiet. You couldn’t be. Every time his tongue slipped deeper, every time his mouth sealed tighter around you, something reckless spilled from your lips—his name, half-caught pleas, broken little gasps that bounced off the steel walls and echoed with nowhere to hide. You tipped your head back against the pillow, one arm flung up to shield your eyes as the other dragged down your own chest, trying and failing to ground yourself.
But he got there first.
His hand left your hip and slid up, dragging hot and slow across your ribs until it found your breast, already heavy with heat and need. His fingers curled under the weight, thumb flicking over your nipple just as he sucked hard against your clit—and the noise that tore out of you was enough to rattle the cot, your back arching clear off the mattress as your thighs clamped tight around his ears.
“Fuck, Daryl—” you whimpered, voice wrecked, as your heels dug into the tense muscle of his back.
He didn’t stop. Not when your whole body twisted. Not when you tried to shy away. Not even when you reached down blindly, fingers tangling in his hair as if you were trying to push him off—but all you did was anchor him there, exactly where he wanted to be, groaning into you with open-mouthed filth that left your skin burning and your thighs trembling.
Your chest heaved, breasts rising with each desperate breath, flushed and flushed again by the heat of his mouth and the frantic swipe of his tongue. His other hand joined the first, rough palms skating under your thighs and back up to your hips, holding you steady as his mouth ruined you with single-minded devotion. And all the while, the camera in the corner blinked its quiet red light, the tiny lens catching everything—your body twisting in the sheets, the sheen of sweat glistening over your stomach, the obscene way your nipple bounced when his palm pressed up again, harder, as if even that wasn’t enough to keep you grounded.
He only hummed, that wicked sound of his, and the vibration sent stars rocketing behind your eyes.
Your thighs were shaking. Your breath had gone ragged. And still, he didn’t stop. He never did. Not when you begged. Not when your voice cracked. Not even when your hips rolled up against his face frantically or when you started to sound like you were preaching to a new friggin' religion.
It felt surreal. Daryl Dixon, your gruff-ass crossbow-wielding badass, was on his knees in the early light of the watchtower, eating you like a man possessed, like he needed to commit every sound and shiver and slick gasp to memory before the world took it all away.
He licked harder. You choked. Your back arched. And when your orgasm crested like a wave—violent and slow and rolling—you nearly sobbed from the weight of it.
Daryl held you through it. Kept sucking, licking, gentler now, until the aftershocks made your thighs tremble against his shoulders and your breath came in broken, uneven bursts. When he finally lifted his head, the scruff of his chin was wet, and his eyes, those stormy steel-blue beads, were fixed on you like nothing else in the world mattered.
You didn’t know it was recording.
You didn’t know the mic was sensitive enough to catch every stuttered moan, every breathless curse, every whispered “please” that broke from your lips as Daryl sucked at you like a man possessed.
And maybe that was the worst part—or the best. Because you gave in completely.
The world had shrunk to white-hot pulses behind your eyes and the obscene wet sound of him devouring you. The cot squeaked beneath your hips, your whole body bowed tight as a bowstring, and when he took your clit between his lips again—sucked hard, just once, then again, then again—you shattered.
The noise you made was wrecked. Something raw and ugly and entirely helpless, punched from your chest like it had been clawing to get out. Your thighs clamped down around his head, your heels digging into his back, fingers in his hair pulling hard—but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He groaned against you like a man starved, swallowing everything you gave him, grinding his hips down against the floor like he was getting off on just your sounds.
Your whole body seized, curled, then broke apart in waves—sharp and shaking, your skin too hot, your chest rising so fast you thought it might tear open. You came on his tongue with a sob, a tremor that started deep in your belly and poured out over his mouth, drenching him as you writhed through it, gasping his name like it was the only word left in your skull.
And still he licked. Still he tasted. Still he kissed the tender, shaking mess he’d made of you like he wasn’t done yet.
Your body sagged into the cot, legs loose around his shoulders, breath stuttering in your throat as your nipple grazed the rough cotton of the blanket, overstimulated and aching. You twitched when he kissed your thigh again, softer now, gentler. Reverent.
And above it all—hidden, unnoticed, damning—a quiet red light blinked once, then again.
Still recording.
He didn’t pull away right away.
Not even when your legs gave out and your spine arched off the cot in a final, broken shudder that left your whole body twitching beneath his grip. He stayed there, mouth pressed softly to the inside of your thigh, his breath hot and unsteady, his hands still splayed wide along your hips like he didn’t trust gravity not to swallow you whole. His stubble scratched gently at your skin with each slow exhale, and for a moment—just a moment—he nuzzled into the crease of your thigh like he was trying to memorize the scent of you while his mouth cooled from the heat of it.
“Fuckin’ hell,” you whispered, voice raw and useless, one hand dragging up through your hair while the other groped blindly down, searching for him. You felt the shift in his breath before you felt his lips again—this time softer, kissing up the trembling line of your belly, your ribs, the underside of your breast like he hadn’t just had you shaking apart under his tongue. Like he hadn’t just made you fall to pieces with nothing but focus and patience and that maddening grip.
