cw. brat taming, fingering, manhandling, cunnilingus, size kink, noble! reader
synopsis. in which dunk cannot stand his lady.
you've been getting on his last nerve lately. and that is something, for dunk is a very, very patient man. or so he's been told. praised for, even.
since finding work and looking for a strong lord or noble to tend to hadn't been going smoothly lately, he accepted one of his only offers; guarding a wealthy merchant and his household as they traveled between holds and trade routes. it would be easy enough, dunk had thought. all he had to do was stand tall, look fearsome, and keep blades away from the soft, perfumed throats of the family.
he had not accounted for you.
you, with your fine silks and sharp mouth. you, with your jeweled fingers and that chin always tilted up at him as though he is something you've scraped off the bottom of your slipper. your father warned him about you on his first day of hire. "my daughter is... spirited." he'd told dunk. you'd chased off all your last knights with your foul behavior. the money hadn't been worth it.
however, dunk had nodded earnest as ever, hands clasped behind his back, as he towered over the polished floors and high ceilings. spirited he could handle. he grew up in slums. he knows sharp tongues and hot tempers and wild children with no reins.
he's fearsome and domineering. servants scatter when he passes. guards keep respectful distance. stable boys stare at him as though he is some giant carved from oak and iron.
but upon his first interaction with you where he'd tried to introduce himself to you, you cut him off entirely as you stand dangerously close to him in the hall of your manor. "i do not care. you'll be just like all the rest. now move."
ah.
he moves.
at first, he thought your horrible attitude was just a part of being raised wealthy and as the only daughter of your household. of course you were used to getting your way and treating the people around you like trash. you are young, surely. it was nothing but a poor first interaction; he has no wish to bully a nobleman's daughter.
but you test him.
you slip away from the convoy just to see if he'll notice, wander toward dark tree lines where bandits could lurk. you lean over bridge rails too far, and you talk to strange men in markets just to get a reaction out of dunk. every time he steps in, large form looming behind you as he catches your wrist just as you're about to touch a stranger and tells you, "that is enough, my lady," you laugh in his face.
"you don't command me, hedge knight."
the first time you spit on him is when he pulls you away from a man who's mouthing at your neck roguishly during a ball while you're too drunk to function. it landed on his cheek, dripping down slowly. he did not wipe it away immediately. he just looked down at you in disbelief.
you held his gaze, daring him. you are smaller than him by half, but you dare to challenge him either way. he'd never received training for a matter like this. "i told you, you do not command me. if you put your hands on me again, i will tell father to have one of your meaty fingers cut off."
he let you go. that was weeks ago. but you've made a sport of it since then, calling him an oaf, dog, brute, low-born. you toss orders at him in front of others. you complain about how he walks too close, is too big and clumsy, breathes too loud. you tell your fellow ladies that he smells of the stables and sweat, though he washes twice as often as any man in your company.
he's come to wonder if you do it for the fun of it or if you are simply seeking a reaction from him. because he notices the way your gaze turns expectant after you humiliate him. you do watch him quite a lot. when he removes his armor back in your manor after a long day, how you like to frequent the servant's quarters after dark, using the excuse of wanting a night snack from the kitchens... it's so suspicious. sometimes he wonders if he should take his cock out of his breeches and fist it while calling your name to see if you come running. but he doesn't.
dunk is not a clever man, but he is not blind.
still, he says nothing, because he is paid to guard your family, and you. and he doesn't want to sacrifice the pretty penny your father pays him to keep you in order.
so he endures.
until today. today, you slip away again. the road cuts through sparse woods, the afternoon light thin and golden. the caravan slows to navigate a narrow pass, and in that moment of distraction, you are gone. he can tell before he knows for sure. it's been too quiet. he rushes to scan the wagons and seek your fluffy head of hair, but nothing. "fuck." he curses roughly under his breath, stopping everything to search the area for you.
he finds you a quarter mile back, skirts gathered in your fists as you climb a moss-slick rock that juts above a shallow ravine. "what are you doing?" his voice carries. "did you jump out of your seat for me to chase you?"
you don't even look at him. "i'm admiring the view, dunk. go away."
he grits his teeth and steps forward slowly, trying not to startle you or have you run away. "get down this instant. this isn't funny."
"no."
the rock shifts under your slipper, and dunk's heart lurches up into his throat. he reaches forward, hissing; "get. down."
you finally glance back at him, your lip curled in a sneer. "no. you are not my father. leave me be."
"no," he says tightly, "but i am the one who will have to tell him if you break your foolish neck."
you roll your eyes and turn away again, just as your foot skids on the slick rock and you slip forward, letting out a startled little yelp. dunk moves before your other foot even leaves the surface of the rock, massive hands clamping around your body as he drags you back against him forcefully, your soft body pressed up against his with his arm locked around your middle like a band of iron.
for a second, neither of you move. your heart is racing. he can feel it through the layers of silk and linen. "are you mad?" he growls directly in your ear.
once you gather your bearings, you start twisting around in his grip, being a little hellion once more as if he didn't just save your life. "unhand me!"
his patience, that endless, gentle well everyone praises, is dry. he is sick of you. "i do not trust you not to run off again! you could have fallen," he emphasizes.
"but i did not."
"because i caught you. i am paid to guard you," he says angrily, holding you firm against him. "not to chase you like a stray hound every time you decide to prove you have no sense."
"well, i didn't call you a dog for no reason-"
"enough."
you've never heard that tone from him. and for a heartbeat, you falter.
then your pride surges back, and you reach back and elbow at his chest. it's like pushing a wall. "do not speak to me so," you snap. "you are nothing but hired steel. you forget your place."
dunk clenches his jaw tightly and squeezes you a little tighter, trying to will you to shut your smart mouth. "and where's my place?" he demands.
"beneath me," you say sickeningly sweet, before aiming another rough blow to his chest, trying to get him to let you go. you wriggle around, trying again to throw him off you -
his arm bands around you tighter, and he lifts you clean off your feet as though you weigh nothing at all. "put me down!" you shriek, kicking uselessly. he ignores your babbling and in one smooth motion, tosses you over his shoulder. suddenly, you're staring at his broad back and the ground swinging beneath you, your hair falling down his spine, your quickly begin to pound your fists against his back.
"dunk!" you scream, scandalized. "how dare you! i will have you-"
"you will do nothing," he snaps, big hand clamping firmly against the back of your thighs to keep you steady as he strides toward the road, each step long and unyielding. "i am taking you back home. you do not deserve to be out galivanting today."
you twist, but he adjusts easily, unbothered by your struggle. "and then, you will apologize," he says, not looking back. "and you will stay exactly where i put you until you remember how to behave like a lady."
dunk's grip tightens just enough to remind you how completely at his mercy you are.and for the first time since he took this cursed job, he does not yield. you punch his back hard, wondering if you can sink your teeth into his back somehow, when his broad hand comes down hard against the curve of your backside. you jolt, a sharp, shocked squeal tearing from you as your whole body tenses and rocks forward.
dunk's heart beats a tad too fast. he did not plan to smack you, but it was instinct. a correction, like a farmer swatting a mule that won't stop kicking. but the way you reacted... indignation faltering into pure surprise, has heat spreading through his body. he centers his brain long enough to hear your shrill cries. "y-you brute!"
you start wriggling again even more frantically now, trying to twist around and hit him. so he does it again. another rough smack delivered to your ass. he watches the motion of your soft flesh rippling back into place after he spanks you, and that strange feeling of arousal fills him once more.
this time your hips jerk involuntarily, your hands clutching at his back for balance instead of striking him. he's quite satisfied by that. your arrogance has started cracking around the edges. as he walks, he spanks you periodically, each hit measured and deliberate, his large palm landing square and sure through layers of silk, the impact more than enough to sting. to humble.
your protests dissolve into breathless little mumbles of outrage, and your hands, which had been clawing and striking him, slide instead to grip the back of his tunic. your legs stop kicking. you are now limp over his shoulder as he returns you not by carriage, but on his steed with him to your manor.
-
dunk does not waste any time in carrying you through the grand doors, up the staircase, down the long hall toward your chambers where he can make his corrections. lucky for him, your father is nowhere in sight to be questioning why his trusted knight is practically dragging his daughter you her room.
dunk stops outside your room and shifts you carefully before opening the door with one hand. he steps inside and shuts it behind him with his heel. then he walks swiftly to your bed, picks you up, and drops you onto it on your hands and knees, taking off your shoes and tossing them to the ground. "i do not need help to disrobe-!" you complain, trying to weave around and pushing his big hands away, but his temper spikes once more.
"you are the most unruly creature i have ever met." he hisses, pushing your face into the bed. "you run off into the woods," he continues, jaw tight. "you taunt strange men. you climb rocks over ravines just to see if i will come after you."
"do not call me that! i only wish to have some fun, but i cannot with you breathing down my-"
he cuts you off sternly. "and i am not sure if it is because you have been raised too spoiled and pampered to have any manners, or if you act out because you're frustrated that i haven't stuffed your little cunt."
you let out an undignified little sound as he calls out your poorly hidden desires so bluntly, your body shuddering under his. dunkâs huge hand starts to trail to the hem of your dress, and he begins to bunch it up at your hips.
âyouâve made a mess,â his voice comes out as a scoff, and he slowly traces a thick finger along the damp seam of your clothed cunt. âdid my brutish behaviour excite you, my lady?â
hearing your own words, your past mockery of him repeated back to you so snidely somehow excites you further. you wonder why heâs taken so long to put you in your place, but the day has finally come for him to put an end to your behaviour and set you straight. breathy moans leave your lips as he rubs you through your drawers, the stickiness collected on the crotch part pushing against you and making a bigger mess. he grabs the back suddenly, tugging it up and pulling it between your ass cheeks so he can rub the fabric against your clit.
his other hand reaches up to fist in your soft hair, tugging and forcing your body to curve towards him with no means of escape. his grip inflicts the perfect amount of pleasure-pain. you feel hot and achy everywhere.
âser duncan!â
"now you want to address me by my title?" he shakes his head, continuously rubbing your underwear against your sticky cunt, slick now drooling down your thighs. "tch. i can smell your mess. is all this for me?"
you cry out a pathetic "yes!" and push your hips back against his hand, seeking more friction. his face gives an involuntary twitch at your answer, his expression shifting into something you wouldn't be able to read if you were looking at him right now. his hand stills against you momentarily, and you grind your pussy against the heel of his hand with a whine, seeking more.
