If your character has a chronic illness or chronic pain please understand that they have already made peace with a version of their life that other people would find unbearable. They are not constantly in crisis. They have adapted. They have systems. They know their body in a way healthy people never have to. They are also exhausted in a way that doesn't show and angry sometimes in a way they feel they're not allowed to be. Write that competence and that exhaustion together. Both are true at the same time.
thinking about daryl down on one knee by the front pipe of his bike, a cigarette hanging from his lip and his hair falling in his eyes. a few feet away, rick is leaning against the hood of the truck, a wrench in his hand, talking low about the afternoon perimeter runs.
the tool makes a sharp, heavy clink against the bike frame, then stops the second youâre near.
daryl doesnât look up right away. he stays still, head tilted, listening. but rickâs voice cuts off mid-sentence. you feel rickâs eyes shift to you first, his brows lifting in sudden, quiet surprise, before he awkwardly clears his throat and looks down at his boots, suddenly taking a very deep interest in the dirt.
when daryl finally raises his chin, his eyes slide slow up your legs, hitch hard at the short hem of the denim, and lock onto the deep, low scoop of that white tank top.
the smoke shifts to the corner of his mouth. his brow furrows deep, a dark, heavy scowl cutting across his face as he realizes exactly why rick just stopped talking.
you tilt your head, completely oblivious to the sudden, suffocating tension drop in the garage. you hoist a woven basket full of bright red tomatoes and fresh green zucchini onto your hip, wiping a stray smudge of dirt off your cheek with the back of your wrist.
âjust came back from the garden,â you say brightly, stepping closer and giving them a wide, innocent smile. âlook how big the tomatoes got overnight! i thought we couldââ
daryl spits the cigarette straight into the dirt and stands up, looming over you. he doesn't bother with a rag; he just wipes his greasy palms straight down his thighs, leaving black streaks on his jeans. he deliberately shifts his weight, his broad shoulders completely blocking you from rickâs line of sight. his eyes haven't left your chest.
âyou walked across the whole damn camp like that?â he grunts. voice like gravel being crushed.
you blink up at him, entirely confused by the thundercloud on his face. âduh. it's ninety-five degrees out, daryl. the tomatoes were burning up.â
âain't enough cloth on ya to clean a spark plug,â he snaps, stepping right into your space. he cuts a sharp, warning glare over his shoulder toward the truck, telling rick without words to keep his eyes to himself. rick just shakes his head with a faint, knowing smirk, raises his hands in mock surrender, and turns completely back to the truck engine.
daryl looks back down at you, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling heavy. âi know for a fact every loose-jawed idiot by the guard rails was gapin' at ya while you were bent over pullin' weeds.â
âthey were just saying hi,â you say, your voice perfectly sweet and entirely naive as you adjust the heavy basket, forcing him to step back half an inch. âeveryone was being really nice today.â
a muscle in daryl's jaw twitches so hard it looks painful. he reaches back without looking, yanks his own heavy, faded flannel off the bike seat, and shoves the bunched-up fabric hard against your stomach, right over the basket of vegetables.
âput it on,â he mutters, his hand lingering for a second, his thumb catching the bare skin at the edge of your hip, his grip tightening just enough to make his point.
his eyes suddenly flicker up to your mouth, narrowing dangerously as they lock onto the bold color painted on your lips. his hand leaves your hip, his heavy, grease-stained thumb pressing firmly against the corner of your mouth. with a rough, deliberate swipe, he drags his thumb straight across your bottom lip, smudging the red lipstick out past the line of your mouth and leaving a dark, engine-grease streak across your skin.
he stares down at the mess he just made, his chest rising and falling heavy.
âyou ain't taking one step outside this yard looking like that again.â
Imagine having to share a bed with Daryl after arriving in AlexandriaâŠ
âAinât takinâ the bedâ. Daryl muttered instantly the second Aaron left the room, already eyeing the couch across the living room like he planned on sleeping there for the next year. Your arms crossed over your chest. âDaryl, that couch is barely bigger than youâ. And that is how you ended up in this dark room, beneath clean sheets backs barely touching. You were surrounded by walls that shouldâve felt safe, instead it felt too quiet. No walkers scraping against fences. No distant gunshots. No rain leaking through broken roofs. Just silence and Daryl his breathing next to you. It was too quiet to what has become your new normal and it made the both of you restless. Minutes would pass in silence before you could feel the mattress shift softly behind you. Daryl let out a quiet breath, rough fingers dragging over his face in frustration. Sleep clearly wasnât finding him either.
You rolled onto your back, your eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. âFeels weird, don't it?â You whispered eventually. A low grunt that was supposed to be an agreement, sounded behind you. âToo clean.â Daryl muttered after another moment. âToo damn quiet.â A faint smile pulled at your lips at his words. Because somehow hearing him say it made the place feel a little less unfamiliar. Somehow you both ended up rather close to each other, as both your restless bodies had shifted against each other. Darylâs breathing slowed slightly, his arm carefully resting against the mattress near your waist, hesitant like he wasnât sure if he was allowed to be this close to you when the world wasnât actively ending around you. His close presence made you feel enough at ease to finally allow your body to fall asleep. And when sleep finally pulled you under, you couldâve sworn Daryl shifted just a little closer. His rough fingers slightly brushed the fabric hugging your waist. It was ever so lightly, careful and hesitant. Like this kind of closeness was unfamiliar to him, though he never pulled away.
After failing to save Sophia in time, Daryl goes hunting to clear his head. He finds a girl running away and despite his better judgement, he decides to help her. As Lucy joins the group, she slowly becomes closer to everyone, including him. He finds himself struggling to cope with his growing feelings towards her. Lucy can't help but be drawn to the man. But she's convinced that they aren't good for one another-- that he doesn't care about her.
How much time does it take for two people convinced they donât need love to fall for one another?
Warnings/Tags: Canon Typical Violence, spoilers, attempted/implied non-con/rape, murder, blood, etc. you've seen the show, you know the gore, Slow Burn! protective Daryl, jealous Daryl, eventual smut, eventual romance, Daryl Dixon falls first, Daryl is bad at feelings. (this fic is going to be ridiculously long)
summary: You find Daryl after he had to kill Merle. Daryl wants to forget, to quiet his thoughts. When you come to check on him, only one thing crosses his mind.
warnings: Smut 18+ MINORS DNI, sub!daryl, softdom!reader, panties as a gag, riding, handjob, swearing, mentions of blood and violence, daryl is very vulnerable, dub-ish con, aftercare, unprotected sex (wrap it y'all), kissing, little bit of hurt/comfort, subspace
author's note: A request by the lovely @rafeysgirl5, I hope that you like this because I had a blast writing this!! It was my first time trying to write subspace and clear sub/dom dynamics, and I tried my best! Sub!daryl is so hot to me, so I was very happy to see this request!
The prison door slammed shut, echoing across the prison hall as Daryl stormed in. His breathing was shaky, eyes blankly staring ahead as he made his way to his own prison cell. The block was empty, as most of the group had left to go looking for Michonne and, coincidentally, Daryl.
You stood on the second floor watching him, leaning curiously against the metal railing. "Daryl?" His lack of response made you furrow your brows.
It wasn't like him to ignore you.
The truth was, he hadn't even heard you. His head pounded incessantly, pain shooting through his brain as he tried to grasp what had happened.
What he had done.
Daryl exhaustedly collapsed into his bed, pulling out his knife from the holster. He scrubbed at it with the side of his shirt, his brother's blood soaking into the fabric.
The sight was not pretty. He was covered in blood, and his clothing was dirty as if he had walked through mud for hours out there.
You approached his cell as you had many times before during those late nights when the prison was all asleep in their cells. Daryl was your boyfriend and had been since you got settled in at the prison a few months ago.
"Why're you ignorin' me?" You slid the curtain open suddenly, hand firmly on your hip. It was then that you saw his expression.
Numb, and just plain tired.
It was a look that you couldn't mistake for anything else. It was loss.
Your face fell as you came to the realization, dropping the curtain.
Stepping into his cell and moving to sit next to him, you grabbed the sharp knife from his shaky hands.
His grip on the handle had slowly loosened as you slipped your hand under his, reminding you that he was still there, just a little out of it.
Wetting a cloth with some water that Daryl had lying around, you let out a small sigh. The whole group had already been out for a couple of hours now, looking for him.
"Daryl, look at me." You spoke softly to gently grab his attention, but his face hadn't turned. Instead, his eyes were glued to the floor in a state of shock.
Moving between his legs, your eyes met with his. If he wasn't gonna look at you, then you'd move to make him look.
"That's better. Just wanna clean you up a little bit. Is that okay?" Your tone of voice was calm, solid ground among an uncontrollable river that was Daryl's life.
He gave you a nod.
With his permission, you gently swiped at the blood on his face. You had an inkling of who the blood belonged to.
He went to find Merle just hours earlier. Perhaps it was too late.
It didn't matter right now. You had to help him get out of his head before he'd hurt himself or do something he'd regret.
You moved to his hands, collecting the red stains onto the cloth until his hands were free of the grime and blood that he had been sporting earlier.
With every wipe, you were washing away the moment, the horrific things that Daryl had to do to survive.
Because he had to.