“Easy,” he rasped when your hand finally caught in his hair, not pulling him up, not pushing him away—just needing to touch something real.
His hand found yours, fingers rough and sticky with your slick as he curled them around yours like a tether, grounding you. “You good?” he murmured, voice all gravel and smoke against the slope of your breast, where his cheek had come to rest. “Too much?”
You tried to answer but all that came out was a half-laugh, half-sob, and Daryl tensed like he’d broken you until you squeezed his hand tight and shook your head, breath catching on a gasp.
“No,” you croaked, trying to breathe around the thick knot still caught in your throat. “Not too much. Just—Jesus.”
His mouth twitched against your skin. “Ain’t Jesus,” he muttered, kissing the soft underside of your breast again, one hand sliding up to cup the weight of it, thumb brushing slow, reverent circles around your nipple just to feel it stiffen again under his palm. “But thanks anyway.”
You let out a choked laugh, and he finally pushed himself upright, crawling up over you on aching forearms, careful to keep most of his weight off you until your legs opened on instinct, welcoming him between them like they always did. You were still shaking. He could feel it through every point of contact, every place his bare skin touched yours—your thigh twitching against his hip, your belly fluttering under his chest, your fingers clenching and unclenching in his bicep like you were still stuck in the echo of it.
“C’mere,” he mumbled, ducking his head until his mouth brushed yours. “Let me see you.”
You kissed him slow, still catching your breath, and tasted yourself on his lips—warm and slick and almost sweet, made sharper by the faint tang of sweat on his skin. It should’ve embarrassed you. It didn’t. Not when he kissed you back like he needed it. Not when he cupped your face in both hands like you might disappear if he blinked too long.
And then he just… settled.
Didn’t say a word. Didn’t tease. Just breathed you in for a second longer and let himself drop forward, the full weight of him coming down over your chest like gravity had finally claimed him. One arm slid under your back, the other lazily across your hip, and before you could even adjust, his cheek was already pressed between your breasts like a man who’d passed out mid-prayer.
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.
Just let out a slow, shaky breath and stared up at the ceiling with a dazed, crooked little smile, your hand drifting automatically into his hair, fingers tangling through the sweat-mussed strands at his crown. You barely noticed the way your other hand hooked behind his shoulder, anchoring him in place, your legs curled loosely around his waist like a cradle. Like this was normal. Like it was.
“Y’know,” you murmured after a long, humming silence, your voice gone soft and syrupy with aftermath, “if I die from asphyxiation, it’s going on your record.”
He didn’t answer—just gave a long, throaty grunt against your skin, low and lazy, and burrowed further like a dog rearranging blankets. You felt the warmth of his breath spread out across your sternum, followed by the faintest shift of his stubble brushing back and forth as he adjusted his face, half-asleep and already refusing to be moved.
“You’re like a sasquatch and here I am takin' all your weight like a champ,” you added, lips quirking as you dragged your nails in soft, soothing lines along his scalp. “It's honestly impressive.”
"Mhmm"
You sighed like you were annoyed, but your other hand betrayed you, thumbing a slow arc along the nape of his neck before slipping into the soft overgrown hair behind his ear. “You got the whole bed, Dixon. A whole cot. And this is the spot you go for? You’re basically crushing my lungs.”
Still nothing. His breathing had slowed, face now smooshed so contentedly between your breasts that you weren’t entirely sure he hadn’t already slipped into some kind of half-sleep stupor. His mouth opened just enough to sigh against your skin, and his thumb gave a lazy twitch against your hip as if to say hush, m’fine, without bothering with actual words.
You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in your throat. It was soft and breathy and sore at the edges, but real.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you whispered, kissing the crown of his head. “And that I like being used as a mattress.”
This time, he made a sound—barely a huff, the ghost of a smirk maybe, if you squinted. But it melted fast, lost in the warmth between you as he burrowed deeper, one arm tightening slightly under your back to pull you closer. He exhaled through his nose, long and steady, and you felt the shift in him, that final surrender to rest.
And still, you kept talking. Because you couldn’t not. Because the silence was too full of everything you hadn’t said earlier, and your chest was still echoing from the high of it, and when it was like this—when you were both quiet and full and safe—your thoughts just came pouring out like runoff from a storm drain.
“I’m serious though,” you mumbled, half-laughing now, voice slow and dreamy as your fingers brushed down the curve of his spine. “You always do this. You wreck me and then go full baby koala. It’s a pattern. I’ve tracked the data. I should start charging rent for the girls.”
He shifted. Just a twitch. Maybe acknowledgment. Maybe wind.
“I mean, what if someone walks in?” you continued, lips pressed to the top of his head like punctuation. “You think I wanna explain to Carol why I’ve got a grown man suction-cupped to my chest like a newborn?”