âseven hells,â he mutters under his breath. that was the last thing he expected from you. he was ready to get off you and pretend he hadn't touched you at all, but you wanted it. the proud little lady who's been tormenting him for weeks is suddenly pliant under his hands, warm and trembling.
dunk lets out a slow breath through his nose, and grabs a fistful of your drawers, tugging them down to your ankles. he watches the sticky strings web between the fabric and your cunt, and groans at how filthy you are for him
âso thatâs it,â he says quietly, lowering his face to your cunt and pushing the tip of his finger into your puffy hole. âall this trouble⌠just because you wanted my attention.â he blows softly on your clit, and you whimper, trying to jut your hips back into his face. he pushes you down a little harder, sliding his finger inside you to the knuckle without warning.
a whimper escapes you at the sudden, unfamiliar intrusion, and as he begins to pump the invading digit slowly, your slick walls cling greedily to his finger as it sinks deep inside of you.
transfixed, he watches as your swollen lips part and cling to his finger with each thrust, a wet squelching sound filling the room. your arousal gushes out around his finger and coats it, making it easy to slip inside you, despite how tight your walls cling to him once he's inside.
with how close his face is to your cunt, he can't resist only looking anymore, and pushes his finger down inside you to make space for his mouth to cover your pussy. he lets out a highly pleased noise at the honeyed taste of you, and eagerly laps at your wetness while curling and twisting his finger inside of you.
he gets caught up in your taste, running his tongue through your falls and dragging upwards, flicking over the tight bud of your ass. you squeal and snap back to attention, having gotten dumb and drooly from when he'd been munching your cunt, but the new sensation has you on high alert once more. he spreads your cheeks with his free hand. "don't move."
you whimper at his tone and gasp as his tongue runs up and down, all the way from the base of your sloppy folds to your ass, all while easing a second finger inside of you.
"s-ser duncan, i-" your voice breaks off into a gasp when his tongue probes inside of you, his fingers spreading you open far enough for him to stuff his tongue in as well. he moans inside of you, sending vibrations through your hole and making your stomach tighten up. your lips part to form weak pants as you bury your face in the pillow.
dunk can see how much your body is responding to him as well. the way your cunt molds to fit his fingers and tongue, how your wetness flows freely to keep your hole lubricated and messy for him. and he could swear the longer he feasts upon you, the better you taste. he's never tasted a cunt as ripe as yours. but he won't tell you that.
his tongue working diligently to taste every drop of your essence. he loses himself in the act of pleasuring you, consumed by the desire to feel you come undone beneath him.
he keeps his fingers stuffed inside you but pulls back for a moment to watch how your cunt swallows them up, and he takes in the sight of your puffy, swollen lips, and the glistening, dusky flesh within. "of course you have the prettiest little pussy." he mumbles, tugging his fingers back and twisting them back in with a turn of his wrist.
before you can respond, he seals his mouth over your cunt once more his tongue delving deep to lap at your dripping slit. your body arches into the sheets. "i cannot take any more," you hiccup. " 'm about to... g-about to-"
dunk ignores your babbles and suckles on your swollen folds, his tongue trailing up to trace circles your clit, flicking over the sensitive bud teasingly before diving back down. his fingers pump faster, stroking your h-spot with each thrust, pushing you ruthlessly towards your impending orgasm. "beg for it," he growls against your sex, his fingers pausing their movement, leaving you teetering on the edge.
"please," you whimper, your voice high and breathy, desperate for release. you cry his name as your orgasm crashes through you, your pussy clamping down on his fingers, as your release gushes onto his hand, your body lifting off the bed. dunk groans, lapping up your essence as it pours out of you, swallowing every drop greedily. your pussy flutters around the invading digits and on his mouth, greedily seeking more. dunk devours every drop until you're licked clean, then runs his tongue over his lips with a satisfied hum.
TWD!MEN would have a serious thing for anal I feel. especially with limited resources and no proper medical care, the last thing they need is another mouth to feed. so, the best solution? the back door.
heâd still be polite about it however, taking the time to play with your perfect pussy, drawing one, maybe two orgasms from you with calloused wingers after youâve licked the dirt from them.
then, heâd plunge a wet finger into your puckered asshole when youâd least expect it, caught in the haze. carefully working you open with two, three fingers while he subtly grinds against your thigh, relieving some of the pain from their straining hard on against denim. he listens to your low moans become higher-pitched at the sensation, until they begin to get louder.
âshh, darlinâ,â heâd whisper, âdonât want anyone to hear us now, huh?â
so you bite your lip, stifling soft gasps with quiet hums, and heâd praise you for it.
âgood girl, perfect liâl slut for me, ainât that right?â
your eyes flutter shut at the words, heat blooming in your core as you squirm beneath him.
heâd continue to loosen you up with his strong hand until he feels youâre ready for him, or until he canât take it anymore.
heâd plant kisses on your cheek and jaw as he rolls you over onto your stomach, pushing his jeans down while gently pushing your legs apart to make room for him behind you. your back arches, eager to feel him inside of you even if it canât be in your pussy. heâd let a glob of spit drop down onto your hole for good measure, lubing you up extra as he lines his angry cockhead up and firmly pushes in.
his hands can only do so much, and you still suck in a sharp gasp at the stretch of his dick. he wraps his other hand around your mouth, concealing your lewd sounds as he begins pistoning his hips in and out of you. he has to bite his own lip at the warm and tight feeling of you around him, free hand massaging circles into the muscle of your ass, contrasting with the subtle burn. your eyes roll back.
he grunts, âshit, youâre so fucking tight fâme,â
when he plunges deeper, you have to reach a helpless hand back to him, nudging his abs back in motion to slow down. but he only grabs you by the wrist and pins your small hand against your back, he knows you can take it.
he continues chasing his high, taut skin of his hips pounding against the fat of your ass as you drool against his palm, completely fucked-out.
âfuck, iâm gonna cum soon,â he warns.
in a swift motion, he removes his hand from your mouth and pushes your face into the mattress. he grips your hips firmly as he picks up the pace, railing you rough and deep as he chases his high. you sob into the old blankets beneath you, until finally, he pulls out of you, pumping his cock a few times with his tight fist until he spills out onto your back.
he tries his best to hide his deep growl as he watches his hot seed paint your tender skin, head lulling back from the pleasure until he lets go, softly grinding his balls against your still-wet cunt to ride out the rest of his high, twitching tip resting against your tailbone. only then can you collapse onto your stomach panting, exhausted while your legs shake beneath you.
đđŽđŚđŚđđŤđ˛: Tired of silence, safety, and being Hershel Greene's innocent middle daughter, you traded prayer for provocation on a watchtower shift with Daryl Dixon. You pushed him, taunted him, and tried to force him to see the survivor you'd becomeâbut what you got was more than acknowledgment...
A secret he made sure you'd carry back inside the prison.
The Georgia heat didn't give a damn that the sun had gone down hours ago. It just made your shirt stick to your lower back and your hair curl slightly at the ends. You were up in the watchtowerâthe one overlooking the field where the walkers tended to herd up like cattle waiting for a slaughter that never really came.
Usually, this was Maggie and Glenn's shift. You'd see them heading up here with that look in their eyes, the one that said they weren't planning on doing much⌠watching. But Glenn was on a run, and Maggie was helping Beth with Judith, so the usual shift had changed.
Tonight, it was yours and Daryl's.
There wasn't even a chair up here, just the cold concrete and a scratchy blanket you'd thrown into the corner. You were sitting on it now, knees pulled up slightly to your chest, fumbling with the rifle Rick had given you earlier. It felt heavy in your hands, even though you'd been carrying weapons for months now.
Your thumbs traced the scratches on the stock, a nervous habit you always had when you were feeling uncomfortable, though somewhere between the fall of the farm and the discovery of the prison, it got worse.
Shifting the rifle again, you stole another glance at Daryl.
He wasn't looking at you. At least, not openly. But every few minutes, he moved his gaze sideways, and while pretending to adjust your bootlace, he looked again.
Not obvious. Not even enough that anyone but you would notice. But you'd spent enough time watching him since the fall of the farm to recognize his tells: the slow blinking, the twitch of his jaw, and the way his fingers gripped the crossbow stock. Measuring distance, threats⌠and you.
"What?" You asked under your breath, though you knew he wouldn't answer.
And he didn't.
It should've irritated you, but you were a little too tired already to care right now. Blinking slowly, you tried to fight the urge to just let your head fall back against the wall and drift off to sleep. However, your main problem was that, in the silence, your brain began to wander to places it shouldn't. Back to the farm.
Back to home.
God, it felt like a lifetime ago⌠A different universe entirely.
Trying to distract yourself, you looked up, watching the silhouette of the man standing at the window. Daryl hadn't moved in almost thirty minutes. He was just as still as a statue, his shoulders tight under that leather vest he seemingly never took off. He even held his crossbow like it was an extension of his arm, not a weapon he could just set down if he wanted to.
It was quiet up here. Too quiet. And again⌠it gave your brain too much space to wander back to places it shouldn't go.
It went back to the barn. Back to the porch, the smell of tea, and the sound of your dad's voice reading scripture in the living room. You were so different then. You remembered that girl as if she were a strangerâHershel's middle daughter. The innocent one. The one who wore sundresses and braided Beth's hair and prayed for forgiveness if she even thought a curse word. You were obedient. And you were terrified.
Looking down at your hands, you noticed that there was dirt under your fingernails that no amount of scrubbing could get out and even calluses on your palms from knife handles.
You hadn't prayed in months. Maybe God had stopped listening when the barn burned down, or maybe you just stopped talking when the world started eating itself alive, and you realized there would be no cure.
The time on the road had beaten the obedience out of you, ripped it away bit by bit, until all that was left was this exhausted, tired girl in a new world that was never meant to be.
Shifting on the blanket, you felt it itching against parts of your skin, making you snap out of your thoughts, and you let out a quiet, frustrated sigh, trying to adjust the rifle so the barrel wasn't digging into your hip.
Daryl still hadn't moved an inch.
He didn't look tired like you, and it was almost annoying, honestly. How could he stand there, perfectly alert, while you felt like you were too tired to even stand up, fumbling with your weapon like a child playing soldier?
To keep your eyes from sliding shut, you focused on him again. It was the only thing to do, really. There were not a lot of walkers at the fences right now, and there was no wind rustling the trees, but only the silence and the shape of Daryl Dixon standing guard.
You watched the way his weight shifted from one foot to the other, some kind of restless movement that gave him away.
Everyone else in the group treated the prison like it was the promised land. They had the bunk beds that didn't smell like mildew and the walls that kept the dangers out, as well as a quite regular food supply. You were all settling in, just not Daryl. You'd think he'd finally unclench that jaw of his, but if anything, the prison seemed to make him worse.
Out on the road, he had a purposeâhunt, track, kill, protect. In here? Between the concrete walls, the schedules, and the Council meetings? Well, he looked like he was itching to crawl out of his own skin.
The walls didn't make him feel safe; they made him feel trapped. You'd seen him pacing the cell block at three in the morning when he thought everyone was asleep, checking the locks, checking the perimeter, looking for the threat that his gut told him was always coming.