"You're doin' so good for me. Just a little longer." You ran the cool cloth up his arms, clearing the dirt and debris that he had collected on his trip. His shoulders dropped slowly as the cool water washed over him, his eyes practically looking through you.
"Keep your eyes on me. You can do that." Your firmness guided his eyes back into focus, watching the way you glided the cloth along his rough, sun-kissed skin.
"Listen, you don't have to tell me what happened." You started to sympathize with him, pausing when his jaw clenched tightly.
In an instant, your hand cupped his cheek. You tapped his jaw lightly, feeling the muscles in his jaw ticking. If he had clenched any tighter, he would have damn near cracked his teeth.
A shaky exhale left his lips as he reluctantly relaxed his jaw, his eyes searching your expression for any hint of a lie, an unkept promise.
"I'm here for you. Whatever you need, I'm here." You pressed a light kiss to his forehead.
And Daryl just about melted into your touch. His head fell onto your shoulder, pressed against the side of your neck as he took attempts at slow breaths. Your eyes widened a little at his sudden movement.
Daryl wasn't one to show a whole lot of affection in the few months you'd taken the next step with him. This must have really hit him hard.
He exhales shaky breaths, hands falling to his sides in resignation, still twitching with the memory of what he did, what he had to do.
He was just so done. If he could just have a moment where he didn't have to think.
Where he could just feel.
The warmth of his head on your shoulder began to spread as he lightly played with the bottom hem of your shirt. As you sat on a stool between his knees, you ran your hand over his back soothingly, feeling the way his breathing slowed.
Daryl closed his eyes tightly, his brain still flooded with images of Merle and of all the people the group had lost.
He needed to forget. If just for a little while.
Hands tightening around the hem of your shirt, curling the fabric, Daryl cleared his throat.
"Need you." He mumbled, voice broken and desperate. You briefly paused your soothing movement along his back.
"Need what, baby?" You hadn't called him that name yet, the surprise sending a wave of heat down Daryl's spine.
He should be calling you baby. He should be the one who's comforting you, protecting you.
"Touch. Need to feel." He stuttered out the words, placing messy, open-mouthed kisses against your neck in an attempt to show you how much he needed you, his breath hitching and shaky.
How much he wanted your touch.
"M'already touchin' you. Show me where ya' want me." You let out a quiet hum at Daryl's actions, one hand coming up to run through his hair.
Daryl pulled away from the crook of your neck and leaned into your light grip on his head. His eyes drifted downward towards his growing bulge. Words escaped him, his desperate eyes saying all that he needed.
Except that wasn't enough for you. You wanted to hear him, needed to know that he was letting you help him.
You slipped into his lap, smiling fondly at the way his breath hitched loudly in his throat, his eyes slowly blinking up at you.
"You need me to help you?" You cupped the side of his face. "Want me to help you let it all go?" Daryl nodded frantically, his chest heaving as his tired blue eyes watched your lips.
Just as you were going to ask him to speak, he did.
"Please."
Slipping your own shirt off and tossing it onto the floor, you pulled away from Daryl. "You've gotta be quiet f'me. Can you do that?" You grabbed Daryl's chin gently, watching his eyes frantically search you for validation.
He nodded against your hand.
"Good, take everything off." You helped him lazily slide off his vest and shirt. "Doin' so good." You whispered.
The praise made Daryl's head feel dizzy. His shoulders dropped as the anger and sadness melted with pure adoration and love.
His eyes traced your figure, absentmindedly shoving his pants and underwear off as he watched you do the same. He'd seen you naked a few times since you started dating.
Each time you undressed felt like the first time, the feeling of awe still pushing through.
Even now.
"Still okay with this?" You stood above Daryl, waiting for his words before you would touch him. Before you would give him what he needed.
"Need it, please." He begged, his eyes teary as he looked up at you from where he sat on the bed. His cock twitched at the sight of you, the way you looked as the sunlight just barely poked through the curtain that stood between the two of you and the rest of the group.
You were thankful that most of the group was out looking for Daryl, supplies, or farming.
Regardless, all sounds echoed in these prison walls.
"Good boy, thank you for using your words." You motioned for him to lie down, the heat between your legs growing by the second. He was so vulnerable, but he trusted you to help him forget everything.
And it was evident that it was working at least a little bit by the way his breathing was quick, and his hands moved to jerk his unbearably hard erection slowly.
"Thought ya' wanted me to help you? Your hands stay at your side." You climbed over him in one swift movement. Daryl, eyes closed in pleasure at the contact of your hands on his wrists.
You pushed his wrists down onto the bed to signify that he was to keep them there.
"M'sorry-" His voice was raspy, broken by desperate pants. "Please help." His body was stiff, like he was holding back every muscle from reaching up to take what he needed.
Any other day, you probably would have let him.
In his shaky attempt to keep his hands off of you, his attention waned. You noticed the way his eyes stared through you again, almost like he was lost in thought.
Daryl's mind wandered, replaying the day's events like he was living through it all over again. Jaw clenched tightly, you could see him becoming distant.
His brows furrowed in frustration, in fear.
You cupped his face in one hand. "Daryl, come back to me." Your voice echoed in his mind, pushing away the image of the blood, the horror.
In your other hand, you took a calculated risk and grasped his cock firmly. A low hum left his lips, his stomach tensing. "Gotta keep your focus on me, baby."
You give him what he wanted, and you start pumping him in your hand. Your hand dragged up and down his length slowly.
Daryl gasped softly at your actions, his hands clenched into fists. You silenced him by pressing your lips to his, kissing him hungrily.
Daryl's hips bucked up into your fist wildly, his moans muffled by your mouth on his. You were growing impatient yourself, your cunt practically dripping at the sight of him falling apart in your hands.
Your free hand reached up to run through his hair, which was sticking to his forehead as a thin sheen of sweat began to appear.
It wasn't exactly cool in the prison block, especially in Georgia.
When you finally pulled away from the kiss for some much-needed air, your hand sped up, thumb swiping the precum that was dripping from his cock.
A strangled moan left his lips at the sight, hips jolting up to meet your hand again.
"Fuck-" He bit his lip to muffle his groan, eyes glued to you, the pleasure pushing away the thoughts that plagued him. "Want to-" He was cut off by his own pathetic moan.
Daryl didn't have the energy to even be embarrassed; his full attention on you and how good you were making him feel with just your hand.
"Want what, baby? You want inside me? Wanna fill me up?" You purred as your hand paused its motion. He shivered at the loss of your movement, a pout spreading across his pretty pink lips.
Your voice was sweet and patronizing, but he groaned at your words anyway. God, he wanted it so bad he'd do anything.
Anything.
"Please, please-" The words died on his tongue as he watched you pull your hand away from his cock, swiping the precum at the tip of his cock that had collected from your delicious movements.
You gathered it onto your finger and placed it into your mouth, humming as you tasted him. Daryl turned into a whimpering mess, lolling his head back in frustration.
"Poor guy. You just don't know what to do with yourself." His eyes weren't on you as you spoke, shut tightly to try and get some sort of relief.
You'd soon fix that.
Lining yourself up with his cock, you sank down onto him, soaking cunt taking him inch by inch. Daryl's eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth letting out a drawn-out, pathetic groan.
One that echoed across the walls and outside into the cell block.
He was wrapped around your finger, just completely gone under you as you sank onto him languidly.
"Shh, can't keep your voice down, can you?" Your voice was a little more shaky than you'd like to admit, his large cock stretching you as he was buried to the hilt.
You hardly moved your hips, a small adjustment to make yourself more comfortable. Daryl let out another whine, his hips thrusting up without thinking.
His brain was numb, the only thoughts were his own as he silently begged you to move.
Daryl felt comfort in that fact. He was relieved that his thoughts were consumed by you, and that everything else in the world had faded away into dust.
"Should shove somethin' in there. Maybe you'll be quiet then, huh?" You felt the way his hips bucked slightly at your words. "Yeah? You like that?" A sense of confidence surged in you at his reaction.
Daryl let out a loud whimper at the sight of you grabbing your panties, the ones that you had tossed aside haphazardly.
You gently shoved them into his mouth, the taste of your pussy on them making him close his eyes and hum around the lacy fabric.
Excitement rose in Daryl as you placed your hands onto his abdomen, holding onto something before you braced yourself.
He could taste you on his tongue, the wet fabric now muting his broken moans.
You moved slowly on him, only moving about halfway up before taking him all the way back in your heat. The burning sensation only lasted a little while; the stretch of his cock was inviting and warm.
That was all Daryl needed to make his head tilt back, hair a wild mess from the way you ran your hands through it earlier.
Biting back a smirk, you continued your slow movements, watching quiet whimpers escape his clothed mouth. "Need it faster? S'that what you want, baby? God, you're so needy for me."
Daryl's cock twitched at your words, dripping with that condescension that made his heart beat faster. The feeling of your cunt wrapped around him, warm and squeezing him like that.
If you kept it up, he'd cum in a heartbeat.
Daryl nodded quickly, his brain barely registering his own thoughts, a fuzzy feeling settling in his body. "Please-" It was muffled, but you could clearly hear the word come through the fabric.
"Since you asked so nicely -" You leaned down to his ear, hearing a whimper from the man as your tits pressed up against his chest. Fuck, he was so sensitive to your touch.