That earned a low, croaky noise—somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Still didn’t move.
You leaned in and kissed the crown of his head, your lips brushing warm against the damp tangle of his hair, still stroking it with the slow rhythm of someone too soft to stop and too stubborn to admit it. He was dead weight on your chest, full grown man draped across your tits like he’d earned the right, and you didn’t even bother trying to move him. This was routine. Predictable. The inevitable aftermath of getting your soul rocked sideways and your lungs crushed by one emotionally constipated, half-feral redneck.
You rolled your eyes toward the ceiling, sighed through your nose like you were the long-suffering spouse of a man who’d once again refused to sleep anywhere but directly on you, and muttered: “I love you. Dumbass.”
The smile he gave was all breath and no effort, just the barest twitch of his mouth against your skin. Didn’t even lift his head. Just made a low, satisfied hum and tucked his face deeper into the valley of your chest like a smug bastard who knew you’d never actually kick him off.
His arm flexed around your waist, the faintest rumble of agreement buzzing against your sternum like a hum. Not quite awake. Not quite gone. Just there. With you. Pressed close, heartbeat slow, body warm and heavy and anchored like this was the only place he knew how to rest.
You curled your arms around his back like a net, holding him tighter, like you were the last soft thing left in a world full of broken glass and cold stone.
“Alright, I’ll let you nap,” you whispered eventually, quieter now, your lips brushing his hair.
No answer.
Just steady breath, rough stubble, and that impossible warmth, right where your heart used to ache.
---------------
The morning light filtered through the cracked block windows, hazy and gold and too soft for a place like this. Your whole body ached, in that slow, aching glow of being thoroughly used and thoroughly worshipped, and Daryl—god, Daryl—was still heavy on your chest, face tucked lazily between your breasts like he’d melted there overnight. One arm was wound beneath you, the other loosely across your waist, and his breath was warm and even against your skin.
You should’ve stayed there. Really, you should’ve. He was warm. The cot was warm. His hand was very casually cupped around your hip like it belonged there. But nature called. Loudly. And repeatedly. And if you didn’t get to the bathroom soon, you were going to go from “sexy post-orgasm bliss” to “weepy adult in crisis.”
So you began to move.
Carefully. Slowly. Like you were trying to disarm a bomb that also happened to be six-foot-something and built like an Appalachian grizzly.
You tilted your hips first, just the barest shift beneath the blankets. No response.
Then your leg—inch by inch—slid out from under his, toes grazing the edge of the cot.
Still no response.
You bit your lip, holding your breath, and tried to pry his arm from your stomach. It was heavy and slack, forearm still braced across your ribs like a deadbolt. You wriggled gently, easing out from under it.
Daryl snorted. His brow furrowed. And then, without lifting his head, he grunted a thick, gravel-laced, very not awake:
“Quit movin’.”
You froze.
“I gotta pee,” you whispered.
He let out a long, aggrieved sigh that rattled across your chest, then burrowed deeper into your skin like a goddamn tick, stubble scraping the slope of your breast. His hand flexed sleepily around your waist, not pulling you closer, just keeping you. Like the threat of you leaving was too much even for his unconscious mind to tolerate.
“‘S warm,” he muttered, lips moving against your skin. “Stay.”
You huffed, fingers twitching in his hair. “Baby, I'll be right back, I just need to—”
“Nope.”
“I am literally going to piss myself.”
“Go later.”
You groaned, tossing your head back against the thin pillow. “You’re like a clingy barnacle made of biceps.”
That earned the faintest smirk against your skin, but he didn’t budge. He just shifted the hand on your waist to your lower back, thumb grazing a patch of bare skin under the blanket like a lazy metronome. His breathing evened out again.
You gave it one more minute. Just one. Let him settle. Let the ache in your bladder become unbearable. Let your eyes drift half-lidded up toward the ceiling in sleepy frustration—
And then you saw it.
That stupid, ancient camera, nestled in the corner of the ceiling where the wall met the doorframe. Covered in dust. Out of the way. Easy to forget.
But not blinking.
Not on.
Except it was.
A tiny, pulsing red light.
Faint. Subtle. Like a whisper in the dark.
Blinking.
You blinked back.
Once.
Twice.
Then your entire body went cold.
“Daryl,” you said, voice low, strangled.
He grunted, muffled. “Mm?”
“…The camera. It’s on.”
He didn’t move. Not at first. Just let out another breath like he hadn’t heard you right.
“I’m serious,” you said, sharper now, panic rising like a flood in your chest. “Daryl, it’s on”
And then you were scrambling.
Off the cot. Into your pants. Out the door.
---------
The hallway echoed with the slap of your bare feet, the shriek of metal doors dragging against concrete, and the rhythmic smack of your shoulder blades slamming into every corner you took too fast. You didn’t care that you weren’t fully dressed—bare thighs flashing beneath a pair of drawstring shorts you barely remembered putting on, tank top sticking to your skin, hair knotted from sleep and sweat. The panic had already rooted too deep in your chest, breathing had become a chore, and there was only one thought, one goal, driving your legs forward:
Get there. Get there. Get there before someone else does.