He couldn't settle and didn't know how to just be without looking over his shoulder.
Now he checked his crossbow again. Probably the fifth time in ten minutes.
It was almost funny, watching him be so careful. Especially in the way he was now with you.
Since you'd arrived here, since you'd survived the time on the road, he'd started treating you like you were made of glass. Like one wrong move, one loud noise, and you'd shatter into a million pieces right there on the concrete.
And he was always near you, or at least close by. Opening doors. Checking corners twice before he lets you walk down a hallway. Checking out your weapons after you cleaned them. And he always made sure you were in the middle of the formation on runs, shielded on all sides.
It was pissing you off. Because it just wasn't how it used to be.
Thinking again, he had been such an asshole back then. Loud and angry white trash. But looking back, with everything you know now, maybe that was just... him.
You swallowed hard, and your eyes looked back at him.
"Daryl?" You said his name softly, but he still didn't move.
"Daryl!" This time, your voice was louder.
His head twitchedâbut it was not enough to count as acknowledgment or an answer.
"You used to talk to me," you continued. "Even if it was just to annoy me."
Silence.
You remembered one afternoon by one of the wells, the summer heat beating down. You'd been trying to carry a bucket of water, struggling with the weight because you were much weaker then. Daryl had walked past, with a string of dead squirrels hanging over his shoulder. He didn't offer to help. Instead, he'd stopped, spat on the ground near your boots, and smirked.
"Need a hand there, sugar?" He'd drawled, his voice sounding more than just sarcastic. "Careful, 'cause ya don't wanna break a nail. Bet yer daddy won't like it."
He'd stood there and watched you struggle, smirking at you, until you'd gotten so mad you hauled that bucket up out of pure spite, splashing water all over your dress. And Daryl had just huffed a quick laughâdry and mean.
He used to mock your prayers, leaning against the porch railing while you tried to read your Bible outside, something you always liked to do in the early morning sun, making comments about Jesus and God just to see your face turn red in anger. He'd even make fun of your clean clothes and your quiet voice. If you tripped over a root, he wouldn't help you up; he'd just snort about how girls didn't know how to walk on dirt. He'd even toss gross parts of whatever he was skinning in your direction just to hear you squeal when you were walking to the chicken coop.
Daryl Dixon was mean. He was rough. But he looked at you, and he saw you. He didn't treat you like a porcelain doll that needed to be put on a high shelf; he treated you like a human being and not as if you needed any protection from the world that was about to drag your beliefs down to hell with it.
Now? Now Daryl wouldn't even look you in the eye for more than a few seconds.
It was like he was terrified that if he talked with you, if he acknowledged that you'd toughened up, that you were harder now, he'd lose the only version of you he knew how to handle. Maybe he wanted to keep you innocent. Maybe he wanted to keep you as the farmer's daughter, because that girl might need him sooner or later. This new version of youâthe one fumbling with a rifle in the dark, the one who didn't flinch at the sound of a skull crackingâconfused him. Scared him, maybeâŚ
But right then and there, you decided that the silence was enough. If Daryl wasn't going to look at you or talk to you anymore, if he wasn't going to acknowledge that you were now a living, breathing person capable of killing a walker just as fast as he could, then you were going to force him to.
You were bored. You were annoyed. And honestly, looking at his back while your own brain replayed the burning barn, the walkers, and everything else you'd lost back then was driving you crazy.
"You know," you started, your voice sounding too loud in the small space. You didn't bother to soften it. "For a guy who acts like such a loner, you sure do stand there like decoration whenever Rick isn't around to give you orders."
Smirking to yourself, you realized that Daryl still didn't turn around. He didn't even tense up. He just tilted his head a bit of an inch to the side, a small movement, and his eyes still looked down on the dark yard below, completely dismissing you.
"Ignore me all you want," you grumbled, feeling a little irritated again. You shifted your legs, letting your boot kick the concrete wall on purpose. "Doesn't change the fact that you look ridiculous. You're trying so hard to look dangerous, but honestly? You just look like a dog."
Still nothing. Just the rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath he took.
It was making you angry. It was like talking to a brick wall that breathed. And Daryl not even trying to react stung more than an insult would have. Standing up, you let the rifle fall away completely to the floor, not wanting to pick it up as you finally walked over to him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to be even more annoying. You could smell him from hereâthe dirt, the sweat, and his own personal scent that clung to his vest.
"Is this really it?" You then asked, leaning your hip against the window frame, turning your back to the danger outside just to watch his face. You stared right at his profile, searching for any hint of rage. "Is this Daryl Dixon now? Just⌠standing? Staring? Acting like the group's favorite guard dog?"
You saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Gotcha.
"I remember when you weren't," you continued. "Back home, at the farm. You were such an ass. Always spitting on the ground and looking at us Greenes like we were religious little idiots who would've tried to go to church with a walker if we found a prayer that sounded as if it might've helped! But at least you were⌠I don't know. Alive."
Nothing⌠Daryl was doing a good job of pretending you weren't there.
"Now look at you," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's pathetic. You are pathetic. I bet you don't even remember how to be anything else but a babysitter for Judith."
Pretending to check the perimeter, you turned and leaned forward so your arm brushed right against his vest. It wasn't an accident, and you both knew it. You even felt the muscles in his back stiffen, which was quite a hard, involuntary flinch, but he didn't step away.
"And it's not just with Rick's daughter," you continued, right near his shoulder. "I see the way you trail after Carol. It's sweet, really. Like a little lost puppy that finally found someone to care about. Does she scratch behind your ears, Daryl? Does she tell you you're a good boy?"
He let out a sharp breath through his nose, a sound like a bull getting ready to charge, but you pressed on.
"You used to walk around with that crossbow like you're some kind of dangerous animal," you laughed. "Scowling at everyone. Only grunting instead of speaking. And then I saw you with Judith. 'Little AsskickerâŚ' God, you were practically so happy to hold her! But the vest, the anger, the attitude... Yeah, you're just some white trash redneck playing pretend."
You moved again, stepping around him slightly so you were in his vision, blocking his view of the treeline, and looked at him with pity, though not real pity.
Thatâsomehowâhit. His head jerked to the side, and it wasn't a full turn but a clear sign that was meant to send you a message.
"Ya gotta lot t'say, Greene," he finally spat out, and it sounded like a full, genuine threat, but he still didn't move his body. "Maybe ya shoulda go back t'readin' that damn bible of yers."
You felt a thrill of victory but also a genuine bit of fear. The old Daryl was finally showing up. At least you hoped so.
"Why?" You asked him, refusing to back down. "So I can pray for you? I'm all out of prayers, Daryl. And frankly, the prison is boring. You're boring."
Moving your hand on his back, lower this time, you let your fingers trace part of his belt.
"Honestly, it's embarrassing," you continued, letting your fingers play with the edges of it. "I bet you wouldn't even know what to do anymore! You've probably forgotten how to touch anything that isn't a crossbow or a baby bottle."
You heard his breath hitch, only a little, but enough.
When you stepped an inch closer, blocking his view further, his body reacted before he could think. One hand moved off the crossbow stock, and his fingers flexed like he was about to reach for your armâto grip you or push you back, you couldn't tell.
But he stopped himself.
"Embarrassin'," he repeated, and he finally, finally turned his head to look at you. Not a glance, but a full-on look. "That what ya think?"
"Looks like it from where I'm standing," you shot back, your heart pounding in your chest.
"A'right. Let's talk 'bout embarrassin'." He turned his body fully towards you now, crowding you without even taking a step. "Let's talk 'bout yer ass. Followin' me 'round since the farm... Think I ain't seein' that shit? Yer hoverin' when I'm cleanin' my kill. Lurkin' 'round me all damn day."
Your face turned red, proving how ashamed you actually felt now. "I neverâ"
"Yer a bad fuckin' liar," Daryl cut you off, his voice dropping to a growl. "Worse than ya are with that rifle. Ya been waitin' for a fight for weeks. But ya don't wanna fight, do ya? Yer just fuckin' bored. Daddy's little girl ain't got no fences to mend and no dumbass porch t'pray on, so she's gotta find somethin' else to feel useful for once."
Every word was a slap in your face. He saw right through you, past the pretending act and the rifle, straight down to the girl underneath. It was humiliating.
"You don't know anything about me," you hissed back at him, your voice trembling with a bit of shame.
"The hell I don't," he snarled in response, leaning in so close you could feel a few strands of his hair against your forehead. "I know ya still flinch when a damn twig snaps too loud. I know ya can't look at the walkers near the fence for t'long 'fore yer hands start shakin'. Yer ain't shit."
That was what pushed you over the edge somehow, even though you knew Daryl was right. With a choked cry, you swung your hand, aiming to knock that sudden smirk right off his face.
But you never stood a chance.
His hand moved faster than yours, and his fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping the slap an inch from his cheek and making you gasp at the sheer force of his grip.
"Thought so," he grunted. "All talk."
Daryl yanked you forward, using your confusion against you. You stumbled into him, your free hand flying up to brace yourself against his chest and to push back.
"Ya wanna fight, Greene?" He asked, his face only inches from yours. "Fine! Let's fight."
He shoved you back then, not hard enough to make you fall, but enough to make you stumble. Your boot caught on the edge of the scratchy blanket, and you went down, your ass hitting the cold concrete with the rifle sliding away and toward the wall.
Scrambling back to your knees as fast as you could, you launched yourself at him. But you didn't aim for a slap this time; you went low, trying to tackle him down by his waist.
A grunt of surprise was forced out of him as you pushed him back a step, and for a second, you had him off-balance. Then his arms closed around you.
Daryl didn't even need to try to throw you off; he just squeezed, lifting you off your feet. You kicked and thrashed, your elbows digging into his sides, but it was still like trying to fight a brick wall.
Not being able to do anything to stop him, he dropped down, taking you with him. You both landed on the tangled blanket, the impact knocking the wind out of you. He was on top of you in an instant, his knees pinning your thighs, his weight keeping you from moving, but you still bucked around, trying to throw him off, your hands clawing at his arms, his vest, anything you could reach.
One of Daryl's hands caught not only one but both of your wrists, slamming them down onto the concrete above your head. The hold was rough, painful even, and you were trapped.
"Done?" Daryl growled, his chest heaving, but you yelled at him in response.
"Go to hell, Daryl!"
At your answer, he leaned down, his mouth close to your ear. "Been there m'whole goddamn life..."
You then tried to headbutt him, but he jerked his face back, avoiding it easily, now genuinely annoyed. Adjusting his grip, his hips were pressing yours harder into the floor, stopping your thrashing, and the hard edges of his belt buckle dug into your stomach. You were panting, your chest rising and falling ever so fast against his, but Daryl was breathing just as hard.