"I'll even let you touch me." You whispered into his ear, and Daryl just about died right there. His breath hitched loudly at your words. Seeing you like this was one thing, but being able to touch you was another.
He was a wreck, a pretty pink blush spread across his face and down his neck as he let out a low groan.
And then you started riding him, your hips lifting up and then slamming down back onto him, your moans slipping out despite your efforts to hold them in.
Daryl's hands flew to your hips, fingers ghosting over your soft skin, his eyes fluttering shut as loud whines left his lips. His hips squirmed as you rode him faithfully, shaky hands finding your breasts and running his thumbs over your nipples.
You whined at his touch, your hands pressing over his. Daryl closed his eyes tightly, the pleasure driving him insane.
He'd been so pent up, so frustrated. God, he needed this so bad. Needed you.
And now. It was all gone; his worries had blown away. Each time you said his name, dragged your nails across his torso, or put your hands in his hair, he just melted.
Your hips slammed into him, watching how his stomach tensed with each drag of your cunt against him.
Slack-jawed, muted and pathetic moans slipped from Daryl's mouth without abandon now, his mind now completely dumb for you.
"You feel so good, baby. Doin' so good for me." You were shaking above him, your legs sore and screaming at you to stop. You leaned forward, adjusting your position to give yourself some more stamina.
That position only buried him deeper inside your cunt, earning a shudder from the man below you. "I can tell you're close. Let me have it-" Your words were broken, cut off by your own quiet moans as your own orgasm was quickly approaching, the familiar heat and anticipation forming.
"Gonna give me your cum? S'that what you want?" You could feel him tensing up, his orgasm building up. His eyes were tightly closed as his hands roamed your body, feeling up his favorite parts of you.
Your tits, your thighs.
The old mattress creaked underneath the two of you as you rode him, the bed shaking against the frame.
Daryl was so lost, so fucked-out, he hadn't even thought of a response.
You cupped his face in your hand. "Open those pretty eyes f'me." You were slowly losing it, low hums escaping your lips as you rode him, pussy taking every inch of his large cock.
He finally opened his eyes, glazed over and teary from the immense pleasure you were giving him. The experience of just feeling.
"Good boy, such a good boy. Wanna see these eyes when you cum f'me. Can you do that?" You watched Daryl squirm and buck underneath you, his eyes just barely fluttering open as groans poured out of him.
Daryl nodded, his eyes silently begging you to take it from him, to let him. Normally, he'd want you to cum first. He'd want to feel how your cunt squeezed him, milked his cock.
But he couldn't think straight, brain foggy and clouded as you took what you needed, as you used him.
Your pants became heavier as your orgasm came closer, fighting off the urge to cum for as long as you could. You wanted to see him get his release first, wanted to see him fall apart.
And fall apart, he did.
Tears slid down Daryl's face as his orgasm washed over him.
His jaw was wide open as his hips bucked up wildly into you, fingers pressed hard into the skin of your hips. You pressed your hands against his, holding them as his orgasm crashed through him and made him shudder as pleasure kept him a whimpering mess.
You rode him through his release, feeling the way his stomach flexed erratically as his cum spilled into you, quick sobs falling from his lips.
"That's it, baby-" You couldn't hold back anymore, your own climax hitting you from the sight of him utterly falling apart underneath you.
You grasped his shoulders firmly as you found your own release, legs shaking and spasming uncontrollably as a moan left you.
Daryl watched you with a clouded, distant expression, his moans matching your own. He looked beautiful like this, all teary and desperate for you.
"Fuck-" You whimpered, the feeling of his seed leaking out of your made you shudder as you held your hips down on him, grinding to ride through your orgasm. The sensation brought out pathetic whines from both of you.
When you came out of your orgasm, you gently slid off of him, hissing at the feeling of emptiness that followed. "You did such a good job for me, baby." You pulled your panties out of his mouth and set them aside, gently rubbing his jaw.
You wiped away his tears with your thumb, smiling at the way he watched you with puppy eyes.
Daryl melted into your hand, still shaking from the way you wrecked him. He was beyond words; the need for you to be close was overwhelming.
You grabbed the water bottle that was lying around his room and brought it to his lips. "Drink first, then I'll take care of you." You let him take a few long sips from the water and put it back onto the floor where it was sitting.
Daryl felt weak, as if he were weightless and completely under your spell.
You slid back into the bed with him, pressing your body against his. A thin layer of sweat lay on his forehead, hair sticking to it.
You gently wiped his forehead with the back of your hand, pushing his hair out of his face. "Ya' don't need to tell me what happened. But you need to know that we're going to get through it together."
Daryl pressed his face into your chest, not sexual, but in a comforting manner, breathing in the scent of your skin.
The sound of the doors opening in the cell block reminded you of the group's presence. They'd surely be coming in at any moment to ask a favor of Daryl.
You wouldn't dare let them. He'd done enough for today.
As the sun shifted across the concrete floor, you thought about how to move forward.
You just absently ran your fingers through his hair, brushing the knots out with your hand. "I love you." Pressing a kiss to his head, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist tightly.
"Love you. Thank you." He managed to mumble, eyes fluttering closed as sleep began to seep into him.
His head was empty, no longer replaying one of the worst events of his life over and over. For the first time since they'd even approached the prison, his head was quiet.
ă €àŁźŚâąâđŹ ă €ïžđ.đ°ăăâă đăăđ§đŹđđ° :: talks of sex :: oral :: marking :: some rough sex :: est. rel .
đđđ«đČđ” âs not big on words during sex, heâs more likely to let out some grunts and low moans from time to time paired with heavy pants and breathing, rather than saying dirty things to you. occasionally, heâll say âfuck⊠câmereâ or âthatâs it, babyâ. but filth growled in your ear would be rare. he shows everything through touch instead.
touch starved boy but hesitant about it. đđđ«đČđ” spent most of his life thinking he was unworthy of any kind of affection, so early on heâd be careful with you, scared that maybe youâll change your mind. though once he trusts you completely, he becomes greedy. big, sturdy fingers caressing everywhereâgripping your hips hard enough to bruise, sliding up your thighs, dipping under the waistband of your pants.
loves, loves, loves skin-on-skin contact and pinning you down. therefore, missionary and prone bone are his favourites cause he can cover you completely, cage you in with his body and watch your face/ass depending on which one youâre doing. đđđ«đČđ” âs strong as hell from years of survival and he makes good use of it. pressing you into the mattress (or the ground, or the hood of a car) while he fucks you and leaves marks and bites all the way down your spine.
pussy eater through and through. heâs obsessed with eating you out and would stay down there all day if you didn't push his head away the moment your legs start shaking and your coreâs raw from overstimulation. đđđ«đČđ” enjoys giving head more than receiving, but definitely wonât deny the opportunity to have your warm mouth wrapped around his dick if you offer.
aftercare with him is surprisingly sweet. he may not be into pillow talk, but heâll pull you against his chest, snuggling you up to his side until youâre comfy enough to his eyes and murmur stuff like âya good?â , âdidnât hurt ya, did i?â heâll share his cigarettes with you after and let you trace his scars without getting tense about it anymore.
i donât really think đđđ«đČđ” âs too much of a perv. heâs more vanilla to me, so most of your encounters have lots of lazy kisses and eye contact. his movements would be slow and deep, and his forehead would often be pressed to yours or your neck.
Sometimes, when youâre restless and canât sleep, heâd fuck you. But when heâs too tired or lazy, heâd sneak his hand down your panties and strum you to sleep.
Tonight isnât any different.
Heâs spooning you from behind, your head resting on his bicep instead of the pillow. He has one arm draped over your waist, your legs intertwined. You hear his soft snores behind you, his breath fanning over your hair.
But you couldnât get yourself to fall asleep for some reason. It has been over an hour of restless tossing and turning until he pulled you close. So, you whisper his name in the dark.
âHm?â He asks sleepily, voice deeper than usual.
âCanât sleepâ
âYeah? Whyâs that?â
âDonât know⊠canât seem to fall asleepâ
He leans in from behind, kissing your neck softly, then your shoulder. He pulls you closer, his chest firm against your back. He uses his free hand to run it up your body, cupping your tits over the old shirt you wear to sleep. His hands are big, rough, and feel divine on your body. When you melt against him, he takes it as an invitation to go on.
His hand travels back down, along the waistline of your sleep shorts. You wiggle your ass back a bit, pressing against him deliciously. You hear a huff of a laugh from behind you, and he bites your neck.
âSo thatâs what you needed huh? Sleep aid?â
You canât help but giggle and nod, âplease?â
He takes your leg, throwing it over his own behind you, to open you up for him. He slips his hand down your shorts and the roughness of his skin makes your skin tingle. He presses his fingers over your panties, feeling the wet spot there. âLook at ya⊠so wet alreadyâŠâ
He rubs your clit in tight circles over your panties, making your arch back against him. He finally slips his hand under your panties, making you let out a whiny sigh of relief. He groans as he feels your wetness soak his fingers, his thumb working your clit as his middle and ring finger rub against your entrance.
He finally pushes in, filling you in a way that you never could do on your own. He pumps them in and out slowly at first, stretching you out. He scissors them open, making your mouth fall slack.