Behind you, Daryl jogged after you in full stride—shirt on, belt buckled, boots half-laced and thudding loud. His voice came sharp and low, frustration riding the edge of grogginess.
“Would you slow the hell down? It’s probably not even on, woman—damn near tripped over a chair back there—”
“It was blinking, Daryl,” you shot back, not turning around, not missing a step. “I saw it. Red light. Blinking. That means it’s on. That means—fuck—what if someone was watching.”
“You’re overthinkin’ it,” he muttered, but his pace didn’t slow.
Doors started opening along the hallway.
Sleep-matted heads poked out. Glenn. Tara. Maggie, rubbing her eyes. Bob, holding a tin cup of water. Carl blinked hard and ducked back inside his cell when he caught sight of your legs. There was noise now. Footsteps joining yours. Murmurs rising like steam from a crack in the pavement.
You burst into the comms room like a grenade—shoulder first, full-body shove, palms flat against the doorframe as you careened into the space like your life depended on it.
And then you heard it.
“Oh God, just like that baby, aahhh. Fuck Daryl—I’m so close—”
The words hit you before the image did, but both landed like punches to the gut. Your stomach dropped. Your knees nearly followed.
On the largest monitor—grainy, flickering, undeniably real—was you.
From just a few hours ago.
Laid out across the watchtower cot, legs spread wide, knees bent, arms thrown back, completely topless. Your breasts were fully exposed, nipples taut in the dark, hips arching against the mouth buried between your thighs. His hands—Daryl’s hands—held your hips steady. His hair stuck to the sweat on your stomach. The slow, methodical rhythm of his shoulders made the breath catch in your throat.
You looked wrecked.
Sound continued to pour from the monitor. Moaning. Pleading. Wet, obscene noises. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t stop hearing it. Your voice. High. Wild. Helpless.
“Bro,” the taller one wheezed, rewinding. “That noise she makes at 03:17? That’s like—cinematic. I think I saw God.”
“She’s got nice tits too,” the other muttered. “Kinda bouncy. Freeze it—yeahhh—”
You snapped.
“TURN IT OFF!” you shrieked, stumbling forward toward the console. “Fucking—shut it off—!”
You started hitting buttons—random ones—slamming your palm against the machine like it was laughing at you. Your own moans kept taunting you through the speakers, looping, playing over your shoulders as you leaned across the table, frantic, sweating, your hand slipping on the metal.
"Shit Daryl yes, yes, yes! Ooohhh."
Behind you, someone sucked in a sharp breath. “Jesus.”
“Is that—holy shit—”
“Damn, Dixon—”
“Okay, whoa—”
More footsteps crowded the doorway. Rick. Carol. Michonne. Maggie. Glenn. More. All of them seeing it. Seeing you. Your naked body. Your face twisted with pleasure. Your everything laid bare. Daryl’s head still moving on screen, still eating you like it was the last meal on Earth.
“Eject button,” someone mumbled behind you. You didn’t even look. You slammed your thumb down on the entire left side of the machine until it clicked, and a VHS tape popped halfway out.
You snatched it. Threw it hard against the wall. It hit with a plastic crack and bounced off, still mostly intact. You went after it again, this time with your boot, stomping down once, twice, until it split open like a split fig, tape unravelling across the floor like entrails. They went to protest, but the death glare you sent them stopped them dead.
“Fucking perverts—”
And then Daryl reached them.
The two men at the monitors—Woodbury strays, both thin and smug—hadn’t even gotten out of their chairs. They were still slack-jawed, hands in the air like they weren’t sure whether to defend themselves or applaud.
Daryl grabbed the nearest by the collar and lifted him straight out of his seat, shoving him back into the cinderblock wall with enough force to rattle the power strip.
“You watched that,” he hissed, eyes wild. “You sat here and watched her. You listened to her—”
“We—we didn’t know it was you—”
“Bullshit,” Daryl roared, voice cracking. "You taped that shit and watched it—”
“She’s hot, man, what were we supposed to do?” the second guy muttered, shrugging.
Daryl let go of the first man, turned, and punched him square in the face.
It wasn’t a warning hit. It was the kind that sent the man sprawling over the table, blood already trailing from his nose, his hand clutching his mouth as he let out a high-pitched squeal.
“Shit—fuck—!”
Rick moved in then, grabbing Daryl’s arm. “Enough. That’s enough!”
“No,” Daryl barked, yanking free. “They’re gone.”
The smaller man paled. “Gone? What—you can’t—there’s walkers, we don’t have a car—”
“You should’ve thought of that before you jerked off over a woman you live with.” Michonne’s tone was colder than steel.