He was staring down at you, his eyes searching yours in the near-darkness before he finally felt your body go still beneath his.
â"I ain't pretendin' nothin'," he grumbled. "'M just seein' what's gotta be done. And what's gotta be done is for ya t'shut yer fuckin' mouth and watch that damn fence."
â"No!" You challenged him back, pushing against the weight of him with a tiny movement of your hips. "What's gotta be done is that you stop treating me like I'm still that innocent girl from the farm! I can handle this new life! And I can handle you!"
âThe lie was out, but Daryl's reaction was immediate. The hard pressure of his body intensified, pressing you down against the floor with a slow, grinding buck that wasn't intentional but was enough to make you gasp.
â"Yeah? Ya can handle me?" He scoffed, though the sound was a little shaky. His gaze dropped, moving across your face, down your throat, where your pulse was jumping, and stayed near your tits still trapped beneath his chest. "Ya wanna prove that, Greene? Ya got a real stupid way of goin' 'bout it."
âHe didn't loosen his grip on your wrists even once. Instead, he twisted your hands just slightly, enough to make you wince, forcing your arms to stretch higher and making your back arch slightly into his weight. You were pinned down, completely under his mercy, completely pissed off, but also terrifyingly captivated by him.
You wanted this. You wanted him. Now. But what you didn't want was to give him the satisfaction of knowing. Of Daryl really knowing how much you desired him. No⌠You just wanted him to take you. Right there. Right now.And without any hesitation.
â"What's wrong, Daryl?" You then taunted, trying to get your feet back on the ground. To win. "What? Is this more excitement than your little Carol-and-Judith daycare duties allow?"
âHis knuckles went white again, and he moved his head back, giving you a snarl of pure frustration, but he ignored your baiting question.
â"When I tell ya to shut up, ya shut up. I ain't havin' ya annoy my ass 'cause yer bored and lookin' for trouble."
â"And if I'm not looking for trouble?" You whispered, your heart now pounding so hard it felt like your ribs might crack. "What if I'm looking for you?"
Daryl froze. Every bit of anger left his eyes, replaced by a sudden confusion and then a shocking realization.
For a long, uncomfortable moment, he just stared down at you, his chest heaving against yours, his breath hot on your face. You could see it in his eyes, how the words you'd just said made him think too much and yet not enough all at once.
The realization didn't come gently; it literally crashed into him. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your mouth, then back up, and the look there was no longer about winning a fight when his free hand suddenly moved to your face, cupping your jaw, his fingers roughly stroking the skin of your cheek. His touch felt dirty, without any gentleness, but it felt overwhelming at the same time.
â"Shoulda shut that fuckin' mouth now, Greene," he breathed, his eyes seeing you not as the innocent farmer's daughter, but as the complicated, annoying woman who had just brought him to the edge.
âWithout giving you any time to answer, Daryl closed the final distance. His lips were on yoursâslightly dry, rough, and tasting like cigarettes. He moved his head, grinding his lips against yours, wanting a response that you instantly and violently gave.
Freeing one hand of yours, it shot up, grabbing the back of his neck, holding him to your body as hard as you could, and Daryl finally let go of your remaining wrist, only to move one hand and grab the fabric of your pants, tugging at it.
"Off," he grunted against your mouth, his fingers fumbling with the button.
How could you deny a voice so deep and demanding that it made you shiver?
You didn't hesitate. While Daryl fumbled with your pants, your hands went to the hem of your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one quick move, along with your bra, throwing it aside into the darkness of the watchtower.
The cold concrete hit your skin, giving you goosebumps, but you couldn't care less.
Daryl broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, just to look at you with eyes wandering over the naked skin of your stomach and your tits. It felt as if for the first time he'd truly look at youâthe new you, the actual survivorâand his gaze felt more intense than any touch so far.
"See?" You panted, your voice trembling a little, even though you still wanted to prove yourself. "Not so innocent now, huh?"
Daryl didn't answer with words. He just shoved your pants and panties down your hips in one rough, fast movement, dragging them down your legs and off, throwing them somewhere near the rifle. You tried to kick your clothes away, your movements just as desperate as his.
While you were freeing yourself from your clothes, Daryl worked on his own, his fingers fumbling with his belt buckle. He never took his eyes off you, watching you beneath him, naked and waiting, until you heard his belt opening, followed by the sound of his zipper. He shoved his pants down just enough to free himself, his cock springing out, hard, thick, and leaking already.
Leaning himself slowly back over you, his mouth found yours again in another rough kiss as he moved and positioned himself between your thighs.
You could already feel the head of his cock nudging against your pussy, which only made you wetterâif that was even possible. A choked gasp escaped you, your hips bucking off the blanket, desperately wanting more.
But Daryl pulled his lips away from yours again, his forehead resting against your own. "Look at that," he growled, pushing his face a little bit more toward yours, wanting to make sure you were listening to him. "Fuckin' soaked for me. After all that bitchin'âŚ"
Rocking his hips, he was letting the head of his cock slide through your pussy folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing you with what was about to come. The feeling was maddeningâso close to what you needed, but not enough.
"Please, Daryl..."
That's when his hand came up again. Not to hold your face like before, but to wrap it around your throat.
Your eyes flew open wide, but there was no fearâonly excitement. And Daryl's grip wasn't painful now; it was just right, his thumb pressing against the pulse pounding in your neck. He squeezed, just enough to make the blood flow louder in your ears, to make the world shrink to just his expression above you, his eyes looking into yours, and the slight pressure of his hand.
"This what ya wanted?" Daryl growled, his grip tightening a bit more, stealing your breath away while he stilled his hips, holding himself right at your pussy. "This what ya been followin' me 'round for? T'get yerself fucked by some white trash dick?"
You couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but nod frantically in response, your own hands coming up to grab at his wrist, not to pull him away, but to hold him still again.
Shit⌠His hands⌠They were so big and rough⌠And that one hand was feeling more than perfect around your throat.
Daryl released the pressure just as your vision started to blur ever so slightly, allowing you to gasp and breathe in air again. He watched you quietly now, seeing the effect he had on you, only to do it againâa slow squeeze, holding you on the edge, his thumb stroking almost gently over your pulse on your throat. And each time he tightened his hand, your body would twitch, your hips bucking up to finally get him to take you.
"Ya really ain't that innocent girl no more, are ya?" He smirked down at you, but you knew it wasn't really a question. Then he finally, finally, notched the head of his cock against your pussy properly, applying the slightest, most torturous pressure.
You shook your head, sobbing a little out of frustration that he wasn't fucking you already. "No... Guess I'm not."
Daryl leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as his hand then relaxed around your throat. "Good..."
That was a promise and a threat all in one. And then Daryl began to push inside.
It wasn't the fast, punishing thrust you'd expected, no⌠hoped for. It was slow. The thick head of his cock pressed into you, stretching you open inch by inch. Your back arched off the cold concrete, with a broken, whimpering moan torn from your throat, and your nails dug into the bare skin of his forearm, but he didn't speed up. He didn't even flinch.
Daryl just watched you.
His eyes were still fixed on your face, studying every twitch, every flutter of your eyelids, and every helpless gasp. He was buried to the hilt now, so deep you were panting, your body waiting and begging for his movementâfor more.
But Daryl didn't move.
He stayed perfectly still, with his weight holding you down and his forearms right beside your head next. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant, indifferent moan of a few walkers outside.
"Fuck⌠Daryl⌠please," you begged, your voice a choked whisper. You tried to roll your hips to get some kind of movement, but he pressed down harder, pinning you completely.
"'Please' what?" He grunted in amusement, giving you a tiny, circular grind with his hips that made you see stars already. "Thought ya could handle me. This it? This all it takes?"
He pulled out just as slowly as he'd pushed inside, the drag of his cock inside your pussy a different kind of torture, and you whimpered in response, a sound of pure desperation.
"Justâ" You whimpered again, trying to adjust, trying to move once more.
But his response was a hissed inhale of breath through his teeth. "Did I say move?"
"P-pleaseâŚ"
All of a sudden, he pushed back in with that same torturously slow pace, filling you up all over again. "Yeah, 'please what,' huh? Use yer damn words, Greene. Y'had so many of 'em 'fore!"
"Please... fuck me," you begged, your voice cracking with need. "Just... move."
"'M movin'," he huffed, pulling back slowly again. His eyes were devouring you, watching the pure frustration in your eyes and the way your mouth fell open, only to close with every dry swallow of air.
One of Daryl's hands moved away from the side of your head, trailing slowly down your trembling side, along your ribs. He watched his own hand as it moved, his calloused fingers scraping a little over your skin, making you shiver. He slid up along one tit next, his finger brushing over your nipple, and you arched into the touch with another gasp.
"Ain't even doin' nothin'. Just bein' inside ya. Y'like that? Like havin' my dick in yer cunt?"
The words from his mouth, so⌠honest, should have made you feel ashamed. But you could only nod, your ability to form words completely gone by now.
"I asked ya a question."
"Yes! Fuck!" You sobbed in return. "Yes, God, Daryl, please! I'm sorry! Justâ"
He rewarded you by pushing deep again, a single, hard thrust that would make you beg for every single inch of what he was about to give you.
And you were. Oh God, you were.
"Daryl... please," you begged again, your voice trembling. "More... shit, just... do it."
He stopped again, his whole body tensing above you. "What was that?" He asked, wanting your words, wanting to hear them louder, once and for all. "Didn't quite hear ya."
"I said, 'Fuck me!'" You cried out, the words tearing themselves from your throat, making your mouth feel dry. "Just fuck me, Daryl, please! Iâ"
A low, deep growl was his answerâa sound of his satisfaction. It was the sound of him winning and you surrendering, and both of you knowing this was exactly how it was supposed to be in the first place.
Then his hand clamped over your mouth, silencing any other plea you might have had. And the way he thrust back into you with a force that stole the air back from your lungs, the wet sound against the silence of the night, despite the few walkers outside still clawing at the fences, made your choked scream sound muffled against his palm.
Each thrust was moving your entire body, pushing you up the blanket with every buck of his hips.
Daryl's mouth left your ear, moving down your throat next. But he didn't kiss. He bit. A sharp, quick bite on the skin where your neck met your shoulder that made you twitch and cry out against his palm. It was going to leave a mark, a blue and purple bruise you'd have to hide soon, and the thought alone made you shiver.
Daryl was everywhereâhis smell, his taste, the weight of him, and the sound of his own ragged grunts in your ear.
"Y'know why I was nice to ya?" Daryl suddenly said, not even stopping his movements. He was teasing you. "Huh? Ya wanna know why I stopped spittin' at yer feet, Greene?"
Wanting you to answer him right away, he gave you a deep, grinding thrust that almost made you go crazy. You nodded, desperate for any piece of him he'd give you, even if it was just words.