âOh god⊠yesâŠâ
He curls them against that spongy area, your body something he has memorized by now. Your nails dig into his forearm, your toes curling at the sensation that courses through your body. His thumb resumes the circles on your clit and you whine softly. âYou like that? Be a good girl and come.â
He doubles his efforts, his other arm wrapping around your waist to keep you in place. Your body burns, skin crawling as you get closer to the edge. You start grinding down on his hand as he fingers you, kissing your shoulder and neck. He nibbles on your earlobe, leaning in to whisper âthatâs right, baby⊠let go for meâ
And you do, a filthy sound leaving your parted lips as you fall apart. He feels your wetness drip down his hand to his wrist. He only pulls his fingers out when you start to mewl and close your legs. He takes his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum. Then he grabs you by the jaw from behind, tilting your head back enough for him to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue, your eyes fluttering shut.
He pulls away, letting your face go. âGoodnight, dollâ he whispers, getting comfortable again, ready to go back to sleep. You can only mumble in reply, already drowsy. âNightâ
Summary: After losing everything to a walker horde, Y/N finds refuge at the prison with Rick's group. Healing from her injuries should be the hardest partâbut one man keeps making it impossible.
Daryl Dixon won't speak to her.
He won't look at her.
Except when he thinks she isn't looking.
As his quiet obsession turns into an explosive confrontation, the line between resentment and desire begins to blur.Â
A/N: First real fic on here, so there will probably be mistakes. There will be more of this fic coming, so if you want to be tagged let me know. A lil nervous for this but here we go. Fair warning, no sex in this one, just some very lustful, angry self touching.
You arrived at the prison in shambles. Blood covered your face and clothes. During the night your group was attacked by a horde, and the already small group became just one person, you. You were wandering through the woods when Rick and Michonne found you, thinking you were a walker at first. Soaked to the bone, bruised and cut, you were shuffling through the trees. You didnât even see them.Â
They dragged you through the gates, your gun holstered at your side, legs dragging limply. You lifted your head enough to see the group, Hershel with his beard, watching you with pity, Maggie and Glenn at the tower, eyes squinted. The rest of the group tending the field, or washing clothes, all taking glances at your bright red shape.Â
Inside, Beth helped you undress and slowly change into loose pjs. She wiped the blood from your face with a cool cloth. âMy nameâs Beth.â Her voice was soft. âWhats yours?âÂ
âIâm Y/N.â You nodded, exhausted but awake.
 Hershel came in.Â
âLet me get a good look at you.â He smiled, hands holding one of yours. âIâm Hershel, Bethâs father, one of the doctors here.â Beth dipped out of the small room.
âLucky to have even one.â You laughed a bit. âIâm Y/N.â
Herschel gave a short wink. âTechnically Iâm a veterinarian.â He laughed with you.Â
He checked you for bites and cuts. His face was gentle, so were his hands. Beneath the cotton fabric of the pjs, blood seeped out. On the side of your upper thigh you had a large gash. He cleaned the wound and stitched it up, wrapping it in gauze.
âI know youâll want to shower. Only wash your hair and sponge baths for a bit, that needs to heal properly.â He nods, checking the rest of you. Minor cuts and bruises, nothing too bad, besides the big cut.Â
He shakes your hand. âIt was lovely to meet you Y/N. Iâm sure there are others who would like to meet you as well. Donât be afraid to tell them you need to rest.â He opens the blanket curtain to the medical cell and lets you out.Â
âHey Y/N,â Beth walks up. âLet me take you to your cell and show you around.â
Bethâs tour leads through most of the halls, and as you take it in, you meet nearly everyone. The main group and many newcomers, the other doctor and even Rickâs kid Carl and his baby sister Judith.Â
Beth finally leads you to your cell. âHome sweet home- well, cell sweet cell.â She giggles
âThanks Beth. You all have been so kind. I think Iâm going to rest for now.â You nod your head, hand holding your leg.Â
âAll right Y/N. Sleep tight.â Beth nods and lets the curtain fall, darkness fading over your cell.Â
As you drift off, a small sliver of light blinks in your cell. Your eyes are tired, and you barely peek them open.Â
Through your eyelashes you see two fingers pushing the curtain back, a few strands of greasy hair barely visible, a dark eye watching you for a second, before the light disappears just as fast as it came.Â
A few days have passed, your wound healing quickly. You get dressed, sliding on a pair of cutoff jean shorts, a tight black t-shirt and your boots. Your hair is just past your shoulders, which you pull up into a twist. You strap your holster onto your shorts and check your magazine, clicking it in before you slide your gun into the holster and fasten the snap.Â
You walk down the hall of the prison wing, chatting with the people you've come to know as neighbors. Carol finds you near the door.Â
âY/N. So good to see you fully out and about. How do you feel about some labor?â She smiles at you.Â
âIâm ready.â You nod, hands in your back pocket.Â
âRick is outside. Iâm sure he wants you to work on weeding the field. Easy work. Here.â She hands you a full canteen.Â
âThanks Carol.â You push open the door, letting the light spill into the dark prison as you leave.Â
You find Rick chatting with Michonne, Carl, Tyreese, Sasha and another person, someone you havenât met yet.Â
âHey Rick.â You walk up, finding a spot in the group.Â
Rick greets you warmly, asking about your leg, before he goes to introduce you to the group.Â
âWeâve already met.â Sasha flashes a smile.Â
âActually, Iâve met everyone here but you.â You point to the man. His eyes are light blue and squinted, face smeared with oil and dirt, scruffy hair over his chin and lip. He wears a sleeveless leather jacket, a button up shirt under that with the sleeves ripped off and dirty jeans. A crossbow is riding on his back, knife at his hip. His arms bulge below the jacket, biceps hard and covered with sweat and grime. He picks at his thumb with his teeth.
âThatâs Daryl.â Rick nods. âDaryl, this is Y/N.âÂ
Daryl gives a short nod, his eyes looking you up and down. He grunts and walks away.Â
âFriendly.â You laugh a bit.Â
âHeâs like that. Once you get to know him youâll get along.â Rick says, his attention going back to the conversation before.Â
âI wonder if heâs ever showered.â You think as you eye him.
You listen as Rick explains a new plan for strengthening the fences, but you watch Daryl as he walks down the hill, finding a spot by the tower, leaning against it. His face is pointed down at his crossbow, hands working something on it. But his eyes are flicked up, watching you through his hair.Â
âDamn, she's watching me too.â he thinks to himself as he lowers his eyes, focusing on the crossbow again.Â
You turn to Rick just as he finishes talking.Â
âSo, work?â You ask, tilting your head.Â
âYea. Youâll be with Sasha, over there.â He points to the field, with a few weak crops. âWeeding isnât great work, but you can sit down. And get some sun.âÂ
âThanks Rick.â You nod, eager to show that you can earn your keep. âI just want to say thank you, again. You all have been so kind. I appreciate it.âÂ
Rick nods, âOf course Y/N.âÂ
He reaches out to shake your hand, which you respond, matching his firm grip with your own.Â
You make your way to the field, plopping down on your knees. You start to make work of the ground, the sun warming your back. Sasha chats with you.Â
By the watchtower, Darylâs eyes are on you again. You're bent over, ass up almost, hands in the dirt.Â
âSexy little thing.â His eyes flick over your body. 'Bet I could make her squirm.'Â
You can feel someone watching you, but you shrug it off. You're still new, they still need to keep some kind of eye on you, so it's understandable.
He stays there until someone comes out of the tower, and switches out with them for guard duty. Carol comes up the stairs after him.Â
âSo, what do you think of Y/N?â Carol asks as they settle in the tower.Â
âNothinâ.â He's scanning the perimeter, almost counting the walkers pressing against the fence.Â
âReally? I thought you might like her. Sheâs just as wild as you, better at keeping her cool though. More respectful too.â Carol shoves his shoulder lightly, teasing.Â
âDonât have time fer chicks.â Daryl sits on the floor, playing with one of his bolts as his eyes stay fixed outside. Slowly they scan the perimeter until they settle on you again.Â
After a few hours of work in the sun, you decide to be done. You walk with Sasha to the water station, filling your canteen. You grab a bottle on the table as well.Â
âIâm gonna take this to Daryl, try to make friends.â You wave to Sasha.Â
âCareful. He can be a handful.â She nods and walks off.Â
You make your way to the tower, up the stairs, leg painfully rubbing against your shorts as you step. You can see Daryl and Carol, chatting quietly as they scan the fence.Â
âHey.â You step in, brushing your hair behind your ear. âI brought you this.â You extend the water bottle towards Daryl. He just stares at you, blinks, eyes running up your legs.
âDonât be rude.â Carol comes from next to you.Â
He hesitates, then takes the water. âThanks.â He grumbles before turning around, raising binoculars back to his eyes.Â
Inside his head is spinning at the sight of you so close.