“We’ll die out there,” the tall one gasped. “Come on—please, it was just—it was just video—”
"Shut up." he barked. "Theyre out. today"
Rick looked grim. “We’ll hold a meeting. Talk to the council—”
“They taped her n' perved over it” Daryl said, eyes never leaving Rick’s. “They stayed quiet. They replayed it. They knew what they were doin’.”
But Rick, ever the diplomatic, said nothing.
“You wanna keep ‘em? Fine.” Daryl stepped back. “They don’t stay near her. Not in this cell block. And they sure as hell stay away from the monitors.”
Carol sipped her tea. “Only trusted peronnel on the monitors from here on..”
Daryl stalked to your side and stood in front of you like a wall, eyes still locked on the man bleeding onto the desk.
“Next time,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “find a magazine.”
The silence that followed felt suffocating. The only thing that broke it was Glenn’s voice, awkward and too-loud from the back:
“So… breakfast anyone?”
You closed your eyes. Daryl rested his hand over your lower back. And no one made a single goddamn sound.
--------
You stepped into the mess hall like you were walking onto a battlefield.
It was early, too early for this kind of scrutiny, but you could feel the eyes land on you and Daryl the second the door creaked open. Daryl walked beside you, silent, boots heavy, flannel buttoned up like armor.
You made it to the table. Sat. Tried not to make eye contact with anyone.
The scrape of chairs, the low shuffle of trays, the cough of someone choking back laughter—it was all just a little too quiet.
You barely had your spoon in your cereal when Michonne tilted her head and said, calm as ever, “So… Dixon.”
Daryl didn’t look up.
She gave a slow, appreciative nod. “Didn’t have you pegged for a munch.”
You nearly dropped your spoon.
Carol set down her mug with a clink. “I mean, I didn't really get what she saw in you, but now after seeing that?” She grinned at Daryl. “Makes sense that she is always bragging about you, pookie.”
You covered your face with your hand. “Please stop.”
Maggie smiled into her bowl. “You’re just mad we all saw it before brunch.”
“That wasn’t meant for public broadcast!” you hissed, looking around. “You’re all freaks.”
“I’m just sayin’,” Michonne said, slicing her fruit. “Most men start, but don't even go down. And certainly not like that.”
Carol leaned toward you slightly, voice quiet but undeniably smug. “He had your eyes rolling back sweetie. Very Jealous.”
You groaned and dropped your head to the table. “I’m never leaving the watchtower again.”
Daryl finally spoke, muttering into his tray, “Told ya we shoulda skipped breakfast.”
“We did skip breakfast,” Maggie pointed out. “That’s why we saw a different kind of meal.”
“Maggie!” Glenn practically shouted, face crimson.
Maggie just raised an eyebrow. “What? You should be takin' notes.”
Daryl visibly shrank into himself.
Rick, seated beside Carl and pretending to read supply lists, cleared his throat. “Let’s not turn this into a… group debriefing.”
Carl snorted into his juice. “Bit late for that.”
Rick, ever the diplomat, tried to redirect. “We’ll… check the rest of the comm feeds today. Make sure there’s no other, ah—archived material.”
“Please don’t say ‘archived material,’” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face.
"Can we come too?" Maggie asked. "Just to y'know... check stuff."
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “ My boyfriend went down on me. It was incredible. We get it. It’s been acknowledged. Roasted. Immortalised on VHS. I’m a cautionary tale. Can we all shut the fuck up now?”
Carol gave you a pat on the arm. “Ok, ok. Next time, maybe just… unplug the surveillance feed?”
“I didn’t know it worked!”
“I did,” Maggie said. “Didn’t say anything. Kinda glad I didn’t.”
Glenn moaned into his hands.
You and Daryl stood at the same time.
“We’re leaving,” he muttered, grabbing your hand while looking down to hide his red face..
“Already?” Carol said innocently.
Daryl gave her a look that could kill a deer at fifty paces.
“We’ll be eating in solitude for the rest of the month,” you added, turning toward the door. “You people are monsters.”
Michonne waved you off. “Aw, come on. If we can’t tease each other for this, what can we tease each other for?”
Without missing a beat, you flipped her off over your shoulder.
Maggie raised her coffee. “God bless surveillance.”
IN WHICH daryl thinks he’s gonna embarrass himself getting with you, but when you express your anxieties towards sex, he steps up to help ease your mind.
WORD COUNT 2.6k
THEMES sub reader, soft dom daryl (but he’s holding back hella), virgin reader, anxiety, implied age difference, size difference, praise kink, degrading praise? brief breeding mention, slow sex, he might cum too quick, oral, aftercare
A/N tysm @shattersoftly for req this. i like this one a lot.
daryl’s crush on you wasn’t meant to go anywhere. it was supposed to be something he shoved down, internalized, forced himself to ignore. at no point did he imagine you’d ever reciprocate those feelings, and he had made peace with that.
imagine daryl’s face when you made a move on him.
you’d been helping set logs for him to chop. it was quiet, with only the sounds of distant conversations, the slicing of dry wood, and the occasional grunt. something about seeing him work, man, you were a flustered mess.
somehow, walking wood back to his place ended with you squirming in his lap on the couch.
daryl’s hands ran up and down your back, calloused fingers dragging heat up your soft skin. his lips dragged along your neck, as he waited for you to signal for more.
daryl was used to women bossing him around in bed. it was easier that way, he always knew what to do when they explicitly told him.
not you, though. you were whining softly, shy, gentle and hesitant.