"'Cause I saw ya," he answered, his hips never slowing their pace. "Saw ya that day we cleared C-Block. Walker had ya cornered. Ya didn't scream. Didn't cry. Just stuck yer knife right through its eye." He smirked, nipping at your jaw. "Wasn't yer daddy's little girl no more."
He shifted his weight, angling his thrusts differently, hitting a spot deep inside you that made your legs tremble and your eyes roll back.
"Started thinkin'... 'bout what Hershel'd say," he breathed. "Seein' his good, church-goin' daughter... takin' a redneck's dick. Bet he'd pray for yer damn soul."
Those words, the sheer blasphemy of it, with the image of your father, only made your pussy clench around him tighter.
Daryl groaned at the feeling, his rhythm breaking for a second. "Shit... feel that? Y'like me talkin' 'bout yer daddy while I'm fuckin' his little girl's cunt?"
The leather of his vest scraped against your hard nipples with every one of his thrusts; it was almost painful, but you loved it. You loved every moment of it. This was himâall of him that you'd wantedâthe dirt and the sweat and the anger, and it was terrifying, but everything.
"'N I had t'be nice, didn't I? Wantin' t'fuck Hershel's daughter. As if ya were a damn preacher's kid. Gotta be a gentleman... Opened doors for ya. Checked yer goddamn weapons. Even made sure ya ate." He said, and suddenly fucked into you faster as if it was nothing. "All I was thinkin' 'bout was this. 'Bout how yer cunt would feel. 'Bout how fuckin' pretty ya'd look with my cum drippin' outta ya."
Daryl had cared, in his own way, while he'd been protecting you because he wanted you for himself, and the thought of anything else touching what he'd already decided was his was unacceptable. This was the man you'd been trying to provoke. And he was fucking you like he was trying to exorcise his own demons right into you.
You could still only moan in response, your body arching and bucking beneath his, desperately meeting his thrusts as best you could.
"Got so damn hard always watchin' yaâŚ"
He finally ripped his hand away from your mouth, needing both hands to grip your hips, his fingers digging in hard as he yanked you toward him with every deep thrust.
"Yer damn daddy," he panted further. "Shit⌠if he ever looked at me? Would kill my fuckin' ass."
"God, Daryl," you gasped, your head moving from side to side, completely lost in him.
"Shut up," he growled in response. "Needa make sure tomorrow, when yer walkin' past me, all ya can think 'bout is how I feel inside ya."
You were beyond words, beyond any reasonable thought. And it only pushed you closer to the edge. Embarrassingly fast.
"Y'close?" He growled, and it wasn't really a question. He could sense it, the way your body was feeling around his, tightening, ready to shatter like glass. "Yeah, y'are⌠Gonna come all over my dick, ain'tcha? After all that..."
You swallowed in air, your voice wrecked as you tried to confirm his suspicion. "Daryl... Yes! I'm about toâ"
"Yeah," he growled, panting louder as he got closer to the point of no return himself, losing his control. "C'mon. Let me feel it."
And you did.
Your back arched off the blanket, a silent scream stuck in your throat as you came around him, with your fingers gripping uselessly against his vest, your pussy clenching down around his cock in quick pulses. It felt like dying and being reborn all at once, and the only thing holding you back from crying out too loud was the weight of Daryl on top of you.
He was fucking hard into you now, his rhythm completely gone. There was no way he would stop.
"W-wait⌠DarylâŚ" You whimpered anyway, your hands pushing weakly at his chest. The reality of what was happeningâwhere you were, what he was about to doâcrashed down on you. "Don't⌠don't, pleaseâŚ"
It was too late.
His body was already tensing up above you. With a final, deep thrust inside of you, he let out a broken groan against your neck. You felt the sudden twitches of his cock and the pulses of his cum shooting into you, making his whole body shudder violently, with his hips giving a few last, helpless jerks as he came inside you.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing. And as a tear you didn't even know you'd cried escaped, Daryl, still buried deep inside you, went still. He felt the tiny, wet tear against his cheek where his face was pressed against yours now and pulled back just an inch, his eyes searching your face and noticing the tear.
"Hey," he started, his voice still rough but quieter now. Still, he didn't try to wipe the tear away with his hand. Instead, he lowered his head and swiped his tongue over your skin. He was tasting your emotion, taking that too for himself.
"Shut up," he growled against your skin, his lips moving to your jaw, then to the corner of your mouth. They weren't kisses, not really. They were more like bitesâsoft, nibbling bites meant to calm you down and mark you at the same time. "Yer okay⌠Promise."
You could feel his heart hammering against your own, but it was beginning to calm down when you nodded. A tiny, shaky movement, and your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now came up to grab at his shoulders, holding him there.
He growled in approval, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing starting to even out completely. The distant moans of the walkers outside were louder now, making you realize that the new world was still there, waiting. Only then did Daryl's hips give a tiny, involuntary buck, a reminder that he was still inside of you.
"S'alright," he then said, staying like that for a while longer until your trembling finally began to go away too.
But the reality of what he'd doneâfilling up Hershel's daughter with his cum right there on the watchtower floorâseemed to hit him the second his head cleared.
He pulled out of you slowly, and the feeling of him leaving, followed by the warm dripping of his cum, made you gasp. Your eyes, wide and a little shocked, went right away to his face.
Daryl saw it again. He saw the farm girl in your eyes, the girl who'd cared for him after Andrea had shot him, the girl who was always so kind and nice, but also the one who'd probably never had a man finish inside her, let alone without a second thought. Right now, he looked quite guilty and ashamed. But that was gone fast, leaving only a somewhat defensive scowl on his face.
"Shit," he scoffed, looking down at where his cum was already starting to leak out of you, unable to look you in the eye. He wiped his softening cock with one hand on the edge of the blanket, standing up just as fast. "Hell are ya lookin' at?"
You pushed yourself up on your elbows, your body still trembling a little. "You⌠you just came inside me!"
"Ya got a problem with that?" He shot back, challenging you as he tucked himself away and started fastening his belt. "Ain't like yer damn daddy's gonna find out. 'Less ya run and tell him his good girl got herself filled up byâ"
That was it. The mention of your dad again, the sheer audacity of him throwing it in your face now, made you lose control.
With a cry of pure rage, you launched yourself at him, still naked, but furious. You didn't care that you felt his cum slowly slide down your thighs or that your legs were shaking. You just moved.
One of your fists found his shoulder, but it was a weak, pathetic punch that didn't even make him flinch. It just pissed him off.
"Goddammit, woman!" He snarled, and his arm shot out, his hand catching you easily.
The fight was over before it even started. Daryl spun you around, your back slamming against his chest. One of his arms slid across your upper body, pinning your arms to your sides, while his other hand moved across your lower belly, holding you against him.
"Let me go, you bastard!" You yelled, thrashing in his grip, your bare ass grinding against the hard edges of his belt buckle.
But Daryl moved his head, his mouth finding your ear, growling and whispering into it. "Fuckin' stop it," he said, but his voice was not full of anger. The hand on your belly slid lower, his fingers digging into the skin just above your pussy. "Y'want 'nother fight? This how ya wanna get it?"
You went still, panting, and he took full advantage of it. His head moved lower, his teeth finding the same spot he'd bitten into earlier on your shoulder. You cried out, and your head fell back against his shoulder, your eyes closed, and your lips parted on command.
"That's it," he growled against your skin, keeping his lips pressed against it. "Just like that. Fight me all ya want. Just gets me all hard again."
Daryl's hand on your lower belly moved, his fingers sliding through the wetness between your legs, through the mess he'd made that was dripping out of you, and he groaned deeply. "Fuck⌠Yer daddy's gonna kill my ass."
"Stop⌠stop talking about him," you begged, but your words sounded way too weak. Your body was betraying you, arching back into him, seeking the feeling of his fingers.
"Why?" He breathed out with a smirk, his middle finger finding your clit, rubbing ever so softly over it, until you jerked in his arms, moaning. "Ya still wanna go prayin' in a church, just t'be spreadin' yer legs for a damn redneck who pisses you off next?"
Daryl's words stung a little, but you knew he was right. He was right in a way that made you want more of thisâof him.
"Bet he's sleepin' right now," Daryl whispered, his other arm tightening around your chest, holding you up as your knees began to tremble again. "Dreamin' 'bout his sweet, innocent daughters. Never woulda dream 'bout how I got my cum drippin' outta one of 'em."
You were sobbing now with little broken whimpers, your hands gripping his forearm as the lust was building again.
"Y'gonna come again?" He grunted, his finger moving slightly faster and pressing a little harder.
You couldn't speak. You could only nod frantically, your body twitching in his arms.
"Damn right y'are," he snarled, and that was all it took. Your orgasm came fast, silent, and violent this time, your body tensing in his grip as you shook against him, a long, broken moan finally escaping you. Daryl held you through it with his face buried in your neck, his lips sucking and kissing your skin, bruising it further.
Once it was over and done, your legs gave out completely, and you both sank down to your knees on the scratchy blanket, his arms still locked around you, holding you against him.
"YeahâŚ" He then said, with his face still nuzzled against the back of your neck. "Ya can handle me."
"And you couldn't justâ" You laughed with an exhausted tone in your voice. "You couldn't just... let it be. You had to... had to prove a point, huh?"
Daryl huffed against your back, but what you didn't see was his smirk when he held you tighter. "Point was proved when ya came on my dick the first time."
"I'mâ" You answered, trying to squirm, but his arms kept you from moving. "I'm just saying! You didn't have to be such an asshole..."
"Y'started it," he shot back before he shifted behind you, and suddenly, he moved you both once more, back down on the scratchy blanket, your naked skin scraping against it. Daryl then leaned down over you again, trapping you with his body, but that made you angry again.
"Y'shoulda've just asked for it from the start. Woulda saved us both the helluva trouble that ya are."
You tried to kick him somehow, but your leg flopped back uselessly onto the floor. "Go to hell already, Daryl."
"Told ya. 'M already there." He didn't even try to deny it.
You opened your mouth to respond, to call him every name you could think of, but he was faster. His head dropped, and his teeth were finding the already bruised skin of your neck again. Gasping, that sharp bite of his was silencing you instantly while he was kneeling between your legs, and when he pulled back, his eyes were still focused only on youâthe bite marks on your shoulder, the sweat on your stomach, and the trail of his cum on your inner thighs.
That's when you saw it. Daryl's one hand was moving past your face, searching for your discarded panties from the tangle of clothes on the floor. He held them up, letting you look at them, before bringing them to his mouth, putting the fabric between his teeth, his blue eyes locked on yours.
"What are you doing?" You asked, trying to sound defiant but only managing to sound confused but ever so curious.
He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned back down lower over you.
What the hell was he doing now? And what exactly was he about to do next?