âSorry Carol, I didnât know you were up here. I wouldâve brought two.âÂ
Carol smiles at you, patting your shoulder.Â
âIâm good anyways.â She lifts the canteen at her side.Â
You look at Daryl again, his back to you, before Carol touches you lightly, bringing her ear near you. She whispers lightly. âThat was really nice of you. Donât worry about him, he likes you.â
You giggle lightly, and Carol joins you.Â
Daryl turns his head around fast, dropping the binoculars around his chest.Â
âWhat's funny?â He scowls at you both.Â
âYour plumbers crack.â Carol lets out an even bigger laugh now.Â
Your face blushes slightly, new to their dynamic.Â
Daryl gets up quickly, looking between you both before he storms out of the room. âWomen.â He growls as he makes his way down the stairs.Â
âSo mean Carol!â You laugh as she grabs her things and starts down the stairs with you.Â
âOh heâs used to it.âÂ
Now a week later, you're helping a small group with laundry. You can feel his eyes on you, as you talk with others in the group.Â
Almost everywhere you go, you can feel his eyes now. While you fill buckets of water, or tend to the field. Talking with anyone. Heâs always there, in the background. Leaned up against something or working on his bike. But his eyes are fixed on you.Â
Youâve caught him a few times too. The first time, you made eye contact and smiled at him, but he just slipped his eyes down. Then the second time, you tried to walk over to talk. He turned and walked away, pretending to be focused on something in the distance. So you gave up.Â
No one else seemed to notice, going about their work casually. But hairs prickled at the back of your neck. He was somewhere in the shadows of the prison, you could feel it.Â
Daryl sat on the catwalk above, hands working a new string into his bow. He watched as you helped with laundry, passing out clean sheets and blankets, folding your own clothes at the large table. His chest felt tight, throat dry. His lips twitched watching you talk, laugh, breathe.Â
âI want her so goddamn bad.â He felt a familiar warmth rising in him as he eyed you. He shifted his crossbow to cover his lap more, working harder into it. The cold steel pressed against him through his jeans, just enough friction to make him stop for a second.Â
You adjusted your top, strap sliding down your shoulder again soon after.Â
He imagined helping you slide it off, letting the straps fall down before he ripped it off of you. He twitched slightly, feeling the crossbow against him again.Â
You eyes wandered up to find Daryl, stretching a band on his crossbow, eyes locked onto you again. His lips were parted, face slack, tongue at the side of his mouth. His eyes were hard, staring down at you. You followed his eyes quickly, finding them landing on your cleavage.Â
That was enough. You stood up slowly, excusing yourself from the group. Darylâs head went back to his bow. You walked out, and over to the other set of stairs. Up them quietly, slinking through the shadows, until you came up behind Daryl, so quiet he barely heard you before you grabbed a fistful of his jacket and dragged him off of his ass.Â
âDammit, woman, what do you want?â He glared at you, surprised by your strength.Â
âWe need to talk.â You huffed, turning around and walking down the hallway. He couldnât help but listen, follow you down the stairs, through a corridor, into a dark, secluded part of the prison.Â
You found a secluded room and dipped inside. Daryl went in before you, face still glaring. You shut the door hard and whipped to face him.Â
âWhat the fuck is your problem Daryl?âÂ
He melted inside a bit hearing you say his name.Â
âDunno.â He kept his defense, shrugging his shoulders, playing coy.
âYou wonât talk to me, but I can feel your eyes on me all day.â You stare him down, crossing your arms. âChecking me out when you think I'm not looking.âÂ
â âS not me.â Daryl's eyes donât meet yours. Â
âBullshit.â
âIt ainât.â He growls
You let out a laugh.Â
âDonât act like I canât see right through you Daryl.âÂ
His jaw flexes.Â
âEvery time I turn around, you're there.âÂ
He stares.Â
âIâm sure Rickâs noticed.â You take a step towards him. âIâve seen you skip out on runs, hiding out on your catwalk.âÂ
His face twitches.Â
âCome to think of it..â You close him in, narrowing your eyes. âFrom up there, youâve got a perfect view of my cell.âÂ
His shoulders stiffened.
âFucking creep.âÂ
Your chest is nearly against his, your hands up, ready to fight. His body is tight, avoiding contact, but his chest is rising quickly.Â
âSheâs never been this close.â His eyes finally moved, searching your face. He swallows dry. He can smell the sweat on you, the day stuck to your skin. His fists ball up at his sides. 'I could take her here, now, quiet, quick.'
âSay something goddamit.â You spit, watching his eyes on you. They dip, ever so slightly, down towards your chest.Â
Enough.Â
You push him. Hard. He falls back into the concrete wall, arms moving wildly. He scrambles, catching himself against the wall. His eyes scrunched shut.Â
You throw a punch into his chest, not hard enough to really do damage, but enough to show him that you can. You watch him take it, grunting at the force. He stays, leaning against the wall in this awkward position.Â
You run your eyes over him. His face is still, jaw crunched. Shoulders tensed, muscle flexing in his arms. Your eyes drift lower, catching a bulge in his pants starting to grow.Â
You let out a short, dry laugh and turn on your heel.
You swing the door open, turning back to him. âLook at me again, asshole,â You held his gaze for a beat. âand see where it gets you.â And you slam the door.Â
After that you didnât see Daryl for a few days. It felt weirdly empty, not having him around you all the time. You found yourself still checking over your shoulder, only to find he wasnât there.Â
Rick said he went on a run. Five days heâs supposed to be gone. His corner of the catwalk cleared up, but he still lingered in your mind. And sometimes, when you were alone for long enough, your mind would wander back to that scene. The way his shirt clung to him as he heaved, scrunched against the wall. The ruffle of the fabric around his waist as his own dick betrayed his lying. He was a creep, and you hated him.
Something was spreading inside the prison, a small flu. Apparently they had dealt with something worse before. But you still didnât want to get sick.Â
So up to the watchtower you went. You stayed awake all night and then napped during the day. You dragged a scratchy grey blanket up there, and your pillow, plus a jug of water. On the second night, it was quiet. A large, full moon hung in the cloudless sky. You scanned the perimeter with the binoculars, watching walker after walker, pressed up against the fence. Your head stews, running through plans for the fence, an interaction with Maggie, a walker you saw earlier with strange clothes on. Slowly your thoughts drift to Daryl. What heâs doing out there, what he might be facing.Â
As much as he disgusts you, you wonât deny heâs your type, brooding and quiet, muscular, rough. You imagine him slicing through a pack of walkers, sweat dripping. Heart fluttering in your chest as you see him in the back of your mind.Â
Your eyes scan the area again. Nothing. You're bored, and alone, tense from hours without sleep in the hot lookout. There's nothing out there, nothing going on. You deserve a break.Â
Your mind wanders to him again, seeing his rough hands gliding across your stomach, thighs, waist. You suck in a breath. You sit on the blanket, back against the cool concrete wall, pillow under your ass. The moon shines in at you, leaving the room full of shadows. Your hand slides across your waist, leaving prickles on your skin.
Flashes of him unbuckling your belt, pulling your jeans off slowly, his lips against your neck.Â
His hand on you, petting you, bringing you closer to climax just to let off, growling something nasty in your ear.Â
âFuck you.â the words come out soft at first.Â
You touch yourself slowly, rubbing circles above your underwear.Â
âFuck you.âÂ
His tongue against your nipple, fingers inside you, pushing deep. His grunts as you stroke him through his dirty jeans.Â
âFuck you.â You're panting now, a hand up your shirt, under your bra, squeezing at your nipple. Your other hand rubs faster now, panties at your ankles, legs open.Â
You can see him gripping your hips, pushing at you from behind, a hand placed firmly in your hair as he drills into you.Â
âFuck you.â It comes out choked, desperate, wanting.Â
You can feel your climax coming on, clenching your legs together tightly, curling your fingers inside just right to hit your spot, legs up. You pant and moan. You start to shake slightly, the sounds from you getting deeper.Â
âFuck you, Daryl.â Your insides twitch at his name, tightening around your fingers. You moan his name again, âDaryl.â and hit your spot just right.Â
You see stars, body tensing up, folding over. You trash your head back, moaning his name once again, before you relax, feeling waves of pleasure crash on you, slower and slower, until the feeling dissipates. Your nipple is slightly bruised from how hard you were pinching it, inner thighs slick with wet. You slide your fingers out and wipe them off on your blanket. Â
âAsshole.â You huff, thinking about him again.Â
You stand up and slide your clothes on, sweat making the shirt stick to your back. You adjust, and shuffle back to the windows to check outside. Nothing again.Â
In the dark behind you, hidden in the stairwell, a figure moves away, down the stairs.
Summary: Rick sends you out to find a missing Daryl, but instead of a rescue mission, you find a hunter who's suddenly all smiles, bad jokes, and shameless flirting. Somewhere between cigarettes, teasing, and a stolen car ride, it's getting harder to remember why you were so angry in the first place.
A/N: Mostly character development in this one. Comment for a tag on the next one. Might be a few days lol, I wrote this part right after the first.