“this good?” he asked, nipping just below your ear.
you nodded, hiding your face in your sleeves. daryl was put off at first, thinking perhaps he’d overwhelmed you, that you didn’t want to go any further. he leaned back, brushing hair out of your face. “gotta tell me what you want,” he murmured. “can’t read yer mind.”
you blushed deeper (if that was even possible), and looked down. you worried your bottom lip raw, and god, you looked gorgeous like that.
“dun’ wanna stop,” you confessed softly, looking at him through thick lashes.
a smile threatened to form on daryl’s face. he understood now. swiftly, he adjusted, pulling you in closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. his hands rested on your hips, squeezing experimentally. you squeaked, and he melted.
“ah,” he sighed. “a’right. hands… here.”
he placed your palms on his chest, pausing to ensure you were still comfortable. you gave a short nod, and he grunted in acknowledgement.
“i’ll put my hands… here,” he grumbled, letting his fingers slip under your shirt, lips now brushing your cheek. “an’ you jus’ tell me… if it’s too much.”
another nod, your breath coming out shaky. your hands twitched against his chest, feeling the thump of his heartbeat. “s-sorry,” you whispered.
“dun’ be,” daryl replied, tracing a finger under your breast. “jus’ relax, okay?”
“tryin’,” you laughed nervously.
daryl got the idea. normally, he hated taking the lead, always worried he’d take it too far, get too rough. right now, he could tell that you were not only anxious, but inexperienced. and while he was no pornstar, he could find the rhythm.
his lips dragged along your neck, down to your collarbone. he hummed softly, the vibrations radiating off of your chest.
“gotta know,” he murmured, hands wandering upward, until they cupped your breasts. “this all new t’ya? i mean, are you…”
he trailed off, pausing to look at you.
your cheeks felt hot, eyes wide and dilated. god, you hated this question. what a helpless little lamb, never having been touched. since the world ended, you’d kind of given up on it.
a simple nod was all it took. daryl knew he had to do this right.
“shit,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair. “kay… you just… ya gotta talk t’me, yeah? if i’m goin’ too fast… doin’ too much, if you wanna stop—”
you gripped his collar, stopping him cold. your face was one of hesitancy, and determination. no matter how out of your element you were, you wanted this. needed it.
“stop talking,” you whispered. “please.”
daryl swallowed roughly, before nodding. his hands slid down, planting firmly on your waist. experimentally, he urged you to roll your hips, grinding down on his clothed cock. he groaned, low in his throat, feeling you jerk forward with an eep!
“ain’t… gon’ be no prince,” he muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “ain’t exactly… great at this, either.”
you let yourself laugh this time, smiling and shaking your head. it eased your mind a bit, recognizing that daryl was nervous, too.
“if i wanted a prince, you think i’d sit on your lap?” you scoffed, hand moving to the back of his neck. “just… go slow.”
your lips connected, messy and cautious. the warmth was electric, though, and what began as a slow experiment, soon turned heated, desperate.
daryl’s hand moved from your hip to your hair, tugging gently. your gasp gave him access, shoving his tongue in and intertwining with yours.
“fuck,” he growled. “so soft.”
a whine fell from your lips, wriggling against him, all needy and wet. daryl had to constantly remind himself to go slow, to not take take take.
“daryl,” you arched your back, your tone making his stomach flip. “please…”
he was hasty. his free hand quickly moved to his belt, unbuckling, tugging, chucking it on the floor loudly. while he did, your lips slid down his chin to his jaw. it felt good when he did it, so you figured he’d like it.
your tongue glided along his collarbone, a sensitive spot for daryl, drawing a shudder from his spine. “fuckin’… christ, woman…”
he yanked you back by your hair, ignoring your squeak of surprise. “gotta get ya ready fer me.”
with that, he flipped you on your back, straddling you. the couch creaked underneath your combined weight as daryl nipped your neck. he sucked little love bites as he slid his hands under your shirt.
“gon’ take this off,” he warned, tugging the thin fabric. “that okay?”
his eyes were glazed when he looked at you, but hell, he was holding back patiently. you bit your lip, nodding. daryl almost smirked.
“arms up.”
once your shirt came off, daryl swore he was in heaven. this gorgeous, smooth skin he’d ached to feel for so long, now on display like dessert.
“could eat you alive,” he grumbled, tongue sliding between your breasts. “fuckin’ delicious…”
a thick whine fell from your parted lips, back arching into his touch. his hands glided across your skin, up and down your hips, along your stomach. “daryl,” you groaned, eyes screwed shut.