You found out a second later. Daryl's other hand, the fingers still wet from playing with your clit, moved down your throat next. You thought he was going to touch you there again, to tease you further. But he didn't. His hand slid slowly down your body, right to the sticky wetness on your inner thighs. You felt his fingers, two of them, press against your pussy.
And they didn't tease. They pushed inside you in one move, burying themselves deep.
It was an overwhelming feeling. Daryl's fingers inside you, pushing his own cum deeper, stretching you open all over.
"Feel that?" Daryl growled, the words muffled around the fabric in his mouth as his fingers pumped into you once, twice⌠several times, making you moan and squirm. "Makin' sure it takes... That it stays in ya."
"Stopâ" you begged, but it was a lie, and he knew it. Your body was arching into his touch, your hips making tiny, helpless circles. "Stop⌠talking like that."
Before you could even form another reasonable thought, his fingers slid out of you, dripping and wet. Your mouth fell open, but he didn't give you the chance. His hand moved to your face, and those same two wet fingers pressed against your lips, making you stare up at him in shock until he tilted his head ever so slightly.
For a second, you resisted with wide eyes, your lips pressed shut in a rather pathetic attempt, thinking you could escape this. Him.
Hesitantly, your tongue darted out, tasting yourself and his cum on his fingers. Then, driven by the shiver that went through your whole body, you opened your mouth and took his fingers in, sucking them clean.
Leaning in closer to you, not to kiss you, but to bury his face against your chest, his nose was brushing along your tits, watching as your nipples hardened again, so close to his lips where he still held your panties between them. But Daryl continued to only watch, though his own breathing was already growing heavier again.
When he was truly satisfied, he slowly pulled his fingers away from your mouth with a soft, wet pop. Still holding your gaze, he dragged those now-clean fingers down your chin until he finally leaned back, pulling the panties from his teeth with his other hand.
"Told ya t'shut yer mouth," he said, his voice rough but still amused. "Now y'know how. And y'ain't bored no more, are ya?"
Daryl's eyes immediately dropped from your face to between your legs. He still held your panties in one hand, looking at them, then back at your pussy, so wet and only his.
With a grunt, he shifted down your body, and you thought he was going to fuck you again, making you tense up in anticipation. But he didn't. He only moved lower until his head was between your thighs, his strong shoulders pushing your legs apart.
"What are youâ" You started, but the words died in your throat when he buried his face in your pussy, his mouth letting go of your panties.
It was a rough press of his lips and tongue against it, making you cry out when his tongue licked through the mess as it still leaked out of you. The feeling was so shocking that your hands flew to his hair, not knowing whether to push him away or hold him there forever.
"Fuck, Daryl," you groaned, your hips bucking slightly off the blanket. "GodâŚ"
He growled against you, the sound a clear command for you to be still. His hands came up to grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you open for him before his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with it, trying to clean you out, or at least you thought so.
Then you felt it. The fabric of your panties. Daryl had balled them up in one of his fists and was now pressing them against your pussy with his thumb. His mouth then worked your clit, his tongue circling it, but his thumb was there, trying to push the fabric into you.
The shock of itâthe feeling of the fabricâmade your body seize up. Your legs, acting on pure instinct, clamped shut around Daryl's head, trapping him there and making him curse against your clit. He struggled for a moment, his shoulders bunching, but you held him tight between your thighs. For you, it was a stupid and powerless attempt to stop whatever was happening, an embarrassing move to get back some tiny bit of control.
To no avail, it all just lasted a few seconds.
With a snarl, Daryl ripped his head free, coming up over you fast. His face was wet and his eyes wild. Before you could even take a breath, one hand was around your throat again, not to choke but to hold you still, to force you to look at him.
"Tryna suffocate me, huh?" He asked, his breath hot against your face. "That what ya wanna try now?"
You shook your head, the tone of your voice only a desperate whisper. "No⌠I just⌠Lookâ"
The next thing you knew was that his mouth was on yours again.
This kiss was different. You could taste yourself on Daryl's lips, on his tongueâit was the taste of what he'd just done to you, and he was forcing you to share it. Moaning into his mouth, your hands, which had been in his hair only moments before, now clawed at his back, pulling him closer.
He kissed you like he was trying to win a fight all over again, his tongue moving against yours, stealing your breath and your sanity. All the while, his other handâthe one not holding your throatâwas still busy.
It was almost embarrassing when you felt the fabric of your panties again, pressed against your pussy. Daryl broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged.
"Gonna plug ya up," he whispered with a smirk. "Keep my cum inside ya where it belongs. 'Til we get back inside. Ain't gonna waste a drop."
Your eyes widened. "Daryl, you can'tâ"
His hand tightened on your throat, just a little, cutting off your response. "Can⌠'M doin' it already."
And then he pushed.
The feeling of your panties was a strange pressure, not like his cock or his fingers. It was dry against your wetness, feeling so unnatural, but Daryl worked only a tiny part of it into you with two fingers, shoving the fabric not too deep but still stuffing you with your own underwear.
It felt wrong.
It felt insane.
It felt so fucking good, you thought you might come again from the sheer wrongness of it.
Daryl pushed until a small part of your panties was deep enough inside you, and he held his fingers there for a moment, feeling your pussy clench around it, watching your reaction closely.
"There," he smirked as he slowly pulled his fingers away, leaving the plug of fabric behind. "Now y'ain't leakin' all over the damn place. 'N yer gonna keep that in 'til we get back."
He finally released your throat, his hand coming down to move along your waist, almost tenderly if you ignored the fact that he'd just stuffed your pussy with your own panties.
Every tiny shift of your hips, every clench of your pussy, reminded you it was there. Reminded you of Daryl. His cum that he'd left behind.
Then he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear one last time.
"Shift's almost over," he whispered. "Get yer ass dressed."
That was all he said when he stood back up, adjusting himself once more, only to grab his crossbow in silence. And of course, a nasty little voice whispered in your headâŚ
What did you expect? He got what he wanted. You were just a distraction from the boredom.
The Daryl who had just owned every inch of your body, who had whispered into your skin, and who came inside you earlier was gone. In his place was the grunting hunter, already turning his back to you. There was the quiet statue again, the brick wall.
The feeling of shame came back. Daryl had gotten what he wanted, and now he was done. You were just⌠Hershel Greene's middle daughter again. The one he'd fucked on a dirty blanket.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you pushed yourself up as well. Your body felt used, sore in places you didn't know could be sore. But every movement sure was a reminder. The scrape of the blanket on your bare skin, the bite marks on your shoulder, and most of all, the strange pressure deep inside you. Your panties.
Moving quietly, with your legs buckling as you reached for your clothes, every step you took as you gathered your bra and shirt, as well as the discarded rifle, felt awkward. But pulling your pants on was the actual, and new, kind of torture. The fabric rubbed against the panties sticking out of you, creating a feeling that was anything but comfortable. It made you walk with a slight, awkward hitch in your step, making you squirm in a way you couldn't control, almost making you let go of the rifle.
Daryl heard you dressing up, but he didn't turn, though you saw the way his head tilted a bit, listening to your unsteady movements and fumbling with the weapon.
A while later, you both went down the watchtower in silence, and the second your boots hit the ground of the prison yard, he was moving, not waiting for you, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.
You followed, trying to walk normally, but the panties shifted now and then with the motion, a maddening friction that made it impossible to forget what he'd done. You still felt part of his cum, warm and trapped, the fabric holding it all in.
Suddenly, Daryl stopped. He must have heard the frustrated sigh you let out, but he didn't turn around and just stood there, waiting for you to catch up. When you were a step behind him, his hand shot back, not to grab yours, but to shove you forward a little.
It made you let out a cry of shock, with you jumping a foot in the air at the sudden contact.
"Quit squirmin'," he growled at your reaction and kept walking as if nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, with your pussy slightly pulsing around the fabric inside you.
Hurrying to get inside, to clean yourself up and to pretend nothing ever happened, you were quickly falling into step beside him this time, forcing your legs to move as normally as you could manage. Just as you reached the threshold of the main door to the C-Block, putting the rifle down, his hand shot out again. But this time, it wasn't him grabbing your arm. His fingers hooked into the back belt loop of your pants, yanking you to a stop just outside the circle of light from the inside of the prison. You stumbled back against his chest with another small, surprised gasp.
"Yer walkin' funny, Greene," he growled quietly into your ear. "Like ya got a damn stick up yer ass."
Your face turned red, and you didn't really know how to answer. "I told you, just go to hell!"
"And Iâ" He started, but you cut him off with a glare.
"I swear to God⌠If you say that 'you're already there,' I willâ" You didn't even try to finish your sentence, shaking your head in annoyance.
Before you could react, Daryl's other hand came around your front, his hand moving down flat and low on your belly as he pulled you back against him. He held you there for one endless, heart-stopping second. And his hand moved. It was so fast, so casual, how he reached down and touched you between the legs, his palm pressing against the seam of your pants, right over your pussy.
Your eyes opened wide, looking around the empty yard, terrified someone might be watching anyway, somehow.
But Daryl just held his hand there, feeling the slight bulge of the fabric inside you.
"Still there⌠Still mine."
The words were simple, but they made you shiver.
Suddenly, his body shifted again. His hips pressed against your ass, grinding and pushing you against the cold door in front of you. He held you there, not caring if someone might come out, letting you feel his belt buckle just like he did in the watchtower, as well as the undeniable strength of him.
Letting you feel that he was, unmistakably, already hard again for you.
Then, as suddenly as he'd pinned you, he pulled back, one hand grabbing his crossbow while his other hand moved from your body to the handle of the door, pulling it open for you, like all the times he'd done it before.
Quickly taking the rifle back off the ground, you walked inside, your legs shaking and your face still burning. You didn't even dare look back at him anymore. But as you headed towards your cell, the strange, full feeling between your legs felt like a secret only the two of you shared, and you knew one thing for certain now...
Daryl Dixon was nowhere near done with you. And despite everything, a terrified but also excited part of you hoped he never would be.
@broadsdrinkwhisky this is for you !! (finally) :3
table of contents; stark!reader, age gap, forced proximity, sexual tension, mild degradation, rough sex, hate-fucking, âoh we both nearly just fucking died so why tf notâ sex, strong language.
the inn falls silent when you swing the door open, bashing it off the wall. dried blood cakes to your face, matting your hair and crusting to your leathers. sandorâs shadow blackens the doorway, stretching beyond you until it swallows your own looming silhouette. the floor boards groan with his entrance, his head bowed to avoid smacking it off the doorframe.
you charge straight for the counter where the innâs owner stares at you from behind it, almost cowering at the sight of you. âweâre closed.â he says, hoarse.
âdoesnât look closed.â you challenge, motioning with your head to the numerous guests around you enjoying their stew and ale.