The next morning, Glenn and Maggie wake you up. They kick you out, Maggie mentioning the sickness is mostly gone. She apologizes giving you a sweet smile as you fade down the stairs. There's some shame in you, walking down the tower, remembering last night. But if anyone saw something, theyâd keep it to themselves. Having so many people packed so tight can lead to people witnessing things.Â
You crawl back to your cell, pinning the curtain tightly against the wall to shut out the light, and pass out, pillow over your face, blanket on the floor.Â
You wake up a bit later, sweaty and parched. Your hair is messy, shirt twisted around you. You stand, boots still on, and reach for your blanket. It's gone. A tiny shiver goes up your spine. You open the curtain, to see Sasha carrying around a basket, grabbing everyone's blankets. Wash day. You sigh.Â
âHey, will you let me know when mine is done?â You wave at her.Â
She nods absentmindedly and keeps walking.Â
You make your way to a bathroom down the hall. You're nasty, having skipped the shower for a few days. You strip, and grab a bucket full of water, scooping out some with a cup.Â
The water feels cool and refreshing against your skin. You run it over your head, eyes closed. The soap smells of rose and honey as you lather it against your skin, suds washing away grime. You rinse and dry, turning around just in time to see a hand slipping out of the cracked door.Â
Your chest drops again. You throw your clothes on, running down the hall. No one.Â
You go back and search every door, then into the main halls, looking intently.Â
Nothing.Â
You find Rick.Â
âHey, is Daryl back yet?â You almost shout, heart pounding
âThat creep is back, watching me again.â Your gut twists with anger, fear, and something too close to excitement to admit.Â
âNo. Iâm actually starting to get concerned.â Rick nods, Michonne by his side. âHe was supposed to come back yesterday morning.âÂ
âOk.â You run a hand through your wet hair, looking frazzled, before you walk away.Â
Rick and Michonne stare at you, eyebrows raised.Â
You head outside, working towards the fence, scanning the edge of the woods. Not a single sign of him, not even an old bolt left in a walker.Â
âHe still has to be gone.â You huff, walking back. âI just imagined it.âÂ
You start to shake off the nerves, coming back inside. Afternoon is approaching, the sun starting to beat down outside.Â
You walk past a group, almost reaching your cell before someone shouts your name.Â
âY/N! Hey!â Rick is waving you over.Â
You take slow steps, settling your breath.Â
âWhats up?â You fix your hands on your hips.Â
âWe were thinking.. We could send someone out to check the roads for Daryl.â Michonne looks at you. âWe are just a bit worried, he can usually handle himselfâŠbut he can be reckless at times.â
âWe know you havenât gone out much since you got here. But with you being cooped up in that tower, it might be nice to have some real space for a bit.â She nods.Â
âYou seem concerned about Daryl as well. It makes me glad to know you care about the other members of the group.â Rick cuts in, âYou can say no.â
You stand there, thinking for a second. You donât want to seem rude, plus if you go out looking for him, you donât have to find him. Just wander around, maybe search somewhere, and head back.Â
âSure.â You nod, giving them a serious look. âI can go look for him. Thank you, I appreciate you guys helping me out.âÂ
Michonne hands you a map with a circle around the area he was supposed to be at. You pack a small bag and head out, shoes crunching on gravel.Â
You walk for about an hour before you find a car on the side of the road, clean, empty, keys in the ignition. An older model Ford four-door, almost cool. It feels like a trap, but after searching the area twice over, you slip inside, locking it. You turn the key and it switches on.
You drive out, the cd skipping back to the same song until you just turn it off. Windows down, air against your face. Its been so long since you felt this free.Â
You pull up to an old house, set against the forest. Moss and ivy overtake most of it, but a clear path is cut to the front door. You hop out of the car, sliding the bag on your shoulders. Head on a swivel, ears perked as you walk around the house.Â
Old cars, tires, metal, random junk litters the yard, overgrown with weeds long before the apocalypse. You run into the forest, knife in hand. You find another building, an old work shed. You creak open the door, scanning for walkers, but it's empty. Slowly you make your way through the shelves drawers. There's a crate of old nudie mags, playboy bunnies and girls in cowboy hats and cutoffs, hair in pigtails. An ashtray holds old butts, and a carton next to it has a few unopened packs of marlboro reds. You pop a pack, the sound of it against your hand satisfying, and find a lighter nearby, filling your mouth with smoke.Â
You puff on it, the nicotine buzz hitting you nicely. You were never a full smoker, but you would semi-occasionally carry around a pack, a few weeks when you were really stressed, or when you were drunk. You stuffed the rest of the carton into your bag. Then back to searching.Â
A few boxes of bullets, and a can of lighter fluid went into your bag too. You puffed on another one as you left the shed, walking back towards the house.Â
A crackle at your back in the woods, a pinecone bouncing off the ground. You whip around, pistol out, finger hovering over the trigger.Â
Something moves just behind a tree.Â
âIâll shoot.â Your hands twitch.Â
The shape moved further back, shifting, half hidden by a low branch.Â
You pull the trigger, aiming slightly away. A warning shot.Â
âShhhit, ok.â A gruff voice comes out.Â
âCome out. Slowly.â Your voice is hard. Out from the woods, Daryl emerges, hands raised, crossbow on his back, rabbits tied to his belt.Â
âYou fucker.â You keep the gun up, âYou're following me?âÂ
He grins at you slightly. âKinda looks like ya followed me, sweetheart.â His eyes flicked to the map sticking halfway out of your pocket, the red circle marking your destination impossible to miss.
"Orders from Rick and Michonne," you shot back. "Not a personal project."
The cigarette smoldered between your lips, smoke curling into your eyes. You squinted through it, trying to burn a hole straight through his skull.
He shifted onto one hip like he had all day.
"Put that gun down." He spread his hands. "Ain't gonna hurt ya."
"That's exactly what someone who's about to hurt me would say."
A low chuckle rumbled out of him.
"Ya always this suspicious?"
"Only around creeps."
That earned you a crooked grin.
You took one last drag before dropping the cigarette and grinding it into the dirt beneath your boot.
"Let's go."
"What's thâ hurry?"
"You're wasting my time."
He glanced at the crushed cigarette.
"Could've shared."
"You've got your own."
"Ain't the point."
You rolled your eyes.
"No?"
He stepped a little closer, just enough that you noticed.
"Means we'd have to stand still together for a minute."
You stared at him.
"...You're unbelievable."
âSoâs bigfoot.â His grin widened, moving even closer.Â
Apparently he's got jokes.
You hadn't spent this much time alone with him before.
Now it was just the two of you. And he was... different. The hard edges were still there, but they didn't seem quite so sharp. He was teasing you. Calling you sweetheart. Smiling, even if it was only with one corner of his mouth. It was ridiculous.
A week ago he'd barely string two words together without grunting. A week ago he was watching you with bated breath.Â
Now he was flirting. You hated how... charming it was.
"You done?" you asked, fighting the smile threatening the corner of your mouth.
"Nah."
He nodded toward the trail ahead, back towards the house.Â
"But we oughta start walkin'."
You handed him the pack. He took a lighter from his own pocket. He leaned over, close to you, and slipped one between your lips, holding his fingers there for a moment. Then he lit his and pressed the end against yours, lighting it too.
The closeness ended just as fast as it started, leaving you missing something for a second.Â
âWhyâd they send you out fer me.âÂ
"You're a day late." You pinched the cigarette between your fingers and took a long drag. "Rick was starting to think you'd found a new home."
He snorted.
"Soundin' like a chick that missed 'er period."
The laugh escaped before you could stop it.
He glanced over.
"'M that funny, huh?"
You shook your head.
"No."
Another drag.
"I just didn't know you knew what a joke was."
His grin spread a little wider, eyes flicked with something. He stopped, pointing at you with the cigarette pinched between two fingers. "You're just afraid to admit you think I'm funny."
You opened your mouth to fire back, but the words caught somewhere in your throat. He looked good like this. Rough around the edges. Crossbow slung over one shoulder. Rabbits hanging from his belt. Dirt smeared across his forearms, hair falling into his eyes. Comfortable. Like he belonged out here.
You realized you'd been staring a second too long. You took another drag to hide it. "In your dreams."
"Didn't say no."
âDonât push your luck, dumbass.âÂ
He chuckled, turning around to walk again.Â
"Thought I was wastin' your time."Â
âYou are.âÂ
He just laughed under his breath. You stayed rooted where you were. None of this made any sense. A week ago, he'd been watching you from the shadows like you were something to be hunted.
Now he was teasing you, making you laugh, walking beside you like youâd known each other for years. It left you off balance.
The worst part was realizing you'd missed him.
A few days without the creep and here you were, letting him bum smokes off you. But without him it felt quiet.Â
Your pulse thudded against your ribs.
You watched him walk ahead, broad shoulders shifting beneath the worn leather of his vest, every movement easy, familiar. He looked like he belonged out here, swallowed up by the trees.
âCâmon.â He glanced back, catching you stare, âI got a tail or somethinâ?â He smirks again, studying your every move.
You snap back to the ground, âJust thinking, sorry.âÂ
The ground thuds beneath your feet. You pass the house, and up onto the road.Â
Daryl lets out a low whistle,âNice wheels girl. Gonna let me ride?â
âGet in the car, asshole.â The anger was back, not sharp, but enough.
He ducked his head, hiding another grin as he climbed into the passenger seat. You slide behind the wheel, tossing your pack into the back seat before turning to face him.
"Try any funny shit and I'll still shoot." You held his gaze "You only get one warning shot."
He raised both hands in surrender, "Sorry." The apology lacked any real conviction. If anything, the challenge in your voice only seemed to amuse him. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he was fighting another grin.
âYa always this mean to folks bringinâ home dinner?â He gestures towards the rabbits on his waist.Â
You sigh and turn the key. âIâll show himâ, as you slam the shifter into drive and bury the gas. Â
The car lurches, squealing as it sprays dirt off the road.Â
Daryl catches himself on the dash with one hand, a laugh escaping him.Â
You shoot him a sideways glance, willing the engine to go faster. Heâs not watching the road, heâs watching you.Â
âWhereâd you learn that?âÂ
âYou take me for a city slicker Daryl?â You wink.