“member t’tell me if it’s too much,” he said as his head leaned down towards your thighs. “or… not enough.”
daryl’s breath was hot on your skin, lips brushing the sensitive skin of your hips, your thighs, your navel. your body twitched as his tongue slid along your hot skin, teasing, not quite where you needed it.
“fuck,” you breathed, hands itching, hovering over his head. “please…”
that’s all daryl needed. his lips mouthed over your clit, then sucking. his fingers glided up and down your thighs, squeezing and smacking the inside of them eagerly. your back arched, pressing into his tongue as he swirled it.
“oh god,” you whined, hiding your face in your hands.
daryl paused, looking up at you with concern. his palm massaged your thigh, rubbing where he had previously slapped. “you okay?”
you quickly nodded, peeking down at him. his facial hair was already wet. “yes. ‘s good,” you muttered. “please.”
daryl chuckled, his other hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “fuckin’ gorgeous,” he whispered, before going back down on you.
his tongue got back to work quickly, sucking, slurping, sliding. he hummed against your cunt, pleased with how you were writhing and panting.
“y’can tug. if ya need to,” he mumbled with his mouth full, glancing up at you for a second.
your breaths came fast, as your shaky hands landed on his head. you hesitated, but as daryl’s teeth gently grazed your pussy, your nails dug in without permission, yanking on his hair hard.
you didn’t expect daryl to let out a low groan, the vibrations radiating up your spine. that alone nearly sent you over the edge, cunt throbbing. the hair pulling was like motivation for daryl, and he went down harder, growling like a man starved.
“fuck, d-daryl!” you squealed, head falling back. “oh god, please, i—”
his gaze flickered to your face, lips smacking, drool dribbling down his chin as he slobbered all over you. he almost smirked. daryl’s large hands came up, squeezing your thighs, massaging your clit with his tongue. “uh-huh,” he grunted. “go on.”
your hands moved without permission, tugging on his hair and shoving his head down as you came. your hips jerked up, chasing the high. daryl snarled with delight, smacking your thigh sharply. his tongue slowed, giving your pretty cunt a sloppy kiss before rising.
“oh… god…” you panted, face flushed, eyes glossy.
embarrassment washed over you, and your knees came up to your chest as you let out a whine. daryl only chuckled, unbuckling his belt slowly.
“oh, come on,” he leaned down, moving your knees out of the way. “don’t get all shy now, we jus’ started.”
you squeaked, worrying your bottom lip raw. your hands came up instinctively, wanting to hide your face.
the air was thick with tension and musk, daryl’s cock throbbing against your leg. his hand came up, cupping your cheek gently. “gonna fuck you now.”
because he never really knew how to be that romantic.
it was slow and hesitant, little nudges against your entrance, until he finally pressed inside. a long groan rumbled in your ears as he slowly pushed all the way in. you thought you might pass out from the girth alone, and once he was bottomed out, fuck, you could feel it in your stomach.
“stop, stop, stop,” you babbled, clawing his back.
daryl’s head fell into the crook of your neck, breaths heavy and hot. still, he listened, despite the desperate ache, despite his desire to ram into you over and over.
“gotcha… i gotcha,” he mumbled, stroking your hair as he let you settle. “shhh…”
after a moment, you nodded, a preemptive whimper falling from your lips. “okay. you can… move.”
daryl exhaled the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. slowly, he pulled almost all the way out, til catching on your eager hole, before just as slowly easing back in. the noises you made had daryl’s ears burning.
“fuck… so tight,” he grunted, palms pressing hard into the couch. “shit… gon’ have to move soon. ‘m slippin’ off.”
you let out a short laugh, “tight’s good, right?”
“sure, till it’s too good,” daryl replied, jaw clenched. “fuckin’ milkin’ me, christ. guess i shoulda figured, since you’re…”
he trailed off, shaking his head. he needn’t get too hasty, you’d only just started.
“ah… okay,” daryl slowly slid out of you, before quickly lifting you up. “goin’ to the bed.”
in seconds, he’s in you again, bottoming out quicker this time. a low growl fall from his lips, eyes fluttering closed. “jesus fuck. ain’t gon’ last.”
once he developed a rhythm, slow and methodical, your legs moved to wrap around his waist. your head fell back, lips parted. “oh my god, daryl,” you whined. “c-can feel it in my… tummy…”
daryl groaned, biting your shoulder to keep himself occupied. god, he was this close to pounding into you. “gah, shut up. ya start talkin’ like that, we’re gon’ be done ‘fore we start.”
you laughed breathlessly. experimentally, daryl snapped his hips forward, making you cry out. he couldn’t help but snicker.
“told ya,” he murmured, nipping your ear. “god, could ruin you.”
a pathetic whimper from your lips, and daryl was kissing you. sloppy and fast, not as gentle as his movements were. it’s hot and heavy, and he knew he wouldn’t last long, but it’s what you said next that nearly undid him.