âweâve not any rooms left, boy.â he bristles, leaning toward you.
âiâm no boy.â you let your hair down so it falls over your shoulders, and slam the direwolf pin that fastened it onto the counter. he flinches, eyes widening when he recognises the sigil of your house. âbut i am a stark of winterfell.â
âmy travelling companion and i ran into some trouble on the road, you see.â you start to explain just as sandor joins your side, towering over you. the innkeeper glances at your blood-soiled clothes, takes a swallow, then flits his eyes back to yours.
âand iâd rather not resume travel to the capital while drenched in blood and guts. i trust your rooms have basins.â you prop yourself up against the counter, smearing it with blood.
âas i said, my ladyââ
âthereâs none left, i heard the first time.â you glance up at sandor who scowls wordlessly at the man, then turn back to the innkeeper and point at the room keys that hang from their hooks behind him. âthat one will do.â
the man follows your finger, his face falling.
âi presume itâs not in use, since the key is still there. i imagine its occupant wouldâve had quite the trouble trying to get in, if so.â
you smirk when he reluctantly unhooks the key and slides it across the counter to you. âand for you, ser?â
âweâll share.â you answer sharply, swiping the key. âoh, and donât call him âserâ, he doesnât like it.â
you make way for the rickety old staircase and sandor follows closely at your heel. âkeep the pin, my good man.â you call back. âitâs worth a lot, and iâve no silver to spare.â
the room is lavish for what youâd expected. indeed it has a basin; a fireplace, too. you begin to unbuckle your belt, then start with the drawstrings that fasten your leathers to your torso. the dried blood that splatters it binds the string together and you huff, unsheathing the knife at your hip to snip through the burden.
your leathers fall to your feet, leaving you in your cotton tunic and trousers. across from you, sandor struggles to rid himself of his own clothing, confronting his clasps with words youâd rather not hear.
âhells,â you mutter, marching toward him. âlet me do it.â you smack his hands away and start to undo his doublet, foul-smelling thanks to the death heâs reaped.
âit will be better to share the bath water, then wash our clothes after weâre clean. iâll light the fire and leave them to dryââ
âthe fuck you will.â he growls, pushing away from you to do the rest himself.
âoh, wind your neck in, will you?â you scoff. âmost feared man in westeros my arse.â
âthey can air-dry.â he barks, hands moving to his waistband. âleatherâs waterproof.â
âwater-resistant, actually. but whatever.â you grumble, stripping down to nakedness.
he eyes you, gaze sinking to your chest. you take note of his silence and glare back at him. âwhat? never seen a woman naked before?â
ânone as flat as you.â he spits, a rosy hue staining his cheeks.
you chuckle, grim. âalright then, clegane, pull it out. let us see that needle the gods forced you to go through life with.â
he says nothing and tugs his tunic over his head, discarding it at his feet.
âi thought as much.â you smirk, triumphant, and pad over to the basin, only thereâs no jug to be seen. âshit.â
âthe fuckâre you whingeing about now?â he huffs, the bed groaning when he settles atop the mattress.
you let out an exasperated sigh and turn to throw a sarky comment his way, but the words die on your tongue when you catch sight of his bare torso. his chest is barrelled and pumped from your altercation on the road, biceps swole and the muscles in his back rippled from their exertion.
âso itâs alright for you to ogle.â he quips, a hint of disport clear in his tone.
your nose wrinkles, but you canât help but sneak another look before turning away again. âin your dreams, clegane.â
âiâve dreamt of it, donât you worry your pretty head about that.â he retorts, manspreading across the mattress.
you roll your eyes. âmake yourself useful and ask him for a jug.â
âwhy me?â he grumbles, making himself comfortable.
âbecause youâre still clothed.â you parrot, walking around the bed to yank one of the sheets out from under his head to wrap around yourself.
he sits up, and just as you think heâs about to comply with you for once, heâs pulls his trousers down and slings them back at you. they hit you in the face and you glare daggers into the back of his head.
ânot anymore, iâm not.â he throws a glance back at you. âbut you are.â
your nostrils flare and you challenge his pettiness, dropping the sheet from your frame. it bunches at your ankles and you kick it away. ânot anymore, iâm not.â
his eyes dip, then snap back up. âyouâre a difficult little bitch, arenât you?â
you quirk a brow. âyou couldâve gotten it by now.â
he holds your stare, then stands from the bed to face you. as if of their own accord, or by some invisible force, your eyes are drawn to his nether regions. heâs well-endowed and you find yourself eating your words.
not a needle at all.
âiâve spent my whole life doing as iâm bid,â he says lowly, moving on heavy feet until heâs a mere a foot from yourself, much inferior in comparison. âforgive me if i refuse to be bossed around by some uppity stark bitch.â
but his eyes donât carry the same thick agitation as his voice. theyâre full of something far thicker; the kind of stare your mother used to warn you of, only youâre not unnerved by it. in a twisted sort of way that should bring you shame, you quite like it.
you start to throb.
âyou call yourself a dog,â you remind him, having to crane your neck rather uncomfortably when the gap between you lessens. âexpect to be treated like one.â
he grins, crooked and profane. âyour daddy liked to run his mouth.â then his face appears inches from yours. âlook where that landed him.â
âhonour got him killed.â you tilt your face up like you mean to inspect the ceiling. âthereâs nothing about this that i would call honourable.â and you gesture between you.
his chestnut eyes narrow down at you, leering and predatory. he may expect you to cower or relent. but you donât blink, hell, you donât even breathe. he canât find any fear in your gaze, nor any disgust or revulsion.
you donât know how or when, or who moved first, but your mouths find one another in a hungry clash of tooth and tongue, hands groping and clawing.
you bite down harshly on his lip and he grunts, licking at your teeth before meandering past them to tackle your tongue with his.
youâve never been kissed like this, like he wishes to strike you instead, piling all of his anger into it.
then he fists you by your hair, wrenching your faces apart. a rough hand presses between your shoulder blades where it shoves you, bending you over the edge of the bed.
you feel so insignificant when he does, spade-like hands lifting you by the hips to situate you on your knees, arse in the air and your cheek smushed against the mattress.
âstark of winterfell.â he mimics, hateful and bitter. âlook at you. . . no better than a common whore.â
you fist the sheets, though you make no attempt to fight him off. âfucking a lady on her hands and knees,â you counter, stomach flipping when his thick fingers brush through your folds to collect your slick. âlook at you. . . no better than a dog.â
if he had a retort he decides against voicing it, instead opting to bully his cock within your soaked cunt.
you both go rigid and the sheets find place in the clamp of your jaws. it takes his hips a few sputters for him to submerge himself completely, but once he has, you feel as though heâs torn through your loins.
you can feel him everywhere. in your stomach, in your guts, in your throat.
he stills, fingers gnawing at your hips. âfuck.â
you groan, the stretch of your hole shooting a tremor that scorches up the length of your spine.
ânever been fucked?â he presumes through gritted teeth, your tightness compressing him.
ânot for a while.â you manage, still adapting to what might as well be an impalement. ânot by the likes of you.â
not by a cock this big.
he grunts, then attempts to retract from you. the width of him drags against your walls and you shudder, wincing slightly as your opening starts to shrink again when only his cockhead remains inside of you.
but he doesnât allow you much of a chance to adjust to him this time, and plows back in to the hilt. it propels you forward, your nipples grazing the sheets as he sets an unyielding pace.
you mewl, his taking of you almost as vicious as when he takes a life. the pressure at your hip eases when he grabs you by the scruff and yanks you back against his front like you weigh nothing, your sweat combining whilst the wiry hair that masks his skin scratches and nips at yours.
âwouldâve done this a long time ago if i knew it would shut you up.â he grunts, bending over you slightly so his words tickle the shell of your ear.
youâd bite back an insult if you could, but all you manage is a pathetic whimper, one that fuels his thrusts to snap more furiously.
heâs hitting that gummy part within you perfectly, the spot that twists your insides like a knife. you start to rock yourself back along the curve of his cock, meeting his hips halfway. itâs raw, the room loud with the sound of skin slapping skin. itâs filthy.
a cramp starts to form as you try to maintain a rhythm as desperate and unremitting as his. you wonder how long itâs been since he felt the warmth of a woman squeeze him; and it occurs to you that selective obedience isnât the only thing he shares in common with a hound.
soon his hips start to falter just as you sense your peak approaching, mind growing hazier when a rough palm slips around you to fondle your breasts, gathering both of them in its paw. thereâs nothing gentle about the way he tweaks your nipples, pinching and rolling them whilst he ravages you like a bone.
âshit. . .â you slur, becoming limp in his arms.
heâs struggling, too â his core engaging every muscle so that they strain against your back, cock rummaging a little messily without much manner.
soon youâre one with the mattress again, flat on your stomach and prone before him. but he never leaves you unfilled, the bed dipping beneath his weight when he mounts your backside and resumes his evil treatment of you.
âgodsââ you try, though it emits in a croak or something closer to a squeak.
the head of his cock punches your summit over and over, ruining you for the next man if you can even bare to be fucked again after this, or in such a way.
the occasional deep and guttural groan slips past his lips, large body tensing above you as you start to clamp down on him like you mean to swallow him or hold him there forever.
ârelax.â he hisses, fingertips landing on where you gape around his girth, rubbing the aching flesh with surprising skill. âcan hardly fuckinâ move.â
âgo slower.â you snap back, tears brimming as every ligament and tendon seems to seize.
so he does, not by much, but enough for the pleasure to start subsiding the pain again. then your back arches inward when it all becomes too much. his unforgiving pace; the noises he makes; the way he seeks that same region of your depths, kissing it every time like no other man has; and just from being fucked so thoroughly.
and finally it hits you, cracking down like whip. your jaws wrench open when the heat of it simmers in your veins and narrows on your cunt, thighs snapping to a close and eyes clenching shut.
heâs still going. even as you fall silent, twitching from the aftershocks, he pounds into you like itâs all about his release and nothing to do with you.
but youâre numb to it now, an exhausted little heap for him to use. you donât even mind.
and only when you feel the warm spurting of him relieving his load over your tailbone and buttocks do you realise heâs finished with you, and muster the strength to settle onto your side, more exhausted than you were following the confrontation that landed you here in the first place.
the door creaks and you find it in you to open your eyes, weary and lidded. âwhereâre you going?â
âto ask for a jug,â he deadpans, retying his trousers. âand some clean fuckinâ sheets.â
imagine Sandor and his lady standing at court of King's Landing together, attending some formal event and him whispering all sorts of obsceneties to her ear. to anyone it'd just look like he's taking a protective stance, shielding, or simply occupying space but in reality... cw: utter filth
You stand near one of the massive marble columns, your posture a perfect example of a highborn ladyâserene, untouchable, beautiful, and sweet. The Hound is a shadow behind your back, as he always is in public, the word spreading that the Lannisters have their attack dog guarding the pretty ones now.