You both rip down the road, your eyes fixed on the yellow lines. A quiet scoff escapes him, his hand dropping from the dash to his thigh as he settles back in the seat, still looking at you instead of the road ahead.
The silence stretched.
For once, he didn't have another smart-ass remark.
He taps the head of his cock on your clit a few times, earning a whine from you. He has your ankles in one hand, pushing your legs back as you lie on the bed.
âPut it in already!â
You beg impatiently, squirming. He slaps the back of your thighs multiple times. âBehave.â He mutters, eyes too fixated on the movement of his cock between your pussy lips. Your slick trickles down to your other puckered hole, the sheets beneath you already getting wet.
He moves the length of his cock up and down, the head catching on your clit multiple times. Each time it goes down, he slips the tip in, then pulls it back out to repeat the cycle again. It was agonizing and frustrating.
âYouâre aââ
He slaps your sopping cunt, right on your clit. âIâm a what, doll? Huh?â He teases. Itâs a game to him. Seeing how far heâd push you before you start yelling or crying.
Today, it was the latter. He heard the sniffles first, and when he looked at you, a few tears of frustration were already falling down your cheeks. His cock twitches at the sight, a bead of precum falling right on your puffy clit. âAw what is it, baby? Too much for you? Am i being too mean?â
You nod with another sniffle as he lets go of your ankles, letting each one rest on one of his shoulders. You can finally look at his face now, your eyes glossed over with tears and need. He leans over, pushing you into a mating press, and kisses you sloppily. His hand holds your jaw, pushing your head further against the pillows.
Then he finally slips it in, your mouth falling open as your back arches. You can feel him stretch you deliciously and that one prominent vein that runs along his length. He smiles at the filthy sounds escaping your lipsâ both lips actually. âFuck⊠atta girlâ He groans.
Hello! Could I get a thin slice pepperoni, with a side of wings (âyou wants this, donât you? Want me all over you? Inside you?â) with a Pepsi please! Set in season 3/Prison era if possible!
The prison was quiet in that rare, fragile way it sometimes got at dusk- most of the group scattered through the yard or the main cell blocks, voices low, the distant groan of walkers at the fences a constant backdrop. Daryl had slipped away without a word, crossbow slung across his back, that familiar angel-winged vest moving with his stride as he disappeared into A Block. You knew he wanted space. He always did. But the pull in your chest was stronger than the warning in your head.
You followed instead.
Your boots were soft on the concrete as you stepped into the dim block. The air smelled like damp stone, old metal, and the faint trace of blood that always seemed to cling to him. Cells lined both sides, some doors hanging open, others barred shut like silent witnesses. You moved deeper, toward the far end where the light from the high windows turned everything to shadows.
He was there.
Sitting on the bottom step of the metal staircase, elbows on his knees, knife in hand as he cleaned the blade with a rag. His dark hair fell into his eyes. He didnât look up right away, but you felt the moment he registered you- the slight shift in his shoulders, the way his fingers stilled.
âFigured ya might come sniffinâ around,â he drawled, voice low and rough. He sheathed the knife with a quiet snick and lifted his head. Those blue eyes locked onto you, sharp and unreadable at first. Then they dragged down your body and back up, slow and deliberate. âTold everybody I needed to be left the fuck alone. But here ya are. Followinâ me like a damn shadow.â
You swallowed. âI just⊠wanted to check on you.â
He stood, slow and predatory, closing the distance in a few long strides until he was right in front of you. Close enough that you could smell the sweat on his skin. One calloused hand came up, fingers brushing your jaw before gripping it- not hard, but firm enough to tilt your face up to his.
âCheck on me?â His thumb dragged across your lower lip. âOr maybe ya just couldnât stand the thought of me beinâ alone without ya.â His other hand settled heavy on your hip, pulling you flush against him. The hard line of his cock pressed against your stomach through his jeans. âYa been lookinâ at me for weeks like ya want somethinâ. Now yer here. In the dark. Followinâ me.â
Your breath hitched. Heat flooded between your legs.
Darylâs mouth crashed into yours- rough, claiming, all teeth and tongue and pent-up hunger. He backed you up until your spine hit the cold bars of an empty cell. The metal bit into your skin through your shirt. He kissed like he fought- relentless. When he pulled back, both of you were breathing hard.
âTell me to stop,â he growled against your mouth. âOr donât. But if ya stay⊠Iâm takinâ what ya been offerinâ.â
âDonât stop,â you whispered.
A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
He didnât waste time. His hands were on you- yanking your shirt up, shoving your bra down so your breasts spilled free into the cool air. Calloused palms covered them, squeezing, thumbs circling your nipples until they tightened into aching peaks. He dipped his head and sucked one into his mouth, tongue hot and wet, teeth grazing just enough to make your knees weak.
âThese fuckinâ tits,â he muttered against your skin. âBeen wantinâ my mouth on âem since the first time I caught ya starinâ.â
You reached for his belt but he caught both your wrists in one big hand and pinned them above your head against the bars. âNah. Hands stay there.â His free hand worked your pants open, shoving them down your hips along with your underwear until they pooled at your ankles. You kicked them off. The air kissed your bare skin, but Darylâs body was furnace-hot against you.
He dropped to his knees without warning, spreading your thighs wide with rough hands. âLook at this pretty pussy,â he rasped. âAlready fuckinâ drippinâ for me. Ya really did follow me for this.â His tongue dragged through your folds in one long, filthy lick, then he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked. Two thick fingers pushed inside you at the same time, curling, pumping in time with his tongue.
The wet sounds echoed in the quiet block. Your head fell back against the bars with a soft clang, a broken moan tearing out of you. He ate you like a man starved- lapping, sucking, fucking you with his fingers until your thighs shook.
When he stood again, his mouth was shiny with you. He wiped it with the back of his hand and smirked. âTaste so good I could stay down there all night. But that ainât what ya followed me for, is it?â
He unbuckled his belt, shoved his jeans and boxers down just far enough. His cock sprang free- thick- enough for you to wonder how the hell he was going to fit inside you. He stroked it once, slow, then stepped in close and rubbed the head through your slick folds. Up over your swollen clit, back down, coating himself in your wetness. Teasing. Denying.
He looked you dead in the eye, voice low and rough.
âYou want this donât you? Want me all over you? Inside you?â
The words sent sparks straight to your core. Your cunt clenched around nothing. âYes,â you gasped. âDaryl- please. I want you inside me. All of you.â
He didnât make you beg twice.
He notched the thick head at your entrance and thrust in with one hard, deep stroke that buried him to the hilt. The stretch burned in the best way- your walls fluttering and struggling to take all of him. You cried out, the sound echoing off concrete and metal. He was so deep it felt like he was in your throat.
âFuck,â he hissed, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. âSo tight. Grippinâ my cock like ya donât wanna let go.â He stayed buried for a long moment, letting you feel every thick inch, the way he throbbed inside you. Then he started moving- long, deep thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot on the way out and punched back in hard enough to rattle the bars behind you.
The cell filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, the creak of metal, your broken moans and his low, filthy grunts. One of his hands stayed pinned above your head- the other gripped your thigh and hiked it higher around his hip so he could get even deeper.
âThis what ya wanted?â he panted against your ear. âSneakinâ after me like a needy little thing⊠gettinâ fucked stupid against the bars where anybody could walk in?â His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. âSay it. Tell me ya want my cock ruininâ this pussy.â
âI want it,â you sobbed, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. âWant you- fuck, Daryl- donât stop-â
He didnât. He fucked you harder, the bars digging into your back, his cock dragging over that spot inside you with every stroke until your vision started to white out at the edges. Your first orgasm hit like a freight train- walls clamping down around him, body shaking, a broken cry ripping from your throat as pleasure flooded every nerve.
Daryl fucked you straight through it, relentless, drawing it out until you were limp and trembling in his grip.
He pulled out, spun you around, and bent you over the thin cot in the corner. The mattress was rough under your palms. He kicked your legs wider, lined up, and slammed back in from behind in one brutal thrust. The new angle punched the air from your lungs. He was deeper like this, his balls slapping against your clit with every snap of his hips.
âFuckinâ look at ya,â he growled, one hand fisting in your hair, pulling your head back. âTakinâ every inch like ya were made for it. This pussyâs mine now, ya hear me? Gonna fuck ya stupid every time ya follow me into the dark.â
He was right. Your mind was gone- reduced to pure sensation. The stretch. The drag. The wet sounds. The way his cock kissed your cervix on every thrust. The smell of sex and sweat and him. Your second orgasm built fast, sharper, almost painful in its intensity. When his fingers found your clit again, rubbing rough and fast, you shattered.
This time you went silent- mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, body convulsing as white-hot pleasure short-circuited every thought. You were fucked stupid, just like he promised- nothing but the feeling of him pounding into you, owning you, ruining you.
Daryl followed with a guttural groan, burying himself as deep as he could go. You felt him pulse, hot spurts of cum flooding your insides, filling you until it leaked out around his cock and down your thighs. He stayed buried, grinding through the aftershocks, both of you shaking.