“faster,” you moaned against his lips, tugging at his hair. “please.”
daryl snarled, biting your bottom lip before pulling back. his hips jutted back and forth quicker now, feeling your sweet pussy squeezing his cock. “gotta stop that,” he bit out. “gonna fuckin’ cum.”
the noise that followed sounded more eager than you intended. bless his heart, daryl tried to keep it slow, keep it steady for your poor, virgin cunt, but he was never that strong of a man.
“please, please, please, please,” you cried, back arching as you grew closer.
daryl licked at your neck, down your collarbone. “take it so good, almost forgot it’s yer first time,” he grunted, skin slapping skin. “so fuckin’ good fer me, ah? take it so well.”
his tone was almost mocking, and that was all it took. your cunt clenched hard as you came, pulsing rapidly as your orgasm washed over you. the overstimulation was addictive. you babbled nonsense as daryl fucked you through it, thrusts slowing down as your peak passed.
“fuck,” daryl hissed, coming to a dead stop. “don’ move.”
you whined, long and needy. god, the noise was becoming his new favorite thing. he smacked your hip gently. “serious, princess. don’t get cocky now.”
“heh,” you giggled. “cocky.”
“idiot.”
then he was moving again, in, out, in, out. he was sweaty and hot, breaths raspy and wet. you were a drooling wreck underneath him, and god, daryl couldn’t handle it.
“moan so pretty fer me,” he panted. “fuckin’ gorgeous, takin’ this dick, baby. c’mon. c’mon.”
faster, harder, too much, not enough. your head was spinning, nails creating dents in his skin.
“fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” you rambled. “ohhh, god, daryl, ‘s too much… don’t stop!”
daryl lost control, just a little. his hand yanked your hair, pulling your head back so your throat was bared for him. he bit into your skin, marking you his. “if you don’ shut the fuck up, ‘m gon’ knock you up righ’ now, y’hear me?” he growled, all teeth. “that what’cha want, huh? babies with a fucked up prick like me?”
you shook your head, but couldn’t stop moaning. you’d surely get noise complaints tomorrow. “please, i can’t… i’m… it’s…”
your voice came sharp, too loud. daryl smacked his hand over your mouth to muffle your screams as you came again. this time, daryl couldn’t restrain himself. he let out a primal noise, quickly pulling out and spilling hot white all over your stomach.
your eyes blew wide, and you grabbed his cock without thinking. daryl’s hips jerked forward, sucking in through his teeth as you milksd him dry.
“ohh, you fucker,” he grit, squeezing your face where he covered your lips. “motherfucker. gettin’ greedy, ah?”
you just hummed, eyes glazed over and droopy.
it took five minutes of laying down, huffing and puffing, for daryl to get up and grab a towel. and while he was not a romantic, and totally not head over heels for you—yes, he did clean you up. felt your smooth stomach, kissed it gently. fuckin’ loser.
then, daryl rolled over and spooned you. his hand raked through your hair, as he softly hummed against you. you must’ve been dreaming.
“did so good,” he muttered, voice groggy. “you hurt at all?”
you shrugged, eyes closed. “li’l sore. but that’s normal, right?”
daryl chuckled, but couldn’t hide his concern. “was a tight fit. you’ll be alright.”
a pause. he felt guilt bubbling in his gut.
“here,” he adjusted, propped up on his elbow. “roll over.”
you got on your stomach, and daryl straddled you again. this time, to massage your back. his large palms pressed deeply into your soft skin, rubbing out the kinks and knots.
“mmh,” you moaned. “tha’s nice…”
“yeah?” daryl arched a brow, thumbs circling your shoulders. “good. jus’ relax. earned it.”
you were cheesin’ into your pillow until you fell asleep. who knew this burly son of a bitch could be so sweet?
??? PLEASE elaborate on why george salazar is entitled to murder i have googled so many different phrases and come up with nothing I NEED THIS FANDOM TEA
iirc: be more chill was the only nommed musical in the 2019 season that didn't get to perform at the tonys, the production team asked to perform a quick cut of "michael in the bathroom" with really minimal set dressing and were told there wouldn't be time in the broadcast, and the only bmc person who was invited to the ceremony was joe iconis, and he brought along lauren marcus (his wife and also the actress who played brooke) as his plus one. at a random point during the broadcast, host james corden performed a parody of mitb with sara bareilles, josh groban, and neil patrick harris without any credit to the show, composer, or original performer, which wouldn't really matter for the theater people in attendance who would all immediately get the reference, but would matter for any people less in-the-know who were watching at home; it's a really common thing for less popular musicals to get boosts in popularity after getting exposure with their tony performances. the reason I think george salazar should get a free murder is that mitb was really his song and neither he nor any of the bmc team were informed about the parody beforehand and he had to learn in real time watching the broadcast from home that the reason there wasn't time for him to perform that hugely iconic song was because four well-established famous white people wanted to sing it instead without even inviting him to the show.