The court drones on as some minor lord petitions the throne, and Joffrey waves his hand dismissively. You, of course, keep your eyes wide and forward, your face a mask of polite interest, tilting your head occasionally to imitate brain function. Then, just as you're about to doze off, you feel itâa gush of hot air licking the shell of your ear, the subtle shift of his weight as Sandor leans in. It's barely noticeable; he takes a small step, maybe half a step, but it's enough for you to feel his massive frame against your back.
"See that lord with the piggy eyes and the red doublet?" His voice is a gravel rasp against the tiny hairs on your nape.
"... What about him?" Your pulse quickens. What's he up to now, of all times?
"He's been looking at your tits for the past half-hour. The way he's sweating, he's probably thinking about putting his fat mouth on them."
The heat treacherously spreads all the way to your ears, hairline, and chest, and you pray for people to think it's the midday sun getting to you. Maybe if you faint, you'll be spared...
Your breath hitches audibly and your cheeks ignite. Another noble lady standing next to you gives you a questioning look while flapping her fan, and you shake your head with a tight smile. She turns away.
"He has no idea soft they are, does he? How they fit in one hand. How you gasp and moan when I suck on them instead."
Then again, lower, more insistent, "Aye, that's it. That pretty pink I love... Just like you go when I put my mouth on your sweet cunt."
You clench your jaw, willing the tremor that goes through you away, but it's no use. You're shivering, and he notices. He always does, like a dog that smells blood. You hear a silent groan of approval behind the droning buzz of the lordlings.
"Ah, yes, I'm sure that's very interesting, but the lord here is talking aboutâ"
His gloved knuckle brushes over the small of your back and lower until it reaches the expanse of your rear under layers and layers of clothing. So fleeting that no one else can see, but it nearly makes you jump out of your lace slippers, his touch searing through your very bones.
You stomp on his foot. He doesn't even blink.
"What would they say if they knew? All those fine lords and ladies, if they knew how you scream up to the gods when I split your cunt open on my cock? Looking all prim and proper while my cum's still warm, trickling down your legs."
You notice Sansa Stark staring at you from across the hall, an unsure grin on her pale face. Her blue eyes shift elsewhere once they land on the Hound. You suck in a breath. Who else is looking?
"Sandorâ" you let out a shaky breath, your voice a fine tremor now. Digging your manicured fingernails into the skin of your wet palms, you prayâyou don't know for what.
"Shut up," he whispers into your ear, and his scarred lips nearly brush the side of your face as he shifts closer. "Last night you begged me not to stop, the little proper lady you are, bent over that oak table of yours. Bet you can still feel me inside. Bet you're wet just from that."
His words are filth, crude and obscene, and they send a bolt of pure, aching want straight to your core. You worry your lower lip between your teeth now as you feel his massive hand creep up your arse, right under the folds of your gown. He squeezes the sensitive flesh and tugs at the globe just like he does when he has you on hands and knees underneath him. Images of his calloused hands and mouth on youâgrabbing your breasts, your belly, biting your bare thighs, licking yourâthey have your legs wobbling. Sandor grips your elbow as he continues.
"When this farce is done, you'll wait for me, door unlatched." He pauses, letting the instruction sink in. "Gonna fuck you every way I can think of. Hard and deep, the way you like it. On your feather bed. Against the window. On that soft fucking rug in front of the fire, from behind. Until you're crying on those furs and dripping with myâ"
"My lady, are you unwell? You look flushed."
The voice is like a bucket of ice water over your head. Sandor's hand jerks back to his side, yanking your rumpled skirt over your behind. A young knight is looking at you with polite concern. You open your mouth, but only a dry whine comes out, so you nod vigorously like a fool. He mumbles an apology and retreats into the crowd.
"Fucking knights, always sniffing around."
When the king finally rises and the court begins to disperse, you simply walk away. You don't look back; your knees are shaking, madly so, your eyes don't leave your own feet on the stone floor. Sandor tracks the shape of your hips as you turn around the corner in the direction of the private chambers.
thinking about how i have grown up with ariana grande in a way no one will understand, when i used to play her cds in my childhood bedroom and pretend to dress up as her my everything era outfits and edit myself into her m&g photos from the honeymoon tour.
to ten years later smoking weed outside trying to soothe my mind on my relationship with her still in my airpods.
pov. after welcoming a baby into the world and him leading everyone constantly, your sex life with rick has been dryâŚbut tonight thatâs going to change.
notes. hope u guys like the second pic of rick. itâs real. if u say its not. ur homophobic toward me.
content warnings. â¸â¸ fem reader, light bondage, penetration, praising, quiet sex, explicit language, no proof read cause idgaf, praising, dom rick, talking you through orgasms, consent kink
as soon as rickâs boots hit the wood floor of the bedroom, your eyes look up from your book to him. he meets your eyes and nodded in acknowledgment. âbaby is asleep.â he mentions, walking in to the bed.
he works his shirt off his body, sighing deeply out his nose. your eyes look at his body, sighing softly yourself.
welcoming a baby into the world took a toll on each of your sex life. it wasnât just you two anymore, it was three. anytime you needed him (sexually) he was busy with the baby and the other way around for him.
you nod. âcarl is staying the night with carol.â he adds, his hands going to the buckle of his belt. you smile, and he catches it. âwhat?â he asks with a soft laugh. you shake your head and shrug. ânothinâ
he knew what you were smiling at, so he curls his finger toward you, tellinâ you to come here. you instantly make your way over to him. his hands grab your wrists, and he wrapped them around his belt. âcan you be quiet?â he asks you, his eyes looking into yours for an answer.
a smile slowly spreads across your face, and you nod at him. âgood.â he responds.
leather cool against your skin, buckle snug but not too tight. you tested it once and he gave you a look that said don't try it.
his eyes are slow and deliberate. the same way he scans a tree line before crossing an open field. taking in every inch. "you good?" he asks, voice low. you nod. he hums and runs a hand up your calf. his fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans. he pauses to look at you again.
"tell me if you need to stop. anytime.â he states. âyou hear me?" he said, tapping your thigh. âyes, i do.â you respond and he nods once, then he pulls.
he drags your jeans down slow, lifting your hips just enough to work them over your ass, down your thighs, past your knees. the denim catches on your ankles and he tugs them off, tosses them somewhere on the floor.
now you're just in your panties, legs bare, spread open under him. he looks at you like you're something worth protecting. something worth keeping.
his thumb traces the waistband of your panties, a thin strip of cotton, and he hooks it with one finger. "last chance," he murmurs. "you still want this?" he asks. âyesâ you say, barely a whisper. he pulls them down, slow as anything, watching your skin appear inch by inch. he brings them past your hips, past your thighs, past your knees, and when they're off he just holds them in his hand for a second, looking at you bare beneath him.
he sets them aside. his hands settle on your inner thighs, thumbs brushing inward, not quite touching where you want him. "there you are," he says, voice rough and soft at the same time. "been wanting to see you like this." he whispers.
his jeans drop, then his boxers, and he's hard, already thick and aching, a drop of precum beading at the tip. he kicks everything aside and lowers himself over you, forearms caging your head, his body a warm, heavy weight.
"look at me, baby." he says. his voice is soft but firm, and you lift your eyes to his. those blue eyes, tired and kind and full of want. his cock nudges against your thigh, then slides through your slick heat, teasing. he watches your face, holds your gaze. "you miss the way i feel?" he asks, his tone sounding taunting but not actually.
he pushes in slow, an inch, two. letting you feel every bit of the stretch. your mouth falls open and he catches it with a kiss, gentle and deep, swallowing your gasp.
"you're so beautiful," he murmurs against your lips. "so damn beautiful." his voice rasps. he sinks all the way in, hips flush against yours, and stills. his forehead rests on yours. his breath is warm and shaky.
"feel that? feel all of me?" he asks, quietly. he starts to move, slow, deep rolls of his hips, each one a long push that bottoms out and lingers. his hand finds yours beside your head, fingers lacing through yours, holding you through every thrust.
"got you," he breathes. "i've got you. just let go." he begs you, in your ear. you shiver. his pace stays steady, patient, his mouth brushing kisses across your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your lips, while he fucks you full and slow and sweet â like you're something precious, something he's too lucky to have.
you moaned out, the volume of it being too loud so his palm ran to your mouth. his hand is already there â warm and rough, palm pressed flat over your mouth, muffling the sounds you can't hold back. your moans vibrate against his skin, and he feels every one of them, feels your lips moving under his hand.
"shh, shh, i know," he whispers, voice low and strained. "i know, baby. i know it's a lot." he coos gently.
he fucks you deeper, slower â each thrust a long, deliberate push that makes your eyes roll back. your hips try to buck up into him, but he pins you with his weight, keeps you still, keeps you full.
"you're doin' so good. takin' me so quiet. just a little more." he says. he shifts his angle, and the next stroke hits that spot inside you â the one that makes your whole body jolt. a loud moan tries to escape and he presses his hand harder, thumb stroking your cheekbone.
"uh-uh. i said quiet.â he replies, his voice is soft but it's a command. his hips keep moving, steady and relentless, and he watches your face â the way your brows pinch, the way your eyes water, the way you're trying so hard to stay silent for him. "such a pretty thing. takin' all of me and barely makin' a sound."
he leans down, presses his lips to your forehead, still buried deep, still moving slow. "you're almost there, aren't you? i can feel you flutterin'. let go when you need to. i've got you. just stay quiet for me." he whispers. he feels you getting close â the way your body starts trembling, your breath hitching against his palm, your walls clenching around him in uneven pulses.
"that's it," he breathes, voice ragged. "right there. i feel you." he smiles. he keeps that same deep, steady rhythm, he doesn't speed up, doesn't chase his own finish. he's focused on you, on the way your eyes are screwed shut, on the little whimpers you can't quite muffle against his hand.
"look at me." he gently orders. your eyes flutter open, hazy and desperate. he holds your gaze, hips still rolling slow and deep. "you gonna come for me? gonna be quiet while you do it?" he taunts. you nod as much as you can, pinned beneath him, and he presses a kiss to the corner of your eye.
"okay. let go, baby. i've got you.â he coos. his hand stays firm over your mouth as the orgasm hits you, your body arching, your cry swallowed by his palm, your grip on his wrist tightening as you pulse around him. he fucks you through it, slow and gentle, watching your face contort in pleasure.
your legs shake, his dick being painted white by your cum. "there you go," he murmurs. "there you go. so beautiful. did so good stayin' quiet for me." he told you.
he slows to a stop, buried deep, letting you flutter around him as you come down. his hand lifts from your mouth, replaces it with his lips, soft, tender kisses across your cheeks, your nose, your forehead.