When he finally pulled out, the wet sound was filthy. Cum trickled down your leg in a warm, obscene trail. He turned you gently, pulled you onto the cot with him, and sat back against the wall, arranging you in his lap like you weighed nothing. Your head tucked under his chin, his heartbeat steady and strong under your ear. One big hand stroked slowly up and down your spine.
âYa alright?â he asked after a long minute, voice softer now, the rough edge tempered.
You nodded against his chest, still floating. âYeah. More than alright.â
He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through you. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your bare thigh. âNext time ya decide to follow me lookinâ for trouble⊠donât expect to walk right after.â
You smiled, sated and warm despite the cool concrete around you. Outside, the prison kept breathing-Â
Your eyes are filled with tears as you look up at him, your chin covered in your own saliva. Your knees ache against the wooden floor, your scalp being pulled at by his big hand thatâs in your hair.
You pull away from his cock, gasping for breath. Your bratty attitude is still there, evident in your frown, glare and the insults spewing out of your mouth. âStop! You bastardââ
He shoves his cock back into your mouth, looking down at you. âKeep talking,â he taunts, a dark glint in his eyes. âI love feeling you try to fight with your mouth full.â
His hips start to pump, fucking your mouth with slow, deep strokes. Each thrust goes deeper, the thick veins of his cock sliding against your tongue. "Take it, you little slut."
You push at his thighs, which earns you a light slap on the face. You whine like a kicked puppy, and the vibration makes him throw his head back. He watches you struggle to take his length, saliva dripping down your chin. Pulling out suddenly, slapping his cock against your face before shoving it back in. He starts to speed up, hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. âFuck, your mouth feels so good."
You sit there and take it, your eyes rolling back. And, frankly, you loved this. Thatâs the reason you brat around and provoke him all dayâ deep down, you love this side of him. The ache in your cunt and your damp panties are evidence to your sick desires.
He looked damn good towering over you, dark eyes watching as his cock violates your mouth. He has his shirt off, his muscular torso glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. The hand in your hair eases up a bit when your eyes meet his. He pulls his cock out, spitting in your mouth. âFilthy little thing. That what you wanted? Such a bratâŠâ he slaps your face lightly with his hand, making you mewl. âYeah⊠thatâs rightâŠâ
His breathing grows ragged as he face-fucks you, his balls slapping against your chin. He shows no signs of slowing down. Your jaw aches from the stretch, tears streaming down your face, but he just groans deeply, enjoying the wet warmth of your mouth.
âWhere do you want my cum, huh? Down your throat?â He asks, to which you do your best to nodâ almost too eagerly. He laughs at that, shaking his head at your endless antics.
His movements start to change. His hips stutter, losing that perfect rhythm as he gets closer to the edge. He pulls back so only the head is in your mouth, fucking it with short, desperate strokes. The sounds leaving his lips have you pressing your thighs together needly, your eyebrows furrowed upwards.
His cock throbs intensely in your mouth. He grabs your hair tighter, holding your head still as he finally reaches his climax. With a guttural groan, he thrusts deep one last time, his hips locking as hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat. He holds himself there, forcing you to take every drop as his body trembles with release. His hand stays firm on your head, making sure you swallow. âGood girl... keep swallowing.â
He pets your hair, slowly pulling his cock out, one last spurt of cum landing on your cheek. He loved painting you with his seed, loved seeing you reduced to a mess. You start coughing, cum and drool falling down your chin, throat burning and raw. âAssholeâ
Can I get a thin slice with bacon, salad on the side, and juice! (Aka no romance since I didnt see that option :))
Set in season 7 specifically!
the sound of silence
pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader
w/c: 1.1k+
warnings/tags: angst, fluff, best friend daryl dixon, you're around maggies age, depression, happy ending
masterlist // pizza party
The roads between Alexandria, Hilltop, and the Kingdom had become your whole world.
After the lineup- after Negan and that bat and the way they dragged Daryl into the back of that truck- you couldnât stay inside those walls. Rick tried. Michonne tried. You shook them off with the same quiet stubbornness Daryl had drilled into you since the day he first showed you how to move without sound, how to read the woods like a second language, how to stay alive when the world wanted you dead.
âHeâd want you to keep goinâ,â Rick had said.
You did. Just not there.
You left with a pack and the lessons heâd given you. No crossbow- you werenât him- but you had the rest. The patience, the silence, the way to vanish between one breath and the next. You roamed. Slept in trees or gutted houses. Only slipped into the communities when you had to- low on arrows, a storm rolling in, or when the ache in your chest got so loud you needed to hear other voices just to remember you were still real.
Depression settled in like rot. Some days you moved because stopping felt like giving up on him. Other days you sat on a ridge for hours, staring at nothing, wondering if he was still breathing. Rumors reached you in pieces- Daryl at the Sanctuary, Negan trying to break him, Dwight playing his sick games. Each one carved a little deeper.
You didnât cry much. Daryl had taught you better than that. But the nights were long, and the silence heâd made you love now felt like punishment. You felt as if you disappeared right alongside him.
The Kingdom was your least favorite stop and the one you kept coming back to anyway. Ezekielâs people were too loud, too bright, too full of hope that didnât belong in the world youâd been surviving. But sometimes the noise was better than the nothing.
That day you came in through the side gate like always- quiet, head down, planning to trade a few pelts and disappear before the afternoon fair started. You were halfway across the courtyard when you saw him.
Leaning against a post near one of the smaller buildings, arms crossed, looking a bit out of place. Wild hair. That stance. Your brain short-circuited.
Not real. Another trick. Youâve seen him in every shadow for months.
Your mouth moved before your mind caught up.
âDaryl?â
He turned.
The mask cracked. Just for a second. Eyes went wide, shoulders dropped like someone had cut the strings holding him up.
You crossed the space without thinking. He met you in three strides.
The hug was crushing. His arms locked around your back, yours around his shoulders, and for the first time in what felt like forever the hollow place in your chest filled with something solid. You pressed your face into his dirtied shirt and smelled woods and sweat and home. His grip tightened once, hard, like he needed the proof too.
âEasy,â he muttered against your hair, voice rough as gravel. âI got ya.â
You stayed like that longer than either of you would admit later. When you finally pulled back, his hand stayed on your shoulder, squeezing once- solid, real, alive.
âGot a place,â he said, jerking his chin toward the building behind him. âUpstairs. Câmon.â
You followed him up narrow stairs to a small apartment- simple, with a couch that looked like it had seen better days and a table scattered with maps and bolts. He closed the door, poured two cups of water from a pitcher, and handed you one without a word. You both sat. The silence that fell between you was the old kind- the good kind.
He spoke first, voice low, that familiar drawl wrapping around every word like it always had.
âNeganâs a psychotic prick. Took me to that Sanctuary. Locked me in a cell. Dark. Cold. Dwight⊠he was there. Fed me dog food. Tried to break me. Make me one of his.â
He paused, jaw working. You waited. You always knew how to wait for him.
âBeat me some, nothin' I couldn't take. Head games were worse. Kept sayinâ what heâd do to the others if I didnât fall in line. Thought about you. About Rick and Michonne and everybody. Kept me from losinâ it some days.â He huffed a short, bitter sound. âAlmost worked.â
You swallowed. âWe heard things. I left Alexandria right after. Couldnât stay. Been roaminâ between the three communities ever since. Only come in when I have to. Stayed outta sight like you taught me. But it wasâŠâ Your voice cracked. âIt was empty out there without you.â
Daryl looked at you then, really looked, the way only he ever had. Something soft flickered behind the gruff.
âKnew youâd be alright. Youâre tougher than you think kid. Still⊠missed ya. Kept wonderinâ if you were safe.â
The words landed like a hand on the back of your neck- steadying.
He kept going, short and rough, the way he told stories. How Sherry helped him slip the cell. How he killed Fat Joey on the way out. How he made it to Hilltop first, then here, to the Kingdom, because Ezekiel offered a place while the alliance against Negan started coming together. âWanted to go back home but y'all were safer without me there.â
You told him about the roads. The close calls. The nights you almost didnât get back up. He listened the way he always did- grunts and nods and the occasional âYeahâ that meant more than whole sentences.
When the light through the window started to go gold, the air in the room had changed. The heavy, aching weight that had lived in your chest for months was still there, but it wasnât crushing anymore. It was shared.
Daryl stood, clapped you on the shoulder again, firmer this time.
âStay as long as you want. Got room. Can't risk goin' outside the walls with ya so... your call kid.â
You looked at him- really looked- and felt something loosen all the way down to your bones.
âThink Iâll stay a while,â you said. âWith you old man.â
He gave that small, almost smile he saved for the people who mattered.
âGood. âCause I ainât losinâ my best friend again.â
You stayed through dinner- simple food from the Kingdomâs stores- and into the evening. Talked about nothing and everything. Old memories from the prison. The farm. The comfortable silences in between.
Later, when the Kingdom had gone quiet outside, you caught him watching you from the worn down armchair, eyes softer than usual.
âGlad youâre here,â he said, barely above a murmur.
You nodded. âMe too.â
The road had felt too long. The silence had been brutal. But Daryl was back and the hollow places didnât feel so empty anymore. You had your best friend. And for the first time since the lineup, the future didnât feel like something you had to survive alone.
Oh- and you were going to fucking kill Dwight if you ever got your hands on him.
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